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whorekneecentral · 6 months

Text

Snow Storm

Pato O'Ward x Fem!Reader

Warnings: pato doesn't listen, snow storms, getting stranded, car troubles, reader's mad at him and will lowkey let him freeze, teasing, it's giving dom!pato for like 0.2 seconds, oral (f!receiving), lowkey blackmail, penetrative sex (P in V), creampie.

Word Count: 1,729

Author's Note: this is for the six pato fans out there, I hope y'all like this one :)

merry smutmas series

Your boyfriend insists the roads are fine to drive despite the massive incoming snow storm; as someone who grew up in cold weather, you knew better. yet, there you were stuck on the side of the road with him in the snow.

"Do you seriously have to go right now?" You asked him, leaning over from your spot on the bed.

Your boyfriend nods, "yes, because if I leave it back - I won't finish wrapping it. Plus, it's a week before Christmas, the wrapping paper might be sold out."

Rolling your eyes, you sit up properly. "Pato, don't be ridiculous. They're not gonna run out of wrapping paper."

"You never know!" He huffed, arms flung in the air like a child.

You and Pato had returned to your home town to spend Christmas with your family before heading up to Mexico to join his family for New Year. It had been snowing on and off since you got home a few days ago but it really came down last night. Most of the roads were a disaster but Pato was insistent on getting this stupid wrapping paper.

"The roads are going to be a mess, babe. Can we not just go tomorrow?" You asked him but the man was already getting up, grabbing his hoodie off the end of your bed.

"Please," he shrugs you off, "I drive race cars, a little snow ain't nothing to a driver like me."

You can't help but laugh at his dramatics; you grew up in the snow, you know how brutal it can be to get stuck out there and yet, you stupidly follow him down the staircase and to the car.

Pato takes the side street the two of you had taken many times before. See, you lived in a small town in the middle of basically nowhere. When it snowed, people tended to stay indoors but they did plow the roads, but only the main ones took priority. This meant that the road you were on was one of the last to be plowed yesterday and had yet to be plowed today.

With the snow coming down on top of what had already fallen that morning, the mountain of snow piled up along the sides of the road. Pato's focused on the road but as he turns to go over the hill before getting into town, the wheel stops moving. He can hear the grinding, the wheels spinning but it's stuck in something.

You look over at the man, "are you kidding me right now?"

"Wha-" he sighs, "I'll go check." He tells you, pulling the hood over his head as he steps out of the car.

When he opens the door, you shiver. You had not only followed him out of the house but you were wearing sweats and a hoodie, that was nowhere close to enough to keep you warm.

"So," he says as he gets back into the car, looking over at you with a tight lipped smile. "We're stuck."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Okay, so I can push the car out-" he says but you stop him, waving him off. "There's no point, you won't make it over the hill and there's too much snow to make it back to the house right now."

His brows furrow, looking over at you. "So what? We're just stuck here?"

"Yeah, for now at least." You pick up your phone and text your sister, letting her know you two are stuck and if she could please call the roadside assistance. Pato sat quietly, not wanting to annoy you further; after all, you did suggest to wait until tomorrow.

"We're here for at least another 3 hours," you tell him, "she says they're gonna clear the roads and then come this way."

The man nods, staring out the window as you unbuckled, shifting in your seat to climb into the back. He looks at you, confused and you pat the spot next to you. "If we're gonna be stuck for 3 hours, we can at least be warm. Come cuddle."

He climbs over the seat, clinging to you the moment he gets into the backseat. While you were cold, you were used to this weather so it wasn't so bad but for Pato, it was as if you had shipped him off to Antarctica. He's shivering, trying to get as close to you as possible; he wonders if you'd let him get into your sweater with you.

You can't help but laugh at the sight of your boyfriend. He huffs, looking up at you. "What?"

"I told you not to come out today." You laughed and he rolled his eyes. "How rude? Don't roll your eyes at me."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll move and let you freeze to death." You tell him and Pato smiles, sitting up a bit. "You won't."

It's your turn to roll your eyes now, moving away from your boyfriend towards the door. Pato ignores your theatrics and moves closer to you again, cuddling into your side. You don't move nor do you react, you simply ignore the man.

Pato holds back the urge to roll his eyes, his lips pressed to your jaw and moves down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind. "C'mon mi amor, I'm sorry."

You ignore the man, not answering him. You'd move away again but if you move another further, you'd end up outside of the car.

He huffs, "fine, if you won't help me warm up, I'll warm myself up." His hand moves from your thigh to the hem of your sweats, shoving his hand down the front.

"Pato!" You laughed, grabbing his wrist. He smiles, "oh so that got your attention?"

"You mean you shoving your freezing hand down my pants? Yeah," you laughed but the man doesn't move his hand- at least not in the way you meant. His fingers rubbed over your panties, he can feel how warm you are, how wet you were.

"Something's got you worked up?" He asks and you ignore him question, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you try not to moan.

Pato's fingers worked slowly, pulling your panties to the side to rub on your clit and you let out a little whimper - by accident of course.

He figured there had to be a fast way to get you to forgive him. He moves his hand away and you give him a look, one he knows too well - why'd you do that. "I know," he tells you, "I'm sorry babe, one second." He pulls you by your hips to lay on the bed seat, your Uggs on the floor as he reaches for your sweats, pulling them off.

"How is this gonna make me warm?" You grumbled, an arm over your face.

"Shut up, will you?" He glances up to you, repositioning himself between your legs.

His hands rub over your thighs and despite his hands being freezing, it felt like every nerve in your body was on fire. Eventually, his hand ends up right where it previously was - exactly where you wanted it.

You let out a breath when you feel his lips on your thigh, soft kisses being peppered across the surface of your inner thigh. Your head falls back against the seat when you feel his tongue on you, he’s yet to move your panties and you're already a mess.

He finally does, smiling to himself “Fuck-” you breathe, fingers tangled in his hair.

Pato glances up at you, his nose brushes against your clit and he doesn't miss the sound coming out of your mouth or the way your hips jut towards him.

"Pato," you whined, pulling on his hair when he stopped for a moment. He chuckles, "do you forgive me?" He asked, a hand running up the side of your thigh.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the man. "What?"

"Say you forgive me and I'll give you whatever you want, corazón."

"Fine," you huffed, "I forgive you." You tell him quickly, pulling him back to you. Pato laughs, his face buried between your legs once again.

Your thighs squeeze around his face; he'd die a happy man right there.

You can't wait any longer, you need him in every sense of the word. Pulling your boyfriend up, he kisses you when he meets your face and you can taste yourself on him, the two of you shuffling around a bit. Pato's sitting now, his own pants pulled down half over his thighs and you're on top of him, straddling him.

He lets you sink down onto his cock. Both of you letting out a satisfied sigh, your hands gripping on his shoulders as you set the pace.

He lets out a groan when you clench around him, his hands squeezing your bare thighs, red finger prints on your skin. Pato's face buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand tangles in his hair, pulling his head back so you can kiss him. You kiss all over his face, Pato cheeks red from the blush forming on his cheeks.

He loves when you love on him like that.

“You’re so good for me,” you mumble against his cheek, rocking your hips back and forth. “Mmm there,” you breathe, chest pressed to his. His lips find the base of your neck, he bites down softly before kissing up to your jaw.

Pato's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you bounced on his lap. The two of you are tangled together, not sure where one of you ends and the other starts. The windows are steamy, you're no longer freezing but instead, you were sweating.

"C'mon, just like that pretty girl," he edges you on, lifting his hips to meet you halfway.

“My pretty girl, so good for me.” He whispers into the silence.

You pull him down onto you, his chest pressed to yours and your hand rests on his cheek. Your boyfriend kissing you and with a few sloppy thrusts, you feel yourself being pushed over the edge.

He groans, feeling you clench around him and he follows behind you, now coming down from his own high.

The two of you clinging onto each other, his hands slip under the back of your sweater and you giggle, bucking forward on his lap which makes him groan.

"Don't do that," he tells you and you roll your eyes, "then don't tickle me!"

Pato laughs, pulling you in for a kiss. "Warm now?"

"Sweating," you huffed, smiling against his lips.

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#pato o'ward #pato o'ward x reader #pato o'ward smut #f1 #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smut #f1 x reader #merry smutmas xoxo

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doromoni · 8 months

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I hate you , right? | GR63

George Russell x Red Bull Driver! y/n

warnings : swearing

Summary : George was a little too attractive after the summer break.

“Oh fuck off Russell! Are you blind? Side mirrors are there for a reason! Learn to fucking use it! You almost cost me my race, dickhead!”

Y/N L/N the first ever female driver for the Red Bull racing team, only through sheer determination and hardheadedness was she able to achieve such an amazing feat.

Being the only female on the grid was hard enough as it is with misogyny and sexism biting at her rear , but adding a British asshole really did put the cherry on top on the cake of ass-hattery that Formula 1 offered.

“Not my fault you drive like a fucking lunatic, that turn was mine and you know it L/N! maybe next time learn how to actually drive rather than depending on your car”

The two drivers are at each other’s faces yet again . This had been a normal event, that even the teams have grown accustomed to the shouts and curses of each driver — whether its swearing at each other in the Red Bull garage or nearly pouncing and succumbing to physicalities at Mercedes. Y/N L/N and George Russell are sworn enemies in and off the racing track.

