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cherryclxud · 9 months ago

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Catch me if you can, Lord Holmes pt1

(ENOLA HOLMES)!Sherlock x BRIDGERTON!reader

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Description: a writer by the name of Marcus Bradford has been writing a weekly updated crime story that appears in the newspaper and it is the talk of the ton. sherlock is then pulled in to uncover the mystery of the story of the abominable bride. will he be able to find the writer of this story who yet remains hidden from seemingly all of society?

word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

read below for credits

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MARCUS BRADFORD WAS AN EXTRAORDINARY WRITER. He wrote books of fantasy, romance, and tragedies. But anyone who has read Bradford’s works will tell you his prized works were that of the thrilling crimes series that would be posted on the weekly newspapers on page 4. Yes, no one could deny that this was the reason he was the talk of the ton. Appearing out of seemingly nowhere, Marcus Bradford’s words made it into every household in London, whispers about the crimes written were on the tongue of the fanatics every passing day,

“Did you read what this man has written?”

“Did you see where he left this week's edition off?”

“How can the bride return when she so clearly shot her brains out in front of a whole street?”

“She returned and killed her husband then was found back at the morgue?”

It was a story where no one could see a true way to solve it, and so it kept everyone on the edge of their seat, that is…everyone but one.

Sherlock Holmes hated Marcus Bradford, and he hated his work. He was never a fan of fiction since fiction wasn't real and wasn't deducible, therefore he was never actually interested in anything this man was writing, but when all the clients asking for help seemingly came to him complaining that they wanted him to solve a fictional case written in a newspaper, that's when he would pick up the story to read and wasn't able to put it down till he had finished the latest edition of it. Two thoughts running through Sherlock Holmes’ head after putting the paper down, he hated fiction, and he hated Marcus Bradford.

The story was impossible to deduce anything out of, how could someone dead return? The bride quite clearly can't be who murdered her husband however the story clearly states that the husband had recognised her before his death. But she was in the mourge, how could the bride be in 2 places at once? How could she then continue to kill countless men after her funeral? Sherlock felt there were too many open ends and loose threads. Threads that only one person knew the ends of. Marcus Bradford.

But no one knew who Bradford was, no one had seen him before, in fact, he had never attended any soirees nor had any presence in the ton that anyone knew of. This opened a new case for Sherlock. Who is Marcus Bradford?

No one in the ton knew that Marcus Bradford was always under their noses.

In the prestigious house of the Bridgertons, y/n Bridgerton picked at the strings of her violin with a sigh. Mrs Wilson walked into the drawing room with the weekly news and a copy of today's Lady Whstledown, y/n watched as her younger sister Eloise snatched this week's paper out of the head maid's hands and quickly skipped to page 4, with an eye roll, y/n took the gossip sheet from Mrs Wilsons hand thanking her before pretending to skim over the paper. In truth y/n wasn't interested in the words of Lady Whistledown, she only ever tried to look out to see if ‘Marcus’ was ever mentioned. He was not. She dropped the sheet on the table before standing at the window and looking out.

“Can you believe it, another one?” Eloise spoke up not tearing her eyes from the sheet. Looking back at Eloise, y/n feigned confusion “Hmm, sorry what was that?

Eloise dropped the paper on her lap and looked blankly at the ceiling “Another man was murdered, all because the yard can't solve the case”

y/n picked the paper from Eloise and pretended to skim over it while hiding her smile, “Oh Eloise don't tell me you are going on about this stupid little story again, why not go read something more useful? Or try looking into who Lady Whisteldown is again, you loved that remember? This story doesn't seem to be doing anyone any good, and the writer seems to have hit a wall don't you think?”

Instantly Eloise turned her head to y/n and stood up walking to her, “no you don't get it, sister,” she snatched the paper from the elder girls hands and pointed to a line “See here it's different ‘The man’s face paled as he looked at the contents of the envelope, turning it over, four orange pips dropped unto the table’ see sister it’s strange, this man got a warning the others didn't. Something big must be coming y/n, something different.” she quickly took the paper and ran up to her room leaving y/n looking behind her.

In truth y/n was out of inspiration. Writing under the pen name Marcus Bradford, she had made quite the name for him, but she thought, perhaps she had gone too strong with the opening and now she was crashing, the seeds in the envelope was her quite literally reaching for straws at this point, trying to buy herself time hoping that some grand idea will hit her.

She was happy with all the attention her writing was gaining even if it was under a false name. She knew her stories would have gotten nowhere otherwise. She also knew that she couldnt keep writing forever, no matter how much she loved it. Her mother was on her back about missing many balls since her debut last year and that since Eloise’s debut this year, it’s harder taking care of two girls at once, especially two girls who cared more about books than looking to the men right in front of them.

It wasn't like y/n was not interested in romance at all, rather, she was actually quite the romantic, but she found no interest in the advances of the men of the ton, in fact she always compared the whole process to a birds mating ritual, all the dancing, and the reciting of poetry and the hundreds of flower bouquets and colours. no, she much preferred the romance on the paper she read, and quite often found herself daydreaming about the books she had read, maybe one day a pirate would take her to go treasure hunting together. Or maybe a past childhood friend she doesn't remember will profess his undying love to her and how he never forgot her all these years.

y/n scoffed at the thoughts she was having, “Maybe all I need is a change of perspective and scenery…I assume a ball will have to do then” She rolled her eyes before standing and going to look for her mother's whereabouts.

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IF YOU WERE LOOKING TO FIND SHERLOCK HOLMES, polite society would usually be the last place you would look. To Sherlok it is mundane and boring, and really there is no point in trying to connect with people whose knowledge and understanding end where yours begin. With this knowledge in mind, you can imagine how shocking it would be to the people of the ton when that very Wednesday Lord Sherlock Holmes was in the promenade with his younger sister in hand, they walked straight ahead ignoring all the stares they received. Enola could quite clearly see many desperate mamas pointing to Sherlock and whispering to their daughters. “You must remind me again Sherlock, why are we here?”

Sherlock stopped walking and unhooked his arm out of Enolas’ before looking around the park and then turning to her “I’m hunting”

“Hunting? In the promenade? Brother that's hardly quite safe” she spoke with a smirk before raising an eyebrow at her brother “Don't tell me you’re-... you're not hunting for a wife are you?”

This question made Sherlock momentarily stop looking around and then sigh “Really Enola think before you speak, honestly a wife out of any of the women here? Marrying a mannequin would be more productive, at least then it wouldn't throw stupid questions at me” he eyed a few women but quickly looked away uninterested “besides I doubt any of them can hold up any meaningful conversation with substance”

Enola rolled her eyes before swatting her brother's arms lightly with her fan “Don't be so easy to underestimate them all Sherlock you never know” She then walked ahead leaving him behind.

“Of course I know, I'm Sherlock Holmes”

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y/n sat on the chair under the umbrella with a fan in her left hand and a book in her right, skillfully managing to hold the book and turn the pages all with one hand, her mother sat by her chatting her ear off about some lord or other that had passed by, and all y/n could do was hum in absent agreement to please her mother when in truth she held no care for whatever lord she spoke of.

“y/n dear look theres lord manyard,” y/n looked just above her book at the lord her mother spoke of, truth be told he was appealing to the eyes but y/n knew better, she knew that he had been sweet talking almost every debutant in the ton, her eyebrow twitched into a semi frown when he caught her eyes. A wink and smirk were sent her way causing her to use every muscle in her body to not shiver with disgust, she could not however stop the massive eyeroll she did “i hear that he owns land and estates in the country and that he is even buying out oil factori-”

y/n lightly slammed her book in her lap and gave violet bridgerton a tightlipped smile, she knew her mother meant well and that she only wanted what is best for her, but it was getting hard to see her mothers disappointment at every rejection she made, “Mama, where perchance did eloise go? I did have something quite important i needed to discuss with her”

Violet sighed but pushed no further “well yes I suppose sitting here will do you no good, last i saw her she was on the promenade trail with Penelope, will you be alright on your own or should I send Anthony with you?”

y/n had already gotten up and adjusted her dress “No it's quite alright I think I’ll be fine on my own” and with that, she made her way in the direction her mother pointed to only to be stopped by a bunch of little kids running past her throwing confetti at each other, unfortunately, some got caught on her dress so while she walked she busied herself with clearing the tiny squares of paper off of her. As such in cliche stories and books, she wasn't looking in front of her causing her to bump into someone who equally wasn't looking where they were going.

Both parties' priorities regaining their balance before looking to the person in front of them, and looking up y/n noticed a girl about her age looking back at her “Please accept my apologies I wasn't focused on where I was going”

The girl quickly shook her hands in front of her “No no please you must apologise i also wasn't aware of my surroundings as I walked so if anything I'm equally at fault here”

Y/n smiled at the girl in front of her and gave her a small nod, then suddenly thought…what now, the girl was looking at her almost expectantly, y/n wasn't sure if she should say something or just walk away, but she had already stood there for too long in silence to suddenly walk away, but on the other hand what does she say?

“Enola”

Y/n raised her eyebrows “Sorry?”

“Enola Holmes… that's my name if you wanted to know” y/n raised her eyebrow at the familiar-sounding name. Enola extended her hand to y/n to shake.

“OH… oh I see yes, very nice to meet you Enola, I'm y/n Bridgerton” She then grabbed Enola's hand and shook it too as they smiled to each other.

“I must say Enola I haven't seen you in the promenade before…or at any soirees or some such thing” y/n spoke as she looked around.

Enola nodded as she brought her head up to her forehead “Yes well, I don't usually come out, I'm usually around my brother and he really doesn't care for the affairs of the ton so we rarely actually leave Baker Street”

Y/n tilted her head “I see, then what seems to have prompted today's outing?”

Enola linked her arms in y/n as they started to walk “Well-” stopping midsentence the Holmes girl furrowed her eyebrows and lifted her chin as she tried to think “In all truthfulness, I haven't the faintest idea when I asked my brother he simply stated that he was hunting”

Y/n stopped midstep and looked to Enola in confusion, “Hunting? In the promenade? I doubt he'd be lucky getting any deer or game here” She laughed at the absurdity then a thought popped into her head “he's not..hunting for women is he?”

“Those were my exact words when I confronted him, however, if I know anyone it's my brother, he isn't interested in trivialities, ‘Enola, I’d rather marry a mannequin than a woman’ were his exact words to me” she spoke as she walked on with y/n and even deepened her voice as she quoted her brother, making y/n giggle at the absurdity.

“Quite the idealist he sounds like, lucky he is a man and gets to choose and not get judged upon it” y/n voiced her thoughts making Enola look at her “You quite right y/n, and it helps him that he is also the second son so no responsibility on his shoulder he is free to do as his heart desires”

Y/n and Enola both laugh before the latter girl notices her brother standing with a couple of gentlemen smoking cigars. She pointed at her brother and sighed “Had I known he had planned to throw me aside for his playmates I would have benefited more from staying at home”

Y/n looked in the direction she was pointing at and suddenly it was like it all clicked once she saw him, of course, how could she miss such an obvious thing “Your brother is Lord Sherlock Holmes?! Of course, how could I not realise it sooner.” She slapped her hand lightly on her forehead as she looked to Enola who nodded in response.

“Trust me y/n, not as fun as it sounds, my eldest brother gave my wardship to Sherlock since he is already busy as it is with family and estate affairs and ever since then Sherlock has been as busy as ever” she stuck her tongue out at sherlock who looked away from the group of men at his sister. His eyes quickly flickered to y/n but didn't linger as his attention returned to Enola before he too stuck his tongue out to her.

Y/n smiled at the sight of the two of them, they made her think of her own family “You complain yet you both seem inseparable, it's sweet, mine are over there” She pointed to where Anthony and Colin were standing with Hyacinth and Gregory playing with a hoop. Hyacinth threw it up and Anthony managed to hook his arm in it then bowed to the trio in front of him.

Enola giggled at the sight “My that is a lot of siblings how do you get a moment of peace to yourself?” causing the other girl to roll her eyes with a smile “I don't, and believe it or not there are 4 more” Enola’s jaw dropped before noticing that Anthony had apparently started approaching them, “it seems your brother wants you back I assume?”

“Not at all I'm just checking on my sister” he smiled at the two girls before directing his attention solely to his sister “sister I'm glad you are finally adjusting and meeting people that aren't on paper” y/n rolled her eyes before pushing Anthony's shoulder lightly “oh nothing makes you happy does it Anthony, I sit reclusively, I’ll become a spinster, I mingle with other people I'm suddenly to adventurous” they both laughed before the sister turned to Enola “Enola this is Anthony my brother, Anthony…this is Enola Holmes”

Anthony's eyebrows rose “Holmes? As in Sher-”

“Good day to you Bridgerton”

There is a saying, ‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear’, and it seems quite fitting to use right here seeing as the man who approached the group and spoke up at that moment was Sherlock Holmes himself.

Anthony stood straight and nodded with a straight face to Sherlock “Holmes.”

Both men looked at each other, like in a staring contest, both Enola and y/n raised their eyebrows in confusion, looked at each other then back at their brothers. Suddenly like it was synchronised both the men shook hands and pulled each other into a friendly hug.

“I'm sorry Anthony but it feels like there's some missing context here, you both looked like you were about to murder each other and yet now you are acting like old friends, which is it friend or foe?” Y/n crossed her arms as she looked at the two men

Anthony looked to Sherlock with a smirk “Definitely foe dear sister seeing as since his graduation Lord Holmes here didn't see it fit to send any correspondence any longer”

The younger Bridgertons eyes widened as she looked to the older Holmes “You knew Anthony during his study?”

Sherlock nodded “We studied at Oxford at the same time, I studied chemistry and your brother focused on history and literature or some such thing”

Anthony coughed looking away quickly “Lord Holmes here was 1 year my senior and was booked in a flat with Hastings and I, of course, he valued his complete privacy so while he got the single bigger room in the flat me and Bassett had to share” he spoke with an eye roll.

It was Sherlock's turn to clear his throat and look away “Yes…how is Bassett… well I assume I must respectively call him the duke now”

Y/n who had felt that she and Enola had been quite forgotten now spoke up before Anthony could “Yes he is quite well, dukedom fits him rather well”

Sherlock turned to the younger Bridgerton “Is that so? I see you have become acquainted with the duke” making the girl smirk “But of course hard not to when my sister is quite literally married to him”

“I see…”

“So Holmes” Anthony spoke up clapping his hands together to divert the conversation “you never promenade what has changed? Finally thinking of settling down?”

“He's hunting” Enola spoke up.

Sherlock looked to his sister with a sigh before meeting the confused face of the Bridgertons and before they could speak up with any accusations he decided to clear his name.

“Not hunting persay, more scouting. I'm looking for the Bradfords”

It seemed as though time stopped around them, the two Bridgerton siblings and Enola’s eyes widened and y/n’s fan stopped mid-swing, the silence was heavy but was burst when Anthony quickly started laughing.

“Holmes, surely you jest, don't tell me you too have been ensnared by a small column of fiction like the rest of the ton” he spoke and was quickly followed by Enola who expressed that he constantly refused to read it and that he could possibly just be joking.

Y/n looked at each person and stepped back to watch how this would play out.

“I assure you I do not jest or joke, I have received many clients coming to me with this case and it can only be solved if I find this Marcus Bradford himself” Sherlock frustratedly spoke while looking to his sister and old friend.

Enola raised an eyebrow before addressing her brother once more “And…what case might that be Sherlock?”

Suddenly as Sherlock looked to the three stood before him, his eyes flickered between them as he embarrassingly spoke. “The case of the abominable bride.”

Y/n tried so hard but couldn't hold in the laughter causing it to come out as a snort more like. Most unladylike and in fact unhelpful seeing as Sherlock's embarrassment now turned to frustration and annoyance.

The girl quickly realised her mistake and apologised with a smile, “It's just you'd think you of all people wouldn't waste your time with a storybook”

Anthony was quick to scold his sister lightly then turned to Sherlock “I am not sure why you are doing this Holmes but…if it helps there is no Marcus Bradford in the ton, trust me people have looked.”

Sherlock nodded solemnly while looking around the ton slowly “I see… well then we had best be on our way then, it was nice seeing you and meeting your sister Anthony”

Anthony nodded and bid the Holmes' farewell as Enola promised she would write to y/n. As the two families split away and started walking away, y/n suddenly stopped and stood back and waited for Anthony to keep walking and not notice before quickly walking back to the Holmes siblings.

“Lord Holmes!” she called out to him, Sherlock and Enola turned to y/n as she stopped in front of them and took a moment to regain composure. “You know Lord Holmes… I have a pet cat named Minnie”

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why he was being told this, then the Bridgerton spoke up once more “She has this terrible terrible habit of loving the house a lot, and it drives me crazy looking for her but I think I have a technique down on how to catch her.” Sherlock still had no idea where this was going yet…something in him told him to humour the girl and give her his complete attention.

“I used to go to every maid and ask her if she had seen Minnie until I realised, really if I track down the most important places I'd be saving time and energy, so now… when Minnie runs off, I just go to the kitchens and wait… she will have to eat sometime and the kitchen staff know not to let her out after that.”

And with that y/n turned around and walked back to her family who were sitting under the umbrella.

