#benedict cumberbatch imagines

[strangesthirdeye]

Y/n: *groans in frustration* Fuck me

Sherlock: *lowers his pants*

Y/n: *looks at Sherlock with wide eyes* wow

[ironstrange1991]

The Healing Touch

Pairing: Stephen!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The Reader has a terrible headache and Stephen goes full doctor mode to take care of her

Word Count: 4,1k

A/N: This fic is total self indulgent. The entire medical part is based on my experience with the worst headache I've ever had in my life. I had to take something positive from the whole situation. Hope you guys like it and have a nice reading ;)

You had never had such a bad headache in your entire life. It was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes and prevent you from working. It had all started with an allergy attack due to the renovation work in the office building where you worked. Even taking the anti-allergy medication you were used to taking, things only got worse and soon your airways were completely blocked and you had an incessant cough that made you want to vomit your guts out.

But things got worse when you woke up on Friday with a headache that simply wouldn't go away no matter how many painkillers you took. The persistent pain got worse over the days, reaching its peak on Monday morning. When you woke up, you simply couldn't open your eyes, and when you tried to get up, your head hurt with a piercing throb that made you sit down again and fall into silent tears. 

It was a nightmare. Stephen was on mission and you hadn't been able to talk to him in the last few days. You were practically married to a doctor, but you couldn't count on him to help you when you needed it most and that only made you cry even more, giving in to despair.

After a few minutes you forced yourself to get up and staggered to the bathroom where you forced yourself into the shower, hoping that the cold water would somehow help you, but there was no improvement. As you were changing your clothes, feeling dizzy from the strength of the pain and the throbbing in your forehead, you decided that you would take a taxi and go straight to the hospital. By that point, your anxious mind was already telling you that you had a brain tumor.

You were slowly walking down the stairs, each step you took making your head ache even more, when you heard the familiar hiss of a portal opening in the entrance hall. You didn't feel excited, already imagining it was Wong and the light coming from the windows and the door barely allowed you to open your eyes to see anything, but then you heard a baritone voice informing you that it was Stephen who had arrived.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?" His voice was a big relief, although it sounded extremely worried and as if by magic - which it was - he was by your side, helping you to put your arm around his neck and picking you up. He quickly went downstairs and took you to the nearest sofa in the main hall and knelt in front of you. Cloaky let go of his shoulders and flew nervously across the room, stopping behind the sofa and watching you.

Stephen's presence, although a relief, made you succumb to tears again.

"Hey, Y/n, look at me, tell me what's going on, you look pale. What are you feeling?" He asked, going into full doctor mode and forcing your eyes open so he could examine them.

"My head is exploding." You finally managed to speak. "It's been hurting since Friday, but today it's unbearable, Stephen. I can't handle the pain."

Stephen conjured a small flashlight to examine your pupils and then hummed to himself looking relieved. "The pupils are normal. That's good. Can you follow my finger, please?" He asked, raising his index finger to the level of your eyes and directing it to the left and then to the right slowly. You followed the movement with your eyes to which he praised.

"Very good. Now tell me how many fingers you see." He asked, showing you three fingers.

"Three."

"Very good. And now?" He showed you one finger.

"One."

"Good. One more time. How many fingers?" He asked, closing his fist.

"None."

He nodded, sighing in relief. But the small wrinkle that always appeared between his eyebrows was still there.

"How is your vision? Can you see perfectly or is it blurry? Any black spots or spots of light?"

You shook your head. "I can see, but I can't keep my eyes open because the light makes it hurt even more." You whimpered. "The pain is too bad, Stephen. I don't know what to do."

Stephen shushed you, putting the small flashlight aside and bringing his two thumbs to your forehead, positioning them just above your eyebrows and pressing them there in circular motions.

"Fuck." You hissed.

"I hit the spot, didn't I? Here is where it hurts the most?"

You nodded. "And inside of my eyes and on my cheeks. It feels like my whole face hurts. Even my teeth."

He hummed positively but remained silent, moving his fingers from your forehead to your cheekbones and down to the joint of your jaw, putting some pressure there.

"It hurts so much, Stephen. What if I have a brain tumor? Or... or an aneurysm? What if I have an aneurysm?" Your voice was getting shakier and shakier, and heavy tears fell from your eyes. "I don't want to die, Stephen. I don't want to." You said, clinging to him and hiding your face in his neck as you gave in to crying again.

Stephen wrapped you in his arms, one of his hands stroking your hair as he shushed you. "You're not going to die, sweetheart, and you don't have an aneurysm or a brain tumor." He said, trying to reassure you.

"But it hurts too much." You whimpered.

"I know. I'll make it stop. I promise. I'm here now. But you need to let me go so I can go to the drug store to get your medication."

But the idea seemed absurd to you and instead of letting him go, you tightened your arms around him even more, which made him grunt softly and pull your hands away gently.

"What you have is called sinusitis. It's a serious inflammation of the airways that causes secretions to build up in this region here." He explained, pulling you away enough so he could illustrate what he was saying. He ran his index finger along your cheekbones and above your nose. "Because of the inflammation, you feel pain here." He continued moving his finger down to your jaw. "That's why your teeth hurt too." You nodded.

"But why does my head have to hurt so much? I don't understand." You asked, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand.

"Because the inflammation causes the facial muscles to tense up, which causes all the pain." He explained, standing up, but you held his hand tightly.

"Don't leave me alone. Please."

Stephen sighed. "I really need to go, love. The sooner you get your medication, the faster you'll get rid of the pain. Isn't that what you want?" He asked and you nodded, but kept holding his hand anyway.

"I had an idea. What if Clocky stays with you while I go, huh? Do you think that's a good idea?"

Before you could even answer, you felt the sentient relic moving excitedly behind you.

"It really loves you, you know?" Stephen insisted and you finally let go of his hand and watched him gesticulate with his head for the relic to come closer. Cloaky quickly flew over the couch and wrapped you in a comfortable hug. One of the things you loved about it - besides the fact that it was a magical piece of clothing that had thoughts and feelings just like Aladdin's carpet and you thought that was amazing - was that it smells like Stephen.

The warmth and soft touch comforted you somehow and you leaned against the back of the couch and curled your legs up trying to get as comfortable as possible.

"That's great, sweetie. I'll be back in a minute. I promise." He said and with a quick gesture of his fingers his robes were exchanged for jeans and a shirt and he walked quickly towards the door.

...

Stephen hated waiting in line. He had always been impatient, but ever since he learned the mystic arts he simply couldn't accept that there were things he couldn't solve with magic. Sure, he could open a portal and get the medication he needed, but that would be stealing and he considered himself an honest enough guy to do that. So there he was waiting in line at the checkout with a basket in his hand, waiting for the woman to pass the purchases of the person in front of him with an almost deliberate slowness while everyone in the drug store continued to stare at him in the strange way that everyone else stared at him when they recognized him.

When it was finally his turn, the woman named Katia looked at him with a sour face and said in a tedious manner, "Prescription, please."

Stephen sighed, "I don't have a prescription. I'm a doctor. The medication is for me." He lied shamelessly.

The woman cast a suspicious look at the basket and then at him. "I'll need to see your license."

Stephen sighed, letting his irritation show. "Come on, you know who I am. Everyone knows I'm a doctor."

"I'll need your license, sir."

Stephen sighed, taking out his wallet and opening it with difficulty because his hands were shaking more then usual. He took the document and showed it to her, then put it back.

"That's 145 dollars." She said, finally putting the boxes inside a plastic bag and handing it to him.

"Keep the change for the wonderful service." He said ironically, handing her the money and finally leaving the drug store and returning to the usual movement of Manhattan.

When Stephen finally returned home, it seemed like it had taken hours, but it had only been 25 minutes. He found you still in the same position, cuddled with Cloaky and with your eyes closed. He quickly moved his fingers, closing all the curtains in the room and approaching.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I tried to go as fast as I could..." He said and Cloaky gently pulled away from your hold and flew up the stairs.

He sat down next to you and conjured a glass of water and handed it in your hands while he opened the medication boxes and took out the pills and put in your hand.

"This is an anti-inflammatory, this one is an antibiotic and together they will cure the inflammation and relieve the tension."

You nodded, putting the two pills in your mouth and swallowing them with a sip of water. He couldn't help but smile at the fact that you didn't question him, just trusted him completely. He knew that a big part of that trust was because you loved him, but an important part was because you trusted him as a doctor and Stephen missed that. He missed being a doctor, having people's trust in that way and feeling good about being able to save a life or help someone in that way.

"This one is for the pain. It's a strong painkiller and should take effect within a few minutes. It will make you drowsy, though."

You took the pill and threw it in your mouth, swallowing it quickly while you poured the glass of water. Stephen smiled tenderly, taking the glass and placing it on the coffee table. Then he took a small bottle from the bag and opened it, showing you how to use it. "This one you spray twice in each nostril, and it will help decongest your nose and make you breathe better."

But instead of taking the bottle from his hand, you just got closer to him and put your head forward, waiting for him to apply the medicine to you. Stephen let out a small chuckle, feeling his chest get warm. You were so cute. Even in that situation that wasn't the least bit funny, you managed to be extremely adorable.

"There you go." He said, finishing the application of the medicine and putting them all back in the bag and placing the bag on the table. "Now come here." He asked, stretching out his arms so you could snuggle into his chest. “I think you need cuddles.”

He hugged you, gently resting his chin on the top of your head. "I'm sorry I wasn’t here for you, sweetheart. I hate these missions sometimes, especially when we can't communicate." He confessed. Deep down he was feeling extremely guilty about the situation, even though he knew it wasn't his fault. If he had been there, he would have diagnosed the problem sooner and spared you so much pain. After all, what was the point of dating a doctor if you couldn't count on him when you needed him most?

"You're here now. That's all that matters." You answered, lifting your head to look at him and it broke his heart to see your eyes red with tears like that. He cupped your cheek gently. "Can I kiss you? I heard that getting a kiss from me is the best medicine for sinusitis." He joked, managing to get a small smile from your lips.

 "Kiss me all you want then." You said with a tired smile and he giggled, kissing you softly on the lips and then giving small kisses on your cheeks, on the tip of your nose, finishing on your forehead.

You hummed softly. "I love you, Steph." You said, laying your head back on his chest.

"And I love you, sweetheart. More than you can imagine." He confessed and you hummed again, but remained silent and he respected your silence. He knew that the pain you were feeling wasn’t small. Sinus headaches could be extremely painful, and you had endured it for as long as you could without asking for help. He only wished you had gone to the hospital sooner. He hated seeing you in pain.

...

You didn't realize you had fallen asleep until you woke up to the sound of soft voices talking. Stephen hadn't moved a muscle apparently, possibly to avoid waking you up, but now he was talking to someone.

"I'm glad she's okay now. Give her my best wishes when she wakes up." You heard Wong's voice and kept your eyes closed. The excruciating pain had passed, but your head was still sore and there was still a slight throb above your eyebrows.

"Are you going back to Kamar Taj yet?" You heard Stephen ask.

"Yes. Lots to do as usual. I'll let you rest for the night, Stephen. We'll talk tomorrow morning. Send me an update on Y/n when she wakes up." And as soon as he finished speaking, you heard the squeak of the portal opening and closing and then silence followed only by the sporadic sound of cars passing by on the street.

When you finally opened your eyes, you were surprised to find the Sanctum plunged into darkness. A single lamp was on, emanating a dim light from the kitchen. You had no idea how many hours you had slept, but you were completely dizzy, probably due to the effect of the medicine. You yawned and rubbed your eyes slowly, noticing that the pain behind them had also diminished considerably. Stephen moved slowly and then stroked your hair.

"Are you awake, sweetheart?" His voice was hoarse and heavy with sleep, which made you wonder if he had fallen asleep too.

"What time is it?" You asked softly.

"Almost nine." He answered. "You've slept for almost ten hours."

You rubbed your eyes again and then looked at him in surprise. "You've been here this whole time?"

"I left you in Cloaky's care so I could shower and eat, but I basically spent the day on this couch. I ended up falling asleep too, which is a rarity. I woke up to Wong calling me and asking for a book."

You smiled to yourself. "I'm glad you got some rest too."

He hummed positively. "How are you feeling? Better, I hope."

You nodded, slowly lifting your head to look at him now that your eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

"My head is sore, hurts a little, but the excruciating pain is gone."

Stephen smiled, cupping your cheek and stroking it slowly with his thumb. "That's great. But I'm afraid you'll need to take another painkiller now to give the anti-inflammatory time to kick in before the pain starts to come back." He explained.

"But if I take another one of those I'll sleep for another ten hours." You complained, to which he shook his head.

"I think a Tylenol will do for now. I'll get it for you." He said, threatening to get up, but you held him in place and cupped his face.

"Stay. Just a minute more."

He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, sweetie, I'll be back in a moment."

You let him go reluctantly, but took the opportunity to sit up. Your body was limp and you felt like you were slightly drunk, so you avoided getting up. Suddenly you saw your bag on the coffee table and remembered that you hadn't even texted your boss, but before you could think to do so, Stephen was back answering the question you hadn't even voiced.

"I called the office and told them you were sick. You're staying home tomorrow too, by the way. Doctor's orders."

You nodded, watching him approach. He was wearing gray pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His hair, always impeccable, was messy and a few strands fell over his forehead. He looked handsome as always, but you couldn't help but notice a nasty cut on his cheek that you hadn't noticed before.

"You're hurt." You said as he sat down next to you, handing you a Tylenol pill and picking up the empty glass on the table and handing it to you. With a simple gesture of his hand, the glass filled with water.

"It's nothing. Drink it."

You obeyed, and the whole time he looked at you with tenderness in his eyes, but the crease between his eyebrows was still there.

"I'm fine, Stephen. Really."

He nodded, taking the glass from your hand and placing it back on the table.

"Seeing you in pain was a horrible experience, Y/n. It made me think that I would never forgive myself if something happened to you, and I'm not just talking about illnesses. The work I do, the things I deal with are extremely evil. It makes me think about the risk you run by living with me."

You smiled, trying to ignore what he was saying, but deep down you knew he was right. Living in the Sanctum with the Master of the Mystic Arts was a risk, but one you were willing to take because you loved him. "Let's not think about that." You simply said. "I'm fine and you came back from your mission safe and sound. That's all that matters."

He nodded, taking your hand in his and promptly changed the subject. "You need to eat something before taking the next dose of medication."

"Pizza." You asked immediately, which made him giggle.

"I was thinking about a salad..."

"I thought I was going to die today from a brain tumor. Fuck the salad, I want pepperoni pizza with lots of cheese and chocolate ice cream for dessert."

Stephen smiled broadly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Whatever you say. I'll order and while we wait, I'll help you take a shower. What do you think?"

You nodded. "I don't think I can stand up on my own to do it anyway. Whatever you gave me made me totally dizzy."

"I told you it was strong, didn't I? But the important thing is that it took the pain away."

You nodded. "Thanks for taking care of me, Steph."

"That's what you do when you love someone, isn't it? You've taken care of me so many times, sweetheart. I lost count of how many times you patched me up after I came back from a mission. That’s what people who love each other do."

You smiled "I really do love you."

...

Stephen had never seen you eat pizza so eagerly and then devour two bowls of ice cream. It was cute. Even your childish palate was something he found adorable about you. He ate four slices of pizza himself and found himself having seconds of dessert, which he rarely did. After a day like the one you had, he was sure you both deserved the comfort of the food.

Finally, you got ready for bed and ended up in bed with the lamp on, giving the room a low, comfortable light.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked to confirm, but it was clear from the look in your eyes that the medication was taking effect.

"Better. I barely feel any pain, but my head is still sore."

He caressed your face, watching you settle into the pillows next to him. "It's normal after such intense pain. You'll be better tomorrow."

You smiled, biting your lower lip and making that little face you always did when you wanted something, but you didn't say anything, you just brought your hand to his hair, tangling your fingers in it and scratching gently. Stephen closed his eyes, indulging in the touch and only then noticing how tired he was. The mission had been energetic, it had been a really hard few days that had taken a lot out of him physically and although he had managed to sleep for an hour or two, he could feel the exhaustion taking over him.

"Hm, it feels so good." He found himself confessing as he melted into your touch. "I missed you, sweetheart. Every day all I could think about was that I wanted to go home." He opened his eyes to see you smiling sweetly at him and slowly you snuggled closer to him as he automatically reached out to hold you impossibly close.

