#ukthxbye

[ukthxbye]

Confession

(new fic from me. Very much wanted to write some solid Sherlolly smut for my friend. I think someone else requested some recently? This is how it is done then. )

He’ll probably not notice.

Molly knows the risk, and how to hurt her own feelings. An old unconscious practice. Akin to the knife’s first slice into a cadaver’s chest. Molly’s therapist told her so, a mundane habit she could do in her sleep. 

“I don’t know what you expect. We’ve gone over this and I remind—” 

“You’re so good at reminding me… Like I don't know what to do.”

 And her therapist would sigh and move on. Talk about her mother or her job or… but no they haven’t talked about her and Sherlock’s past in a long time. 

It’s more familiar than what we are now. 

Her therapist was clueless Molly, and Sherlock slept together. Any of the times. Dinners. Overnights. Tea and then lunch. More than work and one step ahead even if it feels the same.  

“I’ve only got twenty,” he checks his watch. “Actually forty minutes, I’ll be honest. This case needs another intelligent mind. John has none, so you’re it.”

“Always,” she says, her fingers running down the edge of the tie like a stim. Black, dull silk, fine in its quality even if plain. She couldn’t say now why she stole the tie at the moment. It’s end sticking out of a drawer. But it cleared in her head a day ago, an image she can’t push aside. 

A breath between them, his squint unyielding. 

“That's my tie.”

“Hmm?” He likes me innocent at first. 

“Why are you wearing… it.” His voice drops lower, his stare on her chest and she pulls air sharply through her nose to counteract the instant heat and pressure under her sternum. Should’ve skipped breakfast. 

“Hmm?” She stares down, shuffling a paper, looking at anything but his eyes. “Oh this. I had a staff meeting, and I needed to look more professional. I saw it there the other day and —”

“No.”

“I’m sorry?” She dares a glance up, swallowing her thickened spit in a slow gulp. Why do I forget his effect every time until it's too late? “What are you—”

“That's not why you wore it.” His voice bounces in her head, direct… with no hint of confusion. 

She snickers while her insides contort, knowing it's a game he’ll win. “Contrary to your ego, I do things that have nothing to do with you.”

“But it's… my… tie.” He speaks each word softer than the next as he steps beside her. “And I said nothing other than that, which is true. In fact. But… that’s not a clue. The Molly I know would always ask, not take… like a thief… but that circumstance is irrelevant to the reasoning. Now…” his gloved fingers tap on the table near her hand. “I need you to tell me what it is… you want or … is that the game?”

She shakes her head slightly. “What?”

He sighs out as he flexes his chest, glancing down at the table, “The game… Your game. Please own this… it's much sexier. You’re of like mind, but that means…” his eyes travel up her form and meet her stare, “We must use words. Is that not what we discussed, my darling?”

Blank. Her thoughts slip away with that “my darling” dripping in the sweetness, almost like begging that he whispered in her ear only two days ago… when she stole the tie.

I have two options… keep playing or play with him. 

“So what?” Okay so I play. 

“So what what?” The tiniest growl under his tone sets her spine alight. 

She sniffs and shrugs, looking away at her paperwork. Perfect. “So I stole your tie.” Her index finger and thumb stroke down the tie.

“Yes, we’ve established this… move on.”

“I’m wearing it.” She loosens it at the top. She spies his eyes on her throat. 

“Are we in the mood for the obvious?”

“Does it bother you?” She holds his stare. He also likes me like this. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

He flinches, and she smirks. 

“So, what are you going to do about it?” She only offers a raised eyebrow. 

“Why should I do anything?” he snickers low as he leans back against the counter, folding his leather gloves hands across in front and his face drops back into flat serious. “You made your decisions. You want me to do something about it… but…”

He sighs so faintly, and she matches. So maybe this was silly. It was fun but … is this us? 

He leans to her, without a word, and she waits wide eyed as he gets closer, stepping around the counter running his fingers lightly on it. His eyes stay on the tie and she holds her breath, waiting, each scuff of his step ringing in her head. 

So much of what she imagines never comes true. Even now, this all seems like a dream. Did she imagine his hands on it this morning as she tied the knot? Yes. God, yes. 

His hand brushes her breast as he slides it up the tie and grips, tugging her to him in one hard snatch.

“Tell me what you want with this,” Sherlock says. His eyes betray him, darkened now. 

“Beg me,” she says, letting the fire settle in her chest. Her own voice is unfamiliar to her. Low and clear like his. 

“Ah… well,” Sherlock says with a click of his tongue, his fingers wrapping the tie around his hand. One turn, then another over his hand. “Let me do what you need… what you want…what fantasy has played in your head…and to this end… please. Rid me of this riddle. Give me the answers.”

She closes her eyes, the heat of his face so near hers now. “I could leave you stiff and cold.” She heard the tremor in her voice, the pressure hard at the back of her neck. 

“You can…you have before.”

“I’m glad you remember that.”

“Yes… I remember everything.”

Molly’s memories flash like lightning, dropping into her body, and her eyes flutter closed. 

“Tell me what you need… tell me the game.”

She licks her lips meeting his dark gaze. The animal inside him growling under his teeth set, his hum low as he slips his gloved finger down her jaw, gentle and rough in his grip, the leather soft but with pressure. “What… do… you… want?”

“Turn and go into my office and wait. Sit in the chair that is uncomfortable, the old chair you complained about when I made you sit an hour in it… you’ll sit and wait… gotta throw off suspicion…yes?”

“Good girl.” He says low, his fingertips falling from her face, down and across the tie and her breasts, somehow finding her nipple. She stifles a gasp. 

And he’s gone, pulling his coat close around him and his steps increasing as she watches him sneak into her office and close the door with no noise. 

“That's right… I am. But I’m bored of that.”

His eyes spoke of curiosity before he left her… It looks a lot like lust. She’s always seen that in his drive for answers. Passion in bed is better used in a case, he’d all but said. Others never spotted it, but she did. 

But I’ll make him too tired to care about the case. You can thank me later, John. 

“You will…” her fingers lightly travelled up the tie to her throat, a glitter painted nail tracing along the collar and he doesn’t blink, “Do exactly what I tell you. I’m gonna take my tie off… oh sorry… your tie.”

He licks his lips, his blue eyes darker, steadily staring at her fingers.

She counts breaths between each pull. 5…4…3…2…1

The tug is unyielding at the nape as she arches it up, throat exposure that shifts him in his seat, mirroring her with his own neck. 

The knot slides out, and she grabs both sides. God that pull feels like his hand the other night... But focus…

 “I need you to stand.”

He wordlessly complies. 

“You will tie me to the chair.”

