Sherlock doesn’t understand cockwarming as being something intimate. He understands the use of it for teasing and edging, but because it just feels good to be inside someone? No, the whole point of sexual acts is to feel pleasure. That is, until you do it to him one night when he’s been anxious all day about not having any cases. He finds it ridiculous how simply being inside of you helped calm him down a bit, but honestly he’ll probably do it again when he gets like this 🖤
send me a nsfw headcanon and i’ll write a 5 sentence ficlet about it | 18+ only please
“sherlock, you need to calm down,” you say gently as the man in question paces around the room, complaining about his lack of cases and needing something to occupy his overworking mind.
he huffs dramatically, “i can’t calm down, i need a case!”
“come here,” you request softly and pat at the empty seat beside you on the sofa, waiting for him to make his way over to you with an adorable pout pulling at his lips.
you crawl onto his lap and unbuckle his belt before pushing aside his black underwear until his cock springs free, meeting his curious gaze as you pull the edge of your own underwear to the side and sink yourself on top of him. a sharp inhale sounds from the detective at the sudden sensation, but he soon responds with a calm exhale as he relaxes against you.
“better?” you whisper, brushing a loose curl from his forehead, and smile when he lazily nods into the crook of your neck, all anxieties about his lack of cases long forgotten.
Summary: After a terrible date, you are stuck in the rain just around the corner from the house of your bosses.
Word Count: 1.6k
Requested: yes, by @savmao with the prompt “you must be mad coming here like this”
Thank you @scandalous-chaos for inspiring me to write an assistant!reader story as my first Sherlock story ♥️
Part II Part III Part IV
“You must be mad coming here like this,” Sherlock shouted at you, opening the door of the apartment building as the storm grew louder and louder in the background. You gave him an apologetic look as the mascara ran down your cheeks. You were completely soaked after running down the streets of London in a storm.
“Can I come in?” You asked awkwardly, shuffling your weight between your feet, looking down at your shoes. He did not answer, moving away from the door and giving you space to walk past him. It was not usual for it to rain like this in London. It was almost like the weather had been a prediction on how your date would go.
You walked towards the door of Sherlock’s apartment, entering before he could even invite you in. You were shivering as the wet clothes clung heavily onto your body. The pensive man followed you close behind, analyzing your every step.
“Could you please not drip water all over the floor?” He commented in an unimpressed tone. He knew exactly what happened, yet he much rather act clueless and rude.
“I-I don’t have any other clothes, it is pouring outside,” you whispered, feeling your chest tighten again. You needed to cry but not in front of him. That would just make him more annoyed. “Can I take a shower? I am freezing.” You asked softly, looking out of the window away from him.
He did not answer, simply pointing in the direction of the bathroom. You walked full of shame towards it, feeling as uncomfortable as he wanted you to be. The hot water hit your body, and a sigh escaped your lips, this was all you needed right now. Suddenly the hot water mixed with the tears that had started flowing down your cheeks. You tried to keep your sobs as quiet as possible, embarrassed enough of your presence in this house.
You put yourself back together, drying your hair and body with the only big towel in the bathroom. You had used Sherlock’s products, and you could not help but inhale the fog, enjoying the scents. You smelled your hair and your skin you smelled just like him now.
Unsure on how to dry your clothes, you put on your underwear and the shirt you had been wearing, which were more or less dry. “Sherlock?” You asked, opening the door of the bathroom just so slightly. No response came your way, “Sherlock!” You shouted a little louder, nothing.
You opened the door a little further and saw on top of a chair by the door a pyjama folded for you to wear. You smiled slightly at the thought that he may actually not be too annoyed about your presence. Stretching your arm, you grabbed the clothes entering the bathroom again. It was a grey shirt and some blue trousers, you had seen him wearing them before.
You were a lost cause. You could not help yourself, holding the fabric close to your face enjoying the smell of it all. Your love-hate relationship with Sherlock Holmes was the most one-sided tragedy ever written. You spent half of your time trying to prove to yourself that Sherlock Holmes was the most insufferable, rude, and petulant man you had ever met and the other half, hoping he would break even for a second the complete state of indifference which he treated you with.
You put on the clothes exiting the bathroom, unsure of what to do next. You looked for Sherlock around the room until you heard a noise coming from the kitchen, “tea?” He asked as his eyes met yours.
