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thephantomwriters · 5 years ago

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Only Joking (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Summary: After breaking out of Hawkins Lab, Y/N finds herself in the care of none other than Steve Harrington.

Warnings: Violence (mentioned) & Fluff

Word Count: 1495

Requested By: Free Write :)

A/U: Hey guys! You may have noticed a little bit of activity on our page the past couple of days, which may or may not be because our unexpected hiatus has come to an end?? At least, for now it has, and it feels good to be back. I’ve been swamped with school and work, but now I’m bored and stuck at home, so here’s a Steve Harrington xreader that no one asked for. Enjoy!

~ 🐺

Thorns scraped at your legs and sticks tore into the bottoms of your feet, but still you pushed onward. You’d been running blindly through the thick forest for what felt like an eternity, stumbling through the underbrush and keeping to the shadows. You’d fallen several times already, and your hands were caked with dried blood from where you’d attempted to catch yourself. Despite all of this, you were like a wild animal, driven by fear, and you would not stop to rest until you knew that you were safe, no matter what it took.

The screams still rang in your ears as did the gunshots. The lab had been an awful place to live. You grew up there, under the watchful eyes of scientists, however it wasn’t the caring sort of watchful eyes, like those of a protective parent. Rather, you grew up like a lab rat in a box with a glass wall through which they could watch as you were poked and prodded. “Progress,” they would say, “is never without pain.” They wanted to see how powerful you were, and so they pushed you past your limits, claiming that someone like you had no such thing. But you did. It had taken every last bit of strength you’d had to get away, and the energy you had left was quickly draining.

Up ahead, a gap in the trees became visible. At last, you emerged from the woods. Directly across from you, the never-ending trees began again, but between you and it stretched a wide section of hard ground—asphalt. The road carried on in either direction for as far as your eyes could see in the dim moonlight. Hesitantly, you stepped out into the open. The concrete was hot beneath your bare feet, and the small pebbles poked against the fresh cuts in your flesh.

There came the sudden rumbling of an engine and a bright flash of light, and a car barreled around a curve in the road. Planting your feet, you fixed your eyes on the vehicle with determination, and it came to a screeching halt merely feet away from you, smoke pouring from beneath all four tires. Blood trickled from your left nostril, and your vision became blurry. A voice yelled, “Hey, are you okay?” but you were unable to identify the source of it, because it was then that you collapsed onto the pavement in exhaustion.

When you came to, you were slung over someone’s shoulder and being carried across a grassy lawn. You were too weak to do any real damage, but you started to kick and flail about in an attempt to get down.

“Woah, woah, woah,” came the voice again. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” And with that, you were set down on the front steps of a large house, coming face-to-face with a teenage boy who looked to be around the same age as you.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said. “Can you tell me your name, or where you came from? Anything?”

You sat in silence, studying him. He didn’t seem threatening. As his dark eyes stared at you, you saw something in them that you weren’t familiar with��concern, maybe.

At last, you nodded. You held out your wrist to him, pointing at the number on your wrist written in black ink—010. “Me,” you said.

Steve looked from the number to you. “Ten? You mean, your name’s ten?” Again, you nodded. “Hawkins Lab. Bad people. Ran away. Must hide.”

The boy knit his eyebrows together. “Well, you’re safe now,” he said. Then he added with a smile, “I’m Steve.” He grabbed your hand, and gave it a hearty shake, but your arm flopped limply as you stared at him with confusion. He laughed. “It’s a handshake,” he explained. “It’s what you do when you meet someone new.”

“Handshake,” you repeated, looking down at your clasping hands. You copied what he’d done, pumping his hand up and down.

“Yeah,” Steve said, grinning. Then, his tone changed. “Do you wanna go inside?” he asked. “I can get you some clean clothes and,” he paused, examining your many scrapes, “maybe some band-aids.”

You nodded eagerly.

Steve got to his feet. “You’re gonna have to be quiet,” he warned. “My parents are home and they’ll totally freak if they find out I’ve brought a strange girl home.”

You followed Steve through the front door and looked around as he shut the door behind you. The house was very big, and although Hawkins Lab was big, it was like a maze. Steve’s house was different—it was open and inviting.

In your amazement, you forgot to look where you were going and backed into a light switch. The bulb above you turned on, and you jumped, bumping into a small table beside you, atop which sat a vase. The vase wobbled, but before it could fall, Steve swept in and caught it. “Jesus,” he said, turning the light back off. “Are you trying to wake the whole house up?”

You shook your head, cowering a bit.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Steve said. “It’s okay. I was joking. You know, a joke?”

You tilted your head to the side. “Joke?”

“Yeah, a joke.” He glanced around like he was searching for the right words to say. “It’s something you say to be funny, to make other people laugh.”

“Oh.”

Steve looked at you for a moment more, then said, “This way,” and led you into an adjoining room—the kitchen. Steve opened and closed drawers muttering about how, “It’s here somewhere,” when at last he produced a small, red plastic box. He started to open it when he stopped himself and said, “Wait here.”

When Steve reappeared, he held a damp cloth in his hands. “I have to clean the blood off,” he explained.

He pulled up a chair and instructed you to sit down, then squatted down on the floor in front of you. He took your hand in his and began gingerly wiping away the dried blood. You winced. “No,” you said, pulling your hand away.

“I know it burns,” he said, “but we have to clean them. They’ll get all gross and infected if we don’t.”

You frowned, hesitantly offering your hand back to him.

Getting all of your wounds cleaned proved to be a difficult task as you kept jerking away from him, complaining that it hurt. Steve, on the other hand, complained just as much about how you were making it harder than it had to be on both of you, but despite his irritation, he was nothing but gentle.

At last, Steve stepped back, inspecting his work. “Okay, I think that was the last of it. See, now, that wasn’t so bad was it?”

You pouted and crossed your arms. Steve rolled his eyes, grabbing the plastic box from the counter. He opened it up and produced another, smaller box from within. From this he pulled what looked to be a strip of paper but inside was a plastic bandage. “You know what band-aids are, right?” he asked.

You nodded, held your arm out for him to put the bandage on. It was brightly colored and had a cartoon mouse on it. “Everyone loves Mickey Mouse, right?” Steve said with a laugh.

