#sherlock x fem!oc

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

Can you write for reader x Sherlock where reader is a little like Elizabeth Bennet, likes to read and paint etc. Singing and all the cultural stuffs and Sherlock has fallen for her too hard?

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍

pairing: sherlock holmes (bbc) x fem!oc

summary: in which sherlock holmes doesn’t catch himself from falling quick enough for jane burbank

word count: 3.04k

warnings: none

a/n: this was my first time writing for a request so i really hope you like it <3 i also made it [x/oc] as i'm more comfortable doing it that way but i tried to stay away from descriptions as much as possible to make this little fic as inclusive as possible too <3

he wanted nothing more than to talk to her, even if it was only a meagre apology for accidentally brushing against her in the library isle. she enamoured him and he hated it, even years later as he held the heavy velvet curtains between two fingers and watched her cross over the road and unlock the door to her flat. john smirked behind his newspaper, "you're doing it again."

"doing what?" sherlock huffed, letting the curtains drape back into place over the window. "saying i'm doing something again would mean i'm repeating the action. what's special about me standing by the window." he stalked through the flat and flung himself into an old wooden chair by the kitchen table, seething over his frustration.

he hated it when john was right. nothing frustrated him more than his closest friend seeing right through him as if he were a spirit. more often than not, when he was sulking about not having cases or waiting for results from his less-than-ethical experiments, sherlock would find himself rooted to the floor by the window. sometimes he would play his violin slow and mournful, sometimes he would stand in plain sight.

it would stun him when the sunlight bounced off the wire frame of her glasses, the reflection shooting through her window and right back to his. sherlock found it hard to concentrate on anything else when she would sit in her arm chair with a cardigan that on anyone else would have looked ugly but on her the bright colours did nothing but compliment her. she always had a pen or pencil or paint brush hidden away in her hair, and occasionally she would reach up and fiddle with it as she thumbed delicately through the pages of her book.

sherlock looked up from concentrating hard on the surface of the table when his phone buzzed him his pocket, and he pulled it out. his smile became visible against his will.

you're doing it again, if you want to come over you only have to ask

within minutes he was at the door, ripping off his burgundy dressing gown and trading it out for his thick and heavy belstaff. at john's call of "where're you off to all eager?" he simply shouted "out" as he clattered down the thin staircase. sherlock was out of the door and crossing the road faster than he was able to think, knocking sharply on the blurred stained glass window set into her front door.

there was a crash from inside, a mutter of swearing as she pulled back the door to reveal her haphazard state. sherlock stared dumbly at her, trying to ignore the red splatter of paint on her neck dripping onto her chest, searching for words as when he opened his mouth it turned dry. "you didn't ask," she said, but stood back to let him into her house anyway.

sherlock walked in through the hall, catching himself casting his gaze over the walls like he did every singe time. the university diploma sat pride of place over the mantlepiece of the fireplace in the living room reading 'ba joint honours in history and history of art awarded to jane burbank, graduating with a first from the university of edinburgh'

next to it was a framed photo of the pair of them stood together at a mutual friend's wedding the previous year. sherlock had gone along begrudgingly when he'd found out that jane was attending the party after the ceremony because her cousin was the maid of honour for the bride. they were both standing outside of the venue side by side, smiling into the lens as one of the flower girls was messing with the petal confetti in her small wicker basket in the background.

jane brushed her bangs off her eyes as she moved around the airy living room, shoving wooden crates of paint back into place on the shelf and moving her latest canvas out into the garden to dry completely. sherlock stood awkwardly in his coat and ran his finger under the collar of his shirt sitting tightly against his neck. she stared at him as she returned, wiping a paint stain off the hem of her white dress as she did so.

"sherlock, i don't know why you insist on dressing like a child from the past in the middle of summer." london had been blanketed in a sticky, heavy heat as they hit the peak of august, making being indoors impossible but being outside worse. jane was only glad of her broken window to allow a constant breeze to pass through the ground floor of her house but knew the relief wouldn't last long. it was only a matter of time before the rain came in thick drops and plunged them into everlasting autumn.

he shrugged awkwardly and peeled the coat from his body, and when jane looked at him from behind her easel tucked away in a corner by the bay window he removed his blazer from his shoulders too. sherlock felt too free when he was with her, it scared him, but she made him feel to exhilarated to even care sometimes.

once, when they'd met at a summer research project collating students from different courses at the russel group unis, jane had cleared her throat to catch his attention in the library. at the noise he turned around, still holding the heavy volume, and saw her looking at him through a gap in the shelves perching her chin on the heel of her hands. "hey," jane whispered at him, "d'you want to do something fun?"

sherlock couldn't find his voice to tell her that what he was doing was fun and that he didn't really want to leave the safety of the library that late at night, but her bright eyes sparkling in the fluorescent lights hanging from the high ceiling from exposed wires made him throw caution to the wind and join her on their escapade. jane dragged him to a concert and to this day not one of them could remember who it was they'd seen only that they were rubbish and the cone of chips they'd picked at while walking through a grassy park was much more enjoyable.

he'd been dressed for winter then too, despite the thin linen of his shirt trying to cool him down in the muggy night air. but he couldn't care less about the heat invading his skin or the salt from the chips that caught on his finger tips because he was talking to jane burbank, and it had been all he'd wanted to do since she came bursting into the lecture hall for the summer programme two minutes late in a haze of frazzledness as she pulled down the hem of her summer dress where it had ridden up from her haste.

if he had been a better man he wouldn't have looked down past her neck but he couldn't help himself.

perched on the end of the emerald green sofa shoved against a bright white wall covered in artwork and cheap antique picture frames, sherlock fumed silently like the kettle he wished jane was setting over the stove because he could see john giving him his worst 'i told you so' look from the front window of his flat over the road. jane returned with a silver tray laden with small plates holding biscuits, two empty glasses holding ice and a large pitcher of sparkling orange juice.

"d'you want to go out and do something fun tonight?" jane found herself repeating the words every time she saw sherlock, which wasn't as often as she would have hoped considering she bought her house opposite his flat with his proximity in mind. he was always out sleuthing with john, who she'd seen more, and got on well with.

so was it really any surprise that jane took any chance she could get with sherlock, to make the most of the time they had together. he'd intrigued her all those years ago (it hadn't in-fact been too many years ago since they'd graduated with first honours, but life in the wake of sherlock holmes was long and weary) and still continued to do so now. she was pleased she knew him before he made it big as a 'boffin' in the national press and was even more pleased that he still kept up with her completely opposing lifestyle despite his cold-heartedness and want of plain fact.

with a gleeful grin and a shake of his shoulders as she squealed at his minute nod, jane was away to pack her bag and to grab her sandals before rejoining him at the front door. much to her excitement, sherlock had decided to brave the outside world without the protection of his belstaff, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone and his blazer was tucked neatly under his arm as he waited patiently for her. "ever practical," she muttered and locked the door behind her. the heat of the day beat down on her exposed shoulders from where she'd pinned her hair up at the back of her head and she pulled her sunglasses over her nose.

they set off and june looked at her watch, "quarter to three, fancy going out for something to eat first?"

"whatever you want to do," sherlock agreed, and sure enough half an hour later they were sat on outside tables for a cafe overlooking westminster watching the people go by. well, sherlock was watching the people go by and jane was peeling away the pastry of a croissant she'd ordered while taking occasional sips of her glass of diet coke. he tapped his fingers against the saucer for his coffee patiently waiting for her to finish so they could leave.

jane wanted to look through the markets in camden for old records before they tried to find a pub for dinner and finished off the day at st james' park to listen to the music drift over them from the live festival happening in hyde park that she didn't get tickets to. she was always asking him if he wanted to do something fun even when she'd planned the day to some kind of degree of legible and sherlock just agreed.

but he did so because jane had asked him to, and anything that was fun to her would be fun for him.

after their intermission at the cafe, where jane had stopped to take some candid photos of some couples she'd seen over the green before turning the lens on an unsuspecting sherlock, they suffered the stuffy carriage of the underground before emerging at camden. jane beelined for stalls selling records and cassette tapes she didn't need because her selection was already overflowing. she picked up a sleeve and turned it to sherlock, grinning, "don't you just love them?"

he smirked before saying, "i prefer blur" only to receive a smack on the shoulder for his admission. by the time they'd left jane had bought enough to put a sizeable dent into her savings account made for paying off her student debt and she was dragging sherlock to an art gallery she noticed was free to the public before they sat down to eat again.

there was something about her wide eyes as they walked around the gallery that sherlock couldn't tear his eyes away from. it might have been the sun shining down on her cheekbones from the glass ceiling or the way she looked like one of the twisted statues in her white dress and delicate sandals or her screwed up face as she focused on something in the background through the lens of her camera. being with jane was a break from the world he'd plugged himself into and he loved every second of it.

sherlock didn't love it as much, however, when they were sat outside (again) at a pub jane liked sharing a bowl of chips while she told him about the awful date she'd had with an awful guy who had an awful name two days prior. his back straightened and something curled in the pit of his stomach as jane told him about the bloke's lacklustre effort of wooing her, especially when he lumped her with paying for dinner and their tube fares back because he'd 'conveniently' left his wallet in a different jacket.

"he wasn't even wearing a jacket, sherlock, i mean can you believe it? i go on one date for the first time in months and he's a total prick!" she picked at a chip and dunked it angrily into the splodge of tomato sauce she'd poured onto the plate before soaking up any vinegar that had been left behind, "is chivalry really dead? i refuse to believe it is."

sherlock made a hoarse noise in the back of his throat before leaving for the bar and returning with a drink to replace jane's third glass of diet coke since they'd sat down. he placed down the cocktail in front of her and felt a flush of pride creep down his back as jane placed her hand over his to thank him earnestly. she took a sip, then another until the entire thing slid down her throat with a sigh of relief.

"i really needed that," she said and giggled to herself. sherlock forgot every time he was with her when she drank that jane was the lightest of lightweights, but when she'd had one she was happy and when jane was happy sherlock was well on the way to being happy too.

another cocktail later and jane had reached her happy medium for alcohol intake - she was blissfully unaware of anything happening outside of the six foot boundary around her but could still hold herself upright and kissed sherlock enthusiastically on the cheek when he caught the bill as a waiter was passing by their table. she laughed all along the path and the whole time the two of them were walking to st james' park.

sherlock didn't make it a habit to carry people around on his back, but when jane looked up at him with a pout and wide glassy eyes he acquiesced and hoisted her onto his back with her ankles locked together just below his navel.

she insisted on getting a cone of chips for old times sake even though they'd eaten enough to fuel an army back at the pub, and jane happily handed over five pounds in cash for a cone and a pot of curry sauce to the woman behind the till. "thank you!" she called out from over her shoulders and sherlock walked through the gates to the park and let her down gently onto the grass where they usually sat.

jane fell forwards and caught herself from landing on her face by her knees, laughing as she slumped forwards onto her chest and propped her chin up into her hands. sherlock sat beside her on his jacket and brushed her bangs out of her eyes, and she felt her skin flush where his fingers had touched. the music from the concert in hyde park eventually reached them just as jane thought it would and she began to hum the tune under her breath as she picked at the chips sherlock was holding out for her.

jane rolled onto her back and felt the blades of grass tickle her shoulders and she moved to make herself comfortable. "we never talk anymore sherlock." she huffed, and tried to reach out and run her fingers over his cheek but stopped when she realised her hands were moving in the completely wrong direction.

"you've been talking all day."

"but i mean you and me. we never talk, i talk at you and you listen."

"i like listening."

"no you don't, you'll out live god trying to get the last word in."

he laughed behind his smile, "i like listening to you."

jane pushed herself onto her feet and sank down again so she was eye to eye with sherlock. he could still see the red splatter of paint along her neck and upon closer inspection he found that the drips had dried throughout the day past the neckline of her already low summer dress. "i wish you would do more than watch and listen to me." she whispered, still tapping out the rhythm of the new song against her knee.

"but i like listening to you and i can't help but watch you. it irritates me." lies.

"no it doesn't."

damn.

before sherlock even had a chance to refute or say anything in his defence, jane's hands were placed gently on either side of his neck and she pulled him forwards to join their lips. jane held him so close that their noses bumped together repeatedly and she had to lean forwards to follow him when he pulled away. "jane!"

