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#oh sherlock your poor thing
freedomfireflies · 8 months
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Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun pt. 2*
Summary: The sequel to Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun
You find yourself sat next to the Harry Styles on a plane.
And what better way to get to know each other than a quick induction into the Mile High Club?
Word Count: 2.1k
(Thank you for letting me spam you guys for one whole year🥹💞 I love you!!!!!)
*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*
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“Hi, Stranger.”
Harry grins as he pulls the small door shut, secluding the two of you in the world’s smallest bathroom. “Hi.”
“Gonna be honest, I didn’t expect you to show,” you admit.
“Oh?” His arms cross as he takes a step closer, effectively closing the only gap between you. “And what about our earlier conversation suggested I wouldn’t?”
“Well, maybe the fact that you’re all talk and no game,” you retort, eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Or the fact that you don’t seem like the quick-airplane-bathroom-fuck type.”
“I have a song about eating pussy, is that not enough?” he teases, a smirk dancing across his lips. “I feel like that should solidify my case.”
“Yeah, you’d think…but no.” Your eyes trail across his jaw, drawn to the sharp curve, intrigued by the subtle beauty. “Maybe if this were the first-class bathroom. Which would make a lot more sense for you.”
“What’s wrong with coach?”
“Nothing. When you’re poor. Which you’re not.”
“And that has to do with us fucking…how?”
You hesitate, mouth clamping shut. “I…don’t know.”
Nodding with an amused grin, he reaches out to place his hand on the small sink and lean forward, trapping you to the wall. “I think you’re nervous.”
“Well no shit, Sherlock.”
He hums, kind eyes helping to relax you. “Guess we’re both more talk than game.”
And maybe you are. Maybe this is nothing more than you calling his bluff. Or calling your own. Maybe this was you getting swept up in the idea of Harry Styles. The man, the myth, the legend. Maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself that you could.
Either way, despite the nerves, you’re oddly tantalized by the idea. Wanting to seize the moment, the opportunity that most people would kill for.
So, you surge forward, and press your lips to his.
It’s a hesitant kiss. On both ends. The first few seconds a tad awkward as you work to wrap your heads around how you got here. How you really feel about it.
And then…something changes.
He steps closer, straightening up to deepen the kiss, and you nearly wilt when his large hand slips around the back of your neck to keep you against him.
Things suddenly feel effortless. Practiced yet relaxed. Mouths and tongues moving together like they were always meant to. Molding seamlessly until all of your air belongs to him.
His other hand finds a home on your hip, pushing you against the small bathroom wall while his knee takes its place between your thighs.
And when he finally pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, it feels as though everything makes sense.
“We can go back to our seats,” he whispers, giving you an out.
But you don’t want an out. 
“No,” you murmur, fingers tangling in the shirt on his chest. “No, you promised to make me scream your name. Can’t pussy out on me now.”
The smirk returns as he brushes his thumb along your cheek. “So I did. But I guess it depends on which name you call me by.”
Your breath hitches.
“You can call me Harry,” he begins softly, dipping back down to ghost his lips across yours, “or you can call me Daddy.”
And discovering that Harry Styles has a Daddy kink makes more sense than it should, and you have to grin as you press your mouth to his. 
“Okay, Daddy,” you agree, just to watch him swallow. “Then why don’t you make good on your promise to fuck me?”
You watch the most beautifully dark expression flash across his face before he’s grabbing onto your waist to spin you around.
Your cheek is pressed to the wall while those large hands that have been taunting you for the past half hour begin to tease you again. Crawling up the inside of your thigh until he can grab onto the waistband of your jeans and yank the material down your legs.
“Just so you know,” he grunts in between the rustling of his belt, “I’m normally pro-foreplay. But I figure we don’t exactly have the time right now.”
“I know,” you agree. “It’s fine.”
He reaches around your hip to slide his palm down your cunt, and you sigh when you feel him cup you in his hand. 
“What’s this?” he hums, rather sadistically as his nose brushes against your cheek. “Guess I didn’t need to work you up, anyhow. Seems you’re already dripping for me.”
Your lashes flutter as he kneads your pussy for a moment before he lets go to take hold of his cock. 
“So, what’s it gonna be, angel?” he whispers, dragging the tip through your throbbing folds just to make you whimper. “You gonna be loud for me? Or are you gonna be quiet?”
More of a rhetorical question, you figure, because the answer is given to him when he pushes in, and you moan fervently.
He chuckles from behind you before it melts into some sort of delicious grunt. “That’s it. So fucking tight, darling. Take it, just like that.”
He pulls out, giving you only a second of reprieve before pushing back in. Stretching you a little more as he drives himself deeper into your cunt.
Your lip flies between your teeth as you swallow a string of curses and whines, desperate to feel him in every way possible.
“You all right?” he calls, and you feel his fingers gently squeezing your hip for reassurance.
It makes you smile. “Yeah,” you say back, nails scratching down the wall. “Go. Keep going.”
He obliges, working himself in at a quicker pace, and you see him watching out of your peripheral.
He seems mesmerized by the way his cock disappears into you. Addicted to the sounds now beginning to echo around the small space. Mixing in beautifully with his soft pants and your anguished whimpers.
“S’a good girl,” he murmurs beneath his breath, almost as if it wasn’t meant for you. “Fucking taking me so well, look at you. Pretty pussy just stretching for me. Likes having Daddy’s cock, doesn’t she?”
And maybe you shouldn’t be surprised by the filth coming from his mouth, but you are, and it makes you clench until you’re both gasping.
“Shit, angel,” he groans, burying himself a little deeper as you keen. “Like it when I talk to you like that, hm? Not so vanilla now, yeah?”
You want to thank your lucky stars for that damn book that led you both to this moment, nodding quickly as you squirm back against him. “Yes, Daddy—”
He pushes in to the hilt, overcome by the pleasure your words provide. His chest presses to your back, and instantly, you reach over your shoulder to grab onto his curls. Needing to hold him in some way.
“Fuck,” you sigh, vision hazy as your body works to accommodate him. “Okay go. Go, Harry, go.”
He smiles at the use of his name, and it does something strange to the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. 
“Okay,” he agrees, pulling back and readjusting his grip on your waist to keep you steady. “Be good, yeah?”
The faster pace begins. Hard thrusts that nearly knock the wind from your lungs as your body shakes with each snap of his hips into yours.
It’s oddly satiating. Perfectly full and teasingly relentless. Quick fucks aren’t normally your forte, but this? With Harry? In the world’s tiniest bathroom?
Euphoria.
“Fucking squeezing me, darling, shit,” he exhales, gripping you tight in his hand. “Pretty little pussy looks so good clenching around my cock. Like it, angel, don’t you? Like letting me fuck your sweet cunt the way you’ve been needing?”
And you don’t know how he knows you’ve been so desperate, but he does, and it makes you mewl as you drag your nails down his scalp.
“Oh, I know,” he coos but it’s dark. “Can just tell. So fucking cock drunk. Desperate for anything I’ll give you. Even let a stranger fuck you, hm? Let me take care of you the way you deserve?”
“Yes,” you breathe, mindlessly reaching back for his other hand. Once you find it, you intertwine his fingers with yours and drag his palm up toward your neck. Placing it against your throat until he seems to get the hint.
He says nothing, simply squeezes you in his grip. Until the corners of your vision get fuzzy, and the small bathroom gets smaller.
“That’s it,” he hums, almost as if luring you into the darkness. “Let go for me, baby girl. Just like that. Daddy’s got you.”
Everything is heightened. Every sense, every second. You can feel his facial hair rubbing against your cheek. Can feel the calloused tips of his fingers cementing to your exposed skin. Can taste the drink he had on your tongue.
There’s a knock on the door. A hard tap, and Harry’s pace doesn’t falter for even a moment as he calls, “Fucking occupied,” before slamming back into you.
The noise you make is loud enough to be heard by whoever was on the other side. Perhaps his intention, and it makes your pussy clench once more at the thought.
“Bet you’d look fucking perfect on your knees,” he continues, unrelenting. “With my cock down your throat. Fucking drooling for me. And you’d take me, wouldn’t you? Take my cock like a good girl. Make me proud.”
The suggestion is exciting. The image in your head of you looking up at the glorious stranger from your place on the floor. Getting to feel him on your tongue. Down your throat. Anywhere he’ll have you.
You bet he likes to see his cum painted across a partner’s skin. Likes to run his fingers through it. His tongue. Collect it and taste it before spitting it into their mouths.
Your entire body shudders from the mental picture and even if Harry doesn’t know what garnered this response, he seems pleased with it. Tugging on you tighter until you’re practically sitting on him.
You’re running out of time. Running out of willpower, and he releases your throat to find your clit. The first time he’s truly touched it, and the sensation that follows nearly kills you.
You hadn’t anticipated being so sensitive, but you are, and it’s apparent to you both from the way you jolt when he pinches you.
“Oh?” He’s chuckling again, entertained by your reaction. “S’that all it takes then? Poor little cunt just needs some extra attention?”
He presses into you and begins to rub small, hard circles along the delicate nerves. Ignoring your cries and pleas for more.
Instead, his foot kicks your legs further apart, and his mouth attaches to your neck. Nipping just below your ear as he whispers, “Bet you taste fucking divine, hm? Bet I could write a whole song about the way this pussy tastes.”
He lets go just to bring his hand to his mouth. Sucking on the soaked digits and groaning in your ear.
A shiver rolls down your spine before he drags his saliva coated fingers back to your clit. “So fucking sweet, angel. But you already knew that, didn’t you? S’why you were teasing me all fucking day. Cause you knew I’d get addicted to you.”
You’re so close to release, you can see it. Can actually see the blinding stars barreling toward you like meteors. 
“And what if I am, huh?” He goes faster. Gets sloppier. Needing to get you both there. “What if I’m fucking addicted to you now? What if I can’t go without the taste of you?”
“Have it,” you sough, rolling your hips back against his cock. “Have me, Harry, please—”
“I will,” he growls, and you feel his cock twitch the closer he gets. “Fucking will, angel. Need you to come for me, yeah? Come for Daddy. Let me feel you around me, darling. Right fucking now—”
Everything is a blur. Maybe he comes first, maybe you do. It all melds together until it’s one, long string of orgasms and pleasure. 
He doesn’t let you go for quite some time. Pushing you to the very brink, making sure it goes as far as it can. Even after you’ve come down and are squirming away from the ministrations to your clit.
The sadistic need to make sure you’re ruined is evident, and he only stops when you begin to collapse in his hold.
“Okay, easy, angel, easy,” he whispers, grasping onto your hips to keep you upright. “You’re all right, yeah? You okay?”
You nod weakly as you catch your breath, and he takes this as a good sign. Allowing you to stand on your own when you’re ready.
But he doesn’t go far. He bends down and pulls your jeans back up. Makes sure you’re all right.
You notice he purposefully leaves the mess between your thighs, and when you shoot him a questioning eyebrow, his only response is, “For later.”
Which you don’t mind at all. 
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I KNOW, I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER!!!! I'M SO SORRY BUT THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME AND BEING SO NICE, ILY ALL 😭💞💞💞
Previous Part:
~ Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun
~ Other Harry Blurbs
~ Full Masterlist
Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282
I'm also tagging you guys from the first part just in case, but if you've already moved on, I can absolutely understand 😭💞: @blackbookwhore @nellylayhoohoo @22fallenangel22 @watercolorskyy @ilovedilfs32 @nicodoesntexist @lelenikki @happypoptart
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thechekhov · 2 months
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Chekhov Reads Dungeon Meshi: CH49
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Mmmmmbig chicken.
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It's not non-sense, it's common-sense. But dang, orcs really have that toxic adventuring gender stuff down, huh.
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Dwarves are comprised of many basic shapes, such as...... cube....and.......two circle.....
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.....It's..........TURNING into a dungeon.
Like an architectural structure has a natural evolutionary progression, including, apparently, becoming a dungeon if enough magic leaks into it? This is fascinating. Like magical radiation that poisons the natural architecture and creates monsters. That's fucked up.
But I need to know more immediately.
Though wait, I think Marcille's flashback chapters talked about creating and maintaining dungeons so it MUST be a well understood phenomenon.
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It's a small detail, but the group having a horse (pony?) with them and Senshi later getting attached to a horse-like monster feels extremely intentional. I wonder if it'll be explicitly mentioned or if I'm just reading too much into things.
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......Anne was the name of the Kelpie. :( That's 100% of purpose. Oh no. Why do you do this to me.
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....aaaand that's where Senshi's strong parental instincts kick in.
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................................ damn, poor kid.
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Dwarves are tough. A part of me wonders if that guy was hanging on to whatever life he had left, just barely making it through to feed Senshi........ A walking corpse, by all other names, hanging on for the sake of it.
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It's really cool to see Senshi grow so much in the span of a few panels. And the orcs softening up is such a common theme it's not even surprising.
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Oh.
OH.
Oh no.
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He's a fucking idiot but it's like. Healing? How stupid he is.
It's a level of not giving a fuck that you can aspire to.
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Marcille like "let me see if I can get you an itemized list....."
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Laios pls.
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This boy is Sherlocking the fuck out of SOMETHING but I can't tell what.
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Laios is an unstoppable force. He does not give a fuck.
But also. Hippogriff?
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You're telling me a shroom mushed this Hippogriffin?
Okay, but seriously. "Step into the magic mushroom circle to clip through the floor and break your model by downloading a new unapproved mod" sounds JUST like something the dungeon would have.
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well hey! The kick had a reasoning behind it!
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humans: we wanna unlock the secrets of genome editing!
Mushroom CRISPR:
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okay why is this genuinely getting to me.
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(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)
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Bro. I love them.
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AAAAA NOT THROUGH THE GENE EDITING CIRCLE
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shinjisdone · 9 months
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When You Have An Secret Admirer - And It's Not Them (Diasomnia; 7)
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A love letter was left at your door and now you are searching for that ‘secret admirer’ - everyone wants to help you out…but have their own reason for it.
'I can't give you the faboulus experience of an Fae nor can I give you the treasures of royalty...I'm sorry about that. But know that I can give you my entire heart.'
form of headcanons + scenario-ish
[note: reader is gender-neutral but mostly mentioned in 2. pov; a series of everyone you meet following you. headcanon will follow each char. own thoughts on the situation. mostly nervousness, slight jealousy & stubbornness]
Part 1: Heartslabyul
Part 2: Savanaclaw
Part 3: Octavinelle
Part 4: Scarabia
Part 5: Pomefiore
Part 6: Ignihyde
Weirdly enough nighttime was your comfort time.
An odd thing to name it, Malleus noted. You could only half-heartedly laugh as your eyes drifted to the ground. You could barely listen to his ramblings of gargoyles.
In fact, you were somewhat...relieved. Malleus and in this case all of Diasomnia haven't...done anything. No cheating. No corruption. No overblot.
Not yet at least.
There wasn't a single thing to dislike about them, aside from their little ego boost they get when they show off their power. It's true most students of that dorm are highly talented nobles and nobility tends to get arrogant. Surely they couldnt be such an eyesore, right?
Could your secret admirer do anything to them?
Lillia Vanrouge
That'd be a foolish decision.
Lillia is surprisingly one of the last people to get wind of these things. Both Kalim and Cater weren't so talkative of what happened in their dorms when he meets with them in their club. In Cater's case, Riddle insists on not talking about the 'criminal' so rumors wouldn't spread and Kalim was surprisingly dejected at the mention of the secret admirer.
A secret admirer, eh?
Oh, how exciting that sounds. Lillia didn't know young people were still into that old courtship tradition.
Though he has heard they aren't really your typical, run-of-the-mill admirer...
Even for Fae standards that is...woof.
And they have their eye, heart, admiration and affection all for you? Little Prefect of Ramshakle dorm and Malleus' friend?
Well, that makes perfect sense. Lillia couldn't imagine anyone else being the target object of affections, especially when someone is this determined to show their love.
On one hand he is happy for you. You deserve all this attention for you are such a cutie human. But on the other hand...eeeehh, perhaps such a person would not really suit you, no?
I mean, even Lillia finds them a tad bit odd and maybe extreme.
The father-like blood in him causes him to worry. He is of course worried about you but especially about Silver and Malleus. The latter won't like that his favorite human is...well, getting attention in such a way.
And Silver? Poor boy probaby doesn't know what to do with himself.
Oh, my. Perhaps he should offer a helping hand.
Sebek Zigvolt
What is the meaning of THIIIIIISSS
The last one of the first years to catch up.
Literally did not notice a single thing until the squad straight up told him + he needed the extra confirmation from Lillia. What do you mean you had a secret admirer from the very start?
Your strange behaviour? Sebek shurgged it off, probably just the change of the weather.
Things going haywire in the other dorms? Well, obviously. They aren't as great and organized as Diasmonia and have no great WAKA-SAMAAA in their circle.
Admirer shenanigans? Pah, nothin' but rumors.
BUt the MOMENT Lillia or Malleus tell him of these things he just IMMEDIATELY believes them.
WH-wh-wh-WHaAT??? :O Waka-sama you are so smart for noticing these things! OH, you are like a royal detective, the Sherlock Holmes of faes to-
Wait, everybody already knows?
.-.
A bit...stumped and confused. You...got a secret admirer? And judging from all the things he has heard and all the lasting consequences he has seen in the dorms...it's quite serious too, isn't it?
huh
WelL; whAt does the matters of a hUmAN concern him ANYWAY??? YOU Aren't Waka-sama nor Lilia-sama so...who cares??? Sebek doesn't. Nope. Not one bit.
The others try as they may but Sebek gives the entire thing the cold shoulder. He doesn't care, that is your problem. If anything, aren't humans usually super happy when they have a secret admirer? You should concider yourself grateful.
The squad tells him, no, this isn't something to be thankful for nor something to ignore. This is serious and complicated and none of them can just leave you alone in this.
Sebek supposes that makes sense...
But well, he...he can't show he cares...because he doesn't. No.
Silver
Also kind of the last one to catch up. Mostly because he literally slept on it.
Well, techincally it is not of his concern. It doesn't interfere with his classes, his training or when it comes to protecting Malleus, though the latter seems to be concerned.
He can't deny his worries...and understands them, too. You are a great friend to Malleus and to Silver as well.
Of course. It makes sense that you have a secret admirer. You are to be admired for all that you are. All that you have gone through as a magicless student. Though is this attention truly...loving?
Does not have a single concern in his mind if Diasomnia will be humiliated next. His old man is nto concerned and therefore, he won't be either.
Silver is more worried about Malleus.
Additionally, you have to face these 'affections' all on your own...will you be alright? Perhaps you need protection?
Silver would gladly provide it...but he is unsure if he can just barge in and be part of this whole shenanigan.
Malleus Draconia
Funnily enough, Malleus is one of the first people to know about your admirer.
It was the night after the 'crime' was comitted at Heartslabyul. Lost in your thoughts you almost forgot that you promised Malleus to accompany him on your many night walks.
The prince noticed your stillness.
"I'm sorry, Tsunotarou," You gave him a nervous smile, "Something came up today and I think I need to...think it all through."
