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pelova4president · 2 months

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Secreta

Salma Paralluelo x Barca!Reader

summary~ You’ve been dating your girlfriend Salma for a while now but never really told the team. Will they find out?

Hiding something from your teammates was difficult, especially when you’re part of the Barca squad. One big family. Well, a unique family but one nonetheless.

And it got even more complicated when the secret is between two teammates. Being in a relationship with a teammates was something itself, sharing it with the team meant endless teasing and god knows what else.

Salma was a flirtatious type so it wasn’t uncommon for her to hug you, pick you up and sometimes even slap your ass. Most of the team is Spanish anyway, they’re all more into pda than the English. Whenever someone would comment on it you had a good excuse, she does it to everyone. But it was hard to cover up the red that invaded the apples of your cheeks.

Mapi was the worst of them all, you may or may not have told her about your little crush on the striker before anything actually happened between the two of you, and she wouldn’t let it go. She might have her suspicions but she never really told you them out loud and luckily for you that saved you some embarrassment and unnecessary lying.

“Los tortolitos no pueden quitarse las manos de encima” (Lovebirds can’t keep their hands off eachother) Mapi yelled from across the pitch. Salma had swung you over her shoulder, having spurted water all over her earlier and now she wanted payback. Vicky, her partner in crime helped her with that. The younger girl had stolen a bucket full of ice cold water from the recovery room and was waiting for Salma to run towards her. Once she arrived with you over her wet shoulder Vicky drowned you in the freezing water.

Gasping for air you scolded the Spanish girls. “Joder! I’m gonna get you both for that, little shits!” and when you began kicking yourself free from the strong grip Salma had on you, they sprinted away.

“Jesus Christ..” you sighed, happy to be on your own two feet again. Alexia and Frido laughed at your wet state, “Kind of deserved it, don’t you think.” the Swede said. You rolled your eyes at her, receiving a disapproving look from the other woman.

After training Salma drove you home. You shared the appartement, deciding to move in together rather quickly, u-hauling. It seemed like the obvious choice, you needed to be at the same location at the same time almost every single day and you got to be the passenger princess. You would cook some actual food for the both of you, seems like a win win situation right?

That was until some teammates started to get suspicious of your whole living situation. Alexia thought she knew everything about you and when she discovered you lived with Salma she was a little surprised, you would’ve told her right, why didn’t you tell her. That was the base of her little Sherlock Holmes case.

Vicky was just noisy and like a little sister. Salma adored her and so, you did too. She was around almost every day so you couldn’t hide that you had moved in with your girlfriend. It was around the second week of living together that Vicky came around and walked into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. Obviously there were two bedrooms in the apartment but only one in use. With some garbage on the left side of the room and actual books on the right she knew that Salma had company.

“Salma, ¿tienes compañía?” (Salma, do you have company?) the noisy teenager asked. Salma walked towards the girl and kept herself cool. “La cama de y/n aún no ha llegado así que duerme en la mía.” (Y/n’s bed hasn’t arrived yet so she sleeps in mine) Salma replied. “You’d tell me if you liked someone, sí?” Vicky winked.

Apart from La Reina and the annoying teenager nobody suspected a thing.

salmaparalleulo

liked by lucybronze and 281.828 others

a pleasure to have been there last night and end 3rd. thank you ❤️

comments

vickyylopezz._ mi 🐐

keirawalsh 💫

aitanabonmati mi hermana

y/n_y/l/n 🤤

commenting that might not have been the best thing since it only raised suspicions, especially with Vicky. But honestly, how could she look that good. And Salma is your girlfriend so you had all the right to drool over her.

When she finally came back from her little ballon d’or trip you almost had no time since you were expected for training the next day. Your schedule was full, scarily so. You could be in Italy, playing against Ireland one day and the next you’d be expected at Barca to play a full 90 minutes against Atletico Madrid.

This also meant that you had little time with your girlfriend whenever one of you were off for some event or sponsorship.

But even once in a while you needed to let go and go out with your girls, even if that meant you had to Uber home since your personal driver wasn’t there to drive you.

y/n_y/l/n

liked by leahwilliamsonn and 186.725 others

🫶🏽🥂

comments

ellatoone take me with you next time xx

alexiaputellas what’s this?

vickyylopezz._ who’s that?

salmaparalluelo 🫶🏾

lucybronze barca’s doing you good

Stealing one last kiss you got out of Salma’s car. Hand in hand you walked towards the changing rooms. You were surprised there wasn’t anyone yet. Alexia would’ve already been here by this time. Tying your shoelaces up, not wanting to wear those football boots without them since they seem to be falling off players foots. Well, clumsy Alessia’s but a player nonetheless.

Salma had been done ages ago but decided to wait for you before heading into the canteen. “Ready, mi amor?” she took your hand, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Not quite yet..” you kissed her on her lips. Without meaning to really deepen the kiss it got heated.

“Hmm, need you Sal..” you hummed against her swollen lips. She kissed you even harder at that statement. “Haven’t had you in so long.” your grip getting tighter around her shoulders, almost like a koala clinging around a branch. Your girlfriends hands traveled lower and squeezed your ass before letting them rest there.

And before you could remove yourself from the striker, the changing room door swung open, revealing a complete Barca team. Vicky’s face was one with disgust, hearing your words from earlier. Alexia’s captaining face had taken over and disapproval was to be seen on some of your older teammate’s faces.

Mapi and Lucy burst out laughing. “Fucking told you so Mapi, give me my money!” ofcourse they had a fucking bet going on. Mapi and Vicky groaned at the same time but for different reasons. “My ears! I have to amputate them now! And my innocent eyes!” she screamed dramatically.

“Oh shut up Vicky, you’ve seen enough with those innocent eyes of yours!” your rolled your eyes at the teenager. “And you two had a fucking bet going on? How many of you had your suspicions?” It was your turn to be annoyed. Everyone seemed to find the walls, floor or even the ceiling more interesting than the questions you’ve just asked. “Joder..” Salma groaned, you really thought they had no clue.

“Well, dog’s out of the bagage. Everyone knows now.” Aitana says in broken English. “It’s cat’s out of the bag but yeah, good job with trying Aita” Keira praises her.

salmaparalluelo, y/n_y/l/n

liked by jillroord and 261.738 others

dog’s out of the bagage

comments

leahwilliamsonn what does that even mean?

alessia cute 💕

ellatoone love youse

janafernandez3 guapaaasss

alexiaputellas still mad.

vickyylopezz._ ew gross 🤢

#salma paralluelo #salma paralluelo x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #espwnt #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barca women #alexia putellas #aitana bonmati #lucy bronze #mapi leon

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whorekneecentral · 6 months

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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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callmemaeverick · 1 year

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Dangerous Games [Sherlock Holmes x fem!Reader]

A/N: This little oneshot has been playing in my head since the release and I had to get to get it out. Forewarning, this is unbeta’d AND non-period accurate. I am not a Brit, nor am I from that era, though I like to pretend. I just like Henry as Sherlock and I like whump, so when he was shot, well, this came out of it.

Summary: You are Mrs Hudson’s niece and you were at your aunt’s for your monthly visit, when you heard her favourite tenant stumble through the door

You knew of him, of course. How could you not? He had commanded attention and admiration wherever he went. And that case Basilweather case a few months ago made him even more popular. But you knew him not as the brilliant detective. No. You knew him as your aunt’s reclusive tenant.

Sherlock Holmes.

He was definitely a character, you decided. Sharp as a tack and not a bad violinist. But he was also blunt and straightforward, sometimes to the point of rudeness. You could recall a time or two where his unsolicited remarks and astute observations made you clench your fists and narrow your eyes at him.

And then there’s the constant revolving door of guests, wanted and unwanted, going up and down the stairs to his flat cum office cum lab cum whatever else. It was very irritating for one looking for a peaceful afternoon with one’s reading.

Your aunt loves him though. Dotes on him as if he was her own. You knew he had helped her with something serious, but no matter how many times you asked, she wouldn’t tell you what. It sometimes drives you mad, but deep down you were grateful he was there to help.

So, despite his apparent lack of empathy, you knew he was a good man. Which was the only reason you put up with him.

xxxx

“You’re an idiot, Sherlock Holmes,” You hissed as you pulled the thread stitching his skin back together.

Judging by the quirk of his eyebrow, you knew it was not something he hears often. In fact, most of the time, it was probably the exact opposite. But you were undeterred, especially since he almost gave you a heart attack, walking through the front door limping and covered in blood.

“Do I want to know the reason you decided to forego a hospital and the attention of a real doctor?”

Sherlock grunted at a particular sharp tug of the suture but did not pull away from your hand. "And miss out on your charming company? Never."

Rolling your eyes at his snark, you returned your focus to the gunshot wound. "Don’t be glib with me, you know it doesn’t work. And it’s not like you couldn’t afford the hospital, so tell me what’s going on?”

When your question was left unanswered, you finished off the last suture and looked up, just to find that his attention was no longer on you but on his map over your shoulder, still cluttered with notes. Frowning, you shifted to block his line of sight. “Sherlock?”

“I had to know.” There was no trace of jest in his voice anymore.

“Know what?”

“I had to know how deep the corruption goes. Her web. I need to know what she’s involved in.”

“She? Enola?” You referred to his young sister, someone you had just met a few days ago helping the man before you up the stairs. She endeared herself to you quite quickly, you realized, as you felt your concern for the Holmes’ siblings grow.

“No. Mira Troy. Moriarty.”

You scoffed at the clever wordplay and turned to look at the map behind you. The name was written clearly on one of the cards.

“She could have died… Enola.” He clarified before you asked. “Had the knife been real, she could've…”

You didn’t know what had truly happened and you suspect you might never will. But you knew it had shaken him quite seriously.

“Sherlock, hey, look at me,” You called, turning back to him. You waited until he pulled his eyes to yours, until you could see the slight discoloration in his left iris. “She is safe, hm? She is sleeping, right in there.” You motioned to his bedroom. "You need not worry."

His gaze moved to his closed door as if he could see right through the wood.

“I just got her.”

“And you’re scared you’re going to lose her.”

“Yes.”

You smiled at the sentiment in his soft voice. He wasn’t as unfeeling as he would like people to think him to be. “You’ve changed, Sherlock Holmes.”

He hummed, coming to the same conclusion. “Perhaps.”