They used to be friends, best friends even. Both driving for the Mercedes driver academy with George racing in F2 while Y/N in F3. When George won the F2 championship, earning himself a seat at Williams ; Y/N then was promoted to a seat in F2 . A year later Y/N had won her own F2 championship, but no F1 seat was offered in Williams nor in Mercedes to the female driver. Another year had passed, George was offered a seat at Mercedes while Mercedes had no news for Y/N L/N. That was until a seat was offered by Red Bull — giving a shock to the whole motorsport world. As Y/N raced for the Red and Blue team , she had flourished and proved everyone who doubted her wrong.

No one knew how George and Y/N’s rivalry exactly started , but all hell broke loose when George collided with Y/N during the 1st lap and both had DNFed the race.

Y/N was furious and snapped , storming into the Mercedes garage straight to where the English driver was standing still holding onto his racing helmet— shoving him with all her strength into the garage wall. Their faces almost touching as unpleasant words were exchanged ; rendering both teams speechless and leaving them with a horrendous PR mess to clean up.

This time was no different. Y/N and George were at each other’s throat, only this time it was Y/N pinned to the wall inside George’s driver room . George tightening his grip on the Red Bull driver’s waist, leaning his full body weight on the girl who was squirming for release.

“What even is the problem Y/N? We’re both on the podium and you’re team got a 1-2. Stop being a child, it’s racing! What do you expect”

“My problem is you Russell! You’re so careless and aggressive, we could’ve crashed again. You never changed, George , you’re still the fucking same!”

George’s eyes darken as his face drew even closer to the female driver— his voice like honey, dripping as it lowered an octave.

“Yeah?!And you changed so fucking much, I don’t even recognize you anymore Y/N! Now all I see is a bitch obsessed with winning. Tough luck! You’re Verstappen’s teammate, you will always be second.”

Not backing down , Y/n drew herself closer to the english driver ,enough that their noses where touching. A teasing yet derisive smirk formed on her lip, tongue darting out wetting her lips. Catching George’s eyes , as it glanced down towards y/n lips.

“Oh how rich! Coming from the guy who’s living in Lewis Hamilton’s bloody shadow. Like I care what you see me as , you were blind from the very beginning.“

A deep chuckle vibrated in George’s chest , drawing shivers up Y/N’s back , as he said

“ I hate you”

“No, duh Sherlock. I hate you more”

His eyes quickly darting from her eyes to her lips , as if contemplating something. Having enough of his antics and taking matters into her own hands, Y/N fisted his Fireproofs as she brought him down to her level. As their Lips almost touched , rapid knocks on the door distracted them from their daze.

Suddenly realizing their positions , Y/n pushed George away from her. Fuming, the female driver parted ways and left the Mercedes garage with a huff ; wrapping up the first race of the seond half of the season with glares and silent threats. Not realizing what was on each other’s mind

“ Such a rude mouth, what i’d do to shut that up and get a taste”

“I need to control myself. I was ready to pounce on George and have my way with him. Damn him and his perfect hair and golden skin”

The Red Bull and Mercedes driver starting the other half season with pent up anger and sexual tension thick enough to suffocate.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #george russel x reader #mercedes #george russel imagine #george russell #gr63 #red bull formula 1 #red bull racing #f1 imagine #mercedes amg f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 2023 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #george russell x reader #george russell imagine

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cartierre · 1 year

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A&W | dr3

SOCIAL MEDIA!AU daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

♡ liked by danielriccardo, bellahadid, voguemagazine and 683,046 others

yourusername no sexual innuendos on my watch. thank you voguemagazine you've been a blessing.

view all 26,374 comments

danielricciardo do i not get a thank you for bringing you mcdonalds ⤷ yourusername thank you you loser ⤷ user1 what multiverse of madness is this ⤷ user2 you're telling me danny knows my mother

user3 now that i know danny knows y/n when will we see her in paddock fashion ⤷ user4 she's going to scare all the kids away with the way she dresses ⤷ yourusername sorry i have great tits

♡ liked by yourusername, f1wags and 3,204 others

celebritiesincheck y/n y/l/n spotted in monaco with best friend bella hadid. enjoying the sun with a special someone, yourusername?

view all 937 comments

yourusername you really never catch me not serving cunt, huh? ⤷ user5 slayed the house boots down houston i'm deceased

user6 question is, is danny in monaco atm? ⤷ user7 i hope not, i don't want the rumours to be true

user8 she's so pick me i'm actually ashamed ⤷ user9 she doesn't need to force it down our throats that she's conveniently pretty

♡ liked by danielricciardo, bellahadid, pierregasly and 740,342 others

tagged: bellahadid

yourusername monaco, you've been treating us so good baby (celebritiesincheck thanks for the last photo babes)

view all 29,304 comments

danielricciardo okay so a random gossip account gets their credits but i don't? ⤷ yourusername go cry me a river ⤷ danielricciardo blasphemy

pierregasly hi ⤷ yourusername no

user10 pierre getting humbled by y/n is peak comedy

user11 what if bella and y/n are actually dating and danny is just third wheeling ⤷ yourusername cracked the code sherlock

♡ liked by yourusername, scottyjames31, landonorris and 837,983 others

tagged: yourusername

danielricciardo i guess the cat is out of the bag, thanks scottyjames31

view all 12,237 comments

scottyjames31 you're acting as if the rumour hasn't been going around since weeks ⤷ yourusername soft launching is so outdated anyway

user12 another day, another loss for the community

user13 how can he be happy with a slut around his arm

user14 double cheeked up on a thursday afternoon?

landonorris mami et papi? ⤷ yourusername my child

♡ liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, bellahadid and 639,102 others

tagged: danielricciardo

yourusername everyone's saying i'm the whore but everyone knows men with thigh tattoos are the real sluts

view all 15,234 comments

danielricciardo there will be more in the future ⤷ yourusername can i tattoo it on you?

user15 who is she to call my boy a slut? ⤷ user16 his girlfriend.

bellahadid stop annoying me by being so cute or i'm gonna turn into a hater as well ⤷ yourusername don't lie you're my number one fan

♡ liked by yourusername, scottyjames31, charles_leclerc and 217,239 others

daniel3.jpg if you'd see her through my eyes, you'd love her as well

comments have been disabled for this post

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo imagines #daniel ricciardo x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo fanfic #f1 social media au

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milknhonies · 3 months

Text

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 6 || Masterlist || Chapter 8

Chapter Summary: Upon meeting the Baroness you are enamoured by her devotion.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, (No Smut), typical historical misogyny and sexism, mentions and discussion on miscarriages. Implied domestic abuse and infidelity.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This is an important but rather sad chapter. I beseech you all to read the warnings. The details of this chapter are important to the plot of the missing Baron Thaddeus Pennicott.

Inspiring Song: "Flightless Bird American Mouth" by Vitamin String Quartet

8:30am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.

Sherlock tucked your arm into his side as you three entered the Groveland house foyer. The floor was made of fine marble tile and with ever step a light echo raced down the halls.

The inspector called upon a nearby dusting maid to fetch the head of the house. Who returned was a thin and tall man in a butler’s uniform with a sliver pocket watch hanging from his chest. His hair was the colour of autumn leaves and his face littered in freckles.

He bowed, “I am mister Edward Redmayne, head butler of the Groveland estate, how may I assist you?”

The inspector shook his hand and stated quickly, “We spoke on the telephone yesterday? A telegraph was sent.”

The butler smiled with a relieving gasp, “Detective Holmes?”

Lestrade sheepishly looked over his shoulder to you and your husband. He nodded. His expression wore a emotion of embarrassment mixed with annoyance. Perhaps he was jealous of your husband’s successful published case stories. You wished you could have told the constable not to fret as Sherlock was nothing short of a arrogant mule...yet again- the mark on his face...he probably already knew that.

8:42am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.

Upon meeting the lady of the house, you stood frigid by your husband. You felt somewhat self conscious by her grey eyes that lingered over your dress. Perhaps you should’ve worn your Sunday best before meeting a woman of such a high status.

The baroness was unmistakably pregnant. Her belly was bold and rounded beneath her maternity gown. She had been sitting calmly on a resting chaise, knitting a small bonnet for her future child. Her hands were covered in fine burgundy velvet gloves to match her modest dress.

Her face was framed by a light brown curls, that appeared almost white in some places, twisted into a bum at the base of her neck. Her pale face was blotchy with pink flecks and slight acne.

“Lady Pennicott, I am Inspector Braydon Lestrade of Scotland Yard,” the British officer proclaimed as he bowed dramatically forward. You withheld a girlish giggle by how low the man had bent his head and presented himself foolishly, and from the corner of your eye you manage to catch the whisp of Sherlock’s smirk.

The inspector waved his arm behind him and moved aside, “-and with me is Detective Sherlock Holmes and his wife, Mrs Holmes.”

You produced the baroness a respectable curtsy, your eyes glued down to the beautifully patterned carpet. You wondered how the servants could keep it so clean and freshly unstained by dirty guests. It must have been new.

The baroness shuffled her knitting needles and ball of woollen yarn into a Whicker basket and disposed of it beside her.

A slow stretching smile graced her thin lips as she spoke to you, “Oh, are you the little dear who solved that factory match girl incident?”

You weren’t sure how to answer her question. You weren’t entirely sure what the baroness was referencing until Sherlock stepped closer with your arm still cradled in his.

“No dear Baroness,” Sherlock pat your hand gently, “That would have been my sister Enola Holmes, she has her own detective office at present moment. My wife is here on my invitation. I wished to gift her a sight of the grand park and estate while I was here upon duty.”