You cut the stroll short and excused yourself. Malleus had no problem and let you be, a bit surprised you'd ever find yourself in a pickle. "Certainly. Just know that you can always talk to me about your worries, Child of Man...or not if you don't prefer."
And so you were gone. And your strolls became shorter and shorter.
Out of worry, the fae went to Lillia and told him of his woes. His friend is...not as chipper as usual.
Lillia promises to keep an eye out...and lo and behold, as the news of the admirer became bigger and bigger and the things they caused out of love more vivid and vivid, Lillia told Malleus of what was really going on.
...Oh?
A...secret admirer?
He felt a bit uneasy at the thought...
He may not be present at everything nor up to date (it feels like not getting invited) but Malleus can tell that this way of courtship is...peculiar.
Was first surprised that traditional wooing was also executed by humans (your admirer IS human, right?) but oh my, not even faes are that...hm, let's say, determined and petty.
Thinks it's endearing but also pathetic. Winning your love does not need to revolve around the doom of other dorms, does it? Even when they have wronged you.
After all, you all made up. You wanted to and were the reason why everything was good between you and the dorms now, even though you are magicless.
Seems like this admirer does not know you well...not as well as Malleus does.
The prince has been quietly pondering ever since, cradling his chin in thought. Lillia watches in anticipation.
My, this is strange.
Lillia has been watching from the sidelines for quite a bit...but he got the feeling that today was especially peculiar.
Making his way to the entrance of the dorm he absent-mindedly told Silver of his mild woes to which the lad immediately insistend on accompanying his father. Usually the fae would decline and say it isn't a big deal...but maybe Silver should witness it, too.
The student followed worriedly as Lillia seemed to...go up and down and all around the entire dormitory. He knew he was old but old enough to know the entire building like the back of his hand? Where are they going anyway, it feels like entering a labyrinth.
The wind blew high and dark clouds swirled around. Just as Silver wanted to ask what they are doing on the roof, Lilia seemed to have caught something right before it went down the chimney. The fae barely waited to be back in his room and opened up the letter right then and there.
'Nighly walks can make one sick, Draconia.'
What a way to start off a greeting.
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Lilia
Oh my, my, my, MY!
Alright, his gut was right then.
Lilia wasn't planning on interfering, really...but this won't do.
Passive-aggressive jealousy towards Malleus and therefore the entirety of Diasomnia cannot be ignored.
It's kind of a shame really. This secret admirer seemed so passionate but it also looks like their negative traits are passionately expressed as well.
They just had to succumb to their weakness...love really makes people complicated. Or commit awful things unnecessarily.
Silver already knows and he trusts him. However, it's best if you and Sebek don't get the news...you are heavily involved as the admired and Sebek can get uuhhhh...maybe even more passionate than the admirer themselves.
Unsure how to approach Malleus though. The lad also feels quickly challenged...
Silver
An emergency!
Silver is ready to draw his sword. It must be one of these messaged threats to royals he has heard about! In fact, it reminds him of the tale of the Thorn Fairy...
Nevertheless he keeps his cool, following Lilia. However, he can't help but stick close to Malleus in general...glimpsing at him in worry.
As a matter of fact, his thoughts then flow over to you. While the message was meant for Malleus and is certainly no love letter, he still worries about you. If Malleus has to deal with something akin to jealousy and well, a threat (thats what he sees it as for sure, Lilia is a bit more amused even in his concerns) what must you be feeling being the object of affection?
How long will you play that role? Are you comfortable? Unsure? Unsafe? It is such a complicated issue, one that does not need to go over such lengths...
If only your admirer were normal...
Hm, no...maybe no. Maybe that still wouldn't calm Silver entirely.
As a knight he does not have a good feeling about this. He decided he will protect Malleus and you. The crown prince is being threatened and you seem more like a damsel in distress rather than a blushing maiden to him anyway...
Just how is Silver going to approach this? Just start hanging around you like a guard?
He got the feeling he might start having bad dreams about this...
Sebek
As much as Lillia tried to keep this a secret, Sebek of course butts heads and shoves his nose wherever needed when it comes to the well-being of Malleus.
WH-WHA-WHAT? A-AN EMERGENCY! A THREAT! AN ENEMY! WE NEED TO FIND THEM ASAP!!!
Is quick to panic and will drop everything to find the 'enemy'. No one will get past him to WAKA-SAMA!!!!
Unlike Silver, Sebek is unfortunately too emotional to control himself and will quickly blame you for having this 'secret admireeeer' of yours who only causes trouble! Don't you know?! They want Waka-sama's head! (An exaggeration)
This of course leads to the word being spreak quite quickly. Huh? The dormleader of Diasomnia got a letter? Bullying? No, threats? THE crown prince? What's going on?
Great job, Sebek, now everyone knows.
The student quickly clams up and starts feeling guilty for pointing his finger at you and barking up the wrong tree. Silver and Lilia are quick to tell him that this isn't your fault and that just adds to his guilt.
Yet...it is your secret admirer's fault. They are the one causing trouble, they are the one envying Waka-sama, they are the one trying to win your heart.
He's all over the place and so are his feelings. Sebek is trying to do the right thing but it isn't going as swell as he hoped he would.
If only that admirer never had the courage to show you their love and none of this would be happening. If only things could have stayed the way they have.
Malleus
Thanks to tattletale Sebek, Malleus swiftly heard of this 'bullying' as some students have asked him about and demanded Lillia to show him this so-called 'threat'.
Re-reading the one sentence over and over again, Malleus couldn't help but laugh. He first chuckled, then chortled before straight up letting out a guffaw.
"Nightly walks makes one sick, eh?" He mockingly repeats. There's something about this letter that hinders him from crumbling or throwing it away. Looking at it a second longer, Malleus insisted on keeping it.
Wouldn't matter if it did go missing. The prince can easily recall the threat as if it were a spell.
The fae can't deny it. The thought of you having a secret admirer irked him. It made absolute sense that someone else notices your quaint self and so he held himself back. As long as you were happy.
But now this petty student thinks they can just challenge him? Tell him to stop spending time with you?
All the while spitting out the name 'Draconia'. He could read the venom out of it.
How funny. They think Malleus will listen? Set aside his own feelings and just - stop being your friend? Sever your bond and accept defeat as if he had no chance whatsoever?
Pathetic little worm.
[welp, this is the last one. i saw many wondering who the admirer might be and...its not what you think. not malleus. think of anyone and you are wrong. its no one from rsa either. sooo...will be taking a break now and instead take requests. after that another project with the secret admirer will be started before they finally and officially confess to you...]
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milknhonies · 2 months
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Wails of Wedded Bliss
Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 3
Chapter Summary: After your wedding night, you find Sherlock to be most unusual and confronting in nature.
Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader
Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Insults, Rough sex gone too far, internal bleeding, Menstration/Period, Arguing, Typical Victorian Era Sexism,
Word Count: 9k
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Author Notes: Hi all!! Here's the next chapter, sorry no smut but lots of tension. Love you all and appreciate those most that have been showing their support through comments or Reblogs or both ★
Inspiring Song: "Caprice N° 24" by Paganini
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12:49pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.
Sherlock, as he paced his own bedroom was frustrated...and furious to say the least...he touched the cut on his bottom lip and hissed.
He was not equipped for this arrangement. He was unprepared for the handling of a wife. He was not aware he would be so much for his new bride to take...no whore in Mayfair Row demonstrated such complaints...however he reminded himself they were experienced women...you were a new lamb.
He hit the side of his bed, hearing your crying through the walls. Guilt became his executioner.
You were so frigid, he just didn’t expect you to struggle so viciously. You were unexpectedly a savage bitch!
He decided to take a deep breath. The deed was done.
He palmed his soft red cock and wrinkles his nose at the blood. There was so much...his throat clenched, mayhaps he was too rough...normally blood excited him...normally tears and sobbing made his member thick and hard...
He eyed the trunk chest at the foot of his bed...you could not survive his flavours. There was no possibility...He was a wicked handler and he knew you couldn’t ever meet that side of him...
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12:55pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221A Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.
The Housekeeper slapped her novel shut. She heard the many thumps and shouts, and now she could hear the horrid sobbing coming up from the floor above...your bedroom.
She sighed...it wasn’t the first time she had heard such things from the apartment 221B. There was single difference...you were his wife...not some perfumed pretender with a pimp expecting a percentage of commission.
Mrs Hudson felt for you. She didn’t leave her apartment until she heard the stomping of Sherlock’s heavy feet going down the stairs.
Her eyes widened, surely he wouldn’t leave you when you were in such a state?
Mrs Hudson was an old woman, she knew it was expected she would ignore it and carry on with her daily activities, Mrs Hudson though knew many married women who had died from that lack of acknowledgement in a violent husband.
She stuck her head out her door and saw him making his way to the front door of the building.
“What have you done?” she scolded him as his hand clenched hard on the door handle.
His face was red. The elder gasped at the line of red rolling down his chin from a cut on his lip...His teeth were pink and set in a vile snarl.
“Nothing that concerns you Mrs Hudson, return back into your hole!” he hissed back as he left with another door slam.
Mrs Hudson tutted greatly and ignored his words all together.
She gathered her skirts and climbed the stairs to Apartment B. She slid the key into the hole and entered the premises speedily.
She heard your weeping in your room and followed to the closed bedroom door.
She wrapped her knuckle on the wood three times, “My dear,” she called, “It’s Mrs Hudson, may I enter?”
When you sobbed harder incoherently, she took it as a sign she should enter. In truth you didn’t know or have enough time to process what she had asked.
The elderly woman pushed the wood open and gasped in horror at what she saw...a naked girl...your bottom half and blankets drenched in crimson red. Your skin was covered in the stench of sweat.
She covered her mouth and tutted, “oh you poor, poor deary.”
You sobbed harder at feeling her cold hands touch your hot shoulder.
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2:12pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.
You hissed and sulked softly as your body sunk deeper in the warm bath water.
Your housekeeper had so kindly spent an hour filling the tub up with hot steamy water. During that time you cried and faded into light sleep before coming back to life with the painful memory of what your holy beloved had done to you
The elderly woman would come back every so often to check the packing of linen rags between your legs. For a honest moment she was afraid you might die. She called for the doctor...one she could trust...Doctor John Watson.
After the bleeding had lessened, she encouraged you to drink a cup of water and come out for the room to enjoy the afternoon bathwater...
You hadn’t said a word to Mrs Hudson this entire time. Too ashamed and shocked to form a word.
You couldn’t even form a ‘Thankyou Mrs Hudson.’ Only quiet tears would melt down your cheek.
The hot waves helped your muscles relax and sooth the anxiety under your skin.
Your head flopped on the lip of the bathtub.
With fluttering eyes... exhaustion took over and you fell asleep in the bath tub listening to the crackling of the wood and flames of the fireplace.
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6:30pm Monday 5th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.
A hot hand touched your face and you gasped at the dramatic change in temperature. You were sitting in a freeze tub of water....it had gone cold hours ago...
Your eyes opened and focused on the deep smooth voice of a man. Not just any man however.
“Mrs Holmes...” he purred softly, “The bath is cold, it would be in best interest if you redress.”
Your body was incredibly weak and chilly while also impossibly hot. You were a slight dizzy and confused. Your lips parted and closed again repeatedly like a fish.
When his face met his voice and his nose and eyes came into true focus, you shivered and leant back and flinched away from his touch.
Your husband released a lengthy sigh and rolled his eyes, “Very well,” he murmured before forcing both his arms into the icy bath water and hooked them beneath your back and legs.
As he lifted you out, your stomach dropped and you squeaked, feeling that gravitational pull to which you might fall. Instinctively your arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders. You clung to him savagely digging your nails into his coat.
You felt him walk, your wet body trailing and dripping all over the carpet.
He journeyed back to your bedroom.
As the cold air hit your skin you started to tremble and felt him lay you down on your mattress.
Your mind was a mess.
Another person was in the room you noticed in the corner of your eye. You cowered in your nude state and whimpered. You felt delirious and confused.
You blinked up at the other stranger. Another man.
You didn’t know if he was real at first until his burning hands pulled from his black gloves and gently touched your knees.
“Sherlock, she’s sick.”
“Yes, how eloquently obvious Watson, check her,” you heard your husband hiss.
You tried to move away, roll and crawl but you were flipped once more onto your back, your legs weakly spread.
You groaned and your eyes fluttered. You needed to vomit.
You felt a body climb onto the bed with you. Sherlock. His thumb dabbed and rubbed across your wrinkled forehead, he hushed you softly like you were some weeping babe or startled horse.
You felt the doctors hand touch your intimates and you panicked, your breath hitched and you moaned a soft, “N-no.” You tried pulling your thighs together but Sherlock reached down and spread your knees forcefully.
You didn’t understand what he was doing and the worst thoughts washed over you, was Sherlock sharing you with another man like a sick villain?
You wept tiredly.
A cold hard contraption pierced the hole of your body. A shudder ripped out of you as you felt your vaginal walls expand.
“Minor tearing...what caused the amount of blood is your wife starting her menses.”
Sherlock sighed, “Thank god, I thought I almost killed her.” The metal object pulled out from between your thighs.
The room was lit by candles and kerosene lamps. And so in the low light, Sherlock’s face was softened. The shadows kissed his cheeks and lips.
“Bed rest and warm towels, give her a few days to rest, heal. Usually women finish their blood within a week.”
The doctor pulled away and you heard the snapping of a bag lock. You managed to catch a medical case in his hands in your blurry line of sight.
The doctor fled to your door, before he left, his hand clenched the handle and he turned lightly. He hissed at the detective.
“Be gentle next time you participate in these activities Sherlock,” John snapped, “She is your bloody wife, not your whore.”
Your husband, ever so gently pressed his hot lips to your forehead. You had not predicted such soft kindness after his mistreatment earlier today. He hummed. He held and pissed your back up, he forced you to bend you knees and slipped your naked body beneath the coverings. Your wet body soaked the sheets, your cheek dug into the soft pillows.
“My dear Watson,” you heard him snicker, “I am nothing more than a mere gentleman.” You heard the doctor scoff and shut the door behind him.
Warm hands squeezed your shoulders and rubbed your jawline.
Peaking up at Sherlock, he wore an unreadable expression...he did not appear happy nor angry, rather he appeared tired. Bags beneath his eyes could tell you that much. His bottom lip was slightly swollen, a little red line cut through it, you softly huffed, it was where you’d bitten him hours ago to get him off you.
You couldn’t believe you were back in the same bed he had hurt you in. It made you feel cold and a desire to be distant again...but the warmth of his hand and the blankets had a power over you.
Your chest was sore and a light cough climbed out of your throat.
He did not speak and for that you were grateful. It would’ve been a near impossibility to continue a conversation with him with the state of your being.
The nauseas sickness sweeping of your belly subsided. All you wanted to feel was the warm covers, the goose feather pillows and his warm hand, softly patting your head...it took you back to a happier time...a time where your father and you shared a bed and he held you until you fell asleep...some days it felt like a dream...
You didn’t want to admit it but you dearly missed those times. Sherlock smoked the same tobacco, the scent soaked in his vest. It brought you the tiniest comfort...
You yawned and lazily blinked up at him.
“Try and get some rest wife...should you need anything, knock on my door.”
And with that he climbed off the mattress. Your body flipping lightly as it sprung up. Your nose sniffled softly.
Your heart deflated, ah there it was again. The coldness, the disdain, the reminder...he didn’t want to marry you.
After his foul entrance earlier, you wondered if such a feeling was unanimous at this point.
You shut your eyes and moaned. You tried to roll onto your side...you hissed lightly at the sore stabbing of your pelvis and the stinging stretch inside of you.
As sleep carried you out of reality, Sherlock made his slow departure, quietly sliding his way to your bedroom door.
He looked over the room and shook his head slowly...this once was his friends chambers, and before that a space where he kept his fun tools and artefacts.
Now he had a sick woman in the bed, his wife whom he hadn’t meant to brutalise earlier.
You were finally snoring when he managed to find the courage to leave the room, put out the living room fireplace and finally return to his bed.
As he removed his own clothing, he stared at the wall that separated your rooms. He wondered how badly your sickness might continue and if it was permitted to leave you alone while you bleed so profusely. 
He thought about how these few weeks were in fact meant to be a honeymoon, how he had most furiously refused the ship tickets to France where his brother Mycroft insisted you both go for your romance to blossom.
Sherlock had very little intention to be a romantic for a woman he didn’t desire.
He tore off his shirt and rolled his eyes at the memories that transpired over the last two weeks.
You were nothing but a baby carriage to Mycroft, the future mother to the future Holmes son. So of course Sherlock could not understand his brothers incessant pandering to be a match maker of lovers.
The detective was no small minded idiot either...he knew plenty about you just from today...he knew about you before meeting you... He knew exactly why this marriage occurred on your end.
A bastard daughter of sir Y/L/N, son of the Lord and Lady Y/L/N. This was merely a way to keep your social hierarchy to a suitable and respectable level.
He had heard and read the scandalous rumours.
You were half the soft rose and half a weed in regards to your breeding...which meant you were a weed in the end, an illegitimate, unrecognised bastard.
He sat on his bed and untied his shoes.
Sherlock was not one to participate and discriminate the classes. Many a time it was speculated by John that Sherlock might’ve been a socialist.
The detective might’ve not cared for your breeding, but he didn’t appreciate being used as a climbing ladder of society which he didn’t receive well either way.
He was using you so that Mycroft didn’t cut him off financially, you were using Sherlock so that the people of culture no longer shunned and ignored your existence.
Mycroft was a down right fool if he believed such a union could ever bring together a matrimony of love. So Sherlock accepted it quickly...this would be what it was...a contract...you now needed to complete you aide of the bargain.
You needed to let Sherlock impregnate you...
With your stunt in rebellious adversity, you acknowledged his size and struggled to accommodate him, ergo your fear, pain and bite.
Sherlock huffed, he would need to wait another seven days before he could perform his husbandry duties upon you and press his seed within.
He laid back into his covers still staring at the wall...
He bit his lip. Oh if only he could punish you for such misdirected behaviours...he wondered how willing you really were and what lengths you were prepared to take to remain his Mrs Holmes so that the meek people of the middle and upper class might continue their false smiles your way.
A wicked smirk spread along his lips...
Perhaps a innocent bride was a perfect ingredient for his most filthy pleasurable plans...
Mycroft never stated how quickly it was expected of you to conceive and carry...he just said
“Soon.” And “Before he met the grave.”
He rolled onto his side and imagined you there with him in his bed. He imagined how your body curled up into such a small figure.
He envisioned the likeness of your tear stained face and an exhausted smile...
For now he would let you rest.
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7:00am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.
The sound of a loud violin cord strong woke you up from your hours of needed sleep. You groaned as your head began to ache....
You drowsily tossed your head to the direction of your door way...your eyes narrowed. Someone was playing a violin very loudly just outside your bedroom.
You sniffled unladylike as your runny nose clogged your breath. You lifted your hands to cover your ears. Onto shaking legs you pulled out of your bed and used the canopy wood to steady yourself. You walked slowly to the wardrobe and plucked out a nightgown.