“Give her some credit, Sherlock. She’s tougher than she looks.”

He was silent as he contemplated your words and you didn’t know what he was seeing as he turned to look at you but you refused to break under his stare.

“Like you?"

Heat tinged your cheeks at the sincere mirth dancing in his eyes. It hadn't escaped your begrudging notice that Sherlock Holmes is an attractive man, all wide, strong shoulders and deep voice. It also didn’t help that he was indeed one of the most intelligent man you’ve met.

The feel of his soft touch on the back of your hand stole your attention and your breath stuttered in your lungs when you saw that your hand were clasped overtop his. You didn’t know when you had reached out to him, but what shocked you more was that you felt comfortable enough that the action did not even register to you.

You could only watch as he leaned a little bit closer, grunting with the effort. His head dipped to where his thumb was tracing your knuckles. “My sister believes I’m alone here. In need of a companion."

"Is that," Your voice had dropped to a whisper, as if you were sharing a secret, so you cleared your throat to return it back to normal. "your way of asking me to be your friend?"

Sherlock looked up at you and you froze at the look in his eyes. Heart beating wildly in your chest, you followed his gaze as it dropped to your lips. "Not a friend." He said.

You opened your mouth to respond.

"Sherlock?"

The call of his name might as well be a clap of thunder with the way you both jumped apart at the sound of it. And in that instance, the moment was gone. Blood rushing to your face in embarrassment, the both of you awkwardly stood to face Enola, coming out of the room.

"Are you two alright?" She asked taking in the sight of you, wide eyed and flushed, and Sherlock, shirtless and bloodied. "I heard-"

"Y-yes. I was just... leaving." You sidestepped the man before you and headed for the door, highly aware said man following closely behind.

He called your name, exasperation in his tone, but you ignored it.

"Keep the wound and stiches dry and you'd be right as rain in a few days." Over his shoulder, you smiled at his sister. "You take care of yourself, Enola. If you still feel dizzy and nauseous, have your brother take you to the hospital, alright?" Finally meeting his eyes, you tried to convey what your lips hadn't had the chance to.

"Goodnight, Mr Holmes."

His lips twitched at the game you had initiated. He inclined his head in reply.

The game is on.

Part II

#sherlock holmes #henry cavill #enola holmes #enola holmes 2 #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #enola holmes 2 spoilers #dangerous games #mav's posts

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milknhonies · 2 months

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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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ellethespaceunicorn · 10 months

Text

Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Title: Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Fandom: Enola Holmes series

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.

Warnings: age gap(reader is about 20 in this, Sherlock is mid-30s), slight voyeurism, masturbation (male), handjob, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it up y’all), creampie

A/N: I’ve been throwing around this idea about Sherlock for quite some time. I hope you enjoy it. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

You’ve been friends with Enola for a short time, only since the beginning of the year. She’s led you on a few fun adventures, but more often than not, she’s led you on wild goose chases. She has helped you come out of your shell and you are grateful for that. On days that you weren’t exploring the countryside or causing a ruckus in the city, you would lounge around her large house.

Spending time with her in her large house had its benefits. One of which was 6’1 with a head of unruly curls. The famous Sherlock Holmes was your best friend’s big brother. He lived in the city but came to visit Enola every week.

You always made sure to be available on those days. If only for the chance to say hello to Sherlock. You wanted more but, truth be told, he made you a bit nervous.

You tried your best to keep calm when he would arrive, but Enola noticed your demeanor change every time. She teased you endlessly about your little crush and you would always bring up Tewkesbury. That would usually shut her up.

In truth, she did not care that you liked her brother, she just didn’t want you to waste your time. The man was not exactly sociable unless he found value in the opinions of others. One opinion he respected was that of his sister. You could sit and watch them talk for hours. She would get him to laugh with her jokes, and he would bring her to annoyance with his riddles.

You would interject a thought here and there and when Sherlock would give his attention to you, you froze. Something about the look in his eyes, it was more than attention. It was intense as if the two of you were the only ones in the world let alone the room.

More than once, Enola had cleared her throat loudly to get you and Sherlock’s attention back on her. But sometimes, she would just listen to you ramble on while Sherlock seemed enthralled in your thoughts. You mused about music and how interesting you thought his cases were. The more you spoke with him, the more comfortable you felt around him.

Sherlock would show up now and then with little trinkets from his cases. At first, it was just things for Enola, but soon he would start bringing you little gifts as well. He started small with a single flower or a tasty treat from his favorite bakery. But soon, his gifts grew oddly specific. He bought you a brooch you had mentioned seeing at a store in the city. He would learn pieces of music from a composer you talked about and play it for you, much to the chagrin of Enola who wasn’t a fan of the violin.

It was when he didn’t visit for two weeks that you started to realize you were developing feelings for the older detective. You’d come to enjoy his presence and not because of his gifts. You just enjoyed seeing his face light up when he saw you. You relished the power you felt when the normally unflappable and distant man would sit enthralled when you gave voice to your thoughts.

So, why did it stop so suddenly? Had you done something to offend him?

You wracked your brain and Enola’s brain for that matter. She gave you his address so you could go and talk to him and she could finally be free of your fretting.

You arrive at 221 Baker Street, your hands trembling as you knock on the main door. A sweet woman opens the door and introduces herself as Ms. Hudson. When you ask to speak to Sherlock, she sends you up the steps to 221B.

As you’re about to knock, a man opens the door and almost collides with you.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. May I help you, Miss?”

“Ehm, I’m here to see Mr. Holmes…but I can come back if that’s–” You are cut off when he speaks again.

“You wouldn’t happen to be friends with Enola, would you?” You nod, giving your name, “Of course, Sherlock mentioned you. I’m Dr. John Watson, and I have to be going but you are more than welcome to come in. Sherlock is just in his room down the hall.” He points around the corner from the door and walks past you before waving goodbye.

So, that’s how you end up in Sherlock’s apartment. It is eerily quiet and you think he might be asleep. That is until you hear soft moans coming from down the hall. Your first thought is it must have been the floorboards creaking under your feet.

What you hear next is the unmistakable sound of your name followed by a whimper. It sounded like Sherlock was calling to you, but how would he know you were here already? You walk down the hallway quietly and see that his bedroom door is slightly ajar.

Peeking in, you are blessed with a sight! Sherlock is laid out on his bed with his shirt and waistcoat open, his hairy chest on full display as it rises and falls quickly. His beautiful face constricted in pain one second, solemn and peaceful in the next. His curls are a sweaty mess on his forehead. One hand is fisting the sheets at his side and the other hand is wrapped around his thick veiny dick. You’re mesmerized watching him stroke himself until you hear him moan your name again.

In a moment of bravery, you step into the room. Your bosom heaves in your bodice as you breathe shallowly, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

His hand stops its ministrations and he looks to you as you walk towards him. He’s frozen on the spot and can only watch you as you climb atop the bed and lay next to him. You replace his hand with yours and continue to pump his dick. Your hand barely fits around him and you enjoy the feel of his soft uncut length in your hand.

His hands come up to caress your face and pull you down for a kiss. When his tongue begs for entry, you allow it in. Heatedly, you mold your mouth to his, letting your moans and whimpers be consumed by him. Breaking the kiss, he looks into your eyes and you can tell he is close.

You remove your hand from him and stand up from the bed. It is only when you remove your undergarments does Sherlock understand why you stopped. Climbing back on the bed, you settle yourself with your cunt dripping onto him.

“I want you to be certain that you–” You cut him off as you slink down, his velvety smoothness sliding inside your wet heat. You take a moment to get used to the sheer size of him. He stretches you almost painfully. Leaning down, you whisper into his ear.

“Do I seem certain, Mr. Holmes?”

Instead of an answer, Sherlock groans and twitches inside you. His hands travel under your skirt and rest on your hips. You take that as a sign and sit up. With your hands on his chest, you begin to ride him slowly, agonizingly to the point where his hands start to guide you to a quicker pace.

Using you like a ragdoll, he flips you so he is atop you while you are on your back. He slams into you repeatedly and you are no longer in control. He savors the sounds coming from you as he fucks into you. He urges you on as he kisses and licks and nips at your neck, careful not to leave any marks.

Pulling out, he moves you to your hands and knees before inserting himself again. The angle allows him to go deeper and you thank the Gods for it. As he holds onto you, he hammers into you. The filthy utterances that come from his mouth only serve to solidify the notion that he missed you too.

“I knew you would feel like Heaven, my sweet angel…”

“This pretty pussy belongs to me now…”

“You would look so perfect with my cum dripping out of you…”

“I could fuck you all day and night and still never get enough of you…”

“Be my good angel and come all over my cock,” He reaches down and rubs your clit between two fingers as he plows into you. You never stood a chance, your walls quivering around him within moments, “That’s my good girl. So good…for me. Fuck, so close!”

“Sherlock, please! Need you to fill me with all you have to give!” You surprise yourself and your lover with those words.

Sherlock’s answering grunts as he makes mincemeat of your pussy are music to your ears. His punishing thrusts falter and he pulls you flush to him. He’s deep enough to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick. You feel him swell inside you and it’s enough to make you climax again, milking him through his release.

And the noises he makes when he comes are more intricate than the 24 Caprices. You’re sure that Sherlock would disagree but you don’t even care. You revel in the melody of his moans and surrender to its hold on you.

Sherlock’s hands roam over your back, your hips, your ass, and your thighs. As if he can’t get enough of you. He doesn’t pull out until you wiggle your hips, a sign that your legs are tired. Extricating himself from your sensitive folds allows his spend to escape. He catches what slips free and pushes it all back in before helping you lay down on your front.

He lays down next to you, pulling you close to him with one arm while the other rests behind his head. He looks so peaceful as he closes his eyes and hums. The feminine urge for pillow talk is high, but so is the need to just bask in this moment.

You’re in the arms of the man you care for, who also adores you. You rest your cheek on his shoulder and tangle your fingers in his chest hair. You breathe in his smell, his pheromones are surely on high alert from your activity. When he rests his head against yours, you feel at peace.

You do plan on talking to Sherlock later about everything. But, for now, you can take pleasure in the simplicity of the harmonization of your heartbeats.

A/N: The title of this fic is taken from The Neighborhood’s Sweater Weather. There is an amazing violin version of this song by Joel Sunny. And anything violin makes me think of Sherlock.