“Mickey Mouse?”

“Jesus, I’ve got a lot to teach you.” Steve grabbed the bloody wash cloth and tossed you the box of band-aids. “Put these on,” he said, “while I go find you something to wear.”

Steve wasn’t gone for long, but by the time he came back, you had already used up nearly the entire box of bandages in order to cover your many wounds, but a few extra had been added just because you liked them, like the one in the middle of your forehead.

When Steve saw you, he chuckled. “Got a little carried away, huh? Mickey Mouse band-aids will do that to you.”

You smiled up at him. “Good joke,” you said.

Steve grinned back at you, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks,” he replied. Stepping forward, he handed you a wad of folded up clothes. “You can put these on in there,” he said, pointing to an open door down the hall. You took the clothes and walked off in the direction he’d indicated.

Once the door was closed, you were more than happy to change out of your ripped hospital-gown-like attire and into the warm sweats he’d given you. They were a bit too big, but they were soft, and that was enough to make you happy.

When you returned to the kitchen, Steve was attempting to pick up all of the bandage wrappers from the floor. Upon hearing your footsteps, he looked up. Now that you were all cleaned up and wearing normal clothes, you looked a lot different. Pretty, even.

Steve stood up. “You look better in those than I do,” he said with a smile.

“I know.”

Steve raised his eyebrows.

The corners of your mouth turned upwards. “Joking,” you said.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #joe keery

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thephantomwriters · 5 years ago

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We're proud to announce that we now also write for Stranger Things :))

Requests are Open :)

Welcome to our blog! Me and my friend got bored so we decided to make a writing account for the fun of it. Anyways, here are the fandoms we will be writing for:

Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)

The Maze Runner Series

Harry Potter

Sherlock

Percy Jackson

Riverdale

Voltron

The Chronicles of Narnia

More fandoms will be added soon so don’t worry! We’d really appreciate if you sent in some requests! You can send as many as you’d like (anonymously or not). Right now, we’re only accepting requests for xreaders (This is subject to change later on)!

Feel free to share our content with anyone, just as long as we get credit :)

**We don’t write any smut, so please don’t send any requests for that in!

#stranger things #stranger things x reader

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thephantomwriters · 6 years ago

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That was an awesome piece💖😍 I really enjoyed it aaaahh Definitely worth the wait I'm fangirling so much sdfsgdfsgsfs Thank you soo much!!!💞💞

You’re very welcome!! I’m super glad you enjoyed it so much. It means a lot! 💕

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thephantomwriters · 6 years ago

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Do you do doctor who? (That kinda rhymed an rim so pleased with mystery)

We love a good rhyme 😂

At the moment, we do not do any Doctor Who imagines, however if either of us get into that series, we will be sure to add it to our list!

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thephantomwriters · 6 years ago

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As you can see, another fandom has been added to the list! I must admit, 🐝 and I have been on a big Narnia kick lately, so we would greatly appreciate some requests for that as of now... ;) But, as always, you can make requests for any of the fandoms!

~ 🐺

Requests are Open :)

Welcome to our blog! Me and my friend got bored so we decided to make a writing account for the fun of it. Anyways, here are the fandoms we will be writing for:

Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)

The Maze Runner Series

Harry Potter

Sherlock

Percy Jackson

Riverdale

Voltron

The Chronicles of Narnia

Feel free to share our content with anyone, just as long as we get credit :)

**We don’t write any smut, so please don’t send any requests for that in!

#requests are open #requests #new fandom #narnia #the chronicles of narnia

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thephantomwriters · 6 years ago

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A Supermarket Superhero...of Sorts (Sherlock x Reader)

Summary: Sherlock Holmes gets Y/N out of an uncomfortable situation with an ex-boyfriend at the grocery store.

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption (very, very briefly mentioned) & Just a Lil Bit of Fluff

Word Count: 868

Requested By: @paleparadisetale

Hiya dears, if I may ask, could you do a Sherlock x reader? She wants to ask for a kiss, like, just one, simple cheek kiss, but is way too shy. Sherlock (being Sher, simply knows), decides to give her a full kiss on the lips while holding her in his arms instead. Basically just fluff?? It’s been a long month for me and it’s nice to read some fluff to cheer my moping self again :’) Cheers!

A/U: Wow. It’s been a while. I thoroughly apologize. I’ve been so busy and unmotivated for what seems like forever. I feel like that time has finally passed though. Things might be picking back up again soon, but as long as I have the inspiration to write, I promise you that I will make time to. Thank you so much for sticking with us over here. It means so much!

I know this is a little short, but I’m just starting to get back into the swing of things, so bear with me. Nonetheless, I hope all of you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

~ 🐺

You almost didn’t leave your house today. You wished you hadn’t.

But sometimes, a poor girl has no choice. You hadn’t had one. You’d run out of toilet paper, and just about every other paper product in your house in your attempt to prolong a trip to the store. It was either go out or start wiping with old t-shirts. It was because of this that you now stood in the middle of the grocery store, talking to an ex-boyfriend—Kyle—and trying to hide your discomfort behind a big package of toilet tissue.

“How have you been?” asked Kyle.

“What?” You stood on your tiptoes to peek at him over the top of the bundle of toilet paper.

“How have you been?” Kyle repeated, loudly and slowly, as if he was a tourist in a foreign country trying to communicate with the local residents.

“I’m doing good,” you replied, cutting yourself off just short of adding, “now that I don’t have to deal with you on a daily basis”.

Kyle was the perfect example of the worst sort of human being. He was fine on the surface, but once you got to know him, you realized that his charming good looks were only skin-deep. He squeezed the toothpaste out from the center of the tube. He left the toilet seat up. He put the toilet paper on the rack upside down. What had been the last straw, however, was the fact that he’d expected you to do everything around the house. It was a man’s job to make money, and the only task a woman had was to clean. When you’d asked him to move in with you, it had been intended to be the next step in your relationship. Instead it had been the last, and you were better off because of it.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Kyle said, his voice still loud and his speech still slow. People were starting to gawk now as they passed, and you blushed, hating the attention that Kyle’s ignorance was bringing.

