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steddie-as-they-come · 6 months

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sequel to my roommate steddie au!! here's the first part! tags have changed, it's now more mature with some fade to black sex

Steve’s so warm. It’s not fair.

Eddie must have half his wardrobe on, tucked under all the blankets on his bed, and Steve is just sitting over there, in a T-shirt and thin sweatpants, like the jackass he is.

"You look cold." Steve says, shifting a bit.

Eddie glares at him. "No shit, Sherlock," he bites out, trying to reign in his temper. All things considered, Steve's a pretty great roommate, sharing his food and his children with Eddie. It's not his fault the college decides to let their students freeze to death.

Steve, to his credit, just laughs at him. "Okay, fine. I was gonna offer for you to come hang out over here, since you're over the vent and I'm not, but if you're gonna be like that-"

Eddie practically teleports out of bed. "No! No, please, Steve, did I ever mention how great your hair looks today and how kind you are to me-"

Steve laughs again, moving out of the way and patting the bed next to him. Eddie doesn't hesitate to scurry up and tuck himself into a little cocoon of his own blankets, trying not to bump Steve's arm as he focuses on his homework. He doesn't completely succeed, and his hand brushes against Steve's bare arm.

"What the fuck?" he says loudly. "Why are you the temperature of a campfire?"

Steve shrugs. "I've always run hot." he says. "It's great during winter movie nights because everyone piles on top of me, but then I get banished during summer movie nights, which is no fun."

Eddie's already sprawled over his shoulder, sighing happily, like some kind of lizard on a sunlit rock. If August Eddie could see him now, he'd try to smack the shit outta him for falling for a straight guy. One who was his roommate, no less.

But it's hard not to when Steve is kind, and accepting, and a little bit stupid, and hot as hell. It isn't like he just tolerates Eddie's physical affection either, he seems to welcome it. Steve even started initiating it, wrapping an arm around Eddie's shoulders, grabbing his arm to haul him out of particularly big crowds, and the hugs. Steve loves hugs.

There's a darkness to Steve too, the way he moves, the way he's always checking over his shoulder, flinching at flickering lights, always ready for a fight.

It makes Eddie wonder if Steve is like him.

Eddie wiggles a bit, adjusting his chin to prop on Steve's shoulder. "Whatcha workin' on?" he asks, just to be nosy.

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning away. "None of your business." he teases.

Eddie misses the warmth as soon as Steve's gone. "Nooooo," he whines. "Come back. I won't look!"

Steve stays leaned away, raising his eyebrows. "You're so weird." he says. It's not in a mean way, more that he's bewildered that one person can be this strange. Eddie takes this as a compliment.

He pretends to freeze to death, jerking and flinching. "It's...so cold." he mutters. "I see...the light... All because my roommate...let me freeze to death..."

Finally, Steve's blissful warmth comes back, and Steve sighs, tapping his pen against his paper. Eddie tries to peek again, and recognizes familiar words.

"Is that a character sheet?" he yells, and Steve frowns at him.

"You said you wouldn't look!"

Eddie waves him off, grabbing for the sheet. "Steve, this is D&D. It's automatically my business when it's D&D."

Steve finally hands it over. "Fine. Yes, it's a character sheet. Dustin's birthday is next Monday, and I was gonna ask you if I could join your game as a present to him."

Eddie nods, inspecting the sheet. Dustin's been begging for Steve to join basically since they started their little arrangement, where Eddie DM's for them in exchange for no more open hostility in the dorms. It may have worked a little too well, given Eddie's budding crush, but c'est la vie.

Eddie hands it back. "You are supposed to give the DM the character sheet a couple days in advance so they have time to work you into the plot."

Steve winces. "Really? Shit, I didn't know that."

"It's fine, I got some ideas, just from looking it over. You can borrow a spare set of dice and one of my miniatures too."

"Oh good, I had no idea if I needed any of that stuff."

"Do you want me to do a little crash course for you?" Eddie asks, preparing to brave the cold to grab his little homemade handbook.

Steve gives him a deadpan look. "Are you kidding me? Dustin is gonna love being better than me at this. I might as well go in with a regular six-sided die and pretend I thought that's the one I needed."

Eddie laughs. "Fair enough." The cold touches his neck and he burrows back into his blankets. "This fucking sucks, by the way. The cold."

"You're a big baby, man. It's fine."

"Ah, yes. Forgot I live with a walking, talking furnace." Eddie rolls his eyes, muttering, "This is worse than the time I was left outside in the cold."

"Wait, what?" Steve turns to him, eyes flinty like steel. "You were...what?"

"Oh. Um." Eddie's not sure how much to reveal, but he figures it had to come out eventually. "My dad left me out in the cold when I was thirteen. I think he thought it'd fix me. I just got really sick, though." He laughs humorlessly.

"You said...fix you?" Steve says, and Eddie's heart drops. He backs away from Steve before starting to talk, trying to find something to defend himself with if Steve gets mad.

"Yeah." Eddie says. "He saw me...kissing a boy."

Steve's eyes widen, and then he scoots closer. Eddie's breath hitches.

"Me too." Steve whispers.

Now it's Eddie's turn to be shocked. Steve continues. "Not...not left outside in the cold. They'd need to be home long enough for that. But...bisexual. I like girls and guys."

There's a tense, charged silence in the room. Eddie draws up all his courage. "I like you, Steve."

Steve stares at Eddie’s lips. “Can I-” he whispers breathlessly.

Eddie, seemingly just as entranced, nods, and Steve leans forward, pressing his lips against Eddie. Almost unconsciously, Eddie tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and Steve hums happily.

Eddie’s tongue swipes at the sealed lines of Steve’s lips. Steve freezes, then slowly, tentatively, opens his mouth.

Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. Eddie practically pulls Steve down towards him, hands greedily exploring every inch of Steve he could reach. Steve gladly returns the favor, sneaking his hands between Eddie’s back and the mattress so he can feel the muscles lining Eddie’s spine flex and move as Eddie kisses him stupid.

Eddie pulls back, breaking the kiss. Steve whines, actually whines, and dives back in, but Eddie stops him with a gentle hand on his chest.

He kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth, and Steve chases it, leaning subtly towards Eddie, but Eddie just keeps moving, kissing a trail from his mouth to his chin, to the soft skin where Steve's jawline blends into his neck. Steve keeps moving, running his hands up and down Eddie’s back just for something to do.

Eddie reaches the small curve where his shoulder meets his neck, and Steve feels a small scrape of teeth against his skin. He whimpers.

“Oh?” Eddie says, the first thing he’s said since Steve leaned in. His voice is raspy, and Steve privately thinks it's the hottest fucking thing in the world. “There?”

He kisses there again, but this time there's no teeth, and Steve stays quiet, breathing slowly, in and out, in and out.

“Or…did you like it when I did this?”

Eddie leans forward and nips at Steve’s collar, and Steve keens. “Eddieee…” he says, dragging the vowels out too long, leaving that name hanging in the air.

Eddie tilts his head back up and captures Steve’s lips in another kiss, tongue sliding into Steve’s mouth smoothly. He kisses for a few seconds, then readjusts and gently nips at Steve’s lower lip.

“Please, please Eddie,” Steve begs breathlessly, not even sure what he's pleading for. Eddie seems to get it though, and slides his hands under his shirt to cup Steve’s waist.

Steve laces his hands through Eddie's hair and pulls, and Eddie lets out a moan, pushing Steve off of him and rolling so he's on top, enjoying the feeling of Steve under him on the mattress.

"I've never been so glad for the cold," he whispers against Steve's lips, and kisses him again.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #college au #stranger things #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #i am not brave enough to write actual smut yet. so fade to black it is

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incognit0slut · 6 months

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Right Kind of Wrong (18)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and Y/n resolve their feelings. wc: 3k A/n: You have no idea how happy I am being able to write fluff after seventeen parts. SEVENTEEN. Only happiness from now on (which isn't much because sadly there are two parts left)

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

THE FIRST THING she became aware of was the constant noise ringing in her ears. The soft hum of the room greeted her as she slowly drifted into consciousness. Feeling slightly disoriented, she blinked her eyes open, adjusting to the muted light filtering through the half-closed curtains as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Hospital. She was in a hospital. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air as a sudden wave of panic threatened to engulf her, but then a gentle, calm voice cut through her confusion. Her gaze shifted to the side, and relief washed over her as she spotted Spencer sitting on a nearby chair, engrossed in the book he was holding.

For a moment, she observed him—the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the strands of hair that fell across his forehead, and the intensity in his eyes as they traced the words. His soft-spoken tone was soothing, and after a moment of listening to him, she realized he was reading the book aloud for her.

"...and with that, Sherlock Holmes deduced the mystery, much to the amazement of Dr. Watson," his voice filled the room, and she couldn't help but smile faintly at the choice of literature. She shifted in the bed, and the quiet rustle of sheets prompted him to look up from his book.

"Hey," he greeted softly, placing the book on the bedside table. "You're awake."

She responded with a nod, accompanied by a small, appreciative smile. "Sherlock Holmes, huh?"

"I found a copy in the waiting room. Someone must've left it," he explained. "Thought I'd borrow it before giving it to Lost and Found."

Her gaze lingered on the tired lines across his features. "And you decided to read when you could have slept?"

"I wanted to be here when you woke up again."

A soft smile adorned her face but her brows twisted into a frown as she registered his words. "Again?"

"You've been in and out of consciousness." He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "The doctor said it's common among patients suffering from dehydration."

Her frown deepened, and the weight of the situation began to sink in as she processed his words. Her fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the thin hospital blanket for comfort.

"Is Eric..."

"He's injured, although not fatally. My shot wasn't aimed for anywhere vital," he explained, shifting his chair closer. "But he's in custody. You're safe now."

Relief washed over her, but a flicker of fear remained in her eyes. "I don't remember much after what happened."

"That's understandable," he said gently. "Your body and mind went through a lot. It might take some time to process everything."

She managed a weak nod and her eyes traced the outlines of the IV line snaking into her arm. "How long have I been here?"

Spencer glanced at the clock on the wall, his brows furrowing slightly. "About a day."

"A day," she repeated, the concept feeling both distant and immediate. The realization settled in and a pause hung in the air before her gaze shifted to him again, seeking clarification. "As in twenty-four hours?"

His face twisted into a frown, uncertainty clouding his features. "...yes?" he replied, unsure where she was going with this.

"And I've been sleeping for most of the time?"

"Well... yes."

"And you? How much have you slept?" When she was met with silence, her expression softened as her eyes took in his weariness. "Why are you still awake, Spencer?"

He sighed, a conflicted expression crossing his face. "I just... I didn't want to leave your side."

She studied him, her eyes tracing the lines of exhaustion that clung to his face. Deep lines etched across his forehead and the shadows underneath his eyes spoke volumes about everything he endured. The fading bruises, the slouch in his shoulders, and the tousled strands of his hair all painted a picture of someone who had weathered more than their fair share.

