#sherlock x f!reader

[j-eryewrites]

It Was a Rainy Day

Part One of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker Street

Word Count: 4.9k

Thanks to @bartokthealbinobat for helping me edit this chapter!

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SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST 

I'm planning this to be an ongoing Sherlock x Reader series that mainly flows the plot of the BBC series. Let me know what you would like to see.

DISCLOSURE: I do not own any of the characters and plot. Those belong to BBC and Arthur Conan Doyle.

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“On behalf of our crew, we thank you again for choosing to fly with BWA Airlines. Please stay seated until the seat belt sign has been turned off. We will begin exiting the plane soon.” The speakers above chimed.

Immediately, chatter filled up the air. People were anxious to get off the plane. In all honesty, they had just endured an eight-hour international flight. Ching. The glow from the seatbelt sign flashed off, signaling for people to stand up and stretch their legs. Y/N would have taken the opportunity to stretch her legs, but she was seated next to the window towards the back of the plane. She didn’t think she would be standing up any time soon. Instead, Y/N occupied herself with the view outside of her window. 

The sky was an opaque gray. Numerous dark clouds of the same hue covered the warm light of the sun, stopping it from gracing its presence. It was raining. A typical forecast for London in September. But it wasn’t a gentle rain; the rain that tickled your skin as it fell from the sky. No, it was the rain that soaks you to the bone the minute you step outside– real rain. The best kind of rain. Y/N found the rain to be peaceful. Maybe it was the smell that came with the rain as it made the earth anew. Maybe it was the unpredictable yet consistent pattern of the pitter-patter as the water came in contact with the soil. Y/N enjoyed the view of the rain. She let her gaze flip out of focus as she watched the ripples in the puddles. Each wave moved farther away from the center.

“Pardon me, miss.” A cheery flight attendant chirped. The flight attendant’s eyes had dark circles underneath them, yet they held the most pleasant expression. “If you can exit the plane now, we need to prepare for the next flight.” 

Y/N tore her eyes away from the view and quickly apologized. Her cheeks burned red out of embarrassment as she hurriedly stood up, snatched her luggage from the overhead compartment, and exited the plane. She was glad that the plane was docked at the main section of the airport, so she didn’t have to trudge through the rain. Any other day she would have been overjoyed to be soaked to the bone, but not today. Y/N wanted to look somewhat presentable when she reunited with her aunt, Mrs. Hudson. 

Martha Louise Hudson wasn't Y/N’s aunt by blood, but she was her grandmother’s best friend. Those two were peas in a pod. After Y/N’s grandmother had suddenly passed away from a heart attack, Mrs. Hudson took it upon herself to occupy the vacant role.

 “No child should grow up without a grandparent. They need someone to spoil them rotten,” Mrs. Hudson would say. 

Despite her family’s abrupt decision to move to the United States, Mrs. Hudson continued filling that role. Occasionally, she would send postcards and presents for birthdays and Christmas detailing her adventures in London. The latest of which was a postcard describing a vacant apartment she was looking to rent. With the prospect of seeing Mrs. Hudson again, with the additional benefits of living in the United Kingdom, Y/N packed up her life and moved back across the ocean.

Baggage claim for flight AQ178. Baggage...It wasn’t hard to miss. All Y/N had to do was peer across the vast sea of people to where the crowd stood. They were all huddled around the baggage carousel. All of them dismissed the advice to stay behind the yellow and black striped line unless they were retrieving their baggage. One by one, they retrieved their bags as they moved down the line. 

Eventually, after many turns of the metallic carousel, Y/N’s bags came into view. She crossed the line and grabbed the large suitcases. It was strange to think that all her worldly possessions fit into two suitcases. The cases were covered in dust and grime from the journey despite them being brand-new. Y/N counted each suitcase, a notion in the back of her mind told her something was missing. An unholy screech rang out above the crowd. A sound that could only come from the jaws of a tiny demon–her tiny demon. Y/N winced in embarrassment as she slipped out a small sheet of paper from her pocket. The screeching continued, dragging the attention of innocent travelers. Her cheeks began to flash red as she approached a desk. 

Behind the desk there stood a poor young man who was made the unfortunate victim. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his brows were raised impossibly high. In his shaking hands, he held a crate at arm's length, as if the brown cat inside would bust down the door and steal his soul. 

Y/N reached the desk, and coughed, “He’s mine.”  She pointed towards the cat who stilled at the sound of her voice. 

The man gulped, nodding, and asked to see her ticket to confirm ownership. She quickly presented it to him. His eyes quickly glanced over it. Then he sighed in relief and threw the crate into her hands. 

Y/N carefully peered into the crate and was met with the wide golden eyes of Bjørn. The cat stood still as his golden eyes processed what was in front of him. They narrowed slightly and he began to meow again. He was no longer screeching like a demon but singing like an angelic child for his mother had arrived. Y/N whispered words of assurance to the cat, praising him for being the best boy on the flight. He purred under her sweet words. 

Y/N’s pocket buzzed, and she carefully set Bjørn’s crate down. Her eyes quickly glanced outside to discover the rain had lightened up. Remembering someone had messaged her, she pulled out her phone and began to read. 

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Auntie M

I’m sending one of my good friends and one of your neighbours to come and pick you up from the airport. 

His name is John Watson, blonde, and a kind man. 

(Read)

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Y/N raised her brow at the message. She was puzzled as to why Mrs. Hudson had sent the description of “kind”. As she read the text over, the cogs in her mind began to turn. Y/N tried to conjure up an image of what a kind British man named John, who happened to be a friend of her Auntie's, looked like. 

Picking up Bjørn’s crate, she lugged her bags toward the exit. She passed by people entering and leaving the airport. Some people ran into the arms of their loved ones and others jumped into taxis that took them to their next destination. 

Her feet began to slow finally coming to a stop. She turned her head, looking around the crowd. She bit her lip, and a dazed look filled her face. A low drone crept up to her. Y/N’s eyes were immediately dragged down to the taxi in front of her. With a creak, the passenger’s window rolled down. 

“Hel’o there, how can I help you today?” inquired the taxi driver. The man wore a white and beige flat cap. He was an older-looking fellow who wore glasses. He flashed Y/N a smile that made her stomach fill with unease. 

“Oh no thank you” she quickly replied, stepping away from the car window and closer to the booming crowd outside of the airport. 

“American, eh? I’ll be able to take you where you need to go. No problem. You can trust me,” He insisted. With his hand aged with time, he took off his cap and brushed through his wispy white hair. His smile grew bigger as he faked a charming expression.

“No thanks,” answered Y/N. The alarms in her head were howling at her. “I am waiting for someone, you see, to come to pick me up.” Taking a big step back, she sank into the crowd behind her. A woman wearing all pink brushed her shoulder against Y/N. Y/N’s eyes winced at the explosion of color. Everything about this woman was pink: pink phone, pink suitcase, pink overcoat.

“Are you taking this cab?” distractedly asked the woman as she stuffed her baggage into the cab. 

“No,” replied Y/N. She wanted to warn the woman in pink, but before she could, the taxi had pulled away from the pickup station and was on its way to who knows where. A buzzing feeling came from the back pocket of her trousers. Pulling her phone out she saw another message from her aunt. 

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Auntie M

I just realized I should probably give you John’s number. 

 Y/N

- That would actually be great.

 Auntie M

Sending it to you right now. I’ll be making a nice dinner to warm you up after all that rain. 

Also, your apartment is all set up and waiting for you. :)

 Y/N

- Great, that sounds perfect. Thanks, Auntie M

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As she waited for John’s number, Y/N thought it would be best to head back inside and find a place to sit. Hearing the ding of her phone and a number pop up she mumbled, “Remind me to thank Auntie M for that…” 

An Irish voice popped up next to her, and Y/N’s gaze rose from the screen of her phone to meet dark and mysterious chocolate eyes. “Remember to thank your aunt for that” he chuckled. 

Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Her eyes scanned the man up and down. He had an edgy and cool air to him. With his smirk, he oozed confidence. There was something about him that intrigued her. He had brown hair that was well-groomed and wore a nicely tailored suit. He reciprocated Y/N’s smile and even more of his charm showed through. “The name is Jim, '' introduced the man. He extended his hand for her to shake. 

Y/N couldn’t help but let a giggle escape her lips as she firmly shook Jim’s hand. His grip was warm and strong. “Y/N, and thank you for the reminder, Jim.” 

“Anytime.” He replied, making himself comfortable in the open seat next to her. They settled into a pleasant silence. The only sounds that occupied their ears were the wheels of rolling luggage and the light chatter of the other travellers and guests of the airport. 

“Work, family, or friends?” inquired Jim, his head tilting slightly to the right to look at Y/N. 

“Sorry?” 

“What are you here for?” Jim clarified. 

“I guess you could say work and a bit of family,” answered Y/N. She began to secretly pick at her fingers, a stim, and nervous habit of hers. Jim cocked one of his eyebrows up with curiosity. “I'm moving back to my roots.”

“From London?” Jim questioned, furthering the conversation. 

Y/N paused before answering. The encounter with the taxi driver was still fresh in her memory. She sighed and her shoulder’s relaxed. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friendly conversation, she thought. 

“Yeah.” She replied. “I was born here but after a few years my parents and I moved to the U.S.” She shrugged, “and now I’m back.”

“And now you’re back,” Jim repeated softly. There was a minute shift in his expression into something Y/N couldn’t decipher. By the time she noticed it, it was gone; leaving Y/N to wonder if she had imagined it. “Well, London is delighted to have you back,” Jim winked. Then he readjusted his seating position as he straightened his black suit jacket. 

“Well, I have to leave. Business to attend to” smiled Jim, “I bid you adieu”. Standing up from the seat next to her, he gave her one more smile. His eyes lingered on her figure. Without another word, he took a few steps, disappearing into the crowd of people. 

She sat back in her seat, the image of Jim in her mind. Her thoughts trailed from Jim to her aunt and then…Shit! Y/N realized she did not text John’s number. Immediately pulling out her phone, she sent a quick text. A little gray bubble appeared, and he responded by saying he was there at the airport with a taxi outside. Raising from her seat, she, once again, made her way out of the airport. Y/N searched the crowd, her eyes looking for a man that fit the vague description her aunt had given her.

Just then a young man with kind dark eyes, the shade of morning coffee, and blonde hair approached her. He was wearing a beige knit sweater. Hand knitted...looks like Auntie’s knitting...is this… but her thought was interrupted by his voice. “Are you Y/N? Mrs. Hudson’s niece?” he inquired. 

“Yes, that’s me, are you John?” replied Y/N. 

“Yep, John. John Watson. Can I help you with your bags?” politely asked John.  

A wave of relief fell over Y/N, “Yes, thank you, John.” 

John reached for two bags of luggage and began directing Y/N to where the cab was. “It’s no problem really, just doing a favour for Mrs. Hudson” he explained, turning his gaze back to Y/N to smile at her. It was strange to think about how there could be so many different types of smiles. John’s smile was different from Jim’s confident grin, and the eerie smirk of that taxi driver. John’s smile was kind, caring, and calm. It reminded Y/N of the smile etched onto a Teddy bear’s face. 

John carefully placed Y/N’s luggage in the trunk. Afterward, he held the door open for Y/N to enter the back seat. John sat down after her, closing the door behind him. “221 B Baker Street” instructed John. The driver nodded and drove off, the station growing smaller and smaller behind them. 

After a few moments of silence, John peered at the crate on Y/N’s lap. “You have a cat,” stated John with a questioning tone to his voice. 

“Yes, his name is Bjørn.” Bjørn happily meowed in response to his name. 

“Didn’t know Mrs. Hudson allowed pets in the apartment,” replied John. He lowered his head to get a good look at Bjørn’s yellow eyes. He smiled at the cat which was reciprocated by a purr.

“Oh, I think he likes you!” Y/N beamed.

John raised his brows flattered by the obvious complement of the cat. He cautiously reached a hand out to pet Bjørn through the crate, his eyes glancing up at Y/N. She nodded and he proceeded to pet the cat. Bjørn’s purrs rumbled the cage as he brushed his neck eagerly against John’s fingers. 

“Bjørn, you attention whore,” laughed Y/N. She watched as John’s eyes widened at the cat’s affection. It was as if he was a child who’d been handed an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day. 

“I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would approve of you getting a pet for your flat,” stated Y/N. Her eyes reflected John’s adoration for the cat. 

“Oh god no!” Exclaimed John withdrawing his hand from Bjørn. “My flat mate is enough of an animal as it is.” He chuckled. “I don’t need another one.” His voice turned quieter towards the end, creating an awkward air between the two in the back of the cab. 

“...You have a flat mate?” Y/N asked. 

“Yeah.” Responded John. 

Y/N awkwardly nodded her head and then moved her gaze to the window. 

By now, the sky was the textbook definition of gray. The dark rain cloud from before had fled, leaving the sky empty and barren. Everything seemed dulled by the gray tint the sky cast down. Even the brightly colored leaves and the shimmering lights of the city seemed to fall victim to the solemness. 

Eventually, the cab began to decrease in speed as it approached 221 B Baker Street, slowly coming to a halt. 

“We’re here” stated John as he paid for the cab before exiting onto Baker Street. He then made his way around the car to Y/N’s side and opened the door for her. He eagerly took Bjørn’s crate from her hands.

Y/N stepped onto the black pavement of Baker Street and took a moment to process her new environment. Then she made her way to the trunk of the cab to retrieve her luggage. John had taken the liberty of placing Bjørn inside 221 and let Mrs. Hudson know that they had arrived back from the airport. He then walked back outside to help Y/N with her luggage. Mrs. Hudson followed suit to greet her grandniece. 

“N/N, welcome home!” exclaimed Mrs. Hudson as she made her way to Y/N. Y/N turned toward her aunt. She had a gleeful smile on her face as she reunited with her aunt. Mrs. Hudson opened her arms wide beckoning Y/N in for a hug. As soon as her niece was in arms reach, Mrs. Hudson yanked the young woman into her arms and gave her a tight squeeze. She slightly rocked Y/N back and forth. A large smile erupted on Mrs. Hudson’s face, and she became overjoyed. “Let’s have a look at you, shall we?” she said, pulling away from the hug to place her hands on Y/N’s face and tugging at her cheeks. “My you have grown up to be so beautiful! Just like your mum!” 

“Thanks, auntie” sheepishly replied Y/N. Her cheeks turned pink from all the attention she was receiving. 

“Oh, it’s so good to have you home. We have some catching up to do!” cheered Mrs. Hudson as she led the way inside 221. 

John was patiently waiting by the bottom of the stairs inside the building. Her eyes ran up the steps which Y/N assumed, led up to John’s apartment. “Need anything else Y/N?” inquired John, giving a cheerful smile. 

“No, I don’t need anything else.” Y/N gratefully replied. “But if you want to take Bjørn out of his carrier and meet him properly, you are more than welcome to.” 

John’s eyes widened with delight as he crouched down toward the crate. With a twang, he released the cat from its confines. Bjørn paraded around. His brown furry head was held high as explored his new kingdom. He then noticed John beside him, quickly bringing head to butt against John’s leg. 

A loud creaking came from the upstairs flat, scaring Bjørn. He dashed from John’s side toward his mother. She picked him up and cradled him in her arms. His tail swished around as his golden eyes narrowed in the direction of the noise. Distaste eminent in his tiny figure. 

John took that as his cue to leave. “Alright then, welcome to London.” He said before making his way up the stairs to his apartment. 

A sigh escaped Mrs. Hudson's lips, “I’m so glad that you’ve moved in. At least, I’ll have a bit more normalcy with you here.” She moved her gaze upstairs to where muffled voices were coming from. Y/N could make out two voices. One belonged to John and the other to, who she assumed was, his flatmate. The flatmate’s voice was baritone and clear. 

“Well dear, dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you go on into your new apartment and get settled? I got it all checked out and even got rid of Sherlock's mold experiment.” 

Y/N widened her eyes and opened her mouth to ask but was drowned out by her aunt's continued explanation. 

“I had to replace the wallpaper, but I think you’ll like the paint I chose,” explained Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll come and get you when dinner’s done.” She then grabbed a pair of keys out of her pocket and handed them to Y/N. “This key is for entering the building,” she pointed to the brass key and then moved her finger towards a thin black key that looked quite old, “and this key is to your apartment.” Then she patted Y/N’s back sending her in the direction of her new apartment. 

The apartment was located on the same floor as Mrs. Hudson’s apartment. Just underneath John’s apartment. The walls were covered in beautiful dark green paint. The curtains looked a bit worn around the edges, but overall, it was cozy. Mrs. Hudson had allowed Y/N to decorate and improve the apartment to her liking, which is something she was very grateful for. But first, she needed time to unpack everything. She placed Bjørn down once the door had been closed. The brown cat immediately gave a big stretch and yawned. Bjørn then looked up towards Y/N as if he was saying he would be exploring now and took off. Chuckling, Y/N brought her luggage to her room and began the time-consuming process of unpacking. 

It wasn’t long before Mrs. Hudson entered her niece’s apartment to notify her that dinner was ready. When the elderly lady entered, she was met with open boxes scattered everywhere and loud music playing from the Y/N’s phone. 

“Y/N, dear…” grabbing Y/N’s attention, “dinner is ready”. 

Moving towards the phone, Y/N let the music die down. “I’ll be there in a minute, just let me finish unpacking this one thing.” 

“Of course, dear” replied Mrs. Hudson. “Oh!” Mrs. Hudson chuckled as Bjørn rubbed up against her. “What a good boy.” She reached down to pet the cat.  Standing up she brushed her hands off and made her way back out the door, slowly and carefully closing it behind her. 

Y/N placed the last book on the shelf and smacked her hands together in a wiping motion. “Right then, dinner.” She carefully stepped over the numerous cardboard boxes lying around the apartment. Eventually, she reached her door. Bjørn’s head peaked up in interest as the knob of the door turned. “No, Bjørn. I’ll be back”. The cat seemed to acknowledge her statement and jumped on the couch. After a few customary circles, he was satisfied and collapsed down to the soft surface. 

Upon closing the door, Y/N heard two pairs of footsteps making their way down the stairs. She stood still listening to them.

“No John, I do not intend on greeting the new neighbor.” There was that baritone voice again. John’s flat mate. 

“Come on Sherlock. She’s Mrs. Hudson’s niece, at least do it for her.” pleaded John. 

The footsteps had ceased, and a deafening silence had filled the air. “For the last time, John. I do not intend to meet this new neighbor. I guarantee you that she will have moved out by the end of the week. As most of the other tenants of 221 do.” Then a tall man wearing a long black trench coat appeared and then quickly disappeared as he slammed the door to Baker Street. 

“For heaven’s sake, Sherlock,” yelled John as he followed his flat mate out the door. 

 Y/N huffed in anger, as she made her way to her aunt’s flat.  I don’t want to meet you too, Sherlock, she thought. Y/N didn’t even have to knock on the door for Mrs. Hudson to state that she could come in. “Door’s open, come on in”. 

Mrs. Hudson was finishing placing the dishware on the table. “Sounds like you just missed John and Sherlock” chimed Mrs. Hudson. 

“And a good thing too,” muttered Y/N, causing Mrs. Hudson to ask her to repeat, “Oh nothing.”

“Alright then. Let’s not let dinner get cold,” Mrs. Hudson said as she motioned to the seats signaling Y/N to sit down for dinner. 

They chatted amongst themselves. Y/N relayed all the latest detail of her life to her surrogate grandmother: who she was friends with, her job, past relationships, how her family was, the whole lot. As they shared the meal, Y/N felt her bond with Mrs. Hudson restore as if she never moved away in the first place. 

Now, it was Y/N’s turn to ask a question. “Who is John’s flat mate?,” Y/N pondered. 

“That’ll be Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson crinkled her eyes and nose with fondness. “He’s a consulting detective.”

“A consulting detective? Never heard of it,” Y/N mentioned. 

“Consults on difficult criminal cases. He helps Scotland Yard solves crimes and murders. He’s the one who got my husband the death sentence” explained Mrs. Hudson. Her eyes widened at the statement. “Any tea, Y/N?”

Glancing up from the now empty plate, Y/N replied, “Oh, no thanks”. 