“We could do this somewhere more enjoyable—” 

“Did I say speak?”

He shakes his head. The slight lift at the corner of those perfect lips strikes her core, blood pooling. She knows each tic and gesture like a well-worn textbook. Years and she uses it to her advantage now. 

She sits slowly, not releasing his gaze, letting him see down her shirt before she leans back.

“You like it when I tell you what to do? Nod… but if you have any pretty words as you tie, then say them… make me ache if you can.”

“I don’t have to speak… in fact my words are worthless. But my hands do valuable work… and my tongue… if you want them, they will serve you better.” 

“Shut up then and get to work.”

His leather hands, like a criminal tying her up, crosses her mind, and tingles in her skin. He’s no angel, as he said before. But serene in his steps behind her taking her arm’s weight into his hand, the leather thumb softly tracing the vein down her wrist, tugging her arms back. 

And he binds hard, with speed and she whimpers at the pressure just before dangerous. So precise it almost makes her come. 

“Kiss me… my lips, my eyes, and my jaw.”

He lingers his gaze before beginning his set path and she squints at its tenderness. Has she seen it before? Before now, many years ago, his lingering glance, so happy that she’d moved on like he instructed strictly her on the night he left to be “dead”. 

But I tired of doing what I was told to…

Everyone told her to never look back, never settle, never sleep in his bed and never think he could…

His lips’ caress so faint, she almost wishes her hands could slap him. He knows, oh he knows, and it's worse. 

“Stop being so docile,” she says, irritation creeping into her tone and settling in her tightening chest. 

“May I speak?” he says in a low whisper, resonating in her jaw more than her ear. 

She nods, and he persists for kisses on the same path before leaning back and securing her stare with his.

“Reverence is not as foreign to me as it would seem. An object of desire before me. A game and a case all her own. So speak.” He pulls in a ragged breath, her eyes falling to his chest, watching it rise and fall before his words snap her attention to his mouth. “Tell me your desires. Your requirements for this sacrament… it is not any less worthy than any other rite.”

Her lungs betray her. But she builds fire from it, “Unbutton my shirt, slowly, and kiss anywhere you want. But only if… you tell me what you are sorry for.”

“Hmm?” A pinch of confusion tightens on his brow. 

“Say your apologies.”

“A confession?” 

She nods with a heavy breath out her nose, the fantasy now real washing over her. And he blinks slower as his mouth crooks up.  

He sneaks a kiss below her jaw and she allows it only because the distinct sound of his glove pulled off and hitting the floor strikes her to her core. Oh god he’s going to do this… all of it I ask. His hand to the buttons of her shirt and she counts each one in her head, mapping his path and the seconds turn into minutes. Her body drops into a state of awareness and surprises her. 

Her eyes flutter closed, his breath dancing along her sternum, and his hands plant on the chair’s edges, not touching her thighs but so close she senses their heat. Is he being careful or is he… god just grab me… but no. She rights her mind, reminding this is the fantasy she wants. She says, “Yes, like a confession… if you want to bring religious kink into this.”

A joke to lighten the mood. 

He sighs, and she turns her attention to watch his lips as he says with his usual grin. “I can’t argue with its power.”

“Can’t imagine you in church.”

He sighs into her skin and she can’t breathe. Why am I feeling this way now? She’s had sex with him. Though mostly more passionately, fast, or angry. Scratching an itch. But this is like surgery. 

“You go to church often?”

“Well, no—”

“Except that night.”

She leans back, and he obliges and mirrors, each looking fully at the other. 

His eyes say what he doesn’t. He was there the night she slipped in the church to pray in desperation for his safety. A god she can’t believe in but she needed any help she could get. 

“If I could I’d slap you.” It’s worked in the past. 

“Oh… but you can’t.”

“Wipe that smile off or you get nothing.”

“My apologies.”

“Then get on your knees.”

She catches the flash of the shape of his cock in his pants as he steps half a step back and falls to his knees before her with a dull thud and a grimace. 

“Molly… if I’m allowed, I will confess my sins… while I commit others.”

“As long as you do as I say, absolution is yours.” Her smile grows as she speaks, a new fire building in her core with the words she’d only heard in her head before. 

“Beautiful words but…” His darkened stare on her chest and she knows he cheats, counting breaths and rise and fall to know his effect. 

“Some things are involuntary, Sherlock. I’m exposed in my office. That's why my heart is up and my breath—”

“OH… of course.”

“Moving on. You’re confessing… not me. I need no forgiveness.”

“Then please forgive me…” he licks the corner of his lip, his gaze straying down. “I forget my place. May I lay kisses on your chest as an offering with my confessions?”

“Yes.”

Her thighs in his hands as he leans over, his hot breath on her skin now so close as his lips caress just below her collarbone. “Forgive me, Molly, I have sinned.”

The kiss moves over to her clavicle and he speaks low into her throat, “I knew of your affections…” Trailing down her sternum and she knows her breath informs him of her want to him. But she can’t control them now. Her arms ache now tied back 

 “I confess I thought all affection dull… but not yours…” He smiles into the kiss over her heart, the pressure of it and the organ reaching for each other through her sternum.  

Wait… what?

But his lips trail over the swell and his nose nuzzles the edge of her bra, the heat of his breath sneaking through the black lace, finding her nipple and she gasp as he says “I confess I saw advantage at first… then it turned to fascination and then guilt… but nothing would rid me of it… not until you let me find my own.”

Get back under control. She lets the images of him breaking because of her wash over and give her ammunition. What could he say now? Was he even serious? She can’t decide if she wants him to be or not, but she’ll test it.  

“What is your confession, then…that you loved me all along?” she says with a light snicker. Does he think I’m dumb? Is it to make me feel better? 

The air shifts, and she swallows hard as he leans back and lifts his eyes. Their stares meet, his eyes steady where hers search. He licks his lips. “Yes… though I confess I was confused. But genuine confusion never stays long with me.”

Every nerve sends fire to her spine as she sits still in shock… hopes long dead racing through her mind and the look in his eyes… she recalls each memory, each time she said to herself, “no… do not believe.”

She squints, her mouth screwing up. “Then why did—”

“Why did I do anything?” His face lifts, looking to the ceiling as if I appeal to heaven but returns his darken stare to hers. “I’m selfish, Molly. Seeking the ends to the means. I’m ill equipped at human emotion out of the abstract… you deserve more… so much—”

“Shut up.”

And he does, his face falling into a kind of serenity. 

She expects him to argue after she says it. It's his favourite defence mechanism she’d indulged until now. It made for some amazing foreplay recently. But he surprises her again as he pulls his lips tight closed and only nods with a slow blink.