You cupped his cheek and pulled him to your lips, kissing him slowly, but with a growing desire. "I missed you too. I had plans for when you got back. I wanted to surprise you with a special dinner, but it wasn't possible." You said and he smiled reassuringly.

"Well, even though the day wasn't the most pleasant, it's safe to say we had a special dinner tonight. The pizza was very good." He said smirking.

"But there was something else I wanted to give you when you got back." You said, hooking your leg around his hip teasingly and Stephen soon understood what you were up to, but even though he wanted it as much as you did, he was forced to reason.

"Unfortunately, it's not a good idea, sweetheart, even though I really want it."

You frowned, clearly annoyed. "Why not? After the day I've had, don't I deserve a little affection?"

Stephen nodded with a smile. Of course you did. You deserved everything you wanted and he believed he deserved it too after the mission he had just returned from, but it wasn't always possible to get what you deserved. "Trust me, you do, but I don't want to risk making your headache worse."

You stared at him, not understanding what one thing had to do with the other, and he chuckled, trying to explain in a way that made sense.

"Remember what we talked about the tension in your facial muscles making your head hurt?"

You nodded.

"When we make love and you have a good time, which is always, I hope, the pleasure makes you tense the muscles of your entire body, even those on your face and especially during orgasm, which could lead to an orgasmic headache."

You rolled your lips, trying not to laugh. "Did you just make that up?"

Stephen let out a soft laugh. "Of course not. I'm serious. It's a real problem that you don’t have, but given the sinusitis, orgasm could be a trigger for a worsening of your condition."

You buried your face in his neck, laughing softly, and the sound was very welcome after he had seen you crying in pain earlier. "Believe me, I would never make that up, especially since I'm climbing the walls after so many days without sex."

"It hasn't been that many days." You contradicted him. "But I believe you, as stupid as it may seem. I just hate this fucking sinus thing even more now." You groaned.

"Your treatment will last five days, but after that we will have plenty of time to make up for it, trust me."

You sighed, lifting your head to look at him. "You'll have to make it up to me tonight with lots of kisses."

Stephen smiled. "As many as you want, sweetheart." He said, pulling you back to his lips.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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[yrkanho9]

[annmaximoff18]

My type of boy is tall, intelligent and doesn't know how to socialize.

Spencer Reid

Tech

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[brunchable]

Mini Series

All I Ask - Part I - Part II - Part III Devotion or Delusion - Part I - Part II - Part III Can't Love You in the Dark - Part I - Part II - Part III Into The Looking Glass - Part I - Part II A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be

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Dirty Laundry - Part I Part II Poisonous Touch - A Touch of Jealousy 5 More Minutes Same Ol' Mistakes Sweet

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We Can't Be Friends Untamed Chaos I'd Choose You, No Other Way, Glimpse of Us, To Be Close To You, Till There Was You, My Girl HALLOWEEN SPECIALS

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXVII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) I have no summary lol. But if it helps, I listened to nothing but Caribbean Blue by Enya, and Daydream by Gunter Kallmann Choir while writing this chapter x

Chapter Word Count: 4.6K

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, adult and sexual themes, smut incl: oral & penetrative sex, discussions of large age gaps & age gap relationships. Readers must be 18+

A/N: Since the beginning of this fic, I've kept Quinn's age ambiguous and open to interpretation. This was done intentionally in order to allow readers of any (legal and consenting) age to identify with her as the main character if they wished to. However, in this chapter I do clarify her 'canon age', which is early thirties. I'm sorry in advance if this doesn't align with how you've pictured her.

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The days had melted into one long, golden stretch, unfurling lazily, one after the other, as though life beyond the property line had paused in your absence. You’d been living in a timeless paradise of warm skin and open windows, quiet days and close, passionate nights. Ben had kept good on his promise, giving every spare moment he could to making you glad you came. But you’d learned to relish the moments in between too; the solitude and the respite, the time each day offered like a gift, to relax, to write, to bathe in silence and bask in the stillness of the warm California air. 

You woke to the sound of shuffling across the room, the clunk of a drawer and the faint hiss of a zipper. You stirred beneath the linen sheets, feeling the delicious ache in your limbs from the night before, an empty space beside you where Ben should have been. You lifted your head, squinting in the morning light to find him dressing quietly. 

He glanced over at you, his voice still rough from sleep as it rumbled across the bedroom. “Sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You stretched lazily, the sheets slipping down your body. “Where are you going?” 

“Press junket day,” he replied, sitting down to put his shoes on. 

“Mm, a whole day being asked the same five questions over and over again. Sounds fun.” 

He chuckled under his breath. “You said it, not me.” 

You sat up further on your elbows, making no effort to cover your bare chest, your hair like a messy halo around your head. “What time will you be back?” 

“I’m not sure, probably this evening.” He stood up, adjusting the waistband of his trousers as he spoke. “I’m going to try and get back as early as I can but these things always end up running late.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I have a wonderful day planned.”

“You do?” 

“Mhm.” You inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and sank back down into the pillows with a smile. “I’m going to write on the balcony, eat something nice, maybe have a nap, go for a swim...” 

He smirked as he made his way over to you. “You know it quite suits you, being a lady of leisure.”

“I’m making the most of it before I have to go back to real life.” 

“This is real life,” he said softly, resting a knee on the bed and leaning over to kiss you. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

You returned his kiss, your faces lingering closely for just a moment before he retreated, grabbing his phone and wristwatch off the bedside table and disappearing out of the room. 

The morning unfolded slowly, warmly. You lazed in bed for a while after Ben left, scrolling on your phone as the air-con system quietly hummed throughout the house. It had become a comfort; the calming white noise taking the edge off the silence, a gentle indoor breeze greeting you at the beginning of each day. 

When you finally got up, you took your time in the bathroom; showering and brushing your teeth, putting on skincare, SPF, perfume - just because. You dressed in a loose t-shirt and cotton shorts, humming to yourself as you wandered barefoot through the house, lazily making your way down to the kitchen.

Someone had been there, you could tell because the dishes were done, the counters cleared and the fridge restocked with fresh produce and prepped meals. You may have been a few days into your stay, but you still found it unsettling; the idea of a housekeeper or someone from Ben’s team letting themselves in, going about their duties and leaving again without ever crossing your path.

A light breeze danced through an open window, with scents of dry earth, tuberose and jasmine rolling in from the hills, and on the counter, a large glass cafetiere added the rich, familiar fragrance of freshly brewed coffee. You wished you could bottle it; the smells, the sounds, the way the floor felt beneath your bare feet. It was all so idyllic, a peacefulness you weren’t sure you would ever feel again. 

You poured a coffee over ice, grabbed a prepackaged fruit salad from the fridge and returned upstairs, settling onto the sun-drenched balcony where you’d spent the majority of your days. The cushions of the outdoor sofa seemed to mould around you, like they remembered your shape. You sank into them with a happy sigh, laptop perched on your thighs as you took in the view for a moment before lifting the screen and beginning to write. 

You finished editing your op-ed, letting out an excited little squeak as you finally sent it off. You’d been proud of the feature you wrote on Ben; the way you crafted the piece, swayed opinion with subtle descriptors and carefully placed metaphor, how you wove his words with yours so seamlessly that they flowed like the ink they’d been printed with. But this was another beast entirely. This was yours - your thoughts, your feelings, your opinions - this was a piece of you, and it was going to be out there, in the glossy pages of one of the biggest magazines in the world. 

You stretched your arms above your head, letting the anxious energy evaporate from your fingertips. Then you reached for your phone, opening the camera to take a few photos; some of the view, some of yourself, smiling and sunkissed, blissfully happy. You clicked on Instagram, already thinking of a witty caption when you remembered you were supposed to be in mourning, and a grinning selfie wouldn’t exactly sell the ‘dying grandmother’ story. 

Then you saw it. The ring on Lacey’s hand, Nick’s relieved smile, her teary eyes. ‘Obviously, yes,’ the caption beneath the picture read. And your mouth immediately fell open with joy. You swiped your thumb through the carousel of photos, each one as adorable and exciting as the last. They were in the middle of a plush, green meadow, surrounded by long grass and wildflowers, a backpack still on Lacey’s shoulders from their hike. You zoomed in on the ring and couldn’t help but feel proud that he’d taken your advice; a pale green stone set in delicate yellow gold with filigree detail. It was perfect. 

About time! you wrote, laughing when Lacey almost immediately liked your comment.

For the next few hours, you seemed to float around the house; exploring the open grounds and sunlit rooms, grazing on snacks from the kitchen and humming to yourself as you went. You tried playing the piano that stood in the entrance hall, tinkering a tune from lessons you took as a child and wishing you’d never given up. By the time you found your way back to the balcony, the late afternoon sun had slanted across the hills, glittering over the surface of the pool and turning everything a warm, golden hue.

Maybe it was the house, the heat, the solitude. Maybe it was Nick and Lacey’s engagement, or the feeling of everything being so perfect with Ben. Whatever it was, you found yourself returning to your laptop, opening an empty document and beginning to write something new. 

There’s something strange about falling in love when you’re old enough to know better. Embarrassing, even. Like showing up to a party three hours late, tipsy, holding a bottle no one asked you to bring. You look around and realise everyone else already knows the cues, the rules and the norms. They know when to lean in, when to pull away, how to talk with just their eyes, and leave on time for the next big event. They’re not hiding around corners to avoid conversation, dragging someone they just met upstairs because sex is easier than talking. They’re not letting someone feel them up for a better seat at a nicer table, or pushing people away for being ‘too nice’. That’s when it finally hits you, that you should be like them by now. You should be weathered and slick and unimpressed. But somehow, you’re brand new.

I used to think of love as a scam. Like some multi-level-marketing-scheme that we only joined once we’d fallen for the false promises of someone higher up the pyramid. Love was for the idealistic, for the smooth-skinned, the unsullied, for the people who didn’t yet know it came with a possibility of failure. Then once they’d done it, once they’d been maimed and scarred and lost the investments they were promised a return on, they would just go back again. Because now they had nothing to lose. 

There was never a reason for me to think that way, to doubt or be skeptical of love like I was. But for some reason, in those smooth-skinned, unsullied years, I rejected it completely. 

Now here I am, late to the party. Embarrassed. Tipsy. Stumbling around clueless while he patiently holds my hand. He’s been here before, he knows the cues and the rules and the norms. And I find myself glad, somehow, that I didn’t turn up on time. Because he might not have been here then.

You’d been typing for so long that your wrists were beginning to ache, your eyes itchy from staring at the laptop screen. You closed it gently, blinking a few times as you gazed out upon a darker landscape, the sun settling below the horizon as the sky clung to the last drops of light. 

You stood up to stretch, rolling your shoulders and curving your back with a soft groan. The pool was still glittering in the dim evening light, the water so still besides the occasional ripple of a breeze across its surface. It was irresistible, the mere sight of it making your skin feel warmer, your clothes less comfortable as they clung to you with sweat. 

You changed into a bikini and made your way downstairs, sliding open the door of the sun room that led to the patio. You walked across the grass and sat on the edge of the pool, lowering yourself into the water with quick, shallow breaths. It was cold, instantly washing away the last of the day’s heat and replacing it with shivers, your teeth chattering as you submerged yourself slowly.

But it didn’t take long for you to get used to it, your muscles eventually relaxing beneath the soothing, cool water. You swam lazy laps back and forth, listening to the sounds of wildlife beyond the property’s edge, crickets chirping and leaves rustling in the breeze. 

The sky had turned a deep, bruised blue, peppered with stars and a huge full moon. You were floating on your back, staring up at it in awe, when the faint sound of tyres crunching on gravel caught your attention. 

You swam to the edge of the pool, listening to the distant rumble of a car engine, followed shortly by silence once again. You rested your chin on folded arms, waiting, wondering if it was him, or yet another invisible employee stopping by to water the plants or fold the laundry.

After a minute or two, you saw a light turn on in the kitchen, Ben’s silhouette passing by the window. You smiled and lifted yourself from the pool, wrapping yourself in a towel and hurrying across the grass. You slid the patio door closed behind you, jumping in fright when you turned to find him standing in the doorway on the other side of the room.

“Fucking hell,” you said breathlessly. 

“Sorry, I was shouting for you, I didn’t realise you were outside.” 

You tilted your head slightly as you looked at him. He seemed worn out, tired, highly strung, raking his hand through his hair every few seconds like he didn’t know what else to do with it. 

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, long day,” he said with a sigh before eyeing you up and down. “Were you swimming?” 

“Mhm.”

“Wasn’t it freezing?”

“It was,” you began, walking across the room to meet him. “But it was okay once I got used to it.”

He gave a hum as you came together, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist. “I’m sorry I missed it. Would’ve been nice to have a moonlit swim together.” 

“We could go back out, if you want to?” you replied with a teasing smile. 

He exhaled a soft laugh through his nose, looking down at you like you already knew the answer.

“Are you tired?” you asked, draping your arms around his shoulders.

“Not tired, just… Drained. The room they put me in was so hot, and all the lighting and equipment just made it even worse. My throat hurts from talking so much, I don’t even know if I was making sense in those last few interviews.” He tightened his grip on you. “And the whole time, I was just thinking about how I had you here waiting for me. It was torture.”

You rose onto your toes to kiss him, your lips pressing softly against his. He sighed into it, shoulders relaxing beneath your touch.

“Poor baby,” you muttered, stroking your fingers lightly up the back of his neck into his hair. “I could cheer you up.” 

He raised a brow, ever so slightly, but his eyes remained tired. “Could you?”

“Mhm…” You kissed him again, deeper this time, running your palms down from his shoulders to his chest. “Sit down.”  

He let you guide him towards the couch, his gaze never leaving you as he dropped down onto it. You stood for a moment between his parted thighs, smiling as you watched him close his eyes and let his head fall back, his breathing coming easier now you were here with him. 

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then down the side of his neck. He smelled earthy and masculine, like warm skin, salt and musk. It was a scent you were sure you could pick out in a crowd; so uniquely him, and completely intoxicating. His hands found your hips, thumbs brushing against your waist as his fingers splayed over the damp material of your towel.

“Just relax,” you whispered, gently pulling away from him.

He watched you from beneath a heavy brow, his gaze steady yet curious. You stepped back slightly, letting your towel fall to the floor with a smile and a joking wiggle of your hips. He exhaled a quick, silent laugh, though it only took a moment for his expression to darken again, his throat bobbing, eyes wandering over your bikini-clad body as his fingers flexed at his sides. He wanted to touch you, and you loved that he was holding back the urge.

You lowered yourself to your knees between his legs, your hands trailing up the inside of his thighs, feeling him tense beneath your touch as you parted them wider. 

“Quinn…” he murmured, his voice so soft it almost sounded like a plea.

You shushed him and leaned forward, snaking your hand further up until you were at his crotch, pressing your palm against the hardening bulge beneath his trousers. “This is what I’m here for,” you whispered with a subtle smirk. 

He lost his composure for a split second, his eyes rolling, a sigh escaping him as he slid a hand into your hair. But he kept his touch gentle, tucking the wet strands behind your ear with his fingers. 

You unzipped him, dragging his trousers and underwear down just enough to release him from their confines. Another deep exhale left him as his erection sprung free, standing firm and ready against his stomach. You moved slowly, unable to resist teasing him first. Your eyes stayed on him, watching his jaw clench, pulsating in tandem with every brush of your fingers. 

And just as he was about to speak, maybe even beg, you gripped the base of his cock and dragged your tongue from root to tip. His grasp of your hair tightened in response, his other hand clutching the material of the couch at his side. You parted your lips and slid him into your mouth, revelling in the deep, throaty sound he made, how his head fell back again.

You moved in a steady rhythm, teasing with your tongue and taking as much of him into your mouth as you could. By now, you knew exactly how he liked it; how fast, how deep, where to put your hands, the perfect moments to look up at him through your lashes. It didn’t take long for his breathing to grow heavier, for his hands to begin guiding your head, your name falling in soft murmurs from his lips. 

He was getting close, you could feel it in the way his body tensed beneath you, how quiet he suddenly became. But instead of giving in to it, he made you stop, tightening his fists in your hair and pulling you away. 

“Up,” he whispered, his voice rough and commanding. “Come here.” 