"what?" she questioned, finding that she'd sobered up at a startling rate when the gravity of what she'd done had truly set in. "oh, sherlock i'm so sorry i didn't mean to-" her words were cut off as he kissed her again, again and again to pepper kisses all over her cheeks and along her forehead where her bangs had fallen over her eyes again.

jane was a breath of fresh air, the calm in the middle of the storm he lived his life by. in the moment with her, sitting on the grass in a darkened london park he couldn't help but not care about what john would say when he finally got home or if jane would soon realise how dangerous tangling her life with his truly was.

she pushed herself onto him and held onto his arms as she kissed him harder, not caring that sherlock was the right-hand-man of every inspector at scotland yard or that his idea of fun was dissecting human bodies and testing them for bruising. the only thing that mattered to her was the boy she'd liked since she walked in late to the lecture hall was kissing her back after he'd admitted to her, drunkenly at their mutual friend's wedding, that it was all he thought about whenever he saw her

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🔎

[inklores]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐒.

pairing: henry!sherlock holmes x fem!oc

summary: sherlock holmes needs to find his intrepid little sister. clara bedi wants to keep his sharp nose off her trail. (word count: 3.1k)

content contains: fluff, sherlock being bad with women, slight strangers to lovers but they're both smart idiots

author's note: made originally for a class assignment but i'm too proud of it to keep it hidden away in my google docs!! enjoy

FUMES OF SMOKE lifting from the corners of his lips, he thumbed the lapis silk tie the pamphlet was bound by. The rhythmic movement was a rehearsed habit of his, charting keen thoughts that were falling into place.

Tea in the Parlor

Magazine of Modern Womanhood

25 April 1884

“A Problem With No Name. I’ve first heard that uttered so solemnly beneath the breath of a mother amid other mothers over the scent of teacakes and the English brew that her hands had surely processed the week before. Another cried. As your humble magazine writer, there have been women beyond our teatime who had answers to my questions. Those who sort matchsticks in factories, who raise children, who nurse other children. Those who live in the fine estates of Westminster, lodging houses along Greater London, and flats bordering Whitechapel, all have the same problem. The groping truths to their lamentations, brought into light when the children were away and their husbands attended to important business over a glass of sherry at their gentleman’s clubs,—”

Something more than a scoff and less than a laugh escaped Holmes.

“—were provoking. Just what was this nameless problem? A whisper that refuses to be said. The bond of pain, of womanhood, of the searing feeling that something great shall arrive to our fair England.”

— C.E. Babbington.

“Mr. Holmes, I hope you’re not mistaking me as someone with whom you are at odds with.”

Clara wore burgundy today.

Or indigo to a sharp eye, moreso if she sat in the dusky shade rather than by the window where sunlight was allowed to stream through the frosted glass tiles. The heat of the afternoon, Clara could tolerate. The brisk cold, the musk of tobacco, pomade, and fine English leather that filled her office—all mingling together to create one scent that floated around the man who stood in front of her— she virtually could not.

Well, “office” may have been a playful nudge to her ego. It was more of a closet with a pen, a hook to hang her coat when there was a chill, a canister of her favorite tea matched with her precious teapot, and a small sideboard that she used to stash her extra paper. Clara had spent enough time in that little closet to learn its quirks and commodities. The shutters would not close in blustery weather unless they were bound by a scarf. The gentleman who would take his Saturday morning coffee and eggs always found something to guffaw about in the newspaper. Clara knew because she could hear the fervor of his chortles from one story up. The fifth floorboard from the door creaked with the slightest movement and she had garnered the will to purchase a rug that softened footsteps over the parquet.

Now if only she could purchase a rug to wrap around the man filling her tiny corner with the fumes of… man.

A tall man. Haughty by the way he stood. He looked strong and sturdy, weaned on the finest food money could buy. Clara wondered if he teethed on crumpets and caviar as a baby. His clothing may have been picked to feign oneness with the people of England, but she noticed a grain on his breasted black coat. His crisp white shirt boasted no wrinkle, cinched around his neck by a silk ascot the color of charcoal. Chestnut curls spilled across his head—sharing no unified form—and fighting to be free of the pomade that gleamed in the dimness of the lamplight. She imagined an artless tumble of locks when he was nose-deep in a case. An errant strand fell over his brow, softening his countenance where his tone failed to.

“Have you anticipated me, Miss Bedi?”

It was Clara’s mistake for stopping short of her movements. Her fingers froze on the handle of her teapot and it was then she realized the incriminating ink stains that blotched her bronzed fingers.

She did not. He knew that. He likely knew what she had for breakfast as well. Hence the cloying pride that laced his query.

A tickle caught in her throat and she swallowed tightly to preserve her pride as she arched a dark brow. “No, I have not, but I applaud your effort. Nobody contemplates and makes a theater out of their face quite like you.”

Looking up from the tea she was pouring, Clara barely caught the indignant twitch in his face, even as his mountainous posture was unrelenting. For a man who was presumed to be discreet, he was quite eye-catching.

He dropped his gaze down to the lonely armchair and side table Clara would enjoy her tea in. It was the one perpetually surrounded by her basket of stained pen tips and folded newspapers— Clara had the habit of saving old prints—bits of thread, scraps of silk in cooler hues, linen from occasional embroiders, and stacks of books from Edith that never make it back to the shelf, being moved around constantly on the empty promise of being read to completion.

It was a detective’s heaven.

“The name ‘Holmes’ is beginning to mean quite a deal in this country,” her eyebrows slanted, copper eyes filled with constellations, “and do you think I would be in my position if I did not know?”

“Precisely why you flinched when I used your name and not your pen name.” His voice was rich as a fine velvet she let her hands graze over at a textile stand, but detached. “Deceit. To hide the plain truth, just as frills and elegant coifs do. Yes, it may dress you like a powder puff—” she parted her lips in protest but his eyes glimmered like opals, he was clearly not done—“but the man holding the pen is entirely different. In that…”

Her grip on her teacup could not get any tighter, for one tremor to rattle the porcelain would have him arriving quicker to the deduction he savored for last.

“He is not a man at all, is he?”

She watched in bated, almost nonexistent, breath—wondering how quickly she could get her hands on the cake spade lying unfashionably by the crumbs of a Dundee cake she had scarfed down the night before—as he fished a blue silk tie that bookmarked the yellowed book she just realized he held.

“How does a C.E. Babbington become… the elusive Clara Eashwar Bedi?”

A wave of cold took her from head to toe. If Clara wasn’t gripping the edge of her desk, knuckles quickly whitening, she was sure her knees would’ve given out. She stared down at the pretty silk tie, and then at the folded pamphlet he slid over the varnished surface, the black ink script almost snickering at her in mockery.

His words came as fluidly as water, uttered with a stone-cold expression she figured was his mask for his famous deductions.

“Four separate purchases of pens and paper from three different vendors.”

Spreading her tracks. No writer who desired anonymity would so foolishly expose herself by making a reputation with one seller.

He was studying her closet-office now. A satin kerchief protected his hand as he chose a stained pen to scrutinize. “Bills from Whitechapel. Cheaper ink—a shadowy writer such as yourself would not earn her dues to spend carelessly on finer supplies than supper for the night. Or silk ties to make her mark. To create a name.”

Cheaper ink bleeds easier. Her fingers, a blatant victim.

“Bedi.” He tasted her last name on his tongue for a moment, eyebrows pinched as if he was trying to paint a map in his acute mind. “When did your father leave India?”

Her throat was dry but she swallowed down her apprehension and managed out, “Fifteen years ago.”

“Does he work on the docks?”

“Worked.”

A flash of humanity lightened his eyes and the man of a chilly, pragmatic acumen faltered. “Apologies.”

The sound that tumbled from Clara’s lips could only be described as something between a shaking sigh and an aggravated grumble. “What is it you want, Mr. Holmes?”

“You write for the Magazine of Modern Womanhood,” he continued, making Clara bite back an exhausted groan. “Yet you affect a pseudonym. Why?”

“I don’t write for the magazine, I write alongside it,” Clara mumbled. Why was she entertaining him? “I don’t have the means to print my pieces independently— as you so cleverly deduced by my purchases of ink.”

“Your pieces… and other submissions, I’d bet.”

“Are you a betting man?” She lifted a brow curiously, daring him to stop this frivolous quadrille of tongues and get to the point.

“A cipher with the fingerprints of my sister was published in the personal advertisements column of your magazine, The Pall Mall Gazette, and The Journal of Dress Reform. It’s our mother’s interest she hopes to attract and with the choice of your publication, she has a good start.”

“God, there’s more of you?” she asked, feigning horror. “Is the world ready for that?”

(But where the name Mycroft Holmes was etched in cold stone and proud, old money, she had the sense the name Sherlock meant something else. Something whisper quiet like a dusty novel on crumpled velvet. Elegant with solitude.)

Sherlock took a step forward, his fingers still thumbing the fraying corner of the book. “Have you any idea where she might be?” He tilted his head. “I’m afraid our mutual acquaintance Edith had more to say of my “ostrich-like” nature than my sister.”

Clara couldn’t help the kick in her voice as she responded, “Appropriate.”

He smiled at her, a Private Investigator brand of Smile that Clara knew well enough from the numerous times a constable had approached the magazine for its inflammatory words, and which only deserved a Young Journalist Smile.

But what he said snagged her attention as well as a good story. Eudoria’s daughter. Little Enola. 

Edith had mentioned her once or twice. Clara might have seen a glimpse of a little brown-headed girl with quick feet, dashing about Ferndell Hall when ladies of a particular ilk huddled around a table, bearing swords on their tongues and determination in their hearts. Clara typically stood behind her bolder friend, Edith, clutching a pen that barely made a scratch against her worn pocketbook. She knew little for the illustrious Sherlock Holmes to knock on her door… but little was more than enough to be cunningly dissected and deduced by him.

“Enola’s missing?” she asked slowly, hoping to stall but Sherlock Holmes was not a man for idle chatter. Her head shook in a disappointing, deceiving refusal. “I’m sorry, but I have the faintest idea as to where she’s gone and why.”

“I find that highly improbable,” said Holmes in a tone that suggested he too was done with this waltz. “You’re protective of your name, or, names —”

“And what will you do if I use your name, Mr. Holmes?” Clara countered rigidly, her heart leaping into her throat. “Loudly? With proper dictation? Letting everyone know your business more than you’d like?”

“Then you’d also find yourself and Edith in a very difficult position, one that I’ve made clear to her and will to you if I must,” Sherlock warned, dropping his voice to a decibel that made a chill rattle her spine. A hint of vague frustration was tangled within his dull humor. 

Clara stilled, watching as he turned over the book and leafed through toward the back cover. Stuffed in the spine was a folded napkin and he paired it with the newspaper clipping for her viewing displeasure. Wrinkled and white and stamped with the crumbs of a pastry, her eyes were naturally drawn to the hasty scrawl in ink:

“C.E.B.

Matter of Bill —

Tea Rooms”

The same dismayed expression from when he dissected her alter ego took ahold of her face once more, even if she tried to disguise it by a clench of her jaw. 

“Macaroons could do with some attention but Edith has enough to worry about,” said Holmes. “She’ll notice the missing book from her seditious collection but not the message hidden inside— a message written to Babbington, who I understand is an intrepid young woman, so I’m sure you’re aware of what the proper connections can do for a man.” The distant, icy blue of his eyes warmed. “I asked of your father— a man who likely worked too hard for too little a reward and you, his daughter, silently fighting in favor of a bill that will help the men and women like him.”

“My,” Clara gasped, “Mr. Holmes, I didn’t take you for a man of politics.”

The stray little curl swished across his brow as he shook his head. “Oh, I’m far from it.”

She hummed curiously. “Then, what do you fancy? People? Poetry? Probably not. It’s your cases that keep you warm at night, which is why you hunt your own sister in blind circles like a dog chasing his tail.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice, “If Edith tells you nothing, I will say even less. Trust your sister… and the future. Good day, Mr. Holmes.”

She made to go around him, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered as she did, until a bleak and dare she say, concerned mutter caught her ear.

“She’s a child.”

“By my understanding, you’ve abandoned her once, Mr. Holmes. In the pursuit of where your mind takes you and little of your heart,” Clara said, more sharply than was her wont. 

“I beg your pardon.”