You hobbled to your bedroom door and as you opened the wooden barrier, the buzz of Paganini hit your ears. You wrinkled your nose as you watched your husband play the instrument, leaning over a table covered in papers, maps, receipts and a plate of toast.
As he saw you, his eyes widened slightly...you were not dressed appropriately for the hour of the morning. At any moment he might’ve had a client come inside if it were not for his honeymoon.
“Good morning, Mrs Holmes,” said Sherlock as he placed his instrument down on the table.
You sternly eyed him. Your hands trembled lightly. His face. His handsome evil features upset you. He offered a soft smile and kind eyes. You didn’t dare fall for his trickery. From the moment you had met him he had provided a twisted exchange of false care that twisted quickly to brutal cruelty.
You decided, you did not like your husband and it was not something you would hide from him.
“My grandmother insists that is the devil’s music,” You proclaimed, “It is most wretched to hear of a morning.”
He sucked in a deep breath of air and grounded, “I do not entertain superstitious conversation,
Paganini was gifted and because of this, other composers jealously invented rumours of a pact with Satan to dissuade the public from ever enjoying the expanses of musical differences.”
You glared at him. Of course he would say something so infuriating and liberal in the works. His tone tilted on belittlement and you felt there was absolutely no standing that could allow him to talk to you like this especially after yesterday’s events.
You lightly snorted, “As it may be so, I still urge the request you refrain from playing it so early and while in my presence. It woke me up most fiercely.”
In truth it isn’t what woke you up…You could still feel him there. The memory of his violent embrace haunted the muscles of your lower half. He was like a ghost remaining between your thighs. It made you feel ill to think about.
He looked down. A deep frown on his face. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. He pushed the plate with toast closer to you, “Mrs Hudson bid you a fair morning wife, you should be up earlier from now on to receive her.”
You looked to the softly ticking clock on the fireplace mantel and blinked, “Indeed, I shall need to apologise to her,” demurely you conceded, “I usually rise by six in the morning.”
“You are ill,” Sherlock said now holding the plate out to you for your weak hands to take, “I insist you sit and eat and return back to bed for further rest.”
You wanted to raise your voice at him. You wanted to scream and yell that you were not I’ll but rather hurt and in suffering after his careless mistreatment.
You couldn’t figure out if his gentleness last night was really a delusional dream. This world around you felt like some vicious game.
You chewed the inside of your cheek. You wanted to be a spitfire and tell him he needed to apologise for hurting you yesterday before you take anything from him...yet as your insides tightened at the smell of the warm butter soaking the hot cooked bread, you obeyed his demand.
You glided over to him and lightly pushed some of the papers on the table around. Sitting at the end, Sherlock mirrored your seating and went about picking up a newspaper.
On the front was a illustration of Lord Thaddeus Pennicott, a baron who from the title of the paper had gone missing.
You looked back to your breakfast and pondered on your husband’s work. How the articles written by John Watson had designed Sherlock to be a saviour to the public with a intelligence that might put most scholars to shame. The Sherlock you had come to meet was nothing like the gazette’s description, rather he was rude, ill tempered and coarse in handling any woman.
You chewed the soft delicious toast and swallowed gradually.
It was difficult to accept but not hard to see, you had married a brute.
You glanced at Sherlock again. His face was hidden behind the paper, his thick long fingers cradled and framed the edges of the news securely as he flicked through the gossips.
You nervously fidgeted in your seat as you ate breakfast. You did not see any tea and assumed you slept through any Mrs Hudson might’ve deliver.
It was so unusual waking up in a foreign home, having to accept this would be your place of residence for as long as your husband desired to live here.
You noted the oddities of your surroundings...objects you didn’t much think of as you moved in yesterday. There was a underwater helmet, a skeleton of some type of odd mammal, and even a telescope sitting on top of a piano.
You read over some of the framed newspaper headlines which were the retellings of your husband’s crime and mystery stories.
The will to speak to him again with level head and calm tones was as hard as walking through mud up to your ankles. You squeezed your eyes shut. You couldn’t ignore him nor refuse to speak to him for your entire marriage.
You licked your bottom lip and coughed into a napkin. Looking back to Sherlock’s newspaper you nodded and called across the table, “Are you helping with the Pennicott case, Mr Holmes?”
He flattened the paper on the table and stared at you as if you’d said something obvious.
“Of course not. Clearly he’s a man who ran out from his wife. It happens more often than you think,” he cleared his throat and picked up his cup to his lips, speaking into the cup “Perhaps you should sit pretty rather than voice your false interests in my work which you have no business in.”
You didn’t like the tone he used on you. Condescending. Icy. You wouldn’t allow it to continue. You remembered your grandfather telling you to put your foot down as a new wife or else you would be unattended to. It’s not that you desired the attending after yesterday, but you wouldn’t accept rudeness.
“Sherlock,” you hummed and crossed your arms over your lap as you tongued the inside of your cheek trying to not scream at him, “I am your wife,” you said it sternly, “Not a child, when I inquire on the better part of your interest, do not speak down to me like a dog.”
You jerked your chin dignified, holding your ground despite almost dropping the last crust of your breakfast.
He pursed his lips with narrowed eyes and thought before spoke. It was a chilling moment before announced, “You are my wife, that is true...and so I shall speak to you however you tempt me to, and this very morning you’ve put me in a disagreeable mood.”
Disagreeable mood?! You refrained from rolling your eyes at him.
You sat back and sighed, abandoning the last and tiny piece of bread. He was so foul to think of himself so justified. You expressed a disinterest to his music tastes and that indicated his deflating concern for you.
Not once had he asked in your wellbeing. Perhaps he was clouded with shame? ‘he should be shameful, he hurt an innocent woman.’
“Perhaps, you should practice on controlling and restraining your moods then Sherlock,” you griped, “I do not much care for your habitable outbursts.”
For the first time you caught his face expressing a new design...shock, flabbergasted. His face grew a small hue of pink.
You smirked a little at the small victory.
His chewed his bottom lip, “My habitable outbursts?” he pried, offence costing his words.
You swallowed and nodded curtly you leant back in your chair, “Now here at breakfast, the church flee yesterday, and the marriage bed rage also yesterday.”
An indignant chuckled crawled from his throat.
“You bit me like a wild cat,” he voiced rightfully, pointing hard at the small wound still in his mouth. The redden skin was a symbol of your defiance and escape. Instead of being embarrassed, you surged with pride that you punished him in such a manner.
You quipped back quickly, “and you stabbed me like an merciless villain.”
“A villain, you say?” his brows now raised and his eyes widened.
“Quite,” You glanced down at the plate and muttered, There’s no other term for what you did to me.”
Rape was not in the current vocab for this situation you believed. You were married and he was taking what was rightfully his as husband, he could have been gentler however. Your grandmother never shared that it could be so agonising, surely your grandfather had never inflicted such abuse into her?
Your husband slowly rose from the table and leant across it. You flinched and squeezed your eyes as you feared his sharp hand. Sherlock Holmes had every strength to hurt his weak wife, so why did you feel so mouthy in the sense of easily provoking him to rage or even potential violence?
The handsome detective with hot pale hands ran his knuckle down your cold cheek...it was wet. A tear had escaped. Dear god...you were trembling and clenching your skirts beneath the table.
“I can think of a plethora of words for what I did to you,” Sherlock muttered, he pulled his hand away and scoffed, “I did not think Mycroft to saddle me with such a stupid bride.”
A fresh flow of hot tears flooded your eyes.
A growl of outrage accidentally climbed from your chest, it came out like a needy whine, “I beg your pardon?”
“Granted my dear Mrs Holmes,” he smirked and clapped his hands gesturing to the room you left, “Now off to bed with you, I see your withering state worsen by the moment. Doctor Watson informed me you needed rest during your delicate...situation. Perhaps it has brought you to these hysterical theatrics.”
A light gasp of horror and a written expression of disgust painted your face, “I shall not, nay! I shall sit an disembowel your words,” you sniffled and tried not to fall into a pathetic sob, “D-did you just call me stupid?!”
As his smile widened and you angrily threw the last piece of bread at him, hitting his chest.
“You sir,” your bottom lip wobbled “Are out of place and feverishly I have discovered your lack of empathy most stunning, that or rather the amount of your selfish conceived motion that I am a docile woman who will put up with your conceited arrogance!!”
How dare he hurt you as terribly as he did in humiliation and physical behind that he should also find it acceptable to brandish you with further insults of your intelligence.
Before he could sit back down, you slapped your hands on the table, the china tinkled as you pushed yourself up to your feet. You hissed at him as you wobbled around the wooden furniture, “You may be London’s finest Detective, but I am your wife.”
You mapped your finger harshly into his chest and snarled with great venom dripping from your tongue, “By the lord of heaven, if I had only known the telling’s of our futures, I would announce full heartedly that you Sherlock Holmes would be the very last man I would prevail to marry.”
The room fell silent. His cold eyes burned I to your gullet. He licked his teeth, left slightly speechless and unsure if he should entertain the argument any longer than necessary.
Your belly felt tight. The toast was not sitting well. You were anxiously awaiting his roar, his bite or his strike. Your chest rose and fell with every desperate breath you took as to not fall into a heap of wailing. Breathe through the pain and the fear.
He stared at your lips and fluttered his eyes, shaking his head at you.
“...Good morning Mrs Holmes,” he bid gruffly and bowed his head before leaving the table to head over to the coat rack.
“And where is it you run off to this time?” You raised your voice shakily and waved your hands as if to conjure the words of his locations destination, “The same place you fled to yesterday and yesterday evening? To hide in a bottle?”
Mr Holmes snapped his head back at you, his eyes scowered your poorly glad form beneath the dressing gown. It took everything in him not to fuck your miserable mouth off.
“No...” he swallowed harshly, “I seek the companionship of bearable company.”
Your chest tightened and the whimper left, that could’ve been anyone or no one with how mysterious your husband had proven to be.
You rubbed your hot forehead and grunted softly to remind him, “It is our honeymoon.”  
During the week of a honeymoon it was deemed improper to seek or receive guests and the company of any other than your married partner.
Sherlock leant forward, right down to your cheek, his lips scarcely touching the skin of your love and jaw as he whispered hauntingly, “And your honey is blood. I shall not interrupt your peaceful rest....” he kissed your face gently, and said at a room tempt tone, “Good morning Mrs Holmes.”
Argument over it would seem.
He picked up a walking cane and a hat, leaving the flat to yourself.
You sighed frustratedly and stomped a foot like a feral child. You wouldn’t put up with this, for this is not what was promised by the outline of marriage by every book, paper and word of mouth. You crossed your arms and sniffled. You wiped your eyes again.
Sherlock made you feel more like a child than a wife with how he used his words and the looks he threw at you. It was unfair and cruel.
You were a very smart young lady and practiced the skills of refine ladyship over the years of your teenage hood. You were a paragon of brilliance and etiquette...only for some lout you called a husband to drive you to irritation so unbearable that you felt it necessary to toss your breakfast scraps at him.
You ground your teeth and returned to your rooms to pick out a modest covering wrap over the dressing gown you already wore. It would be most annoying to have to strip your body everytime you vomited or perhaps didn’t reach the bed pan in time.
You shuddered and went about washing your face and fiddling with your hair...
As you stared at your washed out features, you heard your landlady arrive...
You thought about your wifely duties beyond the bedroom. With Sherlock going off to god knows where, you were totally left to your own devices and for the very first time in years, you had freedom to decide your days habits.
You thought half heartedly about calling upon Sherlock’s brother or the Doctor Watson to grant a visit and answer some questions beginning to form in your head.
‘Why is Sherlock so different in person compared to the papers?’
‘What displeases Sherlock into his outbursts and what pleases him to calm those said outbursts to dust?’
You tried to wonder on your marriage contract. You were not entirely privy to it even though you felt you had every right. It was a deal conspired by Mycroft and your grandfather after all. You wondered if Sherlock even caught a glimpse of it.
Why did Sherlock even agree to marry you if it was only to lead to his foul manners and hands to you?
Tapped your lips and shook your head.
What does every contracted marriage consist of? Land? Babes? Livestock? Wealth? Status?
You looked around your room and out the open door to the sitting room.
Sherlock did not strike you as someone in need of money...and yet...many of these items, surely were not affordable on a wavering wage as his alone? His family wealth most likely was directed towards Mycroft as the eldest.
And then you recalled your darling sister in law, her shrieking at the wedding, the words echoed back like a tunnel, ‘I can help pay off your debts when I marry’ she had said.
So it was money...debts...and enough to cause strains that would force him to accept your hand in marriage. You tried not dwelling on being reminded how undesirable you were as a bastard woman. This newly accepted information could be used to your advantage.
A fabulous idea occurred to you. An idea that would prove to Sherlock that you were in fact not a stupid imbecile.
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Helplines:
If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.
Australian Helpline Services
UK Helpline Services
American Helpline Services
India Helpline Services.
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Text
Can we take a moment and talk about
Miguel, Hobie, and the Black!Reader
a.k.a Black Men aren't the only one who date black women so why are there only Black!Readers for black characters????
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Don't think anyone has said it but I would like to see Miguel with some Black readers/Black OCs.
Like, I wanna see Miguel with a Boujee black woman, a loud one, a meek one, a stallion, a petite one-
I just wanna see Miguel x Black!Readers and Miguel x Black!OCs.
Black people are everywhere, in every fandom.
So black readers should be giving rep everywhere - not just with radical black characters like Hobie
Black women and black people in general IRL have our features demonized or looked down upon. In media, in the beauty industry, the fashion industry, hair industry, you name it. Our skin tones are 'too dark' to match well with makeup, our bodies too curvy or different, or hair too thick and hard to manage.
I think having characters openly express interest in them is radical - whether the character themselves are black or not.
The reason the Black Representation within Hobie romance fics stands out so much because every other character LACKS that.
In almost every other x reader fandom, black people and our features are ignored and erased for 'sweeter' things like blushing or 'running their fingers through your hair'
Like... Why can't there be a fic where Miguel compliments his Black partners hair. Or tries soul food?
You don't have to be a radical leftist like Hobie to find black people attractive.
So there's no reason for black!Reader to be confined to Hobie - or black characters at all.
You can write Dean Winchester with a Black!Reader. Or Sherlock Holmes, or Hobie Brown, or Miguel O'Hara.
Attraction to black people is so often seen as a fetish - that most white people and white characters never openly exhibit admiration or love towards black features and culture. They'd rather push us and our differences aside because acknowledging them and their beauty makes people uncomfortable. But those same characters will always 100% be implied to find white women attractive.
And in the Superhero Movie Sphere it's even worse.
ie. It's VERY VERY rare you will find Tony Stark with a Black woman.
The large majority of the women you see with Tony Stark early in the movies are WHITE. The ones he's taking to at galas and playing roulette in front of and kicking out after one night stands - White and blonde. If he sleeps with them - white and blonde.
And that's fine in the general population - a nonblack man who 'loves women' and loves sex just... not being seen with black women at all.
But if Tony Stark went two movies sleeping with only women that aren't white - uh-oh!! That draws attention!!
It's completely okay and not a fetish to be super attracted to white features in isolation, but if you take interest in non-white features without validating white women in the same breath then you're nasty and a fetishist and a racist.
Another example - Batman.
Zoe Kravitz was the first time we've seen Batman openly go after a black woman since maybe Eartha Kitt in 1967 - OVER 50 years apart
In the Christian Bale movies - he never flirts with black women. This classy, smooth Bruce Wayne isn't seen interacting with them. I mean... Why? Does he not like them? Or are the all the black people in Gotham just too poor to be around him to begin with?
????????? That don't add up. But that's how most characters are.
If a nonblack male character is shown in a relationship with a woman - the chances of that woman being cast as a black woman hits the FLOOR.
Their first choice is almost always white.
And the saddest thing is
Spider-Man is the biggest example of black erasure in romance and the effects it causes.
That's why when Zendaya got cast as MJ - it was a problem.
Because before then, during the 70 semi years of Peter Parker's existence - he was never shown on screen being attracted to black women in any capacity.
Betty, Gwen, Felicia, MJ - all white. In the cartoons, white. In the remake, white. Silk is probably one of - if not the - first POC we see Peter with. And they don't date, they've never been shown on screen, and over the past years Cindy has had a better written relationship with Felicia than she ever had with Peter.
For half a century we were conditioned to believe that Peter Parker dated white women with no representation or deviation.
Back in 2016 when TASM series was coming out, if you were a black reader who wanted to see yourself represented in any way or capacity on screen or in Fandom - good luck.
We're use to seeing these very romantically forward guys never flirting or fucking or dating black women. We're conditioned to accept this as normal.
It takes a genuine toll.
That's why when I was younger, I use to feel so insecure. Wondering if my favorite characters or celebrities would even find me slightly attractive. The idea that my favorite character wouldn't find me attractive because they've never been seen with a Black partner or interest ever not even once in passing hurts.
As a teen I just accepted that these characters 'Don't like black people' and can't find them attractive in that capacity. Because I mean, I have no reason to think they do - when most nonblack characters won't even look at a black female character for longer than 5 seconds.
Growing up I just accepted that these characters and the fandom as a whole did not see anything beautiful about me because of my race.
That's why Black readers should be more widespread.
We should be telling people that non-black men finding black women attractive is NORMAL.
I read SO many fics of black characters and go 'okay but they wrote reader as white.'
I have NEVER read a fic of a non-black character and gone 'okay they wrote the reader as Black'
Y'all.... You can write interracial relationships with characters that aren't black.
Interracial Relationships are not a special magic tool you can use to pair black characters up with non-black readers. Interracial Relationships go both ways.
If you're down for writing Hobie x NonBlack!Reader and writing an interracial relationship there - why are y'all not down for Miguel x Black!Reader?
Why are interracial relationships good when the black man experiences attraction outside his race towards nonblack people - but bad/unlikely when the nonblack man experiences attraction outside his race towards black people?
'Hobie loves everyone' Okay, Miguel would too. But I don't see the 'Hobie Loves' people rushing and pushing for inclusion in the Miguel tag. They don't care if fanwriters show Miguel 'loving everyone'.
They don't go -
'Miguel loves latinas, Miguel loves black women' in Miguel's tag.
Even though nonblack men experience attraction towards black people and black women everyday across the world.
Some are even married to us - can you believe it??
In conclusion - More Miguel x Black!Reader. More Miguel x Black!OC.
Give Miguel AfroLatino Babies!!!!
Give Miguel O'Hara a Nigerian Wife so help me God
Anyway - Big up @hrhmimieucliffe and their AMAZING Black OC Giselle, who has a ~thing~ ;) with Miguel (they are v cute!!)
More Miguel x Black!Reader. More Miguel with Black! OCs. I want a Miguel that likes his women like he likes his milkshakes - tall, sweet, thicc as fuck, and FULL OF CHOCOLATE
And once again, that's on WHAT!!!!
