#I’ve had regular boring Prosecco | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hazzasgayvodka · 3 years

Text

Panty Thief - Harry Styles

So this is kind of a trial run for this fic, I’m inclined to make this a series but I’m not sure how the response to it will be. I have lots of ideas for more parts to this but only if it’s what the people want haha. Here is my belated Valentine’s Day gift to all you lovelies I hope you enjoy this heavy daddy kink/dom harry fic I’ve been working on for ages!

p.s. everyone say thank you Nathan for giving me lots of smut inspiration this is literally based on him sorta

pairing: daddy!harry x oc

warning: sexual content, smut, daddy kink/dom vibes so if you’re not here for that this is not for you

word count: 5k

In which Harry is a new student at Harley’s university and he seems to just keep popping up everywhere. The tension between them is palpable and she can’t get away from him, especially when he happens to knock on her door with a pair of her favorite red lace panties she left in the laundromat dangling from his finger.

I roll my eyes as the lady in front of me in line takes out yet another handful of coupons from her purse at the checkout counter. The cashier looks almost as annoyed as I am, but still sporting a smile despite the absolute exasperation rampant in her eyes. She takes the handful of coupons and starts scanning them begrudgingly as the woman digs around in her purse for anymore and I hardly even notice my foot tapping as my eyes instinctively roll once again. I just came to get toilet roll, ice cream, and a bottle of prosecco and the universe decides today is the day coupon Karen ends up at the checkout line five minutes before I do.

“I like your hair.” A voice speaks up behind me.

I know they must be talking to me, I don’t believe any other boring college blonde in this line warrants a compliment like that but the bright purple curls I sport tend to elicit quite the reaction from bystanders, especially the uninteresting conservatives of Publix.

“How do you uh, get it that color?”

I finally turn my head over my shoulder to face the voice, a tall guy with tousled brown hair and quite the shit eating grin on his face. He’s obviously very pleased with himself finally getting me to turn around but I can’t be bothered to entertain this excited puppy of a man with more than a word.

“Dye.”

I’ve barely even gotten the word out of my mouth before I turn back to face the cashier with an uninterested eyeroll. He scoffs behind me, clearly not giving up that easily.

“Wow,” He chuckles, “At least you’re straightforward.”

I turn back around without thinking to face him once again, “Hair dye, idiot.”

“Oh, well I could have guessed that much.”

I turn away from him again just as coupon lady finally pushes her rattling cart towards the exit doors and the cashier gestures for me to come up to the checkout. I drop my basket on the conveyor belt with a thud and she rings it up quickly, sensing my impatience and clearly wanting to get me the hell out of here as quickly as she can. I pay and grab my bags to head for the door and just before I’m home free the voice is suddenly behind me yet again.

“So, are you really not going to tell me?” He asks, catching up to me outside, “It’s going to keep me up tonight, I’m waiting with bated breath over here.”

“Tell you what exactly?” I huff, finally turning to face him.

“How you get your hair that color, of course.”

I roll my eyes, surely, he’s not keeping this bit up for the sake of hitting on me in the fucking supermarket, “Do you want something from me?”

He chuckles a bit, and I’m glad to see my utter frustration is amusing to him, “I mean,” He starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “Maybe your name would be cool.”

“No thanks.”

“Well, I’m Harry-“

I turn and walk away before he’s barely got the sentence out of his mouth. What was he even in line to buy? He wasn’t carrying any bags.

Mental note: always wear headphones to the grocery store.

***

“You’re late.”

I collapse in the seat next to my friend Danielle with a huff. She gives me a certain look that says something like you’ve been late the past three times too, but honestly at this point she should know to expect it.

“I’m always late,” I groan, attempting to lean back in the incredibly uncomfortable library chair, “So, why are we at the library?”

“We have a math test tomorrow, or did you forget about that?” She asks, scolding me over the top of her math book.

“Of course I remembered,” I say sarcastically, “Math is my absolute favorite subject how could I ever forget we had a test?”

She rolls her eyes, turning her book to the right page to start taking notes and I try my best to follow along, “So do you have a legitimate reason for the lateness or just regular Harley excuses?”

“Actually, I do,” I say matter-of-factly, sitting back up straight in my chair, “There was a freak at the grocery store, dude would not leave me alone.”

“What was he doing?” She asks, suddenly interested.

“Just talking? I guess? He like wanted to have a whole conversation waiting to check out.”

“So, a nice guy just struck up some conversation with you at the store and that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes,” I huff, closing the book once again, “I was just there to get groceries I didn’t need the extra human interaction.”