The anger in his voice flared like a bleeding heart. A man who was a fire next to gunpowder, ready to speak his mind and snatch the rug beneath a pair of unsuspecting feet. She could loathe him for being so perceptive and intelligent, yet plainly missing the changes of the world. But that tone… He was no longer a brilliant mind or a pleasantly distant man. He was a brother who wanted to know where his sister was.

And if there was ever a case that Sherlock Holmes would encounter, it would leave no secrets he could not crack.

Clara turned around, stained fingers toying with each other, teeth worrying her lower lip to a reddening bruise. Amusement danced in her eyes, quenching the frustration that twisted his sharply cut features.

“You have it,” she admitted after a pause, cheeks growing warm. “Because I’m a woman who believes in second chances… and the calling of her heart rather than her mind. And a desolate, hopeless bachelor tugs at that heart, I’m afraid.”

Sherlock’s face contorted incrementally, the corners of his lips curling up just a tad. It was not a smile. Another part of her would have thought so but not the smart part. Still, it was an odd expression that made Clara think it was gracious.

“I’m not aware of such a reputation.” Fond.

“Figures,” she sighed, eliciting a huff of laughter from him. The sound was enough to make her face crack with a smile. “Enola’s sixteen. And if she’s anything like her mother and brother, she won’t go down with a fight nor will she be drawn away from it. And the real fight is coming. I advise you to start there.”

He squinted at her. Then at the napkin. Then at the clipping signed by C.E. Babbington. The fight.

“A problem with no name,” he murmured.

“It has a name, Mr. Holmes. Whether it will be spoken is decided by men like you and your older brother,” she added, rightly hopeful. “Perhaps that will change.”

Silence settled comfortably between them until the pounding of her heart became too loud for her ears to bear. She cleared her throat and pulled the knob to her door, returning her gaze to Sherlock.

“Until next time, Mr. Holmes.” She smiled. “I hope your game finds its feet. My best to your sister.”

He tilted his chin in an understanding nod, hand pressing against the curly blue tie that still sat next to his evidence, her pamphlet. To her surprise, he waited. One hand disappeared in the flap of his jacket and came out holding a fine black pen shot with gold trimming. To a man like Holmes, it was a pen to write some very useful reckonings of the mind but to Clara, it looked more valuable than what she earned in a week. It clinked as he set it on her desk, accompanied by that slight, mysterious smile.

“Trust a bill won’t be made,” Sherlock assured, amused as he approached her. He extended the blue ribbon to her.

“And a secret will be kept,” she enforced, fixing him with a look as she curled her fingers over the forbidden silk tie, folding it into his palm.

His hand was cold, callused like the reward of cracking cases. Yet it managed to send a surge of heat swirling in her chest, akin to lightning crossing a black sky.

(And did she intend the other thing she did too? The split-second brush of her fingertips over his palm and the way the ball of his throat was disturbed by a tight swallow. Savoring the softness of the lapis silk strand against his pale flesh and her copper skin.)

He lingered by the doorframe for more than a second. Sherlock looked at her— perhaps a more bewitching case with the narrowest twists and the sharpest of turns. A shadow of a smile graced his prim lips and he let out a delectable, ruminative hum. “Is that a promise I would be foolish to break, Miss Babbington?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Holmes.” She watched him depart, a puzzling black figure who had more to his voice than what he decided to speak. 

“Oh, on the subject of hearts…”

Sherlock paused and turned around. He studied the meticulous way she swept her indigo skirt behind her and made him wait until she finally, painstakingly met his gaze. Only then she made him realize how beholden he was to her unfinished prose.

“While surely hopeless for a… perspicacious man with such a baffling pigheadedness,” Clara murmured, smiling lopsidedly, “do keep yours open.”

Before he left with another curt, reserved nod, Sherlock ruminated on her words. Her tone— he barely noticed the way he wondered how all of her other pretty, printed words would sound if they were turned from ink to… to… that voice.

No… she was not a case. She was a quandary. An unsolved riddle that he cracked with the full assumption that the winning hand was in his, only to turn over his cards and see that it was she who had the royal flush.

What fresh hell was this?

[ad0rechuu]

۪ ★ ۫ MILKY WAY ୨୧

based on milky way by seohyun

SYNOPSIS. ━━━━━ It’s not everyday that your friends childhood friend turns out to be the girl that you literally have a fan account for, but for Seonghwa, San and Mingi it’s become a reality. being able to get close to your bias is great! even if she does have a raging crush on someone else…

6mar23 | st. 09/03/23 ━ fn. 31/08/23

pairing. ━━━━━ college students! fans! park seonghwa, choi san, song mingi x fem! idol! reader (x idol! oc)

featuring. ━━━━━ ateez, kang seulgi (red velvet), fatou samba (black swan), park sujin aka swan (purple kiss), shin yuna (itzy), do hanse (former victon) oc, fem oc

genre. ━━━━━ smau, written, humor/crack, fluff, angst, suggestive, love square, idol/college au, strangers to friends to lovers, really slow burn, pinning, secret identity

warnings. ━━━━━ i’m not a native english speaker so my english might be a little off sometimes ! ! ! timestamps/sm numbers mean nothing, sexism/slutshaming, swearing, mentions of food/sex/serious topic, kys/kms and other questionable jokes, use of pictures for yn but only for reference (only of dark skin poc used), cyber bullying, ssngs, mental illness/anxiety, mentions of alcohol/drugs. small age gaps, more thorough warnings in the actual chapters, let me know if missed smth

notes. ━━━━━ the taglist is closed, spam likes are fine but consider reblogging with comments of ur thoughts (not only on my work but on other authors work too!) credits to the rightful owners of all the graphics n music

PROFILES. ━━━━━ SANRIO TRASH (STAR) ᜊ THE VIRGINITY CORNER (ATEEZ + YNS BBGS) ᜊ EXTRAS

PART 1. PRE TIME SKIP :

★ CH 000. prologue: HONGJOONG HAS FRIENDS?!

★ CH 001. CLONE FANTASY

★ CH 002. THE JASPER TO MY SHERLOCK

★ CH 003. SUS, VERY SUS

★ CH 004. DON’T LEAVE ME TALL FUCK

★ CH 005. EDIBLE SCENTED CANDLE

★ CH 006. MY LITTLE MEOW MEOW

★ CH 007. ONE OF THE GIRLIES

★ CH 008. SHES SO PRECIOUS!!

★ CH 009. IS YN OKAY?

★ CH 010. NO FANBOYING

★ CH 011. INTRODUCTIONS: PART I

★ CH 012. INTRODUCTIONS: PART II

★ CH 013. SUPER COOL AND HOT (RESPECTFULLY)

★ CH 014. AESPA WAS RIGHT

★ CH 015. GODDAMNIT PARK SEONGHWA

★ CH 016. WHAT THE H*CK

★ CH 017. I’M SO HASTAG SRS

★ CH 018. OPERATION: YNGYU

★ CH 019. HE’S UP TO NO GOOD

★ CH 020. PRAISE KINK ERA

★ CH 021. BAES JUST LIKE ME FR

★ CH 022. NVM Y’ALL HE RESPONDED

★ CH 023. TWO HEART EMOJIS

★ CH 024. RPS LEGEND

★ CH 025. KANG POMPOMPURIN

★ CH 026. BEGINNING OF A CHEESY ROMCOM

★ CH 027. WTFDYM

★ CH 028. IMAGINE NOT TALKING

★ CH 029. BLACK LIST SPEED RUN

★ CH 030. AS LONG AS SHE’S HAPPY

( EXTRA. ASK THEM ANYTHING EVENT:: PART i )

PART 2. POST TIME SKIP :

★ CH 031. BOMBASTIC SIDE EYE

★ CH 032. AS HOT AS I EXPECTED

★ CH 033. MY BABIES (AND KIM HONGJOONG)

★ CH 034. EVEN THE YANDERES

★ CH 035. DONGSAENG ZONED

★ CH 036. A STRANGE FEELING

★ CH 037. OLD FRIENDS

★ CH 038. I DON’T THINK I’M OKAY

★ CH 039. MINGI UR A PATHOLOGICAL LIAR

★ CH 040. LOVELY

★ CH 041. STEP BY STEP

★ CH 042. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT

★ CH 043. OOPS

★ CH 044. WHATDIDIDOTOMYSELF

★ CH 045. LOVE LETTERS TO LEE HYORI

★ CH 046. LOSER DOESN’T EVEN DESCRIBE IT

★ CH 047. IF ONLY SHE KNEW

★ CH 048. LE’ ASTRE

( EXTRA. STAR’S 5TH MINI ALBUM :: LE’ ASTRE )

★ CH 049. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S UNHOLY

★ CH 050. I’M ALRIGHT, I PROMISE

★ CH 051. BUTTERFLIES

★ CH 052. #STAR IS KILLING ME

★ CH 053. OK? OK! OK

★ CH 054. PURSUE HAPPINESS

★ CH 055. WHY DID YOU NEVER TELL ME

★ CH 056. THE TRUTH

★ CH 057. SERA WATANABE

★ CH 058. XD

★ CH 059. MILKY WAY

★ CH 060. LOVE

( EXTRA. ASK THEM ANYTHING EVENT:: PART ii )

ENDING O1.

★ 00i. PERUVIAN LILIES

★ 0ii. THE PRETTIEST

ENDING O2.

★ 00i. WHAT MAKES HIM, HIM

★ 0ii. LOM(OMMY)L



ENDING O3.

★ 00i. FINAL PUZZLE PIECE

★ 0ii. MINE.

★ AFTER WORD.

milky way © ad0rechuu, 2023. do not copy/repost.

[zolass]

ᅠᅠ𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬󠀽

ㅤㅤ···─ Welcome to the Character List and Request blog. This blog will simply help with what I would write if requested. If there's any request's simply Submit / Ask.

Please keep in mind to be respectful, I do update rather slow and if I don't like a requests, when it has things in it that make me uncomfortable, I'll ignore it. I'm probably going to make a separate blog where I might create characters for Top / Bottom Male Readers. I was first thinking about making it mostly just Top Male Reader, but I do take requests for bottom, as I also included bottom Male reader (a lot) in the Kinktober.

THINGS I'LL WRITE:

Smut / Fluff / (shitty) Angst / Hurt w Comfort Male Char x Male Reader Male Oc x Male Oc (my own) Male Char x Male Char Yandere (pretty bad at it but love it) (more to be added)

THINGS I WON'T WRITE:

Fem Readers or Characters (Platonic Fem Char are okay) Hurt w no comfort (bc I'm a bitch and I cry) Incest / Stepcest Self-Harm NonCon /CNC Age play Watersports / Scat Play Pedophilia Rape Play (more to be added)

ㅤㅤ···─ FOR REQUESTS 01 ── Be patient and respectful 02 ── Please try to write properly what you want in the request if it's not stated as Top or Bottom I'll decide. (More to be added)

ㅤㅤ···─CHARACTERS I quickly need to inform y'all, even though I made this, I probably have no clue or don't know enough of the characters bc my attention span is actually dog shit. So there is a high chance of OOC or simply inaccurate shit, if there's a chance for me to inform me for specific characters I will but no promises. If you're not sure if I write for something simply ask, maybe I forgot about some that some of you find interesting ㅤㅤ···─GAMES Genshin Impact, Honkai SR, Tears of Themis, Nu Carnival, Love & Deepspace, Dislyte, Cookie Run Kingdom, Valorant, COD, Overwatch, Ensemble Stars, Reverse 1999, Obey me, Wuthering Waves, DBD, Baldurs Gate, - More to be added ㅤㅤ···─MOVIES / SERIES Maze Runner, Lucifer, Supernatural, Twilight, U.N.C.L.E, Sherlock, Harry Potter, Marvel, DC, F&F, Shadowhunters, Valerian, Hunger Games, Avatar,

More to be added (These are more of those who I either watched / started watching, or I simply have an interest for)

ㅤㅤ···─ANIMES (Before I start the list, just so yk I do want to watch anime but my attention span-)

One Piece, AOT, JJK, Blue Lock, Naruto, Chainsaw Man, Windbreaker, Haikyuu, Sk8, Avatar, - More to be added

ㅤㅤ···─LISTS Here's going to be the rough List of the Characters I'll write for (most) ···─GAMES Genshin Impact | Honkai Star Rail | Tears of Themis | Nu Carnival | Love & Deepspace | Cookie Run Kingdom | Valorant | COD | Overwatch | Ensemble Stars | Reverse 1999 | Obey Me | Wuthering Waves

···─MOVIES / SERIES Maze Runner | Lucifer | Supernatural | Twilight | U.N.C.L.E | Sherlock | Harry Potter | Marvel | DC | F&F | Shadowhunters | Valerian | Hunger Games | Avatar ···─ANIMES One Piece | AOT | JJK | Blue Lock | Naruto | Chainsaw Man | Windbreaker | Haikyuu | SK8 | Avatar

[yangoodomens]

GOING TO TAKE REQUEST

Hello! My name is Harvey, I am a writer and artist, I have decided to take request here are my rules

WILL DO -

Yandere

Fem reader

Masc reader

Gn reader

Fluff

Romantic or platonic

Angst

WONT DO -

Character x Character (unless it's poly, as in Character x reader x character, as in Aziraphale x reader x Crowley, or Miles x reader x Ginger ext.)