It was evident that even the hospital room had taken its toll on him, and the subtle change into a fresh shirt was his small attempt to regain a pretense of normalcy. But who was she to judge? Here she was, lying on the bed, all weak and worn out. She couldn't deny that she, too, must be presenting a less-than-picture-perfect image.

With a gentle sigh, Spencer eased into the chair beside her bed. "How are you feeling?"

She took a moment, assessing the sensations in her weakened body. The dull ache in her limbs, the lingering throbbing in her head.

"Like I've been hit by a truck," she finally responded with a smile, trying to ease the tension. But his head suddenly seemed to be elsewhere. He absentmindedly nodded, and it was clear to her that something was on his mind.

"Hey," she spoke softly. "What's wrong?"

He looked up, meeting her eyes, and she waited for his response. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally found the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry."

Confusion clouded her eyes. "For what?"

"For... everything." He let out a sigh. "For hurting you, for not being there when you needed help, for not realizing what was happening sooner. For not seeing the signs."

She shook her head. "You can't blame yourself. You were there when it mattered, and you saved me."

"But I should've protected you from the start," he insisted, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "I should've stayed with you—"

"It's not your fault. Don't apologize for something that he did."

"But I could've prevented it from happening if I didn't leave your house in the first place."

She studied him for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Look, if you're going to keep on apologizing, might as well do it in comfort." She shifted over on the bed, making room between them. "Come here."

His gaze flickered between her and the mattress. "I'm not sure that's allowed."

"What? Do hospitals have a policy against sharing a bed with visitors?"

"Well, technically—"

"Spencer," she interjected. "Just lie down with me. Please."

He hesitated for a moment, but after a brief internal debate, he relented, deciding that being close to her trumped any hospital regulations. Slowly, he settled onto the bed, careful not to disturb any wires or machines. But then she suddenly sat up and Spencer frowned. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Outstretch your arm."

"What?"

"Outstretch your arm," she repeated.

He followed her instructions, and she laid back down, resting on his arm. As she nestled against his side, he couldn't ignore the warmth that spread through him. He simply looked at her, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement when she kept pressing herself against him. His hand instinctively fell on her waist. "What exactly are you up to?"

"Testing a theory. I read somewhere that lying on someone's arm can regulate their heartbeat and help with stress. And given your guilt-ridden apology, it seems you could use a bit of stress relief." She then settled a hand over his chest. "But it doesn't seem like it's working, your heart is beating really fast."

He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks as her fingers traced gentle circles over his chest, the warmth of her touch sending ripples through him. "Well, you're lying unexpectedly close to me, I wasn't exactly prepared for that."

She laughed softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "Just... try to relax. You've been through a lot too. You don't have to hold yourself together for my sake."

He slowly nodded, letting himself sink into the moment with her. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest against his side, the gentle pressure of her hand over his heart. But guilt still rippled through him when he studied the weariness in her eyes, or the IV line sticking into her arm, or the bandage wrapped around her hand. He hated seeing her so weak that he couldn't help but blurt out another apology.

"I really am sorry."

She shifted slightly, turning to look at him. "I know you are."

"I wish I could have done more to protect you," he continued.

She reached up, tenderly brushing a strand of hair from his face. "You did what you could with the information you had. No one could have expected what happened."

He sighed, and she continued to trace gentle lines across his face as they fell into a comfortable silence. But much to her dismay, it didn't last long when he suddenly interrupted their moment. "I... I have another apology."

She was the one who let out a sigh this time. "What is it now?"

"I..." he hesitated, searching for the right words as his eyes wandered around every corner of the room but on her. "I-I want to apologize for being rough on you that day when we... when we—you know."

She raised an eyebrow, amused at where this conversation was heading. "You mean when we had sex?"

He nodded and diverted his gaze away from her, looking slightly embarrassed. She laughed and cupped his face, forcing him to look back in her direction. "Why are you suddenly so embarrassed?"

His cheeks flushed a shade of pink as he met her gaze. "I'm not used to discussing these things so openly, especially when I feel like I mishandled the situation."

Her laughter softened into a warm smile. "Spencer, we were both in a difficult place that day, I wouldn't say you mishandled anything." She leveled her gaze on him. "I trusted you. I knew you weren't going to hurt me, which you didn't, and I can assure you that I enjoyed the sex very, very much."

"But I-I tied you," he insisted. "I used handcuffs on you. Handcuffs."

"Well, did it ever occur to you that I liked being tied? That I like it when you're in control?"

He studied her, and let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when he fully registered she was being serious. "You do?"

She chuckled at his wide-eyed expression. "Yes, Spencer, I do. I thought it was very obvious." She gave him a smile, fingers tracing soothing patterns on his cheek. "But if it makes you feel any better, we can come up with a safe word."

"What's a safe word?"

His brows furrowed in confusion, prompting her to burst into laughter. She couldn't help but find his innocence endearing.

"It's something you say to stop or slow down during sex, especially if things get uncomfortable or overwhelming," she explained, her laughter subsiding.

"Oh," Spencer said, a hint of realization dawning on his face. "That makes sense."

She nodded, still smiling. "So the next time we explore our sexual needs, we can use our safe word."

There was a pause before he murmured, "Next time?"

Her smile faltered at his question. "Do you not want a next time?"

Noticing her sudden withdrawal, he placed a hand behind her, pulling her closer to him. "I want there to be a next time," he confirmed and sighed in relief when he felt her relaxing again. "You know, I just want to spend more time with you in general."

Her smile returned, warmed by the sincerity in his words. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "I want to take you to dinner."

"Dinner sounds lovely."

"And take you out on a date."

Her smile widened. "What kind of date do you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking of the museum. Or maybe the library." Then his eyes lit up with a hint of excitement. "There's also this planetarium I've always wanted to visit. Did you know that the planetarium nearby has one of the most advanced digital projection systems? It's supposedly a state-of-the-art projector that can simulate the night sky with incredible accuracy."

A genuine smile graced her lips. The excitement in his voice brought a sense of relief to her. It wasn't just a reaction to his enthusiasm about their planned date, but also the subtle transformation in his demeanor. He seemed more relaxed.

"That sounds amazing." And just because she couldn't stop herself from flustering him, she added, "But the real question is, will there be sex in this future date?"

Spencer's reaction was immediate, his face flushing with embarrassment. "Stop teasing me."

"I'm serious," she laughed, thoroughly enjoying his momentary discomfort. "I want to know what I'll be expecting."

He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. "I guess... If you want to, then yes."

"Of course, I do, but I want to hear it from you." She grinned when he gave her a pointed look. "Spencer, you've given me more orgasms than I can count, why is it so hard for you to say the word sex?"

Spencer shook his head, attempting to brush off the embarrassment that lingered. "You're unbelievable."

Despite his attempt to resist, there was a subtle twinkle in his eyes that betrayed the amusement he couldn't fully conceal. A reluctant smile stretched across his lips, and he finally conceded, "Yes, Y/n, we will have sexual intercourse in the future."

She laughed, the sound echoing in the room. "How romantic."

Her teasing expression softened into a warm smile, and Spencer couldn't help but be captivated by the warmth in her eyes. Feeling a surge of affection, he gently pulled her closer. There was a subtle shift in the air. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, she nestled into his embrace. But it was hard to fully linger in his arms when her IV line seemed to be getting in their way.

"Hold on, I think I have to turn around," she said, her fingers tracing the thin tubing connected to the IV. Spencer released his hold. "I should probably get off the bed."

"Don't you dare," she threatened, and turned to the other direction gracefully, adjusting herself without much difficulty. Once settled, she pressed her back against his chest and he instinctively wrapped his arms around her again.

"Better?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

She nodded, a contented smile on her face. "So much better."

Spencer held her a little tighter, and somehow, his hand found its way to hers, softly intertwining their fingers. He held on to her as if he didn't want to let go, as if the simple act of holding her hand offered a sense of grounding in the aftermath of everything that had happened. And with a contented sigh, she leaned back into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. She reveled in the moment because life had taken them through twists and turns, and yet, here they were—finding solace in each other's company. The warmth of his hold enveloped her like a protective shield, and for a fleeting moment, the worries that had weighed on her seemed to dissipate.

Gratitude swelled within her—a deep, heartfelt acknowledgment of this moment, of being alive, and of the shared embrace that grounded her to the present.

"Hey, Spence?"

"Hmm?"

Her fingers gently traced over his hand, still intertwined with hers, savoring the connection that seemed to defy the odds. "Thank you for staying with me."

She felt a reassuring squeeze from his hand.

"I'm here for as long as you need me."

"Don't you think this is a little too much?"

Garcia threw Morgan a glare as they walked down the hospital corridor, her heels echoing in the narrowed space. Her eyes then shifted to the balloons in her hand, the container of freshly baked cookies she made in the other hand, and the bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers dangling from Morgan's arms.

"She deserves a warm welcome after what she's been through," she countered. "And it's my first time meeting her in person, I can't come empty-handed. That's so unlike me."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, sure, but we're just visiting. It's not a party."

Garcia huffed. "I believe in spreading happiness wherever I go. And besides, who wouldn't want flowers, balloons, and delicious cookies after being stuck in a hospital bed?" She looked over to the rows of the door down the hallway. "What room did Reid say she was in?"

Morgan glanced down the corridor lined with identical-looking doors. "Room 108."

Garcia led the way, her heels clicking purposefully as she cradled the balloons and cookies with a determined air. Morgan followed, still holding the bouquet, and couldn't help but shake his head at Garcia's unwavering commitment. As they approached the door, she paused to adjust her cookies and then knocked lightly on the door, only to be met with silence.

She turned to Morgan. "Do you think she's asleep?"

"I don't know." He pulled out his phone and tried to dial Spencer's number, only to be met with a constant line of ringing. "He's not answering."

"I think we should just go in."

Morgan hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Garcia took a deep breath and gently pushed the door open, stepping inside. The room beyond was dimly lit, with the curtains drawn, followed by the soft hum of medical equipment filling the air. It seemed like an ordinary hospital room, but what seemed out of place was the sight before them.

Because Spencer lay on the bed with her, both peacefully sleeping.

"Oh my god," Garcia gushed, stepping further into the room. “Oh my god.”

Morgan couldn't help but wear a surprised smile. "Well, that explains why he wasn't answering his phone."

Garcia carefully placed the balloons at the foot of the bed and Morgan followed behind her, setting the bouquet on the bedside table. She then motioned for him to place the container of cookies there as well before she held her hands together, watching the scene before them. "This is like a scene straight out of a romance movie."

Unable to contain her excitement, she took out her phone and snapped a discreet photo of them. Morgan shot her a disapproving look, but she just waved her hand dismissively and whispered, "It's for the memories."

"Come on," he insisted, grabbing onto her arm. "Let's leave these two to rest."

"One more picture!"

Garcia's voice echoed in the room, and Spencer stirred in his sleep. Morgan and Garcia stilled for a moment, holding their breath. They waited for another second, and thankfully, the couple seemed to be too deep in slumber to hear the commotion in the room.

Morgan gave Garcia a pointed look. "That's enough, Garcia. Let's go."