Mrs. Hudson then nodded her head and continued to talk about Sherlock, bringing a hand to her heart. She talked about all the strange people who came to visit him. Often relaying stories that would make Y/N raise her brows in concern. Mrs. Hudson’s face contorted as she mentioned his strange and disturbing experiments, one of which was the mold that used to occupy Y/N’s flat. Switching back to her cheerful smile, she began proudly explaining Sherlock’s gift of being able to tell almost everything about a person. 

Y/N’s head began pounding as it filled up with all the compliments her aunt had to say about Sherlock. She chuckled trying to hide a wince from the pain in her head. Y/N placed down her fork and knife and leaned in slightly toward her aunt. “Auntie M, thank you for dinner, but…” she trailed off.  “I’m feeling tired, and I think that the jet lag is getting to me.”

Looking up in concern, Mrs. Hudson rose from her seat, “Of course, N/N.” She gave Y/N a soft smile and headed towards the door, opening it to let her niece out.  “Goodnight, sleep well.” She reached out a hand to pat her niece’s shoulder.

“Goodnight” replied Y/N. 

As Mrs. Hudson closed the door, Y/N brought a hand to her temple massaging it. It was still pounding. She trudged to her flat and opened it. With little effort, she crawled into bed. Bjørn hopped up next to her. He snuggled up close purring loudly as she lazily pet him. Her hand slowly fell limp on top of Bjørn’s brown fur. His deep purrs slowly guided his owner gently to sleep. 

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[maximsdeadwife]

The Experiment

Sherlock Holmes x reader

Masterlist

Summary: When you married Sherlock, you discovered a side to him that you would never have expected. A side that was only for you.

Author's notes: See if you can spot the line I included from a Sherlock Holmes story as a nod to Victorian Sherlock… I used a few Victorian terms in this to make it authentic, so on the off chance that you're an historian specialising in Victorian dirty talk, please be kind 😉. This is written with any Victorian Sherlock in mind, but leaning toward Henry.

Warnings/content: nsfw, shameless smut, 18+, f!reader, reader has a vagina, dirty talk (but make it Victorian), first time, marriage, breeding kink, fingering, cream pie, cunnilingus, overstimulation, discussion of safe word, mentions of blow jobs, dom Sherlock if you squint, mentioned aftercare

Marrying a gentleman like Sherlock, there was no surprise that when it came to matters of the marital bed, he was technically as inexperienced as you.

You had been delighted to learn that he had a tendency to live slobbishly from time to time despite scrubbing up exceptionally well; neglecting his hair, sleeping in, wearing his dressing gown all day, not bothering with trifles like what time you ate dinner or who was calling in when his organised chaos took over your home (especially if it was his brother Mycroft).

You were also pleased that he wasn’t a prude — in his line of work you supposed it would be difficult to be completely prudish — because you felt you could comfortably be yourself around him, which seemed such a rare treat for a woman living in these days.

But the one thing you were utterly surprised by, was the way he spoke to you about sex. And even more surprising; how completely crazed he seemed for you. It went against everything you expected of him while courting, and definitely against everything that the general public would ever imagine of him.

Always treating you entirely properly, you’d expected an awkward and perhaps uncomfortable encounter upon consummating your marriage, sure that he would not have time or care for physical affection, especially since he usually displayed such an obvious aversion to the touch of others.

On the contrary, he seemed to have a great deal of confidence as well as an intricate insight into the topic, even upon your first time together. His approach set every nerve in your body aflame before sating you completely and providing a generous offering of his pearly seed to establish itself in your belly.

When you found yourself atop your newly shared bed, at first you worried your ankles may be revealed as your dress lifted above your boots, but he didn’t seem at all phased. You supposed people did see one another in the nude once they were married, and although the thought had been eating away at your nerves, but Sherlock didn’t seem nearly as on edge, which went a long way to soothing your worries.

You’d seen this look of his before. His sparkling eyes devoured you as though you were a new and exciting mystery to be solved, and knowing him as you did, he would no doubt be filled with drive fit for a thorough investigation.

‘Do not worry, darling, I shan’t strip you of your beautiful dress just yet,’ he soothed, caressing your cheek before shedding himself of his jacket and loosening his ascot. ‘Let us start slow, we do have all night after all.’

He moved down to sit beside where you laid upon the bed, and his fingers worked to remove your boots, sending shivers tingling up your legs as his flesh eventually brushed against yours.

You watched him carefully as he rolled his sleeves up, wondering what on earth he was preparing for. You began to feel entirely like one of his experiments, and you supposed that in a way, since this was his first time too, you were. The thought made your lips curl in amusement and your heart race.

‘Have you researched sex, Sherlock?’ you asked bashfully as he lifted your skirts further and ran his fingertips, featherlight and only slightly shaky, up along the contours of your inner thighs.

Gently, he pushed your legs apart, fingers hooking under the soft fabric of your bloomers as that gorgeous curl loosened to fall over his forehead.

‘Of course I have,’ he said simply, still entirely focussed on contributing to your growing arousal. ‘One cannot possibly get something of such delicate balance down to an exact science without sufficient data… just like one cannot perform an exact art without practise. And practice, we shall…’

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson at the imagery of him studying indecent books with your pleasure in mind. You were overcome with an unusual desire to squeeze your thighs together, but ignored it in favour of feeling entirely safe in his apparently capable hands. Hands that were slipping your bloomers down past your knees and dropping them unceremoniously to the floor.

His fingers began to explore your slick folds, not at all helping to cool the red hot blush that powdered your cheeks.

‘Oh, how I’ve dreamed of bedding you, my darling,’ he breathed, settling properly beside you on the bed. ‘I’m going to satisfy you in ways you cannot fathom. Don’t be shy, you’re doing so well for me.’

Your unexpected cry of pleasure tore through the otherwise silent room, his finger now slowly pumping in and out of your heat. You gripped his arm as if holding on for dear life, fearful that you might otherwise float away in this unexpected haze of bliss.

‘You feel like silk,’ he praised, voice weakening slightly. ‘That’s it, hold on to me, you’re safe. You’re going to come on my fingers first, my needy little minx. Focus on how they fill you, how they caress your inner walls. Does it excite you as it excites me?’

You nodded. Your mind was fuzzy with pleasure like you’d never known, so much so that answering verbally seemed a certain impossibility.

‘I have fantasised about taking you on my fingers,’ he whispered, low and deep into your ear, ‘how divine you would sound as you give in to your pleasure, my name slipping hungrily from between those pretty lips.’

He removed his finger then, and a whine of protest erupted from somewhere within you. You just felt so empty without his elegant digit sliding in and out of your swollen entrance, dragging against something inside that made you absolutely ravenous for more — but a new sensation soon took over and you felt disappointed no longer.

His slick coated fingers dragged up through your folds and you shuddered, all the nerve endings in your body, it seemed, set alight at once. But when he reached the throbbing nub at the apex of your sex, there was suddenly ten times the bliss you’d felt before and your body jolted upward as your scream pierced the room.

‘Ah, it seems it’s not so hard to find after all,’ he said casually, ‘I summised that most men were simply to lazy to bother with this little trick, and perhaps I was onto something. But look at you darling, how you tremble for me while I massage your pretty, soaked flower. What man wouldn’t want to witness their love so utterly wanton for their touch? To feel her blatant arousal at his very fingertips?’

Your mind had turned all but blank, the sensations shooting through your body overwhelming you as his fingers danced with perfect pressure against your clitoris.

‘Sh-Sherlock- I- oh!’

‘I know, darling, I know, you need to come for me, don’t you?’

Swiftly, he pressed his thumb to your clit and slipped a finger easily back inside, fucking you harder and faster than before, watching with delight as you unravelled beneath him.

As the lewd slapping of his fingers fucking into your sopping sex filled the room he, quite pragmatically albeit with a much darker voice than that which he uses during his usual experiments, talked you through your release.

‘This pleasure will soon overwhelm you, culminating in your orgasm. If all goes to plan, your quim will rapidly clench around my finger and there’ll be something like sparks at your clitoris, then you’ll feel a few moments of indescribable ecstasy...’

Your own fingers snapped around his wrist, feeling his steady yet vigorous movements, and you wondered how on earth anything could feel better than this, right now.

And then it hit.

‘Ah, yes, there it is. That’s it! Yes, come for me! Come for me!’

His name did indeed tear from your parted lips, shaky and breathy and desperate, and then his fingers began to slow, easing you down from your high until he gently withdrew them.

Your eyes closed as you relaxed back against the pillows, your legs shaking. You heard a humming sound that pulled you back to the present, though, and glanced across at your husband to see him gleefully sucking your slick from his fingers.

‘It is frankly a disservice to the entire human race to consider that act depraved. Mmh. And you taste like the sweetest nectar, darling... tell me, did it feel good?’

You nodded, biting your lips together.

‘There’s no shame in it, my love. Especially if it feels good.’

‘It felt exquisite,’ you breathed, punctuated with a blissful sigh, and Sherlock smiled broadly. A rare sight. ‘But what about you?’

‘I do not wish to rush you. I will be truthful, however — after watching that beautiful display, my root is as solid as a rock. Whilst I've no intention of pressuring you, I will not turn you down if you’re sure you feel sufficiently ready for me.’

‘I… I think I do,’ you whispered, and you loosened your grip from the layers of your skirt to rest a hand delicately on the broad expanse of his chest.

He gasped at the simple affection, and the reaction caused your lower lips, still throbbing with the after effects of your climax, to quiver.

‘May I?’ you asked carefully, and he nodded. Your hand trailed down gradually, until it reached his lower stomach.

Sherlock’s breath quickened, and you pushed lower still, cupping his erection.

‘Ah- ohhh-’

His eyebrows raised and his eyes fell closed as you stroked his length softly and slowly, but before you could find a proper rhythm, he quickly snapped his hips away, grabbing your hand firmly in his as he leant in to kiss you with fierce passion.

As he pulled away from your lips, he muttered, ‘I hoped to inject you with my seed, but I fear that if you continue touching me for a moment longer, the only thing filled with it will be my undergarments.’

‘Then please, Sherlock, take me-’

And take you, he did. Within a second you were pushed onto your back, and he was settling between your legs, hurriedly unfastening his trousers to release his steadily leaking arousal.

As he carefully pushed himself into you, your warmth enveloping his length, an expression of sheer bliss relaxed his handsome features.

‘Am I too big, darling?’ he panted. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘No- please, don’t stop, Sherlock, I want to be filled with your cock- filled to the brim with your blow-’

He smirked at your words. You mustn't be quite so innocent if you were using words like that.

Sherlock began to steadily roll his hips. Your core burned with an unusual pain, a pain that made you crave more.

His forehead pressed to yours, your hot breath mingling with his each time he thrust gently into you and let out a sweet little whimper.

‘I told you I’d- fantasised about- pleasuring you- ha- ahhh- I can’t deny- I’ve thought of many acts, some of which you might consider- mmh- indecent- but each flood of bliss I give to you is- ha- simply the perfect result of an experiment I’ve been dying to carry out since I met you, and- ohhh-’

His voice was so breathy and shaky now, you knew that he wouldn’t last much longer, but you wanted to give him a taste of how he’d made you feel. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your heels into his back, pulling him closer and signalling for him to go harder.

‘Do you- ohh- do you w-want my children, darling? Do you want me to- ah!- unleash my potent seed within these t-tender walls and- give you a child?’

‘I want nothing less,’ you breathed, thrilled at his words, and at that he snapped his hips unrelentingly, snaking a hand between your writhing bodies to massage your sensitive clit once again, and Sherlock relished in the moan his touch elicited.

‘Clever little- ohh- trick, isn’t it?’ he just about managed, and less than a second later, came with force inside you.

Your walls tightened, contracting around his thick cock to milk him of every last drop, your tightening walls taking him to a plane of existence he’d never before explored.

This orgasm felt different for you, you noted, and if either of you had been coherent enough to discuss the matter you were sure he would ask you to write it down and keep a record detailing those differences.

Nevertheless, your second peak was just as strong, and you fell weak once again as Sherlock’s seed dribbled onto your thighs and he rolled off you, panting.

‘Darling- that was- oh, it was-’ he muttered, half delirious. ‘You feel- good god, you feel-’

‘I came again,’ you admitted, proud this time, knowing it would please him.

‘I know. I felt it,’ he smirked, and then, almost as if he read your mind, ‘did it feel different?’

‘Yes,’ you chuckled.

‘Oh how wonderful! I should write a monograph on the matter. Only for your eyes of course — although it could benefit at least half of the population if there were more literature on women’s pleasure.’

‘So, a filthy love letter just for me, with a touch of the scientific?’

‘You understand me so well,’ he cooed, stroking your cheek. ‘This is precisely why I adore you.’ And suddenly, there was a sparkle in his eyes that you’d seen when he reached a breakthrough. ‘Tell me, have you ever heard of cunnilingus?’

You shook your head. ‘Not… really. I may have gleaned a… basic understanding-’

‘It’s precisely the act I mentioned may be considered indecent, but I would very much like the opportunity to try it with you.’

‘Tell me about it?’ you breathed excitedly.

‘Perhaps it would be easier to show you. Do you trust me?’

‘Yes. Do it,’ you said eagerly, hungry for as much as he was willing to give you.

‘Consider this another experiment… if you dislike it, you must tell me and I shall end it, however my understanding is that if it works, you will not be entirely in your right mind so we must set a code in place.’

‘How about a word that we don’t associate with sexual activities?’ you suggested.

‘Precisely. “Mycroft” it is.’

You burst into a simultaneous fit of laughter, until he silenced you with another, fervent kiss.

‘You might need to loosen your corset for this one. Providing three orgasms in restrictive clothing is no way to treat one’s wife. And what if there are four, or five? I would never forgive myself.’

Taking his advice, you began to strip, soon revealing your breasts to him.

‘Oh, darling, what a perfect start...’ He wrapped his lips around a nipple and sucked lightly, his fingers toying with the other. He was pleased to feel you squirm beneath him and jolts of pleasure shot from your chest to your core and back again.

‘Oh- I never knew they could- mmh- feel like that…’ you groaned, but once again he left you cold to move onto something new, shimmying lower to settle his face at the apex of your thighs.

His tongue lashed warm and wet against your sex, circling your nub, exploring your folds and lapping at your entrance to collect your combined juices.

The way you shuddered had him fighting off a second erection. Not now — he needed to concentrate, and was hoping that with this new method he could give you multiple orgasms in one sitting. His own pleasure could wait.

He hummed into your quim as though he were enjoying a long awaited meal, and you quickly fell apart once again as his hums of delight vibrated through your core.

‘Sherlock,’ you whined, ‘Oh, Sherlock…’

‘One more?’ Came his muffled response, his deep growl reverberating through your weakened body. It didn’t take long for another peak to take over, your mind completely clouded in a haze of overstimulation.

‘I think it’s time for a break now, my love,’ he muttered softly, coming up to hold you, his pretty lips coated in your juices. ‘I rather think that this has been an experiment I would take pleasure in repeating regularly, if you’ll allow me.’

‘I’d be delighted,’ you sighed dreamily, already feeling the pull of sleep.

‘I will also mention that, as soon as you’re comfortable enough, I would rather like to experiment with my own orgasms. See how they feel inside your hand… or your mouth…’

‘Yes, yes I would… I would like…’

‘Shh… for now, it’s time to sleep. Rest, my darling wife you’ve done so well for me.’

You nodded, and that was the last you remembered of the evening.

A thin blade of warm sunlight woke you in the morning. You found yourself comfortably wrapped inside his shirt. He’d cleaned you up after you drifted off to sleep, and you rose feeling refreshed and relaxed.

Creaking open the bedroom door, you heard his handsome voice floating through. He had a client, and when you peeked through the gap you could see that your husband looked impeccably well put together. Unlike you; if anyone saw you like this… you dreaded to think. You smiled to yourself, though, wondering what his stoic looking client would think if he knew what Sherlock had spent all night doing before meeting with him. You bet Sherlock could teach him a thing or two.

You could only hope this case would be too boring for him so he would return to your bed, for you entirely planned to take Sherlock into your mouth the moment you were able. To taste him. To give him as many releases as he had given you. To see him entirely, blissfully weakened by pleasure…

[i-have-a-wonky-eye-too]

A Sherlock Holmes story... Y/n Y/l/n unintentionally proves to the great Detective that soul mates are real.

A Chance Encounter... Part 1

You hummed a happy little melody to yourself as you breathed in the intoxicating scent of your recently purchased flowers. Flowers always made you smile, so this morning you decided you would treat yourself. You were so busy thinking of the perfect place to put the flowers, that you didn't hear the commotion coming up behind you as you began to cross the road.

"STOP!"

A startled scream left you as a man grabbed you from behind and dragged you backwards, tossing you into the middle of the road like you were a sack of rubbish before darting off in the opposite direction.

Eventhough the market street was busy, no one offered to help you up. Typical London, you thought as you sat in the mud. Everyone far too busy to be polite... except for one.

"Miss?" You raised your head and looked up into a pair piercing blue eyes. For a moment you were stund into silence as you stared at the man crouched before you. His unruly curls falling forwards as he stared back at you. He hesitated for a moment before carefully brushing some of your own hair backwards from your face. "Are you harmed?" He asked, his tone filled with concern and his brow furrowed, giving your face a once over. "I must apologise, this was entirely my fault."

"I-" You looked down at where your hands still rested on the ground and nodded. "I'm... Bleeding." You whispered, raising your grazed palms that were covered in mud and gravel.

The man looked down at your hands and let out a frustrated sigh, "Oh dear, I truly am sorry for causing you pain... For, bruising such a... Beautiful flower." He offered you a soft, yet shy smile as he brushed a splattering of mud from your cheek.

You lowered your face to hide your blush. "It's quite alright. You weren't the oaf that did this." You scrunched your face up in annoyance.

The man chuckled softly, certain you were the cutest little thing he'd ever seen. "No, but I was chasing the oaf." He smiled warmly as he held his hands out to you. "Detective Sherlock Holmes." Of course, you thought as you took his hands and allowed him to help you up.

"Y/n Y/l/n." You smiled. You looked down at the state of your clothing and the mess your flowers had made. "Oh heavens, my father will have a heart attack wondering what happened... And what a mess." You pouted.

Sherlock waved his hand, "Food for the horse." He reasured you. "And, allow me to patch you up before escorting you home. Perhaps I can put your father at ease if I explain what unfortunately happened to you because of my doing."

You smiled, "That's awfully kind, Detective but I'm sure you're far too busy for that." You whispered.

Sherlock shook his head. "Never too busy to help a beautiful flower," He smiled at you. "And this was my fault..." He held his arm out to you. "My home isn't too far. I have the necessary supplies there to fix you up, I assure you."

You considered his words for moment, looking down at your grazed hands before nodding. "Thank you, Detective." You smiled politely at him and slipped your arm through his. "Would it be awfully rude of me to ask, what was your reason for chasing that man in the first place?" You asked him.

Sherlock hummed, "Not at all. I do owe you an explanation as to why you were caught up in the whole ordeal..." He stopped a passing carriage and opened the door for you. He helped you inside before joining you and closing the door after him.

------------------------------------------------------------

After a short carriage ride and an awkward walk past Sherlock's landlady (whom wasn't best pleased with him), you entered Sherlock's extremely hectic flat, a small smile curling at your lips as he guided you over to the chaise lounge. He took your coat and told you to make yourself comfortable as he gathered the necessary items to clean your grazed palms.

You could hear Sherlock at the other end of thr flat, clanging around and muttering to himself making you smile. You took the opportunity to take in Sherlock's home. To say he was well put together in his appearance, his home wasn't the same, but you guess with a mind as busy as his, he didn't have time to keep things in order.

You looked down at the papers that sat on top of the table close to where you sat, spotting something interesting. You stood up and walked over, picking up what was a police report for a recent murder down by the dock. Your father had mentioned the murder to you a few days ago. You also picked up a picture of a young man, he couldn't have been any older than twenty or so.

"That young man is the reason for your grazed palms." Sherlock said over your shoulder startling you. A smile curled at his lips, "My apologies."

You shook your head, "No, it's quite alright," You took a deep breath and let out a small giggle. "I was the one being nosy."

Sherlock hummed, "I don't call it being, nosy." He grabbed the chair that sat beside his desk and placed it in front of the chaise lounge as you took a seat.

