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alexendria-rose · 11 months ago

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Who are you?~

Stephen Strange x Reader!Stark

PT2- but daddy I love him

Warnings: smut, baby girl nickname, dominate Stephen, age gap (20 ish years) cussing, choking.

Stephen sat by the bar a martini in his hand regretting telling Tony Stark that he would make it to yet another victory party- even though Stephen was pretty sure it was just an excuse for Tony to have another party. With the mission they all had; it was probably a good idea on Tony’s part to release some tension that was weighed on their shoulders from the mission.

“Hey pretty boy- do you want more of that drink?” Natasha said with a soft laugh as she leaned across the bar counter. Stephen rolled his eyes but a smile placed on his face.

“You know I could just refill it myself.” He commented a slight cocky look on his face- Nat just rolled her eyes.

“Hey im being nice to you- don’t be cocky mr magic.” She laughs taking his cup and refilling his martini drink. She handed to him and he did a quiet thank you. His eyes snapped towards a young woman in a black dress- who laughed loudly at what Thor was saying to her; most likely trying to impress the young girl. Stephen almost dropped his drink when she caught his eyes. Why hasn’t he seen her before? She was gorgeous, h/l h/c hair and when she looked around he caught the color of her eyes. They were so bright and full of youth and life. Natasha notices this laughing lightly.

“Ah so you’ve finally caught your eye on her?” Natasha says titling her head at the sorcerer seeing the way he didn’t want to remove his eyes from her. He looks back mouth slightly open before clearing his throat.

“Who is that?” He questions rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Nat just smiles knowing exactly who she was but wanted to see how this would play out.

“Why don’t you go see.” She hummed before turning around to prepare more drinks for the guests. Stephen had a cocky smile on his face before doing exactly what Natasha had suggested. He straightened his suit before walking over to the mystery girl.

“And that’s why I can be the only whom can hold the hammer!” Thor boomed loudly as she laughed at how loud and energetic Thor could be.

“So you have to be worthy? So if it’s on an elevator- does that mean the elevator is worthy?” she cocked her head to the side- her gaze pure and full of interest.

“You’re very funny Lady- Oh Mr. Wizard!” Thor exclaims looking at Stephen who was behind her ready to go up to introduce himself. She turns around to face the sorcerer smiling from ear to ear.

“Oh hi.” She chuckles bringing up her martini up to her lips. Stephen swore his breath caught in his throat when he saw her up close- she was stunning.

“Hi. My name is Doctor Stephen Strange.” He said bringing his hand out- she giggled before taking his hand giving it a firm shake.

“I knew that already but hi.”

“So you’re not going to tell your name?” He chuckles bringing his hand back away from her touch suddenly missing the feeling of warmth.

“I’m afraid if I tell you Doctor- you’ll run away and I don’t know about you but I don’t want you too.” She smirked- ah so a flirt she was. Stephen grinned leaning against the wall closest to them.

“Oh? Is that so?” He sipped on his drink as he looked at her- she couldn’t be more than 23 years old. Young- maybe a little too young for him but god was she the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen. “I think I can handle it.” He hummed. She walked closer to him tilting her head.

“No- I don’t really think you could Doctor Strange.” She smiled softly poking his chest. “Have a great night.” She winked at him before walking away from the sorcerer. Stephen watched as she walked away- her hips swaying. She knew she was a tease, she knew that Stephen strange was completely attracted to her. Only if he knew she loved to play games.

Stephen rubbed his forehead with his fingers as he looked up at Tony explaining their next mission. That’s when she walked in. The mystery girl from the party.

“Aye there’s my girl.” Tony smiles softly. She smiles widely giving Tony a side hug- her eyes landing on Stephen.

“Hey Y/n.” Natasha smirks looking between the two knowing Stephen had no idea yet and that made it much more entertaining.

“So y/n is your name?” Stephen smirks leaning back on the god awful office chair. Y/n smiles softly looking at Tony- who was glaring daggers towards Stephen.

“How do you know my daughter doctor?” Tony asked as he crossed his arms his gazing never leaving Stephen. Stephen almost choked- eyes wide as Natasha sat there giggling like a maniac. Y/n bit her lip nervously watching Stephen’s reaction.

“I met him at the party dad- don’t worry about it.” She said flicking her dad’s nose a smile on her face- that made Stephen basically swoon.

“So you’re Y/n Stark?” Stephen whispered rubbing his gotee mentally face palming himself. He flirted with Tony’s daughter- god she must be so young then. Tony kept his gaze on Stephen.

“Stay. Away.” Tony groaned. Stephen smirked lightly moving his gaze from Tony back to Y/n as she used that little flirt smile; basically begging him to not stay away.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Y/n grins walking away from the meeting. Stephen heart thumping against his chest as he watched her walk away.

“No- don’t think about it.” Tony warned pointing a finger towards Stephen. “She is 23 years old-“

“So why isn’t that I didn’t know you had a daughter Tony?” Stephen laughed leaning against the chair crossing his arms.

“Because- I like to keep her safe and away from public eye.” Tony grumbled. Stephen hummed smirking a bit. “Now stay away!” Stephen tried to… he really did.

And there she was again- he’s bumped into her everywhere now. The kitchen, in the training room, anywhere and everywhere. He watched as she read in the common room, her knees curled up to her chest- as she let the tv roll with a random show as a background noise. He knew it was creepy to watch but she looked so peaceful. He kept hearing Tony’s voice- “stay away” but god was it so hard. She was beautiful and brought a certain light in the room. He watched as she slowly chewed the bottom of her lip- reading glasses framing her face, a messy bun on top of her head. Stephen needed to talk to her- instead of small talk it was driving him crazy. He ran a hand through his hair before walking up to her on the couch.

“Must be interesting whatever you’re reading.” He mutters lightly. She looks up from her book a small smile on her face.

“I mean it is Harry Potter- of course it is.” She giggled placing her book down on her lap. “I mean you would know about wizards huh? Did you come from Hogwarts?” She jokes- she was a lot like her father.

“Haha-“ he laughs sarcastically sitting himself down on the couch before looking at her. “I’m a sorcerer by the way- not a wizard.”

“That’s not what my dad says. I’m pretty sure you’re a wizard.” She smirked tilting her head in a cocky way that made Stephen’s heart thump.

“Does it look like I have a wand?” He joked back at her- she just laughed lightly rolling her eyes moving herself dangerously close to him.

“I don’t know. Do you?” She flirted batting her eyelashes- she knew she was cute, she knew she was a flirt and she used that to her advantage when it came to Stephen strange. Stephen looked at her when she moved herself closer to him- her batty lashes and pouty lips.

“You know you’re a flirt don’t you?” He chuckled lightly his face moving dangerously close to hers-

“Only with you- I told you, you’d run when you found my name.” She smirked moving her head away from his- Stephen let out the breath he was holding noticing the small smirk on her lips. He knew she was playing a very dangerous game. He looked around his surroundings to notice no one was in fact here- he decided to take a very dangerous step, that could end up getting him killed by Tony but god she was all he could think about. He grabs her chin moving her head closer to his- his eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips.

“I didn’t run.” He mutters softly- smirking lightly seeing the blush that covered her cute face. He brings his face closer rubbing his nose against hers- her eyes fluttering close as his breath hits her soft lips. “I can tease too, you know.” He grinned letting go of her chin pulling his head away noticing the slight whimper and pout escaping her lips and face.

“No- you cannot get to do that and walk away.” She huffs standing up from the couch her arms crossed as she stared down at him. Stephen laughs lightly standing up to tower over her.

“You’re cute when you get mad.” Stephen chuckles deeply winking at her before walking away- he could hear her huff and plop back down on the couch.

Stephen was determined to make Y/n stark blush, and wanting to more. They hung out all the time- of course when everyone was asleep. They would talk and flirt but most importantly he got to actually know the young stark- he found out she loves reading, and quite like her father; sassy, witty, silver tongue. He was enjoying her presents more and more. Dare to say he was actually falling for her.

Stephen groaned again as he was at ANOTHER party of Tony starks- it wasn’t even a celebration. It was just a party because Tony got bored. Stephen smiled as he watched Y/n wearing a red mini dress trying her absolute best to get Stephen’s attention and god it was working. He sipped on his martini as he stared at her talking to Wanda- she kept glancing at Stephen behind her shoulder the red lipped smirk aimed at him, and every time she looked at him she would bit her lower lip in such a seductive way. She was waiting for him to break- and he was so close to. Stephen chewed the inside of his cheek before setting his glass down and marching over to her. He slyly wrapped an arm around her waist giving Wanda an apologetic smile.

“Wanda- May I borrow y/n?” Stephen asked- y/n eyes wide as she looked up at Stephen her head tilting in confusion. Wanda laughs waving her hand.

“Please do- she can’t stop looking at you anyhow.” Wanda sipping her wine. Stephen laughed lightly before guiding Y/n away from the party and into a secluded area- the idea of secluded area was the furthest bathroom away from the party. He brought her inside closing the door behind them before slamming her against the door. His look was full of lust- the teasing was too much for him at this point. Her eyes widen when he pushed her against the door. His hand on her lower stomach and his other on her cheek- his face was close to hers. He watched as she bit her lower lip nervously but a small smirk wanted to escape.

“Ah so you’re breaking huh?” She giggled lightly moving her leg in between his thighs, rubbing her foot up and down his leg. Stephen breath hitched moving his hand to place on the wall besides her head.

“You know I can show you what I do to naughty girls.” He purred lightly his heart beating against his chest not believing his own words that fell out of his mouth.

“Me naughty no-“ Stephen smashed his lips against hers before she can come back with a sarcastic and bratty comment. She almost gasped loudly at the contact but instead she decided to move her hands to his hair gripping onto it like her life depended on it. He groaned into the kiss his hands moving down to her waist gripping tightly which made a quick squeak escape her lips. He pulled back before immediately attacking her neck creating small love bites on her neck and making his way down to her chest. She moaned tugging on his hair roughly. “I want to go slow… but I cannot wait- don’t want people to be suspicious now do we?” He mumbled against her skin before turning her around to face the wall a gasp escaping her lips.

“N-No I guess not.” She whimpered, he chuckled deeply his hands on her hip. He ran his hand up and down her bare legs.

“Was this short dress for me love?” He smirked in cocky way. She chewed on her bottom lip at the way he caressed her legs, moving his hand between her thighs getting dangerously close.

“Maybe…” she squeaked. He just chuckled darkly before hitching up the dress to show her lacey black underwear.

“Oh my darling- as much as I love these. They need to be gone.” He growled before ripping off her underwear- which caused her to gasp loudly when he did so. The pool between her legs starting to become even more wet- if that was possible. “Look at you dripping for me darling girl.” He cooed. She blushed deeply trying to close her legs but he immediately kicked them apart. “No, keep them spread.” He purred- she heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants which made her mouth go dry. She didn’t have much time to think as he shoved his hard cock inside of her tight pussy. She moaned loudly her hands going in front of her on the door to support herself.

“Fuck!” She shouted- Stephen chuckled gripping onto her hips as slowly moved himself in and out of trying to get to adjust to his size- her pussy was delightful was warm, tight and delicious.

“Baby girl- you are the most delightful thing I’ve ever had.” He groaned. “Think you’re fully ready for me?”

“D-Don’t hold back. N-need.” She stuttered gasping at every thrust- he was hitting her g-spot just right; everytime he would pull back slowly and then push himself inside of her just right. It made her mouth just water at the way he knew what he was doing. Both of their heads snapped when the door knob started turning. “Someone’s in-“ Stephen chuckles quietly before thrusting himself harder in her. “H-here!” She looked back and shot him a glare at his cocky face. He was loving this.

“Oh I’m sorry lady y/n! We were just looking for you!” Thors voice booms through the door. Y/n hitched a breath when Stephen started increasing his pace- that same cocky look on his face. She tried to calm down her uncontrollable breathing, trying not to slur out profanities and moans.

“N-No it’s okay! I’ll b-be out soon!” She was able to gasp out but it wasn’t helping that Stephen moved one of his hands to massage her very sensitive breast over her dress.

“Are you okay in there lady y/n?” Thor asks in concern. Y/n felt the tears threatening to come out of her eye pocket- not out of pain no out of pure pleasure. Stephen moved his hand to push the hair out of the way of her neck to place gentle kisses as he continued to pound into her his grip on her hip never leaving.

“I’m fine! I’ll be out soon Thor! Please!” She exclaimed her hand on the door scratching lightly throwing her head back- making Stephen wrap his hand around her neck.

“Alright alright- I’ll tell your father that you’ll be out there soon.” Thor laughs- she hears his footsteps walk away. Stephen laughed a bit gripping her neck more.

“Good girl.” He cooed making her pussy tighten around his hard cock making him grunt in the process. “Now sweetheart we’ve gotta make this fast- prepare yourself.” She nods not being able to make any sentences- but moan. He moved his hand down back to her hips; before forcing her hips to hit more into him. He rocked his hips against her- her moans sounded like pure bliss in his ears. The sound of skin and skin smacking together. He threw his head back grunting and moaning feeling himself close to the edge; and he knew she was too- with the way she was clenching around him.

“Fuck Stephen. I’m so close please.” She moaned out. Stephen grinned moving his head down to her ear kissing and nibbling her ear gently.

“Cum for me baby girl.” He mutters- as soon as those words escaped his lips. She screamed loudly her juices cumming around his cock. He smirked before going faster getting him closer to his edge. He gasped loudly before spilling his seed inside of her(god he hoped she was on the pill or something) he lazily placed his head on her back finishing himself out. He pulls out of her groaning at the loss of contact. He watched as his seed dripped down her leg- with the swish of his hand he removed and cleaned the seed off of her. She turned around to face him- her face flushed as she fixed her hair.

“You lost.” She hummed- he chuckled lightly placing his hand on her cheek before placing a soft peck on her lips.

“And I’ll lose a 1000 times over if it means that I get to do that as many times as I can.” He muttered. She giggled lightly picking up her underwear from the ground. He started fixing himself up- buckling his pants back on.

“If you’re cool with it- I never want this to stop.” She flirted before shoving her underwear in his pocket. “Now we should get back huh?” Stephen smiled lightly tracing her lips with his thumb.

“I was hoping you would say that; but yes we should probably get back.” He laughed gently- she giggled as well before opening up the door.

“Wait for a bit and then come out.” She said turning to look back at him. He nods smacking her ass in the process.

“So commanding my love.” She rolled her eyes before leaving Stephen alone in the bathroom. She walked back into the party- still seeing everyone was here. Tony looked over at his daughter- he walked over to her a drink in his hand.

“Where were you?” He asked titling his head at her -sipping his drink. She tried not to blush, and bit her bottom lip.