She opens her mouth to reply but she’s cut off as a group of guys walk in the front door of the library talking at full volume. I can feel almost every person in the room turn in the direction of the loud noise at the front and suddenly my eyes land on him. There’s no fucking way.

“Dani,” I whisper, sliding down in my seat so I can go unseen, “Dani that’s the guy, the guy from earlier.”

“What?” She whispers harshly, trying not to stare as the boys get scolded by the librarian at the front, “You mean grocery store guy?”

“Yes!” I huff, electing to sit in my chair backwards so my back is to him.

“No way Harley, it just looks like him-”

“No Dani, it’s him,” I whisper, “Tall one with the curly hair in the black hoodie.”

“That’s him?” She asks, “You had a problem with that talking to you?”

“Shh!” I huff, “God he’s going to hear you, are they still at the front?”

“They um, yeah,” She stutters, her eyes diverting to her book again, “They’re still up there, at a table now.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, sensing the discomfort in her voice and turning around myself.

My eyes immediately lock onto his and I look away quickly, shielding my face from him with my hand and turning back towards Danielle.

“He’s staring right at you.” She says, trying not to be too obvious.

“Yep.”

“Are you gonna go over there?”

“Why would I do that exactly?” I ask, my eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Because a hot boy is staring you down across the fucking library!” She whispers harshly, reaching over to smack me in the arm.

“More like a fucking psychopa-”

“Hey there,” I hear his voice cut in and my whole body cringes in on itself without my volition, “Fancy meeting you here.”

I turn around in my chair, forcing myself to face him while my whole face heats and I’m sure I’m the color of a rather ripe tomato. Something about the way he says hey there in that fucking accent makes my entire body tense up.

“Hey there,” I mimic, “Long time no see.”

I feel Danielle’s eyes on me as the words come out of my mouth, her gaze flickering between the two of us and watching the horrifically awkward exchange play out in front of her.

He laughs, electing to lean on the table, “What are you doing after this?”

“She’s doing absolutely nothing.” Danielle answers for me and I kick her under the table, making her wince.

“Glad to hear it,” He grins, his eyes zeroing in on me once again.

“I’m very busy actually,” I cut in, closing my textbook and throwing it in my bag, “We both are, but um, I’ll see you around.”

Danielle is looking at me with eyes the size of dinner plates as she frantically packs up her stuff, shoving it in her bag to follow suit. I stand up from my chair, slinging my bag over my shoulder and he rounds the table to stand right in front of me, the only thing between me and the front door.

“Can I at least get your name?” He asks, his voice incredibly deep clearly for only me to hear.

“Harley,” I quip, side stepping around him, “See you later uh, Harold is it?”

He gives me a very particular look as I walk away from him, taking steps backward and relishing in the smirk on his face. He knows what I’m doing. I feel Dani’s hand grab my arm and I finally turn around to face the door, walking through it, but even as I’m outside and carrying my feet down the steps I feel his eyes on me, drilling into the back of my head.

“The hell was that?” Danielle asks, “He was so cute and you just, you just blow it like that?”

“Harmless flirting.”

“You call that flirting?”

“Oh Dani,” I sigh, taking out a cigarette and lighting it between my lips, “I call that winning.”

***

I’m woken up with a start when I hear the loud roar of music start from Dani’s room. She always blasts music in the morning while getting ready for class. I look over my shoulder to check the time, at least she waited until 10 to start with the noise. My head is pounding ever so slightly, and I realize why when my eyes land on the empty bottle of pink Moscato on my bedside table.

I drag myself out of bed and into the tiny common space between our two rooms, “Good morning sleeping beauty,” Danielle teases, “I noticed the bottle of wine went missing from the fridge.”

“That’s bizarre,” I joke, “Must be a wine thief in the dorms. I’ll get on that mystery right away.”

She shakes her head at me, rolling her eyes as I grab my basket of laundry from my room. I slide on a pair of slippers electing to go put it in the wash, so I hopefully have a single clean pair of jeans for class tonight. I call to Dani letting her know I’ll be right back and as soon as I open the door to the hall I’m staring at him.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I groan.

He stops dead in his tracks, taking a glance over his shoulder to see me standing in my doorway. He’s dressed in only a towel, holding it closed while it hangs low on his hips. His hair is wet, clearly making his way back to his room from the showers and his chest and arms are rippling with muscles under his damp skin.

God those arms could crush me like a grape.

“Morning neighbor,” He grins, clearly getting a kick out of this, “Someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”

“You’re in this building?”

“You bet, room 7C down the hall.”

“Well, neighbor, for future reference, most people in this building take their clothes to the shower with them.”