"What do you call it?" You asked looking up at him.

"Human nature." He sat down. "It's in our nature to know things. You saw something interesting and you wanted to know more. It's only natural."

You nodded, "I guess you're right." You looked over to the table as Sherlock began to clean your wounds, letting out a slight hiss as it stung. "So, the boy you were chasing, he has something to do with the dock murder?" You asked.

Sherlock hummed. "He was friends with the victim. Worked along side him too. Thick as thieves, according to their boss."

Your brow stayed furrowed as you watched Sherlock work. "I see... Is he your suspect?"

"Not sure," He murmured. "Although his lack of cooperation, does make him look some what guilty."

"Perhaps... But what if the reason wasn't guilt but fear instead?" You asked looking up at him. "What if, he feared for his own life? And been seen talking to you, would look bad for him."

Sherlock opened his mouth but nothing came out as he pondered what you had said. "Perhaps." He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But I still need answers, Miss Y/l/n."

"How will you get them?"

Sherlock sat back in his chair and exhaled a long breath through his nose. "My next step would be to visit the young man's home. Hopefully I can catch him their and ask my questions."

You hummed, "Don't you think he'll be expecting you to show up there?"

Sherlock hummed. "The thought had crossed my mind."

"If I were him, I'd avoid going home as long as I could." You said as you watched him clean your left palm.

Sherlock chuckled. "He'll have to return at some point."

"True... But, I think he's more likely to hide out somewhere you wouldn't think of going." You said ad a matter if fact.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow at you, "And where do you think this place would be, Miss Y/l/n?" He asked with a hint of amusement.

You began grinning at him. "Well, he's a young man... And a dock worker, which means he's most likely down at 'The Anker and Rope', a public house close to the dock, one the dock workers prefer... Plus, there's a brothel not far from there... I'd say that's probably a good place to look too." You smiled at him.

Sherlock's mouth fell open as he stared at you. "How do you know that, Miss Y/l/n?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, hm, well..." You quickly lowered your head as you began to blush with embarrassment. You gave him a small nervous smile. "You could say, being the daughter of a Brewery owner, I've learnt one or two things." You blushed even more as Sherlock chuckled. You dipped your head feeling ridiculous, why you thought you'd be helpful was silly.

Sherlock watched you for a moment in silence. He spotted your flushed cheeks and lack of eye contact. He might not be very good at identifying the difference between a woman being friendly and one being flirty, but he knew when a woman was embarrassed, he witnessed Enola being it a few times.

"I must thank you, Miss Y/l/n." Sherlock gave you a reassuring smile.

Your brow furrowed, "For what?" You asked in confusion.

"For your useful information." Sherlock paused, "I have a feeling it's going to prove quite useful to me."

Your brow furrowed, "Don't be ridiculous, Detective. Nothing I said is going to be of any use to you."

"On the contrary, Miss Y/l/n. I feel I may solve the case a lot sooner with your help."

Very unladylike, you scoffed abd rolled your eyes. "You believe what you will, I know I've been nothing but a nuisance to you."

Sherlock frowned. He didn't like the way you were dismissing yourself. It wasn't often Sherlock got to bounce ideas of someone else and hearing what you has to say was proving useful already to him. "Miss Y/l/n, I believe you are being too harsh on yourself. It was my fault you were dragged into this and the information you have unintentionally provided me will be useful." He began smiling to himself. "I'm so confident that it will be, I'm willing to place a wager." The corner of his mouth curled up slightly as you narrowed your gaze at him.

"A wager?" You asked with a raised eyebrow. He had you.

Sherlock hummed as he sat back in his chair. "Intrested?"

You chew the inside if your lip as you thought about his offer. Your mother would be scolding you for even considering it, whereas your father would be patting you on the back proudly as he gave you pointers on how to win. "Very well..." You smiled at him and moved forwards. "What's your wager, Detective?"

Sherlock's smile widened. He sat up and leaned closer to you as he rested his right elbow on his knee. His eyes flicked down to your lips momentarily as you stared up at him, your eyes wide and bright with excitement. "If the information you have given does turn out to be anything but useful like you believe it to be, then I will purchase a bunch of flowers for every day it takes me to solve the case."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, "Detective, that could become quite costly for you." You teased making him chuckle.

"I'm prepared to pay whatever it costs." He smirked as he winked at you making you blush.

"And... hmm, if you're right?" You asked.

"You say yes." His smile softened as he took your left hand in his.

Your eyes widened, "Detective, what are you saying?"

Sherlock began grinning, "You'll have to wait until I've solved the case, my dear." He winked again before standing. "We best be returning you to your father, Miss Y/l/n."

[espinosaurusrexex]

Writing Bingo Masterlist

for my 1k follower celebration

! BINGO: this challenge is complete !

The Bingo Challenge is officially finished! Thank you all for participating. Here you can find all the requested fics in order:

secret relationship (Bucky)

period cramps (Steve)

presumed dead (Bucky) part two (protective)

one saves the other (Bucky)

cheesy pick-up line (College!Henry!Sherlock)

convincing to adopt animal (Steve)

secret admirer (College!Steve)

“Who did this to you?” (College!Roommate!Bucky - enemies to lovers)

touch starved (Ari)

tending to wounds after a fight (Bucky)

protective (Bucky) part one (presumed dead)

verbal fight (Bucky)

mind reader (Bucky x Enhanced!Reader)

miscommunication (Bucky x Enhanced!Reader)

[saraakpotter]

Water break!

summery: when Mary's water broke, she has to call someone, and that someone is y\n but, what if things go wrong? genre: fluff, comedy warnings: spoilers from Sherlock season 3 episode 3, pregnancy, giving birth, tell me if i missed anything :)

y\n, walked around the room and told the facts about the murderer. she was pretty sure that the victims brother had killed him.

"it's pretty obvious actually" she said walking back and forth "it is the phone, it's always the phone. i mean if he called his girlfriend with his phone then he should have it now right?"

"well he may have lost it" the victims mother said sobbing

"that may be the most stupid thing i have ever heard. if he got a new phone and If he has no history of losing mobile phones then why should he now?"

"it could have been a coincidence, things like this happen" the mother said and y\n rose an eyebrow.

"plus there are blood stains but no body, yet the victims clothes and bag has been at the same place he was last seen. everything except his phone" y\n said ignoring the woman

"what are you saying Ms. y\l\n?" the victims father asked putting a hand on his wife s shoulder

"i am saying that the murderer is..." but her words were interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing.

she ignored it and continued: ".....i was saying, the person who murdered your son is....."

she was interrupted by he phone ringing once again.

"i swear if this is from Scotland Yard...." she murmured to herself and then looked at her phone. it was Mary.

y\n sighed, glanced at the family.

"i am sorry, i will be here in a minuet" she said and then walked out of the room.

"y\n!" Mary said as soon as she picked up the phone

"Mary, i am sorry but i am in the middle of an important case can i call you ba...." she said but Mary cut her of.

"mywaterbrokei'mgoingtogivebirth"

"i am sorry, what?"

Mary took a deep breath.

"my water broke! i am going to give birth and neither Sherlock nor John are answering!"

"WHAT!?" y\n said and then suddenly burst out laughing.

"y\n!"

"i am sorry, nervous laugh. i will come to you" y\n said sighing

"thank you" Mary breathed out "wait.....come here now! i am not going to wait for you to finish your case...OW"

"but..." y\n tried

"NOW!"

"fine, i'm coming" and with that she ended the call.

10 minuets later:

y\n arrived at 221b Backer street.

"Mary?" she shouted her name

"y\n! i'm here, oh my god!" she said trying to keep calm

"okay, we are going to get you to the hospital, just....try to keep calm"

"i can't!"

"try!" y\n said while helping her walk down the stairs which was getting pretty hard with all the movement.

"y\n! do something!" Mary said

"i am sorry i haven't helped a woman give birth before! i am a detective not a doctor!" she says obviously nervous

when they came down the last stair the door of the flat opened and Fortunately John and Sherlock walked in.

"Mary!" John exclaimed "i saw your text i am so sorry" he walked to her and helped her walk to the car."

"oh, fuck i can't!" Mary said trying to breath

"you can just, wait for some minuets and we will get you to the hospital" John said getting in the car and starting it.

when he heard her gasping for breath he said: "help her!"

"okay, breath. it is fine" Sherlock tried not too willingly

"stop the car!" she said trying to breath

"sweetheart we are near the hos..." John said

"no! stop the......car"

and john parked somewhere near the street.

"great my wife is going to give birth in the middle of the road!" John said

"how, exactly is she going to do that?" Sherlock said calmly and then John looked at y\n innocently.

"don't look at me like that. i have already clarified, i am a detective, not a midwife" y\n said annoyed

"yes, but since you are the only woman here you don't have a choice" Sherlock said with a smirk

"wha...he is the doctor" y\n said pointing at John

"please" John said and y\n sighed.

"fine"

some minuets later:

y\n, John and Sherlock are at the hospital while Mary and the new baby Rosie are getting checked up.

"so, how did delivering a baby felt?" Sherlock teased

"shut up" she said and Sherlock smirked

[hitomisuzuya]

it’s always nerd scara x reader, what about nerd reader who scara thinks is inexperienced, but they give him a real good time🫣

scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. blowjob. riding. virgin! reader.

anything for you, my dear❤️ scara is about to get real humbled. i am blowing you kisses with this once i post it. mwah!

the blush on your cheeks couldn't have been darker seeing the way scaramouche was looking at you. it was predatory, a wolf staring down the prey he is finally going to get to devour. his smirk as he spoke very obviously showed the dark excitement. "i'll bet you are a virgin," his mouth watered seeing the way you looked away shyly.

"what does that have to do with anything?" you posed the question to him to cover up how flustered you really are. naturally, more words came out. "and anyways, is virginity really a concept? it's the first time someone has sex with someone, right?"

despite the aching in his cock, scaramouche was curious to see where this went. "brilliant deduction, sherlock. go on," he crossed his arms.

you continued once he raised an eyebrow. "so say you have sex with someone for the first time, and then you go have sex with someone else for the first time? does that make you a virgin again?"

look at you, turning such a concept on its head and sideways. he swore he felt his cock get harder. it didn't make any sense to him, but he logically hadn't thought of it that way before.

cute, foolish blustering.

he was going to fucking ruin you.

"it's all about sensation. anyone who even reads about sex or even..even watch it," he almost snorted at how twice as shy you sounded, hardly being able to say porn. "i'll prove it," even as you said it, holding your head a little high, he could tell you were second guessing yourself.

you'd had to speak fast, before he could cut in a biting comment that would make you lose brittle confidence. but, you fiercely knew you had to stand your ground.

especially with scara.

scaramouche certainly didn't expect to be in the position he was in now. he wanted to see you beg and crumble apart, beg for him to take care of you because you didn't know what you were doing. shatter in your desperation to have his cock impaling you.

the shoe had never been on the other foot so much in his life.

his electric eyes are a little wide with shock as he looked down at you on your knees, looking impossibly cute with your tongue licking slow lines up and down his cock.

he hissed through his teeth as you prodded your tongue in his slit, circling his cockhead before sucking until drool rolled down his cock. he squirmed as you lowered your mouth on his cock, slowly flattening your tongue as his it pulsed against it.

you were taking the concept of sensation and smashing it with a well thrown rock.

his legs shook, his hand folding a handful of your hair into his hand. his eyes nearly rolled back in his head, his hips jerking up to push his cock deeper into your mouth. you were sucking and grinding your mouth on his cock in a way that made him see stars.

you wrapped your hand around his cock, pumping it on what wasn't in your mouth. through watery eyes, scaramouche could tell you were fighting the urge to look away shyly. but never once did your pretty eyes stray from him.

they were trained on his every twitch, and reaction as moans started to bubble in his throat. you had a point to prove. experience sometimes meant jack shit.

you muffled a moan on his cock as his hand tightened in your hair. he held your mouth down on his cock, pushing into your throat. your pliable throat felt divine convulsing around his cock as you gagged.

he couldn't even jump on the fact you seemed to enjoy being handled roughly, latching onto it and devouring you with the fact. your mouth just felt too fucking good. "f-fuck, i think i am cumming," he groaned, his thighs quaking as you recovered your breathing and started sucking again.

you made it this far, surprising yourself in the process. you felt his fingers loosen on your hair after a few moments of bobbing your mouth on his cock, thrusting somewhat carelessly. the glare he shot you as you suddenly took your mouth off his cock sent a shiver up your spine.

"w-what do you think you are doing, slut?" scaramouche growled as you got to your feet and wiped your mouth.

"proving it to you," you quickly said, putting your hands on his shoulders. you knew if you even showed a moment of weakness, scaramouche would grab it by the throat and squeeze, and all your plans would go up in smoke.

you shook a little bit as you straddled his lap. sucking him off for the first time left your pussy dripping and almost embarrassingly wet. the throbbing in your clit spurred you on as you settled his cock between your folds.

you sighed shakily as you glided your pussy on his hard cock. groaning, his hand went to your hip, the other grasping his cock and positioning it at your entrance. "bounce like your life depends on it, slut," he moaned, lowering you down onto his cock a little more carelessly than he meant to.

he needed to feel your pussy stretching around his cock, the ache from the not getting to cum sent him reeling. he shivered as your fingernails dug into his shoulders, your walls fluttering to clench around his cock hearing his degradation.

he would've degraded you more, but your cunt felt too tight and warm for him to find words. your back arched, your body tensing in pain the sudden from quick intrusion of his cock. sighing shakily, his fingers found your clit.

a moan tore from your throat, your clit pulsing under the pads of his fingers. jolts of pleasure ebbed the pain away so fast it left you dizzy. he bottomed out as you rolled your hips down. "it's all..about.. sensation, remember?" he moaned encouragingly to soothe you.

don't think for one second that just because you are literally fucking humbling him, that he wasn't going take care of you. (real man behavior in only the best of ways, in your opinion.)

his thumbs grazed over your hips as you started bouncing. he rocked his hips up to nudge his cock into your sweet spot, letting you set your own pace. his body was turning to jelly fast, your walls squeezing his cock so tight that he thought he was going to cum right then.

he may have been falling apart, but you were falling apart faster. your head spin as tightness coiled in your core. the lewd sounds of his cock squelching and out of your pussy, your thighs smacking against his as you fucked yourself down onto his cock mingled with his husky moans.

"fuck..good girl.. fucking hell keep going," scaramouche hissed, guiding your pace on his cock. you gasped in pleasure, your whole body shaking as his cockhead assaulted your sweet spot. the sensation bubbled over any other pain, swallowing you as you chased your high.

he laughed shakily hearing how shameless your moans sound. "i was right to want to keep you," he moaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his cock pulsed strong between your walls, "a perfect, fuckable pet," he was babbling now, lost in the sensation of your cunt swallowing his cock.

you tightened your thigh muscles for extra friction as you bounced. you couldn't barely think, but you were proving your point. his cheeks were flushed, whimpers bubbling in his throat as one arm snaked up to the small of your back.

he hastily buried his face in your neck to muffle his moans tinged with soft whimpers. the knot of your orgasm broke apart, overwhelmed by the pleasure of hearing him refer to you as his pet. "scaramouche!" you cried out, barely able to hold yourself up as you creamed hard on his cock.

he lifted his head from your neck, scooping one of your nipples into his mouth to suck on, nursing you through your orgasm. there was still more than enough for him to break apart your innocence like he fantasized about.

but for now, he was going to enjoy cumming inside of your pretty cunt.

an innocent nerd like you is always breakable.

[marysdonuts]

Tom and Jerry

school clown!Hoshi x top student!reader

Synopsis: After transferring schools the attention seeker Soonyoung keeps getting on your nerves. Fortunately it is way too easy to make fun of his somewhat lacking intellect. One day you take your snarky comments too far and Hoshi is all fun and games, until he wasn't

Warnings: smut, enemies to lovers, high IQ (f.) x low IQ (m.), slight angst, school setting, classmates, public sex, revenge sex, dirty talk, crack, spanking, fingering, penetration, inferiority complex, questionable fashion choices

WC: 1.4K

Status: part 1 (ongoing), part 2

a/n: join my taglist to get notified about new chapters

Changing schools was easier than you thought it would be. You were halfway through your senior year of high school at the crisp age of 17. The family had to move to different city for work. Making new friends was effortless - you were intelligent, good looking and fun to be around. Of course, big part of your popularity was thanks to the charm of the next new thing which always attracted many admirers. You were getting straight A's, enjoyed busy social life, everything seemed perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

If it wasn't for Hoshi Kwon. The school's appointed clown, now pushing 19 years old, he failed his senior year twice. Pathetic, how could somebody be so stupid? You hated him the moment he showed up on the first day of school - in purple suit, tiger print on the collar with matching hat. Cane in hand. Kicking the door open while singing Sherlock from Shinee he danced can-can. His legs flying up to the rhythm of - I'm so curious yeah! Everybody loved the performance. Everybody except you. The fuck? Where did he even get that ugly ass outfit and apparently his real name was not Hoshi but Soonyoung. Who the hell calls themselves Hoshi? Does he think he is a celebrity? Stupid ass name.

After the teacher assigned him as your desk-mate he made it his mission to annoy you. Teacher's reasoning being - he might calm down sitting next to the top student. Such a nonsense. Isn't it their job to know how to control the kids? You weren't getting paid enough for this. In fact, weren't getting paid at all!!

//

On Friday he arrived to class more excited than usual.

"Look at my fit!" kicking his foot proudly on the wooden desk in front of you. Before you had time to push him off he continued

"Do you like my new shoes?" expecting compliments

"I haven't seen uglier shoes in my entire life." you responded with no emotions what so ever

"What do you mean ugly" his already small eyes squinting into straight lines, eyebrows frowning comically

You couldn't help but laugh. He looked like cartoon character

"Now you laughing at me too?!" Stomping the foot that was still resting on your desk " They are Balenciaga!" still stomping

"They look like boats," lazily resting your chin on the top of you hand "if refugees used these," pointing at the monstrosity "instead of those tiny motor boats, their survival rate would be 100%"

You could hear an audible *gasp* leaving his mouth and muffled laughs from the classmates sitting behind you.

"You are the worst!" he cried out "Do you even know how expensive they were.." tear forming at the corner of his cartoony eyes

"Probably as expensive as the donations your parents must be sending to the school each year to keep you studying here" your voice full of disdain

"wow a kick under the belt now, huh?" you could see the wheels in his little hamster brain spinning at full speed

"You will regret this" was all he could come up with in the moment

"I don't think so" smirk on your face beamed with satisfaction but the sudden dark shadow crossing Soonyoung's usually friendly face put a knot in your stomach

//

Much later that day, after your extra-curricular classes finished, you are standing in the dimly lit locker room reorganising the mess compiled after busy week. School was already empty and you loved the silence. The long halls full of lockers did look a bit spooky now but it wasn't your first time being there alone.

Squeeky steps approaching from behind you. Sounded like one of those Crocs.

"Anybody there?" you were sure it was just your imagination, simply asking the ghosts a rhetorical question

"What if there is.." vibrations of low growl echoed thru your ear sending shivers down the spine

"The hell..?" catching a glimpse of Hoshi in your peripheral vision. Why is he here this late? You knew damn well he ain't taking any extra classes.

"I was waiting for you..." his voice even closer now, hot breath touching the exposed skin of your neck. He was so close to you. You could hear his heart beating. Du dum. Du dum. Du dum. Stable. Confident. In control. Yours on the other hand reaching high frequency of dudududududum.

"What do you think you are doing, Kwon?" forced annoyance in your tone trying to mask something that was hiding a bit deeper. Panic perhaps?

"You tell me," he laughed but it sounded more like a threat "aren't you the one who knows it all?" Pressing the weight of his athletic body on yours, something hard forcing itself against your bottom made you gasp

"h-hey what's your problem.." you tried to sound intimidating, voice betraying you suddenly, only producing shattered whine

"You" not waisting one more second Soonyoung licked the curve of your neck completely sandwiching you between his throbbing heat and your cold locker. Kissing your sensitive skin as if he was waiting for it for so long. Wet kisses quickly becoming possessive bites leaving marks as his signature.