A/N: Also, I know Ms. Hudson wasn't featured in Enola Holmes, but I love her as a character and I wanted to use her.

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67

@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

#sherlock holmes henry cavill #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #enola holmes fanfiction #enola holmes #enola holmes 2 #henry!holmes x reader #henry!holmes #henry!sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction

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kittenofdoomage · 5 months

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Let me take you back...

.... to when this happened:

I'm still not over it. Naturally, I wrote something for it. It's below the cut. Happy Friday! 😘

Carnal

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

Word Count: 1651

Warnings: smut, blow jobs/oral sex, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, drunk!Sherlock, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, slight cockwarming, unbeta’d (we die like heroes)

You had been surprised to open the door to Enola and a very drunk Sherlock when you’d not been expecting either of them. Getting him up the stairs had been a challenge; Sherlock weighed about the same as a small elephant, and you had to hold your giggles at Enola’s repeated remarks about his ridiculous size. Once he was inside the apartment, he managed to move under his own power - just about - refusing assistance when it came to removing his coat and allowing it to hit the floor with an ungracious thud. He quickly landed on the chaise longue with one arm slung over his face, mouth half-agape as he got himself comfortable.

“You can sleep in the guest room,” you whispered to Enola. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Are you certain?” the younger girl asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m certain,” you replied, shooing her off, well aware she probably hadn’t slept in a proper bed for weeks, and you knew Sherlock wouldn’t actually mind. Despite his outward exasperation at his little sister, he adored her, and wouldn’t deny her one night of comfortable sleep. Enola smiled and headed off, content to leave her big brother in your capable hands.

Sherlock grunted as you unlaced his shoes, pulling them off one by one, offering no resistance but no assistance either. As you moved further up, going for the buttons on his waistcoat, he grabbed at your wrist, lifting his arm from his face to shoot you the most inebriated grin you had ever seen. “You should buy me a drink first,” he slurred, and you smirked at him.

“I think you had enough to drink,” you scolded. “Now let me get you out of this before you fall asleep and strangle yourself with your tie.”

He pursed his lips, blowing out a puff of air in irritation, but his grip on your wrist loosened, allowing you to pluck the buttons of his waistcoat undone, yet he gave no indication he was going to move for you to actually get it off of him. You clicked your tongue in impatience, lifting your hands to get his tie undone, only to find your fingers encased in his much larger ones.

“Sherlock -”

“You’re so gentle with me, my lady,” he murmured, kissing your fingertips. “Why do you take such good care of me?”

You smiled despite his intoxication. “Because someone has to,” you chided gently, attempting to pull away. “And you know very well why that someone is me.”

“Mmm, yes,” he chuckled, “because you love me.”

“Yes, dear. Now will you let me get -” His lips brushed your palm, and lidded lust-drink eyes flitted up to you. “Sherlock -” He grinned again, pulling your hand down to cover the bulge in his pants, and you sucked in a breath, glancing towards the door to make sure you were alone. “You’re incorrigible.”

A low chuckle greeted the slight, but you were already kneeling beside him. “Yet you remain,” he breathed, releasing your hand. “Let me feel that pretty mouth on my cock, sweetling.”

You glanced backwards again, letting your fingers find the fastenings on his trousers; he was already achingly hard underneath the material, springing into your palm as soon as it was free. Sherlock moaned when you stroked him, clinging to the low back of the chaise as he closed his eyes in bliss. “You are a bad influence, Sherlock Holmes,” you hissed.

“As I recall,” he mumbled, “you did not require much influencing.”

With a scowl, you leaned in, swiping your tongue across the thick tip, tasting the first beads of his essence, and when you looked up at his face, his teeth were buried in his bottom lip, an expression of pure ecstasy covering his handsome features. Once upon a time, you had believed such carnal indulgences belonged only in brothels, or at a stretch, in the wedded bed chamber - this was neither, but you’d quickly found that there was pleasure to be had in someone else’s enjoyment. The sound he made when you took him into your mouth was enough to prompt a rush of warmth between your thighs.

“Yes,” he groaned, hips undulating as you began to take him deeper, letting your saliva ease his path. One large hand came up, resting against the side of your head, guiding without pressure, and you moaned around him, squeezing your legs together to try and stem the throb growing there. “Don’t stop,” Sherlock hummed, arching on the chaise. “Mmm, your mouth feels perfect…”

Your neck was beginning to ache with the odd angle and the height of the furniture, so you pulled off of him to adjust yourself, only to find yourself pulled up and onto the chaise longue with him, manhandled until you were straddling him, skirts bunched around your hips. He grinned up at you, clearly still inebriated, though you didn’t protest when his large hands made their way underneath your skirt to the thin fabric hiding your skin.

“Too many layers,” he grumbled, tugging at the material, and you yelped as he gathered it in both hands and pulled hard, smirking up at you when the satisfying tear followed. Your protest at the loss of another set of undergarments was lost when his thick fingers prodded at your sex, and you gripped the back of the chaise as you slumped forward, gasping in surprise. “That’s better,” Sherlock muttered, arching up to kiss you suddenly.

A single digit sought out your entrance, finding you already wet, and you whined into his mouth as he used one hand to torment you, using the other to make the hole in your clothing bigger. His cock was trapped underneath your bottom, twitching and hard enough for you to feel it through the layers; you tore away from his mouth to breath, and he moved again, lifting you easily to force two thick fingers into your slick channel. The penetration knocked the breath out of you, and you bit your lip to stop yourself screaming and disturbing anyone else - the last thing you needed was to be caught in such a compromising position.

“That’s it,” Sherlock grunted, watching your face with a satisfied grin as he worked his fingers inside you, coaxing out your arousal until your body began to tremble. You couldn’t stop the way your hips worked against him, your traitorous body seeking out more friction, and you closed your eyes as you felt your walls clench around him, unwilling to see the smug look on his face.

Your orgasm was slow, a shudder that ran through you over and over. Sherlock murmured his approval, withdrawing his fingers, manhandling you until you were poised with the thick tip of his cock at your entrance. No amount of protesting would stay his enthusiasm, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself crying out as he pulled you down, splitting you open in one hard stroke. He paused then, chest heaving, clothing disheveled, that one unruly curl falling into his eyes as he allowed you a moment to adjust. You shivered as you forced yourself to relax, feeling him press deep, almost missing the smile spreading across his lips.

“What?” you whispered, self-conscious under his heated gaze.

“This may not be the best place for this,” he muttered, reaching up to grope your chest through your dress. “I should conduct myself better.”

You smiled shyly. “Would you like to move? Perhaps to the bed?”

“No,” he exhaled, pulling you down to kiss you. “I shan’t.”

His free hand snuck back underneath your skirts, cupping your bottom through the ruined fabric of your undergarments, and you moaned into his mouth as he began to force your hips back and forth, creating the smallest amount of delicious friction inside you. Fresh moisture coated his cock, allowing him to increase the movements, and you found yourself panting when you pulled back, held in place by his hands.

“We must be quiet,” you whimpered, pressing your cheek into the palm of his hand.

“Mmm,” he agreed, staring up at you hungrily. “Yes, you should be quiet.” His hand moved, covering your mouth, and your eyes went wide at the rush of heat that filled you. “That’s it, sweetling -” A grunt followed the affectionate term and his face twisted in pleasure just as your pussy began to tighten around him. You could barely keep your eyes open, silenced and forced to breathe through your nose by the hand covering your mouth, unable to move more than he allowed by the hand on your rump. It took embarrassingly little to wring the pleasure from your body, and all you could do was gasp into his palm and quiver around him.

He didn’t slow even when you went a little slack, using his superior strength to manipulate your body on top of his, spearing up into you over and over. Usually, he would withdraw before the crucial moment, but this time he didn’t stop, and you found yourself suddenly craving it, falling into a final climax of your own as he spilled into you, warmth filling your insides and leaking out around him. Even when he was done and he pulled you down into a last kiss, he didn’t seem to care for the consequences of what you had done - his eyes fluttered shut, a ghost of a smile on his lips as his cock continued to twitch inside you.

“Sherlock…” You tapped his face lightly, and his eyes opened with a second of bewilderment before he smiled at you. “You finished… you… inside…” The heat in your face was unbearable, but he kept on smiling, closing his eyes again, apparently unconcerned that he was still buried inside you.

“Oh dear,” he drawled, sounding anything but upset at what he’d done, sighing happily as he wrapped his arms around you. “Then perhaps I shall make an honest woman of you.”

It would be remiss of me not to tag @deandoesthingstome (though I don't know if you even read Sherlock, I just don't wanna get yelled at for not tagging you 😅)

#sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #henry cavill sherlock #ao3 link in the title #fanfiction #smut #fanfic #not spn

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 1 year

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It’s Sick!

Sherlock x teen sister reader, Mycroft x teen sister reader

Synopsis: reader gets sick and Sherlock and Mycroft don’t know what to do about it.

Warnings: sickness? Idk none really

“It’s sick.”

“What?”

“It’s sick and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Mycroft ran a hand over his face and sighed loudly into his cell phone. “Sherlock I’m a very busy man, I don’t have time for you to call me in the middle of the day with vague messages. What are you talking about?”

“Y/N, Mycroft! Y/N is sick and I don’t know what to do with it!”

“It? Brother mine, our dear sister is not an ‘it’.”

“She is when she’s sick and I have to deal with it!”

“Oh Sherlock, do calm down, this isn’t the end of the world. Have you phoned a doctor?”

“A doctor? No, Mycroft she doesn’t need a doctor.”

Mycroft frowned. “Then what exactly does she need?”

“How am I supposed to know?! But she insists she doesn’t need medical attention.”

“I see. Why exactly have you called me?”

“I can’t get her fever to break, John is absent on some sort of holiday with Mary, and Y/N keeps drifting in and out of sleep so she’s no help, but she keeps calling for you.”

Mycroft stiffened. “Calling for me?” He wasn’t one to baby his siblings, it was all he could do to just spend time with them sometimes. But if his baby sister was sick and calling out for him…what big brother could possibly ignore that?

Mycroft hung up the phone without waiting for another word from Sherlock, then pulled on his coat, snatched his umbrella from the stand, and headed outside to hail a cab.

…

Sherlock was not a worrier. Sherlock was not a nursemaid. Sherlock was not one to dwell too long on other’s problems, unless it made for an interesting case for him.