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voidcat · 2 years
Text
— what the cat dragged in
characters: papa emeritus iii/you, cardinal copia, nameless ghouls, sister imperator
wc & genre/notes: 8.1k – strangers to friends/lovers, fluff, suggestive content (minor discussion of kinks and terzo being terzo during mummy dust. That part starts with “I’d say you’re deflecting,” and ends with the divider.) neighbors au, reader has a cat… I’ll b honest idk what else to say
a/n: this is My blog and I get to choose how cringe I want to be. Yes I said I’d not write for ghost and did it anyways after one (1) bad day. Yes this file is titled “hatehatehatemyself” on Google drive. The part after the burgundy divider is an optional ending. You can read the entire thing as platonic or slowly growing into something romantic. have fun x
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Head turned left and right, looking around, no sign around.
The neighborhood is rather quiet today, the sun up and everyone out, at work or else. Rustling of grass with each breeze reaches your ears, and each time you whip your head toward the direction with hope.
In a breath, you cross the road and walk and walk and walk. It’s a long one, not unbearably so but still a little unnerving. You don’t recall many people going this way after all.
Now standing before the grand door, the little mailbox a few meters away awfully standing out, you raise your fist and knock.
And wait.
And waiting you do for almost a minute, if it weren’t for the noises you hear, a clutter of something, a shatter there and finally footsteps.
The door swings open– though it looks too heavy to be opened just like that and the man stands tall before you, forearm resting against the frame, leaning his entire weight to it, eyes barely open and you don’t need to see the barely filled bottle he holds to tell he is drunk.
The scent of alcohol reeks off him just enough.
Your nose scrunches up at the smell.
Squinting his eyes at the sudden intrusion of light coming from the sun, he doesn’t acknowledge you right away.
You doubt he has noticed you.
Isn’t it a bit too early to be drinking like this already? He looks trashed, to say the least.
Then he seems to notice you, though he makes so little movement to fix his posture, the belt tied around his waist barely doing its job to hold the robe together.
Decent on the eyes, you’d have thought for the guy, if it wasn’t for the weird face paint.
Getting too far and a little too early on the halloween spirit?
“Ah…” you clear your throat and try again. “So you see, my cat was lost and–”
“Oh perfect! That’s just lovely now.” he cuts you off, quite loud too. Head thrown back, he holds a sneer. “And what, little one ? Decided to come here and accuse us?” bottle dropped on the floor, rolls off to the side, hitting to an end by the door frame. 
With both hands free, he throws them up in mockery, mimicking what you can only think to be a kid’s voice: “‘ Oh no the big bad mean satanists stole my cat and used it for their sick rituals. ’” hands dropped to his sides immediately as he is done with his imitation, he glares down at you: “Well guess what? Buzz off! As if I don’t have enough bullshit to deal with right now. Go find a more creative way to get in sherlock.” 
So they were satanists after all…
Good to know you suppose, not that you care in all honesty. The whole church-like air of the building only gets more confusing for you though.
Before he can close the door to your face, you place your palm against it to stop him. “Hey!” 
The force behind the door comes to a pause, probably didn’t expect you to fight back.
“Listen, Mr. Halloween or whatever poor Jack Skellington look you were going for.” you begin speaking, ignoring the way his face morphs into pure confusion. “How about you listen to people before barking assumptions at them?”
A moment of breath, the resistance behind the door ends completely and he opens it full again, waiting for you to continue but doesn’t seem all too happy.
“My cat likes to go outdoors and one of my neighbors said to me once that he often visits this place. So can I please come in?”
Seeing it written clear that you won’t be leaving any time soon, the guy sighs and steps aside. “Don’t touch anything and don’t leave my sight.”
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Footsteps echoing in the hallways, you ‘pspsps’ here and there in hopes of your cat turning around but to no avail.
It’s only when passing a door that the guy pauses and curses to himself, you can hear the hints of an accent.
Turning to face him, he takes in your raised brow as a question.
“Copia has rats– pet rats. Your cat better be a vegan because I will not deal with his whole…” he gestures with his hand at nothing, “mourning or Sister Imperator’s reprimanding if a single one of them is missing.”
“Mr. Whiskers is a well behaving, domesticated cat with manners, thank you very much.” you say and turn your head with a huff.
Copia? Imperator? You have no idea who these guys are but you’re sure you can handle a couple of …dorky satanists, if the rest of them are just like this man baby at least.
You can always leave town before night too, if it comes down to it.
Only few steps away and the man watches as you disappear, yelling after you about ‘what did he say’ and all that bullshit but you couldn’t care any less because there he is, your precious baby!
All pulled up into a cozy little furry ball by the corner under a window, in what appears to be someone’s bedroom.
Pretty messy too.
The man seems to catch sight of you and say something he thinks is amusing, or sleek, from the tone he uses, though you pay no attention to his words or how they suddenly run dry. (‘ well if your eye on me the whole time, you didn’t need to make up an excuse about a lost c –’)
Picking up your cat despite his protests, you turn and thank him with a nod. His words register in your mind with a small delay. 
“Maybe consider tidying up your room, what are you, twelve?” and with that, you exit his warzone of a room and walk back the path you took, with Mr. Whiskers purring in your arms the entire walk home.
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The second time your cat goes missing while you’re home, you know better.
Instead of wasting hours searching around, you hike up all the way to that dreaded place and knock on the door with force and impatience.
It is a woman who answers instead.
A woman who does not seem to be the slightest bit impressed.
Staring at her bored face, you take notice of her clothes you can deem as formal for the place, the sound of fabric brushing as she crosses her arms, you snap out of it, trying to formulate the words regarding your cat and and all.
Whatever thought seems to pass her mind, you conclude that she doesnt care and watch as she leaves the door open, walking back inside. So you hurriedly follow.
“Sleek, black hair you said?” she asks, still walking ahead as you nod– shit, satanist or not, she can’t have an eye at the back of her head now; letting out a hum of affirmation you fasten your steps and try to walk by her side.
Steps come to a halt before a closed door, she knocks firmly, once.
Upon receiving no answer whatsoever, she rolls her eyes and opens the door.
They must have quite the savings you think, to have a place with soundproof walls and doors. The unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans and all, you wonder to yourself, couldn’t your cat have picked somewhere …normal to take his afternoon naps.
Paying the scene before her eyes no mind, the woman steps in– is that who the man referred to as Sister Imperator?, and you catch her words about grabbing the darn cat now and continuing his pity party later.
The sounds of sex stop and you can hear someone walking around all the while mumbling something.
Before you can thank the woman however, she turns and walks away.
Less than a minute later the same man from before peeks out his head through the door.
Wearing a different robe this time and doing a poor job of holding your cat, though Mr. Whiskers doesn’t seem to mind, the traitor, he watches as you take the cat from his arms.
As you turn to leave and call it a day, maybe open a bottle of wine and see where the night takes you, a ‘hey!’ catches up to you from behind.
Leaning against the door frame like he did the first time, he waits for you to face him.
“Just let me know next time your cat comes over. I doubt neither you nor Sister would like to become frequent acquaintances.” 
You eye him with a suspicious look. Sure the woman does seem like if she sees you 3 times a week or more for your cat, she might sacrifice you and Mr. Whiskers to Lucifer with her bare hands but hey, you cannot control who answers the door now.
As if sensing your train of thought, or, a part of it, he lets out a sigh, “My windows are pretty wide. Pretend they’re doors or something.”
“...right.” Sounds more and more reassuring with each word for sure, great , thank you Mr. Whiskers.
Then an after thought seems to follow as a whine can be heard from inside his room, “ Just – maybe let me know ahead before you come through the window, yeah ?”
“And I should do that, how?” you ask, wishing the whole encounter to be over “I don’t want you charging me if a stone happens to find its way in.”
From how he mumbles the words ‘charging’ and ‘stone’ confused, it seems to be taking him a while to register your words.
The implication of your words seem to dawn in as his face goes down “Last I checked, cellphones exist.” he states, not sounding too happy about the possible danger his precious windows may face. 
“And how should I know this isn’t some weird excuse to get my number?” you sound skeptical, on the edge, probably finger hovering over that dial button to the police if it wasn’t for the cat in your arms.
At your words though, he chuckles. “I do have a girl in my bed right now, you know?”
“And my question remains unchanged.” staring at him with a dead serious expression, you watch as his amused face falls, his eyes rolling and he shoves a hand down one of his pockets, taking out a pen.
Expectant eyes on you– wait, what is up with his eyes? , he pushes off the cap, shaking his left arm so the robe’s arm can slide off, revealing his skin, waiting. Waiting for you.
“You better not send me any weird crap or call-” you state then say out your phone number.
Well, worst comes to worst, you know a good lawyer.
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Third time's the charm is how the saying goes. You have your doubts but perhaps there is truth to it as the man’s ridiculous window idea works.
It takes no time to figure out Mr. Whiskers spends his afternoons there because the rays of sunlight hit just right, and right next to where he sleeps is a comfortable armchair with black and white hair decorating its surface a little.
Few steps ahead of his windows, the view of a wonderful garden has attracted your attention but you know better than to ask, or enter without permission. The amount of times you’ve dropped by increases at record speed, yet the air between you both is still tight.
He lets out a warm laugh when he gets a good look at him once, but when you ask, you get no reply. Surely this cannot be the first tuxedo cat he has ever seen in his life.
One silence after another, he must've sensed how tense and awkward it feels too, as a little after he tries to make conversation and apologize.
So they are a satanic organization, that’s fine.
You’ve always wondered as a kid about the gatherings you’d see within a distance but never bothered to check for yourself.
A rock band to spread their word and message however, now that is odd. You’re starting to think their anti church might be the most normal thing to them.
Yet you remain your silence and let him speak, listen, and try to make as much sense of them as you can because god knows you won’t be leaving this place any time soon.
He says he is– was the frontman of the band, and their beloved antipope , but was dethroned , or so he claims, few days prior to your arrival.
You can understand frustration over something you have dedicated your time and effort into, and for you to be pulled off it without a logical explanation. That explains drinking until the brain shuts down despite that scent of alcohol still stings your senses.
Nodding to his words, you take his apology and leave with Mr. Whiskers that day. He asks if you’d like to see the garden the next time your legs are dangling off the windowsill.
You accept in a heartbeat.
With the weather warming up and all, your cat seems to enjoy the garden as much as you do.
Trees and flowers of all kinds tended to with care and love, you can tell. Each arranged with care, the entire place paints a beautiful picture before your eyes, and endless too.
Same as the window, this becomes a habit too. To stroll in the garden and sit on one of the stone benches, talking or staying like this in silence.
He seems fond of Mr Whiskers for reasons unknown to you, until he pulls out a photograph of someone in what you make out to be a tuxedo of sorts, on a stage no less.
The photograph is of small scale, you cannot make out much of the details, so he takes it upon himself to explain that it is indeed him in the photo and the looks of your cat caught him by surprise because of his looks.
Without waiting for a reaction, he offers to show you the outfit he wore back then, though he sounds a little melancholic about the whole thing still.
Sure , you agree, but keep it to yourself that the regency shirt and black pants look just fine on him.
It blurs at one point you begin visiting even without Mr. Whisker’s presence in his room.
Bursting out into laughter, he looks almost offended at your reaction. “I’m sorry-” your giggles break through as you wipe off a tear, “what did you say it was again?” 
“Emeritus.” he says flatly.
“Emeritus.” you repeat, this time doing a better job at containing the giggling.
“Yes, Emeritus,” he says again and adds, “The third.” 
If your laughter before was loud, this is something beyond, enough to make him go deaf in comparison.
“Okay no, I’m not calling you-”  you bring your hands up to finger quote, “Emeritus The Third.” you say in a serious tone. “And I’m certainly not calling you ‘papa’ or some bullshit title.” you cut in before he can get a word out.
“We’re going to need a nickname, what about ‘em’?”
“Em.” his tone asking ‘are you for real?’, his turn to repeat now.
“Okay no, that’s just as bad, give me some time to th-” hand covering his face, he just shakes his head with a sigh. 
“Just call me Terzo , caro mio.”
Seeing as to no reply from you comes, he removes his hand and looks up. “It means ‘ the third ’ in Italian.”
“Oh,” you manage to say, though you do sound a little different now, perhaps you thought from his reactions you hurt him and now feel sorry about that? 
“Yeah, I can do that, Terzo.” speaking with more confidence now, testing the name on your tongue, you talk more to yourself and nod your head than to him– he finds watching you act like this, how you operate and think as you talk endearing.
You find yourself liking spending time with Terzo more than you’ve realized.
Work is work, adulting is the same and sometimes relationships with friends feel dull or far away.
To say the least, he is interesting. Usually something to catch you off guard or wondering, it is guaranteed your time with him is never one to fall victim to boredom.
So he speaks of his life, of things he has done on the road and whatnot, even going as far to recreate when he tried to kick off a beach ball only to fall, basking in the waves of your laughter, even complaining to him by nighttime that your face hurts from laughing so much.
In return you feel you don’t have as exciting stories but he listens as if they’re the most wonderful things he has ever heard.
You deem them mundane and every time without a beat, he says only to you.
It comes down to, more like remembering, those scenes from when you were a kid.
He is awfully quiet that day, when you speak of seeing figures in black walking in tow, a kid or two that seemed to be your peers but how their estate in the eyes of some were off limits, and it was always at an odd time for you to be walking up there and talk with the kids.
A shame, the two of you could’ve met much earlier, yet he doesn’t voice it and you do not realize it.
Of all the things he has experienced recently, entering his room, to a bed unmade, finding you wrapped in the covers and sound asleep, would score high on Terzo’s list of things he wouldn’t expect– that is, if his brain could even muster up such a scene.
He doesn't need to, though, as it becomes real before his eyes and he makes way for the loveseat that night.
He doesn’t pry about it and all you say under your breath is that you felt lonely.
‘What about Wh-’ before he can ask, you open the covers partly to reveal that Mr. Whiskers is indeed with you, in his bed.
He just hopes the cat won’t switch his usual spot for his bed when he comes next time.
The nightly visits from you start to occur more, by the third time he knows it’ll become another constant, though not as frequent.
You do appear upset that he has to sleep on the couch, yet he waves his hand dismissively, that he doesn’t mind– he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or cross any unnamed boundaries. Which is a little outside the usual for him, he is known for being bold, for holding and kissing hands and doing much more when he can even smell from a kilometer away the slightest of interest the other party has in him.
The next time it repeats, he is startled by a sudden noise as he makes for the couch as always. Turning on his heel only to see you patting the spot next to you in his bed.
Sure, it is a spacious bed, more than enough space for the both of you, and Mr. Whiskers, yet he still feels tense about the whole situation.
What if he wraps an arm around you or something in his sleep and you wake up angry, that he jumped into conclusions, that this wasn’t what you wanted at all and that you’ll never visit again and file a restra–
“You think too much.” 
You draw him out of his pocket sized crisis with few words and a flock on his forehead. “Keep doing that and you’ll end up with wrinkles in no time.”
What else can he do but chuckle at that and sink into sleep, safe and sound?
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Wine is a skillful loosener, as the two of you rediscover together.
On days you stick around for longer, he makes his offer– though you refuse it as much as you can.
Despite dropping by unannounced after a while, you haven't walked into any intimate moments. And against your initial claim, your phone does get bombarded, usually photos of Mr. Whiskers when Terzo catches a glimpse of him, or when he thinks he is being adorable.
The latter is worse, because Terzo always finds him adorable once he warms up to the cat. The way he acts through text makes you picture him lying on the floor, hands supporting his chin, legs behind him dangling in the air, watching the unknowing cat as he sleeps or does the most mundane cat thing anyone can think of.
Neither of you are aware just how fascinating mundane is to him.
You can sense his pout from meters away.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” you put down the stacked papers. “What is it?”
Crossing his arms, he turns away partially, grumbling under his breath, “I don’t know what youre talking about.”
Getting closer to Terzo means many things, witnessing the absolute manchild that resides in him included.
Picking up your phone to turn the volume down, your eyes find his figure again– either he resembles Mr. Whiskers more than you gave them credit for or your time spent with him making you delusional. “Out with it already,” his form shrinks only further, “or no more visits from me or Mr. Whiskers.”
Now that , gets his attention.
Eyes focused somewhere near your face intentionally, he almost appears reluctant to say the words.
“How come you never listen to any of my songs?”
It takes you few seconds longer to register his words.
Before you can answer, he begins rambling, so rushed and in a whisper, all you can hear is few words in italian, which you’re sure are curses slipping his tongue and terms of endearment.
“I just… forgot?” you offer with a shrug.
Okay, maybe not the best response as this gets him to throw his arms into air, “ mio satana , you are unbelievable.” a finger pokes into your side, you haven't even realized he already crossed the distance between you both.
So he gets jealous when you listen to other musicians, huh , you save the information for future use.
As you begin laughing, he chuckles, muttering under his breath. “I guess, I’ll  have to bring a ritual to your feet.”
It goes unknown to you that Terzo semi-regularly orders cat food for Mr. Whiskers, not that the cat ever seemed to be hungry when he was there, but hey, cannot hurt to try. If the cat only decides to visit him, with you in cue, more often, now there is no harm in that.
Another thing unbeknownst to you, is that, despite the distance between their estate and your house, Terzo can spot your lights without much effort.
If he were to dramatize the entire thing between you both and more, he’d refer to it as a beacon of light. But he doesn’t need to, because there is nothing more to what it is between the two of you, even if unnamed, even when he cannot help wondering “ what if …”, wondering if he is misinterpreting things.
So when he doesn’t see the lights turn on by the night time one evening, he doesn’t care, maybe the power went out, maybe you just want to try something different for a change. He certainly doesn’t care in the morning when he sees a second figure come out of the door, or when you drop by later that evening, a throbbing headache and ‘ long day at work’ you just murmur as you fall asleep on his shoulder.
You accept the wine when you're taking another stroll in the gardens.
With the weather beginning to cool down, you welcome its warmth to your very bones.
Booze loosens your tongue first, and soon your senses, your train of thought. Whether it’s a good thing or not that you’re not the only victim… you don't know.
“Was it worth it at least?” he muses as you’re seated on the same bench, glasses sat on the ground.
You twist your face, trying to recall, “Once I tuned his voice out, yeah I guess?” he snorts at your words, “Isn’t this the usual case?” 
“Nah,” you drag the word as you reach for your glass, “He could also suck in bed. So the entire night wasn’t a waste I suppose. Never going back to that place though, I’m picky for a reason.”
You say the words more to yourself as a mantra than anything, Terzo watching you with a giggle hanging on his lips. 
“Bad drinks as well?”
“It’d be charity to call them as such, ugh,” with a sigh, you drink down the remaining half of your wine, tipping the empty glass to his direction.
Taking your glass, he switches it with his and you take no time to bring it back to your lips.
“But this?” you raise the glass, “now that is a quality product.”
With another chuckle, he reaches for the bottle and fills the empty glass in his hand.
The topic of your recent and unfortunate endeavors morph into complaining about work, people in the streets, weird posts on the internet and whatnot.
“Okay, okay,” you try to speak inbetween laughter, “so what about weird preferences when it comes to sex?”
He just gives you a teasing smirk as you place your finger on his lips as a means to shush him “we already know weird shit and food combinations the other likes, consider this a slight change of topic.”