“My trousers…” she sighs as his long fingers find the button immediately, and with precision he drags the zipper down. “Prove what I deserve.”

She shivers as his fingers slide inside her waistband, one hand gloved and the other not mixing sensations along her hips. How many times she’d seen those gloves hold evidence. Now tracing the lines of her bones like reading religious text, reverent. Much slower study than the previous times, none of the fervent pawing. Has he had his fill before, so now he’s patient? Her mind settles with his calmness, and she knows what to say.

“Meet it once more, but now worship as it was meant to be… in—OH,” she says soft but yelps out he lifts her, grips her trousers and knickers in one snatch down to her knees and then looks her in the eyes as he pulls the rest of the way down slow and off.

Bit of both then. 

She should have more thoughts. This is her fantasy, after all. What a time to tell him what she wants, he so perfectly compliant. The cool air of her office floats across her exposed skin. His hands cover her knees, and he pushes them apart and her breath catches. 

“Just touch me,” she blurts out, everything in her core aching.

“I’m but a humble servant…,” he smirks as he says it, but it doesn’t make her want him less. “You must tell me what you desire most of all… what you need… my hands or my lips.” He slips the gloved hand roughly up her thigh, his thumb ghosting the crease of her thigh and her cunt. 

“I… your hand first. You can kiss me everywhere else.”

He grabs her bum with his gloved hand, the leather tightening with his grip into her flesh, and she sighs into the building pain. But it only builds her hunger and impassioned fervour overwhelming her and she hears the hitch in his breath, a consecration declaring her power and his want.

His lips and teeth pull at her bra and her nipple slips out with coaxing. His lips and tongue work and she forgets where his hands are until the ungloved one slips up, gripping her rib cage tight as it slips over the other breast. 

He moans, sucking her nipple and half her breast into his mouth until she arches, the tie tightening on her wrist and she matches his moan. Her mind clears with the perfect combination. Nothing else in the world but these sensations. Wetness spreads across her hard seat as she shifts. For a moment, the discomfort grounds her in the reality of her fantasy coming true. The smells of chemical mixing with their own scents, and the sterile hospital air.

Spoken low into her chest, his voice and her heart skipping along with the words. “Intercede for me, my beloved Molly. Let your grace pour out for me, but also your mercy. I do not deserve this honour… I denied myself it because of that truth… yet you bless me. Let me bless you too.”

He put his fingers in his mouth, wet them with a glisten and then found her cunt, slipping in with ease as she bites her tongue not to cry out. It wasn’t new to her; she knows the fingers well, but the scene set overwhelming and she slides in the chair to allow him more and the tie pulls on her wrist to a deep ache. 

Two fingers in pulling and curving calling her to come as she gasps, a small orgasm pulls from her. God that was fast. 

“This is but the beginning of my confession. Let my tongue speak the rest.”

“Oh god—”

The words gone, his kiss on her lips hard, then soft and tongue disorientating her, his gloved hand still kneading her bum and the fingers inside her spread, his thumb finding her clit now. 

She sighs and whispers into his mouth, “yes” and he laps it up. 

But then he is gone and she can’t catch her breath before he pushes her thighs apart and both hands grip her ass, bringing her to his hungry mouth. 

He devours her. The word “fuck” leaves her lips between heaved breaths. The growing ache in her lower belly matching the pull on her arms and shoulder. 

Tongue wide laid flat licks up and finds her swollen clit and she cries out, biting her lip to keep from a loud moan. 

Between licks, he whispers to her, “I confess I could drink this sacrament forever, drown if it—oh yes it has blessed me.”

His tongue laps more up and she moans her eyes closing in ecstasy. But the air cools and she senses his pause… like asking permission and she glances down to see him looking up in begging reverence. It breaks her and puts her back together. 

She sighs through her heightened breath to a shudder. “Drink then, drink your fill if you can.”

“Thank you…oh bless you,” he says, a murmur only as he continues his worship. 

He sucks and pulls, consuming all she releases. His tongue playing with her clit with a perfect speed her mind goes deliciously blank. Only the rolling sensation in her body, his touch and mouth and nothing else.  

“Drown me, my darling.” His shudder, the pitch rising, and she knows his want, sensing it in her core. 

“Like that yes god please yes” she wishes she could pull his hair, but the tug of her requested restriction like reverse psychology and in her frustration her want grows.

The groans come deep from him, echoing into her cunt, and she shudders as he whispers, “I love you.”

And the orgasms wash over her, long sustains and staccato his tongue plays as his fingers enter her again. Playing her like a new piece of music. “My conversion is complete. This religion I only knew in the abstract will now be my only devotion.”

He lifts himself up, his fingers slipping inside her deeper. And he kisses her hard again. She tastes herself mixed with him, a scent mixed with his spicy cologne and she aches clinching his fingers, riding out the last of the climax. He slips out, and she drifts back into reality with her breathing. 

He places his forehead against hers. “May I release your bondage now?”

She nods and kisses his cheek, still wet from her. “Only you can… my love.”

They both smile, searching in their stare for ease once again. She sighs as he wraps his arms around and kisses his neck, and he loosens the tie’s hold and rubs her arms, helping her wrap them around him.

He pulls her onto the floor with him, cradling her, and stroking her hair, pulling its sweaty strands of hair away from her neck. She lays her head on his chest, his heart’s thump a comfort. How many times she’d considered when it might stop on her. She’s seen his dead body in her mind and in a lie… and that reality will still happen one day. It's a toss up who’ll be first but she wants the living one as much as possible. Death is inevitable. So is life. 

Then let’s live. 

“Let me get your clothes and let's go back to… yours? You have the most comfortable bed. No ties to steal,” he says matter-of-factly but with a growing smirk. That snarky boyish charm his face always shows. He’ll always have that and she grins, grabbing his cheeks with both hands and kissing him until he moans in her mouth. 

She releases him to admire his soft gaze, the only worship she’ll ever need. 