Today, however, all of those traits of his went out the window.

In the few moments that he had been able to speak with John on the phone, the doctor had assured him that Y/N did not need a hospital, at least not in his opinion. As long as you got plenty of rest and water, the fever would break on its own sooner or later.

That hadn’t made the past few hours any easier for Sherlock.

You looked so tired and pale, drifting in and out of sleep, only speaking enough to ensure Sherlock that you were alright, or occasionally ask for water. You had tried a few snacks, but nothing would stay down. Sherlock could tell you were in pain, though you tried to hide it.

You couldn’t hide it when you were asleep. The moment your eyes shut, the whimpering started. It got worse as time went on, and you would thrash around in her bed, soft sounds of pain escaping you. Eventually you started to call out, first for Sherlock, for you knew he was near, then for Mycroft. Sherlock couldn’t tell if you were asking Sherlock to find Mycroft, or if you were becoming delirious enough that you actually thought your oldest brother was nearby.

Either way it worried him, and he was getting ready to ignore John’s suggestion and call for an ambulance regardless.

He was just about to pick up his cell phone when the front door of 221B burst open, and there was Mycroft, looking uncharacteristically disheveled.

“Where-“

“Upstairs in her room.”

Mycroft brushed past Sherlock without another word, and headed up the stairs to your room with Sherlock on his heels.

…

“Mycroft?”

The gentle cry reached the eldest Holmes’ ears as he quietly opened to door to his sister’s room.

Upon seeing his Y/N, Mycroft’s heart sank. His little sister was white as a sheet, your body shivering, fingers clutching your comforter.

Mycroft wasted no time in coming to your side. “Hello, dearest,” he greeted with a forced smile. “It’s me, it’s Mycroft. I’m here.”

Your eyes opened wearily, and your lips curled upward as your eyes lit up with a spark of joy. “Mycroft.”

“How are you feeling?”

You winced. “My stomach hurts.”

Mycroft was hit with a sudden, violent flashback.

You were six years old, maybe even five. Mycroft had been visiting home the same time that a carnival happened to be in town, and your parents insisted that Mycroft take you. With much reluctance, he had.

You had had a blast, dragging Mycroft around on as many rides as you could, and making him buy you ice cream and funnel cakes and cotton candy.

Unfortunately, he had bought you one too many sweets, and that night you regretted it dearly.

“How are you feeling?” Mycroft had asked you after laying you down in his bed. You were up hours past bed time due to a stomach ache, and the occasional throwing up. Mycroft didn’t complain once, simply held your hair back when you needed it.

“My stomach hurts,” you whimpered.

Mycroft grimaced slightly, and began to stroke your hair. “It’s alright Princess, I know. You’re gonna be alright.”

End of flashback.

Mycroft hesitated. After all, you weren’t six anymore. But the look in your eyes, the complete faith in them that said you were certain that your big brother was here to fix everything, reassured Mycroft that things hadn’t changed so much.

So he reached out, and began to gently stroke your hair. “I know, Princess, I know. It’s going to be alright. I’m here.”

Sherlock appeared at the doorway, “What do you think?”

Mycroft sighed and stood to face Sherlock, “I think you’re incredibly over dramatic. She’s fine, probably just some 24 hour bug. Have you tried to feed her?”

Sherlock scowled, “Of course. Nothing stays down.”

Mycroft bit back a grimace and nodded. “Try and make some hot broth, she needs to get something to stay in her system.”

Sherlock hesitated. He didn’t like taking orders from Mycroft, and in any other situation he wouldn’t. But it was a good idea, and with you laying on your bed suffering, he didn’t see that he had much choice. Unless…

“We both know I’m not exactly adept in the kitchen, perhaps you should do it. I’ll stay with her.”

Mycroft glanced at you before sighing, “Very well, brother mine. Do try and keep her alive while I’m gone.” He turned to go, but froze when he felt your fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Mycroft?”

He turned to you, his features softening slightly. “It’s alright, I’ll be just downstairs. Sherlock is going to stay with you. I know it’s not ideal, but we can’t very well trust him not to poison you with his cooking, so you’ll have to make do.”

Sherlock stepped over to his sister’s side, glaring at Mycroft, “Yes, yes, very funny Mycroft. Go on now, I’ve got her.”

Mycroft was relieved to see a wide smile on his sister’s pale face as he turned to leave.

…

“Are you feeling any better?” Sherlock asked hesitantly.

“Not really.”

Sherlock sighed, wishing more than ever that a client would walk through the door and distract him from his ailing sister. Comfort was most certainly not his strong suite.

“Thank you.”

Sherlock looked up, “For what?”

You smiles slightly. “Being here. I know you want to be anywhere else.”

Sherlock didn’t bother contradicting you. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Just being here is enough.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure how his presence helped your pain, but then again he’d never been very good at understanding you. As long as you were happy, he’d sit at your bedside for as long as you needed.

Truth be told, he was glad to hear that you appreciated his presence. Hearing you call out for Mycroft, even if it was in sleep, had made him feel completely useless: not a feeling he was used to.

“Then I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

He wasn’t sure if you’d heard him, as your eyes were drooping shut and your breathing began to slow, but it didn’t matter. You already knew that he’d be there, no matter what.

…

Mycroft walked in with a steaming bowl of broth just in time to see you slowly sit up. You were rubbing your eyes, indicating that you’d just woken up.

“Would you like to try to eat?” Mycroft asked, holding out the bowl to you. You hesitantly took it, then accepted the spoon he offered you.

“Nothing else worked so far.”

“Well that’s because Sherlock made it.”

…

A bowl of soup and an hour or two later, a bit of the color had returned to your cheeks, and Mycroft carried you downstairs—Sherlock was so surprised that he instantly pulled out his phone and snapped several pictures—where he turned the tv on for you and turned on a Disney movie, which was probably the biggest surprise of the day. The Holmes’ brothers hated Disney movies—honestly they rarely watched movies in general—so when Mycroft put one on you actually began to worry.

“I’m not dying, am I?” You quipped as the opening credits to The Little Mermaid played. Both brothers turned to you.

“Why would you say that?” Sherlock asked.

“Mycroft carried me down the stairs, and we’re watching a Disney movie. All in all, the evidence isn’t adding up well for me.”

Mycroft shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Well, I can turn it off-“ he reached forwards to grab the remote, but you beat him to it, reaching forward and snatching it off the table. However, the sudden movement caused your unsettled stomach to lurch, and it was all you could do to hold onto your meager lunch. Your head began to spin, and you collapsed out of the sofa and onto the floor.

Sherlock was at your side in an instant, lifting you back onto the couch and pushing your head back so that you were lying down.

Mycroft hid his momentarily worried expression with an eye roll and a shake of his head at his sister. “Really dearest sister, you should be more careful.”

You smiled sheepishly, “Don’t threaten to turn off my movie and I will.”

“Ah yes, heaven forbid you be denied the joy of watching the little mermaid for the 27th time, how cruel of me.”

You laughed sleepily, your eyes yet again beginning to close due to exhaustion.

“Don’t you know? The 27th time is…is the…” you dozed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

…

Mycroft chuckled as his little sister drifted off to sleep, “She’s going to be just fine soon enough.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement, his eyes fixed on your pale face, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that.”

Mycroft thought back, “Me neither. I have seen you like that before.”

Sherlock looked up, “Me?”

“Ah yes, dear brother. You were insufferable. You had a fairly high fever, but the noises you made, one might’ve thought you were dying.” Mycroft laughed at Sherlock’s indignant expression, “And you made us all watch Pirates of the Caribbean about a thousand times.”

“Mycroft…” your voice drifted sleepily to the two men.

Sherlock frowned, “She’s been doing that a lot in her sleep.”

Mycroft stood from his chair and went immediately to his sister’s side, “Well at least she knows who the better one to call is.”

Just then you called out Sherlock’s name, causing the younger Holmes’ brother to smirk, “You were saying, Mycroft.”

And that’s how you awoke to find your head rested in Mycroft’s lap, and your feet in Sherlock’s.

It took them several minutes to assure you that you were not dying.

#sherlock #sherlock reader insert #i am sherlocked #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlockbbc #sherlock imagine #sherlock x reader #sherlock x sister #sherlock x sister reader #sherlock x little sister #big brother mycroft #mycroft imagine #mycroft holmes #sherlock and mycroft #mycroft bbc #mycroft x you #mycroft fanfic #mycroft x reader

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dyns33 · 2 years

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Flufftober 18 - Enola Holmes

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

It was a game between them, even if they had never talked about it.

Ever since he'd met her during an investigation that she'd helped him solve, impressing him with her intelligence and thinking skills, Sherlock Holmes and Y/N Y/L/N were seeing each other regularly.

There had been some rumours about their relation, since it was not proper for a young lady to find herself so often alone in a man's house, to walk down the street with him and accompany him on dangerous adventures, but none of them were paying attention, too busy having fun together.

For his part, Sherlock liked to test the intellectual capacities of his young friend. Y/N did her best to surprise him. To say or do something that he did not know or that he could not guess thanks to his science of deduction.

Until now, if they had counted the points, which they were not doing, Sherlock won largely, because despite all her goodwill, Y/N did not always find the solution to the questions, riddles and investigations he gave to her, and she absolutely never managed to take him by surprise.

"You'll never guess who I saw this morning."

"My sister." he answered without looking up from his newspaper.

"... Possible. But you'll never guess what happened."

"You had a chat, she offered you to work with her on a case, you followed your prime suspect to find out it couldn't be him as he was going to his mistress, only to find out the culprit was obviously the butler."

"... You are not funny." she mumbled, sulking as she sat across from him. "Anyway. Anything new ?"

"Can't you guess ?"

"I repeat, you are not funny."

Trying to hide his smirk, Sherlock told her about his new investigation, eager to get her opinion. Of course, he already had an idea of who had committed the crime, why and how, he wanted to see her think. Unlike most people, she knew how to use her brain, although she still needed a little practice. It was pleasant to see her face light up and her eyes sparkle when she found the solution.

It had nothing to do with romantic feelings though.

Not at all.

Sherlock often repeated it to himself when he took her arm not to lose her in the crowd, when he was composing a fiddle tune for her, or when he was worried that she was not arriving on time at a meeting.

A simple meeting between friends and work colleagues, of course.