“You Americans,” He chuckles, starting to walk away from my doorway, “So prude, have a nice day Harley.”

He disappears down the hall and then behind his door and my mind gets to work on picturing what he looks like without the towel. You can nearly feel the tension between us in the air, it was palpable. I could even feel his eyes on me, looking me up and down and lingering on my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to clear my head as I take a deep breath and start on my way to the laundry room downstairs.

I put a load in the wash, briefly tuning into the dramatic soap playing on the tiny TV hung on the wall. I decide to head back to my now empty room since Danielle left for class and end up wasting most of my day away on a bad Netflix original movie, only pausing half way through to go move my clothes to the dryer.

I order a pizza for dinner before my night class and go back downstairs to grab my laundry out of the dryer. Just as I’m opening the dryer and emptying my clothes back into my basket I get a text that the pizza guy is downstairs waiting for me.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I huff under my breath, quickly shoving all my clothes in my basket and slamming the dryer shut behind me.

I rush back to my dorm, chucking the basket of clean clothes inside before heading to the stairwell and nearly sprinting down them to get to the ground floor. I meet the rather impatient pizza guy downstairs before bringing the food back up to my room. I’ve just barely finished the first slice half way through a Criminal Minds episode when there’s a knock at the door. I groan, dragging myself from the couch and tossing the blanket off.

I open the door, rolling my eyes, “Dani, you have got to start remembering your key when you-” I’m cut off as I come face to face with him rather than Dani, “Oh, um, hi?”

“Hi,” He repeats, now dressed in a pair of grey joggers and a plain black t-shirt, “I believe you dropped something in the laundry room earlier.”

He reveals his arm from behind his back, holding out his hand with my bright red lacy thong dangling from his pointer finger. I can feel my entire face heat to match the shade of my panties, but I won’t let him get the satisfaction. I go to snatch them from his hand, but he stops me, gripping them in his fist instead and using them as leverage to pull me a bit closer to him.

“Probably want to be a bit more careful where you leave your panties lying around, darling,” He smirks, “Unless you want to leave them on my bedroom floor of course.”

It’s the final straw, those few words spoken in his deliciously deep voice absolutely dripping with that amazing accented tone, on top of the way he’s dressed, every muscle visible beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m pulling him to me by my own grip on the lacy underwear between us, my mouth meeting his and his teeth instantly biting my bottom lip between them.

“Yours or mine?” He breathes out, pulling away from me just long enough to get the words out.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask breathlessly.

“Vacation,” He says, “Till Wednesday.”

“Yours,” I laugh, pressing my lips back to his, “Definitely yours.”

He walks me backwards down the hall to his dorm room, shoving me up against the wall as he unlocks the door, his lips working down my neck. As soon as the door is open he walks me through it, bending down to grab the backs of my thighs and hoisting me into the air. He kicks the door closed with his foot and I laugh against his mouth as he carries me past his bedroom doorway, slamming that behind us as well.

He lays me out on the bed, nearly tossing me right on top of the mattress, my lacy red underwear still gripped in his hand.

“Any chance you got something this cute under there?” He chuckles, holding them up in both hands to really show them off.

“Why don’t you come find out?” I tease.

He rolls his eyes, finally kneeling onto the edge of the bed and crawling over to me. He starts to lean over me, but I shove his shoulder, forcing him to lay against the mattress before swinging my leg over him. I can feel him underneath me immediately and it makes my legs clench together on either side of him.

“Hi,” I breathe, planting my hands on his chest and meeting his eyes.

“Hi,” He repeats back to me, that bright smile of his making my stomach flip, “You gonna come down here or...?”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh finally leaning down and connecting our lips once again.

His lips are ridiculously soft against mine while the feeling of his muscles under his t-shirt are quite the opposite. He reaches up to cup my face with both hands, trying to somehow pull me closer as if we aren’t close enough as it is. I can’t figure out exactly where I want to put my hands; his shoulders, his biceps, god, in that amazing curly hair.

My hips start to move against him without my volition and he groans into my mouth, a deliciously deep reverberation that makes me grind my hips into him even more. He grunts against my lips, finally pulling away and resting his forehead against mine instead, breathing heavily.

“You alright there tiger?” I tease him, threading my fingers through his hair, “Need a breather already?”

“Shut your mouth,” He chuckles, grabbing me around the waist and trying to flip us over so he’s on top.

He greatly underestimates the size of his twin dorm bed when he does so, both of us rolling off the edge and tumbling to the shag carpeted floor beneath us. I expect the mood to be ruined, for him to get up and usher me right out the door because how awkward is this, right? I’m beyond surprised when he starts laughing, both of us splayed flat on our backs and heaves out a sigh as he rolls over to face me again.