“What was that about?” Enola spoke up when she noticed Sherlock was still looking at where y/n stood with a far-off look.

“A cat called Minnie…apparently”

y/n smirked as she watched Sherlock and Enola leave the promenade. If Sherlock Holmes wanted a wild goose chase, then who was she to deny him of it?

“Catch me if you can Lord Holmes” she spoke with a smirk

The game was truly afoot.

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I do not own Bridgerton

I do not own Sherlock or Enola Holmes

and I most certainly do not own the abominable bride story

they belong to their rightful owners.

I only own the fic idea.

@frost-queen

#bridgerton #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #enola holmes #enola and sherlock #bridgerton reader #bridgerton x reader #sherlock holmes fanfiction #crossover #fanfic #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock #imagine #bridgerton x enola holmes

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sophistication-as · 2 months ago

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classmate!william x reader

modern au 💌 genius x genius

1.9k – fluff, masturbation (m!), pda, soft kisses

@cafekitsune thank you for the divider

happy new year, everyone! thanks for all the support. don’t forget to stay safe and drink plenty of water 💗

classmate!william who always saves a seat for you in the auditorium. he tilts his head slightly, a soft smile playing on his lips as he whispers that he likes being close to someone so dedicated, his voice quieter than the murmur of students around you. he’s never been much of a talker in class, but somehow, with you, silence feels comfortable.

classmate!william who loves your eloquence when you discuss different subjects, his gaze lingering a little too long on the curve of your lips as you speak. even if your words weren’t the only thing he paid attention to, he’d always nod along, offering thoughtful responses just to keep the conversation going.

classmate!william who notices your habit of slipping away for a quiet moment with a cup of coffee. he surprises you one afternoon, setting a steaming cup beside your notebook without a word. “black, no sugar,” he murmurs, his tone as casual as if you hadn’t just realized he’s been paying attention to your preferences all along.

classmate!william who finds you asleep in the library, your head resting on a pile of notes. instead of waking you, he gently places his coat over your shoulders and sits across from you, quietly reading until you wake.

classmate!william who tries to make sense of the unfamiliar warmth that stirs in his chest every time your hand brushes his when passing notes in class. he tells himself it’s nothing, just a momentary distraction, but the thought lingers longer than it should, gnawing at his carefully crafted focus.

classmate!william who clenches his jaw when albert teases him about the way his expression softens around you. he brushes it off, claiming it’s just admiration for your intellect, but deep down, he’s terrified of what it might mean to want something so far outside his carefully built world.

classmate!william who wakes up with his body aching, his breath uneven as fragments of a dream about you flood his mind. his hand is already wrapped around his cock, the slick evidence of his arousal staining the sheets as he strokes himself slowly, trying to chase the ghost of your touch from his dream. his hips jerk involuntarily as your imagined whispers echo in his ears, the way your lips parted just for him, the way you said his name, dripping with need.

he spills himself messily, his cum pooling over his abdomen and staining the blankets beneath him. shame crashes over him almost immediately, and his hand falters as he stares at the mess he’s made. william exhales harshly, his chest rising and falling, his usually calm demeanor completely unraveled. he’s disgusted with himself, not just for the act, but for the fact that it felt so good to think of you like that—too good.

the next morning, he’s brooding more than usual, his jaw clenched as louis and albert exchange amused glances. "someone didn’t sleep well," albert comments with a smirk, and louis adds innocently, "you seem... distracted, william. something on your mind?" he glares at them both, his ears burning as their teasing continues. but it doesn’t stop there. when he sees you later in class, your innocent smile only stokes the lingering fire in his chest. he forces himself to look away, biting back the memory of his dream and the shameful pleasure he took from it. for once, william james moriarty finds himself losing control—and it terrifies him.

classmate!william who, one evening, when he sees you sitting by yourself in the library again, can’t help but walk over. your concentration is so intense that you don’t even notice him approaching. “mind if i join you?” he asks, his voice surprisingly steady despite the flutter in his chest. you look up, meeting his gaze, and something in his chest tightens at the way your eyes light up with recognition.

you nod, and he sits beside you, just close enough to feel the warmth of your presence without crossing that invisible line he’s so careful to maintain. the silence between you both isn’t awkward—far from it. it’s a comfortable quiet, filled with the rustling of pages and the occasional glance exchanged.

classmate!william who glances at you from the corner of his eye, noticing how the soft glow of the streetlights catches your hair, casting it in a warm, golden hue. there’s a small, content smile on your lips, a look that seems to say you’re at ease in this quiet company. his heart beats a little faster, and before he can stop himself, his hand reaches out, brushing against yours.

classmate!william who, after weeks of stolen glances and quiet conversations, finds himself walking beside you on a crisp evening, the cool air brushing past the two of you. the path to the dorms is empty, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the trees and the occasional murmur of distant voices from the campus. it's a moment suspended in time, just the two of you, and for the first time, the silence feels heavy with something unspoken.

you look up at him, eyes widening just slightly, and for a moment, the world slows down around you both. his breath catches as he realizes how close the two of you are, the touch lingering longer than usual. he’s always been good at hiding his feelings, but in that small, stolen moment, he’s not so sure anymore. he can feel the warmth of your skin against his, and the space between you feels impossibly small.

classmate!william who clears his throat softly, as though trying to dispel the sudden tension. “i… i didn’t mean to…” he starts, but his words die in his throat as your eyes meet his, soft and searching. you both stand there for a beat too long, as if neither of you knows exactly what to do.

then, almost instinctively, you step closer, closing the small distance between you both. his heart races as you look up at him, your gaze softening. and just like that, it feels like everything falls into place.

you’re not sure who leans in first, but the next thing you know, his lips are brushing against yours, tentative and gentle, like he’s testing the waters.

classmate!william who feels the warmth of your kiss seep through him, a surge of emotions he hasn’t quite figured out flooding his chest. it’s slow and careful at first, a quiet exploration of something neither of you has dared to voice out loud. but when you pull back, just a little, you both meet each other's eyes, and for the first time, the distance between you both feels so, so small.

he smiles faintly, a soft, genuine smile that reaches his eyes, and you can feel the gentle pull of something more than just affection—something deeper, something that’s been building for a while. “i… i didn’t expect that,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s a warmth in it, in the way his gaze lingers on you.

you simply smile back, feeling the butterflies settle in your stomach as you say, “neither did i.”

and for a moment, you both stand there, the world around you quiet, as the promise of something new lingers in the air between you.

classmate!william who hesitates when he sees you sitting alone on the metro, headphones in, your focus entirely on the view outside. it’s late, the lights of the city flashing by in a blur, and the car is almost empty except for a few quiet passengers. he shifts on his feet for a moment before finally walking over and taking the seat next to you.

“long day?” he asks softly, his voice low enough to not startle you. you glance up, surprised, and pull out one earbud, a small smile tugging at your lips when you see him.

“you could say that,” you reply, your voice tired but warm.

classmate!william who keeps stealing glances at you as the metro glides along its tracks, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence between your conversation. he notices the faint shadow of fatigue in your eyes, the way you rub at your temple absentmindedly. before he realizes it, he’s asking, “have you eaten?”

your head tilts at his sudden question, a small laugh escaping your lips. “no, not yet.”

he hums thoughtfully, pulling something from his bag—a neatly wrapped sandwich. “take it,” he says, holding it out. “it’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

you blink at him, surprised. “you didn’t have to—”

“just take it,” he interrupts, his tone firm but kind. there’s a faint blush on his cheeks as he looks away, pretending to focus on the advertisements flashing past the windows.

classmate!william who feels the subtle press of your arm against his as the train sways, the small, unintentional contact making his heart race in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

the metro comes to a brief stop, and more passengers file out, leaving the car nearly empty. the flickering overhead lights cast a dim glow, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world has melted away, leaving just the two of you.

classmate!william who catches your reflection in the window, the faint curve of a smile on your lips as you lean slightly closer to him. “thank you,” you murmur, breaking the silence.

he turns to you, his voice unusually soft. “for what?”

“for this,” you say, holding up the now half-eaten sandwich, “and for sitting with me.”

his gaze lingers on you, something tender and unfamiliar stirring in his chest. “it’s nothing,” he mutters, but the way his voice wavers slightly betrays him.

classmate!william who can’t stop himself when the train jerks slightly, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. his fingers brush against yours, and he feels the warmth of your skin—soft and real—and it makes his breath catch.

you glance down at your hands, then back up at him, your eyes meeting. the metro rocks gently, and the world seems to stand still as he leans in ever so slightly.

now it’s you who closes the gap, your lips brushing his in a soft, fleeting kiss that feels like a spark in the quiet hum of the train. it’s gentle, almost hesitant, but when you pull away, the look in his eyes is one of wonder.

classmate!william who stares at you for a moment, his hands coming to caress yours. his touch is deliberate, warm, and steady, a rare softness from someone so guarded. "name," he begins, his voice low but filled with conviction, "may i ask if you would like to have dinner with me?" he whispers, his golden gaze locked on yours, decided to show his feelings wholeheartedly for the first time.

you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, his question lingering in the air like a delicate melody. your heart flutters as you manage a shy smile, your hand still cradled in his. “yes, i would love to,” you reply softly, your voice tinged with quiet excitement.

classmate!william who feels a quiet sense of relief wash over him, though his heart still beats fast against his ribs. he doesn’t release your hand; instead, his thumb brushes over your knuckles gently, as though reassuring himself this moment is real. “then allow me to make it a night worth remembering,” he says, his tone confident but laced with a tenderness meant only for you.

you don’t miss the flicker of a smile that plays on his lips—a rare, genuine one that softens his usually composed demeanor. as he leads you out of the library, still holding your hand, you realize this is the start of something neither of you will ever forget.

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inknopewetrust · 10 months ago

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BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM [he’s a fictional character that doesn’t exist]

IM HAVING HIS BABY [no I’m not because he’s a fictional character]

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frost-queen · 6 months ago

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Outmatched series

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─-── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Anthony Bridgerton ✧ Holmes!Reader

🔎 part 1

🔎part 2

🔎part 3

🔎 part 4

🔎part 5

🔎part 6

🔎 part 7

🔎part 8

🔎part 9

🔎part 10 │Final chapter

🔎 epilogue

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x y/n #holmes reader #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes

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iguana-eyanna · 3 months ago

Text

To Break A Frozen Heart

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock loses the meaning of Christmas since he was a boy, but maybe he just needed a certain warmth to melt his frozen heart.

The frost-painted windowpanes scattered the shops illuminated the scene of bustling cheer as the distant songs of carolers echoed through the streets of London. Carriages were passing through the snow roads as young couples looked lovingly in each other's eyes.

Sherlock Holmes, on the other hand, observed the merriment with a distasteful frown as he was riding in the icy streets in a carriage. He adjusted his scarf, though the cold air was creeping in his lungs.

He hated Christmas with a passion. Since he was a child, his family was estranged to "affection" and "spirit of the holidays".

His mother did try to care for them but his father was a strict man, barely uttering a word to him and Mycroft as they were sent to reform school with no warning. No Christmas present was sent to the boys and Sherlock often escaped to the roof of his school and stared up in the stars, hoping that a shooting star could grant him just one Christmas to be spent with someone who cared for him.

But alas, his father later passed when Enola was a babe, Mycroft decided to be a stern government official, his mother shut off herself and Enola from the world, and Sherlock was forced to figure out life himself.

And now against his beliefs of staying at home and relearning Mozart's Symphony on his violin, he was forced to ride with a special heiress to one of the biggest landowners in England: You to be in fact. You were both traveling to Saint Jerome's orphanage as you often came to do acts of service and spend time with the children.

“I still don’t understand your enthusiasm for this season,” he muttered, looking at you with unamused eyes.

You, on the other hand, were glowing—dressed in a rich yet simple gown that complemented the joy dancing in your features, too gleeful to notice Sherlock's demeanor.

“Sherlock,” you said, placing a gentle hand on his lap.

“Christmas is a time to give, to bring warmth to those who need it. Surely, even the great detective can see the value in that.”

He huffed but said nothing as you wrapped your scarf tighter and prepared for the day’s itinerary. It was your first holiday with Sherlock, and you wanted to help warm up his cold heart. You thought maybe if you put things into perspective, he could find the child like joy he once forgot and take your courtship to a new beginning. But for now, you were grateful to take this one step with him.

Soon, you arrived to the St. Jerome's as Sherlock assisted you out of the carriage alongside a few sacks of treats and toys that you bought for the children.

"Oh Madam! It is so lovely to see you again." Mary, an elderly Scottish woman who was the main guardian said as she walked up to the two of you.

"Mary! It is lovely to see you again. I want to introduce you to a very special someone in my life, Mister Holmes."

Sherlock takes off his hat for formality and nods his head.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." He says respectfully.

"Come, come. Let us talk inside before you meet the children." She ushers you inside.

"We're going to meet the children?" He asks, not expecting to mingle.

You give him a stern look, ushering him to keep his snide remarks to himself as he reluctantly agrees to stay silent.

"Have any of the young boys and girls gone to new homes yet?" You ask as you settled in her office with Sherlock.

"A few have found homes, but some weren't so lucky. But we try to give them a good foundation here."

"I know Mary, you do so much work here. Never doubt that." You said as you gave her an enormous hug. Sherlock notices your deep connection to the guardian and ponders the relationship until a younger woman arrives in the office.

"Mary, the children are eager to meet the Madam as they saw her carriage by the front."

You smile widely, looking at Mary for permission. She couldn't help but smile back at you and cross her arms.

"You know what to do, love. Have fun."

Sherlock had to race after you with the leftover bags as you went into the dining hall where the children yelled out for joy at your presence.

You started to give fresh fruits, sweets, miniature wooden horses, trains, dolls to the young boys and girls. Sherlock saw how you embraced the children with such a free spirit, not fearing of ruining your dress or pick pocketing your personal items. You trusted these kids and they trusted you.

"Excuse me mister," a young boy says as he pulls the partial fabric from Sherlock's coat.

"I like your watch." He points out to the pocket watch that Sherlock sported.

"Oh... Thank you. It was my father's." He said, slowly kneeling to the boy's eye view.

"My father died last winter. Me and my sister couldn't keep any of his things." he said, bowing his head.

Sherlock felt a sudden pang in his chest. Was it remorse? He couldn't recognize the feeling but his eyes soften.

"I'm sorry to hear. My father died when I was younger too." Sherlock said.

"It's okay to cry. My sister, Florence, says it's okay to cry sometimes."

"Elias, where are you?" A voice cried out as the young boy in front of him whipped his head.

A girl who looked about 12 years old went up to the boy and Sherlock.

"Elias, I told you not to walk off without me knowing. I thought you ran off again!" The sister, Sherlock presumed, said as she held Elias tightly.

"Sorry, Florence." Elias said as he looks down.

Florence looks at the man suspiciously as she held Elias' hand.

"I'm sorry for the trouble mister. It won't happen again." She said as she ran off with Elias in tow.

Sherlock rose up, seeing the two siblings escape in the flow of children that were now eating or playing with their toys. He brushed himself off as he sought out to find you. He was bewildered to see you outside in the snow field as you were kicking a ball between the children in your velvet gown and heeled boots. You were smiling ear to ear, and saw how your nose was red like a cranberry. It made Sherlock chuckle a bit as he watched from afar.

“Mr. Holmes,” Mary said softly, approaching him with a cup of tea as Sherlock gratually took it.

“You’re lucky to have her. She’s a treasure.”

Sherlock beams with sudden pride. “I’m well aware.”

Mary looks and sees you tumble down accidentally from a sheet of ice. Sherlock almost ran out to help you, but you just broke into a fit of laughter. He even saw Florence and Elias nearby as they tried to help you up and saw how you talked to them intently.

"How often does she visit here?" He asks curiously.

"Since she became a young woman. Sure, high society would throw a coin our way to help them feed their reputation but not her. She comes every Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. She's an angel whose soul cradles a mother’s love, though her body cannot.”

Sherlock whips his head to her, knitting his eyebrows.

Mary frowned. “Did she ever tell you?"

The conflicted man turns away and looks down at the ground.

"No, she did not."

As the sun began to set, you bid a sad farewell to the children as they waved you goodbye as you left with Sherlock. Along the ride to your estate, you were confused of Sherlock's silence.

As you two shared a tense Christmas Eve meal together, you could sense his mind was elsewhere. It wasn't until you had enough and spoke aloud.

"Sherlock."

He blinks repeatedly, realizing he never touched his dinner.

"Is everything alright?" You ask with concern.

He looks up to you, feeling his emotions get the best of him.

"You lied to me." He says in a small voice.

"What do you mean?" You ask again.

Sherlock tried to lock eyes with you, but he couldn't face you.

"Why didn't you tell me you couldn't bear children?"

Your eyes rounded as well as your lips, but you set aside your cutlery as you placed your hands in your lap.

"Mary told you..." You said, not surprised.

Sherlock rose from his seat and started pacing around.

"I should have seen the signs. You showed no symptoms of your courses when we were together-"

"Sherlock..."

"-and when we pass new parents with their baby you wipe a tear from your face-"

"Sherlock-"

"-and all of these trips to St. Jerome's. You're just trying to fill this hole in your heart-"

"ENOUGH!" You stood up as he stopped. You couldn't believe what he just acclaimed, and you knew you had to put him in his place.

