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gummydummy19 · 5 months ago

Note

Hi Gummy👀❤️

um, because of the post you said about just now......

Thinking about Prof!Sherlock Holmes celebrate with you that your exams are over.

Correction: you sneak in his office with a bottle of champagne and wearing the lingerie he gifted to you a few weeks ago... He was very confused at the beginning(

Well, you did celebrate TOGETHER after all.👀😋

Gaahh I would love to celebrate with him! 🥳🫠 Thank you for the ask, jammie! Im very sorry this took so incredibly long and that its a bit shit maybe lol, I hope you still kinda like it :)

His best student

Content Warnings: smut, age gap (not specifically mentioned), college student/college professor relationships (abuse of power, just to be sure), pet names (little one, Sir, baby), smidge of angst for some reason

A/N: This story is a fantasy and purely fictional. I do not condone student/teacher relationships or abuse of power in real life. Since this is pure fiction, everything is consensual. (because it's my fantasy and I fucking wrote it that way)

Word Count: 1.9k +

He was busy grading papers, the usual frown on his face, not even looking up at you as you entered his office...

You eyed him hungrily as you locked the door behind you. "Do you know what day it is today?" you asked in a sultry voice, hoping to get his attention.

You'd been waiting for this moment for weeks, ever since he gifted you that black, lacy lingerie set a few days before your first exam. He'd had it delivered, knowing if he'd handed it to you himself neither of you would be able to wait. The box contained a note, written in Sherlock's beautiful handwriting, as per usual.

"A little gift to get you in the mood. I hope it motivates you, my dear. I expect straight A's from my best student x"

You had never been so excited to study. With your new-found motivation, you propped yourself at your desk, which is where you stayed for weeks. Focused and dedicated.

You hadn't touched yourself once in the past few weeks. Partly because you wanted to stay focussed, but also because you simply didn't have the time. You were so exhausted and mentally drained from studying all day, your back and shoulders were sore from sitting hunched over your desk for hours. When you finally got to bed at night you were so tired you almost immediately fell asleep.

And now the wait was finally over. All your hard work had paid off, straight A's across the board. You were proud of yourself, proud and incredibly horny, ready to collect your reward.

"Uhh...Friday?" Sherlock answered mindlessly, his eyes still glued to the red ink he scribbled across the paper.

You rolled your eyes before clearing your throat, hoping to finally get him to look up at you.

His eyes found yours, they were filled with confusion and a tiny bit of aggravation...until you let your coat fall open. The beautiful black set was revealed and you could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

"Yeah," you spoke, "it's Friday"

A smirk tugged at his plushy lips, 'it's Friday", he repeated as the realization dawned on him.

"Hmm." you nodded, dropping your coat on the floor with a smile.

You took a few slow steps towards him, never once breaking eye contact.

"Passed all my exams, straight A's just like you wanted Mr. Holmes", you spoke innocently.

"Is that so?" he smirked, leaning back in his chair, his knees falling wider open.

"Uh uh", you nodded coyly, chewing your finger.

You took a few steps closer to him, keeping your eyes glued to his. You debated crawling into his lap and kissing him silly, but took a seat on his desk instead. "So I think I deserve my reward now, don't you?"

He was trying to contain himself a little longer, trying not to show how much of an effect you had on him. But the glimmer in his eyes told you enough. You couldn't help but smile at him. A warm genuine smile that told him how much you adored him and how badly you'd missed him.

He couldn't hold back the grin that broke free on his face and he stood up. Wasting no time before grabbing your face and crashing his lips to yours. The kiss was full of heat and passion. Your hands tangled in his beautiful brown curls before trailing down his neck and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. It took every fiber in your being not to rip the fabric off him, but you decided to behave. You the last thing you needed was a punishment when you came here for a reward.

Luckily he noticed what you were doing quite quickly, and since there was not much left for you to take off, he decided to help you.

"Fuck...I missed you, little one", he mumbled against your mouth as he undid the final button on his shirt.

"Hmm...missed you too, Sir...so much", you sighed back, your hands sliding over his shoulders, under the fabric of his shirt, making it drop on the floor while your fingers tangled in his hair again pulling him in for another kiss.

The kiss became more heated, more impatient, and you felt yourself starting to buck against the front of his trousers. The growing bulge pressed perfectly against the thin fabric of your panties. The panties that were slowly but surely starting to get very sticky and damp...

He pulled his lips away from yours, only to trail kissed from your jaw to your neck, groaning into your nape once he got there. His large hands trailed up and down your waist, squeezing at your flesh wherever he could.

You wriggled your hands between your bodies, your fingers eagerly searching for the buckle of his belt.

“Need you now…right now…”, you whined as you pulled his belt from his pants, your desperation made him chuckle.

“Hmmm…my perfect pretty princess…”, his voice was low has his fingers trailed down your jaw. Your breath hitched when his hand made its way down your throat, you expected him to stop there, to squeeze it as punishment for being so impatient…but he didn’t.

His hand moved down a little bit further until he pressed his palm flat, right in the middle of your chest. You were sure he felt your heartbeat thumping.

“Lay back for me”, he commanded. His tone combined with the slight press of his hand left little room for arguing, so you did what he asked.

Your back his the cold wood of his desk and you stared up at him. He held your gaze while his hands moved to caress your legs, starting at your knees, up to your thighs and back to your knees, where he held a firm grip to keep your legs spread (as if you needed any help with that?)

You enjoyed every second of it, every single touch, every look…but you needed more.

“Please Sir…”, you whined, “haven’t I been a good girl?”

He once again chuckled at your shameless display of pure desperation. “Don’t frown like that little one, you’ll get wrinkles”

“Then don’t give me a reason to frown.”

Your inner brat was starting to show and you hated it. Not that you didn’t love your bratty side, because you absolutely did, but today it meant that he was winning and you had worked too hard to let that happen.

He was staring down at you with his usual raised eyebrow. “Come on, Mr. Holmes..please?", you tried, your foot inching up his waist until your toes touched the now massive bulge in his trousers. You moved methodically, creating a friction you knew he craved.

"Behave", his voice was stern, no doubt a cover-up for his neediness, but stern nonetheless. You ignored it, continuing your movements shamelessly until he growled. "Enough!"

In a matter of seconds had pushed your legs open again and he was on you. Your wrists pinned to the oak desk just like the rest of you. "I told you to behave, little one."

"Why? When I do you give me nothing", you argued, staring him dead in the eye. "I came here for a reward, but if you insist on punishing me go ahead. Either way, I refuse to leave here empty-handed. I worked my ass off for the past few weeks, haven't even touched myself once. I kept my focus, I got perfect grades, and now I wanna cum. I deserve to cum."

You had never spoken to him that way. Ever.

The two of you looked at each other in silence. His hands still had a firm grip on your wrists and the look in his eyes gave little away. For a split second, you worried you had gone too far. He was still your professor after all, and by far the most intelligent and respected man you'd ever met.

You were simply a young girl who happened to be in his class and sucked his cock the way he liked it. You were nobody. And yet here you were, sprawled on his desk demanding orgasms.

"I'm proud of you, you know that?"

His deep voice broke through the silence and with that also through your thoughts. "Huh?" you managed to get out.

He grinned down at you, but different than before. Less devilish, more pure. "You're right, you worked incredibly hard...and you deserve a reward..."

He dipped his head down, his curls brushing your face as he pressed kisses against your neck and shoulder.

The second you felt his warm lips press loving kisses on your skin your eyes fluttered shut. A relaxed sigh left your lips as you basked in his touch.

“Such a good girl…such a…an amazing woman you…”, he panted out his praises while kissing his way down your body.

You moaned when you felt his warm lips press against your core through your panties, he kissed and licked until he could taste you through the fabric, leaving it even more soaked than it already was.

“Fuck sir…” your fingers tangled in his curls again when he pulled your panties to the side and finally ran his tongue through your sopping wet folds.

He ate you out with vigour, humming and groaning into your pussy like a man possessed.

It wasn’t long before your thighs squeezed around his head and you shook with pleasure, letting out one final loud moan as your orgasm rushed through you.

“Fuck…” you giggled while staring at the ceiling, you swore you saw a couple stars fly around.

You could feel him grinning against your skin as he pressed a few more kisses on your inner thighs.

“C’mere…” your hands grabbed at him again, this time he didn’t even try to refuse. His large body stretched over you and his hands found the sides of your face.

You both smiled into the kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue was always such a turn on. You tasted great together, every time.

It wasn’t long before hunger consumed you again, and you could tell even though he just ate…he was still starving.

Your legs locked around his waist and you bucked your hips up into his bulge, whimpering a little from the overstimulation.

He didn’t need to be told what to do. He grinned as he leaned up. Never breaking eye contact with you while he lowered his pants and boxers, allowing his thick cock to spring free.

“My sweet girl….”, was all he said before slowly…ever so slowly…pushing inside of you.

He dropped down close to you, one hand on your hip, using it as leverage while he pumped in and out of you.

The other one right next to your face, keeping him from leaning his full body weight on you…not that you would complain…

“Fuck…s-sir…” your voice was barely above a whisper given that his nose was practically touching yours.

He pressed a gentle kiss against your lips, “call me by my name…please”.

You moaned and he slowly picked up the pace, “S-sherlock…Sherlock! Oh god, Sherlock”, you pulled at his hair as he fucked you passionately on his desk, fucking you deeper and harder each time you screamed his name.

“Yeah fuck…that’s it princess…shit”, he angled his hips while his hand slid down between your bodies, “cum for me baby…cum on my cock while I pump you full…can’t hold it much longer sweetheart, you feel so fucking good, fuck” his almost whiny tone and desperate look melted you to your core, and so you did what he asked, you came on his cock, hard.

“SHERLOCK! please please please….”, your walls squeezed him tightly and with one final thrust and a guttural groan he came inside you.

Sweaty foreheads and plump lips bumped against each other as you rode out the highs of your orgasms together.

“I love you…I love you”, he spoke quietly after a few beats of silence.

Once to himself, and once to you.