“Yes, thank you.” You responded, sitting down on the couch. You pressed your lips together as the silence grew more awkward every passing second. “So… he was an asshole. He was insufferable, self-obsessed, and outright rude. I left as soon as I could, but because of the rain, there were barely any cabs on the street. I walked here-”
“I don’t care,” he interrupted you, placing a cup of tea in front of you as he held his own.
“I-I know…” you shook your head, disappointed in yourself. You should have just walked home. His eyes fell on you once again, but you were stuck looking at the teacup, missing the micro-expression that passed through his face. “Can you call me a cab, please? My phone is dead.”
He pressed his lips together before standing up nonchalantly. “You can stay here tonight. John is not in town.”
“I think I will just go home. I have disturbed your peace long enough,” you responded, standing up too.
“Do as you please, but finish your tea first.” He did not look at you, but you sat right back down, grabbing the cup. “I can’t believe you even accepted to go out with him… it is ridiculous that after years working with us, you have yet to truly learn how to read people.” His words came out in a moment of frustration, as he pinched his forehead with his thumb and his index.
You pressed your lips together before taking a sip of tea, not expecting him to have this reaction. “Then you show up to my door, soaked with a puppy look on your face, expecting me to help you when you put yourself in that position. You decided to go on a date with that asshole,” he continued, pacing slightly through the room. “Sometimes, I wonder if we should not fire you for making such idiotic decisions in your personal life.”
Your mouth fell open as the unexpected rant punched you in the stomach. His words were making you feel smaller than ever before. “Then fire me already! It is not like you particularly enjoy my presence,” you spoke out, getting up and standing in front of him, confronting him.
“What is there to enjoy? Please enlighten me.” You opened your mouth, but he continued, “your pleasing personality? Your juvenile need to blush at even the slightest compliment from any eligible bachelor? The fastidious care you put in choosing your clothes trying to impress some man that is obviously not giving you the time of the day? Your need to continue to try out new assholes every other week to compensate?” You felt your chest tighten as his words spilt, you bit down on your lip trying your best not to cry, keeping your eyes on him unwilling to bend to his vitriolic speech. “That look, that stupid look you insist on giving me. Why are you trying to defy me, when you know everything I am saying is correct. So please go ahead and go home, fantasize about this man you are so restless to try to impress and then find the next asshole to send you your way back to my front door.”
You shook your head, pressing your lips tight together, as a singular tear fell down your cheek, “you are right Sherlock, maybe that man is not worth it after all.” You walked to the entrance of the apartment, grabbing your phone and your shoes, trying to put them on. “I am so irrelevant in your life, so unimportant, that you fail to even think for a second who this man I am trying so forcefully to impress is. I guess it does not matter anymore. He has once and for all clarified EXACTLY how he feels about me.”
You opened the door of the flat and walked out, leaving Sherlock Holmes speechless for the first time in his life. How could he have been so blind and ignorant? A feeling of guilt and happiness mixed in his stomach, there was however, no time to celebrate as you were still walking away upset.
Sherlock heard the sound of the storm coming from what he supposed was the door you had failed to close. He grabbed his jacket and put on his shoes, sure that an umbrella would be of no help. He walked quickly, spotting your silhouette just a couple of meters away. The truth is that his words had not come out of an objective analysis, all the opposite, he had let his jealousy for the mysterious man and for your stupid dates blind him to the reality of things.
He jogged to your side, and you tried to stop the quiet sobbing that was leaving your chest, “leave, leave me alone, Holmes,” you whispered. You were sure he had not heard you, as the sound of the wind and the rain filled the air.
“Please stop walking. Let’s go back inside, I did not mean what I said.” He shouted over the wind, touching your shoulder.
“I am walking home,” you responded, continuing to walk.
“Stop being so irrationally stubborn! Let’s go inside.” His words came as a plea this time around. You stopped abruptly, clenching your jaw, trying to decide what to do. “I am sorry for what I said, I was just blinded by... it does not matter. You won’t make it home in this weather, and I am not letting you take any sick days.”
You shook your head at his awkward effort to be caring while maintaining his cold persona. As you walked together in silence back to the apartment, his hand brushed the back of yours, sending a an electric wave down your body and forcing you to smile just so slightly. He looked at you, content of your reaction trying to figure out how he would explain the way he felt about you.
Just like that, in the eye of the storm, Sherlock Holmes came to solve the mystery of the man you longed for, and your one-sided love tragedy became slightly less one-sided.
-----
Sorry for the double tag! posted with the wrong blog the first time around!
Summary: You had a dark past before you met Sherlock and John, but when the past is brought to light, it causes you to spiral down into your feelings.
