#yuukoku no moriarty fluff

[angelltheninth]

Heyo!! I saw you had opened requests so I came as fast as I could lol! May I request reuniting with James bonde after he comes back from a long mission?

Thank you! I hope you have a lovely rest of your day/night 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Hope you have a great day/night too and that reading this makes it so much better.

Pairing: James Bonde x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, kissing, reunions, gift giving, teasing, making out, cuddles

A/N: Finally someone who appreciates my man James Bonde! Why is he so underrated, I don't get it!

Never comes homes without a gift for you from the place he was at

Gives you a rough timeframe of when you can expect him but likes the element of surprise

James loves to carry you bridal style when he reunites with you

There aren't many things you can do to fluster him but enjoys seeing you try, mostly it's gonna get him riled up

Makes out while taking off his suit and tie, he can multitask

He likes getting lipstick all over him, but not all over his suit so if you happen to be wearing lipstick his suit has to go

Knows all your weak spots and gives attention to each one while pushing you back against the bed

Needs to feel you grinding against his leg or else he teases you about not actually missing him all that much

Loves to snuggle against your chest and feel you give him a head massage

Can't fall asleep unless he tells you he loves you

#yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #james bonde #ynm #ynm james bonde #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuumori x reader #james bonde x reader #ynm x reader #yuukoku no moriarty imagine #yuukoku no moriarty headcanons #yuumori imagine #yuumori headcanons #ynm imagine #ynm headcanons #yuukoku no moriarty fluff #yuumori fluff #ynm fluff #x reader

[scarlet-streak-fanfics]

[Untitled] Pt. 5 (1.1k words)

Back on my Sherliam shit, enjoy.

William had long ago given up on God–too many prayers unanswered, and too many run-ins with devils. He was, after all, bound for Hell, no matter what anyone else said. Louis and Albert had quickly given up on convincing him otherwise, as had each member of his team in turn. The only person still fighting him was Sherlock, the very man that Liam intended to damn him in the end.

Sherlock continued to vehemently argue for Liam’s goodness, how nothing he could possibly do would be enough to make him evil in the detective’s eyes. It made the nobleman sick to his stomach to hear those words, but Sherlock was too stubborn to drop the topic without hearing Liam’s crimes, and William would never allow that. Most days, at least. Today, the two of them had gone drinking to celebrate Sherlock solving a particularly difficult case that, for once, was not connected to the Lord of Crime’s activities–Sherlock had drunk more, leaning slightly on Liam’s shoulder for support on their way back to 221B, but Liam is definitely drunk enough to feel the effects. His chest feels slightly too warm and his thoughts a bit too sluggish, hands lingering longer than he knows they should as he settles Sherlock on the couch and brushes the long, dark hair away from those beautiful blue eyes.

He should feel ashamed of himself for letting these feelings get away from him–a condemned man doesn’t deserve this kind of love. But, when Sherlock grabs his wrist, murmuring something about him “not leavin’ me, please, Liam,” he knows that he’s a goner. So, Liam sits down and allows Sherlock to pull him almost on top of the other man. The detective swings his own legs up on the couch, tangling their legs and wrapping his arms around Liam like a child clinging to their favorite toy. He allows Sherlock to bury his face in the crook of his neck, each warm breath from the detective tickling his skin as the nobleman’s nose is filled with the familiar scent of cigarettes, alcohol, and the cologne that Liam had gifted him. Unfortunately, in his comfortable, drunk state, he also allows his thoughts to slip out into the open. “I do not deserve you, Sherlock.”

The reaction is immediate–Sherlock pushes himself so they’re both sitting upright, with the detective holding Liam up and slightly away from him to look him in the eyes. “The hell’s that s’posed t’mean, Liam?”

William takes in the slightly unfocused gaze, slurred words, and the strong smell of alcohol on his breath and decides that, for once, he’ll be honest. Sherlock won’t remember any of this in the morning and, from the fact that he’s even considering this, Liam hopefully won’t either. “Sherlock–”

“Sherly.” Liam smiles in spite of the seriousness he’s trying to show as he takes over holding up his own weight, hands planted on the couch cushions on either side of the detective to prop up his upper body. Sherlock’s insistence on the nickname intensifies the warmth in his chest. However, almost as quickly as it came, that high of affection crashes. “You wouldn’t still want me to call you that if you knew what I’ve done.”

Sherlock’s brow furrows, his lips almost forming a pout. “Not true.”

“Are you sure? Could you still care for me if I were to confess my sins to you?” There it was, the crux of Liam’s fears. Would his angel of penance and light turn his back on William upon seeing the blood that stained the nobleman’s hands? Despite all his promises and insistence, could Sherlock truly love the Lord of Crime?

“Liam?” The gentle call pulls the nobleman back to the present, where Sherlock is studying his face through half-closed eyes. One calloused hand comes up to cup Liam’s cheek, thumb brushing away tears he didn’t know were building up in the corner of his eyes. When he speaks, his words are shockingly clear for his inebriated state. “There ain’t a sin great enough t’make me stop lovin’ you.”

And isn’t that just a knife to William’s heart? Once again, the words slip out before he can stop them. “Even if I’m the Lord of Crime?”

He doesn’t want an answer to that question, he realizes, as the panic starts crashing in. Sherlock is too good of a person for his response to be anything other than William’s worst nightmares, and he doesn’t want this moment of security and comfort to end like that, with this illusion of affection crashing down around him.

The last thing he expects is Sherlock’s lips pressing against his own, warm and slightly chapped. It’s clumsy and chaste, and Liam doesn’t doubt that this is probably Sherlock’s first time kissing anyone, but it’s perfect and grounding and exactly what Liam needed. When Sherlock pulls away, leaving the nobleman slightly dazed, he kisses Liam’s cheek, just next to his ear. “Even then, I promise.”

There’s no way of knowing if Sherlock even processed William’s words or knows what he’s promised, but that means less than nothing to Liam right now. He buries his face in the detective’s shoulder, his own shoulders shaking with repressed sobs as he collapses against the other man, feeling one of Sherlock’s arms wrap around his waist as his free hand smooths down the nobleman’s silky, blond hair. If he could, he’d stay in this moment forever, Moriarty Plan and Lord of Crime be damned. If he could, he’d be Liam forever, leaving behind the life of William James Moriarty and dedicating himself to being the man Sherlock thinks he is. He knows somewhere deep in his heart that, if it were possible, he’d follow the detective anywhere, do anything he asked, as long as it meant they’d be together. But he can’t–that, after all, is what makes Sherlock so dangerous. With the right words, he could tear down everything William had sacrificed for, and Liam knows that Sherlock can never know that. For this plan to work, the detective must send the Lord of Crime to his grave with these declarations of love and devotion unspoken. The most he can do is return the kiss that the detective gave him and then some, murmuring his own love between each one as he tangles bloodstained hands in dark hair. It’s a futile, almost laughable attempt at conveying how important Sherlock’s words are to him, but it’s all Liam has.

William had long ago given up on God, but he still prays to whoever’s listening that he’ll be able to remember this in the morning–the feeling of being safe and loved even with his sins laid bare.

#merc writes #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #sherlock holmes #sherliam #yuukoku no moriarty fic #yuukoku no moriarty fluff #yuukoku no moriarty angst #I made them kiss #this is angsty and gay #like me #sherliam fic #sherlock gets drunk #william does too this time actually #tw drinking #sherliam angst #sherliam fluff

[yandere-wishes]

⋆ Anomaly ⋆

❤Summary: Reader is an anomaly. A noblewoman of foreign descent. She doesn't belong here. But oh how she wishes to burn the world down just like William.

❤Author's note: A little something for Ana (@yandere-romanticaa) I hope you enjoy it!!

❤Warnings: Reader is traumatized, Yandere behavior, killing and blood, cryptic. I swear I know how math works…I've just been slaking this summer.

There are equations written over your skin. Complex formulas he's yet to solve. Exponents and variables freckle your body, scattered shards that try to tell him something, whispering the world's secrets every time he kisses your hand. You are an anomaly he thinks. Face full of cracks where the stars seep through. You're a mistake in the universe. A perfect doll misplaced. You are something, William is almost sure of it.

At heart, William is and always will be a mathematician. It just so happens that crime and math follow the same principles. Both require diligence and practice. Carefully throughout plans of how one must approach such a conundrum. One may call it a formula or a modus operandi or anything else as jejune. But in the end, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.

And yet to Moriarty, you are an equation that refuses to be solved. An enigma he's desperately sought to unravel since your first meeting.

William notices something odd as you stroll down an exquisite exemplar of the golden ratio. Something the lord of crime can't fully place. You're akin to a puzzle missing far too many pieces to properly depict its picture. Maybe it's the setting he ponders as he watches you take careful steps in heeled shoes. Maybe it's the music from the ballroom or the meaningless prattle of the aristocrats that robs your form of all logic. Something is amiss with you and he's frantic to find out what it is.

William introduces himself when you reach the bottom of the staircase. He's never been one to show primary interest in the ladies. Rather he waits in the faint glow of the moonlight until someone approces him. Maybe it's the need to distinguish himself from the other aristocrats, maybe it's the repulsion for their customs and manners that refrains him from ever commencing idle chatter. Yet with you, a girl he's never met before, he finds it fitting to say hello first. To talk, about nothing and everything in the same breath. He mentions his admiration for the staircase in passing. Never expecting you to latch on to the words and morph them into the divine proportion. "My father was a mathematical enthusiast, he's passed that on to me as well." Your words slip into his veins like a narcotic, like the melody of an ancient tune lost to time.

William smiles, easy and bright like the melting rays of the desert sun. "Quite the coincidence, I'm a mathematics professor at Durham University". There's a giggle that bleeds from your rose-tainted lips. Reverberating in the chambers of his heart. "A toast then" you propose "to the lethal magnificence of calculation"

You click your champagne glass against his, as something feral festers within the young nobleman.

It's only days later when he's replaying that night in his head as he sips his afternoon tea. That he realizes your champagne glass was empty that whole time. How strange he pondered, wondering if he'd even seen you touch a single intoxicant all evening.

Four days and three sleepless nights later William finds himself tracing the letters of your name with tender adoration. As if he's engraving prayers upon his bones. He needs to see you again as desperately as he needs to breathe. The letter he writes is aloof, meticulous. Prying on your curiosity, hoping you'll take the bait. One miserable day later Louis delivers a letter bathed in your fragrance. Informing the lord Moriarty of your acceptance of his invitation for tea. William folds the letter with the leniency of a biologist regulating their slides. Tucking it away within his breast pocket.

You wear red when you oblige his invitation. An odd red, one that breaks his perception of the color. It's too vibrant yet too opaque. He's beginning to wonder if everything about you is an irregularity. When he ushers the conversation to your garment you merely laugh and brush it off as having belonged to your mother. There's something wrong with that reply as if the universe weeps at your every word. William watches astonished as if he's been told a secret lost to time.

It becomes a habit, an obsession, an addiction really. Tea thrice a week with the woman who plagues his dreams. He lets his cover slip between sips of tea. Permitting you glances into his dark affairs. There's a moment that breaks the norm. A bizarre instance when you ask him to spare no detail in recounting how a poor tormented man murdered the marquess that raped his wife. William stops the proclean cup mere millimeters from his lips. His voice dies in his throat as his mind races to find an appropriate way to tell a lady such a bloody tale. For a second reality slips away.

Reality has a tendency to slip away unnoticed when he's with you.

You weave William tales of foreign lands that sound like they belong in children's fairytales. You tell him about heroes who've done the impossible and kings whose hearts are as pure as the summer skies.

Something about you reverberates in his subconscious. Oh, how he wishes to engulf you, to pick apart your flesh revealing all those dainty secrets you keep in your pretty little chest.

He asks how you know of such utopic lands. You smile. "Because I once lived there"

One day, as Louis serves black tea with rose petals, you bring up a rather peculiar request. "Permit me to assist you in your quest for equality lord Moriarty." William's beginning to believe he's going mad when he hears you. Albit it may as well be expected. Any sane noble lady would have run away many times over. Yet you remain. Forever poised in your adorned seat. Now more than ever William wishes he knew what you truly are. "I want to help you", you plead. "Allow me to aid you in burning this world down and starting anew". He shouldn't have accepted, he shouldn't have nobbed. He shouldn't have left his seat to trace the side of your face with more love than he knew he possessed.

Sometimes, William wonders if something is haunting you, an apparition nesting within the depths of your heart. He ponders what could drive a brilliant mind such as yours to crave the blood of the rich. You once told him about a heritage disrespected. A legacy buried under sand and water lilies. He's yet to find the true meaning behind those words. Does that make you a threat or an ally? Can either be exalted to a lover?

Moriarty promises you the world. Promise you revenge. He's not sure if he too will burn away in your vendetta. Yet he's willing to take the risk if he can hold you close after every murder case.

"I've tried to kick the habit of strolling around the cemeteries at night. Yet I must admit I rather enjoy this." William smiles at your twisted words as he leads the way. If everything has goes as planned -which is most often the case- then the two of you should be prepared for quite the spectacle. A certain Count - who had shown more interest in you than Moriarty could permit- would be getting knifed by his butler whose life he had ruined. A whole new meaning to the term 'the butler did it'. Quite comedic from William's perspective.

You lean on a withering oak tree, hidden by London's thick fog. William stands by your side, the personification of a grim reaper. You watch the play begin, the cobblestone stage illuminated by the blood-red moon. The confrontation, the knife being thrust into the rich vermin's heart. Again and Again and Again. The butler screams into the bloodstained night. His words quelled by his sobs and screams of agony from his dying tormentor. You only catch half of his reasoning, half of his allegations. And yet that is more than enough to comprehend his motive. You sympathize with the poor man, one whose scars mirror your own.

William's scarlet gaze befalls you, as the performance nears its end.

You pick at your nails in a manner that William finds a little too adorable.

You are an anomaly masquerading as a human. Depression lays heavy over your bones as stardust gathers in the corners of your eyes.

You pray to the creator of the moon, pray for a place long since destroyed.

"I've yet to find someone who truly understands me," you say as the two of you begin the journey back to the Moriarty estate.

"Then we share the same burden, my lady," William says, stopping in his tracks.

He lays a firm hand on your shoulder pulling you backwards into his embrace. Somewhere in the distance, three crows consecrate you with their blessings. Willian's hands rest heavy on your sides. He holds you like a little boy holds his father's arithmatic books. Full of care, full of wonder. "What are you" he whispers into your ear. Leaving a playfully hard bite to the shell. His lips trace yours like one traces a treasure map. Trying to unearth all the riches of the world. "My anomaly" he mutters before he finally commits.

When Moriarty kisses you the whole world melts away.

There's an intriguing lightheadedness that follows. As if the stars themselves have exploded within you. You wonder if basking in his presence will mend your tattered heart.

"My precious little anomaly"

Tag list: @elvyshiarieko @himerurun @latolover @aru-nightmare @guidingstarsstuff @myfancollections

#moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #mtp william #mtp x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #yandere william james moriarty #yandere moriarty the patriot #yandere yuukoku no moriarty #yandere william james moriarty x you #william james moriarty fluff #yandere x you #yancore #yandere x reader #yuukoku no moriarty william james moriarty x reader #yuumori #yandere mtp #ynm william #ynm x reader #ynm william x reader #william james moriarty x you

[tulipsforvin]

“How would the Moriarty Brothers react to their S/O being insulted by a Noble?„

Format: Headcannon

Content under the cut !

William James Moriarty:

— Narrowed eyes and small frown, tight jaw and unamused face.

— He is the type of man who, under the façade of a deceitfully calm expression, quips right back at the person who would dare insult his other half and then plays it off as a joke. His insults are so, so, so very subtle that the detractor wouldn't be able to fully comprehend what was said until the others begin to stiffle their laughs and snickers.

— Would probably step up beside his darling and place a warm hand on their hip to reassure them, using a thumb to caress them.

— The person who insulted his significant other would probably walk away embarrassed. If the insult was too rude and too hurtful, he'd make the other person apologize to them.

— “My, is that the sound of retreat?” He refers wittily to the sound of the footsteps of your critic walking away, their face flushed in embarassment and utterly humiliated.

— Ride back home in their carriage is him comforting his partner over and over even if they tell him multiple times that they're alright. “If you are feeling even the tad bit insecure, I must remind you that you're absolutely gorgeous and—” “I said I'm okay.” “But—” “William.” “....it seems I spoke too much. Forgive me.”

Louis James Moriarty:

— It's obvious he's very protective over the ones he loves and truly cares about. Very evident how he's always trying to stab Sherlock with his butterknife anytime he tries to approach his older brother William.

— He takes a protective stance, probably a few steps ahead of his love to shield his them.

— Clenched fists and lips pressed into a thin line, glaring daggers at the one who insulted his S/O.

— He would try and get his darling's belittler to apologize at first, head bowed and all. And if the critic refused, do expect him to start throwing hands. Or more specifically, knives.

— On the way back home, he would most likely be grumbling to you saying things like “Don't listen to (Detractor Name), they don't know what they're talking about.” or “How dare they? What do they know about you? Your magnificence?”

— This man is probably more offended by the insults towards his lover than his S/O, who received the insults themselves. He's seething.

Albert James Moriarty:

— Grip on his S/O's hand or his glass of wine grows tighter, smile that's beginning to grow awry and turn into a scowl instead.

— He is the mixture of his younger brothers. Being a high-ranking noble, he is the epitome of elegance and gracefulness at all times. That includes his insults — sharp and yet so creative, using backhanded compliments and his forcefully used smile that's most likely been over and over to very efficiently and discreetly insult his partner's critic back.

— Steps ahead of you, shielding his love or either wraps one arm around your shoulder to pull them closer to him.

— Like his younger brother William, he uses his thumb to caress over the fabric of their shoulder or if they're wearing something off shoulder, caresses the bare skin over their shoulder to reassure them tenderly.

— And like his youngest brother Louis, he isn't afraid to threaten his sweetheart's critic.

— “One can only imagine the repercussions if I were to bring your remarks to the attention of the esteemed House of Nobles. I shudder to think what would happen of you if I were to recount your unruly words there.”

— Cracks jokes about the noble who insulted his darling back home until his S/O swears that they feel their sides split from laughing too much.

#william james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty x y/n #william james moriarty x you #x reader #x you #x y/n #louis james moriarty #louis james moriarty x you #louis james Moriarty x reader #louis james Moriarty x y/n #albert james moriarty #albert james moriarty x you #albert james moriarty x reader #albert james Moriarty x y/n #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #james moriarty #yuumori #fluff #headcannons #Moriarty the Patriot headcannons

[ryuusea]

veil

I’d been wanting to draw something like this since ch.66, thinking of the trope of white sheets or curtains looking like… wedding veils.

fun note: the plant is a christmas cactus that can bloom red flowers in winter.