"Give me a minute,” she lingered. “Let me take one last video."

Morgan shook his head. He took her phone out of her grasp, ignoring her protest, and finally dragged her out of the room—leaving the two lovebirds behind.

>> NEXT PART

a/n: that last scene is kind of a bonus, I just thought it was cute

taglist #1

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vodkabutgay · 2 months

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Sometimes I feel like I don't even deserve to see him on my phone's screen. He's so beautiful with his long/medium unruly curls with the darkest of blue mixed along with black. His eyelashes that can rival a little deer. He's so freakishly tall but somehow seems like a tall child stuck in an adult body. He's such a goofy little guy but he's also the smartest man in the room given any situation (minus if his brother is there sorry Sherly).

I like how he's so passionate about everything, be that chemistry, literature or music...oh his music! I wonder if Sherlock ever sits at his desk writing music sheets over his violin and wishes if he could play all the stringed instruments. The way he is, he probably tried. I'm sure John gets most of his rants when Sherlock is fixed on a topic. I wonder if William got to see this beautiful side of Sherlock during those three years they spend in New York. I wonder if Mycroft was the one who got him into music when he couldn't give him time because of the age gap so Sherlock became dependent on this particular hobby to distract himself. I wonder if he ever wanted to compose the music he wrote. I wish our little detective was real.

I hope he knows John forgave him for his absence. That John only wants him safe and sound.

And I hope he knows his brother was mourning him. That it's about time they offer eachother closure. That his brother loves him.

And most importantly, I hope he knows his Liam views him as hope. That William will burn the world once again if something happens to him. He's the only remaining light in William's life and always will be. They don't ever have to go through something alone ever again, be that tragic or beautiful. They have eachother.

Sorry guys I got a little emotional with this one :3

#sherlock holmes #william james moriarty #john watson #mycroft holmes #sherliam #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuumori

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shewrites444 · 1 year

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over [xavier thorpe x reader smut]

[written by me and only me. i have been super busy so it's a little shorter than usual, but i hope you still enjoy lovies ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)]

PART 2 LINKED HERE

word count - 1.4k

[summary: the reader, a normie, works with xavier during his shift at their local coffeeshop, where she learns about his crush on his classmate, wednesday, and intends to help him forget about it.]

[warnings: risky, public, dirty talk, oral, fingering]

"yeah, he never shuts up about her. it's kind of cute, honestly. tyler likes her a lot."

"what, no way! i don't know how she can like such an asshole!" xavier shouts in frustration, rubbing his forehead and leaning his elbows against the counter while i watch with a giggle, setting down one of the mobile orders on the endpiece.

i shake my head and walk past him to grab the next ticket, playfully nudging at his side. the lovesick boy was fairly attractive, i'd admit, but he was head over heels for this girl, considering he was already drooling over her to me, his coworker during his pilgrim world volunteer hours.

"don't get so fed up about it, dude. if she wanted you, she'd make it clear. tyler said she can be confusing, so i'm sure she is probably messing with the both of you." i explain, grabbing the cold brew from the fridge. "you may have to play the long game and wait. i'd suggest not doing that though, to save your mental health, you know."

xavier sighed, handing me a lid for the plastic cup after i poured the ice in. "i don't understand how you're so casual, and brutally honest, about all of this. haven't you had a crush before, just one you can't forget about?"

"obviously, we all do." i say, placing the new drink next to the other. i turn to face him, crossing my arms and shrugging. "but i just forget about guys. they're either too emotional, or have no emotions at all. it's better to just be single, and alone. you should try it - you look miserable."

"gee, thanks, [y/n]. best coworker ever. can't wait to spend two more hours with such a nice, lovely girl." xavier rolls his eyes, pressing the back of his body against the counter and looking down.

i smirk, walking over to the boy and lean against the counter aside him. i glance down, laughing softly. "you'd be a pretty cool dude to talk to for the next two hours if you weren't so down bad for a girl who just uses you for that sherlock homes shit she's trying to do."

"she doesn't use me."

i quirk my brow, tilting my head and crosses my arms at his statement.

"okay, at times. but that doesn't make her a bad girl!"

i sigh, throwing my arms into the air playfully. "here we go again! xavier picking the worst girl to like."

"shut up." xavier grins, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned back up. "let me live in my fantasy to help me feel better. like you said, long game."

"mhm. have fun with that." i tease, as i watch another paper print for a mobile order and walk past xavier, grazing my side against him as i lean up to reach for the sheet. i can feel a heat in my body from what i just did, biting my bottom lip as i grab the sheet and press it against the cup, feeling a presence behind me and seeing a shadow formulating aside me.

i turn around to see him standing infront of me, his hands both pinned against the counter on each side of me. i scoff, rolling my eyes with a grin. "so you'll try to use me, like wednesday does to you, as a distraction for your overall goal, because you're bored. funny."

"and you'll try to use me, like every other guy, so that you're a little less lonely every now and then. funny." xavier tilts his head, looking down at me with a smirk. "and i bet you find it kinky or some shit that i'm an outcast, too."

i set the cup down, moving one hand down to press against his pants. "if that's what you think my definition of kinky is, then i'm honestly a bit offended."

"then what's your definition?" he says as he leans himself down, pressing his lips against the top of my ear. "why don't you show me."

"why don't you get on your knees then." i snap back, moving one of my hands to hold the back of his head and nudge him down, watching as he followed what i asked.

i watch his khaki pants hit the tile floor as he tucks his hair behind his ears before reaching over to my shorts, unzipping them and sliding them down to my ankles, before he sticks one of his fingers into his mouth and into my entrance. i gasp, moving one hand to his head to guide him more towards me.

his tongue attaches to my clit as he begins to suck on it, one finger pumping itself in and out of me while he looks up to me, our eyes locking before i look up to the ceiling, closing my own while he stimulates me. one of my hands holds his hair as the other rests on the counter, which reminds me of where i actually am.

my eyes widen and i look around, noting that no one is in the coffee shop but in a way, it turned me on to know xavier was willing to do this regardless of where we were. i feel him slide another finger inside, snapping me out of thoughts and back to the knot that was forming in my stomach.

"you like that, [y/n]?" xavier pulls away from my clit, leaning himself back up to face me, now towering over me, while he pushes my body against the counter, helping me get on top of it, my ass pressed against the cold counter while he pumps his fingers into my warmth.

i lean my head against the cabinet and nod, a grin on my lips. "maybe, but that doesn't matter. it's not enough for me."

he smirks, looking down to push a third finger inside without hesitation, taking his free hand to hold the side of my face while he begins to rapidly pick up his pace, glancing down at me with the same stupid smile printed across his face from cheek to cheek.

i grip the counter with both of my hands, leaning up to press my lips against his for the first time during this entire encounter. i open my mouth to allow his tongue in, feeling my own juices touch my tongue while we continue to make out.

he persists, obviously trying to get me to reach my climax, as he aggressively finger fucks me against the counter. i bite his bottom lip, letting a small moan slip between our lips, which causes xavier to grin immediately upon my slip up. i earn one back from xavier as i reach over to his pants, unbuckling the buckle with one hand and sliding my hand into to rub against his hard length through his black boxers. i feel the boy sink against me, weak from any form of my touch.

"you don't know what i'd do for you to fuck me, [y/n].. you're so fucking hot.. fucking hell..." he moans against my lips as he slows down his pace, pulling his fingers out of my slowly, and attaching his thumb to my clit as he begins to rub, pulling his lips away from mine and looking down to lock out eyes. "do you want me to fuck you? hm? i'd fuck you right here, i don't care who sees. you're so fucking hot."

i tilt my head, slowly closing my legs enough to where his thumb was still able to remain attached to my clit. if there was anything that turned me on, it was playing games. if he really wanted me, he wouldn't give up.

"i think we both have work to get to, xavier. don't you think?"

he pulls his hand away a few seconds after my words, his eyes wide as he watches me shut my legs and slide off the counter, leaning down to pull my pants back up.

"no way." he buckles his belt back, leaning against the opposite side of the counter as he crosses one leg over to hide the erection straining from his pants.

i grin, walking back over to grab a cup for the order that i was supposed to make who knows how long ago. as i scoop the ice, i glance to xavier. "you like teases, clearly. but if it makes you feel any better, your girl is definitely missing out. so act the way you acted with me, with her."

xavier stands up, walking towards me and handing me the milk for the drink, watching me pour it as he wraps one arm around my waist, leaning down to peck the side of my forehead.

"i think my interests lie somewhere else at the moment." he grins, his other hand snaking behind me to grab me by the jaw, moving my head towards him to meet our eyes. "so this isn't over."

#xavier thorpe smut #x yn #xavier thorpe #x reader #wednesday #wednesday series #netflix wednesday #smut writing #fanfic #wednesday fanfic #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader

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holylulusworld · 2 months

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Mr. Holmes Maid (2)

Summary: You’re his maid.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Maid!Reader

Warnings: angst, power imbalance, dub-con (just in case) cuddling/sharing a bed, master-servant relationship, the reader was an orphan, mentions of physical abuse against the reader (childhood/implied), inappropriate behavior

Mr. Holmes’ maid (1)

Mr. Holmes’ maid masterlist

Four months after Sherlock came to your room for the first time, one of his former classmates came for a visit.

Everything was normal. You prepared tea and biscuits. While you followed the strict codes of conduct and were not allowed to speak to Sherlock’s guest, he wouldn't stop asking you questions you didn't want to answer. The man didn’t want to take the hint that you were uncomfortable around him.

His hand brushed against your bottom more than once, and he shamelessly stared at your chest.

“I wondered why Sherlock had a maid all for himself. Now I know,” he grinned and patted his lap. “Why don’t you give me the same treatment you give your master.”

“I-“ you didn’t know how to react. This man was just awful, but you weren’t able to fight him. You were only a maid, and he was your master’s friend.

“What’s going on here?” Sherlock came just in time to save you. He cocked his head and watched you whimper in distress. You never acted like that. Not in front of him, or his brother.

“I only offered your maid to sit on my lap, my friend,” the man patted his big tummy. “Maybe she likes me more than you. You’re always so…strict.”

“We are rather acquaintances, than friends. I haven’t heard from you for years,” Sherlock stepped toward you to stand by your side. “Maid, please retreat. We have to discuss manners you wouldn’t understand.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” you never felt more relieved than in that moment. The man scared you in more than one way.

You curtsied and left the room, walking as fast as your feet would carry you.

All you wanted was to be away from this man and his demands.

Your loyalty belongs only to your master, Sherlock Holmes.

“This person,” Sherlock angrily entered your room. He cursed under his breath, using words you never thought belonged to his vocabulary. Your master was angry. Why, you didn’t know. “How dare he come here believing he can offer me money to get my maid.”

“What?” You sat up on the bed, suddenly wide awake. “I don’t understand.”

“He called me rude and unreasonable because I didn’t want to hand my maid over to him,” Sherlock pushed his locks out of his face. “I haven’t heard of him for years, and he comes here to steal my maid.”