“Well, it was nice running into you, but I’ve got to—“

“We should have dinner sometime, catch up.”

You glanced around uncomfortably, looking for an escape route. You spotted Sherlock Holmes nearby. You thought about going over, explaining things, and asking for anything to get Kyle off your trail, a kiss on the cheek, perhaps, but you hardly knew him. He worked with the officers at Scotland Yard sometimes—the same station at which you interned—but the extent of interaction between the two of you had only been awkward glances as you brought Inspector Lestraude his coffee. You were too shy to ask people you know well for favors much less people you didn’t.

You turned back to Kyle. “I don’t know,” you lied, acting as if you would actually consider his suggestion, “I’ll have to check my calendar. I’m awfully busy.”

“You’ve got that right,” said a voice from behind you. “You hardly have enough time for me anymore.”

You turned around in confusion just as Sherlock wrapped his arm around you. “Hello, darling,” he said, pulling you into a quick kiss.

You blinked, hardly able to wrap your mind around what was happening. “H-hello,” you said, almost questioningly, but Sherlock gave you a look that said to play along, and so you did. “Yes, dear, I’m sorry, but work has just been murder lately.” You laughed and added, “You should know that better than anyone.”

“Mm, yes,” Sherlock said, eyeing you as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to applaud your pun or forbid you from ever saying such a thing again, but still he smiled. He turned his attention to Kyle. “And who’s this?” he asked.

“Oh, um, this is Kyle,” you said. “He and I used to go out.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said, extending his hand to Kyle in a handshake. “You’re falling apart at the seams without Y/N, here, I see.”

“What?” asked Kyle defensively.

“Well, judging from the sweat stains on the armpits of your shirt; the faint outline of a burn mark on the inside of your right index finger—a result of your newly-developed smoking habit, no doubt; and the unmistakable smell of whiskey on your breath all point to the fact that you haven’t been taking your recent breakup well, and your invitation to take Y/N to dinner was clearly a poor effort to get her in a situation in which it would’ve been hard for her to say no to taking you back. However, Y/N has happily moved on and is doing just fine without you. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a dinner reservation that won’t be good for much longer, so we really must be going. It was nice to meet you.” With that, Sherlock slung his arm across your shoulders and steered the two of you away from a very defeated-looking Kyle.

“Thank you,” you said as soon you were out of earshot, breathing a sigh of relief and feeling as if you might cry from overwhelming gratitude. You gaped up at Sherlock. “How in the world could you possibly have known all of that about Kyle?”

Sherlock Holmes shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a gift,” he said. “Now, about that dinner....”

#sherlock x reader #sherlock #sherlock holmes #benedict cumberbatch

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thephantomwriters · 7 years ago

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The Drunken Nutcase Pt. 2 (Sherlock x Reader)

Summary: While in the care of neighbor Sherlock Holmes, Y/N is enlisted in an unexpected adventure.

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption (mentioned) & More Sass

Word Count: 1493

Requested By: @ellabella1238 @denisethestrange

Please make a part two!

Part two, please!

A/U: Agggghh! It's been forever and a few years since I last posted. I am genuinely sorry. I've been busy and just kind of unmotivated I guess. But it's summer now and I have absolutely nothing to do because I have no friends oof, so that means I'll have plenty of time to write for you lovely people! Thank you all so much for your patience. I greatly appreciate it.

Also, if you haven't already, I suggest going back and reading the part one to this story, because if you don't, the ending won't make any sense!

~ 🐺

"I'm not sure I like the sound of catching ghosts," you said as you followed Sherlock Holmes into the backseat of a London taxi cab. "That seems like something we should leave to the professionals, like those guys in TV."

Sherlock scowled. "Ghosts aren't real, Y/N," he scolded. "Even if they were, I would hardly count 'those guys on TV' as professionals on the subject." He averted his gaze to the space just outside the open car door, an eyebrow raised. "Are you coming, Inspector?"

The policeman shifted his feet uncomfortably and leaned against the side of the taxi cab, ducking his head down so as to better see the two of you seated in the dimly lit interior of the car. "I thought I'd leave it to you," he answered.

"And to think that you're the best that Scotland Yard has to offer," said Sherlock in irritation. "Did you not hear what I just told Y/N? There's no such thing as ghosts—"

"That's why you're the expert." Lestraude smiled weakly and gave the driver, who was beginning to become impatient, an address. "Goodbye, Holmes," he said, and with that, he closed the door of the taxi cab, knocked on the trunk, and the car sped off into the night.

You felt like you were going to be sick. Not only was all of the beer that you'd consumed starting to take its toll on your stomach—and the taxi cab driver's reckless command of the road certainly wasn't helping—but all of this talk about ghosts was making you nervous. It had been unsettling before, but the closer you came to your destination, the more scared you became. You wondered if it was too late to back out of this particular adventure, but then the car came to a shuddering stop in front of the remains of a burned building, and your silent question was answered.

"You two aren't up for causing trouble, are you?" asked the driver gruffly as Sherlock handed the man his payment.

"Trouble?" replied Sherlock with a smirk. "We wouldn't think of it."

You stood on the sidewalk, watching the red glow of the taxi cab's taillights fade into the distance. The scorched remnants of the house stood looming in front of you like jagged teeth reaching up through the earth, and front and center of it all was a red door. Except for the sound of Sherlock's hastened footsteps on the packed dirt beneath him as he searched the rubble for some sort of clue, the night was silent and altogether void of spectral activity.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you went to join him amongst what was left of the house. You plopped down much harder than you'd intended to on top of what used to be a chimney. "Have you found anything?" you asked, watching as Sherlock Holmes walked about in the dark, frantically overturning bricks and constantly putting his nose to the ground. You considered aiding him in his search but thought better of it—in your current condition, there wasn't much you could do without getting in his way. You were just there for moral support.

Sherlock popped up from behind a particularly large pile of bricks, looking especially discontented. "No!" he yelled. "There's nothing here!" He stood atop the brick pile now, inspecting the area, perhaps, for something that he had missed. "This doesn't make any sense!" he declared after a pause. He drug his fingers through his wild, curly hair so violently that you thought it might fall out. "There's no such thing as—"

Sherlock cut himself short and squinted into the distance. You followed his gaze. A ghostly woman had materialized at the edge of the rubble. She seemed to float amongst the tiers of the crumbling building, her pale form moving as if she were in a dream.