Sometimes he suspected that Y/N loved him more than just a friend. But it embarrassed her and he didn't want to embarrass her.

After all, even though he came from a rather noble family and with money, he was not the eldest son, and he had a very particular way of life. Not really the ideal husband. She had seen him in many situations that would have scared off intelligent men and women.

If Y/N hadn't left yet, it was because he offered her a freedom that she didn't have as a woman in this society.

Sherlock understood this matter quite well thanks to his sister and his mother, and although he unfortunately did not have the solution to this problem yet, he was happy to help Y/N flourish as she deserved.

"I'm sure you already know who stole that diamond." she sighed, rolling her eyes. "I don't even see why you need an assistant."

"I never said I needed an assistant."

"You said I was very useful for your investigations !"

"Not exactly. I said you help me stay focused and eliminate leads faster. You're also good at following people, acting as a witness when Lestrade isn't listening, and responding to reporters who ask too many questions."

"... So I'm here... To be a secretary ?"

"... Again, that's not what I said."

"What you just said is more or less the definition of a secretary, or an idiot who spends her time with a man who uses her."

Despite all his intelligence, Sherlock Holmes was not very good at talking with his peers, even those he cared about.

Especially those he cared about.

He knew all the same that he had just hurt Y/N, her grimace and wet eyes not leaving too much room for doubt, and he stood up quickly to prevent her from leaving, grabbing her hand.

"That's really not what I meant." he repeated apologetically.

"You don't have to talk, I get it. I'm really stupid. I thought we had fun together, that we were equals, that we... I was stupid."

"What ? That we what ?"

"Oh please, Sherlock, you know that very well !"

"No I do not know."

"That I love you !" she exclaimed, looking at him in the eyes, beautiful and furious. "We have been working together for months, having dinner together, spending several hours in your apartment, by the fireplace, and I know very well that the great Sherlock Holmes has long guessed that it was not simply because I love adventure !"

This, he could not deny.

However, Sherlock remained silent, because not for a single second had he imagined that she loved him so much, and especially he would never have thought that she would confess her feelings to him.

It was a real surprise.

And Y/N read the shock on his face perfectly.

"... You did not know ?"

"I... Of course I did. Well, I was hoping. I mean, I was suspecting. I didn't have all the...."

"You were hoping ?" she repeated, slowly approaching him, her eyes becoming sparkling again. "Sherlock ?"

He could have said nothing, lied, run away, but that would have hurt her again, even more, and he didn't want that, so Sherlock didn't move, staring at her for a long time, before biting his lip.

"I think wedding is a totally useless and absurd thing. But if it was necessary, I'm not against it."

"... Should I see this as a marriage proposal ?"

"What do you think ?"

"I think you are panicking about the situation, that you are unable to tell me that you love me too, at least not right now and not in these terms, but you want to make me understand that my feelings are shared, that I don't have to be ashamed of my confession, and that if one day my father comes screaming to your house, you will take a ring out of your pocket and get on your knees."

"Wrong ."

"... Wrong ?"

"Or rather, almost wrong. The majority of your deduction is correct, proving your great quick-wittedness, and that's why I love you."

It didn't make her laugh, but Y/N smiled all the same, gently hitting on the shoulder.

They didn't talk about it again after, for many months, because it was unnecessary.

#enola holmes #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #flufftober 2022

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five-hxrgreeves · 11 months

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im dYIIIINGGGG with the adam warlock x quill sister! when he calls her 'little quill'??? with that accent of his??? so soft and husky??? im screaming at my phone dude aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa i need part iii right freaking now!!!

PAIRING: adam warlock & fem! quill’s sister!reader

POWERS: adapted from D.C.'s Stargirl, although in this instance, the powers are a part of you and the staff just helps you use them.

WC: 1.9k (woo a shorter one this time!)

SUMMARY: your first meeting with Adam wasn't one that indicated that you'd become friends anytime soon. Your second meeting. . . wasn't great either. But, somewhere along the line, you would develop a soft spot for the curious man-child.

WARNINGS: slight gotg three spoilers, badly written original fight scene, possibly ooc canon!guardians.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: OMG!!! This is my first-ever inbox message- thank you, anon! You made my day with this <3 I love Adam's/Will's accent; I definitely hope that we get to see (and hear) more of him in other Marvel movies. As requested, here's part three (even if it's technically part zero, lol.) I do take requests if anyone wants to send me stuff! (I just won't write smut, sorry!)

I hope you guys enjoy this part, although I'm not very confident about it since I'm terrible at writing fight scenes. It's hard enough for me to imagine original content (like the other two parts) but scenes where people move around a lot without the movie itself to rely on are very difficult for me because my mind doesn't think in pictures, but in words and I don't know how to describe fighting. I'm sorry if this isn't as good as the other parts. 😭

And on a side note, the 'no shit, Captain Sherlock' is another reference to space people messing up Terran lingo :)

Part 1 , Part 2

You were admittedly not in the best mood when you first (officially) met Adam. Peter and Mantis had left only days ago, leaving you to sort out your feelings alone. You were currently in the training room, fueling your sadness into anger at their abandonment. You often used your powers to aid you while you were fighting, but they weren’t much use during everyday life— unless you wanted to fly. Now, however, they were very useful.

Brilliant blasts of golden light shot out from the staff that your hands gripped tightly. While your powers could be used without aid, the staff helped you control them; Ego had made it for you when you’d become old enough to serve as his protector. Although you were disgusted with the weapon’s origins, you couldn’t help but agree that it made your fighting much more effective.

Each of your blasts hit the targets squarely in the middle as you turned deftly to conquer the row. A scowl was prominent on your face as you pictured each of your targets as Peter’s or Mantis’ face. (While you would never really want to hurt them, of course, the sting of their desertion fueled your thoughts.) You were listening to a playlist by the Rage Against the Machine— which you had chosen solely because of the band’s name as it mirrored your feelings. The music that was blasting in your ears was so loud that, if someone had been standing next to you, they could have heard the lyrics as if they were wearing your headphones themselves.

As you moved up and down the line of targets, you were unaware of the audience of three that had entered the room. Groot, Rocket and Adam stopped by the entrance to watch you unleash your fury against whatever enemy you were envisioning. The new leader of the Guardians gestured to you. “There. See? I told you she’s nice.”

Adam hesitated, clearly uncertain. “She looks mad.”

“I am Groot,” Groot agreed.

“Shut up,” Rocket retorted, glaring slightly at the tree who was supposed to be helping his case. “She won’t hurt goldie. You’ve already seen her bad side, haven’t you? This is nuthin’.”

The golden boy had to admit that Rocket was right; he remembered only too well his first encounter with you as you’d jumped in to help your friends fight off his unexpected attack.

He’d just defeated the stupid tree-like thing and as it scuttled away like a demented spider, the faint sound of a whistle pierced through the air. An arrow shot out of nowhere, harmlessly bouncing off his skin and only annoying him more than anything else. He looked around sharply, but there didn’t seem to be anyone brave enough to fight him in the vicinity. “Hey! Who threw that?”

He scoffed when there was no answer, stalking towards where he’d last seen his target. But before he could get very far, a force came out of nowhere— this time much stronger than an errant arrow. It knocked him off his feet like a bullet and together they were sent flying through the town, which elicited more cries of fear from the citizens.

He landed harshly against a building that got in the way and debris fell on top of him from the force of the collision. Adam grunted irritably; this was the second time during this fight that his enemy thought that throwing him into a building would be enough to deter his attack— didn’t they ever learn? He stood and shook the dust off his clothes before he strode back out to the street to face this new opponent. Except— it wasn’t the same blue person from before.

The golden boy stared at the other person with disbelief, the only thing that he could come up with was: “you’re a girl!”

She scoffed. “Yeah, no shit, Captain Sherlock.” She twirled the staff in her hands expertly between her fingers before she set the butt down on the ground. It glowed softly as it lit up with her power, her face set. “Let’s do this thing.”

Adam had no qualms about fighting a girl, so they charged at each other without hesitation. He thought she’d be as easy to take down as her teammates but when they collided, she merely used her staff as a shield against his attack. They paced across the open space as they exchanged blows, the girl using her staff offensively and defensively interchangeably. As she flipped neatly out of the way of one of his advances, he began to see how evenly matched they were.

“You are stalling,” he realized. “If you just hand over your friend, we would not have to fight.”

The girl paused, flicking some of her hair out of her eyes. “Oh. Well, in that case—”

She charged at him again, her staff catching on his uniform. She followed him into the air and her swift kick to his stomach sent him tumbling away from her. It was then that he realized that she could fly— just like him— and that was what had powered her initial attack. In the time it took for him to recover from the spin, a blast of golden light was sent his way. Because of his more durable skin, though, the light only felt like volts of electricity rather than something that could do actual damage. The most effective part of her power was the blast itself, which he had to fight through to get closer to her.

Now that he knew where her power came from, he made to attack her staff in order to knock it out of her hands. She seemed to sense his plan— Adam figured most people she fought went this route— and she countered this by trying to fly above him to push him towards the ground. He responded by grabbing the staff in her hands directly while she was mid-swing. The girl was tiring slightly, her breath becoming shorter as the fight went on and she was now on the defensive.

She tried to yank her staff loose from his hold but as evenly matched as they were, he was still stronger. The girl then attempted to shake him off by lighting the staff up with her power. If he hadn’t been such a strong opponent, the golden light would have burned through his hands. As it was, the little volts were barely something that he registered. While he could have easily swung the staff to send her flying off the end and into the ground, he held back the true show of his strength as she didn’t seem to be as resilient as the two blue people or the tree.

Instead, he tried once more for the diplomatic route: “you have fought valiantly for your little friend. If you surrender him to me now I will leave your village in peace.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed with fury as she continued to fight to free her weapon. “Go to hell!”

Adam sighed, having partially expected that response. “Very well. Have it your way, then.”

He smoothly jerked the staff from her grasp and carelessly tossed it to send the weapon spiraling towards the ground. He turned back towards the girl to finish her off as he had her teammates, but he paused. She seemed to hang, suspended, in the air as time appeared to freeze around her. Her eyes widened and, for the first time since he’d encountered her, a look of fear appeared on her face.

Then, she dropped like a stone.

They were very high off the ground by this point and the fall would likely kill a normal being. He wasn’t sure if she would survive, so his reflexes kicked in before he could really think about what he was doing.