The Baroness cocked her head, from her ears hung pearls that swung and hung like rain drops.

“Come forth dear,” she lifted her hand and beckoned you, “I would like to have better view of you.”

You wondered if she could smell the sweat beginning to drop down the back of your neck. You bit your tongue and tried to refrain from trembling. You were nervous. Her eyes were cold but her smile warm, two conflating details that you couldn’t understand. The last thing you needed now on top of a terrible start to your marriage was to be scrutinized by a haughty pregnant baroness.

She flickered your fingers for you to bend down to her. As you leant down, you swore you could smell copper, a metalic scent. A vein on your scalp pulsed. She scanned your face of its details. You dared to wonder what she was searching for. And then it clicked...the smell...

‘Dear god, you prayed, please don’t let her smell my blood, please let this not be my blood...’

You should have sprits on some perfume before leaving baker street.

She glanced behind you and questioned angelically, “How does it feel having such a clever husband?”

Your lips opened and closed. You resembled a fish. You were stumped to answer quickly.

‘Miserable, infuriating, torturous, pleasurable mixed with a cup of agony...’

She lifted her brows until you hurriedly blurted, “He is...formidable and righteous...” you stood up tall and took a step back, adding with a monetarism of truth, “I am very lucky to have become his bride.”

‘Lucky, while incredibly resentful.’

You reached back, Sherlock adopted your arm back into his hold once more.

Lady Pennicott rubbed her belly, her eyes started to twinkle, “And soon you will have a plethora of children that will look like him I gather.”

Your eyes fluttered. Sherlock’s hand tightened around your glove and his throat bobbed. You felt hot in the face.

Yes that’s right, that’s what normal husband and wife did isn’t it? They have children. That was your role, to be the mother of Sherlock’s offspring...

You couldn’t answer.

And there. That dear girl is when you questioned for the first time. ‘Is this what I want?’ and ‘Do I want Sherlock’s children.’ Because having a knowing of his barbarism conflated a fear in your belly...would Sherlock hurt his own children if he could easily hurt you, his wife?

When you hesitated for too long to answer her again, Sherlock said with a strained tone that was masked in a hopeful joy, “One may only hope, Baroness.”

“Lady Pennicott,” Graydon interrupted, “We have come to ask you on the whereabouts of Lord Pennicott and the evening he was last sighted.”

Her eyes narrowed at the inspector and with an annoyed twinge she muttered and wiped her hands on a nearby blanket, “I already informed the police of what I was informed of by our butler Edward.”

She glanced up next her right. Mister Redmayne observed her, looking down. The pair smiled to each other. She reached out to him. She grabbed his hand and they squeezed.

The inspector laughed nervously, “Indeed but Detective Sherlock Holmes was not presently involved in the case until yesterday.”

Her eyes flickered quickly to your husband and her face flared with confusion quickly to be matched with a impressed smile, “Of course, please sit all of you as I am near a indisposition with my child,” she gestured to the mirroring chaise and a chair beside the fireplace, “Edward, please tell Martha to bring tea and biscuits for our kind service men and Mrs Holmes.”

The butler bowed to you all and left the sitting room.

Lestrade took his place on the lone chair while Sherlock sat you beside him on the chaise. You took your time to lower yourself. Sitting on your bruises was uncomfortable while another cramp hit you. Your fingers dug into his palm.

From Lestrades breast pocket he pulled out a notebook and small pencil.

“Lady Pennicott,” Sherlock softly hummed, “Please, could you tell me what your husband is like as a person?”

The woman who you believed was in her late thirties smiled and stated softly, “My Thaddeus is a noble man, good taste in wine and very devoted to his work. He likes to go hunting and we share a passion for gardening,” she glanced up at the ceiling and paused, “He prefers to plant vegetables to donate to the church and orphans, whereas I have always loved to grow my flowers.”

The way she described him, her devotion was deep and honourable. She touched her round belly.

Sherlock looked over to the fire place behind the baroness. On the mantle was a magnificent portrait twice your height, painted on the canvas was who you recognised as Lord and Lady Pennicott. He was sitting up straight on a fine red cushioned chair with his dirty blonde hair and softened mutton chops while she stood at his right and her ringed hand on his shoulder. The similarities were there but Lady Pennicotts hair had lightened in reality perhaps from all the years that separated her likeness and her reality.

“I was informed Lord Pennicott is a father of five?” Sherlock asked.

The Baroness smiled proudly and pat her tummy softly, “Six soon.”

You couldn’t help notice something was missing from the painting, Sherlock also had a similar thought.

Where were the children in the portrait? Where was a family portrait in the house?

“Forgive me,” a breath of air escaped from him, “are the children away at school?”

“Oh,” her uncanny smile remained while her brows angled down, her throat tightened as she spoke, “I fear they are in the loving embrace of angels now. All of them were taken from us by God,” her eyes glanced to you, “They came out sleeping.”

Your heart sunk to the pit of your belly with sorrow and pity.

Five babies lost, five babies gone…five pregnancies… four and a half years of pregnancy and for what? Five angels.

A woman had one holy role in life, to bare her husband children, and when a woman was defective or produced a sickly child, it was a symbol of failure in society. But you never saw it that way...you imagined it must’ve been agony to lose so many babies. One or two was a common occurrence but five? Five was a curse to experience and relive over and over.

“Well,” you interrupted Sherlock rudely, cutting him off from his next abrasive question by squeezing his hand a little too hard.

You could see the mourning in the baroness’ face. You saw the classic look of all women made uncomfortable by something a man has said. What the hell would the detective know about a woman’s emotions after how coldly he has treated all women and yourself.

You shuffled on the opposite chaise and smile softly, “I will pray this one will come swiftly and feel the warmth of their mother.”

The baroness’ face lifted and warmed. She smiled happily and nodded, “Thankyou, oh I’m just so excited! This one really is a big one, I can feel it. I hope it’s a boy.”

Sherlock was staring at you intensely as the maid Martha finally delivered a pot of tea and poured the steaming liquid. His brows were knitted and his eyes held suspicion as he kept you in his sight. You politely nodded your head once at him before reaching for a hot cup and lifting it to your lips.

Sherlock sighed and turned back to his questioning, “You would say you liked your marriage?”

The baroness appeared offended by your husband as her face wrinkled and a sneer spread her thin lips, “Of course, any woman who doesn’t like her marriage should not be married in the first place. She is a burden to her husband if she cannot perform her duties as a wife.”

Lady Pennicott leant forward and collected her own cup of tea, she delicately pinched a biscuit and dunked it into the contents.

…you felt Sherlock drag his thumb across your fingers. You felt chilly, could he read your thoughts? Did he know truly how much you already hated him and his ideas of intimacy in your marriage? He clear his throat when both your glancing eyes caught each other.

“Can you tell me what happened,” Sherlock pressed, “The night of your husbands disappearance?”

“Well...after dinner,” the baroness sighed in thought and nibbled on her moist biscuit, “Thaddeus wanted to speak with me in his office about a spending I had made a week ago. You see, I had bought a cradle for the nursery. The one we had originally was broken and beyond repair, we disposed of it a month prior. Thaddeus was not pleased with the price and claimed it was an unnecessary purchase,” she paused and set her cup aside before she touched her belly again; rubbing in soft slow circles, she began to blushed, “He was sorely hurt by my choice. He then became very cross with me and left his office in a huff.”

She looked to the yarn, to the tea pot and then finally to the painting on the mantle, “I deemed that he would find forgiveness in his heart by the morning and brush it off. I returned back to the nursery to tidy up before I went to my rooms and went to bed to sleep in my quarters of the east wing. Thaddeus keeps himself to the west wing most nights.”

The detective nodded, “What time do you believe it was when you went to your bed, Baroness?”

She hummed softly while pursuing her lips, “A quarter to nine in the evening.”

“And how did you realise your husband was missing?” Sherlock stole a scone off the tea tray and lifted it to his lips. He paused amidst chewing it slowly.

The noble woman sighed and recollected, pragmatically, “In the morning Mr Redmayne informed me on how Thaddeus took off into the night astride Arion, our prize stallion Clydesdale. Thaddeus had not returned by the next morning and that is when concern drew near. I sent members of my staff to the factories to investigate his whereabouts and none had come upon him. I knew something had to be wrong so I alerted the authorities by the second morning.”

Your husband took a deep breath and discarded the half bitten scone, he wiped his hand unceremoniously on his jacket and throatily asked, “Do you recall if Lord Pennicott has any potential persons he might be deemed as an enemy towards?”

“Only his company competitors, Detective,” She said saccharinely with her smile, “He was a very loveable man.”

“Do you have a list of the names of staff who were working that evening here in Groveland House?”

The butler stepped forward and cleared his throat, “That would be in Lord Pennicotts office,” he pulled out a pair of keys, “I can you show you gentlemen in and where he keeps his accounts and other paraphernalia to his business if you’d like?”

Both Sherlock and Lestrade smiled and stood up.

“Baroness,” Sherlock gently requested, “Would it be overly bothersome if my beloved wife remained and kept you company while the inspector and I look in your husband’s office.”

Your heart jumped to your throat. What was Sherlock doing leaving you behind with the Baroness by yourself!?....what if you spoke out of turn or said something too presumptuous for your status!?...

“Most certainly not,” she beamed “I will gladly accept such delightful company,” She held out a hand, palm down to her right. The butler speedily stepped to her side and leant her his hand. She winced as she scooted forward on the cushioned lounge before struggling to rise to her feet.