"oh fu-" was all that managed to escape your quivering lips as his hand spanked your ass with such force, it took your breathe away. You didn't want to admit it, but this situation? It was making you so incredibly wet.

Yes, you did hate him. Yes, he was annoying and loud. Always wanting to be the centre of attention. Apart from that you couldn't deny how good looking he actually was. Only person in school who could pull off blond hair and those horrendous outfits.Oh and how the lean muscles played on his body during P.E. class..? Except for his personality, he was 10/10

"You don't have any smart comeback now, do you?" Slapping you once more. Making you loose your breath - again.

"You look much nicer like this" the hand on your bottom started to move lower. Pushing your legs apart with his knee, making a way for his long fingers. Lightly tracing the center of your soaked panties

"stupid uniform-" you cursed. Why the hell did boys wear trousers but they made girls wear skirts? The last line of defence has been crossed.

"Oh?" rubbing the wet fabric "you are dripping all over your pretty panties" the strokes becoming spirals, combining your folds and the textile into unified mess

"I-I'm not..!" knees weakening into his skilful movements

"Mmm, I thought top students are not allowed to lie" forcing two fingers inside of you without warning. Deliciously thrusting into your pool of need.

"shut up-" already moaning. What the fuck am I doing? Now pushing your ass to meet his motion.

"If you are going to fuck me, at least do it right" another push against him "or are you too stupid even for that?" you mocked him, taking at least a bit of your power back

All you could hear was Hoshi's sinful laugh and clinking of metal as his jeans came undone collapsing on the tiled floor. His throbbing member now on your clit soaking in the wetness you produced. Gliding teasingly over it

"What if I don't want to?" rubbing in painfully slow rhythm, making you see stars

Hoshi was very much enjoying this moment. Moment of having upper hand on somebody he couldn't challenge intellectually, on somebody who always knew what to say, somebody who was making him feel and look small. Crushing his ego on everyday basis. Fortunately you were just his type.

"P-please..?" heard yourself saying. Almost as surprised as he was. But fuck it, his dick felt so good on you pussy and it was long time since you had any intimacy. It made you uncharacteristically needy. What's wrong with little steamy sex in the locker room? Nothing. Yeah.

"Please Soonyoung, I want to feel you inside of me. I can't take it anymore. You win."

Grin from ear to ear Hoshi finally entered you with such an enthusiasm like a kid getting the toy he really wanted.

Holding you by the wrists you were hanging off in empty air. Slapping the balls against your needy pussy he was pounding you mercilessly. Waves of pleasure running thru every inch of your body. You didn't notice it before but now you could feel it clearly. His dick had a curve to it and it felt fucking good. On every thrust the tip hitting you exactly where you wanted. You were full of him.

Why is it always these good for nothing guys who fuck the best? Or maybe you were just too harsh on him? You pondered as the following thrust almost took you over the edge, making your head fall forward.

And down there between your trembling legs pair of hideous Balenciaga sneakers

[whorekneecentral]

Snow Storm

Pato O'Ward x Fem!Reader

Warnings: pato doesn't listen, snow storms, getting stranded, car troubles, reader's mad at him and will lowkey let him freeze, teasing, it's giving dom!pato for like 0.2 seconds, oral (f!receiving), lowkey blackmail, penetrative sex (P in V), creampie.

Word Count: 1,729

Author's Note: this is for the six pato fans out there, I hope y'all like this one :)

merry smutmas series

--

Your boyfriend insists the roads are fine to drive despite the massive incoming snow storm; as someone who grew up in cold weather, you knew better. yet, there you were stuck on the side of the road with him in the snow. 

"Do you seriously have to go right now?" You asked him, leaning over from your spot on the bed.

Your boyfriend nods, "yes, because if I leave it back - I won't finish wrapping it. Plus, it's a week before Christmas, the wrapping paper might be sold out."

Rolling your eyes, you sit up properly. "Pato, don't be ridiculous. They're not gonna run out of wrapping paper."

"You never know!" He huffed, arms flung in the air like a child.

You and Pato had returned to your home town to spend Christmas with your family before heading up to Mexico to join his family for New Year. It had been snowing on and off since you got home a few days ago but it really came down last night. Most of the roads were a disaster but Pato was insistent on getting this stupid wrapping paper.

"The roads are going to be a mess, babe. Can we not just go tomorrow?" You asked him but the man was already getting up, grabbing his hoodie off the end of your bed.

"Please," he shrugs you off, "I drive race cars, a little snow ain't nothing to a driver like me."

You can't help but laugh at his dramatics; you grew up in the snow, you know how brutal it can be to get stuck out there and yet, you stupidly follow him down the staircase and to the car.

Pato takes the side street the two of you had taken many times before. See, you lived in a small town in the middle of basically nowhere. When it snowed, people tended to stay indoors but they did plow the roads, but only the main ones took priority. This meant that the road you were on was one of the last to be plowed yesterday and had yet to be plowed today.

With the snow coming down on top of what had already fallen that morning, the mountain of snow piled up along the sides of the road. Pato's focused on the road but as he turns to go over the hill before getting into town, the wheel stops moving. He can hear the grinding, the wheels spinning but it's stuck in something.

You look over at the man, "are you kidding me right now?"

"Wha-" he sighs, "I'll go check." He tells you, pulling the hood over his head as he steps out of the car.

When he opens the door, you shiver. You had not only followed him out of the house but you were wearing sweats and a hoodie, that was nowhere close to enough to keep you warm.

"So," he says as he gets back into the car, looking over at you with a tight lipped smile. "We're stuck."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Okay, so I can push the car out-" he says but you stop him, waving him off. "There's no point, you won't make it over the hill and there's too much snow to make it back to the house right now."

His brows furrow, looking over at you. "So what? We're just stuck here?"

"Yeah, for now at least." You pick up your phone and text your sister, letting her know you two are stuck and if she could please call the roadside assistance. Pato sat quietly, not wanting to annoy you further; after all, you did suggest to wait until tomorrow.

"We're here for at least another 3 hours," you tell him, "she says they're gonna clear the roads and then come this way."

The man nods, staring out the window as you unbuckled, shifting in your seat to climb into the back. He looks at you, confused and you pat the spot next to you. "If we're gonna be stuck for 3 hours, we can at least be warm. Come cuddle."

He climbs over the seat, clinging to you the moment he gets into the backseat. While you were cold, you were used to this weather so it wasn't so bad but for Pato, it was as if you had shipped him off to Antarctica. He's shivering, trying to get as close to you as possible; he wonders if you'd let him get into your sweater with you.

You can't help but laugh at the sight of your boyfriend. He huffs, looking up at you. "What?"

"I told you not to come out today." You laughed and he rolled his eyes. "How rude? Don't roll your eyes at me."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll move and let you freeze to death." You tell him and Pato smiles, sitting up a bit. "You won't."

It's your turn to roll your eyes now, moving away from your boyfriend towards the door. Pato ignores your theatrics and moves closer to you again, cuddling into your side. You don't move nor do you react, you simply ignore the man.

Pato holds back the urge to roll his eyes, his lips pressed to your jaw and moves down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind. "C'mon mi amor, I'm sorry."

You ignore the man, not answering him. You'd move away again but if you move another further, you'd end up outside of the car.

He huffs, "fine, if you won't help me warm up, I'll warm myself up." His hand moves from your thigh to the hem of your sweats, shoving his hand down the front.

"Pato!" You laughed, grabbing his wrist. He smiles, "oh so that got your attention?"

"You mean you shoving your freezing hand down my pants? Yeah," you laughed but the man doesn't move his hand- at least not in the way you meant. His fingers rubbed over your panties, he can feel how warm you are, how wet you were.

"Something's got you worked up?" He asks and you ignore him question, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you try not to moan.

Pato's fingers worked slowly, pulling your panties to the side to rub on your clit and you let out a little whimper - by accident of course.

He figured there had to be a fast way to get you to forgive him. He moves his hand away and you give him a look, one he knows too well - why'd you do that. "I know," he tells you, "I'm sorry babe, one second." He pulls you by your hips to lay on the bed seat, your Uggs on the floor as he reaches for your sweats, pulling them off.

"How is this gonna make me warm?" You grumbled, an arm over your face.

"Shut up, will you?" He glances up to you, repositioning himself between your legs.

His hands rub over your thighs and despite his hands being freezing, it felt like every nerve in your body was on fire. Eventually, his hand ends up right where it previously was - exactly where you wanted it.

You let out a breath when you feel his lips on your thigh, soft kisses being peppered across the surface of your inner thigh. Your head falls back against the seat when you feel his tongue on you, he’s yet to move your panties and you're already a mess.

He finally does, smiling to himself “Fuck-” you breathe, fingers tangled in his hair.

Pato glances up at you, his nose brushes against your clit and he doesn't miss the sound coming out of your mouth or the way your hips jut towards him.

"Pato," you whined, pulling on his hair when he stopped for a moment. He chuckles, "do you forgive me?" He asked, a hand running up the side of your thigh.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the man. "What?"

"Say you forgive me and I'll give you whatever you want, corazón."

"Fine," you huffed, "I forgive you." You tell him quickly, pulling him back to you. Pato laughs, his face buried between your legs once again.

Your thighs squeeze around his face; he'd die a happy man right there.

You can't wait any longer, you need him in every sense of the word. Pulling your boyfriend up, he kisses you when he meets your face and you can taste yourself on him, the two of you shuffling around a bit. Pato's sitting now, his own pants pulled down half over his thighs and you're on top of him, straddling him.

He lets you sink down onto his cock. Both of you letting out a satisfied sigh, your hands gripping on his shoulders as you set the pace.

He lets out a groan when you clench around him, his hands squeezing your bare thighs, red finger prints on your skin. Pato's face buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand tangles in his hair, pulling his head back so you can kiss him. You kiss all over his face, Pato cheeks red from the blush forming on his cheeks.

He loves when you love on him like that.  

“You’re so good for me,” you mumble against his cheek, rocking your hips back and forth. “Mmm there,” you breathe, chest pressed to his. His lips find the base of your neck, he bites down softly before kissing up to your jaw.

Pato's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you bounced on his lap. The two of you are tangled together, not sure where one of you ends and the other starts. The windows are steamy, you're no longer freezing but instead, you were sweating.

"C'mon, just like that pretty girl," he edges you on, lifting his hips to meet you halfway.

“My pretty girl, so good for me.” He whispers into the silence.

You pull him down onto you, his chest pressed to yours and your hand rests on his cheek. Your boyfriend kissing you and with a few sloppy thrusts, you feel yourself being pushed over the edge.

He groans, feeling you clench around him and he follows behind you, now coming down from his own high.

The two of you clinging onto each other, his hands slip under the back of your sweater and you giggle, bucking forward on his lap which makes him groan.

"Don't do that," he tells you and you roll your eyes, "then don't tickle me!"

Pato laughs, pulling you in for a kiss. "Warm now?"

"Sweating," you huffed, smiling against his lips.

--

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[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Fifteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

The amount of mental gymnastics I did trying to figure out where hands and legs went while trying to write this...

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Fifteen - Heaven's Worst Kept Secret

Content Warning: MINORS DNI!!!!! Mentions of abuse, Smut, Bondage, Obsession, (let me know if I missed any!)

“Fuck!” Velvette landed face-first on the floor, Vox next to her. 

The media demon was silent as he picked himself up, his body bruised and broken. He limped over to the couch, his head hanging low as he leaned against the back of it for support. 

Velvette went straight for Vox’s new desk and began furiously typing as the computers reloaded. You had triggered a system reset when you sent Vox’s mind buffering, but the Vees had a failsafe set in place after the last time Alastor cut the wires. With cracked fingernails, she pulled up footage of the fight on the numerous monitors Vox had stitched together into one giant screen. 

“She used me,” Vox mumbled to himself in disbelief. 

Velvette didn’t even dignify his groveling with a response. The brat demon continued to swipe through the footage, desperately searching for a particular frame. 

“She used me for him?” Vox was still trying to put the pieces together as if his brain itself was also reloading.

“Oh, shut it!” Velvette snapped. Her nose continued to drip down her face, leaving red dots scattered across the keyboard. 

There! Velvette froze the two frames she was looking for and blew them up on the computer. The brat stomped over to Vox, grabbed him by an antennae, and dragged him to the screen.   

“Look at this and tell me what you see,” she demanded. 

Vox shook his head. “Wait.” He jumped back from her grip, wincing when he stepped on his bad ankle. “Are you making another plan? We lost, Velvette! We fucking lost!” 

“No shit, Sherlock, but if you…”

“No ‘but’s, Velv! It’s over! Don’t you get that!?” 

Velvette choked, tears in her eyes, “Vox-!” 

Vox cupped her face rather harshly, forcing her to look and understand the words that escaped his speakers, “He’s dead. Val is dead and isn’t coming back.” 

She shook him off. “And you’re just gonna let him die, are you? Let it all be for fuckin’ nothing!?” Velvette shoved him. Vox fell into the back of the couch, wincing on his bad leg. 

“We lost, Velvette! There isn’t anything to do!” 

“You’re just saying that because your ex picked her over you. Well, newsflash, you bloody idiot, there’s a reason Alastor turned you down! Because you’re a fuckin’ pussy!” 

Vox gave up. The two of them have been fighting since Valentino’s death - Velvette in particular. She had done nothing but push him away, ordering him around as her master plan slowly fell into place. Vox had put up with it because it was rational, wasn’t it? No one processes grief the same, and everyone needs time to process. Vox had chosen to isolate himself, barely getting up off the couch, using Val’s old Fizz bots to bring him snacks and junk food, which he had gorged himself on for days. He spent days in the same suit until Velvette forced him to change by dumping a bucket of water on his head. 

Yeah, it wasn’t nice, but she still managed to get him up and moving, and for that, he was grateful. Until his patience ran out, and he found himself snapping back at her. Meeting her anger with his own growing irritation. It was only a matter of time before they were at each other’s throats. It's the reason they split up the party to take down the Radio Demon and the Shadow separately - it was not a strategy at first. The rest of the plan was built from there. 

That is probably why they lost. The Vees were always stronger together, but they weren’t “The Vees” anymore. They hadn’t been since you murdered Valentino. Velvette liked to claim that she was the backbone of their trio, but when it came down to it, she wasn’t. 

 “Fine.” Vox spat, but his words lacked anger. “You want to go after Alastor and that damn Angel, be my guest, but I’m done.” 

“Pussy!” She screamed after him as he disappeared behind the door. 

Velvette turned back to the screen. Damn, Angel… 

The demon tutted, an idea forming in her brain. “I wonder if Heaven knows it’s missing an Angel?” She clacked her broken nails against the screen, a wicked smile forming on her face. She had pulled up a still image of you and a separate one of Lucifer. While you and Vox had your pissing contest regarding your lack of relationship, Velvette was focusing on other matters. Most notably, trying to figure out why Hell’s King was beneath your robe and not you. He hadn’t been seen around Hell since Lilith left him. So why show up now?  

Velvette spun as she laughed, “Especially one who looks so much like a Morningstar...”  

Oh, but how to tell Heaven?

An idea sprang forth, a memory of an ad she had seen hundreds of times while flipping through her phone. Velvette pulled out her phone and dialed. 

There was a musical jingle before someone answered: “Hello, thank you for calling, C.H.E.R.U.B., how may we bless you today?”

____________________________________________

You woke to sunlight beaming through the curtains and soft jazz playing through Alastor’s radio. It was early - morning - you had slept through the late afternoon into the next day. The world smelled of rain as you turned over in Alastor’s silk sheets. They were cool to the touch, which would be nice if you were someone who ran hot - like Alastor - but you were forever cursed to be cold. Instinctively, you reached out, searching for that well of warmth, and jumped when your hand came into contact with nothing but fur. 

Alastor lay next to you, his arms folded beneath a pillow, his face propped up next to yours. The demon’s red irises sparkled in the morning light, his gaze wholly fixated on your sleeping form. He lay shirtless on his belly, the red sheets hooked around his waist. His hair was a tangled mess atop his head - a serious case of bedhead that made you smile. 

Alastor beamed when he finally realized you were awake. His tail beneath the sheets wagged, tossing the blankets aside to reveal the red and black tuft at the crest of his hips. It was adorable, and it only made you grin wider when you realized Alastor was completely naked in bed with you. 

Your gaze drifted across his broad shoulders and down his back to his slim waist. Who knew a back could be sculpted? Who knew men even had hard ridges that moved with their very breath? So many Angels you’ve trained who grew muscles on top of muscles until they were disgustingly large, but not Alastor. He was slim but carried with him a defined tone as if chiseled by Heaven itself - an image worthy of the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling.   

God, if only the sheets would fall a little lower. 

“Bonjour, mon cœur. Comment as-tu dormi? Good morning, my heart. How did you sleep?” Alastor ran a hand down the side of your cheek, his fingers playing with your wild hair. 

Normally, you hated mornings - you were a total grump before that first cup of coffee. Had anyone tried to speak to you in French this early, you’d have turned over and groveled, but today you were beaming. All too eager to please the Overlord, all too excited to impress him with your French as well. 

“Commes le morts, Like the dead,” you giggled, hiding your face behind the sheets.   

Alastor’s eyes sparked. The demon snaked his arms under the sheets and yanked you by your waist beneath him. The sheets came with you, separating your skin from his - a God-forsaken barrier. His arms framed your face as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “Tu parles avec un accent du sud-ouest. You speak with a Southwestern accent.” 

“Oui,” you smiled, tilting your chin up. The wisp ends of the demon’s hair tickled your cheeks as you leaned in, but Alastor playfully pulled away, a claw pulling on your lower lip. 

“Et où as-tu appris ça? And where did you learn that?” The demon whispered, his eyes wholly on your lips. 

The Southwestern accent, associated with the city of Toulouse, is considered to be “sexy.” While some Parisians find it provincial, others think it exotic. That may or may not have been a contributing factor to why you chose that particular accent. As an Angel, you could switch languages at will, but switching accents… Well, now you were just showing off. 

“Je... Qu'est-ce que c'est? I… What is that?” Something behind Alastor’s head caught your attention. 

On the underbelly of the canopy was a large figure drawn in green. `

“That,” Alastor ran his lips along your cheek and across your jawline, not even bothering to look up, “is the reason why you didn’t burn down my apartment last night.” 

Your face heated. Last night… Last night, when you and Alastor… got into it, there was no fire, no static, no magic of any kind destroying the world around you. At the time, you knew it was because of Alastor, but you didn’t know exactly how he did it. 

“It’s a vèvè,” you sat up to get a better look, holding the satin sheets from slipping below your breasts. 

“Hmm,” Alastor sat behind you, his eyes on your hair as he answered, “Papa Loko’s vèvè.” 

“When…” You turn to find Alastor lying on his back, his chest and abs in full view. You’ve seen his muscles before, and although the sight of them still made heat pool in your belly, you were woefully caught off guard by the happy trail of red that started just below his belly button and disappeared beneath the sheets, most likely ending at the base of his -.

Oh, my God. You turned away, forcing your mind to focus on the symbol above.

You could hear Alastor audibly smirk. 

A vèvè is a kind of symbol, a cosmogram, a visual representation of the spirits and deities honored in Voodoo. In Haitian Voodoo, Papa Loko is known for his healing powers and association with the wind. His role is that of protector, and his vèvè depicts a snake coiled around a vertical axis. It was a symbol of protection, the source of magic that had allowed the two of you to indulge but not destroy.  

You breathed, your body tingling with anticipation, “When did you draw that up there?” 

The demon ran a hand through your hair, collecting the silver locks and brushing them over your opposite shoulder. The demon had an unobstructed view of your neck, of the bruises and little nicks in your skin, and, more importantly, of the bite mark. The bite mark Alastor left on your skin, claiming you, marking you as his. 

“Before or after the Vees fake kidnapped you?” You asked, trying your best to ignore his hands on you. 

Alastor wasn’t listening. His mind was on the teeth marks in your skin, trailing his claw amongst them, replaying each one in his memory. 

“Before or after Mardi Gras?” 

The demon didn’t answer, pulling away, he organized the pillows so he could rest comfortably against the headboard. 

Suddenly, the answer hit you. “Our meeting.”

You gasped when Alastor easily picked you up by your hips and seated you between his legs. The demon pulled you against him. Your back flushed with his chest. 