By now, the shock had worn off and she fell through the air, she reached up to him as he was the only person who could help her. Adam put on a spurt of speed to try and catch her but she was falling faster than he had anticipated. The girl slammed into the ground and lay still just as he landed next to her. He told himself that saving her wasn’t his mission, and her incapacitation only made obtaining his goal easier. His mother’s orders echoed in his mind, so against his instinct he turned away from her in pursuit of the squirrel.

You felt a tap on your shoulder, startling you. You whirled around with your staff in a defensive position only to be met with the sight of your teammates. With a sigh, you pulled out one earbud but didn’t pause your music.

“What?” you asked shortly.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, Little Quill. I’m ya superior now,” Rocket replied, unaffected by your attitude. “I wanted you to meet golden boy here.”

You gave Adam a once-over, ignoring how the sight of his. . . attractive features made your stomach curl pleasantly. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

The boy in question shifted uncomfortably, feeling once again ashamed of his previous actions. Before he could say anything, Rocket spoke again, adjusting the straps of his jumpsuit as he did so: “well, I ain’t great with humie ages, but I figured ya’d be about the same. I thought it might boost team morale to see ya two hangin’ out together or whatever humies your age do.”

While your first response was to dismiss the whole endeavor— you didn’t want to get close to someone else just to have them leave you, too— but a small, traitorous part of your mind whispered: he saved your brother. Another part chimed in: he’s not bad to look at.

“Fine,” you grumbled. “He can stay, but he better not get in my way. I’m not stopping my training because of him.”

“That’s the spirit, Little Quill,” your captain said, choosing to not acknowledge your reluctance. “I’ll leave ‘im in your hands. Let’s go, Groot.”

As you shoved the earbud back in your ear, you could faintly hear Adam’s protest: “wait! You’re not leaving me here, are you?”

While Rocket’s reply was drowned out by your music, the boy’s words hit you unexpectedly; it sounded just like your response to Peter’s and Mantis’ disinclination to stay with the Guardians. Some of your anger faded as you glanced at the boy who stood awkwardly in your periphery. Despite all of his strength and power, Adam looked a bit like a lost puppy and his expression made your features soften against your will. Fine. Whatever. It wouldn’t kill you to be nice.

You took out an earbud again. “Well, don’t just stand there. I know you can fight, so let’s see you use those skills.”

At the reminder of your first encounter, he sent you a guilty look. As he stepped up next to you, he said quietly, “I’m sorry about that, by the way. For almost killing you.”

You patted him on the arm companionably. “Hey, no hard feelings. You’re not the first and you certainly won’t be the last, so just add your name to the list.”

All of the Guardians had forgiven him with surprising readiness and it seemed like you were no different— only, you were. His gaze stayed on the spot where your hand had touched him. There was a lingering warmth as if your hand was still there, the sensation sending tingles (not unlike the ones that he felt during your blasts of power) through him.

Taglist:

@repostingmyfavs , @trashpenguin

#adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x y/n #adam warlock #adam warlock fanfiction #adam warlock imagine #gotg v3 #guardians of the galaxy #gotg imagine #adam warlock x you #marvel #mcu #mcu x reader #will poulter x reader #will poulter #will poulter imagine #marvel x reader

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angryschnauzer · 1 year

Text

On Your Knees

Summary: As general maid for 221 Baker Street, you assist most of the residents. However on one quiet night when most of them are out, only one resident returns to his home... a little worse for wear. He thanks you in the easiest way possible.

Fandoms: Enola Holmes 2, Henry Cavill

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut, NSFW, Drunk Sherlock, Oral Sex (Female Receiving).

Here is my masterlist and AO3

Wordcount: 1854

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll then get an alert each time i post something new. My AO3 also has my entire back catalogue of stories (going back to 2013).

On Your Knees

The cold wind rattled the fragile glass in the frame, a chill advancing into your room even further as the dark night continued. The building of 221 Baker Street was colder than usual, most of the apartments empty for the night due to various parties and festive events happening this time of year meaning the tenants wouldn’t be back until the morning.

As the scullery maid of 221 Baker Street you were in and out most of the apartments each day, tending to the fireplaces and delivering meals if required. The housekeeper who supervised you telling you where to go and what to do wasn’t around either, though her instruction was rarely needed anymore, you knew the routines of all of the tenants and could read the calendar hung in the kitchen showing who was home and who wasn’t.

At that moment the wind rushed against the window again and you pulled your dressing gown further around your body, shivering beneath your quilt. Glancing at your own laundry you’d hand washed that evening, your bloomers hung on the wooden airer where the chimney breast rose through the building. With every pair you owned doing little to dry in the cold attic room, you cursed your schedule for not giving you time to do it earlier in the day when the sun had been coming through the window. Now you just had your thin nightgown and woollen stockings to keep you warm beneath your dressing gown.

You were drawn from your thoughts by the sound of movement in the hallway far below your room. Freezing you wracked your brain to try to remember if any of the tenants were due back tonight, but none were. Through the eerie quiet of the house there was another bump and a quiet curse. You reached for the large floor brush that still sat beside the door to your room with its dustpan, lifting the brush as a weapon as you opened the door and carefully stepped out onto the old floorboards to peer down through the stairwell. Clinging to your brush you leant forwards over the bannister and peered through the darkness, a single lamp in the hall four floors down barely illuminating the entryway before you suddenly saw a shadow move. Letting out a small gasp you clamped your hand over your mouth as you watched, but that tension evaporated when you recognised the wide shoulders and curly dark hair of the tenant in apartment B;

“Detective Holmes!” you called out, the figure below swivelling rapidly before spinning and looking up.

“Ah. There you are…” a soft hiccup followed as he swayed on his feet.

“I’ll be right down Sir”

Just last week Mr Holmes’ sister helped him into his apartment having had too many drinks at the pub, and it would seem he’d done the same again tonight. Padding on stocking clad feet you descended the stairs quickly, soon arriving in the hallway as Mr Holmes swayed a little on his feet;

“Can i help you to your apartment Sir?”

“Oh that would be *hiccup* wonderful Darling”

Hooking your arm around his back and pulling his own arm over your shoulders, you started to help him up the stairs one at a time, before arriving at his apartment.

“I have a… I have my… dammit” Mr Holmes cursed as he fumbled for his key, and as you glanced down you could see that the bunch of keys in his pocket had caught on the fabric and were stuck. Without even thinking you batted his hand away and slid your much smaller hand into his pocket, moving the keys around until they were no longer snagged on the fabric. You tried not to think of the heat radiating from Mr Holmes thigh, barely separated from your touch by a thin layer of cotton, nor the firm muscle beneath the fabric that flexed as your delicate fingers brushed against it. He answered your silent thoughts with a grunt, before you pulled the keys out and unlocked the door, all whilst he had his arm around your shoulder.

His body was firm and heavy, a welcome weight against your cold frame, and as he swayed you did so too, before he finally pulled his arm free of your shoulders and started to shuck off his coat and scarf, struggling as he went about the task.

“Mr Holmes, Sir, please let me help…”

He swung around, shrugging his shoulders, his coat now held on his arms around his elbows, his wide shoulders only accentuated by the white shirt and silk waistcoat that clung to his torso. Whilst distracted you didn’t spot his flailing, one stray arm of his coat socking you around the chin, and although not hurting you, caught you by surprise and knocked you back where you lost your footing and fell on your bottom.

“Ta-da! Done it!” he proclaimed proudly, before spinning around; “Where did you…?”

Climbing to your feet you took the bundle of coat from the floor;

“Ah, there you are Darling, didn’t get you did i?”

“Just a little Mr Holmes. Let me hang this up for you”

As you hung the coat onto the hook near the door you heard a gasp and a soft thud, turning to see Sherlock on his knees before you;

“Mr Holmes!”

“My Darling, i am so sorry, so very very sorry”

He had big puppy dog eyes as he looked up at you, his drunken state obviously accentuating his normally muted emotions; I should have been more careful… a heinous crime I have committed to sock a young lady around with my coat, please… please forgive me…”

You tried very hard not to laugh, for this was so far removed from what Mr Holmes was like normally, but also it stirred something within you, to see this big man on his knees before you, his face mere inches from your stomach.

“Please Darling…” He edged closer, wrapping his arms around your bottom and pressed his cheek to your stomach; “Please forgive me…”

At first you were frozen with fear, this was not only completely out of character for Mr Holmes, but wholly inappropriate, but the long days and lack of sleep perhaps clouded your judgement and you cautiously rested your hand on the top of his head;

“It’s… it’s ok Mr Homes, Sir”

He turned his head and peered up at you;

“Let me make it up to you”

You could only watch in shock as he moved his hands to rest them on your stocking clad ankles, before he started to inch those warm palms up your legs. When he reached your knees his fingertips rubbed soft circles against the backs of your thighs, your nightgown bunching at his wrists. For the whole time you kept eye contact, unable to draw your gaze away until his fingertips reached the top of your woollen stockings and he let out a small grunt of appreciation. He ducked his head forwards and pressed a single kiss to the skin just above the tied ribbons that secured the stockings in place.

“You smell divine” he muttered softly, inhaling deeply before he bunched your nightgown up in one hand and pressed his nose to the apex of your thighs.

“Oh! Sir!”

He pressed a kiss to your soft mound, before his fingers stroked softly along your seam. Never breaking eye contact he lifted one leg over his shoulder, opening you up like a spring blossom. A warm puff of breath warmed your skin before he leant forwards and his tongue found your silken pearl. If it wasn’t for his firm shoulder your leg was hooked over you would have damn near fallen to the floor, you did lose your footing a little, your back falling to rest against the door behind you and your hands found their way to his dark curls.

The slight tug on his hair seemed to spur him on, his wicked tongue parting your folds, and the appreciative murmur that came from his muffled lips only excited you more. Sherlock knew exactly what to do, and you can’t believe you had never even considered that this fine specimen of a man would be skilled in the art of lovemaking, but because of his cold demeanour it just hadn’t been something you’d thought of.

You tried to concentrate on the look of bliss on his face, but the way his long tongue was pushing at your secret canal, his nose rubbing against your pearl, it was almost too distracting. Your head slowly fell back until it rested on the wooden door behind you, your eyes fluttering shut as pleasure grew in the pit of your belly. It was only when he moved a little, his lips finding your pearl again and he slid a thick finger into your tight channel did your eyes spring open;

“Oh lord!”