“That was pretty smooth of me, eh?” He jokes, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, chuckling too, “No I’m okay, just gonna have a massive bruise on my ass most likely.”

He laughs again, finally pulling himself to his feet and offering me a hand to help me up. I’m not sure what I expect past that, maybe a hug to send me on my way now that the atmosphere has completely changed but that tension is still between us, the same tension that’s been building since the moment he said a single word in the supermarket.

The second I’m back on my feet he shoves me onto the bed and I can’t even begin to hide the shock in my features. He’s back on top of me in seconds, his lips pressed to mine and I’m sure the surprised whimper that leaves my mouth fuels his ego to the gods.

“You alright there tiger?” He mocks, and I resist the urge to reach up and slap him.

“Careful.” I quip, pulling away from him to meet his eyes.

“Careful?” He asks, quirking up his eyebrow at me, “I’m sorry are you telling me what to do sweetheart?”

I gulp, the smooth but stern voice he’s using making my thighs quiver. He seems to notice, his eyes darting down between us and a small chuckle escaping his lips. He looks back up at me, his eyes dark and brooding, before they flicker to my hands at my sides. He grabs my left wrist roughly, holding it above my head against the mattress before doing the same to my right arm as well. I’m nearly squirming underneath him, my entire body steaming to the touch as his eyes bore into mine.

“Something wrong, love?” He asks, the condescending tone to his voice making my whole body shake.

“Course not,” I pant, my breath coming out heavier than I anticipated, “Just fuckin peachy over here.”

He chuckles a bit, his grip on my wrists growing tighter, “You’re not very patient, you know that?”

I’m not sure what it is that’s making me writhe the way I am; perhaps it’s the countless months I’ve gone without sex since my last messy breakup, or maybe it’s the way in which this all panned out with a stranger over some fucking underwear, or fuck, maybe it’s just him and the way that cocky smirk on his face makes my insides twist.

“Patience is a virtue,” I say carefully, making sure to keep my tone even, “I’m more about vices.”

His left hand releases my wrist and I prepare myself for his hand reaching where I need him most, sucking in a breath between my teeth and letting my eyes flutter closed but it never comes. My eyes peel back open to see his hand hovering over my neck instead. He meets my eyes before his fingers finally grace the skin of my throat, applying just the slightest bit of pressure almost as if to test the waters.

I’m nearly dizzy as he does so, the temperature in this room suddenly a million degrees. He removes his hand again, the pressure around my throat leaving me and I whimper in distaste, making him chuckle again.

“Poor thing,” He chastises, my legs clenching together on either side of him, “I can’t do it all though, if only there was a way I could hold down both your wrists and choke that pretty neck.”

I watch his hand dig into the pocket of his joggers and once again pull out the thin red lacy fabric of my panties, holding them between us.

“Mind if I use these?” He asks, clearly knowing the answer but wanting to get a reaction out of me anyways.

“Yes, god,” I gulp, “Please.”

He grabs my hands, moving them completely above my head before wrapping the panties around them a few times, tying them together. He tugs on them a bit to make sure they’re pretty secure before looking back down at me, his eyes completely blown out in lust, his pupil swallowing his surrounding iris.

His lips are back on mine in seconds, his now free hands roaming my body before one hand rests on my neck, gripping the sides and applying a bit more pressure than the last time. I whimper into this mouth and curse myself for doing so as soon as my eyes flutter open to see that cocky smirk on his face once again.

“Eager, sweetheart?” He teases, and my hand reaches up to smack him before I remember I’m bound in a pair of my own underwear, “Ah, ah, be a good girl and stay still.”

Hearing the words good girl come out of his mouth makes my entire body squirm and he grins again, that lopsided condescending grin and I know he’s getting off on this, making me writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss my stomach, hiking my shirt up as he goes before working his way down and tugging my pants down my legs. I hold my breath in anticipation but when I look down the bed to meet his eyes he simply kisses the inside of my thighs, ghosting his mouth over the thin fabric of my panties.

“Fucking please,” I beg, my breath coming out in heaves, “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Please what, princess?” He asks, my legs threatening to squeeze his head between them, “Tell me what you want, hm?”

“You cocky bastard,” I huff, my mind getting fuzzier by the second the closer he gets to my center, “You know what I want.”

He stops abruptly, sitting back up from his small assault on my inner thighs, “What did you say, love? Care to repeat that? Couldn’t quite here you down here.”