#sherliam #I WAS STARING AT THIS AT 4AM WHEN I FINISHED DROWNING IN CHEESE AND FLUFF #yuumori #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #liam james moriarty #comic #they go out on missions so I thought they can’t have high maintenance plant #they can handle cold harsh weather and bloom in winter if properly cared for :’’’)

[beneathashadytree]

Hello there! I would like to request prompt 43 with William James Moriarty from Moriarty the Patriot and the reader is the one saying it to him. As for me I'd like it to be a bit suggestive if that's okay with you 🫠

ALL MARKED-UP - WILLIAM MORIARTY X READER

Warnings : nothing NSFW but somewhat suggestive, this isn’t proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : a little spicy fluff I think

Word count : 0.8K words

Additional notes : Hi nonnie! Interestingly enough, as soon as I saw the prompt, I felt like it had to be the reader saying it, so kudos to you for choosing your request so perfectly! I had fun with this, and I hope you like it!💗

Prompt : “If you give me a hickey, I'll have to give you one too.”

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

“Oh dear. You look rather upset.” William’s chuckle came from the doorway, where he was leaning as he watched them huff and puff in frustration.

With a glance of annoyance, they rolled their eyes and went back to fidgeting with the collar of their shirt. “No thanks to you, of course. The marks you left are conspicuous, to say the least.”

“We were in a rush,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “And you know I tend to get… enthusiastic when you drag me into abandoned rooms in the middle of balls.”

“That was yesterday evening. It’s been a whole twenty four hours,” they groaned, releasing the collar of their top as they realized that there was no use in trying to hide it with just their clothes. “I thought it would be gone by now.”

“I’m sorry, my dear.” William walked up to them, looking anything but sorry as he stared into the mirror. “On the bright side, I suppose no one’s going to have any doubts anymore as to whether or not our marriage is a happy one?”

“Don’t remind me,” they grumbled, feeling their indignation rise once again at his words. Their fumbling in their drawers grew messier as their agitation increased. “The nerve of him! Lord Byron’s certainly got no limits to his rudeness. And the Viscount! He thinks that his own shoddy marriage is enough of a reason to project on everyone else’s.”

Their husband hummed. “I think I heard someone last night, mentioning that his son’s legitimacy was in question.” A mischievous glint twinkled in his eye through the mirror, as he watched them finally pull out their makeup kit and set out to try and cover the blooming red and purple marks on their neck and collarbone. “If someone somehow manages to slip that he bears an uncanny resemblance to his wife’s stableboy up in her estate, then that would be entirely coincidental, would it not?”

Pausing in their ministrations with their powder puff mid-air, they turned to look at him with a look that was a mix of horror and awe. “You truly are something else, Liam. I’d hate to get on your bad side.”

With a smile they could never resist, he rested his hand on their waist, leaning in to press a soft kiss to their forehead, before whispering, “After last night, you should know precisely which side is my favorite.”

His seductive tone didn’t slip past them unnoticed, and they could feel their throat getting drier at the implications of his words, and the memories they brought back. With shaky hands, they tried to finish applying the makeup as best as they could, in a vain attempt to hide their lovebites.

Of course, ever-perceptive William would notice their trembling, if the laugh that left him was any indication. “Is there anything I can do now? Though it does wound me so to see you trying to disguise them, I understand why the nobility seeing them would upset you.”

A thoughtful look crossed their face, before they turned in his arms to face him properly. “I might have an idea to scandalize them even more.”

He arched his eyebrow at that. “Oh?”

Their eyes now held the sort of glimmer that always appeared whenever they made love between the sheets until the break of dawn and until they grew delirious with pleasure, or whenever they escaped for a passionate, whirlwind of a tryst with him down the hallways of some nobleman’s mansion. It was a look he’d never get tired of; a look that spoke volumes of how much they’d always want him.

Looking as tempting as ever, they smiled wickedly as they leaned in close enough to smell his cologne. Deft fingers found his own pale neck, teasingly stroking the skin and watching as it pebbled at their touch. “If you give me a hickey, I'll have to give you one too, don’t you think?” Daringly, their teeth nipped at a particular spot underneath his jaw that always had him swallowing thickly. “Or ten.”

“Well,” William managed to say after a few beats of stunned silence, somehow managing to sound somewhat well-composed, though some other body parts proved otherwise. “I can quickly think of ten places for them. Do be quick though, darling. We wouldn’t want them to think we’re improper, would we?”

“Oh no, certainly not,” they chuckled, moving back to fall against the bed behind them and pulling him to them by the belt loops. “The hosts themselves can’t be too late, I suppose.” Toying with the button of his pants, they could hear his breath hitching. “You’ll have to forgive me for being a bit rough with you then, if we want to greet the guests on time.”

“Have me as you wish,” he mumbled, before tumbling back onto the bed with his ever-so-tempting spouse in a flurry of eager limbs and unabashed desire.

Taglist : @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights @thispersoniscrazy @wifeofkyojuro

#imagine #oneshot #anime #fluff #domestic #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #ynm #mtp #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #william moriarty oneshot #william moriarty fluff #spicy #ynm william #ynm william moriarty #yuumori william #yuumori william moriarty #liam moriarty #william x reader #moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader

[intheticklecloset]

Not My Name (Moriarty the Patriot)

Summary: William and Sherlock are finally alone together, but before things can get exciting, they start off learning other things about each other...

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @giggly-squiggily!! SURPRISE!! >:D

Thank you for giving me a reason to stick with Tumblr, for fangirling with me about our favorite shows and ships, for giving me the courage to start posting stories again, for being there for me in my darkest moments. I couldn't have asked for a better friend. I'm honored to know you, and I hope your birthday is THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!! 💖💖💖

(Side Note: This is my first and probably only attempt at Moriarty the Patriot, so I gave it everything I had. I hope you all enjoy!)

