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i <3 todd anderson even when he doesn't <3 himself

this is part one of me drawing silly memes as the dead poets and anyone is free to submit pics and characters for me to draw

taglist bby!!!!!! @inahallucination @ilypitts

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i'm going on holiday tomorrow so have a quick anderperry doodle <33

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“Most men live lives of quite desperation”

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“But only in their dreams can men be truly free. ‘Twas always thus, and always thus will be.”

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you cant live there forever

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*Movie ends cutely, nothing else happens*

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

All For Freedom and For Pleasure | Chrissy Cunningham x Eddie Munson Part One

Summary: Chrissy did not expect that an after-school drug deal with Eddie Munson would end with her having her first orgasm on his couch.Eddie Munson definitely did not expect that he would be spending his Friday night with the Chrissy Cunningham laid out beneath him like a fucking vision.

Rating: E

Word Count: 9k

AO3 Link Masterlist

A/N: lmao i’m back from the dead. anyway, i’ve been obsessed with these two for the past month so i decided to write something. there are definitely going to be two more parts that i am currently working on, so be on the lookout for that. hope y’all enjoy!

When Chrissy told her best friend Kim about her troubles falling asleep at lunch, the last place she thought she would end up was at a drug deal with Eddie Munson. Kim had apparently been buying from Eddie for the past year and assured Chrissy in hushed tones that he was “very discreet”. After multiple reassurances that dealing with Eddie was perfectly fine and that “practically half of the cheer team and almost everybody on the basketball team buys from him”, Chrissy had been convinced to dole out some of her allowance in exchange for a good night’s sleep. 

Chrissy spent the remainder of the lunch hour poking at the food on her tray and half-heartedly engaging in conversation with her cheermates as the pressure of a migraine built in the back of her head until the monotonous hum of the cafeteria was interrupted by the slamming of something heavy against one of the tables across the room. There was Eddie Munson himself, standing atop one of the lunch tables and waving his arms dramatically as he recited some kind of monologue to his laughing friends. Chrissy couldn’t help but pointedly look at Kim as if to say, “This guy is supposed to be discreet? Or even remotely sane?”, but all she received in return was Kim rolling her eyes before she returned to sipping the last of her chocolate milk through her straw.  

After the bell had chimed, signifying that lunch was over and it was time to move on to the next class, Chrissy slipped a note into Eddie’s locker asking to meet once the school day had ended. Kim had already given her the location of where to go, and as the clock ticked closer and closer to the end of the day, Chrissy was practically vibrating with anxiety through her last two classes. 

As she made her way past the football field and bleachers and towards the woods where most of Eddie’s deals had famously taken place, Chrissy couldn’t help but notice just how deserted it was. They’re probably all heading home to get ready for the game tonight. Chrissy thought to herself. Ugh. Jason will probably be drunk off his ass. I’ll have to deal with his gross, sweaty hands trying to reach up my skirt at the afterparty. Even though Chrissy and Jason were considered Hawkins High royalty, she couldn’t help but feel disgusted every time he put his hands on her hips, pulling her into the looming shadow of his body like she was some trophy that needed protecting. It didn’t help that Chrissy’s mother practically worshipped the ground the Carver family walked on and would do anything to remain in the good graces of Jason’s mother. 

It wasn’t long until Chrissy reached the infamous picnic table and found herself surrounded by darkened forest on all sides. The clearing where Eddie’s picnic table was set up was quiet, which was probably ideal for a place that regularly hosted drug deals. Maybe Chrissy would have been able to appreciate the scenery if it weren’t for the blinding migraine that had been working its way from the back of her head for the past two hours. She always got migraines when she didn’t sleep well, and the added anxiety of being a flyer later on that night at one of the most important games of the year was not helping. 

“What am I doing here?” Chrissy whispered harshly to herself, her hands coming up to her face to dig her palms into her eyes. 

Doubt filled her head as she began questioning what lapse in judgment had led her to believe that Eddie Munson, one of the scariest people in Hawkins, held the solution to all her problems. This is stupid, Chrissy thought. I’m leaving.

As Chrissy took a step back, preparing to spin on her heel and return to the high school parking lot, her back slammed into somebody, forcing a surprised shriek out of her. 

“Whoa-ho-ho, hey-hey-hey!”

Chrissy spun around, stumbling back a few steps as she took in the sight of Eddie Munson, her heart beating loudly in her chest.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said with a small laugh, a light smile on his face and his hands raised defensively. A look of concern crossed over his face as he studied Chrissy and her nervous body language. 

“You okay?”

Chrissy shook her head as if she was shaking the doubt from her head, her gaze shifting to the ground. Of course Eddie would be there, she had asked him to come.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” Chrissy managed to stutter out. 

“Okaaay,” Eddie’s voice drawled, a disbelieving expression across his brow as he held his arm out to gesture to the picnic table. Right, they were there for a drug deal.

Chrissy made her way over to the picnic table, carefully sitting down on the bench. Eddie moved casually to the other side of the table, confidence radiating from him as he sat down, like this was something he did every day. Probably because he does do this every day.

Eddie placed the metal lunchbox onto the table in front of him, flipping the lid open before glancing between the contents and Chrissy. It seemed like he could feel the nervousness radiating off of her body.

“So,” Chrissy started. “How does this work exactly?”

“Oh, just like any old sale. Except, uh, cash only, and for obvious reasons, no receipts.” Eddie’s dark eyes seemed to stare into her soul, like he knew all of her secrets, every thought and feeling she could never possibly share with anyone else.

Chrissy averted her gaze back to the table as she fiddled with the hem of her cardigan, a bit unsure of what she should say next.

“I’ll do you a half-ounce for uh,” Eddie waved one of the baggies that he had plucked from the lunchbox as he seemed to mull it over for a split second. “Twenty. What'd you say? Plenty of bang for your buck, should last you a while.”

Chrissy opened her mouth to respond, but the snap of a squirrel running along a branch forced a gasp from her as she snapped her head around, looking for the source of the noise. Sleep deprivation made her jumpy. 

Eddie closed the lid of the lunchbox and dragged it towards him, putting it next to him on the bench and placing an elbow on the table, holding his face in his hand. 

“‘Kay, uh, we don’t need to do this, just, give me the word and I’ll just walk away.” The look on his face seemed like he was slightly frustrated, but used to this, as if cheerleaders who wouldn’t be caught dead talking to him in the hallways wasted his time on potential drug deals on a daily basis. A pang of guilt resonated in Chrissy’s chest, she hadn’t meant to upset him at all. 

“No it’s not that, I don’t want you to go. It’s just,” Chrissy took a deep breath before she continued. “Do you ever feel like,” Chrissy tried to find the right words for how she was feeling. “You’re losing your mind?” 

Lately, she had felt like she had been losing her mind. She was the captain of the cheer team, the most popular girl in school, and was dating Jason Carver, captain of the basketball team and member of one of the wealthiest families in Hawkins. And yet, she was miserable. She was supposed to be happy, everything in her life was supposed to be perfect, yet she was laying awake at night, trying to figure out why she couldn’t sleep and why she hated being a part of a seemingly “perfect” couple. 

Eddie’s face was frozen for a second, like he had to process that the Chrissy Cunningham was essentially telling him that she thought she was going crazy. 

“Mmm, you know, just on a daily basis,” Eddie gave her a reassuring, toothy smile. “I mean, I feel like I’m losing my mind right now doing a drug deal with Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen of Hawkins High,” Eddie teased, a goofy smile beginning to make its way onto his face. 

The two stared at each other for a few seconds before Eddie began speaking again, looking down at his hands as if he was nervous. 

“You know, this isn’t the first time that we’ve, um,” Eddie seemed to search for the word, “hung out”. 

“No?” Chrissy was confused. All she could really remember was catching glimpses of him executing drug deals in the backyards of parties after basketball games which, until now, wasn’t exactly her scene. 

“You don’t remember?” Eddie raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” Chrissy shook her head, the look on her face apologetic.

“It’s okay.” Eddie stared over her shoulder for a second before punching himself in the chest and dramatically flying off the bench onto the leaves below, drawing a startled yelp from Chrissy. 

“I wouldn’t remember me either, Chrissy,” he said dramatically as he pushed himself off the ground with a flourish, brushing the dead leaves off of his shirt and out of his hair. An incredulous laugh left Chrissy, who was still trying to process what had just happened. 

“Honestly, um,” Eddie batted at his hair, trying to remove the remnants of leaves from his curls. “Do I have stuff in my hair?” Chrissy couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You don’t remember me?” Eddie’s tone was disbelieving, his arms crossed over his chest and a charming smile on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Chrissy giggled, still trying to wrack her brain for any memory of him.

“Middle school, talent show. You were doing this cheer thing, you know,” Eddie began waving his arms in a poor imitation of a cheer routine which only caused Chrissy to giggle even more. “It was pretty cool, actually. And I,” Eddie seemed hesitant, like he was preparing himself for Chrissy to still have no idea who he was. “I was with my band-”

“Corroded Coffin!” Chrissy exclaimed, the memory finally coming back to her. Eddie clapped his hands together and punched the air in celebration. The next few seconds were a cacophony of overlapping excited chatter. 

“Yes! You do remember, right?”

“Oh my god! Yes, no of course, with a name like that how could I forget?!”

“I don’t know, you’re a freak,” Eddie teased, a smile still gracing his face.

Chrissy squinted her eyes, a smile plastered on her face.

“No, you just, you looked so-”

“Different? Yeah, well, uh, my hair was buzzed and I didn’t have these sweet old tatties yet,” Eddie crooned, pulling down at the neckline of his shirt, showing off one of the tattoos below his collarbone. 

“You played guitar, right?”

“Uh-huh, still do. Still do.” Eddie paused for a moment before continuing, his hands in his back pockets as he swaggered casually towards a tree at the edge of the clearing. “You should come see us. Uh, we play at The Hideout, Tuesdays. Pretty cool, we actually get a crowd of about five.. drunks,” Eddie elicited another giggle from Chrissy who was beaming at him. “It’s not exactly the Garden, but uh, gotta start somewhere, right? So…” he trailed off, turning to lightly, albeit dramatically, punch his fists into the trunk of the tree. 

“You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be like.” Chrissy’s smile hadn’t worn away, she was still basking in the warm glow that was Eddie Munson. 

Eddie looked at her through his lashes, his hand bringing some of his unruly curls up to shield his face like a veil.

“Mean and scary?”

“Yeah,” Chrissy breathed, nodding her head slightly.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie began making his way back to the table as he spoke. “I actually kinda thought you’d be mean and scary too.”

“Me?” Chrissy breathed, a surprised smile stretching across her face.

“Terrifying!” Eddie insisted as he swung his legs over the bench to once again sit across from her. 

“So, in other good news,” Eddie placed his metal lunchbox back on the table, bringing her attention back to why they were originally there. “Flattery works with me, so, twenty-five percent discount for the half, fifteen bucks, you’re robbing me blind here.”

The smile slowly dropped from Chrissy’s face. Right. That’s why they were out in the woods. Chrissy couldn’t sleep, so Chrissy needed drugs. Yet she didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to go back to the gym and pretend to cheer on Jason and be happy for him, she wanted to stay right in that clearing, at that picnic table, talking to Eddie. She didn’t even know how to roll a joint, Jason always pulled them out of her hands at parties whenever she mustered up the courage to try.

“Now, now Chrissy, you shouldn’t be taking any of this, let’s leave it to the guys, okay?” She could practically hear Jason’s sickeningly sweet voice laced with faux concern. Yeah right, Jason smoked all the time, and he didn’t seem to mind trying to cop a feel when she was drunk. It was fucking bullshit. 

Chrissy looked down at her hands, too embarrassed to look Eddie in the eye.

“Do you, um, do you think you could show me how to roll one? Or smoke one?” she asked hesitantly. “It’s just, I’ve never smoked before, Jason never lets me, and I don’t really know what I’m doing.” Chrissy chanced a look at Eddie through her lashes. He was studying her like he was trying to determine whether or not she was joking or not. 

“Don’t you have the game in a couple hours? I don’t think you should be getting high for the first time right before you do like a million flips in the air.”

Damn it. That’s right. She had to be cheering on the sidelines for Jason like the docile, good little girlfriend she was supposed to be. A sudden thought popped into her head.

“What if we did it after the game?” she asked, eyes wide as she stared across the table at Eddie. “Are you going to be there?”

An incredulous look passed over Eddie’s face at the question.

“At the game? Yeah, no, that’s not really my scene. And I kind of already have plans.” Eddie said, almost immediately regretting it when he noticed the crestfallen look that passed over Chrissy’s face.“But! I can definitely show you after the game. Would you be alright coming with me to my trailer?”

Chrissy felt her stomach seize in excitement. His trailer? I’d be at his home alone with him? She felt giddy at the thought.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Here it was. The moment of truth. Chrissy would probably say no, there’s no way she would ever even look at a trailer, let alone step foot in one. 

“Okay. That sounds great.” Chrissy’s voice was quiet, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Okay, awesome!” Eddie felt a little dazed. “Well, uh, do you want to meet at my van in the parking lot afterward? I can drive us there?”

Chrissy nodded her head.

“Sounds good. See you then Eddie,” she said softly, rising from the bench and making her way out of the clearing and back towards the football field and parking lot as Eddie stared after her. 

Eddie was still trying to process the last five minutes and what had happened 5 minutes later, still staring out into the woods where Chrissy had long since disappeared from sight. Jesus Christ, what is my life? He thought to himself as he packed up his things and headed in the same direction Chrissy had walked off to. 

