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n0v4t33z · 9 months

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The Syndicate - Chapter 4: Becoming The Ashes

Pairings: Choi San X Female Reader, Park Seonghwa X Female Reader, Ateez X Female Reader

Summary: Y/N is a Detective with a promising future in the police department until she's kidnapped by the infamous mafia boss Choi San and from him, she learns the dark secrets her superior has been hiding the whole time so she teams up with him in order to put a stop to it.

Genre: Lots of angst, Romance, Crime Fiction, Psychological Drama

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags/Warnings: For Mature Audiences, Language, Graphic Violence, Mentions of Illegal activities (i.e Kidnapping, extortion, assassination etc.), y/n gets roughed up by Wooyoung like twice , Slow Burn, Fluff sometimes, Work In Progress, Non-Idol AU, Mafia AU, Very suggestive at times, y/n cries alot, y/n having inner turmoil, Ateez being bad boys, Wooyoung and Yeosang are a little mean in this story tbh, Guns, Gunshot wounds, Assassination attempt(s), mentions death and acts of violence

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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After I finish helping Hongjoong it was already pretty late but San was still gone in his office. Unfortunately I'm so tired from the rollercoaster of emotions I felt today, that I walk to the guest room not even bothering to explore this whole building by myself without anyone’s watchful eye. So when I enter my room I take off my leather jacket and begin to get ready for bed. Then there was a small knock at the door and to my pleasant surprise it was San.

WIthout another second to waste I walk over to him and hug him, burying my face in his chest while he gently cradles the back of my head. “I missed you.” I say in a hushed tone then he chuckles a bit gently pulling back from me enough to be able to kiss the top of my head and look down to meet my eyes clearly being able to see his dimpled smile “You know you could have just gone into my office right?” I rest my head on his chest again listening to his calming heartbeat “I didn’t want to bother you, besides I’m sure everyone else would think it’s weird if I go in there a lot.” He lifts my chin to look up at him and gently kisses my forehead. “Well, you're very sweet trying to keep that in mind. It’s going to be hard not to make it obvious.” He buries his face in my neck and I feel his warm, breathing while I gently run my fingers through his soft black hair then I say in a soft voice “It’s okay Sannie, I'll wait.” He jerks his head back and looks at me with a huge smile on his face “You called me Sannie…” Slightly puzzled I nod “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that weird?” He rests his forehead on mine and gently caresses my cheeks with his thumb “No, I like it. It’s cute.” My heart, it’s racing again. A flush creeps up my cheeks and I look away then San slowly turns my face back in his direction and kisses me. He slithers his hand around my waist and pulls back just enough to talk. “Look at me, I love you. Don’t forget that.” My lips slightly part in shock. He what? Is he joking right now? “I-” I pause for a few seconds then sigh “Please don’t tell me you love me unless you mean it.” San furrows his brows and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear “I do mean it, my heart is telling me. See?” He grabs my hand and puts it on his chest over where his heart is, I feel his heart racing now. I look back up at him slightly shocked. San smiles showing me his cute dimples again knowing full well it’s my weakness. “Now you know I wasn’t lying.” I know he’s already my boyfriend but what? I caused someone to feel that way? For once it wasn’t one sided and someone finally feels happy to see me. I thought he was joking, you can't just fake your heart racing for someone. Those feelings are something you just can't fake. San gently kisses my forehead “Hm, you should get ready for bed it’s pretty late.” I nod and gently poke his chest “You’re right, you kind of did interrupt my nightly routine.” He chuckles and ruffles my hair “Yeah, but I know you were secretly hoping I did.” I gently bite my lip stifling a laugh and playfully smack his arm.

When I'm done I notice San laying in bed. Now, I don’t know why but seeing him like this makes me kind of nervous. I know I've laid down lots of times with him but only as friends. So when I walk over to him and awkwardly sit next to him he glances over at me and furrows his brows “What’s wrong?” I shake my head and I force a smile “Nothing, I’m just not used to us you know?” He gives me a comforting smile and pulls me over to him so I’m laying next to him with my head on his chest “It’s okay don’t worry. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.” I wrap my arms around his waist and stare off into the distance and a few moments later San begins to sing while gently running his fingers through my hair. The rest of the time we don't speak, we just lay there in each other's arms while his soothing lullabies leave my eyelids feeling heavy until eventually i give in and fall asleep.

In the morning when I wake up I notice San was gone, it almost feels like laying there with him was almost a dream. I sit up on my bed for a few minutes trying to fully wake up then I get up and change out of my sleepwear. When I walk down to the lounge and prepare myself a cup of coffee, I notice it was awfully silent. Hmm i haven’t seen anyone since I woke up, weird. I sit down and turn the TV on and while I was watching some random talk show a breaking news announcement comes on. A male news anchor was standing in front of what seemed like an alleyway “This is Peter Davis and I am now bringing you breaking news from Ulwood’s southside, It appears Detective y/n (Y/LN) has been found dead. She was found earlier this morning at around 7:45 am and so far the police have announced Aurora Syndicate as prime suspects for the detective's murder. As most of you all may recall the young female Detective went missing about a month and a half ago outside her home in Lulens a few minutes away from Ulwood.” My stomach drops, I quickly turn the TV off and I walk over to the sink feeling sick. I’m officially dead, there’s no going back now. It’s set in stone. The more I think about how that girl must have looked and felt like makes my body run cold and I feel physically sick to the point I puke up the little coffee I had. I hurriedly rinse my mouth with some water and sit back down on the lounge seat. I cover my face with my hands and quietly mutter to myself “My god, what have I done. An innocent woman died all because I was selfish enough not wanting to deal with the consequences.” I thought I was going to feel relived but I don't. At least not knowing someone else paid with their life, I took something from them that I had no right taking.

A few minutes later a distance I hear commotion down the hallway. I lift my head up and hurriedly grab the mug of coffee I had and pretend to drink what was left of it until I see San, Yunho, and Wooyoung come into the room laughing and smiling then I hear San say “Hey, y/n good morning you’re up early.” I fake a smile and give them a small wave with my free hand “Good morning.” Wooyoung coldly glances at me while San sits next to me and Yunho walks over to the refrigerator and pours himself some orange juice “Guess what y/n?” I look over to Yunho and manage to let out a small hum San then says “Well, they found “you”. You’re officially dead so they won’t look for you anymore.” I slightly raise my eyebrows and say in a flat tone “Wow, that happened fast.” San smiles “Well you’re top priority, we couldn’t afford to miss out on how valuable you are to us now.” Wooyoung sneers “San are you okay? Are you sick?” San looks over at him and tilts his head “I'm fine, why?” Wooyoung shrugs and says “I don’t know seeing you smile like that over a cop you barely even know is really weird.” San's gaze darkens almost like he's upset Wooyoung's ruined the mood with his snide comment. He walks over to Wooyoung “It’s actually not. Considering her and I are very close now. We need her help more than ever to get that bastard back for what he did to my father.” Wooyoung smirks and gently pats San’s back nervously trying to calm him down. “Okay calm down, I was just joking.” Unmoved with Wooyoung's "joke" San stares straight into Wooyoung's eyes "Do I look like I'm laughing?" Yunho looks over at San and Wooyoung then walks over between both of them and puts his arms around both of their necks “How about we celebrate later yeah?” San pulls back slightly shoving Wooyoung away from him "Not now, I'll be in my office if anyone needs me." He walks away silently leaving the kitchen clearly upset. Yunho awkwardly coughs and mutters under his breath “Maybe not.” He looks over to me “He’ll be okay, Wooyoung and San tend to bicker sometimes.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes and walks out of the lounge where he bumps into Seonghwa who was walking in, he quickly turns and looks at Wooyoung and says “Excuse me?” He looks over at me and Yunho with a puzzled expression and mouths “What’s up with him?” Yunho then lets out a chuckle and says “Oh, you know San and Wooyoung bickering.”