"This is why I didn't tell you, Sherlock. Firstly, I am not a case to be deduced and secondly, I dearly love those children. What you accuse otherwise is a distasteful remark."

You sit back down, feeling your words choke but refused to make eye contact with him.

"I was 17 when I found out. All my hopes to become a mother just... faded away. But then I see all of these children alone and cold during this time of year. That's when my purpose changed, that's when I wanted to become something bigger than myself."

Sherlock looks at your somber state, feeling the guilt rise up his throat. He tries to get closer to you.

"I... I didn't mean-"

You raise your hand in between you and him to create space.

"You have been nothing but cold and small minded today, Sherlock. I don't want someone like that in my life. And for that, I ask for you to leave, now."

Sherlock was stunned by your words but you were right. He has hurt your honor, and he was only making things worse with his presence.

He rushes out of the dining room and collected his coat and hat, as he heard soft cries behind him.

Sherlock just decided to walk back to his apartment to make sense of your past secret.

Why did you not tell him? How did he not notice all these clues?

His thoughts grew louder until a small figure bumped into him and ran away.

Sherlock looks down to see if anything was missing until he realized his pocket watch was missing. He whips his head back and forth until he sees the same figure by a lamp post.

"You! Stop there!" Sherlock yells as he raced the fast figure.

They were at an arm's length and Sherlock grabbed them by the arm and turned them around, wanting to confront his burglar.

"Alright young man, why did you do such a-"

Sherlock's words get swallowed as he realizes he found Florence, whose hair was tucked in a hat as she held the clock firmly in her other hand.

"I'm sorry sir, I had to! Please don't turn me into the police. I'm the only family Elias has!"

Sherlock's face slacks as he unfurls his brow and gives a solemn look.

"I won't turn you in, but we are going to St. Jerome's to have a chat with Miss Mary."

Sherlock returns back to the orphanage with Florence as Mary shares fruitful words to the young girl.

"How dare you steal this man's watch, Florence. After everything him and the Madam did for us today... what do you say to him?" She scolds.

Florence looks back to the tall man and lowers her head.

"I'm sorry again Mr. Holmes." As she began to almost tear up.

Sherlock kneels down and gently smiles at her.

"It's alright Florence. My only hopes is that you never steal again."

"Go to bed, my dear girl, we will discuss your punishment tomorrow morning." Mary says.

Florence runs off, and Sherlock suddenly feels another pang in his chest.

"I do hope you don't give her a heavy punishment. She only had good intentions for her brother." He says as Mary sat by her table.

"We do not give rash punishments, but she will help around with chores around the building. But her heart is in the right place. Elias was sought for adoption, but he refused as he didn’t want to be separated from his sister since they didn’t have enough money to have the two of them. Florence must have thought if she could find the funds, they’d still be with each other.”

"That's a shame. They look very close to another." Sherlock responds, still thinking of his time here during the day.

"Do you have any siblings, Mr. Holmes?" Mary asks.

"A younger sister and an older brother." He says.

"Are you close to them?" She asks.

"I... try." He says, recollecting when was the last time he has been with Enola and Mycroft in the same vicinity.

But his thought fly elsewhere as his fixation of you grew.

"How did I not know of her condition?" he mutters to himself.

"We are often blinded from certain truths when one falls in love." Mary said as she goes up to the detective, who looked like he was carrying the weight of the world.

"When I first met the Madam, I knew from the start that she had an ache in her soul. But she pushed her problems away cause she there was so many others who faced more struggle than her. She may not mother children, but she's the reason why young boys and girls are given a childhood. Shouldn't that count for something?"

Sherlock stiffened, his sharp mind piecing together every memory, every fleeting comment you’d made about your past. He realized he’d never asked deeply, never probed. You’d shared your wealth, your kindness, and your heart, but not your history.

That shouldn't be the reason he should lose you forever.

"There's something I must do... but i acquire great help."

Mary beams proudly.

"Let's get to work."

You look out your window, seeing the snow fall down in the streets. It was Christmas evening, and it was silent in your estate. Although it was adorned with decorations and your staff grateful that they have been given bigger income for this time of year, your heart still felt heavy. You tried to move on and forget what Sherlock has said to you.

You then gotten dressed for the day as you were to return for the orphanage to help cook a Christmas dinner for the young children.

As you soon arrived, you knit your brow as many carriages lined around the streets of St. Jerome’s. Many status of class arrived with high spirits as you saw them holding boxed gifts or pantries of food. Once you entered the building, you gasped at the sight.

The building you we’re once in just the other day is filled of working class and upper class that mingled together as they entertained the children with songs or shared a meal together. Little boys and girls circled around a man who was carrying them or throwing them up in the air as they yelled for joy.

The man then resembled to…

“Sherlock?” You question yourself.

“Isn’t he a sight for sore eyes, love?” Mary asks as you whip your head to her

“Mary, what is going on?” You inquire.

“Sherlock happened. He stayed up all night decorating and spreading the word that that every child deserves a home. I was afraid there wouldn’t be enough children to go to new families but Mr. Holmes assured me otherwise.”

“That is correct. I contacted my family and they were quite moved to make sure no one was left behind.” Sherlock walks up to the two of you as he was smiling ear to ear.

You look around and you see a group of girls huddled around a group of women who were teaching them a sort of defense class as the young girls looked bewildered. An older woman winks at you before she returns her lesson.

You see Sherlock’s older brother, Mycroft, as he was reading A Christmas Carol to young children and adults. He looked so at ease, you almost didn’t recognize the man.

You then saw Enola as she was holding a young boy’s hand, as she introduced him to a distant relative that lived in the country side. They had a joyful reunion as you couldn’t help but wipe a tear from your eye.

“Sherlock, this is so wonderful.” You said.

Sherlock holds you in his arms as you felt the warmth radiating from his chest.

“Darling, you started this. Once I told others your name and how you devoted your time and wealth at St. Jerome’s, they found it in their hearts to do the same. I know I did.”

He brought you to a quiet corner as he held both of your hands.

"I have been unfair and unkind to you. The words I exchanged... they were out of insecurity. I hope that you can forgive me."

"Of course I do, Sherlock..."

"No. It's not enough. You've given so much to me in the time that i've known you. Your generosity, your ambition, your character... it makes me want to be a better man for you."

He kneels down with one knee and you gasp silently, slightly shaking your hands.

"Sherlock..." You knelt down as your eyes grew wide.

"I want to grow with you. I want us to build our life in an abundance of love and generosity. I want us to grow our family-"

"But you know I can't give you that." You said, your eyes watering.

"That's why they have something to give you." He said, motioning behind.

You saw Elias and Florence smiling widely as the young boy held the paper for you to grab. You reach over, confused until you open the seal, gasping loudly as you switch your head between the siblings and Sherlock.

"You're going to adopt them?" You ask.

"We are going to adopt them. You've shown me that family lies deeper than blood and bone. I want us to experience everything in this world, if you have me."

"And us!" Florence said, as she and Elias neared the two of you.

Sherlock laughs as he grabs a ring from his pocket and offers it to you.

"Will you make me the happiest man on Christmas Day and marry me?"

You nod your head as you smile ear to ear, grabbing Sherlock's face as you kiss him tenderly. An echoes of "ews" were exchanged between the siblings until you and Sherlock locked them in an enormous embrace.

"So we're going to be a family?" Elias asks you.

"Yes, my little Eli... we will together every Christmas, birthday, and every other day." You said

"I like that very much." Florence commented, smiling between her parents.

"Me too," Sherlock concluded, as he gave you one last kiss before you four walked back to the festivities where you shared the news and cheer.

These were the moments you cherished the most with your future husband, as life became a little more merry.

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes enola holmes #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes henry cavill #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic

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asgards-princess-of-mischief · 1 year ago

Text

Last Updated: 2024-05-30

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite BBC!Sherlock Holmes stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

✑ A Week Early￨Prt. II￨Prt. III by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: You and Sherlock are having your first children; who've thought the famously emotionless detective would be such an anxious father.

✑ A Little Love and Lots of Laughs by eurusholmmes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "It's been five years since you met Sherlock Holmes, four since you fell in love, and three since you married. [Now], you have [two children] who... happen to love picnics, swimming and spending time with their cousin Rosie and Uncle John."

✑ Absence of You by lykaonimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "[You're] away on a mission…, leaving Sherlock to wrestle mentally with his importance in [your] life and how badly he wants [you] home."

✑ Always Attract by luxwritesfanfic • 〔F᜶M〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "The strobe lights won't stop blinding him and Sherlock can't seem to shake the feeling that he's missing out, until he realizes he isn't."

✑ Bedside Manner by luxwritesfanfic • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: "Sherlock figures out who the father is and [a cat's got your] tongue."

✑ Brother, Annoying Brother by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 •

Summary: Sherlock's, once again, struggling to express feelings, refusing to admit he fancies you. Luckily, Mycroft knows just how to get him to confess.

✑ Champagne Problems by leftperfectionmoon • 〔A᜶C〕 •

Summary: reader turns down her boyfriend when he proposes to her as she has been in love with sherlock all this time.

✑ Closed for Today by coppercatswrites • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Sherlock closes shop to take care of you while you're sick.

✑ Date Night by writefortherain-blog • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: It had been a while since you and Sherlock had a day off…

✑ Don't Let Me Cave In by luxwritesfanfic • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: Sherlock'll never get away from the sound of the women that love him and it brings more peace to him than he could ever imagine he could possess.

✑ Don't You Dare Say "I'm Sorry" by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔M〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "Sherlock Holmes had sparred with many an intimidating nemesis. He'd faced off against the most fierce, twisted, cold, hard, calculating, fearful opponents known to man, however none of adversaries that had come before had invoked such terror and panic as the one he was currently staring down."

✑ Emotions and Experiments by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 •

Summary: …

✑ Exact Opposite by lykaonimagines • 16+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "When his brother still refuses to get dressed and take the case he has for him seriously, Mycroft calls [you in] to handle the situation."

✑ Expectant by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F᜶M〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "[You're] acting strange, and Sherlock notices. [After] confessing the truth and... He struggles to find the words."

✑ Feeling is Mutual, the by classickook • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: "You've been harbouring a crush on Sherlock for quite some time now but are determined to keep it a secret for as long as [possible]. Foolish of you to think he wouldn't figure it out... and maybe he'll even return your sentiment?"

✑ Game is On, the by classickook • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "You have a little surprise for Sherlock that turns out differently than you had originally planned."

✑ Good Girl by all-fandoms-fiction • 18+ • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "..."

✑ Headache by bewarethecrazyperson • 〔F᜶C〕 • 🚫 •

Summary: "...While it was rare for you to get a proper headache, it wasn't unfamiliar for you or the boys when one resurfaced. They usually let you be, knowing that rest, medication and sleep would usually take care of the problem. [However,] what happens when you accidentally take one of Sherlock's pills?"

✑ Holmes, the by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 •

Summary: When Sherlock's parents invite you to dinner, mistaking you for his girlfriend, it pushes their son to finally tell you how he feels.

✑ If You're Shy (Let Me Know) by classickook • 18+ • 〔E᜶M᜶F〕 •

Summary: "When Irene won't stop teasing you about your lack of experience, Sherlock comes to your defence and maybe even proves the woman wrong."

✑ Ignorance and Lunch Dates by thepokyone • 〔M᜶F〕 •

Summary: "Sherlock was clever. Everybody knew that - especially you, considering you had been friends with him since high school. Being friends with Sherlock had its pros, but it also had its cons."

✑ Kidnapped by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ • 🚫 •

Summary: {…}

✑ Kissing Advice by imagine-by-susu • 〔A᜶C〕 •

Summary: When Irene taunts Sherlock with his sexual inexperience, the detective seeks out your advise on the matter. However, the situation does go quite how Sherlock hoped…

✑ Let's Have Dinner￨Prt. II by classickook • 〔A〕 •

Summary: "as Sherlock's neighbor and friend, you've spent quite a bit of time with the detective and developed feelings for him. unfortunately for you, however, his heart belongs to another."

✑ Make Up by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Although you never enjoy fighting with Sherlock, you love making up afterwards.

✑ Nicknames by leftperfectionmoon • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "4 times you used nicknames for Sherlock."

✑ On Edge￨Prt. II by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 18+ • 〔E〕 •

Summary: "Sherlock has no cases and John forbid him to smoke... [leading] Sherlock to find other ways to take out his frustration and, at the same time, showing [you] what it's like to be on edge."

✑ Other Woman, the by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 18+ • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: {…}

✑ Rest of Our Lives￨Prt. II by lykaonimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Sherlock returns home late after a week long case, and contemplates the current state of their relationship."

✑ Safe Space by lykaonimagines • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "During an argument over one of Sherlock's experiments, [you realize] some events in his life have impacted him more than he usually let on."

✑ Talking Out Loud by high-functioning-lokipath • 〔F᜶M〕 •

✑ Tipsy by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: When John and Sherlock return to the flat, absolutely smashed, it's up to you and Mrs. Hudson to ensure they're looked after.

✑ Waltz by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 •

Summary: {…}

✑ White Lillies by leftperfectionmoon • 〔F〕 •

Summary: You mistakenly confess you feelings to Sherlock, as it happens his reaction is rather sweet.

✑ Woman, the by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "[You] enters 221B and instantly notices the smell of another woman's perfume. [You realize] it's Irene Adler who is [trying] to convince Sherlock that she is a better woman for him."

✑ Woman Who Was No Lady, the by whereiputtheotherstuff • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: A tense conversation with Irene Adler makes Sherlock realize something extraordinary about you.

✑ Why Do I Want to Do This Again by imagine-by-susu •

Summary: "..."

✑ You Don't Know Him Like I Do by classickook • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "You're sick and tired of constantly hearing insults thrown at Sherlock about how he handles his emotions."

✑ Your Stupid Face by gaitwae • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Sherlock is too proud to admit to anybody he likes you, but John knows."

✑ Affirmation by eurusholmmes • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ All Day by classickook • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Ambiguity of Man by gaitwae • 〔M᜶F〕 •

✑ Announcement, the by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔M〕 •

✑ Bad Day by oneshots-imagines-and-that • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Bagels by quillsandcauldroncakes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Birds and Bathtubs by deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Blissful Morning by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Boring Days, the by thepokyone • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Cuddling? Cuddling. by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating and Doctors by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Do Something! by galactic-academia • 〔F〕 •

✑ Enjoy the Show Brother by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ F*ck It by coppercatswrites • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ I Love You by imagine-by-susu • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Jaw Kisses by eurusholmmes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Keep Breathing by eurusholmmes • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Lying Detective, the by deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Made for Each Other by leftperfectionmoon • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Measurements by classickook • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Morning Light by lykaonimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Move in with Me? by imagine-upon-a-star • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Never Stood a Chance by luxwritesfanfic • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ New Family by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ No Flirting by leftperfectionmoon • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Not on the Couch by imagine-by-susu • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Our First Kiss by eurusholmmes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Our Little Game by justauthoring • 〔F〕 •

✑ Psychology of Cute by oneshots-imagines-and-that • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Resurrection by moonlightsong • 〔A᜶F〕 •

✑ Rewritten Memory by gaitwae • 〔F〕 •

✑ Safe in Your Arms by classickook • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Stressed by generallynerdy • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Tease by classickook • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Tell It Like It Is by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ There's No One Else For You by all-fandoms-fiction • 〔M〕 •

✑ These Words Of Mine by eurusholmmes • 〔A〕 •

✑ Thinking Out Loud by quillsandcauldroncakes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Wake Up by scribblesandimaginings • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Wedding Day by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Why Did You Kiss Me? by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 •

✑ Babysitting Rosie w/ Sherlock... by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 • 𑁍 •

✑ Being Sherlock's Pregnant Wife... by tessimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Cuddling w/ Sherlock... by spilledkauffie • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating Sherlock Holmes… by dragon-kazansky • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating Sherlock Holmes... by spilledkauffie • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

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star-girl-05 · 5 months ago

Text

MINE

Jim Moriarty x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

‘Why are you at Hospital?’ you stare at the text, confusion all over your face. The first being who the hell is texting you?, and how did they know where you are? You look around the room for anyone out of place. Finding nothing you turn back to your phone.

‘Who is this?’ your phone dings with a text almost instantly.

‘It’s Moriarty, Love’ you visibly freeze. ‘But you can call me Jim 💕✨’

You have so many questions yet you're asking, ‘Why are you texting me?’

‘I saw you were at hospital, I thought I was going to have to kill someone’

‘What the hell do you mean by that? How did you know I was at the hospital anyway?’ you stare at your phone this is the first time he hasn’t texted you back instantly.

‘I always keep an eye on my assets’, is he implying what you think he is? ‘Your mine, afterall can’t let anyone hurt you’ Your eyes widen almost comically. Jim Moriarty, self proclaimed villain just told you were his. How are you supposed to respond to that? You’ve only met him a handful of times, half of them with Sherlock, and you would not describe them as ‘friendly’. So where on earth did he get the idea that you fancied him.

‘I’m not yours’ it should be obvious to him that you would never date him. Yet here you are rejecting him over text.

‘You are, you just don’t know it yet’ you don’t text back just pocketing your phone. Trying to forget the conversation ever happened, especially when Sherlock comes dragging you away.