You didn’t understand. Why would a man you never saw before come to Sherlock to get you? Your lips wobbled and you felt like a cold hand gripped your heart.

“Do not fret, my dear,” Sherlock said. “I sent him home, not without giving him what he deserved.”

You glanced at Sherlock, shocked at the sight of his split knuckles.

“Mr. Holmes,” you got up from the bed to take care of his hands. “We need to clean the wounds. Let me help you.”

“I cleaned the split skin,” he said, and gently ran his index finger over your cheek. He hummed and watched your shoulders relax. “He will never bother us again. We should rest now.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” you murmured, already used to sleeping in one bed with your master. “I changed the sheets and got you another blanket. It’s getting colder, and you are not used to the cold.”

“So sweet,” he cupped your chin with his index finger and thumb. “I wonder if your lips taste sweet too.” Sherlock leaned closer. His lips almost touched yours when he dropped his hand and stepped away from you. “I-I should…no…I need to reread a few papers. Have a good night.”

Sherlock left your chamber and didn’t return that night. It was the first night you spent alone, and you felt cold and lonely.

“Mr. Holmes, there is a letter for you,” you shyly glanced at Sherlock. He was engrossed in reading another letter. “I have finished my chores for today. I’ll retreat to my chamber to knit.”

“Wait—” He suddenly got up. “I need your opinion on something.” Sherlock walked out of his office to get a blanket. “I got it for the winter. You said it’s cold in your chamber and I thought of you.”

Sherlock pushed the blanket into your hands and turned his attention toward the letter without waiting for your answer. Your heart fluttered. He got a warm and soft blanket for you, and it meant the world to you.

“Have a good night, Mr. Holmes.”

You woke like any other night with Sherlock’s arms locked around your body like anchors holding you to him.

“You’re awake,” Sherlock murmured your name. “Why?”

“There is no reason,” you whispered, afraid to tell him the truth. You woke because of a bad dream – or rather a memory from the past. This happens once in a while if you allow yourself to think of the past too much.

“Do not lie to me, maid,” he sounded angry, and you flinched. “You were crying in your sleep and tried to get away from me.”

Forced to tell him the truth you took a deep breath. “I had a bad dream,” you sniffled. “I dreamed of the orphanage I spent my childhood at. The children called me names, and the nuns hit me with a ruler.”

“You never told me that you grew up in an orphanage,” he sounded surprised, and his tone softened. “Why did you never tell me?”

“I’m here to serve, not for chatter. That’s what I've been told all my life. I didn’t think it was important,” you murmured. Sherlock never asked questions about your childhood. He only cared about your reputation and your cleaning skills.

He inhaled sharply. A habit when something angers him.

“I need to know every detail. Details are important,” he said. “I want you to tell me everything about your past. Now!”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” you hoped he’d lose interest and forget about your nightmare in the morning. “I was all alone, and the other children didn’t like me. No one ever told me why they didn’t like me. I tried anything but…” You wiped your eyes. “No one ever wanted me.”

“You’re here now,” Sherlock whispered in your ear. “Safe and sound.”

The night was shorter than usual. Someone yelled Sherlock’s name and harshly knocked at the door. You woke, startled by the man screaming your master’s name.

“Open the door!” the man yelled even louder. “You dishonored my wife!”

“Y/N, I want you to stay here and try to get more sleep. Let me handle this,” Sherlock slipped out of bed and grabbed his robe. He threw it on and left your room.

You couldn’t go back to sleep. His warmth left your body, and your teeth chattered. Scared you listened closely as the man calmed and repeatedly apologized to your master.

“People these days,” Sherlock reentered your room, closing the door with a loud thud. “He dared to come to my home and scare my—” He looked at you, unsure what you are to him. “Never mind. He came to the wrong house.”

You nodded and lifted the covers. “Are you alright, Mr. Holmes.”

“Of course, Y/N,” he took his robe off and joined you in your bed again. “We will sleep a little bit. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

“Mr. Holmes, what a pleasure to see you,” the owner of the boutique spluttered, obviously excited that the infamous and wealthy detective came to his boutique again. “What brings me the pleasure of your presence.”

The man smiled widely and almost drooled all over your master. You got ignored, like most of the time. Well, your simple dress and appearance don’t catch the eye of many people. In the end, you’re only a peasant, not a person to most of the people you meet.

“I need a new wardrobe for my—,” Sherlock cleared his throat when you didn’t react, “maid. Y/N, come here.”

“Mr. Holmes,” you were surprised he told the man that the dresses and winter coat he ordered weren’t for Enola, his sister, and ward. “Do you want me to have a look at the dresses for your sister?”

He sighed, exasperated. If Sherlock hated one thing, it was waiting time. “The dresses are for you. I need you to try one on. I don’t want to waste my money on dresses not suiting you.”

“I-“Confused you look at the owner of the boutique. He looked as shocked as you.

“I need her to represent the household, Holmes. I cannot let her run around in a torn dress,” Sherlock touched the back of your dress, gripping it tightly until you heard a ripping sound. “See, the material is the worst. I have a reputation to protect.”

“Mr. Holmes,” the man nodded eagerly. He called for his wife to help you try on one of the dresses. “Of course.”

Sherlock hummed and looked around the boutique. He wasn’t interested in buying another vest or coat. Your master tried to distract himself to not follow you and watch you redress. He was a gentleman after all…

“Oh, look at you,” the boutique owner’s wife cooed. She told you to look in the mirror. The woman in the mirror staring back at you wasn’t you. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

The biscuit and rose-colored silk bustle dress with lace trimmings fitted you like it was made for you. “It’s beautiful,” you replied, but didn’t know what else to say. You've never worn a dress like this before. In lack of words, you remained silent.

“Let me get Mr. Holmes,” she finally said and left you alone with your racing heart. Why would he buy you a dress like this? Maybe it was another test. He’d buy it for his sister, or some other woman and wanted to remind you of your place.

“What do you think, Mr. Holmes?” She came back with your master by her side.

Sherlock looked you up and down in the new dress. He hummed and clasped both hands behind his back while going around you.

“It’s well done,” he said. “I’m satisfied with your handiwork. Let’s try on the others,” Sherlock stopped right in front of you to watch you drop your gaze. “Shall we?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,” you murmured, unsure how to react to his behavior. “What do you want me to try on next?”

He cocked his head to glance at the dresses. “The red one. I liked it the most.” Sherlock followed you. Hand brushing over your back. “I hope you like it as much as I do. You will look beautiful in it.” He whispers the last part.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Sherlock’s hand on your back felt warm and soothing, still, it was inappropriate. He openly showed affection toward a peasant.

This could ruin his reputation, and yours…

Part 3

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#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x maid!reader #maid!reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #Mr. Holmes Maid (2)

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espinosaurusrexex · 1 year

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If Only You Would Know

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

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

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

word count: 4k

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

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And who would this accompany be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You cannot stop me.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you–“

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

Enola beamed. “Yes.”

❁ ❁ ❁

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❁ ❁ ❁

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You sent her out to spy didn’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❁ ❁ ❁

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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delicate-moon-princess · 2 years

Note

Hello, if it's alright to request stuff, may I ask for some soft smut with Sherlock? Like morning, sleepy makeout in bed or something along those lines? Thank you!! I really love all your work! Keep up the great work!!

Taste of Home

Summary: You wake up next to Sherlock in bed after months of being apart. It never felt like home when he was gone. And now finally, he’s there to fill the void in your heart.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, kissing, thigh fucking, unprotected p in v, sleepy sex, cock warming, a tad emotional?- Let me know if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 2k

Any typos are my own!

A/N: Of course, thank you so much for the request! Here’s a very soft and sleepy Sherlock for you, nonnie ❤️

Daylight flooded the room, waking you as it beamed onto your face. The curtains had not been closed, and you were facing the window. The brightness made your eyes ache and you pouted as you covered them.

It was far too early, you decided. You sighed as you tried to go back to sleep, burying your face in the pillows. When you shifted, confusion filled you when your bare skin rubbed against the soft sheets. You realized you were nude. It was not like you to sleep without clothes.

You lifted your head and looked around. A shuffling sound came from behind you on the bed, making you look back. A familiar sleeping face greeted you. Your husband. Sherlock. Who was also nude, judging by the way the blanket draped low on his hips. You had a perfect view of his chiseled torso and defined v-line.

It all came rushing back to you when you looked at him. He came home from a very long work trip the night before. And after a quick dinner, he made love to you till the early hours of the morning. You remembered falling asleep in each other’s arms immediately afterwards.

It was no wonder he was exhausted. As were you. After the workout he put your body through, it was almost like you hadn’t slept at all.

Even now as you gazed at his dozing features, you felt like you could easily fall asleep. Nevertheless, you carefully rolled over so you could get a better look at him. You laid your head on the pillow next to his as he faced you, taking the time to admire how beautiful he was.

To say he was beautiful was an understatement. His curly brown locks tousled, which softened his appearance. His long lashes fluttered as he slept. He looked so peaceful.

Who were you to disturb him? He worked so hard all the time. This last particular case he was working on had been especially tough to solve. Of course Sherlock Holmes closed the case, but even the famous detective ran out of steam.

He deserved to sleep in for as long as he liked. His brows began to twitch as you admired the lines in his face. You tilted your head and watched him. At first, you thought he was dreaming, but then his eyes opened. He took in the sight of you, before he gave you an enamored smile.

“Mrs. Holmes…” Sherlock murmured groggily. “Good morning.”

You didn’t have time to say it back, because his lips were on yours the instant the words left his mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a pleased hum. Good morning to you too, husband. He hummed back as you lifted a hand to his cheek, your tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip. When his taste hit your tastebuds, you shivered.

That taste. You missed it so. Like wintergreen and tobacco. It was both bracing and earthy. A taste of him this early in the morning was a treat.

Your mouth watered as you avidly drank down what you could from his lips. If you could bottle up his taste and drink it every morning, you would. He tasted like comfort, like home.

Then, the warmth of his lips was gone. You sluggishly opened your eyes, finding him looking at you as his fingers stroked your cheek.You tried to savor the residual of his saliva on your tongue.

“How long have you been awake, dear?” His question took a moment to register with you, given how exhausted you were. Based on Sherlock’s lazy caressing of your face, you could tell he was just as tired as you.

“Not long.” You muttered when your sense of understanding came back to you.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner, darling?” He asked you, letting his hand rest on your cheek.

You melted, leaning into it. Bringing your hand up to cover his, you nuzzled your nose against the lines of his palm.

“You needed your rest.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to the crease of his thumb.

“After all the time we were apart, what I need more than anything is to spend time with my gorgeous wife. And I need to be awake and conscious to do so.” He pointed out to you, his voice still laced with sleep.

Sherlock moaned when you nibbled gently on the ball of his palm. His fingers flexed, and he lazily rested his forehead on your temple.

“Or at least lucid enough to admire how angelic you look in the morning.” He yawned softly, his face falling to your neck. “Though I am having trouble keeping my eyes open.” He mumbled against the flesh of your collarbone.

“Perhaps we should rest a little while longer.” You suggested, your fingers in his soft curls.