Seonghwa walks over to the counter and makes himself a hot chocolate while talking to Yunho, a few minutes later he sits on the other side of the lounge seat next to me while holding his mug on one hand and says “Hey, you’re quiet is everything okay?” I nod then I set my mug on the ground “Yeah, I’m fine why?” Seonghwa looks over at me examining my facial expression then says “Oh, just asking. You’re usually not this quiet.” I blankly stare at the ground for a few seconds until I finally decide to speak “I feel terrible.” Yunho gives me a concerned look “About what?” Suddenly Yunho’s radio goes off “Yunho, come down here I need you to go run a quick errand for me.” Yunho drops his head and sighs, he then lifts his head up again and speaks into his radio “I’ll be right there.” He gets up, pats my head and says “I’m so sorry I have to go, tell me all about it later okay?” He leaves me and Seonghwa alone to which he says in a soft voice “Go on, I’m here.” I stare at the ground for what seemed an eternity again then I manage to say “I feel horrible about that innocent girl’s death to the point I physically feel sick.” Seonghwa clicks his tongue and sets his mug on the table next to him “You want me to tell you something?” I look over and softly hum he then says in a very serious tone “That girl wasn’t innocent. She was a liar and a murderer that almost got some of us killed at one point. Echo Kyrian.” I cover my mouth with my hand. That name sounds awfully familiar. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. “I’ve heard of her.” He nods then leans back in his seat onto the wall “I figured. She was the one who organized a shootout on Locust Street, which was our previous head quarters. That day we lost a lot of people that worked for us. Yeosang, and Mingi got severely injured but luckily they both pulled through. The reason this all even started was because she lied about having insight on Lee since she also worked for The Obsidian Dragon later we found out she was a lower level worker so she never even met him at all. For months she mocked San about the loss of all the people that worked for us, unfortunately she was also asking San to pay up or his inner circle was next to be destroyed." Bingo, that's where I've heard of her, she's well known for extortion. "Yeah, I know who you're talking about now. Wow, I didn't know about all of that though. I guess you guys did what the police couldn’t." He silently nods then I gently pat his shoulder "Well it's over with, she's gone now don't worry. I’m glad she’s out of you guys’ way" He smiles then gently pats my hand on his shoulder "It should be you who should be happy, you're free now." Free, all at the cost of another wretched life. "You’re right, thank you." He pulls his hand away and grabs his mug again "Of course, but the main person you should be thanking is San not me. I just followed orders. Besides I've seen how much he cares about you and that’s a rare occurrence coming from him. You should go talk to him so he could get over that little argument he had with Wooyoung. He did say you guys are close friends now so he should be really happy seeing you check up on him." I pick up my mug off of the floor and walk to the sink to rinse it out. “I’ll do that, I want to at least thank him since I didn’t get to earlier.”

I head over to San’s office and try to open the door but it was locked. I sigh and I knock on the door “San, it’s Y/N. Please open up I just want to see you for a little bit.” A few seconds later I hear the door unlock, immediately after he opens the door I hug him tightly. Completely in shock he hugs me back and gently pats the back of my head and says “Oh hey, you missed me didn’t you?” I pull back and brush my fingers through his soft black hair “Well, I came to thank you but yes. It was more like I also got worried seeing you storm off that way I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That and I also just wanted to thank you” I walk into his office and close the door behind me. Being here feels a bit weird because the last time I was in here I was basically San’s prisoner.

He smiles "Thank me? For what?" I reach out for his hand and lace his fingers between mine "Well, helping me shake everyone off my back by faking my death. It was very nice of you to have enough empathy to help me." He gently places his hand on my cheek, his cat like eyes examining my face. "There's no need to thank me angel eyes, of course I'm going to help you. Besides this will help us in the long run." He's right, at least now I don't have to sneak around the way I would have probably done if we just went with me being missing. I still feel for my family though, I can't imagine with how worried they are. Maybe one day when this ends I can maybe see them. I lean into his touch "Enough of me though, is everything okay? You seemed pretty upset with what Wooyoung said."

“I’m okay, it’s just Wooyoung can be a bit rude sometimes and it really pissed me off how he was just insinuating you’re untrustworthy when I know deep down that you’re not” He leads me to the seat in front of his desk, meanwhile he sits on the edge of his desk in front of my chair. I look over and notice San’s somewhat hurt expression mixed with anger. “It’s okay, it doesn’t phase me. Let him think that way, I’ll prove to him and everyone else who thinks otherwise. That’s what I did back at the station, I showed them.” A small smile appears on San’s lips “Alright then, in that case I’ll give you time to show off. I need a hit for someone, that’s if you’re ready.” I knew there had to be a catch, what a better way to show your loyalty than to get blood on your hands. Smart. I sigh and shove my hands under my legs. He reaches over to me and gently strokes my cheek and says in a soft voice “I’m not forcing you to do anything. I’m giving you free will to do as you wish, you’re welcome to just stay here where you’re safe.” I look down gently biting the inside of my lip. I have to do this, not just to prove to everyone here I’m worth trusting but I’m going to make sure Captain Lee regrets ever having me “die” just to save himself. San pushes a few strands of hair behind my ear “Is everything okay?” I tightly press the cushion under my hand with my fingers “I’ll do it. Who’s the hit?” San gets off from his desk and walks over to the filing cabinet next to the bookcase behind him then comes back with a folder with the name “Ryu Moon” on it. I open the folder and I see a picture of the person, he looked to be in his late 20’s and looked like your typical spoiled rich kid. I read the file for a few minutes then San says “Can you do it?” I silently nod then I say almost inaudibly “Yeah, I can.” he turns to me with a serious look on his face “I’ll have Mingi go with you, just in case. Jongho will be your driver.” I nod then I clasp both my cold hands together trying to warm them up “ Okay so when is it?” San takes his glasses off and sets them on the table and rubs his eyes a bit “The weekend, you have about 4 days. I’m saying the weekend because he usually heads out to the club Friday nights.” Wow, such short notice but I see what he's trying to do. I get up from my chair and force a smile “Well, I’ll get to practicing then. I haven’t fired a gun in a while so I’m a bit rusty.” San pulls me over to him and says “I want to watch you practice, can I?” Way to go, I have spectator anxiety. I really don’t want to do terrible in front of him. Now that’ll be embarrassing, making an ass out of yourself in front of your mafia boss boyfriend. I thickly swallow and shrug “Sure, if you want to.” San gently kisses my forehead and grabs my hand leading me out of the door. He looks around again and looks back at me “Hey, follow me.” We both walk down all the way down to an underground shooting range.

As soon as I walk in I gasp at the amount of weapons on display. I walk over to inspect the weapons and some of them appear to be stolen due to the fact some of them are weapons used by the military and the police force. To start off I grab myself a small pistol and load it then I put on the protective ear muffs. While San stands a few yards behind me I stand at the booth then take aim, pull the trigger and to my horror I notice how I almost completely missed the target. Shit, just pretend he’s not there you can do it. Pretend you’re back at the station practicing and you’re showing off to Chris how well your accuracy is. I take a deep breath then I exhale trying to calm my nerves, I focus on my target then I pull the trigger again this time emptying the magazine of the gun. San smirks “Let’s go see how well you did.” We walk over and look at the target, for a few seconds he stands there and examines the target then he says “Aside from those first two shots, your accuracy is beautiful.” My ears warm up then I shyly look down and I say “Thank you, I promise I can do much better I'm just a bit rusty.” He reaches over and holds my hand “Do you want to continue practicing with this one or practice with something higher caliber?” Instantly I respond a little too excited “Higher caliber since I haven't practiced with one in a few months maybe about 3 or 4.” We walk back and look at all the higher caliber options while carefully looking at all the guns he picks one out in particular, he grabs the M24 (police rifle) and hands it over to me and says “I’m sure you’re familiar with this one right?” I nod “Yeah we were trained with these but we actually don’t use these anymore, they were replaced with a more enhanced version.” Impressed, San slightly raises his eyebrows then says “Hmm, that’s interesting. Should we go see your shooting abilities outside angel eyes?” Hesitantly I nod then I check that the safety is on the rifle and I sling it over my shoulders. San grabs a whole box of ammo and while walking outside I clench onto the rifle strap the whole time and follow behind San. My first time going outside in about a month and a half. How does San just trust me like this? A gun in my hands with his back facing me. Does he not know I could easily betray him if I wanted to? I know my life as a cop wasn’t guaranteed but San has blood on his hands from so many other mafia gangs who have a target on his head. So many would kill to be in my position right now, but unfortunately the more I've gotten to know him the less I want him to ever get hurt.