Taglist:

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#sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill #fluff #smut #gummydummy19 #fanfiction #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader

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kazumiku · 9 days ago

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THE FINAL PROBLEM

a heizou x gn!reader smau

— THE QUESTION IS, WHAT CAN YOU MAKE PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT YOU HAVE DONE.

genre | detective/criminal au, mystery, thriller, slight angst, comfort, lots of romance

synopsis | being promoted a rank high enough in your position to start working directly under the shikanoin heizou is no easy feat. the number 1 detective of the tenryou commission is a mystery in itself, no case number needed, a person would be stupid enough to question a solid principle. however, heizou isn't the only one packing secrets worth filling a case file to abundance, with your own closets full of skeletons better left in the dark. it's no better than a game of oddities and uncertainties only you and he can partake in, for one will come as victor 'fore every instance comes to light. but who's playing into whose palms, exactly?

warnings | 17+, stalking, character deaths, ooc characters, very offensive jokes, suggestive moments but nothing explicit, risque comments, a lot of blood will be mentioned, ill be quoting sherlock holmes a lot umm

status | not yet started

taglist | open ( send ask or reply anywhere )

p.files ↬ basement dwellers, fists-up-my-balls, tenryou's lapdogs (extras)

p.logue ↬ a study in maroon (🔍)

LOGBOOK : ENTRY #1 "OPENING STATEMENTS"

01 → the penthouse ; 02 → a woman's necessities (🔍) ; 03 → dango for two

04 → stalling (🔍) ; 05 → impromptu date ; 06 → empty wine barrel (🔍)

07 → tba... ; 08 → tba... ; 09 → tba...

LOGBOOK : ENTRY #2 "CLOSING ARGUMENTS"

00 → tba... ; 00 → tba... ; 00 → tba...

LOGBOOK : ENTRY #3 "THE VERDICT"

00 → tba... ; 00 → tba... ; 00 → tba...

LOGBOOK : ENTRY #4 "THE SENTENCE"

00 → tba... ; 00 → tba... ; 00 → tba...

main navi!

a/n; this is gonna be relatively long (?) and also really different to the things i usually write, so im probably not gonna start this in a while LOL also i really love sherlock holmes

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bakerstreethound · 1 year ago

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Congrats on 5 years! 🎉

Can I get a Sherlock fluff with Sherlock is awake first, hes looking at the reader with utmost love. But he wakes up the reader with kisses and nuzzles.❤️ I adore the way you write & I cant get enough of soft Sherlock🍓✨

Thank you so much for sending this in. I finally completed the story (I apologize for taking so long) I hope you enjoy it! There is a bit of light smut at the end so 18+ only.

Light in the Darkness

Summary: Waking up in Sherlock's arms is one of the highlights of your day, and he shows you how much he adores you; how grateful he is to have you in his life.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Sherlock groans, wiping the remaining sleepiness from his eyes. Outside, the sun barely makes itself visible, the night holding fast to London, unrelenting in its grasp over the city. Sherlock yawns, reaching out to the other side of the bed, your sleeping form breathing softly lost in the throes of sleep.

He smiles, his hand brushing softly along your side watching as you lean into his touch. Even your subconscious knows you’re at peace here with him and you snuggle further into him, allowing yourself a moment of extended comfort before reality pulls you into its clutches.

Lips travel softly along your neck, the soft brush of curls following in their wake as gentle nuzzles replace the kisses, going back and forth simultaneously. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips and your eyes flutter open, met with the face of your husband looking at you with simmering eyes, half lidded, the sleep not fully leaving him, yet.

“Good morning to you, too Sherlock.”

He melts against you, your fingers running through his curls, massaging them as he likes it, earning an appreciative groan. You continue at it, relishing in the soft noises he makes, not yet ready to let any of his cases take him from you. He looks content enough, his breathing slow and steady, much the opposite of your own when you wake up startled from nightmares.

“That feels nice,” he gazes up at you eyes shimmering in adoration, overcome with unspoken emotions he can't fathom. It’s more than nice, something you could’ve conjured in a dream.

His arm laced around your waist pulls you impossibly closer, the feeling of his bare skin against yours a reminder of the night before, allowing you to admire the marks you left behind, mingled with the scars of a time long past you knew wouldn’t disappear from his skin, a permanent reminder of those times alone. But nothing like that will happen again, not with you by his side.

You press a kiss to his cheek, pulling him from his thoughts, and what a sight you are, eyes wide looking at him with more adoration than he could possibly fathom. His hand reaches to you of its own accord, stroking your cheek softly.

You lean into his touch, his warmth kindling a spark inside you, firing into your heart, electricity rampant between you. He doesn’t want to look away, even as the sunlight barely parting through the ever-hanging fog beckons a new day, he doesn’t want it to begin.

He only wants to remain here with you for the moment, though his mind protests, his legs aching to run down the ramparts and alleyways of his beloved town. It will always be there for him.

London isn’t you.

And you are more than the city that soiled his name, his reputation, slandered him for a penny here and there to get the inside scoop.

You are his, his to cherish and damn it you are one of the only ones he truly finds some semblance of the concept of love, the feeling of you next to him makes his head spin, fathoming the possibilities of how you both ended up this way together.

It is a bond of unbreakable trust between you, beautiful and understood looming and intertwined with truth.

His forehead rests against your and you lean up into him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your hands carding through his beautiful mass of curls, twirling a rogue strand around an index finger.

“You’re wonderful, Sherlock. What would I do without you?” Or, rather, what could you do to help his racing mind. His eyes dart back and forth, deeming to bury his face in your neck inhaling your scent.

What was he supposed to tell you?

This feeling inside him blooming further over the past year makes him nervous, even trying to voice how he feels won’t do it justice for what he can’t fully express.

When his lips brush yours, his arms caging you to him, encompassing you in his safety and warmth, it’s all you can comprehend consume and breathe. It’s him all-encompassing and nothing more. Nothing feels more right than this moment.

“Sherlock,” your voice falls from his lips in a perfect incandescent harmony, one he wants to breathe, to sing to create with you and you alone.

Fiery desperation fuels the strength of his kiss drowning you further into the heat of his flames, the coolness of your water evaporating his lips in a breath of fresh air.

You don’t want it to end, despite the time, the hour, the plans for the day, all is obsolete and his hands brush under the seam of your shirt, slently asking for permission. No other words are needed, you welcome him without question, shivering as your form is revealed to him, inch by inch, each intake of breath anticipating his next move.

Lips grazing your neck, hands falling to your hips, stroking circles just so. Your hands dig into his back, clinging to him like a lifeline, not daring to let go.

His body pressing against yours, groaning at the friction makes you shiver in anticipation. The full feeling of his skin against your laid bare to him is nothing more than comforting.

It’s home, it’s where you belong.

Only he got to see you in such a manner and you for him. Such is the manner of things and how they’ll always be. You want no one else but him. His feelings are indescribable as his fingers work you slow, your mouths falling open at the sensation, digging into his back harder, begging and pleading his name.

He loves you like this, would frame it if he could. Another memory another shot of the countless images in his mind palace he keeps. Memories of you always flutter near and you’re where he belongs, his northern star the compass pointing him home.

For London may be his city, but here with you in his arms, falling apart through his love, he is home at last. A beacon of light in the darkness.

******

#sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #strawberry!sherlock #strawberry sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock smut #sherlock fluff #sherlock holmes imagine #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock tv #my writing #strangelockd #beloved friend #writing request

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softestqueeen · 10 months ago

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✧*̥˚ fic recs *̥˚✧

here are some of my favourite fics! here are all of the fics i regularly re-read and go back to!

i will be updating this list as i go!

if you see your works here and want them removed, please reach out to me!

disclaimer: they are ALL x reader *heavy sigh*

last update: 30/06/24

✧*̥˚ marvel/mcu *̥˚✧

loki laufeyson

burning words by @lokiprompts (angst/fluff)

the ceremony by @smolvenger (smut)

i want you by @lokigodofmyheart (angsty fluff)

statues by @sassypossumm (fluff)

enchanted by @fqreverwinter (fluff)

my attention by @seriiousgiirl (fluff/smut)

love story by @averagewriter-inthedark (headcanon/ fluff)

you can wrap me round your finger by @spookyrea (fluff)

lokis little witch by @vbecker10 (smutty fluff)

training blues by @jiyascepter (hurt/comfort)

running into trouble by @vbecker10 (angsty hurt/comfort)

gossip by @lokigodofmyheart (smut)

like a queen by @lokisgoodgirl (smut)

blue christmas by @mochie85 (smut)

what makes a princess by @muddyorbsblr (fluff)

lace and beads by @sarahscribbles (smut)

bucky barnes

breeding kink blurb by @buckyalpine (smut)

pick me by @buckyalpine (angst & hurt/comfort; fluff)

drabble by @buckyalpine (smut)

please can i hold you? by @itsthewritergal (hurt/comfort)

one shot by @buckyalpine (angsty fluff)

a forbidden invitation by @thevillainswhore (smut)

wanda maximoff

good morning ࿏ wm by @themidnightcrimson (smut)

natasha romanoff

one for the road by @elaci (fluff/smutty)

stephen strange

my doctor by @withalittlehoney (fluff)

good girl by @futureplayboibunnie (smut)

his medicine by @ironstrange1991 (fluff/smut)

the goatee problem by @ironstrange1991 (fluffy drabble)

you're my comfort by @ironstrange1991 (fluff)

bucky barnes & steve rogers

accidents happen by @myfictionaldreams (fluff, smut, hurt/comfort)

adventures of amy series by @girlygirl14534

miguel o'hara

all brawn by @luvrxbunny (smut)

hot and bothered by @spiderlyla (fluffy smut)

bruce banner

cuddles are the cure by @late-to-the-party-81 (fluff/comfort)

steve rogers

tomorrow by @writtenfangirl (fluff)

here for you by @elixirfromthestars (hurt/comfort)

✧*̥˚ bbc sherlock *̥˚✧

sherlock holmes

sidewalks of london by @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds (fluff)

the london eye by @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds (fluff)

hold me by @fallingforunrealisticromance (fluff)

brother dearest by @starks-hero (fluff)

a single touch by @bakerstreethound (smut)

safe in your arms by @classickook (fluff)

too good to be true by @teigo-the-explorer (fluff)

let the light in by @starssaroundmyscarssblog (fluff)

dear jealousy by @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds (fluff)

a case of mistletoe and presents by @bakerstreethound (smutty)

✧*̥˚ call of duty *̥˚✧

könig

sugar daddy!könig by @yawnderu (smut)

pornstar!könig by @yawnderu (smut)

simon "ghost" riley

soft-tummy simon riley by @lovelyghst (fluff)

pornstar!Ghost by @shotmrmiller (smut)

drabble by @xiamentshoneypot (fluff)

wife of ghost by @august126 (smut)

✧*̥˚ harry potter *̥˚✧ *heavy sigh* i know

george weasley

the stolen sweater by @mayraki (fluff)

put your head on my shoulder by @weelittleweasley (fluff)

✧*̥˚ actors/actresses*̥˚✧

tom hiddleston

in too deep by @thefaefiction (smut)

✧*̥˚ criminal mind*̥˚✧

spencer reid

be my angel by @nereidprinc3ss (angsty fluff)

smut imagine by @minswriting

✧*̥˚ authors*̥˚✧

here are some of the authors i love to read and i always go back to!