Character x Oc (for writing)

Smut

Pedo stuff

Too much gore

Too much Murder

Etc. have decency you homosapiens

What I will write/draw for

Sonic - any variation

TMNT - most variations

Hermitcraft

Empires Smp

Good Omens

Hannibal (2013)

Centaurworld

Bbc Sherlock

Bright young things

Gravity falls

Silence of the lambs

The boy

DNI IF -

Rasict

Homophobic

Ableist

Or just a generally disrespectful person in general

THANK YOU, I hope to hear from you soon

- Harvey

[hinatastinygiant]

Pairing: Daichi x Fem!Reader

A story in which a seemingly innocent Halloween costume party at Kiyoko's beachfront home takes a sinister turn when a guest is found dead under mysterious circumstances. With the Haikyuu characters in elaborate costumes and where everyone is a suspect, you must unravel the truth before the end of the night and the killer escapes.

Warnings: Language Warning! NSFW (18+) Sexual Content, Violence!

one [Introduction]

two [Dorothy]

three [Sherlock Holmes] [NSFW]

four [James Bond]

five [Alice in Wonderland]

six [Firefighters]

seven [Wizard]

eight [Gold]

nine [The Great Gatsby]

ten [Mr. Hyde]

eleven [Rose]

twelve [Alan Grant]

thirteen [Magician]

fourteen [Vampire]

fifteen [Dr. Henry Jekyll]

sixteen [Epilogue]

THE END.

I DO NOT OWN HAIKYUU OR ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN THE OC’s.

(Updated October 13, 6:00pm est)

Back to Masterlist

[all-by-myself98]

Good evening!

We've pause your regularly scheduled programming to say that this fanfic blog is making a comeback...

Besties I'm aware that it's been like a couple years(???) since I've posted any oneshots or any kind of writing on this blog but listen in the wise words of the fanfic writers before me, my life has been crazy.

But I'm coming back! And I would love your help with getting started again! I already have some ways of getting myself started with ideas, but I would love your ideas too! Whether they're oneshots, headcanons, or just random ramblings that you want my thoughts on, I'm ready for it all and my ask box is looking mighty tempting, isn't it?

As I said before, I am open to oneshot requests and/or headcanon requests. Depending on how a oneshot is progressing, it may turn into a limited series, but that's just going to be based off of how much ideas I can wring out of one wet rag.

I am open to any of the Big Three: fluff, angst, and smut!

This also of course means...

NO MINORS INTERACTING WITH MY WORK, PLEASE AND THANK YOU!!! MDNI!!!

If you are a minor and you attempt to skirt around this rule and I find out, I'm literally wasting no time in adding you to my very empty blocked list. So maybe just don't try it?

Fandoms and characters I will write for:

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (141 squad + König, Graves, Nikolai, Alex, Farah, & Laswell)

Marvel/MCU (the Moon Knight system, Layla El-Faouly, any member of Defenders including Frank Castle, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Pietro Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Miguel O'Hara, Hobie Brown, Logan Howlett, Victor Creed, Laura Kinney, Valkyrie)

DC (any members of batfam, Aquafam, Justice Society, Titans, and Suicide Squad)

Star Wars (any member of Bad Batch, Captain Rex, Commander Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn, Din Djarin, Boba Fett, Jango Fett, Lando Calrissian, Poe Dameron, Finn)

Star Trek (Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Uhura, Captain or Admiral Pike)

Arcane: League of Legends (Silco, Viktor, Jayce, Vi, Sevika, Steb (YES, IM INCLUDING FISH MAN, DO NOT JUDGE ME HE WAS A CUTIE PIE))

Baldur's Gate 3 (Astarion, Gale, Halsin, Karlach, Laezel, Wyll, Rolan)

Other misc characters including but maybe not completely(?) limited to Riddick, Master Chief, Hellboy, Prince Nuada, Aemond Targaryen, Davos Blackwood, Tormund Giantsbane, Geralt of Rivia, Lambert, Elrond Peredhel (LOTR and TROP versions acceptable), and Sherlock Holmes (BBC and Netflix!Enola versions acceptable)

Again! This list could change! If it does change, I will edit this post, and then make an announcement of what my changes are, but this post will almost always be the best reference to find out what I'm writing or who I'm writing for!

Things I will not write:

Minors in sexual/smutty situations. They're either aged up or they're going in the trash, #sorrynotsorry

Pedophilia

Noncon

Hardcore stalking and/or harrassment

Physical and sexual abuse (unless it's like part of a character's backstory then it may be referenced, but I am not writing it out)

Anything else thats just. standard generic icks or no-nos. If you need clarification on something you're not sure I'm okay with, just ask

PSA: I am a white woman. The majority of my writings will be "x reader", and they will usually be fem!reader or afab!reader too, so if you wish for me to write for a gn!reader, please let me know in your request and I will honor that to the best of my ability!

I will also always try to be as vague as possible with other details such as race, hair color, eye color, etc., unless I happen to be writing an OC character with a specified appearance. But I imagine sometimes I'll make mistakes. I'll kick myself for it and I'll say sorry a million and one times, but it's almost inevitable and I'm an idiot and proofreading? whats that?? and I want to prepare you all now. And, if I do make a mistake, or if my writing ever seems to break that promise of being race vague, please let me know what I've done wrong and I will always try to alter what I can so everyone, regardless of what their race or appearance is, can feel welcome, accepted, and included in my writings!

Okay, you can all return to your regularly scheduled programming now :)

This is Renny signing off!

[findroleplay]

hi! 21+ rper searching for 18+ writer searching for the following rare / toxic ships. bolded char is who i’d write:

tris prior x jeanine matthews (divergent)

katniss everdeen x alma coin (hunger games)

bella swan x carlisle cullen bella swan x aro volturi (twilight)

hermione granger x severus snape hermione x remus lupin hermione x lucius malfoy (harry potter)

female sam winchester x chuck shurley fem sam x lucifer (supernatural)

sabrina spellman x lucifer (chilling adventures of sabrina) sabrina spellman x chuck shurley sabrina spellman x albert shaw (demon au)

clara oswald x 10/12/13th doctor (doctor who)

rey skywalker x luke skywalker (star wars)

padme obidala x obi-wan kenobi (star wars)

harley quinn x batfleck (dc) harley x negan (twd x dc crossover)

wanda maximoff x stephen strange (marvel) wanda x clint barton

peter parker x quentin beck (marvel)

natasha romanoff x bruce banner (marvel)

irene adler (megan fox fc) x sherlock holmes

female oc x john watson (bbc sherlock)

beth davenport x mr. grieff (inside man) OR lydia west x dracula ( bbc dracula)

daenerys targaryen x jorah mormont (got)

alison cameron/female oc x dr. house/dr. wilson (house md)

i have more but this is getting long lol. i don’t do doubles. i love smut but am looking for smut with plot and a bit of angst. i prefer to write bratty / power bottoms. i’m a novella writer (around 3-5 paras at a min.) and a slow replier, sometimes i get 3-5 replies a week, sometimes 1 or none for a few days, i'm looking for someone who is patient as i am very chill with reply pace. i’m open to ocs and discussing wanted plots and FCs. i have a lot of fcs and tropes i'd be willing to discuss!

will ask for a writing sample as well as i want to make sure i’m finding the right partners. pls like this and i’ll reach out ❤️

-

[garden-bug]

ABOUT ME 🐞🦟🐛🪲🐜🪳🦋🪰🦗🐝

I am garden-bug and you can refer to me as such. I love bugs big and small but mostly big (unless I have a microscope handy which I literally don't guys I don't have a microscope). My favourite insects are praying mantids or ants and I have written too many essays that talk about ant symbolism.

I am a literature student and literature analysis is not my degree it is my lifestyle.

I am multi fandom. I will list fandoms I engage with, my takes and my fics below:

Star Wars

OG Trilogy: Amazing incredible

Prequels: Flawed but culturally relevant

Sequels: 💀💀

The Mandalorian: Seasons 1 & 2 changed my life but none as much as season 3 which I was so appalled by that I spent the summer of 2023 rewriting

Ahsoka: 💀💀

Thrawn 1st 2 trilogies: Literally space Sherlock Holmes I love the Thrawn trilogies (haven't read the original yet I know shock horror but idt I'd cope)

Clone Wars: Very cool, Ahsoka my beloved. Darth Maul.

Anything not mentioned I either haven't seen, abhorred, or forgot what happened in.

My other takes:

New Star Wars is kinda… trash??

I do not like Dave Filoni's writing or his mando-verse or whatever he's calling it.

Ezra and Thrawn space adventures forever in our hearts 💔

Thrawn is an anti-villain guys.

Ships:

I wish I could ship Shin x Sabine but I've seen brick walls with more chemistry.

Thranto

DINLUKE!!!

My Fics:

Mandalorian S3 (+ Ahsoka series rewrite):

Force-school crack fic:

One Piece

I am on WATER SEVEN! I love Franky with my whole life and Iceberg is a beautiful man. Finished Dressrosa for Doflamingo and Law and Corazon. I cried. I’m kind of skipping around honestly because I’ve pretty much had everything spoiled I just pick an episode and go.

Ships

Zolu and Lawlu on the aroace spectrum my beloved 💞💞

Not been convinced by Zosan...

FROBIN!!

Oh my god dofuwani

Other takes:

I LOVE OPLA! It stole my heart. OPLA cast my beloved. So good. Amazing. Even my mum loved it.

Yes it’s a little different to the manga/anime and misses some details, but I think it does a brilliant job for what it is, capturing the essence of One Piece and making it more accessible to a wider audience. You would not catch my mum watching the anime that’s all I’m saying.

Crocodad/Crocomom is real idc

The one piece is real

My fics:

This was meant to be a silly genderbend dofuwani fic but it derailed significantly. Now it’s like 30k, Croco’s got a traumatic backstory, Luffy abandonment complex origin story *spoilers: crocomom*, Doffy has some gender realisations, fem dofuwani has taken over my brain like a fungus, it’s also somehow just really really fun to write.

Death Note

I don't interact with this fandom much because my takes are shaped by my AU so I literally relate to nothing. Death Note has be in a constant choke-hold just always like it’s always there in the back of my mind. I think it made me who I am. Uhh help.

Ships:

Not a lawlight shipper. Light was mean and evil and L deserved better 11yr old me was distraught and my feelings have never changed.

L x Lola (OC)

In my AU Near and Mello are raised as siblings so their ship kinda freaks me out.

Idc abt Matt I never even wrote him into my fic (rip).

Mello x Halle my beloved. I love when two bisexuals fall in love.

Other takes:

The manga is better.

The anime deserves a re-adaptation??

Near is my absolute favourite fictional character ever (genuinely do not know why huh) he is so annoying and I adore him.

Mello didn't die what L and Lola saved him.

My Fics:

I wrote this when I was 12 but it is the basis for my AU and deserves all the honorary mentions:

Jujutsu Kaisen

WHAT THE FUCK -

My fics:

Cosy one-shots basically:

Bungou Stray Dogs

Chaos shambled disarray that somehow I enjoy.

Pisses me off but it has its moments.

Ships:

Sokoku is my all time absolute favourite ship ever of all time. Yeah no it still is I just checked.

My fics:

Dazai and Chuuya get hit by a tsunami oh no they have to face their tumultuous feelings for each other (spiral) and accidentally adopt/rescue a small child:

Ninjago

JUMP UP KICK BACK WHIP AORUND AN D SHPIN -

I love Ninjago. Lloyd my beloved. Zane is me fr.