"Are you sure about that?" you asked Sherlock in an anxious whisper, "Because that certainly looks like a ghost to me."

But Sherlock wasn't listening to you. He was watching the woman's every move. She stopped just short of where the two of you were, tilting her head as if trying to hear something in the distance. Then, with an eerie smile, she let out a cackle. Without warning, she spun on her heels and began sprinting toward the nearby grove of trees.

As if on cue, Sherlock leapt down from the pile of bricks and started after her. "Come on, Y/N!" he shouted over his shoulder.

You were running, alright, but you were stumbling like mad in the opposite direction. You'd seen enough movies to know that nothing good ever came from chasing apparitions into dark forests at night. You were nearly to the road, too, and clear of the whole situation when you heard Sherlock yell, "Not that way!" and there he was, suddenly, seizing your hand and pulling you towards the danger, and ultimately, towards trouble.

"I have to pee," you whined as you tripped through the dark underbrush of the woods.

"You can't be serious," said Sherlock from somewhere in front of you. He was several paces ahead of you now, still holding onto your hand to ensure that you stuck with him. You wondered how he could be moving so fast. "You just peed an hour ago. How can you possibly have to go again?"

"You try drinking a six-pack of beers and let me know how far you get with holding your pee."

"Alright," responded Sherlock, "maybe I will."

You'd learned through the years that Sherlock Holmes took everything as a challenge. In his mind, he was indestructible and the best at everything life had to offer, and if he wasn't, he pretended to be until everyone believed it. Really, he was just downright stubborn. In this case, he would sooner pee in his pants and attempt to hide the fact than admit that he had to go to the bathroom.

"Have fun with that," you retorted. And you knew that he would.

By this time, the two of you had arrived at the edge of the forest and emerged into the clearing of the other side. The ghostly-looking woman was getting into a car parked at the curb. She paused and glanced over her shoulder at Sherlock, letting our another piercing laugh. "Good luck next time, Mr. Holmes," she called gleefully. With that, she slid into the backseat of the car and disappeared into the night.

"Look at that," said Sherlock, turning on you with a huff. "You let her get away. If you hadn't been such a big baby, we might have caught her."

"No one told you to come back and get me. And what would you have done with her if we had? It's not like you've got a trap hidden in the folds of your trench coat." You crossed your arms defensively over your chest.

Sherlock scowled. "You don't know what I might have tucked away in my coat."

"Mhmm," you replied, "and I'd like to keep it that way."

The two of you made your way back through the woods to the old, decaying house, much slower this time than when you'd barreled through before. Still, you kept staggering over unseen tree roots, and the legs of your sweatpants were covered with thorns. Sherlock seemed unfazed by the brush, and he walked as easily as if her were on the sidewalk outside of his flat. You really hated him sometimes.

Overhead, a bird fluttered suddenly through the tree branches. You jumped. Then, you winced. "Dang it!" you screamed. "I really liked these pants!"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, causing you to bump into him from behind. "Please tell me you didn't just pee on yourself."

"Ok," you snapped, "I won't."

"Oh, well, that's very mature of you."

"I told you I had to pee!" you complained. You sniffed, wiping your nose on the sleeve of your jacket. Actually, you were fairly sure it wasn't your jacket. Sherlock had given it to you before the two of you had left his flat, and you'd realized later, after taking a good look at it and not recognizing it, that it must've been John's. It was much too big for you and not at all your style. "It has been the worst day of my life, and I don't need your—"

"Shh!" Sherlock pulled you behind a tree and fixed his eyes in the rubble in front of you. You followed suit and saw the figure of a man, bent over and rifling through the bricks of the old chimney on which you'd been sitting. Whoever it was must've found what they were looking for, because they straightened themselves and held a small, shimmering object up to their face, examining it in the moonlight.

Sherlock was squinting intensely at the man, recognition slowly creeping across his features. "Is that—?"

You stepped out from the shadow of the tree. "Danny?"

#sherlock x reader #sherlock #sherlock holmes #benedict cumberbatch

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thephantomwriters · 7 years ago

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The Drunken Nutcase (Sherlock x Reader)

Summary: After being dumped by her boyfriend, Y/N has a few too many drinks and ends up in the care of her neighbor, Sherlock Holmes.

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption & Sass

Word Count: 1454

Requested By: Anonymous –

hello loves! Saw you write for Sherlock and was wondering if you could do some platonic!reader and Sherlock? maybe when the reader lives next door, gets drunk one night after her boyfriend broke up with her, and Sherlock has to deal with her? Don't worry if you cant! Much love X

A/U: Oof, I'm sorry this took so long! I've been up to my ears in schoolwork and practice for an upcoming play, but here it is, as promised! I really hope you guys enjoy it c:

~ 🐺

You hadn't intended to drink so much, but your boyfriend had just dumped you, and drowning your sorrows in beer was what you did best.

It was because of that that you now sat on the sofa outside your flat, waist-deep in a pile of rattling aluminum cans. It was your old couch, and you'd kicked it to the sidewalk months ago in the hopes that someone would come along and pick it up. Now, however, you were glad it was still there, because you were too, while your keys sat safely locked away inside your apartment on the kitchen counter. But you had your beer, and you were never one to let an opportunity pass you by, so you'd sat down and popped one open in the name of newly single people everywhere. One soon turned into three, and three in turn became six, and before you knew it, you were no longer sad, but dazed as well.

"Rough night you're having, is it?" asked a familiar voice.

You turned, beer cans clattering out of your lap and onto the pavement. "What gave you that impression?" you slurred.

Sherlock Holmes stood on the steps of 221 Baker Street, taking off his hat and sliding the door knocker off-kilter. He glanced at you over his shoulder. "Well," he started, "I suppose the first thing I noticed was the alcohol—you reek of it. Shouldn't you have somewhere to be, maybe somewhere with your boyfriend? What's his name—David?"

"Danny," you corrected, getting to your feet and making a clumsy attempt to prop yourself against the back of the sofa. "And no, he broke up with me a few hours ago."