Word Count: 2,855

~~~

Will didn’t typically bring strange men home from bars.

Technically speaking, he still hadn’t brought a strange man home. He’d brought home a man he knew – a man he’d wanted to get involved with for some time, if he was honest. A man Louis would absolutely kill him for bringing into their home if he found out.

Sherlock Holmes let out a snort. “You’re going to waste time with that?”

Will stopped shrugging out of his suit jacket halfway, the sleeves still on his forearms and the collar bunched around his waist. “Would you prefer I didn’t?”

“There’s no need to bother with that.” Sherlock smirked at him suggestively. “We can have plenty of fun with the clothes still on.”

“Call me a perfectionist, but I do prefer to keep my clothes tidy, Mr. Holmes.”

“Still on with that ‘Mr. Holmes’ nonsense, Professor?”

Will couldn’t help but smile at him. “For now.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and lay back on the mattress in Will’s room, groaning. “I’m literally in your bed, Liam. I think we can be on a first-name basis.”

“And yet, Liam is not my name.”

“Smartass.” Sherlock glared at him. “William.”

Sherlock Holmes saying his first name with that kind of growl did things to Will’s insides that he wasn’t sure he could stand, in the best possible way.

He hiked his suit jacket back up into its proper place, but kept it unbuttoned as he strode to the bed and leaned down so they were face-to-face. “Clothes on, you say?”

Sherlock smirked. “Yeah. Then I can do this.” The detective grabbed onto his tie and yanked him down even further, falling back on the bed so they were sprawled on top of each other.

Will gasped in surprise and braced himself on his elbows above the dark-haired man. “You’re very forward, Holmes.”

“Ah, we’ve dropped the ‘mister,’ I see.”

He kissed him. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Their lips collided like they were always meant to, like they’d been waiting their whole lives for this one, perfect moment.

It didn’t take long for hands to wander – for Will to slide a hand from Sherlock’s hip to his back, trailing along his side and ribs along the way, wanting to feel him, all of him. He pulled him closer as the detective wrapped his arms around his neck, playing with the buttons on the other man’s suit jacket.

“Liam,” Sherlock groaned, pulling away, breathless.

“Not my name,” Will growled back, finally unclasping the buttons and snaking his hands inside, grasping his waist.

Sherlock tensed beneath him, and all of a sudden Will realized what was happening here. He’d taken Sherlock – Sherlock freaking Holmes – home with him after a night at the bar, and they were in his room together, and now…

Had it all been a mistake?

No, Will decided, his eyes roaming over the detective’s form briefly, mind whirring. The man hadn’t been drunk – neither of them were – and he’d consented readily to this exact scenario, even initiated it before either of them could disrobe. So why was he suddenly looking at Will with such apprehension?

“Holmes?” he said gently, carefully removing his hands from the detective’s waist.

Sherlock smirked. “What’s the matter, my lord? Nervous?”

The taunt sparked something in him, and Will pushed Sherlock down onto the mattress, and this time, seeing the other man’s wide-eyed look only spurred him onward. He loosely straddled his hips and murmured, “Nervous? I’ll show you nervous, Mr. Holmes.”

“Not my name,” Sherlock shot back, then shivered when the nobleman started trying to untuck his shirt. He let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle and clamped his hands down on his arms, stopping him. “N-No need for that. We can do this with our clothes on, can’t we, Liam?”

That’s when it clicked. Will felt everything fall into place, and judging by the panicked look on Sherlock’s features, the detective knew he’d figured it out, too.

“Why, Mr. Holmes,” he said in a low, teasing register, “are you ticklish?”

Sherlock let out a tiny gasp and tried pushing his hands away. “Don’t get any brilliant ideas, now—ack!”

“I deduce that you didn’t want to disrobe due to your high sensitivity, Mr. Holmes,” Will said as he casually began poking along the detective’s waistline. “Would I be correct in that assumption?”

“Bugger off,” Sherlock grumbled, trying to suppress his giggles but failing to hide a wobbly smile.

“That’s not very nice. I should teach you some proper respect for the nobility.”

Will gently grasped his sides and ribs, digging his fingers in gently but consistently, watching with elated satisfaction as the detective first let out a curse, then tried to push him off, then – failing both of those things – covered his mouth with one hand and gripped his assailant’s wrist with the other.

“I know you’re not trying to hide from me,” Will teased menacingly, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of Sherlock’s hand covering his mouth. “I do have other means to get you to open up to me, as it were, Mr. Holmes.”

The look in the detective’s eyes told him he understood what he meant perfectly.

“Buhuhuhuhuhugger off,” Sherlock spat out through helpless giggles as he finally, begrudgingly uncovered his mouth, squirming on the bed beneath Will’s tickling fingers.

Will tsked. “Manners, Holmes. Whatever will I do with you?”

“Lehehehehet me go!”

“Oh, I think not, my dear.” Will grinned down at him and expertly swept up his wrists with one hand, pinning them above him on the pillows. He relished the detective’s useless struggling as he brought his free hand down to poke along his ribs.

Sherlock spasmed and let out a bark of laughter before biting his lip and going back to those adorable giggles, cheeks turning pink as he pressed his face into his arm to try and hide. “Yohohohou nohohohohoble bahahahahastard!”

“You’re not doing yourself any favors calling me names, good sir.”

“Haah!” Sherlock gasped, arching his back as Will darted down to squeeze his hips. “You ahahahahahass! Stohohohohop alreheheheheady!”

William merely smiled at him, digging his fingertips into various ticklish spots sporadically – waist, belly, sides, ribs – gaining a new sound for each new location. He soaked them up eagerly, wanting to learn them all, memorize every spot that got Sherlock giggling and cursing and demanding that he stop.

But more than that, he wanted to find the spot that would make him absolutely crumble.

“Ahahahahahare you sahahahahatisfied yehehehet?!” Sherlock snapped through high-pitched cackles as the blonde reached back to squeeze his thigh, kicking his legs out into the open air as he struggled.

Will smirked. “Not in the slightest.”

“Nohohohohoble jeheheherk – ahahahahaha!” The detective tossed his head back and fought off a shriek when his assailant returned to his ribs. “You’ll wahahahahahake the hohohohohouse, Liam!”

“I have ways of taking care of your noise if it comes to that, my dear Holmes.”

Sherlock’s cheeks turned pink, though he didn’t appear flustered in the slightest. Well, not from the suggestion, anyway. “Lehehehehehet me gohohohoho already, you ahahahahahasshole!”

“Not my name.” Will shifted his grip on Sherlock’s wrists and finally tried the spot that had been calling to him from nearly the beginning. He scribbled lightly in the detective’s open underarm, and oh, the reaction he got.

Sherlock bucked his hips and let out a screech, frantically trying to hide his face in his arm. “Yohohohohou fuhuhuhuhuck! I’ll wahahahahahake everyone up – dohohohohohohon’t!”

“Aha, the first display of submission,” William chuckled. “What would happen if I were to tickle just a bit harder, hmm, Mr. Holmes?”

“Nohohohohot my nahahahahame, you – AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

William switched from light scribbling to purposeful digging, and Sherlock arched and thrashed and laughed beneath him, finally losing his defiance as he dissolved into helpless hysterics.

“STOHOHOHOHOHOP!! PLEHEHEHEHEASE, LIAM!!”

Will chuckled. “Not my name~”

“I’LL WAHAHAHAHAHAKE THE HOHOHOHOHOUSE!!”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“SAHAHAHAHADISTIC BAHAHAHAHASTARD – NOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

William let go of his wrists to dive into both underarms at once, tickling ruthlessly, enjoying Sherlock’s openly laughing face and pink cheeks; the way his hands flew down to grasp his shoulders and try to shove him away with no success whatsoever.

“BUHUHUHUHUHUHUGGER OFF, LIAM!! LIHIHIHIHIHIAM!!”

Will took the opportunity to get right up in his personal space, lips brushing his ear as he murmured, “Not. My. Name.”

“WIHIHIHIHIHIHIHILLIAM!! PLEHEHEHEHEASE, STOHOHOHOHOHOP!! PLEASE!!” Sherlock finally submitted, legs kicking wildly as he laughed. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE, WILLIAM!!”

Will finally showed him mercy and stopped, smirking with satisfaction as the detective flopped back onto the bed in a breathless heap, still giggling out leftovers as he covered his eyes with one arm and rasped, “That was the worst…”

“Terribly sorry, Holmes. I couldn’t resist,” Will replied, sounding not at all sorry. His heart was racing both from the exertion and from hearing his name tumbling from Sherlock’s lips so frantically like that. The extra noise had been so worth it.

“Bugger,” Sherlock muttered as he propped himself up on his elbows, still trying to catch his breath.

“You like to use that word a lot, don’t you, Holmes?”

Sherlock chuckled. “Not my name.”

Suddenly Will’s world was spinning in a blur of motion and tangled limbs. By the time everything had settled it still took him a moment to realize their positions had been flipped and he was now the one on his back with the detective looming over him triumphantly.

It didn’t take a genius to deduce what was about to happen.

Will was giggling even before Sherlock cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers teasingly.

“Oho? What’s this?” The detective smirked. “Were you just trying to get a rise out of me so I’d tickle you, too?”

“Nohohoho,” Will protested honestly even as the other man started scribbling along his ribs. “I swehehehehear, I dihihihidn’t!”

“Then why do you seem so eager for me to retaliate?”

“Antihihihicipahahahation!”

Sherlock hummed, scanning him with his eyes much in the way Will had at the beginning of the night, making his own conclusions. “Anticipation, hmm? Then what happens if I do this?”

Will’s wrists were pinned together above his head exactly the way Sherlock’s had been just moments before, leaving him no choice but to look up at the detective’s smug features as he used his free hand to wiggle one single finger right in front of his face, gradually moving it closer and closer to his now exposed ribs.

The blonde couldn’t help his reaction; he whined and giggled even though the man wasn’t touching him yet, squirming and shivering the closer he got to touching down. He swore he could feel the ghost of that finger on him already, and he squealed.

Sherlock burst into laughter again, shaking his head. “I’m not even touching you and you’re giggling like a little girl!”

“Plehehehehehease!” Will begged, blushing furiously. “Juhuhuhuhust do it alreheheheheady!”

“Hah! If my lord commands it,” he said, then drilled all five fingers into his ribs at once.

William tossed his head back and shrieked with giggles, doing his best to keep his voice down even as he squirmed, noise after noise being forcefully pulled from his lips. He both loved and hated the way Sherlock was looking at him now, with that triumphant smirk and knowing glint in his eyes.

“You like this, don’t you, Liam?” he teased. “Oh, I’m sorry, William.”

He’d never tried to hide it. Truly, it was impossible to, especially once he got into this position. Will nodded as he cackled, his body reacting on its own even though he wanted nothing more than to stay put and take it.

Sherlock’s responding hum sent shivers down his spine. “Hmm…then what if I were to…?”

The pressure on his wrists lifted, leaving a chill behind that made it clear he’d been released from Sherlock’s grip. Still, he didn’t bring his arms down to stop him. He simply lay there and let out whiny giggles that clearly conveyed how much he was both enjoying and embarrassed by this moment.

“Ooh, interesting,” the detective chuckled, shifting his weight on Will’s hips while simultaneously darting his hands down to squeeze his sides. “What about here – aha! Must be a good spot, eh, Liam?”

Will couldn’t even reply; his giggling shifted into laughter as his arms flew down of their own accord, gripping Sherlock’s wrists loosely. “Plehehehehehehehease!”

“Oh? Please what?”

“Juhuhuhust – plehehehehehease, Hohohohoholmes!”

Sherlock smirked. “If you’d wanted me to tickle you so bad, you could have just asked. No need to come after me first.”

“I dihihihihihidn’t—! It’s nohohohohot lihihihihihike thahahahahahat!” Will arched his back when the detective found a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves along his sides closer to his belly, one hand flying up to cover his mouth.

For a short while, Sherlock contented himself with getting his revenge, tickling all over the blonde’s torso and even reaching back to squeeze his thigh like Will had done to him, but for all of his exploration, he couldn’t seem to find a spot that was particularly ticklish over the others. He hummed, shrugged, and ultimately decided the man must not be overly ticklish like he was. Must be why he liked being tickled – it didn’t wreck his nervous system like it did for Sherlock.

“Now,” the detective murmured after a few minutes of easy tickling, leaning down to withdraw Will’s hand from his mouth and kiss him. “Since we’re already in this position, shall I take the lead?”

Will let out a few extra giggles as he caught his breath and nodded, happy to let the detective do as he pleased with him. He’d been dreaming of this moment for so long, after all. He’d take anything he could get.

Sherlock kissed him with a low growl, and Will wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the detective’s kiss grew more and more heated. A hand that had been resting on his side post-tickling slipped around to trail up his spine, pulling him closer—

Will let out a loud gasp and arched into him, away from his touch. For a moment Sherlock seemed confused, the wheels in his head obviously trying to figure out if he’d done something wrong, but then…

It clicked.

Will was giggling again, but with an added bonus this time – begging. “W-Wait, plehehehease wait, Holmes—”

Sherlock flashed him a wicked grin, and Will knew he was screwed.

“Not my name,” he said, then used one arm to hold him close in a hug trap while his opposite hand dragged fingers from the top of his spine to the base of it, and the blonde completely lost his mind.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Will screeched, unable even to cover his mouth in this awkward position. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE, HOHOHOHOLMES – AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

“Quiet, Liam,” Sherlock teased into his ear, wrapping his legs around him as well to keep him fully immobile. “You’ll wake the house~”

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T – NOT THEHEHEHEHERE, HOLMES!! PLEHEHEHEASE!!”

Just then, there was a loud pounding on the door, followed by Louis’ voice. “William! What’s going on? Why are you…laughing?”

“Not to worry, my lord!” Sherlock called on Will’s behalf as the blonde dissolved into silent hysterics as he clawed at the space between his shoulder blades. “He’s in excellent hands! Aren’t you, Liam?”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Is…is that…Sherlock Holmes in there with you?” Louis’ incredulous voice came from outside. The doorknob rattled but didn’t give; thank goodness Will had locked it behind them.

Will knew he had to speak up, or this could end very poorly. He tried to shoot Sherlock a “stop for a minute!” look, but the detective merely grinned at him and kept tickling, forcing him to laugh-shout, “I’M ALL RIHIHIHIHIHIGHT, LOHOHOHOHOUIS!! I PROHOHOHOMISE – SHIHIHIHIT!!”

Sherlock giggled against his neck as he bit his earlobe again. “Now who needs to learn manners, my lord?”

Louis was quiet for so long Will was sure he’d left, but then his voice called out one last time, “You have some explaining to do in the morning, brother!”

Will didn’t even try to reply; he was gasping for breath laughing so hard at this point, Sherlock’s expert violinist fingers teasing and tickling his spine like a pro – and when had he gotten under his shirt to wiggle against his bare skin?!

“STOHOHOHOHOHOHOP, HOHOHOHOHOHOLMES!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T—”

Sherlock bit his ear again gently and whispered, “Not my name~”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA SHEHEHEHEHEHERLOHOHOHOHOCK!! SHEHEHEHERL-EEEEEEEE!!!”

“Sherly?!” Sherlock laughed along with him as he drilled into the base of his spine and the top of it simultaneously while still biting and kissing his ears. “That’s brilliant, Liam! Please do call me that again.”

William was going to die like this – trapped and tickled and made to scream by Sherlock freaking Holmes, of all people. It would be a gruesome, tickly death, and decades from now when he was nothing but bones archeologists would wonder why his skeleton was smiling so big.

But for now, he didn’t care about any of that.

Sherlock Holmes was in his room. Louis had already figured it out. There was no need to hide anymore.

He gave in and let the detective do as he pleased with him all night long.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #mtp #sherlock holmes #william james moriarty #sherliam #fluff #cute #mild spice #boyfriends #lovers #tickling #ticklish #tickle #happy birthday squiggily!

[pinkluhvv]

Dance

[ william james moriarty x reader ]

[ dancing with him ]

[ she/her pronouns used ]

The ballroom was lively with women and men alike mingling together: drinks, music, dancing, laughing, and many more.

A woman was standing by the bar, very far off to the side and just sending a smile—that didn’t reach her eyes—and waving to anyone who greeted her. She held an empty glass, her eyes trained on the ever-growing crowd in the ballroom.

“Care to dance?” A male's voice was heard from next to her. She turned her head towards the voice and stared at his outstretched hand for a good moment before inevitably taking it.

“I don’t mind.” He pulled her along to the dance floor as the music slowed, and the couples around them mingled just as they did. She felt like a fish out of water standing in the middle of the crowd, even if they were doing just as she was—dancing.

The two swayed together, their hands locked together, his free hand hooked around her hip, her free hand hooked around his shoulder. They were intertwined as one, if only for right now.

The song made him seem ethereal, maybe it was just an in-the-moment thing, but, maybe, just maybe, this could work out, if only for right now.

“You look good tonight, dare I say gorgeous.” He gave her a smile, followed by a squeeze of her hip, pulling her in closer.

“Oh, shu—”

“I’m not joking.” He breathed out, resting his forehead against hers, blonde mixing with [h. color]

“William—“

“If you aren’t to agree, don’t speak.” He shushed, closing his eyes with a blissful expression.

‘I am not to agree.’ She didn’t speak, closing her eyes as well.

#william moriarty x reader #william moriarty #william james moriarty #william moriarty x reader fluff #yuukuko no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #moriarty the patriot william #william james moriarty x reader

[gh0st-author]

mastermind.

Pairing: William James Moriarty x Reader

Summary: What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Tags: fluff, a little bit suggestive but nothing much, Liam is a softie

A/N: so i was listening to mastermind by taylor swift and i just realized how much it fits liam, so this brainrot you see here was born. also this is set in america somewhere in those 2.5 years after the billy incident but before they return to london. my thought process was that liam and sherlock were doing some undercover work at this ball. additionally i decided to have Liam keep his eye here man's been through enough...

The moment was like something straight out of a fairy tale. An instant that you can't quite place; a dream that would unravel and slip from your grasp and glide through your fingers if you only tried to look too close at it. Gentle candlelight tracing abstract patterns over the entire hall, making the entire scene seem magical. Delicate music from numerous hidden instruments filling the air with yearning, so beautiful it could make your heart ache. The muffled sounds of secret whispers and the rustling of numerous exotic fabrics joining the cacophony of sounds, not to overpower but to add to the overall mystique and intricacy of the night. And him. Him— this radiant and golden being, akin to an angel, luring you in, stealing your coherence.

Your eyes were on him as soon as he'd entered the room, followed by another dark-haired man who you couldn't make yourself glance at for the life of you. Because doing that would mean taking your eyes off him. Elegant frame gliding through the mass of people, pale golden strands swaying with the movement, awakening an urge in you to trace your hands through them, to find out if they were as soft as they looked.

This feeling washing over you, filling your every cell, clouding your mind more than the glass of expensive wine in your hand, was new. Completely and irrevocably unfamiliar. And that terrified you tremendously. How could one person have such an effect on you, before you'd even exchanged so much as courteous greeting?

He must've felt your attention on him— how could he not when you were burning holes in the back of his head— and his head turned towards your hiding place, the little nook you slotted yourself in as to avoid unnecessary prattle of the ladies around you.

Oh...

You felt as if all of the air had been leached out of the room in that one moment, then instantaneously rushed back in leaving you light-headed. Bewitching. That was the only word adequate enough to describe his face, his eyes. His features were timeless, elegant, touched by the innocence of youth but also impossibly wise at the same time. And when his sharp scarlet gaze connected with your own, what little thoughts you had— however trifle they might've been— evaporated into mist and smoke. Those were eyes that never missed anything, that appeared to gaze directly through your flesh and blood and straight into your soul, seeing every detail, every dirty little secret. Yes, this man was absolutely breathtaking; utterly captivating.

You averted your gaze, feeling exposed and not wanting to stare too hard. This night had just become infinitely more interesting to you. But, despite all of the stars aligning and conspiring to place you in the same room with such a magnetic and compelling presence, you had no conceivable way of conversing with him. In truth, you were only here in the first place because of your cousin, and this ball was nothing more than just a chore to you who was supposed to be her chaperone. You had no connections and no reason to seek him out, no matter how much your heart yearned for it. Even now, you could see his outline floating in the corner of your vision, surrounded by numerous important individuals.

You sighed, and deciding against hiding for now, you smoothed out your gown and abandoned your little nook. It was due time to try to mingle with the dense crowd.

Like his shadow, a phantom, you traced his steps around the room, trying to find an opportune moment to etch just a little bit closer. Wherever you went you glimpsed him from the corner of your eye, always near, but always just out of reach. As soon as one group had finished with him, he was already onto the next. He was everywhere—  anywhere you looked— making your desperation rise. It was a known fact that our psyche worked in contradictory ways; the more one tried not to gaze at something or think of something, the more the mind made them a prisoner of exactly those thoughts. The echo of his silhouette followed you around, always just a tad bit too far away.

Positively exhausted by the constant ongoing battle between your mind and your heart, you retracted back to the faraway corner of the room, choosing instead to behold the art and numerous artifacts nestled there. What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Deep in thought, one painting caught your attention. It was a magnificent piece, truly, but you were not able to decipher what exactly about it ensnared you so. It appeared no more extravagant than any other painting in the room, yet you couldn't look away from it. It felt as if it was pulling you in, calling to you.

"Captivating work, is it not?"

The sudden voice to your right made you startle, and you were forcefully ripped away from your mussings. You almost didn’t need to look to know who the person who'd just spoken was. After all, your body was tingling in his mere presence, every cell coming alive simultaneously, vibrating with hope now that he was the one who sought you out first. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, you pivoted to regard the stranger. "I'm sorry?"

"That painting." He flashed you a gentle smile, his unusual-colored eyes regarding you with interest as he approached to stand beside you. "It's a true masterpiece. The artist uses patterns and geometry to create a most aesthetically pleasing piece, painting illusions to trick the viewer into thinking they can actually step into a two-dimensional space. It's rather extraordinary."

His voice was soft and melodic, slightly amused. Your eyes caught at the slight upturning of the corners of his lips as he spoke, unable to look away. It was either that or get lost in his knowing gaze. "Are you an artist?"

"A mathematician, more accurately." You heard a wistful note in his voice. "I used to teach at a university in England, but sadly, I don't anymore." He gave you another smile, this one a little dimmer than his last one. "Some circumstances got in the way. But that is neither here nor there. I take it you are someone's chaperone tonight. If I had to guess, the young lady's over there."