There’s an edge to his voice, like glass, it cuts right through me and makes my thighs quiver, “N-no,” I stutter, “Didn’t say anything.”

“That’s what I thought,” He grins, leaning back down between my legs, “Now be a good girl and tell me what you want me to do to you.”

I suck in a breath sharply, but I won’t let him know how his words affect me, “Oh daddy,” I mock, rolling my eyes, “Need you so bad.”

He grabs me by the ankles, flipping me onto my stomach and sends an echoing smack to my ass, the stinging sensation that radiates afterwards making my toes curl. He flips me back onto my back, his dangerously dark eyes meeting mine as he spreads my legs apart once again, holding my thighs down against the mattress.

“Want to try that again, princess?”

“Fuck,” I gasp, the edge to his voice making the whispered swear fall from my mouth involuntarily, “Um, yes.”

“Yes what?” He growls, leaning down to hold my jaw in his hand, his eyes drilling into mine waiting for a response.

“Yes daddy.”

“Now you’re getting it, good girl,” He grins, his hand that was gripping my jaw moving to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, “Now open up,” I oblige, slowly opening my mouth and he pushes his middle and ring finger past my lips. It catches me a bit off guard, but he only nods his head, “Get them nice and wet for me love, don’t want to hurt you.”

He pulls them from my mouth, a small string of saliva connecting them to my lips. He chuckles a bit, clearly getting a kick out of how worked up I am for him before finally pushing my panties to the side and pressing his fingers into me. I instantly turn my head to the side, muffling the moan that escapes my mouth into my pillow. As soon as he realizes what I’m doing he grabs me by the hair, holding my head straight.

“None of that,” He says sternly, “Wanna hear your pretty sounds, babygirl.”

I’m dangerously close to the edge just from the words pouring from his mouth in that accented tone that makes my entire body shiver. That condescending smirk finds its way back to his lips and I know that he can tell I’m close, just teetering on the edge already.

“Needy little thing, are we?” He teases, “Already gonna cum and daddy’s barely touched you yet.”

His words are almost just enough to push me over the edge, but I hold off as much as I can, straining away from his touch as much as I can with my hands bound above my head and his weight on top of me. I feel the particular twist in my stomach, that burning sensation in the very pit of my abdomen just as my eyes squeeze shut and my vision goes white. His fingers work me through it, his mouth finally hovering over where I need him most, sucking my sensitive bud into his mouth and making me shake.

I feel his fingers withdraw from me and suddenly he’s pushing them past my lips once again, but this time I taste myself on them, swirling my tongue around each one to suck them clean. I meet his eyes as he pulls them from my mouth and my hips involuntarily buck up to meet the bulge prominent in his pants.

“Still needy, are we?” He chuckles.

“Please shut up and take your pants off already.” I beg, my hips bucking up to meet him again.

“You see I would but,” He starts, sitting back on his heels, “It seems I don’t have a condom, would you happen to have one?”

“Would I, no, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I stutter breathlessly, my blood starting to boil in disbelief, “What kind of guy doesn’t keep a pack of rubbers around you idiot?”

“Careful,” He warns, his voice dropping into that deep calculated tone that makes me shiver, “And perhaps a guy that just moved in this week and hasn’t necessarily had buying rubbers on the mind,” He says, “That is until he met a spunky purple haired girl in the supermarket.”

His words make my stomach do a few somersaults, but I don’t let it extinguish the pissed off fire burning in my stomach knowing that I won’t be getting the relief I desperately need right now.

“You’re serious?” I ask, “You don’t have any?”

“Serious, darling,” He chuckles, “But instead of moping about it, you’re going to take what I give you and say thank you daddy when I’m done, understand?”

I nod my head vigorously, despite wanting to do the exact opposite. What kind of hold does that goddamn accent have on me?

“Good,” He smiles, clearly pleased with my response, “And maybe if you’re a good girl next time daddy will remember to hit the store.”

“Next time?” I ask, not filtering the shock from my voice.

He laughs a bit, reaching up to finally untie my hands, “Yes, next time, did you want this to just be a one-time thing, princess?”

I can’t form the words I want to say as I sit up a bit, rubbing my wrists only slightly from the rough fabric of the lace wrapped around them, “I um, I don’t-”

“That’s what I thought,” He smirks, standing from the bed and holding out a hand to me, “Now come on, didn’t you get pizza?”

I smile, taking his hand and starting to stand to my feet, my legs a bit wobbly and I’m thankful for the stability of his arm to lean on.

“Do you have anything to uh,” I start, cringing when I feel the wetness in between my thighs, “Clean up with?”