“Hmm… perhaps. Then again, we should get up and get ready for the day. My guess is we’ve already slept past breakfast. I fancy your idea much more, however. Staying in bed, with you.” He nudged his nose along your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Sleeping. Staying in bed, sleeping.” You corrected him, smiling softly.

“Hm? Oh, sleeping. Yes, of course.” He hummed innocently, his lips on your jaw. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I find it hard to fall asleep, though. You smell too good.” He moaned, tugging you closer.

You gasped when you felt his erect cock against your stomach. His manhood twitched when it touched your belly.

“And so warm. I’ve missed your warmth.” He murmured, squeezing his length between you as it leaked onto your skin.

His seed was sticky as it oozed onto your flesh. You shivered, it was so warm and you were reminded of last night when he shot his fervid seed inside you. A large hand grabbed the back of your thigh, lifting it so your legs spread slightly.

“I’m willing to bet you're also wet for me.” He reached down to grab the base of his cock.

You watched him guide his manhood towards the crease between your luscious thighs. It wasn’t until he slipped in with ease that you realized your inner thighs were covered in your fluids. Not only a result of his current actions, but also the very pleasant dreams you had of him last night.

A deep blush bloomed on your cheeks. Sherlock further situated his erection, nestling it between your wet folds. You jerked and gasped, your clit pressed against his solid length.

“So wet for me. Mmm…” He gave a sleepy smile and hum. Then he pulled away to look at you. “Tell me, my love, did you dream of me?”

There was no chance of hiding anything from him. His question was answered when you lowered your head bashfully. You took interest in where he buried himself in your thighs, watching as he shifted his hips. The top of his shaft nudged your delicate bundle of nerves. A heat rose in your belly, making you mewl as you rolled your hips.

“I dreamed of you. The entire time I was gone, I dreamed of you every night. It was the only thing that kept me going, the promise that I had you at home, waiting for me.” He sighed as your thighs squeezed him.

“I knew soon enough I would be back here, surrounded by your warmth. Your smell. Your taste. U-Ugh, your taste.” He groaned as he pulled out from between your legs. Your clit was rubbed the other way. You arched your spine with a breathless hiccup.

“Like the sweetest honeysuckle. I can't get enough.” He grabbed your cheeks, moaning as he brought you into a deep kiss.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, lavishing yours in sensual licks. Your flavors paired beautifully together. Honeysuckle and wintergreen. Sweet and refreshing. It made your cunt pulsate as you swallowed.

“Sherlock.” You hiccuped, your hands falling to his chest and you weaved your fingers through his chest hair.

You squeezed your legs together, gripping his cock as he continued to buck between them. He panted against your mouth, hitching your leg up onto his hip. He reached down, rubbing the tip along your now exposed slit.

“I need to be inside you, darling. Need to feel you.” He exhaled into the kiss, and you greedily drank down his breath.

He lined up with your dripping hole, and slowly sank into you. Sherlock held your hips, squeezing when you sucked in a breath. Your body accepted him inside you easily. Like it was welcoming him home.

There was nothing better than this. Being wrapped in the arms of your beloved, being as close as two people can get. Yes. This was home.

You whimpered, pulling him closer with your leg. Pulling away from the kiss, you opened your eyes to stare into his. You cradled his face in your hands.

“I-I’ve missed this.” You admitted, your chest heaving in soft pants as he shallowly began to thrust. “I’ve missed you. I dreamed of you too, Sherlock. Every night-ah!”

You sighed in pleasure. The tip of his cock nudged your cervix and it felt like all your nerve endings sparked. He was so deep.

He cradled your bum, easing in and out you. Your words caused him to moan and press his head against yours.

“Did you always wake up wet for me?” He groaned, licking his lips as he waited for your response.

“Yes. Yes, everyday.” You whined as you remembered the mornings where you woke alone in bed. “It always felt so… cold without you here. I dreamed of this every night. And each morning, I ached for you to fill me. I-I felt so empty.”

A whimper escaped you, your emotions jumbled from the mix of pleasure and fatigue. Sherlock shushed you, grinding his hips to remind you of how not empty you were at the moment. His pelvic bone grazed your clit. You melted, your face falling against his neck as you moaned.

“It’s alright now, my love. I’m here. I won’t ever leave you empty again.” He promised you, burying his face into your shoulder as he gained a little speed, though his pace was still slow and lazy.

His deep momentum had you to the edge in no time. It was all too much. You felt every inch of him and it was making your drowsy head swim. Sleep sounded so good right now, but cumming all over your husband’s cock sounded even better.

“I’ve got you, dove. You can let go. I’m here now.” He breathed into your ear, pulling your body impossibly close.

With one last jolt of his hips, you came with a soft cry. Sherlock quickly pressed his lips to yours, swallowing down all your sobs as he gave his own gasps. He pressed into you all the way, shaking as he shot his load deep inside your cunt. His hot, thick seed covering your cervix only prolonged your orgasm.

You felt his heart thudding in his chest as he pressed it to yours. He held onto you tightly, and you clung to him. As your climaxes subsided, both of you were left panting.

You never wanted this moment to end. Being one with your husband, it was euphoric. Why did it always have to end?

He shifted, and you whimpered. You tightened your leg around his side. He grunted when you clenched down on him in an attempt to trap him inside you. His hand squeezed your ass.

“Relax, darling. I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I promised not to leave you empty again, didn’t I? The both of us are going to get a bit more rest, as we stay just like this. And when you wake, my love, I will still be here. Inside you.” He hummed in content as he closed his eyes, stroking your back to relax you.

You were able to unwind once you realized he wasn’t going to pull away. Closing your eyes, you burrowed into his chest. A soft sigh escaped you, blowing around some of the hair on his chest. Sherlock pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Rest now, sweetheart. I’ll keep warm. And full.” He murmured, his low and comforting voice made your eyes droop.

The warmth of your husband helped lull you to sleep. Your dreams were once again filled with him. There was no need to worry about waking up aching and empty this time. Because Sherlock was back home, and everything was whole.

A/N: Look at me, finally getting another fic done😅 Sorry it’s been a bit, I’ve had a horrible case of writer’s block. I hope you enjoyed, love you all! ❤️ Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #henry!sherlock holmes x reader #henry!sherlock x reader #enola!sherlock holmes x reader #enola!sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #sherlock smut #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fic #anon request #masterlist

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lisbeth-kk · 3 months

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Sherlock fandom

You Weren’t There

He never thought he would get here, doing what Ella wants him to do. Even Sherlock has nudged him in this direction. Gently, without any snark.

“You’ll feel better, John. And no one has to see it. It’s a matter between you and the past,” Sherlock said softly and kissed his forehead.

So, here he is. Alone in 221B, pen in hand hovering over a sheet of paper. Ready to face and confront his parents, his only weapon a rollerball with black ink.

Mum and Dad

Once, I was your pride and joy. When and why did that change? Was it because of my lack of physical strength as a boy? My empathy for Harry when she came out as a lesbian? Or maybe it had to do with my trust issues. The issues you two are responsible for. Yes, you read that right. You. Both of you.

I see now that you may have suffered from the same thing, because you never engaged with the other parents. They always thought you were happily married. You were always good at keeping up appearances.

Neither of you liked that I enjoyed music and wanted to learn to play the clarinet. You only allowed it because of my teacher who insisted that I’d join the music group, but you never cared. Not once did you attend a concert. You weren’t there. Never. Not for me. Not for Harry.

You’re both egocentric people who never should’ve had children. My miserable childhood notwithstanding, I’m glad of one thing; my life. Because I’ve finally found someone to love and who loves me in return. I know you won’t approve because it’s a man. The most brilliant, kind, loving, amazing, and extraordinary man who’s ever lived.

Because of your phobia against queerness, and my childish reluctance to disappoint you, I’ve been hiding my true self for decades. I even hurt this man, my Sherlock, for years since I was too afraid to come clean as a bisexual. And that fact haunts me the most. That I’m still having issues with this. I can’t blame you for all of it. I’m a grown man, but bad habits die hard.

This letter is supposed to be closure, a goodbye if you like. I have yet to decide if I want to send it to you. It’s about getting it all out, more for my sake than yours.

We married last month by the way. Harry was there. You weren’t invited. I know you never would’ve come anyway. Besides, I didn’t want you there.

I’ve always detested weddings were everybody you know and are related to must be invited. Only people we love and care for were present.

You always had high hopes that I would marry when I became a doctor. It would be the perfect façade. Something you could brag about to your colleagues or whomever cared to listen to you.

If you ever get this letter, or if you already know, I bet everything I own that you’ve never mentioned it to anyone. To you, Harry and I are damaged goods. And when I write these words, I realise that I don’t care what you call me anymore, because I’m happy. For the first time in my adult life. Thanks to my husband, Sherlock Holmes.

John

He's mentally exhausted when he’s finished writing, and heads for the bathroom to wash off what feels like grime. The shower is like a cleansing and his entire body is relaxed. A considerable burden has been lifted off his shoulders and all that’s missing for this moment to be perfect is Sherlock.

When he opens the door to the bathroom, Sherlock waits for him with open arms. John’s heart skips a beat and his face lights up with the sight of his husband.

“I’m so proud of you, John,” Sherlock murmurs into John’s hair.

So, he’s read the letter. John left it on the desk for Sherlock to see, and he feels relief wash over him.

“It was easier than anticipated. Something I should’ve done ages ago.”

John cradles Sherlock cheek and locks eyes with him.

“Thank you for caring, for never faltering in your faith in me, for being there, for loving me” John says warmly.

“Always,” Sherlock retorts and kisses John’s palm tenderly before he seeks out John’s lips.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @phoenix27884 @a-victorian-girl @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @raina-at @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @7-percent @ninasnakie

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic #FFF245 #you never cared

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helloliriels · 3 months

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H E L L O A W A R D S E A S O N 2 0 2 4

When you're in fandom spaces, you see how beautiful the world can be ...

🌌 The 2nd Annual Liriels Awards begins on March 10th! Because I have this Sherlock in a sheet ... and so many to thank for making the world a better SpAcE to be in! Join me! 🌌

Don't forget to send me an ask if you have someone important to your fandom experience that you would like to honor and why! Tysm!

@johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @whatnext2020 @missdeliadili @mutedsilence @carla-creates @fluffbyday-smutbynight @chriscalledmesweetie @totallysilvergirl @7-percent @anyawen @a-victorian-girl @naefelldaurk @gregorovitchworld @safedistancefrombeingsmart @sarahthecoat @sgam76 @janetm74 @impalaparkedat221b @zira-and-crowley @solarmama @loki-lock @unburstedbubble-was2smach @13monkton @kestrelwing64 @peanitbear @meetinginsamarra @dragonnan @lisbeth-kk @calaisreno @kettykika78 @keirgreeneyes @john-smiths-jawline @aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain @weeesi @topsyturvy-turtely @raina-at @discordantwords @arwamachine @meledol84 @justanobsessedpan @gregorovitchworld @theofficialinternetloner @amyreadsandstresses @iamjustreading @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @bewitched-bullet @swissmissing @gaylilsherlock

#hello award season!#bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock #helloliriels #the liriels awards 2024 #Unearthly Good

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raina-at · 1 year

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Letters

Dear John,

Come back.