You rose to your feet almost immediately, letting him guide you onto his lap with your knees bracketing his thighs. He swept his thumb along your bottom lip, gazing at your mouth in admiration, while his other hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you in place with your face close to his. 

He rolled his hips beneath you, like a silent demand, and you reached down immediately to move your bikini bottoms aside. You guided the head of his cock along the seam of your pussy as his hands found your waist, fingertips pressing into your skin to ease you down onto him. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he filled you, and you instinctively began to rock against him in search of rhythm.

But his grip on you tightened immediately. “Slow,” he whispered against your lips, his voice deep yet tender. “Slow.”

You let out a heavy breath, following his lead and settling into a slow, sensual grind. His hands continued to guide your hips, maintaining your pace, as his lips found your neck, trailing hot, hungry kisses across your skin.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “Just like that.” 

You closed your eyes, gasping as the friction of each slow, deliberate giration sent waves of pleasure rippling through you. While the sound of his gentle praise brought them crashing down deep in your belly. You whimpered, pressing your forehead against his, your movements growing needier, but his hands held you steady.

“No rushing,” he whispered. “I want to feel you.”

You did exactly as he asked, fighting against the urge to seek out pleasure and instead letting it find you, allowing it to wash over you with every deep stroke and dark utterance of his voice. Your fingers curled into the back of his hair, gripping him tighter with every slow, measured rock of your hips, the couch creaking slightly beneath the weight of your bodies.

He shifted slightly, the new angle allowing him to sink deeper inside you, hitting the spots that made your laboured breaths catch on quiet, desperate moans. You kept moving, your hips rolling like liquid as he kept his hold on you, maintaining your pace, encouraging you to take it slow. 

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice rough and serrated as he brought a hand up to your jaw, encouraging you to lift your head.  

Everything seemed to disappear beyond the point your eyes met, like the whole world existed solely inside his dark, heavy-lidded gaze. You moaned softly as you leaned into the push and pull of his hands, the smooth, deep slide, relinquishing yourself to him completely, never daring to look away. 

His chest was heaving, throat rumbling with groans so low they were leaving him in quiet growls. You brought your lips to his, letting the sounds pour into your mouth as he kissed you slowly, deeply, his tongue sweeping over yours in time with the rhythm and roll of your hips. The feeling of him inside you was sublime; fullness and friction, pressure and electricity. Sparks were kindling deep in your belly, while familiar surges of tingling heat coursed through your body. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, as though he could feel it all too. 

You whimpered in response, your body moving entirely on instinct, chasing your orgasm as it began to swell in your core. But still, he refused to speed up, his hands remaining firm as they guided you, angling you just right until a bolt of pleasure drew a heavy, unexpected moan from your throat.

“That’s it,” he whispered.

Your climax unfurled slowly, like a deep, powerful rumble of thunder. It made you stop breathing, every muscle in your body contracting at once, pulling inwards to the place where the lightning had struck. You dug your fingers into the backs of his shoulders, eyes closed, hips slowing to a stop as your limbs began to shake.  

A silky groan poured out of him as your whole weight settled into his lap, taking him as deep as your body would allow, squeezing and gripping him with each new surge of pleasure. He held you there as he came; head falling back, teeth clenched, fingernails leaving grooves in your flesh. You forced yourself to look at him, taking his face in your hands and leaning forward to kiss him between hot, gasping breaths. 

“I love you,” you whispered into his open mouth, immediately feeling his lips curl into a smile. 

“You better,” he muttered softly.

You giggled, before melting into a calmer, gentler kiss. “I can’t feel my legs.” 

“Eh, you don’t need them.” 

You were sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, still in your bikini, a plush throw from the sunroom couch draped around your shoulders. The lighting was warm and ambient, the room glowing gently as the windows framed a pitch black sky. 

Ben was rummaging through the fridge, the tension he’d arrived home with now gone, replaced with loose posture and relaxed shoulders, a natural smile as he told you about his day. The funny interactions and questions he actually enjoyed answering, the times he was told off for swearing too much and the person who got so nervous they wasted their entire five minutes awkwardly shuffling through cue cards.

“There was one guy,” he said, half-laughing as he emerged from the fridge with a container of strawberries. “Who did a quiz. And he was asking the whole cast the same questions to see who got the most right.”

You smirked. “So naturally you just had to win.”

“Of course.” 

You laughed, watching as he took a bite of a strawberry, chewing on it as he continued to speak. 

“Every answer had to include the word strange,” he mumbled. “Y’know, because Doctor Strange.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Some of them, I don’t know how he was expecting anyone to know the answer. One was something like… ‘name the 1960-something controversial sci-fi novel by Robert… Something or other…” 

“Heinlein? Stranger in Strange Land?” 

His eyes darted across the island towards you, another strawberry halfway into his mouth. “Oh, alright, fucking Einstein.” 

You laughed, unable to disguise your smugness. “Don’t tell me you’re threatened by a clever woman?” 

The corner of his mouth curled in amusement. “Not at all. You just don’t strike me as the type to enjoy 1960’s science fiction.” 

“I’m not. They said it was banned back when it came out for being full of sex and orgies, so obviously I had to read it. Turns out it’s just boring and really fucking misogynistic.” 

He exhaled a laugh. “There was a play I studied in uni… God, what was it called?” He pinched the bridge of his nose in thought before grabbing his phone off the counter. “I’ll have to look it up.” 

You watched him tap and swipe across the screen, squinting as he looked down at it before letting out a huff.

“I need my glasses,” he said. “I can’t see a fucking thing.” 

You giggled, tilting your head as you looked at him. “You’re such an old man.” 

He gave a playful glare, his voice low and dramatic. “Watch it.” 

You smirked, reaching across the island to pluck a strawberry from the container and settling back on your stool to eat it.

He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his back pocket, slipping them on before resting his elbows on the counter, phone in hand. But after a moment of quiet, he turned his head towards you, eyeing you with interest. 

“Do you really think I’m old?” he asked. 

You met his gaze, assessing his tone; casual yet curious, not offended, but wondering, like the question had crossed his mind before. 

“Older than me,” you replied. 

“Does it bother you?” 

There was a seriousness to his voice now. But it was still soft, open, welcoming of whatever your answer may be.

“That you’re older than me?” you asked.

“That I’m… a lot older than you…”

“Well it’s not that much…” 

“It’s thirteen years.” 

You paused, drawing in a deep breath through your nose and shrugging slowly. “You know my parents have the same age gap… I told you that, right?”

“They do?” 

“Yes. Exactly the same. They were actually a few years older than we are now when they had me.” 

He seemed to disappear inside himself for a moment, thinking, before coming back to you with an inquisitive look. “So your dad was… an older dad, then?” 

“Mhm.”

“Did it ever bother you? You never felt like you missed out in any way?” 

You felt a flicker of understanding, like it was suddenly obvious where his apprehension lay. You’d left the door to having children ajar; a future he’d made clear he wanted but didn’t need. And if you were to ever step through that door with him, he would be in his late forties, perhaps older.

“I never felt like I missed out,” you replied earnestly. “He was just as active and present and involved as any other dad. Maybe even more so because they’d already lost pregnancies before I came along.” You shook your head. “And if they could have, I’m sure they’d have had more kids after me too.” 

He smiled. 

“He ran in the dads’ race every sports day, played dolls and make-believe with me, never moaned or groaned or said he was too tired for anything,” you said. “Worshipped the ground my mum walked on - still does - which is probably why I have such impossible standards for men.” You laughed. 

He laughed too. “Well, if I ever become a parent, I’d hope to be just like him.” 

“You will be.” 

“Will be…?” He raised an eyebrow teasingly.

“Would be,” you corrected, rolling your eyes. “Then again, with the amount of sex we’ve had over the past few days, it wouldn’t surprise me if my implant just gave out from sheer exhaustion.” 

He chuckled, his face creasing with warmth and amusement. “Well, we’re flying to New York tomorrow night so it’ll get somewhat of a break.” 

“Oh no I wasn’t complaining. I’ll take all the sex I can get, y’know, before you get too old and your dick stops working.” 

He dropped his head, letting out a shocked breath, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “Right, I’ve had enough of you now.”

You giggled as you watched him push off the counter, turning on his heels to leave. 

“Where are you going?”

“It’s past my bedtime,” he replied sarcastically. 

“Do you need some help getting up the stairs?”

He turned back around with a deadpan look. “No, but keep talking and I might fake a fall just to get away from you.” 

You snorted out a laugh, reaching over the counter for another strawberry, glancing over at him as you bit into it. 

He was standing in the space where the kitchen met the hall, his arm resting above his head on the frame of the archway. “Come to bed, smartarse.” 

You smirked, hopping off your stool and wrapping the throw tighter around you like a cloak. “Yes sir.”

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby

[bakerstreethound]

An Uncertain Future & Familiar Comforts

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x gender neutral reader

Warnings: job insecurity, mentions of anxiety, married sherlock, cuddles & kisses

Summary: The night before the graduation ceremony for your master's degree has arrived and leaves you pondering and questioning your uncertain future. Fortunately, Sherlock is there to comfort and reassure you as you mentally prepare for the upcoming day.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 851

A/N: Hello lovelies! I meant to post this back in January when I completed the story, but between many life events, this story slipped through the cracks. It makes me happy to return to writing my beloved detective. I hope you enjoy the story! As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

You’re staring at the computer screen again, lost in thought, too scared to weary to put anything down on the page. Time is slowly ticking down until you have one day remaining before you graduate and you feel the gnawing ache awaken, slowly wrapping around your heart making you doubt.

Friends and family are nice but overwhelming all at once. You are not sure how to feel, the ache in your chest numbing while you continue staring at the screen, that is, until your husband, Sherlock interrupts you with a peck to your cheek. 

“Good evening, my dear,” he rumbles.”

“Hi Sherlock. You’re home early. Did John send you over?” 

“He thought you could use the company tonight.”

You sigh in resignation. John, as usual, is correct in his assumptions. It was a rather slow day at work, one you spent staring even longer at computer screens and notebooks, trying to piece together odd requests and groaning at the general stupidity of people.

There was never a dull moment, for sure, yet agony gnaws deep within your chest, the underlying dread. You close your computer, turning to face your husband in the soft glow of the light filtering into 221B, your home for the past six, almost seven years. 

You do not know what to feel, it almost seems unreal the past years of your life slipping by and having little to show for it but the degrees on your wall. They were now your pride and joy, an accomplishment for sure, yet it felt like they meant nothing when searching for full time jobs felt like a full time job in and of itself.

With five interviews done, you had nothing to show for it, and you are frustrated wanting something to happen, the waiting period gnawing at your insides, threatening to tear apart your heart and mind. 

Writing did little to nothing to help as much as it had the past four years, the exhaustion from graduate school zapping what energy reserves you did have, a burden to try to find joy in the art you loved and dedicated yourself to for years. You could not throw it away or let it go to waste, too many years of precious time spent at the keyboard honing your craft. 

You know yourself, you’re better than that so you gave in writing even when the words hurt to type but the simple act of doing so motivated you, and soon enough you had a page. Your weary mind shifted to Sherlock who continues to gaze at you, amusement lighting his features, making you warm at his attentiveness.

He admired your strength to continue on when the waking world was determined to hold you down. You could not take no for an answer, even he knew you deserved more than you were offered. 

He scowled when you discussed with him all the rejections you encountered, sharing in the frustrations, commiserating with you, and scowling at the emails while you discarded them. He continued to assure you they were all idiots and did not see or appreciate the hours you poured into your education and passion projects. 

“I would enjoy your company,” You say eventually, shutting off your computer before pushing your chair away from the desk. He settled in his beloved chair, and you followed suit, straddling his lap, and pressing your forehead against his. When his arms wrap around you, you let out a groan, half in frustration, half in relief. His hands continue to stroke your back, easing you into him and your frostiness evaporates with every touch.

You let yourself fall into a pattern of familiarity you worked years to attain. You felt lucky to be with him here and now in a moment like this, calm and your worries fleeing with every touch and his warmth. It was a gift to be bleeded in a manner, to be held when words could not suffice, the feelings in your chest brimming over, unsure how to be expressed.

Sherlock does not prod and continues to hold you, stroking your back, peppering you with kisses in between. What felt like a fraction of a moment, slipped into hours and you are on the verge of a dream, lulled by Sherlock’s beating heart. 

“Let’s get you to bed, my dear” you heard him rumble gently and for a moment, you registered being cradled in his arms, walked down the hall to your bedroom and carefully placed on the bed.

In a moment or so, Sherlock turned back the covers, guiding you between them, wanting you to be comfortable from the chill. He pulled away, admiring your delirious sleeping form, fighting to remain in the conscious world a few minutes more. 

“Stay,” he heard you murmur. “Don’t…want to be alone.” 

He was surprised at your ability to say anything remotely coherent, but indulged, joining you under the covers, reveling in your sighs of content as you nestled into him, safe and warm. 

Though the future was uncertain, Sherlock was certain of one thing- that he would be with you by your side.

******

[frost-queen]

In labour (Reader x Sherlock Holmes)

Requested by: @thewritersdesk95 Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr

“So any day now?”

John’s question sparked up an interest in Sherlock. He set his hands underneath his chin with a deep hum. – “Mycroft will be on his knees begging for forgiveness in no time.” – he responded. John furrowed his brows, staring confused back at his mate. – “I… I was talking about Y/n!”  - John called out, gesturing away.

“Oh.” – Sherlock responded. Taking exactly a few seconds before it hit him. – “Ooh!” – calling out, lowering his hands. John nodding with raised up brows that he finally understood. – “I forgot for a moment.” – Sherlock waved his hand idle away.

“How can you forget that any day now, you could become a father.” – John answered shaking his head at Sherlock’s thought train. Questioning again how Sherlock was able to strike you as his wife.

“I just forgot alright.” – Sherlock spoke with tensed brows. – “Just… just don’t tell her that.” – he made clear. John shook his head with a sigh. Turning his head, John looked around curiously.  – “Where… where is Y/n anyways?” – questioning as he hadn’t seen you walk around for at least half an hour.

“In the bathroom.” – Sherlock responded. John made a face to usher him to speak further. Worry striking his face. – “Yes, she is fine.” – Sherlock filled in. Not a moment later they jumped up from a loud scream. Both getting up and running over to the bathroom. – “Y/n, are you alright in there?” – Sherlock started pounding on the door.

“Y/n are you in pain?” – John asked turning the door knob that you had closed. – “Y/n, answer me.” – Sherlock begged, knocking even louder. John held his ear by the door, hearing you pant.

“Y/n open the door please.” – John asked as you cried it out in pain. Huffing and puffing moments later. The door got unlocked. Sherlock shoving John aside to enter. – “Y/n!” – he called out with worry.

Seeing you stand by the tub, one hand under your stomach. Sherlock’s gaze fell down on the wetness at your feet. Staring in shock at it. John bumped against his shoulder to get to you. – “Her water broke Sherlock!” – he called out. Sherlock blinking rapidly in response to absorb that information. John was already at your side, holding your arm up.

“Deep breaths Y/n.” – he said, supporting you. – “Sherlock we have to move. Now!” – John shouted at him. That seemed to work as Sherlock got in action. Nearly knocking himself out by the door when he rushed back out. Hurrying back inside with yours and his coats. Holding them proudly up like caught fish.

John sighed loud, snatching your coat from him. John helped you put on the coat. Handing you then over to your husband. – “I’m going to park the car in front. You help her downstairs.” – John addressed to Sherlock with a warning point.

Sherlock swallowed, taking John’s place at your side. Taking a hold of your arm. – “Is… is there going to be any more water?” – he asked as you could scream at him. – “Just get me downstairs.” – you responded annoyed. Sherlock helped you step carefully over the spill.

You were trying to steady your breathing as he helped you down the stairs. Misses Hudson appearing at the foot of the stairs. – “Oh is it time?” – she called out with delight. – “It is baby time misses Hudson.” – he responded helping you down the last few steps. – “Best of luck.” – she wished, sending you off with a pat on your back.

The car was parked in front. With the help of Sherlock you got inside. John not wasting any time by stepping on the gas. You were huffing and puffing. Calling it out in screams in between. Sherlock took your hand firm.

“Y/n, I’ve read that you have to puff like this.” – he informed you. He started mimicking huffs and puffs. First quick one’s than much slower one’s. You shot him a glare at how annoying he was. – “Don’t you start!” – you called out in pure frustration.