[miz-joelys-sherlollilists]

Latest & Greatest Sherlollbrary Additions 03/30/24

All that glitters and gleams by Ukthxbye (Rated E, One-Shot) Post TFP AO3 2024

Confinement (Deadlier If You Mean It) by Emcee (Rated T, One-Shot) PTFP AO3 2024

Control by amyutz (Rated E, In Progress, Multi-Chapter) Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2024, Dubcon AO3 2024

Hounded by mizjoely (Rated K, One-Shot) Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2024, S1: Lipstick & Coffee, Fill-in-the-Blank fic AO3 2024

Mizjoely Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2024 (Collection) by mizjoely AO3 2024

Say It by Marheri (Rated K, One-Shot) Post TFP tumblr 2024

The Smile I’m Faking by Writingwife83 (Rated K, One-Shot) Sherlolly Week 2024, Post Reichenbach AO3 2024

Undercover by sherlollyandspoilers (Rated T, One-Shot) Sherlolly Undercover, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2024, Fake Dating tumblr 2024

Unearthing Something New by Writingwife83 (Rated K+, One-Shot) Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2024, Historicalock, First Meeting (Victorian) AO3 2024

Unexpected Guest by SimplyShelbs16 (Rated T, One-Shot) Post TSoT AO3 2024

Untitled (Sherlolly in WWII Paris) by luminoustico (Rated K, One-Shot) Historicalock (WW II) tumblr 2024

[ao3feed-sylki]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Loki (TV 2021) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Loki/Sylvie (Loki TV) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Sylvie (Loki TV), Mobius M. Mobius Additional Tags: One Shot, Inner Dialogue, Memory Related, POV Loki (Marvel), Post-Episode: s01e06 For All Time. Always. (Loki TV), mentions moments of other episodes, i'm gonna be feral for season 2, its gonna hurt, Angst, Short One Shot Summary:

Sent back to the TVA, Loki clings to her kiss still tingling on his lips and recalls the steps that brought him here.

[broadwaylover17]

Last Song I Listened to: “Waiting on the World to Change” by John Mayor

Currently Watching: Only Murders in the Building, Good Omens, BBC Pride and Prejudice, and Star Trek: Strange New Worlds

Currently Reading: Daisy Jones and the Six, Jane Eyre, and Dune

Current Obsession: Editing my original novel and my newest fanvid 😁

I tag: @muffin-n-waffle @stlgeekgirl @ukthxbye @sincerelydayyy @mizjoely

9(ish) People You'd Like To Get To Know Better

tagged by @cultivating-wildflowers ! thank you!

Last Song I Listened To: I've been cycling between Strawberry Switchblade albums, Ghost In The Shell 1995 ost, and the Hylics 2 soundtracks lately while I work :]

Currently Watching: I haven't been keeping up with any TV show of late but the last thing I watched was Twin Peaks; I really like it a lot. I watch a lot of movies though; I watched the 1977 Lord Of The Rings last Friday, I actually liked it quite a bit despite how tremendously silly it is

Currently Reading: The Curse Of Chalion by Lois McMaster Bujold, Stiff by Mary Roach, and No Country For Old Men by Cormac McCarthy (audio book) I'm enjoying all of these a lot :]

Current Obsession: Trigun 💀 I'm still absolutely in the trenches. I also have grunge typography, 90s manga art, and dinosaurs/prehistoric animals making a resurface as an interest as well

No Pressure Tags: @dragonsbloodsnowcone @thepartyponies @artimies6 @fortes-fortuna-iogurtum @swinging-stars-from-satellites @littlebluebarista @loubuttons @takineko @enigma-absolute @kat-of-the-night @brown-little-robin @songsintheattic

[sherlollysecretsanta]

Situational Obliviousness

This is the mod fanfic gift for @ukthxbye , who wanted a certain sentence used in a Sherlolly fic.

“That’s probably just how it is.” Molly sighed as she sipped her tea and turned to look at her brother-in-law. I will never manage to surprise Sherlock, no matter how hard I try. And trust me, I have tried. He is worse than a little boy at Christmas sniffing around under the tree.”

Mycroft smiled slightly at that. She could see that was an apt description of Sherlock. Quite possibly, that was what he had been like as a boy; Sherlock didn’t have many concrete memories of his childhood, thanks to the conditioning done after his poor little friend’s death. Now, he was piecing together things with the help of his brother, but yes. It had lead to some very sleepless nights while Sherlock had doubts about a great number of things.

But never her. Never them. And she was so eternally grateful that one good thing had come out of this mess.

“What, exactly, are you trying to keep a secret from him?” Mycroft asked before taking a sip of his own tea. “Your upcoming blessing?”

Molly’s eyes widened and then she glared at Mycroft. “If you say one word, Mycroft, I swear, I’ll stick your umbrella up your arse...with the sword uncovered.”

He chuckled. “Trust me, Sherlock is oblivious. He thinks you’re keeping a different secret, that you’re leaving your post. You could wave the test under his knows and maybe then he’d realize your frequent sick days aren’t a protest, it’s morning sickness.”

The mere mentions of the words “morning sickness” gave her stomach a lurch and she made a face. “I am not suited for pregnancy.”

“I know of many top obstetrics and gynecology doctors. Most of them female. When Andrea had her child, she researched everyone in the country. I’m sure she’ll share with you.”

“How is she, by the way? Have you seen her since she left your service?” Molly asked.

Mycroft nodded. “She asked me to be the godfather.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “And you did say yes, right?”

“Not yet.” He frowned. “What could I possibly offer her son that she won’t already give him?”

“A safe place in case anything happens to his mum or dad,” Molly said, reaching over to pat Mycroft’s hand. “That’s what I gave Rosie, after everything with Mary, when John simply couldn’t. And you’ll care about him, I know you will, as much as you’ll care about your niece or nephew.” She finished her tea and then set the cup down before getting up and kissing Mycroft’s cheek. “I suppose I better tell him so he doesn’t wear a rut in the carpet thinking he’ll need another pathologist. Well, full time, anyway. He will when I’m on maternity leave.”

“I’m sure that won’t occur to him right away,” Mycroft said wryly, kissing her cheek in return. She rather did enjoy tea with her brother-in-law; it was a holdover from their time when Sherlock was away, and it was a nice bit of relaxation with excellent tea and Mycroft’s cheat days allowed from some yummy treats, though today she’d abstained. She really didn’t think herself suited for pregnancy.

She made her way home to Baker Street and when she got in, she saw Sherlock with sheet music all around him, scribbling a few notes here and there. She moved behind him staring over his shoulder. “Anything interesting?” she asked.

“I haven’t been able to get this out of my head,” he said.

“What kind of tune is it?” she asked as she tilted her head.

“A soft piece. Something...soothing, I suppose,” He looked up at her. “Enjoy tea with the ice lord?”

“As usual, yes,” she said, leaning over and dropping a kiss in his hair. “Though not as much as usual. The thought of sweets today made me feel ill.”

Sherlock frowned. “So you’re really ill? You’re not just staging a sick out?”

She nodded. “Morning sickness is a right pain in the arse, it really is.” She pointed to the music. “Would that make a good lullaby? Because we might need one in eight months or so. Give or take.”

She watched as the last few sentences she’d said whirred about in his head and his brain struggled to compete. “Morning...sickness?” he finally got out.