He was just messing around, trying to get in your head. At least that's what you tell yourself. Until you return home and find a large bouquet and a card.

To My Love, Im deadly Serious your MINE Yours, Jim Moriarty

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imjustatorturedpoet · 18 days ago

Text

Meet me in the Hallway

chapter eleven: Murder pays here.

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Reader

also available on ao3

word count: 7,7k

------

You were drowning in him.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth was on your neck—hot, open-mouthed kisses, teeth scraping just enough to make you arch into him. You felt him suck on your sensitive skin. That would surely leave a dark mark on you tomorrow.

"What’s wrong, sweetheart?" Young-il’s voice was all taunt and sin, thick with amusement as his lips dragged lower, his breath searing against your skin.

"Cat got your tongue? That’s new."

You tried to speak—tried to push out something, anything, but his hands were skimming down your sides, his knee slotting between your legs, pressing right where you needed him most.

Your breath hitched, fingers tangling in his hair—fuck, he felt good beneath your hands. Young-il laughed, low and delighted, like this was fun for him.

"Don’t get shy on me now."

His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles, hovering right over the entrance to your core but refusing to give in.

"Look at you. Desperate, dripping, fucking ruined for me. And I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Your lips parted—a gasp, a whimper, something that made his smirk curve against your throat. He grips your hips with both hands, his touch firm, deliberate. His tongue traces slow, teasing circles around your navel before he drags his teeth over your skin.

Then, he moves, mouth trailing from one hipbone to the other, taking his time, savouring every inch. The heat in your stomach twisted tighter, unbearable, and when his fingers finally dipped lower, barely brushing over—

“Hey, sweetie. Wake up."

The dream shattered. Your eyes snapped open, lungs burning, pulse still racing from the ghost of his hands, his mouth, his body—

Oh, fuck.

Reality slammed back into place—the dormitory, the bunks, the murmur of other players.

Young-il.

You were still curled against him, your head resting on his chest, his steady breath ruffling your hair. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The memories rushed in—how you were so tired, how he let you lay against him, how his warmth pulled you under before you could overthink it. And now? Now, you were half on top of him, legs tangled too intimately, your body still humming from the dream.

Slowly—so painfully slowly—you peeled yourself away, forcing yourself upright. Young-il barely reacted. He just blinked at you, his expression normal. Like he didn’t know.

“You good?” His voice was rough. Unbothered.

You swallowed hard, willing your body to calm the fuck down. “Yeah. Fine.”

He stretched, rolling his shoulders, completely unfazed. "Gi-hun asked me to wake you up. He wants to talk. Something about a plan for tonight."

Right. The game. Lights out.

You forced yourself to focus, to ignore the heat still curling low in your stomach, the ghost of his breath against your skin. You moved to stand up—almost free—when—

“Oh, by the way."

Young-il’s voice was casual, almost an afterthought. He sat up, rolling his neck. Then—he looked at you. Dead in the eye.

“You talk in your sleep. Ever noticed?”

Shit.

Your throat tightened, heat creeping up your neck—traitorous and unstoppable. Young-il’s expression didn’t shift—not at first. He just watched you, face unreadable, like he was waiting to see how you’d react. And then the smirk. Slow. Unhinged.

Your pulse spiked.

He murmured, voice dripping with amusement, "Didn’t wanna wake you up at first. You looked like you were having such a good time."

Your entire body went stiff. “You heard—"

And then, before you could even finish your sentence—

He moaned.

A slow, drawn-out, shamelessly exaggerated moan, pitched just enough to sound eerily similar to what you might have sounded like in your sleep.

You froze. Every nerve in your body misfired at once.

It wasn’t just the sound. It was the way he did it. He sighed through it, shifting his weight like he was getting comfortable, like he was recreating the entire moment. His eyelashes fluttered, his lips parted just slightly, and—oh my god, he was actually doing this.

You just stared, horrified, as he let it drag out for a second too long before blinking at you, face completely neutral, as if nothing had happened.

“Sound familiar?” he mused.

Oh. He was evil.

“Are you fucking ser—" Your voice broke. You cleared your throat, scrambling for something, anything, that would erase the smugness from his face, but it was impossible.

He was already grinning, shifting slightly like he was settling in to enjoy the show, completely at ease, like this was the highlight of his night.

“Don’t look so flustered,” he drawled, stretching lazily, his spine popping like he was shaking off sleep. "I mean, I know, it was pretty convincing. Not quite as sweet as the real thing, though. I’d rate it, hmm…"

He tapped his chin in mock thought, dragging it out.

"Eight out of ten?" He tilted his head. "No, seven. Points off for lack of desperation. You sounded way more needy in your sleep."

You wanted to die. Right here. Right now. But you wanted- no, needed him more.

He watched the slow, inevitable breakdown happening behind your eyes, clearly relishing it. And then, as if he hadn’t just destroyed your will to live, he clapped his hands together lightly.

"Well, anyway. Gi-hun’s waiting."

You exhaled, desperate to pull yourself together, desperate to move on, desperate to pretend this had never happened. You forced your legs to move, to stand up and step past him and put as much distance between you as possible, but just as you brushed past—

A quiet chuckle.

Then, voice low and far too entertained, “You sounded so pretty. A shame I wasn’t actually there to hear it properly.”

Your brain short-circuited. Your entire body ignited in flames.

And Young-il? Young-il just walked away, completely at ease, like he hadn’t just ruined your existence.

I hate him. I hate him. God help me, I want him.

He walked ahead without a care, his usual lazy, confident stride eating up the space between you and the others. You should have followed immediately. You should have focused on what mattered—the plan, the vote, the danger that was coming when the lights went out.

But all you could think about was his voice, that teasing lilt still curling in your ears.

"You sounded so pretty. A shame I wasn’t actually there to hear it properly."

And he? He had the audacity to act like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just obliterated your sense of self-preservation with a single line.

Your hands clenched. He was insufferable. A menace. A walking disaster in human form. And still—you followed. Silently.

The dormitory buzzed with hushed murmurs, the weight of tomorrow’s vote settling over the remaining players like a thick fog. Some sat in small groups, whispering among themselves. Others still hunched over their food, eating methodically, as if conserving their energy. No one spared you a second glance as you trailed behind Young-il, weaving through the scattered bunks and empty spaces where people had once slept.

It wasn’t long before the familiar spot came into view—a small corner at the base of the staircase, where Gi-hun and the others were gathered. The moment Young-il reached them, he didn’t even hesitate—he just sat down, stretching out like he had all the time in the world.

You, on the other hand, hovered at the edge of the group for a fraction too long.

Jung-bae noticed first. “You alright?”

You blinked, forcing your body to relax, to shove the lingering embarrassment, heat, and absolute need to strangle Young-il deep, deep down.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, moving to sit beside Gi-hun, avoiding Young-il’s gaze entirely.

He noticed. Of course he did. You could feel his eyes flick toward you—just for a second, just long enough for amusement to spark at the edges of his smirk—before he turned his attention elsewhere, as if he’d already forgotten.

Bastard.

Gi-hun exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, listen up-“

“The following players have been eliminated. Player 230, 268, 299 331, and 401. End of the list.”

The ceiling rattled. The unmistakable sound of cash spilling into the massive glass piggy bank echoed through the room, loud, final.

Five more gone. The number burned itself into your brain. Five more bodies. Five more people who had been breathing, talking, existing just minutes ago.

380,000,000 won per person.

No one moved. No one spoke. Every set of eyes in the dormitory stayed locked on that damn piggy bank.

Waiting for an explanation. What else could lead to eliminations other than the games?

Oh. Killing each other. But you would’ve noticed that. Anyone would’ve noticed if people were going at each other’s throats in the dormitory. There would’ve been noise—screaming, struggling, something. Five people don’t just disappear without a sound.

Unless it wasn’t in the dormitory?

Your fingers twitched against your arm. Oh god.

If they were planning an attack tonight, then now they knew for sure—killing each other raised the prize money.

Good fucking god.

A cold wave of dread washed over you, settling deep in your stomach. Before, it had just been paranoia, just a theory—a worst-case scenario lurking in the back of your mind. But now? Now it was fact. Now everyone knew.

Five people dead meant five fewer competitors, five fewer obstacles, five fewer hands reaching for the prize. And with every drop of blood spilled, the piggy bank above swelled.

The people running this place had dangled a knife in front of desperate people and then given them the perfect reason to use it. And tonight, those people were going to be more desperate than ever.

Your breath came a little too fast, your pulse a little too loud.

The O players had been planning to attack anyway. But now? Now they wouldn’t hesitate.

You dragged your gaze across the dormitory, scanning the faces around you, searching for the same realisation, for the same horror sinking into your bones. Some people looked shocked, disturbed, unsettled—but others?

Others weren’t looking at the money with fear.

They were looking at it with calculation. Like Player 100.

You had to stop the bloodshed before it spiralled into something unstoppable. Because if people gave in to the temptation—if even one person let themselves see murder as a shortcut—then it wouldn’t stop at five bodies.

It wouldn’t stop at ten.

It wouldn’t stop at all.

You exhaled slowly, forcing the panic down, pressing it into something cold, something sharp, something useful.

Think.

The O players were already planning to strike tonight, and now they had every reason to go through with it. That meant you needed a plan, a defence, a way to keep as many people breathing by morning as possible.

But how?

Your gaze flickered toward Gi-hun. He looked tense but focused, like he was already running through scenarios in his head. Good. At least you weren’t the only one thinking.

Then you glanced at Young-il. He wasn’t tense. He wasn’t even watching the piggy bank. No, he was watching you.

His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something knowing, something assessing. You inhaled slowly. Of course he’d noticed your reaction. Of course he’d picked up on the way your entire body had gone rigid, the way your mind had started sprinting the second the announcement was made. He knew exactly what you were thinking.

Jung-bae’s voice cut through the tense silence, his brows furrowed. "What’s going on?"

Gi-hun didn’t answer. He just looked at him, a brief glance, but it was enough—he had no idea either. Then, the doors groaned open. Both sides flooded in. O players from one side, X players from the other.

Blood. It was everywhere.

Dripping down foreheads, staining clothes, smeared over hands and necks and bruised knuckles. Some of it had dried, darkening the fabric, while fresh streaks still glistened under the dim lights.

Was it theirs? Was it someone else's?

Then, chaos.

A familiar face broke through the crowd—one you recognised instantly. The guy you had fought on the first day. He wasn’t walking—he was running, shoving past bodies, frantic, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Listen, team O! We—We—When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us! They killed some of us, including my friend—"

Before you could react, before you could even process the accusation, a strong arm curled around your waist. Young-il. He had moved without hesitation, standing, pulling you close, his grip firm, steady—protective. Your pulse jumped.

But you had no time to dwell on it, because the second that accusation left his mouth, the room erupted.

"Bullshit," Player 047 spat, stepping forward with his jaw clenched, eyes blazing. "You’re the ones who started it. Damn it. They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!"

Another player backed him up immediately. "That’s right!"

Player 192 scoffed, shaking his head, fury dripping from his words. "You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!"

"Fuck you," another X player snapped. "You killed some of us too! Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?"

The air was suffocating. Shouting. Accusations. A storm of voices crashing into each other, spitting blame, fuelling the fire.

It had happened. The thing you feared the most. The killing had started. The first blood had been drawn, and now, no one was willing to take the fall.

Your chest tightened. It didn’t matter who threw the first punch. It only mattered who lost more. Who would have an advantage tomorrow during the vote? But that wasn’t the only thought that crossed your mind.

This was what they wanted.

The ones running this game. The ones watching from their hidden screens, their high towers, their comfortable seats. They wanted blood. And now, they had it.

The tension snapped like a whip when Player 100’s voice cut through the chaos, his tone sharp, demanding.

"So? Which side lost more people?"

The shouting didn’t stop, but it shifted, twisted into something meaner, more desperate.

Player 203 joined in, nodding, face tight with anger. "Yeah, that’s right! Let’s count ourselves! Come on down!"

A ripple of movement. Player 047 turned, heading toward your side, his expression hard as he started gathering the X players. Dae-ho’s voice boomed across the room, raw with urgency.

"We need everyone down here! Come on!"

Soon, every X player sat down on the stairs. You were next to Young-il, his hand settling on your thigh, the warmth of it grounding you. A steady, quiet reassurance.

Player 047 did a quick count. “48.” His voice was sharp, clipped. He exhaled hard before sinking down onto the steps. “Two people died on our side.”

From somewhere behind Player 246, a woman spoke up. “Two out of five. That means they lost three people.”

Player 380, sitting on the far right, perked up. “Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow.”

You wanted to believe that. You really did. Winning the vote. Getting out of here. Making it to tomorrow with your life intact. And maybe seeing Young-il in the outside world. It sounded so easy when she said it like that, like it was a guarantee, like all you had to do was sit tight and wait for the morning. But you knew better.

The O players weren’t going to just sit back and accept a loss. They weren’t going to wake up tomorrow, walk to the voting station, and calmly accept their fate. That wasn’t how this worked. That wasn’t how desperation worked.

They knew that killing increased the prize money. If they were already planning an attack before, what were they going to do now? Now that they had proof, now that they had seen the numbers drop and the money rain from the ceiling, now that they had felt firsthand the way bloodshed made the piggy bank heavier? It didn’t matter that the X players had the numbers now. It didn’t matter that, on paper, you had the advantage. You had been here long enough to know that logic didn’t mean shit in a place like this.

The O players didn’t need to convince anyone to change their vote. They didn’t need to outnumber you in the dormitory. They just needed to kill enough of you before morning. Then, when the second vote came, they’d win by default.

Jung-bae straightened, his posture shifting like something had just clicked in his mind. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the group, whispers of cautious optimism.

“Yes, we’ll finally get out.”

“We have the numbers now.”

“Just one more night.”

But to your left, Young-il still looked stone-faced, unreadable. And to your right, Gi-hun’s expression remained grim, eyes scanning the room like he was already bracing for something worse. Honestly, you felt the same.

It wasn’t that simple. The O players were desperate. They had nothing to lose. They would try again. Not in the bathrooms this time. Right here. While you slept.

The PA system crackled to life overhead. “Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

The announcement settled like a weight over the room.

Player 047 stood again, his voice firm. “Listen. You cannot change your minds.” He swept his gaze over the group, eyes flashing with urgency. “We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. All right?”

A chorus of nods, murmured agreements. But despite the reassurances, Young-il and Gi-hun still weren’t convinced. Neither were you.

Jung-bae clapped his hands together lightly, trying to lift the tension. “All right. Let’s go to sleep now, shall we?”

The O players eventually moved, walking toward their bunks, but not before throwing a few lingering glances your way. And not just with frustration or disappointment. No, this was something different.

Their expressions were dark, almost calculating.

Player 100 and Player 044, in particular, had their eyes locked onto you. Not your group. Not Young-il. Not Gi-hun. You.

Their movements were slow, deliberate—like they wanted you to know they weren’t done yet. You met their stare. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t waver. You just glared. A message, clear and direct—I see you, too.

The X players didn’t give them a second glance and moved towards their beds. But you didn’t move. Neither did Gi-hun or Young-il.

The three of you stayed put, standing on the stairs, watching as the others shuffled off. The dormitory filled with the quiet rustling of players settling in, shifting blankets, the occasional murmur of hushed conversation. But under it all, the tension remained thick, stretching tight across the room like an invisible wire ready to snap.

You swallowed hard, glancing toward Young-il. He was still. Too still. His gaze was locked onto the O players, tracking their every movement, but his expression gave nothing away. You exhaled through your nose, your heartbeat heavy in your ears.

The 30-minute countdown continued ticking in the background. You had half an hour to figure out how to make it to morning.

Your fingers curled around Young-il’s hand first, instinct guiding you more than anything else. His grip was solid, warm, immediate, like he’d been waiting for you to do it. He didn’t question it. He just squeezed your hand in return, his thumb brushing over your knuckles once before going still. Then, your other hand shot out, grabbing Gi-hun’s upper arm. He barely had time to react before you tugged at him.

“Come on,” you muttered, your voice low, urgent.

Gi-hun didn’t argue. He let you pull him along, falling into step without hesitation, his expression still tight with thought.

You moved as one, weaving through the players who were still settling in, stepping around the ones whispering about the vote. The quiet hum of conversation blurred into the background as you honed in on your target—your group. Dae-ho, Jun-hee, Jung-bae, Player 246, the mother and son, and a few others who had chosen to side with you in this mess.

As you approached, Jun-hee looked up, immediately noticing the way your shoulders were squared, the way you were still gripping Young-il and Gi-hun like you refused to let go.

She frowned. “Are we discussing the plan now?”

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep moving. “Yes, come on, we don’t have much time.”

Dae-ho sat up straighter, glancing between you and Young-il, reading the unspoken tension. His brows furrowed. “Now?”

“Now.”

Jung-bae muttered something under his breath but didn’t protest. One by one, your group shuffled toward the spot behind the stairs, moving quickly but cautiously. Every step felt heavier than the last. Your pulse drummed beneath your skin, steady but sharp, like your body was already bracing for something.

You sat down, instinctively settling beside Young-il on the cold floor. His presence was a steady weight beside you— calm, composed. You barely glanced at him, eyes scanning the others as they settled into place.