“Bathroom.” She muttered trying to turn away from him. Tony scrunched his eyebrows grabbing his daughter’s wrist pulling her back and when he did she saw the hickeys on her neck- more like covered all over her neck.

“Who the flying f put that on your neck!” Tony roared eyes widen- thinking of his daughter that way made him internally angry and mad. Y/n tried to look in his eye-line but then mentally face palmed herself. Fuck. Stephen soon shortly came walking in the same direction she had which had Tony look over. His face was red- when the dots connected. “Stephen Strange!”

Uh this was not going to be a fun conversation for any of them.

Let me know what you think! You dirty little hoes 🫡🥰

#x reader #fanfiction #oneshot #sherlock holmes.#benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader #doctor strange #sherlock x reader #doctor stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange #marvel x reader #marvel #tony stark daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #Stephen strange x starkreader

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asgards-princess-of-mischief · 2 years ago

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Last Updated: 2024-05-30

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite BBC!Sherlock Holmes stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

✑ A Week Early￨Prt. II￨Prt. III by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: You and Sherlock are having your first children; who've thought the famously emotionless detective would be such an anxious father.

✑ A Little Love and Lots of Laughs by eurusholmmes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "It's been five years since you met Sherlock Holmes, four since you fell in love, and three since you married. [Now], you have [two children] who... happen to love picnics, swimming and spending time with their cousin Rosie and Uncle John."

✑ Absence of You by lykaonimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "[You're] away on a mission…, leaving Sherlock to wrestle mentally with his importance in [your] life and how badly he wants [you] home."

✑ Always Attract by luxwritesfanfic • 〔F᜶M〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "The strobe lights won't stop blinding him and Sherlock can't seem to shake the feeling that he's missing out, until he realizes he isn't."

✑ Bedside Manner by luxwritesfanfic • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: "Sherlock figures out who the father is and [a cat's got your] tongue."

✑ Brother, Annoying Brother by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 •

Summary: Sherlock's, once again, struggling to express feelings, refusing to admit he fancies you. Luckily, Mycroft knows just how to get him to confess.

✑ Champagne Problems by leftperfectionmoon • 〔A᜶C〕 •

Summary: reader turns down her boyfriend when he proposes to her as she has been in love with sherlock all this time.

✑ Closed for Today by coppercatswrites • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Sherlock closes shop to take care of you while you're sick.

✑ Date Night by writefortherain-blog • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: It had been a while since you and Sherlock had a day off…

✑ Don't Let Me Cave In by luxwritesfanfic • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: Sherlock'll never get away from the sound of the women that love him and it brings more peace to him than he could ever imagine he could possess.

✑ Don't You Dare Say "I'm Sorry" by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔M〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "Sherlock Holmes had sparred with many an intimidating nemesis. He'd faced off against the most fierce, twisted, cold, hard, calculating, fearful opponents known to man, however none of adversaries that had come before had invoked such terror and panic as the one he was currently staring down."

✑ Emotions and Experiments by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 •

Summary: …

✑ Exact Opposite by lykaonimagines • 16+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "When his brother still refuses to get dressed and take the case he has for him seriously, Mycroft calls [you in] to handle the situation."

Every Word

✑ Expectant by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F᜶M〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "[You're] acting strange, and Sherlock notices. [After] confessing the truth and... He struggles to find the words."

✑ Feeling is Mutual, the by classickook • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: "You've been harbouring a crush on Sherlock for quite some time now but are determined to keep it a secret for as long as [possible]. Foolish of you to think he wouldn't figure it out... and maybe he'll even return your sentiment?"

✑ Game is On, the by classickook • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "You have a little surprise for Sherlock that turns out differently than you had originally planned."

✑ Good Girl by all-fandoms-fiction • 18+ • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "..."

✑ Headache by bewarethecrazyperson • 〔F᜶C〕 • 🚫 •

Summary: "...While it was rare for you to get a proper headache, it wasn't unfamiliar for you or the boys when one resurfaced. They usually let you be, knowing that rest, medication and sleep would usually take care of the problem. [However,] what happens when you accidentally take one of Sherlock's pills?"

✑ Holmes, the by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 •

Summary: When Sherlock's parents invite you to dinner, mistaking you for his girlfriend, it pushes their son to finally tell you how he feels.

✑ If You're Shy (Let Me Know) by classickook • 18+ • 〔E᜶M᜶F〕 •

Summary: "When Irene won't stop teasing you about your lack of experience, Sherlock comes to your defence and maybe even proves the woman wrong."

✑ Kidnapped by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ • 🚫 •

Summary: {…}

✑ Kissing Advice by imagine-by-susu • 〔A᜶C〕 •

Summary: When Irene taunts Sherlock with his sexual inexperience, the detective seeks out your advise on the matter. However, the situation does go quite how Sherlock hoped…

✑ Let's Have Dinner￨Prt. II by classickook • 〔A〕 •

Summary: "as Sherlock's neighbor and friend, you've spent quite a bit of time with the detective and developed feelings for him. unfortunately for you, however, his heart belongs to another."

✑ Make Up by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Although you never enjoy fighting with Sherlock, you love making up afterwards.

✑ Nicknames by leftperfectionmoon • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "4 times you used nicknames for Sherlock."

✑ On Edge￨Prt. II by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 18+ • 〔E〕 •

Summary: "Sherlock has no cases and John forbid him to smoke... [leading] Sherlock to find other ways to take out his frustration and, at the same time, showing [you] what it's like to be on edge."

✑ Other Woman, the by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 18+ • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: {…}

✑ Rest of Our Lives￨Prt. II by lykaonimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Sherlock returns home late after a week long case, and contemplates the current state of their relationship."

✑ Safe Space by lykaonimagines • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "During an argument over one of Sherlock's experiments, [you realize] some events in his life have impacted him more than he usually let on."

✑ Science and Faith by rogersthat-cap • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Talking Out Loud by high-functioning-lokipath • 〔F᜶M〕 •

✑ Tipsy by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: When John and Sherlock return to the flat, absolutely smashed, it's up to you and Mrs. Hudson to ensure they're looked after.

✑ Waltz by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 •

Summary: {…}

✑ White Lillies by leftperfectionmoon • 〔F〕 •

Summary: You mistakenly confess you feelings to Sherlock, as it happens his reaction is rather sweet.

✑ Woman, the by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "[You] enters 221B and instantly notices the smell of another woman's perfume. [You realize] it's Irene Adler who is [trying] to convince Sherlock that she is a better woman for him."

✑ Woman Who Was No Lady, the by whereiputtheotherstuff • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: A tense conversation with Irene Adler makes Sherlock realize something extraordinary about you.

✑ Why Do I Want to Do This Again by imagine-by-susu •

Summary: "..."

✑ You Don't Know Him Like I Do by classickook • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "You're sick and tired of constantly hearing insults thrown at Sherlock about how he handles his emotions."

✑ Your Stupid Face by gaitwae • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Sherlock is too proud to admit to anybody he likes you, but John knows."

✑ Affirmation by eurusholmmes • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ All Day by classickook • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Ambiguity of Man by gaitwae • 〔M᜶F〕 •

✑ Announcement, the by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔M〕 •

✑ Bad Day by oneshots-imagines-and-that • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Bagels by quillsandcauldroncakes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Birds and Bathtubs by deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Blissful Morning by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Cuddling? Cuddling. by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating and Doctors by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Do Something! by galactic-academia • 〔F〕 •

✑ Enjoy the Show Brother by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ I Love You by imagine-by-susu • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Jaw Kisses by eurusholmmes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Keep Breathing by eurusholmmes • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Lying Detective, the by deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Made for Each Other by leftperfectionmoon • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Measurements by classickook • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Morning Light by lykaonimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Move in with Me? by imagine-upon-a-star • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Nervous

✑ Never Stood a Chance by luxwritesfanfic • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ New Family by magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ No Flirting by leftperfectionmoon • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Not on the Couch by imagine-by-susu • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Our First Kiss by eurusholmmes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Our Little Game by justauthoring • 〔F〕 •

✑ Psychology of Cute by oneshots-imagines-and-that • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Resurrection by moonlightsong • 〔A᜶F〕 •

✑ Rewritten Memory by gaitwae • 〔F〕 •

✑ Safe in Your Arms by classickook • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Stressed by generallynerdy • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Tease by classickook • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Tell It Like It Is by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ There's No One Else For You by all-fandoms-fiction • 〔M〕 •

✑ These Words Of Mine by eurusholmmes • 〔A〕 •

✑ Thinking Out Loud by quillsandcauldroncakes • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Wake Up by scribblesandimaginings • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Wedding Day by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Why Did You Kiss Me? by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 •

✑ Babysitting Rosie w/ Sherlock... by writings-of-a-british-fangirl • 〔F〕 • 𑁍 •

✑ Being Sherlock's Pregnant Wife... by tessimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Cuddling w/ Sherlock... by spilledkauffie • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating Sherlock Holmes… by dragon-kazansky • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating Sherlock Holmes... by spilledkauffie • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation || BBC!Sherlock Master Index

Authors: @all-fandoms-fiction || @bewareofthecrazyperson || @classickook || @coppercatwrites || @deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts || @dragon-kazansky || @eurusholmmes || @gaitwae || @galactic-academia || @generallynerdy || @high-functioning-lokipath || @imagine-by-susu || @imagine-upon-a-star || @justauthoring || @leftperfectionmoon || @luxwritesfanfic || @lykaonimagines || @magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics || @moonlightsong || @oneshots-imagines-and-that || @prettyxlittlexwriter || @quillsandcauldroncakes || @rogersthat-cap || @scribblesandimaginings || @spilledkauffie || @tessimagines || @whereiputtheotherstuff || @writefortherain-blog || @writings-of-a-british-fangirl ||

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www-zoloft-com · 11 months ago

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it's true, but they intimidate me 🥺

#hotch x reader #benedict cumberbatch x reader #stephen strange x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #spencer reid x reader #emily prentiss x reader

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daydreamtofiction · 18 days ago

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The Feature XXVIII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) Quinn and Ben say goodbye to LA before heading to the next stop on their trip. It all feels too good to be true for Quinn, and maybe she's right.

Chapter Word Count: 8.4K (it's a thiccccccc one)

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, adult and sexual themes, derogatory/offensive language. Trigger warning for vomiting and descriptions of panic/anxiety. Readers must be 18+

A/N: I don't like asking people for comments/feedback and try not to do it because I know people have lives beyond reading fanfic lol. But I would really love and appreciate it if you could let me know what you thought of this chapter and how you're finding the story so far. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter (and also sorry in advance lmao x)

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In some ways, you regretted not venturing beyond the house. That for almost a week, you’d had the city of LA on your doorstep, Hollywood on the horizon, a plethora of stores and restaurants, clubs and landmarks, yet you’d deemed none of it worthy of leaving your paradise for. But as you dragged the zip closed on your suitcase, you couldn’t help but feel perfectly content with how you’d chosen to spend your time.

It had been like living inside a dollhouse, moving from room to beautiful room with no need for urgency, everything you needed appearing just where it should be, as if placed there by a little girl’s hand just out of sight. You felt rejuvenated, loose and soft, your eyes sparkling, skin glowing, mouth resting in a smile more often than it ever had before.

Ben was downstairs, pacing the echoey entrance hall as he spoke on the phone. To whom, you didn’t know. It could have been his manager, publicist, assistant, maybe an old actor friend, or some big Hollywood director. You found it hard to care too much about his work; unable to connect the revered A-list actor to the man you shared a bed with each night, the man who talked in stupid accents and still bookmarked his pages with old train tickets.

You stood up and slung your carry-on bag over your shoulder, lifting the handle of your suitcase and dragging it behind you. You stopped in the doorway, turning around and taking one last look at the bedroom; the late afternoon light melting across the headboard, the door to the balcony where you’d spent so much of your time. You were going to miss it. But you knew you’d be back.

You were halfway down the huge, curving staircase when Ben noticed you struggling with your bag, awkwardly bumping your suitcase down each step with a heavy thud. He wedged his phone between his ear and shoulder and hurried up to meet you, taking your luggage and carrying it down the rest of the way as he continued to talk.

“And is that under my name or yours?” he asked as he placed your bags next to his by the front door. “Okay, great. And you’ll be there tomorrow? Okay. Talk soon, bye.”

You’d sat down on the bottom step while you waited for him to finish, smiling up at him as he slid his phone into the back pocket of his trousers.

“Who was that?” you asked. “Your other girlfriend?”

“Yeah, we’re going to meet up in New York for a quickie.”

You paused. “Even the thought of that just pissed me off.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “It was just Kay. She was letting me know everything’s sorted for when we get there.”

You’d learned to stifle the urge to grimace whenever he mentioned his publicist. She was one of the orchestrators behind his marriage, one of the voices in his ear telling him it was a good idea. No matter how kindly he spoke of her, you couldn’t help but doubt it, like you were holding onto a grudge that wasn’t yours to bear.

“Have you got everything?” he asked.

“Mhm.” You nodded with a sigh.

“What’s the matter?”

“I like it here. Sad to be leaving, that’s all.”

He pursed his bottom lip sympathetically and extended his hand to you. You stood up and walked over to him, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders and place a kiss on the top of your head.

“We can come back whenever you want,” he said.

You said goodbye to California at 6pm, gazing at the golden horizon and pinkish hued clouds through your tiny plane window with a wistful sigh. And just five and a half hours later, you arrived into utter darkness, staring up at a starless night sky as you made your way down the steps onto the runway. It was 2.30am in New York. The time difference had thrown you off-kilter, leaving you with an energy that seemed incongruous to the sleepy faces of airport security and weary travellers around you.

This journey was different to the last. You had no escorts, no fast tracking, no fancy men in tailcoats. Instead you moved through the airport like everyone else, disguised by surgical masks, baseball caps and sunglasses. You could have sworn you spotted a few glances and double-takes from passersby, people wondering if it could be him, but refraining from getting too close.

Ben held your hand as you navigated the building, eventually boarding the AirTrain where no one even cared to look up; their fists wrapped around handrails, earphones in, faces buried in books and newspapers. It was so quiet you didn’t dare speak, exchanging glances with Ben instead, seeing his eyes crease whenever he smiled.

There was also no driver this time. No quiet, stony man waiting to chauffeur you around in a big SUV. Instead, Ben picked up the keys to a Mercedes from the car rental desk, throwing your bags into the boot and slipping into the driver’s seat. You got in next to him, taking off your mask and sunglasses and turning to look at him, eyeing him with a raised brow as he rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“What?” he said. “I like driving into the city.”

“Why?” you asked with a laugh.

“You’ll see.”

The early hours made for open, quiet roads, the freeway a smooth, uninterrupted stretch. Ben drove with a hand on your thigh, the other lazily hugging the wheel. Music played softly through the radio as a light breeze rolled in through a crack in your window. It was idyllic, peaceful, and then you saw it.