He had a Hellfire campaign to prepare for. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Hellfire probably had their best campaign yet that night, they even finished with some time to spare to watch the last five minutes of the game for Lucas. Although basketball games were the last place Eddie Munson would like to be, he could suck it up for a few minutes if it meant supporting Lucas. 

Hellfire stood in the corner of the gym, using the bleachers to shield themselves from view while still being able to see what was going on. To their surprise, Lucas was actually on the court for once, an eager expression on his face as he ran back and forth. Eddie had no clue how basketball worked, if he ever did watch a game or stuck around for a pep rally it was usually to watch the cheerleaders. 

Even though he had no idea what was going on, Eddie could gather enough context clues to inform him that there were only ten seconds left in the game and Hawkins was down by one, and Jason was screaming at the coach to let him take the shot. God, even in his domain of the gym he sounded like a whining toddler. 

Eddie watched as Jason took the shot, watched as the ball bounced off the rim of the basket, watched as it landed in the hands of none other than Lucas Sinclair. 

The scoreboard read 5 seconds left on the clock as the next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion. 

Lucas stumbles out of the clammering group of players and dribbles the ball.

4 seconds. 

Lucas pivots his feet and readies himself to take the shot.

3 seconds. 

Lucas takes a deep breath in and bends his knees.

2 seconds. 

Lucas’s legs explode off the floor of the court as he shoots the ball.

1 second. 

The ball bounces off the rim and onto the backboard, the crowd collectively holding their breath.

The ball clumsily falls into the basket.

Buzzer. 

The crowd goes crazy. 

Lucas stands in the middle of the court, shellshocked, as his teammates swarm around him, clapping him on the back and cheering. 

A sick kind of satisfaction fills Eddie’s chest as he watches Lucas interact with the rest of the basketball team. Because while he is proud of Lucas for scoring the winning basket and doing what no other player had been able to do for years, he’s even more proud of the fact that the winning shot wasn’t made by Jason, who so desperately wanted to win on his terms, who wanted to be the reason Hawkins won, but by a benchwarmer freak.

As people started filing out of the gym, excitement buzzing amongst them at the idea that Hawkins had finally won a championship for the first time in years, Eddie headed over to his van and watched as Gareth and Grant piled into Jeff’s car and the kids crowded around Lucas yelling about how excited they were for him. He looked like his face was going to break he was smiling so hard. 

Most of the kids piled into Steve’s beamer, which was parked only a few spots down from Eddie’s van, excitedly talking about the end of the campaign and Lucas’s winning basket and how it had been the perfect Friday to start off Spring Break. 

Although Lucas had to go with the rest of the basketball team to celebrate the win, (they were no doubt getting drunk off their asses at Benny’s), he looked happy to see the rest of his friends off with Steve as they squished into the backseat with Robin while Steve’s date took the passenger seat. 

“Hey, Sinclair,” Eddie called over. “Come over here for a sec.”

Lucas jogged over to Eddie’s van after having waved Steve and company off, waiting for Eddie to speak. He looked slightly nervous, as if he was scared that Eddie would yell at him for falling into the propaganda trap that was high school athletics. Eddie let a few seconds of silence pass between the two before he finally allowed a smile to grace his face. 

“Nice work on that basket, Sinclair. You did good.”

A grin quickly overtook Lucas’s face at having received any kind of praise from Eddie.

“Thanks, man,” he said quietly.

A beat passed between them before Eddie broke the silence. 

“Alright, go on then. You should be heading off with the basketball team to celebrate.”

Lucas complied, smile still stretched across his face as he started jogging to where the basketball team had parked their cars.

“And hey! Don’t drink too much and no drugs!” Eddie yelled after him. God he was such a hypocrite. Lucas raised a hand in dismissive agreement, never turning back around. 

Eddie leaned against the passenger side door of his van, lighting a cigarette just so his hands had something to do while he waited. Chrissy probably won’t even show up, she’s probably going to some stupid afterparty with Jason. Ugh. What an asshole. 

The parking lot was pretty much deserted and Eddie was taking the last few drags from his cigarette and getting ready to leave when he saw Chrissy walking toward him out of the corner of his eye. She looked nervous, she kept looking over her shoulder as if somebody was watching her. 

“Hey,” Eddie called out once she had gotten a little closer. “Didn’t think you’d show.” Eddie let the smoke billow out of his mouth as he watched her closely for her reaction. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure that nobody saw us leaving together,” she said, her eyes flicking nervously to the gym doors, like she was expecting the basketball team to march out with pitchforks and torches. 

“Yeah, I get it. Don’t want to be seen with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, makes sense,” Eddie chuckled, a pinched smile on his face as he acted like the thought of Chrissy being ashamed of being seen with him wasn’t really upsetting.

“No! No, that’s not it at all!” Chrissy looked alarmed. “I just know that if Jason knew we were even talking to one another, he’d put your head through a window, you don’t deserve that.” Chrissy was now chewing on her bottom lip and was refusing to make eye contact. 

Oh.

Eddie didn’t really know how to respond to that. He cleared his throat and tossed the butt of the spent cigarette onto the asphalt below, snuffing out the glowing embers with the toe of his boot.

“Well, in that case,” Eddie said, pushing himself off of the door of the van and opening it with a flourish. “Your ride awaits, m’lady.”

“Why thank you, Sir Munson,” she giggled, smiling shyly as she hopped onto the passenger side seat before swinging her Keds-covered feet into the van. Eddie was suddenly very grateful that he had the foresight to attempt to clean his van. She probably would not have been very impressed with the mountain of fast food wrappers that had previously occupied the space where her feet currently were. Eddie jogged around to the other side and dropped himself into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition as the engine roared to life and the stereo began blasting some music. His hands fumbled with the dial as he rushed to lower the volume, cursing under his breath.

“Uh, sorry. About that. I don’t remember it being that loud earlier,” he said awkwardly.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind, I don’t think I’ve ever heard this kind of music before,” she said sweetly, her hand going to turn the dial and raise the volume. 

Chrissy seemed to be filled with surprises, Eddie thought as he pulled out of the parking lot and rumbled down the road towards town center. 

The trailer park was a bit of a hike from the high school, being on the complete opposite side of town, but Chrissy didn’t seem to mind. She’s probably never even stepped foot in this part of town, Eddie thought to himself as they turned into the trailer park. 

Chrissy probably lived in Loch Nora in a big white house, with a nice big lawn and picket fence, and she probably had her own balcony that probably led into her perfect, pink room. Yet she didn’t seem at all fazed at the collection of trailers and RVs that were scattered around. 

Eddie drove up to his trailer, the van jolting to a stop in its makeshift driveway. The stereo went silent as he cut the ignition, the sound of the crickets filling the empty silence between them. The doors of the van creaked loudly as they opened and they clambered out. 

“This is, uh, my castle…” Eddie trailed off a little as he gestured to the trailer. Chrissy only gave a quick, tight-lipped smile in response as she followed him up the steps. 

Be a gentleman, Eddie, hold the door open for her.

Chrissy smiled and averted her gaze to the ground as she crossed over the threshold. The inside of the trailer was a bit messy, Eddie had clearly not been expecting visitors. 

“Sorry for the mess, uh, the maid took the week off,” Eddie said as he hurriedly cleared off the counter that was covered in even more fast food wrappers than had been in his truck. Chrissy was standing in the living room area, looking around.

“You, um… You live here alone?”

“With my uncle. But, uh, he works nights at the plant. Bringing home the big bucks.” Eddie was still trying to make the kitchen area look at least a little presentable. 

Chrissy nodded in understanding as Eddie finally finished and brushed his hands off on the front of his ripped jeans.

A beat of silence passed between them before Eddie realized that he should probably invite her to sit down on the couch.

“Uh, feel free to sit down anywhere, I’ll go grab the… stuff.”

Eddie hurried into his bedroom and tossed his vest and jacket onto the floor before turning to look for his good stash. If Chrissy was going to smoke anything with him, then it wasn’t going to be the month’s old dried-out stuff he had been trying to get rid of for the past week. 

Right beneath his hanging guitar, hidden under a Black Sabbath t-shirt that had been haphazardly thrown over the side table, was a small, nondescript, wooden box. Eddie would never tell Chrissy that he was indulging her with his own personal stash and that he only kept the best strains for himself, but he figured that if Chrissy was going to have her first high with him, he might as well make it as good as possible for her. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

When he finally returned to the living room with a small baggy, rolling papers, and a lighter in hand, Chrissy was sitting patiently at the edge of the couch, her knees pulled close to her body. 

“Alright, since this is your first time ever getting high, I think it’s only fair that this one is on the house. I’ll even roll it for you.” Eddie smiled as he carefully sat down at the opposite end of the couch, leaning casually against the armrest.

Chrissy was silent for a moment before she spoke.

“Thank you for doing this, I know you probably have better things to be doing on a Friday night than being stuck here.” Chrissy’s voice was quiet as she spoke, like she was afraid Eddie might realize that he was wasting his time with her and yell at her to get out.

“Hey, no it’s alright, I didn’t have any plans, you’re good,” he assured her. “Besides, I can’t think of a better way to spend my night.”

As Eddie began the process of rolling the joint, he couldn’t help but sneak glances at Chrissy out of the corner of his eye. She was staring intently at his hands, watching how rolled the paper and eventually twisted off the end. Eddie pretended that he didn’t see the rosy blush form across her cheeks when he licked the joint to seal it, after all, it was pretty dim in the trailer. He probably imagined it. 

“I’ll get it started for you so you can see how it’s done, alright?”

Chrissy nodded. 

Eddie carefully placed the joint between his lips before lighting the twisted end, breathing in until the embers were able to remain lit on their own. He inhaled carefully, holding his breath for a couple seconds before sighing out a cloud of smoke that seemed to curl around his face. Chrissy’s eyes definitely did not widen when she saw that, he was just imagining it. 

The joint hung gracefully from his fingertips as he motioned for her to take it, their hands brushing together as he passed it off to her. 

“Okay, so you’re going to want to breathe in a little bit of the smoke and then breathe in a little bit of air to make sure it really gets into your lungs. Then you wanna hold it for a few seconds and breathe back out, alright? You’ll probably cough your first time and that’s perfectly normal.”

Chrissy followed his instructions, nervously watching him as she did for support. After breathing out for a few seconds, she began to cough into her elbow. Eddie placed a hand on her back, rubbing small, comforting circles as she tried to recover. 

“Hey you’re alright, just breathe, yeah?” his voice was soothing and relaxed, the warmth of his hand grounding and comforting her as she tried to take in air.

It took her a few seconds to finally catch her breath, and when she finally looked up, there was Eddie, smiling encouragingly. 

“You good?”

“Yeah,” she whispered quietly.

“Don’t worry if you don’t feel blasted by the end of the night, alright? Most people when they smoke for the first time don’t have too much of a reaction until their second or third time. But you’re doing great so far! I think I started crying the first time I smoked because I was coughing so hard,” Eddie laughed, reclining back into the squishy couch. 

Chrissy passed the joint back to Eddie who took a drag before tilting his head back to blow the smoke towards the ceiling. 

“So, tell me,” he started, bringing Chrissy back to reality. “What made you decide to… indulge for the first time?”

Chrissy took a deep breath and relaxed into the cushions of the couch.

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately. It feels like it takes hours for me to even drift off and even then I have nightmares. I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in over a month. Jason said that it’s because I’m too frigid and that I need to relax, but I feel like I can’t when I’m around him, you know? I figured this would be the easiest way to do it.” Chrissy looked up to see Eddie watching her attentively. “Sorry, I know that’s a lot.”

“Nah, you’re good, I’ve definitely heard worse. I’m a very discreet person.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chrissy laughed. Eddie held out the joint to her again which she accepted, taking in a more shallow breath this time before passing it back to him. She only coughed a little, which she decided to count as a victory. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, why haven’t you tried anything else? I mean why jump straight to drugs?”

Chrissy felt a little embarrassed. Maybe it was a little weird that she agreed to drugs the first time she spoke to someone about what was happening. 

“I don’t know, Kim just seemed so sure that this would fix things, I guess I figured if I started out with the extremes then it would really knock me out the first time around.”

Eddie had a bemused smile on his face as he took another drag. His lips look really good like that. 

“Can I ask you a question? And feel free to slap me or not answer if you don’t want to.” Eddie looked almost embarrassed as he lowered his voice for the second half of his question. “Have you tried doing it, you know, the old-fashioned way?”

Chrissy furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Old-fashioned? What, you mean like barbiturates or something those old Hollywood people take?”

“No, no! Not at all, um, I just meant like, touching yourself. Or hooking up with someone.”

Chrissy's cheeks went a brilliant scarlet as she shrieked a little, looking scandalized.

“Oh my god, no that’s gross! I mean I’ve had sex with Jason before but I’ve never-” Chrissy whispered the last part, “touched myself.”

Eddie laughed a little at Chrissy’s reaction.

“Okay, fine. You haven’t touched yourself. But why don’t you just hook up with Jason to help you relax?”

“Well, usually it’s just when he’s drunk and on some kind of a high after winning a game. We don’t really have sex that often.”

“What? Why?” Eddie looked more confused than ever. 

“Well, it just doesn’t feel very good. It kind of… hurts? I kind of just have to grit my teeth and hope that he finishes fast, but that’s pretty normal so I don’t know why I’m complaining.” 

Eddie looked horrified.

“What? No, Chrissy it very much is not normal, what are you talking about?”

“Well, Jason said that it’s not supposed to be enjoyable for girls.”

Eddie looked like he was about to pass out. 

“Chrissy, please tell me you’re joking.”