“I’d say you’re deflecting, but alright, I’ll buy.” he shrugs, throwing his head back to drink from the bottle– the glasses cast aside an hour or so ago.
“Any kink you can think of, I’m most likely into already, so just ask me yourself.”
You bring a finger to your chin, contemplating what to say for a moment, “Socks stay on or?..” you let your voice trail off, gazing at him from the side with a smile.
Bringing a hand over his heart and another against his forehead, he faces you fully and lets out a loud gasp. “Caro mio! You wound me. I might be the antipope but I am not a lunatic!”
He opens one eye to seize your reaction, and when your gazes meet, both of you burst into laughter.
“But the face paint stays on, no?” you gesture to your face once you stop clutching your stomach.
“Everyone has a preference, tesero.” he shrugs.
Considering his position and the closest people he can find to fuck, it does add up, you suppose.
“Now enough about me, what about you ?” He leans in to you, flashing his teeth. Not letting him get to him, you snatch the bottle from his hand. 
“What about me, indeed huh? Just your basic, vanilla bullshit.” you close your eyes as you gulp down the wine.
Your comment only ignites him further, with another chuckle, he scoots closer, “You? Vanilla? I’d beg to differ,” and again, with the poking to your sides, he pleads “Don’t keep your papa waiting now.” “Okay first of all–” 
You snap your head to him, only to be nose to nose, “ Not the ‘p’ word, we went over that ages ago, not calling you that.”
“Only because you’re being such a tease,” he sing-songs, his head thrown back.
 “You are such a child,” you mumble as you place the bottle between your legs, hands gripping its neck.
“Biting, I suppose.” You can hear him open an eye and look your way, “Nothing extreme as I said, but people aren’t exactly dying to be covered in red and purple, you know?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” he answers, “their loss.”
You can sense he wants to pry further but keeps himself, and hell , the wine is good, there is another bottle waiting by his foot, and compared to the amount of black mail-level footage of him you've got, this feels like nothing.
“Taking risks.” you say in a whisper, partially hoping he doesn’t hear.
“Now, this falls vague, bella.” he says. “Risks of conceiving, catching STDS–” he begins counting with a finger,
“ No ! I said risks , not being an idiot.” You cut in, a hand covering your face.
You know he is waiting with that smug smirk, “risks of getting caught, like, dunno , semi public spaces and the likes?” you ask more than speak, meeting his gaze as you finish speaking.
“So that’s where the biting comes,” he speaks in a knowing tone, “leaving telltale marks blooming everywhere?” he muses as his hand begins to move, finger grazing against your skin.
“Like this?” he asks, hand going up and drawing patterns on your thigh, slowly going up, his eyes gauging your expression. 
“...yeah” you say in a breath, letting his hand reach the inner side of your thigh. A finger flicks against the bottle, drawing out a trembling note, making your eyes flash though all your times here, you never saw anyone else in the gardens.
The bottle has long gone warm but his hand feels cold against your leg, you’re aware of his eyes locked on your face yet make no haste to draw yours away from the plants up ahead.
His hand begins to travel upwards, making way to fiddle with the hem, going under and his skin meeting yours.
Before he can do anything further however, you both jolt with the sudden noise coming from behind, between the windows.
“Cazzo!” he mutters and gets up, making way to enter his room through the windows.
While waiting for him, you go for the other bottle, pouring yourself some more wine, at least with a glass, you can keep count.
Pausing to listen around, you hear the commotion has died down.
Picking up the other glass and hoisting the empty bottle under your arm, you make way for the stained glass windows you’ve grown familiar with over the course of time.
Terzo doesn't seem to pay much mind to the interruption though, the conversation picks up from where it left, now talking in a more general sense.
“You give off vibes of someone who’d make a sex playlist,” you begin as he listens with a nod, “ and add your songs to it.”
“As I said gioia, everyone has their preferences.” he reaches to take the bottle from you, not expecting your arm to draw back, “yet I cannot help but be upset,” he sheds a nonexistent tear, “that you think my thrust game is so weak.”
Seeing as you freeze at his words, he takes a step to you, grabbing the bottle from your hand with a smile and places it down, not stepping back afterwards. “If you want a demonstration though, I am always happy to help.” 
As if your silence was anything to go by, now it is deafening, the warmth and flush of your skin; you’re unsure if the cause is alcohol or him .
“And I did promise a demonstration of my songs to you before, didn’t I?” he says as he takes another step your way.
“So you see, we got this fan favorite song, Mummy Dust,” he speaks while pretending to be interested in the ceiling, gesturing with a hand in the air, “but not because of the lyrics.” he remarks with a smug expression, redirecting his gaze to you as he takes another step, barely any space left separating the two of you.
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You’re unsure what to say or do, when left alone in a room with a bunch of people wearing identical masks.
You think, Terzo must’ve pulled a rope here and there, or acted in secrecy considering his sudden drop of position in the band, to have gotten into this studio– and bringing you no less.
The people he referred to as Nameless Ghouls stare at you, and you back at them. You can imagine the confusion they must be going through.
Then the man of the hour reappears with a clap of hands, dressed up in an outfit resembling a suit, and his previous remark at Mr. Whiskers suddenly comes back to you, finally making sense.
A concert– or a ritual, as he put it, he promised and one he delivers.
A ghoul begins playing his guitar in sync with the drums, as two of them walk to stand at their both sides and with a sudden stomp of foot, they all play in, in a fashion you can describe as ‘ knocking the wind out of your lungs .’
Only when Terzo’s singing, and soon the instruments coming to a stop that you realize you've been holding your breath the whole time. And quickly find out you may as well die due to lack of oxygen by the time the day comes to an end if they only keep up this momentum.
One song after another, they captivate you gradually. Be it the way the ghouls play or the way Terzo moves as he sings, radiating with energy. Walking around and messing up with one another, bothering each other at times– it all creates the illusion of a found family.
Briefly moving his hand, the ghouls pick acoustic guitars once another song comes to an end.
After each song he tells its name and some information– or funny memories he finds important you know.
With a signal of his hand, the ghouls switch to acoustic guitars and Terzo begins humming: “a one, a two, three, and four.“ 
With a move of his hand, they all enter the song.
One hand in a fist, resting against his hip and the other in front of him, he sways his hips softly as he sings.
It doesn’t miss your attention how some of his moves arent as innocent or random as they seem– when he brings his other hand to join the stray one, hoisting them up in the air as if holding something, or how after he holds the microphone with one hand and violates the poor stand with his fingers. Hands thrown into the air and shaking in the air as a ta-da once in a while, he takes a step back to point at one of the ghouls’ playing.
The song comes to an end and you think you’ve done good so far– then he decides to announce that the song is called Jigolo Har Meggido and you burst into laughter, leaving the men in the room utterly confused.
It takes several minutes for you to gather yourself, wipe away the tears all the while ignoring Terzo hovering over you with concern, unsure whether to approach you or leave you be in your violent laughter.
“I’m sorry-” your words die in your throat as another wave of laughter takes over again, “it’s just-” hand clutching over your stomach, you do your best to look up, “you do re-”, meeting his face only makes you laugh again.
A tap on your shoulder distracts you a little. Taking the water bottle one of the ghouls have brought to you, in your frenzy you didn’t even realize him leaving, you take a few sips to calm your nerves.
“I know you’re flirty and all, but witnessing you calling yourself a manwhore caught me off guard.” 
Definitely not something worth laughing to that extent over, Terzo doesn’t say a word and instead flashes you a toothy grin.
“You’d be surprised to hear it was his brother who wrote this song.” you hear someone say, the same ghoul from before.
“Ah!” Terzo waves a hand dismissively in the air, “enough talk of that geezer. Now , what do you say to a grammy winning original?” 
The ghouls slowly begin as Terzo walks back, their eyes on him and his hands, watching every move and tilt, following his guidance. Compared to the other songs they’ve played so far, this one comes off much softer, gentler, making you wonder what will come next.
Raising both hands in the air as if in praise, the ghouls all stop and silence takes over, waiting, and with his signal, they enter the song, picking up stronger than where they left off.
The melody matches the lyrics somewhat, the impression of a thunder, it builds up and carries smoothly.
He begins singing what you assume to be the second verse, drawing closer to you at a steady pace. His voice becomes the only thing you hear as the instruments falter and die out, quietening one by one. The microphone now held in his left, his right hand reaches out to hold yours, bringing it up near his face as he keeps singing: “ Can't you see that you're lost without me?”
And with it, they all reenter the song with a bang, your hand still in his, Terzo kisses the back of it in between lyrics and steps back to his initial position.
Drumming his fingers in the air, swaying them at the direction of either of the ghouls, they all circle around the keyboard playing ghoul as the song shifts into an instrumental part.
Eyes never leaving theirs, especially not his, not when he makes sure to lock his with you, you watch the entire performance almost in a trance, mind going blank.
When the song ends, you can see his expectant looks on you, already beaming with whatever compliment he’s positive you’ll be giving him.
So you decide to pick the teasing route. 
“It was nice.” he stares at you, his face clearly showing he wasn’t waiting to hear that. “Nice?..”
Humming in affirmation, you nod your head. “Yeah, nice.” tilting your head to the side, you speak up, “ Say , this helps you get some?” 
The man stands there, blinking at you for what feels like eternity.
The ghouls in a similar stance, though you’re sure you’ve heard one of them snort, and another snicker.
The eternity ends with a shake of his head and a faint smile on his face. “Yes, sorella , it helps me …get plenty actually.” he uses your phrase.
“Well,” he clicks his tongue as he places the microphone back to its place, “if it’s a …meretricious song you desire, how about I give you,” his pace of speaking slows down, as if holding his breath, waiting for imaginary drum rolls: “Mummy Dust!” He drags the words in a low grumble, shaking his hands in the air once again.
From how he starts swaying and moving his hips, you immediately recognize the song.
As Terzo begins singing, the sound of a door opening and clicking close reach your ears and when you twist halfway in your seat, you see a man with pencil stache dressed up in black, his hat partially resembling a bat, same painted eyes and upper lip like Terzo yet lacking the rest of the face paint.
The man stills in place when he sees you, only gets his feet to move again when you pat the vacant spot near you.
Whispering greetings back and forth, you immediately remember his name.
“Ah you’re the Cardinal!” Your voice comes out a tad more excited than expected. The man on the other hand seems confused as to how you know him already.
“How are your rats? Happy, I hope. I am so sorry, I never got the chance to apologize to you or to them because of Mr. Whiskers.” The words leave your lips in a breath, leaving the man dumbfounded, repeating your cat’s name in confusion and unaware, 
“ah, I-, my most sincere apologies, who?..”
“Mr. Whiskers, my cat, didn't Terzo t- oh.” Unfortunately the mention of a cat before you can stop makes his eyes go wide, and you try your best to assure him that your cat didnt even set foot into his room, somewhat calming the anxious man down.
The music on the other hand, as well as the singing, gets louder and a tad more aggressive. 
Probably unhappy with how your attention was led somewhere other than him. So needy and grumpy, spoiled like a cat.
“Uh, we can save our discussing for after the song?” Cardinal suggests, to which you nod. “I'd hate to impose on this- uh, special performance his excellency was displaying for you.” He says, coughing on his words at the way Terzo moves.
“Its alright Cardinal. I was given a demonstration of this song already, I am not missing out on anything.”
Again, you must’ve said something wrong, because instead of relaxing, the Cardinal’s face tenses up and goes bright red.
“ Oh !” You wince, “poor choice of words on my behalf. That's not what I meant.” You try to offer an explanation with a sheepish smile, but to no avail. 
At least Terzo looks quite pleased with the interaction, as clear from the smug expression taking over his face.
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The previous incident– goes unaddressed between the two of you but the air between doesnt waver.
Still, it must have triggered some sort of change, you conclude, as Terzo’s texting habits only evolve into a different stage.
Sure, it went for quite a while that the initial purpose of exchanging numbers was abandoned yet he still possessed control, a sense of self restraint, when texting you.
Definitely the absolute opposite of whatever it is going on as of now.
Maybe you’ve spoiled him too much, your brain reaches another conclusion as the lips on your skin snap that thought in the middle, pulling you back into reality.
You still don’t visit him as regular as to say daily, or even biweekly– so you hold onto the benefit of doubt that he has absolutely no way of knowing youre busy trying to have a nice night, focused on pleasure and the feeling of euphoria–
Another vibrating sound against your nightstand cuts into the air, your sceeen lightning up right after.
You ignore it only so far until you find yourself scrolling and typing up a reply, the light coming from the screen reflecting against you and the man you’ve forgotten about already.
As you smile at his newest text, hearing that stupid whining of his voice and the pout, someone next to you clears his throat, snapping you back.
“Anything I should know about?” He only asks and in all honesty , you cannot blame the guy. You’d have reaches into equally ugly assumptions, were this to happen to you.
But it didnt, and it isn’t right now, so its only a little too late that you put yourself in his shoes.
“Nope.” You say, walking up to your bookshelf and placing the phone screen down, “just a friend.”
The guy hums, sounding skeptical but doesn't pry.
You give him the benefit of the doubt but few too many repeats and you know it's intentional.
You did spoil him too much it seems.
Another afternoon by his side, you're sitting on the window sill, one leg tucked under yourself, he is busy on the other side of the room, who knows what he is preparing this time.
“Wine?” he turns on his heel, holding a glass and the bottle’s neck tilted slightly already. 
“None for me, thank you.” 
Eyebrows raised in curiosity, a scheming expression takes over. “Ooh? Any plans for tonight?” He inquires. You don’t need to know that he is dreading the confirmation that'll leave your lips. 
“I guess,” you shrug, turning to look outside the window, “promised Steve we’d spend the night together.”
Heavy silence spreads from your words and takes over the room. 
The teasing remarks signature to his natural charm never comes and you turn your head to see if he even heard you in the first place… or left the room before you spoke… or somehow passed out in silence as you spoke.
Your worries ease upon seeing him standing there, still, not even a muscle moved from his last position, unreadable eyes staring at you.
Only when you tilt your head towards, asking ‘what’s wrong?’ and only then he snaps out of whatever trance he was in, coughs and tried to laugh it off with a ‘ have fun’ , pouring himself a glass.
Unbelievable.
Discreetly taking a sip from his wine to distract himself doesn't do much to ease him and the now unimpressed look you're giving him makes even the wine taste bitter on his tongue. 
“Wh-“ “you are unbelievable.”
Okay, you don't just seem pissed, disappointed?, something definitely negative; you sound like it too.
“For wishing my friend a fun night?” And with a guy he has never heard you mention before– the word friend stings to say. “I’m sure Steve is a good gu-“ “ Again,” you dont let him finish, “you are unbelievable, absolutely childish and overall a great idiot.”
Okay now you're just being mean. A scowl makes its way to his face before he can even notice, making you shake your head in disbelief like a mother scolding her kids with a smile.
“If youre done with the insults cara,” he says and raises his glass, appearing pissed and upset as he downs the glass.
“Terzo, you met Steve.” His head snaps up at your words. “Steve?“ you repeat in question, “Steve Whiskers?” ‘ ring any bells? ’ He can hear you say in following–
The faint smile of yours slowly evolve in a giggle as you watch the gears turn in his head and finally connect the two and two together.
“The cat?!” His voice comes out louder than he meant to, suddenly straightening up and wiping invisible dust off his clothes, he clears his throat. 
“Excuse me for my sudden input of volume.” You reply with a smile, “Send my best regards to Mr. Whiskers.”
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You see the ghouls around few more times you're in the perimeter, as well as the scary woman from before.
Sitting in the gardens with Terzo again one warm afternoon and she passes in the distance, her eye catching sight of you no doubt.
Jumping in your stead, you rush to where she is. Terzo watches as you speak with more animatic gestures, Sister remaining stoic as always. You bring a hand up to scratch your head in unease, then holding out a box of sorts. As you are about to turn, he sees your body beam , most likely at something Sister has said as she walks away.
You pattle back to where he waits, trying to contain a big smile and pulling out few cookies from behind in surprise. Just as he does with anything else you offer, he devours the cookies, making sure to express his gratitude and worship before and after.
You settle back next to him, laughing at the way he acts as he ignores the crumbs on his thighs, resting your head against his shoulder and relaxing.
Yet you never tell him what it was Sister Imperator has said to you that got you in high spirits; not then, not later.
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When you wake up with the sunlight grazing your face from the wrong direction, your first instinct is to return to sleep.
Having falling asleep by Terzo's side a reasonable amount of times now, it feels just as comfortable as your room. Despite his chest not being as soft as your pillow, the comfort of his mattress easily beating yours makes up for the loss.
Just as a content smile makes its way to your lips and you, more than eager to return to sleep, the situation of now sinks in and you can feel the warmth drain from your entire body.
Sure, this is not the first time you've found yourself falling asleep here, even in his arms, limbs tangled up no less; but all those instances contain one huge difference from the predicament you find yourself in now and it is last night.
Maybe you should pretend to stay asleep until he is summoned for anything, but the chances of this are dangerously slim. The light coming from between the curtains doesn't burn into your eyes just yet so it must still be fairly early, maybe you can sneak out before he can return from the land of dreaming. But that'd would leave bigger problems for future you and frankly? future you has gotten sick of your 'dancing around with nothing acknowledged' bullshit.
You take a deep breath, and shut your eyes further– hey perhaps they'll glue themselves together from how tight your muscles are contracting and with your sudden admittance to the hospital and the emergencu of the entire situation, it'll all get forgo–
A sudden noise stops your entire thought process crashing. A trainwreck, yes that's what this is.
Sucking a sharp breathe in, you think 'now or never', suck it up once and face on with courage.
Creaking one eye open and meeting Terzo's eyes on yours, every single muscle in his face loosened and his expression what you can only describe as to be 'at peace', all your anxiety from bare seconds ago gets washed down the drain. 
And for the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to relax, fully, and bask in whatever the future– and he, along with it, will offer you.
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pureblisswrites · 10 months
Text
A guide to getting kidnapped and escaping 101
Chapter 1: The Schrödinger's Kat
Prologue
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"Alright then. If that's what you want." He sighed again before his eyes went dark and he leaned in closer towards you. "I should warn you beforehand though, curiosity killed the cat."
"And satisfaction brought it back." You reply.
Pairing: afab! Psychologist! Reader x Bang Chan
Word Count: 2.1k
Genre: Crime, mafia au, eventual romance, slow burn, comedy (an attempt was made)
Summary: You are a fairly renowned psychologist and therapist but definitely not renowned enough to be getting kidnapped in the middle of the night. Is it one of your past patients with a criminal record? You don't know what the kidnapper wants but now you finally find out.
This story takes place in the same universe as "A guide to accidental murder and cover up 101" but with a different reader. I suggest you can read that too if these kind of stories are your type. But both can be read as standalones too.
"Going somewhere doc?"
"Um no?" You try to lie. It was like your brain had turned into mush now that you were face to face with this scary unknown man.