She nodded again. “Common side effect of pregnancy, yes. We might want to make sure we stay stocked in saltines, at least until the first trimester is over. After that, I’ll probably have to consult an OB/GYN if I’m still having issues. Andrea has a list of the best in the country, apparently.”

Sherlock scrambled to his feet and gently placed his hands on either side of her waist, looking down, before moving to frame her face, a wide smile blooming on his face. “You’re pregnant?” he asked, his tone a happy one of wonder.”

“Yes,” she said with a soft chuckle. “About a month, I think, only because I haven’t done blood work to confirm.” She was going to say more but he swooped in for a kiss, gently pulling her against him, and she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. “So,” she continued when he was done snogging her. “You’re happy?”

“Very.”

“Good.” She gave him another quick peck on the lips. “Then go tell people. I’ll let you share the good news with your mum and Dad and John and Greg. I’ll tell everyone else.” He gave her another quick kiss and then went for his mobile. Yes, he was beaming and quite happy but as Mycroft had said, he was quite oblivious to the fact, and she idly wondered if they ever went through this again if she could surprise him twice...

Also @ AO3

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

End of the year writing meme -- A, D, F, H, N, R, S, U, V, and Z. :)

also:   ukthxbye said:  R and U for the end of the year writing meme:) and simplyshelbs16xoxo said:  A, M, P for the writing thingy

Thank you again, ladies & fellow authors, for the asks; there are few things that rival my love of writing, but having the chance to discuss my writing comes pretty close!  ;-)

As the Christmas crunch has hit me full tilt this weekend, I’m going to answer this over several posts (also, because I’m dreadfully long-winded, and I don’t want to put any readers to sleep!).  So here goes part one…

A.  If you could rec a piece of music to accompany one of you fics, what would you pick? Why?

I’ve always been greatly inspired by music–it’s always had the power to move me down to my soul…so for certain characters that I hold dear, I have music that reflects them and gets right to the core of some pivotal moment they are experiencing. Most recently it was ABBA’s Andante, Andante as performed by Lily James in Mamma Mia II this past summer

–refective of my OFC, Teyla, over the last few published chapters of Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight.

As I sat in the movie theater, from the very first line of the song, and the first strains of it’s lovely melody, I felt it was exactly Teyla’s song–for I was in the midst of writing the latest chapter, in which her slow-burn romance with Stephen Strange is finally (and beautifully, if I don’t say so myself) consummated.

D.  Any drawings or pictures that had a big influence on your writing?

Probably half of my works have been inspired by either pictures (in character or not) or drawings of My Muse (and Beautiful Obsession)! And there remain a good share of ideas that I haven’t yet had the time to flesh out and bring to life.  Most notably there was a photo of Benedict Cumberbatch from the publicity run up to Star Trek: Into Darkness; posed with a classic car on an arid California roadside, dressed in a spotless white tee & black leather pants, with his Khan-darkened hair *pauses to fan self*–he became John Harrison on the run from Admiral Marcus’s henchmen, pre the events of the movie, in A Khan By Any Other Name.

I also started a fic (In the Eye of the Beholder) about the youth of Richard Plantagenet based on a still from The Hollow Crown series. Benedict’s Richard looking darkly handsome, dangerous, sultry, in blue velvet–-a dark, magnificent prince with a cankerous heart; a villain so skillfully imbued with enough of a painful backstory (oh how his mother so cruelly rejected him!) by the Actor, that this author just had to plumb the depths of his childhood & teen years to discover why he turned out so duplicitious and power hungry (spoiler: there was a teen love affair that also broke his heart, thanks to his mother’s interference).

A Time and Place for Misbehavior was sparked by photos & footage of Benedict’s tipsy acceptance speech at the 2014 British GQ Men of the Year awards dinner, while Whiskey Kisses was inspired by his performance of ‘Sonnet 155′ in May 2010. And pictures of the dashing Major Jamie Stewart from War Horse were the seeds for The Secret of Salvation. I could go on, but I’m sure you get the picture–BC truly is the Muse for most of my works!

F.  What stories are you planning for the future?  

So many, many, many ideas, and too, too, too little time! I’ve got a good dozen draft documents with initial paragraphs & notes just waiting to be dusted off and brought to life-–but I’ve also got a bunch of long-running WIPs that need attention first. A couple of my favorite ideas are Sherlock related; a fic that will explore how Sherlock came to play the violin (an idea conceived well before S4 and the reveal of Eurus), which will also feature teenaged Mycroft and a youthful sibling rivalry (mostly on M’s part); and a character study of what is going on in all the minds of Sherlock’s family & friends while they wait to see if he survives his gunshot wound in His Last Vow, which will prominently feature Mycroft & Molly.

H.  How do you write? Paper, pen, computer? Music, no music?

Currently, I work either on my tablet or small laptop, but I also keep a notebook & pen on my nightstand for those times I wake up with a plot detail or perfect bit of dialogue.  I’m so used to writing with the television playing as white noise in the background, I know it would be hard to adapt to silence–and as my work area doesn’t have easy access to play music (and I don’t have a smart phone or an I-pod) I don’t know if music would actually serve my best interests…although I’ve will play songs repeatedly on my headphones should they fit the piece I’m working on, and I have access to public wifi. 

I guess that will do it for today; hope I didn’t put anyone to sleep! And thank you most kindly if you read this entire post through–you are a trooper (or at least a gluttoin for punishment, but that is not the deadliest sin, n’est-ce pas?)

If anyone is interested, all the stories I’ve listed can be found on AO3, where my pen name is BeautifullyObsessed.

[sherlollyandspoilers]

34 from the weird asks

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? 

“Michigan plumbing we'll exceed your expectations”

And of course its a little jingle and it just stuck in my head any time its on TV...and for some reason its on a lot!

[tillthenexttimedoctor]

ukthxbye replied to your post: “Someone save me from the hell that is Doctor Who series 11 discourse.”:

It hasn’t even aired yet...sigh. Nobody hates Doctor Who more than Doctor Who fans.

hipsterbrigadier replied to your post: “Someone save me from the hell that is Doctor Who series 11 discourse.”:

a few years ago I decided to mostly leave the doctor who fandom, I've loved Capaldi's era and I am really looking forward to Jodie but I just don't care about talking about it anymore I just want to enjoy it xD

I freely admit, I love a bit of drama and discussion. But usually my dash is a pretty good place to just feel happy about the show... with a new era of Doctor Who, it seems nowhere is going to be “safe”. The whole debates about (the lack of) returning characters or romantic storylines in series 11 just makes me want to tear my hair out. Why do we do this to ourselves.

[eclecticmuses]

me: writing the end of the fic in my head also me: BITCH YOU GOTTA WRITE THE REST OF IT FIRST!!