Chrissy slowly shook her head. Eddie jumped to his feet, making Chrissy jump in surprise. 

“Orgasms are supposed to be mindblowing! Especially for women! You shouldn’t be able to walk after if the person’s done their job right! Are you telling me that you’ve never had an orgasm with Jason?”

“He said that girls aren’t supposed to, that only guys are supposed to be able to cum.”

Eddie blinked at her, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“Eddie? You okay? You kinda look like you’ve shut down there.”

“You need to break up with Jason.”

“What?” Chrissy laughed incredulously.

“Maybe he can’t make a girl cum but you shouldn’t suffer just because he doesn’t know how to use his dick!”

“Oh, what, and you can?” Chrissy laughed humorlessly, an expression of misery on her face.

Eddie looked affronted and crossed his arms indignantly. 

“Why yes, actually. I can. I’ve made several women cum, multiple times, if you must know,” he said huffily, turning his nose up. 

“Okay, prove it.” Chrissy surprised herself with her forwardness, but there was no turning back now. 

Eddie’s head snapped to look Chrissy in the eye.

“What?”

“You heard me, prove it.”

Eddie’s face quickly changed, his lips turning into a devilish smirk as he raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh really? Are you really sure you want your first orgasm to be because of a freak?” he teased, mischief dancing in his eyes. Their usually doe-eyed brown had changed, they looked darker, more serious. Chrissy felt her stomach drop in anticipation. 

“Only if it’s you.”

Eddie sank to his knees in front of her and pulled her into a slow kiss, his hands gently holding her face. Chrissy felt herself sigh into the kiss. This was nice. With Jason, kissing was always just aggressive fumbling, a formality that had to be checked off before he could stick his dick into her, like it was the boring requirement before getting to the good part. With Eddie, he kissed her like it was the good part, like it was something to savor. His lips were plush and a little chapped against hers, but she didn’t mind. It felt nice. Jason’s lips always felt bony and thin against hers.

Eddie pulled the scrunchie out of her hair before shifting his hands to grasp her hips, pulling her towards the edge of the couch and into his body. Slowly, he began kissing down her neck, taking his time, making sure to worship every inch of her skin as he moved down to the hollow of her throat, her collarbones, and the soft curve of her cleavage.

Chrissy pulled back for a moment to pull her top off and toss it somewhere onto the floor. Her hands moved to unclasp her bra but Eddie’s hands stopped her, holding her gently by the wrists.

“Let me,” he whispered quietly, his fingers expertly unclasping the back before slowly sliding the straps off her shoulder and down her arm, one at a time. Chrissy felt like she had a fever, she was practically shaking in anticipation. Eddie resumed his slow kisses down her neck as he discarded her bra, paying no mind to where it landed. 

Her fingertips caressed the expanse of his arms, across his broad shoulders, and past his neck until they found themselves tangled tightly in his curls. Eddie had moved his attention to her breasts, rolling the nipple under his thumb until they pebbled under his touch. He continued his slow onslaught of kisses between her breasts, making sure that he could feel Chrissy slowly unraveling at his touch. 

Chrissy couldn’t help but tilt her head back and moan at the sensation. No one had ever spent this long making sure that she was cared for before. 

“Eddie, please” she whined quietly, her desperation growing as the heat pooling in her abdomen swelled. She wasn’t quite sure what she was begging for, she just needed him to touch her.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he mumbled against her skin. “All good things come to those who wait.” Eddie’s hands caressed the sides of her body before stopping at the waistband of her cheer skirt. His fingers tugged at the elastic band before he allowed them to snap against her hips, eliciting a squeak from her lips. 

“I think I’ll keep the skirt on for this, hmm?” Eddie mumbled against her hipbone, the vibration of his lips and the deep husk of his voice shooting another spark of arousal through her abdomen. 

Eddie took his time dragging his fingers up her legs, his hands sliding between her thighs and grasping onto the band of her cheer shorts and underwear beneath her skirt. Slowly, he pulled them down, wanting to savor the moment. Eddie was about to bury his face between Chrissy Cunningham’s thighs, he could die happy now. Eddie gently splayed the palm of his hand over Chrissy’s stomach, pushing her back so that she was lying down against the couch cushions, her hands still tangled in his hair. 

Eddie flipped the skirt up and sat back to admire the sight of Chrissy lying there, just for him, the wetness of her arousal shining in the dim lighting of the living room. 

“You tell me if you want to stop, alright?” 

“Oh God, Eddie, please don’t stop, please,” she begged, her back arching slightly off of the couch in desperation. Jason had never gone down on her, he always said how gross it was and how it was a waste of time. Eddie had barely touched her and she was already practically falling apart beneath his touch. How could this ever be a waste of time?

Chrissy could feel Eddie’s smirk as he pressed kisses to the insides of her thighs, slowly working his way up. Using his hands to push open Chrissy’s legs wider, Eddie couldn’t help but admire the sight in front of him. 

“Aren’t you just a fucking vision,” Eddie moaned, the sound resonating low in his throat. Without warning, he pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit, eliciting a strangled moan from Chrissy. 

Eddie’s calloused fingers felt rough as he caressed her, slowly pumping in and out of her as he continued paying attention to her clit, a perfect combination of soft and rough against her skin. Right, he plays guitar. That’s really fucking hot. The thought sent a shiver down Chrissy’s spine. 

Each movement of his tongue resulted in a shockwave running through her body, the muscles in her abdomen and thighs tightening and spasming as the pleasure grew and the electric pressure swelled within her. Every time she felt herself begin to reach her peak, Eddie would shift his attention, the vibrant pulsing of her pleasure fading into a pleasant, but frustrating, hum until Eddie built her right back up again, eliciting quiet whines whenever he pulled away.

Chrissy could feel the sparks of pleasure begin to build more intensely, her abdomen tightening as her back arched off of the couch, and her hands gripping tightly onto Eddie’s curls. Even if she wanted to, Chrissy doubted she would be able to contain her moans as he brought her to the brink. 

“Why don’t you let go for me sweetheart, hmm?” Eddie murmured against her clit, the vibrations being the final spark to send her over the edge. Her body tensed as waves of pleasure wracked her body, with Eddie never slowing his movements until Chrissy gasped at the overstimulation. With one final press of his tongue against her folds, Eddie drew back, Chrissy’s hands finally releasing his curls. His lips glistened with her arousal in the dim light of the living room and she couldn’t help but feel that now-familiar spark begin to buzz in her abdomen once again. 

Eddie wiped at the corner of his mouth with his thumb before licking at his lips and smirking. 

“Never knew someone could taste so sweet, Cunningham,” he said with a deep lilt, his eyes hungry and his pupils blown wide. 

Chrissy’s face was flushed with color, her chest heaving, and her eyes hooded with arousal. She definitely felt more relaxed now, the combination of the earlier joint and the orgasm making her limbs feel a bit like jello. She wanted more, anything Eddie was willing to give her, she was willing to take. She would do anything he asked if it meant experiencing that feeling again. Her eyes flitted down to the muscular expanse of his thighs and the bulge that strained against Eddie’s jeans.

“Okay, your turn now,” Chrissy said, moving to slide off of the couch and onto her knees, her hands moving towards his belt. 

“Whoa there princess, this was for you, not me, I really don’t need you to do that,” Eddie chuckled as he gently grabbed and held her wrists, stopping them from undoing the belt buckle.

Chrissy’s brow furrowed, her bottom lip pouting out in confusion.

“Do-” Chrissy’s voice broke off like she was about to cry, “do you not want to?” Chrissy could feel the self-doubt begin to build along the perimeter of her mind. This kind of rejection would almost definitely be worse than anything that Jason could ever say to her. She didn’t care anymore if Jason found her attractive or desirable any more. But she cared what Eddie thought. Because if he wasn’t attracted to her, that means he only saw her as someone to pity, a charity case, an average, naive, all-American cheerleader who wanted to get her rebellious streak out as fast as possible with the most contentious person imaginable.

Eddie could probably see the panic begin to reflect on her face, as he quickly rushed to mollify her worries. 

“No! Not at all, Chrissy, in fact just the opposite,” he sputtered out in alarm. “I definitely, definitely want to, but this is about you, not me.”

Chrissy seemed to relax a little at his assurances. 

“Besides, I really don’t think I would be able to last with you on your knees in front of me.”

Chrissy contemplated what he said for a moment, studying his face for any insincerity. She couldn’t detect any. 

“Eddie?” she asked, gazing up at him through her lashes. “Do you want to fuck me?”

Eddie’s eyes widened at the question before he began vigorously nodding.

“Yes. Oh my god yes, I really, really do.”

Slowly, Chrissy got to her feet and walked forward until she was chest to chest with him, allowing her to glide her fingers down the expanse of his chest until they reached the slightly frayed hem of his shirt. 

“Then I am only going to ask you once. Eddie, will you please fuck me?”

Eddie tilted his head back and groaned, a rough smile on his face. 

“Oh my god, the universe has favorites and I am one of them,” he said, his voice deep with desire. He wasted no time in grasping onto Chrissy’s thighs and hoisting her up, her legs automatically wrapping themselves around his waist. 

“If I’m gonna fuck you, I’m gonna do it right, in a bed, like you deserve.”

“Mmm, is that so?” Chrissy mused, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “And what do I deserve?”

“To be worshipped like a goddess. To have any man who comes near you falling at your feet. To be treated like the princess you are,” Eddie murmured into the crook of her neck before placing a kiss right above her collarbone. He pushed the door to his room open with his feet, guiding them to his unmade bed.

“Well that doesn’t seem so bad,” Chrissy whispered, pulling Eddie into a kiss as he gently set her down, her head coming to rest on top of his pillows. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Eddie pulled away, only for a moment, to tear his shirt over his head and onto the messy floor below, before allowing himself to be pulled back into a searing kiss. Chrissy’s movements seemed desperate and feverish, her hands fumbling with the complicated belt buckle around his waist. 

After a few moments, Eddie could feel Chrissy frown into the kiss, an aggravated grunt escaping her as she blindly felt around the buckle. Eddie couldn’t help but smile in amusement, pulling away to unbuckle it himself. It was a complicated mechanism that he had fashioned himself out of a pair of handcuffs he had been arrested with a couple years before. Maybe if this works out we can try using my actual handcuffs on her. Eddie thought to himself, his eyes glazing over to the handcuffs he had hung on his wall, a declaration to anyone he brought into his room exactly what kind of things he was into. With a final tug, Eddie pulled the heavy, black leather belt out of his belt loops and tossed it onto the floor where it joined his shirt. 

Chrissy wasted no time in yanking his jeans and boxer briefs down his thighs, his erection bobbing against his lower stomach as he kicked them haphazardly away, finally settling in the space between Chrissy’s legs. Throwing her arms around his neck, her hands tangling themselves once again in his unruly curls, Chrissy pulled him until he was practically lying on top of her, the tip of his cock rubbing gently at the base of her stomach. 

“Eddie, I don’t mean to sound desperate, but I really need you to fuck me now,” she mumbled against the curve of his throat. Her mind felt hazy with want, the only clear thought being that she needed Eddie to be inside of her at that exact moment or she was going to combust. 

“I’ve barely touched you and I already have you falling apart, I have you practically wrapped around my finger,” he murmured, his voice smoky and thick with desire. Eddie took the head of his cock and teased her entrance, running it up and down but never quite pushing in, much to Chrissy’s disappointment.

“Eddie, please,” she whined, her hips raising off the bed, trying to get even a little bit of friction where she desperately needed it. Eddie shushed her soothingly, his thumb rubbing small, slow circles on her clit. Chrissy quickly swallowed the whine that emanated from her throat, finally feeling the smallest bit of relief.

“Look at you, so obedient for me. So neglected and needy.” Eddie’s voice was tinted with amusement as he spoke softly in her ear. “Let’s fix that, hmm sweetheart?”

Slowly, Eddie pushed in, allowing himself to feel what he had previously thought had been a fantasy, and allowing Chrissy to adjust to the feeling of being stretched full. He could hear the breath hitch in her throat as she clenched down on him, the tips of her fingernails scratching over his scalp as her hands tightened into fists in his hair. 

Eddie’s hips finally stilled, pressed tightly against Chrissy’s, waiting for her to adjust properly. Eddie took the chance to study her face and really take in the fact that he had Chrissy Cunningham in his bed and wanting to fuck him. If someone had told Eddie even a week ago that he would have Chrissy underneath him, he would have called them insane. 

Chrissy looked like a vision, her head tossed back against the pillows, her golden locks splayed beneath her, eyes closed, and her perfect, full lips parted in pleasure. The uncontrollable urge to kiss her neck and leave little love bites suddenly washed over him. He wanted everyone to know that even if it was for only one night, he had given her those marks. As he lightly sank his teeth into the junction between her neck and shoulder, Chrissy moaned loudly, a high, gasping moan that had her hips bucking up.

“Eddie, move,” she breathed, “I need you to move.”

He complied with her request, slowly pulling out before pushing back in, rolling his hips tactfully against hers before repeating the motion, getting faster with each thrust. 

It’s on a particularly hard thrust that Chrissy gasps, her hands suddenly loosening their grasp on Eddie's hair that he takes advantage. Grasping her wrists in one hand, he pins them above her head so that she can’t move, while the other hand pushes her knee up to her chest, reaching a new angle, a deeper one that has Chrissy babbling praise.

As he rams his hips into hers, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to fuck her like this every day. To kiss her tenderly before making her cry with want, bending her over to explore new positions. He couldn’t imagine being Jason and only wanting to fuck her while drunk after a victory. If Chrissy were his, he would make her see stars every night.