“Y/n!” – Sherlock panicked when you started to move around the car. Trying to find a comfortable position. Yelping in distress at the discomfort of being in labour. – “How is she doing back there?” – John wanted to know. – “Drive!” – was your answer ending in a loud scream of pain, shooting through you.

Sherlock’s gaze fell down on you, staring with wide eyes at you. Gasping at what you were doing. Panicking himself a bit as it suddenly all felt real. – “Drive faster John!” – he called out, worrying that you might give birth in the car. Panting loud, you settled for a comforting position for as long as it lasted. Sweating immensely.

You reached for his hand, wanting him close. Sherlock took your hand, leaning in closer. Wanting to give you a comforting kiss. Yet the moment his face got close to you, he received your hand against his cheek. Pressing his face against the window with a scream of agony. – “Au.” – Sherlock yelped out, face getting squashed against the window.

“Sorry.” – you puffed out. Sherlock removed his face from against the glass, waving at you that it was alright. – “How much longer?” – He wanted to know, not sure how much of this torture he could endure. – “Any moment now.” – John replied, taking a turn. – “Sherlock.” – you breathed out, reaching for his hand. – “I’m here Y/n… I’m here.” – he said taking your hand. 

A discomforting pain shot through you, making you squeeze his hand hard. Sherlock calling it out as his hand got crushed in yours. Trying to bite the pain away, by upholding his smile at you. Seeing how you were worried and panicking. He didn’t want to add more to that. Giving your hand a good pat.

John parked the car in front of the hospital. Opening the door for you, helping you out. Still crushing Sherlock’s hand, he toggled behind you, trying to keep up. Inside you were immediately assisted by nurses. One of them helped you sit down in a wheelchair. The two of them running after you.

You got pushed through double doors as one of the last nurses stopped them. – “Only the father can go further.” – she told them. John looked over at Sherlock, who remained silent. – “That is you!” – he called out. – “Right… right. That’s me.” – Sherlock shot his hand up. The nurse urged him to follow her. They gave him some protection coat before entering the room. You smiled between the tears at the sight of him.

Sherlock let his hand slide in yours, brushing his hand over your head. – “It’s really happening darling.” – he said calmly. Sucking in a breath, you nodded. – “I’m scared…” – you told him. – “So am I, but we can do this together.” – his words soothing you. You closed your eyes when he pressed his lips on your forehead. Leaving a tender kiss. Holding his hand firm, you began pushing.

Hours later, you had your baby in your arms. Sherlock stroking his hand through your hair. Complimenting you on the good work. Smiling between the tears, you kissed him. For your family had a member more.  

-----------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[strangesthirdeye]

Sherlock: *yelling to Y/n from the kitchen* Y/n can you give me a hand?

Y/n: *comes up to Sherlock with the corpse's hand* here

Sherlock: ...

Y/n: ....

Sherlock: where did you get this corpse hand?

Y/n: .... Mor.. Morgue?

[ironstrange1991]

The Goatee Problem

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 0,600k

Warnings: None, just fluff.

A/N: This is just a small blurb I came up with instead of finishing my Defender smut. Didn't want to end the month with nothing so I am posting this. Hope you guys like it and have a short but very nice reading.

"Believe me, you don't want to see this"

Stephen's voice sounded a bit shaky and nervous and his insistence that you do not go into the bathroom had you worried.

"Stephen, just tell me what happened. Are you hurt?"

You tried again to open the door and this time he didn't try to stop you from entering.

He was standing by the sink, but he turned his face so you couldn't see him in the mirror's reflection. You walked over hugging him from behind and he sighed "My hands... are shaking more than usual today... I shouldn't have tried..."

He turned to you, his face still smeared with shaving foam, but the goatee you were so used to was gone. "I had no alternative but..."

"Oh..." Was all you managed to say before bursting out laughing. Stephen frowned slightly offended.

"That's why I didn't want you to see me like this" He said pulling the towel from his shoulder and wiping his face.

He was gorgeous. Of course it was weird to see him without the goatee, but he was still handsome without it.

"I am not laughing at how you look, but at all the drama you are making."

You caressed his strangely smooth face, your index finger tracing around his lips and down to his chin. Stephen's skin was extremely soft.

"I've had my goatee for years, I don't even recognize myself without it."

You nodded, still distracted by how much the sight of Stephen in that different way was messing with you. "Well, I can't complain, you're still as hot as ever"

His face flushed with your compliment which made the whole situation even cuter. You pulled him to your lips and the feel of his smooth skin was different and interesting at the same time. He seemed taken aback by the intensity of your kiss and he was the one who broke the kiss to breathe.

"Don't get me wrong, Steph. I want the goatee back and you're going to have to put up with Wong and America's jokes for a month, but it's not all bad"

He didn't seem to understand where there could be a bright side to that tragedy and you made sure to make that clear when you kissed him again and continued to kiss the corner of his lips, running your lips up his cheeks  until you reached his ear and licked his earlobe with the tip of your tongue before whispering "I'm sure it will feel very interesting between my legs"

He glanced at you completely intrigued as you pulled away and walked towards the bedroom.

"Did you like it then?" He asked still unsure.

You chuckled "Yes I did. Besides I'm sure in another universe there must be a version of you without the goatee."

He took a good look in the mirror and shook his head as if trying to encourage himself. "You're right, it isn't so bad."

"Don't get too excited tiger, I want my goatee back as soon as possible or you'll be sleeping on the couch." You warned.

“How do I face Wong and America now?” He asked, his voice sounding completely mortified “Shit, can’t let Stark see me like this.”

“Good lucky with that.” You said laughing while leaving the room.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

BACK TO DOCTOR STRANGE MASTERLIST

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Tag list: @doctorstrangelovemusic-blog @rachelessfreedom-world @ppatricia34me @strangesgirls @dreamxonxx @benaddictcumberpatch @iamsherlocked1479 @veryladyqueen @notglucose @wickedscribbles @agathassscribbles @rmoonstoner @nicoletk @azu21 @captaincarmel416 @harlekin6 @coffedraven @withalittlehoney

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@thealleydog @anadlockfan @pinkthick @loverofallbroken @butchers-girl @ironstrangeheart @asgards-princess-of-mischief @slytherinqueen4life @spideybv28 @pxanonymous16-blog @kinavet

[lokidokieokie]

Change is Never Easy

Summary: The two of you called it quits a month or so ago...and then Y/n faints during a shift. Change is never easy.

Pairing: Surgeon!Strange x Fem!Nurse!Reader

Warning(s): ex-lovers, exes to lovers(?), fainting, unexpected pregnancy

The atmosphere at General-Metro had quickly become thick with tensions ever since the breakup. Dr Stephen Strange and Nurse Y/n L/n had officially called it quits a few weeks ago, and the lingering awkwardness between them was impossible to ignore.

Navigating the hallways was like tiptoeing through an emotional minefield.

Y/n, nursing her wounded heart, did her best to keep up appearances during her shifts. She tried to focus on her tasks and avoid any unnecessary encounters with Stephen.

The air of the hospital was constantly charged with unspoken words and unresolved emotions; and the slightest interaction left both of the medical professionals on edge.

On one fateful day, while Y/n was basking in her lunch-break, the build up of the emotional strain proved too much. In the break-room, surrounded by the hum of vending machines and the distant chatter of her coworkers, Y/n collapsed.

Panicked voices echoed through the room as her coworkers rushed to her aid.

---

The current events of Stephen Strange's ex did not reach him until later on in the day, courtesy of one Christine Palmer, who had intercepted him in the bustling hallway.

"Stephen, have you gone to check on Ella? Something happened to her during her shift, and I haven't had to opportunity to see her yet," Christine whispered urgently, concern etched into her voice.

Stephen's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? No, I haven't. Is she alright?"

Christine briefly briefed him on the situation before she got paged to another emergency, prompting Stephen to abandon his current path and seek out Y/n.

When he found her, lying down in a quiet corner of the hospital, seemingly alright, the relief on his face was undeniable.

Slowly walking over to her, he brushed a stray hair out of her face. "What happened to you?" Concern prominent in his voice as he dragged a chair over.

With a flutter of her eyes and a shaky smile, Y/n greeted him. "Hey, Stephen. I don't really know what happened. I just felt incredibly dizzy, and then everything went black for a moment. I'm probably just dehydrated, I'm sure everything is fine."

Stephen raised his eyebrows, and his professional instincts kicked in. "People don't just faint for no reason, Y/n. I'm going to order a few tests to make sure."

Before calling in others, Stephen quickly did an examination, asking her about her symptoms and taking note of her vitals.

As Stephen focused on the exam, Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. Their interactions were once filled with warmth and familiarity. Now, they were tainted by the awkwardness that hung in the air like a heavy cloud.

She was broken from her thoughts by Stephen's sigh of relief. "Physically, you seem find. I'm still getting other tests done to be thorough."

Y/n nodded, appreciating the concern emanating from her ex-lover. "Thanks, Stephen. I appreciate it."

---

It was probably about fourty-five minutes later when Stephen was given Y/n's test results. His eyes scanned the report, his expression changing from professional concern to surprise. Y/n, being curious and anxious about what he had seen, couldn't help up speak up.

"Stephen, what is it? What's on the report? Am I okay?" she pressed, her eyes searching his chiseled face for answers.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Stephen finally spoke, his voice a mix of disbelief and realisation. "Y/n, you're...pregnant."

Time seemed to still as the revelation hung in the air. Y/n's eyes widened, mirroring Stephen's astonishment. The awkwardness of their recent breakup was momentarily forgotten as they processed this unexpected twist of fate.

"Pregnant?" Y/n repeated, the word feeling foreign on her lips. "But we were careful?"