[regalpotato]

ukthxbye replied to your post: Do the vampires in this have fangs? 

I haven’t watched but I read the book if you want a spoiler…

yes, i honestly don’t care about this show (yet?) so gimme the spoiler. DO THEY HAVE FANGS?

[sherlolo-land]

It’s amazing how some people can hold a grudge for so long when they CAN’T EVEN PROVE WHY TJLCERS ARE TOXIC. For the last several years, you can’t supply a shred of evidence why Johnlockers are worse than you and your friends, except -- “Ew!! They’re so mean because they don’t like Molly!!! And they just want to see John and Sherlock buttfuck!! Ew, John is gross and abusive, just like Jlockers!!! I tried being nice to me once but they just laughed and said, ‘bye’ and honestly I was threatened, THEY’RE SO RUDE!! SHERLOLLIANS ARE LOVE BUT I HATE JLOCKERS!!!”

You can’t come up with anything to say about us that’s damning, all you can do is talk trash; just because we ship Sherlock with someone else doesn’t make us bullies.

We get it, we know you’re talking about us. Even Mizjoely didn’t join in your little dig there and you felt more inclined to talk dirt when you probably weren’t even around when “shit started flying” in the first place. Why can’t you be like your little buddies and get the fuck over whatever WE apparently did to your BNFs for the “past several years?”

You don’t have to mention US in every conversation you have with your Sherlolly friends. Are you that  o b s e s s e d with us?

Remember thegameisnow app? Yeah, your ship doesn’t have any more power than the Titanic did. In fact, you definitely sank faster. Heh.

Uh, kay. Thanks. Bye.

[ukthxbye]

All That Glitters and Gleams

So it has been over a year since I writer Sherlolly. Thought I might be done because of my focus on my two books and trying to get an agent... life is funny.

When this photo showed up in the sherlolly discord,

the wheels started spinning and 24 hours later, you're welcome.

cw: semi-public sex, fingering, light dom/sub, begging

Glittering.

Gold and silver statues and everything shiny draped dramatic fabric in this room normally spare dingy blue white.

And he hated it.

But impressed all the same. The banquet hall of St. Barts transformed to another age. Sherlock scoffed when Molly asked him to this 1920s fundraiser, rattling facts about all the false opulence for what.

"It's fun to pretend," she'd said in the wry, sad resignation he knew like a drug. Nearly as unpredictable. She might tell him to forget it and go with someone else. She might let him rattle off facts as they walk in and still pull him along, suffering the embarrassment.

She blessed him with the latter. 

He couldn't refuse anymore what she asked for. His life depended on her happiness… like a new addiction.

But he'd denied her the one thing she craved. She denied herself more. 

"They shouldn't have spent so much money, you were right," she said at his side. "You've every right to hate this. It's dancing and talking to higher ups. We can go home."

"Well, at least the champagne is cheap," he said glancing at woman walking by with two green bottles in had. But home, where is the adventure in that? Can't critique and complain until we have the facts," he said, slipping off his long wool coat, handing it to the hired coat clerk… no wait, it was a boy from the cafe. 

"Gerald, they roped you into this?" Sherlock frowned at him. 

"Ticket sir, you try to have a good time, eh?" the boy said, coats piling up on his right. 

"Yes…yes." Sherlock offered him a cocked tightlipped smile. 

In instinct he turned to Molly, and without interrupting her conversation with a heart surgeon he disliked, his hands reached around her shoulders, grasping the lapels on her equally long coat.

The lights, low in the room but travelling across a mirror ball, landed at her back as he slid the dark fabric down like a curtain.

Glittering.

But he liked it.

He vibrated, her scapula bones meeting like wings of an angel as she dropped the coat off her arms. 

She'd not let him look at the dress until now. Beadwork in a line down the straps, down and across her waist. Shadow and bones and gold. Champagne dripped down her frame, soon like on her tongue.

She matched the room and enhanced it to a mind numbing quality. 

"Come on, there's Stamford," she said with a half grin, and grabbed his hand.

 Like fire on a golden pyre. 

He accepted her lead, lost in the light playing off her skin. He'd mapped it before. He mapped everything. But why does it look different here?

Do her nerves jump when his hand drifted up to her elbow, gripping like a secret, waiting? Lost to the bunching pale satin, but… she responded each time, ending the conversation.  

She let him hold her hand absently as she tugged him from one corner to the next. Satin gloves threaded in his fingers, robbing him of hers.

But her back, exposed, and his touch strayed there often to catch her attention, drawing her into him so he could mutter in her ear some amusing observation he'd about someone she chatted with. 

Her skin cooled like a glass of cold milk. He craved it the same. But he feared his hand gave him away, warming more with every risked caress. 

She flinched the first time, her wings shrugging him away.

But now she let it lay there, even as he chased a shadow up the nape with his finger. 

Her shiver is not from the room now. 

He smiled to himself, but the oncologist next to him took it as an opportunity to speak. I can do two things at once. Sherlock kept his fingers near her scalp, his fingernail grazing along the hairline until she quivered, and fanned herself with her purse. 

They made many more rounds, each one more exhausting. The satin under his hands, the hand on her lower back enticing. Every man who tried to insult her field of study with backhanded compliments boiled his blood.

 His mask slipped, and he half insulted the last surgeon they spoke to. 

"You're getting rude," she said, dragging him down by his collar to her ear. 

Oh, don’t do that…

The tug switched on a part of his brain he'd kept safe from her. They'd both been so good since his sister nearly destroyed everything.

Such respectable friends, open with their emotions except for…

I'm going to ruin that now. 

“Sherlock, are you listening to me?” She searched his face for understanding in the dark. 

“I thought you said all surgeons are like footballers, egotistical and overpaid,” he sniffed. 

She leaned back and frowned. "You said that."

“Hmm…” he matched her frown, then smiled, running his tongue along his teeth. “Oh, yes… I did. But you might have agreed.”

He gasped. She snatched his collar again, with a curl twisted in it now, setting a delightful tingle across his scalp. 

“Why is it so hard for you to behave…”

He turned enough so she could meet his stare. "You like me when I don't… why change that now?" His tongue strayed across his lips, letting his gaze drop to hers. 

In the dark and flashing light of the room, it hit perfect timing for the scarlet of her lips to show. Her teeth parted and her tongue licked her own lips as well. 

“Come with me,” she said, low, releasing him when someone glanced their way. 

They reached the bathroom on the front left corner of the room, with no one around. “You know what? Wait here for a moment and then we'll talk.” She stepped in and his hand caught the door as she pushed close it.