“Eddie, I’m gonna-” Chrissy gasps, not quite able to verbalize the fact that she was rapidly approaching her second orgasm of the night.

“I got you, Chris, I got you,” he said, his voice comforting as he continued thrusting. With a loud moan, Chrissy clenched down on his cock, cumming hard as her hands formed into fists and her back arched off of the bed.

“K-keep going, don’t- don’t stop,” she demanded breathlessly. Eddie continued fucking her through her orgasm, waiting until she seemed relatively stable before switching positions.

Eddie leaned back onto his heels, pulling Chrissy with him, one hand supporting his body weight on the mattress and the other hand supporting her back as he thrust into her, using his momentum to pull Chrissy down harder onto his cock. Eddie could tell that Chrissy was quickly approaching her second orgasm as she continued to roll her hips against his, creating friction and clenching down on his cock in a way that made his brain blank out a little. 

“E-Eddie, I’m so- so close,” she gasped, her chest heaving with each thrust. “P-please, faster-”

Eddie shifted his hand from the mattress to the back of Chrissy’s neck as he drilled into her, his own orgasm quickly approaching. 

Chrissy threw her head back as she came, an expression of euphoria painted across her face and her thighs shaking with the force of her orgasm. Eddie wasn’t far behind as he buried his face in her neck, taking in her scent.

“Chris- I’m really close-” Eddie’s voice broke off in a gravelly moan. “I need to know where Chris.”

“Inside,” she begged, “please, I need to feel you inside me.”

That alone was enough to make him cum, his orgasm passing like a shockwave through his body as he emptied himself deep inside her. Losing his restraint, he bit down on her shoulder, muffling his deep moan as he rolled his hips through the remainder of his orgasm before tenderly kissing the marked skin.

Gently, Eddie guided her body until she was leaning back against the pillow, carefully removing his softening cock from her and collapsing beside her. As they tried to catch their breaths, Eddie turned over onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow.

“You okay?”

Chrissy gave a short laugh, her chest still quickly rising and falling as she tried to get her breathing under control.

“Well, I can certainly see why you suggested ‘the old-fashioned way’ now.” 

A beat of silence passed between them. 

“Thank you,” Chrissy said, her voice soft and quiet.

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be the one thanking you right now,” Eddie teased, a goofy smile making its way onto his face. Chrissy couldn’t help but smile as well. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Chrissy could feel herself drifting off a little, only barely registering the feeling of the bed moving as Eddie got up and left the room. Only a few moments later, she registered the mattress dipping once again and the warmth of a wet washcloth cleaning up the mess between her thighs. 

“You okay, princess?”

A dazed smile crossed Chrissy’s face.

“Oh, I am more than okay right now.”

After Eddie finished cleaning up the mess he had made and had unceremoniously tossed the soiled washcloth onto his overflowing laundry basket, Chrissy felt him push himself up onto the pillows next to her, pulling the duvet over her naked body. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, her eyelids felt too heavy.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between them.

“Do you want to spend the night?” Eddie’s voice came out as a whisper, as if he was afraid she would realize who exactly she was lying in bed next to and run out of the trailer screaming.

Chrissy could sense the uncertainty in his voice and blindly patted the mattress until she found his hand. She laced their fingers together and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Yeah, I’d really like that, if it’s okay with you?” Chrissy’s voice had a teasing lilt to it.

“It’s more than okay with me,” Eddie answered quickly, bringing a full smile to her face.

“Perfect,” she answered. “Now come under the covers and hold me, I’m getting cold.”

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

tumblr has porn again, brb im gonna go be a whore again

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

it was indeed THEIR year!! 🎓🎉 suck it principal higgins

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

anthony bridgerton is my favorite brand of male character. he’s a whore with a tragic past and a fear of love. his crimes? being sexy and making terrible choices. and to top it off he’s got eldest sibling disorder. he’s literally perfect.

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

Lessons in Exercise

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: Bucky decides to show you how good an intense work out can be, starting with the pull up bar. 

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Beefy!Bucky x Reader

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 1.9K

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Minors DNI. Smut, semi public sex, 18+

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘢’𝘥, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 (𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵)

A/N: Requested by @lookiamtrying, based on that video from Seb

“Everyone out.“  

The soft-spoken command slashes through the loud chatter, a wave of silence crashes over the gym. 

Machines grind to a slow halt. Agents stare at each other, then at the man standing in the middle of the gym.  Everything about him, his stance, his glare screams intimidating, dangerous. Fuck if it doesn’t turn you on.

 When no one moves, he raises a brow, flexing his vibranium arm, the fluorescent lights reflecting off the moving plates as he makes a fist. It’s a clear unspoken threat in the air, don’t make me repeat myself.

They scatter for the double doors, water bottles and towels forgotten. You smile, running your tongue over your lower lip, you had wondered how long it was going to take him to break, looking at the timer on the screen, you’re impressed. 

With yourself.

This is a new record for you. You haven’t even finished the warm up. You had thought you were going to have to step up your teasing until he spoke.

His lack of restraint when it comes to you is legendary. You knew what was going to happen the second you pushed open the gym doors. There was a reason why half the agents had stormed out the second they saw you, all of them careful to hide their glares from the Avenger who was staring you down while you strolled across the facility. 

Humming under your breath, you take off your rose gold headphones and pick up your towel off the arm of the treadmill. The last man flees, the pedals on his exercise bike next to you still moving. When the doors swing shut with a click, you step off, stretching your arms over your head with an exaggerated groan. Continuing to hum nonchalantly, you pick up your water bottle and saunter to the doors. 

“Not you.” His words stop you in your tracks, your skin prickling at the sound of him. 

His voice dripping with lust, desire for you, sending a surge of it down your belly so fast, hard that you clench around nothing, your clit pulsating from the low timbre of his voice.  You glance over your shoulder. That look on his face would scare any other person, hell it just cleared an entire room. He looks like he wants to devour you. 

Fuck, that’s sexy, you love when he gets riled up, aggressive. Wanting to claim you and let everyone know that he belongs to you, even more than you belong to him. 

Bucky stands in the middle of the now deserted facility, loose black shorts around his waist, thick muscular arms crossed over his bare chest, a sheen of sweat clinging to him. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes dragging up and down your body, his eyes darkening the longer he stares at you.

“Come. Here.”

You turn on your heel, taking a sip of your cold water. “Can I help you, Sergeant?” The faux innocence in your tone tearing at his fraying semblance of control. His chest heaves as he takes a deep breath, his hand raking through his damp locks. He’s seconds away from sprinting across the room and taking you against the wall.

Keep reading

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

Split You In Two

Summary: You and Bucky make an interesting wager. “If you can crack this in five swings or less, you win,” Bucky states, tapping the log with his booted foot. “But if I split this in one swing, I get to split you in two.” Either way you win.

Pairing: Beefy Lumberjack Bucky x reader, special guests.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, smut, minors DNI, swings, creampies, exhibitionism, voyeurism, outdoor sex, praise kink, dirty talk, mentions of bondage and cock rings. Bucky is 6'4", special guests are taller.

a/n: Written as work, Beta'd by the lovely @cwbucky and @maladaptivexxdaydreaming

|Masterlist| Lumberjack Masterlist|Library|

“So you think you can do this better than me,” Bucky states slowly, his incredulous tone slicing through the foggy afternoon air like a whip. “Really?”

Not even bothering to hide your grin, you take a sip of coffee, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. Settling back on the porch swing, you use your heels to push yourself back and forth. “That’s not what I-”

“Oh, I heard ya plum. Heard you loud and clear.” He’s affronted, mulling over your bold statement.

His eyes drift down to your smile and he makes a displeased sound in his throat, the irritation rolling off him, you hide behind your cup, avoiding his piercing glare. “Since you’re so damn sure you’re better, let’s make a wager.”

That sounds promising.

Your eyes snap up, connecting with his deep blue ones. Bucky raises a brow, his head cocked back in an obvious challenge.

Raising your face from your makeshift hiding place, you smirk. “I’m listening. James.” You tack on his name, knowing how much he hates it when you use his first name. Might as well add breaking his unspoken rule to your growing list of offenses.

Bucky inhales, letting out a harsh breath. He runs his tongue along his cheek, chuckling darkly. “Okay, alright, I see you wanna play with me.”

Obviously. You’ve been needling your lumberjack all day, and it’s exhilarating to see him finally break. If you knew that was all it took to fluster your infallible lumberjack, you would have insinuated that you could handle an ax better than him ages ago.

You love the way his brows pull together, forming a deep wrinkle between them, the way his burgeoning anger darkens his slate grey eyes, and you fucking love the way his bulge is straining against his sweatpants.

So yeah, you want to play with him.

The words sizzle on your tongue, trying to slip past your pressed lips. However, you wisely keep that smart retort to yourself.

“If you can crack this in five swings or less, you win,” Bucky starts, tapping the log with his booted foot. “If I split this in one swing, I get to split you in two on that swing.”

Oh.

You glance around the yard, looking past the dew-covered grass and rolling wisps of fog clinging to the air. Your nearest neighbors are visible from the treeline, Steve and Ari just moved in, they’re old friends of Buckys-he knows you want them, he’s been nourishing your crush by telling you all about them including the tidbit that they love to share. Everything.

And ever since he’s told you that they’ve been very eager to meet you, your imagination has been running wild.

You watch the tall, muscular men clearing logs in their own yard. All they have to do is turn a little and they’ll be facing you. They would see you. All of you. Without having to step off their property.

Oh.

You glance back at Bucky. He deliberately and slowly flicks his stormy blue eyes to your neighbors and back to you. His expression tells you that he knows.

Oh. Fuck.

Your stomach sinks as heady warmth pulses in your clit.

“And if I win?” you ask quietly, your voice shaky and thin with burgeoning excitement.

Bucky shoulders his weathered ax, stretching his back with a soft grunt, his lips tug into a devilish grin. “Then you can do that thing you’ve been begging for.”

“Hold on, hold on” you sit up straight, placing your cup on the railing beside the swing. “You’ll let me tie you up?”

Bucky nods.

Putting your hand up, you lower your chin, peering directly into his blue eyes. “You’ll let me spank you?”

He nods again, albeit a bit more hesitantly.

You grab the railing, leaning forward until you’re almost dangling off the edge. “You’ll let me put the cock ring on you?” The words come out in an excited rush, the mere thought of it has your thighs clenching.

Bucky isn’t nervous, at least that’s what he tells himself as he watches you giddily bounce on the porch. Not nervous at all. His eyes narrow and his Adam’s apple bobs. Once. Twice. You’re holding your breath, eagerly awaiting his response. Another audible swallow.

C’mon, c’mon, you think, studying his stern face. He blinks, a resigned sigh slipping through his gritted teeth.

“Yes.”

Oh god, you’ve been pleading for the chance to have your 6’4” lumberjack bound to your bed with his favorite ropes so you can do whatever you want to his gorgeous body. Tapping your foot on the wooden floor, you bite the corner of your lip as you weigh the risks and benefits.

He wins, you’ll get fucked in front of the new neighbors.

You win, you’ll have your lumberjack at your mercy.

Both options are enough to have heat pooling in your belly, anticipation rushing through your veins like vanilla whiskey, robust and sweet and fuck do you want it.

Taking another look at the log in question, you meticulously study it. The gnarled stump is from an old evergreen that was knocked over during the last storm. No way can he split it in one swing, but there’s a good chance you can do it in less than five. How hard can it be? Just aim and strike. Anyone can do it.

Right?

Inhaling deeply, you narrow your eyes at Bucky and lift your chin. “Deal.”

He gestures for you to come closer, his knowing smirk sends your heart into overdrive. The overconfident voice in your head telling you that you can win, petering out the closer you get to him. Bucky hands you his ax and you almost drop it, a surprised oof spilling from your lips.

Quickly peering up at him, you give him a fierce glare when his lips twitch upward, daring him to laugh at you. Bucky holds up his large hands in a placating manner and steps back.

Adjusting your hands around the smooth wooden handle, you hoist it over your shoulder and plant your feet into the soft grass. Closing your eyes, you swing it down with a low screech. Cracking open one eye, your mouth drops open. The tiniest dent is staring back at you.

Bucky snorts, the sound muffled by his hand. You whip your head around. “Shut up,” you say, turning back to the log. “That was a practice swing, and it doesn’t count.”

Bucky swallows his laughter, wiping his grin off with his palm. “If ya say so, plum.”

“I do say so James, so shut it.” You try again. And again. Nothing but a tiny chip crumbling to the ground. By the fourth swing, you’re inspecting the metal blade, muttering it must be broken.

“One more.” He teases, his eyes focused on the curve of your ass peeking out from under your shirt.

“I know how to count,” you retort, rubbing your sweaty palms on your shirt before adjusting your grip. Oh, you fucked up, you fucked up. Damn, you wanted to tie him up. How is this stupid thing not even cracked or nicked, your ego is more bruised than this stump.

Backing up a few steps, you take a running start, screaming wildly, shocking Bucky as you bring the ax down with a harsh grunt.

The very tip sinks into the wood, the handle jerking out of your hands. Sonofabitch.

Bucky nudges you out of the way with his hip and easily lifts it up. Knocking on it with his fist, he gazes at you. “Hmm I don’t know plum, that was pretty good, ya almost had it, I see a little break right here, oh wait that-”

“Fuck. You.” you laugh, pushing at his back.

“Oh, I plan on it.”

Bucky rests the ax on his leg and shrugs his red flannel off, letting it flutter to the ground, his white t-shirt following. You swallow thickly, his muscular chest glistening under the sunlight, your eyes trace along the tattoos imprinted in his skin.