A quiet chuckle came from between your thighs, looking down to see the mischief in his eyes and he winked at you just as he slid a second finger in alongside the first. He crooked them just so as he moved them slowly but firmly, stroking at your velveteen walls, his lips and tongue increasing their efforts until you felt a surge of pleasure, a white hot fire bursting forth from your core and you climaxed with a loud cry of his name;

“Sherlock!”

As your body trembled he slowed his fingers, before pulling them free and holding them up to the faint candle light, inspecting the stickiness on them with a learned curiosity, before he sucked them both clean. He looked up at you as you trembled above him, slipping your leg off of his shoulder and he went to rock back onto his feet, but unfortunately losing his footing and topping back onto his behind;

“Oouf!”

As your nightdress fell back around your ankles and on unsteady legs you rushed forwards to help him to his feet, his eyes a little glazed from his drunkenness. He was like a lead weight, swaying on his feet until you managed to half carry half drag him to the chaise lounge and unceremoniously drop him on the soft cushion, watching as he twisted his body until he was on his back;

“What was i saying? I’m sure i should have thanked you for something…” he was already nodding off to sleep, oblivious to the rich smell of your sex now hanging in the room.

You let out a sigh before turning and to the quiet background noise of his snores you lit a fire in the hearth to warm the room. Making sure a heavy yew log was placed in the centre of the grate to ensure a long slow burn, you set the fireguard in place. Spotting his long blue dressing gown hanging over a chair, you carefully laid it over his sleeping form, and with one last glance back at him you exited the apartment. At least with the fire in his apartment now going a sliver of warmth would seep into your room that cold night.

#sherlock holmes x reader #enola holmes movie #henry holmes #henry cavill

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padfootdaredmetoo · 7 months

Text

Romance, fluff, hurt/comfort, and the occasional heartbreak.

Peaky Blinders, Sherlock, Tangerine, Wade Wilson, Peter Parker, Marauders

Peaky Blinders

Kidnapped - Tommy Shelby X Reader - Pt. 2

Reader gets taken and Tommy does everything he can to get her back - kidnapping, torture / hurt /comfort confession of feelings

Arthur Shelby X OC Joey Request - Catching feelings / hurt / comfort

Falling Hard - Tommy Shelby X Pregnant Reader

She falls off the horse - Rated G, Cute fluffiness, Worried Tommy

Meet Cute - Tommy Shelby X Reader

Proper courting, Rated G, Tommy falls for reader at a party

Domestic - Tommy Shelby X Wife Reader

Cooking, Baking, Slight hurt comfort, Tommy being a good dad, kids being little, just lots of fluffy goodness

Self-Defense - Tommy Shelby X Reader

He defends her but she can defend herself - Teen for violence Hurt / Comfort

Girls Outing - Tommy X Wife Reader

Attempted Murder, mild description of attempted sexual assault, Murder, Tommy Comforts reader, Hurt / Comfort

Time Travel - Tommy Shelby x X-Men Reader

Rated Teen for extreme heart break, time travel, romance, X-Men themes

The One That Got Away - Tommy Shelby X Reader

Hurt and pain. Charlie gets kidnapped and Reader has to make a difficult choice

Campbell - Tommy X Reader Wife - Pt 2.

She’s beaten by Campbell and eventually talks - Mature content - Reader is beaten badly and miscarries. Tommy comforts her.

Stay Home - Tommy X Wife Reader

He doesn’t want her to work while pregnant.

Heart Broken - Tommy Shelby X Reader

You just got broken up with - Fluff, Comfort Tommy

First Wizarding War - Tommy Shelby X Reader (HP crossover)

Reader gets attacked, falling in love, pre war, then post war follow up

Protecting What's His - Tommy Shelby X Pregnant Wife Reader

When someone breaks into the house Tommy has to protect what’s his - violence, shock / panic is described. Fluff at the end & kissing

Scarlet Witch - Tommy X Magic Reader

She has kept her powers hidden but Tommy and the family find out! Reader saves the day with her magical abilities.

Sold Down the River - Tommy Shelby X Reader

Reader gets sold to Tommy Shelby by her fiancé. Her and her baby have to adjust to arrow house

Animal Shelter - Tommy Shelby X Reader -- Pt.2

When Tommy gets Charlie a dog from the pound he doesn’t expect to take the bubbly worker home as well.

The One That Almost Got Away - Tommy Shelby X Reader

Tommy and the reader play hard to get until Polly puts and end to things. Drama, trust issues, happy ending, Polly to the rescue.

The Doctor - Shelby Sister X Alfie Solomons

he reader is underappreciated so she leaves and begins her own life. After becoming a doctor she falls back to her family and finds out that not all things are lost. Mending her heart she also finds her way back to a long lost love…..

Kisses - Finn Shelby X Reader

The one where the reader ends up with a marked up neck, the family is determined to find the culprit only to find out it was one of their own.

The Witch - Tommy Shelby X Reader

The reader is a witch who can tell the future but she definitely did not see him coming.

Childhood Bestie - Tommy Shelby X Reader

Even though he married Grace true love never dies - even when you almost do

Mean Boyfriend - Finn Shelby X Orphaned Reader

The Reader happens to have a mean boyfriend. Good thing the Shelby’s have a strict *no mean boyfriends allowed* rule at the garrison.

The Smallest Blinder - Tommy Shelby X Reader

The boys hate having to watch over her, but more often than not she’s the one that saves the day

Quiet Working Girl - Tommy Shelby X Reader

Reader is hired on to work at the Garrison, and Tommy takes an interest in her. When things start to fall apart, she’s the first person he suspects. He makes a right mess of things again, but this time he’s not so sure if he can fix it.

Cold - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Head cannons about a woman who never smiles and how the Shelby family would interact with her.

Ambition - Tommy Shelby X Reader

The reader always wanted a big life and so did Tommy. Promises were made and the reader comes to cash in

Sickness - Tommy Shelby X Lizzie Shelby

Lizzie makes a difficult decision to hide her diagnosis from Tommy. She goes off on her own much like he does, when word reaches him of Lizzie’s illness he has to find a way to make peace with her before it’s too late.

Spellbound - Marauders Reader X Tommy Shelby - Series

The reader leaves the magical world - not knowing what else to do she sees an advert for a bartender. Having worked at Three Broom Sticks she figured it couldn’t be that different. Falling for her boss and getting sucked into the complicated crime underworld of Birmingham was not a part of her plan

I Can Fight - John Shelby X Reader

Having been in a toxic relationship she learns what it means to be with John Shelby.

Languages Expert - Tommy Shelby X Reader

The boys assume Tommy only keeps the reader around because she’s pretty to look at. when a deal starts to go sideways they quickly learn the importance of having a language expert

Lunch Dates - Tommy Shelby X Reader

with limited time and lots of stress you decide to take a breath and get some lunch with your husband.

Rejected - Tommy Shelby X Reader

The reader isn’t interested in what Tommy has going on

The Kindest Blinder - Tommy Shelby X Reader Wife

Tommy’s wife isn’t what people expect. Her soft kindness is visible to anyone that see’s her. She’d do anything for her family, but when she’s pushed to the limit a different side of her shows.

Grace - Tommy Shelby x Reader

When she showed up to reclaim the love of her life, she wasn’t expecting you to be there.

Pregnant? - Tommy X Reader

The reader doesn’t realize she’s pregnant and a big surprise awaits the family

Mr. Brightside - Tommy X Reader

Tommy realizes his feelings for you, too bad he’s too late and you’ve already found a guy.

Bad Habits - Tommy Shelby X Lizzie Shelby

Tommy struggles with his drinking thankfully Lizzie is always around to help.

The Mark of a Kiss - Sherlock's Sister X Tommy Shelby

Sherlock's other sister solves a mystery involving the notorious Tommy Shelby

Come on Barbie - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Thomas sits back and wonders how his girl manages her crazy lifestyle.

I've Got My Eye on You - Tommy Shelby X Reader

A traumatic event has left the reader with one eye and an emotionless appearance. Captivated by her beauty and voice Tommy tries to get to know her better

Sherlock - Enola Holmes

The Mystery of the Shelby Sister - Sherlock X Peaky Sister Reader

Sherlock tries his best to ignore his neighbor but when Enola gets attached it becomes increasingly difficult. Extras - Big Kiss

Tangerine - Bullet Train

Angst - Tan X Reader

Things go from bad to worse leaving you two very far apart…

Geralt of Rivia

Surprises - Geralt X Reader

Geralt of Riva finds out you are pregnant with his baby

Wade Wilson & Peter Parker

Tired - Hurt & Comfort

Trusted - Hurt & Comfort / Seeing his face for the first time

No Powers - SpideyPool

The Amazing Panic Attack - SpideyPool

Peter has a panic attack after saving someone that looks like Gwen. After being MIA Wade comes to find him, and after a whole lot of comfort, their relationship takes a new direction.

Marauders

Head Cannons

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delicatenightfury · 1 year

Text

Letters

2022 Month of Writing: Day 5

Pairing: Henry!Sherlock Holmes x reader

Prompt:

Word Count: 2,551

Author's Note: please don't steal my work! you can choose to respond to the prompt as well, but don't steal my work.

I just watched Enola Holmes 2 last night and felt inspired to write a Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes style) fic today.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Newman,” y/n said with a smile.

“Not a problem, dear!” the man said. “It’s always a pleasure to see you around. Feel free to stop by again soon!”

“I’ll do my best. Good day!”

She stepped out on the cobble street, still smiling. Mr. Newman was a pleasant man. He was old enough to be her father, and greeted every customer that walked into his shop with a smile. He sold a variety of items, but she primarily stopped in for art supplies. She would send him a telegram, detailing the items she wanted, and within a week, Mr. Newman would make sure to have them for her.

Painting was a hobby of hers, one she didn’t get to do often but greatly enjoyed. She had learned at a young age from her mother and had continued to enhance her skills as she grew older. However, painting now remained a thing to do in her spare time.

She quickly ran the rest of her errands, making her last stop in the local market. She greeted the usual stall owners as she bought her groceries for the week. She knew that some people found it odd that she did her own shopping, but she enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the market. The people were pleasant for the most part and it gave her a chance to get out of the house.