You followed his gaze and saw your cousin a little further away, engaged in a conversation with some friends. How did he know that?  "I am. Thank you for your insightful deduction Mr.–"

"Liam. Call me Liam."

"Liam..." You whispered his name like a prayer on your lips, tasting how it felt on your tongue. "No title? Is it short for something?"

"No... just Liam. Classes and titles mean nothing to me." You couldn't quite read the emotion in his voice as he said that, layers of something more— perhaps dejection— intertwined beneath a calm reply. "And what shall I call you, Miss–"

"Y/N" You held out your hand to him, and Liam, never breaking his eye contact with you, raised it gently to his lips, leaving just a breath of a kiss there.

"Y/N..." He too sounded like he was sounding out your name, familiarising himself with it as if he planned to continue saying it many times more. "The pleasure is mine."

That one touch, that one kiss against your gloved hand, was enough to light a fuse within you. You felt flushed all over, both too hot and wrecked with chills at the same time. You needed to know more about this man. He was like a Venus fly trap, a mystery you wanted to solve, an equation you wanted to assess. "Did you come here alone tonight?"

"I am accompanying my good friend on some business tonight. He is the black-haired individual currently giving us the burning stare." And sure enough, when you followed his gaze, you spied the gentleman in question, the one who followed Liam when he first entered the room, giving you both suspicious glances. Looking at him now, no longer blinded by the brilliance of the mysterious mathematician, he was a handsome individual, tall and all angular features, but that was overshadowed by the arrogant eyebrow he raised at you as if contemplating to terminate your further involvement with his friend.

"Have I done something to upset him?" You haven't even met him, yet he seemed to not be pleased with you.

"No, he's just paranoid. Unnecessarily." Liam narrowed his gaze at him, and they appeared to be exchanging a wordless string of arguments between them, after which the man shrugged his shoulders and flashed you both a sheepish smile, putting his hands in his pockets and turning away to talk to some other nearby attendant. Liam's attention was back on you now. "Excuse his behaviour, he has a lot on his mind tonight."

You, too, had a lot on your mind tonight— mainly, how to slip away somewhere where you could be alone with him, away from the eyes of everyone so you could continue your conversation uninterrupted. Suddenly, a thought permeated the fog in your brain. It wiggled through and lodged itself right in the forefront. An opportunity to get him alone... This was it. If you could use this to your advantage, you could make an unfortunate situation into something worth remembering. "Don't worry. I don't mind—"

You cut your sentence off, bumping into him purposely. Your glass almost slid out of your hand, deep burgundy splashing over his coat. He caught you, a true gentleman, as you widened your eyes and flew into a flurry of apologies, as you quickly set down your— now empty— glass. "Oh my God, I am so sorry! I don't know what happened, I must've been more inebriated than I thought. I'm so sorry!"

Liam was a picture-perfect opposite to your hysteria of movement. He calmly grabbed his coat and slid it off. The dark burgundy stain had bleed through the outer layer onto his white shirt beneath, and he let out a chuckle as he inspected his coat and the stain on his chest for the damage. "Don't worry, it was an accident. Such things happen." He sighed at the coat. "Although, I suppose I can't show myself in front of our business partner tonight like this."

"Please let me do something!" You pleaded, doing your best to show him how remorseful you were. It wasn't all for show, you did feel kind of awful for staining his clothes. "I have a handkerchief, I can help you. Please, follow me." If you fail to plan, you plan to fail— or so they said. Life was about making the most out of unexpected situations, and you were not about to waste this opportunity that had been given to you. You grabbed his arm and tugged him along with you as you slinked by the walls and made your way out of the hall.

You entered the first room you saw— a study, it appeared— and pulled him with you to sit down on the couch. Quickly taking out the handkerchief, you grabbed the coat from his hand and started dabbing the stain. Luckily, his coat was dark, so it wouldn't be too noticeable in the candlelight. All the while, Liam said nothing and just observed you with an unreadable gaze.

"I expected you to be more cross with me," you said after some time, finally daring to glance in his direction. You hoped he wasn't, otherwise, this plan was all for nothing.

That gave him a pause, and he blinked at you, as if you said something unexpected. "I am afraid I don't understand. This was just an accident that could happen to anyone. There is no reason for me to be cross. Were you, perhaps, afraid I would be?" He smiled at your frown, and you averted your gaze back to the task at hand. A contradictory enigma. This coat was of very expensive material, yet he made no complaints. Chose kindness, instead of anger. You were definitely right to get this mysterious man alone, even now you felt the inescapable draw of his presence.

"It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both," you murmured absentmindedly while still gently dabbing away on the stain, doing your utmost to try to get rid of it.

"Oh, you are familiar with Machiavelli's works?" He leaned back, placing his arm on the armrest of the couch and resting his jaw on the back of his hand.

"I've read some here and there. Why? Are you an enjoyer of his books?" You raised the coat up to the light and observed it. This had to do for now until he could get it cleaned.

"I too have read them here and there." His gaze was sharper now, both cunning and amused. It made you shiver— but not unpleasantly, you realized with a start. "I find his takes on the authority and aristocracy most fascinating."

Laying the coat aside, you scooted closer to him, the couch making you all the more aware of your proximity, the dim lights making it all seem more intimate. This close you could even smell a faint tinge of his cologne, mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol you spilled. This turned out to be a perfect excuse to touch him, to feel him. Everything went precisely by design.

Dizzy from the heat of his body, now so close to you, you slowly started to dab at the stain on his shirt. "You truly are an enigma, Mr. Liam, are you aware?" He only continued to observe you with his slight smile, the rising of his eyebrow the only indication that he was listening. Taking that as an invitation, you prattled on. "You seem like someone of noble birth, yet you appear to disprove of the class system and disregard any titles. You seem awfully intelligent, and yet I have not seen your name in any field of research, not even math." You took this opportunity to smooth out his collar, fingers gently grazing the skin of his collarbone. "And you approached me, and were able to accurately ascertain things about me I gave you no indication of." You looked up at him through your lashes, then quickly glanced down again, resuming your attempts at trying to clean up the wine.

You felt him let out a little contemplative hum, as he leaned closer to you. "You are an enigma as well, Miss Y/N. You have followed my every move since I appeared here, yet refused to approach me the entire night. You still don't seem to trust my words, but you have not yet inquired into anything I've said. It is almost as if you enjoy this little game." He raised his hand, and you watched with bated breath as he caught a strand of your hair and twirled it around his finger. "Tell me, is it fun trying to uncover my secrets?"

Hands falling into your lap, the stain and handkerchief long forgotten, you felt light‐headed again. Like a snake dancing to the magic flute, both your body and your mind were charmed, following his every move. This little plan of yours might be working better than you anticipated. If you actually survived until the end of this game, of course, because if he kept looking at you like that, giving you his undivided scrutiny, you doubt you could last. "You followed me here without question as well." You managed to whisper out. "Did you perhaps have some ulterior motives with me too, Mr. Liam?"

He gave a little tug at the lock of hair wrapped around his digit. "I wonder..." His sharp eyes were now unfocused and thoughtful as if he himself couldn't really understand his actions. "Whatever compelled me to do that?"

You glanced at his eyes, then his lips, wondering if this was such a smart idea now. Maybe you shouldn't even be here, shouldn't entertain your wicked thoughts. Your draw to him was too powerful, dangerous even. It felt like too much and too little at the same time as if you could ignite and burn and blaze down to smithereens with a single word from him, drown with a single touch.

At that moment, the door slammed open with a loud creak, cutting off your train of thought. Both of you reflexively jerked back from your compromising position, the moment gone and magic ruined. The room now felt infinitely colder without his proximity, the couch impossibly wide. Your startled gaze fell on the culprit who had barged in so suddenly, finally able to breathe without Liam's cologne tampering with your thoughts. It was him, the man Liam introduced as his friend earlier. He glanced sharply at you both, eyes staying on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary, studying you. Contemplating. You could see the same mysterious intellect you saw in Liam in him, the same razor-sharp mind, the same murky and vague past. His eyes widened imperceptibly as if taken aback by your inspection, then filled with something akin to grudging understanding. Then he swiveled towards Liam and pointed behind him. "Liam we have to go. Work's calling."

A sigh, no louder than a disturbance of air left him, and he rose, giving you a remorseful look. "Sorry, dear. Seems like our time is up. Hopefully, I will see you again one day, under more fortunate circumstances." He quickly donned his coat, adjusting it to best cover up the stain, then with a hurried gait followed his friend out the door.

"I am sure you will." You whispered, as you watched him leave, him only turning back once to shoot you a conspiratorial grin. As if saying to keep what happened here a secret.

Checkmate, you thought. You will be seeing him again, you were sure of that. There was just something about him that sang to you, some kind of kindred warm flame, like fire burning in a hearth. But in his calm gaze, you also caught a glimpse of something else beneath, another fire, blazing hot, ardent, and dangerous. All of it made you even more curious, made you crave him more. You had to arrange a meeting with him again.

You couldn't lose.

Truly, nothing moved faster than time. It was outstanding, mind-boggling, how it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. And now, two years later, you found yourself with the hard wood of the door of digging harshly into your back as you leaned back to let Liam deepen the kiss. The soft rustling of clothes and your quick breathing were the only sounds permeating the room of Liam's and Sherlock's shared apartment in Brooklyn. Barely any light illuminated your two silhouettes, only the moonlight and a rare street light outside of the window providing any illumination.

Gasping for breath, his lips still chasing yours, you attempted to put some distance between you. "Wait, what about  Sh—"

"Do not worry." He whispered, still eager to continue. "Sherlock is already on his way to London as we speak. So is Billy. No one will bother us."

"That means we have to leave for London soon, too." You gripped his shirt in your hand, raising on the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. "How convenient that we are free to spend our last night here as we wish." Pulling back, you looked back at him, face full of mirth, lips splitting into a cheeky grin.

Cupping the back of your neck, he gave you one last kiss before leaning away. "Call me an opportunist."

Gently, his hand slid down to your waist as he moved you from the door and laid you achingly slowly on the bed. Your own hands moved from their position on his chest to intertwine in his hair. Soft and exactly as silky as you thought it would be two years ago. On that magical night. A night so much like this. His gaze was soft, and melancholy, as if he too was remembering that time. Most days, you were scarcely able to wrap your head around the fact that so much time has passed and that you've won the affections of such an ethereal being. That you yourself were able to set the wind to your sails that first night, to not just play the role of a pawn, but to be the king instead.

He regarded you in silence for quite some time, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your waist, your hips. His face was unreadable, haunted. "I would ask what you're thinking about, but I'm terrified to know."

He let out a quiet chuckle and rested his forehead against yours. "Oftentimes, I think night is purer than day; it is better for thinking, loving, and dreaming. Maybe I was always meant to dwell in the night, to plot. At night everything is more intense, more true."

"Enough of your philosophy." You grumbled. "If you wish to scheme and think you can do that with Sherlock." Using your hands in his hair, pulled his face closer to yours, your lips barely brushing. "I think, currently, your mouth could be much better occupied."

He gave you a deep kiss, making you forget how to breathe, then bit your lower lip teasingly. "I never scheme. You must be confusing me for someone else" So saying, he chuckled. "But I must admit, I enjoy seeing you so flustered for me."

Well, two could play that game. When his lips traced a path from your kiss-swollen ones downwards to your neck to shower it with countless marks you'll surely have to cover up tomorrow, you decided to entertain yourself as well. "What if I told you that none of this was accidental?" It was nothing more but a breathless whisper, a silky melody in the darkness of the room. His ministrations didn't stop, but you continued, eager to fluster him at least once, even if it meant sharing your biggest secret— a secret that you had sworn you would take to your grave. "Were you aware that the first night I saw you I decided that nothing was going to prevent me from getting closer to you? You were like a blazing flame and me but a simple moth drawn to your brilliance. So I conspired to get you alone." It was getting harder and harder to form coherent thoughts when his kisses felt so hot, almost burning and branding your skin wherever they landed, but you persevered, tightening your hold on his hair and enjoying his slight shudder. "I... purposely spilled wine on you that night." You swallowed against a sudden lump in your throat. "I knew I had to lay down the groundwork if I wanted to catch your attention, knew I had to set it all up like dominoes." A sudden nibble on the junction of your neck and shoulder made you gasp.

"I was aware."

You were so thoroughly distracted by the feeling of his lips on the skin of your neck that it took a few seconds for his words to register, and when they did your whole body froze. "Wait... You knew?!"

You felt his lips pull into a smirk against your skin and he slowly pulled away, his eyes dancing with barely concealed mirth. "Darling, I knew the entire time."

You were rendered speechless. Shock. Disbelief. The feeling of the world freezing in its tracks. That's all you felt as you stared wide-eyed at the man above you. Your body felt weightless and stone-heavy at the same time. What does he mean: "He knew the entire time?"  Every encounter that you two had raced through your mind as you tried to remember if he ever showed any indication of being aware of your little game. There were none. "You're lying," you stuttered out through your suddenly dry throat.

His smirk was downright devious now. "On the contrary, dear. Not only was I aware of your schemes— I was the one who orchestrated them. From the very start, this has been a chain reaction of countermoves on both sides."

"But then-" Every world felt like sandpaper as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"Steering Sherly in your direction under the guise of talking to some aristocrats the first time I saw you, just so I could be in your field of vision the entire night. Purposely asking around about that painting I knew nothing about to start a conversation with you, then letting you bump into me so you could have an excuse to talk with me in private. Accidental meetings. All actions of a desperate man, who had been completely and utterly enamored ever since he first laid eyes on you." Each sentence was followed up with a kiss— to your neck, to your cheek, to the corner of your lips. One of his hands slowly made its way upwards towards your face from its place around your waist. Still in shock, all you could do was lean into his hand when he gently cupped your jaw. "But it was incredibly enjoyable, this little game of ours. I never believed that there would be someone who would go to such lengths for my affections." His gaze softened and he traced your cheek with his thumb. "My sweet, vicious mastermind."

You felt your chest squeeze under the crushing wave of pure love that washed over you. This man— this brilliant, extraordinary, incredible, magnificent, breathtaking man— he was yours. And he had been from the beginning. Or, more accurately, you'd been his. For you weren't the one who had been setting everything up since your first encounter– you were the one being strung all along. Happy tears prickled at the corners of your vision and you couldn't help but beam up at him. "I guess this is checkmate. It's my loss."

With a matching smile of his own, the hand on your cheek then slowly moved down to your chin, and he pulled you into another kiss. You closed your eyes and melted into it. It was painfully sweet— maybe the sweetest kiss you two have ever shared.

Looks like you were no match for the former Lord of  Crime after all.

#ynm #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #mtp william #fanfic #fluff #sherlock holmes #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty #mtp x reader

[yyutsuu]

Hi, could you write Mycroft Holmes x gender neutral reader where they cuddle after Mycroft come late from work? Thank you!

Home Late -Mycroft Holmes x GN Reader-

———

!! Fluff !!

Gender Neutral reader

!! TW !! : None that I am aware of

Romantic relationship

———

Word count: 637 words

A/n: I'M SO SORRY, THE REPLY IS SO DELAYED. I had end of term exams to complete and study for, after that I managed to forget I even had Tumblr for a good few weeks... This is so short too... I swear I'll write more in the next approaching weeks to make up for it

Help what is short for Mycroft-? Mycky??? Mycro???? 😭😭😭

———

You are Mycroft Holmes' partner, the two of you sharing a mutual love for the other. It is currently late into the night, the comfortable cushions belonging to the sofa nudging against your night wear. Your eyelids were heavy, staying awake was becoming more and more of an arduous challenge.

But your body jolts up, the mist fogging up your brain and train of thoughts vanishing in an instant. The cause was the nearing noise of familiar footsteps approaching the front entrance, followed by the impossible to miss sound of rustling and jingling of keys. You watch from the couch as the front door is unlocked and opened, an exhausted Mycroft walks in.

He closes the door, Mycroft drops his bag which most likely contains a great deal of important files. He lets out a yawn, a long tired yawn. He looks about, his drowsy eyes stopping in the direction of where you as well as the couch occupies. Mycroft's expression changes to one of happiness mixed with fatigue. "You are still awake?" He says quietly, closing his eyes momentarily and enjoying the warmth of the shared house.

Mycroft's eyes open again, his gaze returning to you, his soft warm look becoming a gentle smile. "It's been a hectic day. I'm relieved I'm finally home." He mutters. Mycroft's movements are sluggish, his hair a mess, he looks like a total slob, but strangely attractive. Mycroft makes his way over to you and takes a seat on the couch, right next to you.

"Good evening." You say to Mycroft. He fails to reply and is about to rest his head on your shoulder, before pausing and stopping himself. You can practically see the great amount of effort he is putting into to not just situate his head on your shoulder and fall asleep right then and there.

You sigh at his actions. "Oh Mycroft, refrain from overworking yourself..." You murmur. Mycroft's smile slightly broadens, his eyes softening as he finally gives in, you feel his head falling onto your shoulder. Mycroft proceeds to nuzzle into you for a moment, exhaling with great tiredness.

"I apologize, darling. It has been quite the busy week. But no need to worry, you always manage to calm me." Mycroft breathes out in a hushed tone. "That's good, you comfort me quite a bit too." You whisper in reply as you reach your hand out and secure it on the back of his head.

Mycroft smiles at your touch. "I am truly glad I'm the one that can provide to you the peace you deserve." He mutters lazily while his hands fall into yours, he proceeds to lace his and your fingers together, holding your tender hands tightly as your eyes meet. Mycroft pulls you in and presses a soft and gentle kiss to your lips, not pulling away for several minutes. "I am undoubtedly lucky to have you, my dear..." He whispers, millimeters away from drifting off to sleep.

You laugh softly at his state. "We're both exceedingly tired, aren't we?" You whisper. "How about we cuddle then go to our bedroom and get some proper rest?" You suggest. The reply you receive is a tired mutter of "Mmm... that sounds... like a splendid idea..."

Conveniently, the two of you are in a comfortable and cosy position, laying down on the couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders. Mycroft lays his head down on your shoulder and presses his body closer to yours.

The two of you never made it into the bedroom to sleep, within minutes of snuggling up nice and warm against each other, both you and Mycroft ended up drifting into deep sleep. The warmth of Mycroft's embrace shielding you from all unpleasantries.

Staying awake and awaiting Mycroft's return may be a challenge, but the rewards are advantageous.

———

-yyutsuu on Tumblr and Wattpad-

!! Please refrain from reposting my work without permission !!

#yuukoku no moriarty #yukoku no moriarty #ynm #mtp x you #mtp x reader #moriarty the patriot #moriarty x reader #ynm mycroft #mycroft holmes #yuumori #yuumori x reader #mtp mycroft #moriarty the patriot x reader #mycroft x reader #mycroft x you #mycroft holmes x reader #fluff #mtp mycroft x reader #moriarty the patriot mycroft #yuumori mycroft #yuumori mycroft x reader #mtp mycroft holmes x reader #mtp mycroft x you #yuumori mycroft x you #x reader #moriarty the patriot imagines #mtp imagines #yuumori imagines

[raspberrilady]

White Roses || William James Moriarty x Reader

a/n: Finally, here, a fic written with my friend as my hypewoman on this William piece, and me being a cheerleader on her Scaramouche fic. Ask her kindly and maaaybe she will translate a thing.

Word count: around 16,000 words divided into a prologue, 9 chapters and an epilogue. You might consider reading it on AO3

Treat this piece as an embodiment of my brianriot that was a sole thought of wanting to see a William with a soft, kind and a bit naïve lady. She will have her character development throughout the story, though. I just wanted some longer angst-fluff fic and it’s a bit dumb and silly and not that majestically written.

Warnings: Female reader, mentions of Christianity, too many scenes involving tea, not that good word choices. Translation isn’t my thing. Angst, fluff and suggestive fic.

Mary Hale isn't sure if she wants to wake her roommate up.

In her eyes, you look terrible and won't be able to get yourself presentable in the next ten minutes, when the next lesson will start. Your hair is tangled, your sleeping face bears a strange expression, and the bags under your eyes are dark. A book with an emerald cover loosely clasped in your hands betrays what [Name] [Surname] was doing all night.

For that, you blame all writers whose passionate, engaging novels keep you awake at abnormal hours. Late nights are the only quiet time in the dormitory. It's soundless enough to keep you focused and dark enough to finely hide dark blushes on your face in case your roommate woke up. She would still scold you for using the lamp, and the mood would be ruined, so you always keep the light low.

Mary Hale rolls her eyes and decides to leave you be. Either way, she doesn't know you well enough to care that much, even if you've shared a room for half a year. She spends her time perfecting her art of flirting outside the dormitory, and you... Well, she guesses you read a lot and don't mind showing up to class unprepared.

She couldn't be so careless in her appearance as you as she doesn't plan to waste her time on books much longer. She will find a wealthy lover and never lift a finger again to work, let herself sink in tons of compliments and be adored by the man of her life. That is her dream, which she devotes herself to.

She leaves the room almost without slamming the door.

Mary has no intention of being late for class. Math isn't that much important as the young professor who is an exceptional candidate for her lover. The thought of a forbidden, somewhat indecent relationship curves the corners of her mouth into a mirthful grin.

Huh. And she is surprised that this kind of thing is preventing you from sleeping, even if only on paper.

Chapter I

You are late.

William James Moriarty notes the attendance with a quick glance as he enters the room. Several seats remain empty: you and another student, who always sits in the first row—August Hearst—are missing. He also notices two unfamiliar ladies, unenrolled students who showed a sudden interest in trigonometry after seeing William. Amazing.