@ironstrange1991 (stephen strange) her masterlist

@buckyalpine (bucky barnes) her masterlist

@luvrxbunny (bucky barnes, miguel o'hara, moon knight, joel miller) her masterlist

@fettuccin-e (oscar isaac & pedro pascal characters) her masterlist

@bakerstreethound (sherlock holmes) their masterlist their masterlist 2.0

@withalittlehoney (stephen strange) her masterlist

@melodygatesauthor (moon knight & miguel o'hara) her masterlist

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french-vanilla-in-the-clouds · 1 year ago

Text

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It is finally Y/N's turn to walk down the aisle. Sherlock can't keep his eyes off of her. She is certain that the man waiting at the alter is the one she will spend the rest of her life with. Is he?

wedding fluff and angst

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Sherlock stood at the alter, hands clasped behind his back. To the wedding guests, his sharp stance would suggest ease. In truth, each deep breath he chased was laboured and unsure.

She was a vision in white. Precious in deep sheets of ivory.

Sherlock had never seen such perfection.

Y/N took measured steps down the aisle in time to the music's pace. A few steps further and the bride would become somebody's wife.

Sherlock promised himself he would not cry today. Not one tear, he swore. He was better than that. Still, as Y/N drew closer, step by step, he wasn't certain he could keep a dry eye.

He considered turning away or focusing on the flower arrangements set behind her shoulder. Anything to keep the strain in his chest at bay.

It was in that moment of deliberation that Y/N chose to wink at him. A small gesture, hardly visible behind her veil but even so, he caught it.

Propping his shoulders back, he chose to keep looking. Better to face the music than miss a flutter of her lashes or the quiver of her lip when she smiled.

Though his throat felt constricted and his chest heaved for breath, Sherlock Holmes could not turn away from the bride.

He registered John shoot him a grin from the left. He wasn't sure that he returned it.

"She's beautiful," John said in a hushed tone.

"She's beautiful," Sherlock repeated.

Three years earlier, Sherlock had met Y/N for the first time. Since then, she had stumbled through the flat each day, always with a shy smile and a soft spoken, "hello".

He loved her from the start.

Their highs and lows, they would experience together. When she threw her head back in laugher, teeth gleaming at something her lover said, Sherlock would see it. He often revealed his experiments to her, if only to see the wonder shine in her eyes.

Even after every lover's spat, Sherlock would wrap his arms around her and swear that things would look brighter in time.

He was right. By God, he was right. He had to be, for now, she stood just steps away from him, at the alter, incandescently happy in her wedding gown.

A slow tear trailed down Sherlock's cheek.

Y/N finally reached him and there was silence in the cathedral when the music at last, had died.

"You're crying," she said.

Sherlock choked out a laugh that hurt his head. "I'm not," he replied. He tightened his lips together to ease the line of worry that had suddenly appeared on Y/N's brow.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. Closing his eyes, Sherlock shifted her veil aside. His hand trembled as he pushed it just far enough to kiss her cheek.

Though he gave her the softest of kisses, he felt a sharp stab in his heart, as arduous as the touch of his lips on her skin was brief.

He dropped her veil again and opened his eyes. "Every happiness," he said to her. His gaze steeled into her own. He hoped she wouldn't understand but she did.

Y/N nodded and her veil rustled. "Every happiness," she said back to him.

Sherlock clenched his jaw and feigned a smile for the wedding guests that stared from the pews. Then, he took Y/N's hand in his own and walked with her for three final steps.

John waited beside the priest.

Sherlock presented the groom with his bride and took his position as best man.

He was good at that, after all; standing on the outside, looking in. It's how he captured so many of his friends' most private moments in the small space of 221B.

Throughout the ceremony, the words, "every happiness" rang in Sherlock's mind.

When John and Y/N shared their first kiss as man and wife, Sherlock clapped along with the others but still, "every happiness" lingered at the tip of his tongue.

He simply couldn't manage to add the words, "I wish you..." at the start.

Things would be brighter in time, he told himself.

He knew it was a lie but for now, he clapped.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

I'm crying. I have reposted this thing like, 10 times. Last time, I swear. omg. please work. If you'd like to be tagged, let me know.

Thank you for your patience, literally everybody I'm tagging: @twisted-monster @starryeddie @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian @aephereal @andthevillainshallrises @baby-bloos @cookiemumster1 @eternal-silvertongued-prince @bogginsreadings @lumosouls @spencerrxids @serenity-lattes @msseijii @classickook @starstruck-loner @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @lucywrites02 @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes @pytharuw @antsn @kabubsmagga @newtsniffles @cemak @liv-olive-oliver @iamtrash-withrespect @asgards-princess-of-mischief

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thedaredevilsgirl · 3 months ago

Text

False God

Priest!Stephen Strange X Reader

Warnings: Small discussion, SMUT: sex without a condom.

Hi, this is Ray. In this short excerpt we have Father Strange so in love with one of his devotees, since a little forbidden love never hurt anyone. This excerpt was taken from a story I've been planning for some time, inspired in Thou Shalt Not Covet by @daydreamtofiction and the song False God by Taylor Swift. Please let me know what you think and if you think I should start posting the first chapters of this story. I hope you enjoy it. -Forgive any grammatical errors, English is not my first language-

⋆ ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏❂﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏⋆

... "I need an answer, God," the priest says, now on his knees, begging the Lord to respond and help him with his dilemma. "I just need an answer."

It is at that exact moment that Strange hears the heavy church door opening and closing, rising to look at the candlelit hallway that highlighted a silhouette so familiar to him.

Stephen feels his breath falter; the vision before him, walking toward him, was wicked and sinful for his thoughts, yet still seemed deliciously divine.

You were there, soaked from the heavy rain falling outside, the dress you had worn earlier at the festival now clinging to your body.

"It’s late," Stephen says, after gathering the courage to finally speak to you. "What are you doing here? You should be home by now."

"I need to confess," you explain, your voice trembling, perhaps a little nervous.

"It’s past midnight, the church is closed, come back tomorrow," he didn't mean to be harsh, but thought it was the only way to get you to leave quickly, though he was wrong.

"I need to confess," you repeat, making it clear you wouldn’t leave until you got what you wanted. "God’s house doesn’t close to a believer, no matter the hour. You, of all people, should know that, Father Strange."

Being called Father Strange by you hurt. Just days ago, you were close, perhaps even friends. He had grown used to hearing your sweet voice calling him Stephen, until he had given in to temptation during the trip to New York. Hearing you be so polite with him now reminded him of how greatly he had erred.

"You’re right," Stephen knew he would regret it, but he already felt so guilty for everything he had done with you that he couldn’t deny your wishes any longer.

The two walk silently to the large confessional in the corner of the church. He could hear everything even through the wooden wall, listening to your trembling breath as you prepared to speak, watching through the small window as you made the sacred sign of the cross.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," you begin.

"Tell me what happened, and we will decide your penance."

"I am engaged," the small reminder of this fact made Stephen’s heart ache in his chest. "And he is a good man, a really good man, but I don’t love him. In fact, I feel like I’ve never truly loved him, but my family adores him, and this union would be great for everyone."

"The church does not support a marriage built without true love," the priest says, trying to hide from both you and himself that, in reality, he was more than pleased to know of your lack of love for that idiot your family had chosen for you.

"I know, I know, but I must marry him; it’s what everyone expects of me, what they’ve always wanted for me, and I simply cannot ruin their plans," the pain in your voice and exhaustion was palpable, trying to be the perfect daughter and feeling like you had to carry the world on your shoulders. "So I must marry him, try to love him, respect him, and be faithful to him," you take a deep breath before continuing. "But that’s the problem, Father. I’m in love with another man. More than that, I lay with this man, and forgive my words, but damn, I loved every bit of it."

Stephen says your name in a warning tone. "I think we’d better not talk about this," he doesn’t have time to finish reprimanding you, as you quickly interrupt him.

"But the next day, he left me. He said the best night of my life had been a mistake that couldn’t be repeated, said we should stay away from each other. Suddenly, I lost a faithful friend, a confidant, and he broke my heart."

"Stop, please," he pleads.

"And I should be happy about that," your tone rises, emotions overwhelming you. "I should kneel before God and be thankful, go back to living my life as if none of this had happened, but I can’t."

"Stop," Stephen repeats, not knowing what he could do if this went on.

"I can’t, because all I can think about is him, his voice, his advice, his touch," the sound of your footsteps in the booth is audible. "And I don’t know what to do anymore. I find myself in the middle of the night wishing he were there with me, craving his kiss, touching myself wishing he would touch me that way, desiring every part of him, desiring you."

The priest felt he might explode at any moment, give in to his temptations, and worst of all, he wanted it. He had wanted it for a long time.

The curtain on his side of the booth suddenly opens, and he finds himself face to face with you, panting, still wet from the rain, tears streaking your face.

"So tell me, Father," you move closer to where he was sitting, "tell me what I should do when all I want is you?"

"This...this isn’t right," it was the first time in years Stephen found himself stammering with nervousness.

"I KNOW, DAMN IT, I KNOW," you shout, unable to contain yourself any longer. "But I can’t, I can’t resist anymore. I’ve tried, I’ve been trying since the day I met you, and I know you’ve been trying too. Don’t lie to me."

Your hand rests gently on his face, making him sigh. He had missed your touch so much in the past weeks.

"Please, don’t do this," Strange whispers, looking at you, his beautiful blue eyes now darkened by his dilated pupils. He does nothing to pull away, one of his hands moving directly to your waist.

"Tell me to leave, and I will. I’ll only step into this church again on my wedding day, and then you’ll never see me again. But I know you want me here, I know you want me."

He couldn’t resist anymore, not now, not ever.

Stephen pulls you tightly by the waist, guiding you to sit on his lap, finally kissing you again. This time was different; it wasn’t gentle. Instead, he poured all the longing he had felt into that kiss, aggressively holding you tightly as if you might slip away from his arms at any moment, his hand moving up the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, deepening the kiss even more.

"I missed you," you whisper between kisses.

"I don’t think I could put into words how much I missed you."

His other hand slides down one of your thighs, removing the friction of the wet fabric of your dress from your body. The only thing you could feel in that moment was the immense pleasure of his body’s heat against yours, sighing in pleasure as his finger neared the wetness already forming in your panties.

You are quick to unzip his pants and touch his already hard cock.

Everything happens quickly, both of you burning with desire, just wanting to feel each other and quench the longing that had consumed you for weeks.