“We’re here.” I slightly squint due to the beaming sunlight, once my eyes adjust I look around and realize we’re in the middle of nowhere. Trees sprawled out everywhere with a heavy forest in the distance. San then points over and says “You see those targets over there? Try starting with the one closest to us.” I set up the gun at the edge of the building and while I focus on the target and I land the first shot but not a headshot. I let out a small frustrated sigh and mutter “Come on.” then I hold my breath and carefully aim and successfully get the headshot. By the 3rd target I get in my groove and successfully finish all 10 targets. When I finish, San walks over to me in shock while looking into binoculars and says “Wow, that’s amazing. You did great. ” Not used to the compliments I awkwardly press my lips into a smile “Are you just saying that because you’re my boyfriend?” He chuckles and shakes his head and says “No, I’m serious. I just witnessed one of the reasons why everyone was making a huge deal about finding you. You're amazing.” I carefully set down the gun and I look at the trees in the distance solemnly “Well, you’d think being so well trained would have kept me from getting kidnapped.” San crosses his arms and steps next to me while looking at the trees in the distance alongside me and says “I’m sure if you knew you would have easily taken both MIngi and Wooyoung down. Which is why we were extra careful with you, we had to take precautions we usually never have to take.” When he gets serious like this is what scares me the most. I shove my hands in the pockets of my sweater “That was honestly no excuse. Not even the fact that I was exhausted, the only good thing that came out of this is that I met you. Even if you do scare me sometimes.” San turns and looks at me with a raised eyebrow “I scare you?” Shit. Did I just say that?! I silently stare at the ground for a bit then I sit down and continue “Yeah, it’s like you’ve forgotten that I’ve seen the aftermath of all your violent crimes, all the blackmail, extortions, the death. Ever since I became a cop I’ve been studying your every move and I’m sorry but you’re really scary in terms of what’s in your file.” San kneels next me and gently strokes my hair “I’d never do such things to you though, I…I love you far too much to hurt you like that. If anything you’ve brought out the softer side of me, something nobody including my own family has rarely seen since my father died.” I stare at the trees in the distance ever so slightly sway “I feel the same way. I care so much about you and I know you’re a good person at heart but it just freaks me out a bit when I remember how violent you are when someone gets on your bad side. I understand it’s to avenge your dad but I don’t know, the image I have of you from when I worked back at the station was really not a good one so it just keeps coming back to me even if I know you’re not truly like that.”

He sits next to me gently pulling one of my hands out of my pocket to hold it. His gaze completely softens to try and eliminate any trace of fear I have towards him. “Look, I know this life of crime for you isn’t your normal so I understand why you’d feel that way, you’re not used to it. So I respect you for even agreeing to do this hit to begin with but just remember that for you, I’m willing to take a bullet just so you’d be safe.” I look over at San who’s expression seemed sincere with a hint of him feeling hurt he then continues and says “I know you still don’t fully trust me and I understand that. I don’t blame you, so please don’t beat yourself over it. I promise I’ll do everything in my power so you can trust me.” I tilt my head and rest it on his shoulder while I hold his arm “Thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me from the very beginning. I know you didn’t choose to be born among chaos.” He gently kisses the side of my head “It’s funny how we started off practicing and now we’re just sitting here like this.” I smile and stand up, pick up the gun again and hand it to San “You want to practice too?” San smiles with his dimples fully visible “Actually, I like watching you shoot it’s pretty hot.” I let out a scoff “Oh, shit. Okay well in that case I’ll take this back then.” I take the gun and begin to load it and a few seconds later I turn back and notice San looking at me with his face in his palms. I turn back and my ears and face heat up. I really don’t deserve him, but having him at my side brings so much comfort to me especially after my "death" and how two faced my old boss is I’m just hoping he won’t change his mind about me eventually.

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#ateez series #ateez x reader #ateez fanfiction #choi san x reader #ateez angst #ateez imagine #ateez scenarios #park seonghwa x reader #ateez imagines #ateez ot8 #kpop imagines #Fic: The Syndicate #non idol au #mafia au

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sailorgundam308 · 2 months

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Long ranting post about unhinged bg3 fans harassing other fans. Skip if you don’t care.

Second post I see today of other people targeted by some unhinged people in bg3 fandom with a moral superiority complex.

Dude. This is not a crusade. We’re in tumblr. Let’s get over ourselves a bit, shall we.

And, so far, aside from some backlash to problematic and shitty mods in Nexus, I’ve only seen people being harassed by frothing “fans” for things that are project onto them - not for things that were truly said and done. It’s been wild.

Some in this fandom need to learn how to read, how to contextualize and most of all, learn that the shit they wanna use to propel themselves onto their high horses is coming from inside the house. You’re projecting too much? Maybe it’s time to take a look at where that’s coming from.

Also, to these harassers: grow the fuck up. It’s a videogame and the characters are pixels. If someone doesn’t like a character, it doesn’t mean they hate the voice actor, what that character said, their gender, sexuality or whatever. It means they don’t like- guess what - the character. Period. Read what’s written, is my advice, and not more.

People have the right to care less or even straight up hate fictional characters. It doesn’t concern anyone but them. I f they wanna say so in a personal blog, it’s also fine. If it makes you MAD, there’s an unfollow and block buttons on this platform, and they’re free to be used.

The amount of utter shit I got from people straight up LYING about what I said is nuts. What I say in MY blog, about what I think, and towards no one in particular. About a videogame. From people sending me unsolicited screenshots of decapitated Karlach, to unhinged flooding calling me a cunt over and over because I have my own opinions about what kind of character looks good with Astarion. It’s my blog, my opinion, my prerogative. Astarion is not a real person and not your boyfriend - and I’m not talking to you if you think he is.

I’m starting to think there’s a mob with a flag of moral superiority loose on tumblr looking for shit they can twist and flip to fit their angry narrative. Like a fake morality locust plague.

Let us remember we know nothing about who’s behind most blogs here, and sometimes we need to take a chill pill, then use the block button.

I know I do it. A LOT. It works. I never had to badmouth people because we disagree on a videogame, nor did I ever went to someone’s inbox to harass them.

You know the same shit we do with fake news and those moral panics of the 80s and shit? That we go after the source and figure what’s all about before raging wrong? Maybe it’s time we do the same with the shit being dropped by some people on others in this fandom. All times I’ve checked, people here or on twitter were being targeted FOR PETTY BS that someone else projected onto them, their work, their words.

Now, to my plague of locusts, who apparently still keeps tabs on me: I never deleted a post here, you morons. Go look for it if you’re so serious about this. Then read it again. If you knew how to fucking read you’d understand what words mean and what they don’t. You might not like me, or my taste, or me shipping Astarion with Karlach. But it doesn’t give you the right to lie about my views and values, to actively try to “sabotage” my work or whatever shit you thought you were doing. As someone else who was harassed here has said, I bet you’re all whiny white bitches who know shit about real struggle and prejudice, who need to push people down to feel good. Be better. Cause the way you’re acting, you’re no better than “even” me.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fandom #ranting #personal #venting #online harassment

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centrally-unplanned · 10 months

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I recently re-read Lost at Sea, the first truly-published work of Bryan Lee O’Malley (author of Scott Pilgrim), which is one of my favourite short-form comics. It's a re-read inspired by all my FLCL work; I commented before about the ways in which our main girl Raleigh is a distaff-Mamimi. I definitely still see it; she is what I am now referring to as a “Sadamoto Poet Girl”, those people who express their feelings in waves of metaphors they never truly clarify:

It helps that Raleigh is a teenager; it makes sure that any risk she might have of becoming pretentious is buried by how pathetically lost she is. She also may not be rocking any of the emo drip of the time but she has full depression vibes where it counts:

That mask you're wearing is bleeding black from overuse, frikkin hardcore Raleigh. This is definitely a teen angst book but I am highlighting the peaks here, a bunch of its silly chatter with her new roadtrip friends. She isn’t haughtily looking down on a world she knows is useless; she just has no clue, yet, how to make it useful. A key trait for the Sadamoto Poet Girl; their ambiguity of expression is how they cope with the ambiguity of how to relate to their own existence.

Which I think is what makes them work, both for me and in general; the actual ‘plot’ of Lost at Sea is that Raleigh has just meet up with her online older boyfriend for the first time, it went amazingly, and then he (probably) broke up with her and she has no clue how to deal. That is very concrete, and could be very basic - but by making the entirety of Raleigh’s emotional spectrum abstract and confused, the singular plot event becomes a drop in the ocean of her generalized ennui. This is a short story, and to make an impact it needs to be efficient in its expression. Abstraction is, ironically, very good at that; with no singular concrete meaning an abstract idea can hold a dozen simultaneously. Raleigh feels very real in a few short pages due to how much ground her in-her-head narration covers, without it being didactic.

Beyond being a proto-Mamami, though, what I was struck by was how similar she is to another Ash-favourite: Mara from Perfect Tides, a visual novel by webcomic artist turned game developer Meredith Gran (that, coincidentally, Bryan Lee O’Malley playtested as they are comic-artist friends). To start, how terminally online Raleigh is did not sink in for me the first time reading this, which is Mara’s defining trait in Perfect Tides; it's not as big in Lost at Sea, but her estrangement from her physical reality due to the superiority of the virtual is readily apparent. There are these two scenes in both stories that hit directly on that beat (“this place” being their writing forum in PT):

They share other traits too - both of them, being women online in the 2000’s, are fiction writers, and being fiction writing alt girls they both live incredibly in their own heads. I have talked already about how Raleigh does that; Mara has this great way of having an idealized version of *everything* that could be that she constantly holds reality up to. There is this moment in PT where Mara smokes a cigarette for the first time, and is shocked to find it is not an effortless habit:

The author in her playthrough cackles during this scene, and describes it as “some real foreshadowing”, and it absolutely is - Mara can never glimpse reality cleanly because her abstractions about reality constantly interfere. Raleigh is more self-aware, but equally cursed by her own hallucinations.