He puts on a gentle professor's smile, closing the door behind him and its hinges click quietly.

„Good morning. I welcome you all to the next class,” he says, standing in the middle of the room. Everyone raises and responds to his greeting. “Before we move on to the next subject, please take a look at your exams and my commentary on them. If you have any inquiries, don't hesitate to ask me. Unfortunately, two people did not pass and-”

The door creaks loudly, although you've been careful when opening it. You slip into the room and with a hasty “I'm sorry...” take your seat.

“...And that is why they will have to attend supplementary classes to catch up. This test was difficult, but I assure each of you that the knowledge you’ll gain after it will be useful in the future.”

He takes the corrected exams. His shoes clatter against a wooden floor as he hands in the exams one by one, congratulating successful students and giving knowing looks to those that don’t have math as their forte.

“Miss [Name],” his soothing tone doesn't sound threatening, yet the shiver runs down your spine. He places a test in front of you, and you notice how your calculations on the first page are almost completely crossed out. “I am inclined to suspect that the day you wrote your test was not your finest moment. Most of the data had already been misspelt in the first lines. Could it be that something was distracting you?”

You look at him with surprise and shake your head vigorously. Professor Moriarty most likely knows that he is (not only) your biggest distraction, especially since in (not only) your eyes he is perfect. Pulled straight out of a novella. Romantic one, probably. You could point which book.

Not that you are absurdly bad at all these calculations and logical thinking. But one could mess this badly only if there was something else involved, like immunity to handsome men.

And yet he plays ignorant and thus makes you even more nervous.

It isn't easy to look for an excuse. After all, you can't really say 'Hiring a handsome, young teacher as a maths was a fatal mistake by the university' or something along these lines.

“I've been having trouble sleeping lately...” Your confession is half-hearted, as you stare stubbornly at the test result which almost makes you tear up.

“Oh? Well, I can't argue that a good novel might keep one awake better than a math book,” he says with a benevolence that makes you even more embarrassed, and you blush. “Perhaps a tea of St John's wort or chamomile will be able to help you.”

You gently turn toward him and nod shyly. He smiles and ends up handing out tests. Then, he goes back to the blackboard and writes down the few formulas that caused the most problems.

Seeing how trivial your mistakes were, you start to question why you are here. Well, you somehow like the classes and your parents wanted you to take up a chance and study. And, of course, William teaches here, but it must've math, that you can't understand at all.

You sigh. How unromantic.

***

For the rest of the lecture, you've been sitting quietly, jotting down the most crucial things. Or you've tried to, as your notes started to fill up with mindless scribbles next to some formulas. You are relieved to get up from your seat when the class’s time is up.

You move towards the door along with the other classmates when you hear your name called.

“Miss [Surname]!” You don't need to turn around to realize that the voice belongs to Professor William. Even that bad mark on your exam didn't make you resent him out of spite, you notice with another beat of your heart as you approach him.

“Yes...?”

“I would like to remind you once more about the supplementary classes,” he says calmly, observing your reaction. He could point to the anxiety in your slightly widened eyes and a stab of frustration in the way your lips twitched slightly. William smiled and was mindful that it is time to change the topic. “Apropos, Miss [Surname], I have heard that the second volume of the 'Taste of Enchantment' has appeared in our library.”

Now William watches as a surprise takes over your body as the bashful redness start to spread on your face, he considers this state better than your silent puffing and pouting.

…

How does he know about this book?

'Taste of Enchantment' is an average romance with an awkward title. The protagonist is a dull lady, but not in a way you could describe yourself, as she was too perfect. You would drop the book by the first three chapters if not for the main character’s significant other, who, as you’ve decided, quite resembles William.

“How did you know I read the first volume?” You ask with an uncertain, polite smile.

William hums lightly. “I happen to be very interested in the literature my students read. I noticed you recently with the book, so I decided to try it myself.”

...That is mortifying. You know so many books and your lecturer had to caught you reading this mediocre crap. The ending of the first volume may have been quite good, you admit it yourself, but overall it was...

…Yeah, mediocre crap is an adequate way to describe it.

“If I had known, I would have had in hand a more interesting novel than this one...,” you chuckle to shake off the awkward feeling and lower your gaze on your watch. There is still some time to eat breakfast. You did a slight curtsey. “Excuse me, professor, but I will be going now. Thank you for your time.”

“Of course, miss [Surname]. I hope to see you in the supplementary classes,” you nod, already resigned to your fate, and he smiles as you take your leave. It sweetens the fact you will have even more limited free time.

If he had stopped you, he would see a scarlet blush covering your cheeks before you got out of the room. Your throat is dry, and any further words would have died on your tongue.

Almost with relief, you leave William's classroom.

'Taste of Enchantment'...

The blush again douses your face, and you close your eyes while rebuking yourself quietly. You couldn’t believe that a crappy romance book that would rather suit a somewhat-read teenager would make your heart beat fast and not because of the frustrating plot.

And you wanted to be a model student, [Name]?

Chapter II

Never before in your life have you been so nervous yet excited for a lesson to start.

Even though you are theoretically here as punishment for not studying enough math or just not being talented enough to master it effortlessly, it is hard to get the nervous smile off your face. You try to not let your fluster show, tightening your fingers on the covers of your books.

With your free hand, you reach for a door.

The class is almost empty and the sight of it reminds you of a lively marked suddenly going vacant. It’s unusual and leaves a nostalgic feeling behind.

“Welcome back, Miss [Name],” William's velvety voice greets you as soon as you walk through the door, and the world around seemed to dim in his presence. “I'm glad you found time for me.”

“O... of course,” you reply hazily, sitting down by the desk that is closer to the blackboard than your usual seat. You don’t want to look impolite, would you take a sit that far away, when there are only two people in the class...

...Or rather, there should have been two people, because the second student—another failure in terms of math—hasn't arrived yet.

“Ah,” William notices your unspoken question. “You are currently the first one to arrive. The most punctual. I'll admit I have no idea whether Mr Hearst will join us. There are three minutes left before the scheduled time... But,” the smile he gives you is charming enough, you can't focus on his words, “we will somehow manage together either way, won't we, Miss [Name]?”

You smile shyly, only nodding in response. You don't like how you can't do anything about your slightly flushed cheeks. Math, math, math. You came here to learn math. Not for your handsome teacher.

You can't let yourself romanticize the situation and face the cruel reality you’re failing your classes.

You spread your books out on the desk. Once you're holding a pen in your hand, William sighs softly and begins explaining everything about trigonometry from scratch. He asks you questions, and you can feel the attention on you, which you both don't want and... somehow, makes you happy.

You solve a few tasks under his watchful eye and encouraging smile. They are easier than what was on the test, but Williams tries to convince you that the solutions are to be crafted with the same scheme.

You are absorbed with the paper in front of you, occasionally biting your lip.

While you’re absorbed with the paper in front of you, William observes watchfully the changes in your expression: from a bit of confusion to concentration and then a smile of satisfaction and surprise as you write down the answer. He approaches you and leans over to take a look at what you have written.

Your tense by the light feeling of his warm breath. He’s so close. You can discern the light smell of roses. Is this cologne?

If anyone else were in his shoes, you would be terrified by this proximity. Now, somehow, you aren't.

“Mhm, both first exercises are correct, but in the third, you have used the wrong formula.” He hums right next to your ear. His voice is quiet, almost coming out as a whisper.

You press your lips together in a narrow line as your cheeks become even redder. You mutter something under your breath, correcting the data. You don't dare to look at him, because your heart’s beat fastened and you don’t want it to jump out of your chest or stop.

…How delightful.

“Professor Moriarty...?” You whisper, drawing his attention back to you from his wandering thoughts.

“Forgive me Miss [Na-]” SHHHHHHHHHHH!! His apology is interrupted by the creak of the door opening. William straightens up and turns around. At the threshold stand two—...two?—late students; Mary, your roommate, and a boy whose locks of chestnut-coloured hair you've been seeing in class around five rows in front of you.

“I'm sorry for being late!” Mary Hale giggles cutely through her apology. She notices William and she smiles charmingly in his direction. She hadn't been invited to extra classes—but who would have a good reason to deny an eager student extra maths lessons?

Still, even as your beloved professor gracefully moves away from your desk, you can smell his cologne. You shift your gaze to the newcomers, distracting yourself from the scent of roses.

Mary greets the professor who answers her with the same courtesy. The man who you barely knew from the classes, hesitantly takes a seat next to you, bowing his head slightly in silent “good morning”.

You smile timidly in return.

“Of course, professor!” The melodic voice of Mary steals your attention once again. You glance again at the... pair that looks very good on each other sides. It pains you how the golden locks of Mary's hair give her a princess look, that matches William's gentlemanly appearance.

…Hm. They look like the main couple from the “Taste of Enchantment”, and you can't help but pout with dissatisfaction.

...Well, either way, William seems to like you a bit more than her! Probably. You guess. You hoped so. Maybe you are seeing whatever you want to see, and want to cheer yourself up, but... You don't know what you would do if you stopped using your imagination.

The warmth on your previously red cheeks suddenly seems to prickle, just as ice dabbed on your skin.

Mary is more... more than you. You can't put your finger on the source of her charm, but you suspect that her big blue eyes, almond-shaped face and feminine curves have something to do with it. Her voice is always layered with honey, and even sweeter words can turn any man into her lover. Hm... Well, maybe you can tell why was she popular, but that doesn't make you any happier.

How can William not resist this charm? His aura that spellbinds people is as strong as hers, and the effects are well-known throughout the academy.

…

You don’t notice the glaze of tears that forms over your eyes before a gentle nudge snaps you out of your reverie.

Someone's hand is extended discreetly towards you with a flower-embroidered handkerchief between their fingers. The consoling gaze of your desk companion is the only thing that stops you from bursting into tears. You really can't understand how can you be so oversensitive about the scenario going over in your head.

“Everything will be alright,” you hear the warm voice of a stranger. “...The very fact that you are still trying to understand math, means that you are a very strong woman.”

You take the handkerchief and wipe away the traces of traces. “...Thank you.” With a gesture, your companion signals you can keep the piece of this beautiful material to yourself. You nod your head in another thank you. “We're both strong, even if our grades say otherwise.”

He laughs heartily. “And that is very good thinking, dear lady!”

“Miss [Name], Mr Hearst,” the two of you look at your professor who must have finished talking with Mary. At William's heavy gaze, Mr Hearst moves away to give a decent distance between you. “Let me start the class properly, please. I will write out some formulas and instructions on the board for you. Try to solve them and bring me your calculations tomorrow. And now, going to the further topic...”

You can feel your eyes on yourself more often than normally. You catch William's gaze lingering on you. Your heart is beating loudly, but not in a joyful rhythm. It was something between a melody of uncertainty and melancholy, that doesn't allow you to raise your gaze. No, you can't do that without hope that helped you today to get up at an absurdly early hour... Absurdly early hour for you, 8 am.

…

You are aware of your jealousy. Comparing William and Mary to the characters from your new favourite book completely ruined your mood, but it was only your fault. You should stop overthinking and get a grip.

You finish the lesson by noting down the formulas. It is hard to do it correctly, because you've been avoiding looking at William, and the fact that he is constantly standing next to the blackboard doesn't help. 

The chime of a bell at the end of class sounds angelic.

You cram all your belongings—two books, a fountain pen and a notebook with some pages unintentionally crumpled—into your bag and hurry to the exit. You arrive at the door frame so quickly, that Mary and Mr Hearst have only raised from their seats, and you even have the nerve to pretend that you don't hear your name called. 

You open the door and, although no one can say that you are running, your every step is an escape from a certain professor and his classroom. You should keep your joy in books and distancing yourself from Mr Moriarty is the first step to achieving that.

…

Your room. Only now, as you're sitting down on your bed, you begin to analyse your behaviour. You can feel your heart pounding hard, and not just because of your “run”.

Your eyes tear up over again at the memory of your last lecture, and you sink back onto your pillows.

“It's so foolish,” you think. You can't understand why the sight of Mary standing next to William had put you so off balance. Was it because of your naive enchantment? Or was it simply your imagination putting the two of them in the place of characters from a popular novella?

You’re being unfair to Mary right now. The guilt will eat you fully if you ever begin to be rude to her just because of your unfulfilled fantasy. You groan, burying your face in a cushion. 

Just as you were about to buy the new volume of “Taste of Enchantment” not so long ago, all you want now is to burn every copy of the book that makes you go through a mental breakdown.

...No, even this book, no matter how cheesy, doesn't deserve that.

Someone knocks on the door. The sudden sound makes you tense up, but you get up after the second knock. With a hasty movement, you wipe your watery eyes and adjust the folds of your dress.

“I... I'm coming,” you mutter, praying that your voice won't falter. Before reaching the door, you glance at your reflection in the mirror and bite your lip at the sight of reddened eyes and cheeks, and you believe you make a sad sight.

After opening the door, the person in front of you surprises you: Mr Hearts, the kind soul who had spent the last moments of class with you. He’s not too tall a young man with dark hair and a gentle face. His cheeks look smooth and squeezable and are slightly flushed, maybe from the embarrassment that comes from the indecency of a man visiting a woman’s room alone. 

His laugh is a little awkward as he holds up the loose sheets of paper he has brought with him. “I sincerely apologize for the disturbance, Miss [Name], but... You left some of your notes behind, after leaving so quickly and... They might be important.”

You press your lips into a timid smile. A new wave of embarrassment washes over you at the memory of your behaviour. You feel stupid, knowing that this man took his time to find your room and return your notes, because of… you.

“Oh... Thank you kindly,” you smile shyly, taking the papers from his hands. “Would you like to come in for something to drink?” You invite him uncertainly and move away from the door, but Mr Hearts stops you. 

“There is no need, but I appreciate the offer. I came here unannounced, and I believe you might need some space today,” the student smiles a little more confidently, and you notice how charming he looks with such an expression. He must be popular with women.

“Then please let me repay you with a cup of tea someday,” you say. “I feel indebted to you.”

He chuckles. “Alright, lovely comrade in arms of trigonometry.”

“…That’s a long nickname.”

“Then, is ‘lovely comrade’ alright?” He offers, but he isn’t suave in these kinds of talks and you know his throat is going dry. You know the pain of this fellow introvert.

“…My name is enough.”

“Just your name?”

You huff at the way he squints his eyes and burst out in a friendly chuckle. “If you insist.”

“In that case, I would like to be called by just a name too. I’m August Hearst.”

“Thank you, Mr August. Oh, and since you are here...” You open one of the drawers and take out a white handkerchief which roses you have embroidered by hand. “I would like you to keep it... As in exchange for your support in class and your handkerchief.”

You hand him the handkerchief and have to push it aggressively into his hands before he finally accepts it.

Chapter III

August Hearst is a delightful gentleman.

You come to this conclusion in the next several days filled with shared classes. He's been taking the seat next to you whenever possible, greeted you every day with an amiable word and even a kinder smile, and tried to accompany you at each dinner.

Your dream of William Moriarty and the secret romance have been slowly distancing itself, when you were with August. Now you know that all the things that happened in your head were... too surreal to come to this reality. Out of your reach.

If you've learned anything from your romance books, it would be the obligation to back out in the name of others' happiness. And the main character in this story might be Mary.

You smile unconvincingly to yourself.

“[Name],” your attention returns to August again, who just finished tucking his books into his bag and is ready to go. He puts apologies in his mouth when he informs you that he isn't able to walk you back to the dorm today. “I'm sorry about that, [Name], but I promised someone...”

“Have no worry, August,” you interrupt him gently, getting up from your seat. You walked through the oaken door of the literature hall, where, for the last hour and a half, thirty students experienced the torment of detailed interpretation of ancient texts. No one knew there why have they chosen this subject to have scheduled obligatory amount of hours. You squeeze the textbooks closer to your chest. “I was going to excuse myself as well and check something in a library...”

Your companion gives you a nod and visible relief brightens his face. “You take the weight off my heart”.

The farewells exchanged, Mr Hearst disappears with his acquaintances from your sight, and you step into a wide, empty corridor, whose marble ornaments reflect late sunlight and some candles spaced around the way.

It isn't a rare sight—after evening classes it isn’t easy to find any students, who would still want to be in the building after a dozen (or so) hours of focused learning.

You are not here to learn more though. You are walking to get to your favourite entertainment, the world of fictional romance. The books are expensive, and getting your hands on many of them by the privilege of being a student here is something of your guilty pleasure, you wouldn't admit to Mr Hearst. 

You won't tell him right away, no. You don’t want him to see how almost the only genre you read is romance. If he finds out, he might think you have too rigoristic standards and that isn't true (or, you hope so). It certainly wouldn't encourage him to make a move if he is interested in you...

…

...Is he interested in you?

…

The library, as you expected, is empty.

You relax immediately. In front of you stand many bookcases filled with stories that only waited for someone who will get enchanted by a pretty cover and gorgeously scribbled titles. Your hands ache to get themselves to work and find another masterpiece.

You keep a slow pace as you walk between racks and read the catchy titles. Sometimes you take a book from its place to leaf through pages, guessing if it's interesting enough to take it back to your dorm by the lines that catch your eye.

Your eyes dart upwards and you find yourself staring at your favourite series and its newest volume, whose charm probably wouldn't understand even your favourite Mr Hearst.

The book you’ve been looking for stands maliciously high.

You don't know what kind of devil was climbing these shelves, but he had a ladder and set another volume higher than your hands could reach. The entire weight of your body falls on the toes of your feet, on which you stand to be taller, closer. It's not enough to reach the shelf. 

Yet you manage to get it. 

You feel a passive touch on your back, but your attention is sabotaged by a hand above you that grabs the book. You turn around quickly, and the rack next to you helps you to remain balanced.

“Is everything alright, miss [Name]?” Asks a familiar voice of the texture of honey and chocolate. “I thought you might need a helping hand.”

Professor William James Moriarty.

Your eyes met with the shiny crimson of your professor. It's your favourite shade of red, but you can't help but think that they are a bit darker than you remember as if they're covered with a cloud of smoke or heavy emotions.

The book is still in his hands when you greet him.

“Professor Moriarty, good evening...!” You say, your curtsy bow looks and feels stiffer than you would want it to. 

“I wasn't expecting anyone here at this hour,” he admits, smiling gently. He looks around the library. “Is Mr Hearst not with you?”

You shake your head. “No,” and add curiously: “Shall I go find him?”

“It won't be necessary. It's nothing urgent,” William assures you, taking a step back from you. The light rose aroma doesn’t leave you though. Was he that close to you if you could recognize such a delicate scent? “To say the truth, I am a little jealous.”

You get choked by a surprise.

“Je... Jealous? You, professor?” And another unsaid question: “Why?”

William's polite laugh rings in your ears.

“Of course. Miss [Name], it's very inappropriate for me to tell this to such a charismatic person as yourself, but I feel a bit lonely, if I dare to say, without your attention in my classes.”

“Ah,” I should've paid more attention to the classes... Are my grades that bad? “I'm sorry. I will focus more on my studies.”

“Let me rephrase this,” he corrects himself immediately as if he could find the doubts just by looking at you. “I would like to request your valued company more often. I found myself dissatisfied we couldn't find time to share a discussion on literature. And there comes an invitation: would you care to join me for a cup of tea if you could spare me an hour of your time?”

You gape at him.

What??

You can feel your body growing warmer and slowly breaking down, like an overheated machine. Your legs are going to give out, even though you want to fly with the butterflies in your stomach. That feeling has taken your ability to say even one word, so you just nod, hoping that this motion will express all of your excitement in a very polite manner.

William gets closer to you. He stands close enough to cover up your whole vision.

You think about moving away, but the back of your shoe is already touching the bookcase behind and your shoulders almost lean on the wall of books. William's hand reaches for the book next to your head, closing you in a half-embrace that limits your movements and the will to escape.

You can still turn around. Or start to scream if you want to get out of here. But...

William cups your cheek and tilts your head enough to have you looking into his eyes. You could see him clearly and be well aware of his gaze that wanders on your face with delight and some kind of excitement, although he keeps the gentleman's shtick that is always expected from every nobleman or professor.

But your observing time has ended, as you feel something on your lips.

The cover of the volume you were trying to reach before is pressed to your mouth. William is still looking at you with warmth, but he's... closer. You can't see his face anymore, mostly hidden by the book.

Your lips are being separated only by the cover and two hundred sheets of paper.

You hear a whisper against the other side of the book that you can’t catch the words, but it’s meaningless—you cannot focus on the same voice you have listened to for hours, relishing the opportunity to get to know such a wonderful voice.

You feel the cover pressed against your lips stay there for a moment, and then encounter the disappointment that William has moved away from you, although he still holds all of your attention.

...A kiss? Was it an indirect kiss? Was it just your illusion, a daydream, even though the untouchable evidence indicates otherwise? Are you going crazy?

You no longer have any perception in your fingers as William gently places the volume in your hands. With a kiss planted on the back of your hand, he bids you farewell. "I wish you a wonderful night, Miss [Name]. Enjoy your reading,” with a smile he leaves the library.