Ships:

Jaya

Zane/Pixal

Kai/Skylor

Llorumi is a NO Harumi is an irredeemable monster and you cannot convince me otherwise. My sweet Lloyd deserves better.

I don't ship any of the ninja with each other ESPECIALLY not with Lloyd the age thing is a mess.

Images used in the ninjago memes are from Pinterest and saved to this board under the ‘I’m gonna make memes’ section: https://pin.it/4rN3gIj

[bakerstreethound]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your five favorite fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love. <3

Alright, my dearest Rogue, I finally got around to answering this. I have a disaster of a masterlist happening and ugh I have no idea if I will ever get it together, but Oh well. This is why I have started cross posting my works to A03 for more security. Anyways, here is my list of fics of mine that I like, but it was hard to choose.

Once a Dream, Twice the Nightmare (Hobrintheus x afab!reader)

Hold my Heart for it Bleeds (Soft Sherlock x fem!reader)

A Walk in the Park (Single Father!Corinthian x OC reader Aspen Reeves) So far, I have three chapters to this series and I adore Aspen and Corinthian together! All current chapters are up on A03 since Tumblr refused to circulate them.

Weariness & Passion (Sherlock Holmes x gender neutral reader)

Safe With Us (Hobrintheus x gender neutral reader)

Thank you again for sending this in and for your patience!

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🗽 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . . .

BRITPOP BOYS

CRIMINAL MINDS (to be added shortly)

HARRY POTTER

BBC SHERLOCK

DOCTOR WHO (to be added shortly)

MISC (to be added shortly)

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🗽

[inklores]

first edit for “champagne problems” !!

also crossposted on my tiktok: @danyscloudswp

[mister-tom-a-dildo-lover]

I only saw this today, so sorry for the wait.

how many works do you have on ao3? 312 under Watermelonsmellinfellon.

what's your total ao3 word count? 4,725,318 Words.

what fandoms do you write for? Hannibal, HP, Sherlock, YOI, MDZS, SVSSS, Naruto, InuYasha, Twilight, Marvel, etc...

top five fics by kudos: Strive - Tomarry, Harry Potter: Master of Malicious Compliance - Gen, Moments In Time - Tomarry, Matchmaker, Matchmaker - Tomarry, and You Get What You Give - fem!Harry Tomarry.

do you respond to comments? Not unless the person makes an assumption that NEEDS to be nipped in the bud. Too many times, do people assume things and then attack ME because their idea didn't come to fruition. Other times it's to answer questions, but I don't have it in me to respond to every single person.

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? It's a Hannigram oneshot about Will Graham actually killing Freddie Lounds but Mizumono still happening the same way and him thinking Hannibal betrayed him and Hannibal has to learn the harsh truth he can never make up for and will always regret.

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? A YOI fic where Yuuri is Deaf.

do you get hate on fics? All the time. I get accused of 'making things too woke' of being an 'n-word' of 'wishing I was white' or 'having shitty writing' of 'being fucking useless' of being a 'misogynist' cuz I dare to have women who do and say bad things to people, of 'homophobia' because I wrote an internet troll calling someone a faggot and then getting dragged for filth by other people. I get at least 1 hate comment a day.

do you write smut? Sometimes. It's difficult because I'm not into that at all. I have no experience or interest, so getting in the mood to write smut is hard af. I know the words and phrases people like, but despite being told I write some steamy shit, I feel nothing at all and don't see the appeal to the words I write.

craziest crossover? Probably my HP x Vampire Knight fic. OR my Hannibal x Twilight fic. OR my HP x The Boy fic. OR my Hannibal x I Am Legend fic. I get weird ideas ngl.

have you ever had a fic stolen? All the fucking time. Every 3 months, I have a tradition where I check back on Wattpad and sweep up and down to find all the new people stealing my Harrymort/Tomarry fics ad literally claiming them as their own! And it's like clockwork. It's a lot of effort having to report them over and over for the same thing.

have you ever had a fic translated? No.

have you ever co-written a fic before? Somewhat in that a friend wrote a fic based on a personal story of mine and my mom's and then had us both in the document to beta the work, and she listed us as cowriters.

all-time favorite ship? Harrymort and Tomarry. Followed soon after by Sasunaru. Whenever Taylor Swift releases new music, my first thought it always how I can apply the new songs to these ships.

what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? My HP x Naruto fic, Can Your Friends Do This? cuz it's hard getting in the mood for Naruto these days when it feels like the canon story has been ruined beyond repair.

what are your writing strengths? Introspection, Depression, Angst, and Fluff.

what are your writing weaknesses? Details. I often forget to pad out the between stuff so it's not just paragraphs of introspection and then dialogue with no indication of who is speaking. It's been years and I still do this. Whenever I edit a chapter, it'll end up about 1,000 words longer than it originally was when I finished writing the first draft.

thoughts on dialogue in another language? It's more immersive imo. The moment the story departs from the language you are reading it in... showing that is good. It's a general rule that anime fics are treated as a book translated into English while the characters are STILL technically using Japanese idioms and phrases in the story despite how the words are English to the reader. If the OC-as-Naruto started speaking French out of nowhere, that should be shown. Because the characters of the Naruto story are speaking Japanese because they live in a society inspired by Japanese culture, and French is not a language expected out of characters speaking Japanese to each other.

favorite fic you've written? Harry Potter: Master of Malicious Compliance. I wrote it in 6 days and then took 6 more days to edit it and then posted it as a Christmas gift years back. I documented the process on Tumblr and people's reactions made it even better.

I can't think of anyone to tag rn but here's my answers.

20 Questions (for fanfic writers)

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

3. what fandoms do you write for?

4. top five fics by kudos:

5. do you respond to comments?

6. what is the fic your wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. do you get hate on fics?

9. do you write smut?

10. craziest crossover?

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. all time favorite ship?

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. what are your writing strengths?

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

20. favorite fic you've written?

Tagging: @laserswordtraining @00queasy00 @cindle-writes @ciacconne @i-dream-of-libraries @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts @youknowmevj @mister-tom-a-dildo-lover @imsiriuslyreading

[annesthaeticc]

Jealous, Love? | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

Jealous, Love? | Sherlock x Fem!Reader [Rated 18+]

| a smut fic

| 3772 words

| RATED 18+. PWP; porn with some plot. light BDSM, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talking

| NOTE: HELLO! this one's a sherlock smut one. and it's long like sherlock's 🍆! i loved writing this and yeah i hope you do too. AS WARNING AS I ALWAYS DO; this is a smut fic, so if it's not for u and if u shouldn't be reading this, please stay away. comments, hearts, REBLOGS are greatly appreciated! actual content after the 'keep reding' cut!

“Honestly, if you two want people to stop suspecting you’re a gay couple, you need to stop bickering like an old married couple. You’re definitely worse than Mrs. Turner’s tenants.” your voice echoed through the living room of 221B. You plopped down the worn sofa and the two men finally stopped their heated discussion.

“I’m not gay, Y/N. I don’t know about him though.” John joked and hugged you briefly before offering you a cuppa.

“Oh, I know you’re not gay, John. And I’m definitely not so sure about Sherlock.” you winked at the curly-haired man and in response, he rolled his eyes at you, deeming it useless to reply to your remark with a sarcastic one. Sherlock turned away, focusing back on the case files scattered on the table. John served tea and you settled on one of the chairs, making yourself comfortable.

You took a sip of tea before asking what’s the latest case about. Sherlock was all too happy to indulge you. The suspect was a rich and grimy criminal, holding multiple suspicions of theft and sexual assault charges. The case was plain as day, Sherlock managed to crack it within a day, but he took the case nonetheless, he couldn’t pass up the challenge. Now, the criminal was smart to outrun the authorities, he was never caught. Sherlock emphasized he was a ‘filthy bastard’. You snickered at his label.

“So, what’s the problem?” you asked. John sighed as Sherlock suggested the blogger should break it to her.

“He wants you to be the bait.” John sighed heavily and you know he’s against that plan. You and John were fond of each other, treated each other as siblings, and this is him being protective of you.

“Bait?” you reiterated just so you could clear it out what it entails. Sherlock sat in font of you and crossed his legs.

“I need you to seduce him, get a confession out of him.” Sherlock said as if it was the most normal thing to say. You looked at him and squinted your eyes at him.

“Y/N, you don’t have to do this. We’ll come up with a better plan, Sherlock’s idea is totally rubbish—” John said but you cut him off.

“I’ll do it.” you said with a smirk. Sherlock raised his eyebrow at you, obviously annoyed and you know the very reason why. He doesn’t want you to agree.

“What? Y/N, it’s not safe. This is just Sherlock’s idea of a sick joke…” John trailed off, and you shrugged.

“Why not? It’ll help you solve this case quicker; you can stamp a big ‘SOLVED’ on the case folder. Besides, it could be fun, just like those spy films we watch? You know, like Charlie’s Angels?” you giggled. Suddenly, Sherlock stood up, buttoned up his jacket and started to pace around the room.

“Here’s his schedule. Let’s work out your moves.” Sherlock said and grabbed another folder, tossing it on the coffee table in front of you. The two of you started to discuss the specifics, then John excused himself, saying his farewell as he needs to pick up Rosie from the daycare. When John was finally out of the door, Sherlock abruptly closed the folder, blocking your view from the criminal’s schedule.

“I know what you’re doing.” he said, his voice tough and commanding. You know that voice so well.

“Do you, Sherlock?” you leaned forward.

“I do. And I’m telling you, it’s not going to end well. Especially for you.”

“Then why suggest it in the first place? Oh my god, are you actually concerned for me?” you smirked at him and he scowled.

“Again, my idea of a sick joke. Didn’t know you’d take the challenge. And no, I’m not. If I’m actually concerned for you, I wouldn’t have suggested it in the first place.” he said, his voice fading as he went towards the window.

“You’re spinning in circles here, Sherlock. What do you really want me to do?” you stepped closer to him, invading his space. He turned and looked at you, taking a moment to just breathe in your sight; hair shining against the morning light, bright and challenging eyes, and soft pink lips.

He doesn’t want you to do it. He can’t bear to watch you galivant around and do nasty things with that slimy bastard. He doesn’t want to see you with another man, because you, you’re all his. He’s the only one who should touch you and bring you to heaven and back, and you feel all the same.

Your relationship with him was not conventional. But who cares about that, it’s the 21st century already. Sex. That’s it. The two of you enjoy copious amount of sex. Behind close doors, of course. What the two of you have is a secret. As time moved on, you developed fondness and maybe a little bit of sentiment for him. And him, just the same. He’ll deny it for all he wants, of course, but he feels something for you, something more than just what the two of you have. He’ll never say it out loud, but you can feel it in his secret touches and stolen kisses.

“I don’t want you to do it, but you should. I’m saying I’m not going to like it.” he finally said, then brushed a stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You gave him a small smile and traced the lapel of his jacket, before placing your hand on his chest. He cupped your jaw and leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, kissing you softly.

When the kiss broke, you looked up at him and said, “I’m not going to like it either, but the things we do for the greater good, right?” In reply, he gave you a small nod before kissing your temple. He walked away and offered you tea. It was going to be fun, indeed.

As weeks progressed, the plan did too. You’ve successfully managed to ‘seduce’ Vincent, the slimy and filthy bastard who preys on women and steals paintings for fun. How did the police not manage to capture the man, you have no idea. Maybe Sherlock was right after all, they were right out idiots.

You began to spend more time with Vincent. Almost every night you were out with him, dancing in some club or having dinner at hotels. But nothing happened of course, that’s just it. You’ve always turned down his advances, promising to save it on the night of the ball. Sherlock on the other hand, was playing pleased with your progress. You were actually helping the case; he’ll give you that. But then, deep inside, he wasn’t at all happy to hear your stories about dinner dates and club hopping. His imagination would run wild and it drove him up the wall. He silently hoped it would all be over.

Ah yes, the Mayfair Charity Ball. It wasn’t listed on his schedule as it was an all-of-a-sudden invitation. You agreed to be his date and busied yourself on that afternoon to pamper yourself. By seven in the evening, you were dressed to the nines, wearing a deep red gown, black heels, and flawless makeup. You walked around the crowded room; your hand loosely tucked on your partner’s arm. Sherlock wasn’t aware of the event, and how wrong of you to think of that when you spotted his mop of curly hair in the corner of the dancefloor.