He doesn’t even bother removing your panties, just pushing them aside and making you slide down onto his cock, a long moan escaping your lips, tears of pleasure welling up in your eyes.

You move, experimenting with the different position, holding onto him even tighter, watching him and unable to contain your sounds of delight with each new movement.

Stephen feels himself nearing the edge, and he doesn’t care if he’s coming too quickly. All he could think about in that moment was how beautiful you looked riding him, the most divine vision he had ever seen in his life. If he were to go to hell for this, it didn’t matter—it was worth it.

He wraps a finger around your necklace, with its silver crucifix, pulling you in for one last kiss as the two of you reach your climax.

You rest your head on his shoulder, recovering, feeling his arms holding you tightly.

"Don’t leave me, Stephen, please," you whisper. "I need you."

"I won’t, not ever," his hand gently caresses your back, comforting you. "I promise you."

⋆ ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏❂﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏⋆

@ironstrange1991 (You commented that I could tag you in the posts about Stephen, so I hope you like it )

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my next stories 💞

#stephen strange smut #stephen strange fluff #stephen strange angst #doctor strange smut #doctor strange fluff #priest!Stephen Strange #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes fluff #bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you

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espinosaurusrexex · 2 years ago

Text

If Only You Would Know

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

summary: You and Sherlock are in love, Enola is sure of it. But she is forced to watch you tiptoe around the topic for an eternity. So when the opportunity arises, and Sherlock is forced to confront his feelings towards you, she does not hesitate.

a/n: we're diggin' out old old drafts for this one, but I needed a little Sherlock again :)

word count: 4k

warnings: a little arguing, pining, someone gets injured, idiots in love™️ (it's a new genre of mine)

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

You sighed as Sherlock moved about his office with hasty determination. He was a strange man. Oblivious, too, time and time again. But that did not matter for you loved him. You loved him and every strange habit he harbored. Whether it was the way in which he arranged his coats on the brass hanger by the door or that godawful pipe he seemed to always have hanging from his lips. He did not even like it - he had told you one time. “’tis just a habit, dear,” it would muffle past the brown bit in his mouth before he would clip it back between his teeth.

But you did not care. And that must have been the very fact telling you just how deeply your heart had already fallen for the famous detective. Not a care in the world, especially not for what other people thought to say the least. Because all you ever thought about upon seeing him was love, warmth, and endearment. Nothing less. Not even a wretched criminal could ever shoot these feelings out of your heart.

Oh well, it did not matter, anyhow. For there was one issue keeping this fairytale from becoming reality. And this issue was that Sherlock Holmes, the brightest man you knew, was blatantly oblivious to the feelings you had harbored in your chest. To be fair, you had never mentioned it to him before. For you were simply terrified of the consequences such a confession would hold. It was one thing to pine over a man who you were lucky enough to be in the same room with, but it would be undeniably humiliating to be rejected by said man as well. So you had chosen not to act on the fiery desire burning within your veins whenever your eyes hushed a glance at him.

As much as that decision was made to protect your heart, it had turned out the circumstances provided the opposite of the desired effect. You were hurting more and more with every day you had to live with the realization that Sherlock Holmes did not love you back. In fact, he loved other women - many of them. And every single one more beautiful than the other. Sometimes you found yourself wondering if they were human at all. Never before had you seen such luscious hair as that of Sibyl or such a beautiful smile as that of Amelia. It was difficult to settle with these gorgeous women having a place in his bed and possibly his heart, but soon, you realized the importance of seeing him happy trumped your own desires. If he was happy, so were you. And if you weren’t the one making him happy, so be it.

You had just come here to see Enola from her home to the city. Stopping by her brother’s apartment had not been on the agenda, at least not yours. But Enola was adamant to have you come when she raced up the stairs to his door. You had gasped when Sherlock had opened, his hair slightly disheveled and the shirt loosely tugged in his trousers. Your heart was pounding - it always happened when you saw him, and you swiftly averted your eyes to hide the flustered look on your face from him.

Now you were standing in his messy home as you listened to Enola convince him to let her help him on a particular case of his - one she had a personal attachment to. Mixed emotions crawled up your spine at the sight of this professional yet intimate space. Not only one room over, Sherlock's bed was mockingly standing beyond the door, messy sheets indicating his prior endeavors, but there was no Sibyl or Amelia in sight. Still, your hands clamped around the silky material of your skirt, wrinkling the fabric harsher with every minute you spend in the deep-colored room. It smelled of musk and tobacco. Two things you had grown to miss whenever they were not surrounding you, but now, it was a shiver too much.

Sherlock stood before you and Enola with his hands on his hips, a look of annoyance and disapproval etched on his features, but nonetheless, a sense of amusement in the edges of his frown. You knew him too well not to notice the slight pride swelling from his chest at his little sister’s determination.

“I believe it is too dangerous for a girl like you to wander the streets, chasing criminals through London, Enola.”

“And I believe that you are an idiot, brother.”

“Perhaps,” your finger lifted in suggestion, stopping Sherlock’s head from tilting in disapproval at his sister’s array just in time. “She can be accompanied in her wandering?”

“And who would this accompany be?”

You knew it was not your place to negotiate, but you cared for Enola too much not to. And even though Sherlock’s stern eyes bore into your frame, you began to talk again: “I could-“

“Oh, dear lord. That is out of question.”

“Why brother? Do you not think Ms. Y/N and I can defend ourselves?”

A short silence lay upon the siblings as you watched the man’s shoulders draw up with a tense jaw. “I said no.”

“You are being irrational.” Enola cried. She was not one to accept defiance easily, you were well aware of it.

“No, you are being irrational. I will not vouch for having two women hurt on a mission to gather intel for my cases.”

“You cannot stop me.”

There was something itching in the glimmer of his eyes when the words left his lips, though you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Enola!” Almost fearfully, Sherlock turned to you, his eyes wandering and desperation conveyed in his stare when you heard the young girl open the door.

“I am sure we can negotiate a way to have both parties satisfied.” Enola halted as you spoke. “I am certain your bother has other tasks that need fulfilling and are less prone to danger. Isn’t that right, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock was not entirely satisfied with this turn of events, but his sagging shoulders told you that he accepted the compromise. A sigh eluded from his lungs and Enola turned to the dark-haired man with excited eyes. “I presume, there would be things you could do.”

“Thank you–“

“But,” his eyes turned stern again, “In the office only. No more wandering, is that clear?”

Enola beamed. “Yes.”

❁ ❁ ❁

It was not long after the discussion when you and Enola went about home from the city. Still, however, despite the seemingly fair compromise negotiated just minutes prior, the younger woman sloppily trudged next to you.

“He is an idiot, that is what he is.” Enola stomped past you with a pouty face. It was not ladylike, but luckily, she knew that you were not one to care about that.

You understood Enola’s frustrations, but simultaneously, your heart were to break if anything ever happened to her. So you understood the settled worry in her brother’s words as well. He was a good man. “He is just worried. It means he cares.”

“Well, he could care a little less and let me do my job.” You hid a smirk. Only Enola would be as adamant about saving a boy she had only met days ago. She was just as goodhearted and justice-seeking as Sherlock, and your heart warmed at the similarities the siblings shared.

“It is not your job, Enola.” Sometimes you genuinely admired her fixation, though it mostly converted into trouble, still. Enola had a lot more freedom than you did when you were her age, and you too would have sprung at any chance to go and wander about, seeking adventures and perhaps a little more than that. Which was in turn, why your heart felt torn between the fulfillment of having her seek childhood dreams, and the subtle but strong tug Sherlock Holmes held you with.

“Did you forget what we just found out yesterday? It seems no one cares about him. And if nobody else will do it, I consider it my duty to help.”

“Enola, dear.” You held her shoulders gently. “I understand your worries, but I understand your brother’s as well. I would be just as worried about you if something were to happen, and I do not want to see you hurt, either.”

“But we have to do something!” This was true. It would not be right to leave the boy framed with false accusations when you had the power to change his fate. There was something you could gather - information that may help him be acquitted.

“How about I go?” You silently cursed your good intentions as Enola’s eyes lit up. It was a blessing and a curse. But other than Enola, there would be nobody worrying for you, and in turn a lot less hearts broken if something were to happen - which it surely would not. “You can stay in the study and I will see to it that we may gather more information.”

“Alright, but be careful. And make sure to come back by five. Otherwise, someone will get suspicious.” The girl smiled, but her shoulders shook with excitement.

“What? Do you think I’m stupid?” You teased, awaiting a sassy ‘of course not’ which you returned with a wink.

❁ ❁ ❁

Enola watched the clock next to the window. Seconds, ticking by too fast for her liking. She needed more time - you needed more time. Her brother had given her files to sort and he would be coming back soon. Upon your agreement yesterday, you had gone out to gather information on the woman who accused the boy. But you would be back soon, she told herself.

“Is Ms. Y/N not here with you?” Sherlock’s voice called through the room and his steps approached her steadily.

Enola was stiff. “She is out,” she told him while her fingers counted the pile of files on the desk.

“Out? With who?” He stepped around the polished mahogany, settling in front of her with his hands behind his back. “I didn’t realize she was being courted.”

Oh. Enola’s eyes sparkled with amusement when she obtained a glimmer of jealousy in her brother’s. She had always had her suspicions. And she knew of your being madly in love with her brother, but Sherlock had always been secretive regarding the topic of love.

“She went to shop,” she smiled, averting her eyes. Waiting - no, anticipating a response from him.

“So she is not with anyone.” Sherlock leaned forward with squinted eyes. For a man as good at solving puzzles as he was, he did need an awful lot of confirmation.

Enola finally looked up. “Ugh, you really are an idiot.”

“Would you quit calling me an idiot?” Disapproval swept his features and made a frown settle instead.

“I would, but you won’t quit being an idiot.”

“Whatever do you mean?” It was quite amusing to see him clueless for once. And even though you tried to hide your feelings or the way you responded whenever he was as much as in the same room as you, it did not go past Enola how long your eyes lingered on his frame or the way the sadness overtook your features at the mention of another woman.

“Ms. Y/N is head over heels in love with you. And I do not understand why you refuse to see it, she is not hiding it very well, you see?”

Sherlock stumbled back, his hands seemingly finding their pace over his heart when he repeated her words. “Ms. Y/N? In love with me?”

“And you really call yourself the greatest detective of our time.” Enola shook her head. Still, the thought of the two of you together was one she liked to entertain. And she asked herself just how much you could talk Sherlock into once you were together. He was already caving when you suggested things - the possibilities of Enola getting her way when the both of you finally gave into the pining were endless!

“Oh, hush. I just never thought she would...” Sherlock trailed off, and if Enola was not mistaken, she caught a whisper of pink settle over his cheeks. Could it really be? The great Sherlock Holmes in love? Even better with a woman Enola adored as well?