Sherlock leant down and kissed the back of your wrist again, so scantily in front of the baroness. You tried tor refrain from loudly gasped and bringing anymore dangerous attention to yourself. Your husband left your side and followed the butler with Lestrade out of the sitting room.

So the party turned to two married women. The baroness was pleased.

She stepped closer to you and reached for your arm. You were surprised by her familiarity but you would not deny the assistance of a woman so desperately swollen and ready to birth any day.

“My dear, would you care to have a stroll with me in my garden?” She smirked and jerked her chin, “Knowing how dear Thaddie kept his space organised I suspect the gentlemen might be a while.”

You nodded and quickly made the warning assurance, “Are you in a condition to move great feets Lady Pennicott?”

“Fret not,” She giggled girlishly and waved her hand casually, “The physician told me fresh air is delightful for the health of the babe,” she tapped the top of her belly, “I have a month or so before they come.”

Your eyes widened, she looked huge enough to give birth now, surely she wasn’t a month away!! Maybe she was going to be blessed with a pair of twins. You had such a limited knowledge of pregnancy in women. Your grandmother hadn’t given birthed a child in the last forty years before your birth!!!

She pointed the way out of the main mansion to enter the garden paths. The sun was perfect today amongst the clouds. It was neither cold nor hot nor humid and dank...it was pleasant and you could smell the fresh nature of bushels and flowers.

“How long have you been known as, The Mrs Holmes?” She inquired cheerfully with her shining silver eyes.

“...Not very long,” you replied warmly before risking a white lie, “We recently finished our honeymoon.”

She grinned and waddled passed a wooden bench, she took a quick stop to rest and pat the seat for you to join her instead of standing dumbly.

“Shall I share some words of advise?,” She hummed, “From a woman that has been married for twelve years?”

“I would be ever so grateful,” you said rushed and desperate. You wouldve listened to anything she had to say. A woman of her standing must’ve held adequate wisdom.

She warmly cupped both your hands and squeezed them. And yet there was an ice creepy into her gaze. She appeared to dissociate, her voice losing its youthful lilt. Her lip wobbled slightly.

“Men are visual creatures. While you are so young and beautiful, you must become pregnant as soon as possible,” Lady Pennicott ran her palm across your waist, her eyes like razors cut across the yard to a bush of red rose buds, “It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature,” those grey stones in her face rolled back and weighed you down, “as I said- visual creatures. The sooner you make a babe, the easier his devotion comes,” A joyous grin returned to her thin lips, she playfully tapped the tip of your nose and stated, “Trust me upon this.”

You clenched your hand behind you and strained a smile, “I thankyou for such wise words Baroness. I will endeavour to do what I must to conceive.”

At this moment in time Sherlock had proved himself a monstrous villain. Would it be possible for you to fall pregnant?

You looked out at the divine lush greenery and exhaled softly.

“Do you garden Mrs Holmes?” the baroness queried.

You chuckled softly and removed your gloves, you flashed her a sight of your palm, “I am afraid my hands have never been introduced. My grandmother preferred I focus on mastering piano and embroidery.”

The grey orbs fluttered back at you with a surprised him, “Embroidery is a lovely skill,” she pat your hand and pointed across the field, “Please help me up Mrs Holmes, let us take a look at my lilacs.”

You stood straight up and leant out your arm, she was surprisingly light for a woman her size. She leant against you and took small timid steps to her flower patches.

She stood and admired the flower patches, pointing to different types and explaining the breeds of flowers she hoped to grow in the future.

You finally bent over enough and cupped the petals of purple to hold up to your nose and took in a wiff “They smell lovely,” from the corner of your eye was a line of crimson, “I see your roses will soon be in bloom.”

She pinched a bud that was peaking to bloom soon.

“Oh yes, the soil is rich and healthy,” she giggled, “I can’t wait for Thaddeus to return, he liked the roses. He would stand here for a while and think. I know he will love the red colour. It is his favourite shade you see...” She sighed dreamily with her eyes scanning the bushes of scarlet rose buds, “I miss him terribly. I hope he’s alright. I want him to come home soon before the baby arrives.”

A fly smacked into your eye and you sputtered, battering it away. When you gracelessly composed yourself, you stood back up to your feet beside the Lady of Groveland.

You could see how her eyes puddles with droplets of mournful tears. You felt bad for any woman that did not know where her husband was. Especially if there was a rumour about him fleeing the marriage and abandoning her in her serious pregnant condition.

Taking the chance, you boldly took both your hands into yours and now squeezed them. Another buzzing from a fly sat on your shoulder.

The day was growing warmer and a bead of sweat rolled down your neck. The fly tickled your neck and suckled along your salted skin.

You tried your best to ignore the annoying creature.

“I am sure he will Lady Pennicott,” you soothed with a soft welcoming grin, “And he will be most happy when he returns.”

She sighed solemnly and glanced back at the rose bushes. You felt obligated for her happiness in that moment. Glancing back to the house you felt a opportunity come to you.

“May I visit your nursery Lady Pennicott, so I may have references for my own in the future?”

Her eyes flickered up, her face shine bright and her hand tightened over your wrists excitedly as though she was still as youthful as a school girl.

“Why of course Mrs Holmes,” she spun on her heel and wobbled a slight, she lifted her hand and called to the maid Martha still packing the china set inside, “Please inform the detective that I am taking his wife up to the nursery.”

“Yes Baroness,” she said with a humble curtsey and scurried off while Lady Pennicott took you totally inside the house and up a grand stair case from the foyer.

9:03am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.

Up, up, up you both climbed the stairs. You noticed how the stairs didn’t bother her ladyship once, she was fit and stridden widely whereas you were breathing a little hard by the top step.

She pulled you down a hallway to a white painted door.

She excitedly opened the door wide and practically skipped inside to show you around her future child’s room.

The walls were covered in light blue and yellow paint. There were small peonies covering the trim of the room. There was no carpet but who needed one when you had a newborn.

“Welcome to the resting nest of my baby,” Lady Pennicott proudly exclaimed, spreading her arms out at the room around you.

There was a tall shelf filled with stuffed animals and teddy bears. There was a rocking horse, a doll house, spinning tops, tin cars and rubber balls all waiting, collecting dust, awaiting the arrival of a playmate. There was a permabulator by the window sill. There was a rocking chair in one corner and against the wall closest to the door- you smiled and swaggered over curiously, “Is this the cradle you bought?”

It was made of fine cream painted wood. You chewed your bottom lip in the thought. It was a lovely crib, why was Lord Pennicott so upset by such a delightful purchase? He didn’t have money issues. You put it down as that you didn’t understand the way men thought and men will never know what women think.

“Yes,” Lady Pennicott chirped, “it is from William Whitely department store in Baywater next to the Howard & Co dress department.”

The Baroness sat down into her rocking chair and slowly moved it back and forth, watching you admire the nursery she spent hours and years consistently curating.

You clenched the edge and looked over the railing down at the empty bedding. There was a teddy lamb in the corner, you pinched it’s fluffy white tail and sighed. For a brief moment you let your eyes close and your imagination wander far.

One day you’d have this...with Sherlock. An empty cradle to be filled. You caught the vision of a tiny hand squeeze around your finger and the sound of soft gurgles with the warm pressure of a hand on your waist...was that Sherlock’s hand? Was that your child?

One day you’d have a baby to care for, to provide these things that meant love...yet, was any child of Sherlock’s capable of love? He certainly wasn’t as far as you were concerned.

You bit down a shudder and opened your eyes, feeling hot tears glide down a cheek. You pushed back and sighed, “I am most confident on one thing Lady Pennicott.”

“And what is that Mrs Holmes?” she said softly, she could see the unspoken pain in your face. You swallowed hard and your face fell into a smile, you flashed her a wink.

You laughed softly, “Your child will be spoilt rotten by the love you give.”

She chuckled with you and nodded.

“Have you thought of a name?” you inquired, waltzing over to the chested drawers of baby knick knacks on display.

“Thaddeus Colin if it’s a boy,” she hummed, “or Theresa Grace if it is a girl.”

“Theresa?”

She giggled gently, “That is my name dear.”

Mrs Theresa Pennicott. It suited her. Her old soul eyes reflected her devout name.

A shine of glass pierced a ray of sun into your eyes, you pinched the glass object carefully. You touched a long black tube pulling out of it. You couldnt understand it’s purpose, your eyes narrowed at the rubber end that was shaped like a thumb or a cows udder. There was a second tube attached to the first with a rubber squeeze ball at the end.

“What is this?” you humoured.

“Oh that? It’s a fantastic invention,” The baroness said, “It’s a pump for breast milk with a tube that syphons the milk into this baby feeding bottle. When babies start to teeth they can scar your breasts. This is an effective and modern method I look forward to trying.”

Your eyes widened, scarring!? Babies teeth could scar a breast!?

You placed the bottle bump back and helped Lady Pennicott when she beckoned to stand back up from the rocking chair.

“Have you ever felt the sensations?” She suddenly, “In which they kick within?”

Your face must’ve looked idiotic as you asked plainly, “Kick?”

She giggled and nodded, “Give me your hand, perhaps you may feel them moving.”

She plucked your palm and pulled your glove off your fingers. She pressed your entire hand intimately to her belly. You felt a sense of taboo shame, she was making you touch such a beloved spot.

“Do you feel it?” she then asked.

Felt what? Confusion flooded your mind. Your hand moved around her belly slowly.