You sticked with Vincent for the majority of the night, dodging his drinks and winking at him whenever he suggested that the two of you will have all night to romp in the sheets. Internally, you gagged whenever he said something about that. The band started the song and the dance commenced. You and Vincent swayed around. He was drunk, and it’s an understatement. As the third song came to its crescendo, Vincent said something that finally closed the case.

“I’ll tell you something, darling. All they’re saying were true. Women are just playthings for me. When I’m done with them, I give them reasons to leave, I hurt them. But it’s all fine now, innit? They can’t catch me. And you, my darling, you’re different. I’m not going to hurt you; I want to keep you.” he said, the last words falling from his lips, you smirked.

Across the room, Sherlock spotted the two of you and his anger was starting to bubble. You, being you, provoked him. You leaned in closer to Vincent and whispered something in his ear. Your eyes locked gaze with Sherlock before you kissed Vincent’s jaw, leaving a red kiss mark. Sherlock watched the scene and closed his fist. He glared at you, keeping his gaze on you. The song finally ended, you and Vincent broke apart. You excused yourself and went towards the ladies’ room. It was surprisingly empty. You quickly did your business but before you could leave, Sherlock closed the door and locked it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said and leaned against the door.

“That’s just acting, Sherlock. You should know that.” you rolled your eyes at him.

“Really? Not letting me know about this ball is also acting? You’re a rubbish actor, Y/N.”

“Oh my god, Sherlock. Are you jealous?” you said, faux surprised.

“I’m not jealous, Y/N.”

“Oh! You so are!” you pointed at him. Sherlock caught your wrist and spun you around, pinning you against the bathroom door. All of a sudden, you could feel him everywhere. His gentle but firm grasp on your wrist, his cologne, his breath against your ear, and the growing tightness in his slacks against your thigh.

“Why would I be jealous, Y/N? I know I’m the only one who could touch you like this.” he whispered in your ear. You closed your eyes and you could feel his hand travel down your gown. He hitched up the hem of your gown up to your thigh and his hand left a burning blaze across your skin. He found your lace underwear and pushed it aside, then taking you by surprise, he slipped his middle finger inside you. Slowly and surely, he massaged your walls while you contained your whimpers.

“I’m the only one who could make you scream, love.” he growled in your ear, before biting your earlobe. The sensation made you grip on his bicep, your grip almost too desperate.

With only his middle finger fucking you, you can’t help yourself feel the familiar build-up of your orgasm. His voice wasn’t helping too. He was relentless. Sherlock wanted to take you to the edge, but just right at the edge. At that point where you’ll beg him to fuck you so hard that the secret that you two had would be revealed. The neighbors would find out that the two of you were fucking after all, and how did they find out? You screamed down the flat with Sherlock’s name. That’s what he wanted.

As you approach your orgasm, Sherlock abruptly stopped his ministrations. He pulled out his finger out of you and tugged your underwear down your legs. You tried to draw him close, hungry for friction, but he pulled away. He stuffed your underwear in his pocket, and sucked off his middle finger. Right then and there, you would’ve come so hard and so blindingly fast. But you stood frozen against the door, panting and wanting for more. Expecting for a kiss, he leaned in your ear instead and whispered, “See you at home, love.” One last wink, he went outside and closed the door.

With a triumphant smirk painted on his lips, Sherlock coolly walked around the party before settling to stand in a corner to contact Lestrade. With the arrangements of the arrest made, before the commotion could start, he left. Sherlock left the event. His coat collar turned up and his scarf wound around his pale neck. The walk was long enough so he could process his thoughts, especially his feelings for you.

To say he is confused is an understatement. You. You made him feel unexplainable things, and not only chemicals felt during arousal and attraction. You caused a riot between his mind and his heart and he was getting tired of it. For once, he decided he’ll give into what he really wants.

He wants you. Just you.

He wants to see you smile, feel and hear your laugh. And he wants to be the sole cause of that. He wants you, anytime and anywhere. He wants to see you and feel you before he drifts of to sleep, and he wants you to be the very first face he sees in the morning.

He wants you, big time.

And seeing you with another man made him angry. It also made him feel helpless, like his gut was being sucker punched repeatedly. With this, he wants to put a stop on your rendezvous, finally hold your hand and call you his.

It was around midnight when you arrived at 221 Baker Street. You quietly trudged up the stairs, hoping the detective would be asleep. But there he was in the living room, standing immaculate in his suit, his bowtie untied and hanging loosely on his neck. As if he was waiting for you.

“What was that all about, Sherlock?” you hissed at him, seething in anger and pent-up arousal.

“I just wanted to remind you, Y/N.” he replied, turning to face you. The light from the fireplace highlighting his features.

“Remind me what exactly, Sherlock? That I’m yours? You think all that sex we had equates to a relationship of sorts, Sherlock? Fuck, no. You know what, I’m done.” you put up your hands, in gesture of defense. You too, you were tired of screwing and fooling around. You want to stop this ridiculous game you two were playing.

“And I’m done too, Y/N. Let’s stop this bullshit.” he said, his voice piercing through you. He rarely cursed, so you know he’s serious. You misunderstand and so, with a sharp inhale, you backed against the wall, looking for the door handle to make your leave. He stopped you, pacing to your spot and gently grasping your wrist.

“Let’s do this properly this time, Y/N. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine.” he gazed at you, gauging your response. You watched each other’s pupils blow in desire and hear each other’s breath hitch. Sherlock took in the speed of your pulse; he could feel your heartbeat thrum in his fingers. And you could hear his heartbeat, pounding loudly, almost as if it is trying to break out of his ribcage.

You made the first move, answering him with a searing kiss. He responded in the same passion, cupping your jaw while you wrapped your hands around his arms. The two of you stumbled further into the hallway, the kiss getting more and more heated in every stumbling step. Sherlock guided you into his room, closing the door shut with his foot. He caught your bottom lip, sucked it before breaking the kiss for a breather.

“I want you. So much.” he whispered against your lips, then planting his forehead against yours.

“And you have me, Holmes. Ever since you fucked the living daylights out of me.” you giggled. He gifted you his throaty chuckle and connected his lips with yours.

You managed to chuck of his jacket, it landed on the floor. Soon followed his tight white shirt. The two of you ended on the bed with him above you. Hands feeling and breathings hard and fast. Sherlock can’t decide if he should fuck you in your pretty dress, he loved feeling the material on your skin and his. But he chose to tug off the straps of your gown, he found that little tie the bound the dress to your body and in one swift hand movement, you were naked lying on his bed, save for your heels. Suddenly, his pants got too uncomfortable.

Feeling incredibly sexy under his gaze, you started to touch yourself. You bit your lip and traced light circles on your sensitive flesh. It was such a sight and Sherlock couldn’t take it anymore. Finally free of any clothes, Sherlock fished out his discarded bowtie and held it up. He raised his eyebrow at you in silent confirmation and you nodded. He crawled up to your body, leaving a trail of kisses across your stomach. He massaged your breasts, pinching and twisting your peaked nipples. He took one into his mouth and you arched your back, your hands holding on to the sheets and onto his hair.

Sherlock let out a groan, your hands on his head caused a shiver to run down his spine. He wanted more and so he switched to your other breast, treating it with the same affection. Then he sat up and grabbed his bowtie. You offered your wrists and he made a quick work of binding your hands together. He helped you to a more comfortable position, you gripped the sheets above your head, anticipating for more.

Sherlock never wanted this moment to end, he wanted this scene of you and him painted and framed, posted on the walls of your room in his Mind Palace. He slowly lowered himself to you, body to body for a second. He held your hips and positioned it against his. You wrapped legs around his waist, then you felt him. He teased you at first and moans escaped yours and his lips.

Sherlock guided his cock inside your cunt and groaned in relief. You were so warm, so tight and so wet, and it was all for him. For a moment it made his head spin. He pulled back and he could feel your heels dig touch his ass. It was painfully delicious. He pushed himself inside you, deeper this time and your eyes rolled back.

“Fuck, that’s so deep.” you gasped. He kissed you and braced himself on the bed so he could properly time and angle his thrusts. One hand on the bed, one hand on your hips, Sherlock began to make love to you.

With your hands tied, all you could do was watch him, moan and curse, and clench your muscles around him. You gazed at his flexing muscles and his face etched in pleasure. His jaw slack and nostrils flaring, breathing heavy, and his hair falling and curling on his forehead. Sometimes he would kiss you and let out a sharp ‘fuck’ every time he felt you contract around him so tight. Such vision to behold. He angled your hips, bringing your legs on his shoulders and that sent him deeper into you. This time, he varied his thrusts, instead of thrusting in and out of you, he moved his hips up and down and that hit the spot, every time. You writhed in pleasure and soon, Sherlock brought out your first orgasm out of you.

You screamed as you felt your sudden orgasm flow through your body, ecstasy coursing through you. Sherlock slowed his thrusts and let you ride out your high. Panting and sweating, Sherlock watched you while he brought your legs from his shoulders. Planting kisses on your legs and finally removed your high heels. Then he untied his bowtie from your wrists, placing a kiss on your hand. As you caught your breath, you also caught the mischievous glint in his eyes. He wasn’t done with you.

“Got your breath back?” he asked, and kissed the pulse point on your neck.

“I think so.” you grinned at him and stole a kiss.

“Good, ‘cause I want to try something.” he replied and helped you into a kneeling position. He directed you to kneel on a certain side of the bed, that side that faced his closet, that side that faced the mirror. There you could see yourself, and looked beautifully fucked.

He positioned himself behind you and sat back on his haunches. He pumped his dick a few times before he let you sink into him. A different position, a different angle. This time, you know you’ll come just after a few seconds. He was buried into you balls-deep and you feel him poke that spot.

The two of you moved in synchrony; you lifting your hips and sitting back down on his length, and him thrusting up to meet you. With your hands free to roam, you brought your arm and linked it on his neck, making you arch your back.

“Fuck, you’re so tight and wet like this.” Sherlock gasped in your ear. He let his hands wander too. You saw in the mirror how his graceful hands mapped your body, caressing your skin. One hand gripped your hips, guiding your thrusts, while his other hand stayed on your belly. He pressed on that spot where his cock is and you felt gloriously full. You shrieked in surprise.

“You feel that love? That’s me, deep inside you.” he said. Pressing into that spot once more.

“Oh god, Sherlock. I’m coming!” you cried.

“Come on, love. Come for me. Let’s come together.” he whispered harshly. He double timed and gave more force into his thrust. Every time he entered you and slid through your walls, you moaned.

“Now! Y/N, come with me!” he grunted and you finally felt warm liquid coat your walls. You came just in time, squeezing his cum out of his cock into your cunt. You felt every twitch of his cock and Sherlock felt every spasm. He held you against his body, steadying you. Helping you not fall into the bed and become a trembling mess. He traced your shoulder with kisses as you ran your hands on his thighs, helping each other to calm down.

“What just happened?” you giggled.

“I believe we just had the ‘we’re now a couple’ type of sex.” he chuckled.

“Oh, Sherlock, you’re such a romantic.” you laughed, and held up his hand to place a kiss on his knuckle.

“Only for you, love.” he said, his sweet baritone voice vibrated through him and you. He placed a kiss on your temple and hummed.

Against your back, you could feel his heartbeat and his slick skin. And never, never in your life, you felt safer and more loved than in his arms, in his presence. You smiled to yourself at the thought. Sherlock sharply drew in a breath, released it, and smiled. You saw his smile in the mirror. The two of you looked so well fucked but all the same happy, and finally free from restrained love.

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( hope you liked that! i've always wanted to write a steamy piece with sherlock so yeah. again; comments, hearts, especially reblogs are special to me. stay safe and sane u lovely! )

[daydreamtofiction]

‘Common Room’ // BBC Sherlock

An AU where Sherlock and Margaux (OC) meet at university. 

A/N: This one shot was requested by a reader on ao3 for the Reader Request book of my Sherlock fanfic series Glass - 'I love the idea of Margaux and Sherlock at uni... Maybe a science report partners situation?'

Warning: Smoking, mentions of drinking and drug-taking, themes of bullying. 

Wattpad | AO3

Students packed the lecture hall, some taking notes, others dozing off behind their books. Paul, the tutor, stood at the front of the room as the glow from the overhead projector reflected off his glasses. it was a cool November afternoon, and even in the windowless hall, there was a chill in the air.

"Right so let's talk about this assignment," said Paul.

There was a collective groan.