The city skyline was like a constellation against the inky black sky. A smattering of glittering lights across every building and structure, the water below reflecting them back with a diffused glow. You stared out of the window in awe, taking your phone out to snap a photo that didn’t do it any justice. Ben smiled as he drove, charmed by your fascination, happy to be the one that got to show it to you.

It was clear he knew exactly where he was going, the car soaring over a long, steel bridge into the city with no hesitation. He knew every turn he had to take and every interesting thing to point out, like the old warehouse that was now a gallery, the dingy-looking deli he swore made the best sandwiches, and the street they’d closed off while filming Doctor Strange. You took it all in, curling into the passenger seat, elbow propped on the window, cheek in your hand.

As you ventured deeper into the city, it somehow began to feel more vibrant. Even in the dead of night, there was life everywhere; traffic lights and flashing neon signs, yellow taxi cabs perusing for passengers. California had felt like a long exhale. But this place seemed to breathe.

He pulled up a few minutes later outside a sleek, towering building, turning into an underground parking garage beside it. There were no doormen to help with your bags, no security guards manning the entrance, just a small intercom on the wall, a touchscreen keypad beneath it. Ben pulled out his phone, looking through his texts for a moment before punching in a code that made the door unlock with a satisfying buzz. You followed him inside, emerging into a brightly lit lobby with shiny marble floors, a concierge sitting behind a front desk near the doors that led out onto the main street.

“Good evening, sir,” the man said in an accent you didn’t think existed outside of movies. “Or should I say good morning.”

Ben gave a polite laugh as he approached the desk. “Good morning. I think you have some keys for me. Should be under ‘Philip Chase’.”

The man checked beneath his desk for a moment before standing up straight with a pair of keycards, handing them to him with a smile. “Apartment 603.”

“Thank you.”

You followed Ben towards the lifts on the other end of the lobby, shifting your bag back onto your shoulder as you went.

“Philip Chase?” you asked.

“Pseudonym.”

You scoffed quietly as the doors slid open, stepping inside and pressing the button for the sixth floor.

“So, Mr Chase,” you began as the lift began to move. “How long have you owned this place?”

“Oh this is just a rental.”

The doors opened onto a spacious, quiet corridor. Even the air smelled expensive; clean and citrusy, with a deep undertone of something musky and polished. The carpet was plush, sinking slightly beneath each footstep, the walls adorned with sconces that gave off an ambient glow.

Ben pressed one of the keycards to the sensor on the door of your apartment, pushing down on the heavy handle and stepping aside to let you walk in first. Your breath caught for a moment when you stepped over the threshold, your eyes darting around the expansive, grandiose space.

You’d expected something hotel-like; neutral and classic, carpet and coffee tables, fake plants and carefully curated art. But it was almost the complete opposite. There was something industrial about it; open plan with wood floors and exposed copper piping. Rich navies and deep greens softened by warm, amber lighting and exposed brick walls. Huge metal-framed windows covered the length of one wall, revealing a view of the city, so stunning you found yourself moving across the apartment to get a closer look.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

He dragged the suitcases inside and closed the front door. “It’s nice, isn’t it.”

“Nice?” you replied with a laugh, turning to look at him.

“More than nice?”

You shook your head, returning your gaze to the window. “I think I might actually like this more than LA.”

He laughed as he stepped up behind you, resting a hand on the back of your neck. “Knew you were a city girl.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him. “I’m a ‘whatever this is’ girl.”

“Good to know.” He gave the back of your neck a gentle squeeze before letting go and making his way over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and nosing through the cupboards. “So, house or apartment, then?”

“For what?”

“For when we live together.”

“Slow down, sir.”

He smirked, taking a bottle of water from the fridge and twisting off the cap.

You wandered over to him, resting your elbows on the counter and watching as he took generous gulps of water, his throat bobbing with each deep swallow.

“It amazes me how certain you are,” you said, shaking your head softly.

“About what?”

“About us. It’s like you’ve got no doubt in your mind that this is… It.”

“I love you,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I love you too.”

“I don’t see anything changing that, do you?”

You shook your head.

“Well there you go,” he said. “That’s why I’m so certain.”

You exhaled a laugh through your nose, tilting your head slightly to gaze at him as he spoke.

“And you know I’m only teasing you when I talk about all the big future stuff,” he said. “I don’t doubt it’s going to happen. But I’m not in any rush. Really. This little bubble we’ve got… I’m happy in it.”

You paused for a moment before speaking softly. “You know bubbles can burst…”

“Not this one,” he replied with an ease and confidence that made you smile. “No matter how much of a pain in the arse you try to be,” he continued, moving around the counter towards you. “Or how many of your fake grandmothers have to die so I can have you with me wherever I go. Or how much I want to tell the whole fucking world about you.”

You laughed, looking up at him as he brought his hands to your cheeks, holding you in place as he leaned in close.

“I will protect this bubble, at all costs,” he finished quietly, pressing his lips to yours with a firm kiss.

You smiled against his lips, placing your hands over his as they cupped your face.

“I’m holding you to that,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look up at him..

“Fine by me.”

“And you know…” you said as he continued to press his lips to yours, punctuating your words with kisses. “The bubble has a very strict limit on how often you’re allowed to mention big scary future things…”

“What’s the limit? Just so I can make sure I meet my daily quota.”

You rolled your eyes and playfully pushed him away.

He laughed as he took a step back, before turning on his heels and beginning to walk away. “Come and unpack before I do something drastic. Like propose.”

The bedroom was a complete contrast to the one in LA. It was darker, cozier, more intimate; a large bed and minimal furniture, sconces on the exposed brick walls providing a warm, dim light. It was beautiful, the kind of room you’d see in a movie or TV show, another perfect snapshot of the city through a tall casement window. You tried not to gawp as you walked in, making your way coolly over to your suitcase.

“Is there even a point in unpacking?” you asked as you unzipped it. “How long are we here for?”

“A week at least,” said Ben as he rummaged through his bag.

“A week?”

“At least. Y’know, these Marvel flicks, they’re sort of a big deal,” he replied sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t seen any.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know, I’m joking. I’ve actually seen quite a lot of them.” You paused for a moment before laughing softly. “Isn’t it weird to think that I watched films of yours over the years with no idea I was going to end up with you one day.”

“You’re living every super fan’s dream,” he teased.

“You have fans?”

He scoffed and threw a balled up pair of socks across the room at you. You dodged them with a laugh before finally beginning to unpack.

You filled a dresser with your clothes and put your shoes and empty luggage inside the closet. Then you adorned the bedside table with things that made it feel more like yours; your perfume and jewellery case, a journal, your phone charger, the book you’d yet to start reading.

Now you were standing with Ben in the bathroom, side by side at the sink as you brushed your teeth together. He was shirtless, a pair of pyjama bottoms sitting low on his waist, while you’d opted for a loose t-shirt and a pair of knickers. You exchanged glances in the mirror, small smiles and playful glints, talking without need for words. And when you were both done, he hovered for a moment near the door, watching you tie your hair up and apply your moisturiser like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You checked the time as you crawled into bed. 4am. And it was finally catching up with you. Your muscles ached as you sank into the mattress, eyelids heavy, your arm instinctively draping over Ben’s stomach as he lay down with you.

“Do you want to come to a screening tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

“For what?”

“Multiverse.”

You lifted your head slightly to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound very bubble-like.”

He exhaled a laugh, bringing a hand up to stroke the back of your head. “It’s not a red carpet thing. Nothing flashy. It’s private; mostly industry people, critics, press, sometimes there’s a few competition winners.”

You hummed quietly to yourself, mulling it over.

“I just thought you might like to come,” he said. “And maybe there’s a selfish part of me that wants you to see me all… muscular and powerful.”

“In your little red cape.”

“It’s a cloak.”

You laughed, resting your head on his chest. “Yeah okay, I’ll come.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

He placed a kiss on the top of your head before letting out a long, laboured yawn and relaxing into the mattress. Neither of you spoke again, the silence softened by your rhythmic breaths and the faint sounds of the city beyond the window.

Ben was already gone when you woke up; his side of the bed still rumpled, a soft indent still visible in the pillow he’d slept on. You’d gotten used to waking up alone, and you didn’t really mind it. Your brain had always taken a little while to start functioning in the mornings, and the quiet solitude of a beautiful home had become the perfect way to slowly ease you into the day.

You showered and got dressed, determined to venture beyond the apartment, though you had no idea where you were going to go. There was a credit card on the kitchen counter, a note beside it that read: If you need anything. You stubbornly refused to even pick it up, turning your back on it as you slung your bag onto your shoulder and headed for the door.

You found a small café a few blocks away, sitting in the window to people-watch while you ate breakfast and jotted ideas in your journal. A woman walked by in a mini skirt and knee high boots, her long hair fluttering behind her majestically as she moved. Meanwhile, a man in a structured coat and halfmoon sunglasses crossed the street like it was his own personal catwalk. A group of young women stood taking photos of each other against the backdrop of traffic, each one of them dressed impeccably; bold colours and mismatched textures, every piece they wore so deliberate and thought-out.

As you watched the world drift by, it only seemed to grow clearer how deeply this city cared about its image. It wasn’t a shallow battle of aesthetics, but a showcase of individuality. Everyone walked like they had a purpose, like they were being watched, even the man sipping a coffee at the table next to you looked like a model with his loose-fitting shirt and slicked back hair.

It made you feel underdressed, dull, like you were somehow disrespecting the city itself by gracing its streets looking anything less than exquisite. Then you remembered the screening. Nothing flashy, Ben had said. But what exactly did ‘nothing flashy’ mean? What if you walked into that theatre in your ‘not flashy’ outfit, only to be met by more beautiful people in more beautiful clothes? The thought put you off your food.

You told yourself you were just going to browse.

Yet somehow, you found yourself wandering in and out of clothing stores; designer brands with oddly posed mannequins, small vintage boutiques that smelled like leather and incense, and one store with music so loud you walked right back out again. Everything you touched came with a pang of fear, a price tag you didn’t dare look at. But eventually, you found something.

The skirt was long and silk, in a soft, pale shade of green that immediately caught your eye. You paired it with a delicate button-up waistcoat in a similar colour, not bothering to try anything on and simply hoping it would all work together. You tried not to look flustered when the girl behind the cash register gave you the total, thinking back to the card Ben had left on the kitchen counter for you; the one that probably had unlimited credit, the one he’d placed there with a note that might as well have said: buy whatever you want, I have so much money I won’t even notice it’s gone. But you kept a straight face, reaching into your bag and handing over your debit card, certain you could actually feel the sting as the money left your account.

By the time you made it back to the apartment, you’d somehow acquired a new pair of shoes too, and a lipstick, and a clutch bag, and a Big Gulp of Dr Pepper almost twice the size of your head. You’d almost gotten lost twice on the way back, making turns down streets you thought you recognised, only to find yourself further from home. Your feet were aching as you finally stepped into the apartment, your finances bruised, but at least your ego was still intact.

“Quinn?” Ben’s voice called out.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you replied, hopping into your heels as you made your way out of the bedroom.

He was standing in the middle of the apartment waiting for you; a soft white t-shirt tucked into a pair of brown trousers. The matching brown jacket draped over one arm. He’d kept his stubble, his hair just long enough for a slight wave to form.

You stood up straight in the doorway, shamelessly drinking him in, any sense of urgency leaving you the moment you laid eyes on him. He looked delicious. He smelled delicious; the scent of his freshly spritzed cologne drifting across the open space towards you.

“What?” he asked, glancing down at himself in paranoia, then back up to you.

“I want to climb you,” you said simply.

He gave a quick, surprised laugh before glancing down at his watch. “You can climb me when we get back. Preferably with less clothes on.”

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile before making your way across the room towards him.

“You look beautiful,” he said, gaze trailing over you slowly.

“Is it alright?” you asked as you smoothed your hands over your hips. “Not too much? Or… Too little?”

“No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He reached out as you closed the distance, his hand finding your waist as he leaned down to kiss you.

You gave him a quick peck before running your thumb over his lips, wiping away the smudge of lipstick you’d left behind.

You were back to being chauffeured around, climbing into the back of yet another dark car with tinted windows, exchanging occasional glances with the driver in the rearview mirror. As always, Ben’s hand settled on your thigh as you travelled through the city, crawling slowly through heavy traffic as the dusky golden sky began to melt into the late summer evening.

When you arrived at the theatre, you were ushered through a back door and led into what looked like a small greenroom, the hum of crowds and conversations just beyond a set of double doors. Ben kissed the side of your head and directed you to follow a woman dressed all in black. She was talking through a headset, flicking through pages on a clipboard as she gestured for you to come with her.

You glanced up at Ben with a furrowed brow, reluctant to leave his side.

“She’s going to take you to your seat,” he said reassuringly.

“Oh… Okay…”

You followed the woman out into the main lobby, through the crowds of people pouring into the theatre until you got to a reserved seat near the front. You sat down, looking around in confusion, wondering why he hadn’t come with you, if you were going to be watching the whole thing alone.

It took another five minutes for the room to fill, the audience talking amongst themselves as you sat scrolling idly on your phone. When a man finally emerged in front of the screen with a microphone, you put it back in your bag and placed it on the ground near your feet, listening as he began to speak.

“Good evening everybody, thank you so much for joining us tonight. We are thrilled to have you all here for this very special private screening of Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness.”

There was a ripple of applause and hushed whoops through the theatre.

“As you all know, this has been a very highly anticipated movie for Marvel Studios, and we’re so excited to finally be bringing it to you. The work that’s gone into this movie, I can’t even begin to put into words, but what I will say is that this is nothing like anything you’ve seen in the MCU before. Now, just before we dim the lights, I do have a very special guest who has kindly agreed to come out and say a few words.”

You heard a flutter of quiet gasps behind you, making you laugh slightly as you realised why Ben hadn’t come with you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Doctor Strange himself, Benedict Cumberbatch!”

Ben emerged from behind a thick, velvet curtain to an eruption of cheers and applause. You smiled as you watched him; the charming grin and polite waves, how he placed his palms together and bowed his head slightly in gratitude. You’d never seen his stardom up close like this before, never heard the roar of adoring fans or watched him work a crowd. It was surreal, fascinating, and undeniably attractive.

The man handed him the microphone and took a step back as Ben cleared his throat, waiting a moment for the audience to hush before speaking.

“Hi,” he began modestly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hello, wow, thank you. I er, I know you’re all itching to see it so I’ll keep this short. These movies are truly a joy to work on. I love this character and I love the… the madness - excuse the pun - that is this film. The cast, crew, everyone who was a part of this project has really worked hard and I hope you see that when you watch it.” He stared out at the audience, the spotlight catching his eyes, making them sparkle as he spoke. “So with that being said, I really hope you enjoy it. And if you don’t, please lie on the internet and say you did. Thanks.”