“I am afraid I don’t know what I’m meant to be feeling?”

She moved your hand and again you felt absolutely nothing.

“They are very brutal on my body,” Lady Pennicott sarcastically assured, “trust me there is a kick.”

She made a point to push your hand harder, but all you felt was the hard material of her corsetry beneath her main dressing materials.

“Baby’s kick you inside?” you marvelled with stunned horror. This was the first time you’d ever heard of such a notion of a baby beating it’s mother inside.

“Not out of malicious intent Mrs Holmes,” she reassured, “mostly it is the baby using its limbs to move their cramped bodies inside or excitement at the sound of voices, I truly believe they can hear us while still inside. Fear not, to you it will feel like a faint touch like this-”

Lady Pennicott softly tapped your wrist, “Like that.”

And there again was new knowledge you heard from a woman on matters of pregnancy. You moved your fingers around, seeking the supposed feeling of a kick...

Still nothing. You frowned, was there something wrong with you that the baby was choosing not to reveal itself.

“How interesting...”

A soft knock on wood alerted you both to glance at the door.

“Mrs Holmes,” the butler from earlier politely spoke, “the detective is requesting your return, I believe he intends to depart.”

Your face fell. You couldn’t believe it but you’d found this experience immensely enjoyable. You had surprisingly made a friend of the Baroness.

The fair lady hugged your side and sweetly exhaled, “Then I shall escort you back to your husband, Eddie fetch me my cheque book.”

He nodded and walked ahead of you both. You solemnly shut the nursery door, trying to remember every precious detail as possible. It was a innocent place to escape from the crude world.

You returned to the bottom of the foyer and smiled at your husband that stood by Lestrade at the front doors.

By the bottom step you faced the noble woman and curtsied.

“Thankyou Lady Pennicott for your kind hospitality and agreeable cooperation to the case,” you heard Sherlock’s voice float over your shoulder.

“Of course detective, please,” the Butler returned with her cheque book, “find my beloved Thaddeus.”

She scribbled speedily with a modernised ink pen, a sharp tear of paper flashed to his direction, “Here. Thirty pounds. I am sure you are busy with other clients considering your reputation, but I beseech you to seek out my husband quickly.”

Sherlock bowed his head as he deposited the cheque into his pocket, “We shall try our hardest. Good afternoon Lady Pennicott.”

Your mouth might’ve collected flies. Thirty pounds. THIRTY pounds. That was a hefty wage for a year to many men.

Sherlock was granted his coat and walking cane along with Lestrade.

He opened the front door and left slowly, glancing over your shoulder back at the heavily pregnant Baroness.

9:21am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.

Sherlock and you walked up the gravel path in silence for sometime. You weren’t in much of a mood to speak to him despite well knowing conversation would need to spark eventually.

The three of you slowed down beside the inspectors horse cart.

Thankfully it was Sherlock who destroyed the silence with a stretched sigh. Lestrade grimly smiled at that sigh and rocked on his heels.

“Lestrade, show a useful skill,” Sherlock slapped a coin purse into his chest, “Find my wife and I a decent ride homeward. You still need to return back to the office and finish writing those reports on the Spring heeled Jack sightings....” he snickered.

The mutton chop male grumbled and left you pair alone to walk down the path into the main parklands to hail a cabriolet or another hackney carriage.

Sherlock pulled out his pipe and lit it quickly, he inhaled fast and asked curiously, “Did you learn anything else from our suspect?”

You squinted and felt a gasp pop from your lips, your hand snapped out and dug your nails into his arm with a scolding hiss, “Suspect? Look at the state she is in Sherlock. She clearly loves her husband. How could such a indisposed woman do anything to her husband?”

He smirked, “Perhaps a jealous one?”

Your brows pulled together. Jealousy wasn’t something you would’ve describe Lady Pennicott as especially with such a privileged life. Such an emotion wouldve been beneath her...but.. ‘It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature.’

Sherlock pinched out a piece of card from his pocket, a business calling card, he flashed it through his fingers and let you carefully pluck it from his hand.

“it is no wonder Thaddeus Pennicotts name was so familiar,” Sherlocks huffed a puff of air, “He visits a like minded establishment.”

On the front of the card was a single image, a dove holding a olive leaf, and when you turned the card around there was a woman modelled in immodest clothing with text and an address in perfect hand writing.

“The Mayfair Row Dove club.”

You almost dropped the card in the mud at your feet.

He tucked the card back into his breast pocket and hooked his arm around yours, walking you closer to Lestrade waving his hands back at you both.

“I’m curious who his go to bird is there,” He chuckled.

You shook your head and scoffed in disbelief, “but she’s pregnant.”

“Men have needs,” Sherlock sighed, “I thought you’d have learnt that from last evening?”

Your nails dug harder into his arm and grit your teeth. Not everyone was as depraved as Sherlock, surely not. You couldn’t imagine Mycroft or your grandfather practicing such atrocities on women, especially women that weren’t their wives.

You noted snootily, “She said her husband liked to stand out by the roses to think. Perhaps he regretted his choice.”

Sherlock laughed cruelly and hard enough to almost drop his pipe from his lips. He plucked it out of his mouth and kissed you hard and squarely in front of Lestrade and any passing people that shook their heads in disgust at such public affection.

The taste of his tobacco filled your cheeks and floated down your throat into your chest. You could feel how his breath became your breath. Your head grew dizzy from it. His release left you trembling and collapsing against him briefly. His arm grabbed around your waist and held you totally against his chest.

“You see too much good in the worst people,” he whispered wetly into your ear.

“Not true,” you panted, you blinked your eyes hard and tried speaking again. You weakly pushed away from him back onto your own two feet. From the corner of your eyes you could see the inspector standing beside another hackney carriage.

“Not true,” you repeated and swallowed hard, “...I don’t see any good in you Sherlock.”

He grinned devilishly and walked you both to the carriage, He ignored Lestrade entirely except for retrieving his own purse.

“None at all?” Sherlock asked as he helped you step up inside of the carriage. It jostled as he plotted himself next to you instead of opposite.

You thought hard on his question for a time. You shouldn’t have ever been as petty as him. So you kept your silence before you could decide on a eloquent response. You did try to find the good in him. The trouble was you barely knew Sherlock and the side that you’d encounter was nothing short of a blagged, insufferable man that happened to be very experienced in the arts of the bedroom. So you tried to think about qualities you hadn’t seen in him but had at least heard of him.

“You help solve cases and even sometimes restitution, these deeds could be counted as decent and beneficial...perhaps good...”

He smirked until you finished hastily, “However your mistreatment and lustful addiction is nothing short of that than a person that suffers in his sin.”

A long annoyed sigh drew from his lips, however the corners jerked up.

He tug out his pipe and tapped it’s contents out the moving window, “Might I ask Mrs Holmes...” he inquired as he tucked in his pipe, and wiped his lips thoughtfully, “Do you think yourself better than me?”

The silence shared between the horses trotting along the cobblestones allowed you a chance to glare long and hard at Sherlock.

It was a jab, a jibe, a joke, a trick, a trap...

He wanted you to say yes... You could see it in his eyes the way they flicked to your lips and almost drooled with anticipation. He wanted to start a fight.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at you, you turned your head away and scoffed, “You may have quick wit and a expansive knowledge Sherlock, but I at least carry myself with the fairest morals.”

And that? The reply was granted a omen of Sherlock’s sickly chuckles and his heavy warm hand to sit over your thigh, running his them over the fabric of your skirts.

“We will see how fair a baker street whore morals really are when we arrive home then shall we?”

You leant against the wall of the carriage and chose to ignore him. You closed your eyes and held Sherlock’s hand to prevent it wandering anywhere else. His thumb rubbed along the back of your gloves hands.

You couldn’t understand Sherlock. And feared you never would.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x ofc #sherlock holmes x female reader #sherlock holmes x poc!reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes x reader #dark!sherlock holmes #dark!henry cavill

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 9 months

Text

Shotgun

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, Sam Winchester x little sister!reader

Synopsis: just some drabbles about your life before/during/after Sam leaves for college

Author’s note: I swear I’m still working on my Sherlock series, but the Supernatural inspiration keeps coming.

This was it. Your chance! This opportunity never showed itself, and you might never see it again.

Your oldest brother Dean was in the driver’s seat of the Impala, and somehow, impossibly, Sam was still inside packing his bag. You had beat him outside, bag packed and ready to go. That could only mean one thing…

“You know he’s not gonna let you stay there,” Dean side-eyed you as you slid into the passenger’s seat of Baby, instead of your usual prison in the back seat.

“I was here first,” you insisted, “Sam will respect that.”

Dean snorted, “Whatever sweetheart.”

You should have known Dean would be right.

“Hey, no fair!” You cried as Sam reached in and grabbed you, attempting to wrestle you out of the front seat as you grabbed for Dean’s arm. “Dean, help!”

Dean just held his arms up in mock surrender.

“Sorry bug, fight your own battles.”

“Jerk!” You weren’t sure which brother you were insulting as Sam dragged you out of the front seat and deposited you roughly onto the back seat.

“Sorry short stuff,” Sam patted you on the head patronizingly, and you scowled at him. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t let you stay there. Shotgun is like birthright for the second born child.”

You just stuck your tongue out at him, eliciting an eye roll from both brothers.

…

“What are you doing?” Dean asked as you climbed into the back seat of the impala.

Your brow knitted, and you frowned at your oldest brother.