“Nope,” He says cheerfully, “You keep that pretty mess I made between those thighs, babygirl.”

My knees nearly buckle, and I’m cursing him for his lack of condoms and the ache between my legs as I pull my pants back on, following him to the door to the hall. He stops abruptly just inside the doorway, turning back to meet my eyes.

“What’s my name?” He asks cheekily.

“Harry,” I say confidently, “Why? Are you worried I forgot already?”

He grabs my ass in his hand tightly, squeezing the skin, his voice calculated, “I said, what’s my name?”

I gulp, leaning into his grip on me a bit more as my knees wobble, “Daddy.”

He releases his grip on my ass, giving it a quick smack, “’Atta girl, let’s get some pizza in you so you’re ready for round two,” He grins, throwing his arm around my shoulder and tucking me into his side as we walk down the hall to my room instead, “Maybe after we can hit the store, I seemed to have forgotten to pick something up last time I went.”

#harry styles #harry #harry styles smut #one direction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #one direction smut #harry smut #harry styles oneshot #daddy!harry #dom!harry #sub!y/n

601 notes · View notes

illuminating-dragons · 7 years

Text

By Any Name (4/11): Florence

Chapter Summary: John and Sherlock try out a new city and a new disguise, tracking a rather peculiar assassin... Warning for excessive love for Florence and mentions of assassin sexting.

Read it on AO3

“I’m not playing your father again.”

“Neither am I. It took days to make that wig usable again!”

“What else could we do?”

“…What about brothers?”

“Sounds brilliant. I’ll be the older one.”

“No you won’t, I’ll be!”

“I’ve never been an older brother!”

“Neither have I!”

“I won’t be a bad one.”

“I don’t care!”

“…”

“Twins, then?”

“Fine. But not identical!”

Florence was beautiful, it had wonderful gelato, and it only had fourteen major churches.

The last bit was important because one of them was hiding an assassin.

Lars Bernard was extremely cooperative, and gave up nearly his entire network, as well as his position in Moriarty’s web. It made John wonder why Moriarty would have trusted the man at all, but he supposed even Bernard considered himself invincible, now that Moriarty was dead.

They were supposed to head out straight away from Brussels, but Sherlock insisted they stay long enough to supervise the police and Interpol (“just two different shades of incompetence”) as they took down the supply chains. Coincidentally, it took three weeks, just enough time for John’s leg to heal.

John didn’t bother protesting.

He still wore a simple set of bandages to keep the newly healed skin from being damaged, but he hid that under trousers and could walk without a limp by the time they stepped off the train in Florence.

Before Bernard was locked away for good, he gave them one last ‘friendly’ tip.

“One of my friends—we don’t do business together, he’s not really my style—has a scheme going in Florence. There’s a hitman there, goes by the name of La Fiore, hiding in a church there right now. You might want to check that out; Fiore’s responsible for over a hundred assassinations.”

Sherlock considered that. John watched his face, wondering how much he’d tell Bernard.

“We weren’t planning to go any further than Belgium,” Sherlock said.

“But you have to go to Florence!” Bernard protested. “It is the most beautiful place in Europe outside of Belgium. Take your son and go, even if only for vacation.”

“How about it Jake?” Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. “Sounds good to me, Dad.” He frowned at Bernard. “Why are you giving up your friend’s job? He’s not part of your network.”

Bernard’s face went still. “He made a mistake when dealing with me, many years ago. It’s simply the right time for retribution.” His lips were barely moving as he spoke, and John caught a glimpse of why this man’s cold mind would have appealed to Moriarty.

“We could do with a little sun,” Sherlock mused.

Sherlock hadn’t lied to Bernard. Jake and Ed Stone had disappeared just before the Belgian border. Stuart and Stanley Smith (no, John had not picked the stupid names) took their place. They were now equipped with backpacks, maps and rosaries. They were twins in their late twenties, taking one last big trip together before going off to jobs across the world from each other in the spring. Why they were going to Florence in November rather than the spring was not discussed.

Bernard was wrong. La Fiore, or Fleur, or The Flower, or That Goddamn Bitch, was responsible for fifty assassinations in Italy. In the entirety of Europe, she was responsible for over a hundred. Interpol could only guess at how many she was behind worldwide. Working together, Sherlock and Mycroft had come up with a workable estimate—roughly a thousand in the last ten years.

She was also Moriarty’s top foreign assassin correspondent.

John couldn’t get his head around that. Apparently, assassins who knew each other would send messages to each other about jobs they were on, conditions in unstable countries, and occasionally sexts. People like La Fiore were responsible for creating safe ways of getting these messages to the right people, all while juggling their own assassination responsibilities. With that in place, assassins could roam the world safely, kill their targets with up to date information about political and weather conditions, and conduct long-distance love affairs.