“Eyes on me, plum.” He commands, hoisting the ax back up. Sheer determination lurks in the depths of his eyes, he taps the wood once before taking a step back.

You inhale, holding your breath. Bucky raises his arms, the veins in his forearms protrude and his muscles bulge. A blur of silver flashes before your eyes, the loud crack echoing across the yard.

Your brows furrow, lips falling into a pout. That’s not fair. The ax sinks into the stump, smoothly, he barely grunts, his muscles contracting. Your heart flutters as the wood slowly falls into two nearly identical pieces.

Oh fuck him, he could have least prevented to put some effort in to it.

“You were saying?”

“You got lucky, I loosened it up for you.” Lifting your chin, your mouth shuts with a snap. You both know that doesn't make sense but your wounded pride won't let you back down. "You're welcome."

You look at him out of the corner of your eye, gauging his expression. He looks as excited as you feel. You nod, releasing a shuddery breath.

“Sure ya did,” he laughs. Placing another log on the stump, he gestures for you to come closer. Stepping behind you, the warmth of his body permeates your skin, his cologne sinks into your nose and you inhale the masculine notes of smoked cedar and vanilla.

Bucky lowers his lips to the curve of your neck. “Do you want this? You say the word and I’ll let you have them. We’ll worship you Bunny the way you deserve.“

“Use your words Bunny,” he gently reprimands.

“Ye-" You clear your throat. "Yes Bucky.”

“Now be a good girl and pay attention.” His calloused hands slide down your arms and he flicks the buttons open one by one until the shirt is fluttering apart. Goosebumps prickle across your exposed skin. Bucky rolls his thumbs over your exposed nipples, drawing a moan from you as the sensations twist down to your cunt.

“The trick is making sure the tip hits the wood just right, kinda like when you're stretched around me and I hit that spot tgat makes you scream. You know the spot Bunny." Yes you do, he always finds it, always leaves you wrecked and trembling.

Taking his serrated knife out of his back pocket, he flicks it open. The silver flashes before your eyes. Bucky drags it down between the valley of your breasts. You hiss, stomach flexing in, you love it when he uses his knife on you. Turn the blade flat across your skin, he moves it under the band of your panties. A flick of his wrist and the blush pink lace falls from your body.

Bucky runs his warm rough hands down your arms and he wraps your hands around the handle of the ax. Picking it up, you can feel the strength in his large body. Bucky always makes you feel small, but this is an intoxicating, delirious experience.

“Let’s show them what you can do, Bunny.”

You follow his eyes and your heart slams against your ribcage, your pulse picking up.

You’re the center of attention.

Two pairs of blue eyes studying your body with undisguised lust. A whimper forms in your throat, and you can see that Steve is holding Ari back, the large man focused on you, ready to drop to his knees and worship you.

“Focus,” he whispers, his chapped lips moving over the shell of your ear. Taking your hands in his own, you both lift the ax and he brings it down with a swift swing. The wood splitting into two, the loud crack echoing across the yard.

“Good girl. Looks like you win too, I’ll do anything you want tomorrow,” he breathes across the sensitive skin of your throat, his baritone voice rumbles down your spine. The promise of what’s to come has you drenched, your thighs slip against each other. “But first you’re going to give me my sweet, tight little prize, aren’t you Bunny?”

“I’ll think about it,” you tease, he growls under his breath, grumbling when you push your ass into his growing erection.

Bucky tosses the ax into the grass and hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing at all. A shriek bubbles up from your throat when the world spins around you, his shoulder digging into your belly as he jogs to the porch.

He sets you back on your feet. “You know what to do.” He states, the clear command in his voice makes your knees weak.

Putting his long hair back into a loose bun, he gestures for you to turn around.

Bucky hand-carved the entire porch for you, including the swing, it’s inconspicuous when you first look at it. Only the two of you know about the straps that are hidden near the chains supporting the it. You step behind the swing, placing your hands on the railing.

Bucky kicks your feet apart, keeping his hand around your ankle, he secures the soft, thick bands around your calves and thighs.

Your hands clutch the railing and you smile over your shoulder at the large lumberjack gently adjusting the straps until you’re comfortable.

Bucky can never decide if he likes to fuck you from behind or have you bounce on his cock like his personal fuck toy.

He lets you choose while lifting you in the air until you’re suspended above the porch, weightless and helpless. Powerful. Desired.

Because right now you could command the lumberjack to get on his knees and he would.

For you.

“Both,” you say with a smile.

He slaps your ass, pain rippling up your skin. “Good bunny,” he praises.

Dropping to his knees, he spreads your cheeks, spearing you with his tongue. Your eyes are on your new neighbors walking towards you. You wave as if you’re not dangling naked from your porch, an exhilarating sense of excitement expands in your chest as they get closer. A wave of slick drips out of you, drenching Bucky’s beard and he groans, greedily devouring you.

You try to hold in your moans but his tongue circles your clit in vicious tight circles and you can’t stop the melody of sobs from escapsing your lips. Your orgasm is spiraling through, Bucky replaces his fingers with his tongue, standing behind you. Shifting between your thighs, he fucks you through it, his hand slams on your ass and you cry out louder. A second orgasm is building, higher, higher, higher with every circle of his scarred thumb.

“Oh fuck.” Bucky thrusts inside you, the sudden intrusion has you yanking on the swing, your entire body swaying forward from the force of his thick cock stretching your drenched, velvety walls. Fuck fuck you can’t breathe, the burn surging through, pain blending with pressure in one exhilarating meld of sensations.

There’s no reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure cresting inside you. “Bucky,” you wail, your back forming a sharp arch, inadvertently taking him deeper. “Holy shit- “you brokenly sob, “fuck.”

Bucky widens his stance, changing his angle until he finds that sensitive spot you both love, his hips rhythmically snapping into yours. “Don’t cum again, not until they have time to see how pretty you look when you’re stretched around my cock.”

You have to; you have to cum, you can’t hold it, can’t stop yourself. The urge overwhelms you, you need it so much it almost hurts, you can feel pleasure winding around your sweat laced body as he pounds into your swollen cunt. So close, you’re so fucking close. You want to tell him that but all that comes out is “please,” tears rolling down your face, a knuckle sweeps across your cheek wiping them away.

“Didn’t I tell say you’d never see anything as gorgeous as my Bunny?”

“You weren’t lying, Buck.”

You glance up to see the two lumberjacks staring down at you, it’s too much, your cunt pulsate and clenched down on Bucky’s cock pulling him back into you with a wet squelch. “Buc-“ a breathy moan swallows up the last of his name as your orgasm strikes, rendering you speechless.

Deep voices swirl around you, their vulgar praises ring in your ears. The fact that they're all dressed and you're exposed, naked for them sends another pulse straight to your clit.

Bucky doesn't stop, his rapid pace picking up. The salacious sloshing of your cunt drowned out by them talking about you.

“Oh that’s it Bunny, fuck, she’s so tight, this perfect cunt won’t let me go.”

“Look at her, all fucked out.”

“Beautiful isn’t she? She’s such a good fucking girl.”

“Bet she’ll look pretty when she’s crying and gagging around my cock.”

“Been dreaming about her, Buck. That gorgeous pussy is even prettier than I imagined.”

You stop listening, too focused on the pleasure sweeping through like wildfire. Bucky pulls your head back. “You want them to touch you? You’re gonna be their housewarming gift, Bunny. They are going to ruin this greedy little cunt. ”

“God yes,” you whimper. “Please, please.”

The sounds of your begging have them reaching for you, large hands caressing your skin, helping Bucky push you back so they can get a view of your swollen, fluttering pussy.

“You gonna be good for them Bunny,” Bucky grunts out, the feel of your tight warm walls spasming around him sends a rush of pleasure up his spine and he rewards with a deep thrust, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you where he wants.

“Yesyesyes,” you slur, mouth slack as Bucky slams back into you. You’ll agree to anything if he keeps hitting your spot the way he is. His thick cock slides against your walls, keeping you full with every stroke.

Your vision blurs as the unending pleasure, the sultry hot sensations begin to pull you under. Steve cups your swaying breasts, his thumbs flicking your pebbled nipples back and forth.

Ari hops over the railing in one fluid motion, landing near you, shaking the porch. He says something to Bucky, but you can’t make out the word over the dull roar in your ears. Soft gasps of ohgodohgodyes falling from your parted lips, the sinful chant resounds in their ears.

Bucky wraps his hand around your throat and pulls your body back until your legs are dangling in the air, back pressed into his warm chest. “Keep your eyes on him,” he whispers in your ear, dragging kisses along your cheek.

You try to focus, but you can’t. All you can feel is a haze of pleasure swarming you, coating your sink in fiery sensations.

“I want to see your pretty eyes while I taste your pussy for the time, Bunny,” the deep voice cuts through your addled thoughts and your eyes drift down.

You almost shatter again when Ari smirks, pressing his large hand into your belly, pushing on the bulge Bucky is creating with his deep, languid strokes. “This is where I belong, Bunny, deep inside this cunt. You’re gonna let me in when Bucky’s done.” His filthy words combined with the way his rough fingers move down to your slit, wrapping around Bucky’s cock, guiding him back in you. Oh fuck.

“Hey sweetheart,” Steve says, lifting your chin with his palm. “You got one more for us. Cum for us, atta girl, just like that.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” You’re too sensitive, aftershocks from the last orgasm blazing through you.

“Yes you can, I think your greedy cunt wants to cum again." Ari leans forward, his hair falling across his forehead. "Yeah she does, shes begging for it." His lips hover over your pussy, waiting until Bucky snaps up into you and he wraps his plush lips around your pulsing clit sucking you into his wet mouth and you see stars. It’s so good, so good, you don’t realize you’re crying again. Actual stars burst behind your eyelids, a stream of incomprehensible noises crawl out of your throat.

Warmth blooms inside you as Bucky chases his release, grinding in your spasming cunt as he cums with your name on his tongue. Pleasure billows around your body, wrapping you tight until your lungs burn. Your head lolls forward and you laugh. You can’t remember the last time you felt so incredible.

You vaguely hear more praise shower down over your limp, pliant body, but you’re in your own world now. Bucky and Ari lift you out of the swing.

“If she can barely handle the two of us, I can’t wait to see what happens when she’s taking all three of us,” Ari says, kissing your forehead, and Steve nods in agreement.

Bucky shakes his head, adjusting you in his arms. “About that…I may have let her win a bet, and Bunny here is going to be in charge.”

Ari and Steve exchange looks with each other. “In charge of…”

“Us punk.” Bucky nudges Steve with his shoulder. “Apparently, she’s got plans for us.”

You smile up at them, still reeling from the bliss buzzing through your veins. “Damn right I do.” You let your head rest on Bucky’s chest and you gaze thoughtfully at Ari as you’re carried inside. “I’m going to need more rope. You're too big. Maybe some handcuffs. ” you mutter to yourself.

Steve laughs, clapping Ari on the back. “I can’t wait to see that.”

You meet Steve’s gaze. “And I’m going to have fun edging you, I bet you’re pretty when you cry.” You toss his words back at him, a mischievous grin tugs your lips upward

Laughter breaks out around you, Ari slaps Steve’s ass. “And I can’t wait to see that.”

They follow you inside the warm cabin, teasing each other over who’s going to break first. You snuggle in Bucky’s hold, drowsiness creeping up your limbs.

Bucky brushes his mouth over your ear. “Remember, I let you win.”

Carding your hand through his hair, you yank him closer. “The only thing I’m going to remember is I’m in charge and I’m going to make all of you beg and cry for me.”

“That’s my girl.”

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

Just You and Me

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader Rating: Explicit — 18+ Only. Minors, do not interact! Length: 5.5K This was the request: perhaps reader is javier peña’s best friend in Colombia and unfortunately also madly in love with him but he doesn’t know it and some angsty smutty wonderfulness that your writing encompasses ensues? thank you <3 Not beta-read. Querida means ‘my dear’ Warnings: Cursing; cigarette smoking; period-typical sexism; angst; slow-burn;   ~Feelings~ ; explicit sexual content—vaginal sex, oral sex (female receiving) Summary: Well, it’s like this on the bad days. You’re pissed with him first thing in the morning; you’ve calmed down by ten—noon, at the latest, reminded yourself that this is just Javi, and to relax about it—that your friendship is more important than that niggling crush that’s been hanging around your neck since you met the man.

You see him trailing out of the elevator with someone from the secretarial pool. It’s not a surprise—it’s as disappointing as it ever is to see him with someone—anyone. You just scoff, mutter, “Her, too? It’s not enough that he’s gotta sleep with everyone else in the fucking office?” Steve says, “Not everyone in the office. He hasn’t slept with you.” And Steve doesn’t mean for it to sting; there’s a hint of a question to his tone, like there always is, like he’s not entirely sure—well, Steve never did get a good handle on you and Javier when he arrived, and you remained a question mark even as he eased into work in Colombia. But you cast an eye toward him, grouse, “No, not everyone. He hasn’t slept with you, either.” And that makes Steve grin, and laugh, and turn his eyes down toward his files again.

Keep reading

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

The Mystery

Summary: You’re all fire and flare and spirit, nothing like sherlock has ever seen before. And he can’t for the life of him figure out why.

Warnings: mentions of corporal punishment and consequently the scars that come from it, mutual pining, being a Victorian era woman, a lot of sexism, parents who aren’t supportive, Mycroft being a whiny little sexist pig .(Sorry Mycroft)

A/N: as a lil’ celebration for 100 followers (Thank you!) I’m doing something a little different. Don’t worry, this is just a one (or two) time thing every once in a while, I’m still writing and taking requests for the mcu.