Dae-ho crouched low, peering through the gaps between the bed frames, his expression hardening. His fingers curled into the metal bar, knuckles whitening as he watched the O players across the room.

“Those bastards are acting suspicious,” he muttered, voice low but tense. “It looks like they’re up to something.”

No shit. You didn’t need to look to know that. The O players had been radiating bad intentions all night, their glances too sharp, their movements too calculated.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jung-bae cut in first. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it’ll all be over.”

You wanted to believe that. You really did. But you knew better. “That’s what we need to talk about,” you said.

Gi-hun’s voice was grim. “Once the lights go out, people on the other side will kill us.”

The son’s voice was hesitant. “Really?”

You exhaled through your nose, jaw tightening. “They wanted to attack anyway, to force us to change our minds so they can win the vote. We knew that. But now? Now those greedy bastards know murder adds to the jackpot. If they get just two of us, they win the damn vote.”

A hush fell over the group. Player 007 shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching against his knees. “So what do we do?” His voice was tight, edged with fear.

Then Young-il leaned forward. “Let’s attack them first.”

Your breath caught. Not because the words were shocking, but because they were exactly what you had already been thinking.

Your gaze flickered toward him, but he wasn’t looking at you—he was watching Gi-hun, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed despite the weight of his words. He said it so casually, so simply, like he had already made up his mind. Like it was the obvious solution. And maybe it was.

Player 100 and Player 044 had wanted you dead for longer than just tonight. That much was clear. And there was no way in hell you were going to sit around and let them take their shot first.

But Gi-hun’s glare burned into Young-il like a warning. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw was clenched, his eyes sharp with unspoken accusation. Was he seriously suggesting murder?

Young-il barely reacted. He only tilted his head slightly, as if considering the weight of Gi-hun’s silence before speaking again.

“They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote,” he said evenly. “We can use it to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

Player 047 nodded immediately, already agreeing. “That’s right. It’d be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance at winning.”

Player 145 exhaled, his jaw set. “I agree.”

It was shifting now. The group was leaning toward violence. A preemptive strike. And honestly? You weren’t sure if that scared you or relieved you.

But Gi-hun didn’t hesitate, “We can’t do that.”

His voice was steady. Firm.

You turned your head slightly, watching the way his fingers curled into fists, the way his shoulders tensed like he was preparing to hold back the entire group if he had to.

A fracture was forming in your group, thin but dangerous. And if it cracked? If it broke? The night wasn’t just going to be a bloodbath. It was going to be war.

"We can. And we have to.”, you keep your voice steady, even as the weight of what you're saying settles over the group.

Gi-hun is already shaking his head, lips parting to argue, but you don’t let him. Not yet.

"You think waiting will save us? You think hoping for the best will keep us alive until morning?" You scoff, glancing around at the others. "They were already planning to attack us, Gi-hun. You think they're gonna stop now?."

Your fingers tighten around your knees.

"We sit back, we do nothing, and we lose. Because they won’t hesitate. They won’t stop at one or two. They’ll keep going until there are none of us left."

Gi-hun exhales sharply, his hands curling into fists, but still, he says nothing.

"We have more numbers, more people to protect. More people who can't fight back the way they can." Your voice wavers slightly, but you don’t stop. "What do you think will happen if we just wait? If we sit here and let them make the first move? People will die. People who don’t deserve it."

A few nods. Some hesitant, some firm.

Player 047 shifts, glancing at the others before looking back at you, ”She’s right."

You let out a slow breath, steadying yourself, then turn back to Gi-hun. "We have to hit first, or we won’t get a chance to hit at all."

Gi-hun doesn’t respond right away. His gaze lingers on your face, searching, weighing, like he’s trying to find something—hesitation, doubt, a crack in your conviction. But there’s none. And maybe that’s what finally makes him exhale, running a hand down his face.

“That still doesn’t justify murder, (Y/N),” he mutters, voice low, tired. “That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

Jung-bae leans forward, brows furrowing. “Who’s ‘they’?”

You don’t even need to think about it. You already know.

Gi-hun shifts his attention to Jung-bae, his expression unreadable. “The ones who created this game. The ones watching us play.” He pauses, just for a second, then says it plainly. “If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Dae-ho’s gaze flicks between you and Gi-hun, something wary settling in his features. “And where are they?”

Gi-hun doesn’t answer. Not right away. He just looks up.

The movement is slow, deliberate. One by one, the others follow his gaze, as if expecting to find something, someone, above them. Everyone except Young-il. Not at first, at least. He stays still, unmoved, like he already knows where they are.

Then, after a beat too long, he finally lifts his head.

How odd.

“On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from. The man in the black mask is their leader.”

Young-il stiffens beside you. It’s subtle—so subtle that if you weren’t sitting this close, if you didn’t know him so well, you might not have even noticed. But you do. You feel the shift in his posture, the slight tension in his muscles.

Gi-hun’s eyes flick to Young-il, watching. Calculating.

“Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win,” Gi-hun adds.

Your gaze doesn’t leave Young-il. Not for a second. His reaction is small. Almost nonexistent. But you catch it—the tiniest twitch in his eye, there and gone in an instant. A split second of something unguarded, something unspoken.

And yet, it says everything.

It’s the look of someone who’s heard this before. The look of someone who’s already thought about it, already dismissed it, because it was stupid. Like he’s saying, How cute. You and your silly ideas.

But then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. His expression smooths out, unreadable, effortlessly slipping back into that familiar calm, that steady confidence that makes it impossible to tell what he’s really thinking. You inhale slowly, keeping your face neutral.

Something isn’t adding up.

He should have at least reacted to the idea that there’s a big bad man behind all of this, someone controlling the games and watching you, someone you could go after.

Instead, he stiffened. Instead, his face twitched. Instead… he already knew.

The question is—why?

You knew he was a previous winner. That much hadn't been a secret to you. But something like this? Something as crucial as who was pulling the strings, where they were hiding?

Wouldn’t he have told you?

A strange thought curls at the edges of your mind, something uneasy, something wrong.

Young-il knew?

Before Gi-hun even said it, before the words had fully settled in the air, he knew. His body reacted before his brain could stop it—the tension, the stiffness, the way his eye had twitched for just a split second. A tell. A sign.

Like he had heard this before. Like he had already thought about it, already dismissed it, already decided it wasn’t worth entertaining. Like he knew more than he was letting on.

No. That’s ridiculous.

Young-il wouldn’t lie to you. He wouldn’t. He had never lied to you. Or—well—when he did, he always told you the truth afterward.

The thought is almost insulting in its absurdity, in its sheer impossibility. Because this is Young-il. The same Young-il who always told you exactly what he thought. The same Young-il who teased you relentlessly, who smirked when you were flustered but never when you were truly upset. The same Young-il who held your hand when you were shaking and tucked you close when you needed warmth. The same Young-il who kissed you like a starving man.

He was an asshole, yes. A menace, absolutely. But he wasn’t a liar. And he wasn’t cruel. Not to you.

He had protected you. Time and time again, when he could have left you to fend for yourself, when he could have looked out for his own survival first. Instead, he had stayed by your side, had pulled you out of the fire, had chosen you.

Would someone like that really hide something from you?

No. Of course not.

You inhale, steadying yourself.

Whatever you saw—whatever little twitch, whatever hint of something—it didn’t mean anything.

He probably just thought Gi-hun’s plan was stupid. That was all. He wasn’t the type to chase after hopeless dreams, wasn’t the type to waste energy on fantasies of overthrowing an enemy he had never seen. And that made sense, didn’t it?

Young-il had won. He had survived. If anyone knew how hopeless it was to fight the people in charge, it was him. That’s why he had reacted the way he did. That’s all it was.

You let the tension ease from your shoulders, pushing the doubt away, locking it deep where it can’t reach you. Where it shouldn’t reach you.

Because there is no universe where Young-il would ever betray you. No universe where he would lie. Young-il didn’t lie. Not to you.

He was yours, in a fucked up way. And you trusted him.

Young-il’s voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you back in reality. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

You blinked.

Not we. You. Gi-hun was alone on this one.

The way he said it—you—felt like a decision had already been made. Like he was drawing a line between himself and whatever came next. Like he wasn’t planning on being a part of it.

Your fingers twitched against your knee.

Gi-hun didn’t even hesitate. “We’ll fight them with guns too.”

For a second, you thought you misheard him. Because surely, surely he wasn’t serious. But then you saw his face—calm, steady, like he had just suggested something as simple as taking a walk. Your jaw almost dropped.

No?! No way.

Jung-bae shifted beside him, his voice quieter, like he was afraid to even acknowledge the insanity of what had just been said. “But we don’t have any.”

Gi-hun didn’t blink. “We’ll take their guns.”

Oh my god. He was actually serious.

A disbelieving scoff left your lips before you could stop it. “From the soldiers?” You stared at him, incredulous. “Are you stupid?”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and immediate, but you didn’t care. You needed to say it. Because what the hell kind of plan was that? Steal guns from the soldiers? The ones who were trained to kill you? The ones who had been keeping you all in check since day one, watching from the shadows, waiting for an excuse to put a bullet in someone’s skull?

Your lips parted, but you had to take a second, just a second, to process the absolute insanity of what Gi-hun had just said.

He was serious. He was actually serious.

“Oh, my god.” You let out a short, humourless laugh, shaking your head. “Are you listening to yourself right now?”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened, but you weren’t finished.

“(Y/N), don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?”, Young-il’s voice was calm, easy, like he was trying to rein you in before you tore Gi-hun apart completely. But you didn’t care.

You turned to him, barely sparing him a glance, and immediately held up a hand. “Shh. Stay out of this.”

Young-il blinked.

You shushed him.

He blinked again, momentarily stunned. For the first time since you’d met him, he actually looked caught off guard. His lips parted slightly, like he was debating whether or not to be offended, but you were already turning back to Gi-hun, ignoring the way Young-il let out a soft, amused breath beside you.

“Like I was saying.” You refocused, fixing Gi-hun with a hard stare.

“You think we can just—what? Walk up to them? Politely ask them to hand over their weapons? Maybe say please while we’re at it?” You scoffed.

He opened his mouth, but you kept going, voice rising with each word.

“Have you seen those guys? Because they don’t hesitate. They don’t stop to ask questions. They don’t even think before pulling the trigger.” Your hands curled into fists at your sides, frustration boiling over. “We don’t even know how many of them there are. How many weapons they have. Where they keep them. And you’re sitting here telling us that our best shot at survival is to take them on head-to-head?”

A bitter laugh scraped its way up your throat. “That’s not a plan, Gi-hun. That’s suicide.”

A heavy silence followed.

Your pulse was still pounding, frustration still curling in your chest, but from the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest twitch of Young-il’s lips, like he was trying—failing—to suppress a smirk.

He was enjoying this. The smug, insufferable bastard.

You shot him a quick glare, but he just gave a slow, barely noticeable shrug, as if to say, What? You’re the one who shushed me.

Gi-hun didn’t look away. He didn’t flinch. But he didn’t argue, either. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew it was a terrible plan. But it was all he had.

Your stomach churned, dread curling deep in your chest.

What the hell was Gi-hun thinking? Had the stress finally cracked something in him? Had the endless cycle of fear and death made him believe in something this stupid?

Young-il exhaled sharply, his voice steady, firm. “Look, Gi-hun. I know (Y/N) didn’t exactly sugarcoat it, but she’s right. Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

He wasn’t wrong. The guards had the advantage—more weapons, more bodies, and the goddamn high ground. Even if you pulled off the impossible and got your hands on a few guns, what then? You weren’t soldiers. You weren’t trained. You were just a group of desperate people trying to survive one more night.

Gi-hun's jaw clenched. He looked between the two of you, something dark in his expression, something caught between frustration and exhaustion. Then, he spoke.

“Then what?” His voice was sharp, fraying at the edges. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want, (Y/N)? Young-il?”

You inhaled, but the words caught in your throat.

“Is that what you want?”

Want? Like there was a choice. Like there had ever been a choice.

Like the second the lights went out, the O players wouldn’t be coming for blood. Like they wouldn’t use the only advantage they had left—the only thing that had worked for them so far.

You glanced at Young-il, but his expression remained unreadable. He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t rush to justify or defend himself. He just looked at Gi-hun, at the frustration brewing beneath his skin.

Your grip on your arms tightened. “Want?” Your voice came quieter this time, rougher. “I want to sleep without worrying about waking up with a fork in my throat.”

Gi-hun’s gaze snapped back to you.

“I want to make it to morning. I want to make it to the bloody vote.” Your fingers curled tighter, your nails digging into your skin. “And if they come for us first, you think I should just let it happen?”

“And if we fight back first? Then what?” His voice was quieter this time, edged with something almost like resignation. “We kill them. They kill us. We all die anyway.” He exhaled. “You think that’s winning?”

That was the difference between you and him.

He still wanted this to be a fight you could win without spilling more blood. Still wanted to believe that strategy, that sheer will, could get you all through the night. But you had already accepted the truth.

This place wasn’t about being nice. It was about greed and accepting it. And when the lights went out, you weren’t going to be the one on the ground.

Young-il exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before finally speaking. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone deliberately even. “We do it your way. What's your plan?”

You turned to him, startled. He was giving in? Just like that?

Gi-hun’s shoulders loosened, just barely. He nodded once, like he was bracing himself for the night ahead. “Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance. Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us tonight. We have to hide until the fight ends. Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

Hide like cowards.

You barely stopped yourself from scoffing. Did he even listen to you? Your mouth opened before you could think better of it. “Gi-hun—”

But Young-il cut in first.

“Come on.”

His voice was casual, but there was something firm beneath it, something deliberate. He barely spared Gi-hun a glance, his attention locked on you instead. He knew what you were about to say, knew that whatever argument was about to spill from your lips wouldn’t end well if it happened here, in front of everyone.

Not now.

His fingers brushed your wrist—light, coaxing—before he tilted his head slightly, a silent Let’s go.

You swallowed, biting down your frustration, but followed anyway. For now. You hesitated, glancing at Gi-hun one last time. His expression was wary but relieved, like he had won something. Like this was over. But it wasn’t. Not even close.

You let Young-il guide you away, weaving through the scattered bunks, past the hushed murmurs of other players. He didn’t stop until you were at the farthest, most isolated corner of the room, a blind spot where no one could overhear you.

Finally, he turned, expression flat. You crossed your arms.

"You don’t actually believe in this bullshit, do you?"

His jaw tensed. "Of course not."

"Then why the hell did you agree with him back there?"

"Gi-hun’s an idiot, but he’s not entirely wrong."

You scoffed. "Oh, really? Which part? The part where we hide under the beds like terrified children while the O players wipe out half our numbers? Or the part where we magically steal guns from trained soldiers and somehow don’t get shot in the process?"

Young-il sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, but didn’t argue. Because he knew. He knew as well as you did that neither option was a real solution. Still, you weren’t done.

"We sit back, we let them make the first move, and we lose. We lose the vote, we lose people, we lose everything. You think I can just sit there and watch that happen?"

His expression darkened slightly. "No. I know you can’t."

Your throat tightened at his quiet certainty, but you forced yourself to push past it.

"Then stop trying to make me."

Young-il exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering over your face, studying you—assessing, measuring how far you were willing to push this.

Then, finally, he spoke. "I’m not trying to make you. I’m trying to keep you alive."

Your breath hitched. Just slightly.

But before you could speak, before you could throw another argument at him, he stepped closer.

"Listen to me." His voice was quieter now, lower. "If you continue to fight now, you’re going to split the group. And if we break apart before the O players even make their move, then we’re already dead."

You swallowed, his words settling like lead in your stomach.

"So what?" Your voice was quieter now, but not any less firm. "I just sit there and act like I’m okay with this?"

Young-il tilted his head slightly, gaze unwavering. "Yes."

A muscle in your jaw twitched.

You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to pretend, to act like you were okay with playing along. Every instinct in your body screamed against it. You had fought for too long, clawed your way through too much to just sit back now.

But Young-il wasn’t backing down. And worse? You knew he was right.

If you continued to push too hard, if you continue to fight this now, in front of everyone, you wouldn’t just be fighting Gi-hun—you’d be fighting your own people. And that? That was just as dangerous as the O players themselves.

You exhaled, pressing your fingers against your temples, your body thrumming with frustration.

"This is bullshit," you muttered.

Young-il’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out—just barely—fingertips brushing over your wrist.

"I know."

Silence settled between you. Tense. Unyielding.

Your eyes locked onto his.

"I’m fighting."

Young-il held your gaze for a long moment. Then, finally, he sighed—long and slow—like he had expected nothing less.

"I figured."

Your fingers curled into fists. "Then why even bother convincing me?"

His smirk was faint, but it was there. "Because if you pretend, it buys us time."

Time. That’s what this was really about. If you acted like you were on board, if you played the game just a little longer, then you wouldn’t just keep the group together. You’d control the moment the fight started. You let that thought settle, let the strategy of it sink into your bones.

Then, without thinking, without planning, without stopping yourself,

“Kiss me.”

Young-il blinked. Once. Twice. Then, slowly—too slowly—his lips curled into something unreadable.

“Excuse me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Did I stutter?”