"Was it the blonde?"

You frowned. "Yes, but—"

Sherlock smiled, looking much too pleased over the matter. "I told you that he was having an affair with another woman, and she was the perfect candidate—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," you interrupted, shifting your feet uncomfortably. You were in no way interested in hearing his lengthy explanation of just how right he was, not this time. You picked dully at a dried clump of food on the front of your baggy t-shirt. "Now that you're here, though," you said, watching as Sherlock opened the door to his flat and started to enter, "I may or may not have locked myself out of my place. Mind if I use your toilet?"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and eyed you curiously, trying to calculate just how much of a mess you would make from the time it took you to get from his front door to the bathroom, not to mention what would happen once you got in there. Finally, though, he hesitantly relented. "If you must," he said, stepping aside and watching warily as you clambered up the stairs and into his apartment.

Mrs. Hudson peeked from around the corner of a doorjamb. "A client?" she called. "At this hour? Really, Sherlock, I don't think—"

"You're still up," Sherlock regarded her in a bored tone. "It's not a client. It's Y/N, from next door. She's locked out of her flat and feels inclined to use the toilet." He had taken up staring at the mantelpiece, his hands pressed tightly together under his chin.

Mrs. Hudson looked on as you stumbled to the bathroom. "Maybe I had better make some tea," she said, retreating into the kitchen. "She sure seems like she could use it."

"Yes," answered Sherlock from the other room. "I believe that would be best for everyone."

And so it was that when you emerged from the bathroom, a cup of tea had been set out by the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Mrs. Hudson was still clanging away in the kitchen, and Sherlock had retreated to a desk in the corner of the living room, his nose buried in a book. No one seemed to be paying you much mind, and yet you had the feeling that they were both very aware of your presence as you staggered about drunkenly through their home.

"That's my chair," Sherlock said, not bothering to look up from his desk as you flopped down into the larger of the two armchairs.

"Not tonight, darling, I have a headache," you replied coolly, taking hold of the teacup and trying your best not to slosh out any of its contents as you shakily brought it up to your lips to take a sip. Your legs dangled freely over the arm of the chair, and you absentmindedly thumped the side of the armchair with your heels.

Sherlock stood suddenly, his chair sliding noisily out from beneath him and his knees hitting the bottom of the table, and walked across the room, his eyes cutting over to you in an agitated manner. "I'm going to pick your lock. It won't take long," he paused to grab his coat and scarf before starting to make his way downstairs, "I hope."

There was the sound of the front door swinging open, a gust of wind, and then a voice. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I wouldn't have come if it weren't absolutely necessary."

Sherlock sighed loudly and irritably. "Lestraude, your timing could not possibly be worse," he complained.

"Are you in the middle of a case?"

"Yes," answered Sherlock, "I've got quite the drunken nutcase sitting upstairs. Now, if you'll excuse me, Inspector, I've got a lock to pick."

"Please it will only take a minute. Holmes, you're our best chance of solving this."

There was a pause, and then, "Being the best can be so difficult sometimes."

This exchange was followed by approaching footsteps, and the two men soon appeared inside the flat.

"A nutcase," you said thoughtfully from your place on the armchair. Within the last few minutes, you had put down the cup of tea and swiveled around so that your feet were sticking up where your head should have been and your head was hanging off the chair were your legs were supposed to go. "I've been called worse," you decided at last, "and at least I'm not a sociopath."

Sherlock hummed. "A high-functioning sociopath," he corrected, "as opposed to a hardly-functioning alcoholic."

"You're both a bit off, dears," called Mrs. Hudson from the other room.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you!" he yelled back. His gaze shifted quickly to Lestraude. "Well, let's cut to the chase shall we? What's ailing your small mind this time?" Sherlock, having realized that trying to get you to move would be a lost cause, plopped down in the chair across from you and turned so as to see his second unannounced visitor that night.

"What?" said Lestraude. He'd become distracted by something bubbling in a beaker in the makeshift chemistry lab set up on the kitchen counter. "Oh, right. Well, a couple hours ago, we got a call from an unknown number saying that—Holmes, what are you doing?"

Sherlock had gotten up and set about rearranging the armchairs. He'd had some trouble moving yours, as you'd blatantly refused to "Get up and make yourself useful," but he was just finishing up now. He plopped back down in the chair across from yours. "I prefer a left-side view of my clients," he explained. "Carry on."

Inspector Lestraude gave him an odd look but decided at last to accept his acquaintance's eccentricity. "As I was saying," he continued, "we got a call from a woman this evening that she was being robbed, but when we got to the address, all that was left of the house was the front door. It'd been burnt to the ground, but there was no evidence of anyone having ever been there. The locals say the house caught fire years ago, and the guys down at the station are scared it's a ghost."

"Of course they are," said Sherlock.

You had started to drift to sleep, but you snorted suddenly and sat up. "That's awful," you gasped.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at you, but reverted his attention back to the policeman. "Don't mind her—she's been drinking," he said, taking note of the quizzical look Lestraude was giving you. "Did anyone take time to think that the caller gave you that address on purpose, wanting you to think she was a ghost in the hopes of distracting you from the real case and scaring you away?"

Lestraude thought for a moment. "Well, no—"

"Of course not." You watched as Sherlock leaped to his feet and grabbed his coat and hat. He spun around, sizing you up in a contemplative manner. "John's out of town," he declared, "but you'll do." He threw a jacket to you, but in your stupor, you failed to catch it, and it instead landed on your head.

You brushed away the coat. "Where are we going?" you asked, struggling to get your arms into the sleeves of your jacket.

Sherlock smiled. "To catch a ghost."

#sherlock x reader #sherlock #sherlock holmes #benedict cumberbatch

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thephantomwriters · 7 years ago

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Requests are Open :)

Welcome to our blog! Me and my friend got bored so we decided to make a writing account for the fun of it. Anyways, here are the fandoms we will be writing for:

Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)

The Maze Runner Series

Harry Potter

Sherlock

Percy Jackson

Riverdale

Voltron

Feel free to share our content with anyone, just as long as we get credit :)

**We don’t write any smut, so please don’t send any requests for that in!

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thephantomwriters · 7 years ago

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Masterlist :)

Updated: March 19th, 2020

Marvel:

Peter Parker:

Breakfast Buffoonery

The Avengers:

Prank Wars, Initiate!