Everyone in the audience laughed, including you. You watched him hurry down to take his seat beside you as the host announced the movie. And within moments, the theatre fell into darkness as the screen came to life.

“You okay?” he whispered, reaching over and giving your hand a subtle squeeze.

You nodded, glancing over at him. “Excited.”

He smiled, settling back into his seat as the opening credits began.

Vivid colour burst onto the screen, a kaleidoscope so bright and expansive it almost hurt your eyes to look directly at it. You felt the bass from the speakers in your chest as the music began to play, the pulse and the vibration from every sound effect that followed.

From the moment Ben appeared as Doctor Strange, with those silver flecks and intense eyes, your stomach fluttered with an unexpected sense of pride and disbelief. You knew he was a formidable actor, but it still shocked you to be sitting next to a man whose voice you knew so well, whose face you’d grown so familiar with, yet somehow not recognise him on the screen at all.

You caught yourself smiling more than once, your eyes dancing over the vibrant scenes before you, then sideways to steal a glance at him in the dark. He wasn’t watching himself, not really, his focus stolen by the reactions of the audience; listening for laughter, dissecting the silences. It was as though he’d disappeared inside himself, analysing every minute detail.

The film was bold, dark yet funny, a goldmine of references and epic scenes that bled into one another through portals and shattered timelines. The theatre would let out collective gasps, amused chuckles and excited murmurs, while other times it was completely still, eerily quiet.

You enjoyed the action scenes, but couldn’t help giggling at the thought of him filming them; before the CGI and the finishing touches, when it was just him swirling his hands around, attached to a harness, fighting an invisible opponent. Then the mood in the room shifted, the scene turning emotional, quiet, with intimate dialogue and a beautiful woman gazing up at him so lovingly.

It’s just a movie, Quinn, you told yourself, fighting the irrational jealousy trying to rear its head. And he seemed to sense it, reaching over and gently gripping your thigh.

Then your phone buzzed in the bag at your feet.

You ignored it.

But it quickly buzzed again. And again. And again. A nonstop string of vibrations that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. What if work was trying to get hold of you about your piece? Or what if something was wrong? Were your parents okay? Was there some kind of emergency?

You slowly reached down and grabbed your bag, bringing it onto your lap and popping open the clasp as quietly as you could. You dimmed your phone screen and unlocked it, watching the growing stack of notifications popping up one after the other in total confusion; texts, social media, emails, private messages.

You opened Instagram, blinking in confusion as you clicked on your most recent post, a mirror selfie from over a month ago, now flooded with hundreds of comments.

Homewrecker. Slut. You should be ashamed of yourself. Oh I'm earlyyy 🍿 You knew he was married. You’re disgusting. Not a girls’ girl, clearly. Hope the attention was worth destroying someone’s life. We see you, Quinn. And so does everyone else now. Imagine sleeping your way to a byline. This is why no one trusts journalists. Can’t wait till he dumps you like he did his wife. Proof men think with their dicks. Trash. You owe Faye Dennehy an apology. Enjoy your fifteen minutes. Whore.

You tried to swallow but your throat was too dry, your eyes wide as you stared down at the comments continuing to roll in.

You blew a married man and called it journalism. She probably slept with half his team to get close to him. Poor Faye. From writing about him to riding him. Inspirational. Hope you’re proud. He lost everything for a glorified side piece. Imagine cheating on a woman like Faye Dennehy with a nobody journo. Does he pay you by the article or the orgasm? Vile little girl. Another man loses his integrity to a pretty face and open legs. Journalism isn’t what it used to be. Clearly neither is marriage. You ruined a relationship, now you’re ruining his career. 🥇

You scrolled frantically, heart pounding, breath catching as you tried to figure out where this was all coming from. There was a message from Nick in your DMs, a link to an article followed by a string of question marks. You clicked on it with shaking fingers.

MYSTERY SOLVED: Is This The Woman Benedict Cumberbatch Left His Wife For? From the moment Benedict Cumberbatch announced his divorce from fashion designer Faye Dennehy last year, speculation swirled about the real reason behind the couple’s seemingly sudden split. Those rumours only seemed to strengthen when a “mystery woman” was reportedly seen leaving the actor’s home in the early morning just a few weeks after the announcement. Now, after months of internet sleuthing and fan theories, the pieces of the puzzle seem to have finally fallen into place, and it all started with a casual afternoon stroll at the Chelsea Flower Show. Cumberbatch, 45, was photographed attending the prestigious London event last month alongside his parents and an unidentified woman. While their interactions appeared low-key, fans with eagle eyes and long memories began analysing the paparazzi shots and within hours, the internet had a name. Meet Quinn Armitage, 32, a journalist based in the UK who is now believed to be the actor’s new girlfriend, and possibly the reason behind his divorce. If the name sounds familiar, it should. Armitage writes for Draft Magazine, and is the very same writer who penned the exclusive interview of Cumberbatch just weeks after he ended his marriage. The feature painted the actor in a surprisingly intimate and sympathetic light - a man who wished nothing but the best for his ex wife. At the time, the piece was praised as “nuanced” and “deeply personal.” While Cumberbatch was deemed “honest” and “down to earth”. Now, many are wondering if it was all just strategically timed PR. The Timeline That’s Raising Eyebrows Fans were quick to point out the suspicious alignment of events. Within days of the divorce announcement, speculation arose as to whether infidelity could have played a part in Cumberbatch and Dennehy’s decision to part ways. Armitage was quick to dispel these theories in her Draft Magazine feature, which was published the following month. Before the feature’s publication, sources claimed to have seen an “unidentified woman” leaving the actor’s London home in the early morning. Cumberbatch was later spotted wearing a bracelet with partially visible engraved letters. The letters? “QUI”. Was Cumberbatch really sporting a bracelet engraved with Armitage’s name just weeks after announcing his divorce? Before the Draft feature was even published? The recent Flower Show outing has thrown everything into sharp focus. Matching the woman in the photos to Armitage’s publicly available social media profiles, internet sleuths were able to rapidly piece the story together. Now, with a positive identification of Benedict Cumberbatch’s “mystery woman”, the question on everyone’s lips is no longer if something is going on, but when it started. Was This the Woman Behind the Split? The timing is undeniably murky. Though neither Cumberbatch nor Armitage have publicly commented on the nature of their relationship, critics are asking whether the journalist’s involvement with the actor began before his marriage ended. And if so, was her Draft feature part of a carefully constructed narrative to soften public perception and preempt the fallout? Fans React As the story has actively unfolded within the past few hours, social media has understandably erupted with collective disappointment and outrage, accusing Armitage of unprofessionalism and “weaponised journalism”, while questioning if the freshly divorced A-lister really enlisted the help of his writer mistress to rehabilitate his image. We have not yet been able to reach Mr Cumberbatch’s team for comment, nor Miss Armitage or anyone at Draft Magazine. But in the age of screenshots, side-by-sides and bulletproof timelines, it may not matter. The internet has made up its mind.

Your heart was pounding so heavily that you could no longer hear the movie, just a loud rushing of blood in your ears. There was a thick, sludgy pit forming in your stomach, your limbs so heavy you could barely move them. Even with the AC in the theatre, your skin felt warm and clammy, your cheeks burning so hot you were sure they’d turned crimson.

You closed the article and backed out of your DM’s without replying to Nick, plummeting headfirst into an onslaught of fresh, venomous comments. Someone had tagged Faye under your photo, and you couldn’t help but click on her account, opening her story to see a plain black screen, four simple words written in white:

The truth will out.

That fucking bitch, you thought, your eyes welling with pure rage.

You stood up shakily, feeling Ben reach over and tap you, looking up at you curiously.

“Bathroom,” you whispered, before walking as quietly and quickly as you could down the dark aisle and out of the theatre.

You rushed through the doors into the brightly lit hallway, barely making it a few more steps before you felt your legs give way beneath you. You planted a hand on the wall to hold yourself up, your chest heaving, throat tight, skin tingling as you sucked in deep, shaking breaths.

You couldn’t help but look at your phone again, this time opening Twitter.

So let me get this straight… Benedict Cumberbatch met Quinn Armitage while he was married, she writes a soft-focus puff piece about him, and now they’re holding hands at the Chelsea Flower Show? Girl… your PR arc is showing. 💀 Soooo… the mystery woman leaving his house at 6am was the journalist? LMAO this man really said “I’ll do my own PR and get laid in the process.” Gotta respect it Yet another male celebrity in his mid-40’s ditching his perfectly lovely, smart, successful, AGE APPROPRIATE wife for a younger woman with loose morals. Why am I not at all surprised? Quinn Armitage knew exactly what she was doing. You don’t just ‘accidentally’ fall into a relationship with a married man and then write a gushing magazine piece about him while getting your name on a high profile byline. That’s not love, it’s strategy.

You locked your phone and shoved it into your bag. If you couldn’t see it, then none of this was actually happening. It wasn’t happening. It wasn’t happening.

You considered asking someone to go and get Ben, to have him call the driver to take you back to the apartment. You also considered simply walking out and disappearing into the night; changing your name and starting a new life. But you did neither. Instead, you took a deep breath, swallowed down the nausea and walked back into the theatre.

The lights came up to a wave of applause, rolling through the theatre like a tide until it was deafening. You stood slowly along with everyone else, clapping along with them, your hands moving independently from the rest of your body. There were whistles and cheers, people shouting their praise over the noise.

Ben turned to look at you with a proud smile.

You smiled back weakly.

He looked at you for a moment longer, his eyes flickering over your face like he was trying to read your expression, but then the host approached, gesturing for Ben to step back up to the front of the theatre.

“Thank you so much,” he said into the microphone. “I’m so grateful to you all for coming. Thank you.”

He didn’t say anything else, too overwhelmed by the response of the room to think of something to say. Instead he gave one last wave to the crowd before making his way back over to his seat beside you.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, following him as the woman with the headset led you out through a side exit and back into the small greenroom. You trailed behind him the whole time, your arms stiff at your sides, the throb of a headache taking root in your temples.

Ben was talking as you walked, something about the film, or maybe it was about the audience. You weren’t paying attention, but still you offered a small, polite smile when he turned to look at you.

“So what did you think then?” he asked as you stepped out of the building into the cool night air.

“It was great,” you replied softly.

“Quinn.” He stopped walking for a moment, making you halt too. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just… I’m tired. Is the car here?”

He gave you a sceptical look, but eventually nodded, placing a hand on your lower back as he guided you towards the car waiting nearby.

The driver opened the door and you slipped into the backseat, sinking into the soft leather with a heavy exhale. Ben climbed in beside you and reached for your hand.

“You sure everything’s alright?” he asked gently, squeezing your fingers.

You gave another weak nod before turning away to look out the window.

Your whole body felt tense, like you’d been filled to the brim with concrete. The comments echoed in your mind, one after the other in a poisonous string, wrapping around your throat like a noose. You could still see them when you blinked. Whore. Homewrecker. Liar.

They knew your name, your face, where you worked, where you lived. Your stomach began to gurgle.

“Hey,” Ben said softly, allowing a slight laugh. “If you didn’t like the film, you don’t have to pretend you-”

“I enjoyed the film, Ben,” you interrupted.

He stared at you for a moment before exhaling a gentle sigh. “Something’s wrong.”

“Ben,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose between finger and thumb. “I just want to get back to the apartment.”

He conceded, settling back into his seat as the car continued through the heavy traffic.

You kept your eyes on the window, though you weren’t actually taking in the view; your mind was reeling, head pounding, anxiety wedged in a knot at the base of your chest. The car finally emerged onto a clear stretch of road, speeding up to make it through a set of traffic lights. But the motion made your stomach turn, your lips tingling as you began to panic.

“Stop the car,” you said abruptly.

Ben turned to you in confusion. “What?”

“Tell him to stop the car. Now.”

“Why, what’s the matter?”

“I’m going to be sick,” you snapped, already reaching for the door handle.

“Stop the car!” Ben shouted to the driver.

The car screeched to a halt and pulled over near the sidewalk. You shoved the door open before it had even fully stopped and leaned out, gripping the handle as you vomited onto the busy street. The sound was humiliating; the heaving, the spluttering, the bile hitting the concrete with a crude splash. Ben placed a hand gently on your back, but you shook it off quickly, settling back into the car and pulling the door closed.

“I’m fine,” you said breathlessly, wiping your mouth and nose with the back of your hand.

“Quinn-”

“I’m fine, can we just… Go, please.” You let your head fall back, breathing deeply as your body fluctuated between cold shivers and rushes of heat.

He stared at you for a moment, jaw sharp, brow heavy with concern. But he finally gave in, quietly instructing the driver to keep moving.

The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Your mouth tasted like vomit, your eyes teary, nose running. Your fingers trembled as you clung to your bag, every buzz of your phone like a cruel taunt.

You felt guilty for pushing Ben away, for tainting the evening with a bad attitude and cold disposition. If you were a better actor, you could have preserved the moment for him; gave a pretty smile and held his hand in the car, told him how much you liked the film. But you could barely stand to look at him, the shame and guilt and devastation eating away at you with every concerned glance and worried tilt of his head.

You walked together from the car into the building, waiting in silence until the lift doors opened. You stepped inside and immediately leaned against the mirrored wall, resting your head back and closing your eyes as he pressed the button for your floor.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

You nodded, mustering a barely audible hum as you wrapped your arms around your stomach.

“Quinn, you’re-” He let out a confused breath before continuing quietly. “Are you- You’re not… It’s not possible you’re… Pregnant, is it?”

You opened your eyes and brought your head forward, looking right at him with a dumbfounded expression. “No, Ben. Funnily enough, women can be sick for reasons other than pregnancy...”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, seemingly annoyed by his own tactlessness. “Fair enough, you’re right, sorry.”

The lift doors opened and you stepped out, making your way down the hall towards the apartment.

“Well you need to tell me what the matter is,” he said, and you could tell he was losing his patience.

“Ben-”

“No. Something’s obviously wrong-”

You huffed, opening your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“You wouldn’t talk to me after the screening, you still aren’t talking to me, you threw up in the fucking car, Quinn, out of nowhere-”

“Can we just get inside? Please?”

He was standing between you and the front door, staring down at you, forcing you to look at him. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Inside,” you said simply, your voice so quiet it was barely a whisper.

He remained there for a moment, his eyes darting across your face, noticing the glimmer in your waterline, the curve of your brows. Then he finally yielded, scanning the key card and opening the door to let you walk in first.

You took a few steps inside, stopping briefly to savour the dark, quiet space; the calm, the stillness, the seclusion. You drew in a long, deep breath through your nose, letting it out through pursed lips as Ben flicked on a light and closed the door.

“Talk to me, Quinn.”

You turned to look at him, taking a long pause before speaking reluctantly. “Is your phone still switched off?”