“Um…sitting?”

Dean sighed, “Get up front, ok? It’s stupid to just leave it empty.”

You chewed on your bottom lip when you felt it quiver slightly as you eyed the front seat.

Sam had left the motel last night where the four Winchesters had been staying. He didn’t just storm out in anger. He had all his things packed, and he was college-bound. He wouldn’t be coming back.

At least that’s what dad and Dean kept telling you.

You didn’t believe it. No, you couldn’t. Sam wouldn’t leave you guys, he was born to be a hunter.

You shook your head stubbornly at Dean, “Nah, it’s alright. What’s the point in getting used to sitting up there, I’ll just have to move back again when…” you swallowed past the lump in your throat and hesitantly finished your sentence, as though you were trying to convince yourself that what you were saying was true. “Wh-when Sammy gets back.”

You saw Dean’s jaw clench, and glanced away when you saw him trying to make eye contact through the rear view mirror.

“Just come sit up here.” Dean managed through gritted teeth. It was starting to scare you how even the mention of Sam was making Dean angry.

“But when Sam-“

“Sam’s not coming back, now get up here!” You flinched when Dean slammed his hand on the steering wheel. You didn’t hesitate, scrambling out of the back seat and dropping down into Sam’s old spot. You weren’t used to Dean yelling at you; he had his anger issues, sure, but he rarely yelled at you.

Dean pulled out of the motel parking lot, and there was a tense silence for several long minutes. Dean seemed to still be angry, and you were starting to feel tears prick at the back of your eyelids, but you turned to look out the window so Dean wouldn’t see. You would’ve thought that after all the tears you had cried last night after Sam left, that you were done with crying for a while. But nothing ever seemed to make you cry quite as much as being yelled at, especially by Dean. If it had been dad, you would’ve been expecting it, but Dean was much gentler with you…most of the time.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, shattering the silence. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

You pulled one knee up to your chest, hugging yourself tightly.

“It’s fine,” you still stared out the window, avoiding Dean entirely.

He sighed at this, and you turned when you felt his hand on your leg.

“No it’s not. Nothing’s fine right now, I know that. But…but it’s just you and me now, ok? It’s important that you understand that.”

Your voice was quiet, almost a whimper.

“Why?”

Dean lifted his hand to the top of your head, brushing your hair away from your face as he gave you a pathetic half-smile.

“Because we’re all we’ve got, ok? And I-“ Dean cleared his throat, brushing a tear off your cheek before continuing, “and I don’t think I can do this if you keep bringing up Sammy like he’s about to walk through the door any second. Because he’s not.”

The tears were flowing freely now, and you didn’t bother turning away.

“But I want him to.”

Dean sighed like the weight of the world was weighing him down.

“Me too, baby.”

…

You reached another motel that night, and you went to get settled inside while Dean went to the local bar, most likely to get some information about the hunt you were on.

He never really let you help, but you had to tag along. You had nowhere else to go.

You didn’t mind so much being left behind on hunts, you had homeschool work that Dean assigned for you, so that kept you occupied. It was a mixture of “normal” learning—math, history, and stuff like that—mixed with “hunter” knowledge that you might need to defend yourself—how to identify monsters, learning Latin, etc.

All in all, you liked your half normal, half hunter life. What you didn’t like was this, right here and now; sitting alone in a hotel room, knowing that there was some kind of monster out there that your big brother was hunting.

When Sam was still around, you were rarely ever alone; one brother would go out to talk to locals, while the other stayed and did research. You found being alone unnerving, and you spent the two hours that Dean was gone trying—and failing—to focus on anything but your mounting fear.

Any little sound was suddenly sending your mind into a whirlwind, remembering all the strange noises you had learned about. The ones that evil things make.

By the time Dean got back, you were wound up so tight that the door opening nearly sent you into a panic attack. When you saw it was just your big brother, you just couldn’t resist the urge to jump up and hug him.

He staggered back, surprised at your behavior.

“Heya shrimp, you ok?” He rested one hand at the back of your head, and lifted the other to your shoulder, pulling you back so he could look at your face.

You just nodded, your throat feeling too tight to speak.

“Ok, what’s wrong baby?” Dean was frowning down at you, and suddenly you felt ridiculous. You shuffled away from him, shrugging your shoulders.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just…I don’t like being alone.”

Dean ruffled your hair, an understanding smile on his face.

“That’s ok N/N, nothin’ wrong with that. Hey, how about I take you with me next time, ok? You shouldn’t be sitting alone in this motel anyway.”

You smiled up at him.

“Ok.”

“Ok. But just when I’m talking to locals, ok? I’m gonna have to leave you here sometimes when I’m going after the monsters.”

You smiled sadly, “I can get used to it.”

…

The night brought you no comfort. After being so wound up on your own that afternoon, you found that you weren’t feeling much better when night fell. When you remembered that you’d be in bed alone tonight—you had always shared a bed with either Sam or Dean, since there was always two beds in the motel rooms—you felt a sickening lump in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t want to sleep alone. In fact, you couldn’t even remember a time when you had slept alone.

You didn’t see much of an option, however, so you tried to get comfortable on your bed while Dean stayed up to do some research.

You tried, you really did. But no matter how much you tossed and turned, no matter how you rearranged the pillows and blankets, nothing could replace the comforting, safe warmth that sleeping next to one of your big brothers brought.

“You alright, Y/N?” Dean had obviously noticed your restlessness.

You sighed dejectedly and sat up, nowhere closer to sleeping than you had been thirty minutes ago when you laid down.

“I can’t sleep,” you mumbled, swinging your legs off the side of the bed and standing, your bare feet instantly freezing on the cold floor. Ignoring that, you made your way over to Dean and sat down next to him, leaning over to look at his computer.

“Whatcha doin?” You asked quietly. Dean smiled tiredly and ruffled your hair.

“Just some research,” he closed the laptop and stood, and you giggled as he lifted you into his arms. “C’mon anklebiter, it’s late, you need some sleep. Hey, at least you’re getting your own bed for once.”

Your heart sank when he dropped you unceremoniously on your bed, and began to walk towards his own, turning out the only light in the room on his way.

“Dean?” You called hesitantly, feeling your heartbeat pick up when you noticed you couldn’t even make out his silhouette in the gloom.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Dean clicked on the bedside lamp, illuminating a small area. It wasn’t much, but you could see his face now, and it was comforting.

“You’re not. I’m right here,” Dean was frowning at you, seemingly confused.

“I didn’t mean…alone alone, just…” that pit returned to your stomach, and again you felt ashamed and stupid. “I’ve never slept alone before.”

Realization dawned in Dean’s eyes, and he looked from his bed to yours. He was debating the two sides of his brain—his desire to finally get a bed to himself versus his desire to help you. It wasn’t a long debate, and after only a couple of seconds he looked up at you with a smile, patting the bed next to him.

“C’mere kiddo, you can sleep here tonight.”

You grinned and slid off your bed, all but running over to your big brother, climbing into bed next to him.

“Just don’t be a blanket hog, alright?”

You giggled, “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean just grumbled, “Yeah yeah, well how am I supposed to say no to you when you give me those darn puppy eyes.” You felt him shift beside you to lay on his back, stretching one arm out to lay behind your head. You grinned at the open invitation, and scooted closer so your head was resting on his shoulder.

“Get some sleep baby, alright?”

Dean got no response, as you were already dozing, your steady breaths moving in time to Dean’s slow heartbeat.

…

“Would you stop dancing around like that? Jeez, you look like you’re about to wet yourself.”

You punched Dean’s arm hard, even though you knew he was right. You were squirming in your seat, and had been for probably two hours. You were too darn excited to sit still, you were going to see Sammy!

Granted, the circumstances weren’t great; dad was missing, and had been for days. But you could barely even focus on that as Dean and you made the long trip out to Stanford. You couldn’t focus on anything but the thought of finally seeing your big brother again.

“You wait here, I’m going to go get him,” Dean said as he parked baby.

“What? No way, I want to-“ Dean wouldn’t even let you get the sentence out.

“Nope, nada, I’ll only be a few minutes, just let me talk to him first; alright?”

You huffed, slumping back into your seat.

“Fine.”

Dean smirked and ruffled your hair, and you let out a whine and shoved his hand away before he could get your hair all tangled.

“Atta girl,” he started walking towards Sam’s apartment, but hesitated long enough to toss over his shoulder, “and you might want to get outta that seat.”

For once in your life you didn’t hesitate to relinquish the shotgun seat. You were too fidgety to stay seated anyway. You paced back and forth in front of the Impala, waiting for Dean to emerge with Sam.

When he finally did, the elation that built up inside you couldn’t be quenched. You didn’t even care that Sam and Dean were clearly arguing about something, you just rushed forwards and threw yourself into Sam’s arms.

You heard his laugh—you never realized what a great sound that was—as he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around you, staggering slightly from the impact of your hug.

“Hey monkey, what’s up?”

You had never been so glad to be called Sam’s stupid nickname. You’d always had a skill—and a desire—to climb anything in your vicinity as a kid; trees, jungle gyms, stair railings, it really didn’t matter. It hadn’t taken Sam long to come up with the nickname, but it had stuck around way past its expiration date. Despite this, the name was one of the best things you’d heard in a while.

“Yeah yeah, alright, break up the hug fest would ya?” Dean grumbled, and you finally pulled away from Sam, a grin still etched across your face.

Sam picked up his bag and headed towards baby, and even though you beat him there, you didn’t even hesitate to climb into the back seat.