His smirk twitched. “Oh, I heard you. Just didn’t expect you to say it out loud for once.”

You crossed your arms. “And why’s that?”

Young-il let out a soft chuckle, low and dangerous. “Sweetheart, I always hear ‘kiss me’ when you’re talking.” His head tilted slightly. “It’s just always subtext.”

Your brain short-circuited. Oh, fuck him.

The arrogance. The audacity. The sheer, unrelenting smugness of this man. He was toying with you, playing with you like a cat batting at a mouse that wasn’t quite dead yet. You could feel the heat rising to your face, not from embarrassment, but from sheer, seething frustration.

You opened your mouth—ready to snap, ready to rip that self-satisfied grin off his face and tell him exactly what you thought of him and his unbearable, endlessly infuriating—

He shushed you. Just—fucking shushed you.

One finger against his lips, a lazy, patronising little motion, like you were a child throwing a tantrum.

You froze. Was this revenge? No, because revenge would have required him to take something seriously, and Young-il? Young-il was looking at you like he was having the time of his goddamn life. His lips quirked higher, eyes practically glowing with amusement. "See? Annoying, isn’t it?"

Your pulse spiked. You couldn’t even speak. Not because you had nothing to say—oh, you had plenty—but because if you did, you’d be acknowledging that he got to you, that he was winning, that he had completely derailed your entire train of thought with nothing more than a single, simple gesture. Your jaw tightened. You were going to kill him.

His hand dropped, smug as ever. Satisfied.

And then, before you could respond, he yanked you in and kissed you like he had been waiting for this exact moment.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was sharp and intentional, a statement, a release of everything you hadn’t said out loud.

His fingers curled against your waist, pulling you closer to him. You pulled back first, heart hammering, breath unsteady.

"I’ll follow the plan," you whispered, your lips barely leaving his. “But the second you’re in danger? I’m doing it my way.”

Young-il’s gaze flickered over your face, something unreadable lurking in his expression. Then, softly, he murmured—

"Deal."

He stepped back. His hand lingered at your waist for a fraction too long before dropping to his side.

"Come on," he said, voice quieter now. "Let’s get back. Before Jun-hee and Dae-ho make another bet.“

You stifled a laugh, nodded, and followed.

When you returned to the group, Gi-hun looked up immediately, his brows drawn in quiet suspicion. You met his gaze, then inhaled slowly.

"I don’t agree with it," you said honestly. "But I trust you. Very much. So I’ll stick to the plan."

Gi-hun’s shoulders loosened. "That’s all I ask."

You nodded.

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lokisrealpurpous · 11 months ago

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dating loki would include

dating loki in a nutshell

hair

loki would be obsessed with you hair and would probably be touching it with any chance he gets. he would always offer to wash it and braid it, style it or to even just run his hands through it. It would also work both ways, loki would love it when you played with his hair.

physical touch

this man is touchstarved. he will never be able to keep his hands off you, no matter where you are. he'd love hugging you from behind and nuzzling into your neck, taking in your sent, holding you as he sleeps, holding hands. He also would always have you in his arms or lap.

consent

Before loki does anything, this being touching or doing things for you, he would always ask, unless he knows 100%, you are okay with it. he's very strong on consent and always listens to your feelings and checks you're comftable even if you say something is fine. If you change your mind or refuse he will immediately stop and make sure everything is okay.

reading

Loki would love reading to you, reccomending you books and would constantly be ranting on about books he's reading. When you can't sleep, he'd often let you lay against his chest as he reads you an old book from his childhood while running his hands through your hair.

sarcasm

Even if you're his lover loki is still the most sarcastic, witty person to exist. He'd constantly be messing around or teasing you, always making sure you know his jokes are jokes and picking a right time but he'd probably be pranking you alot.

cuddles

He secretly loves them. After a long day he will search for you just to wrap himself around you or cling onto you any way he can. he loves hugs from people he trusts, and he would always make sure he falls asleep cuddled up with you.

insomnia

He barely sleeps and is always awake when you wake up. He loves the night but also the sound of birds at the crack of dawn. Although he doesn't sleep himself, he will always make sure you get enough rest.

kisses

Loki loves kissing you, his favourite places probably being your neck, thighs, hands, forehead, cheeks, and his overall favourite your lips. Even a peck is enough as long as he gets his kisses. When he's touchstarved, he won't get his lips away from you.

words of affirmation

he loves praising you, and he loves it when you say nice things to him, especially after his neglection as a kid. He will always make sure you feel loved, and it goes both ways. You'd often have him sneeking behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering small things in your ear like, 'you look so beautiful, my darling' 'that dress looks gorgeous on you'

gift giving

He would buy you the entire 9 realms if he could. Loki would spoil you every single day. Whatever you wanted, he would buy for you, and you'd always be getting small gifts off of him

princess treatment

loki would unshamefully do everything for you, even in public. If your heels were hurting he'd take them off, carry them, and then carry you to wherever you both need to be, if you had laces, he'd tie them up, if you were unwell he would honestly slave for you, you'd have breakfast in bed, a hot water bottle and literally whatever you ask him for. He'd probably make you some chocolate covered strawberries as well.

music

he loves music and deffinatly has a viynal and cd player in his room. He likes all genres depending on the mood he's in, and he is the type of person to play his music loud enough for the whole of Asgard to hear. You've introduced loki to many 'midgardian' artists such as lana del rey, amy winehouse, artic monkeys, the weeknd, billie eilish, and rihannah and he loves them, especially the older artists such as Bowie, Queen, ABBA, Elvis and Harry James. Loki also has quite a soft singing voice himself, and you'd often catch him singing or humming to songs. After a lot of persuading, he'd sometimes sing you old norse lullabies his mother used to sing to him to help you sleep.

#loki #loki x reader #aesthetic #fanfic #tom hiddleston #art #bbcsherlock #benedict cumberbatch #writer #bbc sherlock x reader #datingloki #lokisdottir

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cherryclxud · 9 months ago

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Catch me if you can Lord Holmes pt2

(ENOLA HOLMES)!Sherlock x BRIDGERTON! reader

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Description: a writer by the name of Marcus Bradford has taken the Ton by storm with his weekly edition chapter of a crime story, Sherlock is tasked with finding Marcus Bradford and solving the case of the abominable bride. but what if meeting a certain Bridgerton girl distracts him from the case?

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: none

Taglist <3 : @frost-queen @siannaplmn @annesunlight @jolixtreesunn @probabydeadbynow @chloepluto1306 @gayandfairycore @queenfairyfangirl @viylikescats @hipsternerd9 @delusional-4-fake-people

read below for credits.

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SLEEPING AT 221B BAKER STREET USUALLY came easy to Enola. Seeing as there was quite literally very little for her to do, however, for the past 2 nights it has become increasingly difficult for her not to get out of bed and shout at her brother to put the violin down.

Sherlock was stuck, and Enola could tell by his incessant playing of the violin, the notes he was playing were all gloomy grey. With a sigh, she put her head under the pillow and slammed her hand over it to cover her ears in the hope of respite from the sound. Of course, for the first 4 hours he was playing Enola felt sympathy, but when his playing started to get in the way of her sleep that's when her sympathy towards Sherlock turned to contempt towards the violin.

She had reached the point where she imagined scenarios of her grabbing scissors and cutting the strings, or of her taking the violin and throwing it out the window.

Somehow the music playing seemed to penetrate through the pillow, making the girl move the pillow, turn to her back and glare at the ceiling. She got up and stomped the the drawing room where her brother sat there playing the insipid instrument.

“SHERLOCK” she shouted over the music causing her brother to play a wrong note before stopping and turning to her. “Enola? Shouldn't you be asleep by now?” he looked out the window and saw the moon still high in the sky.

Enola crossed her arms while rolling her eyes, “geez Sherlock that's a great idea, i was getting quite tired and had no idea how to remedy it, you have truly opened my eyes” Her voice was full of sarcasm yet Sherlock paid no mind to it as he was distracted.

“Hmm yes well I suppose you should get to it”.

Enola scoffed as she saw her brother pick up the violin about to resume his playing once more “Sherlock! I can't if you insist on playing at this time.” she pointed to the instrument as the older Holmes looked down at it with a sigh.

“Ah, I see, my apologies sister I seemed to have gotten carried away” he places the instrument on its stand before slamming it down on the settee with a sigh and closes his eyes as he continues to think.

Enola turns around, happy that the peace and quiet has finally infiltrated the home, she goes on her way to her room and just as she was about to go in she stops. She turns to look to her brother, she really felt pity for him at this point, losing sleep over looking for this man who could quite literally be anywhere in England.

“Sherlock, what's wrong?”

Sherlock opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at his sister. “Nothing Enola you should go to bed, I promise I won't play anymore”

He watches as his sister walks across the room only stopping at the coffee table to pick up his tobacco pipe and hold it in between her lips in thought. “Oh look at me I'm Sherlock and I must find out everything about everyone yet never let anyone find out anything about me” she spoke in a mock deep voice as she sat next to him.

HE leaned forward and snatched the pipe from her mouth before wiping the mouthpiece with his shirt. Enola watched as he lit the pipe with a match and smoked in silence, a frown etched on his face. She decided to change the subject hoping it would get her brother to open up more about what was bothering him.

“Y/n and i have been writing to each other”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow “y/n Bridgerton? The viscount's sister?” Enola nodded

“Yes we have been speaking since we met Nonestop, she is actually quite amusing.” Enola smiled recounting the letters they both shared. Sherlock rolled his eyes but deep inside was happy that his sister had found someone to be friends with. He was worried that his taking care of her had caused his disinterest in forging real connections with people had spread to her. He didn't want her to lean on him and not connect with anyone else.

He found himself grateful for y/n's sudden but effective presence in his sister's life.

“She's quite like you, you know?” Enola spoke looking nowhere in particular. This caught Sherlock's attention as he looked back to his sister, “How so?”

“Well for starters she's smart…well not as smart as you, no one as smart as you” Enola rolled her eyes before grabbing a small rubber ball she found lying on the floor and bounced it up and down a few times, “She reads a lot, she told me when her brother would return from oxford for the summer she would take the books he'd read and read and study his essays and annotations”

Sherlock, who was staring at the floor where the ball was bouncing, chuckled quietly remembering one year at Oxford when Anthony had returned from his stay with his family missing the book he was meant to be studying for the semester and sheets of essays he had worked on during the time off, and how frazzled he was trying to rewrite what he could from memory, only to have it delivered to him with a letter of apology from his sister later that night.

“You know she even read that boring book you wrote on like the two hundred and forty types of tobacco” she offhandedly spoke not noticing her brother's smile dropped “Two hundred and forty-three”

“I believe that that was the only copy sold brother mine,” she smirked

“I'll have you know I sold three copies” he grumbled looking away.

Enola laughed “That's because Mycroft and I each bought a copy in support of you”

Sherlock scoffed and stood up walking to the window and looked outside pretending to be angry at his sister.

“Oh don't sulk brother you know that doesn't work on me, the print shop refused to print any more copies of your books in advance, that's how bad it did.” She leaned back in her seat with a smirk, “She invited me to breakfast at Bridgerton house tomorrow, can you take me there?”

Sherlock turned with a nod “I can drop you off and th-” he stopped mid-sentence as an idea struck him, “what did you just say?”

Enola looked at her brother worried that he was too busy to take her “She invited me for breakfast tomorrow and I wish for you to take me there. If you are busy I can take a carriage so no worri-”

“No no before that”

Enola tried to replay the conversation “I told you not to sulk, then that the book you wrote won't get printed in advance any longer”

Sherlock then turned to face away and walked to his desk that was placed in the drawing room and picked up one of the many newspapers that were turned to page 4, turned to the back of the paper and read down the page till he reached what he was looking for.

‘Tibalt's Printing Press

5th Northumberland street

London’

Sherlock smiled looking down at the paper, “Of course, Minnie always ends up in the kitchen when she's hungry.”

Enolas eyes turn the the left as she racks her brain trying to think what in the world her brother is going on about, “pardon?”

She watched as her brother scribbled some writing on a piece of paper before marching to his pin board on the wall and sticking a pin through the newspaper set on the last page. He stepped back with a smile, Enola stood up from her seat and walked to her brother's side.

“Sherlock, is everything alright?”

The brother looked at her and nodded “It's perfect, all back on track thanks to your friend,” Enola raised an eyebrow.

“Y/n? How did she help? Wait where are you going this late?” She watched as her brother picked up his coat and the paper he scribbled on. He walked up to her and gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

“Don't worry dear sister, assuming all goes to plan I'll be back in time to take you to break your fast with the Bridgertons, sleep well!” And with that, he walked out of the flat door closing it behind him leaving Enola alone in the drawing room.

With a sigh she blew out the remaining candle that illuminated the room, her eyes stopped at the violin that stood defenceless in the room. A smirk found its way on her face as she looked back at the door making sure her brother wouldn't be back.

………….

THE CANDLE BURNED LIGHTING ONE corner of y/n's bed-chamber, her eyes fled over words on the page of the book she was reading, a new author writing under the title ‘A Lady’ had written a book named ‘Pride and Prejudice’, y/n was completely infatuated with the idea that the author had so boldly revealed that whoever she was, she was a woman.

Unlike Lady Whistledown, this writer resorted to writing harmless fiction that was incredible to read, and unlike y/n she was courageous enough to reveal she was a female, and yet it was a complete shame in y/n's eyes to see that the books didn't do as well as she thought it deserved.

She pulled her knees to her chest as she relaxed against the window, sitting on the window seat to be able to look outside easily. It had become her routine to sit at the window every night, therefore to anyone else seeing her wouldn't warrant any suspicion, but y/n wouldn't sleep until something in the scenery outside her window changed.

She just about turns to a new page when from the corner of her eye she sees a light flickering outside her window facing the garden, turning to look outside, she sees the figure of the personal valet of Anthony walking in the garden with a candlelit lantern, stopping mid-walk he turns to her window direction and then blows out his candle.

Y/n gave a smile and blew out her own candle, drowning out the last shred of light in her room, and stood up from her seat, shutting the book and placed it on her dresser. And with that, the valet walked back into the house leaving the girl to go to sleep peacefully.

…….

THE CARRIAGE WHEELS STOPPED IN FRONT OF THE printing shop letting Sherlock step out before paying the driver. The windows were illuminated by the candles inside the print shop, he watched as two men worked on the printing of the weekly newspaper.

Sherlock walked over to the door of the print shop and tried to push it open only to find it was locked closed, however, the attempt to open it had gained him the attention of the two men who looked at each other before turning to Sherlock.

The older one of the two motioned to the younger man to go deal with him as he went back to work. The younger man rolled his eye as he walked to the door and unlocked it before stepping out to stand face to face with the detective, “You know we don't get many people coming here that don't know how to read, this being a print shop and all”

Sherlock stared blankly, the man then pointed at the sign hanging in the window “It says closed, there I read it for you, come back in the morning” he then walked back inside but as he went to shut the door Sherlock stopped it with his foot causing the man to turn back to him.

“I'm here to find out about Marcus Bradford!”

The man tried to push Sherlock back “If you're a fan then you have no luck here, we only print what we get given.” managing to push Sherlock's foot out he went to slam the door only to once again get stopped but this time by his hand. Once the door was open again then holmes pulled his hand back in pain, shaking it to relieve the soreness.

“I'm a detective, I just have a few questions regarding Mr Bradford and I'll be on my way.”

The printshop employee scratched his chin before motioning for Holmes to follow him inside, he took him to the older man who had previously sent him to deal with the problem.

“Theo? I thought I told you to deal with it” the old man spoke, Theo, however, sighed “yeah well he's a detective, won't leave”

The old man's hands stopped working on the press as he turned to meet Sherlock Holmes’ eye, “Aye, yes I recognise you, you're that Holmes guy, to what do I owe the honour?”

Theo spoke up before Sherlock could “he says he's looking for Bradford, Mr Tibalt.”

“You a fan Mr. Holmes?” Tibalt spoke, prompting Sherlock to glare in his direction.

“I assure you quite the contrary, I have been just tasked with looking into him and his background” Sherlock made sure to walk up to the elder man and stand about a foot away from him, standing taller than him he was trying to add an intimidation factor “I would appreciate your cooperation”

Tibalt stood staring at Sherlock for a good 10 seconds before speaking “I'm not sure if I can actually be of help, I haven't met the man, and neither has Theo, he doesn't deliver the stories himself”

“Then who does?”

“It really depends.”

“On?”

“4 men rotate in delivering the story every week, each one wears a mask so I don't see their faces. They don't say a word, all I get is the story and a letter with instructions on what to do along with the payment.”

Dead end.

“And when was the last time one of the men?” Sherlock asked.

“About an hour before you graced us with your own presence. He'd be long gone. All I can tell you is I have never met mr Bradford or had any personal contact with him.”

Sherlock nodded in thought, his only chance of unveiling Mr. Bradford had quite literally beat him to the chase. Tibalt turned and faced away from Sherlock grabbing a freshly printed newspaper copy, “I can't help you much about Bradford but I can tell you this” he handed Sherlock the new concept that was due for release in the morning, “Something has changed, he's introducing new characters in the midst of the story, and it's clear that this chapter has shifted it all to focus on this character. I assumed it would interest you seeing as for the past couple of copies he had been facing what I assume is a dry spell of ideas”

Sherlock looked at Tibalt before opening the paper to page 4, his eyes skimmed over the paper and suddenly stopped in his tracks, “Detective Sherrinford?” He looked up to the print shopkeeper who shrugged his shoulders and turned to get back to printing the rest of the papers.

