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Experiment #2 - Request

Originally requested by @newts-fan-caseSo could you do a Sherlock x Reader were she is riding his face? (Lol I’m a sinner but I ain’t sorry) like for an experiment ‘cause Sherlock thinks a person can’t get aroused just by giving pleasure to someone else, but he is wrong and yeah ;)
& Anon:  Hi! Can I request a smut one shot with Sherlock where he wants to try have the reader sit on his face and eat her out and she’s shy & a bit self conscious with her body and he makes sure he makes her see Stars (with a little fkuff)? Thank you!
Requested by anon:  The “Experiment” was awesome! Can we have a part 2? Pleeeeeaaaaseeee
& a shit load of other people.

This is Sequel Friday first winner.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader.

Word count: 2,886

Warnings: Smut (unprotected), un-edited, secuel (yup, it’s a warning)

A/N: Amazing way to wrap an amazing week. Thank you to everyone who voted!

Enjoy!

|PART 1|

After Sherlock’s little “experiment”, his relationship with (Y/N) turned somewhat odd. They would continue to work together and act professional during the cases, but the tension between them was too much.

He had showed her a side that not a single human thought existed, or at least didn’t want to see. He had been patient with her, loving even, making sure to make her feel comfortable at all costs, complimenting her, being gentle and respecting her limits… Definitely thing a real gentleman does, but not the kind of traits one would expect from Sherlock Holmes.

Then there was also the fact that John was sensing some change of vibes in 221B. Of course, he figured it had something to do with Sherlock’s usual arse behaviour, but it was weird to see (Y/N) affected by it.

Sherlock was sitting on his seat, Watson was on his and (Y/N) was between them on the “victim’s chair”. Watson had a stern, determined look on his eyes and Sherlock was calm as usual, thinking that John was too dumb to have figured anything about him and (Y/N).

“What is going on?” John asked carefully.

Keep reading

First Steps

John.
SH

What is it Sherlock?

Please come home.
SH

Are you and Rosie okay?

Fine. Please come home immediatly.
SH

What’s going on?
Sherlock!

Something’s happening.
Come home now.
SH

Did you burn our house down accidentally?

Just come home!
SH

John dropped the bag of groceries, and practicaly ran out of Tesco.
“Cab!”
“Where to mate?” The cabbie asked.
“Baker street. And hurry up.”
“All right mate, calm down.”

On my way.

Sherlock didn’t answer.
“You better be alive.” John muttered to himself as he impaitently looked out of the window.

Before the cab stopped John was already half out of the car. He threw 20 pounds at the driver.
“Keep the change!” He shouted as he ran upstairs.

“Sherlock! Sherlock are you okay?!”
He opened the door to the living room and found Sherlock sitting on the floor in his dressing gown. However the most surprising thing was Rosie.
She stood up by herself and carefully, very carefully, took small steps towards Sherlock.
“This is her first steps, John.”
Sherlock was sat with his back to John, carefully watching Rosie, being ready to catch her at any second.
Rosie spotted her dad and began laughing. She got too eager to impress and fell down and landed on her butt, still laughing.
“Oh John, you ruined it.”
John laughed and gave Sherlock a kiss on the cheek.
“I saw it. And it probably won’t be the last time she walked. Will it Rosie?” John asked and picked her up.
“She’s growing up so fast,” John said.
“She really is,” Sherlock agreed.
“Our little girl.”
Sherlock smiled and looked away.
“Oh come on, love. She’s OUR daughter. You know that.”
“I do know that.”
John gave him a kiss.
“The best dad she could ever ask for. That I could ever ask for. But now I have to take a trip to Tesco again.”
Sherlock laughed.
“I’ll ask Mrs. Hudson to by some nappies for Rosie while she’s out. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

surprising your boyfriend like

Bitty doesn’t like lying to his boyfriend. It’s not his style. If anything, he’s honest to a fault. It’s not his speed to perpetrate deceptions, much less relish him.

Oh, but this… this is really kind of fun.

When he first tells Jack he’ll be heading home for Christmas, Jack is visibly disappointed. His face falls, and he heaves a sigh before mustering up his stoic face and telling Bitty “I hope you have fun.”

Bitty feigns concern. “Oh, now, what will you do? I know you’re playing on Christmas Eve day, so I suppose you can’t go home to your parents’.”

Jack shakes his head. “I’ll make do. I’m sure someone on the team will have me over.” But the sad glisten in his eyes is almost enough to make Bitty break down and confess right there.

Almost.

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the guitar

masterlist

synopsis: she doesn’t do one-night stands. but, the way niall horan makes love to his guitar onstage has her wishing she could trade places with it, if only for one night.

a/n: my favourite boys mclennon created “I’m Only Sleeping” (lyrics copyright Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC). Gibson created the absolutely stunning ES-335 guitar. the plethora of photos from flicker sessions sparked my imagination and as a result, i created the following. five !!! thousand !!! words !!!
feedback  is love, please leave me some. x



Niall Horan’s guitar is almost as long as her legs.