“This is exactly the problem, brother. You don’t think when it comes to women.” Her mind wandered back to the women you had seen leave his chambers by the break of dawn. And just like then, Enola noticed a familiar sense of sadness wash over her brother’s eyes - the same one you hid from her in these moments.

“Enola...” But his words died on his tongue and Enola thought it wiser to resume her task. Sherlock was aware of his idiocy. For Enola knew just how insignificant all the other women were to him. And she hoped he had realized this fact.

A moment or two passed in which Sherlock paced the room mindlessly. His hands disappeared behind curtains and in bookshelves, until they reached for the pocket watch in his coat and a subtle grumbling eluded his lungs. “She should be back soon, anyhow. Should she not?”

“I suppose, yes.”

“Well, it is quarter past five already. The shop is closed well over an hour now.” Sherlock did not hide the impatience in his tone, now. And Enola felt a wave of success wash over her.

It was difficult to hide her nervousness, though, for she now worried about you as well. But you were fine - she consoled herself. You were tough and intelligent, simply a little late - that was surely it. “She will come soon.”

An unusual tension fell over the room and Enola was certain, her brother had already dismissed her little story. But she would not falter. Her fingers kept cramming through the papers, counting pages she had analyzed and sorted two times by now. Her movements, however, became more frantic, and soon, her heart was pounding in her wrists.

“Enola, what in heavens did you do?” Sherlock urged impatiently, a look cold as a stone set on his face.

“Nothing.” She did not look at him, then he would know instantly - the little lie she told.

“You sent her out to spy didn’t you?”

Why did he keep asking if he already knew the answer? Enola did not speak. She was fairly ashamed, though. She wanted to show her brother just how capable she and you both were. But having you not come back made for a serious difficulty to her plan.

She looked up at him now, just in time to see his shoulders sag and his head tilted up in frustration. “After I told you not to?”

“You only ever forbid me from going!” She cried, suddenly feeling attacked by his irrational outburst.

“I did not want Ms. Y/N out in the streets alone, either.” Sherlock was pacing again, his shoes clicked on the polished wooden floor until the reached the coat hanger by the door, only to gruffly rip the dark cloak from its place.

An accusing finger reached in his direction and a small smirk appeared on his sister’s lips. “So you are in love with her.”

The man frowned and his chestnut locks shook with annoyance. “That is not important right now. We need to find her.”

He did not deny it and Enola Holmes viewed it as a success.

❁ ❁ ❁

Sherlock swept through the streets as fast as his feet could carry him. Never had he thought that he would need to worry about your well-being. Enola’s? Yes, constantly. She did dangerous things all the time. But you were the one with the rational mind, the trait he adored most above all, for it eased his own every so often. It was enough to look out for Enola as much. He loved her and that was what love did: It made for weaknesses. Though Sherlock never wished to not adore you as much as he did, at this moment, it would have spared him trouble.

He passed another alley filled with dubious fellows and willed his thoughts not to stray to dark paces. Normally, he could stay focused. Normally, he was able to separate his feelings from his tasks very well. Normally, he needn’t worry about you, however.

Enola was many steps behind, he could hear her heels clicking in haste in her catching up, but Sherlock would not budge. He would keep on searching, keep on going straight until his sister gave him another direction to follow. She knew where you were after all, and he could not even begin to indulge in the worry-consumed anger this fact fueled him with.

It did not take long for the detective to reach the house of the last suspect he had abandoned in his search for answers. You must have gone there. Enola had been especially furious about his dropping the woman upon questioning, urging her brother to stay on the lead. But Sherlock had already gotten enough information to place her in the entire scheme. Enola did not know this of course - he had never told her. So it was only plausible to send you to spy on said woman. What you had not known, however, was the dangerous affiliates this woman had, and the little to no hesitance of hers to pursue them.

The house lay empty on the street once the siblings reached its steps, no light shining through the glass windows, not the smell of dinner lingering in the air. It was odd, though nothing to be upset over. You had been here, Sherlock knew it. He was disappointed to find out, however, that you were not anymore. Of course, you had realized the danger of the situation and left, but where to?

His head jerked to the left once Enola caught up to him, following the rattling of bins coming from the alley close by, where a faint trail of blood droplets mixed with the rain.

“Bloody hell,” the detective mumbled with every inch it lead him further to your location. And sure enough, beyond the shielding confines of a wooden palette, he spotted your coat pressed into the wall.

A small hiss, and then: nothing when he called your name.

“Ms. Y/N, heavens!” He rushed over once his eyes caught your distraught face behind the wood, your entire hand covered in blood, pressed to your head, where more seemed to have already dried on your scalp.

“Mr. Holmes?” Your voice was weak, your eyes hazy - growing in the confusion the head injury most likely brought to you.

Sherlock's arms reached out to engulf you, a handkerchief quick to be pressed on your head as he knelt beside you and let your body rest against his torso. “Enola, go and get help, immediately!” He commanded with urgency, having the young girl run off with a shocked nod.

His attention traced back to your body, where his eyes focused on your heavy lids and his heart clenched at the sight. You were hurt - seriously hurt - and Sherlock could not shake the feeling of it being his fault. Had he only consulted you in his case, had he talked to Enola, had he been less cowardly and finally admitted to his feelings. This all might have never happened.

“You should not have gone out alone!” He cried as he rocked you back and forth, his arms held you a little tighter, and he was certain that his heart beat through the several layers of clothing separating you.

“You have no right to rule over me.” Your hands pressed against his chest, forcing him to let you pull away from his embrace, and Sherlock instantly missed the warmth holding you had given him. He needed it back - confirming you were fine.

“But I told you not to go!” Big eyes stared up at him, but there was disappointment simmering beneath the sheer gleam of anger.

“Why are you upset? I can do whatever I desire!” It was meant to come out strong, but not even a woman as tough as you were able to hide the weakness taking over your body.

“But you got hurt!” Sherlock was juggling with empty arguments, he knew this much. But there was no right way to express what he wished to pursue with his words. It was all too much and not enough, all the same.

“Mr. Holmes, I can take good care of myself. I have done it my whole life.”

“And you shouldn’t have.” This seemed to have caught you by surprise. For you stopped in your shuffling away and held his gaze equal in confusion and intrigue.

“Whatever do you mean?” You shrieked softly, your breath staggering when he came closer to you.

Sherlock found it incredibly difficult to talk, suddenly. His hands were clammy and that stupid tie around his neck seemed just a tad too tight. Christ, he could not even look at you. He was left staring towards the wet grounds with his hands wringing beneath him.“I- it has come to my attention that I lack perception in some categories.” He hushed a look at you and was not surprised to see utter confusion seeping through your stare.

Sherlock sighed and his shoulders jumped heavily once he mustered up the courage to explain: “I do not wish to see you hurt.”

“Why?” Your eyes were big and wondrous, much like a curious child prying up in awe over what it was to become privy of.

Sherlock tried, he really did, to be steady and informative, but there was no use, for his heart had decided otherwise. “Because... because, I- my heart hurts when I imagine something happening to you.”

“But what about Sybil or Amelia… or Babette?” Every name stung another hole in his heart as your eyes saddened naming the woman he had spent previous nights with in order to get over you. He never loved them, never adored them the way he did you. They were simply a distraction. A petty compromise for the actual being he was sure would never return his affection. Now that he found out the opposite, Sherlock was uncertain about how to act.

“These women... they were just compensation for the one I couldn’t have.” He confessed slowly, his hand reaching for you and finally getting ahold of your chin. “I did not think you would be interested in me.”

“Oh but I am, Sherlock.” Your fingers came to cover his. “I am.” And an unbelievable force of warmth and calmness washed over him. Despite the blood, despite the worry. Despite everything being wrong at this very moment, he was calm. You had this effect on him.

“I know that now. My sister told me.” Sherlock sent a silent prayer to the stars. Had his sister not been as persistent he would have never gotten the opportunity to hold you close - feel you the way he desired.

“She is quite a smart lady isn’t she?” A low chuckle echoed through the darkening alley, though a shy blush crept upon the detective’s cheeks.

“As much as I hate to admit it, she is a good detective.” His thumbs stroked gentle swipes over your skin, a sliver of warmth tasting your body with every movement, and it felt good to have you indulge in his touch. He would have never dreamt of having you this close, having you feel the same feelings he did. And to be perfectly honest, experiencing it, in reality, was a hundred times better than anything he had ever imagined. “God, Y/N. If only I had known earlier.”

“Let us not grieve what is already done. Embrace the possibilities of the future with me.” Your eyes locked with his once again and your aura seemed to pull him even deeper into a trance. Sherlock could not look away. He was captured by every loving emotion radiating off of you. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. But he would keep it guarded in his chest for eternity, even if nobody were to ever ask him about it. It was precious - this moment was worth hundred terrible ones.

“You are right,” he agreed, and then, beyond his control almost, Sherlock pulled you into a warm kiss.

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darlingdekarios · 1 year ago

Text

dance in the winter.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 2,937 content: Sherlock Holmes x f!reader, porn with plot, smut [fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [praise, hair pulling], fluff

though he tried to restrain himself, it was useless – when he avoided you, circumstance always brought you crashing back into him. as he climbed the stairs to 221B Baker Street, he supposed this was one of those times as well.

Eight days, seven hours, and thirty-four minutes ago Sherlock Holmes had been persuaded by way of your fluttering eyelashes to take on one final case before Christmas, though against his better judgment he hardly needed convincing when it came to you. He’d met you months ago now through his sister and, despite himself, he’d found plenty of excuses to intersect his path with yours. The way you had burrowed into his mind was often infuriating, the way he had permeated your mind dizzying.

It was impossible to ignore the growing affection between the two of you – even Enola had remarked on it to you weeks ago and though you were a convincing liar, she was better at reading you. Sherlock’s behavior spoke for itself, Enola thought – the sheer fact he could be seen with you enough times to constitute a pattern meant he enjoyed your company, and for Sherlock that was enough of a compliment and revelation.

Though no one had pushed for an answer, everyone who knew both of you knew the energy that came with the both of you, and the assumption that you two had acted on those feelings would not be unfounded. Several times now, in fleeting and molten moments, Sherlock had kissed you breathless and reverent. Though he tried to restrain himself, it was useless – when he avoided you, circumstance always brought you crashing back into him. As he climbed the stairs to 221B Baker Street, he supposed this was one of those times as well.

“Eight days, seven hours, and thirty-eight minutes spent on your case,” he proclaimed as he closed his watch, tucking it away before fixing his gaze on you. “Only to follow clues to my own home, and to find you waiting for me.”