Ever since you were young children, Sherlock could not for the life of him figure you out. You were so strange – so different to everything he had been taught. It was infuriating – he could figure out the most complex puzzles, mysteries that poke and twist your brain, do things that no ordinary person could do, but then there was you.

A small, raggedy little girl, sat on Eudoria Holmes’ doorstep every other morning, waiting for her friends. Eudoria would always open the door, met with you: all rumpled clothes and mussed up hair and a corybantic sort of look in your eyes that she just knew your parents disapproved of. Smiling at you warmly before calling for the boys who came thundering down the stairs at the very mention of your name. You would go out to play every afternoon, out in the endless green fields and tree orchards, disappearing for hours at a time until Eudoria sent someone to find you, lest your parents got angry at you.

It didn’t make a difference really. They were angry at you anyways, they always were.

Sherlock could never figure that out either.

But soon, too soon, this golden age would come to an end. Sherlock and Mycroft were to be shipped off to boarding school and you to be sent to a finishing school in London. Those last few months consisted of sun sets and lazy conversations, You begging Sherlock to not let them take you away. And tears. Mostly from you, because you were constrained, held in the vice like grip of your parents who only ever wanted a lady, but he was free. Free to be whatever he wanted, wherever he pleased.

At boarding school, sherlock missed you every day. Wrote long letters describing the school, how he’d be moved up to higher classes because of his brilliance, and you would write back from under your bed, the small page illuminated by a candle as you scribbled frantically for fear of being caught. It was apparently unladylike to write letters to boys who were your friend. One day though, you couldn’t say when, the letters and the steady stream of communication turned into a weak trickle, until it wasn’t there at all. You had stopped. Sherlock always assumed that it was because you were becoming a lady of society, maybe nabbing a job as a seamstress, getting a husband although that thought made his heart twinge painfully. Another thing come of you that he couldn’t understand.

You were, in fact, doing quite the opposite. After graduating “The finishing school for distinguished young ladies” you had moved back out into the country, leaving your new homely residence in London just for a short while to have a look-see of the house your parents left you. That was a peaceful, short period. You were content there for a while, happy with just yourself and your art and the meadows and the long summer afternoons, popping over to Eudoria’s every once in a while, for dinner with her and baby Enola.

(You had been told that sherlock had travelled to visit his new-born sister and subsequently left a day before you returned. He was older than you after all, finished school early as well. You couldn’t help the stab-like feeling of your disappointment.)

You had always been a restless spirit, though. You have the scars to prove it; gash-like marks on your legs after falling out of countless trees when you were but a toddler; a split in your eyebrow from tripping down the stairs; countless lashes on your legs and wrist from misbehaving as a child and that godawful matron at the finishing school. So, you could never stay in the meadows for long. You could never really stay anywhere for long. A restless spirit.

The night before you were due to leave, you received a knock at the door. Eudoria, with Enola in her arms, looking as warm and kind as ever in the gentle dusk.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” You had said, sweeping aside to let them in and fluffing the old pillows up a little, running to boil the tea before they sat.

She smiled at you and took a sip of her tea. “Y/N, you know how I feel about finishing schools, don’t you?”

“I do,” you had nodded. You were well aware of it. Her letters and heated arguments with your parents before the finishing school were clear in your memory.

“I was wondering if you would like to teach Enola your skills – your painting and writing. I am glad of the way that you have rebelled. It is something that we need more of, these days and should the time come –”

She takes a deep breath, her gaze on your eyes. Her eyes were shining and wet.

“- Should the time come, I would like very much for Enola to do the same thing.”

*********

So, you did just that. You would stay in the country for three days out of seven, teaching Enola your way of life. How to express herself using paint, the vibrant colours, the different textures. How you can provoke a sentiment so strong from just a dab of paint in the right place, how lines and contours can give dimension, how perspective gives viewpoint. The darkness of the shadows, the effervescence of a cloud, the sharp thorns, and soft petals of a rose – you taught her all of it, in the hope that one day, she would be able to what you couldn’t.

If the time came.

When the time came.

The remaining four days of the week, you would reside in your London workshop, writing under a pen name: Harry Tomlinson, and attending meetings full of likeminded women. Women who were like you, free-spirited and tired of taking orders. And your works were popular, getting eaten up by the press, bought in the thousands by the public. You wrote of passion and freedom and nature and it was so different that people were drawn to it immediately. They flocked to “Henry Tomlinson” like moths to a light, wondering who he is, where he is, wrote about their suspicions every day in the papers. You had always been a sharp girl. You were happy with your life, content with your restlessness. You couldn’t really want much more.

Until today. When Enola runs to your house frantically, exclaiming that her mother is gone, on her 16th birthday no less. That her brothers were coming within the hour, that you had to be in the house to welcome them, please, because she doesn’t even know them. Now you’re standing in the middle of the Holmes family house, wearing a dress and your hair done up, gathering up all of Eudoria’s feminism books and placing them in the attic, having asked Mrs Lane to make some tea. Not wanting to give them a reason to send Enola away, just as so painfully happened to you.

It turns out that you are so immersed in protecting Eudoria’s precious manuscripts and books, that you don’t hear the carriage grind to a halt outside. You also don’t hear the opening of the front door and Mycroft’s dreadful whinging. What you do hear though, while you’re bent over a fallen vase, is sherlock’s voice. The one that you had missed so much, after all these years. Deep and smooth, you hear him say “Y/N? Is that you?”

You straighten up suddenly, and turn to face him, simple beige skirt swishing, and you swear to God you hear his breath hitch. But that would be unbecoming of the great Sherlock Holmes, who is as cold, unfeeling, as he is brilliant. You smile at him gently.

“Hello, sherlock.”

*****

Lord almighty, you look stunning. Sherlock’s mind is in shambles like it has never been before. He can feel you; feel your rambunctious energy from across the room just as it was ten years ago. He’s mad on the look on your face as you turn to face him, the swish of your skirt, how much you’ve grown. And when you smile at him? Sherlock has to stop and stare, however rude, because in all his years of detective work, he has never seen a creature as beautiful as you, and he cannot understand it.

Unfortunately, before he can converse with you much longer (not that it was much of a conversation; just a lot of him staring) he is rudely interrupted by Mycroft’s loathsome monologue and his abrasive stomping into the room which Eudoria had so unconventionally decorated.

He sighs inwardly at his brother and feels a pang of regret for what he is about to do. But it’s not like he has any choice – it is what’s right, after all.

*****

“Absolutely not!”

You’re furiously indignant – no, that doesn’t do you justice - you’re fuming.

How could they?

How could he?

While you had left to give Mrs Lane a hand in the kitchen, thinking it best to give the family some time alone to reunite, Mycroft the sneaky little weasel had brought over miss Harrison, a ghastly woman you so vividly remembered from your childhood. She was strict, lived under the harsh constraints of society, “saying you should look like this” or “you should act more like her”, and the favourite: “why, you’ll never find a husband!” Enola would be taken to a finishing school.

Miss Harrison ruined you.

And now Enola is in that room with her, being torn apart as you once were, and you will not have it.

Sherlock sighs and Mycroft just glowers.

“Y/N, your distress is understandable-”

“I do not want understandable, sherlock, I want action” you state coldly, and you can’t help but get the terrible feeling that sherlock completely doesn’t understand; it’s the same thing you’ve been feeling for years, ever since you were sent away. It's a cold sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

“God, women and their emotions –”

And just before you can kick Mycroft and his sorry arse to the curb, Sherlock says “You’re out of your depth here, Y/N. There’s nothing you can do.” And dammit, his eyes are big and brown and pleading with you to please let it go, just this once.

Well, you’ve never really cared for pleading.

“Listen closely,” you hiss at the men, venom laced not-so-subtly in your tone. “Enola won’t stand for this. She’s better than that. She was raised by Eudoria Holmes, not my parents. She will not go, not like I did.”

Lo and behold, the next morning, you are woken by Mycroft’s awful shriek and Enola is nowhere to be found. You sit on the couch, watching Sherlock ponder and Mycroft screech and yell and complain like an honest to goodness two-year-old. Heaven knows your nephew is better behaved.

“I told you so.”

Sherlock turns to you, an amused glint in his eye, one that you have noticed pops up whenever he’s on a particularly interesting train of thought or reading a good book or whenever he’s around you. But before you can scold him for being amused at a situation which so clearly does not warrant that reaction, he smiles and says,

“So you did. You know, people always underestimate you. It is the most satisfying thing to watch you prove them wrong.”

****

The next day, you are back in your cosy London residence, writing the new novel you are planning to have out after the lords’ vote. You left Ferndell with a warm hug to Mrs Lane, a frosty handshake to Mycroft (It’s sad really, there was a time when he wasn’t such a presumptuous little rat) and simply a nod and a wink to sherlock who said he was to visit.

(“You don’t know where I live,” you had pointed out “But I doubt it makes a difference.”)

Writing is ever so difficult when you are preoccupied with other such matters. Those being Enola, of course. She’s as good as your sister. But you know better than to look for her. She will only run further and besides – you had a feeling that she would be coming after you. London is a scary place when you’re a girl from the country, however special you may be.

You’re right, of course. Again.

That evening, you are met with a knock and you open the door fully prepared for the beautiful might that is Enola Holmes. What you don’t expect, is this lanky posh little marquess of basilwether following on her heels. You raise your eyebrows at her as she sweeps past you. “You’ll have to deal with him, I’m afraid,” she mutters darkly, and you laugh, before introducing yourself to the lad.

The boy was soft, didn’t look like he had seen a day of work in his life. Dressed in a silk beige suit that made you wonder how he never got caught, because only a marquess would wear that. But he and Enola seemed happy together, squabbling like an old married couple they made their way through the precariously balanced piles of manuscripts and paint supplies on their way to the dining room.

“You know, I saved your life multiple times, and you haven’t even thanked me!”

“What is there to thank you for? You almost killed me as well-”.

“Well, if it wasn’t for your utter incompetence then you wouldn’t be my companion anyways.”

You have to stifle your giggle. “Alright children, hurry up and eat your soup. Why don’t you tell me why you have stopped by little old me this evening?”

Enola sends Tewksbury one final venomous glare, then turns to you. “We just needed lodgings for one night, before we go our separate ways.”

“Right.” You deadpanned. These two would find their way back to each other. Bonds formed in crisis tended to stick, whether they liked it or not.

“It’s true, Miss Y/N.” Tewksbury affirmed. “She shall go to find her mother and I will go off on my own affairs. There’s really no reason for us to stay together. Besides, her brother is keen to find her, and I do not want to be caught up in the wrath of Sherlock Holmes.” He chuckled.

You sigh at the pair, feeling more and more like a mother hen with each passing moment. “Well, if you say so. But you both must be gone by the morning. You know I would much rather you stay, but Sherlock is on the path to finding your mother. Therefore, he will find you, Enola.”

You feel for the child. Partially because that’s what she is, a child. And she knows nothing of the world. But she has sherlock’s wit, you muse. She’s much too clever to be caught up in something she doesn’t want to be.

*****

The next morning, approximately 10 minutes and 56 seconds after you sent Enola and Tewksbury off on their way, arms full of bread rolls and fruit, Sherlock Holmes is at your door. In all his strong detective glory and fancy suits, looking just a little ashamed.

You purse your lips at him. “You’re late, you know.”

He looks at you carefully, taking in the sight of you in a deep burgundy gown, bodice and corset done up tight, unlike the last time he saw you. “I know. But I did promise a visit, did I not?”

“That you did.”

Sherlock, in all his might and glamour can barely fit into your residence. He looks huge on your small, homely couch, almost sinking right through it. He takes a deep breath, perhaps like he’s struggling. His dark brow is furrowed, and his jaw is clenched.

“Y/N, I – I owe you an apology.”

You look up from your manuscript. “Oh? And why might that be?”

His jaw clenches further. “I should have listened to you. You were right. However much I pretend that I am not one of those who diminishes your abilities in my minds eye, you know that I am. And I am sorry.”

You exhale and look down again. It was not what you wanted – no, not at all – but it would do for now. Until he manages to understand. It had to be one of the greatest mysteries in the world that the great detective still could not comprehend what you have been saying all your life, still could not understand you.

“Thank you, Sherlock. It is appreciated.”

He does not look very comforted. You stand, meaning to get some food to go with the tea, but Sherlock says “Wait!”

His voice is strained, sounds distressed, as much as Sherlock Holmes can really be. You turn abruptly, eyebrows raised at his sudden unlikely outburst. “Yes, sherlock what is it?”

He grabs your arm and pulls you towards him suddenly, turning your wrist over. “What are these?”

You look down at your forearm. There are long, thin scars on your forearm, borne from years of misbehaving and rebelling. Cane scars. You have many. You smile at him slightly, even though it’s not funny, not in the slightest. You suppose humour has always been a coping mechanism of yours.

“Finishing school.”

“Elaborate, please.”

“There was this devil woman, the matron at the finishing school,” you sigh. “She hated me. I was a mischief maker, a rule breaker. It was her job to make me toe the line, and that is the way she decided to do it.”

“Did it hurt?” he whispered.

“Yes. But not as much as being sent away.”

He brings your forearm to his lips, gently, gingerly tracing his fingers over the marks. The first sign of affection that he has given in years. “I am sorry, y/n.”

Maybe, it is not so impossible for him to understand.

***********

Sherlock is thoroughly and absolutely confused. He never knew – never even imagined that they would, that you had-

Actually, no. That isn’t truthful. He always knew that you were reluctant, at the very least to go. He could have known, could have deduced why very easily, in an instant. It was an easy case. The facts all laid bare. A clear, easy hypothesis, but he chose to ignore it. Listened to his brother when he said your parents were acting in your best interests, when he said he had to let you go because he cared, that it was selfish to keep you in Ferndell.