Percy Jackson Series:

Percy Jackson:

Heated Encounters

Stranger Things:

Steve Harrington:

Only Joking

Sherlock:

Sherlock Holmes:

The Drunken Nutcase Part 1

The Drunken Nutcase Part 2

A Supermarket Superhero...of Sorts

Voltron:

The Maze Runner:

#masterlist #personal

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thephantomwriters · 7 years ago

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Prank Wars, Initiate! (Avengers x Reader)

Summary: A scene that takes place after Colonel Rhodes alerts the avengers of Tony’s new nickname, which soon backfires upon the avengers.

Warnings: Utter Humiliation

Word Count: 556

Requested By: Yet another free write! :)

A/U: Oh wow! 2 in one day? (I’m just that good.) For some reason I have a desire to write MCU x readers but this is better than writer’s block so here we go! It’s not much, just short and sweet!

~ 🐝

“He called him what now?!” You giggled out, wanting to hear Rhodie say the terrible mispronunciation once again.

“Yeah, it really was the highlight of my day. I even called out to the man and confirmed that ‘Mr. Stank’ was indeed the recipient of that delivery. It was hard for me to keep it together honestly.” The Colonel said as Tony rolled his eyes and buried his face into his hands. It was evident that he’d been through the telling of this humiliating story before.

“H-Hello Mr. Stank! Spiderman reporting for duty!” Your friend, Peter, joined in on the fun. His laughter was affecting his speech majorly. The boy was struggling to get the words out without snickering.

By this time, everyone was laughing. Even Vision had the slightest of smiles on his face. Clint, Steve, Sam, and Bucky were all applauding Tony for his “brilliance” –according to Clint. Everyone in the room was doubled over in laughter. Well, except for Tony.

“Does this compound have cameras? I really hope it does, because if that conversation was recorded, I need a copy of that ASAP.” Natasha pitched in, a sly smirk on her lips.

Immediately, you grabbed your phone from the table and pulled up the compound’s surveillance.

“Oh, I got it guys! Let’s watch this gem.” You stated, waiting for everyone to crowd around you.

As expected, everyone formed a semi-circle around you. You clicked onto the video, expecting the highly-anticipated, rare, and embarrassing show that was just explained only a few moments ago. The video played as normal, a small conversation occurring between Rhodes and Stark.

Suddenly, the video cut off. You clicked rapidly on your laptop, trying to get the video to reappear and continue. The laptop complied, except what it replaced the comedic video with was just flat out disrespectful.

You looked up at Tony with one of the most disgusted faces that you could pull before looking back at the horrid video that played on your laptop.

Tony had evidentially replaced the video you were watching with the notorious music video for Rick Astley’s song Never Gonna Give You Up. Tony Stark—Iron Man—had just rickrolled the avengers.

“That’s just cold, Stank.” You said, shaking your head at him.

The rest of your audience was either laughing, booing Stark, or just straight up confused. Steve and Barnes belonged to the confused group, with them being inactive during the time of the meme. Tony just gazed upon your reactions with a cunning smirk on his face.

The humiliation that washed over you was almost unbearable. Tony Stark had just rickrolled you. You couldn’t get it through your head. It was just too much. You wanted to laugh like the others, but this had never happened to you. You never were the butt of a prank, especially of one as crucial as this one.

“This will never happen again. I’ll get my revenge on you.” You spat out, vowing your vengeance upon the man.

All Tony did was flick his hand in the air as if he was physically dismissing your promise. This conjured a frown from you, disappointed in yourself for allowing this to happen.

Tony Stark always found himself in the middle of some situation, but this? This was the beginning of hell on Earth for Stark.

This meant war.

#mcu #mcu x reader #avengers #avengers x reader #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #natasha romanov #peter parker #vision #scarlett witch #wanda maximoff

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thephantomwriters · 7 years ago

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Meet the Writers!

Howdy guys! I’m one half of the writing duo that we’ve got going on here. I usually write for all of our fandoms that we write for, except for Sherlock! I’m also the one that will be writing everything for our Voltron fans :)

Unfortunately I’m extremely busy most of the time, so I usually write on the weekends. Sometimes I can find time to write during the weekdays, but not usually. I am a fast writer though, so I’ve got that going for me! Oof also, I’m the one that makes most of the posts that aren’t writings (updates, info, etc.) and if you see anything with ~ 🐝 on it, then that’s me! You can call me Bee, Bea, Luna, or whatever the heck else as long as it’s nice!

Chances are, I’m going to be the most active on this account, so I’ll probably be answering any asks of any questions you guys have about us or about our account! I’m looking forward to writing for you guys in the future! :)

~Luna 🐝

Hey everyone! I'm the other half of the thephantomwriters writing duo. I can write for the majority of the fandoms listed, but I will be the one catering to all of your Sherlock needs. Just a little heads up, I am super busy right now, so my stories might take a while to be done and posted, but I promise they're on the way. When you see this 🐺 attached to a post, it means it's one of my creations. You can call me Mars or whatever else you come up with that seems suitable.

Peace out, my dudes!

~Mars 🐺

#introduction #personal #meet the blogger #meet the writer

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thephantomwriters · 7 years ago

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Heated Encounters (Percy Jackson x Reader)

Summary: Y/N takes a much-needed walk outside of Camp Half-blood, only to have her therapy session interrupted by not one, but two unwanted visitors.

Warnings: Fighting & Inflated Egos (The scariest of all)

Word Count: 1941

Requested By: @hermionesenchantment

A/U: If I’m being honest here, I’ve only read the first series in the Percy Jackson books (because I’m too lazy to continue reading them whoopsies) but I feel like I can handle this request. I hope you enjoy! :) (Oof just realized that this is a LOT of words! I hope that’s okay!)

~ 🐝

It felt amazing to finally be alone. After all of this constant training, fighting, and just straight up arguing with people, you finally felt free. You felt alone with your thoughts and alone with nature. You were able to say whatever you wanted with the assurance of privacy –a thing that not many people respected within those camp borders.