Word Count: 1,670
Warnings: angst, fluff, attempted self harm, mentions of drug use, light swearing
A/N: This is my first request and I am so flipping excited about it. Thank you for the prompt! @fvckhd
Sherlock was bored. Again.
After a long an fascinating case, he couldn't help but be bored after the climax of a case. Open and shut and he is left throwing knifes at the ceiling while he lays on the couch.
"Sherlock, I'm going, you need to watch Y/N, I think something might be wrong," John announced as he walked through the door, though concern did tinge his voice.
"Y/N is here? I thought I was alone," the usually perceptive detective said. He had run out of steak knives and was currently moving on to the butcher knives, making his way up in size.
"God, you are so bloody dense, it isn't even funny," Watson remarked, turning his originally good mood sour. "The case seemed harder for Y/N. Just...keep an eye on them. You are both prone to stupidity in times of desperation".
"Why can't you do it? I'm not good with...people. Or feelings really," Sherlock sassed, pushing himself off his back to an upright position on the couch. "You're the lovey, dovey one".
"I am not lovey dovey!" the doctor denied. " I just happen to have a heart and use it, which is exactly what I am going to use when I deal with my girlfriend once I get home!"
"Which one?" Sherlock mocked.
John was once again out the door with a slam, causing the decor on the wall to rattle.
Mrs. Hudson had better not check in due to his tantrum Sherlock thought to himself. He glanced down the hall to see his bedroom door shut. Not that he ever really slept, but the door was rarely closed when you were in there. You almost always left it open a crack, just in case the boys needed you. But today, you weren't having any of their bullshit.
This last case held multiple triggering components for you. Though you would say you were Sherlock's equal in many ways, you still possessed more feelings than he did, and these feelings were often exacerbated when they involved your past.
The easiest way to put it is that you weren't always on the right side of the law. A partner of yours in the past had taken liberties to do what they had to in order to keep you at their will. The scars of those actions still littered you; some were etched on your face, others on your wrists and legs. Burns, cuts, and forever bruises, soreness you could never shake, they were the silent reminder of your past life.
Moriarty saved you from that partner. Actually blew their brains out in front of you. They were nothing but a low-life compared to the exuberant king of crime. You went from pickpocketing to full scale murder. Though Moriarty never hurt you physically, and would even care for the wounds you did suffer on his behalf, you were only a pawn in his greater scheme.
And pawns are expendable.
One failed mission led you to go on the run, escaping his wrath that would either end with you forever his pawn, stuck with him until he went down too, or just plain dead.
So run you did, away from the mental manipulation and abuse, and subsequently into the throws of his arch-nemesis: Sherlock Holmes. You soon came to realize that the whole reason that Moriarty was fascinated by you was the similarity you held to the detective. The only difference was that he always respected Sherlock; with you, he threatened to take it away at any time. But Sherlock, even though cold and distant most of the time, had great admiration for your mind, as well as the capacity of your heart. And John, well, John always looked out for you in ways that Sherlock swore he couldn't handle...till now.
The clatter of a pill bottle hitting the floor caused Sherlock to launch to his feet, familiar with the sound and what usually was the result after.
He barreled down the hallway only to meet his door, that for the first time, was locked.
Considering his options, he started banging on the door, calling out your name.
"Y/N! Y/N, open the GODDAMN DOOR!!" he bellowed, until he slammed through, stumbling into the room. He looked to the bed and the corner, not seeing you in your usual places. Then, a soft breeze tickled the back of his neck, causing him to whip around to find the cause of the draft.
There you were, sitting at the fire escape, bottle of pills in one hand with its contents poured into the other. Your hair was wild and restless, matching the state of your eyes. They were dark and honed in on one thing: relief.
"Y/n, it's not worth it. Please give it to me," Sherlock warned, making small steps your way.
"This isn't a suicide, Sherlock." The monotonous, yet still witty response told him you weren't too far gone, and he believed you. "This is my only solace".
"We are clean, and we are clean to together Y/N. You don't wanna do this."
You chuckled softly, holding up the empty bottle to him.
"No Sherlock, you do drugs to feel something, I take a prescription to not feel anything. It is different."
The events of the day played behind your eyes.
You didn't expect to run into your old boss once more. You were just out at the cafe, getting tea and coffee for everyone, when a figure was behind you. Assuming it was another person in line, you didn't think much of it, until you felt the cool breath hit the shell of your ear.
"Honey, did you miss me?"