It is long after sunset.

You arrive at your room with a foggy mind.

You don’t open the book, which you set down carefully on the bedside table, although every glance you cast at it makes you shudder.

After two hours you fall asleep. Mary hasn't returned to her room for the night.

...

You wake up abruptly, finding the alarm clock ringing too loud.

Your cheeks burn red as you look around the room and glance at the book next to the bed, feeling your face heat up even more.

You walk briskly to the bathroom to get ready for today's class. You cast a glance at your roommate's bedspread. It is in the same condition as yesterday—a black dress and an ironed shirt lie on a tidy beige bed. The history textbook doesn't seem to have been touched and the box of new slippers Mary had been excited about recently hasn't even been opened.

“She didn't come back for the night...?” It is nothing new, yet for some reason, you feel a pang of uneasiness. You shake your head. She probably fell asleep at someone’s else house. Nevertheless, it’s painful to wake up alone in the room you should be sharing with someone else.

You glance at a book and put a hand on its cover. Somehow, the hope pours into you like a warm honey.

…

“You seem to be in a good mood today, [Name],” Mr Hearst smiles at you, sitting opposite you with his plate of food.

“Is that so? I just feel… lucky today.”

“I wish I had your happiness today. Give me some, please.”

“It’s mine,” you laugh, and he squints his eyes at you in a playful annoyance. His smile looks a little strained, so you decide to ask. “Well then, is something wrong?”

He looks as if he wants to count his misfortunes on his fingers but bites his tongue and sighs. “It’s nothing that critical,” and you imagine another idea came to his mind, but before he says it, Professor William comes to your table.

“I apologize for the interruption,” he says in a worried voice that suggests that something is wrong, “but could I have a word with Miss [Name]? It's an urgent matter.”

“Is something wrong, Professor...?” You throw an apologetic glance at August and move away from the table. Could it be that he wanted to bring up the subject of the previous meeting...? Well, you have agreed to have tea together, but in your spirit, you hope he won't ask for it yet. You wanted to prepare for it... Mentally. Perhaps even arrange a few false scenarios in your head, just in case, as it sometimes enhances your courage.

However, it is not what William had in mind.

“Have you seen Miss Hale? She didn't turn up for our last class, although she promised me personally that she would.”

“Mary...?” You ponder, and the sting of uneasiness from the morning returns to poke your heart. “She didn't come back last night... Maybe she stayed with, um, her friends, but I haven't spoken to her. We've been passing each other a lot lately...”

Within another hour you land in William James Moriarty's temporary office, nervously clutching your skirt and stewing in an atmosphere of concern.

Mary has disappeared.

You don’t yet know if something was going on with her, but the general confusion has sensitised your nerves.

“Here, tea,” a cup of Earl Grey appeared in your hand. It warms your hands. “How are you feeling?”

You take a sip of tea, which is a bit too hot, and gaze into space expectantly. Politeness and etiquette require you to say ‘alright’, but you couldn't think of anything of anything other than your housemate.

You start to regret not talking to her more before as you would have a better idea of what places she goes to.

“Truly...” Your voice cracks. “Truly, no one knows what happened to Mary? She... She was still in class yesterday after all! She was asking me for notes for a test, and.... and now nobody knows where she is.”

William shakes his head and takes the cup from your hands before your grip loosens. He stands at the side of the sofa you are sitting on and leans towards you.

“I won’t make empty promises that everything will be alright,” he says, not taking his eyes off yours, “but you must believe that I will do everything in my power to get Miss Hale back to the dorm in a safe condition.”

You nod gratefully but awkwardly.

“Thank you very much, Professor Moriarty.”

“There is yet another matter we need to discuss. Miss [Name], it would be very dangerous for you to be alone at a time like this. We don’t yet know the cause of Miss Hale's disappearance, so there would be no one there to help you,” you bite your lip so as not to interrupt him and tell him that Mary was not much of a help anyway, “in case of an accident....”

“Will I be moved to somewhere else, then?”

“As all the rooms are occupied and the two other female students cannot be separated either (We wouldn't want to leave either of them alone, would we? That would defeat the purpose). I made a proposal to the management, which will only be executed with your permission.”

You look at him curiously.

“A proposal?”

William smiles.

“You will move into my property... Until the matter resolves.”

CHAPTER IV

You aren’t sure how he did it, but everything has gone just the way he wanted.

Somehow, you got allowed to move to Mr Moriarty. You had never heart of management pulling a move like that—did they really put your safety above the moral principles they were so protective of?—so until you stood before his property, you weren’t fully convinced you were going to move. 

You take a deep breath, however, this doesn’t calm you down at all.

The door in front of you opens before William can reach its handle. Into them appears a man resembling your professor with the same blonde hair colour and remarkable scarlet eyes. Your gaze wanders between William and his likeness.

“This is my younger brother, Louis,” William introduced the man, clearly amused by your confusion.

His brother...!

“Pleased to meet you,” he bows slightly.

“Me too, sir...” you reply with the same curtsy.

“Allow me,” he carefully takes over your luggage. You mouth a "thank you" and he brings over the bags without much difficulty and disappears down the corridor. He is back in a minute and by the speed at which he took care of things you think he is one hell of a butler.

“Before we move on to breakfast, brother William wanted me to show you around the estate,” Louis announces, greeting you with a tray of fresh tea in his hand. You wondered if you were being treated too well here. “There's no need to worry. It will be a short trip.”

“Alright,” you nod and, after finding that the tea is not that hot, take a sip of it. A pleasant warmth hugged you from the inside. “This is such a delicious tea...”

Louis smiles because William asked him to be very kind to you.

...Although he still feels that no one is worthy of so much attention from his brother.

…

“This is a library,” the door creaks open and another wonder of the world reveals itself to your eyes. It’s much smaller than the library at the university, but it seems in spotless condition and has more novels and math books. There are maps, history books and psychological documents too. You ignore the staccato in your chest. “Miss [Name], I heard you like books.”

“Ah-!” You look at him surprised. “I do indeed love them. Did you hear about it from Professor William?”

“Yes,” he replies, and the indifference in his voice slowly begins to break. “Brother William said the books brought you closer together or so.”

Well, books were the reason why you thought about Professor Moriarty so often. He was well-read, so you had insightful chit-chats about the literature.

The scene from the library invades your brain once again. William still hasn’t confronted you about the kiss or anything. The tension that magazined in your muscles in the last few days is almost painful.

Louis grunts quietly. “You are invited to come here whenever you would like to. Brother Wi—"

“Oh, is that Miss [Name]?” Another voice interrupts Louis’ words, and a man in a grey suit seems to rise from under the ground and appear before you. Optimism, elegance and style—a lethal mix for sensitive hearts—emit in his every word and movement, and you can immediately tell that the visitor has a much more sociable life than you. “She is even more lovely than I imagined.”

“Miss [Name] This is James," Louis introduces the blond man, and he makes a curt nod.

He smiles, grasping your hand in an almost theatrical way. “At your service,” he said, winking at you. He then shifted his attention to Louis. “Are you showing her around the mansion?”

Louis nods affirmatively.

“We have only just started, but Brother William asked for a brief recce for Miss [Name].”

“I can gladly do that if you want to,” James offers. “Don't blame me, but, in my opinion, there are too many guys here. And a woman here,” for stressing the term he gets a chastising look from Louis, “is something unheard of! You have to prepare everything for our wonderful breakfast, isn't that right?”

Louis thought for a moment and sighed.

He turns to you. “Miss [Name]. Would you mind if Mr James took care of you for the next twenty minutes? I'm quite needed to prepare the meal.”

“Of course not,” You replied immediately, not wanting to be a burden to Louis, who seemed to take care of the whole household on his own. You pondered why an aristocrat and the brother of a professor decided to take on such a role.

“Lovely,” James stands right next to you, ready to make a quick round around the property. He looks at you with a glint in his eye. “So, shall we start with the garden? It would be worth introducing Fred to you and the atmosphere there is just.... muah,” he kisses his fingertips.

Louis moved in the opposite direction to you. “She is… okay,” he admits to himself in thought as he walks through the main hall to get to the dining room. He isn’t sure if okay is enough to hoard so much of Brother William’s attention. “Ah, that's right. I should tell Moran to not—.“

—Slam!!

With a mighty step comes Moran, who has terrible timing. Although Louis hopes he won’t notice you by the breakfast, the man’s gaze almost automatically goes in your direction as you walk out the door with James.

He manages to catch your curious eye.

A smile stretches his lips.

He approaches you with a wry grin, and you carefully scrutinise him with your eyes. You have to admit that he is handsome, however he seems to be more Mary's type, judging by the looks of the men she’d been hanging out with. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of your roommate.

As Moran approaches you, James grows instantly gloomier as if his entrance was some kind of a bad joke you can’t help but sight upon hearing. “What do you want?”

“Is there a problem, Bond?” He rolls his eyes.  “I just wanted to say hello,” he turns towards you, and a charming smile appears on his lips. “Sebastian Moran, it's a pleasure to me—"

“Oh, there you are, Miss [Name].” Moran's statement is interrupted by William's voice coming from behind the dark-haired man. You get a feeling that Moran is disliked here, or they are all trying to bully him on purpose. Whether it’s a daily occurrence, but the man only smirks at William’s arrival.

“Professor Moriarty...”

“Breakfast is ready. I would suggest going back inside,” he smiles, sending Sebastian a warning look.

James sighs a little disappointed.

“I will go look for Fred in that case...”

***

The breakfast passes in a pleasant atmosphere, thanks to which you get acquainted with the residents of the mansion. They are very... lively. The meal started with the petty banter exchanged between Moran and Bond and ended with everyone getting busy with their duties. Thanks to them all, you’ve been able to take a little break from the overwhelming reality, for which you were very grateful.

After the tea, you move to the living room at the request of William. You sit down in the armchair opposite him, taking a book borrowed from James. There is a comfortable silence between you, accompanied by the sound of pages being turned. Your body relaxes. You haven't had many opportunities to do so lately, so you appreciate being able to rest at William's side and even hope that such moments could be endless...

“How do you find it here?”

You look up from your book and smile.

“It's lovely here,” you reply without a second thought. There is nothing you would complain about. “And everyone is very nice. I didn't know you, professor, had a brother! Mr Louis is a truly outstanding chef... Any chance he could share the recipe of those tarts that were on the table?”

William chuckles, and you put the book aside. Fictional romances are interesting, but talking to William could draw you in even more. “Of course. Although... I don't know if I'd like it myself.”

You twitch with nervousness.

“O-oh,” you corrected the folds of your skirt, somehow not having the strength to look at William. “If I ask for too much, then, of course—"

“I apologize. I phrased it wrong,” William interrupts you softly, placing his hand gently on your shoulder. Since when did he sit so close to you? Just as you remembered, the floral scent that was in the library strikes you once more. “That's not what I meant.”

He grunts and straightens up, shifting his hand from your shoulder to the palms of your hands.

“The truth is, I have an issue,” he smiles weakly, and your heart leaps with emotion. William trusts you that much to speak freely about his problems? “And it consists in the fact that I have never known what you take interest in,” saying this, he lies. “We’ll certainly give you the recipe but rather as in exchange. I’d love to learn much more about you, so you will be able to count on me even more.”

You choke on your tea.

“I...” Your voice is hoarse and you have no idea how should you respond with your tongue tied with a stir. “I am not sure if it is possible to make me even more dependent on you, Professor. Especially as I am living in your house for the moment, and I’ve been treated with nothing but kindness.”

“Yet I am even more infatuated with you when you’re here,” William whispers.

He dangerously closes the distance. He teases you, moving closer and closer to you more and more slowly and not allowing you to look away from him.

If before, in the school library, you were separated by a book, now there is not one.

…

There is Louis.

Louis knocks on the room and makes you jump away from William to the other end of the sofa. William looks as if he is suppressing a chuckle before turning to his brother.

“Brother William, Miss [Name], the carriage has been prepared,” he says, bowing in a butler manner. “Mr James and Mr Moran are already waiting downstairs.”

“Professor Moriarty, are we going somewhere?”

William takes another sip of tea, seeming completely unmoved in contrast to you. He’s calm yet cannot stop himself from looking up from the brim of his book to watch your reaction.

“We are going to the city, Miss [Name].”

CHAPTER V

London is bustling at this hour. The streets are filled with carriages, finely dressed people stroll along the pavements and children run around them. The image spreading before you had something magical about it, even though it represented the everyday life of the capital's inhabitants.

“Miss [Name]?” William's voice snaps you out of your reverie. You turn an offered arm. You feel shy from the gesture, but you politely accept it.

“...Professor, where are we going?” You ask upon noticing that you are heading to the richer neighbourhoods. Even if someone doesn’t know London very well, the gap between each zone is striking. The buildings here are prettier and you gape at the picturesque area.

“To the tailor,” he says simply, stopping in front of an exclusive-looking shop window.

You freeze in spirit. The displayed gowns are beautiful, richly embellished, and certainly sewn from the highest quality material. You swallow your saliva, glancing uncertainly at Moriarty. You are sure that your money wouldn’t let you afford a little scrape of the fabric, not when it all goes on books. 

“Professor Moriarty... I'm afraid it's not for my budget...” You laughed awkwardly.

“Consider it a gift from me. We don’t know how much time we’ll be lucky to share, yet a fine dress might be required if the guests will visit the mansion.”

“I... I don't know if I can accept your gift...” You hesitate. “I am grateful, but, I… Just can’t. I am not accustomed to such gifts and I won’t be ever able to repay you a gift like that.”

“I insist,” he says but it doesn’t convince you. William sighs. “Then, how about a deal?” He suggests. You perk up and that’s not something you should have done because a lady mustn’t be involved in such atrocious activities. “I will buy you a dress, and as... As compensation of sorts, you will show me your favourite place. You’ve been living not too far away from here, isn’t that so?”

“This is not—"

“This is a very fair exchange, Miss [Name]," he interrupts you, knowing what you wanted to say. You press your lips into a narrow line. It is a bad idea, however, seeing how persistent William is...

“If you insist...”

“I very much insist,” he replies, satisfied with your answer. He then smiles as if he had realised something. “One more thing, Miss [Name]. I think we should address each other by our first names for a while if we don't want to stir up gossip. What will people think when someone discovers that an unmarried woman is staying in a house full of strange men? We should give the impression of family.”

...William could not have cared less about the public opinion of him in this situation.

He almost pushes you through the door into the dressmaker's shop. By the time you blink, you are surrounded by a garland of women. One of them speaks to William, and the other gets a signal to take your measurements. You hold your breath as they do so.

Once everything is written down, you and William could move on.

...

“Professor Moriarty...”

“Once again, [Name]. I believe you can manage to call me by name. Only then will I listen to you.”

“Mr William...”

“Almost there.”

“…William.” You say in a half-hearted voice. Saying his name out loud is much more difficult than in your head. “Are you... Are you sure it's not too much? All those accessories... The outfit alone must cost a fortune.”

“If I am sure of anything, it is that it is all money was well spent.”

“…I don’t concur.”

William smiled at your words and took a sip of ginger tea. You’ve been having an awful lot of tea parties lately. The taste of this brew is no match for the one Louis brewed, but it is certainly one of the local delicacies.

The tea and cake shop you are in is one of the most famous establishments in the city. The upper terrace—where you are now—is open to those with money. It’s not one of the more expensive venues, but certainly one of the more charming.

Despite the hour, there are almost no customers.

“Does the dessert not suit your tastes?” William prompts, looking at your plates.

You both have slices of fresh strawberry tart that was made with a thin, soft sponge cake, a layer of heavy cream and sweet and sour strawberry jam in between.  

A teapot of tea is constantly warmed on a porcelain stand, and cups in floral patterns stand right next to your plates. Vases of freshly squeezed juices and water were placed on the table next to you.

It is the most varied afternoon tea you've been to recently. And everything is delicious.

“No, I like it very much”' you reply, quickly scooping up a larger piece of cake, which you gracefully shove into your mouth that of course you had to choke on it.

“I'm very concerned about your ability to get into trouble,” William says handing you a glass of water that helped you to swallow the cake. 

“It's not that everything I do is that chaotic.” You try to explain, taking a sip of tea, and forgetting that the jug is constantly heated doesn’t help your case.

“Did you burn yourself?” He asks and by the look on his face, you know your actions nor words haven’t convinced him. You croak, a little disappointed in your luck, but more by the burnt tongue. “Please show me the world, it can be more serious.”

“There is- no need for that…”

“That's what ice is good for,” William states as he stands up and walks over to the table next to him. He takes a piece of ice from a small bowl which, although it was meant to cool the juices, seemed perfect to treat your burn.

“I... What should I do about it?” You asked uncertainly. Ice? In the spring? Ah yes, it must have been one of those latest inventions... Refridgerorator? Refrigerator? “Should I... bite it? Eat it?... William...”

“You make it very difficult for me,” he says taking the nearest seat to you and putting an ice into his mouth.

Huh?

…Oh.

Oh! So it was for him! Or maybe, he shows you what you should do with the ice? You will need to grab another cube.

William’s hand finds its way to your cheek, which he turns towards you. You open your mouth to ask if is everything alright.

He’s been waiting for this to move closer to you. His lips fit into yours, and you immediately feel the coolness and heat, the ice and William, bursting in your mouth. The scent of ink, books and roses surrounds you, and a hand on your nape makes sure you won’t pull back from the kiss.

An ice cube gets into your mouth. You forget about the burn, as your lungs begin to run out of air, but you don’t pull away. Neither does William, who even deepens the kiss; his other hand goes to your chair to support himself when he leans into you.

Now you are running out of air.

William moves away, but only because of the footsteps of a client, who likely enjoyed the terrace of the cake shop. William puts a distance between you that would never have suggested that a moment ago.

“The ice should have completely melted by now,” William says softly, and you are struck by how calm he looked. All you can see on his cheeks is a pale blush. “If you want more, don’t hesitate to ask,” he says and looks deadly serious as if he wasn’t teasing you.

You envy him for how composed he looks, as another couple who just got to the floor are throwing you a strange look. You are looking like a mess, for sure.

William crosses his arms. He smiles at you, and you still can’t get a word out. You would like to reproach him for the… act, immediate and rough kiss, but the very fact that you have not yet fled spoke for itself.

“Shall we go to the next place, [Name]?”

You bite the inside of your cheek gently as you nod and grasp his arm. He glances at his watch.

“We still have some time before it starts to get dark... It might be a good time to fulfil the deal on your end, [Name]," he says in a gentle tone.

You sigh softly. Favourite place...? The first thing you think of is the library. It is a too-obvious choice, though. The library at Moriarty’s is also the one you’re currently enamoured with. 

…Well, there is one place you remember liking as a child.

How long has it been since you've been there?

“Alright," you smile at him, taking first steps in an unfamiliar direction. William, wordlessly lets you guide him to the place you’ve spent hours dreaming in and about.

CHAPTER VI

The rusted gate is overgrown with ivy and it’s the first thing that catches William's attention. You open it with a loud creak. The place turned out to be... Slightly further away than you remembered, so the sun has already started to set.

You watch William’s face as you enter the wild gardens. Unruly plants grow on the ground and between the paving stones. The place you decided to take William to is an old botanical garden, which no one has been interested in for a good few years. 

Well, maybe just you.

“So… This is a place I have great memories from,” you introduce the place, spreading your arms a little like a showman.

“It's beautiful here,” he admits, looking around. “It's a surprising view, considering we were in the city centre not so long ago.”

A content blush spreads over your cheeks. This time not from embarrassment—you’ve been feeling bashful too much lately, you think—but from sheer glee. You are happy that the place appeals to William.

“Romance books were almost forbidden in my home when I was so little. I had to borrow ones from the neighbours and sneak out to read here," you confess, directing deeper into the garden.

“Really? I wouldn't expect such rebellious behaviour from you.”.

“Oh, when I was younger I did much worse than sneaking out of the house," you sigh, stepping ahead of him. William raised his eyebrows, and you felt your legs slowly stiffen. Since when did you stop being a quiet introvert? You feel an urge to explain. “Like, um, stealing food from the kitchen and blaming it on the dogs. Or borrowing my mother’s cosmetics... without asking.”

He laughs at that. “You surprise me more and more, Miss [Name].”

You arrive at your favourite part of the garden. It is a gazebo overgrown with wild roses. In the middle of it stay wooden chairs and a table, swathed by moss.

“I remember losing my favourite doll here, but I was afraid to tell my mother about it because she would find out about my sneaking out," you laugh at the memory, one of many that return while wandering.

You notice how William hasn’t said a word for a while. A pang of guilt pierces your heart. “Oh, sorry! The stories of my childhood are not the most interesting ones.”

“They are. Actually...” He lowers his voice and leans to him to hear the words better. He speaks right into your ear. “It would be my pleasure to hear more... I would like to get to know you better [Name].”

“Well...” You look at him from under your lashes, trying to guess his expectations for you. To your misfortune, neither his smile nor his eyes betray anything except his curiosity. “What would to know about me?”

William points to the space between the hedge and the woodland.

“Let’s speak in a more comfortable place.”

He grabs you under the arm, and you rise from the table. William offers to go ahead, pushing back the tall grass that reached his knees.

“Ah!” You hold your breath. You find it hard not to smile as you are flooded with fond memories. “It's been so long since I've been here that I'd almost forgotten...”

A tall oak tree with a gigantic crown casts a shadow over you. Thick ropes are tied around the thick bough. Perhaps they had once held the anchor of a small ship. Britain is, of course, a maritime country and, in a time of an over-revolutionary world, finding miscellaneous materials from machines outside the city is not uncommon.