You waited for him with a smile on your face, sprawled against the worn fabric of his chaise in a dress you knew distracted him, the depth of its color bringing out the best in yours. He closed the door behind himself, dropping his cane beside the door and removing his jacket as he regarded you with analytic eyes.

“I’m afraid I deduced the crime before you, Mister Holmes,” you taunted, eyes sparkling in the crackling firelight coming from the fireplace near you. He closed some of the distance toward you as you spoke, causing you to raise to be seated before him in politeness, though you wished to cherish the way he hungrily eyed you as you lay before him. “I have been waiting here for the thief to return.”

“I assume you’ve decided it’s me,” he assessed, clasping his hands behind his back to resist the urge to reach out and push a stray hair from your face.

“Yes, Sherlock, I’m afraid you are the thief, and you’ve stolen something very dear to me,” you mused, raising your hand to push the hair from your face instead, almost as if you were further taunting him. “I should hope you return it at once.”

“And what is it I’m accused of stealing?”

“My mind, dear detective,” you sighed, raising to your feet and standing close enough to him that he could make out the details of your face. “All of my sense. I demand you return it at once, I simply cannot pass another day in this state.”

A lazy smile passed his features, one that he gifted to you in privacy, entrusted you with in secret. You etched this one to memory just as the others.

“So, all this week while I have been uncovering clues and following trails,” he began, finally reaching forward to grasp one of your hands. Almost delicately he lifted it, pressing a kiss to your fingers before continuing. “They were all left by you.”

You nodded, fire engulfing your cheeks under his investigative eyes now burning into yours with something genuine and fierce.

“Hmm,” he mused, lowering your hand to rest against his chest as his own fingers traced along your jaw. “Who helped you?”

“I’m offended you think I would need help, Sherlock Holmes,” you quipped, noticing the twitch at the corners of his mouth in amusement. It crossed your mind he likely asked the question purely to antagonize you, though your pride insisted you assert your efforts. “It was me alone.”

“Of course it was,” he nodded, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Though if you wanted my attention so badly, you hardly needed a game.”

“But you love a good game, or so I’ve heard,” you remarked, eyes light and playful. He had to appreciate that you could hold this back-and-forth with him without losing your footing, the mental dance you’d been in for months now fulfilling a deep need in his mind. “I enjoyed dancing with you.”

His lips crashed to yours with bruising weight, the time since your last kiss finally settling into Sherlock and building the desire he felt for you. His hands found way to your lower back to hold you closer, covering himself in the warmth of you and swallowing the quiet sigh that passed your lips. The grasp he held on your dress revealed his satisfaction at having you so near again.

Eagerness would never spoil gentle intent. He carefully worked the laces of your gown free, pushing the heavy fabric to the floor when it had loosened adequately and immediately grasping your waist again. He released your mouth from his kiss to run his eyes over your body, his pink tongue swiping against his bottom lip in appreciation and to savor the taste of your lips.

“Lay down,” he instructed while motioning back to the chaise with one hand, releasing his hold on you to admire as you stepped back and listened with a meek nod. Eventually he’d tell you how amusing it was when you became bashful for him, but the comment could wait. Once you were comfortable again, he sank to his knees before you, reaching to pull the undergarments that covered you still with an appreciative hum before discarding them in the pile with your dress.

“Such a clever girl,” he complimented, leaning forward to press his lips to the side of your knee to encourage your legs apart. You listened without him needing to ask aloud, releasing a shaky breath as the cold air of the room passed over your heated core. “This is what you wanted, hmm?”

You could only nod as his fingers ran through your folds, teasing your soaked entrance lightly before running the digits back toward your clit, rubbing a well-intended circle around the already swollen nub. “You like when I praise you,” he remarked, like he was announcing his findings for notetaking. You supposed a man like him likely did keep mental notes. “Let’s find out what else you like.”

His head disappeared between your thighs then, his tongue replacing his fingers to eagerly taste what your arousal had to offer. A low sound rumbled in his chest in appreciation as his hands grasped your thighs, spreading your legs more so he could bury his face in your core, his tongue slipping into your cunt to massage your velvet walls. He was gifted with an unimaginable symphony of sounds from your lips as you fought to hold some composure and he fought to melt it away, connecting his thumb to your clit soon after.

He felt the flutter to your walls and swapped his movements, reaching to take your swollen nub into his lips with a firm suck as he slipped a finger into you, curling it to massage the sensitive patch behind your clit. Your hips began to move to meet his face and hand desperately as your walls clenched, white hot euphoria washing over you as your fingers flung to his hair, pulling the wind-blown mess of curled locks in overwhelmed passion.

Though you were in the throes of pleasure you heard the hefty groan that left his chest as he drank your orgasm from you, currently uncaring for tidiness and finding enjoyment in the mess you made of his lower face. When he was certain he’d carried you through it he removed himself from you, standing and displaying the obvious tent in his pants as he offered a hand to you. You took his hand without question, rising to meet him and lean against his wide torso for support. Finding your voice, however, was a task all in itself.

“Where are we going?”

“My bedroom,” he replied, slipping an arm around your waist to lead you down the hall to the named room. While you knew the room existed, you had always assumed it remained empty…you had certainly never seen him use it before.

“Since when do you use your bedroom?”

“Since Enola made me find a flat mate,” he replied, sending a glance your way as he opened the door and gestured for you to enter. He followed behind immediately, pulling you back against him to press a kiss beneath your ear. “It’s not important right now.”

He turned you gently to claim your lips again, reaching behind his back to close the bedroom door before working himself free of his own clothes. You released a content sigh against his lips, pressing your bare skin to his to soak in his warmth and enjoy the feeling of him against you. When all that remained was his undergarments, he was offering you a taste of yourself with his tongue in your mouth, kissing you in ways that could be written of.

To his amusement when he released you from his kiss a whimper slipped from your lips at the loss, and he satiated your disappointment with another gentle kiss before bumping his nose against yours.

“You should have asked if this is what you wanted,” he remarked, offering a light smile when your eyes met his. If you wanted a game to play, Sherlock was the master of such matters, a painful reminder that fueled his mind. “Practice for me.”

“W-what?”

“Practice asking,” he instructed, trailing his kisses to brush along your jaw and to your neck. Infuriatingly, and perhaps admirably, he remembered the exact spots he needed to make you gasp, the perfect pressure to leave you breathless. He asked too much and knew it to be true, though he still insisted. “Perfect it.”

“Sherlock, please,” you whined as he backed you toward his bed, helping you lower down carefully to the cold sheets. Thankfully the cold was chased away by his warmth as he joined you, crawling between your legs and kissing up your chest slowly. “Don’t torment me, I want you so badly. Please.”

“I should make you wait,” he sounded too pleased with himself, too entertained by the desperate hitch in your breath and subtle shake to your legs as you wrapped them around his waist, eager to bring him closer.

“Please…”

“Patience,” he reminded, sliding his hand down your body as he pressed an infuriatingly chaste kiss to your lips as he slipped two fingers into you. “Are you always this wet?”

“Often…when I’m near you,” you replied hurriedly, hips raising to meet his hand, desperate for anything he would offer you. He raised his head to drink in your expression, mentally noting the different hue to your cheeks and weight to your eyes. Seeing your body respond to him was science, learning the different ways to push you toward bliss a newfound task in his mind.

“Hmm,” he mused carefully, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes, Sherlock, please,” you whimpered as he curled his fingers again slowly, taking in your pleading expression as you continued. “No more games, please.”

He removed his fingers from you to grasp his throbbing cock, rubbing your slickness over himself before sliding the velvety head through your folds. With one last look for confirmation to your face met with a nod and whimper from you he slowly pressed into you inch by inch, holding you closer and claiming your lips again in a focused kiss. When he bottomed out and grasped your hips to hold you closer what were normally calculated kisses faltered slightly as your walls fluttered around him, the stretch to accommodate him making you feel almost too full but pulling a delicious moan from your chest.

When he moved it was as though he had been choreographing the movements in his mind nonstop for weeks…and perhaps he had with the way he seemed to massage every inch of you perfectly with each thrust. Your legs remained tight around his waist, holding him to you so he couldn’t withdraw further than you’d allow him – which he was more than happy to oblige. Focused on bringing you to the edge again the only noises that left Sherlock now were quiet groans in appreciation when you clenched around him, a low gasp falling from his lips when you pulled his hair again slightly.

It was then when the lava returned to your core, bubbling under his mercury eyes and leaving your lips as a cry of his name. Your walls clenched around him tightly as you reached another orgasm, eyes squeezing tight as you bit into your kiss swollen bottom lip. It was then he found the words for you again.

“You look extraordinary like this…in my bed,” he complimented, his thrusts beginning to falter. You squeezed him tighter with your legs to encourage him to stay, a request he was more than happy to accommodate with a sloppy few final thrusts before his hot seed emptied into you. As he rode out the remainder of his spend, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, sliding one of his hands into yours and lacing your fingers together.

You wondered if he would always find ways to take you by surprise.

He was conscious not to linger, removing himself from you and pressing another kiss to your forehead before retreating to his living room, returning with your undergarments in hand. His hair was tousled from your desperation to grasp something and clung to the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, cheeks red. As you admired him you reached your arms toward him as he replaced your undergarments after running a clean cloth through your folds, discarding it to the floor to handle later.

He found his place beside you then, resting on his back and pulling you close to hold you for a moment, willing to relax now that you were cared for. His hands ran carefully along your stomach as he held you, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head repeatedly to silently thank you for what had transpired. His gentle movements brought you to relaxation soon, raising your head to press a gentle kiss to his jaw.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock,” you cooed, repeating the kiss and causing a brief shudder to ripple up his back.

“Mm,” came a low rumbled reply in his chest before he lowered his head to claim your lips again, aware that he needed to lighten it slightly to accommodate for the swollen bruise to your lips already.

He held you that way for some time, allowing you to rest and enjoy the serenity of closeness to Sherlock in the afterglow of connecting with one another so deeply. Sherlock took advantage of the peaceful, quiet hours of the night to match it with little conversation as well, instead focusing his efforts on soothing your body and showing his appreciation and adoration. When you began to match his affections with soft kisses and nuzzles with your nose he opted to continue, pressing a kiss to your forehead before standing from the bed.

He reached beside the bed slowly to retrieve a robe, wrapping you in the fabric you recognized as one he wore frequently before replacing some of his clothes – whatever was necessary to move about the apartment with some decency. When you’d tied the robe he offered his hand to you, helping you rise from the bed and supporting you against him just as he had before. Even Sherlock had to admit the fulfilled swell to his chest at seeing you glowing because of him while dressed in his clothes.