He bowed his head and glared over his glasses at his students. "If you're not already working on it, then I implore you to get your arses in gear and start. Deadline is next month."

There was another groan, followed by quiet mutterings.

"Come on, guys. I know presentations aren't nice, but it's a pairs assignment which does make it easier. Show of hands, has everyone chosen their partners?"

There was a scattering of raised arms.

"Okay, anyone who doesn't have their hands raised, you need to have it sorted before the end of this session. So, look around, choose your partner and make sure you let me know so I can schedule your assessment dates."

The students began to shuffle around, talking quietly amongst themselves. Paul stepped out of the glare of the projector and looked across the rows of seats.

"Mr Holmes," he said, gesturing to the boy at the back. "That means you too."

"I don't do partners," he replied.

"It's the assignment."

"The assignment has been designed to test one's ability to delegate workload and collaborate in research. I do not possess, nor desire either of those qualities and I don't intend to enter into a vocation which requires me to do so. The presentation is worth 20 credits - I could refuse to do it and still pass this module. So you either allow me to do the assignment alone or I would like to forfeit the grade now."

Heads turned towards the young man as he sat alone at the back. Sherlock Holmes. The loner. The 'weirdo'. He was tall and svelte, with dark curly hair that fell messily into his pale blue eyes. His face was sharp and angular, his voice deep and rich with a vocabulary beyond his twenty years of life. He knew people were looking at him, but he didn't care. Instead he remained seated, leant back in his chair as he waited for his tutor to speak.

Paul rolled his eyes and let out a huff. "Fine, you can work alone." He checked his watch. "Okay, that's it, you're all free to go. If you can write down your pairs on your way out, I'll sort out your assessment dates."

Students weaved through the rows of desks, gathering in clusters at Paul's desk to write their names before spilling out the door. Paul sat down and pointed a small remote towards the back of the room, switching off the projector. He picked up the list and began reading over it when someone cleared their throat beside him. He looked up to see one of his students standing awkwardly with her bag over her shoulder.

"Miss Cave, everything okay?" he asked.

"Erm, yeah, could have a word about this presentation?"

He put down the list and turned his chair to face her. "Sure."

"I was wondering if I could work alone too?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, closing his eyes with an exasperated sigh. "It's a pairs assignment."

"B-but, you let that other boy work alone."

"He's a... special case."

She laughed politely, shifting her bag up her shoulder, her long dark hair getting caught in the strap. "It's just... Well, I'm not a chemistry student. I'm just taking extra modules to build up credits for my PhD application. So I don't know anyone, and they all paired up and-"

"Look, I'm sorry but if you can't find a partner then you're going to have to drop the module."

"I'll work with her," a voice echoed from the back.

They turned to see Sherlock packing his books into a bag. He threw it over his shoulder and slid a pencil behind his ear before making his way to the front.

"You'll... Really?" she replied, her voice more timid than she had meant for it to be.

"West Hall common room. 6pm," he said before walking past her and leaving through the open door.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Margaux Cave walked through the mahogany halls of West Hall. She was carrying two paper cups of coffee, gritting her teeth as they burned her fingers. Her long hair cascaded to the bottom of her back and her freckled nose was still pink from the cold autumn evening.

A group of boys stood in her way. She walked through them with her head down, but even without eye contact, she still felt them leering, making comments amongst themselves as if competing for her attention.

She walked into the common room and looked around for him, eventually finding him alone at a table near a large window.

"Hi," she said as she placed the cups on the table. "I don't know if you drink coffee but I brought you one anyway."

He looked up her for a moment before returning to his book. She raised her eyebrows and sat down, pushing the cup towards him.

"I almost didn't see you," she said, gesturing to the bookshelf behind them. "You're pretty well-hidden here."

"Avoids unwanted interaction," he replied in a low, monotone voice.

She nodded awkwardly as she slipped off her jacket. "So... Do you have an idea of what research topic you want to cover?"

"Molecular reaction dynamics."

"Okay."

He raised his head again, looking her in the eye for the first time. It caught her off guard; the intensity of his glare making her heart rattle in her chest.

"Okay?" he said. "You're not going to counter with a different topic?"

"Honestly, I don't care. I'm just here to get a good grade."

His eyes darted across her face. "Forensic psychology student," he said.

"Yes," she laughed. "How did you know?"

"Deductive reasoning. I observe elements of a person's appearance and behaviour to arrive at a conclusion."

"Wow. Where did you learn that?"

"I've been doing it since I was a child. It's become automatic upon meeting someone."

"Like an inbuilt scanner."

"I suppose."

She smiled. "That's so cool."

He looked away anxiously.

"I'm Margaux, by the way."

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes and before you think to say anything, I've already heard every joke, wordplay and nickname-"

"Why would I make a joke? Sher-lock," she moved her mouth slowly around each letter. "I like it. It suits you."

His brows came together with a cautious curiosity. Partly because she was being so nice to him, but mostly because he was finding her company somewhat pleasant.

"So what did you observe about me that told you I study forensic psychology?" she asked.

He closed his book and clasped his hands together on top of it. "There's a book sticking out of your bag titled 'Biology and the Mind' and your jacket still has a courthouse 'visitor' sticker on it."

"Oh..."

"Not that impressive when explained, is it."

She laughed as she peeled the sticky label off her jacket.

"You're also craving a cigarette," he added.

"What? Oh come on, how could you possibly-"

He glanced down, gesturing to the sticker she had rolled into the shape of a narrow tube.

"Oh," she finished.

"When did you last have one?"

"A few days ago. Typical poor student, taking up a habit I couldn't afford."

"Would you like one?"

They stood outside in an alcove near the door. The sky was black, blanketed in stars even against the campus lights. Margaux pulled her jacket tightly around her, blowing out smoke through chattering teeth. Sherlock stood stoically as he took a long drag, exhaling calmly as if he couldn't feel the cold.

Margaux glanced up at him. "Can I ask why you chose to work alone?"

"I always work alone," he replied. "I've been told I'm difficult."

She raised the cigarette to her lips. "So... Why did you offer to work with me?"

"I'm also incredibly impulsive."

"Ah," she laughed. "Difficult and impulsive - a golden combination."

"I wouldn't say it was golden."

"I was being sarcastic."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

They met almost every evening to work on their assignment. Sherlock liked to take charge, to lead the research and direct the presentation. Margaux didn't mind. She liked to watch him, finding him fascinating, like a character from a story - He was blunt and intense and never smiled. But there was something endearing about him, something likeable about the fact that he didn't want to be liked.

"Why did you choose to take modules in chemistry?" he asked as he stared down a microscope.

They were in the university lab. It was quiet except for a small group of students working at a machine nearby.

"Biology was full." She saw what she thought was a smile from behind the lens. "Why did you choose chemistry?"

"I like to know how things work, to understand them. Everything around us is chemistry, even human beings - everything they are, everything they feel is just... chemicals."

"You say 'they' like you don't include yourself in the human bracket..."

"I've always felt there was a differentiation." He moved away from the microscope, sitting upright and writing in his notebook. "Why forensic psychology?"

"I've always been fascinated by how the mind works. Crime. Murder. I want to know what makes people... go bad."

"What if they were always bad?"

She shrugged. "Then it's just 'chemicals', init."

He looked up at her and let out a quiet laugh. She smiled in response, proud that she'd managed to draw even a small spark of joy from him.

"Oh, listen," she said. "I'm going out for a drink later with the people from my halls. I was wondering if you wanted to come?"

He blinked at her, the fluorescent lights of the lab turning his eyes a vibrant turquoise. "No."

"Are you sure? We're not going to the clubs, just the pub by the-"

"No."

"Okay..."

They packed up their things and left together, stepping out onto a cold, dark campus. They walked quietly down a cobbled path lined with lampposts, the sounds of drunk students in their halls pouring from open windows.

"It could be fun..." Margaux pressed.

"For who exactly?"

She looked up at him and rolled her eyes.

"I may lack tact, Margaux, but I don't lack sight. I know people don't like me, I know I get under their skin."

"Not mine."

He sighed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his raincoat. "That's because you're distracted by the work we're doing."

A group of boys were walking in their direction, some unsteady on their feet, others singing together as they swayed with beers in their hands.

"Dear god," Sherlock mumbled.

"What?"

"Is that Sherlock Holmes!?" one of them shouted.

He ignored them as they kept walking, closing the distance between them.

"Alright, Holmsey!"

"Sebastian..." he responded dryly.

"Who's this then?" He gestured to Margaux. "Do you need help, love? He's not holding you against your will is he?"

They all sniggered, the group parting as the pair walked through them.

"Go home, Sebastian," said Sherlock. "Eat a piece of bread."

Margaux glared at them as they passed. "Friends of yours?" she asked sarcastically.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. She knew the encounter had bothered him, but she didn't want to overstep.

They parted ways at the end of the path. She gave a feeble wave as he walked off into the dark, hands in his pockets, curls blowing in the wind.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

December crept up quickly. Margaux sat absentmindedly tapping her pen against her notebook as the psychology tutor spoke. Her page was blank, except for a small scribble in the corner with an idea for the chemistry presentation. The tutor dismissed the class. She stuffed her things in her bag and hurried out quickly.

She waited in the common room. Watching as students came and went in waves. He wasn't there. She checked her watch and then her notebook.

Friday - common room, 6.30

It was Friday, she was in the common room and it was now 7.15pm. She had only known Sherlock for a month, but it was long enough to know he was almost never late.

She made her way across campus until she got to his halls. She slid past a group of students as they walked through the heavy door and made her way upstairs, scouring every door until she found his name.

She knocked. Nothing. She knocked again, harder.

"Sherlock? It's Margaux, are you in there?" She waited for a moment. "We were supposed to meet to work on the chemistry presentation..."

She pressed her ear to the door, hearing a shuffling on the other side. She knocked again.

"Sherlock, open the door or I'm calling a rep."

Within moments, the door swung open. She stifled a gasp as she looked at him; standing there, shirt half-buttoned, skin sallow, eyes bloodshot.

"Are you... are you okay?" she asked as she stepped into his room.

"Me? I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine? Do you want some tea? I don't have a kettle but-"

"Sherlock..."

He stopped, turning around and shrugging at her. "What?"

"We were supposed to meet. Our presentation's next week."

"Gah! Sorry. I, erm, I wasn't feeling well. Forgot to tell you. Give me one second and we'll go."

She watched as he rubbed his mouth with his hand, the other hand on his hip.

She took a step towards him. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I... I, er, I seem to have misplaced my shoes..."

She looked down at his bare feet then at the pair of shoes in the corner of the room.

"Sherlock, why don't we skip it tonight? It's pretty much done anyway. I think you need to rest."

"I'm fine, I'm..."

She placed a hand on his arm and he went quiet, looking down at it, as if the touch of another person was alien to him. She led him slowly to his bed.

He was mumbling now, incoherent sentences that faded in and out. She sat on the edge of the bed and encouraged him to lie down, stroking the hair out of his face and resting the back of her hand on his forehead. He wasn't hot but he was sweating.

He eventually dozed off. She tried to stand up but felt a tugging at her waist, looking down to see a fistful of her jumper in his hand. She prised his fingers apart gently, trying not to wake him, and released herself from his grasp. But as she looked down at his arm, she noticed something.

Margaux knelt down quietly beside the bed and rolled his sleeve up gently, letting out a sigh when she noticed the puncture marks in his forearm.

"I wish you'd talk to me," she whispered.

She rolled him onto his side and left a glass of water on the nightstand before creeping out of his room, as if she had never been there.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The next few days passed with no mention of what happened in Sherlock's room. Margaux found herself slipping things into conversation, like small invitations to talk about his problems. But he never took them. Instead he focused on the assignment, finishing it proudly two days before their deadline.

Sherlock sat alone in the large dining hall. He was reading a book as he ate his lunch, his eyes flickering up with a glare to anyone who tried to sit at his table.

Behind him, Sebastian and his friends sat joking loudly, throwing a rugby ball back and forth. Margaux sat on the other side of the room with a group of friends, finding herself distracted by their obnoxious jeering.

Suddenly, the rugby ball flew into the air, spinning quickly as it soared towards Sherlock. He kept his eyes on his book as he raised his hand, blocking the ball and batting it away with perfect reflexes.

The boys began to laugh.

"There you go, proof he's a robot," said one of them.

"Robot? He's bloody rainman."