Sam got in after you and turned around in surprise.

“What, no fight?”

You just grinned at him.

“What? Didn’t you know that shotgun is like a birthright for the second born child?”

Sam chuckled and ruffled your hair, and you were so glad to see him that you let him do it for a full second and a half before shoving his hand away in annoyance.

“That’s my girl.”

You giggled, “Besides, when the driver’s picking the music, shotgun has to shut his cakehole. Nobody said anything about backseat.”

Dean barked out a laugh and ruffled your hair—ok it was getting ridiculous, your hair was definitely tangled now.

“Now, that’s my girl.”

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princessaxoxo · 5 months

Text

Strangers to lovers Part 6

Sherlock x reader

Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.

Warnings: 18+ Only, NSFW, fluff, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (f receiving), vulgar language, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of birth

Word Count: 523

“I now pronounce you man and wife; you may kiss the bride.” Sherlock kissed you with passion after the bishop made his announcement. Claps echoed throughout the room as your family and Sherlock's stood together. There would be a surprise that evening, one that you could not wait to tell your now-husband. “I love you, Mrs. Holmes,” Sherlock said with significance.

Sherlock took you to bed in a bridal fashion. The day of your wedding was filled with little touches to private areas of your bodies. In a manner unbelievably timely, you witnessed him strip off his clothing. The urge to have his body near yours—closer than ever—consumed Sherlock. He was exceptionally tough and passionate tonight. Sherlock looked at you and stated, "I have the most beautiful wife," as he assisted you in taking off your clothes.

His lips didn’t leave an inch of your body untouched. Eventually, his face landed between your thighs, and his soft lips made love to your cunt. His tongue swirled and sucked on your clit repeatedly until his name fell from your lips in whimpers and your orgasm took over your body.

In one quick thrust, his cock stretches your cunt as his body covers yours. There was hunger and yearning in the way he moved. With your palm firmly clutching his locks, Sherlock's head was nestled in the hollow of your neck. Sherlock's enlarged length brushed against your g-spot with every snap of his hips.

He kissed his way up to your lips while your nails scratched across his back. Your body experienced a familiar sensation, alerting you to your approaching orgasm. Sherlock felt your legs start to tremble as your walls tightened around him and his name slipped from your lips.

His seed filled you to the brim, and he groaned deeply. Before he could catch his breath, you said, “I’m pregnant, honey.” Sherlock just stared at you, unable to speak. “Not too long ago, my courses ended, and I saw a doctor. I'm definitely with child."

His face lit up with a smile as he placed his palm on your belly. “Our child, you mean.”

Nine months later, you were giving birth to your baby. Sherlock was by your side, holding your hand. “You’re doing fantastic, sweetheart," he said, then kissed your hand. “One more push, miss!” the doctor said aloud.

With all your might, you gave Sherlock's hand a strong squeeze. Abruptly, a cry filled the room. "Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, congratulations; it's a boy." They handed you your son. Upon holding your son for the first time, happy tears obscured your vision. “Hi, little one," you said as you brushed the side of his tiny head.

Sherlock had the biggest smile you've ever seen on his face as you turned to face him. His eyes were glossy. "Would you like to take him in your arms?"

"Yes, absolutely." With gentle care, you handed Sherlock his son. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?" Sherlock asked, glancing at you.

You beamed and said to him, "He resembles his father." After exchanging quick glances and kisses, you both turned to face your son and looked forward to what lay ahead.

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @identity2212 @chloe92 @juliaorpll78 @nighttimestan @ellethespaceunicorn @armystay89

#henry cavill #first post #henry cavill smut #smutty #henry cavill x reader #fluff #henry cavill fanfic #sherlock holmes #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x you #enola and sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes smut #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters

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frost-queen · 4 months

Text

Outmatched epilogue | (Reader x Anthony Bridgerton)

Requested by: @noirrose21-blog, Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve,

@queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves, @m-rae23,@kazbekkarluvbot, @freyathehuntress,

@kneelforloki, @mamaj-right, @queensgirl718, @abaker74, @thescooby-gang, @readers-posts, @randomstory56, @aureolinb, @fictional-hooman,

@nyenye, @loliakeoghan23, @heyheyheyggg, @aizawash0e, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @novas-dreamworld, @preciousbabypeter, @magical-spit, @heyheyheyggg, studioreader, @wonderlandfandomkingdom, @misscaller06, @dracoflaco, @nikithepuff, @child-of-of-the-sunshine

Summary: Anthony and you are married with kids. Something has reached your ears for you and your husband to be interested in meeting the lady who appears to have caught Sherlock's eye. Not only do you meet her, but you meet another interesting gentleman as well on the tracks. Read part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 8 & part 9 & part 10

You squealed soft whilst stretching your arms. They bumped against the frame of the bed making your effort unsatisfying as you wanted it to be. The matrass ducked in when a body came rolling over closer to your side. You squealing ended up in chuckling when Anthony moved his upper body over yours. – “Morning Y/n Bridgerton.” – he said in his deep sleepy voice. You lowered your arms, flicking your finger against his cheek. It startled him for a moment.

“I told you, you can only call me Y/n Bridgerton when you are utterly cross with me!” – you reminded him. Anthony’s brief look of surprise and worry faltered into a smile. – “Apologies love, it just feels so right to call you that.” – he replied as you wrapped your arms around his neck. – “Are you cross with me?” – you teased him tilting your head a bit. – “Not the slightest.” – Anthony answered with a smirk.

“Then kiss me Anthony Bridgerton.” – you spoke seeing Anthony tilt his chin a bit down. Looking at you with an expression that you really went there. Copying his words simply to tease him. Laughing loud you loved it how easily he was teased or offended.

Anthony silenced you by pressing his lips hard on you. Making your head disappear into the folds of the pillow as he laid half on top of you. Smothering you with his kisses. You weren’t complaining. His kisses made you smile against his lips, feeling flustered by his passion. Anthony brought his hand up, touching your chin delicately as he let his lips brush carefully against yours.

Taking it slow to enjoy every little detail of your lips. The loud tripling of footsteps in the hallway made your eyes widen. Anthony stopped kissing you, lifting his head up. – “One… two… three.” – he whispered with half a smile. Just as he pointed towards the door it opened. – “Mommy, daddy!” – Charlotte busted into the room. Anthony removed himself from you as your daughter stood happily and jumpingly at the side of your bed.

Her maid appearing in the door opening out of breath. – “Apologies Viscount and Viscountess.” – she said with a low curtsy. Anthony reached to grab little Charlotte and hoist her up in the bed with them. – “It is alright.” – you told her. – “Will you check on Edmund please?” – you asked of her.

The maid curtsied again before taking her leave. Charlotte was jumping on the bed, Anthony holding her under her armpits to make sure she wouldn’t fall. – “Mommy! Daddy!” – she called out overexcited. Charlotte jumped down landing with her feet on your stomach as you flinched from the pain. – “Oh no! Mommy is hurt.” – Anthony said calming Charlotte down.

You dramatically pretended to faint, laying with your hand on your forehead. Anthony gasped playing along as he looked at Charlotte. – “We must heal mommy with kisses.” – little Charlotte nodded as she leaped onto you. Having her full weight on you made you groan softly from the impact. She then threw her arms around you, kissing your cheek repeatedly. – “Alright, alright mommy is healed.” – you called out laughingly as she had her arms tight around your neck.

“Is she now? I think she needs more kisses.” – Anthony teased resulting in you casting him a glare. Anthony joined in changing his kisses from your forehead to Charlotte’s. Charlotte laughed loud. You pulled yourself up to get some breathing area. Your cheeks flushed with heat from their smothering.

“Time to get up.” – you announced, throwing the covers away. Both Anthony and Charlotte groaned. Anthony held his hand up, mouthing five more minutes. You laughingly shook your head. – “Charlotte needs to get dressed. In case you forgot my brother is coming over.” – you reminded your husband off with a teasing glance. – “Uncle Sherl?” – Charlotte said making you laugh. You had always found it funny how she couldn’t fully pronounce his name yet.

Resulting into Sherlock being Sherl for her. Something you loved to tease him with. – “Yes Uncle Sherlock.” – you told her picking her up from the bed. Charlotte laid her head against your shoulder as you turned around with her. You opened the door seeing her maid having returned. You set Charlotte on the ground, telling her to get dressed. You were about to set a step when you got pulled back by your nightgown.

You bumped against Anthony’s chest as he wrapped an arm around your waist. With his other hand he closed the door. – “Five more minutes.” – he whispered bringing his head down to kiss the fold of your shoulder. His touch fluttered, his body swaying against yours. You spun around, jumping at him. Wrapping your legs around his waist as he stumbled back, directing himself back to the bed before falling backwards on it with you on him.

Soon you were all in the Parlor. Charlotte playing on the ground with her dolls. Her one year old brother sitting on your knee. Anthony was reading the newspaper in await of your brother. – “Let’s not bring her up immediately.” – you told your husband. Anthony lowered the newspaper. – “Why not?” – he asked with a teasing smile. – “Because!” – you made clear letting Edmund bounce a bit on your knee. – “You are far from subtle.” – you finished.

Anthony rolled with his eyes. – “I am subtle.” – he defended himself. Anthony looked down at his leg. Charlotte had been tugging his pants. She held up one of her dolls to him. Anthony placed his newspaper away, taking the doll from her. Charlotte got up to her feet, leaning a bit against his legs. – “Her hair isn’t nice.” – she said holding a tiny brush up to him. – “Let us lay it neatly then.” – Anthony answered taking the tiny brush from her.