Stephen's mind raced, still processing the news. "Well, it seems we have to blame the twisted mind of the universe for this."

~~~

A/N So...I'm back from the dead 🙃 Sorry for another hiatus, Uni sucks, but I'm on break now :) Hopefully I can write more...but I'm me sooooo, please don't get your hopes up. BUT, there will be a part two of this that I have already pre-written so...

taglist (lemme know if you want to be added or removed) @thewaithfuckingannoyme @evelyn-kingsley @moonlight-ee @fall-myriad @ironstrange1991 @asgards-princess-of-mischief

sorry if you weren't added and had asked to be, I lost my taglists :(

[annmaximoff18]

Y/N: my head still hurts

Strange:Did you take the pills I told you about?

Y/N: yes, two

Strange:wait for the pills to take effect then

Y/N: Well.....how about I take the whole bottle, that way they will take effect faster

Strange:give me the pills and go to sleep....you know what, I'll accompany you to sleep

[brunchable]

We Can’t Be Friends || Doctor Strange x F!Reader.

Genre: Angst(?) || Song MV inspired

Pairings: Stephen Strange x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.2K

Quick Summary: Your relationship with Stephen Strange has been strained to the breaking point by his constant absences and mystical duties. Despite Stephen's attempts to mend your fractured bond, you decide to seek a more permanent solution.

A/N: Lisssteeen, this is not proof read lol. I haven't written in a while, I am feeling rusty so please be forgiving hehe. Every nice interactions are most valued <3

Stephen had been gone for a month for the third time, with no word, no warnings. You had spent countless nights worrying, wondering if he was safe, if he would ever return. And now, as the sparkle of the portal opened and caught your attention, Stephen stepped out, looking weary and worn from his latest mission.

You were waiting for him in the living room, feeling a mixture of anger and frustration, yet your expressions show otherwise. You had been rehearsing what you would say, but now that he was here, the words felt heavy on your tongue.

“You're back. Where in the seven hells have you been this time?” You began, your voice firm but calm, you had that motherly tone when a teen returns home from sneaking out.

“Seven hells pretty much sums it up… can we do this later? I just got back,” Stephen chuckled, rubbing his temples, the tone of your voice grating and adding up to his headache, “I’m exhausted.”

“No, I think we should address this, now,” You insisted, pointing to the ground for emphasis.

Stephen sighed, sensing the confrontation he so wanted to avoid. “Alright, I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Stephen, you’ve been gone for a month. No warnings, no pass the message from Wong. . . What is going on?”

“Y/N, you know what my responsibilities are. The world needs me. I can’t just ignore that,” Stephen said defensively.

“A heads up would be nice. Like how you were before. It feels like I’m nothing more than a distraction to you,” You shot back, your eyes narrowing.

Stephen’s expression hardened with irritation. “You knew what you were getting into from the start. My work–my duty is important. Do I need to explain myself every single time?”

“Why are you so defensive? Is it wrong of me to at least know where you are? So I don't worry all the time? At least still show me that I matter to you. Right now, it feels like you and your missions are all that matter,” you replied, rolling your eyes. 

“This is ridiculous, Y/N. Clea and I are working to protect this world. It’s not like I’m off on a vacation. I’m trying to keep everyone safe, including you.”

It was impossible to overlook the single name that slipped from Stephen's lips. The air seemed to thicken even more with tension. Your face transformed dramatically; what had been a mask of frustration quickly crumbled, replaced by a deep, probing suspicion. Your eyes narrowed, searching Stephen's face for any hint of deceit, and your heart pounded in your chest, echoing the name that now hung heavily between you. 

“Who’s Clea?” you asked, making sure to stress the name you didn't want to say, your voice tinged of disdain.

“Fuck,” Stephen muttered under his breath. A wave of regret washed over him as he realized he should have told you who he was teaming up with sooner. He wondered why he had left out such an important detail, knowing it would have made a difference in your reaction. . . or make it worse?

“Clea is from the dark dimension, I have caused an incursion in reality and I had to go with her and fix it, okay?” Stephen explained it for what it is. . . to him at least.

“So, you were with her every time you vanished without a trace?” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm and a barely concealed resentment that felt like a knife twist in your chest.

“Like I said, I had to fix the incursion I caused,” he responded, his tone distant, as if the gravity of his words could shield him from the emotional storm brewing between you.

You stared at him, not caring what he even meant by 'incursion'. Your mind was a whirlwind, fixated on the crushing weight of this new revelation, which felt like an earthquake shattering the foundation of everything you thought you knew. 

The man who once made you feel safe and cherished now stood before you, a stranger entwined in secrets and sacrifices you couldn't begin to fathom.

Stephen ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. “I don’t have time for this. If you can’t understand that my work is important, then maybe we do need to rethink this relationship.”

You were stunned into silence for a moment, the weight of his words hitting you like a physical blow. Your throat stings badly as you fight to prevent any tears from falling. “So, that’s it? You’re willing to throw everything away because I worry about you?”

“I’m not throwing anything away, Y/N. All I do is try to save the world. If you can’t see that, then maybe we need to reconsider,” Stephen replied coldly.

“Okay. . .so you find a new partner in crime and the first thing you could think of is to ‘reconsider’,” You nodded, a little laugh might've escaped from you and it triggered something in Stephen.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re acting like I’m choosing Clea over you. This isn’t some petty love triangle, Y/N. This is about life and death, about the safety of the entire world!” Stephen’s voice was now raised.

“Oh my god! Enough about saving the world already! You belong to the world! Alright, I get it! But don't expect me to be nonchalant when you've spent your time ‘saving the world’ with her. Meanwhile I rot in my apartment worried sick if you're even still alive because I only want to belong to you.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the air, firmly jabbing his chest with your finger

Stephen clenched his fist tightly, the knuckles turning white, as he took a deliberate step closer. His presence loomed over you, casting a shadow that seemed to amplify the tension in the air, “You think it’s easy for me? You think I don’t miss you? I have responsibilities that go beyond us—" 

“If you're thinking I am asking you to abandon your responsibilities, I am not. I didn’t think you’d understand me.” You replied, striving to maintain your composure under his unwavering presence and the intense gaze fixated on your face.

Stephen shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “I never hid what my life was about, but you knew what signed up for when you said yes to me.”

“I did but I didn't sign up to be treated like an afterthought,” Y/N said, your voice softening slightly but still firm.

Stephen sighed and was silent for a moment, “So, what then? What do you want me to do? It is so hard to find balance with all this shit happening around us.”

“I don't know. . . whatever I may want, it'll be impossible for you to do,” You said, your voice resigned as you crossed your arms, a gesture of both self-protection and defiance.

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s your solution? To just walk away?”

“That was your suggestion first, wasn't it?” You responded, a low, mirthless chuckle escaping your lips. 

Stephen looked down, his silence speaking volumes. The decision crystallized in your mind. You turned away, grabbed your keys from the table, and headed toward the door, needing to cool off and get your head straight. The sound of the door closing behind you echoed through the Sanctum, a final punctuation to your heated exchange.

× × × × ×

You gripped the steering wheel tightly as you drove through the darkened streets of New York City. The familiar hum of the engine and the blur of passing lights did little to calm your racing heart. Your eyes were red from preventing a single tear to shed, but the tears came after being alone, blurring your vision and forcing you to blink them away repeatedly.

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, sadness, confusion, and a deep, aching sense of betrayal. The argument with Stephen played on a relentless loop in your head, each word echoing with painful clarity.

"Maybe we do need to rethink this relationship."

"Maybe we shouldn’t be together."

You shook your head, trying to dispel the hurtful words, but they clung to you like a stubborn shadow. How did it come to this? How did your love, once so vibrant and full of promise, deteriorated into something so cold and distant?

Your thoughts drifted to the early days of your relationship. The way Stephen's eyes would light up when he saw you, the warmth of his touch, the way both of you would laugh and talk for hours about everything and nothing. You remembered the adventures you shared, the quiet moments of intimacy, and the feeling of safety and love that enveloped you whenever you were with him.

But those memories felt like they belonged to another life, another couple. Now, Stephen was always preoccupied, always focused on his missions with Clea. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being an afterthought, a secondary priority in his life. The loneliness you felt was suffocating, and tonight’s argument had only confirmed your deepest fears.

You pulled over to a quiet spot by the Hudson River, the soft glow of the city lights reflecting off the water. You turned off the engine and sat there in silence, the sound of your own breathing loud in the stillness of the night. 

You leaned your head back against the seat and closed your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You felt a crushing weight on your chest, the sense of impending loss almost too much to bear. You loved Stephen with all your heart, but you couldn’t keep living like this—constantly feeling like you were competing for his attention, always coming second to his duties as a sorcerer.

A part of you understood the importance of Stephen's work. You admired his dedication, his unwavering commitment to protecting the world from mystical threats. But at the same time, you couldn’t ignore your own needs, your own desire for a partner who was present, who made you feel valued and loved.

The idea asking Wong to use the Runes of Kof-Kol had come to you in a moment of clarity during your drive. It was a drastic measure, but it felt like the only way to save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak of this deteriorating relationship. If you both forgot each other, if you became strangers once more, maybe then you could find peace.

You opened your eyes and gazed out at the river, the dark waters flowing steadily under the moonlit sky. You felt a strange sense of calm wash over you as you made your decision. It wouldn’t be easy, and it would hurt like hell, but it was the only way you could move forward without the constant pain of their fractured love.

As you started the car and drove back towards the Sanctum, you knew what you had to do, and you hoped that in forgetting, you could both find a way to heal. The city lights blurred once more as fresh tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of acceptance. You were ready to let go, ready to find yourself again, even if it meant losing the man you had loved with all your heart.

× × × ×

After driving aimlessly for hours, you finally pull up in front of the Sanctum Sanctorum. The building looms before you, its ancient architecture shrouded in an almost foreboding silence. You sit in the car for a few moments, gathering your strength, knowing the decision you have made is final. The city is quieter now, the hustle and bustle having died down to a gentle hum in the background.

You take a deep breath and step out of the car, your legs feeling like lead. You walk up to the front door and pause for a moment, your hand resting on the cold brass handle. Memories of happier times flash before your eyes—moments of laughter, love, and a bond that once felt unbreakable. But those memories are now overshadowed by the reality of your fractured relationship.

Pushing the door open, you step inside. The familiar scent of incense and ancient books fills your nostrils, but instead of comfort, it brings a pang of sadness. The Sanctum feels emptier than ever, a reflection of the void that has grown between you and Stephen.

As you walk into the living room, you see Stephen sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looks up as you enter, his eyes filled with the weariness which mirrors your own.

“Y/N, you're back,” Stephen says softly, standing up. “I was worried about you.”

You nod, your face devoid of emotion. “I needed some time to think.”

Stephen takes a few careful steps, “I know I haven’t been around much. And I know tonight's argument was... I didn’t handle it well. I’m sorry for that.”

You feel a flicker of acknowledgment at his words, you look into his eyes, the eyes you once found so much solace in, and feel a deep sense of finality, “I need to see Wong,” you say, your voice steady and cold, “Is he here?”

Stephen steps closer, his gaze searching your face for any hint of what you might be feeling. “Are you okay now? About earlier. . .”

“I'm fine, Stephen. Really,” you say with a forced smile. “I just need to speak to Wong.”

“Wong? Sure, I'll summon him for you.” Stephen's eyes narrow slightly, sensing something is off. He didn’t think he’d get out of trouble that easily.

A few moments later, Wong enters the room, his expression pondering about what you might need him for. “Y/N, Stephen said you wanted to speak with me. What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath and glanced at Stephen who remained curious about why you needed Wong.

“Are we able to chat somewhere private?” You asked, your eyes flickering towards Stephen which Wong took notice of.

Wong turned his head towards Stephen and then you, “Of course. Follow me.” He headed towards the door to Kamar-Taj. 

He led you to the empty library, ensuring no one else was around, and gestured for you to sit across the table from him.

“How can I help?” He asked.

“I hope this isn't too much to ask. . . but can you please cast the Runes of Kof-Kol on me?” 

Wong's expression shifts to one of alarm. “The Runes of Kof-Kol? Those spells are dangerous, Y/N. What could possibly make you consider using them?”

You explained the situation, trying your best to keep your voice from breaking, “Stephen and I... we’re not working anymore. It’s too painful. I need to forget him. I want to move on quickly. I don't want to spend months wallowing in heartbreak.”

Wong listens quietly, his expression softening with understanding. “I see. But you know the risks, don’t you? The Runes of Kof-Kol only erases memories, not feelings.”

“I know,” you say firmly.

Wong nods slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “I understand your pain, Y/N. But this is a decision that cannot be undone. I urge you to think about it very carefully. Take some time to reflect on whether this is truly what you want.”

You shake your head, your decision unwavering. “I've already thought about it, Wong. I’ve thought about nothing else. This is what needs to be done.”

Wong sighs, his expression resigned yet compassionate. “Still, I urge you to give it a few more days. I suggest you stay here at Kamar-Taj. Meditate, reflect, and if you still feel the same, we will discuss it again.”

You nod slowly, appreciating his concern. “Alright. I’ll stay and think about it.”

× × × × ×

After you left the library, Wong stood silently, his thoughts troubled by your request. He knew the depth of the pain you were feeling, but the Runes of Kof-Kol were not to be taken lightly. As he pondered the situation, he sensed a presence lingering near the bookshelves. Turning his head slightly, he caught sight of Stephen, partially hidden in the shadows, clearly eavesdropping.

“Strange,” Wong called out, his tone firm but not unkind. “You can come out. I know you've been listening.”

Stephen stepped out, a mixture of guilt and concern etched on his face. “I didn't mean to intrude. I just… needed to know what she was thinking.”

Wong crossed his arms, looking at Stephen with a mixture of disappointment and empathy. “You heard what she said. She's feeling hurt. . . more than I think you realize.”

Stephen sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I know I've been neglecting her, but my responsibilities... the missions... They demand so much of me. I never wanted her to feel like this.”

Wong nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Your duties are important, Stephen. But so are your personal relationships. Y/N came to you because she believed in you, trusted you. But right now, she feels like she's lost in your shadow.”

Stephen's eyes glistened with unshed tears, a rare display of vulnerability. “I don't know what to do. I don't want to lose her, but I also can't abandon my duties.”

Wong walked over to Stephen, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The balance between your responsibilities and personal life is delicate, but not impossible to achieve. You need to make her feel valued and prioritize your time better. She asked about the Runes of Kof-Kol, so she's considering erasing her memories of you. Right now, though, she needs space to think.”

Stephen's breath hitched, the gravity of Wong's words hitting him hard. “She wants to forget me completely.”

Wong nodded solemnly. “She believes it's the only way to move on from the pain. I advised her to stay here for a few days, to meditate and reflect before making such a drastic decision.”

“I can't let her do this. I need to talk to her, to make her understand that I can change, that I can be better.” Stephen closed his eyes, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He was about to walk away to find you but Wong stopped him.

“Right now, she needs time. Barging in and trying to convince her otherwise might only push her further away. Give her the space she asked for. If she decides to go through with it, we'll deal with it then. But for now, respect her wishes.” Wong shook his head gently.

Stephen glanced in your direction with a sigh, shrugged off Wong's hand, and returned to the New York Sanctum. That night, sleep eluded him despite his restless tossing and turning. No position felt comfortable, not when your scent lingered on his pillowcases.

Anxiety ate him up, twisting his stomach into knots as he replayed the argument repeatedly in his mind. Each harsh word and dismissive gesture haunted him, intensifying his regret.

He had always prided himself on his composure and control, but now he felt them slipping away. The weight of his mistakes pressed heavily on his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“I should have been more understanding, I should have put myself in her shoes,” he thought, his mind consumed by remorse.

The thought of your hurt expression cut him deeply, more than any physical pain he had ever endured. He realized how much he valued your presence, your support, and the warmth you brought into his life. The fear of losing you was a constant ache, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

He was ashamed of how he had dismissed your feelings, how he had let his pride overshadow the love and respect he had for you.

Desperation clawed at him as he searched for a way to make things right, to prove that he could be the partner you deserved. In the silence of the night, he vowed to himself that he would do better, that he would learn from his mistakes and show you how much you meant to him. That is if it’s not too late.

× × × × ×

Two days later, the peaceful atmosphere of Kamar-Taj had failed to ease the unrest in your heart. Despite your attempts at meditation and introspection, the serenity of the surroundings could not calm the storm of emotions within you. Your resolve remains the same. You knew what needed to be done, and it was time to inform Wong of your decision.

You found Wong in the courtyard, meticulously tending to a small garden. The scent of blooming flowers mixed with the crisp mountain air, creating a serene environment that contrasted sharply with your inner conflict.

“Wong,” you called softly, approaching him.

Wong looked up from his work, his expression calm but observant. “Y/N, have you made your decision?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I have. I still want to use the Runes of Kof-Kol.”

Wong sighed, setting aside his tools. “I was hoping you might reconsider, but I respect your decision. . .” he trailed off, noticing Stephen walk towards you, “Give me a moment? I'll back.”

As Wong turned to leave, Stephen entered the courtyard with his presence of authority. He had been waiting for this moment, fully aware that your decision was imminent.

With careful, deliberate steps, he approached you. The air was thick with unspoken emotions, and each passing second felt like an eternity as he stood there gathering the right words to say.

“Y/N,” Stephen began, his voice calm but carrying a hint of vulnerability, his eyes intensely scanning your face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. “Is this truly what you want?”

You jumped slightly, startled by his sudden appearance behind you. “Stephen,” you exclaimed, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to—I just wanted to apologize... that it has led to this. I was wrong…” Stephen began, but his voice seemed to fade into the background as you stared at his face intently, trying to memorize every detail.

As Stephen spoke, the reality of the moment hit you hard. You felt an overwhelming need to imprint his features in your memory: the way his brow furrowed with concern, the earnestness in his eyes, and the subtle lines that hinted at the weight he carried.