Once she had all that she needed, she began making her way back home. She hummed lightly to herself and smiled at people as she passed by them. She always felt that it was right to smile at people, because you never knew if they needed a little bit of happiness. Not everyone responded to her smiles, but she was never offended by it.

Just as she turned a corner, she heard someone shout her name.

“Miss l/n!”

y/n turned her head quickly to determine the source and smiled. Lilliana, a local florist, waved at her. y/n walked over to her, carefully crossing the street.

“Lilliana, it’s so good to see you!” y/n said. “How are you? Is your sister doing all right? Better I hope?”

“Much, thank you. Seemed to have just been a little cold. She’s back to causing chaos, that one.” Lilliana took in y/n’s bags. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

“I’m afraid so. Otherwise I would be more than happy to buy some flowers off of you today. They look absolutely lovely.”

Lilliana smiled at the compliment.

“Well at least take a look around,” she invited. “If you’re not in a rush, that is.”

“All right, I’ll take a look.”

The girl cheered and left y/n to attend to another guest. y/n slowly walked through the selection of flowers, admiring the colors and scents. She carefully knelt down next to a basket full of (favorite flower). They were beautiful. She felt a little silly buying flowers for herself, but she couldn’t resist.

She waved down Lilliana and requested a small bundle of flowers. She smiled as she watched Lilliana build a small bouquet for her. Lilliana always treated her too well, giving her more than she paid for. As Lilliana carefully picked flowers to put together, she glanced at y/n.

“You know, y/n,” she said, “you seem to have an admirer.”

y/n looked at her, puzzled.

“I’m sorry?”

“An admirer. Since you started browsing, there’s a gent across the street that’s had an eye on you.”

Now that she mentioned it, y/n could feel the gaze. She was used to the occasional glance, but this felt different. It was… more persistent, curious even. y/n glanced around, making sure not to make it obvious. She didn’t notice anyone terribly out of place, but the street was filled with people. However, she knew not to question Lilliana. The girl saw these people almost every day. She would know when someone breaks routine.

y/n simply smiled, playing it off. She carefully adjusted her bags so she could get out a bit of money to pay Lilliana. They exchanged the money for the bouquet and y/n smiled.

“It’s beautiful, Lilliana,” she said. “Excellent job as always.”

“You flatter me. Have a lovely day, y/n.”

“You too! I’ll see you soon.”

y/n started back down the street, ready to get home. Her shoulders were starting to hurt from the weight of her bags. Luckily her flat was only about a block away. She briefly wondered about her mysterious admirer, but chose to forget about him.

She made good time and got to her home in no time. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was moments like this when she disliked living on the third floor. She waved briefly to the landlord’s wife, slowly made her way up, and was soon back in her comfortable home. She laid her things out on the dining table, sorting them briefly before beginning to put things away.

The food went in their respective homes, organized in a way that would be easy for her to access later. She cut the bottoms of the stems of her flowers and placed them in a vase, which she left by the window.

She then went to her bedroom and shed her overcoat. It had been cold, so the coat had been welcome on her outing. Her gloves and hat were put away, and her purse stored. She proceeded to make herself comfortable. She changed into slightly more comfortable clothing, a skirt and shirt that allowed her more movement. She pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. Finally comfortable again, she went back to the main room and stored her new paints and canvases.

Suddenly, she heard a knock on her door. She paused for a moment before slowly making her way to the door. She rarely got visitors, so questions started filling her mind.

y/n undid the lock and pulled the door open a little. A rather tall man stood in the hall. He looked a little awkward due to his height and broad shoulders. He turned to look at her and offered a small smile.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted.

“Hello,” y/n said. She remained partly behind the door. “Can I help you?”

“Ah, yes. I, um, well…” He fiddled slightly with his cane and hat, something she wouldn’t typically expect. “You are y/n l/n, correct?”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?”

“You used to live near Ferndell Hall.”

He sounded more sure of his statement this time, meanwhile she became slightly more wary.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I’m Sherlock Holmes. I used to live at Ferndell with my mother and siblings.”

Of course!

“Oh my word!” y/n exclaimed, opening the door a little more. She could see it now. Those bright, intense eyes so full of wonder and never missed a thing. “I didn’t recognize you, it’s been so long!”

“Indeed it has. Might I come in?”

“Yes, forgive me.” She opened the door wider and watched him step into her home. Once he was in, she shut the door. “Can I get you anything? Tea?”

“Thank you.”

She went to the kitchen and started a kettle of water to heat. When she went back to check on Sherlock, she found him wandering around her flat, looking at her belongings. She didn’t say anything and simply let him observe.

It had been so long.

Sure enough, they had been neighbors. The two of them were close in age, so they frequently played together as children, running through the fields and climbing trees. They would occasionally study together too. Sherlock’s older brother Mycroft had often thought of her actions as “unfit for a lady”, but their mother Eudora encouraged the behavior for many years. They had been the closest of friends for many years. y/n smiled slightly; those were some of the best years of her life.

He had changed so much from the boy she knew. They were once the same height, now he towered over her. His dark hair was still curly and his eyes were still the same, if not more intense now. He definitely filled out. It was hard to tell with his suit jacket on, but he looked like he had gained a lot of muscle. His features became more defined. He looked handsome. She almost blushed.

“I see you still paint,” Sherlock observed. He was looking at her new and old paints, then her recent painting. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

He continued on, only briefly, and stopped at a collection of photographs. There weren’t many, but y/n loved them. One of her parents, one of her old home, one she had taken of London when she first arrived, then one of…

“Is this Alexander?”

y/n nodded sadly.

“Yes,” she said.

Alex had been her brother. He had died when she was early in her teen years. An accident. He had been on the road when his carriage was attacked. Those responsible had shot him and stolen most of his belongings. He hadn’t made it through the night. He had been only an hour from home when he was attacked.

“I am sorry,” Sherlock said, bringing her back once again. “He was a good man.”

She nodded, blinking to get rid of the tears that threatened to spill.

“Yes, he was.”

He had been her biggest supporter. He included her in all of his activities and lessons, never wanting her to feel excluded. He was the reason she knew the Holmes family. He would drag her out of the house and take her with him to visit Mycroft and Sherlock.

Just then, the kettle started to whistle. She went to the kitchen and started on the tea. She heard Sherlock’s footsteps continue to move around somewhere behind her.

“You receive letters from Enola?” he suddenly asked, loud enough for her to hear.

“Yes, I do,” she replied. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the youngest Holmes. “She is quite a character. I met her briefly when I returned from finishing school and spent many weeks with her and Eudora. We’ve kept in contact, so I’ve been up to date on her adventures.”

She joined him again and passed him his cup. He took it with a nod. y/n sat down in one of her chairs, reclining comfortably. She supposed she should be a little more polite with the way she sat, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Do you remember when we used to write to one another?” he asked.

y/n smiled a little and nodded.

“Yes. We lived only a mile apart but we sent letters almost daily. I looked forward to those moments. Your stories were quite interesting.”

“As were yours. We could have written a novel.”

y/n laughed.

“What a story that would have been. The tales of two children and their imagination.”

Sherlock hummed.

“You know,” he continued slowly. He didn’t look at her and instead stared into his cup. He cleared his throat with a hum. “After Alex’s passing, and you went off to finishing school, I still tried to write to you.”

y/n froze, teacup lifted halfway to her lips. But Sherlock surprisingly didn’t seem to notice.

“I wrote to you, daily at first. I had hoped you were well for I knew you were still grieving when you left. I wanted to continue our stories, as a way to distract you or perhaps give you something other than your schooling to think about. When I didn’t receive a response at first, I thought it was just because you were busy. So I wrote weekly. Then monthly. Then…” He sighed. “I know I really have no right to ask you this, but why didn’t you answer any of my letters?”

He finally looked at her and his deduction skills kicked in almost against his will.

Her grip was tight on her cup, yet her hands were shaking. Her eyes were wide. There were tears in them. She looked like a deer. Her expression was a little harder to read: shock, sadness, and puzzlement were the primary emotions. She gaped at him for another moment before swallowing.

“Sherlock,” she said, her voice thick. “You wrote me letters?”

Now it was his turn to be confused.

“What? Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

She shook her head slightly.

“I never received any letters, Sherlock.”

His eyes widened.

She blinked and the first tear fell. She quickly wiped it away.

“My going to finishing school was not by choice,” she said. “I was perfectly content to learn at home, like how your mother raised Enola. My parents were the ones who sent me away. Alex was the only thing keeping me home.” She paused to collect herself a little. “At finishing school, I would talk about you and our adventures, and I would get reprimanded by the headmistress. It’s apparently frowned upon to remain friends with a boy after a certain age.”

She looked at him and continued: “If you sent letters, Sherlock, I never saw them. I would presume the headmistress got rid of them..”

Sherlock set down his cup and moved to kneel in front of her. He gently grabbed her hand.

“I never wanted that. I wanted to keep in contact with you, to remain friends.” He paused for a moment. “Why didn’t you try to find me afterwards? You went back to Ferndell to see my mother and sister, and I was solving cases at the time. Surely…”

“I had thought you didn’t want to be friends any longer and never wanted to speak to me again. I became different after finishing school.”

He chuckled a little.

“I never wanted that. And I don’t think you’re much different now than you were then, y/n. As a detective, I can tell you are the same woman. Perhaps to an outsider you are one of society’s polite women, but here, deep down, you are the same spitfire girl I used to play with. Perhaps even more so now. If you’re friends with Enola, then I know that to be true.”

y/n laughed a little. She had to admit, he was right. Finishing school had taught her how to act in public, but had little effect on her interests and personality. She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath to calm herself. She looked back at him. He was still kneeling beside her, his large hand wrapped around hers.

“So what now?” she asked.

“Whatever you wish, I suppose. Personally, I want to get to know you again. I want to catch up on all we missed. And perhaps, make something new with it?”

y/n smiled and squeezed his hand.

“I would love that.”

She leaned forward a little and pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes. He sighed and closed his own eyes, enjoying the new peace that settled around them.

“Just wait until Enola hears about this,” y/n then muttered. “She will lose her mind.”

“Let’s hold off on telling Mycroft then, yes?”

#month of writing #writing prompt #Henry!sherlock #Henry!sherlock x reader #sherlock x reader #Enola holmes #Enola Holmes 2 #angst #Cavill!sherlock #Henry!holmes

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