“Yeah.” He patted the pockets of his trousers, then his chest, before pulling his phone from the inside breast pocket of his jacket. “Yeah, I didn’t think to turn it back on because we left so… Why?”

“You should probably turn it on.”

His brows twitched, coming together with a quick, confused scrunch. But he didn’t press you, didn’t doubt you or demand an explanation. Instead, he held down the side button, staring down at the screen as he waited impatiently for it to light up.

You didn’t hang around to see his reaction, turning immediately and making your way into the bedroom without a word. You kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, dropping your head into your hands with a pained groan. Then the tears finally came, spilling into your palms as you gasped to catch your breath.

You were hunched over, elbows digging into your thighs as you cradled your face to catch each quiet sob. Your body shuddered with shallow, panicked breaths, your throat burning as you tried desperately to stay quiet. But it only seemed to make it worse, your chest heaving with every sharp, stuttered intake of breath, eyes burning as your mascara began to bleed with your tears.

A sudden, loud crash echoed through the apartment, making you jump in fright, your back straightening as your head snapped towards the door. You stayed frozen in place, wide-eyed as you heard Ben let out a deafening, full-throated yell.

You stood up and hurried out of the room, your gaze immediately falling to the remains of a large decorative vase, now scattered across the floor in broken, jagged pieces. You stared down at it in shock, then over to Ben as he stood on the other side of the room, hands on hips, chest rising and falling with hot, heavy breaths. His jaw was clenched, nostrils flaring, eyes wild with fury as they finally found yours.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Instead he just stood there staring at you, wounded, furious, helpless, all at once. Then he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and deep with anger.

“They’re tearing you apart.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“Saying we had an affair, that we planned to…” He paced back and forth quickly, like he was struggling to control his rage, before speaking quietly, like it pained him to say the words out loud. “They called you a whore…”

“Yeah,” you whispered, holding back the urge to cry.

“Fuck!” he screamed, grabbing the lamp off a nearby table and launching it across the room.

Your whole body tensed as it collided with the solid brick wall. You’d never seen him like this; not when you fought, or when you purposely did things to piss him off, not even when he caught you snooping through his house on the night you first met. It was like he wasn’t there anymore, like something hot and primal had burrowed beneath his skin.

His fists were balled at his sides, his face red, eyes dark as he turned in a tight circle, like he was searching for something else to break, another outlet for his rage. “It’s all so fucking warped! Gold-digger, homewrecker, like you fucking hunted me down and stole me from some perfect fucking marriage!”

You wrapped your arms around your stomach, as though shielding yourself from it all.

“Mysterious woman,” he laughed, almost maniacally. “How the fuck do they get away with writing this shit!? Sending an angry mob after someone with no fucking proof! And of course I’m just an idiot man thinking with his dick, but you… Of course you’re this master manipulator fucking slut with no morals.”

He raked a hand through his hair, gripping it at the root as his voice continued to bellow through the apartment. You stood frozen as you watched him grab his phone off the arm of the couch, sending it flying through the air towards the wall, just like the lamp.

“I’m sorry,” you said weakly, blinking away a tear that dripped onto your cheek.

He stopped suddenly, the air seeming to still as his gaze settled on you. “What?”

You gave a slight shrug, unsure of what else to say. And within seconds, the anger behind his eyes crumbled into something else entirely.

“Oh my god,” he breathed as he took a step back, almost like he was ashamed of himself. “I’m terrifying you.”

“No-” you began with a sigh. But your voice was soft and unconvincing, trailing off as he interrupted.

“I am. I’m throwing shit about and screaming like a lunatic and you’re standing there feeling like you need to apologise.”

He looked at you again, then down to your bare feet and the shards of broken vase scattered across the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, rushing over and using his foot to kick the mess away, clearing a path for you to step towards him. “I’m sorry, you know this isn’t- I would never- I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just so…” His breath caught in his throat.

You nodded. “I know.”

“This isn’t your fault, Quinn. The things that are being said, you know that’s not…”

You were so numb, unable to absorb anything he was saying. Even as your eyes met his, it was like you were staring straight through him. He brought a hand up to your cheek, and you didn’t realise you’d flinched until his expression changed, a look of anguish washing over him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“You didn’t write those things…”

“No, for this. For losing my temper, for frightening you.”

You paused for a moment before bringing your hand up and placing it over his, resting your cheek in his palm like a silent acceptance.

He swallowed hard. “It’s going to be okay. I promise, we’re going to fix this.”

But there was a crack in his voice, a flicker of uncertainty that you’d never heard before.

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duvetfawn · 8 months ago

Text

A Case to Die For

- Masterlist

INTRODUCTION: The bones told stories only you could read. As an anthropologist, you were brought in to assist on a chilling case—a serial killer carving intricate patterns into the bones of his victims. It was meant to be about the work, about solving the mystery. But then you met Sherlock Holmes. Brilliant, maddening, and utterly magnetic, he challenged you at every turn. The case pulled you both into the depths of human depravity, but it was the tension between you and the detective that threatened to consume you entirely.

PAIRING: Sherlock x fem!reader

WARNINGS: This story contains SMUT (it's at the end, I put a warning before the scenes), MDNI, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, vaginal sex (different position), cursing, etc.

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

A/N: Hello people! I've had this idea for a while. As you may have guessed I enjoy writing one-shots quite a lot. Don't worry though, I'll update my main story soon. Sorry about grammar mistakes (if there are any). Enjoy your reading!

The knock at the door was brisk, almost impatient.

You glanced at the worn numbers marking the address—221B Baker Street—and adjusted the strap of your bag, the weight of the files inside pulling at your shoulder. The letter from Detective Inspector Lestrade, which had summoned you here, was crumpled in your coat pocket, and you briefly considered turning back. You weren’t sure what unnerved you more: the gruesome details of the case you’d been asked to consult on or the man you were about to meet.

The door swung open before you could knock again.

Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway, taller than you’d expected, his lean frame emphasized by a dark suit that seemed tailored to the millimeter. His sharp cheekbones caught the light filtering in from the window behind him, and his piercing blue eyes swept over you with clinical detachment.

“Finally,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “You’re late.”

“I was told noon,” you replied, stepping into the cozy yet cluttered sitting room. The air smelled faintly of tea and books, with an undertone of something more chemical.

“It’s five past,” he said, his tone clipped as he gestured toward the couch. “Sit. Let’s get this over with.”

“Charming,” you muttered under your breath, but you complied, placing your bag beside you.

As you settled in, Sherlock was already pacing, his eyes darting over you like a scanner. He tilted his head slightly, as if piecing together a puzzle. “Forensic anthropologist. Academic background, but you’ve spent time in the field—South America, recently, given the faint traces of mosquito bites on your arms. You’re meticulous, perhaps overly so. Single—though not by choice. No pets. Late nights working have left shadows under your eyes. Addicted to caffeine. And—”

You cut him off before he could continue. “I drink tea, not coffee. And I left South America three months ago, not recently.”

Sherlock stopped mid-step, his lips twitching upward into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.

“Impressive,” came a voice from behind you. Turning, you saw Dr. John Watson standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a warm smile on his face. “Not many people interrupt Sherlock.”

“Someone has to,” you replied, shooting a pointed look at Holmes.

John chuckled. “Well, you’ll fit in just fine here.”

“Enough pleasantries,” Sherlock interrupted, his smirk fading as quickly as it had appeared. He moved to a cluttered desk piled high with books, papers, and vials of indeterminate substances. “Lestrade claims you have insights into the carvings on the bones. Show me.”

You bristled slightly at his abrupt tone but reached into your bag, pulling out the folder containing photographs of the remains. You set it on the table, and Sherlock was on it immediately, his fingers quick and precise as he flipped through the images.

“These carvings,” you began, pointing to one of the photographs, “aren’t just random marks. They’re runic, but not purely historical. Someone’s added their own cipher to them, which is why no one’s been able to decode them yet.”

Sherlock didn’t look at you, but his lips parted slightly, and he let out a low hum of interest.

“They’re not just decorative,” you continued. “They’re instructions—or warnings. And they’re meant to mislead.”

“Fascinating,” Sherlock murmured, finally glancing up. His gaze was intense, the weight of it almost physical. “And you’ve decoded these… instructions?”

“Not yet,” you admitted. “But I’ve narrowed down the language and symbolism to something that originates from Norse mythology. Whoever is behind this knows their history but is using it to obscure their true intent.”

Sherlock straightened, his tall frame towering over you as he considered your words. Then, without warning, he turned to John. “Get the laptop. Now.”

John sighed, muttering something under his breath as he retrieved the requested item. “You could at least say please once in a while, you know.”

Sherlock ignored him, his attention already back on you. “Your methodology. Show me.”

You opened your own notebook, flipping to a page filled with notes, sketches, and translations. As you explained your process, Sherlock’s eyes darted between your notes and the photographs, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“You’re thorough,” he said finally, his voice softer than before. “Almost obsessively so.”

“I have to be,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “Lives depend on it.”

His lips twitched again, as if he were on the verge of another smirk, but he turned away abruptly, the moment passing.

Hours passed as the three of you worked. The initial stiffness between you and Sherlock began to dissolve, replaced by a grudging respect. John chimed in occasionally with practical observations, but most of the time, it was you and Sherlock, your minds sparking off one another as you dissected every detail of the case.

The bones belonged to multiple victims, all of whom had vanished under mysterious circumstances. The carvings on the remains suggested a connection to a cult, one that used ancient rituals as a cover for their crimes.

As the day wore on, the atmosphere in the room grew heavier. The implications of the case were grim, and the pressure to find the killer mounted with every passing moment.

It was well past midnight when John finally stretched and stood. “I’m calling it a night. Some of us need sleep, you know.” He clapped Sherlock on the shoulder, then glanced at you. “Good luck keeping up with him. He’ll be at this all night.”

You smiled faintly as John left, but the tension in the room remained.

“You should go, too,” Sherlock said, not looking up from his laptop.

“I’m staying,” you replied firmly. “This case doesn’t just affect you, Sherlock. I’m involved now, whether I like it or not.”

He glanced at you then, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Stubborn.”

You shrugged. “Dedicated.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, unexpectedly, Sherlock’s lips curved into a genuine smile. It was fleeting, but it transformed his sharp features into something softer, more human.

As the hours dragged on, the weight of exhaustion began to set in. You leaned back against the sofa, stretching your legs as Sherlock continued to pace the room, his mind clearly racing.

“Do you ever stop?” you asked, your voice tinged with amusement.

“Rarely,” he replied without missing a beat.

You watched him for a moment, noting the way his dark curls caught the dim light and the way his sharp jawline flexed as he mulled over the case. He was undeniably striking, but there was something more captivating about the way his mind worked—relentless, brilliant, and entirely singular.

“You should sleep,” he said abruptly, breaking the silence.

“So should you.”

He stopped pacing, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “I can’t.”

The honesty in his voice surprised you. For a moment, you saw beyond the genius and arrogance to the man underneath—a man burdened by the weight of his own mind.

“Sherlock…” you began, but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, almost pleading.

You didn’t press further, but the moment lingered, the air between you charged with unspoken words.

The silence stretched between you and Sherlock, thick with unspoken thoughts. He returned to pacing, the sharp lines of his face etched with concentration.

You rose from the sofa, crossing to the table where the photographs of the bones lay spread out. The weight of the case had settled heavily on your shoulders. The carvings weren’t just the work of a killer—they were the work of someone meticulous, someone who enjoyed leaving a trail, daring others to follow.

“Why bones?” you murmured, half to yourself.

“What?” Sherlock’s voice cut through the room, sharp and sudden.

“Why bones?” you repeated, turning to face him. “The killer could’ve left messages in any number of ways. Why carve them into bones? It’s labor-intensive, messy, and… personal.”

Sherlock’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he considered your words. “Because they want us to see the victims as something more than flesh. Bones are timeless. Eternal. To them, this is art.”

The thought made your stomach churn. “So we’re dealing with an egotist. Someone who wants to be remembered.”

“Exactly.” Sherlock’s lips curved into a grim smile. He stepped closer, his movements fluid and purposeful. “And egotists always leave clues. They want to be found—eventually. It’s a game to them.”

You nodded, your mind already racing ahead. “But the runes—there’s a pattern. I don’t think they’re random.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up, a spark of excitement flickering in their depths. “Show me.”

You reached for your notebook, flipping to the page where you’d sketched out the carvings. As you explained your theory, Sherlock leaned in, his proximity making the air between you hum with tension. You could feel the heat of him, the sharpness of his gaze as he absorbed every word you said.

When you finished, he straightened, a rare look of approval crossing his face. “You’re good,” he said simply.

“Better than you expected?” you shot back, unable to resist the jab.

His lips twitched. “Much.”

Hours later, the two of you stood side by side at the kitchen counter, a map of London spread out before you. You’d identified a pattern in the runes—coordinates, perhaps, or some kind of geographical marker.

“Here,” you said, pointing to a section of the map. “The killer’s movements trace a path through these locations. They’re circling something.”

Sherlock leaned over your shoulder, his hand brushing yours as he followed your line of sight. “They’re closing in on a central point,” he murmured. “A hub. But what?”

Before you could respond, the sound of the door opening interrupted you. John stepped into the room, his expression curious.

“You two still at it?” he asked, his gaze flicking between you and Sherlock.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, not looking up.

John sighed. “Of course you are. Did either of you eat? Sleep? Do anything remotely human?”

“I had tea,” you offered.

John shook his head. “Right. Well, if you need me, I’ll be in my room. Try not to burn the flat down.”

As John left, Sherlock straightened, his attention fully on the map once more. “We’re close,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I can feel it.”

It was well past three in the morning when the breakthrough came. You’d been poring over the map, exhaustion tugging at the edges of your mind, when Sherlock suddenly froze.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“What?”

He grabbed the map, pointing to a section near the Thames. “The carvings aren’t just coordinates. They’re dates. Look—each location corresponds to a disappearance, and the runes indicate the order.”

You stared at the map, your pulse quickening. “So the central point…”

“Is where the killer will strike next.”

The realization sent a jolt of adrenaline through you. But before you could react, Sherlock turned to you, his expression serious. “You’re staying here.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“It’s too dangerous,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The killer knows who you are. If you come with me, you’ll be a target.”

“And you won’t?” you shot back. “Sherlock, I’m not staying behind while you run off to confront a murderer alone.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then his shoulders slumped slightly, and he sighed. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered.

“And you’re overbearing,” you replied, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

The tension between you remained thick as you prepared to leave for the central location. Sherlock was quiet, his usual sharp remarks absent as he packed a small bag with tools and evidence.

“You’re worried,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

He glanced at you, his blue eyes unreadable. “I’m always worried.”