You never wanted any of this. You didn’t ask to be hunted by various mythical monsters, you didn’t ask to be stuck at a camp for who knows how long, and you surely don’t remember asking for your father to be the god of the sun and whatever else he was. The only thing you could remember asking for was a normal life.

All the other kids seemed so happy and carefree. No one seemed to care that they were stuck in some prolonged summer camp. They all fit in with their cabins. They all loved it there, or at least they all pretended to. It seemed like you were the only one that didn’t enjoy being there. It seemed like everyone had their purpose in being there, and you just didn’t.

You missed home. You missed your mom, your friends, even the subway stations (regardless of how terrible they smelt). Instead of the big city, you found yourself on the outskirts of the camp, walking along the sands of the long-island sound.

At night you’d often find it hard to shut your eyes, so you’d take frequent walks along the beach. The ocean was quite calming to you, and it felt like you had some sort of fascination for the beauty of the seas. Occasionally you would watch your feet as you walked, distracted by the sight of the sand running between your bare toes. In fact it was so distracting that sometimes, you would wander beyond the protection of the camp’s borders.

You were provoked from your thoughts by the sound of growling. You quickly whipped your head up to find two huge, black, and ugly dogs. They were not very friendly-looking, and were approaching you slowly. Their big black paws scorched the sand with every step they took, and their eyes were red with flames.

Hellhounds.

You didn’t waste any time to panic, only to think. You only really had two options: You could either run back to camp and hope that you didn’t walk too far away from the protective border, or you can stay and fight—trusting the fact that you believed that you were somewhat good at combat. Either way, both options were risks. Every second you wasted on thinking about what option you would pick was another step towards you that the hounds took.

“Screw it.” You mumbled, making your decision and removing your silver dagger out of the sheath that rested upon your belt. You pressed firmly on a familiar star that resided on the cross-guard of the weapon, which transformed the small blade into a much larger one. You grabbed the sword with both hands, adrenaline beginning to rush through your body.

There was no running away from this.

The beasts took up your challenge, advancing closer to you more rapidly now. You were obviously outnumbered, so you didn’t allow yourself to dive into this headfirst. You needed to make their movements predictable. They began to circle you like buzzards waiting to go in for the kill. You positioned your body in a defensive manner, wanting the hounds to make the first move.

They did just that. One hound shot towards you, jumping at you with outreached claws. You slashed your sword at the monstrous canine before diving to your right. You managed to slice into the side of the dog, earning a terrible whimper from the creature.

The other hound bounded towards you and clawed at your figure. You were able to dodge the first advance, but the second dodge was a little too late. The monster’s sharp claws raked down your left arm, adrenaline blocking the pain out for now. Blood began to seep through your grey sweater.

Turning you attention back towards the hounds, you began to back away from the dogs. You tried to set your mind on a specific movement pattern, but your mind was racing too fast to focus.

In a spilt second, both dogs leaped towards you. You attempted to move out of the way but were caught off-guard once again. This time the hellhound’s claws scraped down your side, causing you to gasp in pain. Your adrenaline had run out.

You dropped down to your knee briefly before standing back up, determined to defeat these beasts.

The wound you had given to one of the hounds earlier was more effective than what you had originally thought. The dog was weakening each second, and you decided to use this to your advantage.

The next dog to make a move was the uninjured one. You swiftly rolled to the side and launched yourself towards the other hound. Your movements appeared to surprise the creature because it jumped when it saw you advancing towards it. You cut into the hound’s torso and pushed your sword through its body which caused it to bellow out an ear-piercing howl before dropping to the ground.

Relieved, you spun back to the other dog, only to find it already bounding towards you. Your eyes widened as the dog hurled itself at you, mouth agape, as if it were ready to swallow you whole. You froze in shock and found yourself unable to move.

Surely, this wasn’t the end?

As if the gods of Olympus themselves were answering your private question, a figure dashed between you and the hellhound. The character moved sharply as it hacked and sliced at the dog, killing it quickly.

You blinked hard, trying to comprehend what had just happened in front of you. Your body hastily snatched you out of your trance as it reminded you of your wounds. Grabbing at your side, you fell to your knees. You winced as you touched the open wound. Blood had already coated half of your sweater, and it was now covering your hands.

The figure that had saved you turned to face you. You finally recognized the boy who had jumped between you and the hound. This boy was also the same kid who had supposedly saved the whole world himself; the golden boy of the camp—everyone’s hero.

Percy Jackson himself stood before you. You met his worried gaze with fiery (but yet at the same time, watery) eyes. Anyone else could’ve come to save you, but it just had to be the one kid who did nothing else but save people.

Every time you’d find yourself practicing sword fighting or on the climbing wall, he was always there watching. He was always pointing out your flaws and telling you to focus harder, climb faster, and move more gracefully. He reminded you of some strict boarding school teacher.

He made you feel like a toddler that wondered out of daycare. He even made you feel useless sometimes. He could never be satisfied, and it seemed like you were the only person he paid any attention to. This kid was always pushing you, and you hated him for that.

“Why are you here?” He said, moving closer to you.

You glared at him, wishing to burn holes into his stupid blue eyes. Why was he always there?

“Why are you here?” You spat, annoyed at the whole situation.

“You shouldn’t wander outside of camp like that.” He ignored your question.

“And you shouldn’t follow me everywhere I go! Are you ever going to give me a break?” You yelled, wincing in pain as your side began to hurt even more.

“Let me help you.” He once again ignored your statements, moving towards you with an outstretched hand.

“Haven’t you done enough already?” You moved back as he moved forward.

“I saved your life.” He stated, as if you should react differently.

“What do you want from me? Do you want me to fall into your arms like my very own prince charming? I think I’d rather die in battle than be rescued by the golden boy himself.” You hissed, slowly getting angrier at the entire situation.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe a thank you? Now can you just put your ego aside for once and let me help you? You’re going to bleed out sooner or later.” He said, glancing at the blood at your waist.

“My ego? You do realize that I’m not an idiot right? I heal people for a living! Vitakinesis ring a bell?!” You said, remembering that your healing powers only work when the sun was present.