He sighed deeply at your poor attempt at lying. "Please follow me." He said to you politely and started going into the direction you had come from. He didn't even turn once to see if you were following or not. You could try to run away but you doubted it would be useful in any way. So your best bet for now was to follow him. You saw as he removed his blood stained gloves swiftly and just dropped them on a table in the hallway, seemingly not bothered at all by the fact that he was staining the table in the process too. After many turns and taking a fucking lift to the 3rd floor, you finally reached the apparent destination as he opened a door and stepped to the side. "After you." He bowed lightly.
You stepped in to see the huge room. From the walls to the furniture, everything was the darkest shade of black. It had a huge glass window through which you could see the view of the city. The room was designed like an office of a rich ceo or something. A black table in the middle. With chairs on both sides. And a bookcase on the wall parallel to the window. It definitely did not have the kind of books you'd read because you could see a thick file with the word 'contracts' stamped on it with red. Another one was labeled as '0325 blueprints' with a black sharpie in messy handwriting.
That was all your eyes could take in before he cleared his throat and gestured for you to sit on a chair and took a seat behind the desk. "I apologise for staining your shirt. I'll have your clothes delivered to you soon." He said while folding his jacket's sleeves till his elbows. And oh his hands are very veiny for some reason.
"Uh... my clothes?" You ask in perplexity. Talking about clothes though, you notice he's wearing a black jacket with a red rose on it over his plain black shirt. You are just grateful his clothes aren't splashed with blood now.
"Oh right. I'm sure you would have many questions." No shit sherlock. "Please ask away whatever you want. I'll try my best to answer as long as the questions are appropriate." Appropriate? What did he think you were gonna question him about? His love life? Egoistical bastard. You wanted to roll your eyes but you would rather not test him for now.
"So... who are you?" The most important question. And the first one you asked your clients, although you had their information files with you. Oh how you wished you could have his information file.
"You can call me Chris." He answered with a slight and what you could only call proud smile. Did this guy really think he gave you a good answer? This was not some introductions meeting, you wanted to know what he did. Guess you'll have to be straight forward with him. Afterall he did say you could ask anything.
"What... work do you do?" You make sure to not say anything he might find offensive. Because you should be worrying about such a thing after seeing him literally splattered with blood.
"I'm afraid I can't answer that. It's... confidential, let's just say." Yeah you kind of knew he wouldn't tell you about him possibly committing murders just yet.
"Fine. Why am I here?"
"To cure me." He says while fidgeting with the two silver chain bracelets he's wearing on his wrists.
"Of what?" You question with furrowed brows.
"Uh I- I think I might be, and I don't know for sure of course, um going crazy." He mumbled nervously, a contradiction from the way he appeared in front of his men.
Now that interested you. Okay so maybe you were writing a potentially illegal research paper on criminals and their psychology but you couldn't agree to this, right? You did have access to talk to a handful of criminals but always under the surveillance of a camera with guards there. You couldn't ask the questions you wanted to. Not without raising suspicions about if you, yourself were a bit crazy. Plus he didn't look too threatening now that he wasn't covered in blood. And what will he even get out of hurting or murdering you? Atleast he wasn't one of the psychopaths whom you had reported to be sent in an asylum and he screamed "I'll kill you one day" and a bunch of other stuff you didn't wish to remember again as he was dragged away by the guards. And it wasn't like this man was hard to look at. Yes pretty privilege and the halo effect were very much really. You were a mere human afterall.
"That still doesn't explain why I'm here." You knew exactly why you were here by now but hearing what he had to say wouldn't hurt.
"Aren't you a doctor specifically for that?" He asked as if you were dumb. Maybe he was thinking you were stupid. Which is great. You don't want him thinking or rather, knowing that you're too smart, too soon.
"So... you need help?" You ask as if you are still confused.
"Whatever way you wanna put it I guess." So he couldn't even accept the fact that he needed help yet. Great.
"And you couldn't come to the hospital I work at like a normal person for that?"
"What do you think?" He raises an eyebrow and you have to accept he looks ridiculously attractive while doing so. Get it together, you scold yourself. "Look I can't tell you what it is that I do. But I think you're smart enough to know it's not something that allows me to just walk into government owned institutions." Oh you knew.
"I don't see how that's my problem? You couldn't find a private therapist or something?" Now this is something you hadn't actually figured out yet. Surely just hiring a private psychologist would be lot easier than whatever he was doing.
"Unfortunately for you and fortuantely for me, I don't settle for anything less than the best. And no private people were as qualified as you." Oh?
"How do you even know that?" You ask, now in actual confusion.
"A friend of mine attended your seminar on psychodynamic theory last year and he was thoroughly impressed by you. He was actually the one who reccomended you." Okay what the fuck? Only top detectives and goverment officers were allowed to attend that event as you had to go through some truly disturbing and stomach churning cases to explain your points. How did he even have friends there?
"How lucky for me." You remark sarcastically.
"I know this might be a difficult situation for you to adjust to and I'm deeply sorry for that. But please understand that there was no other way." He explains while brushing his dark hair out of his face.
"Oh sure, as if you couldn't just, I don't know drop by my home for a few sessions? Why do I have to be held captive to help you!?" Now you have to put your 2 years of being in drama club in high school to good use. You have to let him think you are just so distressed by this situation, as any normal person would be.
"What? No, no. You're not 'held captive' as you put it. I just needed to get you under my protection if I wanted to do this." Just as you think this man can't surprise you anymore, he says something that makes no sense in the image you are trying to put together of him.
"Why?"
"You don't think I've got people who are just dying to know my secrets that no one else does and the ones you'll get to know soon enough? They can kidnap you and not with the intention of getting... 'help', but with the intention of hurting you, unlike me. And I can't let that happen just because I'm an idiot who thinks there's something wrong with me." As soon as you heard the sentence "that no else does and the ones you'll get to know" your brain was overflowing with serotonin. In a world where everything was already discovered and no one kept secrets from you anymore, this sounded like the best reward you could get after hearing people's mediocre stories about their trust issues because that one boy broke their heart in 5th grade.
"'Think'? I haven't even talked to you that much yet and I already know there's a lot wrong with you. You don't think you can just murder people or do whatever it is that you do and live with a healthy conscience do you?" The fact that he "thought" there was something wrong with him was laughable at the best and sad at the least.
He sighed again. "Right. But I want you to know that I'm not gonna force you to do this. If you don't want to do this, you're free to go. I mean you'll definitely need atleast a month of protection by my men because I know the news of you being here would've already reached to my... rivals, let's just put it that way."
"That reminds me, care to tell me how long have I been here for?"
He looks at his expensive looking watch before answering. "Somewhere between 20 to 22 hours." So it hadn't even been a day yet and his 'rivals' already knew about you being here? Just who was this man? He was like a messily wrapped present flowing wtih intrigue and enigma. So there was only one right answer at this point right?
"Kat and Nemo." You say, finally telling him the decision you made a while ago.
"Huh?"
"My pets. Get them here as soon as you can. They haven't eaten all day today, Oh my God."
"So- wait- does- does that mean you're doing this?" He asks in disbelief.
"No I just want to leave my pets here." You roll your eyes. "Of course, are you really that dense? And while you're at it, get my phone and laptop too." You could finally talk to him freely now that he had said he wouldn't hurt you... you think.
"Oh sorry I just still can't believe you agreed and-" he says incredulously.
"I'm sure we can talk later after you get my pets here." You get up to go to whatever room it was you were in.
"Where are you going?" He questions, standing up too.
"Back to that dungeon." You turn back to look at him.
"It's not a dungeon okay. If you don't like it, you can have another room." He stands right in front you.
"Fine then let me stay in your room." Yes he was hot but that wasn't the reason okay. Atleast not the only one. Maybe you would be able to study him more if you spent more time with him. For research, of course.
"What?" He asked dumbfoundedly. You were sure if he was drinking something right now, he would've choked.
"You heard me."
"Alright then. If that's what you want." He sighed again before his eyes went dark and he leaned in very close towards you. "I should warn you beforehand though, curiosity killed the cat." He whispers to you. So afterall he wasn't as dumb to not figure out your motivations yet. Yeah you didn't really do good in the drama club anyways.
"And satisfaction brought it back." You reply.
"Unfortunately nothing that is killed ever comes back to life." He says as if he's experienced it himself.
"Schrödinger's cat." You reply and watch his brows furrow. Of course he wouldn't know what that means.
"What does that mean?" He squints his eyes.
"Maybe I'll tell you some day." You shrug.
He rolls his eyes at that. "I'll send the contract to your room. Read it before signing." Wow so now you'll have to sign a contract? As if things couldn't get any more weird.
You were willing to do anything to unwrap the messily wrapped present that 'Chris' was. And maybe that was the first mistake you made before making many others that will lead you somwhere you couldn't even imagine yet.
A/N: look who posted finally after a whole month. I'm sorry for being late lol.
Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!
Tags: @scuzmunkie @obeythemasters
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cryptic-science · 3 months
Text
okay, trying something new and im going to write all my thoughts down while listening to the ep :3 here we go gamers:
- the singer is absolutely one of my favourite bits
- "podcasting is cool >:(("
- "just go oil your beard >:( idiot."
- god i fucking love sherlock and johns dynamic
- sherlock is so me
- "my doctorate in gooseology"
- "watson is this absolutely necessary- OOO !! get these !!!! lovely"
- i love it when they "argue" so much
- JOHN YOU DICK GIVE SHERLOCK HIS BISCUITS
- circuit failure ??
- jesus christ 10,000 for a watch
- OOOOO THAT WAS SICK
- i love them so bad
- TWO BIRDS ONE STONE
- wait oh my god the dead goose was definitely a decoy. they never pulled the gem out of it. they dont know if its for sure the real gem. its a decoy its a decoy
- "or yknow whatever it is that goes after geese. lion ? i dont know." how is one man so babygirl.
- SHERLOCK STIMMING
- HE SAID THE THING !!! HE SAID NO SHIT SHERLOCK !!! I MEAN HES LITERALLY TALKING ABOUT HOW THERE IS NO SHIT BUT STILL !!
- "YOUR GOOSE IS CONSTIPATED !!"
- "alright heather, just gonna- just gonna take a quick peek at your ass."
- i was so right i was so right im foaming at the mouth hehehehe
- sherlock mic time
- john whispering sweetly to heather and comforting her. i love you so much john. "hey its okay heather(? i think he says heather i am struggling to make out what hes saying), we all get sore bottoms from time to time"
- wait was i wrong ??
- oh god sherlock.
- MIC UP HEATHERS ASS.
- OH MY GOD IT WAS HIS WATCH NOT A DECOY I WAS SO CLOSE
- john stick your hand up that gooses ass !!!!
- poor heather
- WAS THE SQUELCHING NECESSARY.
- HAHAHAHAAA HES SO PISSED
- sherlock: "long old day really"
john: " just dont talk. just. dont even talk."
sherlock: "when do you want to eat ?"
john: "hmm. im gonna go wash my hands again."
- this is such a married couple "fight" if im being honest with yall
- immediate whiplash from the sudden christmas vibes
- my heart is so full.
- :(( their dinner has been interrupted :((
- "does your know no bounds? you can beg all you want." GOD I LOVE WHEN SHERLOCK GETS LIKE THIS
- YEAH BRO LET THEM GET BACK TO THEIR CHRISTMAS DINNER
- GIFTS !!!!!!
- SHERLOCK IS SO HAPPY IM GONNA CRY
- JOHN GOT HIM FUCKING CUSTOMIZED EAR DEFENDERS IM FUCKING SOBBING.
- HE GOT JOHN A GIFT TOO HE GOT JOHN A GIFT TOO
- sherlock.
- JOHN.
- he is wearing and enjoying the watch.
- OBVIOUSLY IT FUCKING SMELLS JOHN.
- this podcast is gift enough for us john
- JOHN RIPPING INTO THE SINGERS ASS HAHAHAHAAAAA
- shout out to adam for having incredible vocals though. such a good singer. that was very pretty.
my heart always feels so fucking full after every sherlock & co episode. i love this pod so much.
73 notes · View notes
marvelfanfn2187a113 · 7 months
Text
A Supernatural Meeting at 221c Baker Street
Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, Sherlock and John x reader (platonic)
Requested by Anonymous
Synopsis: you go to university in London, and make some interesting friends.
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“So, this is the place,” Dean glanced around your small apartment with an appraising look.
“Yes, and it’s perfectly safe,” you scoffed. “No mold, no holes, no-“
The sudden crack of gunfire had both your brothers on high alert, but you just rolled your eyes.
“Excuse me,” you huffed, heading out your door and towards your neighbors, 221B Baker Street. Your brothers followed close on your heels.
“What the heck was that?” Sam demanded, and you waved him off.
“Nothing, I’ll take care of it,” you knocked on the door, and within seconds Mrs. Hudson was at the door, waving her hands frantically.
“Oh he’s shooting again, and John is out doing the shopping, will you please talk to him?”
“Of course Mrs. Hudson. These are my brothers, Sam and Dean, they’re going to stay down here with you while I talk to Sherlock, if that’s ok.”
Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth to reply, but Dean beat her to it.
“Like crap we are. You’re not confronting some crazy shooter alone.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” you sighed. “Sherlock’s not dangerous, he’s just an imbecile.” You headed up the stairs towards Sherlock’s door, and despite your protests, your brothers followed.
You didn’t bother knocking as you shoved the door open, and Sherlock’s head jerked up in surprise, his gun hanging loosely from his hand.
“What are you-“
“Sherlock Holmes,” you glared at the man, marching up to him and holding out your hand for the gun. When he didn’t move, you snatched it out of his hands, despite his whining protests. “You’ve given poor Mrs. Hudson a heart attack, and you’re going to destroy the wall!”
“The wall is fine,” Sherlock growled.
“You’re behaving like a petulant two-year-old. You don’t have a case, so you vandalize things? That isn’t ok.”
Sherlock was about to retort, when he finally caught sight of your brothers behind you.
“Ah, Sam and Dean have come to visit.”
Sam and Dean shared a look, and you sighed.
“Sherlock, please don’t.”
“Tell Dean he can relax, the various weapons he’s itching to reach for will undoubtedly bring unwanted attention upon him.”
You glanced at Dean, and sure enough you saw his hand twitching at his side, right next to where you knew a blade was hidden.
“Dean, chill. I told you he’s not dangerous.”
“You think so?” Sherlock looked offended.
“How’d you-“
“Don’t,” you cut off Dean’s question. “Don’t ask, it just encourages him.”
“What’s going on in here?” You turned, a relieved sigh escaping you when you saw John enter the apartment. If anyone could diffuse this awkward situation between your sociopath neighbor and your overprotective brothers, it was John.
“This psychopath is shooting up the apartment,” Dean grumbled.
“High functioning sociopath,” Sherlock retorted.
“And…who are you?” John glanced back and forth between the two intimidatingly tall men in his living room, before he finally spotted you between them. “Ah, Y/N. Wait, are these…” he took another look at the boys, and you smiled.
“Yeah, this is Sam and Dean.”
“Great to meet you,” John stepped forward and shook hands with both of your brothers, who seemed hesitantly pleased at having a normal person in this conversation.
“You seem to know us,” Sam began. “But…who are you?”
“John Watson, and yeah your sister talks about you all the time. Being neighbors, we’ve gotten to know her quiet well,” John smiled at the newcomers, and they finally began to relax—slightly.
“And that guy?” Dean gestured at Sherlock.
“Ah, yes. He lives here too, he’s…different.” John seemed to piece together the last few minutes as he laid eyes on the wall. “Sherlock, the wall, again?”
“It was bothering me,” he grumbled.
“I’m sorry about him,” John sighed, turning his attention once again to the brothers.
“We’re just worried about her,” you cringed at Dean’s words, and John cut in reassuringly.
“He wouldn’t hurt a fly, he’s just a big baby.”
“Yeah I told him that, it just takes a while to sink in,” you glared at Dean when he shoved your shoulder.
“John, the case,” Sherlock suddenly bolted up, and John stared at him.
“How-“
“You’re still out of breath, you rushed up the stairs, and you have the newspaper gripped much too tightly in your hand. Something’s there, something important.”
“It’s…strange,” John admitted, and you didn’t miss the way that Dean straightened.
As John laid the paper out and Sherlock poured over it, Dean and Sam slowly came up behind him, intent on the strange and grisly crime that had just occurred. You felt a smile creep up on your face.
Maybe your crazy new friends and your strange family would get along after all.
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every once in a while, i have an urge to sit down and write an entire essay about The Purge franchise, specifically through the frame of reactions from people who either have not watched the movies or watched them while pissing on the poor.
because oh my fucking god do those reactions send me into a violent tailspin of irrational anger.
"the purge doesn't make logistical sense"
okay so have you ever heard of fiction? the train in snowpiercer doesnt make logistical sense either. it doesnt have to because its a vehicle in which to tell a story.
"people wouldnt just commit violent crimes because its legal now."
no they wouldnt. do you know that the first movie takes place on the 6th purge? do you know that story about frogs and boiling water?
"no one would ever agree to this. politicians couldnt implement this."
yeah so the fourth movie - The First Purge - is actually a prequel that explains how and why it got implemented.
see as a result of a general economic crisis, a new political party called the NFFA (new founding fathers of america) came to power, and two years into their political term, they ran "an experiment" and that experiment was the purge. the first purge took place on staten island; residents were offered $5000 to participate which comprised staying on staten island and letting the government put a tracking chip in your arm. there was also the opportunity of making more money if they "participated further."
people didnt all agree with this. thats a whole ass thing in the movie and the protagonist literally leads protests against it. it is a controversial thing. the NFFA literally have a sociologist as the face of it, one who talks to news reporters and assures people she and the experiment are apolitical.
the experiment is also fucking rigged. the government really send in roves of neo-nazis to kill citizens as a way of showing how "successful" the experiment is. it was never an experiment.
"but why would people believe that the purge is a good policy?
have you ever heard of propaganda?
throughout the films, there are constant displays of the propaganda the NFFA use to keep the citizens believing in the purge.
the NFFA are constantly lying to the citizens about the actual truth about the country. they often talk about how the stock market is doing great as evidence of a stable economy. there are fake experts in white lab coats lying to you about the purge being a good idea.
these movies are not subtle. they tell you outright that the government is lying to the people.
jesus fucking christ, in the third movie, part of the plot is the fact that in response to corruption being revealed, people are turning against the purge and protesting. dante bishop is a goddamn anti-purge activist.
"crime rate year round wouldnt go down because of the purge, that doesnt make sense "
yeah no shit sherlock. thats literally a defining theme in the entireass franchise. the government is lying. they actually use the purge as population control because theyre fascists.
in the first movie, the NFFA claim the country is basically crime-free and that the unemployment rate is 1%. do you think james demonaco wrote that with the intention of you believing it to be true? have you considered that maybe you were meant to be like huh, thats suspicious?
the first movie is the least overtly political, but one of the defining themes is in regards to the performative nature of the purge and the way it is mythologised.
"all crime is legal. so what, can i commit tax fraud?"
the rules of the purge are made up of. the entire idea is performative. the NFFA are not beholden to these rules; if it benefits them (or if not doing so poses risk to them), they will arrest you for "crimes" you committed during the purge.
in the third movie, The Purge: Election Year, they change the rules because of the risk charlie roan poses to them. roan is a senator running for president on an explicitly anti-purge platform and there is a very good chance that she will win the election, so they revoke the immunity (its still illegal to murder them) granted to government officials during the purge because they plan to kill her.
the NFFA do not care what citizens do during the purge, as long as it is not threatening to them.