“About me?”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the mask he wore slipped. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The admission hung in the air, heavy and charged. You stepped closer, your heart pounding. “Sherlock…”

He didn’t move, his tall frame unnervingly still. Then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “I can’t afford distractions,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“I’m not a distraction,” you said, your voice steady.

His lips curved into a faint smile, and before you could react, he closed the distance between you. His kiss was sudden and consuming, all the tension and frustration of the past days boiling over in a single, electrifying moment.

The kiss lingered for a moment—unspoken emotions breaking through the controlled veneer that Sherlock so carefully maintained. But just as quickly as it began, he pulled back, his sharp features hardening as if he’d remembered himself.

“This is a distraction,” he muttered, turning away abruptly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “A distraction?” you echoed, your voice edged with disbelief. “You kissed me, Sherlock.”

“And I shouldn’t have,” he said, his tone clipped. He grabbed the map from the table, his long fingers gripping it tightly. “The case comes first.”

You felt a flush of anger rise in your chest. “You don’t get to decide what’s important for both of us. I’m here because I want to be.”

Sherlock turned to you then, his blue eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, perhaps, or something deeper. “And what happens if you get hurt?” he snapped.

“I could say the same to you,” you shot back, stepping closer. “You’re not invincible, Sherlock.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the tension between you crackling like static electricity. But before either of you could speak again, Sherlock’s phone buzzed on the table.

He snatched it up, his expression darkening as he read the message. “Lestrade,” he said shortly. “There’s been another body.”

The air was cold and damp as you arrived at the scene, the faint mist of the Thames clinging to your skin. Lestrade met you both at the edge of a cordoned-off area, his face grim.

“Another one,” he said, nodding toward the forensics team working under a floodlight. “Same carvings. Same precision. This one was left out in the open, though—almost like they wanted us to find it.”

Sherlock pushed past him without a word, his long coat billowing behind him. You followed closely, your heart pounding as you approached the body.

The victim was laid out on the ground, their arms folded across their chest in a disturbingly serene pose. The runes were etched deep into their skin, trailing up their arms and across their torso.

“Another message,” Sherlock murmured, crouching beside the body. His fingers hovered over the carvings, his sharp eyes scanning every detail.

You knelt beside him, your stomach twisting at the sight. “It’s different,” you said, pointing to a series of symbols near the victim’s collarbone. “These weren’t on the last body.”

Sherlock tilted his head, his expression sharp. “A variation in the pattern,” he said softly. “Why?”

“Because they’re escalating,” you replied. “The killer’s becoming bolder, more confident. They’re taunting us.”

Sherlock’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Or they’re telling us exactly where to find them.”

Lestrade approached, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Anything?”

Sherlock stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the scene. “Yes. The killer is leaving breadcrumbs—and we’re about to follow them.”

Back at 221B, the two of you worked furiously to decipher the new symbols. The atmosphere in the flat was charged, the earlier tension between you and Sherlock now overshadowed by the urgency of the case.

“These markings,” Sherlock muttered, pacing the room. “They’re not just coordinates. They’re a challenge—a riddle.”

You stared at the notes spread out before you, your mind racing. “It’s a location,” you said suddenly, the pieces clicking into place. “The symbols form a map—a rough one, but it’s there.”

Sherlock stopped pacing, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “Show me.”

You grabbed a pen, sketching out the pattern of the runes and overlaying them onto the map of London. It was crude, but the alignment was unmistakable.

“Here,” you said, pointing to a spot near the outskirts of the city. “An abandoned warehouse. It’s isolated, easy to control. If I were them, that’s where I’d be.”

Sherlock’s lips curved into a rare smile—one that sent a jolt of electricity through you. “Brilliant,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent.

Your breath caught, but you quickly pushed the moment aside. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We go,” Sherlock said simply. “And we end this.”

The warehouse loomed before you, its broken windows and rusted exterior shrouded in darkness. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you and Sherlock stepped inside, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty space.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart pounding as you followed him deeper into the building. The air was thick with the scent of damp and decay, and every creak of the floorboards set your nerves on edge.

Then, you saw it—a figure standing in the shadows, their face obscured.

“Mr. Holmes,” the figure said, their voice smooth and cold. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Sherlock stepped forward, his posture rigid. “And here I thought you’d try harder to hide.”

The figure chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. “Why would I hide? This is my masterpiece, Mr. Holmes. And you’re the final audience.”

You felt Sherlock’s hand brush against yours—a silent reassurance. Your pulse quickened, but you held your ground, ready for whatever came next.

Sherlock’s hand brushed against yours again, a fleeting touch, but it steadied you. His blue eyes flicked toward you for the briefest of moments, and you nodded, understanding his unspoken command to stay close.

The figure stepped forward, their face finally illuminated by the dim light filtering through the broken windows. A man, tall and gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a glint of madness in his eyes. His hands were clasped in front of him, as if he were a host welcoming guests to a party.

“You’re braver than I expected,” the man said, his voice eerily calm. “I didn’t think you’d come here so willingly.”

Sherlock tilted his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been practically begging for my attention. Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

The man’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing. “And you’ve brought company,” he said, his gaze shifting to you. “How… quaint.”

You stiffened under his scrutiny, but Sherlock stepped slightly in front of you, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “She’s not your concern.”

“Oh, but she is,” the man said, his smile returning. “She’s part of this now. Part of my design.”

Sherlock’s expression darkened, his hands clenching at his sides. “Your design is flawed,” he said coldly. “You think yourself a mastermind, but you’re nothing more than a petty narcissist playing with symbols you barely understand.”

The man’s smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of anger. “You don’t know me, Holmes. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I know enough,” Sherlock replied, his voice like ice. “You carve your messages into bones because you crave permanence. You want the world to remember you, but you don’t understand what true brilliance looks like. You’re a coward hiding behind theatrics.”

The man lunged forward, his face twisted with rage. But Sherlock was faster. He moved with a precision that took your breath away, sidestepping the attack and pinning the man against the wall in one swift motion.

“You’ve made your last mistake,” Sherlock hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “This game is over.”

The man struggled, but Sherlock held him firm, his tall frame towering over the killer. You felt a surge of relief mixed with admiration as you watched him work, his sharp mind and physical prowess in perfect sync.

It wasn’t until the police arrived that the weight of the confrontation truly hit you. The man was dragged away in handcuffs, his defiance replaced by a sullen silence. Lestrade patted Sherlock on the shoulder, muttering something about a job well done, but Sherlock barely acknowledged him.

Instead, his attention was on you.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly, his piercing gaze softening as he stepped closer.

You hadn’t even noticed until he pointed it out. The adrenaline that had carried you through the night was fading, leaving behind a hollow ache in your chest.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered.

“No, you’re not.”

Sherlock’s hands were on your shoulders before you could protest, his touch firm but gentle. He guided you away from the chaos, into the quiet corner of the warehouse where the shadows offered a semblance of privacy.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” he said, his voice low. “I shouldn’t have let you come.”

“I had to be here,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “You needed me.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then his hands tightened on your shoulders, and something in his expression shifted—something raw and vulnerable.

“I did need you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The confession hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt your breath catch as he stepped closer, his blue eyes locked onto yours.

The first kiss had been a crack in the wall. This one was the collapse.

The warehouse was silent save for the echo of your hurried breaths. The tension in the air had reached a breaking point, and when Sherlock’s lips crashed into yours, it was like a dam breaking.

The kiss was urgent, heated, his hands coming up to cup your face with an uncharacteristic lack of control. His body pressed into yours, pinning you against the cold, dusty wall. His lips were surprisingly soft, but his movements were anything but gentle. His teeth grazed your lower lip, his tongue slipping past as he deepened the kiss, leaving no doubt about the desperation behind it.

Your hands found their way into his hair, tangling in the dark curls you’d wanted to touch far longer than you cared to admit. A low groan escaped him as you pulled him closer, the sound vibrating through you.

But just as quickly as it started, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his blue eyes dark with something primal.

“This isn’t the place,” he said, his voice strained, but his hands remained on you, his thumb brushing over your jaw as if he couldn’t quite let go.

You nodded, your chest heaving, unable to form words.

He stepped back reluctantly, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect himself. “Come to Baker Street.”

It wasn’t a request.

You followed him outside, the cold night air doing little to cool the fire raging beneath your skin. The drive to 221B was a blur—Sherlock barely spoke, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, the tension between you palpable.

By the time you arrived, the front door was barely closed before he had you pressed against it, his lips on yours once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no restraint. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel just how affected he was.

“Upstairs,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t argue, letting him guide you up the narrow staircase to his flat, every step building the anticipation to a breaking point.

Sherlock’s lips were everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your collarbone. His hands roamed with purpose, as if memorizing every curve of your body. But it wasn’t hurried. There was an uncharacteristic tenderness in his movements, a contrast to the raw hunger in his kisses.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and strained, as if he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth.

The sound of him—usually so controlled and precise—undone in this moment sent a jolt of heat through you.

You let your hands roam over his chest, marveling at the lean muscle beneath his pale skin, the way his body seemed almost sculpted, yet undeniably real. He was all sharp lines and ridges, a perfect contradiction of strength and vulnerability.

“Sherlock,” you breathed, his name tumbling from your lips without thought.

He paused at the sound, his head lifting to meet your gaze. His blue eyes were blown wide with desire, yet there was something else in them too—something softer.

“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than I care to admit.”

Your breath caught. “And?”

His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile—so unlike him it made your heart ache. “And now that I have you, I’m not sure I’ll ever let you go.”

The vulnerability in his words stole your breath, but before you could respond, he was on you again—his lips searing against yours as if he couldn’t stand the distance for another second.

He guided you to the bed in the corner of the flat, his hands never leaving your body. When the back of your knees hit the edge, you sank down, pulling him with you.

“Lie back,” he commanded softly, his voice like velvet.

You obeyed, your pulse racing as you reclined against the pillows. Sherlock followed, his tall frame looming over you as his hands trailed down your sides.

“You deserve to be worshiped,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your stomach. “Let me show you.”

His hands slid to your hips, and with a fluid motion, he rid you of the last barriers between you. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body, but any nervousness you felt dissolved the moment his mouth replaced his hands.

The first touch of his lips against you sent a shockwave through your body. He worked slowly at first, his tongue tracing deliberate patterns, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his dark curls.

He hummed in response, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. He was meticulous, as if solving a puzzle—reading every gasp, every shiver, adjusting his movements until he had you unraveling beneath him.

His tongue pressed harder, his pace quickening, and you couldn’t stop the moans that spilled from your lips.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice breaking.

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down, his hands tightening on your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. When his fingers joined the fray, slipping inside you with a skill that left you breathless, it was too much.

Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your back arching off the bed as his name tore from your lips.

But Sherlock didn’t stop—not until you were trembling, every nerve in your body alight.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistened, and the smug look on his face would’ve annoyed you if you weren’t still recovering.

“Impressive,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

You managed a weak laugh, your chest heaving. “Cocky bastard.”

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

As the haze of pleasure began to fade, you found yourself wanting more—needing more. You pushed against Sherlock’s chest, flipping him onto his back with a boldness that seemed to catch him off guard.

“Your turn,” you said, your voice low and teasing.

His eyes darkened, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Be my guest.”

You moved down his body, taking your time exploring every inch of him. His sharp collarbones, the defined lines of his chest, the faint trail of hair leading lower—it was all intoxicating. When you reached the waistband of his trousers, you paused, glancing up to meet his gaze.

“Off,” you demanded.

His smirk widened, but he complied, lifting his hips to help you. When he was fully exposed, your breath hitched.

“You’re staring,” he teased, echoing your earlier words.

“Shut up,” you shot back, leaning down to kiss him in a way that wiped the smirk off his face.

You started slow, letting your tongue trace along him, savoring the way his body tensed beneath you. His hands fisted in the sheets, a low groan escaping his lips.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You smiled against him, taking him deeper. His reaction was immediate—his head falling back, a string of curses spilling from his lips as you worked him with a combination of precision and fervor.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice strained. “If you keep that up, I won’t—”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Good,” you said, your voice laced with mischief.

He growled, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you back up to him.

Sherlock’s hands tightened on your hips as he hovered above you, his breathing ragged, his dark curls falling into his face. The weight of his body pinned you beneath him, his lean frame pressing into yours in a way that made your pulse race.

He slid into you in one fluid, deliberate motion, the stretch and fullness stealing your breath. A guttural moan escaped his lips, his forehead pressing against yours as he stilled, letting you adjust.

“Christ,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and strained. “You’re… incredible.”

You dug your nails into his back, urging him to move. “Sherlock, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

He didn’t make you wait. His hips began to move, a slow, torturous rhythm that left you gasping.

Each thrust was measured, precise—just enough to leave you wanting more. His lips brushed against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured, “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as you arched into him.

His pace quickened, each thrust deeper, harder. You could feel every inch of him, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. The sounds of skin against skin, of his low groans and your cries, filled the room.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he growled, his voice raw with desire.

You couldn’t respond, too lost in the sensation of him. His hand slid down your thigh, hooking your leg over his hip to pull you closer. The new angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through you, and you cried out, your nails raking down his back.

“More,” you begged, your voice breaking.

He obliged, shifting again, this time pulling your legs over his shoulders. The depth was overwhelming, every thrust hitting a spot that left you trembling.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and authoritative.

You opened your eyes to find his piercing blue gaze locked onto yours. The intensity of his stare was almost too much, but you couldn’t look away.

“You’re stunning like this,” he said, his tone reverent. “Completely mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver through you, and you tightened around him, pulling a sharp gasp from his lips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his control slipping.

He slowed suddenly, his movements deliberate as he leaned down to kiss you. The change in pace was almost maddening, but there was something intimate in the way he took his time, as if savoring every moment.

“I want to see all of you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours.

Before you could respond, he pulled out, leaving you aching and empty. He flipped you onto your stomach with ease, his hands guiding your hips into the air.

“Stay like this,” he commanded, his voice dark with lust.

You shivered as his hand trailed down your back, pausing to squeeze your hips. When he entered you again, the angle was deeper, more intense, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips.

“So good for me,” he praised, his hands gripping your hips as he set a relentless pace.

You braced yourself against the bed, each thrust sending you closer to the edge. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving marks you knew you’d feel tomorrow, but the pain only heightened the pleasure.

“Sherlock,” you moaned, your voice muffled by the pillow.

He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back as he murmured in your ear, “You feel fucking incredible. Do you know that?”

You could only whimper in response, the words lost as he hit a spot that made your vision blur.

“I need to see your face,” he said suddenly, his voice softer but no less commanding.

He pulled out again, guiding you onto your side. He lay behind you, one hand lifting your leg as he slid back inside. The position was intimate, his chest flush against your back, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

“Touch yourself,” he murmured, his hand trailing down to guide yours.