She sits atop the mangled covers of her bed, back against the headboard, blue-jean-covered legs stretched out in two long lines before her. The guitar lies next to her in perfect alignment - the headstock near her thigh, the body next to her calves. 

A perfect fit,” he sighed into her ear as he pushed deeper inside her. The sigh turned into more of a groan, stifling her own noises of pleasure and pain and release as he filled her. It had been too long. But this…this was worth waiting for. He reminded her what she’d been waiting for all this time.

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Cabbie on the Street: NHL Sticks and Knobs

Hello Detective Chapter 60 (Sherlock Imagine)

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Word Count: 1873

masterlist  Part 61


You handed some cash to the cabbie and made your way into the apartment complex. You checked that you had the right address and knocked on the door. You heard voices from within, and were surprised.

“What? Are you out of your mind?” A familiar voice asked angrily from within.

“I don’t see why not. It’s just as plausible as some of your theories.” An unfamiliar voice responded as the door was opened.

“Y/N?” He asked.

“Hello Philip. Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.” You replied, stepping into the small flat.

“Oh my god. You’re her.” A raven haired girl with a nose ring asked.

“I thought he was lying, but he does know her.” A man on the couch wearing a deerstalker said to the kid next to him.

“Um… What’s this?” You asked, and your eyes drifted to the wall covered in papers and string. On second thought, was this a good idea? You still weren’t sure.

Anderson rubbed his head, not wanting to answer.

“It’s the Empty Hearse club, and you’re Y/N Gregson.” One of the member’s ran up to you, shaking your hand furiously.

“Yes… but,” you turned to the wall again and realized the purpose of the club. Your mouth formed into an ‘O’.

“Let me guess, Philip here formed this club so that like-minded people could meet and discuss theories. Theories on how Sherlock Holmes faked his death.” You said, and the members were all but giddy.

“It’s like I’m living the blog.” One voice muttered.

“Will you deduce me?” Another asked.

“Wait a minute… You said theories on how Sherlock faked his death. You said ‘how’ not ‘if’. You think he’s still out there too.” Anderson said.

“Listen, that’s not why I’m here–” you were cut off.

“Oh My God!” The raven haired woman, Laura, pointed to the television behind you. You whipped around the read the headline ‘BREAKING NEWS: HAT DETECTIVE ALIVE’. Philip’s jaw dropped. Everyone was jumping up in excitement. All of their phones were blowing up.

Laura jumped up and begged for a picture with you. You quickly obliged, and raised an eyebrow to Philip. He shook his head in an apology.

“Ms. Gregson,” the youngest of the group asked and you turned to face him, “did you know the whole time?’

You thought a moment on your reply, with your new job you knew it was best not to answer honestly. You didn’t need the press knowing every detail.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter. Now, Philip can I steal you for a bit?” You asked, he nodded following you out into the hall.

“Did you know?” He asked, you sighed.

“How ‘bout we go for a walk.” You said, and he followed you out into the street.

“I’m assuming you read the paper.” You stated.

“I do sometimes, Director-General.” He said, and you turned to him with a smile.

“Naturally in my new position I’ll need to surround myself with people I can trust.” You began, your heels clicking on the pavement and your hands buried in your pockets.

“You trust me?” He asked.

“Well the jury’s still out on that one. But you do have a good head on your shoulders. I mean you’re no Sherlock Holmes, but you do trust your instincts. You were willing to search for an answer no matter how unpopular. I’m sure people told you that you were crazy and wrong and wasting your time, but nevertheless you persisted. And you were right.” You spoke.

“So you want me to work for you, because I believed in Sherlock?” He asked, confused.

“I’m putting you on the list of candidates. You’ll have to prove your worth and trust first. But your ability to travel down a path that no one else dare has brought you to my attention. You believed even when I didn’t, Philip. That’s very admirable.” You stated, a professional air about you. You felt powerful, and changed. You liked this feeling.

“Why come to me now?” He asked.

“I’m simply informing you so that you don’t get too worried if more government officials come by here within the next couple months. There will be an extreme vetting process for all candidates so I’m just warning you. I’m also giving you the opportunity to decline the offer.” You answered truthfully.

“Can I think about it?” He asked.

“Absolutely.”  You answered.

“Y/N?” He asked again, “You weren’t working for the National History museum, were you? And Charles Bass wasn’t your colleague?”

“What makes you say that?” You stopped in your tracks, realizing you were back in front of his building.

“Hell of a job upgrade.” He answered, and you smiled.

“He was a colleague, but not at a museum.” You smiled. Anderson really had changed, the old Philip would have taken much longer to fit that one together.

“Mind if I ask where?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Good day, Philip.” you smirked, flagging down a cab.

“Y/N.” He whined, wanting an answer.

“Prove your worth, Philip. You already know the answer.” You said, getting into the cab and closing the door. This was his first test, let’s see how he does.

“Where to ma’am?” The cabbie asked.