Time seemed to slow down, and every second stretched into an eternity. You noticed the slight quiver of his lips, the way his hair framed his face, and even the small scar on his cheek that you had always found endearing.

Your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you saw him like this, so close and vulnerable. Each detail became precious, a fragment of a moment you desperately wanted to hold onto.

The intensity of your emotions made it hard to breathe, and you felt a lump forming in your throat. Even though Stephen's voice was a distant echo, the look in his eyes told you everything—you were both struggling with the same pain, the pain of letting this story die. 

“. . . I love you, Y/N—but if this will save you from the hurt I’ve caused you then so be it. I will cast the spell on you.”

You were taken aback, surprise flickering across your face. “You would do that?”

Stephen stepped closer, his eyes earnest. “Yes. If this is what it takes for you to find peace, then I’ll do it.”

Stephen leads you back in the New York Sanctum, heading towards the ritual chamber in the Undercroft. Each step you took echoed with the weight of what was about to happen. Stephen’s mind was a whirlwind of memories and emotions.

He glanced at you walking beside him, your face a mask of calm determination. Opposite to the storm he knew must be raging inside you. He wished he could reach out, take your hand, and pull you back from the edge of this irreversible decision. But he knew he had no right to, not after everything.

As you descended the final set of steps into the Undercroft, Stephen’s heart ached with regret. He had always prided himself on his ability to solve problems, to find solutions where others saw only obstacles. But here, in this most personal of battles, he had failed. He had failed to protect what mattered most.

Every step felt heavier than the last. Stephen’s mind raced with unspoken words, a torrent of emotions he struggled to contain.

He remembered the early days of your relationship, the way your laughter had filled the Sanctum with warmth, the quiet moments of understanding, and shared dreams. Those memories now felt like shards of glass, cutting into him with each step he took.

He glanced at you again, your determined stride a painful reminder of the distance that had grown between you. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you, how sorry he was for every time he had put his duties before you, for every missed moment, every broken promise. But he knew that words would not change the course you had set for yourself. Actions had spoken louder, and they had driven you to this point.

You reached the entrance to the ritual chamber, Stephen paused, taking a deep breath. The room beyond was prepared, the symbols drawn, the components ready. It was a place of power, of ancient magic, but today it felt like a tomb for the love you had shared.

“Y/N,” Stephen began, his voice soft but heavy with regret. “I want you to know that this isn’t easy for me. I never wanted to hurt you. If I could turn back time and make different choices, I would. But I respect your decision. I hope you find the peace you’re looking for.”

You looked at him with eyes glistening of unshed tears, “Thank you, Stephen. . . I hope you find happiness, I really do.”

With that, you stepped into the center of the circle, and Stephen moved to the edge, his heart pounding in his chest. He began to chant the incantation, his voice strong and unwavering despite the storm of emotions inside him. The symbols around you began to glow, the magic swirling in the air like a tangible presence. You felt a strange sensation, a mix of warmth and cold as the spell took hold.

As Stephen chanted, your mind drifted to the memories you were about to lose. The first time you met flashed vividly in your mind—the way Stephen had looked at you with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. You remembered feeling an instant connection, a spark that ignited something deep within you. You had been fascinated by his intellect, his confidence, and the way he carried himself with such purpose.

The mornings you woke up wrapped in each other’s arms, sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a warm glow on your intertwined bodies. The way he would brush a strand of hair from your face and kiss your forehead, making you feel like the most cherished person in the world. You remembered the laughter, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the sound of his voice when he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

As the incantation reached its peak, a bright light enveloped you, and you felt a sudden rush of memories and emotions being pulled away. The love, the pain, the shared moments—all of it faded into a distant, forgotten dream. Your vision blurred, the light intensifying until it was all-consuming.

Then, everything went dark. You felt your knees give way, the world tilting as you lost consciousness. The last thing you heard was Stephen’s voice, calling your name out of concern as you slipped into oblivion.

When you finally stirred, you found yourself lying on the familiar softness of your own bed, the morning light filtering through the curtains. The familiar hum of the city outside your window grounded you, your arms reaching on the other side of the bed and it was empty. You shook it off, chuckling to yourself.

You sat up slowly, looking around your apartment. Everything was in its place—the books on the shelf, the photos on the wall—now mostly of you by yourself, the cozy blanket draped over the armchair. Nothing out of the ordinary and yet you feel disorientated.

You made yourself a cup of tea, the warm liquid offering a small comfort. As you sipped it, you stared out of the window at the bustling city below. The people, the cars, the rhythm of daily life—it all seemed so normal, so unremarkable. Yet, there was an inexplicable void within you, a sadness that lingered just beneath the surface but you try not to dwell on it.

Days turned into weeks, and while the feeling of emptiness persisted, you found ways to move on. You immersed yourself in work, reconnected with old friends, and took up new hobbies. Slowly, you began to carve out a new life for yourself, one that was no longer defined by the shadows of forgotten memories.

× × × × ×

Stephen sat alone in the Sanctum Sanctorum's library, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the ancient tomes that lined the walls. The room, once a place of solace and knowledge, now felt suffocatingly empty. He absentmindedly traced the spine of a book he had read countless times, but the words blurred together, unable to hold his attention. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of you.

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out over the city. The lights twinkled in the distance, a stark contrast to the darkness he felt inside. He remembered how you used to stand there with him, your hand in his, both of you silently watching the world below. Those moments had been a rare reprieve from his responsibilities, a time when he could just be Stephen, not the Master of the New York Sanctum.

The silence of the Sanctum was interrupted only by the distant hum of the city's nightlife, but it felt louder than ever. Every corner of the room seemed to echo with memories of you—the laughter you shared, the quiet conversations late into the night, the way you used to tease him about his incessant need to organize his magical artifacts. Now, those echoes were all he had left, but he guesses that he at least deserved to go through this heartbreak alone.

Wong quietly stood with him, the silence heavy between them. After a moment, he cleared his throat, “Keeping yourself busy?”

Stephen nodded, his response short and clipped. “Yep.”

“She did brighten up the place, didn't she?” Wong glanced around the room, taking in the emptiness that seemed more pronounced now. 

Stephen's eyes followed Wong's gaze, a hint of a sad smile touching his lips. “Yep.”

Wong shifted slightly, turning his head to look at Stephen with curiosity and concern. "So, what's next for you?"

Stephen sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he contemplated the question. The thought of waiting was both a comfort and a torment, a reminder of what he had lost and what he still yearned for.

“I don't know... Wait for her, I guess. Wait until our paths cross again, wait until she loves me again.”

TAGS: @goldencherriess @strangeions @sobeautifullyobsessed

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXIV // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) After the unpleasant encounter with Faye at the museum, Quinn awaits Ben's return.

Chapter Word Count: 7.5K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader (is she even morally grey anymore? Idk. We love a good character growth arc tho), strong language, adult and sexual themes, smut including: penetrative sex, overstimulation, toys. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

There was a lot you could have done with the last twelve days. You could have picked up a new language, or sailed to New York and back. You could have fermented your own vodka, learned piano or guitar, watched the entire Lord of the Rings series sixteen-and-a-half times over. But you hadn’t done any of those things. In fact, for twelve days you’d barely done anything at all. 

Since the moment you’d left that museum, Faye’s words had followed you like a dark cloud, looming over you wherever you went, casting a shadow no matter how hard you tried to escape it. Your lips bore the evidence of your bad mood, bitten and raw from your relentless, anxious gnawing, and sleep had become an elusive companion, only claiming you once your body finally gave in to exhaustion. 

It angered you, the power she somehow managed to wield; how she’d so easily found a way through your hard exterior, slithering right down to the place where words could still hurt you. It felt as though you’d let her win, like your insecurity was her victory, each day you spent stewing in uncertainty just another triumph to add to her list. 

Ben’s absence hadn’t helped; the thought of his return like a buoy and a burden all at once. For almost two weeks, you’d felt a knot form in your stomach whenever he called; feeling guilt and dread where excitement should have been. You’d adorned a smile, feigned a light, warm voice, and pretended not to notice how unnatural it felt.

Social media only seemed to make it worse; what was once a harmless distraction had morphed into a minefield of footage from his premieres and press junkets. You would lose yourself in his easy charm and handsome smile, scroll endlessly through clips of him in his tailored suits and tinted sunglasses as he walked carpets and stopped for interviews. But as quickly as the pride and longing came, the doubt would soon follow.

You were caught in a relentless cycle of grief and self-criticism. The life Faye claimed you couldn’t give to him taunting you whenever you tried to picture yourself by his side. Yet, beneath the turmoil, there was an ember of stubbornness that refused to be extinguished; a flicker of determination, to spite her, to prove her wrong, to not let go of the man who’d given you no reason to doubt him.   

 The café in the Draft foyer was rarely busy; a pocket of quiet amidst the chaos of a bustling building. You stood at the counter, basking in the warm, comforting aroma of coffee, the only sounds coming from the hiss of steaming milk and the quiet chatter of baristas as they worked. You scrolled idly on your phone as you waited for your drink, thumb pausing on an image of Ben from his latest premiere. He was smiling, arm raised as he waved to the crowd of fans swarming the barriers. You instinctively found yourself zooming in on his wrist; the way your gold nameplate bracelet caught the light with a subtle glint. Then you moved to his face, the glowing tan and dark facial hair making a welcomed return. 

“You’re obsessed.” Nick’s voice startled you. 

You turned around to find him looking down at your phone with a teasing smile, a lanyard around his neck and a backpack on his shoulder.

“Shut up,” you said, pushing your phone into your back pocket.

“It’s sweet,” he said. “Don’t be embarrassed for having a fit boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest and shifting your weight from side to side. “What are you doing here? I barely ever see you in the office anymore.” 

“Just heading out to an interview, needed to come and pick up my press pass from Julia.”

You let out a half-hearted hum in response, taking your coffee as the barista placed it on the counter.

Nick followed as you made your way to a table, shifting his bag further up his shoulder. “What’s up with you?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine.” 

“Liar.” 

“I’m fine,” you insisted as you sat down.

He deliberated for a moment, like he was weighing up whether to press you or leave you be. By the time he’d sat down beside you, he’d seemingly decided to drop it, clearing his throat and excitedly shuffling his chair closer to you. 

“I’m actually glad I caught you,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” 

“Oh no, what have I done?” 

Nothing,” he laughed. “I need your advice- opinion- help, all of it really.” 

Your ears pricked, eyes fixed on him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled in silence for a moment before finally turning the screen towards you with a nervous smile.

“Which one?” he asked. 

You leaned in, lips parting in shock when you laid your eyes on a photo; five open boxes laid out on a glass counter, each one holding a sparkling diamond ring. 

“You’re proposing!?” you shouted, voice echoing across the quiet space. 

He shushed you before lowering his tone to a whisper. “Yeah. I’ve been saving for a while, but I haven’t got a clue which one she’d like best.”

You practically snatched the phone from his hand, bringing it close to your face and examining each ring carefully. “None of them.”

“What?” 

“Well first of all, they’re all white gold. Lacey’s clearly a yellow gold person.”

“Oh.”

“Secondly, you should go for a coloured stone. Maybe morganite, emerald, sapphire, something different, unique.” 

“You think so?” 

“Definitely.”

“Right.” He sighed, taking his phone back. “Back to the drawing board then.” 

You couldn’t help the smile beginning to spread across your face, brows curving upward as you looked at him with pride. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you said.

“She hasn’t said yes yet.” 

“She will. How are you going to do it?”

“I was thinking when the next issue of Draft comes out, I’ll show her my Divine Timing piece, let her read it, and when she’s done, she’ll look up and I’ll be on one knee.” 

You didn’t reply.

“What?” he asked. “Is that not good either?”

“No, no… It’s perfect.” 

He smiled appreciatively before rising from his seat and hoisting his bag back onto his shoulder. “Yellow gold, coloured stone.” 

“Definitely.” 

He nodded and began to walk away, repeating it to himself over and over again until he vanished from your sight.

You paced the hall as you waited for a knock at the door, biting your already raw bottom lip until you began to taste iron on your tongue. The flat was immaculate. You weren’t sure why you’d bothered cleaning it so thoroughly; it wasn’t as if Ben would care, wasn’t like he’d come in and run his fingers along the skirting boards for dust, eye the windows for smudges. But maybe it was just the distraction it provided; the mundanity of housework allowing brief moments of relief from your whirring mind.

He'd been gone for three weeks. And you’d spent the majority of that time wrought with uncertainty; playing over every possible scenario, talking aloud to practice what you would say to him when you finally came face to face again. You’d buzzed him in just seconds ago, and as you paced back and forth you could almost picture him rushing up the stairwell, growing closer with every tick of the watch on your wrist. 

When the knock finally came, you felt your heart leap into your throat, an undeniable wave of excitement flooding your stomach. You hurried to the door and swung it open, unable to hold back a smile when you saw him standing there; bearded and sun kissed, an almost mirror image of the Ben you’d first met. 

“Hi,” he said, his voice rough and tired, yet still warm. And before you could reply, he dropped his bag to the ground, taking a step forward and pulling you into a tight embrace. He groaned with relief as he wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured. 

You couldn’t help but melt into him, taking in his scent that, even after hours of travel, was still so familiar and comforting, the rhythmic thudding of his heart as you pressed your ear to his chest.  

“I missed you too,” you replied. 

“I’m never going that long without you again. Next time you’re coming, no arguments.”

A soft chuckle bubbled up your throat, the sound muffled by his shirt. You lifted your head to look at him. “Next time is three days from now.” 

“Yeah, and you’re coming.” 

You laughed again as he leaned back slightly to look down at you, bringing his hands up to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks. His gaze glittered with affection, flitting between your eyes and lips with such longing that any insecurities you’d had almost seemed to vanish. You lifted your chin slightly, welcoming the inevitable kiss. And when it finally came, you gave in to it completely. 

His lips were soft as they moved slowly over yours, savouring the connection like he’d thought of nothing else for the past three weeks. You slid your arms up to wrap around the back of his neck, leaning into him as he weaved his fingers through your hair. 

“You need to come in so I can shut the door,” you mumbled. “Someone could walk past.” 

He responded by reaching back and pushing the front door closed, keeping his focus on you the entire time as his lips trailed softly over your cheeks, your jaw, the outer corners of your eyes and the crinkle between your brows, kissing every small detail of your face. 

You smiled. “Did you come straight from the airport?”

“Mhm.” 

“You must be exhausted.”

He responded with another lazy hum as he began walking you backwards down the hall. 

“I put a towel out for you in the bathroom,” you said. “Even bought you your own shower gel.” 

“Really?” 

“Mm,” you replied as he continued to kiss you. “And I’ve got dinner on in the kitchen.”

He stopped, narrowing his eyes at you suspiciously.

“I’m the real Quinn I swear,” you said sarcastically.

He gave a deep chuckle, stroking your hair away from your face and placing one last kiss on your lips. “A shower does sound quite appealing right now. Do you want to join me?”

You tilted your head, giving a soft smile and running your fingertip over his bottom lip. “I’ve got stuff on the hob, need to keep an eye on it so the flat doesn’t burn down.” 

There was a split second when you could have sworn you saw him pause, like he was going to question you but quickly changed his mind. Instead, he let you go, making his way to the bathroom as you wandered into the kitchen, pressing your cool palms to your flushed cheeks and exhaling a nervous breath. 

Your knees buckled when you saw him in the doorway; towel wrapped low around his waist, droplets of water speckled over his bare chest and shoulders. A clean, masculine scent drifted towards you, heady and intoxicating, making your mind turn foggy as you stared at him in awe.

He made his way into the kitchen, padding leisurely towards you as you stood at the stove. You felt his hands snake around your waist, resting on your hips as his chest pressed against your back.

“You’re getting me wet,” you said with a slight giggle.

“Hm,” he replied flirtatiously, leaning down to press his lips to your neck. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.” 

“No, wet like wet.” You laughed, gesturing to the water he’d soaked into the back of your t-shirt. 

“I’m just teasing,” he replied, lips moving slowly to the back of your shoulder. 

You lifted the lid off a saucepan, waiting for the steam to evaporate before stirring the bubbling liquid inside. You could feel him, hot and hard against your back, tilting your head to one side to grant him easier access to you. His large hands gripped your hips as he nipped and kissed your neck, lips and teeth grazing over your pulse as his wet hair brushed against your cheek. 

You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, fighting to remain composed, to ignore the tingles travelling up your spine and the desire throbbing between your legs. You tried to busy yourself with dinner, reaching to the cupboard above you and peering inside. 

“What are you looking for?” he asked between kisses. 

“The erm…” You’d lost your train of thought, your mind hazy, struggling to focus on anything but the feeling of him behind you. “Er… Salt. Salt and…” 

He reached over you, retrieving the salt and pepper shakers and placing them on the counter.

“Thank you,” you said, almost breathlessly. 

His kisses slowed, like the tension in your body was becoming impossible for him to ignore. He pulled back, just enough to peer down at you, brow furrowed with concern. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. 

“Hm? Nothing.”

His hands moved up to your waist, turning you around to face him. “What’s wrong?” 

You didn’t know why you were trying to deflect, why after all this time, when faced with the chance to communicate, your instincts still forced you to shut it down. “Why would something be wrong?”

“Because if nothing was wrong, you’d have dragged me into that bedroom the second I stepped through the door…” 

You rolled your eyes.

“Quinn,” he pressed. “Talk to me.” 

“I’m fine.”

He stared down at you for a moment, his expression completely unconvinced. You wriggled gently out of his grasp, walking over to the sink and grabbing a knife from the draining board.

“You don’t seem fine,” he said. 

“Well, I am,” you replied bluntly, turning around with the knife firmly in your grasp.

He held his hands up in feigned surrender. “Alright, Jesus Christ.” 

“It’s for garlic,” you replied with another eye roll, making your way back over to the counter beside him.

“Quinn,” he said with a slight laugh of disbelief. “Something’s clearly wrong. I don’t understand why you don’t feel like you can talk to me-”

“Ben.”

“I just want to know what happened-”

“Your ex-wife happened,” you snapped. “Alright?” 