The ropes, apart from thick knots on a high branch, are neatly tied to a heavy board half a metre above the ground.

“I couldn't have climbed up here on my own when I was younger,” you admit, your eyes searching for the stone you brought from the bushes to elevate yourself onto the swing. “Although I suspect I would still have a problem with that.”

“I'll help you,” William offers, lending you one hand and entwining the other around your waist.

“ It’s a-all right," you protest, but the grip on your body only tightens.

William does not let go.

William tries.

William learns he is not strong enough to lift you that high, even if you were the lightest woman in London.

“Please don't strain yourself...!” You squealed quietly as you tightened your fingers on the ropes. You use all your strength to pull yourself up and finally sit on the board, which squats under your weight.

Your cheeks are hot and visibly red; his because of the sudden exertion, yours through embarrassment… and maybe endearment.

And delight. Few men would tear through the wilderness to put you on the swing.

“I know you're thinking about something untrue," William says. His eyes are now on the same level as yours, and once again you can admire his features from a different perspective.

His hands stay on both sides of you, clamping the ropes. The swing moves under his force, and your legs move further away from the ground.

“So,” William begins again, moving away from you and letting gravity do the work. You start to sway slightly. “What books did you read as a child?”

“Please don't think I've been... uh, like this all along,” you said quickly. William laughs under his breath, and you lower your gaze to the ground. “I mean... I borrowed some books from my neighbours, but I mostly read what was on the shelves in my parents' house.”

“Was it a big house?”.

“Neither big, neither small. It's not comparable to your residence, of course,” you take a moment to think about it. “But every room there is cosy. I still think it is one of the most beautiful places on earth.”

“More than a library?”

“…They are both gorgeous and outstanding.”

“But if you had to choose one?”

“Don’t ask so difficult questions, please,” you say with a chuckle that William shares.

At that moment a rustle comes from the bushes near you. It is a loud sound, as if staged.

By the bushes, at a very respectful and polite distance, stands Fred, his clothes in no way tarnished, although he seems to be coming from a part of the garden where you have to make your way through the low branches.

He nods in greeting you and waits for the permission to speak.

William helps you jump off the swing and, after taking you under his arm, allows Fred to come closer. He looks at him significantly to weigh his words.

You couldn’t catch the boy staring, but you feel his gaze on you when he opens his mouth.

“We found Mary Hale.”

CHAPTER VII

You hurry into the living room of William's residence. There you find Mary, extremely exhausted, wrapped in a blanket in a large armchair, drinking. She looks very different from the last time you saw her. She has dark circles under her eyes, and her face is almost morbidly pale. Mary's clothes have never been so crumpled before.

“Mary...!” You call out and take her into a tight embrace, glad she is back. Safe. You might not be particularly close, but you’ve been still worried about her.

“[Name]...” Mary struggles to reply, not knowing what kind of words she could share with you. She seems not even to have the strength to reciprocate the hug.

You move away from her and tears create in the corners of your eyes. “You’re okay...! “

She smiles uncomfortably.

“We have notified your family and Mr Hearst as you requested,” Louis announces, pouring tea into Mary's cup.

The girl nodded and seemed to want to say something more, but before that, someone burst into the room.

“Mary! Thank God you're here!” August runs up to her, grabbing her shoulders. She sends him a weak smile, but it dies as August turns his attention to you. “Oh, [Name]! How good that you are safe too. I was really worried when you disappeared so suddenly.”

Mary's face clouds over. She's the one who's been through hell the last few days, so why are you the one who's focused attention on...? Are you and August Hearst...?

She sighs, and William can’t help but notice the dissatisfaction in her eyes. The case is not going his way. He had particularly told Mary that they had found her thanks to Mr Hearst, and she—as he predicted—already took an interest in him. He was a good, wealthy, honest man who had “saved” her. 

However, he doesn't seem to notice. His attention is focused on you, which inwardly irritates William. 

“I’m fine, August... I was safe at the professor's side, as you can see,” you smile convincingly. August looks with a dull gaze at William and nods. He turns to Mary.

“What has happened to you Mary...?” August asks. “Suddenly a strange anonymous message came to me....”

“Miss, [Name],” you hear Louis' voice near you. “I need you to leave for a while. This is important information in the investigation, and we believe that knowing what has happened might put you in danger.”

“Is… it really that dangerous?” You ask with disbelief and worry.

“We know you care about Miss Mary, yet…”

“A-alright,” you bow slightly and take your leave.

Whatever the meeting was about, you never found out.

From August, you’ve learned that Mary Hale does not want to return to the family home; she will have the week off from classes and is required to stay in another room.

When asked if this meant you were going back to your dorm, William shook his head.

“Miss Hale needs peace,” he replied, and you slowly concluded that you were too low-energy a person to disturb someone like Mary. William smiled. “Unfortunately, but you can be very distracting. She will have arranged a room especially to look after her.”

…You wonder why you couldn't have had the same privilege when you needed a single room as well.

“Miss [Name],” August calls. He seems a little paler than before and is carefully eyeing William as he speaks. The professor sips his tea calmly. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me back to the academy tomorrow?”

You smile at him. “Su—"

...And William answers for you. “Unfortunately Mr Hearst, I must ask you to be present fifteen minutes before class starts. Our lessons must go on, and we've accumulated a bit of a backlog over the last week, don’t you think?”

“Professor Moriarty," August’s voice is filled with a firmness you have never heard from him before. You look at him in surprise which escalates when he gently moves closer to you so that the sleeves of his suit lightly brush against the folds of your dress.

You freeze in place, knowing that whichever way you moved you would find yourself too close to August or William. You hold your breath as if its irregular rhythm betrays your tension.

“Professor Moriarty,” August appeals again, feeling that his words are not getting through to William, who stares at him. Although the chill gaze isn’t directed at you, a shiver comes down your spine. “I don't want to sound rude, but shouldn't you, as a supervisor, be concerned with the safe return of Miss Mary Hale to the dormitory?”

William smiles, although the air around him goes cold.

August stands up quickly and, somewhat forcing you to go with the rules of etiquette extends his hand, which you have to accept.

Your hand finds its way under August's arm. You two—although you not so willingly—leave.

How are you going to return to William’s residence now? Maybe you will stay on campus, or should you get a carriage??

“You have no idea how deep an emotion you evoke in me.”

…?

These are August's words when he considers that you have already moved a fair distance away. His eyes twinkle as he says it, a mottled blush sets on his cheeks and Mr Hearst himself seems like a character straight out of a book.

You can even sum the plot to the current point: a new student and a shy student are assigned to a class together; the charismatic boy quickly falls in love with the typical girl, and she slowly opens up just for him... How many times have you read something with a similar trope?

Not that you want to flatter yourself—being the protagonist of such a classic romance is a compliment, after all, right?—But it's so hard not to substitute August for this gentlemanly extrovert who wins girls' hearts with the blink of his eye.

And the fact that he was now in front of you and stammering over the words he was about to say makes you suddenly stop.

“August, I—"

“The situation with Mary made me realize that… If something like that would ever happen to you, I would go insane with worry.”

You fail to think of anything you can say. Well, you always wanted to have a romance, right?

But…

Every place that William ever kissed you, starts to burn.

“I... Unfortunately, but...”

You read so many romances; there was bound to be some rejectionist dialogue in those. What did they sound like?

“I am... I am truly honoured, Mr Hearst, but...”

The knot in your throat makes it difficult to say the words.

August knows what you want to say; his grip on your hand tightens involuntarily, and a small wave of panic floods your body. He’s doing it unconsciously, he’s in pain right now, but… 

You wouldn't be able to break out of his embrace alone.

“Miss [Name].”

Your heads quickly turn towards the voice whose owner turned out to be Louis. He bowed elegantly and, putting his hand to his chest, continued to speak.

“Brother William wanted me to inform you that the carriage is already waiting for you.”

August cuts in.

“I am sorry, but we agreed that Miss [Name] is coming back with me.”

Louis squints at him, unhappy William’s words aren’t accepted just like that.

“The plans have changed. I was told to bring Miss [Name] back.”

You feel on your skin the reluctance with which August releases you from his embrace. Sparks of guilt glitter in his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitch uncontrollably. Immense regret pours over your heart as you realise that you have failed to reject him without hurting him.

...On the other hand, would it ever be possible?

August's gaze did not leave you until you got into the carriage. Only then he shakes himself off and with an abrupt step walks away. You suspect your next encounter will not be very pleasant. You’ve just lost a friend.

“Were you willing to accept his proposal?”

You turn to William, who sits opposite you and waits for your reaction. Your skirt is voluminous enough to hide your shaking heart.

Maybe if Mary hadn't liked August so much and if William James Moriarty hadn't been your teacher, maybe then... No.

You shake your head. “I adore him as a friend.”

“So please don’t feel sorry," he says in a calm voice and with a gentle smile offers comfort. “I will make sure that only friendship remains between you.”

...

...

...?

August Hearst has no idea how he got into this situation.

Ten minutes ago he came to meet Professor Moriarty, who had told him the previous day that he would need to speak to him about the overall backlog.

He never expected William to serve him this kind of lesson.

It's really hard to see what's going on outside when you're locked in a bookcase. Only the gap between the wings of the door allowed him a peek at what was going on inside the hall. He has a view of the blackboard, the very centre of the auditorium and the desks, including his own, where he had sat until a few days ago when he had lectures.

He could feel the thick ribbons rubbing against his wrists and ankles; one of them served to cover his mouth. He can’t say anything or move, but he knows that if he makes too loud a sound, Professor Moriarty, who is fully aware of his presence—as he was the one who has put him here—will kick him out of school.

He didn't even need to warn him personally—the unspoken prohibition hung in the air as soon as William closed the wardrobe.

“William?”

Oh no.

August really doesn’t want to hear your voice. His heart has yet to be rehabilitated. He isn’t sure if a whole year will be enough.

On the other hand, he so badly wants you to come up to that bookcase now. August is convinced that the reason he is in this situation is your relationship with Professor Moriarty. He feels the sting of hatred for the professor, but the gentleness with which William handled you made him unable to consider him inferior in this situation.

“[Name],” Since when does Professor Moriarty's voice sound so warm? August wonders in his mind. “I'm sorry to call you out at such an early hour, but... we're both aware that you also need a repetition of exam material.”

“Of course,” you move towards the chair. William lightly catches your hand in his and brings you closer.

“Today we’ll have a special lesson for a special student,” he replies with amusement at the question in his eyes. “I have tasks already prepared for you. Starting from the beginning...”

You grab a piece of chalk and stand in front of the blackboard. William, along with a file of notes, walks behind your back and saunters in circles.

He dictates the questions. You immediately get to work.

The pattern? You already remember it after you failed the exam six months ago. Since then, it has haunted you even in your dreams.

And calculating it? …Maybe you’ve got a little problem with numbers.

William's drawing of perfect straight strokes presents an irregular triangle with three signed side lengths and its heights.

...The first thing you need to do is to use the cosine theorem. You needed a cosine, an angle.

...

...

...

How were the angles calculated?

“William... Uh... I think I'm hugely deficient… Today,” you sigh, lowering the chalk and stepping away from the blackboard. William casts a glance at the blackboard and then at you. “Could I have a hint...?”

A smile stretches his lips.

“But of course,” he replied, walking up to you. 

You hold your hand out to him, from which he takes the chalk but also brings itself closer. His fingers intertwine with yours, and your face is right next to his. He leans down, his lips brushing your collarbone and inhales your perfume.

Sweet. Could it be a rose?

You’re matching now.

He nibbles on your skin, and you gasp quietly in surprise. Slowly, you begin to get used to his touch, but the moment you start to crave it he lifts his head so that he meets your eyes.

“That is the fee for the hint," he flashes you a charming smile. So now he is demanding something in return for his help? Was that the purpose of this repetition?

“…William!” you say, feeling your body overheating. This was supposed to be a lesson! A repetition! And you are going to leave it with grace and knowledge, even if you had to lie about whether you liked the whole event or not. “T… this is still a public place!”

He doesn’t let you move away. He teases you by closing his behind your back.

“Please don't worry. It's not like anyone can see us.”

You blush even harder and William casts a fleeting glance towards the wardrobe.

“And if one’s watching, let them watch.”

CHAPTER VIII

You sigh, looking out of the window. The weather today is not spoiling anyone, and the constant rain puts you in a nostalgic mood. Just to think that not so long ago you were just an ordinary student with a slightly over-exuberant imagination and an obsession with romance...

And now? The former may not have changed, but you feel as if you have become the main character of the novella you loved so much. Being an ordinary townswoman, you have gained the attention of your handsome professor-aristocrat, as well as from your colleague... It seemed too... unrealistic. Fictional.

Your relationship with William is... Exactly what is it? Neither of you ever uttered "I love you" or proposed a relationship, yet your interactions...

You blush at the memory of the scene an hour ago. Your actions hint at a close relationship, yet deep inside you feel apprehension. What if your unspoken feelings don't last? If you are going to be left alone? Would you be able to survive this? Will your heart be able to bear such a disappointment? 

You shake your head, returning your gaze to the notebook. This is not the time for such thoughts, but nevertheless, your hands tightened on the material of your skirt. You take a deep breath and try to focus on the rest of the lecture.

"William is truly amazing, you think as you watch him. Not only does he teach maths at university, he also helps Mary and you. Your gazes cross for a moment and you reflexively look at your notebook, but there are just minutes left before the end of the class.

William announces the end and the students start to pack their things into their bags. 

“Miss [Name],” you hear him after everyone else exits the class. You turned around, looking warmly at William. “I would like to talk to you today about something very important to me.”

***

You are unable to find out where William is leading you. He dismisses your every question like a politician, but in return for not answering, he places a kiss on your finger joints. You don’t break out of his embrace or even comment on it, even when you get into the carriage and his hand is still clamped on yours.

“Aren't you cold?” He asks, looking at the overcast sky. The sun has hidden behind the rain-threatening clouds after you got into the carriage. The wheels rattle against the stones even faster. He wants to hide in some inn as soon as possible, but he cannot ignore the aristocrat's wish or his money.

You shake your head at William's question. You are warm.

Your vehicle doesn’t stop until forty minutes later, under the old church. It is tall and built of heavy stone. The grey sky gives it an underwhelming atmosphere, but the beautiful buildings and decorations that lasted for many years reinforce your belief that it had once been a majestic and beautiful building. It still has its charm and solemnity in its appearance, but you can’t imagine anyone choosing it over the local cathedrals.

William pushes open the massive wooden door. They opened with a quiet squeak and immediately ushered you into the damper, cooler and quieter air. The raindrops were already almost inaudible compared to the sound of your footsteps.

He leads you to the confessional; he doesn’t even glance towards the altar illuminated by flashes of lightning, or towards the pews, the wood of which was indeed soaked with water. They are dark and smell of earth and the weeds that grow around them.

He seats you where a confessor would normally sit. You protest silently, but William proves to have a better understanding of human physics, for he does not use much force, but still seats you deep inside the confessional. You don’t even dare to flinch and look anxiously at the door as if someone is about to reprimand you for your behaviour.

“May He be praised.”

William walks across to the kneeler. He crosses himself without saying anything and leans towards the grating of the confessional. You are sure he could feel your gaze on him, even though you try to avert it from him. Apparently, he doesn’t mind, and just demands your attention, because he nods as if agreeing to whatever you are going to do now.

“I know the text for the confession, but it can't look like that now,” he says rather loudly, not like a repentant man who is supposed to confess his sins. “I am not looking for forgiveness here. I am not looking for repentance, although perhaps you, [Name], could be my path to purification. I... came here to share my sins with you, because I love you dearly,” your heart skips a beat, “but in order to keep you in my life, I need you to let you get to every part of it. I will keep you safe, of course, but I must make you aware of something.”

You nod but are too nervous to interrupt him. It is a gesture so subtle as to be almost imperceptible, but William notices it. He goes on:

“I am.... a person who pursues an objective regardless of the means, as long as someone close to me is not involved. I do this by means of a certain service of a crime consultant and I clear the world of fake people.”

Here he looks at you. You stare at him as if under the spell, but you don’t really know how to answer him.

“This morning,” he continues, “certain aristocrat was murdered... I believe you already know the news, “he says because your eyes glaze over in recognition. “I would not kill an innocent man, [Name]. That man was notorious on the black market. He had four murders of girls as young as twelve or thirteen. They died in torture, all because of him. Did he deserve to live after all of that?”

You keep silent. You feel a huge lump in your throat, and you can’t think of anything you could say. Tears of unhappiness and shock run down your cheeks. Obviously, the person you had to love was a serial killer, just like in the books.

“Did you...” You whisper out, trying to not let yourself sob. “...They... The rest... Louis, Fred... Moran... James... They all...?”

William puts his hand to the grating of the confessional as if he has forgotten that a wall separates you and he cannot wipe away your tears.

“They are all involved,” William confirms. “I want them to have a better world. I want them to... live in it, and be fulfilled in it. And the same I wish for you. Especially you.”

“...And what... what about you?” - You ask, catching a certain nostalgia in his voice. Nonetheless, you are already becoming well acquainted with William's tones, having spent a lot of time listening to every tone of his voice with relish.

“I don't know.”

Here he hesitates, for the first time in a long while since arriving at the church.

“But... Now, I know that I will do everything to make you live in this world,” he said. “Together with me.”

He got up from his kneeler and approached you. This time he doesn’t kneel but bows his head as he pulls a black box from the deep pocket of his coat. He opens it gently and on the velvet cushion shows an elegant, large ruby set into a silver ring. Its colour immediately makes you think of William's eyes.

Now that you stare at it, it reminds you of the colour of the blood.

“This ring is my being, my promises, my future,” he says, and the stone glows scarlet as if to confirm his words. “My name. If you accept it... I will consider that you accept me and my sins.”

You don’t immediately raise your hand. You would have done so just twenty minutes ago when you were still in the vehicle and you were happily lurching to William's side, resting your head on his shoulder. Now it isn’t just your maths teacher standing in front of you.

Now there is a Napoleon of Crime, one of the worst criminals in London. Your heart is awfully heavy, but you know that this is what a secret of such importance should weigh. It hadn't yet crossed your mind that by him sharing this secret, your choices were suddenly limited.

But you raise your hand nonetheless. It stops over the ring. You don’t know now whether the future you had been anticipating will actually be as beautiful as you have dreamed. By taking this ring, you were saying goodbye to your fantasies since you first learned of love.

The ruby is perfect for your finger; it slides in neatly and stays in place.

You tear up at this sight.

“Everything will be fine," William holds you against his chest. His hands continuously stroke your hair, slowly calming your sobs. It takes a long time though, but eventually the touch, his squat silhouette seemed to warm you up in this cold church. Yes, William's gestures were always warm, though his hands were usually cold. “I won't let anything bad happen to you. I will love you always,” and here his voice changed to a whisper. It sounds like a confession for the first time. “I beg you to remember that. Amen.”

CHAPTER IX

You have returned home. (You remember how warm you felt in William's embrace as the carriage wheels clattered against the cobbles on the way back to his estate).

William took his brothers with him to the study to discuss a matter relating to you. (You blushed at Moran’s whistling, having noticed the ring on your finger. Everyone congratulated you, but they didn't look surprised).

James handed you some cosmetics he'd bought in town. (Unrelated to the engagement, but they smelled divine).

You went to bed.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner.

You spent whole days at William's side. You didn't even make it back to university, although William continued to promise that you would be there again in the future.

...

It couldn't have been that long, could it?

Your book, “The Fruit of Infinity”, which you were so engrossed in, was last shelved in your dorm room... how long ago? When was the last time you even had the presence of mind to get a hold of a fictional world once more and get away from the present one? Too many things have been occupying your head.

The first was your wedding.

...

Huh.

When have you agreed to this? When did your parents have time to allow this? When did Louis have time to agree to this? The latter two would fight against the world if you had said anything about a relationship with William at the beginning of your acquaintance, just to keep you from getting married.

When did their resolve soften?

You aren’t going to talk them out of it. You know that everything that has happened to you so far was just a stroke of luck that you had accidentally come across. If only you have chosen a different class, a different major in college… Surely nothing has happened because of your non-existent romance skills.

(Although Moran did offer to teach you a little something if you wanted to flesh out your personality).

(William protested).

You don’t yet know how your life will play out from then on. Is William going to separate you from his plans for the London aristocracy? Keeping you completely unaware will be impossible and that’s why William has revealed his plans to you, but…

“Will's just worried about you,” James says, patting you on the shoulder. He listened intently to your worries, which you have been trying to keep to yourself lately; now that you know how much responsibility rests on the shoulders of everyone in the house, you don’t want to bother them with your silly problems. Bottling your feelings too quickly was breaking you from the inside, and James took you to the gardens as soon as he noticed your first insincere smile. (That's something you'll have to practice more). “The world in revolves is truly brutal. And you, my dear, are very fragile.”