Sherlock Holmes may be a genius, but at that age Mycroft could have jumped off a cliff and he would have followed, blindly. But by goodness, you aren’t as half as confusing to him anymore. He sees, feels now. He sees that you are all fire and flame and disobedience and boldness because you have to be.

Instead of letting the flame inside of you be stifled by society you have kindled in into a roaring flame that will not stop for anyone, least of all him. He tapped his fingers impatiently on Miss Harrison’s desk, waiting for Enola to walk in.

He would help his sister, but he could never go back and help you.

******

This week, you are staying in Ferndell. Just for a short while, as usual, but you thought it should be nice to receive a break from the grievances of this ordeal and London itself. You have received a telegram from Enola, telling you all is well, and that she plans to visit. Surprisingly, one from Eudoria as well, thanking you for protecting Enola while she was away, inviting you to one of her meetings that you had so enjoyed with the other women back when Enola was little.

You are sat under the enormous oak tree in the flowery summertime fields, painting the dainty wildflowers in front of you. You’re paying no attention to detail, just freely brushing over lines and contours. This impressionism from France seemed like a wagon you wanted to hop on. There is a small, but noticeable shift in the air beside you.

You turn to face sherlock as he lowers himself onto the grass, grinning at him. “I knew you would come”

“The summertime in Ferndell is always particularly beautiful, I think.”

You nod, as he take your painting from you and examines it carefully. “It is gorgeous.” He affirms.

“Thank you.”

He shifts closer to you.

“Y/N, I never really understood you. This ordeal has opened my eyes. And in fact I had a conversation with Enola about it.”

He is leaning closer and closer to you, so that now you can smell his tasteful, expensive cologne - no doubts one of the benefits of being successful - and your breaths are mixing. His eyes are half lidded and your breath hitches, before you can tell yourself to calm down.

“Enola mentioned that perhaps our turbulent relationship is due to underlying......factors. Emotions. Do you agree?” His voice smooth and deep next to your ear.

You look at him carefully, understanding what he was referring to. "Yes, but I thought you thought that love was all chemical-“

Suddenly, he surges forward, cutting you off, and kisses you sweetly under the great oak tree, surrounded by flowers in a field with a dulcet summer breeze messing up his curls.

You smile gently against his lips.

“You know, I believe I do understand now, darling.”

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

Sherlock x Reader: what it would be like to love you [One Shot]

Plot: What happens when a genius and a hopeless romantic are arranged to be wed?

or, the one where you broke your own heart to keep him happy only for him to realize all of his happiness lied with you.

Tags: angst, fluff, cheesy proposals, painfully emotionally unavailable men, my poor oldey writing, jealousy, canon-level violence, guns, injuries

A broken engagement.

Sherlock presumes he should be happy -- relieved at least.

But he was … surprised. Painfully so.

Sherlock Holmes, the greatest mind in modern history, has an inability to be surprised. He sees too much, understands every glance and touch. If it intrigues him he will be able to decipher a situation in one glance.

He thinks of it as a gift, one that has proven useful in more ways than one. It had definitely saved his back from many situations. His surprisingly hopelessly romantic little sister (all thanks to a certain young duke) seems to think otherwise.

“Those inquisitive eyes of yours make you incapable of understanding a woman’s heart, dear brother. You’re too logical. It makes you blind.”

A woman’s heart. He had scoffed then. He knew it would be a while before he would try to settle down, or actually find a woman he would find tolerable enough to spend his waking moments with. In fact, he doubts he would’ve found someone who would be willing to deal with his intricacies too.

Yet, if there was one person who would be able to catch him off guard it would be his eccentric fiance.

Logically, it wasn’t that she was as brilliant as he was, as conniving as his older brother Mycroft, nor as sneaky as his little sister Enola. In one glance she was a pretty average but certainly a beautiful woman. A bit simplistic sure but not too doltish either.

However, she just refuses to be predictable, doing things that not even one as smart as Sherlock can foretell. He still isn’t quite sure if he had been underestimating her or she was too daft for Sherlock to apply the logic of his world.

It was arranged -- one that would bring her family honor for marrying the genius of the century Sherlock Holmes and his a proper title that would leverage him some power that would be useful for his … line of work.

When the engagement between the two families had been announced he had expected the brat that was half a decade younger than him to throw a hissy fit -- a noblewoman born with a golden spoon would not want to marry one of lower position with lesser blood.

But she had been agreeable.

Even giddy at the prospect of marrying him.

“I’ve read so much of your work!”

She was bluffing, he was certain. Many women had tried to sneak their way with sweet words only to go mute when he asked them about the details.

“I thought for sure the butler was the murderer,” she pouted. He told her not to feel bad, almost everyone did. “But I did think the way the maid told the police it was murder before there was an investigation was a bit weird. Though a part of me thought maybe she was just her lover.”

That made Sherlock’s brows raise. He had the same observation the first time, it was one of the first clues he had that the woman had not been a simple servant.

He thought maybe she wasn’t so terrible then, at that very moment.

That was until he had learned from the whispers of their social circles that she had been the one to instigate the engagement after all. Probably a whim of hers that was a bit too eagerly given by her doting father.

It left a bad taste in his mouth.

But, truly, you weren't a horrible person, he had observed.

Despite living in high society her entire life she was never one to look down on those beneath her. Her head may be up in the clouds most of the time, a bit too idealistic and naive for his liking, but to her everyone was equal that even a man from a fallen house would be worthy enough to marry into hers.

Even sparing those nosy hags a sharp glare, using her undeniably high status to cut through any whispers and rumors of his own lesser status. Reminding everyone of how he had managed to crawl and sneak himself from a fallen family back into high society -- a feat not achieved by a mere no one.

It made him see her as a powerful ally.

Then she became a friend.

He didn’t have a lot.

Someone who won’t think of his corrections on facts as bragging. A person who won’t purposefully misunderstand him to soothe their own wounded pride.

“You’re brilliant, ‘lock!” she’d grin, eyes always twinkling in pure delight every time he’d prove himself right, even at your own expense. “Absolutely brilliant!”

Someone who won’t think of his painfully practical gifts as a mockery.

“What was it called? Hairclips?” she’d look at them curiously at first, making sure to understand both its intricacies and simplicity until he explains it.

Then she’ll smile -- always smiling at him. “I love it!”

Then … she was gone.

Slipped through his own fingers like sand. As she got crushed by his own betrayal.

It all started with a ghost from his past.

Victoria.

She was an old childhood friend and a teammate when he was still starting in his sleuthing skills. His hobby pissed off a lot of important people so it was a nice help to have someone to watch his back.

He thought his young fiance would be livid, turning into a vile woman from jealousy like so many women he has seen.

But she tolerated them and their relationship as best as she could.

“'lock?”

He turned, surprised to see his fiance in her sleeping ware and a thin coat over it. Despite her many quirks, she wasn’t one to dress inappropriately in front of others much less in front of him. So he was quick to close the front door and protect her decency as best as he could.

“Are you …” she turned to look at him, and for the first time she wasn’t smiling like she always does, Sherlock saw the insecurity in her eyes.

“Is she coming with you?”

The jealousy was slowly eating her up from the inside.

And … it made him smile.

Almost relieved.

It was confusing but he didn’t have time to figure it out. Time was ticking, and he had to catch the burning wick before it imploded.

And Mycroft’s screams from the carriage outside were getting vexing.

Knowing what he knew now, he should’ve stayed in that goddamn house and let everything else explode into chaos.

He should’ve stayed with you.

“Darling,” It was his endearment for her. Cause she was such a darling to be with. But now, he simply meant it. She was his darling, his darling fiancee, his darling friend. “You wouldn’t have to worry about my fidelity.”

“I --” she yelped, shaking her head as if embarrassed at the thoughts in her head. “... I knew that.”

“Look at me,” he leaned down, gently pushing her chin up to make her look up at him. “When I come back, let’s talk about the wedding, hmm? I’m still not quite convinced about the bouquet arrangement that the damned florist from hell picked.”

That seemed to perk her up and he couldn’t help but smile with her.

“So wait for me, okay?”

He should’ve known that the fates wouldn’t be that kind.

That they wouldn’t wait.

It wasn’t until he was knee-deep in uncovering secrets that he realized they had pulled a fast one on him. That their target to keep his mouth shut would not be his own life but his Achilles heel.

His darling.

“You don’t want to do this, Mikhael!” Mycroft, Sherlock’s older brother tried his best to use his veiled threats to convince the rat to put down the gun aimed shakily at his sobbing fiance and a Victoria that tried to hide her behind her own back, hands spread out with only a few feet between the two of them.

“Mikhael put it down. It’s over.”

Sherlock was frozen a few feet from the two ladies, fearful that a single misstep would cost him a friend.

He didn’t have a lot.

“I’m not falling down alone.”

“No!”

He must’ve gone insane, or it must’ve been his instinct to protect his old partner in crime.

But to this day he could never wipe the betrayal in your eyes as he grabbed Victoria away from the bullet’s line of sight instead of you. The two of them falling to the ground just in time for the great Sherlock Holmes to finally realize his great mistake as he lay sprawled out on the floor.

Looking up just to catch your tearful eyes, a hundred different emotions running through it.

Mycroft, bless him, managed to pull you down by your feet but he had been just a split second too late, the bullet piercing on your left arm instead of your chest. But Sherlock had a feeling his betrayal hurt deeper than any bullet could burrow on your skin.

He had a feeling the bullet might as well have pierced your bruised heart.

Especially as you laid there with tears in your eyes, but failed to let out a single scream.

Sherlock had never been good with emotions.

It was one of his few flaws -- could never read when a person is getting offended or if his corrections have started to embarrass them. Could read their minds but not their sentiments.

Just like now when you surprised him once more as he stared at you in the hospital bed with a bouquet of flowers he had spent too much time thinking about gripped in his hand. Narcissus for forgiveness, and bright purple hyacinth for regret.

“I’m fine, really!” you smiled, but it wasn’t the one he was used to. Head flinching to the side, suddenly uncomfortable. It had the same curve, your eyes still crinkling the same but you still looked so sad.

A deep sadness, one that rooted from somewhere he could never reach. One he could never heal -- not with his too careful, logical, cold touches.

But what does he know? He was never good with emotions.

“I … I have no excuse,” he started, trying to apologize but you just shook your head.

“You will never have to give me one,” you looked at him like you understood but still he had a feeling you didn’t have the same train of thoughts running in your heads. He almost feels you pulling away, your train trudging away into a place he couldn’t follow. Your roads diverging, seemingly never to meet again.

It sent shivers up his spine, his hand twitching as if desperate to reach out to you. That despite all logic of reality, his heart screams of the feeling of you suddenly disappearing right in front of his very eyes.

“Darling …”

You flinched. A normal man would miss it but not him. Maybe his gift truly was a curse.

“I’m --”

“Visiting time is over, dearie.”

The old nurse was apologetic at having to cut short the reunion of the two lovers but it was the rules.

“I’ll come to visit tomorrow,” Sherlock walked to your side to place the flower on your lap.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll come,” he insisted, reaching out to touch a stray hair on your face as he always does but you turned, looking down on the flowers on your lap and pressing on its fragile petals.

Sherlock could’ve almost felt your connection snap.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.”

You flinched, taking a breath before looking up at him, smiling.

You still looked so fucking sad.

“Goodbye, 'lock.”

“Sherlock.”

The familiar voice broke him out of his reverie as he paced the steps back to his carriage.

“Victoria.”

He tries not to be bitter, tries to be rational, and not blame his old friend for the grave he had dug himself in. But it was difficult not to grind his jaw when he was barely out of the hospital he had unintentionally put his fiance in.

“I never thanked you,” she approached him slowly, like a wild animal she was trying to befriend.

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t want to be thanked, doesn’t even want to be reminded of what he’s done -- or did not do. Yet here she stood, the greatest piece of evidence of his mistake.

“We need to talk,” she sighed, blocking his way and effectively halting his steps.

“Victoria, I’m tired --”

“You do not belong here.”

You froze on your step, just about to go to the ensuite bathroom when an eerily familiar voice sneaked into your room from the front window overlooking the entrance of the hospital.

“Here?”

This time, you knew before looking down outside the hospital walls just who exactly the other voice is.

“Yes, here,” the fiery woman with her fiery hair stomped the ground she stood on. Eyes blazing in passion and determination you had never had on your own. “Here in this stuffy place with your stuffy clothes that make you look like a circus fool trying to make pleasantries with people you don’t even like.”

Gritting your teeth, you felt like a nosy child, listening to personal conversations that just chipped away at every piece of your tattered heart.

“Well, don’t you know me quite well.”

“I do.”

She answered.

“I do know you,” Victoria reached out, hand gripping the one that wasn’t holding his cane. “And I know I could make you happy.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, frozen on his feet. He wasn’t a fool. He knew of those affections behind her eyes, it was all too familiar with him. But as the years passed he had appreciated her friendship and companionship way too much, pushing and pushing it until it just disappeared.

He had hoped the years had done the same for her.

He was a fool.

The silence was all too thick but Victoria knew pushing a man like Sherlock for an answer would lead to pointless nothing, “My uncle in America, he wants me to work for him. And … they have an opening for a lead detective and a President’s assassination to solve.”

That piqued his interest.

An American president was assassinated?

This is exactly why he needs more connections. One that would give him priceless information so he doesn’t have to keep chasing tails. But … a position as a head detective would also do that for him.