“You thought I was going to return and try to…”

Alastor pressed a kiss to your shoulder, a soft peck. Your mind went blank with the feel of his lips on your skin. 

“Yes, mon couer?” You could hear the sideways grin in his voice as his hands fell to your hips. They roamed the skin of your waist, the curve of your silhouette, relishing in the feel of you between his legs.

The way Alastor wiped your mind with just a touch… 

“You thought I was a threat,” your head lolled back, resting in the fluff of his chest. “I’m honored.” 

Alastor smiled as he kissed you again, slowly working his way to the crook of your neck… The demon smelled of rain, of musk, of vanilla. 

“Why am I just now noticing this?” You breathed, your heart rate spiking as Alastor ran his tongue over a particularly sore bruise. He was making it so hard to think. 

“Because I allow you,” Alastor’s voice was deep. His words filter across your senses with a smoky edge. The radio static fizzed out, leaving behind nothing but his own natural, raw vocals. 

Allow you? Oh… That’s why you couldn’t smell him… Well, not at first, but slowly, you’ve been able to pick up more and more. You wondered if he knows that you can feel his static before he enters a room, if he had conscious control over that? 

The demon pressed his lips to the mark at the crook of your neck, to the wound in the shape of his teeth, and licked. 

“Oh, Heaven,” you choked. 

Alastor’s hands ran up your sides to cup your breasts. You let the sheet fall then, the cold air leaving goosebumps across your skin. Your fingers went straight to his hair, to his ears. 

You tugged. 

Alastor’s hips bucked as he growled, his dick hardening against your backside perfectly in line with your ass. The demon squeezed your breasts, pinching your nipples between forefinger and thumb.

“Alastor,” you moaned his name, the heat pooling between your legs.

You whine when his hands leave your breasts, The demon bent his legs, his hooves flat on the bed. You gasped when he grabbed your knees and hooked them around his, opening your legs, and baring you to the world. 

Alastor nipped at your ear lobe, eliciting his favorite noise, the yelp between your teeth. 

Pressing his lips to your ear, he whispers, “Be a good girl and lift up.”

The demon slips his cock from beneath you, slick with precum. You can feel the heat of him between your legs as you settle back down, his shaft nuzzled against your center. Alastor gripped his shaft and slowly stroked. You watched, not only in awe - Jesus, that thing was inside of you !? - but because you wanted to learn. 

You’ve been in God’s realm for thousands of years and never had you touched a man. Eve bedded everything and everyone, but you didn’t stay and watch. She’d talk of her sexual conquests, but you never really listened, too busy trying to sort out why others were so interested in sex, let alone why they’d want to partake with a complete stranger. 

Here. Now. You wanted to learn because you wanted to make Alastor feel as good as he made you feel. You wanted to feel the demon squirm under your touch, to bring him the satisfaction of completion all on your own. 

Alastor released his hold, and his cock sprang back, smacking your clit and making you jump. 

The demon laughed as he trailed a line of searing kisses up your neck, his other hand tracing your silhouette. He paused at your breast to squeeze. You tried to rub your knees together, wishing for some sort of friction between your legs, but Alastor held your legs open firmly. You whined when his hand dropped lower, drawing little circles with his fingers across your skin. 

It didn’t feel possessive so much as it seemed like he was contemplating clever ways to torture you. He brought his mouth to your neck again and nipped. All the while, his hand drifted lower and lower, finding the inside of your thigh. You tried to scoot lower, to feel his shaft grind against your center, but Alastor’s hand on your thigh stopped you. 

“Alastor, this is torture,” you pouted, your hands going behind you to find his hair. You searched for his ears, hoping to find a way to force his hand, but the demon lifted his head back, leaving you just out of reach. 

“I made you a promise, mon couer, to spend hours drawing orgasm after orgasm until you beg me to stop, until you’re screaming my name in agony, until your dying for my cock.”

For the love of Christ, this man and his words!

“You want me to beg?” You whined, your fingers gripping his hair. 

The demon smiled. With his free hand, Alastor ran two fingers up his shaft, collecting a drop of cum on the pads of his fingers. “Oh, no, darling.” He rubbed the white fluid between his two fingers and thumb. “I want you screaming.”

And then plunged those two fingers inside of you. 

You gasped as he sank to the first knuckle, his thumb finding your clit. The demon stroked, his fingers wet with his cum as he circled your center. With each pump of his fingers, Alastor matched it by stroking his cock, chasing his own pleasure as you gasped atop of him. 

With the demon at your back, his fingers naturally curled upward, immediately hitting your g-spot with every pump of his hand. The feeling was already too much, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a pace you knew would leave you sore afterward. Alastor wanted you to cum, and he wanted it fast. Instinctively, your hips rolled, eliciting a growl from the demon. He thrusted hard, your breasts bouncing with every stroke of your core. 

Jesus Christ, he was finger fucking you with his cum. 

The demon dropped his dick, his hand coming to your breast and pinching your nipple - hard. A scream stopped in your throat as you arched off of him, your only leverage, the fingers you had wrapped in his hair. It wasn’t enough; with the force Alastor’s hand was fucking you with, he was going to knock you right off him. 

You dropped his locks, forgoing his hair for his antlers. The demon growled as you wrapped your hands around the base of his rack, the bone thicker, sprouting a few extra prongs than normal. Alastor’s strokes turned demanding as you writhed on top of him, your breath coming in shallow bursts, your pulse pounding through every glorious inch of your body. 

Fuck, you were close already, and you had just begun. 

And then Alastor adds a third finger, and not once but twice, and you’re over the edge, your body shaking as the orgasm rides through your body. His fingers continue to pump, riding you through your high until you slump back down into him. 

The demon doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. 

Alastor shadows you. Suddenly, you’re on your feet, your chest pressed into the mattress, you’re ass high in the air. The juices from your orgasm trickle down your inner thigh as he hooks an arm around your legs, squeezing them together to create the perfect amount of friction as he seats his cock between your legs. He pumps forward and backward a few times, his head hitting your overly sensitive clit. 

It’s too soon after your orgasm. Your body hasn’t had a chance to fully come back down yet. So every stroke of his cock against your center is sensory overload. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” Alastor moans. The demon presses down on the back of your neck, his fingers wrapped around your throat, forcing you into the mattress. 

“Yes,” you pant, squeezing your thighs harder, driving him against your clit. Jesus, you don’t know if you can do this. You’re nerves are on fire, it’s too much, too overwhelming.

“Cum on my cock,” he commands, his voice labored with his thrusts. You barely register the command, your mind going numb yet overloaded at the same time. 

The pressure builds, and your body tenses, but Alastor holds fast to you, keeping up the pace and rhythm. He grows harder by the second, and you can feel every ridge of him against your slickness. 

“Cum for me,” Alastor commands again. 

“I… I can’t,” you pant. 

Suddenly, Alastor wraps his arms under yours. With one hand, he palms your breast, and the other wraps around your throat. He pulls you up, flush against him, and squeezes hard, cutting off your air supply and surely bruising your nipple. 

And it's enough. You cry out, orgasming for the second time in a row, muscles and nerves blinking. Your knees buckle beneath you, but Alastor holds you up as wave after wave crashes through you, a guttural groan escaping your lips. 

The demon slows his strokes, his cock grinding between your legs with a slick wet sound. God, you had made a mess. 

“Good girl,” he kisses your throat before slowly allowing you to collapse onto the bed once more. 

You have but a moment to breathe before something slithers around your wrists. You jerk away to find one of Alastor’s tentacles knotting around itself. 

Fuck, this isn’t over. 

The black tendrils pull you back on your feet, your toes barely scraping the floor. You spin, coming face-to-face with Alastor. The demon has a fire in his eyes akin to that of the look he gets just before he murders someone. 

Holy shit, this seriously isn’t over. 

Alastor closes the distance between the two of you and presses a soft kiss to your lips. Sweat beads down your forehead and his as the demon strokes his cock, a dark, devious fire burning in his aura. “One more,” Alastor whispers against your mouth. 

You groan, but don’t deny him. 

Something soft slithers up your leg, you look down to see a tendril winding its way up your calf. You gasp when Alastor cups your chin and forces your gaze up again, forcing you to look into his eyes as the tendril makes its way up your thigh and between your legs. A sharp gasp escapes your throat when it finds your center and flicks your clit. 

Oh, God. 

“One more,” you moan, your eyelashes heavy, fluttering against your cheeks.

You can do this. One more. 

The demon smiles, kissing you softly. He hooks your legs over his elbows as another tendril snakes its way around your middle before slithering north, teasing your nipple, squeezing your breast. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan loudly as Alastor seats the head of his cock at your entrance. He pushes in but an inch and stops. 

You pout, ready to open your mouth in protest, but find Alastor’s eyes gleaming. His smile goes sideways, as it normally does when he’s up to something clever. 

He wants you to beg. 

“Please,” you moan, feeling your walls twitch around nothing, your body feeling empty, the memory of how much he filled you last night playing over and over again in your head. His tendrils continued to flick and pinch, building your need but not giving your body what it truly demanded. 

“Please, Alastor,” you begged. You, the almighty Archangel, were begging a Human Sinner to fuck you. 

“Please, what?” Alastor purred. The narcissist in him was eating this up, only heightening his sexual arousal. 

“Please, fuck me,” you twitch as the tendril flicks your clit. “I need you in me.” You were on the edge of pain with the caress of pleasure at this point. 

Alastor leans in close, his dick hard as stone but still barely inside of you, “As you command, mon couer.”  

And then he slams into you, his cock fully seated to the hilt, his head brushing the entrance to your cervix. Alastor fucks you so hard your teeth clack together, the squelching of your slickness with every thrust. If it weren’t for the tendrils, he would have launched you. 

The build of pleasure is slow this time, your nerves still trying to reload from the last round, but Alastor is relentless. He was going to forcibly pull this orgasm from you if it's the last thing he does. The demon’s claws dig into the fat of your hips, drawing little pebbles of golden liquid to the surface as he pulls you down into him with every thrust. 

It’s a mercy that Alastor doesn’t last long. He’s been edging even before you came the second time. He’s been holding himself back, forcing his own orgasm away until he was seated inside of you. 

“Oh, fuck,” Alastor chokes before he slams into you, unloading into you, filling you with cum. 

With a flick of Alastor’s tendril, the growing wetness between your legs, you fall over the edge with him. This orgasm is both pain and pleasure, the sense of free falling but also crash landing as Alastor continues to pump, your walls twitching around every hard ridge of him. 

You stay locked together for what feels like forever, sticky, sweaty, and spent. Alastor’s forehead finds yours as he slumps into you, his cock throbbing out the last of his pleasure. 

Jesus - fucking - Christ, he wasn’t kidding when he made those promises. 

With the help of his magic, Alastor lowers the both of you onto his bed. “Tu seras ma perte, mon couer, You will be my undoing, my heart,” the demon breathes into your hair as he cuddles up to your side. The two of you lay there and breathe, waiting for your minds to return your bodies. 

You get it now. All those nights Eve spent chasing sex, all those morning walks of shame, all those people sneaking out in the early hours of the day… If any of it them half as good as Alastor was, it would have been worth it. 

You laugh at the thought. 

“What is so funny?” Alastor breathes. 

“I finally understand the carnal appeal of sex,” you laugh, your body spent. “From a demon, no less…”

Alastor smirks, “You are in Hell, dear.” Sitting up, he quickly kisses your forehead before pushing off the bed and heading to the bathroom. “Not to change the subject, you might want to cover yourself.” The demon helps you into a plush bathroom robe. 

“What?” He’s moving too fast for your mind to register the situation. 

“Rolf made coffee, and he is all too eager to share it,” Alastor climbs into the bed next to you. “Immediately.”

Oh, Jesus. 

Your mind sobers fast as you pull the robe on and cinch it around your waist. You’re barely under the covers before Alastor’s shadow opens the door. With a tray in hand and a big goofy smile on his face, Rolf presents two cups of coffee before you. 

It takes you a moment to register that Rolf didn’t just make coffee; he created two concoctions: a jasmine latte and a black chai. 

You smile, pretending the room isn’t filled with the scent of sex. Could shadows smell? “You’ve been watching me?” 

Rolf smiles, nodding his head like a proud toddler running home from school with his first art project. 

Your chest warms, “Thank you.” You reach for the mug and - .

The jasmine latte is in Alastor’s “Oh Deer!” mug - his mug. No one touches Alastor’s mug. You hesitate, unsure of how to tackle this situation, but you don’t have to think long before the demon snatches the cup and thrusts it into your hands. 

“Thank you, Rolf. That will be all.” Alastor takes the other cup, bringing it into his lap as the shadow bows and leaves the room. 

Holy shit. You were holding Alastor’s cup. Nifty gave you an entire fucking lecture about not touching Alastor’s stuff. Fuck, you didn’t even touch it to move it around to reach other cups in the cabinet. And Alastor just gave it to you. 

“It’s going to taste terrible,” Alastor kisses your temple before setting his own on the bedside table. 

Wait. Your brain still wasn’t computing. Was he okay with sharing his things with you? This felt like a step, like a relationship step, and you were surprisingly taken off guard by it. Yet, it wasn’t a bad thing. It was a scary thing, sure, but you were excited about it. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face, the absolute beam of joy radiating off of you. 

You had earned more privileges with Alastor, something no one else was privy to. 

And then you took a sip. “Ugh!” You choked. 

The demon laughed, “I told you.” 

It tasted like a mouthful of powder, as if Rolf had poured the entire container of jasmine matcha into the cup, with barely any milk to dilute it. 

Alastor took the cup from your hand, placing it next to his, before kissing the top of your head. “Come, let us wash.” 

____________________________________________

You stood before the bathroom mirror wrapped in nothing but a towel. The glass had fogged over, but you ran a hand through it, revealing just enough to inspect the trail of bruises Alastor had left on your neck. God, and only the left side, too. 

Alastor had taken you to the shower this time, allowing you to do nothing but stand there as he washed you. There wasn’t anything sexual about it - thank the Lord. You didn’t have the strength to withstand another round with the demon. His sexual appetite was profound. Instead, he doted on you, scrubbing you with the soap that smelled of him, massaging your scalp, rubbing the knots from your lower tummy. 

After that session, you would be sore for days to come. The thought brought a smile to your face. 

Alastor wrapped you in a warm cotton towel as you exited. Wrapping another around his waist, he kissed your forehead and headed for the kitchen. The demon sent Rolf on an errand to secure you more clothes - a distraction so Alastor could prepare you a cup of real coffee. He knew you hated waking up without one. 

You promised to join him in a moment, but the sight in the mirror held you captive. The bruises… You felt your throat tighten, the anxiety bubbling in your core. Alastor had left bruises on your neck before, yes, but things were different now. These marks meant something different than the usual bruises ringing your neck - not from Alastor, but from Heaven. These… Well… These came from a place of… Well, affection. Not from a place of hate. 

You were used to covering up bruises of hate. 

Running a finger over your neck, you connected the spots as if they were dots, leading to the bite mark at the crook of your neck. You smiled, remembering how you had earned that one, hoping the mark would never fade. 

“Coffee is on the balcony,” Alastor appeared in the mirror, leaning against the doorframe. 

His wet hair stuck to his head which made him seem so much younger than he appeared. The demon was technically over a hundred years old but remained youthful-looking as a demon. Perhaps “younger” wasn’t the best adjective. “More innocent” was a better descriptor. 

Alastor frowned, sensing the worry building in your chest. God, he could read you like a book - connection or no connection. “What’s wrong?” 

You watched the muscles ripple in his abdomen as he stalked towards you, his hands cupping either side of your cheeks. At some point, he had thrown on a pair of lounge pants, a rich man’s sweatpants, that sat low enough on his hips for you to make out the “V” in his pelvis. Curse this man for always looking attractive no matter what he wore. Your mind flashed to Alastor in a nun’s outfit - yup, attractive in fucking EVERYTHING. 

Taking a deep breath, you let your anxiety melt away, feeling instantly more calm by his touch alone. 

“My neck,” you begin. “I have a history of… trying to hide my injuries. I…” Fuck, words weren’t coming to you. “I’m just not used to… this.” You motioned to your neck, resisting the urge to rub it. 

Alastor liked seeing your neck, liked reminiscing about each one. It was weird; it didn’t sit right. Your instincts were screaming at the sight of them.

Understanding clicked in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain, mon couer. Would you prefer if I did not…”

“No!” You interrupt him. “God, no.” You would never deny Alastor wringing an ounce of pleasure from your body. It would be torture for you both. “I just need some time to get used to it. You won’t be mad if I cover them, will you?” 

“Hmm,” Alastor collected your hair in his hands, throwing it over your left shoulder. “I never want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. That being said, I would like to reserve the right to admire your body…” His meets your gaze. “...with your permission, of course?” 

A smile tugged at your lips, “Of course.” 

Alastor led you to the balcony, seating you on the side you had always sat in - it was practically reserved for you at this point. Two cups of coffee sat on the table between you, but it was the newspaper your fingers went for first. 

“Shadow Unmasked!” The title read. The front page has a picture of you, standing on the roof of V Tower, moments before Velvette delivered a shock. You looked absolutely pissed. You read through the article as fast as you could, trying to garner how much Pentagram City had learned about your identity. 

They named you as Thestral

They identified you as an Angel

They called you Vox’s ex-girlfriend (Not his girlfriend!!!)

Alastor’s lover!?

You choked. “Is the piano player sleeping her way through Hell’s topmost Overlords to gain power?” You read. “Witnesses report Ms. Thestral, the piano player at Mimzy’s and Hell’s infamous masked Overlord, ran off with Alastor, the Radio Demon, moments after sharing a kiss on the battlefield. Has the infamous assassin traded in for a more powerful model? Will she sleep her way through the Overlords till she reaches Zestial himself?” You abruptly stood from your chair. “You have got to be kidding me!?” 

“Read who the editor is, mon couer.” 

“Velvette!” You crushed the newspaper between your fingers and set V Star News to ash with your flame. 

“She destroys by reputation,” Alastor once said to you. And he was right. 

You collapsed back into the seat, running your hands down your face. Great. Now all of Pentagram City thinks you’re a whore. Better they go after that than going after the whole Angel thing. 

Alastor pulled another newspaper from the Void, this one being 666 New’s very own. This title read, “Vees Humiliated in Overlord Fight!” Below that, there was a subtitle, “Shadow Identity Brought to Light.” Huh, that was actually kind of clever. You skimmed through the article, noting the same things V Star News had written but without all the biases. 

“Hours after the fight in the Entertainment District, the Radio Demon and the Shadow were spotted duking it out in the Magne District. Sources say they quickly disappeared mid-fight and haven’t been spotted since. Was it a quarrel over power or a fight between lovers? The result and reason for the battle is still unknown.” 

Great…

You flipped the page to find a special interview with Mimzy. Of course, they already found her, and of course, she had already offered an exclusive interview. News travels fast in Hell. 

Most of it was filled with lies, saying you were close, basically calling you an adopted daughter - absolutely not - her most prized possession. Okay, basically, she was kissing ass to the media to gain more foot traffic to her club. She even gives out the password to Bob’s Barber in the article! Ugh, whatever.

Wait, what does this mean for the Hotel? 

Oh God, hopefully, the gang isn’t being stalked by the media… 

There’s a smaller section on you in the Opinion column, the topic “Who is the Angel?” 

“Oh, my God.” You scoff. “There’s literally people making shit up! One of these guys is theorizing that I’m Lilith - which I look nothing like her - with a makeover. There’s another in here that says I’m actually a gender-swapped Lucifer.” 

Okay, that one you get. Some religious texts literally claim the two of you as twins - you did look a lot alike. 

“Another is saying I’m a bloodthirsty Exorcist Angel who snuck past Heaven’s gates so I could kill year-round. This one just says I’m actually Charlie, and the news media is just reporting it wrong. I mean, ugh!” 

Jesus, these people had some wild theories but now you had an entire City trying to figure out your identity. Fuck! 

Great, your to do list was getting longer and longer now. 

Find cloak

Apologize to Lulu 

Kill Crim

And now

4. Protect your identity

Shit.