You obeyed, your fingers finding the spot that had you spiraling. His thrusts grew slower but deeper, his lips never leaving your skin as he whispered filthy praise into your ear.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice a mix of reverence and need. “So fucking perfect for me.”

The intensity built again, the pace quickening as he turned you onto your back once more. His body covered yours, his weight grounding you as he drove into you with a ferocity that left you breathless.

“You’re close,” he said, his tone confident.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words.

“Let go,” he commanded, his hand slipping between your bodies to push you over the edge.

The orgasm tore through you, your body arching as you cried out his name. The waves of pleasure were overwhelming, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Sherlock followed moments later, a guttural moan escaping him as he buried himself deep inside you.

His body tensed, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he found his release.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing.

Sherlock collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as he buried his face in your hair. His body was warm against yours, his breath still uneven.

“You’re remarkable,” he murmured, his voice soft but sincere.

You smiled, your head resting against his chest. “So are you.”

He chuckled, the sound low and soothing. “I suppose we make a good team, then.”

“You think?” you teased, looking up at him.

His blue eyes softened, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. “I know.”

And for once, Sherlock Holmes had nothing else to say.

#bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch smut #benedict cumberbatch x reader #sherlock #sherlock fandom #smut #female reader #fem reader #smut oneshot #smut writing #one shot

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biblicallyaccuratemeat · 4 months ago

Text

MDNI!! 18+

A/N: Surgeon Stephen Strange was totally a manwhore!!! I scream as they drag me back to my padded cell. Anywho! I finally finished this goddamn thang. He was a manwhore but also he is so, so earnest and fucking dumb. I have like three other WIPs in progress for this idiot that are all drastically different vibes. In other news, I’m starting ketamine therapy which I’m hoping will help with my fucking depression so I can find the motivation to write again. :’) Surgeon Stephen Strange x female reader, first dates, mutual pining, smut!!!! vaginal sex, oral fem receiving, face sitting, Stephen Strange being a munch, protected sex (he wouldn’t NOT use a condom, come on people), fluff & smut, good vibes all around <3

Word count: 5.8k

Sixteen hours. Nine hundred and sixty minutes. Eleven PM to eleven AM. That’s how long one Doctor Stephen Strange has been on call. Christine has been not so subtly urging him to go home, take a shower, eat a meal, sleep probably. But he doesn’t sleep, not really. In fact, it’s a waste of time in his not so humble opinion. He needs to be awake to think, to memorize, to change the world. He can’t save lives if he’s unconscious.

So, he powers through the bloodshot eyes and lead weight legs. Another laminectomy, another thousand dollars in his bank account, another new car. He sniffs, sitting in his office, shiny accolades and framed pictures with hospital directors and various colleagues staring back at him. If he were honest, which he never really is when it comes to matters of the heart, his incessant urge to work himself into an early grave isn’t the sole reason for him being here going on seventeen hours now. Fuck, has it really been seventeen hours?

The blinds of his office windows are uncharacteristically drawn, giving passerbys an inside look at the opulent yet vapid domain of Doctor Strange. He can’t complain, not really, it’s not warranted. He has more money than he knows what to do with, so he buys and collects and fills up his too big penthouse with shit he doesn’t look twice at. He buys cars, though he only really needs one. He goes on dates, though he isn’t really interested in whatever woman he found at a bar or in the hospital cafeteria. Is he lonely? Sure, but who isn’t?

Of course, though, there’s you. Perfect, lovely, borderline cherubic you. His little Neonatal Intensive Care Unit angel. The NICU is four levels above his realm, and he has absolutely no business going up there. But he does, every single day. He’s getting lazy with his excuses and he knows you’re catching on. You’re smart, not Stephen smart, but it’s nothing to sneeze at. Twelve o’clock on the dot. You all but float past his office, heading to the elevators. He struggles, should he approach now or do a little drive by in an hour? Decisions, decisions.

He decides on the former, nearly tripping out of his desk chair in his enthusiasm. He narrowly escapes the cloying interrogation of one Doctor Palmer, waving her off, long strides eating up the distance to the shiny steel doors. A ding! It’s already heading up to level five. He’ll take the second one, the elegant length of his pointer finger jabbing the button.

On the ride up he debates what’s he’s going to say. He loves making you laugh, in fact, it’s his personal mission to make you laugh at least once every day. Your delicate giggle breathes life into him, it’s like a thousand little wind chimes singing a song only his heart knows. He sorts through the files of his eidetic memory, searching for the perfect joke. The elevator doors part open for him like the Red Sea, and he steps out into the sprawling hallway.

The solemn off-white doors of the NICU stand before him, he takes a breath and then another one, steeling his nerves, chasing away the butterfly swarm in his stomach. If he were a patient, he’d pick up the little phone on the wall. Whichever nurse that picked up would say the usual, “Hello, how can I help you?” And said patient would inform the aforementioned nurse that they’re here to see baby whatever their surname was. But he’s a doctor, and that comes with privileges.

So, he pulls his ID badge from the clip on his scrubs, a little ziiiiiip noise filling the empty space. The door reader chimes in approval, electronic motor swinging the doors open at a snail’s pace. No need to rush on his account. Staff and patients alike are stopped at the entrance, a wide steel sink off to the left side. There’s a pedal at the bottom for water and an automatic soap dispenser. He washes his hands, scrubbing under his nails, his palms, between each finger. He goes about this for thirty seconds, a little extra just in case. The motion activated paper towel dispenser whirs, spitting out a scratchy brown napkin. He crumples it up when finished, tossing it into the bin. The final step, an antibacterial alcohol hand sanitizer. He massages it into his skin and it leaves behind a somewhat tacky feeling.

“Doctor Strange! To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Comes a cheerful voice from his flank. He turns, it’s not you, he knows that. Miriam. Charge nurse, mid-fifties, kind eyes, wrinkle softened features.

He smiles his charming Stephen Strange grin, it's lopsided and boyish. The women (and some men) fall over themselves in the wake of that smile. “Hello Miriam, how’s your day going? How are the little ones?”

This is the dance, he has to get through a sea of social graces to finally reach you. So he’ll make small talk and ask questions and nod along, so long as you’re the light at the end of the tunnel. Miriam, ever the chatter, rambles aimlessly about a set of twins, a social worker, a 30 week preemie finally, finally going home with mom and dad. He nods along, makes the occasional appropriate comment. His mind is elsewhere, of course, because he knows you’re nearby but he’s not exactly sure where.

He finds the time to butt in, “I was hoping you could tell me where a certain RN is?”

Miriam blinks, pausing and then she beams, “Oh, she’s giving a bath right now,” she nods her head in the direction of the room on his left. He pats her arm, smiling appreciatively.

He walks slow, savoring the fizzy feeling of anticipation building up. Simply standing in the doorway, he watches. The row of a variety of incubators, radiant warmers, and bassinets. There’s the ever present soft beeps of dozens of machines. CPAP, heart monitor, pulse ox, et cetera. He sees the set of twins Miriam mentioned, their incubators side by side. The soft glow of bili lights illuminates their little bodies, eye shields covering their faces. He estimates they can’t be older than maybe thirty-two weeks gestation, tiny spindly limbs and soft bellies.

There’s a sharp, shrill cry from the baby you’re currently bathing at a sink. The little guy is clearly not a fan of water and you fuss over him, cooing softly, speaking in a gentle tone, soothing. He can’t help but smile, you’re so naturally maternal. You should be the charge nurse, no you should be the director. He’s not biased whatsoever. Definitely not.

As you gently pat the squealing infant dry, he steps into your domain, taking care to be quiet. You don’t notice him, too wrapped up in getting the baby back into a soft muslin onesie and a little duck patterned hospital blanket. Once he’s returned to his bassinet, a good sign, he’ll probably be discharged soon, Stephen clears his throat.

You look up, and ah, there it is. Those Bambi eyes of yours lock onto him and his heart does a funny little somersault at your shy smile. “How long have you been here?” You break the silence first, the spell isn’t broken, no it’s stronger now. It’s almost a tangible thing, it feels like TV static and aching possibility on Stephen’s tongue.

“Oh, I’d say about five or ten minutes, give or take,” He replies, acting far more casual than he feels, picking up a preemie blood pressure cuff. God, it’s tiny, it could probably fit his thumb.

You cluck your tongue, admonishing and angelic all in one, “Mm, you know that’s not what I mean.”

He lets out something halfway between a snort and a chuckle, “Oh, right, uhh…I’ve been at the hospital for about seventeen hours.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands and his grin widens, his cheeks hurt. You step closer and his heart goes from allegro to presto. He’ll definitely develop some kind of heart murmur if he basks in your presence too long, he can’t help himself though. He is selfish as much as he is giving. His life saving surgeries, his methods, his work is for his own ego as much as it is for the good of the general population.

“Doctor Strange—“ You begin to lecture him, it’s adorable.

“Buh, buh, buh,” He holds a hand up, eyes twinkling with mirth and bite, “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Stephen?”

Your nose scrunches up, he wants to take a picture, immortalize your cute little fucking face. He’d get the biggest canvas print of it money can buy, hang it up in his living room, sip two thousand dollar wine and act like an art history scholar, meditating on the metaphor or whatever of the lines of your face.

“Fine, Stephen,” You huff, trying to act annoyed but failing miserably. The blush dusting your cheeks is a dead giveaway and it goes straight to both of his heads.

“You need to go home. You look exhausted, it’s not healthy to be going at it like this,” You sigh, gesturing vaguely around the room. He’s flattered by how much you seem to care, he wonders if you think about him as much as he thinks about you. You clearly pay enough attention to know his sneaky little habit of staying at work far too long.

“So, what I’m hearing is you’re not pleased to see me? That hurts, sweetheart. I slaved away in the OR, poured over case notes until this morning just so I could run into you,” He quips, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“Mm, didn’t really run into me. You came to my unit and asked for me. Pretty sure that’s actively seeking me out,” You retort, effortlessly able to match his wit. God, he loved these little verbal spars with you. You, worried about his health and chastising. Him, dry and snarky and head over heels for you, just trying to pull a giggle out of you.

“Yeah, and you love it, sweetheart,” Stephen grins, waggling his eyebrows for effect.

That earns him an eye roll and a small smile that you try to hide but he catches it. He grabs it, hangs onto it, memorizes it. You pick at an imaginary piece of lint on your scrubs, gaze casting down demurely.

“Go home after this, okay?” You scold in a subdued voice, eyes flicking up to lock onto his.

Stephen sees an opening. He takes it before he can second guess himself.

“I’ll go home on one condition,” He affirms, pushing up from the counter, stepping forward. He keeps a respectful distance, but he’s hovering close enough in your orbit that your scent hits him square in the nose. Something sweet mixed with antiseptic and latex gloves.

“And what’s that?” You inquire, shifting from one foot to the other, the soles of your clogs squeaking on the linoleum. A hip juts out, head tilting to the side, arms crossing. He has you exactly where he wants you, he goes in for the kill.

“Have dinner with me,” He coaxes, he doesn’t doubt himself, doesn’t give himself time to back out.

You’re momentarily stunned and it shows, posture tensing and then relaxing. Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, “You want me to have dinner with you?”

He hums in affirmation, rocking on the balls of his feet, “What time are you off?” He reaches into the pocket of his lab coat, tugging out a stick of spearmint gum. He crumples the foil wrapper, tossing the stick in his mouth. He chews, once, twice, saliva flooding his palate. He waits, watching every nervous twitch and the way blood rushes to your cheeks.

“Um, midnight. Standard twelve hour shift- are you sure about doing this tonight?” You mumble, brow pinching, musing the logistics in your mind, silent. “I’m gonna be all gross and sweaty. And nothing is gonna be open…are we eating at 7/11 or what?”

“Take a shower, I’m night owl anyway, and I’ll cook for you at my place,” He declares, sweeping his hands out in a grand ah-ha motion, a smug smirk on his lips.

Now, when Stephen says he’ll cook for you, that’s an exaggeration. A generous exaggeration. Stephen’s godlike skills in nearly every aspect of his life have never translated into the kitchen. So, he’d order out. Call in a favor at some ridiculously overpriced restaurant, get one of everything— No, that’d be overdoing it. He realizes you’re speaking again, he’s not paying attention, too wrapped up in the mental gymnastics of what entree he should order for you, what does he usually see you eating in the hospital’s cafeteria…

“Sorry?” He clears his throat, tilting his head to the side like a ridiculously handsome puppy.

“I said I don’t have your address,” You repeat, quirking an eyebrow, “Or your phone number, for that matter.”

A flush spreads up Stephen’s neck, “Ah, an oversight on my part. Which will be remedied right now.”

After exchanging phone numbers, Stephen bids you farewell, washing his hands one more time for good measure at the door to the unit. When he returns to his office, he has about forty-five or so minutes until his next scheduled operation, he texts you his address and tries to return his focus back to work.

•••

It becomes abundantly clear that Stephen has overestimated the high end restaurants of New York. Because by the time he gets home and goes through the motions of getting ready for you, it’s quarter past twelve in the morning and nothing, no one is open to take orders for carry out.

Fuuuuuck. Okay, this is fine, totally fine. No big deal, surely something is open nearby. After all, this is the city that never sleeps.

It winds up being a pizza place, family owned and a hole in the wall. They deliver, which is nice and convenient for him. Stephen’s not entirely sure what toppings you like on your pizza, so he opts to play it safe with plain cheese. He fishes out a bottle of wine, Moscato. He recalls from a Christmas party that you detest dry wines, especially red.

He sets up the table, candles, jazz playing softly on a turntable in the corner of the living room. He’s wearing a tie, does he look ridiculous? He fusses over his reflection. Pizza and a tie don’t go together. So, he yanks it off, tossing it onto the sofa, undoing the first three buttons of his shirt and rolls his sleeve up to his elbows. He looks at himself again, willing his posture to just relax. Okay, good, he looks more casual, laidback. Now all that’s left to do is wait.

The waiting, admittedly, takes far longer than Stephen anticipated. He’s reheated the pizza at least thrice before his phone chimes with the text from you notifying that you’re on your way up. His heart does a funny little flip as he shuffles towards the door, ready to open it at the first knock.

And then, there you are looking like sunshine personified. You’re smiling up at him, tired but shy and tentative. He feels a twinge of guilt, arranging this date so late and right after you get off, but he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait another second and he knows he’d lose his nerve. So here he is, stepping aside to welcome you into his place.

“Wow…” You breathe out, all wide eyed, doing a little spin to look around the penthouse. It’s decorated in the same clinical manner as his office at the hospital. Clean white walls, floor to ceiling windows, everything sleek and modern. “This is very…clean.”

Stephen blinks, “Uh, yeah? I have a maid…so that’s probably why.”