“221 Baker Street, please.” You said against your better judgement. You really needed to look into getting your own driver like Mycroft had, maybe you poach Giles from him.

You exited the cab onto Baker Street. You greeted Mrs. Hudson at the door and she was so happy to see you. She told you she would be up with tea in a moment.

You stared up at the stairs, almost nervous to ascend them. You couldn’t remember the last time you did so. It had to be when you found the letter. You sighed and began your way up quietly. Could things really go back to the way they were? Surely things have changed. You have changed, but your one weakness has returned. You couldn’t let him in again that easily.

“An agent gave his life to tell us that.” You heard Mycroft speaking from within the room.

“Perhaps he shouldn’t have done. He was obviously just trying to show off.” Sherlock retorted as you stepped cautiously in the door.

“Something you’re well acquainted with.” You muttered as you looked around the room, taking it all in again. Both men turned to you, surprised. Sherlock wore a smirk on his face, you saw a bruise forming on his busted lip. He looked you up and down, knowing where you had been.

You approached him and sat on the arm of his chair out of habit. He turned to you, surprised by your actions, and you got a more clear look of his face.

“I told you he would hit you.” You said, placing your hand under his chin, examining his wound.

“Yes, well I believe this time I did deserve it.” He answered, and you looked down at the game of Operation sitting between the two brothers. You raised an eyebrow, and stood to examine the wall above the couch.

“None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?” You asked, dragging your finger along the connected lines, examining all the data.

“No Y/N, but you have to trust me. I’ll find the answer. But it will be in an odd phrase in an online blog or in an unexpected trip to the countryside or a misplaced lonely hearts ad.” Sherlock answered and you rolled your eyes. A ‘no’ would have sufficed.

“I’ve given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you’re on the case.” Mycroft said, you nearly forgot he was there.

“The Home Secretary is quite pleased as well.” You mentioned, if Mycroft was going to name drop you would too. A loud buzzing sound from the game caused you to turn around.

“Oh bugger!” Mycroft muttered, placing the plastic heart back into the slot.

“Can’t handle a broken heart. How very telling.” Sherlock retorted.

“Don’t be smart.” He scolded him, and you rolled your eyes. The feud would never end between these two. You were walking around the flat, absent mindedly tidying it up.

“That takes me back. ‘Don’t be smart, Sherlock, I’m the smart one’.” Sherlock said, in a voice that made you crack a smile.

“I am the smart one.” Mycroft argued, clearly a sensitive point.

“I used to think I was an idiot.” Sherlock replied, and you frowned. You couldn’t even imagine what it was like growing up with Mycroft. You were placing dishes in the sink now, attempting to create clear counter space.

“Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, until we met other children.” Mycroft answered, laying back in John’s old chair.

“Oh, yes, that was a mistake.” Sherlock answered and you smiled.

“Ghastly. What were they thinking of?” Mycroft replied.

“Probably something about trying to make friends.” Sherlock answered. Compared to Mycroft he was an expert on friends.

“Oh, yes, friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.” Mycroft criticized Sherlock.

“And you don’t? Ever?” Sherlock asked Mycroft.

“He isn’t capable of having friends. His priorities lie elsewhere, for example, himself.” You fired back from the kitchen. He turned around and gave you a look as if to say ‘when are you going to get over this?’.

Mrs. Hudson entered the room and interrupted what would surely have been another fight between you and Mycroft.

“Yoo hoo!” She announced herself. You reentered the room and helped her with the tea tray.

“Oh I just can’t believe it! Him sitting in his chair again,” She turned to you and smiled, clearing having forgiven him so soon, “Isn’t it wonderful Mr. Holmes?”

“I can barely contain myself.” Mycroft muttered sarcastically.

“Oh, he really can, you know.” Sherlock retorted. Mrs. Hudson laughed as she left the room.

“Let’s play something different.” Sherlock suggested, clapping his hands together.

“We don’t have time for games, Sherlock. London’s terror alert has been raised to critical.” You scolded.

“Very well, back to work.” Mycroft said, leaving Baker Street.

You stood in front of the couch, glancing at the wall once more. Your eyes landed on one picture and you froze.

“Sherlock…” You muttered.

“Hmm?” He asked, now appearing at your side.

“That’s Sebastian Moran.” You pointed to the picture.

“Yeah, he’s Peer of the Realm. Minister for Overseas Development.” He said nonchalantly.

“He was Moriarty’s right hand man. Don’t you remember?” You said quietly, turning to him. His eyes grew wide after a moment of thought.

“Jesus,” he said, placing his head in his hands.

This was bigger than you thought. You sighed and grabbed your coat.

“Keep me updated, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be at the office.” You said, on your way out the door.   

“Wait, Y/N,” He yelled, once you began down the steps. You turned around and he was standing in the doorway, his hands on each side of the frame.

“Will you stay? I work better with you here, and it’s been an age.” He pleaded, those puppy dog eyes killing you.

“How could I refuse?” You sighed with a smile, making your way back up the stairs.


Part 61

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