You dropped the newspaper, your head in your hands. Getting Alastor back was worth everything you had to go through. So long as Heaven didn’t find out…

Alastor suddenly appeared before you, down on one knee. He collected your hands in his and kissed your palms, “Everything will work out, mon couer.”

Alastor didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by this news… Why was that?

Hesitantly, you ask. “What did you do?” 

The demon’s smile went cockeyed. God, you loved that smile. 

There was a mischievous gleam in his eye as he said, “Utilizing your army.”

You tried not to let the shock show. “How did you…?”

“The Vees have more enemies than allies at this point. Their bridges have been burned. They have no one to turn to. Their fate has been one of their own making, even before Valentino’s death. Which did not garner sympathy as they expected it to.”

“Rosie, Mimzy, and Carmella would back you no matter what, but you already know that. Zestial has already expressed interest in allying with you...”

“What!?” You gasped, but Alastor continued. 

“...although the man is more gossip than fighter nowadays. Then there is the Goetia, although it is unclear how many you have in your pocket, seeing as Stolas is considered the black sheep of his kind. I’m sure your influence has reached far beyond Wrath and Pride: Asmodeus, Leviathan, Belphegor, and perhaps even Satan himself? Allies, I can guarantee, will not change their mind regardless of your heritage. If anything, they’d be more inclined to ally with you. Well, save for Asmodeus, but he has far more concerning things on his plate at the moment, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

You blinked, trying to process the words coming out of his mouth. How the fuck did he know all this? Wait, how did he know they wouldn’t drop your alliance after this development? Not unless Alastor… Fuck did he meddle in your plans!?

“Your Heaven contacts surely won’t hear of this - especially considering, as far as Heaven is concerned, you disappeared around the same time God did. Rumor has it the two of you are on some sort of top-secret mission only known to the Seraphim and other higher authorities. Besides, Lilith is up there taking care of anything anyway.”  

“What…?”

“I haven’t even touched Charlie and the Hotel. Your influence over your niece and her gang of misfits is extraordinary. You made quite the impression, securing emotional ties via my rescue. I couldn’t have planned it better myself. To have little Ms. Morningstar in your back pocket, oh! How I envy you.” Alastor laughed, but it was Radio Demon's laugh that echoed through his radio. 

“I assure you, while the two of us were… preoccupied with other matters, your army had already been hard at work cleaning up the damage.”

You let all the information sink in, trying to process how Alastor could have possibly known you were raising an army. I mean, that was step two of your plan with Lilith, wasn’t it? While she played her part in Heaven, you were down here, garnering influence amongst the most powerful. 

“Darling, while you were busy running around town and playing house the past few weeks, I made some social calls.”

Alastor was checking up on you while Rolf stalked your every move…

“I know for a fact you didn’t only become Overlord to collect souls - after all, someone like you, with such a well of power in her back pocket, doesn’t require the measly drop of power with which a soul contributes.” Alastor laughed again, his tone turning more cynical. “No, you have all the power you need. You’re garnering souls to feed your army.” 

Fuck. 

Alastor’s green aura lowly emits from his form, his smile stitched over with green threading, his eyes flashing with black sclera. “The question now is, why does Heaven’s famous Golden Girl require an army?” 

You once said dealing with Alastor was like a dance - a dance you both pretended not to be leading but also refused to be the follower in. It was a game of power, you see. Yes, dancing had its steps and rules - a waltz is a waltz, after all - but the direction it was going, the added flare to the spins, the story the choreography told - that was where you battled. Thus, you needed to be a half-step ahead of Alastor at all times - without him knowing, of course - until either the dance ended or you found a way to end him. 

Little did you know, he has been hard at work behind the scenes attempting to unravel your little plan. Alastor was one step ahead of you in a way you didn’t see coming. 

And he was hitting awfully close to your ultimate endgame plan… 

But the fact that Alastor was asking rather than stating meant -.

“Lilith didn’t tell you everything, did she?”

Alastor’s eye twitches, his fingers around yours stiff and unmoving. His tail went ramrod straight, his radio screeching as if a record had been scratched. 

Note to self: Tread lightly when it comes to bringing up Lilith. 

The demon stood, pretending to wipe dirt off the knees of his pants. “Rolf is here with your clothes.”

Great… 

You had thought, after connecting Alastor and Lilith together, that he was her little backup plan in case things went south: a protector for her family. Regardless of the fact that, in your contract, you swore not to hurt them. After all, why return and run straight to the Hotel if not for Charlie’s sake? 

But maybe you were wrong…

You stood, cautiously approaching the demon who refused to make eye contact with you. God, you hated seeing him without his smile, hated when that spark fizzled out in his eyes. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your fingers play with the short scruff at the base of his head. Instantly, the stress melted from his shoulders. 

His gaze was still on the floor when you said, “And what if I’m perfectly fine in nothing but a bathrobe?” 

The demon smirked, his demeanor changing in an instant. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you flush against him. “And if I prefer you in nothing at all?” He whispered against your lips. 

“I’d say you’d have to earn it,” you stayed just out of reach of his kiss, teasing the demon in the same way he did you earlier.  

“And how exactly would I do that, mon couer?” 

You bit your lip, instantly catching Alastor’s eye. God, were you ready for the next round? You’ve barely had time to recover, your lower belly sore from Alastor’s… lack of gentleness… “Perhaps we should start with the smaller stuff before unraveling each other’s master plans?”   

Alastor pressed a kiss to your forehead before walking the two of you towards his chair. “Where would you like to start?” He brought you into his lap, seating you atop his thighs. You tried hard not to think about the thin layer of clothing separating your center from his cock - which you couldn’t feel at the moment. The demon seated you closer to his knees, most likely on purpose. 

“Well, for one, you used my card.” After finally taking out the three projectiles Crim had shot at you, you landed on the edge of Cannibal Town. While zapping Vox’s bracelet from your wrist, you felt a pull behind your navel - Alastor had used his blood on your obsidian calling card. 

Which meant Alastor had inadvertently entered himself into one of your infamous hidden contracts. 

The demon pulled the card from the Void, flashing the white lettering spelling out his real name. “You mean this one?” A drop of scarlet remained crusted at its center. 

“Don’t lose that; it comes with conditions,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and continuing to play with the scruff of his hair. “Those who lose my card forget their memories of me.” 

“Noted,” he smiled, slipping the card back into the Void and running his hands over your hips. You gasped when his claws scraped across the flesh of your waist. Alastor had dipped beneath the robe…

Goddamn, it was getting too hard to think. The demon gave a look that said he knew exactly what he was doing to you. 

“Next matter of business,” he continued. “Show me.”

You knew exactly what he was talking about. 

You hesitated, the bubbles of anxiety in your chest beginning to surface as you remembered last night. Was this smart to do? He was knocked out of the bloodthirsty trance once, would he be again? Would he even need to again?

Then a thought hit you, a lesson you learned in Louisiana: trust means everything to Alastor. So, did you trust him not to try and kill you again? If you didn’t show him, what would that say?

Dipping into that well of power, you broke the seal on the rune, allowing the Book of Knowledge to be unleashed. Alastor was completely captivated by the text flying across your skin, but he remained contained. No ounce of his demonic power slipped out. He remained calm, his irises solid round pupils. 

The demon grabbed your hand in his, tracing the words as they floated past. Your heart felt like it was going to thump right out of your chest as you waited for him to say something, anything. 

You concentrated the power into the palm of your hand that he held, the ink bleeding into your appendage until your entire arm was black. The liquid seemed to seep out of your skin, shielding your arm in a black tendril. The power flowed over your skin as if it were both solid and liquid, a Newtonian fluid that could cut bone. 

Something clicked within the demon’s aura, his awe abating as he closed your fist. You called the magic back into the rune, the aroma of roses dissipating as the Book of Knowledge was once again hidden from the world. 

Alastor pressed a kiss to your closed knuckles. “Hmm,” he hummed into your skin. 

“Are you okay?” You breathed, still waiting for a reply, something to tell you what he was thinking. 

He met your gaze, his eyes still round, irises rimmed in red. “I do not crave it the way I did yesterday. The thought of losing you, of losing my heart,” he cupped your cheek. “Is a greater pain than the allure of power could ever have over me.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch to deepen the feeling. And then suddenly, your own heart grew heavy, a truth you had always wanted to share but never had with another soul. Eve had simply inferred it, but you never really talked about it, never really addressed that aspect of trauma that had haunted your entire existence. 

Why you wanted this power in the first place. 

“Did your sleuthing uncover other things about Heaven’s Golden Girl?” You braced the subject, hoping Alastor understood the weight of the topic you were about to unleash upon him. 

But you could trust him, and he trusted you. Fuck, you had a fail-safe if anything ever went wrong - take your obsidian calling card away from him - but your chest twisted at the thought. You couldn’t help it. You were a General through and through, strategizing was instinct at this point. You never, ever wanted to have a Plan B when it came to Alastor. Which is why you decided to broach this topic with him. Something you’ve never truly spoken of with anyone else.

“Hmm,” he hummed, running his thumb across your cheek. “I know.”

He knows. Of course, he knows. It’s Heaven’s worst-kept secret: God was wildly abusive towards his “favorite” child.

“The day Eve tried to leave Eden, is a day I saw true fear on my father’s face. He smelled of orange and mint. It was… unsettling.” You cleared your throat. “I never really understood why until Eve was brought in and locked away. When she told him she merged herself with the Book - Father wasn’t mad. He was… afraid. He had us lock her up. Hidden away where no one would find her. Fuck, Heaven didn’t have cells. No one ever committed any crimes. If they were the type, they’d have been sent to Hell long before St. Paul let them through the Gates.”

You huffed, continuing, “For weeks after, Father shut himself in his office. He wouldn’t have Sera or me in. After a while things did go back to normal, but he was never the same. I mean, he was violent before, but after… There was this rage in his eyes when he’d…” Your voice breaks. “My father knew hunting down Eve a second time was going to take time, and he was not a patient man, but the longer I took, the worse it got. I’d go back for check-ins, and as one year became two, three, five, ten, fifty… He grew more and more desperate. His desperation manifested as violence, and he took it out on me.”

Alastor rubbed your arms in comfort.

“I didn’t get it until that day in Lilith’s office when I killed Eve and accepted the power for myself. The magic is the rawest form of dark magic I have ever seen - and I spent nearly a century with the Leviathans…”

He planted a kiss on your forehead, infusing you with the will to continue on.

“Father made me do terrible, terrible things: spread disease amongst the pharaohs, wipe out an entire planet of innocent, living beings in a flood, start wars resulting in the deaths of millions of innocent people across the Middle East… I was no Golden Girl. I was the harbinger of death, whether I liked it or not… Regardless of the evils he made me commit, it paled in comparison to the pure evil that is the Book of Knowledge.”

“It took me until the power was in my possession to figure it out. I know why he was so afraid of it. It’s the Yin to his Yang, the dark to his supposed light. The opposite, but equal in every possible way. A power that can kill a god.”

Alastor’s eyes snapped to yours, and instantly, he understood. “You’re raising an army to kill God.”

You smiled wildly, shaking your head. “Oh, no. I am raising an army to end everything, and then afterward, ~I~ will kill God.”

Alastor furrowed his brow. 

“You see, Eve merely wanted to taint my father’s creation. To punish him by ruining his greatest work, but she was thinking too small. I wanted more. I needed more. I didn’t just want to make Heaven’s head spin; I wanted to utterly destroy everything they had worked for." You leaned over him, your nose tickling his. "But - oh, no, I couldn’t simply burn Earth to the ground. Heaven would be upset, sure, but they’d get over it and just make another. No. I needed Heaven to destroy Earth with their own hand. They hate Hell. They hate it so much they’d go to war - if provoked - and when the dust settled, they’d have to face the consequences.” 

Father would be utterly destroyed. 

And then you’d burn him from the inside out. Fuck, even the thought of it had your blood singing.

“The End. Armageddon. The Apocalypse.” Your hands fisted in his hair. You could feel the demon growing hard beneath you, the excitement of chaos and destruction just as erotically intoxicating for him as it was for you. “Whatever you wish to call it. A war between Heaven and Hell, a war that would destroy Earth.”

“Oh, mon couer,” Alastor’s lips slowly twisted into a wicked grin. He looked at you with eyes screaming possession, screaming pride, screaming hunger. The demon cupped your face in his hands, utterly beaming at you, the highest form of praise he could offer. “You are absolutely beautiful.”

And then he kissed you. 

And in that kiss, you realized one terrifying truth. No matter what Hell was coming your way, it wouldn’t be the same without Alastor. You would choose power and chaos with Alastor over everything else because, with him, you didn’t need an army, you didn’t need the Book of Knowledge, you were already unstoppable. 

He is yours, and you are his. 

The demon quickly undoes the ties of your robe, exposing your bare breasts to the world. Your nipples instantly harden in the cool air. Alastor quickly pulls down his pants, a giant wet mark forming directly below where you sat. God, you were soaked already, high on the ecstasy of power flowing through your veins. 

You pray Papa Loko's vèvè had coverage this far away. You hadn't checked to see if you were sparking, but fuck it, you weren't stopping.

Alastor doesn’t even have to bother with foreplay. The two of you could scent each other's arousal, thick in the air. You were ready, and you wanted him - NOW. 

You gasp when Alastor shoves inside you, filling you up, his balls sitting snuggly against you. 

There was something so satisfying in sitting on Alastor’s cock in the shadow of V Tower. 

“Mine,” Alastor growled as he lifted your hips up and slammed into you. “You’re fucking mine.”

And he spends the rest of the day reminding you exactly why… 

The amount of smut I read trying to figure out how to write this...

-> Chapter Sixteen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages

[trinittyy]

fic recs

just a little assortment of my favorite works to keep track of them and also show love to the respective writers.

note - a majority, if not all, of the following works contain dark content that some could find triggering. tread carefully.

divider by @firefly-graphics

toxic affection - @love-toxin

warnings: harassment, bullying, some violence, forced relationship

pairing: yandere!bakugou x reader

literally unashamed to say that BNHA fanfiction is what brought me to Tumblr

but this was one of the first I found and it's epic

what's your escape - @gotnofucks

warnings: obsession, possessive behavior, non-con

pairing: dark!sherlock holmes x reader

the man is disastrously down bad for the poor reader

she was so witty and clever but in the end, he got what he wanted in the most satisfying way

infatuation - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor - masterlist

warnings: mentions of stalking, obsession, non-con

pairing: dark!clark kent x reader

poor girl didn't have a clue or a chance in the world to escape this man

sidenote: I can't add Roo to the recs without mentioning just how talented she is. She was the first proper introduction to dark fics in the Marvel fandom and I've been hooked ever since. The amount of detail and dedication that goes into her work is noticeable and she's a talent that deserves recognition. It's one thing to make me like a fic or two of my favorite Marvel men but another to have me thirst over shit I didn't think I'd like.

naughty ransom holiday tales - @jtargaryen18

warnings: kidnapping, non-con, dub-con

pairing: dark!ransom drysdale x reader

guilty pleasure series

hate to love ransom but I can't help it

what the king has - @sincerelythedarkside

warnings: dub-con, character death

pairing: soft!dark steve rogers x reader

royal au

love me a good jealous steve

plot twist shocked the shit outta me

smut was out of this fucking world

love bites - @cherienymphe - masterlist

warnings: character death, jealousy, non-con

pairing: dark!steve rogers x reader, peter parker x reader

modern vampire au (what's not to love there)

this actually made me cry like a bitch

ongoing series

sidenote: Seeing as Cherie will be on this list many times, I have to say it's difficult not to add every piece of work on this list because while some writers have a magnum opus, everything she writes is a work of art. Her range and the backstory she puts in her characters make each story feel like a movie I just can't get enough of. Will forever love her writing.

kryptonite - @cherienymphe

warnings: non-con, obsession

pairing: dark!bruce wayne x reader

the build-up and tension gave me actual chills

trailer park babydoll - @mypoisonedvine

warnings: dub-con, infidelity, age gap

pairing: wayne munson x reader

guilty pleasure fic

absolute filthy smut

wrath of the dragon - @straywords

warnings: non-con, chasing

pairing: dark!daemon targaryen x reader

yet another down bad man

overdue - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

warnings: creepy curtis, non-con, obsessive behavior

pairing: dark!curtis everett x reader

there's little to nothing i love more than a good ole broody man with attachment issues

anxious - @syntheticavenger

warnings: stalking, kidnapping

pairing: dark!peter parker x reader

tasm peter

cutest in a way lol little fic

the dream that got away - @dotieeee

there's not nearly enough dark fics ft my fave peter so I love this one

warnings: dub-con, non-con, manipulation, controlling behavior, obsession

pairing: dark!morpheus x oc!mera

probably the first dark fic about morpheus

each chapter was a masterpiece

and i still haven't seen the show lol

thanks for the invite - @syntheticavenger

warnings: non-con, bitchy friend behavior, implied drugging (i think), oral (f receiving), slight bondage

pairing: dark!lloyd hansen x reader

a funny little unhinged lloyd fic

rsvp - @syntheticavenger

warnings: dub-con, hide and seek, exasperated bodyguard, exhibitionism (a bit)

sequel to the fic listed above

lloyd is still unhinged and reader is still suffering

[j-eryewrites]

A Study in Pink (II)

Part Two of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker Street.

Previous | Next​

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Word Count: 5. k

Trigger Warning: Mention of Suicides, Gunshots, and Sherlock being Sherlock. 

Y/N finally has her first interaction with Sherlock!!

_______________________________________________________________

It’s an odd feeling to be woken up with a furry weapon of destruction lying on top of one’s face. However, Y/N was used to it. She was used to her tiny devil gently suffocating her as a memo to feed and worship him. By the time that appeared on her phone, it was clear to her that Bjørn had not adjusted to the new time zone–neither had she. The two of them rose very early in the morning when not a single soul was out. The sky was still dark with the remnants of the night as Y/N made her way to make herself a cup of coffee. She groaned realising it was still safely tucked away in the cardboard boxes she had shipped from home. This is my home now, Y/N corrected. 

She wrapped her shawl close to her body. She mentally scolded herself for not unpacking any kitchen gear. A decision which she is now paying the consequences for. She rummaged through the boxes looking for the familiar label of KITCHEN STUFF. Finally, she found it and tore open the top. By now Bjørn had begun to meow. 

“I know,” Y/N reassured. “Just give me a second Bjørn.”

The cat strolled up next to her, sitting down. His yellow eyes peered up at her through. They glowed underneath the dimly lit lights. His fluffy tail flopped around as he patiently waited for his food. After a few minutes, the familiar crack of the can’s seal was heard. Y/N dumped the canned cat food into Bjørn’s bowl. The cat’s ears perked up in interest. He headbutted her legs before jumping up on the counter to dig into his food. 

While Bjørn was occupied eating his breakfast, Y/N turned on her favourite tunes and began to unpack. The comforting voice of her favourite artist guided her hand as placed the dishes and kitchen tools into their new homes. Her tired mind turned into music, allowing her body to work away, unpacking and making her new flat a home. 

It was when she heard creaking from above that she snapped out of her daze. The sun was now above the horizon. Its warm rays lit up the streets as people went about their business. Her stomach grumbled; her kitchen was now unpacked. Finally, she could eat, except…She cracked open her fridge and pantry to find it completely empty. A groan escaped her mouth as she blamed all her problems on the jet lag. She turned away from the cold buzzing refrigerator to take in the view of her new flat. 

Y/N had rearranged the furniture as best she could without disturbing the others in their slumber. The apartment had never looked better and had never been more of a home. On the walls there hung precious memories: her family’s smiles, friends from college, and Bjørn as a kitten. Besides the pictures hung works of art that she had collected throughout the years. In the center of the living room sat a large velvet green couch. One of which Bjørn made himself comfortable, taking his second nap of the day. Beside the couch sat two chairs both made of dark wood cushioned with matching burnt pink pillows. On the mantle, she placed mementoes from her travels and small pictures filled with more memories.

She sighed and placed her hands on her hips. Slowly she made her way over to the curtains. She pulled them back to reveal a bright and bustling street. London was very much awake. Y/N decided to get a start on the day.

Her stomach practically yelled at her. She needed to eat soon. She quickly got changed for the day and offered Bjørn a quick and subtle pat on his furry head. 

“Alright Bjørn, I’m off. See you when I get home”. 