You practically dropped your purse before he caught it. As he handed it to you, his hand caught your wrist in his. You could feel the tip of a knife, piercing through your coat on your lower back.
"I think it's time for you to tell them the truth about the case, don't you think? That it's the leftovers of what you couldn't finish with me," he clucked, still gripping your wrist tightly.
I get you didn't want to kill the guy, but to turn your gun on me?" He tutted softly in your ear, pushing the knife a little farther into your back. "Baby, that wasn't nice".
Before you could get a word out, the knife was off of you, as the whoosh of air behind you indicated he was gone.
Whipping around, you realized it wasn't by his own accord. Sherlock had his hands on the man, yanking him back and onto the street.
"I don't know who you are, but you are not to bother this person again."
Moriarty's eyes lit up as he saw his truest desire standing before him. It was everything he could have hoped for, as he stepped back, his hands raised in a signal of surrender. With a shrug, he turned around and made his way down the street, without a word.
"I have to go," was all you could make out as you shoved your debit card into Sherlock's hand as you made your way back to the apartment. You had been holed up there ever since,trying to decide what your course of action could be now. But all you could feel was his breath on your ear and his hands on you.
"I don't know who that was, Y/N, but they aren't gonna hurt you again. Now please, give me the pills."
You blinked, regaining focus on the man before you. All at once, you started shaking uncontrollably, the air escaping your lungs with expeditious means, causing you to hyperventilate. The pills fell from your hand as you keeled over, feeling as though your heart my burst.
"Sherlock..."
You felt yourself begin to go weak as you slumped down, veering closely to falling out the fire escape.
A shot of adrenaline induced Sherlock with the strength needed to grab you, pulling your limp body into him as he lifted you from the window. You were still shaking, the shock taking its toll as you shivered against him. He brought you over to the bed where he laid you down as the tremors continued their course. He took off the robe that he had been wearing and sat you up, wrapping the warm and worn fabric around you.
"Um...here, scoot over," he advised, taking the spot beside you. He was never physical unless it was needed, and in this instance, it was needed.
His arms wrapped around your back pulling you into his chest as he cradled your body. Squeezing slightly, he did his best to regulate his own breathing to a tempo that you could match, and therefore, regulate. As your body began to relax into him, his hand went to your hair, pushing through to your scalp to deliver gentle scratches. This ensued for you don't know how long, but enough to not only get your body still, but lull you to sleep as well.
--
When you woke up, he was still there, holding you, drawing lazy designs on your arm and back. As you stirred, he shifted to allow you to pull away and readjust yourself, but you soon leaned back into him.
"For someone who acts like he doesn't understand human emotion, your really good at taking care of me," you murmur, slightly muffled by your face pressed against him.
"Cuddling and talking about feelings are two seperate things."
"So you admit that this is cuddling?" you nagged, causing him to pinch your arm. "Ouch, you bastard!"
"You're the one trying to self-medicate."
"Shut up and hold me. I can't wait to see John's reaction. He's gonna flip."
You both laughed as you settled back into him, falling in time with his steady breaths.
"I'm sorry," you whisper. You knew he didn't understand the depth of the apology, but it gave you comfort.
"Never feel sorry with me," he answered, dropping a soft kiss to the top of your head.
Another murder case with the consulting detective and John Watson. Sherlock was pacing the floor like usual and John was in his chair tapping the ends of the arm rests. We were waiting for Sherlock to give us any clue or idea. I was in the kitchen fiddling with instruments of Sherlock’s make shift lab.
“The restaurant. Of course the restaurant! How couldn’t I have known?! Go you two now.” Sherlock said and pointed to John. He sprung up and looked at me. I almost dropped the glass cylinder in my hand. I grabbed my coat and waited for Sherlock at the threshold.
“I have to meet Molly in the lab.” He said and he grabbed his trench coat, wrapped his scarf around his neck and brushed passed me.
“Well he is in a rush!” I say closing the door and shrugged to John. I wonder if it was more than just evidence. John and I knew that there was something going on with him and Molly, even if Sherlock didn’t want to recognize it.
We trudged down the stairs and left down the cloudy streets of London. The brisk walk with John was filled with small talk about Sherlock’s odd observations and deductions. We never really understood how or why he was so good at what he did. It was also filled with some deductions of our own. We didn’t really know why we were going other than to see if anyone had seen the victim from the night he was murdered.