Wide-eyed, she let him push it back and close it behind him, meeting her stare. 

"Sherlock, what are you—"

His finger to his lips and she clamped her mouth shut. His lips lifted into a sly smile. 

"Is there something wrong?" She moved to him and glanced at the door, his hand going back behind him and clicking the lock. 

“No, I wanted to talk… privately.”

She sighed out in relief. “We could have gone outside.”

“Then I couldn’t look at you in that dress.”

The bathroom decorated for the theme, feather arrangement, lights low. The cream walls normally boring matched her antique faded gold satin. He soaked in the room along with her. 

One last look before you leap…

"Oh, don't be silly…" she chuckled, crossing her arms, and his eyes dropped to the cleavage.

He remained wordless, a hand in his pocket, waiting for her to catch up.

She squinted, shaking her head as she whispered, "Oh… no."

"Molly."

She ran a hand through her short cropped hair. How soon might I do the same?

“Are you really going to do this here? This dance for… god I thought we'd settled this,” she said, the plead in her tone only urged him on more.

“Oh, my sweet Molly, like ice cream on my tongue, freezing every word… until this dress.” he shifted near to her, and she stepped back near the sink. 

"I'm not sweet," she said with folded arms, looking down at the cleavage, realising the effect and moving her arms, bracing on the sink basin. “We should go… before you say something you shouldn't.”

"I'll be the judge of that."

She turned toward the mirror with a scoff. “Your judgement is terrible. I don't trust it. But yes…you always thought me too sweet… is that all compassion is to you?” Her gaze went down as she said it and he counted the vertebrae in her neck, concentrating. 

How did I get here? How do I get out of it? 

But he was bored with ignoring the chemicals running under his skin when she was near. 

He closed the distance behind her, and she stiffened. His eyes travelled from the hollow of her throat, slowly following the pink path each capillary displayed with the pump of her heart. Those lips, red and not yet swollen as he'd make them. 

His gaze lifted from there up as he spoke his stare meeting hers in the mirror. "My mistake then… I do confess to the two mistakes you accused. But then I recall less gentleness when your hand stuck hard," he raised his hand, tenderly tracing his thumb along her cheekbone, and licked his lips when she shivered. “Do I deserve it again?”

The beadwork, gold and silver sparkling in the low light, entranced him. He traced down with a finger, following along its path, ending in a v, breast swelling with her heightened breath. Her heartbeat was so strong the pulse beat a rhythm under his fingertips. But he never broke his stare, and she held it, her eyes dark and shining.

Gleaming.

And he loved it. 

Would she imagine him closing the gap, a canyon between what they've been… and what they will be? Never letting his lips touch, but he assured his breath and its heat performed the same duty as he spoke into her ear… and then her jaw. 

"But tell me… did you know how I fought every urge and when it changed… how many times we've almost. When we considered all the possibilities and said no…was it not because you were so principled?" He said with a smirking grin. 

Crack.

She’d spun around to face him and struck his left cheek. She gulped hard, and he sighed, waiting for her words to catch up with her hand. 

“If this is a game… It's very cruel. You can read what I want without touching. You know every ache, every want… you…” She drew a deep breath through her nose. “Always did. Question is… will you be too high minded … or will you…” She squinted as she spoke, but the tremble he expected was absent. 

But this was the Molly he'd fallen for all along, in her own power and never under his. Quite the opposite. Her lips parted, her eyes on his lips as well.

Her breath matched his, and his lungs ached for them to share the same air. 

“Which one of us will break… that delicious thick tension we’d spun for years… but…” he tipped his nose against hers and with his hands on either side of her on the washbasin, holding on to the porcelain for dear life, he said near her lips, “It was always yours to take… stop asking for permission.” 

Come on now, my Molly.

He let her kiss him, and answered the swell in his chest deepening until his entire mouth encompassed hers, his tongue licking the champagne sugars off hers.   

“You kiss like you want me, Sherlock Holmes.” She sighed into his throat, breathless. She'd pressed her body against him when the kiss deepened. He couldn't dare put his arms around her… I might never let go.

He swallowed hard. "The easiest thing I've ever done. You'd be correct… you always were."

“Oh, yes… too sweet. Then…” she said with a huff, leaning back, robbing him of her nearness, and he missed it.

He met her knowing stare. 

“You're correct… you always were.” Honesty at last. But he couldn't see if it would help or harm the mood. 

She shook her head slightly. “Don't be like that. I don't know what to do with that. It can't fuck me properly.”

“Then tell me what you want. As in to say… I'm done thinking for now. It bores me.” He spoke into her neck, “Tell me the fantasy… I can only read so much from your breath and skin singing under my touch… instruct me to see how to get you there. New memories.”

"Beg me. On your knees. And make sure you say please.”

He sighed. “Now Molly… I wanted to tease you more before I have use of my knees… have you lost patience—”

Her hand covered his mouth, and she pushed him down until her knee dug into his shoulder hard, on his knees in front of her.

“Beg… it's the least you can do if you want me so much… wanted me so long. We're both ignoring our principles now…” she said, each word strong ringing in his mind. “So beg.” 

Her mouth is so pretty when she says…

"So beg." 

He quieted his mind, a singular focus now. Every sense dialled in to her rich floral perfume, her touch and heartbeat. 

The light played on the satin before him, transfixing. “Please,” he said low, running his hands lightly along the golden sleek cloth, seeking her bones underneath like a lost road. “Teach me, tell me what to do.”

“I don’t want to ruin this beautiful dress… put your jacket next to the basin.”

He lingered his hand fascinated with the precise folds of the skirt, shining and shadowing, like the folds he’d soon… he trailed a finger along one close to her hip.

“Now will you be a good boy…and do what I asked or do I…?”

He looked up into her eyes, so far above him like a goddess’ blessing. He held her stare as he snatched the coat off and handed it to her to arrange.

“Now set me—oh!”

As he stood, taking her with him as he grabbed her hips and arse, fingers digging the slippery dress and sat her on the counter so hard she bounced.

He smiled sly as irritation on her skin coloured the same as her blush. I like both too much. 

He held his hands up in false surrender. 

She huffed out, “Are you going to take instruction or are you gonna improvise your own here?”

 “I’ve matured, I like collaboration.” He shrugged a shoulder, leaning over and snatching an ostrich feather out of the full vase next to her. How perfect for the theme this evening. The sheen on the feathers caught the light golden as her dress. He twirled it between his fingers, waiting. 

“Nothing else unless I say so,” she said. He didn't miss the gravel and struggle to breathe. Her stare unblinking on the feather.  

“Then…” he held the feather out in front of her and lowered it, leaning in meeting her half lidded gaze. “Tell me what to do.”