He started combing the dolls hair as Charlotte laid her head down on his knees, watching him. – “There.” – Anthony said after finishing. Charlotte squealed excited taking the doll from him. She then showed the doll to you. – “She looks beautiful.” – you told her. Charlotte sat back down, taking a second doll in her hand to play with.

The door to the Parlor opened. – “Lord Sherlock Holmes.” – the man announced. Sherlock appeared in the opening with a grand smile. Charlotte gasped loud. – “Uncle Sherl.” – she called out. Sherlock lowered himself when the little girl came running over. – “Ahh look at you, how’ve grown you are.” – he told her, having picked her up and hugging her. – “How old are you now?” – he asked as you knew it was to test her intelligence.

Charlotte looked down at her own fingers, hesitating a bit to show the right amount. She then held up two fingers. Sherlock laughed overjoyed hugging her tighter. – “And six months.” – you reminded him. Charlotte your oldest was two and a half. While her brother Edmund was but one. Sherlock set her back down as you had gotten up, holding Edmund in your arms. Sherlock went over to you, kissing your cheek. – “Sister.” – he greeted. – “Sherl.” – you greeted back with a teasing smile.

He gave you a playfully annoyed glance in return. Hating it but secretly not minding it. He then went to Anthony bowing at one another. – “How are you?” – you asked sitting back down. – “Nothing unusual. How are you dear sister.” – Sherlock responded. – “Nothing unusual are you sure about that?” – Anthony spoke as you shot him a glare.

Sherlock frowned. Observing the glances between Anthony and you, he came to a conclusion. Anthony turned to look over at you with a hint of trying to hide his smile. You glaring at him for teasing the snippet then also unable to hide your smile. Sherlock had picked up a spyglass to occupy himself. – “I’m assuming by the look of you two that Mycroft has spilled something.” – he spoke lowering the spyglass. – “How so? Is there perhaps something we should know?” – you asked as Sherlock saw right through your façade of trying to sound oblivious.

He took a deep sigh. – “It was only once.” – Sherlock released. – “To our account two.” – Anthony replied holing up two fingers with a smirk. Sherlock looked up with a heavy sigh. – “Fine two.” – he corrected himself. You set Edmund on the ground with his sister. He immediately slapped his hand towards one of her dolls, interested in the toy in front of him.

“Sherlock! As your married sister I am deeply wounded that you did not consult me on this matter.” – you spoke with a hint of teasing. – “It is not like that.” – he made clear. Anthony and you shared a smirking glance. – “Sherlock a lady came over by our house not once… but twice.” – you had gotten up joining Anthony on the sofa.

The two of you quirked your eyebrow at him. Sherlock pointed the spyglass back at you. – “I don’t like how the two of you are conspiracy against me.” – he spoke. – “Well it runs in the family.” – you replied moving your hand down on Anthony’s lap. Anthony took your hand, giving it a soft squeeze. – “When can we meet her?” – you questioned.

He saw the delight in your eyes, making him regret ever engaging in the matter. – “What is her name?” – Anthony wanted to know. – “Is she polite? Well-mannered?” – he continued. – “Is she intelligent? Resourceful?” – you asked knowing the right questions. Sherlock looked at the two of you, seeing how truly you two were matched for each other.

He took a deep sigh. – “Her name is Irene Adler.” – he explained. Anthony and you looked at each other teasingly. – “Who is Irene?” – Charlotte suddenly asked out of the blue. It made Anthony laugh loud. – “Uncle Sherl is in love with her.” – you told her. – “I am not!” – Sherlock protested. Sherlock’s cheeks puffed up with annoyance as it made you laugh loud.

Charlotte ran up to Sherlock. – “Uncle Sherl do you like her like mommy and daddy do?” – she asked making Anthony and you have the time of your life. Sherlock glared over at you. – “See what your foolishness brings.” – he bit at you. – “Oh Sherlock we are only teasing you.” – you told him getting up. You went up to him, wrapping your arms around him and kissing his forehead. – “I’m only doing you a favour.” – you whispered to him. – “I rather have it that you do not.”

━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━

Anthony and you walked arm in arm onto the grass. Both of you were holding a pamphlet. – “I told you to bet on Lucky boy.” – Anthony said. You rolled your eyes on him. – “Lucky boy is overrated. All you men do is bet on that horse because of his heritage.” – you told him. – “Lucky boy comes from a family of winners!” – Anthony made clear. You laughed loud making Anthony quirk his eyebrow annoyed at you. - “Who have you betted on then?” – he wanted to know snatching the pamphlet from out of your hands.

He quickly read down the name you had betted on. – “High flag?” – he called out. – “He is but a youngling.” – Anthony went on. – “Oh darling Y/n you have made a mistake there. There is not a chance High flag can win this race from Lucky boy.” – he finished with a smug face. You ripped the pamphlet out of his hand. – “Let us see then!” – you threw a witty glance at him removing your arm from him. Anthony gaped at you as you went on without him.

“Y/n.” – he hissed out lowly as he came jogging after you. You went towards the stands at the side-line of the tracks. – “Excuse me.” – you said wanting to get passed some people already sitting down. – “Y/n!” – Anthony shout-whispered after you. He smiled uncomfortable at a lord who raised his eyebrow at the intention of his voice. You went further down the line, blinking surprised upon seeing your brother. – “Sherlock?” – you said. Sherlock got up in a haste.

“Sister.” – he responded, his voice a tone higher. Was he perhaps embarrassed of seeing you here? Or was he hiding something? A man’s posture came in vision from behind Sherlock. It made you shift your gaze to him curiously. Sherlock cleared his throat, turning his posture more so you could see the fellow better. – “Mister John Watson.” – Sherlock introduced.

“Watson, my sister Viscountess Y/n Bridgerton.” – he introduced you with a smile. You felt a warm on your shoulder followed by a loud breath. – “Don’t run…” – Anthony began before he noticed your brother. – “Oh Sherlock, how pleasant to see you here.” – Anthony breathed out tipping his hat to him. – “Sherlock was just introducing me to his friend.” – you told your husband. – “More like business partner.” – Sherlock corrected you.

Sherlock introduced Anthony as well to Watson. Anthony and you sat down along with the others. John Watson sitting beside you. You were looking at the tracks, lowly arguing with your husband about the horses. A lady came in view making you stop your friendly bickering. Sherlock jumped up, straightening his jacket. – “Miss Irene.” – he said taking a bow. Anthony and you looked at each other, first surprised then full of mischief.

“Is that seat taking?” – she asked pointing at a spot near Sherlock. – “Of course not!” – Sherlock declared making more room. Which resulted in John being pressed closer to you and you to your husband to make room for her. Irene sat down as you watched Sherlock be out of himself. Fumbling nervously with his hands. He was so smitten with her, she had made him default.

The bell got rang as it announced the start of the race. You got on the edge of your seat looking to the left from where the horses would come. Their hooves trampled the grass, gripping out earth as they ran. They came closer as you got up out. – “That’s it Lucky boy!” – Anthony called out beside you. – “Come on High flag, steady!” – you said loud. – “Yes!” – Anthony declared. – “Steady! Steady!” – you shouted loud cheering on for High flag.

The horses came racing almost right in front of you, sprinting for the last few yards. Everybody else on the seats were getting up as well. – “Come now High flag!” – you yelled followed by loud whistling. Having put your fingers between your lips to whistle. You kept whistling as it caught Anthony’s attention, making him stare bewildered at you.

Irene furrowed her brows, looking at Sherlock. – “All in the good of sport.” – he told her giving an explanation for your enthusiasm. The horses passed as Anthony was getting agitated. – “Come on! Come on!” – he kept shouting over at Lucky Boy. – “Yes! Yes!” – you cheered over his words to High flag. The horses neared the finish as you were beyond yourself.

Jumping up and down knowing you have won. There was no way Lucky boy could gain on High flag now. The flag swirled in the air the moment the horses ran over the line. You cheered loud as Anthony wanted to throw his hat on the ground out of frustration. You took a hold of your husband, continue to jump and cheer. It made him turn his head to you with a grand smile. This was what made him love you so much. You weren’t afraid to show your enthusiasm and never back down for any man.

“How does it feel to be a sore loser.” – you told him. Anthony breathed out a laugh wrapping an arm around your waist. – “I may be a loser in betting, but I am certainly a winner with having you.” – he expressed. You smiled at him before kissing him. John beside you took a deep breath. – “The adrenaline is high here.” – he chuckled out. Slowly you all descended down the seats joining your brother and his business partner. Irene still standing near him.

“Miss Irene Adler I presume?” – you asked her. – “Yes.” – Irene spoke. Anthony came by your side keeping his hand on your lower back. – “A pleasure to finally meet you. I am Sherlock’s sister.” – you told her. Irene curtsied before you. – “I am very excited to see how this season will end.” – you said with a chuckle. Looking over at your brother, you winked at him.

Sherlock rolling with his eyes. Anthony kissed your cheek before speaking to your brother. – “After all we have experience of scheming. How does a carriage ride sound darling?” – Anthony spoke looking over at you. – “Thrilling.” – you responded with a smile. Sherlock swallowed nervously afraid of what you and your husband would be cooking up. Perhaps a way of revenge on what he had inflicted on the both of you. Irene and John both looking confused at each other. For only the three of you knew the story behind the words.

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