Sherlock swore he wasn’t making it up.

They walked to each church in Florence that was still open to the public, glancing through to look for La Fiore. So far they were unsuccessful, but John didn’t mind. He was still in awe of the wonderful city, and had yet to find anything wrong with it. He was also relieved that his leg had healed without the shadow of a limp.

The fact that it was raining buckets wasn’t great, but what could you do?

After three days of wandering through cold rain, though, even John’s enthusiasm started to dampen. There was no sign of La Fiore anywhere, not amongst the worshippers, the tourists…there wasn’t even a single blonde janitor.

Sherlock called a halt halfway through day four, in the middle of a soaking thunderstorm. “Let’s go back to the hostel and regroup,” he shouted over the thunder. “There must be something we’re missing.”

Once they were back under shelter in their private room (‘Stanley’ was a hypochondriac, and Sherlock played the part so well they got a discount. Nothing could be done about the showers, however, and John was relieved it was raining so much), John ordered pizza. Of all the languages Sherlock had taught him, Italian was his favourite, and he enjoyed using it as often as he could, even with his atrocious accent. When the three pizzas arrived he opened the cheap bottle of prosecco and the two of them sat together on the floor, looking at the map.

All the churches were marked in red, each with a corresponding section of observations in Sherlock’s commonplace book. There was no obvious visual pattern that John could make out.

“She could be in one of the smaller churches,” he commented. He took a quick swig of prosecco.

“That’s not her style,” Sherlock answered. After taking a bite of pizza, he pointed to the file propped up next to the map. There was very little about the flowery assassin, only three words. Ruthless. Arrogant. Lustful.

“Are you sure we’re not dealing with the Woman?” John asked innocently.

“Positive,” Sherlock said. “She would have texted.”

He didn’t mention that he knew that Irene Adler was supposed to be dead. John didn’t say that he knew she was alive.

“A smaller church would be safer, but she wants to be seen and heard no matter what. That’s how she operates.” Sherlock sipped his drink. “More to the point, the larger churches would be near WiFi zones. She still has a job to do.”

“Bernard didn’t seem to know that much about her,” John pointed out. “Maybe he was wrong, maybe she’s got a target somewhere in the city.”

Sherlock shook his head. “If she did the Boss would know.” He looked positively ill as he said this, and John smirked. Mycroft wasn’t a common name, and ‘boss’ was an innocent enough word, although it wasn’t as effective when Sherlock made faces like that.

“Are we sure about that?” was all he said.

“If he doesn’t, we’re certainly not going to find out in time. She’s an assassin-Instagram maniac.”

“I still can’t believe that’s real.”

“Oh, they’ve all got accounts. They post about stupid boring things that no one cares about, but it’s actually information about their latest kills.”

John shook his head. La Fiore’s Instagram was open on his phone. There were hundreds of images of flowers, some he’d never seen in his life, and lots of comments about how beautiful they were. It looked horrendous, and was, although not to the casual viewer. In the last week, she’d been tagged in a comment that was acoded threat to her life. Her account had been quiet since then.

He looked at the map again and hesitated. It seemed too obvious, and they’d already checked it out…

“What are you thinking?”

John looked at Sherlock, still not used to him with red hair and a profusion of freckles. “She wouldn’t…be in the church with her name, would she?”

Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore was a big, well-known church, one of John’s favourites thus far. There were rumours that La Fiore’s real name was Mary, so wouldn’t that fit?

“It would make sense, but we’ve been through there already three times. If she’s in as much trouble as Bernard wanted her to be, she wouldn’t dare move, but there’s been no regulars at the church at all.”

“What about a disguise?”

“Again, not her style.”

“But if she’s looking to blend in…”

They kept talking, arguing about whether Fiore was desperate enough to shed her trademark look, even though that was what made her special, or whether she was simply hiding in plain sight. The pizzas disappeared slowly, as did the prosecco.

“She could be in disguise,” Sherlock finally conceded. “Fiore’s smart, and she might make an exception now the Spinner’s gone.”

John checked his watch, then the window. Five and clear. “Why don’t we go check it out now?” he suggested.

Sherlock shook his head. “Let’s go see some more of Florence. Eat some gelato, see some statues…we’ll go back when it’s dark.”

John shrugged. “Fine with me. But we’re going back to the good place.”

“Stu, we’ve had gelato from there five times.”

“Let’s make it six.”

“…then we have to go to the Piazzele Michelangelo.”