“Come where it’s warm by the fire, dearest,” he offered in a tender tone, leading you back to the living room and helping you lower back into the chaise.

While any ordinary time with any ordinary person you may have simply gone to bed, what was unfolding with Sherlock was anything but ordinary. Instead, you found yourself wrapped in his robe, draped across his chaise, and bathed in the golden morning glow as Sherlock took his place with violin in hand, playing you soothing and delicate songs. It was not long for you to be lulled into a heavy sleep by his music and for Sherlock’s flat mate to follow the sound of a violin so early in the morning.

“Morning, Sherlock,” John greeted, adjusting his own robe carefully as he entered the room. “I see you found our guest.”

“Did you let her in, John?”

“I did. Did you tell her you figured it out days ago?”

Fondness pooled in Sherlock’s eyes at the question, and the lightest traces of a smile twitched his lips upward at the thought. He glanced away from your face just long enough to properly regard John, shaking his head astutely before returning his gaze to you. John knew the answer before Sherlock confirmed it.

“No.”

Rather than press the topic of the Christmas miracle unfolding before him, John elected to fix morning tea.

masterlist.

#sherlock holmes #cavill sherlock holmes #netflix sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill

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gh0st-author · 10 months ago

Text

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

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year ago

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.⋆｡A Lesson in Perseverance｡⋆.

Sherlock Holmes x plus size reader

The day has come where Sherlock finally takes you, even if he is far too big

Warnings: size kink, established relationship, virgin!reader, wedding night, Sherlock is a teasing shit, fingering, smut, unprotected sex

WC: 684

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

He looked godly like this, doused in flickering candle light, his curls wild atop his head as sweat dripped down his brow. He flooded your vision, he was the only thing you could see, the only anchor you had left to reality.

Pleasure had easily built in your belly, your husband driving you to the edge just as easily as he would solve a case or string the bow for his violin. You grasp for him, needing to touch his skin, to know he’s real. “Sherlock.” You mewled, your voice already fucked out and raspy.

He smirks. “That’s it darling.” He cooed, his voice dropped even lower, a mere rumbling growl in his broad chest. He had waited oh so patiently for this day and now that it was here, he would savour every delicious second of it. “Give in, let yourself open up.” A thick finger moved from your bundle of nerves down to your opening.

His thick body was nestled comfortably between your thighs, keeping you spread open and vulnerable for him. One large hand cupped your mound possessively as his fingers explored the soft flesh. You whimpered and whined with each touch, desperate for more but terrified of what was to come. The cold metal of his wedding band cutting through the heat between your legs. The ripped remains of your wedding gown lay beneath you like a white flag of surrender, evidence of your husband’s need for your body.

With trembling hands, you reached for him again but he smirked wickedly, his blue eyes glinting in the low candlelight and pushed your touch away, pinning your wrists to your plush stomach with one mighty hand. “Do not be so impatient. I have been waiting for this day since I first saw you- you can handle a few more moments.” You attempted to disagree but instead a moan slipped from your lips as his middle finger finally breached you.

Your cunt burned even with a stretch as small as one of his fingers but as your husband curled his knuckles, ecstasy washed over you like a comforting wave. Your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to take in a breath. And right as your back arched from the bed, your lungs finally filling with air, a second finger joined the first.

Pleasure ricocheted through you, tearing you apart and pulling you back together all at the same time. Sherlock’s smile grew darker as he watched you crumble. He had spent months thinking about this day, this moment. You were bound to him for all eternity, the perfect bride meant for him.

“I think you’re ready for me now my darling.” Sherlock withdrew his hand slowly, drinking down the gasps that escaped your lips, savouring each and every mewl. His fingers shone with your release which he eagerly licked up. “Divine. I think I will feast on you every chance I get.” You gave an embarrassed whine and turned your head away from your husband.

“Now now wife. I won’t have any of that.” He guided your gaze back to him, forcing you to look upon his large frame as he towered over you. “Your eyes will remain on me as I fuck that perfect cunt of yours.”

After a moment, he seemed satisfied that you would not look away again, so he released your jaw, letting his hands wander down the length of your soft body until he reached your wide hips. “My beautiful wife.” That was all the warning he gave before the crown of his cock was notched at your entrance and he slowly thrust into your weeping cunt.

Pain. That was all you felt, like the sting of an insect that only grew more intense with each passing second. Your fingernails bit into Sherlock’s broad side. “Too big.” Your body was on fire, an uncontrollable flame that your husband’s lust fuelled.

His head rolled back between his broad shoulders as he moaned, his hands gripping your wide hips even tighter. He forced even more of his considerable length inside you. “Do not fret wife, we have only to persevere.”

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#sherlock holmes x reader #female reader #plus size reader #fluff #reader insert #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x wife!reader #sherlock holmes x plus size reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock x reader #sherlock x plus size reader #sherlock x you #enola holmes #henry!sherlock #henry!holmes #smut #henry cavil

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faggotry-fandom-fanfic · 1 year ago

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Evening Cuddles

Summary: Sherlock helps his friend fall asleep.

Ship: Sherlock Holmes x masc!reader Word Count: 1070

🔸The reader uses he/him pronouns and is called a man, and the relationship between him and Sherlock is inherently queer.🔸

A/N: It's just fluff based on pure vibes. I wrote it a while ago, rediscovered it recently and rewrote it today! The reader is implied to be Sherlock's roommate. I think/hope he's racially/ethnically ambiguous. Also, the reader is described as taller than Sherlock, but somehow, Sherlock is able to lift him up without any issues?? 😭I don't know, and I don't care to be honest. It's pure vibes, no common sense.

“[Y/N], are you even listening to me? [Y/N]?” Sherlock sighed, irritated at the lack of response from his companion.

Holmes shifted his position to look at the man sitting beside the window.

“[Y/N]?”

When the Detective, once again, didn’t get a response, his frustration went from “mildly annoyed” to “extremely irritated”. It wasn’t exactly in his friend’s character to ignore his pleading for attention. So Sherlock did what any reasonable adult would do in the given situation.

“OUCH!” [H/C]-haired man screamed out when the shoe hit him in the arm. “GOD DAMN YOU, YOU BASTARD!” [Y/N] slurred while rubbing the painful spot. “You’re worse than a five-year-old!”

“I was talking about something important. Something you promised to help with,” Holmes pointed out while walking up to his friend.

The taller man sighed and fell back on the soft pillows. His head was pounding, and his body felt like it was about to perish to dust any second. He was tired, and for some reason, he couldn’t verbalise it to his friend. Building sentences felt like a marathon. His brain refused to use English, forcing him to fight with his sluggish mind just to construct the easiest sentences.

“I know. I’m sorry.” [Y/N] finally mumbled, more or less, towards the dark-haired man beside him.

Sherlock just shook his head and kneeled in front of [Y/N], taking his hands and squeezing them in an attempt to provide some comfort.

“What’s on your mind? You hadn’t been yourself for the past week.”

[Y/N] ignored the question and just silently brought one of the detective's hands to cup his cheek. Silently absorbing the pleasant sensation of Sherlock’s rough fingers brushing against his cheekbones and warmth radiating from his palm. [Y/N] would never admit this, but sometimes he’d kill for more moments like this. Moments filled with silence and gentleness that were almost impossible to find in their life. Sherlock had this almost magical ability to become soft and gentle if he noticed that it was needed, but he never was great at recognising the needs of people around him.

“Just tired. Incredibly tired…” [Y/N] finally muttered while closing his eyes and hiding his face in Holmes’ hand.

“If you want to, we could take a little vacation. We’d stop taking cases for a while. Mycroft has a mansion in the mountains. Maybe fresh air will make you feel better, hm…?” Sherlock spoke softly, seeing how his friend was almost falling asleep in front of him.

“Mhm…”

Only now, when his face was mere inches away from his friend, could he see the mark that overworking left on a usually radiant face. [Y/N]’s skin was an unhealthy, muted colour as if he was made of wax. Dark circles painting his under-eye looked scarily similar to bruises. His hair was tangled and messy, framed his equally messy face, dirty with dust and dirt after a long day of working and running around London, searching for a case that’d satisfy Sherlock’s hunger for mental stimulation. It was frightening to see his friend like this – a shadow of himself. A ghost.

Sherlock’s face twisted with guilt, the awareness that he led to one of his dearest friends being so incredibly worn out that he wasn’t even able to form coherent sentences. He’s been whining about the lack of good mysteries for weeks now, and after a while, [Y/N] just wanted to help him and see him happy.

“You know what you need? A good sleep.” Holmes muttered, talking more to himself than to, already half-asleep, friend.

Sherlock stood up and carefully picked up [Y/N] from the settee. [H/C]-haired man himself, was already so exhausted that he didn’t protest. The only thing that he did was snuggle into the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

One of the many advantages of living in a small flat was that every room was close. So only after about a dozen steps were they already in [Y/N]'s bedroom. Holmes carefully placed his friend among his pillows and blankets and covered him with the woven coverlet. [Y/N] grunted, with upset painted across his face when he felt Sherlock’s hands leaving him.

“Don’t go…” he softly pleaded, grabbing Holmes by the sleeve.

Sherlock turned around only to be met with soft [E/C] eyes looking at him longingly, half-covered by eyelids. How could he deny his friend’s innocent request?

“If I’m not to go, what do you want me to do?” The detective asked with slight amusement in his voice.

“Lay with me… I don’t want to be alone…”.

[Y/N] looked like he was close to begging Sherlock to stay with him. Looking at his friend with such sorrow, as if the thought of Holmes leaving his side caused him physical pain. Sherlock felt his cheeks growing hotter while his knees became a bit softer.

Dear god.

“Alright, move over, so I’ll have a place to lay down…”.

[H/C]-haired man eagerly shifted, lifting the blanket, inviting the detective.

He’s just tired. He’s just exhausted and lonesome.

Sherlock tried to reason with himself while lying beside [Y/N]. But it was hard to logically explain how hot his face felt and how happy his friend looked while cuddling up to his side, a lazy smile spread across his handsome face. Fuck, his friend was just shamelessly cuddling with him. Making all kinds of “I feel good” noises, some sounding almost like purring. It was strange. So strange, almost wrong. But he’d lie if he said he didn’t like it. After a few moments, he relaxed and embraced the man lying beside him.

Fuck, shit, fuck.

Holmes tried to take a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. His nostrils instantly filled with the eccentric mix of scents of old books, dust, chocolate and paraffin oil. The unmistakable smell of his friend. If he wasn’t freaking out already, Holmes would probably panic. He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

But he smelled so good.

And his hands were so pleasant to the touch.

His breathing was so calm.

And he was so close.