They also just cannot handle the few moments they break through their walls of awkwardness and socially “succeed”:

Mara hilariously abandons the entirety of her emo identity and thinks she has finally Found Her Tribe until the next time some inanity triggers her spiraling self-doubt, while Raleigh is mature enough to know it's not gonna last; but they both experience the same assault from the idea of social acceptance. They are both downstream of their anxieties, if that makes sense - they build castles of rationalizations in their heads in order to defend against the emotions that beset them from elsewhere. Its why the “poet girl” vibes work - they are (generally desperate) attempts at self-understanding as much as self-expression.

I enjoy typologies, and all of this is me saying that within these characters I see a type, and I see causal linkages to the context of said type. The way a girl in the 2000’s would build an identity out of forum posts and metaphors, because society ~sucks~ but she can build an alternative online, in writing, in her head, a place for the alts and weirdos. But the very limitations that attracted those weirdos in the first place also snap back to prevent that new world from being a full substitute. Reality always wins. That identity exists today, for sure, but there is something of the time and place, of the era, that cohered this identity with a specificity I see in stories (or even people) that capture it. It's structural, and the structure has changed. In things like FLCL I see it, but you see the differences too - how the structures of Japan & the US (and Canada, Raleigh represent) intersect and how they don’t. My kind of gap moe, I guess.

Though, side note: something Raleigh and Mara do not share is that Raleigh, typical for an alt-indie 2000’s teen girl protagonist, is effortlessly pretty:

I will credit the comic, ‘effortlessly’ is overselling it - another of the petty normalities that breaks through her emo shell is how she has favorite dresses and brought them to look hot for her boyfriend. Still, the 2000’s era reeks through here; audiences wanted hot leads, even indie audiences. Mara meanwhile is a full 2020’s girl in her squat, pallid normality; the relatability privileged over the aspirational. Her story may take place in the year 2000, but it's still written for today.

#lost at sea #perfect tides #essay #early internet culture I guess

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xhaotixaesthetica · 2 years

Text

Yandere!Ateez Reaction to You Being Pregnant

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator

You are in: The Asteroid Belt

READ THE TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains MENTIONS OF ABUSE, CHILD NEGLECT, SUICIDAL BEHAVIORS, ABORTION, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS, AND UNHEALTHY FAMILIES. The behaviors and relationships depicted below are abusive and unhealthy. These are not examples of healthy relationships, it’s actually the opposite. This is meant to imagine the members of Ateez in a popular anime trope and it in no way represents their real-life personalities and characters. Real-life ATEEZ are actually known for being some of the kindest, most respectful idols in the industry. It’s fiction, it’s for fun, PLEASE DON’T READ IT IF YOU KNOW YOU WON’T LIKE IT OR THIS KIND OF STUFF DISTURBS YOU!

A/N: I'm warning y'all, most of these don't end with y'all having a baby and becoming a big happy family.Also, I didn't proofread, sorry.

Word Count: 4.2K+

Hongjoong

The Perfect Boyfriend

This might just be what you need to turn Hongjoong around. Yandere!Hongjoong is incredibly concerned with appearances and how other people perceive him. And while having kids won’t be high on his priority list, he will very much so enjoy the social status that being a married family man will bring him. Hongjoong is also incredibly self-absorbed, almost to the point of having a god complex. He will see this child as an extension of himself, a being that is better than everyone else, superior in every way, and deserving of special treatment. To some extent, his views of the child will also rub off on his view of you.

After all, you are the one carrying said god-child, which, in his mind, means that you must be god-like as well. He will treat you more tenderly and he would be too wary of harming the baby to dole out almost any punishments to you at all. He wouldn't even want to do anything that would stress you out in fear of the stress complicating the pregnancy.

Hongjoong would be very on top of your doctor's appointments and prenatal vitamins, go with you to all of the Lamaze classes, hire top contractors to construct an accident-proof nursery, read every parenting and infant-care book he could get his hands on, and force you and himself to practice swaddling, changing diapers, and the proper ways to give infants CPR.

Yandere!Hongjoong doesn't tolerate imperfection and he especially wouldn't tolerate it when it came to his child.

It's important to mention that, in the beginning, a lot of these seemingly heart-warming and overprotective paternal instincts don't come from a genuine place of love for you or the child, but rather an intense desire to be seen as a good father to those around you. He finds it quite easy to manipulate others and the situation when it's just you and him, but when you through a baby and fatherhood into the mix, there are too many ways that the cracks could start showing about you and his abusive relationship.

I think Hongjoong would take a step back when the baby would be about two months old. In the beginning, he would be very hands-on, but Hongjoong is used to getting his way and being listed to, not to catering to the whims of something that, in his mind, can't even give him anything in return.

There would probably be a period of about eighteen months where he would grow to resent both you and the child, doing all of his parental duties but in a very cold and distant way. However, somewhere around the two to three year mark, he would develop a paternal love for the child and a renewed sense of appreciation toward you for bringing them into the world.

I think, in an effort to rear a well-adjusted human being, his punishments would dial back a lot more. He would still be jealous, possessive, and controlling, but more in subtle ways that he thinks will do less harm to the child's psyche.

"This child will be perfect, simply because it's mine. And if you're carrying it, that must mean you're perfect too."

Seonghwa

The Ice King

Seonghwa will put on a brave face, but rest assured, he's going through the five stages of grief all at once.

He isn't really opposed to the idea of having a child, not if it's with you, but he has never really planned on or even thought about ever becoming a father.

He has no idea what to do or how to approach the situation and he's panicking about a variety of outcomes, most notably the idea that he won't feel anything for the child or won't be able to connect with them emotionally.

No matter how hard he tried to conceal it, it would be easy to see his mask slipping, and it would be a good idea for you to take the reigns on this one.

It would calm Seonghwa to see that at least someone has an idea of what should be going on and he would race to follow your orders, wanting to do whatever he could for the comfort of you and the baby.

Seonghwa would actually be surprisingly opposed to hiring any nannies or nurses for the child, at least during it's first two years of development. He wants as many opportunities to emotionally connect with the child as possible, and he even begins talking to the child while it's in your womb, singing it songs, and just trying to do anything he can to ensure there's a higher chance of him feeling something for the child when it finally comes out.

It would be quite surprising to see him start to take initiative like this and I think if the Stockholm Syndrome hadn't set in before, it definitely would now and you would find yourself wanting to be around Seonghwa more to be doted on and helped through such a difficult time.

This would definitely encourage Seonghwa to keep up this doting behavior and would predispose him to like the child more since he would see it as something that must be good since it was bringing the two of you together.

"I never thought of myself as a family man, but this baby is bringing out the love I always knew we were meant to have and that makes me adore it more."

Yunho

The Damsel in Distress Next Door

Having Yandere!Yunho's baby really isn't a good idea. His mental state is fragile enough and with how taxing it is to be his significant other, the last thing you would need was someone else to look after.

Yunho is a yandere that tends to let you take the lead more, even though he can be very helpful at times since he loves to feel needed. Still, Yunho gets very jealous whenever you give even a fraction of your attention to other people. While you know he would never take it out on you or the child, the lack of attention he would receive due to the child's arrival would undoubtedly cause an uptick in his self-destructive behavior and self-hatred.

There's no telling how much he would harm himself and how much of it the child would have to bear witness to. The last thing you wanted was to bring a child into the world and traumatize them with what was probably the world's worst relationship dynamic. Not to mention the fact that you would be so tired all the time from constantly having to be on guard to make sure Yunho didn't kill himself that you wouldn't have any energy left for a child and would probably grow to resent it real quick.

All these things considered, I think you would come to the conclusion that the best option would be to abort it.

Because of your efforts to keep the whole situation a secret, Yunho would only find out when he woke up to find you gone and started snooping through your things where he ended up finding some documentation about the abortion.

Yunho would feel terrible, all too aware that his needy and erratic behavior was the exact reason you wouldn't want to have a child with him and were putting yourself through this.

And the worst part was that he couldn't even lie to himself and say that he would make a good father. He knew how he was and he knew as well as you did that a child would only amplify his behavior ten times more.

And he couldn't help the rage that filled him, white-hot hatred for the person that stared back in the mirror filling his veins until his fist lashed out, shattering the mirror with seemingly a mind of their own..

His own child didn't even get the chance to live because of how inadequate its father was and he would never forgive himself for that.

"I don't care what it takes, I will do whatever I can to be better for you. You'll never have to go through this again."

Yeosang

The Secret Serial Killer

If you thought Yandere!Yeosang was manipulative before, trust and believe, you ain't seen shit yet.

Yeosang being the seemingly perfect boyfriend he was, you thought he would be over the moon when you gave him the news and you weren't disappointed at the wide smile that spread across his face as he kissed you passionately, screaming to all the world that he was having a baby with you!