Don’t get married.

Half of all marriages end in divorce, you don’t want to get married just to get divorced again, do you?

You’ve only known her for six months. That’s nothing.

Is the sex that good?

Do you really love her?

Do you love her more than me?

Forgive me.

Come back.

Don’t get married.

I love you.

I miss you.

You make me better. Everything is better with you.

You think I’m the special one, but that’s not true. It was always you. You keep me right.

I know I don’t deserve it, but please choose me anyway.

Come home.

Please.

Sherlock sighs in frustration as he throws the paper to the floor. How is he supposed to do this?

Every time he tries to think of what he’ll say at the wedding, his heart hurts. His head hurts. Everything hurts. He has a recurring nightmare; he opens his mouth at the wedding and a horrid sort of wailing sound comes out, and everyone’s staring at him because they know it’s the sound of his heart breaking.

He needs help. But the only person who can help him is the one person he can’t ask.

So Lestrade it is.

*-*

Lestrade is surprisingly helpful, and Sherlock manages to write most of his speech with a few pointers from him. Lestrade reassures him that John will be happy, which is the end goal.

Sherlock is about to settle down to his microscope and some interesting slides from a necrotic horse liver when there’s a knock on the door.

Sherlock opens the door to an agitated John, who holds up a sheet of paper.

“Is this true?” he says with an odd, wide-eyed intensity.

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock asks, trying to catch a glimpse of the paper in John’s hand.

John thrusts it at him, and Sherlock’s stomach flips over when he realises that it’s the first draft of his best man speech. The one he threw to the floor. Where a nosy DI must have picked it up and...

He’s going to murder Lestrade with his bare hands.

He looks up at John. “Um…”

“Sherlock,” John says, eyes intent on his. “Is it true?”

“I never meant for you to see this, Lestrade-”

“Never mind that, now,” John says, taking a step closer to Sherlock and gently taking the paper from Sherlock’s hand. “Is it true?” he asks, softly but insistently, looking at Sherlock with an expression that’s almost… hopeful? Surely that can’t be true.

But he doesn’t want to lie anymore, so he nods. Just once.

“Oh,” John says, and surely the lovely smile on his face is a trick of the light. Surely the way he steps closer to Sherlock is all in his head, surely the hands sliding up Sherlock’s arms and cupping his face are a figment of his imagination and surely John’s lips against his have a purely medicinal purpose, breathing life and light into Sherlock’s entire body, his lungs, his heart.

“Oh,” Sherlock breathes against John’s lips as he kisses back.

He’s going to have to do something nice for Lestrade. And he’s going to hold on to that piece of paper. It’ll make a good first draft of his wedding vows.

Thanks for the tag and the idea, @calaisreno , I'm not ready for the fun to end ;-)

I actually wrote something else first, but I think that's going to be the basis for a longer fic, so have another TSoT fix it.

Tagging a few of the usual suspects: @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @jrow @catlock-holmes @totallysilvergirl @topsyturvy-turtely @meetinginsamarra @jrow @thetimemoves @the-reading-lemon @discordantwords and anyone else who wants to play.

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fic #my fic #may prompts #letters

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himegureisu · 3 months

Text

3 | The Woman

Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Must be a root canal. - Sherlock

Did you have a domestic? -Mrs. Hudson

Caring is not an advantage. -Mycroft

A/N: Those lines above are what inspired this chapter. This is set in S1 E3 The Great Game. Enjoy!

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst (?), Sick Reader

WC: 1600~

<<PREV | NEXT >>

—————————— 🔎——————————

From the horizon, dawn begins to break upon the land.

Through the curtains, a soft golden hue is cast across the study. On the furniture, light and shadow dance, shelves of old leather tomes, and the occasional trinkets are briefly emphasized by the sun’s radiance. From the fireplace, a hint of cinnamon and fresh parchment wafts through the room.

A piece of quiet in the chaos that is life.

“Myc, I called Anthea to clear your schedule for tomorrow and the following Friday,”

Against the light, on his chair, Mycroft works. His gaze, previously on the thin dossier, turns to you as you enter.

“Why is that, my dear?” he asks. Truly clueless on this.

“Dentist appointments for you,”

Oh, that.

His tooth has been bothering him for a week and he hasn’t done anything about it. You checked. His schedule for the month didn’t include a single dentist appointment.

This man.

“You didn’t need to, my dear,” Mycroft dismissed, “It will go away,”

“You don’t know that,” In front of his desk, you stand, hands on your hips, as he winced from the pain, “You’re not a dentist, Myc,”

“I am one of the most intelligent people in the world,” he attests. His patience was thin from a long night. His ire slowly rose. Was this the only reason you disturbed him? When there was much to do than this? “I do know what this is,”

“Is it so bad that I care that you’re in pain?”

“Caring is not an advantage,” he simply answered.

What? Did he honestly just say that? Where did that even come from?

His solid gaze and silence afterward were the answer. Your heart ached at its implications. Was everything a lie? Your mind conjures every memory and moment shared between you two. His smile, laughter, and the way he longed for your touch. Your chest is heavier, the thoughts slowly consuming you.

Did he not care?

“If caring is not an advantage, then I guess this whole marriage is a sham,” your voice breaking, you turned away, “Don’t expect me for breakfast, or dinner, or even in bed tonight,”

His eyes widened in shock, at last, he recognized the implication of his words, however, too late. His study door slammed shut, as you walked out, and echoed throughout the house. Regret and shame weighed heavily on his shoulders.

What has he done?

—————————— 🔎——————————

True to your word, you weren’t at breakfast. You couldn’t face him. Your cheeks are stained. Your eyes puffed from crying in the guest room. Your rings seem to mock you on sight. It was tempting to throw them off the Thames but decided against it.

It was too early for that.

Your chauffeur dropped you off at work as usual. Your eyes are hidden behind a pair of shades that others did well not to comment on. Your head aches from the tears and turmoil, but you know that life goes on.

Your phone is slowly bombarded by his messages that you rightfully ignored.

Throughout the morning, your headache worsened. Your focus is off, the letters on your computer screen blur, and the room spins a bit around you.

Every joint in your body hurts, not because of Mycroft, but because the warmth radiating from your breath is the only sign you need.

A fever. You couldn’t work, not like this.

Your manager was informed of your condition and tasked not to tell your husband that you were sick. Your chauffeur immediately returned to pick you up when he started to text him.

“Don’t you dare report back to him,” you snap at the man withdrawing his hold on the phone, “If he cares, then he’ll text me directly not you,”

“Yes, ma’am,” they comply.

At home, you bundle yourself in the guest bedroom. Medicine on one nightstand, soup on the other as you hide beneath the sheets, tears falling once again hoping that everything would turn out okay.

—————————— 🔎——————————

Your genuine interest in who he was beneath the stoic persona was what first attracted him to you. Other people didn’t do that. Other people never did that.

But evidently, you weren’t other people.

That’s why when you didn’t come for breakfast, for the first time, in a long time, he was scared. Scared of losing you because of who and how he is.

When his messages were ignored when he asked for an update and your driver simply answered I can’t say, sir, her orders. The pit that formed in his stomach only went deeper. His anxiety escalates with each passing minute.

He couldn’t work, not like this. He was wrong. He needed to make it right.

“Anthea,” he called over the intercom, the young assistant quickly appeared phone on hand, “Do clear my schedule for the rest of the day I’m going home,”

“Sir?” Anthea inquired, as he started to walk out, “What about —”

“No, this is important,” The most important.

“Of course, sir, I’ll have your car waiting outside,”

His driver takes the fastest route back upon his insistence. His thoughts were a whirlwind of the worst scenarios. What if you were gone? What if you truly left, rings on the countertop and a letter in the kitchen to explain?

By five in the afternoon, he was home. The earliest he’s been in years.

God, he could do better than this. He should. You shouldn’t need to wait for hours for him to come home. He should be a better husband than that.

“Darling, I’m home!” he announced, as soon as he crossed the threshold, though no one answered, and looked around, “My dear, please we need to talk,”

Nothing.

Panic. Complete and utter panic takes over the great Mycroft Holmes.

His heavy steps echoed through the halls as he rushed to the master’s bedroom to find no one. Yet, your effects remained where they were. He goes through every single room in the house until he opens the door to one of the guest bedrooms.

On the bed, beneath a thick lump of blankets, you curled up miserably and ignored his arrival.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, walking over to the side of the bed, “My dear, please look at me,”

“No,” you quietly answered, “Go away, Mycroft,”

His heart sank at your firm position away from him. He did hurt you, so bad that you couldn’t face him.

Though, you weren’t exactly presentable.

There were tissues crumpled on the other side of the bed. Your cheeks were wet, nose stuffed and red, and eyes swollen from crying as he started to speak.

“I am sorry. I can’t say that enough to make this better,” he paused, his gaze on the mound that separates you, “I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t care about you. I do care and love you. To love and to cherish, till death do us part that’s a vow I intend to keep, my love,”

Your attention is caught by his term of endearment. He rarely ever calls you that.

“It is that I simply choose what I care about and the rest is insignificant,” he explained, “Caring for trivial little things like a dentist appointment doesn’t matter to me,”

“It does matter to me. You take care of others far too well but you neglect yourself.” you softly said, from beneath the blankets, “Your parents, brother, and I are under constant protection of guards but who protects you Mycroft? Who protects you from yourself? Who cares for the carer? I don’t want you to die early Mycroft. There’s so much life has in store for us,”

Your headaches after that little speech. A sharp pain briefly passes through causing you to wince and close your eyes.

“I understand. I will endeavor to do and take care of myself better,” he says and turns to see the back of your head poking out from the sheets.

“My love, please look at me,”

You shake your head no. Big mistake.

Your pained groan comes to his ears loud and clear as he leans down to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Darling?” His fingers touch the side of your head, very warm. No rather alarmingly warm, “You’re sick,”

He deduced and finally, you push the blanket down a bit to face him. Your body is a raging furnace. Your skin is too pale in the light. Your breaths are shallow and insufficient. His hand is cool on your skin as he places it on your forehead with a frown.

“How long has this been?” he asks, noticing the medicine and cold soup on the nightstands, “How are you feeling? When did you last take medicine?”

To think, he thinks he doesn't care when he fusses like a mother hen.

“Just this afternoon, I’m tired, hot yet cold, one nostril is clogged annoying and my head hurts so much,” you confessed, “I drank paracetamol when I came home so it’s been five hours,”

“You can take another one then,” he stands up, “After I ask for food from the kitchens,”

“Okay,” you concede, as he kissed your cheek, “Myc, don’t. You’ll get sick,”

“I never get sick, love,” he walked over to the door to leave, but paused in step, “Are we okay?”

His eyes glisten in hope and fear of your answer. Your lips slowly turn upward as he quietly continues to assess you and your condition.