 He looked confused, nose scrunched as his eyes glazed over, just for a moment. “What?” 

You put down the knife, turning to face him with a hot sigh. “I ran into her at an event.” 

“Faye?”

“Do you have more ex-wives?”

He huffed, gesturing for you to continue. 

“I ran into her and she had some very… choice words for me. Some I don’t entirely disagree with.” 

“Like what?”

“Like we’re… not- Like this isn’t-” you huffed and turned to walk away. “Y’know what, it doesn’t matter-”

“Yes, it does,” he said firmly, grabbing your arm before you could leave the room. “Whatever it is, it’s obviously bothered you enough to make it hard to even look at me right now. So, you need to tell me. Now.”

You yielded, turning around and leaning back against the fridge, arms folded across your chest. You hadn’t even realised you’d been avoiding his gaze until you found yourself staring at the floor. So, you forced yourself to look up at him. 

“She said we’re not equal. Me and you. And that we never will be.” You swallowed. “I bring nothing to the table financially, we’re not in the same place in life or career or aspirations. I’m just a bit of fun you’re messing around with instead of-”

“Instead of what?” he replied, anger darkening his tone. “Instead of staying in a PR marriage just to pacify everyone else except myself?” 

“She insinuated that you’re just ‘getting things out of your system’ with me, and once the novelty wears off, you’ll realise I’m not right for you and you’ll move on to someone who is.”

His jaw sharpened, throat bobbing as he tried to swallow down his rage. He planted a hand on the counter beside him, grounding himself as he tried to process your words. “When was this?” he asked calmly. “Where?”

“An exhibition at the fashion museum, a couple of days after you left.”

He blinked a few times. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would it have achieved?” You shrugged. “You were on the other side of the world for work. It would have just bothered you, ruined your time out there.” 

He exhaled heavily through his nose, the breath rattling like a growl as it left him. “You know this all stems from jealousy on her part, don’t you?”

You didn’t respond, making him look over at you with more intensity, his brows coming together as he took in the look on your face. 

“Quinn… You know that, right?”

I don’t know. Some of the things she said, I… I haven’t been able to stop thinking that maybe she had somewhat of a point…” 

“What else did she say?” 

“Ben,” you sighed, closing your eyes and running your hands through your hair. 

“Quinn,” he said sternly. “In this relationship, we communicate.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.” 

He glared at you.   

You threw your head back dramatically, letting out a groan before looking back over at him. “It’s just… It’s what I’ve already told you; we’re not compatible, economically or aspiration-wise or-”

“What does that even mean?”

“That you’re rich and I’m poor,” you replied curtly.

“Not that, for fuck sake, the aspiration thing.” 

You could feel yourself clamming up, your mouth turning dry and cheeks flushing with discomfort. You shifted on your feet, biting another cut into your lip. “Well, she just- She made a good point that you are… Very certain of what you want. And if you continue to waste your time with me, if I continue to let you waste your time with me, I could be holding you back from getting it.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” He was growing irate again, his voice deepening, turning hoarse and firm.

“Well, no, it’s not really, is it.”

“Yes. It is.”

“No, it’s not, Ben! It’s not irrational of me to be concerned that a year, two years, however long down the line, you could look back and realise you spent all that time with me when you could have been out there meeting your soulmate, your next wife, the mother of your children!” 

He stared at you, open-mouthed for a moment, his face twisted in a mixture of ire and confusion. Eventually, it seemed to overwhelm him, making him drop his head with a frustrated huff, pressing the heels of his hands into closed eyes. 

“Why…” he began slowly, controlling his words as they left him in a deep, gravelly voice. “Is it not at all possible that… that person could be you…?” 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Ben-”

“What!? Why can’t you consider the fact that maybe neither of us are wasting our time, because we’re supposed to be spending it with each other!?” 

“Oh my god, it’s just so easy for you, isn’t it!” You threw your arms up dramatically. “Sometimes feelings just aren’t enough. You can’t enter into a relationship without at least considering where that relationship might end up.” 

“This is never going to stop, is it?” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “No matter what I do, what I say, you are never going to believe that this could work.” 

“I want to,” you replied, caught off guard by a crack in your voice. “But when Faye said that you want things I might not be able to give you, I couldn’t-”

“Quinn. The first night we slept together, you told me, plain as day, that you were undecided about having children. I’ve known that since the beginning, never forgotten it, and I still chose to pursue you. Because I love you more than I love some kids that we may or may not have.” 

“It’s not just about having kids. It’s… She said I’d be dooming myself to a life as an extension of you. That I’d be a ‘kept woman’.”

His face broke with an unexpected smile, a laugh escaping him in a breath. “I can just about handle you as it is. Do you really think you’d ever let yourself be kept?” 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just so simple for you, isn’t it.” 

“Yes.” He turned his body to lean back against the counter, mirroring your crossed arms. “So, it’s me who buys the house.” He shrugged. “As long as I get to wake up next to you in it every morning, I’d consider us even.” 

The charm of his suggestion made you melt, just for a moment, before quickly stiffening again. “But that’s not ‘even’, Ben. Not really. You deserve someone who fits seamlessly into your life, and I just can’t shake the fear that they’re out there, and they’re perfect for you. I would never forgive myself if I held you back from finding her.” 

“And what does this ‘perfect woman’ consist of?”

“She’s certain she wants a family. She’s perfectly content with the two of you being known as ‘Benedict Cumberbatch and wife’. She comes from wealth, has the money to treat you to nice champagne and expensive gifts. She doesn’t pick fights or think it’s funny to make you jealous. She…” You halted, feeling a sudden, unexpected lump in your throat, a fizzing in your nose and welling in your eyes. “She doesn’t push you away when you’re always so lovely and patient with her. She’s a good person who really, truly deserves you.”

He remained quiet, mulling over your words, eyes fixed on the emotion you were so desperately trying to hold back.

“Can I tell you what I think this perfect woman consists of?” he asked softly. 

You nodded. 

“She’s open to maybe having a family one day. She may sometimes be ‘and wife’ to the media, but in reality, we both know it’s me who’s the ‘and husband’. She doesn’t care about money or whether she has it or not, and she always makes sure to tell me off when she thinks I’ve overspent. She’s… Impossible, infuriating, combative, but she knows I can take it. And that maybe I find it a bit sexy.” 

You laughed softly. 

“She’s a good person,” he continued, emphasising his words. “Who deserves whatever it is she desires. And if that’s me, then I consider myself lucky.” 

You stared at him from across the small kitchen, glassy-eyed and entirely awestruck. It was quiet, the air between you so still that even your breath seemed out of place. 

“I love you,” you whispered. 

He paused, allowing the words to fully sink in before smiling softly. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked teasingly. 

“I love you.”

His smile turned to a grin. “One more time, I didn’t quite catch it.” 

You rolled your eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

He made his way towards you, taking your face in his hands and tilting it back to look up at him. “I love you too,” he said, leaning down to kiss you. “And I can’t believe I just had that entire conversation with you in nothing but a towel.” 

You chuckled.

His expression turned serious again as he stared down into your eyes. “I have doubts too. Sometimes I feel like I’ve come into your life and completely turned it upside down; put rules on you, restrictions, expectations. You never asked for any of that. But then… I think about how we got off to such a bad start when we met, yet still, we somehow ended up here. That’s got to mean something.” 

“It means you’re too nice and I don’t take no for an answer.” 

He laughed, running his fingers through your hair. “It means we’d be stupid to throw this away.” 

You smiled, rising onto your toes to kiss him. He held you close, inhaling deeply as his lips moved slowly against yours.

He broke away, looking down at you with an amused smirk. “You know, for someone who doesn’t take shit from anybody, you really let my jealous ex-wife get into your head.”

“It’s not Faye that’s got into my head. It’s you.” You shook your head as you gazed up at him, your voice nothing but a whisper as you spoke again. “I’ve never let anyone get this close to me before…” 

“Well, I’m honoured to be the one you decided to let in.” 

This vulnerability was new for you. It made you feel fragile, exposed, like a knight without armour, a porcupine without its quills. Until Ben, you’d simply assumed it wasn’t in your nature to take this role; to be tender, maybe even soppy, softening yourself completely and trusting him to hold you without crushing you in his fists. You���d never let anyone take the lead, never allowed yourself to be coddled, doted on, handled with such reverence that you felt no desire to fight it. 

Perhaps you’d been capable of it all along; could have opened yourself up to anyone who’d came before him and felt a connection just as strong. Or maybe this part of you had always been reserved especially for him; a locked door that only he had the key to. You would never know for sure. But you were okay with that. 

Ben’s thumb gently caressed your cheek, his lips grazing the side of your head in a sequence of slow, loving kisses. You smiled and leaned back slightly to look up at him. 

“Okay, this is getting sappy now,” you muttered teasingly as you pulled him down to kiss you. 

He chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling in his throat and humming softly against your lips.

“Go and get dressed,” you said. “I’ll finish dinner.”

“Okay,” he replied with a smile. 

You watched as he made his way towards the door, before turning back to look at you, the smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” you asked with a breathy laugh.

“That was a very grown-up fight we just had.” 

You rolled your eyes and turned towards the stove. “It wasn’t a fight. It was a heated discussion.”

He laughed, the sound disappearing with him down the hall. 

A quiz show played quietly on the TV, the sun casting a golden hue across the living room as you sat cross-legged on the couch. There was a cushion in your lap, shielding your legs from the piping hot bowl, and a glass of water on the coffee table just out of reach. Ben was sitting beside you, leaning forward as he ate, handing you your drink every time you asked without complaint. 

You listened as he told you about his time away; the funny posters fans held up in the crowd, how he almost missed a premiere when his driver took a wrong turn, and the coffee he spilled on himself before his flight had even taken off. When he asked you how your time alone had been, you couldn’t help but feel boring in comparison; writing, grocery shopping, a few work meetings you barely paid attention to. 

“Oh,” you said, swallowing a mouthful of food before continuing. “My friend Nick’s proposing to his girlfriend.” 

“Ah how lovely. Tonight?” 

“No. Soon, though. I helped him pick the ring.”

Ben eyed your smile, unable to hide his own amusement. “Have they been together long?”

“A few years, I think. Why?”

He gave a casual shrug, still smiling. “No reason.” 

 You paused, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t be getting any ideas.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. It took a battle just to get you to wear that watch, can you imagine if I tried to give you a ring?” 

You looked down at the watch and rolled your eyes before trying to reach for your water. He handed it to you with a chuckle, taking another bite of his food as he waited for you to take a sip and hand it back.

The TV continued to play in the background, the sound of audience applause and laughter like a gentle hum softening the silence. 

“You know,” he mused. “I never thought I’d see the day when you actually wore it.” 

You looked down at the watch again, shrugging with feigned nonchalance. “It seemed a shame to just leave it sitting there. I did contemplate taking it off after what happened with Faye. But I like the compliments too much.” 

He laughed and went back to his dinner, the pair of you falling back into easy conversation. It was another moment where you found it easy to forget his fame, how absurd it was to have a celebrity sitting on your couch eating rice and dal from your mismatched dinnerware.

The sun was beginning to set, the living room glowing with a deep, golden hue like the promise of a warm evening. You were laying alone on the couch, speaking aloud your answers to another quiz show and swearing to yourself whenever you got them wrong. You could hear Ben singing in the other room, the sound of clinking ceramic and running water punctuating the dulcet tone of his voice. 

You stretched lazily and rose to your feet, wandering out of the living room and through the doorway of the kitchen. He was standing at the sink with his back to you, broad shoulders moving slightly as he scrubbed at the pots and pans beneath the soapy water. You allowed yourself a moment to just watch him; comfortable clothes and bare feet, singing a song that was too high for his voice and not caring if you could hear him. 

You wandered over to him, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek against his back. He stilled for a moment at your unexpected touch, before relaxing quickly and continuing to wash up.

“Well, this is new,” he said. “Usually I’m the one ambushing you with affection.”

You sighed contentedly, tightening your hold on him. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“Of course not.” He rinsed off a pot and placed it on the draining board, glancing over his shoulder as he reached for a tea towel to dry his hands. “You okay?” 

“Yeah. I’m just soaking up the fact that you’re actually here and not on FaceTime halfway across the world.”  

He turned around with a smile and pulled you closer to him. “I missed you too, darling.” 

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip, which you tried to disguise by biting your already cracked, tender bottom lip. 

He brought his thumb up to it, gently releasing it from your teeth. “Stop biting,” he said softly.

“Sorry, it’s a nervous thing.” 

“I make you nervous?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, breathing out a laugh as you brought your arms up to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you. He reciprocated eagerly with a satisfied groan, letting his hands roam your body until his grip finally found your backside.

You leaned into him, pressing yourself flush against his body as you swept your tongue into his mouth. The energy between you began to pulse, turning hot and electric; making your skin tingle, the hairs on your arms stand on end. You reached back and grabbed one of his hands, taking a step back and leading him towards the door. 

The air was cooler in the bedroom, the thick curtains shielding the space from the glowing sun. You pulled him towards the bed, turning him around and pushing him onto it with unabashed haste. He propped himself up on his elbows as you straddled him, his lips finding yours again in a quicker, hungrier kiss.

You gripped the hem of his t-shirt and dragged it over his head, tossing it aside as your lips moved to his neck, his collarbones and the bare, slightly paler skin of his chest. He smelled like the soap you’d bought him, the clean, masculine scent enveloping you as he held you in his arms. It smelled different on him than it had in the bottle; earthier, manlier, evoking something carnal inside you that made you want to dive in without coming up for air.

His hands dipped beneath your top, fingers grazing the ticklish spots over your ribs, nails raking gently down your sides. You shivered as your skin puckered with goosebumps, the sensation rolling down your body and settling between your legs with a tingling, insatiable need. It made you squirm, searching for friction as you continued to lay kisses across his chest.

He lifted the top over your head before brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen into your face, pausing for just a moment to look at you.    

“You’re about to say something cheesy, aren’t you,” you said.

He smiled. “I was just going to say I love you.” 

You leaned forward, kissing him slowly, deeply, rocking your hips over the hard bulge in his jogging bottoms. “I love you too,” you mumbled against his lips.

He let himself fall back completely, surrendering himself to you as you returned your mouth to his chest, trailing down his torso towards his waistband. You could feel him tense beneath your lips, muscles hardening, rolling beneath soft skin with even the slightest movement. But then he stopped. 

“Hold on,” he said. 

You lifted your head to see him reaching for something beneath your pillows, watching as he pulled out a small vibrator and turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you expect me to do when you’re gone?” you asked.

“Pine after me longingly, while awaiting my return in perfect chastity,” he replied sarcastically.

You scoffed and climbed off him. “Take off your pants.” 

He did as you instructed, his eyes never leaving you as you stripped down to your underwear. You wished you’d thought ahead when you got dressed this morning and worn nicer lingerie, or at the very least, made sure your bra matched your knickers. But Ben didn’t seem to care, his gaze ravenous as it raked over you, following your every move until you were back on top of him.

You ran your finger over the tan line at the base of his throat, preparing to tease him for it. But before any words could leave you, he placed a hand on the back of your head and pulled you down to kiss him, his hot breath and skilled tongue turning your mind hazy, the desire to say something funny or sarcastic evaporating from you like steam. He was growing impatient, you could feel it in the way he rolled his hips beneath you, his erection pressing against your aching centre, begging to be released.

You reached back and unclasped your bra, letting the straps slide down your arms, the cups falling away from your chest. He wasted no time in taking your breasts in his large palms, kneading them gently, fingers pinching your hard, tight nipples until the sensation made you gasp. He shifted slightly, sitting up just enough to lean back against the headboard, bringing his mouth to each nipple as his hand caressed the other. It was electric, each flick of his tongue or squeeze of his fingers sending a jolt of lightning through your stomach. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, rocking against his hard length as you tried to quell the throbbing in your clit, the deep, insatiable need in your core. 

“Say you’ll come with me on the next press tour,” he whispered, hands travelling from your breasts over your stomach.    

“It’s in three days, how can I just up and leave? I don’t even know where you’re going-”

“Los Angeles, then New York, then Los Angeles again,�� he said, his voice seductively low, fingers making it to the waistline of your underwear. “But nothing’s stopping us from taking a detour or two; we could fly to Mexico for a few days, or maybe Argentina, Colombia, Brazil-”

“Okay I get the picture,” you said breathlessly as he slipped his hand into your underwear, fingertips finally making contact with your centre.    

“Is that a yes?” 

You let out a moan as he began to massage your clit, making you shudder and grip the headboard above him to steady yourself. 

You’d gotten on top of him with the intention of being in charge, of taking the lead. But somehow here you were, straddling him yet still completely at his mercy. The extent of your arousal was undeniable as he slid his fingers along your hot, wet entrance, the discovery making him groan with a mixture of pride and desire. He bucked against you, and you responded by reaching down to release him from his underwear, as though the idea of foreplay hadn’t even crossed your mind, or you were simply too horny to care.

His cock sprung free against your stomach and you gripped it firmly in your hand. “If I agree to come, will you make it worth my while?”

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as he gazed up at you. “Anything you want,” he whispered. “It’s yours.” 

You smiled, stroking him lazily as you spoke. “I want you.”

“Then you’ve got me.” He ran his hand slowly up your body, over your stomach and between your breasts, his palm finally settling at the base of your throat. “Every free moment.” He curled his fingers around your neck. “Every spare second.” 

You paused for a moment, revelling in the depth of his voice, the pressure of his fingertips against your pulse and the way his hips rolled to meet the relaxed rhythm of your hand. When you leaned forward to kiss him, he responded with a soft growl against your lips, tightening his grip on your throat as you slid your underwear aside and positioned him at your entrance. 

You slid him into you with a sigh, releasing every ounce of fear and uncertainty you’d been holding onto in his absence, the connection so beautiful it was hard to believe you’d ever doubted it at all. 

“Fuck,” you whispered as your hand immediately found the headboard above him, holding onto it as you began to move, sinking down to the root of his length and grinding against him. 

The friction was intense, the stretch stealing the air from your lungs as he filled you. He was motionless beneath you; letting you set the pace, the angle, the depth. But his hand remained on your neck, like an anchor, a reminder that he had you exactly where he wanted you.