But it's all an act.

In actuality, Yeosang is furious.

He didn't want a child yet. He enjoyed his life just the way it was. Having a child would mean having to share you, having less control over your movements, having to stop killing, and being at risk of being caught if he ever had to eliminate one of your friends or family.

Yeosang saw absolutely no positives to having a child and he thought it would be nothing more than a nuisance to have one at the moment. Yeosang definitely wants them in the future, maybe in another five or ten years, but he absolutely closed to the possibility of having one with you in the immediate present.

But Yeosang is crafty and has contingency plans for everything. He knew there was a small chance this would happen, and he was prepared.

Yeosang would honestly deserve an Oscar for the performance he put on for the next nine months if weren't so fucked up.

Yeosang knew that you weren't stupid enough to be pressured into getting rid of the fetus without it harming your relationship, so his ultimate goal was to manipulate you into giving it up for adoption where you both would never have to see it again.

Throughout the whole pregnancy, he plays the part of the devoted partner, ecstatic to be a new father and devastated by the events that play out.

He pretends to be having trouble getting work, that the boss is cutting down their hours due to downsizing in the company. You guys have to start budgeting stricter and you're in your final year of school so you can't work and you certainly can't get a job while balancing a full-time university education and a pregnancy.

Yeosang pretends to get fired, stages all these credit card declines at stores you go to, fakes all these overdue mortgage bills, and makes this big show to look like he's breaking his back to make ends meet and giving you his last bites of food so you and the baby don't starve.

In reality, Yeosang has merely gone on a diet to make the whole thing look more believable and he has moved to doing his work online while you're at school. Fat stacks of cash are piling up, unspent, in his bank account and it's only Seonghwa pulling strings at the bank to keep them from foreclosing your home on overdue mortgage payments that Yeosang is fully intending to pay back with interest a few months after this whole ordeal is over. He has moved all of his money to a secret account at another bank for the time being while his regular account is empty when he needs those public credit card declines for dramatic effect.

Crime starts picking up in the area as Yeosang releases his stress on the innocent populace and you're stressed and terrified constantly, especially when a break-in happens close to when you're due to give birth.

Yeosang even goes so far as to get Mingi to help him stage a car wreck and break his shoulder so that medical bills start piling up and Yeosangs "job search" gets put on hold due to his poor health.

In the end, Yeosang is pleasantly surprised when you're the first one to suggest giving the baby up for adoption.

Through Seonghwa (whom you're unaware of so far), it isn't hard to find an uptight rich women willing to give you both an extravagant amount of money in exchange for the baby as long as you all agree to sign a legal document detailing that you will never have contact with her or the child ever again after it's in her custody.

Yeosang puts up a fight about the lack of contact at first, just like he objected vehemently to the idea of adoption before finally giving in. It was all a show and he played the part of the distraught, reluctant biological father all too well.

You trusted him, never doubting him for a second.

The woman is persistent, as Seonghwa told her to be, and it's only when the staged notice of foreclosure that Seonghwa set up comes in the mail that Yeosang finally agrees to the adoption. He's sobbing ad apologizing to you, his words barely audible through his blubbering and you're crying too, reaching over your pregnant belly to hug him and assure him that he's tried his best, that none of this is his fault, that he's the best partner you could have asked for and that you guys are going to get through this together.

And Yeosang knows he has you right where he wants you.

Yeosang uses the rich woman's money to pay off the overdue mortgages, working with Seonghwa to fix the damage this whole charade has done to his credit score, all while dutifully playing the part of the mourning father.

He's convincing, listless and depressed, then angry, then pretending that he regrets the decision and that he's trying to search for the woman to get the child back only for the search to end up fruitless. Then he grieves and he's angry again, the two of you only finding comfort in each other since none of your friends could possibly understand what you're going through.

Yeosang has loved this whole process. Your already high opinion of him has been increased a million times over and the whole ordeal has brought you closer than ever. And, unnoticed by you, you're more dependent on him than you ever have been. No to mention this whole experience has shown him just how far he can go to have you under his control.

Before long, Yeosang gets another job just for things to look believable. His resume is good enough to get a high ranking job with good benefits on his own, but he does need Seonghwa's help to bring the company he was previously working at to its knees.

As a murderer, he believes in covering his tracks and he can't have you ever stumbling into his previous workplace and ruining your relationship over something so silly as what he deems a necessity to keep you guy's current lifestyle.

Seeing the headlines about his previous place of employment closing and going bankrupt only makes the story that much more airtight, and the final loose end is tied when Seonghwa arranges for the adoptive mother of your child to die so that the baby is shuffled to another rich person that you and even Yeosang have never seen or heard of, where it can grow up safe and sound without any chance of you both ever finding it again. This was the final straw in Yeosng's plan just in case you ever got any bright ideas about wanting to find you guys baby again. You could both search and search and you would never find it, just the way Yeosang wanted.

Eventually, Yeosang makes the suggestion that you both start going to therapy to work through your grief and it works.

Yeosang uses his stored money and lavish new salary to spoil you even worse than before, in his mind, an apology for everything he'd put you through during the pregnancy. Though he didn't particularly care about the child, he didn't like hurting or stressing you out, especially when you're body and health were in such a fragile state. As far as he was concerned, you would be treated like a queen for the rest of your life for the sacrifice you made for you and his relationship.

"I'm so sorry, angel. I know this is my fault, but rest assured, I'll never let this happen again. We're going to live the best life possible from now on."

San

The Jekyll and Hyde

The absolute worst yandere on this list to have a baby with and I think you would be smart enough to realize that the second that you got pregnant.

Having a baby with San would be the final level to his entrapment, one you would hope to never reach, for both you and the child's sake.

San would be all for having a baby with you, though never for the right reasons. The more sweet, "normal" side of him only likes the idea of having a baby with you because he likes the fantasy it presents. He only wants the sweet I love You's and the baby's first words and the birthday parties, and the cute infant onesies, and he's not at all willing to go through the sleepless nights, diaper changes, teenage stages, and midnight feedings that it takes to get there.

The more possessive, sadistic side of him, "Other" San, can't help seeing the baby as something of a science experiment. He would enjoy something to hold over your head, the ultimate tool to control you and keep you in your place, while having the added benefits of using the child as another living plaything. This could be from things as relatively harmless as dressing the child up in silly costumes or something like him purposefully upsetting the child and making them cry and leaving you to deal with it just because he's had a bad day and he thinks it's funny.

It would also be a massive problem because almost every time San is experience intense or prolonged negative emotions, it triggers his massive mood swing into "Other" San. With all the crying that newborns do and negative emotions that first-born parents experience, San would be way more of a danger than a help around the baby, especially in the first few years of its life, when the child is illogical and unreasonable.

San stalks sometimes, but that's not wholly his M.O, so it wouldn't particularly be that hard to find a way to go to a clinic and take care of the problem before it got out of hand.

But again, San's mood swing is triggered by negative emotion and regular San would be devastated and horrified if he ever found out that you aborted his baby.

It wouldn't be his worst tantrum to date, but it definitely wouldn't be something for the faint of heart.

"You think you can keep secrets from me? You think you can deny me what's mine?! Oh, it seems like you've forgotten who I am, sweetheart. Maybe you need a little reminder <3."

Mingi

The Clingy Bad Boy

Mingi's and Wooyoung's are probably going to be pretty short, but for completely different reasons.

In Mingi's case, I honestly don't think that much would change.

Mingi doesn't really care about stuff like this, and the whole situation would really be your prerogative.

If you wanted to keep the baby, he's be all for it simply because you want it and he, surprisingly, doesn't really mind kids that much and they don't really activate his anger issues.

Surprisingly, his major fear is that the baby would end up turning out like him, so when he's around the kid, he takes special care to be particularly gentle and quiet so there's a lesser chance of them inheriting his anger issues.

He would raise the kids relatively normally, and he probably wouldn't be punishing you that much since you would most likely be on your best behavior so as to not agitate him around the child.

If you wanted an abortion or to give the baby up for adoption, he would still be cool. He would see it as continuing to have more time where he didn't have to share you and, in regards to pregnancy, he didn't really care what you did with your body.

Not to mention, he does at least have some sort of self-awareness, so he would completely understand not wanting to take a chance on having a child with him as a father. If abortion or adoption was what it took for you to continue to be with him without problems, then he was more than cool with it.

He comes with you everywhere, so obviously he would be there for moral support, and he would be pretty decent at aftercare, and you both would eventually go on about your lives and move past the situation.

"It's up to you, doll. You're all I want, all I need. As long as I have you, it doesn't matter to me what else happens."

Wooyoung

The Incubus

In Wooyoung's case, this is going to be short because this would never happen.

Wooyoung sees no value in children whatsoever. He doesn't want any, and he's not willing to deal with the consequences that come with letting you have one.