“We’re getting there,”

You say a sense of relief washes over you both. He nods, a small smile playing on his lips before he heads out to fetch food for you. As he leaves, he can’t help but feel grateful that in all of the people in the world, you loved him despite everything.

<<PREV | NEXT >>

#mycroft holmes #mycroft #bbc mycroft #bbc mycroft holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft x reader #bbc sherlock #xreader #mycroft holmes x you

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ellieslittleburrow · 6 months

Text

Requested by the beloved @fatherlesschild2 : CAN YOU WRITE SOMETHING ANGSTY ABOUT SHERLOCK AND ENOLA BEING SIBLINGS WITH READER, IDK I HAVE A QUESTIONABLE IMAGINATION BUT MAYBE THE READER GETTING INTO A FIGHT AND TRYING TO HIDE IT?

Warnings : uuuuuuuum angst? Grr scary brother

A/N: sorry for the delay lol. I had to copy and paste every single line from my other account so if something's out of place im soorry hahahah ❤️

------

*creak*

God damn you st-

*creak*

Maybe if i went slower

"God da-"

"Young lady."

Your eyes flew up as your lips parted in a little gasp. Before you stood a large figure. Broad shoulders and a threatening stance, it towered over you, causing you to freeze in place.

Tiny splinters dug into your frozen fingers as you gripped the stair handle, tightening your hold the more Sherlock kept silent.

I mean, is he going to keep standing there until the sun sets and the birds start churping?

Your older brother stepped aside, motioning for you to step inside. And you complied, slowly and hesitantingly.

"Youngsters ought not to be wandering about late at night, particularily when expressly told ,on multiple counts, not to slip out." Sherlock patienly waited for you, taking after you the moment you passed by him.

You felt smaller with a much bigger shadow than you. But you kept your posture straight, anyways.

Your head was feeling too heavy for your liking and you just wanted to sleep.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, is there any way we could do this tomorrow morning? Now's not the time for a lecture." The words came in a gruff tone. And as if you weren't already in enough trouble with the man, you just headed for the room you and sister Enola shared.

"Sure...Tomorrow." Sherlock's voice sounded." Good night, little one."

"And don't think i didn't see those marks on your neck"

Fuck.

"We'll discuss it tomorrow."

It's tomorrow.

A pain is etching from your temple down to the hollow part that sits under your cheek.

Flashes of your....eventful evening storm in from your subconscious and a long sigh escapes your lips.

" Finally awake."

AH. You shriek, your body jerking to the uncomfortably close voice over you. Rolling around halfway, you jump backwards, shrieking at the two people standing over you.

What the hell?

Sherlock and Enola were standing at your bed, both leaning down to examine you like you're a cadaver they were just about to start inspecting.

But you weren't. So why the fu-"

"How did you get that, y/n?" The investigator's eyes dart from your own eyes to your cheek, and you unconsciously cover the said thing with your hand.

Uh....you were't sure whether to lie or not. Whether to tell the whole truth or just half of it.

"Uhhh..." A long sigh escaped your lips without your accordance as you hadn't already decided on which story to tell yet. "Uh..." You stuttered again, flustered.

You shrink in your bed, melting into the sheets as you leaned away from the figure that lowered it's upper body over yours.

"Little one, your answer better be the right one."

Sherlock's eyes calculatedly pursuited yours until they locked.

Dark and threatening, they glared into your soul. Shit. How can someone regret their decision the second they made it?

"I....I fell down the bar stairs."

Fuck. How can someone regret their decision the second they made it?

Sherlock straightens his back. "Really?"

"Y...yeah. you c-c-an ask the men th-there if you want." You got out of bed, the opposite side of where your siblings were standing.

"I was walking....I might've had a drink or two." Maybe admitting to another forbidden punishable act will help you elude the real thing? "And as i was walking down, my ankle twisted and i found myself flying down the stairs."

You brushed past both of them, heading for the door. Nice lie! If they were to go ask the men there, nobody would be able to say a single word, because all of them would have been too drunk to even know their own names.

You'd highfive yourself but-

"Alright then, show me the other bruises."

You were glad your back was facing them, as your eyes widened in surprise. Fuck! You didn't think of that. "The ones on your hands and knees, probably, as well as your hip." Triumph laced Sherlock's voice. You internally damned him to an afterlife in hell.

"What...other bruises?"

"Well of course i can't do that!" You spin around, disdain etched across your face. You scoff.

"I can't undress myself in front of y-"

Haha! Enola. You almost forgot about h-

"He'll leave the room."

You snort a provocative chuckle "You really believe i think of you any differently, Enola?"

"I'm sure he trusts my decision making by now." Your sister lifted a triumphant brow.

Enola's eyebrows relax as annoyance etches across her face. She sighs and happiness internally floods your body. Looks like you were close to win the battle. With her.

"How's this?" Anger embodies Sherlock.

Definitely only with her.

"Lie and i will make sure you...never do that again."

Sherlock started walking towards you.

"But then again, i would like for you to spare us the anticipation, i already know you're lying. Because your-"

"Because my toes seem strange and i breathed in instead of out?"

"Because your friend came running here and said you were getting yourself in really bad trouble. And that it was only a matter of time before somebody got badly hurt."

Oh..of course she did...

"Listen, y/n, we understand that you're afraid of our reactions." Enola started, crossing her arms over her chest. "But you can't hide those things from us, we're your siblings."

Adorable-not good enough, though. Not to insult Enola's attemps and efforts, but you'd never do that just because you're siblin-"That's Enola."

"On my part, if i ever find out you're lying to me about something like this, i will make your life a living hell, little girl. And trust my words, i will make sure of it."

Your head spun towards Sherlock, a bit surprised and...scared as darkness suddenly swamped his voice.

You would've rolled your eyes at him but you were already in enough trouble. You wouldn't want to bury yourself in it, would you?

"I'm sorry." The lie slipped out of your lips like butter. You're not sorry. You don't care. In fact, you're not done with those stupid bastards. And you're not one to let go easily.

Thankfully, they weren't going to know since your face was already bruised. Or are they?

------

I HAVE A QUESTIONABLE IMAGINATION TOO I WILL DO BETTER NEXT TIME OKI KISSIES NOW BYE BYE. ❤️❤️❤️🥀🥀🥀

#Enola holmes fic #Sherlock holmes fic #sister!reader #sister x brothers #sibling fic #Sibling x brothers #sherlock holmes x reader #Sherlock holmes x sibling reader #henry cavil x reader #Henry cavil w sister #Henry cavil x daughter #Father figure fic

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bakanokiwami · 2 years

Video

TOP 10 TV SHOW FANDOMS ON AO3 BASED ON NUMBER OF FANWORKS (2009-2022)

To make these bar chart race, all series titles in the TV Show Category on November 29 (or the closest date to it) of every year were copy-pasted from Wayback Machine to Google Sheets, rearranged according to number of fanworks, and then inputted to Flourish to turn into a bar chart race.

Locked fanworks aren't included in the count because Wayback Machine can’t view those, only Ao3 users can.

Unspecified means that it doesn’t say in its title whether it is an “All Media Type” type tag or not. There’s a possibility that this tag only shows up in the TV Show category, or maybe in multiple categories, like in Movies and Comics too.

It doesn’t appear in the bar chart race, but for some reason Original Work was in the TV Show category in November 2021, and then removed by 2022.

The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types was actually in the top 10 from 2012-2014, and was removed from the TV show category from 2015 onwards so I’ve excluded it from the bar chart.

The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom was also in the top 10 from 2012-2020, but then was reduced to 5% of its 2020 total fanworks in 2021 onwards because The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types and The Avengers (Marvel Movies) was removed from its subtag list. I’m excluding it from the bar chart since it means it shouldn’t have been in the top 10 in the first place.

Jossverse was in the top 10 from 2010-2014 (Top 2 in 2010 and 2011). In 2018, it was removed from the TV Show fandom list and works tagged with it show up in Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV) instead so I’ve excluded it from the bar chart.

89% of the Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms fanworks in 2022 are tagged with Sherlock (TV).

Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) is a subtag of Marvel and Marvel is a metatag for all Marvel works of various media, including comics and movies. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV) is the only TV show that appears in the top 10 fandoms listed in Marvel and MCU’s fandom filter in 2022, and it’s only 5% of the fanworks in the Marvel tag. Half of the Marvel tags’s top 10 fandom filter list are movies, and there are also 2 All Media Types tags.

As for DCU, 6 of the top 10 fandoms listed in DCU’s fandom filter in 2022 are specifically TV shows: 13% of its fanworks are from Supergirl (TV 2015), 9% are from The Flash (TV 2014), 8% are from Arrow (TV 2012), 5% are from DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), 4% are from Smallville and 4% are from Gotham (TV).

As for Batman - All Media Types, none of the top 10 fandoms listed in its fandom filter in 2022 are specifically TV shows: 5 of the fandoms listed were comics fandoms. 2 were all media types and 1 was the Nolan movies.

Maybe it would have been better to do a bar chart with fandoms that only appear in a single category (In this case, the TV Show category.). Some of the fandoms that ranked have popular other media outside of TV Shows that boosted their rankings. It would take more effort to filter out, but let me know if you’re interested in seeing a bar chart race like this. If there’s enough interest, I might get motivated enough to work on it, haha.

Thanks for understanding and hopefully I didn’t mess up anywhere! 🙏

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ranposbabe · 6 months

Text

Forbidden Lovers

pairings: sherlock holmes x fem!reader

summary: your “affair” with sherlock comes to blow and he can no longer hold back

warnings: slight mention of suggestive content, little bit of hurt w/comfort, sherly wanting you <3, implied!noble!reader

Meeting at the bridge was a regular occurrence for you and the detective.

It was no secret that you were involved with the detective in fact many either knew or pretended not to a knowledge it.

Your own family were among those that avoiding the issue. Until now.

Sherlock warned you before to not upset yourself over it.

“What’s wrong ?” He was a detective but it always amazes you how quickly he could catch on to any issue just by a quick glance at your frowning lips.

“They’ve arranged me to be engaged.” You state, not even believing it yourself. Denial evident in your tone.

Your eyes stare on straight past him to stare out at the view. The sky was a mesmerising navy colour similar to the detective own hair. It was getting late. You kept reassuring yourself to hurry home but a part of you wanted to keep still. To stay by him.

The cigarette in his hand becomes abandoned as he takes one last strong puff before dropping it just to crush it under his heel. “Look at me.” He whispers it in such a way it makes you slightly overwhelmed. He didn’t ever attempt to hide his affection towards you whether you were in public or not but by the way he currently stared down at you it suddenly made you feel very aware to your current circumstances.

Your now teary eyes still refused to meet his until he stepped far too close for your family’s liking and lifted your chin using his finger. His skull ring made your hot skin somewhat cool. He effortlessly calmed you down.

“You need to tell me right now what exactly you want because this can’t continue.” He shook his head as he spoke as he knew what is was that you wanted. Both of you. He knew your family was trouble from the start or perhaps he shouldn’t have involved himself with someone like you but once Sherlock had his hands on something he wanted he was no fool meaning he wasn’t going to let go.