“I don't want to be that fragile," you lowered your head with a slight pout.

“Oh, dearest!” James strokes your head again. You'd noticed that he is in the habit of fixing your hair and you like the childish joy of being cared for like that. “I'll take care of you, alright? Let's give William some more time to enjoy that rosy, adorable you at the wedding. And afterwards, we'll make you quite a weed to fend for yourself and know that people like Moran are low-key!”

You smile slightly. “...I bet you would be an excellent professor on that topic.”

He covers his mouth with his hands and looks at you with pride.

“Is that sarcasm, I hear?” he sighs with delight, taking you in one arm in his embrace. “My dear, I see progress, and in a very good direction.”

…

You guess you won’t mind a family like that.

…

The other thing that pulled you away from the books and the now all too fictional reality was this terrible fear.

Your life will change as soon as you marry William. It is inevitable and knowable, and normally the changes after the wedding are the ones people usually wait for.

You'll have a loved one by your side, plans for your life, and your dream romance with the antagonist (they always have something in them that the main characters lack)... And all of England chasing you.

News of Count Caretling's murder was everywhere. The information about his death is incomplete, always accompanied by a reference to a natural disease that no one had ever known about before. You don’t dare to ask William if he is responsible.

“Dearest,” he told you, sipping his tea. “You can still back out of everything. Just a word of promise that you will not reveal anything about our identity. Most likely, your brothers would force you to move deeper into Europe or to America—your whole family could go with you safely, I promise you. Would that be a more appealing solution?”

He said it quite neutrally. After that, you’ve been frustrated with William, especially as you slowly started to see the tension in the smile and the artificial indifference in those words.

You left his office genuinely angry.

And now you are on your way to America.

...

The theoretical road to America. Or some country in Europe. You haven’t decided yet.

...

You are on your way to travel the world then. With no luggage, no funds, no knowledge of parents, fiancé or friends. In a wedding dress, walking briskly across the seashore knowing there must be a port somewhere. Yes, you're prepared to travel the world.

Your watch indicated that your wedding ceremony would begin in fifteen minutes. You know there have been cases where brides had been far, far too late for their wedding, too engaged in preparing themselves for their special day. If no one has noticed that it's too quiet in your dressing room and they haven't kicked down the door or climbed through the window then you should still have some time.

You can feel your eyes burning, and it’s not because of the sun that shines down on you.

Why are you giving up on your dreams?

Your legs ache and your heart feet heavier with every step. The sand on the beach tries to pull you underground and some part of you wants to let yourself collapse.

You ran away from William James Moriarty because you feared for your life. And not only yours.

If someone stumbles across William's criminal trial and connects the dots to you—would you be able to lie to save your life? Is this more valuable than all those dead? Would you let yourself pretend to be an innocent maiden from a wealthy manor or betray them if you gave anyone a wrong impression? If you left this world in the name of William’s ideals, would your family be punished as well?

You always thought love would help you face anything until you landed in the current situation.

You aren’t able to admit it to William, although in your head you are putting together scenarios of your explanation should he decide to catch up with you.

When he decides to catch up with you.

He appears out of nowhere and you know it must have been due to someone following you. You feel silly with the thought when you thought you had been so clever and discreet in your escape. You have, after all, met Fred and Jack.

William is dressed in a wedding suit; completely black, elegant and unsuited to the beach. You don’t match it either, but as he stands next to you now, you know you suit each other. At least with the clothes.

“So you decided to quit, [Name].”

“...I don't want to put anyone at risk,” you say after a moment, but you struggle to get any words out under William's gaze, which isn’t warm anymore. What were you expecting? “And I also have a selfish reason. William, I won't be able to live a life like you. I— I want to help people, but I don't want to sacrifice my life! Nothing— I haven't achieved anything in my life yet!”

You can’t hold back the tears. They are pouring down your cheeks and you regret like never before in your life that emotions can sway you like that.

William is standing close enough for the hem of your dress to touch the fabric of his trousers, but he does not attempt to deepen the contact.

“My life is inseparable from the death of others,” he whispers, and because the beach is unusually quiet, you hear everything in his voice that you love so much. “You [Name], on the other hand... You remind me of life itself. You are full of it. You can't hide what you feel. You care about each person, and I care about the public well-being. You value everyone and I can’t do that.”

“…You know that's not true,” you say resolutely and with anger in your voice. “William, you put the whole world before yourself. You teach people and want to build things with your own hands. I'm the one who has this selfish desire to have you in every piece... This- I'm the one who messed it all up.”

“Then help me fix the world, if that’s what you want.”

His red eyes are piercing you deeply. Your body fills with a mixture of very different feelings, and William is now allowing you to release them all. You use them up to muster up the courage to say your vows.

“I want you to be mine. And me to be yours. So I can’t give you to the world.”

You grab him by his suit and jerk him towards you. Under the sudden force, he leans over and bumps into you.

You steal a kiss from him.

It stands apart from all the others you have ever shared with him (and those, however, were not too many (in reality. Not in imagination)). It is more violent than all the others because of the sudden desperation. 

And then William regains control. He lifts his head higher, just enough to keep your lips from parting, but now you have to exert some effort to reach him and stand on your toes. 

You have to make up for your running away.

And you can do so by giving your heart, soul and mind entirely to William.

In exchange, you can keep his life to yourself.

EPILOGUE

“Hmm~ So now it's Mrs Moriarty, no?”

You laugh with a fiery blush on your face at this remark.

You’ve been embarrassed since everyone turned towards the huge doors when the bride and groom were a good half hour late for their wedding. Their outfits were in the sand, the bride's make-up was smudged, the groom’s suit stretched, and they both walked down the aisle without any remorse, with a determined stride.

“You are already the subject of many rumours,” comments James, sitting next to William. He adds in a thinner voice and with exaggerated drama, “Such shortcomings in your outfits on your wedding day, they said. And yet they walked in with such superiority as if their tardiness was nothing, they said.”

“It wasn't too bad,” says Moran, disturbed that he can’t light a cigarette in the cab. He grins slightly in William's direction. “But I'm glad this wedding wasn't perfect! Now everyone, we have some top-tier teasing material on William!”

“Finally something he wasn’t a gentleman in," you say.

“The bride who tried to run away from her wedding was also at fault, I think,” William replies, not looking at you but squeezing your hand.

You squeezed it tighter. “A bride who had a very good reason to do so.”

“So the groom shouldn’t have been chasing her?”

“He should have. Now she finally has a purpose. I think the groom should beware of what a wonderful wife she will become.”

“He won’t mind, as his wife is already wonderful.”

Everyone listens to the exchange in silence, or maybe you don’t pay attention to anyone, completely lost in William who lets himself look at you and gets spellbound by you as well. 

Louis sighs, with some kind of relief.

“So brother has finally found his happiness, hm...~” tag: @elvyshiarieko

#eoeoeoe that's one long fic #idk if it has a chance of being popular here #but i hope all thos who were waiting for it will enjoy the fic fully! #william james moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #ynm x reader #ynm #moriarty the patriot x reader #william x reader #fluff #angst #mtp #mtp x reader

[angelltheninth]

Hello! Where's not many written about Fred Porlock, probably due to his age?.. So I would like to ask you to write about Fred, in his late twenties maybe, with fem!s/o who he had managed to keep in secret from everyone else so she's not involved in Moriarty's plan. A secret "spouse"? Might be fun. Thank you for your time and your effort, your writings brought me so much joy lately!

I mean he is the youngest of the group but he's 21, still I can make him older for the headcanons since they're set in the future.

Pairing: Fred Porlock x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, married couple, cuddles, lazy mornings, domestic bliss, cooking together

A/N: Fred is really cute though, I think he'd make a good partner.

Fred, while being very quiet a lot of the time is very physically affectionate towards you

Likes to go clothes shopping with you, it's a nice way to spend time with you plus it's useful for his work

He's still a little shorter than you and sometimes gets embarrassed about it

Might be away for a bit due to missions but spends all of his free time with you whenever he doesn't have mission meetings

Actually likes lazy mornings with you despite him being pretty punctual, he just moves everything he needs to do to a later time in the day

Is usually the small spoon when cuddling except when you're on the couch and you snuggle into his side

Likes to cook, sometimes alone but mostly with you when he's home

But also likes it whenever you surprise him with his favorite food after his mission as a form of comfort and relaxation food

Makes sure that he's honest with you because he doesn't want you to think that he's still with you because of some mission

Sometimes tests his disguise skills on you but you can see right through him despite his best efforts

Very fond of your laugh and always aims to hear it in the morning

#yuumori #yuumori x reader #yuumori fluff #fred porlock #fred porlock x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty fluff #yuukoku no moriarty imagine #yuukoku no moriarty headcanons #yuumori imagine #yuumori headcanons

[scarlet-streak-fanfics]

[Untitled] Pt. 4 (1.1k words)

Enjoy!

Sherlock had spent his youth believing himself impervious to the charms of the fairer sex due to his intellect. After all, he’d never had feelings for a woman–not in the way that his schoolmates and literature had described, anyway. In fact, when he’d first met William, he thought the adrenaline rush and racing heart were from the excitement of having someone who could keep up with and challenge him. It took multiple other meetings, including working together to solve a case, before Sherlock realized he was in over his head.

Of course, he doesn’t regret the choices and discoveries that led to this moment, sitting on a couch in the Moriarty residence in Durham with Lord William James Moriarty asleep with his head on Sherlock’s lap. They’d been playing chess, the detective seated on an ottoman and the nobleman across from him on the couch, when Liam had simply fallen over on his side. Sherlock had rushed to his side, fearing the worst, and the sudden commotion had drawn Louis’s attention. The youngest of the Moriarty brothers had explained William’s peculiar narcolepsy and suggested that Sherlock return to 221B since his brother would most likely not wake within the next twelve hours, if not longer. However, Sherlock had declined, reasoning that, since he was here when William fell asleep, waking up to find the detective gone might be distressing. Louis was far from pleased, but Sherlock knew that he’d never protest against something his beloved older brother would like. This allows him to enjoy these quiet hours, resting and watching over Liam, for once.

In the months he’s known Liam, the nobleman’s face has never looked so peaceful, even when he’d slept over at Sherlock’s flat. He runs his fingers through the light blond hair, enjoying the rare chance at actually providing affection to his closest friend. Though their arrangement is supposed to benefit them both, considering they are both starved for this kind of casual affection, Liam almost never allows himself to be on the receiving end. “Ah, apologies, Mr. Holmes. I didn’t mean to overexert.”

Sherlock pulls his hand away like he’s been burned, cheeks already heating up. “No problem, Liam. Didn’t know you were narcoleptic.”

The nobleman sits up, rubbing his eyes. “I do not tend to advertise the fact–I’m sure you can understand why.”

“Yeah, ‘course. Secret’s safe with me.” The soft smile Liam graces him with makes his heart race. “I never doubted that for a moment, I assure you.”

As the nobleman goes to stand up, Sherlock grabs his hand on an impulse. William raises an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

“Just wonderin’ if we could sit here for a little while longer,” the detective says in a hurry. “Hadn’t seen ya in a few weeks, and it was nice to… You know.”

Liam sighs in mock exasperation, falling back onto the couch with a grin on his face. “I suppose I can spare a few moments longer, Mr. Holmes.”

“Sherlock. C’mon, Liam, you just slept most o’ the day away on my lap, you can call me by my first name.” William’s smile loses all the warmth behind it, crimson eyes taking on a look akin to that of a spooked animal. “I don’t want to presume that level of intimacy with you.”

“But this level is alright?” He raises their still-joined hands. William pointedly avoids his gaze and that just raises Sherlock’s frustration. “Liam, this was supposed to be something to help both of us, but I won’t do this if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You deserve better, Sherlock.” At first, the words don’t even register–the concept is so ridiculous, so completely unthinkable that it actually makes his brilliant brain grind to a halt. By the time he’s finished processing them, Liam is talking again. “I do not deign myself worthy of holding you back in the way that intimacy implies. This arrangement is simply to alleviate your touch starvation until you find someone better, someone who is actually deserving of your time and affections.”

“And when were you gonna tell me that?” It’s Liam’s turn to look confused. “I thought it was obvious. I hold you in high regard, Mr. Holmes, enough that I would not wish to hold you back from true happiness just for my selfish desires.”

Sherlock wants to tear his own hair out–how could someone with a genius to match his own be so incredibly stupid as to think that he is the one being held back. The detective is painfully aware of the numerous women clamoring for William’s attention and how their relationship could ruin the nobleman’s reputation forever, yet he truly believes that the one suffering is Sherlock. He can feel William pulling his hand away and immediately tightens his own grip, turning to face the blond completely as he joins their free hands as well. “Who told you I want someone else, Liam?”

The spooked animal expression returns and Liam can only stare as Sherlock barrels headfirst into the confession that he’d been holding back since their first meeting. “There’s nobody else in this world like ya–nobody else I’d rather be sittin’ here with. Before you, I was just wanderin’ from one high to the next, tryin’ t’run from boredom without carin’ where it got me. Ya changed my life, Liam, so don’t tell me to go find something better. This ain’t just some sort of interim t’me, so just set your damn fears aside and call me Sherlock!”

Liam looks even prettier than usually when he’s surprised, Sherlock decides, with those red eyes filled with honest astonishment and slightly parted lips. However, after a few moments of silence, the detective starts to worry that he’s broken the other man. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s made Liam speechless, and this was the longest time yet. “Ya don’t haveta if  you really don’t wanna, Liam. Don’t expect ya t’feel the same either. I just wanted t’let ya know how I feel about this–about you. This is important to me, and I think it’s the same to you, innit? I–”

“Sherlock.” That one word seems to steal the air from Sherlock’s lungs. It sounded so perfect, and all he wants to do is hear it again. However, he decides not to push his luck, instead pulling the other man closer and partially on top of himself, releasing Liam’s hands in favor of capturing him in a tight hug. He tucks the blond’s head under his chin, just like he does when they sleep together, to hide the wide grin on his face. It takes Liam a few moments to reciprocate the gesture, allowing himself to relax against the detective’s chest. Despite his best efforts, unfortunately, Sherlock eventually loses the fight to hold back a cheeky, “See, was that so hard?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, Mr. Holmes.” William’s response is cool and indifferent, and Sherlock can’t help himself as he throws his head back and laughs. Liam can keep his ego–the detective is perfectly happy with what progress he’s made on making the nobleman understand how important he is to him.

#merc writes #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #sherlock holmes #louis james moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty fic #yuukoku no moriarty fluff #yuukoku no moriarty angst #cuddle time #I might make them kiss soon #please tell me if you'd like to see that #idiots in love #for once sherlock has the brain cell #but liam is stuck in self loathing land #sherliam #sherliam fic #sherliam angst #sherliam fluff

[neontokyoo]

Hiiiii! Can't get enough of your writing, you're very talented! How about 80 and 84 with William, who came home late in the night after another mission only to find out that his wife's been taken to maternity hospital? Tysm in advance! <3

Ask and you shall receive. I'm glad you enjoy my writing!

Pairing: William James Moriarty x Reader

Prompts: 80, 84

Summary: You go into labor but your husband is absent and the responsibilities are passed on to his brothers.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: Pregnancy

As you lay in bed, thriving in pain, you couldn't help but think of William, your beloved husband. He was out on another mission,, one that could take days to return from, and you couldn't help but worry. The two of you have been eagerly awaiting the arrival of your first child, and you found yourself worrying about if your husband would miss the birth or not.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down a bit. You had to stay strong. For the baby and your husband. After a few moments, you heard a knock at the door, followed by a familiar voice.

"Y/N," the voice called. "It's me, Albert. May I come in?"

You gave him a weak answer as the door flew open, and it didn't take him very long at all to realize what was going on.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of everything," he assured you. "I'll send a letter to William letting him know what's going on."

You smiled as the pain intensified and Albert left the room to go get Louis.

They did all they could to make sure you were comfortable, bringing in a bowl of warm water and a towel to ease the pain. They took turns rubbing your back and holding your hand as you went through the contractions.

As the hours passed, the pain became more intense. You could hear the brothers whispering to each other, trying to decide what to do next.

"We need to get a doctor here. It's too risky to do this on our own." Albert spoke after what seemed like forever.

You nodded in agreement, grateful for their level-headedness. They quickly dispatched a bird with a letter to William, letting him know what was happening.

After sending the letter, Louis went to go get a doctor while Albert stayed with you to make sure everything was all right.

When Louis came back with help, the doctor set everything up and checked your progress while the brothers stayed at your side.

The labor was long and painful, but finally, you heard the cries of your baby. You let out a deep sigh of relief and closed your eyes, feeling exhausted but overjoyed.

As you held your baby for the first time, you felt a surge of love and gratitude for the Moriarty brothers. They had been there for you when you needed them the most, and you knew that you could count on them no matter what.

As the sun rose, William arrived, looking tired but relieved to see you and the baby safe and sound. You could see the worry etched on his face as he looked at you and the baby, and you couldn't help but smile.

"It's over," you whispered, holding out your arms to him. "We're a family now."

William smiled back, his eyes full of love and pride. He took the baby from you, cradling her gently in his arms.

"Welcome to the world, my little one," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

You looked on, feeling grateful for the love and support of your husband and his brothers. You knew that you had made the right choice in marrying William James Moriarty, and you were excited to start your new life as a family.

#William is so daddy material #my heart hurts #it's too cute #baby fever #fluff #baby #pregnancy #labor pain #late to birth #william moriarty #ynm william #william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #moriarty anime #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot x reader #moriarty the patriot #yuukuko no moriarty x reader #mtp william #mtp albert #mtp louis #mtp x reader #mtp #ynm #louis james moriarty #albert james moriarty

[tulipsforvin]

Hey, may I request some fluff with William x Fem!Reader, where William overworks himself to a point of getting sick and his wife having to take care of him, making sure he doesn’t try to sneak out of bed and continue his work despite being sick?

ᥫ᭡. Sick William J. Moriarty x Fem!Reader

╰┈⪼ ୨ William overworks himself to the point that he gets sick, but fortunately for him, he has you by his side. ୧

“I'm fine, (Name).” William rasps, slumped back against the headboard of the bed.

(Name) huffs, looking down at the thermometer and up at her lover again. “Between your words and the thermometer, which one do you think is more believable?”

William sighs, closing his eyelids. “Technology can be faulty as well..” He says, words slurry.

“Well, you're not going to continue grading those papers, ‘kay?” (Name) murmurs, looking at William as she gentles him down against the bed, letting him lie his head against the plushness of the pillows of your shared bed.

“I won't, my love. I guarantee you - I won't.” William whispers slowly, eyelids closed. His body temperature is hot and so when you place your cool palms against either sides of his burning hot and flushed cheeks, he breathes a sigh of satisfaction.

“You promise?” (Name) questions, looking at her husband through her lashes. “Pinky promise?” It was silly, of course - depending on something as childish as pinky promises.

“I do.” William nods his head, letting his cheeks rest comfortably against your palms.

“Say it.” She tells him. He smiles, although it is subtle and weak, she know it's full of love and adoration for her. “I promise.” He answers.

He feebly reaches up to intertwine his pinky finger with (Name)'s own - the two sharing the same, soft look; even though William's gaze is slightly more unfocused than her's.

“That's good.” (Name) whispers to him, leaning in and pressing her lips against his forehead softly. William's eyes gently flitter shut momentarily when she kisses him.

“I don't think you should do that.” William tells (Name) speaking softly to her. “I don't want you to get sick; especially because of me.”

“You'll take care of me then, won't you?” (Name) question, running a damp piece of cloth over his face. He sighs, leaning further into her touch. “Mm.. I will.” He hums quietly in acknowledgement to her words.

(Name) threads her fingers into the blond's soft hair, slowly and gently, caressing him slowly and lightly massaging his scalp.

William feels his eyes get droopy, and although he still feels the aches in his joints, the little, tiny scratchy feeling in his throat and the overall uncomfortableness throughout his entire body due to the fever - his breathing goes from unsteady to a slightly relaxed, calm one. His shoulders visibly relax.

“When you wake up..” (Name) whispers, speaking as gently and as softly as she possibly can as she continues to stroke William's hair. “I'm going to make you your favourite soup. How does that sound, dear?”

William's lips curve into the smallest hints of a smile, nodding his head by a mere millimetre before he lets himself be pulled into slumber.

“Sweet dreams, Liam.” She says softly, slowly pulling the blanket over William's asleep body.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty x y/n #william james moriarty x you #Moriarty the patriot x reader #Yuukoku no moriarty x reader #serraaphim answers #Moriarty The Patriot fluff #fluff x reader

[fiyaakiko]

Dazai!!!!

#bungou sd #bungou gay dogs #bungou mayoi #albert james moriarty #bungou stray dogs #bsd season 4 #bsd spoilers #bsd akutagawa #bsd fanart #bsd dazai #bsd art #bsd anime #bsd #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #dazai x y/n #dazai fluff #dazai x chuuya #bungo stray dogs manga #bungo stray dogs nikolai #bsd sigma #bsd ranpo #bsd atsushi #bsd chuuya #bsd fyodor #fanart #bsd nikolai gogol #bsd kunikida #bsd headcanons #william james moriarty