Well, the sun definitely wasn’t present, for this was taking place in the middle of the night. Percy seemed to realize that, because he shifted his weight to his side as he glanced at you. He was right, you were an idiot.

“Forget it.” You mumbled, dragging yourself in defeat towards the ocean.

The Son of Poseidon snickered as he made his way towards you. He clicked his sword and returned it to its pen version, stowing it away in his pocket. He was smirking the whole time as he strolled over towards you, which didn’t make you feel any better.

He had won this round, but you weren’t going to let it go that easily.

The two of you walked back to camp in silence for the most part. Percy would break that silence occasionally to inform you of how bad your battle stance was. You didn’t dodge, slash, or roll fast enough. It seemed like nothing was good enough for him, no matter how hard you tried.

What Percy didn’t know was that by telling you everything that you supposedly messed up, he was giving away the fact that he’d been watching you the entire time.

Silence fell for a while before he piped up again.

“You know I do it to help you, right?” He said quietly, glancing at you as you walked.

“The only thing that you’re doing is being annoying and distracting me.” You said, keeping your gaze forward.

“You think I’m distracting, eh?” He said with a sly tone.

You sighed, annoyed even more. You waited until you were just a few feet from the Apollo cabin before you spoke again.

“How long were you following me?” You shot out, turning your body towards him completely and walked backwards.

His cheeks immediately flushed red as he looked down at his feet. You finally got him. You marched up the cabin steps as you waited for an answer.

“And you talk about me choking up! I thought you knew everything about keeping yourself together, Son of Poseidon.” You mocked, enjoying every bit of this interaction.

You didn’t wait for a response this time. You opened the door to your cabin and took a step in, looking back at the boy. You had to get one more punch in before you called it a night.

“You should probably take a lesson in camouflaging yourself. Maybe talk to Grover? He’s pretty good at that. Maybe one day you can actually stalk me efficiently!” You smirked, rendering the teen speechless as he stared up at you from the bottom of the cabin steps, mouth agape.

“Goodnight, Percy.” You finally said, turning around and walking into your cabin.

You shut the door behind you before the boy could even respond, a good recover for you. He was foolish to think that he had the upper hand, that he was the one embarrassing you.

Maybe one day he’ll learn.

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians

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thephantomwriters · 7 years ago

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Breakfast Buffoonery (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: Fluffy read showcasing the tragic story of unsuccessful pancake flips within the Avengers compound.

Warnings: Pancake Death & Stroke-Inducing Fluff

Word Count: 748

Request: Free Write

A/U: This is my very first xreader I’ve ever written, so hopefully you guys like this! :)

~🐝

Over the years of being a coveted superhero, you had never realized that the only true villain you would actually encounter would be gravity itself.

It all began on today’s rainy morning. You decided that you would create pancakes, the most desirable of breakfast foods. Getting the batter itself made was no match for your superb teleportation powers. For some reason you firmly believed that teleporting 5 feet to the cupboards was more efficient than using your trusty legs to walk there. Nevertheless, Gordon Ramsey would be proud of the final product.

Ignoring the fact that half of your prepared batter was now acquainting itself with the marble-top counters, you enthusiastically poured a small amount of the batter into your pan. After a few seconds of waiting for the pancake to cook, your concentration was broken by the sound of a door shutting in the distance.

“Something smells…interesting.” A familiar voice rang through the empty kitchen as your housemate Peter emerged around the corner.

“I’m trying my hardest. I don’t need your judgments!” You chuckled out, lightly smacking the teen on the arm as he passed you.

Peter took a seat on the barstool in front of you, watching your artistic cooking display. You tended to the fluffy cake precisely, taking this entire moment a little too seriously. You were able to graciously maintain small talk with your companion whilst multitasking. After letting it cook on both sides for a few seconds, you prepared for a risky stunt.

“Laugh at this one, Parker!” You cockily yelled at the boy as you quickly grasped the pan in your hands, and attempted to send the pancake into a summersault.

Much to your horror, you had failed the task. The light in your eyes faded as they followed your beautiful creation to the floor, making a loud smack as it became one with the tiles. You stared in silence, mourning your loss. You felt your heart break as a light snicker filled the kitchen, merged in with small phrases like “I’m laughing alright” and “You’re great at this!” from Peter.

A solid minute filled with one-sided giggling passed. You stared at your failed creation silently, struggling to process what had just happened. Suddenly, a clever idea popped into your head.

You knew what you had to do.

Slowly, you turned to Peter. Once you gained eye contact, his giggling died out, earning a confused frown and a “what?” from the boy.

“You understand that I have to do this, right?” You asked rhetorically, bending over to pick the pancake up.

“What do you mean?” He asked, genuinely confused of your reaction towards the situation. It would only be seconds before he would realize what was about to happen.

Once you returned to an upright state, pancake in hand, Peter finally understood what was about to take place. He started to stand up, but he must have rethought his decision. His speed was no match for your teleportation powers. He sat back down in his chair, fully prepared to take what he deserved.

“You deserve this, Pete.” You stated, slowly moving the pancake towards the boy’s face, maintaining a blank stare as well as eye contact with your victim. The quicker the cake got to his face, the more rapidly it moved.

The pancake finally landed on Peter’s face with a satisfying smack. You took this opportunity to rub the situation in your friend’s face—literally. After about five seconds into Peter’s free pancake facial, the main door to the kitchen opened.

Tony Stark himself strolled just as casually as ever in the kitchen. By this time you and Peter were both looking at him to see if he would notice. The pancake was still connecting your hand and Peter’s face. Mr. Stark took about ten steps into the room until he looked up from his phone, finding your eyes and stopping dead in his tracks. He glanced from you, to the pancake, to Peter, and finally back to you. He raised his eyebrow in question, earning a spontaneous greeting from Peter and an embarrassed wave from you. The man rolled his eyes at the both of you and retraced his steps out of the kitchen.

In unison, the two of you doubled over laughing. The pancake was dropped once again except this time there were no hard feelings. You were pretty certain Peter was laughing so hard that he was tearing up, or was that you?

Either way, revenge was pretty sweet.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #mcu #marvel #marvel x reader

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