For one, it's highly unlikely you would survive the birth of a demon,human hybrid baby, and Wooyoung isn't willing to risk your life for a child that he sees as nothing more than a nuisance.

Secondly, human bodies are already fragile enough when they're not pregnant with monstrous hybrid babies, and Wooyoung wouldn't be willing to not sleep with you for nine months and he couldn't deal with the fact that if he did, he would most likely do irreparable damage to your body.

Lastly, it would be all to easy to get rid of the baby, no pain, no fuss. Just one sip of a demon tonic and fetus deletus with no side effects.

Having children wouldn't even be a concern with you two.

"A baby? Darling, don't make me laugh. I like seeing you in pain but only because of me. Come here, I'll get rid of it~"

Jongho

The Overprotective Guard Dog

Over the moon, no matter what. For Jongho, the most important thing in his life is your happiness. Whatever will make you happy is going to make him ecstatic.

If you decide to get rid of it, he'll be over the moon because oh my god, crisis averted and now Y/N has control of their body and they're happy again!

If you decide to keep it, he'll be even more over the moon because oh my god, Y/N loves me and wants to have a baby with me and they think I'd be a good father and we're going to have a family and — yeah, you get the picture.

Jongho would quite literally be the perfect father, doing everything Hongjoong does but for the actual right reasons. Unlike most of the yandere's here, he would automatically love your child, not just because it's a bargaining chip or because he's idealizing fatherhood, he would actually just love the child in it's own right and genuinely want the best life for it.

He would work overtime to provide the best nutrition and comfort for you, read every pregnancy book, watch every parenthood YouTuber, research pediatricians in advance, build a top of the line crib and nursery, already start the child's college fund, and take the best care of you he possibly could. He'd change every diaper, do every midnight feeding, rub cream on your stomach, give you the best post-natal care, know exactly what day the baby was due for checkups and vaccinations, he'd even cook dinner and clean the house.

As far as Jongho was concerned, you were already a god/dess in his eyes, but now that you've gone a step further and given him the gift of a child, trusted him with protecting and caring for you and that child, you've fulfilled every possible duty and you've got it from there.

Of course, if you decide to have the child, you will most likely also be participating in its upbringing and the household and it would only make him love you more. Jongho would be completely devoted to you and your baby and absolutely no harm would come to you guys if there was breath in his body.

You would undoubtedly be the envy of all the PTA moms, with such a doting husband and father at your beck and call and your child would undoubtedly love Jongho in a way that none of the other yandere's children would.

Jongho and his child would have the most natural and paternal relationship by far, and since Jongho is as devoted to you as he is your child, he would be the champion of giving the child space when they wanted it since, to him, that would just mean more time to tend to you.

The only concern you would have with father!Jongho is the fact that you might have stop him from getting a little murderous when it comes to anyone that bothers his kid.

"We're having a baby? You think I'm worthy enough to be a father to a baby that comes from you?! Oh my love you won't regret this! I promise, I'll be the best I can be for you both!"

The Asteroid Belt

#yandere #yandere ateez #yandere hongjoong #yandere seonghwa #yandere mingi #yandere yeosang #yandere san #yandere yunho #yandere wooyoung #yandere jongho #yandere reactions #asteroid belt

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carlsainz · 1 year

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steve holtz would be the superior boyfriend

ABSOLUTELY

he just seems so sweet and smart and a gentleman, i want that man to be the father of my children so bad. if i had to compare him with a fictional character, it would be with jack pearson and that means a lot

#gabs answers #steve holtz

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jauffrejam · 2 months

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Hello! List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers :D

by the nine an inbox meme. i think these are soo so scary because i think everyone is better than me and therefore i am not allowed into ask boxes. its probably nothing <3 but if you wanna do this you can

my boyfriends~ my real ones and fictional ones both <3 i figure since its valentine's day i should mention that first

my ocs <3 i always end of having like One OC in every fandom im in that gets way more attention than the others and for elder scrolls its voka but i do love all of them equally i promise (except kyle)

stuffed animals. i mean this quite literally when i say the amount of stuffed animals i own is borderline criminal. pokemon and raccoons are my favorite kinds to collect

pokemon <333 ive been a pokemon fan since i was four, what can i say? dusknoir is my favorite and ghost types is best type.

sewing! i love sewing. i dont know how to feel about my machine still (i can use a machine, i just dont like it) so i prefer to handsew and i think the repetitive handmotions are nice. plus, i feel like i get better control doing it by hand

and now two tes related ones bc i realized halfway thru i should make them tes related...

maro rufus <333 i am literally that one post about elf superiority complex so i think elves are The Hottest but like maro is so.. he's so <33 he's got such a cute face <333

alchemy in oblivion. sometimes i like to take little notes while i make potions so i can remember cool ones

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tinytelepath · 1 year

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🧿Ig

Hypocrite isn't the right word.

Sanctimonious ass might be closer, but I don't think you even mean to be superior. Is it the ignorance that irritates me, when you've been in this so much longer? Or the ignorance of your own ignorance?

I think that might be it; Feeling like I'm being lectured about how to handle angels, and demons, and fae, and inter-planar politics by the embodiment of the Dunning–Kruger effect.

Had you ever even dealt with anything more powerful than captured pit fodder before the royals shredded your mind? Have you even factored in that that was when they wanted something from you? When they had an active interest in keeping you relatively functional? That you were retrieved before they were done? What do you think happens when you're their toy, nothing more valuable than entertainment? What about when you're the real subject of their anger? Do you consider any of this before demanding I meet your ideals? Before expecting my behaviour to resemble a 'typical' human?

Do you even hold anyone else to this standard? Somehow I can't see you lecturing your adoptive mother hen on how she should demand Major Warcrimes treat your precious boyfriend better. Or said boyfriend on how he should put on his big boy pants and communicate before the fallout of his stubbornness is everyone on earth dying in apocalyptic hellfire. Do you even hold yourself to this standard? Not only does the long career in government law enforcement even after you walked away from being a walking human rights violation suggest that you weren't exactly eager to risk the CIA award for excellence in journalism any time soon, you are friendly with Mara now. I offered to get you out of your dinner dates and dancing, so you can't tell me you had no choice. Yet for all your talk about how friendship should let me make any demand I please without fear, I didn't see you risking your neck to get Mal what he wanted without so much as a shred of explanation. No, that expectation, like so many others, appears to rest entirely on me. Only I appear to be expected to shoot for sainthood while carrying the fate of entire worlds on my back.

Is it because you met me through Lucy? Did you borrow her rose-tinted glasses when you formed whatever idea of me lives in your mind? Do you think stomping your foot is going to shape me back into the fiction you found palatable?

Maybe I should explain. We both know I pull up short of full answers. I can't though. Much like Lucy, I might trust you to mean well but I cannot trust you and your ideals not to do something incredibly stupid. You know too much as it is. Would you even listen, though, if I explained what I could? Really hear every lesson I have engraved on the depths of my soul?

Or would you just dig your heels in and deny every part of it that doesn't match what you want to believe the world is? That does, after all, appear to be the current strategy.

#[private]#((She is so sick of being told to be better by someone who doesn't seem ready to face how quickly his idea of better gets you dead))

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tstimacstumblinfuntime · 1 year

Text

February Book Roundup

The Yellow Admiral (”Aubrey & Maturin”, book 18) by Patrick O’Brian, 1996 ★★★☆☆

I am so, so close to the end of this series and I still can’t figure them out. The characters are incredibly textured and the setting meticulously researched. I will say, one of my favorite things about any book set in this time and place is how the research leaves the authors with very... robust opinions about politics that are now settled by a hundred years or more. In this case that subject is the enclosure of village commons. Also in this book: A look at what boxing used to be like, Stephen is poor again, Jack is in trouble with his superiors again, and the Aubreys’ marriage is on the rocks again. This one wasn’t a winner, gang, but at this point I’m in much too deep to back out. Especially since I’m still having a not inconsiderable amount of fun. No recommendation on this one, even for people who want to read the books episodically. This isn’t any kind of a place to start.

Nine Liars (”Truly Devious), book 5) by Maureen Johnson, 2022 ★★★★★

I love Johnson’s Stevie Bell mysteries and that hasn’t changed with this book. This one finds the gang venturing to London for the dual purposes of Doing A Culture and giving Stevie a chance to make out with her boyfriend. But because this is a series of detective stories, they soon find themselves involved in a stately country house double ax murder cold case from the 1990s (the time period apparently chosen to make my bones specifically crumble to dust) and a mysterious disappearance in the current day. This book contains, in no particular order: A parlor scene on a Ferris wheel, a sex-hoody, a Jack the Ripper tour that fails to impress, and a big orange cat who is stupid. I love these books and recommend them highly to any fans of Weird Little Guy detective fiction. After the first three books the cases become episodic, but the teen drama is very serialized; so this is another one where I wouldn’t advise jumping in at the middle. Go back and read them from the start, because the earlier books are also very much worth your time. As a final note: Johnson is, like, really good at writing kissing.