“I think you guessed I like a tease.”

He nodded, “Oh do I ever…we've done years… little kisses on the cheek like friends,” he let the end of the feather fall across her face, moving it in time to watch the colour rise deep scarlet. “But since we remedied that… … but what's a little more?” He lowered the feather across her neck and she turned her head, opening up and he imagined her nerves jumping.

That neck was like cream he wanted to lick and bruise with his teeth. 

Ah, there is the demon I've always feared.

He teased with the feather down between her breasts, and she shuddered with her sigh. Her eyes closed, and he trailed the feather up again, teasing her clavicle, the bones showing their angles in shadow and he wanted to add his own shadow there as well.

She leaned back, head against the mirror. “More,” she whispered out.

The feather up her throat, and he trembled, the tip of it caressing her lips. Now I'm jealous of a feather. He wanted to kiss her again but now bound by the agreement. She'd broken so many rules for him. I can keep this one.  

Her breath shuddered as she leaned back over and looked up into his eyes. 

“That's enough. Kiss me… kiss me so hard I might bleed.”

He shook his head, and squinted, “Don't ask me to do that. I'll do anything you ask… it is what you deserve, but… those demons don't need to come out yet.”

She gritted her teeth under her lips, “Then kiss me like you love me.” 

I'm gonna ignore those tears. They're not here to stay.

 He kissed her so tenderly he thought they both might break. 

She stopped for a breath, and spoke into his ear, “I love you too… Now that's out of the way, kiss me however you want… but I want your hands to move this skirt out of the way.”

He lifted her and shoved it out of the way behind her, and she helped gather the top. He hates the skirt now. Should have encouraged her for a short flapper dress, one with a delightful fringe he could have twirled in his fingers near her knee.

No matter. The music kicked up loud outside the bathroom, the low beat thumping under his hand resetting just beside her thigh like a heartbeat. 

“Tell me what you want… my touch or my tongue.” He licked his lips, drying from his breath increased as much as hers. Oh, to find out how sweet she really is.

“Touch… I think that's all I can stand for now,” she said with an unsteady voice. “Talk to me. Tell what you want… tell me what you will do… your voice is the only sound I want in my head.”

His thumbs strayed to her thighs, bare and like silk. Circles and caresses, and he leaned into her ear, “Can you please…” he caressed over her knees. "lean back to the wall, my love, I don't want you to hurt that pretty head."

“Yes… more,” she said, exposing that creamy throat again.

“Can I kiss your neck… please?”

“Yes… god yes, but… I need your fingers,” she reached a trembling hand and grasped his, setting it on inner thigh. "I need them inside me." The fire like heat pulsed against his palm. She's so wet for me… 

But first, he raised his fingers up to his mouth, letting her observe him wet them, meeting her stare. 

He tugged her soaked knickers aside. Two fingers found her folds. So ready for him, his knees nearly buckled. He turned his fingers and met her clit with his thumb, gently as she was so hard. She pulled and tugged on his fingers, whimpering, calling him like a siren's song.

She's always been the rock I'd dash myself on. 

His lips on her throat, and she burrowed her nails in his curls and scalp. Those low moans barely reached his ears, but they vibrated under his tongue, the salt of her skin mouthwatering. 

Bang bang.

The lock jiggled.

They both glanced at the lock, wide-eyed, but it held. 

Oh, that will not do. 

Her movement on his fingers wavered, but he pressed further, finding the spot that nearly made her cry out and he grinned into the hollow of her throat and flicked it with his tongue. 

Her moan louder, but he clamped his hand tight over her mouth, every knock urging him on, his thumb playing with clit, soaking wet dripping down as his fingers curled. Her panicked peeks at the door replaced as she closed her eyes and smiled into his hand, her sigh hot and panted. 

He turned her face and leaned into her ear, nipping as he spoke. “Is that adding to the effect? There'll be no mistake what I did to you when we leave together… they’ll know… shame they can’t hear the crying moan I want to hear… A shame for me. Tell me. Harder or softer… how long do you want them to wait?”

She panted into his hand. "Harder… oh god… I'm so close. Don't stop that or I'll hit you again."

The brat in him wanted to tease her. But this wasn't the time. 

But his deep voice, he knew its effect, and he spoke, meeting her lidded stare with his own.

"They love our brilliant brains, don't you think? But they don't see us as humans. Never will, but we can see and feel it now. It's our little secret how human we can both be."

She whimpered and tightened but… no it's not quite there.

“Can you come for me… please?”

“Kiss me one more time… I… oh…” she said with a shudder, her legs tightening on his hand.

And kiss her he did, so hard she might bleed and she cried out into his mouth and shuddered down into her orgasm, pulsing so deliciously around his finger he almost came himself.

She slumped, and he stared, pulling out. 

When she met his gaze, she whispered, “You can taste the results… and think about when we get home.”

He sucked his fingers clean, not blinking and her smile, slight, ended with a shivered whimper. 

Much too sweet… I can't wait for more. 

[miz-joelys-sherlollilists]

What’s everyone’s favourite newer fics! I feel like I’ve read the best from the good ole days but haven’t been around in the last few years. Anything compare to some of the top fics lately?

Oh heck yeah! Oodles of great stuff, especially post The Final Problem (I'm using 2017 as the baseline cos I assume by the good ole days you're talking PetraTodd and DietPlainLite and broomclosetkink and Nocturnias, to name but a few).

@sunken-standard has some awesome one-shots in her ficlet cemetary and a fantastic post TFP fic Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

And you can't go wrong with anything by any of these authors, imho:

@englandsgray

@ellis-hendricks

@mrsmcrieff

@mae-jones

@darnedchild

@hobbitsdoitbetter

@asteraceae-blue

@ukthxbye

@itssweaterxweather

@strangelock221b

@stlgeekgirl (aka Mouse9)

@ashockinglackofsatin

If anyone has more specific newer faves to recommend, please sing out!

[stlgeekgirl]

Mcu ask meme: most boring plot line?

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?

Um.  I hate to say this, but if I absolutely had to pick ( I’m sorry, I love you all, you’re so lovely)  and I can’t choose the entire Ward storyline in Agents of SHIELD,  (If I can, that’s my answer)  then I hate to say it but other than Groot (because Groot is always exempt)  the plot of Guardians of the Galaxy 2 was probably my least favorite.

[toyboy-molloy]

@ukthxbye commented on your post:

And you should be ;)  my football bae Hazard got two today!

to be honest, lukaku and hazard can just straight up grab the ball and run at our goal, tossing the ball to each other like a game of quidditch and I’d probably thank them for it. I’d be blessed to be destroyed by such a wonderful team