Then checking herself in the mirror to make sure she looked alright, she grabbed her coat and made her way out the door. 

As she closed her door, the sound of creaking followed by a thud could be heard. It was John. He wore a brown overcoat, and, in his hands, he held two paper bags. 

“Good morning!” Waved Y/N as she walked down the hall. 

“Morning, Y/N,” smiled John. “How was your first night in London?” He asked.

“Oh, it was alright. Bjørn loves it though,” she commented. John smiled at the mention of the cat. “Whatcha got there?” She pointed towards the bags in his hand. 

“Oh, just some breakfast from Speedy’s” he replied, lifting up the brown paper bags. 

“Speedy’s?” asked Y/N, her stomach grumbling again. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.  

“It’s a cafe just down the street,” John explained. 

“Really?” questioned Y/N and John nodded his head in confirmation. “I’ll have to check it out.” She quickly waved goodbye to John as she reached for the doorknob.  

John took that as his cue to leave. His steps climb up the stairs. “Later” He muttered, but Y/N had already stepped out onto the street. 

The morning chill hit her, and she shivered. Her head turned up and down the street looking for the cafe. Her eyes gave her no clues, so she did what all people do when they are in need of direction–pulled out her phone. Her shaking fingers typed in the name of the cafe, and she was immediately shown where it was located. 

The wonders of technology, she chuckled to herself.  

She walked in the direction of Speedy’s. Her hair picked up in the wind. The breeze carried the delicious smell of coffee and freshly baked goods to her nose. The sky was a faint shade of blue. Her eyes scanned the street as cabs and cars drove by. There were buses that stopped to pick up passengers and people who flashed by as they walked to work. 

Reaching the cafe was easier than Y/N expected. It wasn’t hard to miss the big red sign adorned with the words SPEEDY’S Sandwich Bar & Cafe. There was a bit of a line in the cafe, but Y/N didn’t mind. Right now her thoughts were being controlled by her stomach. As she waited in line, she noticed the three employees behind the counter. They seemed scrambled as they fulfilled their customer’s orders. 

Maybe they need an extra hand? Y/N pondered. After all, she did need a job to keep her life and Bjørn’s life afloat here in London. 

The line began to diminish, and she finally stepped up to the counter. Placing her order, she moved to the side to wait. A voice called out her name and Y/N retrieved her breakfast. She muttered a quick thanks and walked through the crowd to the door. 

This time the cool breeze was combatted by the warm coffee cup in her hand. Steam rose from the tiny hole in the lid as she strolled back to her flat. Occasionally took sips of her drink, but quickly pulled back when the hot drink scorched her lips. Coming to the ebony door labelled 221 B, Y/N grabbed the shiny new set of keys out from her pocket and put them in the keyhole. She turned the key and opened the door to the building. A few moments later doing the same for her flat. She entered her home and was immediately greeted by Bjørn. She greeted the cat and set down her breakfast on the counter. Bjørn eagerly jumped up on the counter and sniffed her bag. 

“Not for you,” Y/N chuckled as she snatched the bag away. She picked up Bjørn and placed him on the ground beside her. Afterwards, she opened the bag and began to dive into her breakfast. A moan escaped her mouth as the cheesy goodness of the breakfast sandwich entered her mouth. 

Soon after, she cleaned up breakfast. She grabbed her computer and hopped down on the couch. Bjørn climbed up and curled up in her lap as she cracked the computer open. Creating a new tab, she began to type in the search bar. With her free hand, she pets Bjørn. His sweet purr filled Y/N’s ears as she set off into the deep net in search of a job. 

Her bottom began to ache from sitting too long. She brought a hand to rub the itch from her eyes from staring at the screen too long. She closed the laptop and placed it to the side. The room was now dimly lit as the sun sank in the sky, starting to retire for the night.  A loud rumbling shook Bjørn awake. He jumped off her lap and meowed in protest. She really did need to eat, so it was decided. She would take a trip to the grocery store. 

________________________________________________________________

Y/N entered the grocery store and was disappointed. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she wasn’t expecting this. Growing up in the United States with humongous grocery stores that are filled to the brim with anything you could possibly need with prices that end with the glorious -.99. The grocery store in which she found herself was a mouse compared to the giant chain stores she was used to. She’d also never seen a grocery store this empty. She was quite sure as looked around the building, that she was one of three customers. The squeaky wheels of the cart groaned, screeched, and whistled in the most annoying manner possible. Y/N already felt herself going crazy. She had to get what she needed and get out of there fast. 

Her shoes clacked along the black and white checkered floor. Her feet stepped over the numerous muddy footprints that stained the floor. Y/N began to miss the music played in the grocery stores back home. The music that was two decades too old would faintly play from speakers around the building. Here, in London, Y/N was left alone to her thoughts and the squeaking of the cart’s wheels as she meandered around the store finding what she needed. 

To make matters worse, Y/N’s brain had taken the three-customer hypothesis to heart. She peered down at her list of groceries. Closely examining each material as her hand took a pencil to cross it off. She dragged her hand against the paper and suddenly her hand shot up, ruining her perfect straight line. The handle of her cart jutted into her stomach, and she yelped. She had knocked into something. Quickly, she began to apologize, whether it be to an inanimate object or not. A shadow of dread fell over her body, as a voice responded to her apology. 

The man she had hit, had rebounded from the impact of the cart and fell into the shelf beside him. A wave of tin cans fell to the floor like dominos. Their clanging echoing off of the floor grasped the attention of every soul in the grocery store. 

The man sheepishly waved at the employees and other customers whose stares bore into him. He reached down to pick up one of the cans that had fallen, placing it back on the shelf. 

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” apologized Y/N. She began helping the man place the cans back on the shelf. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m quite sturdy.” He replied. His voice sounded familiar in Y/N’s ears. She glanced up from the cans and looked at the man. He was crouched over, picking up can after can. She caught sight of his short blonde hair. The man sensed someone looking at him. He peered up from the cans and had to do a double take. 

“John?” and “Y/N?” the two of them said at the same time. If Y/N wasn’t embarrassed before, now she was completely mortified. Of all people to run into, it had to be John. 

The two of them sat frozen, crouched over the pile of silver cans. John’s ears burned red, and Y/N’s face was a deep scarlet. A cough sounded from above them and the two snapped their eyes up to look at one of the store’s employees. They couldn’t have been older than 16 and with their tired eyes, told John and Y/N that they had it taken care of. The two adults insisted that they help, but the employee was adamant. Y/N reluctantly turns back to her cart and with a creak pushes the cart along. Suddenly she was hit with a realization and turned back to the pile of cans covering the floor. The kid looked at her with a confused face and she awkwardly smiled back at him. 

With her hand, she snatched one of the cans off the floor and placed it into her cart muttering, “Need this.” 

Y/N looked down at her list and the words missing a line in the middle bulged out from the paper. Screw this, she thought. Y/N was done with all these embarrassing coincidences. She directed her cart toward the checkout lanes and began to check out. Barely a word was said to the employee as she paid for her groceries. Y/N knew she’d have to come back soon to get the rest of the things she needed, but after today’s occurrences, she knew she could show her face here for about a week or two. 

After paying for her things, Y/N grabbed her bags and excused herself from the store. After she emerged through the sliding doors, she saw John by the road. He had hailed a cab and was just about to sit down when he saw Y/N. He called out to her, and she approached him. 

“Would you like to split the cab?” He asked. 

The weight of her groceries was already weighing her down. She could already feel her forearms getting sore. “Yeah, I’d love to.” 

She opened the trunk of the cab and placed her groceries down. She closed the lid, sat down next to John in the back seat, and closed the door. John relayed their address to the cab driver, and they were off. 

The both of them were too embarrassed from the incident in the grocery store to say anything, that was until Y/N brought up Bjørn. John’s eyes immediately lightened up at the mention of Y/N’s cat. 

“How’s Bjørn?” He asked.

“Doing alright. He thinks he already owns all of 221B,” she chuckled. “Auntie M loves him. Spoils him rotten, I say.”

Another wave of silence fell over them. Y/N huffed as she considered whether or not to ask John about his flat mate, but it seemed as if he had read her mind. 

“Have you met Sherlock yet?” He asked. 

Y/N thought back to the conversation she overheard. “It’s not like he’s wanting to meet me. If I remember correctly, I’ll have moved out by the end of the week.” Her jaw clenched. If she knew anything by heart, it was that John was roommates with the most stuck-up man alive. 

John winced at her words. “You heard that…Y/N, I’m so sorry,” He tried to apologize.

“Of course, I heard it. He’s got a loud thunderous voice. I bet people a block away heard him,” she ranted. She crossed her arms and muttered, “He’s a dick.”

John nodded in agreement. “You wouldn’t necessarily be wrong there. However...” Y/N turned to glare at John. “Alright, Y/N hear me out. Sherlock’s a good person at heart.” 

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’ve heard how he’s treated my aunt. I can’t believe she’s let him live that long in 221B.” 

“Well, yeah, “said John. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up. “How’d you meet Bjørn?” He blurted. 

Y/N raised her brow. “I don’t see how this has anything to do with…”

“You’ll see later, just how’d you get Bjørn?” He reassured. 

Y/N thought back to how she had gotten Bjørn and began to relay the story to John. It had only been a few years prior when had come across Bjørn. On her days off of work, she would volunteer at the animal shelter near her home. One day, a cat was brought in off the street. He was labeled as feral and did not let anyone so much as look in his direction. The cat hadn’t been eating and was in serious need of a bath and medical care, but no one could get near him. The others at the animal shelter said he was a lost cause, but Y/N wouldn’t hear of it. She knew she had to try something; she couldn’t give up on the poor thing. At first, the cat had hissed at her and backed itself into a corner. Y/N sat down with a can of freshly opened food at her feet. She sat there for hours. The cat was unmoving, but no longer hissing at her. Slowly, the cat’s ears relaxed, and it’s tail lowered. After some time, the cat’s nose began to twitch as it had caught the scent of the food. The cat placed one foot forward. Each time its paw left the floor, it’d look up at Y/N. She was smiling and tried her best to not move at all for fear of startling the cat. Paw after paw, the cat had reached the can of food and began to eat. Y/N slowly began to whisper to the cat. “You’re a feisty one,” she said. “Almost like a bear.” She looked over the cat’s thin figure. Its fur was a beautiful shade of brown, something she had never seen on a cat before. Her hands ached to pet him but knew that she’d probably regress the cat back into the corner. After the cat had finished, he sat down and peered up at her. Y/N’s eyes widened at the action. She had thought he’d run back into the safety of the corner. What the cat did next shocked her to her core. The brown cat dropped its head down and began rubbing up against her. The faint sound of purring left the cat as he marked Y/N as his human. Hesitantly she reached a hand out, the cat looked at it with its golden eyes and began reaching for the hand. Y/N brought her hand down gently and began petting the cat. The minute her hand touched his rough, dirty fur, she knew that she had to take him home with her. After the shelter had given him treatment, washed and groomed him. Y/N immediately signed the papers of adoption and took Bjørn. Her little bear-Bjørn. 

As she finished her story, Y/N smiled. She loved that cat with all her heart. 

“Alright,” John said, bringing her out of the memory. “Think of Sherlock like Bjørn.” 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at John. 

“Sherlock is feisty and mean. He holds himself up in that corner, away from others. When anyone tries to approach, he hisses them away,” John explained. “Y/N, you’ve just got to give Sherlock time. He’ll warm up to you and eventually come out of that corner. Then you’ll know just how great he can be.” 

Y/N sighed. John was too good with his words. She reluctantly nodded her head. She’d be willing to give Sherlock a chance. She didn’t know when, but she knew she would. 

The cab came to a stop and the driver notified them that they had arrived. Y/N and John spilt the cab fee and got out. They opened the trunk, got out their groceries, and headed into 221B. John invited Y/N up later that evening if she wanted to come and say hi. She thought about John’s words in the car and nodded her head. John smiled and continued his way up the stairs and into his flat. Y/N turned towards her flat door and opened it up. Bjørn jumped down from his seat on the couch and began meowing at her. As if he was saying he missed her. She dropped the groceries on the floor and picked up Bjørn like a baby. She cradled him in her arms as she took a hand to pet his soft fur. He purred as Y/N continued to ponder over John’s words. He was right, if Y/N didn’t give Bjørn time, they would be here now. She figured she could offer Sherlock, whoever he was, the same thing–time. 

_____________________________________________________________

Y/N did not expect to be treading carefully up to John and Sherlock’s flat with a weapon in hand for the first time, but that was until she heard the sound of gunshots from ahead. Completely terrified she did what anyone would do: Try and call 911 but then realize she wasn’t in the U.S. and then proceeded to grab the nearest object, a broom, and carefully headed upstairs. Bjørn had growled at the noise, glaring upwards as she left the safety of her flat. 

Y/N’s eyes glanced down to her aunt’s door. It was closed. Either her aunt wasn’t home, or she didn’t care enough to come marching up the stairs in defense of her tenants. Y/N thought over the options and decided she wasn’t home. Y/N knew that Mrs. Hudson cared about John and Sherlock as if they were her own children. As Y/N stepped closer and closer to the entrance of John’s flat, the wooden floor from underneath her creaked. She winced and slowly began to continue. 

When she reached the top of the stairs, Y/N found the door to the apartment wide open.  Y/N squinted her eyes debating whether or not she should enter. 

“Come in” announced a baritone voice, one that belonged to definitely did not belong to John. 

Hesitantly she stepped inside the apartment holding the broom like a baseball bat. To say the least, the apartment was a bit eccentric. One wall had a black and white floral wallpaper, and another was a red and white diamond design. The other walls were a light shade of green. There were books, teacups, newspapers, and files scattered everywhere. Y/N was even sure she saw a mug filled with a bubbly liquid and what appeared to be human teeth. In the middle of the living room there stood two chairs. One was dusty red and quite worn around the edges. The other chair was a musky greenish brown that was held up by a metallic frame. In that very chair sat a man with curly black hair. He was sitting with a slouch, but it was clear that he was quite tall. His knees rose a bit higher than the cushion of the chair. Next Y/N noticed the man’s facial features. He had a strong bone structure, with his cheekbones being especially sharp. His eyes were a piercing blue. A shade you’d only find in a glacier from the icy north. When their eyes met, she gasped. The man before her bore a cool and calculated expression. His hand was rested under his chin. In his other hand, he held a gun.

The man took in a deep breath, sat up straighter, and brought his hands to rest in his lap. “Who are you? Why are you holding a broom like a lunatic?” He questioned. 

“Umm…” She looked him over again unsure of whether or not to tell this strange man. “You first. Who are you?”

“You’re in my flat. I will ask again, who are you.” He challenged. 

Y/N’s brain connected the dots. The man before her was Sherlock. John’s roommate. “Your neighbour, I just moved in…” alluded Y/N, hoping he would somehow recognize her.  Sherlock just cocked an eyebrow at her in intrigue. “I heard gunshots and got worried.”

A door creaked open, followed by light footsteps as John entered the room. Taking off his earphones he asked, “Y/N? What are you doing here?” 

“There were gunshots and I got scared,” She explained. The broom in her hand was now lowered down. 

“Sorry about that. Sherlock…,” condescended John.

Then Sherlock interrupted. “Don’t go worrying like we’re friends. You’ll be moving out by the end of the week anyway. Other tenants never stay long.”

“Sherlock!” reprimanded John. “Be nice.”

“I’m a high-functioning sociopath and have no use for being nice,” enunciated Sherlock. His voice rose slightly. 

A harsh breath escaped her mouth. She wasn’t about to lose her cool. She wasn’t going to let Sherlock get to her. She was going to stay whether he liked it or not. She began to imagine that Sherlock was Bjørn. She wouldn’t give up on Bjørn, so she’d wait for Sherlock. It was the least she could do for John. She took in a deep breath and replied; “No, it’s fine, John.” She looked down at her hand with the broom and swung it behind her back hiding it from view. “Let’s try again. I’m Y/N L/N your new neighbour. John invited me over to say hello and introduce myself to you.” She smiled at Sherlock. 

Sherlock turned his gaze away from Y/N and began glaring at John. It was as if John had offended Sherlock in the worst way possible. “You invited her over?” Sherlock grumbled. His words were slow and careful. 

John’s jaw clenched. “She’s Mrs. Hudson’s niece, Sherlock! At the very least say hi to her and yes, I invited her over. I quite like Y/N,” John told Sherlock. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and conceded as he rolled back into his chair. His jaw clenched and he brought his gaze back to Y/N. Y/N felt a chill go up her spine as Sherlock continued to stare at her. His eyes began to squint and before he could say something. A man had burst into the flat. His pepper-colored hair was messed up a bit and his button-up shirt wwas slightly untucked.  

Sherlock perked up. “Where?”

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens” breathed the man. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “Something’s different.”

John looked between the two men. “Does this have something to do with the suicides?”

“Suicides? What suicides?” prodded Y/N. 

The man in front of Y/N turned and pointed toward her, “Who’s she?” 

Without skipping a beat, Sherlock replied, “No one, Gary”. The man opened his mouth but was silenced. “What’s different?”

Y/N scoffed at Sherlock. The new man in 221B looked between Y/N and Sherlock. He got the feeling as if he was interrupting something. 

Gary hesitantly continued, “This one left a note.” 

Now, this intrigued Sherlock, “I’ll come. Who’s working forensics?” 

“Anderson.”

Sherlock grimaced, “Anderson won't be willing to work with me.”

“Well, you have, John. Right, John?” asked Gary. 

“Yes, of course, Greg,” agreed John. 

“Thank you” mouthed Greg or Gary. Y/N was confused about which name to call him by. He looked around the room collecting his breath and then he was off. 

Sherlock jumped out of his seat, practically leaping for joy. “4 serial suicides, and now there’s a note. It’s practically Christmas.” He raised his eyebrows giving John a smile. “Shall we?” 

John nodded and grabbed his coat and hat off of the coat rack. Sherlock followed suit, throwing on his scarf to help keep warm. The two men turned to face Y/N with John glancing up at Sherlock with a look of hesitancy on his face. As if he was expecting something to happen. It seemed quite impolite to just leave Y/N so suddenly.

“Close the door on your way out,” Sherlock said.  His crystal blue eyes met Y/N’s. 

It was hard to tell who was more shocked, John or Y/N. John’s mouth hung wide open. Y/N was completely taken aback, but before she could respond, Sherlock quickly made his way out the door and down the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson, we’ll be heading out.” Notified Sherlock as if Mrs. Hudson was his mother. 

Mrs. Hudson tore her eyes away from the soap opera on the television. “Of course, dear. Where are you boys heading off to? Is it those suicides?” asked Mrs. Hudson. 

Popping his head into the apartment, Sherlock replied, “John and I are heading out to a crime scene. Be back quite late. Perhaps prepare some tea?”

“I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper, Sherlock.” 

Accepting that answer, Sherlock was out the door, shortly followed by John. A loud slam came from upstairs. Mrs. Hudson crept to her window and watched as the two of them hailed a cab and were on their way. Satisfied, she sat back down in her chair and began to knit. Shortly after, Y/N appeared in her doorway. “You are here?” She muttered to herself. 

“What was that N/N?” Mrs. Hudson asked. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Nothing,” exclaimed Y/N.

“Why aren’t you going with them?” Mrs. Hudson asked. Y/N grimaced at the thought. “I thought you left with the boys. You were always one to follow the boys around. I remember that childhood friend of yours Jason or something like that.”

“James, Auntie M. His name was James. And I decided against it. I’d rather not burden John with Sherlock’s dead body.” 

With that Y/N left Mrs. Hudson to her knitting. Give him time, She whined. That was going to be a lot harder than Y/N thought it would be. She was sure she’d strangle Sherlock by the lapels of his coat before he ever said hello to her. In a huff, she slammed her own flat door at the thought of the man. Bjørn hissed at the sound. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. The cat only meowed in response. Bjørn hopped on her lap to comfort her allowing her to pet away the stress and anger she held for Sherlock.

_______________________________________________________________

Let me know what you think! Also, comment below if you would like to be tagged in further posts. 

@bartokthealbinobat​

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[maximsdeadwife]

The Experiment pt. 2

Sherlock Holmes x reader

The Experiment pt. 1 // Masterlist

Summary: Sherlock needs something new to keep him occupied. You have the perfect answer to his problems.