You kept a grip of the headboard, your other hand planted on his chest as you rocked your hips, revelling in each wave of pleasure as it rippled through your core, the tingly, electric buzz coursing beneath your skin. He kept his eyes on you, watching your face closely, your fluttering lids and parted lips, undeniable evidence of your satisfaction. 

“Tell me you love me again,” he groaned.

You lowered your gaze to meet his with a slight smile, and for a moment you thought about teasing him, denying his request and making him beg for it. But the feeling of him inside you was too pervading, disabling your sarcasm and stealing your wit, leaving you soft and agreeable, like putty in his hands.

“I love you,” you replied breathlessly.

Your words seemed to fuel him, making him bring his other hand up to double his grip of your throat. You whimpered as he began to move, every firm jolt sending a shudder through your stomach and a shiver up your spine. You began to bounce slightly, your moans growing louder as you met each hard thrust, ignoring the burning in your thighs and the creak of the bedframe beneath him.

Your voice echoed through the room, a cacophony of moans and swear words, gasps and increasingly enthusiastic yeses. You would no doubt be apologising to your downstairs neighbours tomorrow. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if the building across the street demanded one too.

There was a familiar swelling of heat in your core, your stomach coiling, driving you to move faster in search of release. But Ben got there first, his hips stuttering as he let out a deep, guttural groan, burying himself inside you as he came. 

You slowed your movements to a lazy grind, leaning back slightly to catch your breath when a dull buzzing caught your attention. You looked down to see him holding your vibrator, clicking the button a few times before placing it gently on your clit. You gasped at the sudden sensation; the unexpected act that caught you completely off guard. 

 “Oh, god.” You could barely speak, stuttering out the words through a serrated breath.

He watched you closely, adjusting his placement until your mouth fell open, stomach muscles tensing as you grabbed his thighs for support. The device sucked and pulsed against your clit, making you squirm on his cock as your limbs began to shake. The world around you seemed to disappear, like nothing else existed beyond the pleasure dancing along your nerves, like the entire universe had somehow been condensed into the tiny bundle between your legs.  

You shuddered; eyes screwed shut as you let out a deep, heavy groan. For a moment you couldn’t hear, couldn’t think, every last speck of energy spent on the orgasm ripping through you. And as quickly as the pleasure peaked, it instantly turned to pain, your clit so sensitive that all you could think to do was push Ben’s hand away. 

He switched off the vibrator and tossed it aside, gazing up at you with a satisfied smirk as you shook uncontrollably on top of him. Your teeth were chattering, limbs gooey and barely functioning. 

“You’re a fucker,” you said, breathing out a stunned laugh.

He chuckled softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair out of your face. 

You tried to calm yourself, inhaling slowly through your nose and blowing it out in shaky, uneven breaths.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I can’t move.”

He laughed again before gently rolling you off him and turning on his side to face you. 

You nestled yourself into him, eyelids heavy as you traced swirls over his bare chest with your fingertips. 

“I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to compete with that thing,” he said, gesturing in the direction he’d thrown the vibrator.

You giggled. “Well, that thing can’t kiss me, or manhandle me, or tell me it loves me. So, I think you’re fine.”

He closed his eyes with a sleepy smile. “In that case, feel free to stick it in your suitcase and bring it with us.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “If you’re expecting me to follow you around America for two weeks, then I expect youto make sure I don’t need a vibrator…”

He opened one eye. “Is that an ultimatum?”

“It’s more of a condition.”

“A condition?” 

“Mhm. If I’m going to be sneaking around, cooped up in hotel rooms all on my own while you’re working, then there needs to be… perks.” You let your fingers run further down his chest and over his stomach, making him tense beneath you. 

He chuckled and grabbed your wrist before your hand could dip any lower, bringing your knuckles to his lips and kissing them gently. “Darling, if you come with me, I’ll be certain to make sure you forget that thing even exists.”

You smiled, watching as he struggled to keep his eyes open. “How long before the jet lag sets in?” 

“No idea. I’m just praying I can get through tomorrow before it does.” 

“Why? What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m taking my parents to the Chelsea Flower Show.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.”

He shifted even closer to you, draping an arm over the top of your head and twirling your hair between his fingers. “I was actually meaning to speak to you about it… I’d really like it if you came too.” 

You stilled for a moment, before forcing yourself to relax. “How could I possibly look them in the eye after what I just did with their son?”

He gave a soft, throaty laugh. “I’m sure you’ll manage.” 

The air between you fell silent, and you knew he could sense your apprehension, the same way you could tell he wasn’t going to drop it. 

“It’s just a bit soon, don’t you think?” you finally said. “Shouldn’t we wait a while before meeting-”

“I met your parents. Ages ago.”

“Yeah, by accident.” 

“Quinn.” He exhaled a laugh, brushing his nose against the side of your head before placing a kiss there. “I’d really like you to come. No pressure, no expectations, I just want them to meet the woman I’ve been telling them about.” 

“You’ve been telling them about me?”

He nodded. “I left out a lot.”

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby

[bakerstreethound]

Congrats on 5 years! 🎉

Can I get a Sherlock fluff with Sherlock is awake first, hes looking at the reader with utmost love. But he wakes up the reader with kisses and nuzzles.❤️ I adore the way you write & I cant get enough of soft Sherlock🍓✨

Thank you so much for sending this in. I finally completed the story (I apologize for taking so long) I hope you enjoy it! There is a bit of light smut at the end so 18+ only.

Light in the Darkness

Summary: Waking up in Sherlock's arms is one of the highlights of your day, and he shows you how much he adores you; how grateful he is to have you in his life.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Sherlock groans, wiping the remaining sleepiness from his eyes. Outside, the sun barely makes itself visible, the night holding fast to London, unrelenting in its grasp over the city. Sherlock yawns, reaching out to the other side of the bed, your sleeping form breathing softly lost in the throes of sleep. 

He smiles, his hand brushing softly along your side watching as you lean into his touch. Even your subconscious knows you’re at peace here with him and you snuggle further into him, allowing yourself a moment of extended comfort before reality pulls you into its clutches. 

Lips travel softly along your neck, the soft brush of curls following in their wake as gentle nuzzles replace the kisses, going back and forth simultaneously. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips and your eyes flutter open, met with the face of your husband looking at you with simmering eyes, half lidded, the sleep not fully leaving him, yet.

“Good morning to you, too Sherlock.” 

He melts against you, your fingers running through his curls, massaging them as he likes it, earning an appreciative groan. You continue at it, relishing in the soft noises he makes, not yet ready to let any of his cases take him from you. He looks content enough, his breathing slow and steady, much the opposite of your own when you wake up startled from nightmares.   

“That feels nice,” he gazes up at you eyes shimmering in adoration, overcome with unspoken emotions he can't fathom. It’s more than nice, something you could’ve conjured in a dream.

His arm laced around your waist pulls you impossibly closer, the feeling of his bare skin against yours a reminder of the night before, allowing you to admire the marks you left behind, mingled with the scars of a time long past you knew wouldn’t disappear from his skin, a permanent reminder of those times alone. But nothing like that will happen again, not with you by his side. 

You press a kiss to his cheek, pulling him from his thoughts, and what a sight you are, eyes wide looking at him with more adoration than he could possibly fathom. His hand reaches to you of its own accord, stroking your cheek softly.

You lean into his touch, his warmth kindling a spark inside you, firing into your heart, electricity rampant between you. He doesn’t want to look away, even as the sunlight barely parting through the ever-hanging fog beckons a new day, he doesn’t want it to begin.

He only wants to remain here with you for the moment, though his mind protests, his legs aching to run down the ramparts and alleyways of his beloved town. It will always be there for him. 

London isn’t you. 

And you are more than the city that soiled his name, his reputation, slandered him for a penny here and there to get the inside scoop. 

You are his, his to cherish and damn it you are one of the only ones he truly finds some semblance of the concept of love, the feeling of you next to him makes his head spin, fathoming the possibilities of how you both ended up this way together.

It is a bond of unbreakable trust between you, beautiful and understood looming and intertwined with truth. 

His forehead rests against your and you lean up into him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your hands carding through his beautiful mass of curls, twirling a rogue strand around an index finger. 

“You’re wonderful, Sherlock. What would I do without you?” Or, rather, what could you do to help his racing mind. His eyes dart back and forth, deeming to bury his face in your neck inhaling your scent.

What was he supposed to tell you?

This feeling inside him blooming further over the past year makes him nervous, even trying to voice how he feels won’t do it justice for what he can’t fully express. 

When his lips brush yours, his arms caging you to him, encompassing you in his safety and warmth, it’s all you can comprehend consume and breathe. It’s him all-encompassing and nothing more. Nothing feels more right than this moment. 

“Sherlock,” your voice falls from his lips in a perfect incandescent harmony, one he wants to breathe, to sing to create with you and you alone. 

Fiery desperation fuels the strength of his kiss drowning you further into the heat of his flames, the coolness of your water evaporating his lips in a breath of fresh air.

You don’t want it to end, despite the time, the hour, the plans for the day, all is obsolete and his hands brush under the seam of your shirt, slently asking for permission. No other words are needed, you welcome him without question, shivering as your form is revealed to him, inch by inch, each intake of breath anticipating his next move.

Lips grazing your neck, hands falling to your hips, stroking circles just so. Your hands dig into his back, clinging to him like a lifeline, not daring to let go.

His body pressing against yours, groaning at the friction makes you shiver in anticipation. The full feeling of his skin against your laid bare to him is nothing more than comforting. 

It’s home, it’s where you belong.

Only he got to see you in such a manner and you for him.  Such is the manner of things and how they’ll always be. You want no one else but him. His feelings are indescribable as his fingers work you slow, your mouths falling open at the sensation, digging into his back harder, begging and pleading his name. 

He loves you like this, would frame it if he could. Another memory another shot of the countless images in his mind palace he keeps. Memories of you always flutter near and you’re where he belongs, his northern star the compass pointing him home.

For London may be his city, but here with you in his arms, falling apart through his love, he is home at last. A beacon of light in the darkness.

******

[strangesthirdeye]

ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ (sʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ x ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

Summary: Born in a wise family does not mean that one person is the same.

Warning: IT'S SHERLOCK AS A DAD! WE LOVE HIM! medium angst, sad, not so bad achievements, stress, Sherlock being a great dad, struggling to achieve better results, comparison, inadequate feeling, fluff, love.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Not good enough. That's what you think in your mind when you see the exam trial results on the school's official website. Passed but not enough. No A's, no B's but lots of C's. That's it. Passed but did not achieve excellence.

You don't know whether to feel relieved, happy or sad. Because all the feelings are mixed inside you. You just stare at your laptop screen with a blank face. Is this what you got after a long effort? Is this the result of your hard work? What is missing? what needs to be added? what else do you need to do to get the best results?

More importantly, is this the result you will show your father in the hope that he will be proud of you? You are just dreaming. Your body doesn't move and everything is quiet in your bedroom. Only the sound of your father's and John's voice can be heard in addition to the sound of traffic outside the flat. You let out a shaky breath and slowly closed your laptop. eyes are closed tightly and both your hands are clasped in front and placed on your face. You then lean your head on your hands.

Tired, disappointed, sad and the feeling of failure in yourself is bubbling up in your mind. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Born in the Holmes family that has intelligent family members makes you feel like you are the lowest in the family. Although your grandmother is a genius woman, you are only close to your grandfather because you feel that your grandfather is the most normal person for you because he understands and is quite familiar with everything. No wonder you'll just stick with your grandfather every time you go to Musgrave Hall.

Not only that, Your uncle Mycroft and your father inherited your grandmother's wisdom making them a successful and genius in all things. Your uncle Mycroft works with the Government while your father is a consulting detective. Isn't that work only for geniuses?.

After a few months of hard work that's all you got? What will your father say later? did he scold you because you didn't get the best results? Oh god, now you think you are the weakest in terms of wisdom in the Holmes family. Lots of your friends get the best results in their exams even though they don't have genius family members. But you?

you sighed in frustration before getting up from the chair and plopped down on the bed face first before wrapping your head with both of your arms as if you were trying to hide yourself. You father and uncle John are still arguing about God knows what. Probably about the cases they receive. You are not someone who likes to know about other people's affairs. It's just none of your business so you just leave it alone.

But right now you care about what your father would say and do if he knew your achievements. Your bad performance.

The arguing between two adult men seems to have subsided, which makes the flat peaceful and quiet. Probably they are tired of arguing again so they just decided it would be better if they both shut up. At least you have time to cool down from feeling disappointed and anxious.

The two men seemed to be whispering about something that you can't catch with what they are talking about which is okay because well it's probably about cases. You don't always follow them solving a cases because that's not what you're interested in. And one more thing, you don't possess deduction ability like your father so you think you better stay behind. You let out a small sigh that seemed almost to cry.

Yes, you are crying but you don't want your cry to be heard by the two grown men outside your room. Your father is not the kind of man who always shows his affection to others, which is a little difficult for you to deal with. So mostly all your problems will be told to John as John always gives good advice.

You raised your head and wiped your tears with your sleeve before returning to your position before. Maybe you were too busy crying because you didn't hear the knock on your door followed by your father's voice calling your name.

"Y/n, dinner is ready" Sherlock said behind the door.

"In a second!" you replied loudly, managing to hide the hint of sadness.

The other side is silent Probably your dad has gone. You sighed heavily before getting up from the chair and brushing yourself with your hands trying to get rid of the wrinkles on your shirt. You wipe your tears with the sleeves of your shirt several times. You saw your face in the mirror, you sighed again when you noticed that your eyes were red and slightly swollen from crying. Well, you can't hide this.

"Dammit" you cursed under your breath. Ignored that, you moved yourself toward the door.

There your dad is standing motionless in front of your door with his neutral face. You jerked in shock and took a few stepped back. You looked up at him in skepticism.

"What are you doing?" You frowned, looking down, wiping your wet cheeks with your sleeves.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowed at you. " you've been crying"

"I'm not" you denied, walked past him after trying to close you door room but then Sherlock put his hand on your door room with his hand. Blocking the door slammed shut.

"You are" Sherlock replied, walking into your room, ignoring your protested. His eyes scanning your room, looking through the cause of your sudden emotion. His eyes suddenly stopped at your laptop that still on. He bowed slightly to looked at you laptop screen, he squinted his eyes at the brightness.

You pursed your lips. "dad, can we just-"

"what's this?" Sherlock muttered, eyes still focusing on the screen.

You were silent. Not brave enough to answer what your father asked. It's like the sentence you wanted to say has disappeared like dust in the wind. Nothing. Your mind goes blank.

Sherlock turned his gaze on you. "Y/n"

"It's-" you paused. "can we just have dinner? please" You pleaded.

"Why are you hiding this?" Sherlock replied, ignoring your previous question.

You are silent again. Sherlock looked back at your exam results.

"Yo-"

"I've tried my best!" you cried out.

Sherlock became silent upon hearing your confession.

"I tried but it's still the same. I studied day and night really hard but it's the same. All those revisions and studying I did didn't yield the results I thought. It's like I'm destined to fail in everything even though it's very simple. Seeing my friends getting good results and being able to make their family proud makes me wonder if I can make my family proud, especially my own dad. I mean, he's a detective and he's very smart. He probably has a daughter who is also smart like him but not. His daughter is just a teenage girl who works really hard to fail again and again. Why? Because she does not possess the same wisdom as her other family members. She just.. Normal" you confessed.

Sherlock stared at you for a moment. You pursed your lips as you tried not to cry, tears started to form on your eyelids. You looked at your dad who was still silent and stared at you with an unreadable reaction. You sighed.

"nevermind about that.. I'm just overreacting.. I'm too emotional. You don't need to do anything.. I can handle it.. I'm just going to dinner" You walked closer to your study table to close the laptop .

Sherlock grabbed your hand making you stop moving. You pulled your hand to let go but you dad just tightened his grip making you stop struggling. You suddenly feel like crying. You don't know why you suddenly felt like you were returning to the body of a little girl under his gaze.

"Sweetie.."

Hearing that old nickname you were given as a child brought tears to your eyes. Sherlock then pulled your body closer to him. Hugging you as if you were still a child. A little girl who is always tailing her dad no matter where.

You sniffles as Sherlock rubbed your back a few times to coax you. He may not be good at expressing his sentiment towards others but he will show it in his own way even though it is a bit eccentric but he tried.

" I know you work hard to make dad proud, I know you spend time studying to achieve good results. I know you are always smart but in your own way. Failing is not forever, you can try and try again. Even if you don't being good at something doesn't mean you can't try to succeed. I don't care if your results are lower than your classmates or you don't get the high results you want, you still make me proud, you are still able to stay standing even though reality doesn't allow it. Being a Holmes doesn't mean you have to be intelligent. You are you. You have your own way of expressing your wisdom to everyone. Even though the exam results disappointed you, it still made me proud" Sherlock said in your ear as he keeps rubbing your back.

" I'm scared that you're disappointed with me.." you muttered while sniffling.

"No I don't, you will never disappoint me. I know you will try and try to succeed. I may seem not to express any sentiment to others but I will show it in my own way. Especially when it comes to you" your dad replied as he kisses your crown of hair.

You nuzzled against his neck. "I don't know what to do if you are disappointed with me, that's why I try to hide it from you.. I'm sorry"

"No, don't be sorry for things you can't achieve. You've tried, I won't be disappointed or angry with you. If I'm angry and upset with you, probably your uncle John will shoot me in the head with his gun" Sherlock smirked.

You smile at that as you keep hugging your dad. Head nuzzled against his neck finding comfort in his arms.

"I love you, dad" you whispered early, loud enough for your father to reply.

"I love you too, sweetie"