The Protector’s War (”A Novel of the Change”, book 2) by S. M. Stirling, 2006 ★★★★☆

The first book in this series left me rather cold, so this one was facing an uphill battle. The general idea of the setting is something changed (or even Changed, if you’re nasty) the laws of physics on Earth to make gunpowder, internal combustion, and electricity not work anymore. This causes a moderate apocalypse and people are forced to revert to preindustrial agriculturalism to survive, which everyone just assumes means FUDALISM. The first book was set right as that crisis gets rolling and my reaction probably wasn’t completely fair. It is hard to enjoy a fictional apocalypse while in the midst of a nonfiction one, I suppose. But now we’re almost a decade after the end of the world and we’re settling into something that wouldn’t be inaccurately described as Game of Thrones in the Pacific Northwest, but the works of Tolkien are textual instead of sub/meta-textual. Protector’s War convinced me to stick out the series for at least one more book, but hasn’t pushed me to the point that I’d recommend it quite yet. If you do decide to pick up the first book, Dies the Fire, I do need to throw up a content warning for some pretty rough sexual violence, though it is very well signposted in the text. There’s also a not inconsiderable amount of cannibalism, but that’s the end of the world for you.

The Hundred Days (”Aubrey & Maturin”, book 19) by Patrick O’Brian 1998 ★★★☆☆

First, let me say, nobody is more upset than me by the fact that fully half the books on this list are Napoleonic naval adventures. That’s just the way things go when books are coming from the library, more or less at random. In any case, this one is set during the Emperor’s escape from Elba and sees Jack and Stephen in the Mediterranean on a mission to keep a force of Muslim mercenaries from throwing in on the side of Napoleon and preventing the allies from joining forces by disrupting a shipment of gold needed to pay the mercenaries. (That run-on sentence is almost exactly what it feels like to read the book.) A bit contrived, but after 19 of these books, I’ll welcome anything with an honest to god plot with an act structure and everything. You can feel the series winding down in this one. Death is a highly present theme, with Stephen’s wife and Jack’s mother-in-law already in the ground when the book opens and with Algiers going through something like four leaders in fewer chapters. I don’t know if O’Brian knew how little time he had left, but this is the last of these Napoleonic naval adventures to actually take place during the Napoleonic wars. After this, there’s just one complete novel left in the series. By now, you know the drill: A book this deep in a series isn’t getting a recommendation. But if you absolutely insist, there’s worse places to start this series.

By the Numbers:

Total Books: 4

Genre: Historical Fiction (2), Science Fiction (1), Detective Fiction (1)

Decades: 1990s (2), 2000s (1), 2020s (1)

Author Stats: Women (1, 25%), POC: 0 (0%), Queer Authors: 0 (0%), Living Authors (2, 50%)

Another four book month. I was really hoping to finish The World We Make this month, but couldn’t wrap it up before the library needed it back, so that’s another month with no POC authors. Looking at the books on deck for March, that probably won’t change anytime soon.

At least most of next month’s books should be by women. I do enjoy books by men from time to time, but the constant barrage of lads, lads, lads is becoming a bit tedious.

Have you read any of these? I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences. But please don’t tell me what to read next. I have so may books to read, gang. Please don’t stack that tower any higher, I’m begging you.

#books #reading #the yellow admiral #aubrey maturin #patrick o'brian #nine liars #truly devious #maureen johnson #the protector's war #the change #a novel of the change #s. m. stirling #the hundred days

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fictionfromafar · 2 years

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Little Drummer By Kjell Ola Dahl

Little Drummer

By Kjell Ola Dahl

Translated by Don Bartlett

Orenda Books

Publication Date: 26 May 2022

Following the fairly recent publication of two standalone novels The Courier and The Assistant by Kjell Ola Dahl, Little Drummer is a return to his long standing Oslo Detectives series. In contrast to the historical thriller aspects of the aforementioned books, the series can be described as a collection of intricately crafted and hard boiled police procedurals. Little Drummer features all the classic hallmarks of first class Nordic Noir. There are detectives who put the investigation before their personal health, a strong social awareness, specifically between the powerful and the exploited, the conflicts between police and media and a very strong sense of setting; in this case in the Norwegian capital of Oslo. Yet Dahl also goes beyond these parameters where a third of the story is set in Kenya.

Although this story was published in his native Norway back in 2003, there is a timeless quality to Dahl’s work which doesn't allow it to feel dated. While perhaps the capital has perhaps gentrified in recent years like many major European cities, you can virtually imagine yourself in some of the dark and rundown pubs that the contrasting lead characters of Frølich and Gunnarstranda of Oslo police department find themselves in several times during this storyline. While the expectation would be that Dahl could write convincingly a story set in his home country irrespective of the time period, Little Drummer also shows he is also fully adept at describing scenes set elsewhere in the world very realistically. I credit this due to extensive research by the author which really gives his novels a persuasive and potent edge in combination with forceful social realism which always keep his novels grounded.

When a woman is found dead in a car with drug paraphernalia, the assumption is that she has died of an overdose, however Gunnarstranda, who is far more concerned about finding the truth than minimising police expenditure goes to the extra step of getting an autopsy done. When the results come back, they do indicate foul play vindicating the veteran detective’s approach. A regular feature of Scandinavian crime fiction novels is the balance between the police and the media. In this case the victim has been found by Lise, a leading and detriment newspaper reporter which means that the authorities need to work quickly to try to find who was the cause of the crime to avoid scathing criticism. When it is discovered that the murdered woman had a Kenyan boyfriend who has since disappeared, the investigation leads to Frank Frølich to reluctantly make the journey to the African country to try to find the missing man.

Frølich finds himself in an unfamiliar location with stifling heat and potential danger at every corner. The local police forces who appear to be following their own agenda while to make matters worse, the better resourced journalist Lise has also made the journey there and appears to have far superior leads than he has. While the younger detective must try to find a way to convince a woman suspicious of cooperation to help him, his partner back in Oslo has to try to retrace the last steps of both victim and suspect. Each is led into unexpected places in a novel that examines a range of issues including corruption and exploitation. The character of Lise is fully explored which makes her manoeuvres an interesting foil for the more orthodox approaches of the police.

Little Drummer is a tightly wound drama which gradually unravels and avoids leaving any unexplained threads. The translation by Don Bartlett, who has translated all Dahl’s previous novels, I felt was very effective and sustains the atmospheric narrative. Having not yet read any earlier books in this series, I did find this Little Drummer worked well as an introduction to the partnership between the two detectives and I don’t feel my appreciation of the book was impacted by having not read the earlier stories. Upon the strength of The Assistant, I did purchase a copy of The Fourth Man from this series earlier this year and I very much look forward to enjoying more of Dahl’s work before long.

Many thanks to Anne Cater at Random Things Tours and Orenda Books for providing me with an advance copy of Little Drummer. Please check out the other reviews of Little Drummer on the blog tour as shown in the above image.

#crime fiction #crimeintranslation #european literature #novels in translation #nordic noir

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peasunflower · 2 years

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*proceeds to read fiction to make fictional boyfriends*

#i guess thats all the adrenaline im getting from #i mean fictional boyfriends are superior #fiction #dark academia #random #academia #light academia #thoughts #chaotic aesthetic #dark acadamia aesthetic #books #fictoromantic #wattpad #dark academism #fictional boyfriend #library

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peachycoreroo · 3 years

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Hey!! could you do another "using the safe word" with kuroo, oikawa and tsukishima? thank you💕

characters: kuroo tetsurou, oikawa tooru, tsukishima kei

genre: smut, bit of angst, fluff at the end

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mean boys:(, fem!reader, vaginal penetration, degradation (duh), big dicked boys ig, use of the safe word, cervix abusing, kitten as a pet name, use of ‘slut’, ‘bitch’, ‘slutty’, ‘whore’, choking on a dick, one (1) face slap, daddy kink, master kink, jealousy, oral m!receiving, car sex

authors note: of course nonnie!! thanks for liking the first one sm that you wanted to request another<3 not really proof-read oopsie, but just another reminder that your favs would never hurt you and this is purely fiction<3

pt.1: suna rintarou, kita shinsuke, shirabu kenjirou

kuroo tetsurou:

it wasn’t your fault.

truly, it wasn’t. you didn’t even realize you gave off the wrong impression. sure, kuroos’ colleague was kind of sleazy and didn’t stop giving you compliments at the annual company christmas party, but you didn’t think he had any malicious intent. you just thanked him and spoke to him a bit about his work, while kuroo was busy catching up with his superiors.

but all your boyfriend was hearing were excuses when you said the exact same thing to him while he confronted you.

so now, here you were. getting pounded into oblivion in the backseat of his expensive, slick tesla. he didn’t even let you take the new car for a ride yet, but he’s already fucking you in the back of it. priorities.