They all laughed again. Sherlock glanced up at them for a moment before rolling his eyes and returning to his book.

"Hey Holmes, is it true you can you tell what I had for breakfast based on the colour of my socks?"

"I wouldn't call grimy sweat stains a colour," he replied.

"Ooh we've angered him."

Margaux could feel the anger rising in her stomach. Before she could realise what she was doing, she stood up and marched across the room, stopping at the table and clicking to get their attention.

"Hi I'm a forensic psychology student and I was wondering if you boys would be interested in taking part in a study?"

They all looked up at her with curiosity.

"Yeah," she smiled. "It's about grown men with tiny brains and small dicks, I think you'd all be perfect."

"Excuse me?"

"Well how else would you explain why a group of guys in their twenties still think it's funny to bully someone because they're smarter than you?"

"Bully? We're just poking a bit of fun! It's fun, isn't it Holmes!"

Sherlock stayed quiet.

"Doesn't look like fun from where I'm standing," she replied. "Grow up and leave him alone."

She stormed out of the dining hall, shaking with anger as she heard them laughing behind her.

She stood outside chewing her fingernail, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself down. She looked up to see Sherlock walking towards her, her heart sinking when she saw the anger on his face.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

"I was sticking up for you. They were picking on you and it's not okay."

"So?"

"So I stood up for you. That's what friends do-"

"We're not friends," he snapped.

She stared at him with wide eyes. "Oh..."

"You had no right to do that, Margaux. I don't know why you think working on an assignment together gives you the right to meddle in my business, but it stops now," he hissed. "I know it might be hard for you to comprehend since you're so perfect that someone might not want to be friends with you. But I don't. I don't have friends, I don't want friends and I don't need you using me to fulfil some sick saviour complex."

She choked back a cry, searching for something to say. "I'm sorry I misunderstood," she said quietly, before walking away.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

They sat in the lecture theatre with their notes in hand. The air between them was icy, unable to look at each other as they waited to be called on.

"Did you get my email with the annotations?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Did you agree?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Sherlock Holmes and Margaux Cave, you're up," said Paul as he stepped aside and gestured to the front.

They gave their presentation. Sherlock listened in awe as Margaux delivered her parts with ease; oozing charm and faking a perfect smile. He had never felt this way before - a sinking in his gut that made him want to apologise in front of everyone. This must be guilt, he thought.

Paul dismissed the class. Thanking them all and wishing them a happy Christmas break. Sherlock hovered beside Margaux as she gathered her things and packed them into her bag. He tried to speak, but before the words could leave him, she was gone.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Students swayed and stumbled across campus, singing Christmas songs and clinking their beer bottles. Sherlock looked up at the night sky, the stars were less bright that night.

He waited awkwardly near her halls. Battling with himself about whether or not to go and find her room, knock on her door and apologise. But before he had the chance, the main door opened. He watched as she walked down the path with her friends, her hair tied back, her body wrapped in a tight dress and high heels.

He stood frozen, just out of sight as they began to walk towards the campus exit. She was almost there when he finally began to walk.

"Margaux..." he said breathlessly as he caught up with her.

"Sherlock?"

Her friends eyed him suspiciously.

"I..." he stammered. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Erm." She paused, thinking for what felt like forever. "Okay."

"Marg, the taxi's waiting," said one of her friends.

"It's okay, go and get in it. I'll walk down and meet you there."

Sherlock turned to them. "I'll walk with her, to make sure she arrives safe."

They looked at him for a moment before finally turning around and walking to their cab.

"You don't have to walk me down," she said quietly.

"I never planned to. I just said that so they'd leave."

She was so mad at him, yet she couldn't help but laugh. "Do you want to come inside?"

He looked up at her building reluctantly.

"They've all gone out drinking," she added.

He nodded and followed her in.

She unlocked the door and let him inside her room. He stood there awkwardly, watching as she pulled a full-sized bottle of gin from her bag.

"Do you want some?" she asked.

"You were taking that out with you?"

"Poor student, remember? Much cheaper to buy lemonades all night and top them up with this in the toilets."

"That's rather genius."

"It's common practice, really." She sat on the bed and took a swig from the bottle. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I..." he shifted on his feet. "I owe you an apology."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes, really. What I said to you the other day, it was... unnecessarily cruel."

She pressed her lips together. "But was it true?"

"What?"

"I can get over how you said it, Sherlock. But I don't think I can get over it if you actually meant it."

He stood with his hands on his hips, his jaw sharp as he clenched his teeth. "But why?"

"Because I like you."

"No one likes me."

"I do."

"You shouldn't."

"Tell me, did you mean it?" she pressed.

"I... no. I didn't mean it."

"Okay. Well then it's fine."

"Really? Just like that?"

"I forgive easy. It's a character flaw - I'm working on it." She stood up. "Also, I think deep down I knew you didn't mean it."

"How could you have known that?"

"Because when I found you in your room the other night, you wouldn't let go of me."

He looked around awkwardly, cringing at the thought of her seeing him like that. But then he stopped, remaining perfectly still as she walked towards him, closing the distance between them until he could smell her perfume. He stood there, scared to move as she leaned forward and took his face in her hand.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"I don't know, I just want to try something," she whispered back. "Shall I stop?"

There was a long silence as they stared at each other.

"No," he finally said.

Slowly, she pressed her lips against his, feeling his apprehension and wondering if he'd ever done this before. She felt his hand rest on her waist as he returned the kiss, his breath shaking. She pulled away, looking up at him as he kept his hand on her waist.

"You should... you should go and be with your friends," he said.

"Will you come?" she replied.

"No."

"Well then I'm fine here."

"You may be. But I don't know if I am."

"Why?"

"Because I know where this is going to lead. And everything in my mind is screaming at me to walk away."

"You could always just... blame it on chemicals."

[countlessquestionss777]

Title: My Dear Melancholy…

BBC’s Sherlock x Fem!OC

Do not steal or repost. Please and thanx. 🥀

Summery: Sherlock has changed. He’s no longer the man he once was, rather a shell of a man who has become lost. Mrs. Hudson has mostly given up on trying to help him, having realized the man she once knew was now the man she barely recognized. He’s been alone for quite some time. And he’s grown used to it. But one day, Sherlock meets someone. Someone who might be the one to bring him out of that shell he’s locked himself away in.

Head Canon: John doesn’t forgive Sherlock for the unfortunate and untimely death of Mary Watson.

Part One Warnings: Mentions of death. Experiences of depression. Mental health struggles and tribulations. Undiagnosed ED. Angst. Low self worth.

They’d met when he was out on a case. A very rare occasion these days. He hadn’t been taking cases anymore, not like he used to.

She was a Paramedic on the scene, an ambulance having been called for obvious reasons. People don’t usually go unscathed when they’re involved in bringing down a dangerous criminal. Sherlock had been hit, beaten really, by the criminal. Thankfully, he managed to use his gun he was hiding in the waistband of his trousers, shooting him in the leg. Four police cars arrived at the scene, along with two ambulances. A separate team of paramedics was ordered to take the criminal to the hospital, police officers cramming in the ambulance on stand by.

She was the paramedic who looked over Sherlock. Patched him up and made conversation with him. She could see he wasn’t much of a talker. He seemed quite preoccupied. Which was understandable. He had just been beaten up. She set the orange blanket on his shoulders, and as she was cleaning up his face, she made sure not to hurt him in the process. She paid attention to him. She asked him questions, gauging his mental state, finding it unaffected by the beating he took. His personality was quiet, maybe a little dark.

Nonetheless, She cleaned his wounds and made sure she did all she could to make him comfortable.

And there was just something so calming about the way she handled him. She calmed the storm that had been quietly raging in him for 8 months. And the way she spoke to him, not like he was a job, but a human being, who deserved kindness, and apparently, gentleness. He looked up at her, and realized she had been talking to him, he didn’t hear a word she said, so he shook his head questioningly. She repeated herself, and asked him if he got himself into situations like this often, saying she saw old scars similar to the ones his new wounds would eventually turn into. He told her it came with the job, but apparently she didn’t like that answer, because she looked at him almost scoldingly, and told him that he shouldn’t put himself in danger like that. He just looked at her. And looked back down at his shoes.

She could tell he wasn’t very talkative. Clearly he was a quiet person. And he seemed a bit sad. He didn’t say much, but his expression and tone spoke volume. And his eyes, and the sudden break of eye contact that would happen quite frequently when she initiated it. He spoke some, and they found they got along well, and he quite liked the way she spoke to him. And she appreciated the warmth he emitted, especially since it was cold outside. He liked her hands, and the way she put him back together. She liked how she didn’t really mind putting him back together. She found him interesting, and his demeanor slightly concerning. Either way, they became acquainted very quickly.

When she was checking for any overlooked injuries, she ran her hands through his hair, and about his face, and around the skin of his neck. She then cleaned the blood out of the stubble he was growing. He tried his best not to lean into her. When she was done, and announced him safe to go home, He gave her a thankful look, and did just that.

His life had become quiet, slow. He took a case now and again, but not for his own pleasure, never for his own pleasure. Only out of obligation, whenever Scotland Yard needed him, which wasn’t often anymore. He didn’t do a whole lot. He barely payed bills, extremely thankful for the kindness of Mrs. Hudson, and her letting him stay despite his significant decrease in income.

The only aspect of his life he could be proud of, was the fact that he hadn’t turned to drugs. But he wasn’t proud. He wasn’t the proud and haughty man he used to be. He was in fact the opposite. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but in reality, he was drowning in self loathing.

He was taking less care of himself nowadays. Becoming quite thin, practically wasting away. He knew he wasn’t well, but he tried his best to ignore it. He ignored the tears that would fall without his permission. He ignored the the empty and hallow feeling, along with the growling and gnawing, coming from his stomach. He payed no attention to the bags under his eyes when Mrs. Hudson pointed them out in her concerned and defeated voice she only ever found herself using with Sherlock. He refused to even think about what led him here in the first place. He couldn’t do much about the guilt he felt, and the way it was the only thing that sat in his stomach most days. He ignored the loneliness. He did all he could to ignore the bad dreams that occurred on the nights he managed to sleep.

And he had some how almost convinced himself he was alright. At least on the surface. If he just stayed above the surface, he could still breathe.

And, despite all of this, he’d also become kinder. He saw that change in himself. And he was slightly baffled by it. But, how could he really be surprised. He’d changed so much, that even he didn’t recognize himself.

Days had gone by since his last case, and also since he last stepped foot outside 221b Baker Street. He almost never had the reason to. And he had been subconsciously punishing himself for “killing John Watson’s wife”. He found no reason to do much of anything. The one person he once had for companionship now believing him to be a monster. And Sherlock wasn’t sure he himself could disagree.

As he got out of the cab, having come back from buying cigarettes, and walked toward his front door, he was pleasantly surprised to see the familiar face from a week ago, the woman who patched him up at the crime scene. She saw him and smiled. She explained to him how she worked at the Cafe, Speedy’s, below the flat Sherlock explained he lived in. But only when she wasn’t on call. She was vibrant and sweet and smiley. She was warm. And kind. So, so kind. And she made the air around him seemingly easier to breathe. He just looked at her as she talked. Watching the way she used her hands to emphasize what she was saying, the way her face made lines around her mouth when she smiled. And he liked her voice. She talked in a soft, raspy voice, her cadence like a beautiful melody. And before Sherlock could tell himself he was being melodramatic, and after he had built up just enough courage, he offered her up for tea. She kindly accepted.

He put the kettle on, and she made herself at home. He was glad he at least had enough dignity left to keep himself and his apartment decent. He had no idea he was going to make the impulsive decision of inviting someone in his home. Ever.

But he did today. And as they sat there and sipped their tea, she talked, and he listened. He quite liked it that way. She still saw the same quietness in him from the night she met him. And he was quite still too. His eye contact was slightly better, but when he did break it, he looked down or away. He seemed tethered to whatever was causing his distance. But again, she didn’t mind.

She had asked him a few questions, and he politely answered. She saw his violin in the corner of his living room, asked if he played. He told her he didn’t much anymore. And she asked him why, and he came up with a lie to cover the real reason. The real reason being the fact that he just didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t.

She didn’t mention how she played the same instrument, but she did tell him she wanted to hear him play sometime. He looked at her, surprised at her mention of the future and the aspect of him being in hers. And when she was on her way out the door, she further surprised him by suggesting they do this again.

He said he’d like that.