It’d be a sin to not savour this moment as long as possible.

Sherlock was finally fully relaxed. He held his friend tight, relishing the smell, the feel, and the sounds [Y/N] would make. He was just so peaceful. So sweet. After a while, Holmes himself drifted to sleep. Happy and relaxed. Embraced by another man.

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frickingnerd · 8 months ago

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dating herlock sholmes

pairing: herlock sholmes x gn!reader

tags: wholesome fluff, established romantic relationship, public displays of affection (physical & verbal), extrovert!herlock

herlock is such an extrovert, so if you're dating him, you can say goodbye to a quiet and calm lifestyle!

herlock is always dragging you around to his cases, wanting to have an outsider's perspective of things, but he truly just wants to be near you

over time, you'll grow almost as famous as sholmes himself, due to always being around him and being written into the adventures of herlock sholmes by iris

it's almost impossible to have any time alone with herlock, since people are flocking him in public and at home iris, susato and ryunosuke are always around

luckily for you, herlock has absolutely no problems with public displays of affection, so it's not like you'll never get to act like a couple

perhaps, he's even a bit too nonchalant about public displays of affection, as he doesn't care who's around when he compliments you or clings to you

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xohachi · 1 year ago

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illuminate

| sherlock holmes x u |

word count: 966

u have a date tonight! ur actually on the date for the first half of the story and sherlock’s brooding about it so badly that he can’t sleep :( BUT u come back sad 😧 so he comforts u ☺️. {angst/comfort/cute ending} {this is for the girls w no dad.}

(LOOK AT HIS PUPPY DOG EYES I WANNA CRYYYYYY) (i hate writing stories in my notes app but I watched American beauty last night and that “you could never be ordinary,” scene literally ate me so i just haddd to write something based off it. so enjoy this blurb i wrote first thing in the morning at a sleepover)

The mundane tick of the clock nearly lulled Sherlock to sleep. He persevered through the heavy bricks on his eyelids, pacing the room thinking of you. The time now was 12:34am. You’d left for a date at around 8, you never went on dates. Sherlock preferred it that way, maybe then he’d get some sleep. He thought of you, the image of you in your little black dress and red heels… the way you styled your hair and left a few dangling curls to frame your already perfect face. The stubborn detective would never say it but it enraged him to see you dressed up like this for another man.

…

“How do I look?” You asked sheepishly. He watched your eyes meet his, inhaling the presence of your soul snaking its way into the void where his was supposed to be. Somehow during the time that the two of you had roomed together at 221B Baker St, Sherlock had fallen in love with you and he hated the fact that he didn’t hate it.

“You’re leaving?” His tone was low, monotonous.

“Yeah silly, I happen to have a date tonight.” You gave him a spin. His eyes locked onto the slit in your already short dress and how it hiked up even higher when you moved. A scowl snuck onto his face as he thought about you dancing with lesser men at sub par bars, the way they’d probably slide a hand down your back, itching for an invitation to taint you with their touch.

…

‘A date,’ He muttered to himself. A cigarette sat between his lips. Sherlock leaned onto the fireplace and pulled his head back as he exhaled. Finally, your footsteps echoed up the stairs. He put out his cigarette and scrambled to find a place in his chair. Quickly picking up his violin, fumbling with the tuning to look busy. You’d left the house wearing heels yet your footsteps showed no indication of heels on your feet. You’d probably taken them off after too much dancing & the thought brought a red jealous haze back into his mind but he decided to let it go. Your dark silhouette emerged from the shadows. Something was wrong. He quickly scanned you with his eyes. Messy hair, your left dress strap sliding down your shoulder, your hand on your right shoulder seemingly massaging a bothering ache, perhaps from carrying your purse. Turning around, a yelp emerged from your throat.

“Sorry,” You choked out, trying to mask your sobs, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” You glanced down at the violin in his hands, yet his attention was solely on you. Sherlock’s eyebrow was cocked as he continued to silently read your tells. Shaky voice, running mascara, you’d been crying. Your arms were hugging your body, you’d been hurt. He stood up cautiously.

“He hurt you…” Sherlock concluded aloud, inching closer. His hands were somewhat extended towards you as if he wanted to touch you but couldn’t.

“No, Sherlock he didn’t, I’m alright.” You closed the space between the two of you. The sudden feeling of your small hands on his chest electrified him yet also diminished a fraction of his anger. Physically sure, you seemed to be okay. Sherlock realized that you were hugging your body to console deep emotional pain. Physical or emotional didn’t matter to him though, all that mattered was that you were in pain.

“You’re crying. He made you cry, I’ll murder him.” His rough calloused hands cupped either side of your face, his words venomous with intent. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation but Sherlock had never allowed himself to touch you like this. The most touch you shared was when he’d let you rest your head on his shoulder during long train rides, even then he felt like he was playing with fire.

“He was good to me, I promise,” a small silence, “I did this to myself, with my own insecurities.”

“Am I… ordinary, Sherlock?”

The streetlights trickled through the curtains, illuminating the silhouette of you both holding back from indulging in your deepest desires. The image of you, gazing up at the cold detective with wide teary eyes, clinging to his word like he’s god reciting the bible directly to you. Him, his hands on either sides of your face, soothing you with his words, “You could never be ordinary, not even if you tried.”

Although your crying had ceased, his words broke the dam behind your y/e/c eyes. Your head fell into his chest and the sudden intimacy caused Sherlock tense up. He could feel you needing him, begging him to hold you just this once, to tell you that everything will be okay…and that he loves you so. He opened his mouth to protest the hug, only to be cut off by a small, “Please, just this once,” whispered into his chest.

Frozen in time, the gears in his brain began to short circuit. He was a sociopath, how could he feel like this? The two of you were never even meant to get this close. He could feel his defenses crumble. Every alarm inside his mind palace blaring. Emergency! Emergency! The void where his soul should lie was no longer empty. You’d fought your way past his defenses, seemingly effortlessly. He lived and breathed you. He burned for you, and only you. Your soul igniting him, Sherlock finally allowed himself to wrap his arms around your small figure tightly. His chin resting atop your head. He wouldn’t admit any of this aloud. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t say anything at all. This was enough for now, he’d just be here, with you, for you, in the moment.

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes #fluff #angst comfort

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bakerstreethound · 1 year ago

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🍓Sherlock doing this to reader 😩❤️🦋

1. whispering ''kiss me'' to your lover

2. wrapping your arms around your lover's neck

3. kisses traveling from your lover's nose to their lips

Hello my dear @lady-harvey you sent this months ago but I hope you enjoy what I came up with. I don't even remember where this prompt list resides anymore haha. Anyways I hope you enjoy the soft boy and hi everyone, I live! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Berry Kisses

Summary: Sherlock's kisses are one thing you cannot live without anymore. He can't resist you anymore than when he's on the trail of a killer. You live for the quiet moments where you can be at peace with each other, if even for a short while.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

You live for these moments when Sherlock allows himself to rest, a short reprieve from the demands of his day. He won’t admit it outside the doors of 221B, but when you crawl up on the bed to straddle him, he can’t look away. This is one of the best parts of his day, these quiet moments with you.

You offer a small smile in return, watching him, as his gaze meets yours his hands resting along your back, stroking and rubbing circles as you inhale deep, burying your face in his neck. It doesn’t take long before he groans while you not so subtly suck marks along his neck.

“You’re not going to get away with that so easily," he huffs, rolling on top of you, his lips a fraction from yours, teasing you so close but he feels miles away in the moment and all you want to do is run to him and drown in his kisses.

He pins you deeper into the mattress, piercing gaze roaming along your body, causing you to shiver. It always did in his presence, your body responsive in every way, each touch and caress of his awakening the sleeping siren within.

His lips still linger over yours, heat cascading along his body, setting fire to yours as if you are kindling ready to burst into flame.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” you let out the barest whisper, tongue teasing along your lips.

“If that’s what you wish, yes”

“Really I thought it’d take more convincing than that, my love.”

“Kiss me then,” he quips, it’s almost a challenge but a deeper request, He wants more oh how he aches for more of you. You’re already driving him mad being here with him this way and he wants to devour you until dawn breaks, but he lets you take your time. How willing you are to take your time, breaking him down bit by bit, his fingers digging into your shoulders with every desperate kiss, sigh, and plea you draw from his lips.

It’s an addiction you’ll never recover from but will gladly drown in tenfold if you can see this vision each and every day, of him bathed in the light soon succumbing to the shadows.

Your arms immediately wrap around him once more, straddling his waist and peppering his face with more kisses. He savors it, letting you do as you wish despite the protests of his mind. He wants you, yearns for you terribly but he wants, oh how he wants more.

He finds himself fixated on your nose, and so he caresses your jaw, cupping his face in your hand to stop you from your conquest on his neck. He barely pecks your nose, grinning at the amused laugh that follows, but his lips remain along your body trailing from your cheek, fluttering along to the corner of your lips before finally kissing you properly. You groan at the contact, somehow pulling him impossibly closer, falling into his adoration and warmth.

“I need you,” you sigh softly, your heart aching. You’d feel so empty without him, but his lips are your salvation dragging you into the light, saving you from drowning in the depths of your mind.

He obliges, turning to press you into the mattress, pulling you under him not intent on letting go. “So good for me,” he murmurs, words muffled by the sounds falling from you, your mind comprehending nothing but him and the love he bestowed upon you.

“You taste,” he kisses your lips engulfing you before brushing against them again, “you taste like strawberries.”

“I see you’re catching on, how observant of you, my love.”

His lips press against your neck, savoring the smell of you and strawberries intermingled-, and a few moments pass, his lips find yours once more, fingers carding roughly through your hair, and you groan. You want, how you want more and you let him take as much as you give, his hands falling to your waist gripping tight, worshiping you in nothing but adoration.

You make a reality what you imagine in your dreams. You find yourself falling into him consumed by him, wanting and feeling nothing but his skin against yours, relishing the sounds falling from his lips, the weight of him on top of you filling your every need. When his hand strokes your sides a shiver follows in its wake, his hand caressing the apex of your thigh, his sapphire gaze staring into your eyes, shimmering.

“May I?” his gaze doesn’t part from yours not when you whisper a yes against his lips, a long, elegant finger stroking you and the fire consuming you from the inside out. It’s wonderful and all-consuming like him and when he adds another, working you slow, always eager and desperate to memorize this, memorize you for he knows your body, some of the darkest parts of your souls as well and you gladly fall bringing your lips to his in a searing kiss the feeling of him and his adoration pulling the last bits of pleasure from you. There you remain, basking in the bliss, his chest rising and falling curls brushing along his brow encompassed by you in your own universe.

******

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