“fucking slut”, kuroo hissed through clenched teeth, “can’t let you out of my sight even for a second, huh? already running to the next best man to pay attention to you. needy fucking whore.”

the next thrust hit your cervix at an angle that hurt more than it brought you pleasure the way the action normally did, but when you cried out in pain, the tall man behind you only covered your mouth with his large palm and lowly threatened: “you better shut the fuck up and take it, you ungrateful brat, or i’ll give you something to cry about.”

this felt wrong. it felt vile, mean and much darker than your usual jealous sex with him. you weren’t against degradation by any means, kuroos’ smooth voice could be reading the encyclopedia and you would cum just from listening, but this was different.

maybe it was the way he didn’t listen to your explanation, the way not a word of praise was mixed in with the degrading, or the way he kept hitting your cervix at a painful angle, as if to hurt you on purpose.

not your fault. unfair. cruel. vicious. stop. stop. stop!

this were the only thoughts that crossed your mind as your screams and protests got muffled by tetsurous’ large hand. not being able to take it anymore, as he continued to spew harsh remarks, too deep in his jealousy to see how uncomfortable you were, you slithered your arm behind you and tapped his thigh three times. you were never more grateful for the fact that you both decided on a non-verbal safe word when he finally stopped and immediately slipped out of you.

“kitten? fuck, are you ok?”, he questioned, worried, and now hyperaware of the fact that you weren’t reacting as usual as the haze clouding his mind finally subdued.

energy completely spent, you could only fall forward, curling up into a ball, a heart wrenching sob leaving your lips.

“i didn’t m-mean to tetsu’! i was just t-talking to him because i didn’t w-want to annoy you”, you cried apologetically, hands covering your tear-stained face from the black-haired male.

fuck. kuroo could practically feel his chest tighten as he took in your wailing, weak state. he was responsible for this. not his colleague, not you, just him.

slowly, as if afraid to scare you with any sudden movements, he reached out, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his strong arms tightly around you.

“i should be the one apologizing, i’m so sorry, kitten. you never annoy me, you know that, right?”, he softly whispered against your temple, pressing light kisses against it between sentences.

sniffling, you pressed your face against his neck, shamefully mumbling: “you were so busy talking to your superiors, i didn’t want to be the clingy, bothersome girlfriend.”

“you never are. i love you more than anything, ok?” his tender voice as he directed your gaze towards him and gently smiled, had butterflies erupting in your stomach just like the first time you talked to him.

“i love you too, tetsu’.”

oikawa tooru:

„d-dirty fucking bitch.“

was it supposed to sound this…unsure? and were both of your cheeks supposed to burn in embarrassment as if you were two virgins exploring your bodies for the first time?

when your boyfriend first introduced the idea of degrading you in the bedroom, you weren’t too sure, but from the sound of it, he wasn’t either. he normally opted for praise, wanting to shower you in affection and love in any and every situation. where the idea to degrade you came from, was a mystery to you.

it’s as if oikawa was able to feel how you weren’t taking him seriously, because the next thing you knew he had your thighs in a bruising grip, trapping them against the mattress with his large palm by your head and picked up his pace to an animalistic pace.

“fucking slutty brat. not taking her daddy serious? i thought you knew better than that”, he growled, annoyed, while your eyes widened when his fat cock reached new, painful depths in the current position he had you in.

“other women would do anything to have me underneath them, pounding the living shit out of them, while you’re just taking it all for granted. i should just pick one of my groupies at the next game, then you would come crawling back, huh?”

this isn’t what you signed up for. it hurt. everything hurt. the snaps of his powerful hips against yours, his mean threats and his blunt nails digging into the flesh of your thighs.

when big, salty tears started forming, you couldn’t help a whiny, displeased ‘turquoise!’ escaping you. the brunets’ thrusts halted as soon as the word left your mouth, his wide, shocked eyes meeting yours, before realizing how stressed out you were, making him pull out and embrace you without a care about crushing you.

“this was the worst idea i’ve ever had, even more than that one time where i tried to bake iwa-chan a birthday cake and almost burned down his own kitchen on his birthday! i hate hurting you, please don’t cry i- “, oikawa started rambling against your throat, only to pause when he heard you lightly chuckle through your tears.

“yeah, they were both pretty shitty ideas, tooru.”

pouting, he mumbled: “’m sorry.”

you quickly wiped away the tears hindering you from seeing your gorgeous boyfriend before softly suggesting: “let’s just stick with praise, ok?”

the man above you nodded eagerly in agreement before leaning down and capturing your lips in a gentle kiss.

tsukishima kei:

this wasn’t anything new if you were honest.

the usual feeling of your boyfriends’ long cock down your throat was always welcome, and the degrading nicknames leaving his slightly chapped lips were usually a huge turn-on, panties sticking to your wet, puffy pussy.

but today was different.

you had an awful day and just wanted some soft sex to make you feel wanted and needed, unlike your horrible job made you feel. not only were you running around fixing other people’s mistakes, but you were also constantly reminded that if you didn’t, it’d be easy to replace you.

though when you got home and your tall, blond boyfriend told you how much he needed you, you didn’t have the heart to deny him. now you’re on your knees between his spread thighs, while he sits on a wooden chair in your shared kitchen, his grunts and low condescending ‘such a fucking slut’s and ‘only good for sucking cock, huh?’s filling the space.

your displeased hum and you trying to pull off his cock, got interpreted the wrong way, as he placed a large hand on your head just to push you back down on his long cock, your gagging and choking replacing his sounds of pleasure.

“a good fucking whore keeps doing her job until her master says otherwise”, tsukki provocatively hissed as your teeth grazed the sides of his throbbing length.

you suddenly flinched as you felt a striking sensation on your right cheek, when the blondes big palm collided with it, tears that have already formed from the rough treatment now rolling down your hurting cheeks.

“you’re only good for sucking cock and getting off, so if you can’t do that, i just might need to find a better fucking bitch to get me off.”

at that, you couldn’t hold back the agonizing sob that left you, making you choke on his length once again and with a weak slap to his left thigh, he knew something wasn’t right.

immediately, tsukishima pulled you off his length, trying to be as gentle as he could with his hair tangled in your hair and gently patting your cheek to bring you back to reality, only to freeze when you scrambled away from his touch as if he was about to hit you and cry: “i’m sorry! don’t hit me!”

if you weren’t sobbing loudly, burying your face in your hands, you might’ve noticed how the cogs inside your boyfriends’ mind started turning and his hands shaking from the realization of what he had done.

“y/n…i’m not going to hit you. look at me, please”, tsukkis’ unusually gentle voice reached your ears, making you slowly lift your head and look at him through a blurry curtain of tears.

you could see a slight pink hue spread across his cheekbones up to his ears before he shyly whispered: “you’re the only one for me. i would never replace you, and you’re not only here to get me off. i love you too much for that. i’m sorry if i went too far.”

when you only continued to stare at him with teary eyes, the blonds’ blush deepened and he broke eye contact, too embarrassed at the affectionate phrases leaving his lips just a few seconds ago. it’s not that he’s ashamed of admitting his devotion to you, he just prefers to show it in other ways.

“i love you too, kei. the blush really suits you; you know.”

“shut up”, he grumbled in mock annoyance, a smile creeping onto his handsome features when you laughed.

tagging: @weepinglevi, @thighridingsamu, i feel kinda annoying tagging you but you both said i should tag you in everything so,,,,thanks for being my biggest supporters guys<3

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway?

“You are absolutely unbelievable!”

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid.

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics.

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face.

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs.

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded.

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.”

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open.

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake.

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now.

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door.

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body.

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek.

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together.

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there.

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too.

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker.

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows.

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.”

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.”

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory.

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face.

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.”

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.”

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.”

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive.

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise.

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces.

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep.

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him.

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone.

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling.

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck.

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine.

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years.

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again.

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little.

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name.

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words.

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort.

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off.

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees.

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.”

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane.

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away.

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up.

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?”

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on.

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there.

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers.

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air.

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair.

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen…

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks.

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had.

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before.

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another.

“Please.” She all but begs.

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing.

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame.

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns.

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly.

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other.

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her.

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely.

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another.

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them.

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before…

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?”

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body.

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.”

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering.

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.”

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom.

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner.

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs.

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs.

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse.

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks.

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.”

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything.

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.”

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly.

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain…

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly.

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton.

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way.

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...”

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier.

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles.

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs.

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock.

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag.

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that .

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet.

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of…

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple.

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone.

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

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