Once we were there we noticed the line was out the door. The sun was setting and the street lamps were slowly humming on. I was looking around at the pretty light blue sky blending into the pinks and dark purples. My trance was brought to an end when the person that I once loved appeared walking towards us.
“Pretend like we are on a date!” I said abruptly to John whilst threading my arm around his waist. John looked at me like I was insane, but with a grimace. “John! Do it! I’ll explain later.” My ex was coming closer and closer. I really did not want to have to talk to that long and dreadful disaster of a relationship. John wasn’t acting on what I was saying and then suddenly he grabbed my face and kissed me. I didn’t want to like it, but I did. I liked it not only because it was in front of my backstabbing ex, but also because of the feelings for John. Now those feelings were even more confused with that wonderful, powerful, lovely, warm kiss.
“Thank y-” I said as we both pulled away, but he embraced me even more. Maybe my feelings were so confused after all.
Requested by anon: ill you write a sherlock x reader where they are making out and mycroft catches them but sherlock doesnt care and keeps kissing and starts getting handsy?
Pairing: Sherlock x reader
Word count: 560
Warnings: Sherlock getting handsy in front of Mycroft.
A/N: Short one, but I loved it. Hope you do too...
Enjoy!
(Y/N) was sitting on the table, with her arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and her legs framing his hips. The consultant detective was kissing her; small pecks at a time, almost shyly, as she giggled at every idiotic joke he invented along the way. It was one of those moments of intimacy that they actually enjoyed.
John was with Mary, Mrs. Hudson was out at the market and the past case had just been solved which meant a day off for the couple. Or so they thought; Mycroft entered 221B without even knocking – and if he did, neither Sherlock nor (Y/N) heard him – ready to give his brother a brand new case.
Sherlock had started deepening the kisses just when Mycroft stepped on the flat. He walked confidently towards the kitchen – aka the source of the sound of (Y/N)’s giggles – and cleared his throat to announce his arrival.
“Brother mine, (Y/N).” He cheered. (Y/N) tried to look at him but Sherlock pulled her face back to him. Mycroft cleared his throat once more. “Brother.” He insisted.
“I’m busy, Mycroft.” Sherlock replied between kisses. (Y/N) tried to move away, she was a bit shy in front of her brother-in-law, but Sherlock kept her still.
“And I’ve got a case for you.” Mycroft replied with a heavy sigh.
“Leave it on my desk, I’ll check it later.” Sherlock mutter nonchalantly and continued his snogging session with (Y/N).
“This is life or death, Sherlock.” The consultant detective groaned angrily but refused to look at him brother.
Instead, Sherlock’s hands travelled directly to (Y/N)’s arse. “Sherlock!” She squealed, making Sherlock smirk mischievously.
“Mycroft, I would recommend you to leave before she starts shouting blasphemies.” Sherlock clicked his tongue, granting one look to his brother before continuing his plan. He touched her breasts, and her hips, and her arse once more. (Y/N) tried to pull away at first, but then Sherlock begged her to play along and so she stopped.
“Brother, please.” Mycroft begged angrily.
“Leave.” Sherlock commanded. (Y/N) managed to give Mycroft an apologetic glance before he finally decided to obey.
“Ever since you got a girlfriend…” He started, giving his back to Sherlock.
“Don’t dare to finish that sentence.” Sherlock threatened as he stopped touching her.
“I was going to say something good.” Mycroft mocked him, “Nice to see you, (Y/N).” Mycroft started walking out, “and brother…”
“What?” Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“Use protection, we don’t want you to have a child while you’re still being a baby.” And with that said, Mycroft left.
Sherlock groaned angrily but got calmed down by (Y/N) rubbing his shoulders as comfort. “He’s just trying to get you back for our little show…” She whispered.
“He’s jealous because my girlfriend isn’t a plate of food that disappears two seconds after I watch it.” Sherlock hissed. (Y/N) had to agree with Mycroft, Sherlock could be a baby at times.
“Yes and that girlfriend is right in front of you and will disappear if you don’t pay attention to her.” (Y/N) said softly. Sherlock smiled lovingly and looked at her once more. “Where were we?” She inquired flirtingly.
Sherlock went back to the small pecks from the beginning. There was no hurry, no one chasing after them, no one threatening their lives. Just the two of them, enjoying a few seconds of peace in the best way they could: together.
*Requests are ALWAYS open.*
Masterlist.