"how would they even know if you killed someone an hour after the purge ended?"
they wouldnt. they also wouldnt care.
see above.
"the purge is stupid. people arent inherently violent."
no. no theyre not. thats the fucking point of these films.
they are not subtle films. they come with a free portable toilet so you can watch them without pissing on the poor.
what did you think the plots of these movies were? if the movies were not directly engaging with the concept of the purge and what it actually means, what the fuck do you think the movies are about? do you think the movies are just 90 minutes of indiscriminate violence?
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vminizzle · 1 year
Text
SERIES || HOPE - JJK
Part 3 : a new chapter
pairing : husband!jungkook × f.reader
genre : smut, fluff, angst
warnings : pet names, slight dry humping, love making, penetration, unprotected sex, marking, praising, breeding kink, creampie
words count : 3k
A/N : hi my lovely people, I hope y’all doing good and spending a nice weekend. Thank you for reading the first and second part of this "series", I hope I won’t disappoint with this third part. I got feedbacks on the two other parts and I feel so happy about it. Guys, I ain’t lying when I say reading your comments make me happy asf. I mean it. Thank you for everything! REMINDER : POOR ENGLISH. Take care of yourselves, love you all so much. - sunny
FEEDBACKS ARE VERY WELCOMED
SERIES MASTERLIST
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M RATED
THE NEXT DAY
“you ready?” Jungkook asked holding your hand.
You took a deep breath before nodding.
You were nervously standing in front of the villa front door, your friends probably doing their “everyday things” without doubting you were about to do your “comeback”.
Jungkook placed his hand on your lower back, a small gesture encouraging you to knock on the door.
You lifted your fist in the air, hesitating on knocking, many scenarios playing in your head.
“what if they hate me?” you whispered anxiously more to yourself.
“don’t say such a thing.” your husband tsked.
“they aren’t like that.” he turned your body around to face him.
He cupped your cheeks gently making you look up at him.
“C’mon, they missed you a lot. They’re gonna be happy to see you again.” he said before pecking your forehead.
You gulped before facing the door again, this time your fist coming in contact with it.
After a few seconds, a brown haired boy opened the door, a gasp escaping from his lips.
“y/n!” Hoseok said a big smile appearing on his face.
“I’m so happy to see you!” he grabbed you by your shoulders embracing you in a warm hug.
“Hoseok, I’m so happy to see you too.” your hands flew to his back to hug him tighter making him chuckle.
“oh, did you grow up?” he joked touching your head only to light up the mood more.
“Hey JK!” Hoseok said loudly making the concerned man grin.
“how you doin’ man?” he hugged his friend quickly.
“much better.” he smiled looking at you.
”please come in guys.” he moved to the side allowing Jungkook and you to enter the house.
Walking to the spacious living room, you were met with the familiar scenery :
Jimin laying on the couch with his phone, Taehyung sat down on the carpet with a drawing book, Yoongi headphones on with his laptop and Namjoon standing in front of the glass door, admiring whatever he was looking at.
Perhaps, the sunflowers Hoseok planted recently?
“guys we have visitors!”
Jimin looked up from his phone screen, his eyes widening as he jumped out the couch.
“y/n! You’re back!” he immediately took your in his arms.
Jin came out from the kitchen with furrowed eyebrows.
“and now why are you yelling?” he asked frustrated, he probably told the boys to be quiet for him to cook peacefully.
He opened his mouth surprised as he noticed you standing in the middle of the room.
“oh my- guys! y/n, is here!”
“no shit Sherlock.” Jungkook rolled his eyes teasingly to annoy him.
Taehyung stood up “we missed you so much, you can’t even imagine.”
You smiled at him, Jimin finally letting go of you.
“It’s nice to see you.” Yoongi walked to where you were standing and side hugged you.
“yea it’s nice to see you again y/n.” Namjoon approached, patting your shoulder.
Jimin looked at you with his teary eyes, a little smile decorating his lips.
“please don’t cry.” You pouted, your eyes getting teary again.
“And now how do you want me not to cry? I was worried, I didn’t see my best friend for about a month and you dare asking me that?” Jimin protested.
You lowered your head, feeling bad about making them feel like that.
You took him in your arms again “I’m so sorry, I feel so b-”
“please no. It’s ok, let’s no.” he said hugging you tightly making you chuckled.
Jin, Namjoon, Taehyung, Hoseok and Yoongi encircled you and Jimin in a big hug making Jungkook coughed.
“Well, I’m glad to see you too guys.” he said with a poker face making everyone laugh.
The boys ran to him greeting him.
“so how are you both?” Namjoon asked as he signaled you to sit on the couch.
You looked at Jungkook before clearing your voice.
“I’d really like to apologize to you guys.” you started catching everyone’s attention.
“I was being disrespectful toward you for the past few weeks-”
“what are you even talking about?” Jin cut you off with a serious face.
“Please guys, listen to me.” you asked making them nod.
“I feel bad for making you feel like I was ignoring you or whatever. It was selfish of me and .. I regret it. You guys didn’t do anything but be patient and kind to me. I don’t deserve you.” you sighed.
“It was my problem and I acted like it was your fault or I don’t know… i just .. I’m so sorry, please accept my apologies.” you looked down.
It was silent for a moment. Jungkook took your hand in his gently, caressing the back of it with his thumb.
“y/n.” Jimin came to sit next to you.
“please don’t apologize. You don’t have to. It’s understandable. We aren’t mad at you or whatever you´ve had thought. We were just worried and nothing more. We missed you but never we’ve been mad at you during that period. You needed time for yourself, to recover and to take care of yourself. And you do deserve us, yea?” he said putting his hand on your shoulder making you look at him.
“thank you so much guys.” you wiped your tears with the back of your hand.
Jungkook got up clapping his hands “well, big hug?” he smiled widely.
“big hug!” Hoseok screamed making everyone laugh.
The rest of the day flew so fast, you spent your time talking about what the guys have been doing during this long month while eating Jin’s new recipe, which was just heaven for mouth.
4 MONTHS LATER
“ahhh what a nice evening.” you hummed as you took off your coat throwing it in the nearest surface.
“I agree. It was pleasant.” Jungkook said making you nod as you let your body fall back on the couch.
“And the food was just.. delicious!” you exclaimed as your took your shoes off, closing your eyes.
“I’m sure of one thing, I’ll go to that restaurant again.” Jungkook affirmed.
“You good?” He asked as he approached you.
You opened your eyes smiling “yea.” you patted the space next to you telling your husband to sit.
“I love you.” you laid your head on his shoulder making him smile.
“I love you more Mrs. Jeon.” he kissed your forehead making you giggle.
After some good minutes, Jungkook shifted in his place making you look at him.
“y/n.” he started a bit nervous.
“let’s try again.” he whispered hesitantly.
You stared at him speechless. You just couldn’t think straight at the sudden demand.
“I mean.. no.. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t had asked that now.” he immediately said waving awkwardly.
You blinked several times before taking his hands in yours on your lap.
”Jungkook.“ you whispered making him look at you, his eyes full of regret.
”I’m sorry, I asked and I didn’t even know if you’re ready or if you still want or if-“ you put your finger on his mouth stopping his blabbing.
You chuckled at his confused face ”don’t apologize, I want it.“ you said.
”I’m not forcing you y/n-”
“i know. I just, you know, I’ve been thinking about it these days.. about trying again." you confessed making him let a deep breath out.
“I thought I pressured you.” he put his hand on his chest.
“what? no.” you laughed.
You turned your body completely to face him.
“I want to have a baby with you.” you took his face in your hands, pecking his lips quickly leaving the man speechless.
“gosh I love you.” he breathed out making you laughed.
You stood up taking his hand in the process and lead him to the bedroom upstairs.
You closed the door behind you as you walk into the bedroom with your husband.
Your hands were flat against his shirt-covered chest making you feel how strong he was.
Jungkook stared down at you as you unbuttoned the shirt’s buttons painfully slow.
You looked up at him surprised as he suddenly grab you by your hips pulling you closer to him.
“stop teasing love.” he groaned making you bit your bottom lip.
“I’m not.” you smirked before yanking his black shirt off, dropping it in the carpeted floor.
He smirked back turning your body around before pushing your hips back against him, making you feel how hard he was.
“I’m trying to be patient, but you see it’s getting harder.” he murmured into your ear before biting your earlobe making you moan softly, the sound, a melody to him.
His large hands went on your stomach, sliding down to your thighs, lower until they reached the end of your dress.
“May I?” he waited for your consent until you murmured a little “yes”.
Jungkook kissed your neck as he slid your dress up, but before he could continue you grab his hands “wait.”
“what is it? did I do something?” he looked at you worried making you shook your head.
“nah but you’ll ruin my dress if you take it off like that, the zipper is just right there.” you pointed to the side of the dress.
“oh man, you serious right now?” he closed his eyes sighing.
“hey hey I love that dress!” you slapped his chest making him laugh.
“ok ok m’aam, I will take it off properly then .” he lifted an eyebrow up making you grin.
“go on mister.”
One of his hand was resting on your waist as the other one went to the zipper dragging it down slowly revealing your soft skin.
You helped him remove the dress, still caring about the precious material, making your husband roll his eyes.
Leaving you in your black lingerie, Jungkook had to hold himself from drooling before the beauty standing in front of him.
“fuck, you look so good”.
You hid your face behind your hands “stop it please.”
“no. you really look like a goddess darling.” he licked his lips.
“thank you.” you hugged him.
He patted your head before sighing.
“y’know we’re supposed to make a baby.” he joked.
You parted away pinching his side making him wince “I was joking.”
You put your hands around his neck “now come here.” you pulled him down for a kiss.
He pulled you against him, feeling his warm skin against yours.
Your hands cascaded down his stomach until they reached his belt, you broke the kiss, looking up at him waiting for his consent.
“go on darling.” he caressed your cheek.
Without hesitating you unbuckled his belt pushing his pant down as he stepped out of it.
You walked him backward to the bed making him sit on the edge.
He made you sit on his lap, resting his hands on top of your thighs.
“I can’t wait to show you how much I love you.”
“don’t waste time then.” you put your hands on his shoulders, leaning into his neck to place soft kisses.
“show me how much you love me.” you said making him closed his eyes.
“show me how much you want me.” you bit his neck teasingly
You didn’t know where this boost of confidence came from but it felt so good.
“fuck.” his hands gripped the flesh of your thighs tightly as you started grinding on his confined bulge.
“enough.” he groaned stilling your hips.
“I can’t anymore.” he said impatient before switching position, laying you on your back and getting on top of you.
He leaned down, capturing your lips into a sweet kiss.
His hands went behind your back trying to take your bra off.
After all these years, Jungkook kept on struggling with it. You chuckled sitting up and unhook the material that annoyed your husband.
“there you go.” you discarded the bra on the pile of clothes near the bed.
He sighed “next time I’ll get it.” he pecked your lips.
Jungkook pushed you on your back gently again, lowering himself on you.
He started leaving wet little kisses between the valley of your breasts, his hands on each sides of your hips as he kept on going down slowly.
You could felt butterflies in your stomach as his mouth arrived near your navel.
“you’re so pretty, look at you.” he murmured against your skin, goosebumps raising at the praises.
You moaned when he bit the inside of your left thigh. His fingers started playing with the waistband of your panties.
“please take it off.” you whined getting impatient.
“as you wish.” Jungkook executed.
He was about to kiss higher when you pulled on his hair “what is it?” He asked confused.
“please let’s skip foreplay, I need you.” you pleaded.
“so eager huh.” Jungkook teased making you roll your eyes before you pulled him up by his arm.
“please.” you closed your eyes desperately.
He bit back a smile.
“fine fine.” he finally decided to get rid of his boxer, letting him bare on top of you.
He positioned himself in between your legs, rubbing his cock between your glistening lips.
“stop teasing.” you looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows angrily.
“don’t make that face babe, you look nothing but adorable.” he pinched your cheek.
“Stop it Kook!” you slapped his back making him laugh.
“fine.” he grinned.
“are you ready my love?” he aligned himself at your entrance, now looking at you carefully.
You nodded holding his bicep tightly as he entered you painfully slow.
“fuck.” Jungkook groaned as he lowered his head into the crook of your neck.
“you’re so tight.” he breathed out before looking up at your face.
Your eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed, your lips ajar as you tried to divert your mind off the painful feeling down there.
“you good princess?” he kissed your cheek.
“please move.” you whined.
Jungkook started moving in and out making you bite your bottom lip hard.
“you feel so good.” he panted as he picked up the pace making you moan.
“don’t stop oh my- faster!” you demanded as he hit that spot that could make you see stars again and again.
It’s been so long since the two of you had this intimate moment.
You needed that.
You needed to feel each others again, you needed to find yourselves.
“fuck! yes like that!” You threw your head back as he grabbed one of your thigh to lift your leg a bit higher so he could reach deeper inside you.
“Jungkook! right there!”
“fuck I love it when you moan my name like that!” he moaned.
“do I make you feel good sweetheart?” he said before sucking on your sweet spot.
Your hands travelled to his muscular back burying your nails into his flesh as they form little crescents.
The burning sensation sending pleasure to the man as he left a love bite in your neck making you sob, your head spinning as your body received pleasure from everywhere.
From his rough hands caressing your sides, his lips doing wonders onto your neck and collarbones, his hips moving more and more harder into yours making you feel like lightheaded.
“I’m close!” you cried out.
Jungkook looked down at you with lust, you looked so ruined.
The man above you bit his lips, the view too attractive, he loved seeing you like this.
You gasped as you felt his fingers travelling down between your bodies to rub on the bud of nerves helping you reach your high easily.
You involuntary tightened around him making him moan loudly.
“I can’t- fuck it I’m close too.” he let out.
He held your hips strongly as he thrust faster and faster.
“I’m gonna put my babies into you f-fuck and make you the mother of my children. You want that my love?” Jungkook said, lust fogging his mind.
Your walls started convulsing around him, your climax nearer.
He held your hands, placing them at each sides of your head as he intertwined his fingers with yours.
You cried out as you came around him.
Your hold tightening his hands, your eyes closed tears escaping from them, the pleasure unbearable.
Your breathless moans pushed him over the edge as he cum inside you.
His hot cum warming you inside, filling you up to the brim.
“you’re gonna look so good with your belly swollen… carrying my child.” he whispered against your sweaty skin.
“I love you y/n.” he laid a gentle kiss on your throat.
“I love you Koo.” you smiled shyly as you caress his soft long curly hair.
After a few minutes, your husband helped cleaning you up and changing before laying next to you.
“thank you.” he suddenly said making you look at him curiously.
“what?”
“thank you for giving me a second chance.. for the bab-” you sat up furrowing your eyebrows.
“don’t you dare continue your sentence or I’ll cut your tits.” you menaced him making him sit up while laughing.
“I’m serious.” you slapped his shoulder.
“don’t say such things. I love you. Just let’s not.. hm? It’s a new chapter of our life now.” you took his hand in yours before laying a sweet kiss on it.
He just nodded looking at you lovingly.
“I’m so lucky to have you as my wife, my best friend. You’re really the best person I’ve ever met. I love you with all my soul.” he confessed in a breath.
You chuckled before hugging him tightly.
“you’re so precious. You’re the best husband ever. I love you more than anything Jungkook. I will always.” you kissed his soft lips making him hummed.
You both looked into each other’s eyes with tired smiles.
“now let’s go to sleep. You almost got me unconscious.” you joked making the man smirk.
“maybe I sh-”
“nah shut up.” you pulled him down with you as you lay your head on his chest comfortably.
“sweet dreams Mr. Jeon.”
“sleep well Mrs. Jeon.” he pecked your forehead before closing his eyes.
──────
A/N: hi hi, thank you so much, if you guys read this, it means that your read until the end so thank you a lot. I hope i didn’t disappoint. Please don’t hesitate to leave feedbacks! If you want to be added or removed from the taglist just let me know. Love you guys. I’ll prob post the next part next week :)
TAGLIST: @btssevenx @starstruckfangirls @riworlds @babycandy111 @chimmisbae @borahaexoxo @bxcndd @tokiodori @jungkooksseuphoria @manuosorioh@axa-00 @kleirielk @kissme-ornot @delasmooth @cartiluv3r @lalita-7 @ohyeahjk @starlight-1010 @burnahtsw @kookietkk @0funsite0
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𝐁𝐞𝐝𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬
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𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Oh no, reader! Are you feeling unwell?? Sherlock has the hot soup and blankets ready. Just one problem... he's not used the whole "taking-care-of-people" thing. This might be a problem. 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟
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Sherlock paced the length of the flat, dialling John's number as he went. Only the rings of a busy line sounded. "Come on," he muttered. "In this lifetime, dear friend."
"Hello?"
Sherlock let out a sigh of relief.
"John, Baker Street. Come at once."
From the other end of the line, John sighed. "Here we go again."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your calls only ever come with strings attached. You can't expect me to come running each time!" 
Sherlock stopped pacing. "Isn't that the point of our friendship? I summon you, you move to my beck and call? It's harmonious."
"Listen mate, we'll have to run through your mobile etiquette later on, yeah? Mary and I have dinner reservations. I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, but figure it out!"
"Tell your wife that dinner's off," Sherlock pressed. "We need our doctor on Baker Street." He scratched the back of his neck impatiently. "Y/N is ill. I wouldn't have called otherwise." 
John clicked his tongue. "Is she really?"
Sherlock grinned at John's softened tone. He was depending on his friend's sympathy. Y/N had caught cold earlier that day and Sherlock desperately needed help in caring for her. He had promised to join Lestrade on-site for a triple homicide case, and refused to miss it on account of his partner's sore throat.
"Yes, she's terribly sick," he explained, carefully. "I can hardly get a word from her. Chills, fatigue, aches and pains. The poor girl needs you." Sherlock checked his watch, pleased with his performance. If John arrived within the next half hour, there would still be enough time to catch Lestrade at the crime scene.
John was quiet for a moment as he deliberatated. "Send Y/N mine and Mary's love," he decided. "I'll be over in the morning to check on her. In the meantime, you'll have to play nurse. Best of luck!"
The call ended.
Sherlock frowned. "John?" he called. "John, are you there? Hello?"
A fit of coughing sounded across the flat. Sherlock glanced in its direction before tossing the mobile to the sofa. He crinkled his nose with displeasure.
"Sherlock," a voice croaked from the bedroom. "Could you get me a glass of water, please?"
Sherlock kicked at the rug. "Wondeful," he muttered. "I'm grounded." In a louder voice he called, "I'll be with you in a moment!"
Sherlock shrugged off his coat and settled in for a night at home. Rolling up his sleeves, he set out for the kitchen.
***
Y/N lay worn on the bed. Her head ached, her throat burned, and her nose was irritated from the sting of tissue.