Understanding that he most likely wouldn't be able to get more information, he left his address and told them to let him know if there were any updates, then thanked them and left to go home.

……..

LONDON WAS BUSTLING THAT MORNING, the weekly paper distribution brought by an onslaught of arguments and opinions about the new chapter in the story. The introduction of the character Detective Sherrinford had brought about mixed feelings.

Some believed that Bradford was losing his touch and was doing what he could to keep the story going, others believed that this was just a long-winded way of Marcus telling them that the real story was about to begin, especially with the way he ended off this week's chapter.

“The game is afoot?” Enola put down the newspaper against her lap, she looked towards Sherlock who sat across from her in the carriage on the way to the Bridgertons. He shrugged his shoulders as he moved the curtains to gauge how far along they were until the house, “A change I presume, seems Marcus Bradford has decided to take the story in a different direction” he replied, there was a tinge of frustration in his voice.

The carriage stopped in front of the Bridgerton house and Sherlock stepped out before helping Enola out next, the footman took them into the house where they were allowed into the drawing room where Anthony, Benedict, Eloise, Gregory and Violet sat.

Anthony being the first to see them stood up in surprise when he saw the Holmes sibling there, “Lord Holmes what a pleasant surprise this morning” he stood up and walked to them and shook their hands before inviting them further into the drawing room in the direction of his family, “this is my mother.” Violet stood from her seat with a smile, as Sherlock took her hand and placed a light kiss on it, then Anthony introduced the rest of his siblings in the room before turning to Sherlock “To what do I owe this fine visit to Holmes?”

“I invited Enola for breakfast brother” y/n who had just walked into the room spoke as she approached the group. Sherlock watched as she and Enola hugged, then as she turned to him and shook his hand, “Good morning Lord Holmes, it's very nice to see you again”

“Likewise Miss Bridgerton” he nodded to her. “I presume you have read the new chapter out today lord holmes, He added a new character what was his name” y/n put her hand the her chin as she pretended to have forgotten the name which Sherlock could of course detect however decided not to call her out on her actions and played along “detective Sherrinford i presume is the name you are trying to remember miss Bridgerton”

“Ahh yes, you are quite right lord holmes, I'm quite forgetful when it comes to these things” she lied jokingly as she spoke, making a small smile play on Sherlock's own lips.

“It's a shame seeing as the author has now added this character, who is a recluse detective who will possibly that forever to solve a case with already many plotholes, the only way the story can go is down.”

y/ns smile fell for a second but she made sure to replace it quickly enough to not be noticeable, “I don't know, I have come to take quite the liking to Detective Sherrinford, I think he will do great to solve this case, I think this story is getting better” she spoke with a smile.

As Sherlock and y/n spoke no one really paid any mind to them. Anthony and Benedict were busy talking, Enola had struck up a conversation with Eloise and Gregory was reading the story in the paper, and no one was paying them any mind…

But violet, she could see it.

Her daughter never took the time to talk to a man for this long about anything, not even about books or stories there was something there. And she was adamant about helping it grow.

“I don't know lord holmes, I would have thought you’d like the character, I think Sherrinford is exactly like you.” y/n’s words caused Enola and Eloise to look towards them in shock, “y/n! You are completely right, how could I not make that connection earlier myself “Enola spoke as she walked to the pair quickly.

“What are you two on about, the man is nothing like me”

And there stood the three arguing about why Sherrinford is or isn't like Sherlock until inevitably, a maid walked into the drawing room and called out that breakfast was ready.

“I guess this means I should take my leave not, Enola ill pick you up in 3 hours” Just as Sherlock was speaking about leaving, Violet interrupted his farewells “Lord Holmes please do join us for breakfast”

Sherlock just about shook his head and was about to decline before Violet spoke again “I had the cook prepare extra just for you” and with that, he couldn't refuse, no matter how much he wanted to.

….

The family and the Holmes siblings filtered into the dining area, Enola and y/n sat next to each other, and just about when Gregory was about to sit next to y/n on her other side, his mother motioned for him to sit elsewhere leaving Sherlock no other seat but that one, not that it really bothered him.

The families started eating and exchanging conversation, the atmosphere was delightful, and Enola was aglow, it had been a long while since she sat down for breakfast with a family seeing as usually she and Sherlock wake up at different times and end up eating anything.

“Lord Sherlock, it really is a pleasure having you and your sister here, I must say I'm surprised I havent seen you in the ton more often, no soirees nor balls” Violet spoke as she cut another piece of the omelette in her plate. Sherlock swallowed the food in his mouth before nodding to Violet “That is indeed true viscountess Bridgerton, I simply haven't found the time to integrate into society, there's too much work and research and clients. In fact it is my fault Enola has yet to debut, I had been meaning to help her this season however i got sidetracked.”

Violet nodded her face full of sympathy towards the two siblings, it was a known fact around the ton that the Holmes family had lost not one but both parents in the same year, their father had been taken ill for months before suffering through an unfortunately painful exit and their mother had been so in love with him and followed him mere months after due to a broken heart.

Since then little has been known about the Holmes family, they had become reclusive and barely interacted with the rest of the ton. Sherlock and Enola, who were 9 and 2 at the time, were put under the care and sanction of their older brother Viscount Mycroft who himself was 15. It was like the Holmeses ceased to exist any longer, that was until a few years ago when Viscount Mycroft got married and Sherlock moved out to a flat in Central London, it was widely believed that Sherlock found the Viscount Holmes’ new wife to be unappealing to share a mansion with, sooner or later in a visit back home he decided he would take his younger sister to live with him.

“Well better late than never I say” Violet spoke softly with a smile targeted at Sherlock. Her eyes flicker to y/n who was eating her food quietly while listening to the conversation then back to Sherlock. “you know, there is a soiree tomorrow night at the Dunphrees,”

Anthony stared at his mother in shock understanding what she was doing “Mother!”

Violet of course ignored him knowing Anthony really is only good for ruining her plans. “We shall be attending, I say you should come”

Enola looked up from her plate excited “Oh can we brother, it sounds like so much fun” y/n snorted quickly while holding back a laugh. Sherlock glanced at her before looking to his sister whose eyes was practically begging him, “ Enola you don't had a dress for the occasion and I doubt one can be made in time”

Y/n smirked as she looked at him, “That is no worry at all lord holmes i have 4 daughters surely I have a couple of dresses to spare that will be her size.” Violet interjected. y/n and Enola looked at each other excitedly, Sherlock's lips pressed together in a semi-frustrated smile before looking at his sister and y/n. Enola looked very excited as she shared a hug with y/n, and for a moment his eyes lingered on the Bridgerton girl, he was thankful for her existence in his sister's life, she was in fact a very interesting person to talk to, and maybe having her around would make him feel less guilty over not always being there for his sister. The said Bridgerton girl turned to face Sherlock awaiting his decision, only to be met with his own eyes looking at her, he quickly looked away while clearing his throat embarrassed at having been caught staring at her, but this action did not elude Violet’s eyee, she smiled softly at the bashfulness of sherlock.

With a sigh, he nodded albeit quite a bit reluctantly but part of him knew that Enola needed this, and in fact he needed a break, so maybe he needed this too. “I don't see why not, God knows we require a chance for respite.” Enola gleamed at the thought of attending her first soiree tomorrow.

The families continued their breakfast and their endless conversations, many topics including the breach of secrecy of Anthony and Sherlock Oxford days, they even told stories of the Duke of Hastings from their days living together. Enola revealed quite a bit of her childhood activities, and the two siblings shared their distaste for their sister in law, hyacinth chatted about how their elder sister Daphne would have almost been married to the prince of Prussia had it not been for her love for the duke, this conversation managed to segway into Eloise talking about Lady Whistledown and who she may be.

“Speaking of hidden writers,” y/n spoke as she turned to look at Sherlock “How has your hunt for Mr Bradford lord homles, someone of your calibre must have reached some conclusion.”

Sherlock nearly choked on the tea he was drinking, everyone at the table went quiet actually quite curious about his findings. “Lord Sherlock you found Mr. Marcus Bradford?” Gregory exclaimed, having been quite a fan of the writer's weekly updates.

Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief the detective shook his head “I'm afraid I'm still looking, he has proven to be quite a difficult man to find. I went to the printing shop that prints and distributes the weekly paper, unfortunately, they have no clue who he is either, seems he doesn't deliver the chapters himself for all I know he is on the other side of England.”

y/n’s eyes moved to the side in thought as everyone sighed in frustration expressing their disappointment in the possibility of not knowing the writer behind the book.

“Well that would make no sense” y/n spoke up causing all eyes to move to her.

“It makes perfect sense miss Bridgerton, there are other places in England a man can live other than Mayfair” Sherlock spoke sarcastically, confused as to why y/n would find such a simple ordeal strange, his words caused both Anthony and Benedict to chuckle.

y/n glared at her brothers then directed her glare to Sherlock “Laugh all you want men, I have a point to make. Tell me Lord Holmes why would a man on the other side of England write a story only for it to be published in Mayfair only? Surely he wants to see the fruits of his labour in person, even if he doesn't take the credit for it.”

“What makes you so sure that the man only has it published in Mayfair and not all over England?” Sherlock spoke, now completely serious, of course, he was quite upset that a point like this could have fled his mind. He had been too busy looking for the man himself when the actual paper held most of the clues he would need anyway. He thought it would be best to listen to y/n seeing as it was her words that triggered him to find the first clue in the first place.

Something told him that she knew much more than she let on about this case.

“Simple. We receive two different newspapers per week, one is the English paper, and the other is the Mayfair weekly paper, and yet the story only appears in the Mayfair weekly. That means your elusive writer is either an idiot-” Violet scolded her daughter for her use of an insult, however y/n brushed it off with an apologetic look aimed at her, before facing Sherlock again “-and is sending a copy of his writing to every separate town and city in England rather than just placing it in the English paper that goes all over England, or he is walking among us here in Mayfair”

The two stared eye to eye for a good 10 seconds in silence that even Colin had to clear his throat to almost ease the tension. Sherlock was the first to speak, “Well deduced Miss Bridgerton, you seemed to have caught on to a point I seemed to have missed” he smirked, “This is the second time, one more time and I may just have to engage you.” y/n’s smile dropped at his words and her face heated up as violet and Enola let out a quiet gasp. Sherlock cleared up his throat and quickly went to fix his wording.

“Engage you in other cases i mean, sometimes I could use an outsider's eye on the matter” he spoke while avoiding y/n’s eyes, his fingers tracing the rim of the teacup in his hands. y/n was in a similar situation but had a small smile that danced on her lips.

“Holmes doesn't jest” y/ns smiled as her eyes shot up to look at Anthony who had made a habit of ruining the moment “Y/n is a young lady and shouldn’t really be exposed to some of the cases you deal with, don't you agree” she glared at him. “And what of it brother? What does my being a lady have to do with a case? It’s not like crime stops when I walk in the room just because I'm a lady.” she spoke while rolling her eyes, she knew her brother meant well but sometimes he was overbearing.

“y/n-”

“Actually viscount Bridgerton, I completely understand your argument” Sherlock's words caused y/n to look at him disappointed “However as Miss Bridgerton has worded it wonderfully, crime doesn't stop because the fairer sex exists. I truly believe there is no such thing as protecting them from the truth, only hiding the truth. I think Miss Bridgerton would benefit from being challenged by a few questions, no need to see a crime scene herself. I do this with Enola all the time, and she doesn't seem to mind at all.”

Enola quickly nodded at her brother's words in agreement “It's true Lord Bridgerton, it’s quite fun, like solving puzzles, it keeps me occupied and gives me the ability to spend time with Sherlock.”

Violet interjected before Anthony could speak again,” These are quite bold ideas you share lord holmes, not many men would agree with you.”

“And not many women too” Eloise muttered with an eye roll.

But Sherlock kept his resolve and looked to y/n and his sister before looking back to Violet, “Well viscountess Bridgeton, I am quite a fanatic of what many may call strange ideals. I believe that a day will come, when a war will break out,” the whole table gasped in shock at his words, “one half of the human race against the other, the invisible army always standing by the men's shoulder, there has to come a day where us men stand back and view women as equals who deserve respect and demand to be heard”

“I think it's a wonderful idea lord holmes, you letting y/n help out in your cases that is.” Violet broke the silence as she clasped her two hands together, she met eyes with y/n who smiled at her, she smiled back and gave her daughter a wink.

If he were to be the man her daughter would love, then she would rather back her up than be against her and cause her daughter to abstain from the thought of love or marriage in general.

Gregory sat up excitedly “Lord Holmes! When you do find Mr. Bradford do you think you can get him to sign a copy of his books for me?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow with a smile at the excitement in his voice “Thats IF, but I don't see why not”

“No, it’s WHEN, Lord Holmes, I’m sure you are much closer to the man than you think” y/n spoke while motioning to Anthony valet to fetch her more tea with a smile. Sherlock looked at the teacup in y/n’s hands in confusion “I’m not sure im any closer to finding him, no one in the ton knows him”

The valet held the teacup as he poured tea for y/n as she spoke “Who says Marcus Bradford is the writer's real name?” it was like clockwork, Sherlock looked at y/n as she spoke, and the teacup slipped out of the valet's hands dropping some of the contents of the cup straight into y/ns lap. Sherlock quickly grabbed a tablecloth from in front of him and started dabbing the tea on her lap, them action caused her eyes to widen and for her to stand up quickly and move away, Anthony and Benedict stood up, both rushing to their sister, countless apologies were spewed from the valet's mouth. It was actually quite chaotic.

“It’s fine, I'm fine” y/n spoke with a nervous smile. “ one of the downsides of being a girl is wearing many layers, though I suppose in this case it is an upside” she let out a giggle while looking at everyone, her eyes moved to the valet who was still apologising “no harm no foul Hudson, I'm fine”

“I may have to get changed though, Enola,” she turned to face her friend, “Why don't you join me, we can look for a dress for you to wear for tomorrow's soiree”

The younger Holmes got up with a smile and joined her as the two rushed off to y/n’s room.

Everyone returned to their seats and slowly continued on with their conversation, however, Sherlock felt uneasy now in his seat, looking up in front of him his eyes met with Anthony’s eyes, who almost seemed to be glaring back at him. The eldest Bridgerton brother hadn't missed how Sherlock reacted to the tea dropped on his sister, he wanted to diminish any feelings that may be growing from y/n towards Holmes as fast as possible, to him Sherlock wasn't right for his sister.

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AN: First of all I am absolutely blown away by the number of likes and requests for tags I have gotten, I love you all, literally thought this story was going to flop. I'm sorry it took a while for the second chapter to come out hopefully next chapter won't take as long. TRULY LIKE WOW.

This chapter has so many easter eggs feel free to let me know which ones you found out through my ask box or comments, and if there is smth you would like me to add in any upcoming chapters let me know too<3

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I do not own Bridgerton

I do not own Sherlock or Enola Holmes

and I most certainly don't own the abominable bride story

I do not own Sherrinford

they belong to their rightful owners

I only own the fic idea.

467 notes · View notes

maggotzombie · 2 years ago

Text

the day/night we met ; henry cavill

PAIRING — Henry Cavill x Reader (fem) SUMMARY — On your wedding day, your Maid of Honor prepares a special gift to which you and Henry have distinct responses. WORDS — 1,8k TW — nothing really just a lot of fluff, emotions (I cried a bit writing it), Henry in a suit 😈. A/N — Hi! I'm not dead, just quit the most toxic job ever so I'm getting back here lol Here's a short but very dear fic to me that I wrote last year but never posted. I'm so happy to finally post this! This story has been in my head for two years now and it came out better than I thought.

Song insp.: Eu Me Lembro by Clarice Falcão feat. Silva

— 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“ALRIGHT,” YOUR MAID OF HONOR smiles, carefully wiping her tears with a napkin. “After making you cry and potentially ruining some makeup,” The room laughs. “I’ve prepared something different to end this on a high note.”

This is one of the dearest moments of your life: your wedding. You’re marrying your soulmate. Your heart could burst with love and happiness whenever.

Everything’s perfect, from your dress to the lights of the venue. Henry – your newly proclaimed spouse – has an arm around you as you listen to your family and friends' speeches about you and your love.

You found it strange when your Maid of Honor wasn’t the first to speak, but it seems she has a reason for it. Immediately, you feel anxious, but in a good way.

“When these two told me they were getting married, I knew I wanted to do something special for them,” Your best friend starts. “I just didn’t know what, but I knew it had to be something remarkable, something for them to look back and have a good laugh,” She looks at the both of you with tears in her eyes, chuckling.

You also wipe tears off your eyes, smiling back at her, and Henry tightens his embrace around you.

“So I sat down with these two, separately, and started to ask a few questions,” She smiles and wiggles her eyebrows, which is an expression you know very well.

‘Oh my,’ You think. ‘What is she up to?’

“Things started to get really interesting from the start, and I decided to make a video out of it,” Your best friend winks at you. “Without further ado, enjoy it.”