“y/n.” He couldn’t stand the sight of you so upset. If he could drag you away from them he would. He will. “I’ll go mad if you don’t say something but let me tell you something first.” He assures you. For your current sake he keeps his voice rather low let if he could he would shout it for all to hear.

“If you actually think your family can put an end to us than you must be madder than me.” A slight smirk was evident on his face. “I want you !” You almost burst into tears as your voice shakes. You don’t hesitate to practically fall into his arms too exhausted to do anything. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you.

“That’s all I needed to know.”

As you later laid tangled within his sheets with your chest rising fast due to your hastily breath you wondered in awe. As you look up at Sherlock whose arms wrapped around you rather protectively it was then you realised you should’ve never doubted your love for each other. Knowing him, your family’s plans for your “engagement” will be put to rest very soon. You couldn’t wait.

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 1 year

Text

Back again with another Sherlock fic! The hyperfixation is going strong 🤷‍♀️

My Sister's Keeper

Sherlock × teen sister reader

Mycroft x teen sister reader

John x teen reader (platonic [duh])

Synopsis: Y/N has gotten into some trouble lately, but it's gone beyond basic 'teen antics". When John finds out why, he confronts Mycroft about it.

TW: it is NOT self harm, but could be described as self-endangerment.

Perhaps you had gone too far this time.

You looked around at the beeping monitors and the IV pumping soothing medicine into your veins.

You had definitely gone too far this time.

You hadn't meant to get Sherlock's weird chemical all over your hands, it just sort of happened.

Ok, well maybe you weren't completely innocent in the matter. He had told you not to touch any of the chemicals, he had said they were dangerous.

But you were just looking at it!

That is, until John walked into the room and shouted something along the lines of "what do you think your doing?!"

That had startled you into dropping the chemical all over your hands.

Sherlock had run in after hearing your scream, and you had never seen his face so paper-white.

Apparently he hadn't been joking about how dangerous the chemical was.

You'd arrived at the hospital at a speed that must've broken some kind of record (and more than a few laws), and before you knew it there were bandages all over your hands and medicine injected into your veins to kill the toxins you had unintentionally put there.

You were told you would have to stay overnight so that the doctors could monitor your reaction to the medicine, and so they could be sure it killed all of the toxins. It sucked. It hurt. It scared Sherlock and John half to death.

And yet..

Fifteen minutes. That's how long you sat in the hospital bed before he showed up, looking angry, flustered, and…scared.

Growing up, you had never seen Mycroft scared.

Now it was about the only emotion you ever saw in him. Maybe because almost every time he visited, you were hurt or in trouble in some way.

Mycroft’s keen eyes landed on you almost instantly, but instead of rushing to his baby sister, he practically pounced on some poor, unsuspecting nurse and began interrogating her about your treatment.

“Mycroft!” You called, and he hesitantly turned to you. “Sherlock and John have already hounded every nurse and doctor on this floor about my treatment, I’m fine!”

“You’re fine? You’re sure?” He asked dubiously.

At your nod, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Well in that case, what were you thinking?”

You winced. You knew the lecture would come, but you had hoped he might baby you a bit first, considering you were in the hospital.

“I guess I wasn’t.”

“Well that much is obvious.” At the sight of Sherlock entering the room with a cup of coffee in hand, Mycroft turned his rage from you to his little brother. “And you! I’ve told you a thousand times to keep your chemicals away from-“

“Mycroft don’t,” you pleaded. “It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault, he told me not to touch his chemicals.”

Mycroft turned back to his sister, “then why on earth did you?”

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, so you looked down to study the scratchy sheets that your hands had started to fiddle with. “I…I don’t know.”

Mycroft huffed. “You don’t know.”

You winced. The anger in his voice had given way to disappointment.

You preferred the anger.

“I have to go make a phone call. Try not to touch anything toxic while I’m gone,” Mycroft stormed off, Sherlock following a few feet behind, probably to try to calm his brother down.

The only ones left in your dreary hospital room where you and John, who had been rather silently engaged in your argument with the eldest Holmes.

“Why did you do it?”

You groan “Not you too, John.”

John’s quick temper had rarely extended to you, so you flinched in surprise when he barked, “Yes, me too! I may not be your brother, Y/N Holmes, but I care about you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much more reckless you’ve become lately, and I want to know why!”

Guilt pricked at your mind and heart, but it was not enough to combat the sudden strong wave of exhaustion that settled on you. The medication had a sleep drug added to it, to knock you out for the more painful part of removing the toxins from your bloodstream.

You thought about fighting it, but knew it was futile. Besides, you’d do just about anything to escape John’s laser beam gaze.

“Why do you do it?”

Maybe it was the desperation in his voice, but more likely it was the drugs addling your mind, because you actually breathed out an answer.

“He visits more when he’s worried.”

…

John froze. Your voice had been quiet, groggy, and muffled, but there was no mistaking your words.

“He visits more when he’s worried.”

He. Mycroft.

John checked to make sure you were asleep before rushing down the halls in search of your big brother. He found him not very far away, apparently trying hard to end a meeting call.

“No I will not be back coming back in today. No, probably not tomorrow either, maybe very late. Your just going to have to deal with-“ upon seeing John, Mycroft immediately hung up the phone, assuming (correctly) that John wouldn’t have gone looking for him unless it was about you.

“Is she ok?”

“Sleeping.”

Mycroft sighed in relief, “Then what is it?”

“You need to talk to her. When she wakes up. You need to ask her why this happened, and don’t let her give you some crap response. Don’t stop asking until she tells you.”

Mycroft blinked once. Twice. “Doctor Watson, what is-“

“No, don’t ask. I won’t tell you, it’s something that needs to come from her.”

Mycroft took a deep breathe, hesitating before ultimately deciding that any attempt to argue with John would be futile.

“Alright then.”

…

The moment Y/N stirred, Mycroft looked over at John, who nodded and—with much protest on Sherlock’s part—cleared the room of all but just Mycroft and his little sister.

“Y/N?”

You rubbed your hands over your eyes and opened them to see Mycroft staring at you. You smiled sleepily. “Hey Mikey.”

Mycroft grimaced at the nickname, but for once decided not to chide you for it. He knew it only encouraged you anyway.

“Y/N, we need to talk.”

You groaned and sat up in bed. “Another lecture? Look, Mycroft, I’m sorry, I just-“

“Why did you do it? Tell me. And don’t say you don’t know, Doctor Watson has, however vaguely, already stated that you do in fact know the reason for your recent behavior.”

You froze. John?

The memory of the last thing you said to him suddenly bubbled to the surface of your foggy mind.

“He visits more when he’s worried.”

Crap. You’d actually said that out loud! And of course John had gone and blabbed to Mycroft about it. Jerk.

“I…I can’t.” You whispered, not daring to look Mycroft in the eye. You heard him sigh, and suddenly there he was, leaning forward to be inside your lowered field of vision.

“I won’t take that as an answer.”

“Mycroft I can’t!”

“No!” You visibly flinched at the sudden raise in Mycroft’s voice, but he didn’t notice. “No more of this! You can’t just mess with Sherlock’s chemicals, and sneak onto his crime scenes, and go out without telling anyone, and get in careless accidents on your bike, and then not tell me what’s going on!” Mycroft was yelling now, at you, he never yelled at you, and what made it all worse was knowing how right he was. You’d stopped being careful, stopped looking after yourself properly.

But you couldn’t tell him why.

You hadn’t even realized you started crying until the tears dripped onto your hand. Mycroft took one look at his baby sister’s tear streaked face and quivering lip, and immediately softened. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do whenever you got emotional, but when he sat down on your hospital bed and you immediately crawled into his lap and leaned against him, he figured he’d done something right. He wrapped his arms around you, and felt your hands grab onto his shirt, clinging to him like a life preserver.

“Alright, alright. If you won’t tell me why…at least tell me when this started.”

You hesitated. That seemed like a question you felt safe to answer.

“Christmas.”

Mycroft frowned. Last Christmas was one of the few times the whole family had gotten together for the holidays. He couldn’t see why…

Wait.

He hadn’t planned on coming last Christmas, but you, Sherlock and John had been visiting your parents, and you’d fallen out of a large oak tree on their property. You’d broken your arm, and Mycroft had been there as quickly as a helicopter could take him. He’d spent the holiday completely away from work, doting on your every need.

“No,” Mycroft’s voice came out as a soft groan, and you looked up in surprise. “Y/N, please, please tell me you haven’t done this to get my attention. Please.”

Silence greeted his plea.

“Y/N?”

“That was the first Christmas in eight years that you spent at home.” You whimpered, your voice thick with tears. Mycroft’s heart sank.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Why have you done…all this?”

He felt you press even harder into him, and he had to strain to hear your response.

“I know how important your job is. I didn’t want to sound like such a baby. I haven’t asked you to take time off work for me since I was eight.

Mycroft remembered that. He hadn’t been home in nearly a month, trying to avoid some sort of international incident. He had spent the whole month in meetings and doing paperwork. One day, he got a call from his mother’s phone number. He had urged her to call only if there was an emergency, and he feared that you or Sherlock had been hurt.

He hadn’t expected to answer and hear his wailing baby sister on the other end. You had begged him to come home, and you were crying so hard.

Then the prime minister of some country or another had walked in, and he’d hung up on you.

Mycroft winced at the memory before tuning back to the task at hand.

“But to hurt yourself like this-“

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” You quickly reassured, though you were still unable to look him in the eye. “I just…I thought if-“ you stopped, the lump in your throat making it hard to form words. You took a deep breath and tried again, reassured by the soft squeeze of your big brother’s arms. “I thought it I got a little more…rebellious, I guess…then Sherlock would tell you and you would come visit more to keep an eye on me.” You looked down at your bandaged hands. “I guess I’m not very good at rebellion.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Mycroft whispered, tightening his grip on you and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I know it’s stupid,” you choked out. “I just…m-missed you.”

The strangled sob that escaped your throat broke Mycroft’s heart, and he knew that he had never held you so tightly in his life.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “So sorry.”

“I know you-you’re busy, I shouldn’t-“

“No.” Mycroft’s voice left no room for discussion. “No, don’t you blame yourself. I don’t ever want this to happen again, I don’t ever want it to take more than a phone call to get me to visit you, do you understand?”

You looked up at him. “You’re not…not mad?”

“Mad? Of course I am! But not at—ok, mostly not at you—I’m mad at me. And I’m never going to let this happen again.” Mycroft finally pulled away enough to look his sister in the eyes. “From now on, you come over for at least one dinner a week, and every other weekend you’re packing a bag and coming to stay with me.”

Your eyes widened. “But you always have so much work-“

“No, I’m not too busy for you, ok? Never again.”

You nodded hesitantly. “Every other weekend?”

Mycroft flashed you one of his rare smiles and pulled you in for another hug. “Absolutely. Sherlock’s been taking up all of your attention since you moved to Baker street. It’s time you see who the really great big brother is.”

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