Logically, remaining engaged to you would only chain him down.

Yet, his chest constricts, each breath made his lungs throb.

“Sherlock,” he led his eyes back into her eyes. Their history flashed before his very eyes, good ones, but the last one had him nearly crushing the cane you gave him in his hand.

The look in your eyes as the bullet pierced you -- the resignation, the lack of shock.

Like you knew he would run.

“You can always run away with me.”

Foxgloves for confusion.

White Poppies for the one who gives him peace.

And a pink ribbon because he knew it was your favorite color to tie it all together.

However, just as he finished the last bow for the flower he was gonna bring you tomorrow, the door opened, his servant bowed letting him know of who exactly waited for him, unannounced, in the tea room.

“Sir,” his voice was shaky, and Sherlock knew exactly why. “We have a guest.”

The duke has always been a fair man, it was one of the reasons he always had a certain fondness for this sponsor of his.

But even he knew his glare was meant to cut.

“Mr. Holmes,” he eyed the love seat on his right to let him know where exactly he wants him to sit. He had been prepared for this, knowing your doting father would have his head.

The silence that filled the glamorous room was almost too much.

It wasn’t until the duke called his name again that he realized he had been so full of shame that he failed to be polite and look your father in the eyes.

“You know, when my daughter shoved a newspaper to my face, droning on and on about the brilliant detective that was putting the Queen’s men to shame, I thought nothing about it.”

He felt his heart drop at the nonchalant revelation.

What?

He hadn’t heard of this version of the story yet All that was said to him was a certain duke had been fond of him ever since he had disrespected his nemesis that had once been the Queen’s head of security and that’s why he decided to sponsor him.

“And even when she begged me to support you, saying how you needed all the help you could get, I thought it was nothing short of an infatuation. So I did what any respectable father should do and tried to buy my way into her happiness, getting her to be your fiance was easy enough,” he let out a small bitter laugh as if recalling the memories. “But you could not imagine her rage when I told her of what I did. Nearly dragging me back all the way to your home to take it back. Screaming about how she did not want to trap a man like you who was clearly meant to fly.”

Sherlock was flabbergasted. It was well-known throughout the social circles that you were the one who had ”trapped” the man into an engagement. You had always laughed it off, teasing him for falling for your charms.

But …. you didn’t want to marry him?

He had thought all this time that this silly little engagement had been all your doing.

“But then you accepted,” the duke gritted his teeth. “And you gave her hope.”

He did. He remembered nonchalantly accepting it, simply thinking of the arrangement as a necessity -- a thing he has to suffer for if it meant getting to what he wants in the end.

But it seemed you knew. You knew all along he had no love for you -- barely tolerating his fiancee who he treated like a fool when all she had ever wanted was to be the one to walk beside the lonely path he had created for himself.

“I know a rational man like you is probably wondering what an old man like me aims to achieve by coming here,” he didn’t, but Sherlock already knew of his effect on people, his dead glare that offended the most rational of minds, always making them think that he was looking down on them.

Except you.

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Did I use the hairclips right, Lock?”

“I think people always hate people who they think are better than them. And you are better than the lot of them so don’t bother with it and let other people lick their own pride. I like you just the way you are.”

The Duke leaned back, slumping on the arm of the couch while rubbing his forehead.

“I guess I’m making a case for my daughter,” he pursed his lips as if he was disgusted that he would even have to, especially to a man who would benefit more from the arrangement than his daughter ever would. “To show you that the woman you failed to protect had never failed you behind your back.”

“Sir --”

“I am not done!” he slammed his hand on the arm of the chair. Even someone like Sherlock would know unbridled rage when he saw one. “I did not just come here just to rip you a new one.”

Pulling out a plain envelope with a certain scent that had been all too familiar for him. The letters that had been his constant companion in the long months he would have to leave the country.

“The engagement is broken.”

He was fairly sure this was the first time he felt horror.

True horror.

An unexplainable chill that crawls up from behind him, snickering, mocking.

The consequences of his continuous mistakes finally piled up on him one by one until he felt like his chest would burst. His blood turning so cold yet his skin couldn’t help but sweat. His brain, for once, finally failed him as he grabbed the fragile piece of paper without uttering a single word.

It would seem this was something he could no longer fix.

“I know someone as brilliant as you would have a life full of adventures. One brighter than the next,” the duke stood up, slamming the teacup impolitely on the glass table. Sherlock could only focus on the crack that ran on the base. “But I hope you don’t wake up one day, tired and worn, sitting at the top with no one to call home. Too focused on the adventures you didn’t take that you never realized the treasure at the end of the trail had been something you once had all along.”

The old duke walked towards to door, sparing the young man one last glance – satisfied in the sickest way as a father should when he saw the look on his face. But then he felt sad, wondering what would happen to this lonely soul now that his daughter had given up on him.

“Well, son,” he sighed. “Now, you can fly.”

The country air has done you some good.

It’s been a long month but the throbbing in your heart has finally ceased even if just for a little bit.

Your late mother always told you to let bad things flow through you as you go through life – to not ignore it, nor suppress it but to let yourself feel it as it passes then let it go.

The problem now is you didn’t want to let go, because all the memories that did nothing but hurt you were all you had left of him.

“My lady.”

You turned your face away from the view of the balcony of your room to look at your polite maid by the door.

“We have a guest.”

Was your father visiting?

He had explicitly told you to take all the time you need in your countryside home. The humiliation of your broken engagement you would’ve been able to take but everywhere you went was nothing but a painful reminder of the man who had betrayed your heart and thus you had to leave.

Every nook where he had dragged you in when the crowds gets overwhelming to every store he bought the intricate gifts he would offer you on the daily made you wilt.

Your father was all too willing to get you out of that place.

“Dad?”

Yet what stood in the middle of your waiting lounge was the sturdy body and mop of curly brown hair that had chased you from the shadows of England to the edge of your wildest dreams.

“Not quite, darling.”

A breath you didn’t know you left you.

“Sherlock.”

It was him. You turned to the small mirror hanging by the wall to as if to check if he was real yet his reflection stood the same way he did. Maybe it was the months of the distance between you two or the longing you have been trying to supress for months but looking at him now he seemed taller. A bit less confident but his eyes didn’t hold the same blankness that was nearly constant except in the few moments you managed to make him chuckle. He seemed finally sure of something, not the lost man that always had wandering eyes for bigger brighter things.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes were as bright as the last time you had truly looked at it. Though now, it wasn’t as sharp as he let his gaze run to you, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I’ve come to deliver a letter.”

You frowned.

The last you had heard of him was that he was on a boat to American soil. What the hell is he doing in your self-imposed exile with a freakishly ominous letter.

“Is it … bad news?” you waried. He grimaced.

“I hope not.”

That did nothing for your worries. Sighing you took a couple of steps, holding your breath in hopes his scent won’t go into your system after you had vigorously flushed it out of your memory but it wafted in your nose the same.

You clenched your jaw to stop a shudder.

Flipping the letter, you found nothing to indicate that it had come from your father. Instead, in his print was a small header that let you know exactly what the rest of the official letter would contain.

A letter of proposal.

You steeled yourself to not look up in the mesmerizing eyes that threatens to bore holes on the top of your head.

“What the hell.”

“Language.”

Despite yourself, you glared up at him, your proximity forcing you to crane your neck but he just chuckled, nervously.

“Sherlock, what is this?”

He sighed. He didn’t break eye contact as he gently took your hands, guiding you to sit in the plush sofa while he kneeled down on one knee in front of you.

“Darling.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Unfortunately, my darling, I can’t,” he smiled, one of those rare ones you once used to steal from him. “After all, you are my darling, are you not? It would be silly of me to call you otherwise.”

“Stop with the games, Sherlock!”

That seemed to take him off guard, horrified when he finally saw the tears in your eyes.

“I am not one of your people of interest that you can trick with your confusing words! I did my dues! I gave you the freedom to make you happy! Was it not enough? What would be enough?! Because I’m –” you bit your lip to stop a wobble. “I’m empty now. I have nothing left of me to give you.”

“My darling.”

You looked at him to throw him another glare when the knives behind your eyes wavered at the grief in his. An unfamiliar emotion you never once saw in him.

“Forgive me,” for once in your life, you realized, you were looking down on him. He continued to surprise you when he rested his head on your knee. “You loved a fool.”

“Sherlock …”

“But I’m begging you,” he was determined, now confidently grabbing your hand as he leaned in closer. “I’m begging you to marry this fool – make me yours.”

You could feel your jaw falling in shock.

“Wha –,” you blinked. “What about Victoria?”

He shook his head, “That ship had long passed.”

“But you deserve – you were supposed to –”

“No,” he tightened his grip on your shaky hands. “I adore you with all my being but even you cannot dictate what I am meant to do. Because I am a selfish man who had always done whatever I want.”

“I’m even more confused, did I not give you what you had wanted?”

He calmed your shaking faith down with a simple kiss on the palm of your hands. Looked at you as if he had ran through this situation a million times in his head, his answer study and sure like those times everything clicks in a case and he finally found his truth.

“In all my complexities I have realized one thing because of you,” he explained, a soft smile on his face that had you letting out a breath. “I am, after all, a simple man. Just like any other man I had looked down upon for turning into fools for a woman. That I am one of those men who will uproot their entire life and throw away all their vocations if just for a spare glance from the woman they love.”

He chuckled when you gaped at him as if he too couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“And for all my ambitions, my greatest one is that I want to be loved by you most of all.”

You didn’t realize you had forgotten to blink throughout his declaration of love until you felt a warm tear getting wiped away from your cheek.

“Sherlock …”

“So I come as a simple man, a second son from a fallen family, with no prospects other than the fact that I will assure you a life full of glory and happiness,” his free hand was suddenly holding a beautiful olive box that opened to show the family ring that was passed down from one wife of each generation. “To let me be the fool who will love you the most out of them all.”

“Papa!”

Sherlock’s conversation with the mayor was cut short, his only warning was the familiar hue of his daughter’s bouncing hair before he was nearly tackled to the ground.

“Allianah! You’re father was talking to the guest!”

His daughter pouted at his wife’s reprimands.

“Sorry, Mr. Guest.”

Both men chuckled, Sherlock pressing a kiss on her chubby cheeks. “Excuse me.”

The old man only nodded fondly. He had been familiar of Sherlock Holmes when he was a bit younger, so it was a pleasant surprise to see him become a doting family man no one could’ve seen coming.

“Darling, I told you to rest,” your husband softly scolded. Even though it was a party to celebrate his latest success as your father’s partner on your daily business and saving London by foiling the plans of wannabe bioterrorists on his spare time, he had still forbidden you in breaking the bedrest your doctor had ordered you to take after finding out you were probably carrying twins this time. “Let’s get you and the little ones upstairs, hmm?”

“I’m fine, lock,” a pout too similar to the ones his daughter gave him not a minute ago would’ve made him offer the world up to you on a platter, but this was one of the rare times he stood his ground.

“I know you are, my darling,” he cooed, but still placed a supporting arm on your back as he guided you up the stairs and into the master’s bedroom. “But humor me and my worries, don’t you?”

Once the three of you were on the second floor of your home he turned to his bouncing, energetic daughter.

“Yannah, sweetheart, why don’t you go to your bedroom, I'll tuck you in in a bit.”

Ever the daddy’s girl, your daughter nodded once then bounded her way out of your bedroom and onto the other side of the estate being chased by her maids.

“That was easy,” you raised a brow, letting yourself be led to the master’s bedroom, the dying light from the sunset outside drowned it in gentle orange hues. Despite your initial protests, you sighed in relief as you melted in your marital bed.

Carrying a Holmes' inside you was getting bad for your back.

“I guess I just know my way around Holmes women.”

That made you giggle, reaching up your hands to cup his face and press small kisses around them. He took the opportunity to tuck the blanket tighter around your body.

“Try not to give me a heart attack and stay here for the rest of the night, hmm?”

You nodded, pressing one last kiss to his lips “do you have to go back down, lock?”

It was lonely, having to be confined in your room all the time. The moment he had found out about your pregnancy he had taken the first ship off the foreign country he was in, his heart almost failing when he saw his heavily pregnant wife walking around the city with his daughter like she wasn’t carrying life inside her.

Which is exactly why you had tried to hide it from him as much as possible. In hindsight, it was foolish to do so considering who you were married to. It led to you and him being visited by a doctor he had trusted that broke the news to the two of you of the possibility of twins.

You had never seen the outside of your estate ever since.

Thankfully, your husband has banned work from entering your home either, dedicating his time solely to making sure you were well taken care of throughout the entire pregnancy.

Sometimes, when he has a dull moment for himself it makes him laugh.

Oh, what would his self from 5 years ago think if he saw him now.

He’d like to see his face if he knew that the giddy woman who got on the end of his every last nerve would one day carry his name, his children, and his happiness in her soft little hands.

That she would one day be the one to give him everything he had been searching for his entire life.

“‘Lock? Pretty please?”

That every adventure he had thought would brighten his life would dull in comparison to the colors of her eyes as she pleaded for him to abandon their guests like heathens and spend the rest of his days with her.

He pretended to think about it until your pleading eyes got bigger making him smile fondly at his wife. “Alright, I'm sure Mycroft can handle entertaining our guests till the night.”

In the ballroom, Mycroft felt a shiver run up his spine.

With you in his arms, he lets his mind wander.

He thinks his past self would think he did alright.

I know this is not stepdaddy but I promise that is coming soon! This has been sitting in my WIP's for so long i just had to finish it before finals end me. I hope you like it!!

- tia

[you-didnt-see-that-cuming]

The book of boba fett