With a pleasant smile, she sits down. The attention turns to the screens set around the venue.

You remember sitting with your Maid of Honor to chat about your relationship. You didn’t really understand why she wanted to do that. However, it always has been effortless talking about Henry, and you brushed it off as having something to do with the wedding.

You recall having a great time answering her questions – drinks might have been involved beforehand, but the whole process was surprisingly professional.

Your friend’s face pops up on the screen as she introduces herself. “In this little video, I wanted to talk about our lovely couple’s amazing and fun story, especially the day they met,” She explains. “Newlyweds, I love you very much, and I hope you like this little something I put together for you.”

She blows a kiss and waves. Then in fancy lettering, “A love story” is scribbled on the top-left corner of the screen, and “A story of love” on the bottom right corner. You wonder why both phrases – which convey the same thing – are on the video, but the thought quickly slips your mind when your smiling face appears on the screen.

“State your name and occupation, please,” Your friend prompts on the video, but she’s out of the shot.

You roll your eyes amusedly. “What’s this, a trial? I’m innocent, your honor!” You giggle, making everybody at the venue laugh.

You answer the question anyway, and your name also appears written on the video.

“For the purpose of… this, I’m the bride?” It sounds like a question, and you make a face, unsure of yourself.

She never explained what the video was for, in your defense.

Right after you, Henry appears. “I’m Henry, and I am the lucky groom,” He smiles brightly, looking as handsome as always.

“So, tell me, how did you meet Henry?” Your friend asks, and your smile is instant as you remember that exact day as if it was yesterday. “How did you meet Y/N?” She asks him in the next scene, and his reaction is the same.

“I was hosting a brunch,” You start, your eyes unfocused as the vivid memory plays in your mind. “And it was morning when Henry arrived.”

When he reapers, you can tell it’ll cut back and forth between you. “I was throwing a party, and she was the one that came around. I think it was three in the afternoon,” Henry replies, quite differently from you.

You scoff mockingly, looking at him by your side. He chuckles, brushing it off with a shoulder tic before you turn back to the screen.

“And I said: ‘Hi, come on in, make yourself at home,’ You know, something of the sorts,” You shrug off.

Your betrothed chuckles in the video, scratching his chin in thought. “I was the one that said hello, but she didn’t hear.”

His comment makes the venue erupt in laughter. You meet Henry’s loving gaze again and squeeze his hand, making him bring yours up to press a kiss on your knuckles.

If your shared story had different and entertaining versions until now, it’d just get better!

After being asked about first impressions of one another, he replies: “She thought I was hilarious,” He says with such confidence that is endearing.

In your turn, you laugh and cover your mouth as if what you are about to say it’s an embarrassing secret.

“Oh my god, he wouldn’t stop talking! Like a lot!” You emphasize. “And I pretended to laugh the entire time,” You say very sheepishly before throwing your head back in laughter again. “That’s terrible. I feel like I need to apologize,” You add after your fit.

“Oh, I just remembered something,” He suddenly announces, and his smile is wide as the memory toy around in his head. “Her blouse was inside out,” He chuckles, eyes focused on a spot. “She’s so adorable and such a goof, isn’t she?” He looks back at the camera.

“He loved the way I was dressed,” You giggle, visibly shivering as you physically remember the feeling of him truly looking at you for the first time.

Your friend asks another question, changing the subject slightly, but Henry shakes his head.

“Yeah, the party was great! Everybody was having a good time, but I only remember searching for her when she wasn’t near me. Trying to get another look, you know?” He says.

In turn, you scoff. “No one was dancing! I don’t remember who was taking care of the music, but it was terrible!” Your genuine response makes the room fills with laughter another time. “At least everyone had a drink in hand and ate something.”

“Oh, yes. The food was wonderful. Everything homemade,” Your partner assures with a proud nod naively.

“I bought everything off Tesco,” You rushedly confess, throwing your head back in laughter again.

Back to the present moment, you’re wiping the new tears from the corners of your eyes due to laughter. You love the good energy around the room as your guests and yourself enjoy the video your Maid of Honor made.

Now you understand both phases in the beginning, and although you and Henry have very distinct versions of the day you met, you love both of them and the feelings they bring you.

However, something changes in the next second of the video. For the first time, on a split-screen, you two appear together.

“When I saw him, I knew it (When I saw her, I knew it),” You both say simultaneously. “She (He) was the person I’d spend the rest of my life with,” You continue.

Glancing at him, you’re surprised to see he’s already looking at you. Then you exchange a knowing look. It seems like you got on the same page in this part of the video.

“And that’s how I realized that life put him (her) in my life,” You say in unison. “On that Tuesday (Thursday) of September (December),” Your responses overlap with each other, drawing amused reactions from people.

“That’s why I remember everything, of every second,” Both of you state, which is downright ironic at this point. “Ask me anything that I remember.”

“I remember,” You proudly declare with a grin but, this time, by yourself.

And so does Henry. “I remember,” He nods with a beam.

The video ends there, and the room erupts in applause, whistles, and hollered praises.

Words couldn’t describe the dazzling feelings you’re experiencing if you wanted to. You can’t be more grateful to your friend for this treat either. And, of course, the man you now get to call your husband.

The spotlight of attention returns to you as you’re exchanging the most enamored gaze ever. Henry leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, making you close your eyes. Slowly, you allow all those remarkable sensations to wash over you.

When you reopen your eyes, you smile at him before looking at your Maid of Honor. “Thank you so much for this extremely thoughtful gift. We both loved it a lot.”

Henry confirms with a head gesture.

“Words won’t do justice to how much you’re special to me. I’m just so grateful I get to share such a special and meaningful moment of my life, like this one, with you,” Your voice cracks at the end, and you smile, trying to hold your tears at bay as you can see she’s doing the same. “So I can’t thank you enough.”

As the room gets loud with another round of applause and cheers, she smiles, mouthing an “I love you too” to you. Wiping your tears carefully one more time, you chuckle.

“Although, I only have one question,” You announce, making the room pipe down. “Was my blouse really inside out?” You giggle as you look back at Henry.

Your husband starts to laugh. “Yeah,” He confirms bashfully. “Yeah, it was,” He nods as your guests join you in laughter.

“Oh, God. I can’t believe it,” You shake your head in embarrassment. “I also would like to point out that my husband clearly has a lot of experience with interviews,” You remark, addressing the room. “I feel kinda bad after saying I was pretending to laugh at his jokes when he’s all loving and caring,” You rejoin your friends and family in fun.

“I do tell bad jokes,” Henry concedes in your defense. “I love how genuine you are, and you’re loving and caring to me, too,” You nearly melt at his famous Hollywood-star smile.

The sound of ‘aww’s’ fills the room. “You see what I’m dealing with?” You joke, making everybody chuckle.

You give him a chaste but affectionate peck on the lips. Your wedding coordinator decides it’s time for the first dance to open the floor to make your guests burn some energy after the buffet.

And so, feeling the most secure and happy while pressed against your husband’s chest with his arms around you, you swing slowly. By sharing the same air, the same space, and the same feelings, you can’t think of anything better.

It all started on a Tuesday morning in September for you. But for him, it was a Thursday afternoon in December. Now, it is a Saturday evening in November that you’ll never forget.

You will remember. Everything. Of every second.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x you #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill headcanon #the witcher #geralt of rivia #august walker #clark kent #superman #sherlock holmes

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lilmoonbunny · 1 year ago

Text

Denial; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft only seeked you out to deduce you (aka, how Mycroft realised he liked you).

John and Sherlock were, without a doubt, the loudest neighbours that Y/N had ever had.

Gunshots at God only knows what hour, constant stabbing, banging, and so on. Despite this, she still considered them dear friends and the best neighbours that she had ever had. Sure, they were weird and loud, but they were also kind and genuine, at least for the most part. Alongside this, they also appreciated her baking, especially after long cases.

A gentle knock sounded on the door the 221B catching the attention of three people.

“You can come in, Y/N,” Sherlock called from behind the door, greeting the woman with a nod before turning his attention back to Mycroft whilst John smiled at her.

“Hi, Sherly. Hi, John.” She smiled at the two friends before turning to the older Holmes brother. “Hi, Mr Holmes.” Y/N greeted him with a smile. Although she hadn’t met him before, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who he was; the expensive suit and the fact Sherlock was glaring at him gave it away.

“Sherly?” Mycroft spat, grimacing at the nickname given to his brother. “Who on Earth would you let call you that?” He asked.

“This is Y/N, our neighbour. What have you brought for us today? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The sweet smile Sherlock gave to the woman made Mycroft feel ill. He had no clue who this woman was and absolutely no idea why they seemed to be this close.

“Chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and love.” She joked, beginning to laugh at the way Mycroft audibly gagged. “I’m only kidding. No love.”

“I should certainly hope not,” came Mycroft’s response, one which simply made her laugh again.

“Are you jealous, Mycroft?”

“Because of the cake, he is.” Sherlock interrupted, waving Myrcoft off. “No, I won’t take the case. You can leave now.”

“This is an urgent matter, brother mine.”

“Don’t care.”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft lifted himself to his feet and prepared to leave.

“I’ll leave these with you, just in case you change your mind. Goodbye brother mine. John.” The hesitation was obvious on Mycroft’s face, despite how well he typically hid his emotions, as he faced Y/N.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes.” Y/N smiled sweetly, earning a simple nod from him before he left.

Sherlock, who had leaned to grab the tub of baked goods from the woman’s hands, rolled his eyes as Mycroft left and immediately began to eat.

It wasn’t long until Y/N’s entire life had been researched.

There wasn’t much there. No criminal record, a few jobs, occasional moves, but no sign of her posing any danger to Sherlock and, by association, John. However, the way Mycroft felt upon seeing her was unusual, so he decided to do his own investigation.

“Morning, Mr Holmes,” he was greeted before he reached the empty counter. “Welcome to my bakery! Would you like anything?”

“Just a coffee, please. Black.” Mycroft nodded, not returning the smile she had given, despite the odd feeling it gave him. She was evil and he would prove it to Sherlock.

“Coming right up! Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it over.”

As Mycroft occupied a seat, he took a moment to properly assess the woman making his drink.

She didn’t seem threatening: a content smile on her lips as she prepared his coffee, humming a quiet tune that he barely picked up on. In fact, she didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all, but the feeling when he first saw her – a feeling Mycroft couldn’t explain – had him needing to investigate her further.

“Here you go, Mr Holmes.” Y/N said, placing a hot coffee and chocolate cake on the table in front of him. “Sherlock mentioned that you like cake, so I grabbed you some. It’s all on the house.”

“Why?”

With a small laugh, she responded without hesitation. “You’re Sherlock’s brother.”

How odd, Mycroft thought to himself. She doesn’t even know me and she’s giving me things for free…

Despite his thoughts, Mycroft simply nodded, watching as she took a seat opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quiet today so I figured I’d try and keep you company the best I can. I’m sure you have better company than me, though.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied before even thinking. It was safe to say that he didn’t enjoy the way his chest felt whilst he watched her smile.

Maybe she’s a witch? No, don’t be stupid, Mycroft. They don’t exist.

“So,” Y/N’s voice broke the man from his thoughts. “It’s a funny story how me, Sherlock, and John met. I was actually working and Sherlock bursts in demanding to talk to me. My baking stuff had been found at a crime scene and he thought it was me!”

“How interesting.” Came Mycroft’s blunt reply, even if he was intrigued.

“You listened to it, so you must care, even just a little bit. I think that’s a win for me!”

Mycroft couldn’t help the tiniest smile that crawled onto his lips, but he internally prayed that nobody noticed it, especially her. She, however, seemed oblivious to the movement, simply staring over his shoulder and out of the window.

“Anyway, what was he like growing up? Was he like he is now? Blunt and rude?” Y/N asked with a giggle.

“He wasn’t, actually. He was rather sweet. He liked playing pretend with his friend; he always wanted a dog too.” Came Mycroft’s reply. “His favourite thing was pirates.” He said with a fond look in his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that he had told her, but he couldn’t resist answering her question.

Mycroft watched closely as the woman in front of him grinned, the bright and happy smile a nice contrast to what he was used to whilst working with the government. He couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile widened further as he did so.

“That’s sweet. I couldn’t imagine that, to be honest,”

It was time to ask the question that was on his mind. “Are you attracted to Sherlock?”

“Sherlock?” Y/N said, bursting into laughter. “No, absolutely not. He’s more like an annoying older brother. Same with John. We’re just friends, and, well, neighbours too.”

Confusion spread over Mycroft as she felt the weight on his shoulders lift at her words; she was telling the truth.

“How is she?” Sherlock asked the moment he answered the phone.

“How is who?” Mycroft’s voice sounded through the device.

“Y/N,”

“Why do you assume that I know?”

“It’s obvious you were there earlier.”

“…”

“Well, that and Mrs Hudson told us.”

“Of course she did.” Mycroft said with an involuntary roll of his eyes.

“So, how was it?”

“It was fine.”

“You like her then?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you went to see her. It’s quite obvious, Mycroft. Come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Mycroft simply put the phone down.

He did not like her.

The next time that Mycroft came across Y/N was when it was raining.

He hadn’t wanted to seem ‘creepy’ by seeking her out again for more investigations and deductions, so he simply waited. She was friends with his brother, it wasn’t like their paths wouldn’t cross at some point. Besides, he didn’t want Sherlock to think that he liked her.

“Raining real bad tonight, isn’t it?” The driver spoke to Mycroft. He was new, so Mycroft couldn’t exactly blame him for attempting some type of conversation with him; it was still annoying, though.

Anthea, looking up from her phone was what caught Mycroft’s attention. “I feel bad for her.” She said, nodding towards a soaked woman. It only took Mycroft a moment to realise who it was.

“Pull over,” he stated bluntly, grabbing his umbrella. He simply ignored the look he was receiving from his assistant.

It had been a long day filled with rude customers, and to make it worse, it was raining, and she had forgotten her coat. Today couldn’t be going any worse for Y/N.

Shivering wildly and soaked to the core, Y/N huffed, watching the way her breath instantly evaporated; it was clearly below freezing, but she held out hope that the rain would stop and she would be home soon.

Her hope seemed to pay off, though, since she could no longer feel the rain. As she looked up at the sky, she spotted a familiar face.

“Mycroft?”

“Y/N.”

“What are you-“

“Get in.” He said, pointing towards the car before wordlessly leading her towards it, still holding the umbrella above her, even if he was getting wet.

“You don’t have to, Mycroft.” She said as he ushered her in and shut the door behind them both. “I mean, I’m soaking your car!”

Mycroft, who could feel the heat on his cheeks from their proximity, simply shook his head. He was too focused on the way her leg was pressed against his as she sat between him and Anthea who stared at her phone with a small smirk.

The ride was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the only noise was that of Y/N shivering.

After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and handed her it. “Here.”

There was no chance of refusal, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it, so with a quiet ‘thanks’, Y/N popped the jacket over her shoulders. He just found the chattering of her teeth annoying, was what he told himself.

As they arrived at the flats, Mycroft followed her out of the car.

“Thank you, Mr Holmes.” She said as they stood on the door of her flat.

“Mycroft is fine, Y/N.”

“Thank you… Mycroft.” She said with a small smile before bidding him a goodnight.

“I see you gave her your jacket,” Was all Sherlock said as Mycroft entered 221B.

It was hard. Very hard. Harder than anything Y/N had ever experienced. Having a crush was not easy as it was, but having feelings for Mycroft Holmes was the hardest thing in the world: he rarely showed emotion, he was blunt, he was rude, but most importantly to her, deep down, he was nice.

A small sigh left Y/N’s lips as she worked on her latest batch of cookies for the morning. He was on her mind… again. It was a common occurrence by now.

“We’re not open yet, sorry!” She called over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. As she turned around to see who it was and apologise again, a blush rushed to her cheeks. “Mycroft! What are you doing here?”

Mycroft stood there, umbrella in hand, and gave a simple shrug. “I was on my way to work so thought I would ‘pop in’ as people say.” He explained, earning a laugh from the baker.

“Modern phrases don’t suit you, Mycroft.” She teased.

With an amused shake of his head, Mycroft took a seat at the table nearest her.

“Want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven!”

Mycroft nodded with a grateful smile, always glad to have sweet treats. He would never turn down anyone’s desserts, least of all Y/N’s; not because he liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because she was a good baker.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft gladly eating his cookies with an appreciative look whilst Y/N worked on her next batch. There was nothing awkward between them, and there, surprisingly, never had been.

“Are you not at work today?” Y/N broke the silence with a question that was bugging her. She could have sworn Mycroft had always worked this time over the months that she had known him.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to be there right now but had decided to visit you before. It wasn’t like anyone could fire him for it, he was basically the British government, after all.

“Not yet,” he lied, and he was glad that he was a good liar.

“Oh, okay! I’m happy you came then. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never be a bother,” the words fell from his lips before he even registered what his thoughts, and he noticed the blush race up her cheeks, as did she with his.

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

As he stared at her and her rosy cheeks, a million thoughts went through his mind, but they were all related to one thing: her. It was in that moment that he realised the truth, he did like Y/N, and he had been attracted to her since the beginning; that was what he was feeling.

Oh dear…

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