Sherlock tags: @resurrection-huntress @oaisara @charlottemalfoy @zena-dukmak @just-a-blog00 @wefracturedmotivation @beccamullz @newts-fan-case
for the nsfw ficlets - how about married Sherlock just love the sight of reader all the time but Mostly while fucking her?
send me a nsfw headcanon and i’ll write a 5 sentence ficlet about it | 18+ only please
sherlock gazes down at where you’re sprawled out on the bed before him, eyes a piercing ocean blue that spreads white-hot flames over your naked form; the man loves looking at you like this, taking his time observing the way your limbs drape across the mussed sheets, the way your hair cascades around your head on the pillow like a brilliant sunburst.
“you’re remarkable,” he murmurs as he leans forward to press a kiss to your knee, then moves up to nip at your hipbones and suck bruises along the soft skin of your inner thighs, until he finally glances at your fluttering cunt that’s just aching for him—his fingers, mouth, cock—it didn’t matter which, you just need him on you, inside you.
you’ve been in this same position for what felt like hours while he watched you, his shirt unbuttoned and loose around his shoulders. you couldn’t wait for your turn to unwrap him and dote upon each detail, to take your time trialing your lips along his lean stomach and trim waist; fuck, you want him so bad it almost hurt.
“sherlock,” you moan pathetically. “please fuck me, please.”
a little soft and sweet moment with sherlock in the bath? yes please! <3
“you have such pretty hair,” you said as your fingers slipped through the wet curls in front of you where sherlock was laying against your chest.
you decided that a bath was much-needed after the week sherlock had: one case after another, and somehow all connected, with no time for rest was catching up to him; the poor man had been close to digging out the cigarettes you hid from him before you offered up a solution to his stress.
sherlock hummed lazily before responding to your comment on his hair. “there’s nothing particularly special about it. technically speaking, the—”
you pulled his head back with a quick tug of his curls until he was looking up at you, albeit slightly upside down given your current positions in the tub. “just accept the compliment, would you, mr. holmes?”
sherlock nodded in understanding and you responded with a soft kiss to his brow. “i love you,” you whispered before continuing your prior action of washing his hair. the comforting scent of his shampoo that you lathered between your fingers invaded your senses along with the cozy candles you had placed along the countertop earlier, their warm glow flickering throughout the small space as the two of you bathed.
a soft exhale left his nose as you lightly scraped your nails against his scalp and then rinsed his hair, ensuring that nothing dripped into his eyes. you brushed your fingers around the shiny, tight curls, playing with them a bit like you often found yourself doing. “that feels nice,” sherlock murmured lowly.
you smiled to yourself. “i’m glad. can you pass me that bar of soap over there, baby?” you indicated to the corner of the tub that was closest to him and he promptly leaned forward to grab it before placing it in your outstretched palm. “thank you,” you said kindly and then positioned him between your legs again, lathering the soap in your hands and smoothing them over his arms, shoulders, and back, massaging the tense muscles there.
you took notice of the moles peppering the skin along his back and nape, pressing tender kisses to each one you passed. sherlock responded with a quiet laugh, the sound reverberating in his chest and filling the small room with warmth that surpassed that of the bath water.
once you rinsed off all the soap, you moved to wrap your arms around his slim waist and pressed your lips to his shoulder before resting your chin there. “how do you feel now, mr. holmes?” you whispered in his ear, ready to spend the remainder of your evening wrapped around him like this.
he placed his hands over yours where they draped across his belly, holding you tight to him. “i feel happy,” he replied and turned his head enough to kiss your awaiting lips. “i love you, darling.”
for the nsfw ficlets - how about something around a secret relationship or risky sex with sherlock? these ficlets are sooo good!!
send me a nsfw headcanon and i’ll write a 5 sentence ficlet about it | 18+ only please
sherlock’s lips press against yours with bruising force as he pushes you against the door leading to his bedroom, hiking up your skirt with long, deft fingers and toying at the hem of your underwear with teasing strokes.
you moan into his mouth, “john will probably be here soon—” but your concern is hindered by sherlock leaning his weight against you, and you feel the hardening bulge of his cock right where you want him beneath layers of clothing that would no doubt be disappearing soon.
he sucks at your jaw and then down to your neck, leaving noticeable markings that had always been against the rules but you couldn’t bear to stop him now; instead, you rolled your hips against his, relishing in the feel of him and dying to get on the other side of the door and have him naked beneath you—or maybe the other way around.
the tips of his fingers snap the fabric of your underwear until they slip down your legs and onto the floor, and then the cool touch of his palm is inching toward your aching core when the front door suddenly clangs open and john announces his presence.