Author’s notes: couldn’t resist writing part 2, which was also requested after I wrote part 1. In my Victorian dirty talk research I discovered that the term ‘blow job’ comes from the Victorian term for cum: ‘blow,’ and how could I not make the most of that information??

Warnings/content: nsfw - smut, f!reader, blow job, hand job, marriage, first times (Sherlock’s first blow job), discussion of safe word, sub!Sherlock vibes if you squint

Upon returning to 221B, you found Sherlock barely out of bed; half-dressed and dropped down onto the nearest armchair, hair mussed from sleep and face sullen.

He hadn’t had a case for over a week, and whilst at first he had taken to spending his free time gladly tending to your desires, you did need to leave the house from time to time to run errands and see to your other commitments.

It was moments such as these that the ennui really set in. Sherlock needed something to occupy him, and if he couldn't have you, he needed something new to excite him, but whatever that would be hadn't yet arrived on his doorstep.

‘Sherlock, darling, I’m home,’ you chimed carefully, not wanting to startle him out of his melancholy.

His eyes lit up for a moment before he saw that you were already busy with the books you’d collected, and he dropped back into the chair.

You were eyeing him, though, surreptitiously as you flicked through one of your new novels pretending to admire the illustrations while really you were admiring him.

‘Remember our wedding night?’ you mused, attempting to sound entirely casual.

‘Fondly,’ he sighed dreamily. If only he could feel the excitement of that night anew, the thrill of learning your exquisite body for the first time.

‘I’ve been doing some research,’ you went on, finally snapping shut your book.

'Oh?' An eyebrow raised, interest piqued.

‘There was something you mentioned that night that I read up on since I’ve been wholly unable to distract my mind away… it's something I rather fancy I’d like to try.’

Your voice had turned sultry, immediately capturing Sherlock’s attention, his head snapping up so that he could examine your current state and gather your precise intentions.

Pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, breath quickening, he thought, and at that, heat stirred in his belly, coursing to his core.

‘You told me you would like to experiment with your own orgasms.’ Shivers crept up your neck, not yet quite used to speaking in such a way in the company of a gentleman. ‘Do you remember? You wondered how it might feel to climax in my hand... or my mouth…’ your tongue advanced slowly around your parted lips rather pointedly, eyes locked on his.

‘And how do you propose we conduct this experiment?’ he panted, beginning to tremble.

‘Sherlock… I'll need to taste you.’

His heart began to race and his eyelashes fluttered, unsure where to look. Your lust for him often threw him from his place of comfort. To him, it was ever an unexpected thrill to be the object of your desire, but never an unwelcome one.

‘Where… how do I-’ he started, cheeks flushing with shame at how utterly libidinous he felt for you.

‘Lay down for me, here, on the chaise,’ you beamed, thrilled that he was ready for a new experience with you.

As he peeled himself from the little armchair to stretch his long body out, he propped himself up on a cushion so he could observe what you would do to him.

You knelt between his ankles to slide your fingers up past his knees and over his strong thighs. ‘Spread your legs a little more… that’s it,’ you encouraged as he settled into position, one foot landing firmly on the floor, grounding him. From what you'd read, you supposed he may need it.

‘I’m going to unfasten your breeches and take you in my hand first,’ you said softly as your fingers got to work on unfastening the buttons keeping him decent. ‘Only briefly, though, for this time, I would like to suck your manhood and have you spill every last drop of your blow down my throat until you’re left limp.’

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat.

‘Remember the code word?’ you breathed, eyes growing wide with wonder, ever fascinated with his size as your fingers released his already throbbing arousal and wrapped delicately around him, pumping lazily.

Sherlock nodded quickly, eager to begin. ‘Mycroft,’ he uttered breathily, ‘if I don’t enjoy the sensation, or it becomes too much, I say it once, and you'll stop.’

‘Precisely. And if you do enjoy it?’ you smirked up at him, gripping a little more firmly as you stroked him, lips now so close to the tip of his length he could feel the warmth of your breath against it.

‘Oh-ah-mmh… then I… ah- I will cry your name… over and over until I have- mmh!- no breath left in my… oh!- body.’

‘Understood.’

Your delightfully plump, wet lips finally brushed against the flesh of his tip, parting to suckle at the precum that oozed steadily out onto your lapping tongue.

Sherlock cried out, his body jolting at the overwhelming fever that spread rapidly through his body at the heat of your mouth on him. He tried to think through it, tried to memorise the sensations, but nothing had quite come close to this when it came to his pleasure.

He'd fucked you every which way one could imagine, finding easy release in the depths of your own pleasure just by knowing that he was the one to cause it. But this, entirely focussed on his needs, was a whole other game.

He couldn't grasp any of the thoughts swirling around his pleasure-addled mind, couldn't focus on anything but how you felt, wet and warm around his root, devouring him like a starved woman presented with a delicious meal.

And a delicious meal, he was. His cock swelled within the passion of your mouth as you took him in further still, your massaging fingers at the base, compensating for what you couldn’t fit. Remembering what you’d read in that filthy little book you'd been keeping secret, you bobbed your head and hollowed your cheeks, and you sucked, gently at first but slowly building to something more intense that made it harder and harder for him to find any semblance of focus.

You gazed up at him, eyes sparkling with your own arousal, to see him completely lost in pleasure, one elegant hand pressed to his forehead in delightful despair, the other gripping the edge of the cushion he laid back on so firmly that his knuckles had long since turned white.

You hummed, appreciating his weight of his heavy cock against your tongue as you felt a wetness grow between your thighs. The vibration your dirty little sound sent down his shaft caused him to whine out a string of incomprehensible obscenities, and his hips to buck up involuntarily as he fought to keep his eyes open and his head lifted enough to see you.

He’d never felt so safe with such a lack of control over his body, every nerve alight with passion and every muscle weak with complete pleasure. He couldn't think, but he didn't need to. He knew somewhere in the depths of this rapture that you would take good care of him, think through his pleasure for him, and finish him spectacularly. There was one other thing he knew for certain - one thought that pierced the haze of euphoria clouding his every thought - that his peak would come all too soon.

He couldn't fight it, he felt too week with imminent satisfaction to try to last any longer. He wanted this feeling to last forever, but also to explode between your lips and reach paradise all at once.

He released his grip on the seat cushion, and reached, trembling, for the nape of your neck. If his eyes must insist on clenching shut in unfathomable pleasure, he could at least follow your movements with touch, perhaps that would be just as enjoyable as watching.

It was.

At the exact moment that his fingers connected with your neck and slid up into your hair, he erupted with a shout, emptying his seed into your mouth and down your throat while your tongue circled his sensitive tip each time you moved upwards, and massaged his shaft as you slid back down.

Your name tore from his lips, a guttural cry that rang in your ears as he came down from his climax, breathless and groaning in exertion.

With a final lap to clean up the last traces of his peak, you sat back on your heels and smiled, proud of yourself for getting him off with such excellent results on your first attempt.

Sherlock was still very much floating on another plane of existence as his length twitched with aftershocks and softened upon your palm. You pushed up so settle over him on the chaise, appreciating his post-orgasm glow from a few inches above his handsome face.

‘A success?’ you chuckled, connecting your lips to his so he could taste himself upon them.

He nodded, opening his eyes slightly with an uneven smile meant as a silent thank you. ‘But I… I couldn’t focus on a thing. Nothing, that is, except for your mouth being stuffed full of me. Tell me you-’

Pride swelled in your chest. ‘I memorised every minute reaction.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he breathed. ‘You should write it down.’

‘Oh, I will,’ you promised, ‘in great, explicit detail. But first, another?’

His head fell back as you moved your hand gently over his sex, feeling it grow with arousal once again, and with that, a knock sounded at the door.

Disappointment flooded you. ‘You'll probably want to get that. It could be a case-’

‘They can wait,’ Sherlock whispered, waving his hand lazily. ‘I'm in the middle of a very important experiment for which we need more data...’

[verslxt]

pairing : toji x fem bodied!reader

warnings : oral sex (f reviving), table sex

authors note : THE NEW THEME?!?!

as you sat on the table your legs around your baby daddies head he licked a line up your slit "mhm stop teasing" you moaned out as you pulled your shirt down to cover yourself from the sleeping megumi in his play pen

toji very suddenly inserts two fingers inside of your throbbing hole "fu-fuck toji~" you moaned out as he curled his fingers up hitting your g-spot over and over again. you looked over and saw the 3 month old megumi still sleeping in his play pen

toji looked up at you with low liddled eyes as he pressed a kiss your your clit as he spelt his name with his tongue as he was still curling his fingers in your sweet cunt. toji looked back down at your clit leaving small kisses and licks all around your pussy

you let out a small moan looking over at megumi making sure to not wake him. you find your hand in tojis hair pulling slightly. you start to grind on his face feeling his nose bump your clit over and over again

toji smiles against your pussy as you start to grind on his face he keeps licking your pussy pulling lustful moans from your mouth. you look over at megumi again and see him stirring in his sleep. but thankfully he's just turning over in his sleep. you look back down at toji whos still lapping your pussy

you pull on his hair a little more as a sort of 'hey gumi's gunna wake up in a little. we gotta hurry this up'. toji smiled and slipped 2 fingers in you as you bucked your hips up at the sudden movement. toji continued eating you out as you were grinding on his face you felt a knot form in your stomach

"a-ah fuck ke-keep go-going" you moaned out as your hand entangled itself more in his hair. toji smiled against you as he curled his fingers up hitting that one spongey spot that made you melt in his hands

"cumming cumming~" you said as you came on tojis face. toji lifted himself from your legs and smiled at you "how'd that feel pretty girl?" he asked you as you pulled your panties and pj pants up "fucking amazing" you said looking over at megumi "perfect timing" you said as you saw the mini toji looking up at his mommy and daddy

taglist (open) : @snazzyturtles @katsukisottoman @kit-katsukii @leadermayloro, @kikosaidbye @K4rma-4 @Tashi @suxteenx @sherlock-despacito @hitoshi-my-hero @the-hotsibling

[espinosaurusrexex]

Welcome to my mental chaos.

On the occasion of publishing my first long series and thus my finally being able to return to other projects I had been thinking of but restrained from to finally finish Everything's Better in Wetview, I thought, I’d share some of the "brilliant" notes I made throughout the last year. You're welcome to laugh at what I have to deal with when opening my drafts. I thought it was funny so here we go:

it’s an aesthetic if you ask me

[wakeenkitten]

Pearl Necklace♡

Warnings/Prompt : ⚠️Smut, Sherlock x wife! Reader, kinda sub! Sherlock, necklace play (very quickly), very loving smut

Summary: just Sherlock and his wife having a nice loving evening together.

Notes: not the best writer I did this during maths class because I was bored! Leave a comment it’s always nice to make me progress! Love love love! ❤️

Sherlock was so soft tonight. It was one of those nights in which he just wanted to be loved fondly and most of all, wanted to show how much he loved his dear wife.

After dinner, on the couch, he pulled her on his lap while she was reading before to go to bed upstairs. He tenderly plunged his face in her neck, breathed her sweet perfume and left a trail of wet kisses, feeling the cold touch of her pearl necklace against his lips. She was humming in response to his loving touch, his hands wandering and gripping her thighs through the light fabric of her dress. She finally closed her book and shoved it aside.

« Yes? » she asked with her eyes closed, as if she ignored her husband’s growing desire.

« Please…oh please please please… » Sherlock repeated, murmuring against his love’s neck. She simply loved when he was like this, her strong genius of a man was turning in such a desperate puppy when he wanted to be hers. She could feel his strong heartbeat pressed against her small shoulder.

She took his face in her hands and caressed his cheeks with the soft pads of her fingers. Sherlock closed his eyes and let out what could be called a purr. She giggled at his craving attitude. She peppered his face with kisses, each touch of the soft pillow of her lips owed her a moan from him.

« My beautiful man.. » she told him « I love you… ».

He grinned happily at her words, desire burning in his deep blue eyes: « oh I love you too, please love, please take me. »

She quickly got up and lifted her skirts, getting rid of her underwear. Sherlock’s large chest heaving at this. She straddled his lap keeping her hips up, not making him feel her warm core yet. She unbuttoned his vest and shirt, finally letting herself taking in the sight of his glorious hairy chest. He disrobed her of her blouse back while she was kissing his chest and giving innocent licks to his turned on nipples. He finally got access to her lacy bra that he threw away with no shame, and rubbed his nose against her soft breasts as a cuddly cat would do against a hand.

Kissing them, pinching her pink nipples and sucking them.

« Oh Sherlock, baby wait. Just… let me.. »

She looked at him with thrilled loving eyes. He just let his hands fall aside and suddenly felt the warm spot between her legs pressed against his tree trunk thigh. He let out a groan.

She opened his pants, his erect shaft almost springing out, it was becoming impatient. She rubbed it slowly making Sherlock’s head rest against the back of the couch and breath heavily, a few moans coming out. Precum pearling at the pink tip, she wanted to lick it off so badly but she just readjusted herself to rub his pretty cock against her slit.

« Oh god you’re so wet, ugh baby keep going. Fuck I love to feel you like this, your perfect pussy… f-fuck i love it so much, Cmon love, ride your Sherlock, oh my pretty girl, I love when you’re so initiative… ». Sherlock almost looked drunk saying these words, so lost in her scent, in her soft skin, hair and touch, feeling her so well.

She shifted and pushed his large member against her entrance, and he entered her gently, filling her completely. She shut her eyes and cries out, gripping his shoulders. Sherlock’s eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a high pitched and desperate cry from the great pleasure.

His hands found the of her round hips and he dug them into her plump skin. His strong grip was following her movements.

« Ooofffuuck!… oh keep going. Oh my beautiful love don’t stop. Oh my god I love being inside you so much, you feel exceptional.. » his heavy breath making him meowl his words. Her hips rolling and snapping against his skin at a certain pace, just what they needed for the moment.

« mmmhmm Sherlock! I feel you… s-so deep! »

« Oh yes baby… »

She lifted her arms, moved her hair aside and grabbed her pearl necklace. She got to take it off and she placed it around Sherlock’s neck, giving it a turn and gently pulled on it. He could still breath and cry out but the pressure was enough to be pleasurable. She let one of her hands wander in his hair, gripping at it to accelerate the movement of her hips. Her perky breasts rubbing against his hard chest. The clapping of their skin and their throaty moans filling the room. He wanted to feel her exquisite scent on his body for weeks.

He wrapped his strong arms around her and hold her close to him.

« Oh l-love, I’m getting closer. Your tight cunt just cannot make me last… ».

His large tip hitting against her g spot again and again was driving her on the edge too, and when he hugged her closer, his pelvis started to rub against her clit. She was a true moaning mess.

« Oh f-fuck love, I-I want to cum with you, I want us to cum together so tell me I-I’ll wait-»

« It’s okay Sherlock I-I’m close too… »

« Oh love, you’re so beautiful! I-I want to see your gorgeous face when you cum… »

She pulled one last time on the pearl necklace before it snapped, little pearls peppering their naked bodies. She gripped his shoulders tightly and came, her head shot back: « oh Sherlock! ».

Sherlock gets a few more jumps from his beauty before to join her in her orgasm, crying out loudly: « oh holy f-fuck love!! Oh my g-uuuugh ! ». His cries were so pretty. She was feeling him filling her insides. The rhythm slowly faded, she stopped the movement of her hips and rested on her husband’s thigh, still filled by his cock. She let herself fall on her lover’s sweaty, hairy chest, cuddling against it.

He was almost inconscient, brows furrowed, eyes closed, panting heavily.

She got up, almost missing the feeling of fullness already, to grab onto a wet tissue to clean themselves. She brushed aside a few sweaty locks of Sherlock’s forehead, giggling at his still blissed out state.

« Sherlock? » she says softly.

« Mmmm » he grabs onto her hips and sits her on his lap, he buries his nose into her hair, smelling her.

« Im the luckiest man in the world ».

She caresses his face and kisses him deeply.

« My wonderful man, I love you. »

« I love You too Mrs Holmes ».

He encircles her with his huge arms, carries her to their bedroom and keeps her warm against him all night. She felt so loved and he felt in heaven, just holding her, his everything, forever. He holds her tight against him, already thinking about the new necklace he is gonna get her.

[roses-r-rosie3]

Bad Idea Right?

Jason Todd x M!Reader

[Spill Ur Guts MasterList]

Warnings: Implied sex, Reader sleeping with his ex (aka Jason)🫢, Swearing, drinking, Fluff-ish??

Summary: After partying a bit too hard, the reader wakes up in his bed, and finds Jason (HIS EX) laying right next to him naked

F/n = Friend’s Name

Quote: “Yeah, like I would want everyone to know that I put my dick inside of my ex"

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You woke up with a jolt, and immediately got a major headache. You plopped on your bed with a groan, but something felt off… YOU WERE FUCKING NAKED?!

What the hell happened?!

Oh right, you threw a party at your house because your parents were out of town. But what happened afterwards? Great, now you have to try and piece together what happened.

First, you were setting up with your friends, people started showing up… what the hell happened after that though?

Flashback

“Hey y/n! Look who it is!” Your friend laughed.

You looked up and WHAT THE HELL?! Why the fuck was Jason there?! You didn’t even invite him! You were about to go confront him but your friends held you back.

“He’s not worth it y/n, he probably just got invited by someone else, don’t focus on him, just have fun” your friend reassured.

“Fine” you grumbled.

Next thing you knew, you drank at least not one not two not three, but four drinks! You were drunk out of your mind and you were about to go get your fifth one.

“Y/n, are you sure you should be drinking this much? I know your parents are out of town and all, but this is getting pretty concerning” your friend asked.

“It’s fine f/n! Another drink wouldn’t hurt!” You slurred.

You made your way towards the drink area, and low and behold, Jason was there. You ignored him the best you could, even as a drunk idiot. But as you were done pouring your drink into your cup, you bumped into Jason, spilling your drink on both you and him.

“What the fuck is your problem dude!” You yelled at him.

“Me?! You spilled your drink onto me!” Jason shouted defensively, obviously also a bit drunk.

You looked to the ground, knowing you were somewhat in the wrong.

“So are you just gonna stand there and look dumb or are you gonna show me where the towels are?” Jason said.

“Shut up” you murmured as you lead him to the restroom.

You opened the door and picked up a towel for you and him and started to wipe your clothes. It was silent for a good 5 minutes until you spoke up.

“Why are you even at this party to begin with” you said as you rolled your eyes.

“Did you forget that I have friends too or something?” Jason chuckled.

“So you didn’t know that the party was coincidentally held at my place, the place that you visited for more than 10 times?” You questioned.

“I just read that it was a party okay?!” Jason grumbled.

“Oh sure” you said sarcastically.

That just lead to a heated argument between the two of you. Things got heated and the next thing you knew, Jason was pinning you onto the bathroom wall and you two were sloppily making out.

"For the record this doesn't mean we're back together" You panted as you both pulled away.

"Well no shit sherlock" Jason mumbled before pulling you back in for another kiss.

After what was 8 minutes of making out, you finally broke the kiss.

"Let's finish this in my room yeah?" you smirked.

Jason just nodded before the two of you came into your room, locked the door and did stuff that required you not being seen at the party for the rest of the night.

End of flashback

Did you just sleep with your ex?! Wait.. you never remembered Jason leaving to go back at his place which meant.. wait.. no.. it couldn't be. You turned around and faced a figure, maybe this isn't him, maybe it's another guy you slept with after Jason, but you knew those tattoos from anywhere.

"HOLY SHIT!" You yelled out unintentionally.

Needless to say, that woke up Jason for sure. Jason rubbed his eyes sleepily, readjusting his vision to see where he was. He immediately recognized the room and hoped that you weren't the one who woke him up. But hope could only go so far, and he was met with your shocked/disgusted face.

"We're not telling ANYONE about this. You understand?" you threatened.

"Yeah, like I would want everyone to know that I put my dick inside of my ex" Jason said sarcastically as both you and him got out of your bed to change.

"How do you know I wasn't the top?! Hell we were both drunk!" you said defensively.

"I'm not the one with the limp" Jason smirked.

"You know what... uhh.. j-just get out!" you shouted.