It was late in the evening, but she couldn't sleep. She tried closing her eyes and snuggled closer to Sherlock's side of the bed. She had nearly dozed off when the room's lights were switched on.
"Drink?"
Y/N sat upright, her eyes bleary with sleep. "Sherlock?" she groaned. She turned away and sneezed into the crook of her arm.
Sherlock swatted at the air, brusquely. "Let's keep the contagion on that side of the room, yes?"
Y/N rolled her eyes. "Water?"
"Certainly." Sherlock approached the bed, holding the glass at arm's length. He assesed Y/N as she sipped, taking note of the shadows benath her eyes. As much as he cared for her, he felt awkward playing watcher for the night.
As soon as the glass emptied, Sherlock clapped his hands together. "Very good," he announced. "If that's all, I'll take my leave. Rest."
He made to leave but Y/N was quick to stop him. "Stay? Just sit with me for a while. I can't sleep."
Sherlock sighed, but turned back and perched on the corner of the bed. He didn't know how to make use of himself. "Could I perhaps bring your medication? It might help ease the symptoms." He tried to stand, but Y/N reached for his wrist.
"No, that's fine. My next dose isn't for a few hours."
Sherlock nodded. He glanced at the wall, feeling unsure of himself. It was an odd sensation. "Pilllows then?" he suggested. "Could I fetch you another glass of water?" He tried to think of more excuses to walk out the door, but Y/N just shook her head.
"Sherlock, I don't understand what's making you so uncomfortable. Its just a cold! You're a scientist, I'd think sickness is something you're well aquainted with."
Sherlock straightened, making the bed creak. "In theory, certainly. I'm afraid your situation requires a bit more practical experience. Care has never been my area of expertise."
It suddenly clicked.
"Oh, I see." Y/N smiled and gestured for Sherlock to move closer. Reluctantly, he lay beside her, leaning his head on her shoulder.
"I'm still easing up to the familiarity that comes with domestic life," he admitted. "I don't mean to be cross, I just don't want to disappoint you."
Y/N cleared her throat but her words were still raspy. "You could never disappoint me," she whispered. "You always have my back and I know you always will. Stop overthinking this. I just want you close."
"I can do that." Sherlock let out a breath, glad that Y/N could see past his foolishness and into his heart. Every day, he could feel himself open up a bit more, spurred by her affections. He would care for her tonight and always. He owed her as much.
"I love you dearly," he said. "You are aware, yes?"
Y/N let out a contented sigh as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. She closed her eyes. "I know you do."
Sherlock raised himself on an elbow and  pressed the back of his hand to Y/N's forehead. "You're very warm," he noted. "And I dont think it's my charm that has you feeling that way. Just a moment, love."
Sherlock creeped out of bed and fetched a damp towel from the bathroom. He wrung out the excess water and walked back to the room.
"This should help," he started, careful to catch any falling drops. When he reached the bedside however, Y/N was already snoring, her face hidden behind his pillow.
Sherlock placed the towel aside and perched on the side of the bed. He caressed Y/N's cheek and laid a kiss just above her hairline.
"Sleep now," he whispered. He was just about to leave when he recalled his promise. Y/N had wanted him close.
Sherlock let out a small laugh and turned off the lamplight with a click. Careful not to make a sound, he crept to his side of the bed and settled in for the night. Y/N immediately snuggled close against his chest.
"Goodnight dove," Sherlock breathed. "Sleep well."
He wrapped an arm around Y/N and ignored the worsening itch in his throat. He had the sudden feeling that he'd soon be bedridden with her far longer than expected.
For now though, he held Y/N close and didn't let go.
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Did you wanna give Game of Kings a shot???
I wrote half of this back in the summer. I'm on a quest to finish all my abandoned fics. Wish me luck! 💖
tagging: @twisted-monster ​ @starryeddie ​ @the-chaotic-cow ​ @turkisherlockian ​ @aephereal ​ ​ @andthevillainshallrises ​ ​ @baby-bloos ​ ​ @cookiemumster1 ​ ​​ @eternal-silvertongued-prince ​ ​ @bogginsreadings ​ ​ @lumosouls ​ @spencerrxids​ @serenity-lattes ​ @msseijii @classickook ​ @starstruck-loner ​    @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson ​ @lucywrites02 ​ @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes ​ @pytharuw @antsn​ @kabubsmagga @newtsniffles ​ @cemak​ @sleepilysworld ​ @bakerstreethound ​@liv-olive-oliver
*** let me know if you'd like to be added to a taglist!!
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babipurin · 3 months
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★🎸🎧⋆。 °⋆ FREEFALL COMEBACK
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SYNOPSIS: Joohyung’s styling during the comeback plus highlights during the era.
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࣪𖤐 𖦹 ༘⋆⊹ styling for ‘Chasing That Feeling’ and ‘Back For More’
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࣪𖤐 𖦹 ༘⋆⊹ makeup for the comeback/ nails/hair
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࣪𖤐 𖦹 ༘⋆⊹ highlights during the comeback
⇀ Joohyung forgetting she has short hair and accidentally flipping her non existent hair over her shoulder and giving an ‘oh shit’ face when she realized what she did causing moas to laugh with her
⇀ speaking of ‘oh shit’ Joohyung by mistake cussed during one of the recordings because her ring got caught on the wire of her ear-in causing it to rip out of her ear, but the thing is it was clear as day she said ‘fuck!’ the members tried not to laugh but in their fancams you can see them trying to relax their muscles from smiling
⇀ “Joohyung oppa!” All of their heads wiped to the direction of the voice. “Huh?!” Joohyung was surprised. “Joohyungie is pretty handsome.” Kai continued to tease Joohyung. “Moa do you think our Joohyungie is handsome?” Yeonjun asked the audience. “Yes~” moas immediately agreed.
⇀ since txt is constantly getting bigger many international fans fly to Korea to experience a comeback season which Joohyung can see that there’s more international moas during a fanmeeting outside after doing a music show, so to make them feel more welcome and comfortable Joohyung would talk in english. “Thank you for coming to Korea to see us and support our new album.” Her australian accent shine through, she gave recommendations for places to eat and visit
⇀ Joohyung being the ending fairy every single music show performance and doing silly poses each time (ex: 1, 2, 3, 4)
⇀ jellies were being fed especially during the fansigns because of all the pictures and new info
⇀ moas/jellies just kept on giving Joohyung different outfits of occupations which Joohyung was confused about this sudden trend, Joohyung was a barista, painter, Sherlock Holmes?, and someone even brought Joohyung a violin
⇀ Joohyung also joined the ‘Choi Line’ as she also dressed as a high school senior punk
⇀ “unnie you look so cool.” The moa in front of Joohyung was flustered. “Is it my hair?” Joohyung pointed at her hair. “Everything! Your hair, piercings, style.” The moa was making Joohyung smile with their flustered state. “Do you want to touch it?” That took the poor moa back, warmth rush to their ears turning them red. “What?!”Joohyung laughed at their reaction. “My hair. Want to touch it?” They shyly nodded and gave a quick pat on her head. “It’s so soft what the fuck?” Joohyung bursted out laugh at their cussing
⇀ moas on twitter and tiktok were freaking out because Joohyung posted a picture on her instagram story saying; ‘I finally finished decorating’ it was a picture of her new living room, meaning she moved out of the dorm and got a place of her own. Moas knew txt moved into a bigger apartment but didn’t know Joohyung finally decided to live on her own, especially in a hella expensive apartment with an amazing view of Seoul
⇀ adding more to the news Joohyung also revealed during another fanmeeting that she got her license and brought her first car ever making her the first member to know how to drive. Moas made jokes that the members probably fight on who’s Joohyung’s passenger princess
⇀ many idols approached Joohyung during music shows and would timidly ask her if she wanted to film their tiktok dance challenge which made moas really happy seeing their favorite idols finally interact even if it was just for a short dance
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What’s your favorite thing about your favorite Thomas Sanders character(s)?
Hey, Anon :D
Well, let's see...
Remus/Remus: I love how unsettling he is and how he's not afraid to be himself and do fuck-all. I relate a lot to being a weird, creepy sibling people are hesitant to be around, so Remus is a big comfort character. Also, I love how he's also Creativity and has lots of his own ideas, no matter how dark they may be. And his humour sends me every time (lmao). And of course, the weird facts he knows is very relatable. And the fact he just wants to be listened to and acknowledged. And all the unhinged chaos from him. And the drama and him just being a freakin' goober.
Logan/Logan: Him being a giant nerd and one of the more-mature Sides in the group is a bit relatable. I love seeing him being enthusiastic about Crofter's and making puns and when he gets to indulge in things he really likes. Him being very intelligent but also struggling with emotions and such. How bad he just wants to be taken seriously and listened and such. How he keeps getting pushed around and ignored, and when as soon as he lashes out because he's hurting, the Others blame him for it. I love how he apologizes for lashing out, though it's always his right to. I relate a lot to how he represses the "icky emotions" or refrains himself because he thinks he can't be emotional if he's to be taken seriously.
Roman/Roman: how passionate he is about things he loves, like acting and Disney and his creative merits. How he keeps getting used and manipulated and he's just so confused because he needs clear structure as the Ego, but everything is just jumbled and he's not sure what's right to do anymore. All of the angst with this poor guy is just relatable. How happy he gets when Logan asked him for his creative help!! That was a vulnerable and wholesome moment. How creative he gets and how he shows he knows his fellow Sides and friends through his gifts (him getting Janus socks for warmth and writing an entire story/fanfic/play about Sherlock for Logan). He's just so thoughtful and caring. He shows he loves them through playful teasing and jokes and banter!! And he's growing and learning and apologizing when he screws up. Like, him and Virgil getting closer and becoming besties. How insecure he is because he's terrified of failure and being imperfect and especially of rejection.
Virgil/Virgil: he's been a fav of mine since middle school, which was around the time the series was first starting and soon we met him as Anxiety (way back in 2016). I've related to him especially as someone who was a bit emo and also struggles A Lot with anxiety and an anxiety disorder(s). His fashion sense with his purple jacket/hoodie is my fav thing, btw. He was a big part of my comfort growing up. Kind of a nostalgic comfort. I love how he has spiders all over his room because I relate to loving spiders and not being scared of them. I love his sarcasm and humour and his counterpoints. I love his debate episode with Logan. This snarky spiderling was a big reason why I'm still alive, believe or not, and so he's an important character to me. Just a big Fav to me.
Janus/Janus: This sarcastic, villain-aesthetic serpent is important to me because of the fact that he's both Deceit AND Self-Perseveration. It's so damn relatable because I was the kid who knew how to lie so well that my lies were almost always regarded as truth. I had to lie and hide things to survive because I grew up as a queer Christian kid in a scary and unsupportive place. If I slipped up the slightest, there was absolute horror to pay. Also, the queer-coded villain aesthetic is one of my fav things. This man doesn't need to be that melodramatic but he is because that's what he likes to do. He's a petty lil drama king, and I love that about him. Also his [implied?] angst of having this fear of vulnerability and getting hurt again is... it's very important to me.
Patton/Patton: I relate to him the least, but oh boy do I have things to SAY. Him a total dad and making so much puns is funny to me. It's very relatable to be the kind of person so take care [or try to] of everyone else but forget about myself. Him loving cats but being allergic is comical, lmao. Him trying to repress and hide his "icky emotions" and just showing the happy positive ones is something that's a bit too relatable. As someone who's struggled with smiling depression, it can get to the point where people don't believe you when you finally show a hint of not being okay. And so you just go back to faking it, and then get ignored again whilst taking care of everyone else. But yeah, he's a pretty good character and almost reminds me of some family of mine.
c!Thomas/c!Thomas: one thing I will never get over about this character is the fact that he's a struggling artist and creator that is going through A Lot and still healing and discovering things about himself. That's some of the most relatable shit. He's so human and shows the healing process as a bumpy road which is TRUE to reality and I love it. His Sides and him are learning together, and that's just beautiful. Maybe not my most fav, but still pretty high up there on the Brainrot chart.
As you can see, I have things to say about ALL of them. All of the main seven, anyway. I'm sure I'll have lots to say once we meet and see Orange.
[sorry this was so long]
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writergeekrhw · 1 year
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I love Elementary as a Holmes adaptation, but I have to ask about the copaganda. Not so much the overall presence/depiction of the NYPD as the generally benevolent venue for Joan and Sherlock to solve crime, but rather the occasional ep that veered off into wtf-level acts of police mouthpiecing: for example, the ep where Joan and Marcus flip the eff out after discovering that Marcus' girlfriend works in Internal Affairs. I'm curious whether stuff like that came directly out of perspectives native to the writers' room, or if it was more dictated from external sources as a cost-of-doing-business requirement. Similar to, "Microsoft will give your production money AS LONG AS you show your characters using Microsoft products to positive ends", was there a "you can depict the NYPD and call it by name AS LONG AS you include such-and-such lines of dialogue/story about how Police Are Great And Admirable And Beyond Reproach"?
(I get that you may not be able to or want to answer this question, but I caught the ep with Marcus' girlfriend yesterday and it's just so...vehement, in some really fucked up ways. I can't not ask, even if you don't answer. Thank you for keeping your askbox open!)
ON COPAGANDA
Great questions without an easy answer. Personally, I'm usually very cautious about outright copaganda, though I have a very close friend who joined the CHP and rose pretty high in the ranks, and I respect the hell out of him and what he did. That said, I think police are people and run the gamut from great to awful, like anyone. Worth noting, my buddy comes from a cop family, his older brother is a cop, and I know someone from a citizen group who basically said his brother was NOT a good cop at all. The opposite.
I've mostly had pretty good experiences with police, but when I was young, I was pulled over for driving while poor. I had a weapon in the car (a wooden club). Things got very tense. And I'm pretty sure that if I weren't so damn pale, that night might have gone way worse.
My friends who don't share my skin tone have, generally speaking, a much worse time with the police. I once gave a friend of mine shit for keeping his dealer tags on his car long past when he got his plates. His response: "It's another way to prove I own this car without having to reach into my glove compartment." My response: "Oh. Sorry. I'm an idiot."
So if you want to see what I think of the police... well, I wrote Bell and Gregson as good cops. I also wrote "End of Watch" and created Gina Cortes. I think, on the balance, ELEMENTARY showed good cops and bad, including shitheals like Captain Dwyer and outright villains like Frank DaSilva.
As for Shauna, in my opinion, Bell reflects the rank-and-file dislike for IA, and the fact that he blows up their relationship over it is supposed to be a huge mistake. Shauna is ultimately a good person, and Bell's prejudice costs him what could've been a wonderful relationship.
And yet... Gregson and Bell are heroes. Pretty much straight up. Sherlock and Joan work for the police, more often than not. And this is portrayed as a good thing. We had NYPD consultants on the show, and though they were mostly very helpful with making the cop stuff realistic, and I liked them a lot, they weren't super thrilled when we did stories about bad cops. I can't ever remember steering away from those stories because of their feedback, but... yeah.
On the balance, I'd say while ELEMENTARY did have our share of copaganda, we did try to create a more nuanced portrayal of police that most network procedurals.
I totally get it if you think differently.
And thanks for watching!
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gaylilsherlock · 5 months
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Day 19: "Why wasn't I enough?"
today's prompt fill is an excerpt from My Pound Of Flesh.
“Oh, Sherlock,” Mrs Hudson couldn’t hide her upset when she greeted the trio at the door, ushering them inside. “My poor boy, look what he did to you…” she shook her head, holding in her tears as she shut the door behind everyone. She followed up the stairs slowly, Mycroft shouldering Sherlock and moving at a glacial pace to ensure no stitches came undone, and no grand effort was accidentally exerted. Anthea, it seemed, had breezed ahead and up toward Sherlock’s room, where she began setting out the medical supplies and fixing the detective’s bed, preparing it for him to rest once he’d reached there. 
Despite the effort, Sherlock could only smile at Mrs Hudson and grasp her hand. “I’m alright, Martha, really,” he reassured her. “They wouldn’t have let me come home, otherwise. Hm?” he coaxed her to look at him, and he cupped her cheek sweetly. “No tears, I’m alright,” he said again. Mrs Hudson blinked, her eyes wet despite Sherlock’s request. He wiped her cheek. 
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Mrs Hudson offered, leaving Mycroft and Anthea to carefully dress Sherlock in comfortable home clothes and settle him in bed, pillows propped under his knees and behind his head. She tried to stifle her sobs with the whistling of the kettle, but Sherlock’s hearing had always been supernaturally sharp; his face fell. 
“You’ll see that she’s taken care of?” Sherlock grasped Mycroft’s wrist as the man adjusted his brother’s pillow. “You swear to me she’ll be protected, and want for nothing,” he held Mycroft’s gaze, eyes still a little bloodshot and bruised. 
Mycroft nodded, sitting on the side of Sherlock’s bed whilst Anthea finished laying out clothes, topical creams, and bandages. “I swear it,” he pronounced. “Your Baker Street Mother’s status has been upgraded, and her financials have been assessed and added to our accounts. I’ll forward you some homes in the south of France and Greece for your approval, later.”
“She likes Torquay,” Sherlock offered. Mycroft made a face. “It’s where her sister lives now,” he explained. “She’s always talked about getting a beach home there.” He read Mycroft’s mind. “It’s not Mykonos, but find her a nice big house she can share with Marianne.” He glanced into the middle distance for a spell. “When it’s time for her to leave this place behind.”
Anthea gave Mycroft a worried, sympathetic look. Mycroft squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “Leave it with me,” he promised. “We’ll go and review your medication schedule and upcoming appointments with Mrs Hudson now, do you need an—”
“—I’m fine for now, it’s alright,” Sherlock interjected. “She doesn’t like having too many people in the flat at once for too long, give her what she needs and let her come and dote on me like she’s been wanting to,” he said, not dismissing her— rather, seeing everything unsaid in her face and wanting only to make her happy. “And Mycroft,” he thought of one last thing before he let go of his brother’s wrist and he rose to leave, “Don’t file the restraining order. And don’t,” he affixed his gaze squarely onto Mycroft’s attentive eyes. “Don’t alter his status, either. There’s a baby involved. Understood?” 
Mycroft adjusted his tie, a nervous habit he’d picked up as a child. “Though I disagree with you, I’ll honour your request,” he said, nodding with his chin at Anthea, who went back to typing on her phone in confirmation. “Shall I keep you apprised of his… situation?” he asked, disdain on his tongue. 
“No,” Sherlock replied flatly. “I don’t care whether he lives or dies, not anymore, Mycroft,” he rolled his head against the pillow. “He ripped the heart out of me.” He shut his eyes, hot with tears unfallen. “He can go to the devil.”
thank you @ailesswhumptober for the prompt!
tagging: @mormorganna @whatnext2020 @john-smiths-jawline @calaisreno @sarahthecoat @sussexlavender @safedistancefrombeingsmart @totallysilvergirl @inevitably-johnlocked @loki-lock @clueless-mp4 @gregorovitchworld @peanitbear @kettykika78 @queerholmcs @beesholmes @victorianpining @my-johnlockficrecs @a-victorian-girl @chinike @meetinginsamarra @topsyturvy-turtely
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