John looked at him. “Do you really think I can do that?” His leg was fine, honestly, but Sherlock had been keeping him from any strenuous exercise for weeks.

“You can,” Sherlock said confidently. “I’ll be with you in case anything goes wrong.”

“To take pictures if I fall down, and then help me up?”

“Exactly.”

It was really cold in Florence at half midnight in November, but that didn’t stop Sherlock from circling the church five times, looking for any accomplices or enemies of La Fiore. They weren’t the only ones looking for her, after all.

“Can we please go in now?” John hissed.

Sherlock looked about one last time before nodding. They went to the small side door, left open by the friendly janitor and guarded by the not-so friendly one, who thankfully had an unfaithful wife. With the proof of that in a small package (John really didn’t want to know what was in it), they were able to beard the dragon and get into the church.

Even with only the security lights on, the church was still stunning. Beautiful art covered the walls and ceiling, stretching into the shadows. Even the pews looked lovely, reflecting the splendour even in the dark.

There shouldn’t be anyone but the night staff in this place, but Sherlock grabbed John’s arm and pointed. John squinted, and could just make out the silhouette of a woman in one of the pews.

For the first time, John realized exactly what they were doing. They were waltzing up to one of the most prolific assassins in history, attacking her when she was already backed into a corner, with no reason why she should keep them alive. They were supposedly a couple of gangly Weasleyesque kids from Canada—why would she hesitate?

Sherlock squeezed John’s arm once, then let go. Turning his head to the side just a little, he watched Sherlock take a long, deceptively thin and wickedly painful stick from his backpack. John drew his gun, smiled, and the two of them stepped forward.

La Fiore appeared to be asleep, for she didn’t budge as they approached. They were being quiet, obviously, but shouldn’t assassins be trained to hear sneaky steps?

As they got closer, John could see long blonde hair falling over the back of the pew. It was her! He almost rushed forward, but he hadn’t come this far to be shot by anyone. Instead, he allowed Sherlock to take the lead, who stepped forward, stick raised, and with one swift movement pulled the woman’s hair.

It came off in his hand.

It wasn’t the most pleasant night, but John couldn’t help giggling when he remembered Sherlock’s face as he held the wig in his hand. The old Tibetan man in the pew grinned up at him, not at all upset about being caught.

After a moment’s surprise, Sherlock raised his hand. Two women came in, Mycroft’s anti-assassin team, and they took charge of the prisoner. Sherlock and John stepped away, trying not to look at each other.

As the wait drew on, the women trying to engage the fake assassin in conversation in several languages, John finally muttered, “I suppose that couldn’t all be a disguise?”

Sherlock shook his head, but John could see him fighting a grin. “Something’s off here,” he replied. “But I expect we’ll find out shortly.”

They actually found out ‘long-ly’, from one of Mycroft’s girls, a lanky redhead who could have passed for their triplet sister. “Himself wants to talk to you,” she informed them in a drawling Highland accent, holding out a phone.

Sherlock took it, holding it down so John could hear.

“Well done.”

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock demanded. “We didn’t find her.”

“You found out where she wasn’t. Bernard’s a fool, he knows plenty about his own operations but little about anyone else’s. La Fiore heard that he was after her three months ago, and she moved her game, leaving one of her lovers to play her Instagram-filler for her.”

Her lover? John mouthed aghast. Wasn’t La Fiore thirty or so?

Word Three, Sherlock answered.

John shook his head. There were apparently no limits with this woman.

Mycroft sighed over the phone. “She switched with someone. This man is a drug smuggler from Tibet, he operates out of a monastery there.”

“Oh, the legwork required to go to Tibet!” Sherlock moaned. “How will you ever manage?”

“I’ll make you fly coach.”

“I hate you.”

“Both of you stop,” John sighed. “I suppose next stop Tibet?”

“Yes.” Mycroft was trying to sound calm and failing miserably. “You need to track this woman down. She’s a menace.”

“Is she clogging up your feed, brother dear?”

A long dial tone was his only answer.

Sherlock smiled at John. “Well, little brother? Shall we away to Tibet and track the femme fatale?”

“Only so I can watch you walk up to an assassin and call her ‘femme fatale’,” John answered.

“Excellent. Let’s get packed.” Sherlock turned around, somehow managing to swoosh without his coat.

John started to follow, and then it clicked.

“I’m not your little brother!”

There was a rather mad chase through Florence that night.

#sherlock #sherlock fanfiction #john and sherlock #sherlock season 2 AU #acme146 fanfiction #crosspost #florence #friendship fic #by any name

1 note · View note