You laugh sheepish and nervous, rubbing the back of your neck, “Sorry, it’s just…this place looks like a museum or a model home, you know? Very cool and empty. You don’t have any knick knacks or even a throw blanket or something on the couch.” You gesture around the space as you ramble, a nervous habit of yours. And fuck, were you nervous. You’d been dancing around Stephen’s flirtations for months now. Because if there were two things you knew, it was this: one, Stephen was a notorious flirt. And two, he had this weird longtime, on again/off again relationship with Christine Palmer. And you preferred to go under the radar at work, the last thing you needed was stirring up trouble with Stephen and Christine.

He feels his cheeks heat up in something akin to embarrassment, “Oh, right.” He mutters lamely. Stephen knows his place isn’t exactly the warmest or coziest, but you pointing it out so bluntly makes him flustered in a way he hasn’t been since grad school. His apartment could be cozier, but it also could far more sparse. Stephen tried his best to toe the delicate line between the two. Apparently he wasn’t doing as good a job as he thought.

You throw your hands up in a gesture of surrender, “I mean, I like it! It’s very…um, bright and monotone?”

A surprised, rueful chuckle bursts from Stephen’s chest, “Wow, that might be the worst backhanded compliment I’ve ever received.” He huffs dryly, running a lithe hand through his hair.

You can’t help but laugh along with him, your cheeks heating up, “Yeah, well, it’s not my fault your apartment is morgue-esque.”

Stephen actually chortles at that, the crows feet around his eyes crinkling up in a way that makes him look rather dashing and wise, “Okay, I think that’s enough critiquing my decorating skills. Haven’t you noticed I practically live at work?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have,” you huff, rolling your eyes and smiling, “But I have a sneaking suspicion you also hang around for ungodly amounts of time just to be able to come bug me when I clock in.”

Stephen blushes. He actually fucking blushes and it’s a little mortifying, how easily you can fluster him and make him lose his cool, collected demeanor. Stephen knows there’s no use in denying it now, after all you’ve agreed to a date and the said date is commencing. So, “Ah, yeah. I’m that obvious, huh?”

You grin, triumphant and far too smug for his liking, but fuck if that isn’t incredibly attractive, “You’re easy to read. Like a book written for dumb children.”

Stephen clutches his hand to his chest dramatically, scoffing in mock offense, “Dumb children? I’m insulted, sweetheart, truly.” If Stephen were being honest, he honestly believed he was being a bit more subtle. He won’t dwell on it, though. You’re here and that’s all that matters now. If anything, he’ll lay it on even thicker.

“So, I believe I was promised food?” You ask, tilting your head to the side coyly.

“Oh!” Stephen jolts, pulled from his reverie, “Food, right. Of course. I ord—cooked! I cooked us something. Come take a seat.”

Stephen pulls out your seat, ever the gentleman. The table has a simple white cloth draped across it, a small vase with a rose, and a few little tea candles lit on it. Stephen tried his best to make the setting romantic as his limited time to prepare allowed. The bottle of wine is chilling in the fridge as Stephen pulls the pizza out of the oven, hoping you don’t notice the cardboard boxes they arrived in, stuffed into the trash.

When he presents your plate with a flourish, you quirk a brow, “You made me pizza? From scratch?”

Stephen flushes in embarrassment, “Yes?”

You snort, shaking your head, “Uh-huh, sure.”

But you’re ravenous, so you won’t complain when it comes to free food. The meal is eaten in silence, save for the clink of utensils because Stephen insists on eating his pizza with a fork and knife of all things. You tease him relentlessly for it, causing the faint carnation pink on his cheeks to bloom into full blown scarlet. The wine is delicious, exactly what you like, you’re secretly impressed. It’s bubbly, fruity, dancing on your tongue in bursts of sweetness. By the time you’ve finished your third slice of pizza, you have a nice little buzz going.

The buzz is lowering your inhibitions, dangerously so. So, you blurt out, “Your hair is nice. Like a skunk.”

Stephen nearly spits out the wine he’s finishing off, “Excuse me? My hair reminds you of a skunk?”

“Um, yes,” You reply earnestly, reaching across the table, placing a hand on each side of Stephen’s temple. His hair is infuriatingly soft, you run your fingers through it, admiring the feel of it between each digit.

Stephen freezes, because you’re touching him. You’re actually touching him, running your fucking fingers through his hair like it’s the most normal thing in the world. When in reality, the most you’ve ever touched him was the odd handshake. So, Stephen stays remarkably still, not wanting to break the odd, dizzying spell that’s fallen over the both of you.

“Thanks,” He breathes out, though being compared to a skunk isn’t necessarily dazzling praise. You hum, nodding, dazed and devastatingly gorgeous. Stephen hesitates, because is this a move? A signal? Do you want him to kiss you? Should he cross that line?

You beat him to the punch.

You borderline launch yourself at Stephen, tipsy and sloppy. But your lips slot against his like they belong there, tacky with lipgloss, tasting of Moscato and tomato sauce. One of Stephen’s hand cups the back of your head, holding you in place, kissing you slow and filthy. Fuck, he’s imagined this countless times and the fantasies are nothing compared to the real thing.

Silverware clatters to the floor, loud and jarring. In your haste, your hip bumped the table, so you break apart from Stephen with a nervous giggle.

“We should…” Stephen nods his head towards the sofa, “Uh, less hazards in the way. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt on my watch, sweetheart.”

You nod dumbly, “The couch. Yes…that’s a good idea.”

Stephen and you make your way to the large sectional, equally giddy and nervous. Stephen settles down, legs spread wide, and he fully expects you to sit beside him. But, you surprise him by taking a seat in his lap of all places. Your weight, your warmth drives him mad, he fights the urge to let his eyes roll back into his head. His hands automatically go to your waist, holding you, steadying you. He squeezes the dip once, savoring the gentle give of your flesh.

You waste no time, crashing your lips against his again. The kiss is slower, filthy, sending a molten, heady feeling straight to your pussy. So, you chase that feeling and grind down against Stephen’s lap, practically purring into the kiss. Fuck, he feels big. You’re going to be pleasantly achy tomorrow.

You thread your fingers through his soft hair, licking into his mouth, tasting the ridges on the roof of his mouth. Stephen groans, low and rough into the kiss, his tongue tangling and massaging yours. His hands drift, exploratory, down to your ass. His gorgeous, lifesaving hands dig into the meat of your ass and squeeze, dragging your hips down to grind into him again.

You arch, tits pressing into his broad chest, ass curving further into his large hands. Your body is on fire, Stephen is coaxing sounds from you that would be humiliating in any other circumstance. And when he pulls back, perfectly disheveled, lips all spit shiny and swollen, you grin at the sight. He’s perfect, sex appeal personified. You never stood a chance.

“How far do you wanna take this?” He murmurs breathlessly, brushing a wayward strand of hair from your forehead, the gesture tender and completely opposite from the almost mauling he was just bestowing upon you.

You hesitate now, because he’s your coworker and all the reasons you’d been artfully dodging his advances are rearing their ugly head. But, god, do you want him. You want him so badly it hurts. And you know women don’t get blue balls, in fact you’re a firm believer that it’s just bullshit to guilt trip the female population but…if you don’t fuck Stephen or at the very least dry hump him to completion, you’re definitely going to experience something within the vein of blue balls.

So, you play it safe, “Well, how far do you want to take this?”

Stephen chuckles ruefully, giving your ass a playful squeeze, “Do I really need to spell it out for you, sweetheart?” He gives a sinfully slow grind against your clothed mound, letting his body do the talking.

You smack your lips together, shaking your head vehemently, “Mm, nope. Nope I got it.” You squeak out, unbearably flustered and turned on.

“May I take your top off?” Stephen murmurs, brushing a thumb gently across the midriff exposed from your blouse riding up. You hum in affirmation, raising your hands above your head. Stephen makes quick work of the fabric, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Stephen’s pupils blow out, inky black swallowing the cool blue of his irises. He inhales shakily, because fuck are you pretty. Which, he already knew, but being able to see you bare…he worries he won’t last. He’s been building this up in his mind for months and you’re leaps and bounds ahead, better, even more gorgeous than any fantasy his mind conjures up.

Your bra joins the quickly forming pile of clothing on the floor. And when your tits are bare, nipples hardening in the cool air of his apartment, Stephen can’t help but bury his face between them, groaning. He feels like a teenager seeing his first pair of tits, the way he wants to motorboat you. He settles on a happy medium, sucking one nipple into the warm cavern of his mouth, letting his teeth glide lightly on the bud, teasing. You whimper, arching into his mouth, greedily pressing more of your breast into it. He’s just as skilled in bed as he is in the operating room.

His left hand departs from kneading your pillowy breasts, sneaking down the soft length of your abdomen. Slipping down the front of your jeans, finding where you’re slick and aching for him. You feel like heaven against his probing fingers, syrupy and molten. He lavishes one last worshipful suckle to your tits, pulling back to gaze at you with hooded, dark eyes full of a million dirty promises.

“Sit on my face,” He whispers, voice wrecked and throaty. It’s not a request, it’s a prayer, and who are you to not indulge the man? So, you nod, feeling nervous but the idea is incredibly appealing. You stand from his lap, shucking your jeans and panties down your legs. They’re kicked off, tossed to the side without second thought. Before you can second guess yourself or feel a modicum of shyness, you nudge Stephen back and straddle his face.

You’re momentarily mortified when Stephen buries his face between your legs and inhales loudly. It’s obscene and indecent and makes you even wetter. He moans at your scent, his eyes rolling back into his head, hands digging into the meat of your thighs and spreading you, holding you open to him. And then, his tongue enters the picture. Gliding slowly, he licks at your cunt from hole to clit. You shudder, gasping, rocking down onto his face.

Then, Stephen really starts to eat you, fingers spreading your labia majora apart, finding your clit with a surgeon’s precision. He nips once, twice and then suckles at the swollen bud like he’s trying to get venom out. You throw your head back, moaning brokenly, unashamedly rutting against his face. A hand winds into his hair, desperate for some kind of anchor against the storm of sensations Stephen is inflicting on your aching cunt.

“Oh my god,” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut, grinding into Stephen’s eager mouth. Your thighs clamp around his head, full body shivers wracking through you. He doubles his efforts, slurping and moaning into your slick flesh. You realize with startling clarity the bastard is going to make you come in no time at all, a feat even your most skilled past lover couldn’t pull off.

“J-Jesus Christ!” You squeak, your entire body tensing up, dangling on the precipice of something major. And when Stephen’s fingers join in, two elegant digits sliding home and curling with expertise, you’re done for. Your head snaps down, tucking your chin to your chest, riding Stephen’s face almost violently, bucking against his stupidly handsome features.

And Stephen is getting off from the spectacle of it all, his cock throbbing and leaking steadily in his pants. He could come just like this, untouched, devouring your pretty pussy. You shatter, bright and burning, squealing, jaw dropping as your cunt gushes eagerly into Stephen’s waiting mouth. He moans in reply, eagerly lapping up every wave of slick ecstasy that pools out of your throbbing pussy.

Your limbs aren’t working, you can barely fucking breathe, so Stephen gently maneuvers you to switch places with him, turning you to lie prone. You lay on your stomach, hiding your beet red face against the cushions of the sofa, the sound of Stephen’s belt clinking joining the symphony of your panting. There’s the sound of a condom wrapper being torn open, then Stephen carefully shifts your sticky thighs apart.

He kneels in the space between your legs, dragging the head of his cock from your clit to nudge at your entrance. You jolt at the sensation, sensitive but desperate for more. A hand smooths down the curve of your spine, finding its home on your ass, groping, “Relax,” Stephen murmurs into your ear, soothing and sexy all at once.

He nudges in slow and steady, inch by glorious inch stretching you open. It’s heaven and hell all at once. You keen, pitching high, arching your ass up subtly. The fullness is intensified by the position, and you’re lost to it, no choice left but to open yourself to him. The hand on your ass squeezes tight, short nails digging into your supple skin. Once Stephen is fully seated in your fluttering cunt, he exhales shakily, head dipping to rest between your shoulder blades.

“Knew your pussy’d feel like heaven,” He groans, sending another flood of liquid arousal pooling between your legs. You moan in response, you wouldn’t be able to string words together right now even if you tried. Stephen has reduced you to a whiny, drooling mess.

He pulls out slowly, till just the crown notches at your entrance, and then buries himself to the hilt once more. The pace he sets is brutal, allowing you no time to adjust. His cock bullies you, mean and unrelenting, veins dragging deliciously against your inner walls. Each thrust punches a breathless sound from you, your toes curling, thighs tensing up. The noises spilling from Stephen’s lips are borderline pornographic, you always secretly loved his voice and the way he sounds fucking you is truly something to behold.

Stephen slips a hand around your hip, encouraging you to lift your hips up slightly. His fingers find your clit once more, rubbing precise circles around the oversensitive bud. You bury your face into the couch cushions, moaning wantonly, bucking restlessly against his fingers. Stephen fucks you mean and fast, expertly guiding you towards another mind shattering orgasm.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” He groans out, increasing the pressure against your clit, “Knew you’d be a good fuck. Shit, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You whine at his words, because the fact that he wanted this just as badly as you, it absolutely melts you. You want him—no, need him to know you feel the same, you’ve craved the same things. You should’ve done this far sooner.

“Me too,” you sigh out, wriggling your hips back, desperate for more, “I love your hands. They’re so nice, fuck, I’ve imagined them on my body, inside me, in my mouth.”

Stephen groans in response, his free hand snaking up, seeking out your kiss swollen lips. You part your lips immediately, taking three spindly digits into your mouth and sucking on them, a comfort against the toe curling orgasm that’s quickly building in your belly. Stephen’s cock throbs as you deepthroat his fingers, his rhythm transforming from methodical to sloppy. He’s close, unbearably so, but he won’t come before you earn your second orgasm. So he backs off a bit, slowing down.

His attention zeroes in on your clit and that spongy spot deep in your pussy. He bends down, sucking and biting at the slope of your neck, dragging his cock slow and steady. He pinches your clit between forefinger and thumb, rubbing mercilessly. And that’s enough, you come again, harder, brighter, shivering. His name is a prayer, sobbing it like scripture. The heady feeling of your cunt pulsing around him is more than enough of an invitation to join you.

Stephen bites down on the curve of your neck, groaning as his eyes roll back and he floods the condom with his potent seed. He rocks, gentling you both through the numbing pleasure. When the last of the aftershocks fade, buzzing away into blissful nothingness, he pulls out. He inhales sharply at the loss of pressure and warmth. Stephen presses a trail of soft, adoring kisses down the curve of your spine.

Once the condom is disposed of, he scoops your pliant form up, carrying you down the hall to his bedroom. He cleans you up, taking extra care with the warm washcloth between your thighs. An hour later, when you’re all snuggled up in bed, eating cold pizza, you ask, “What time do you have to go in today?”

Stephen chuckles softly, massaging the swell of your hip, “Actually, I’m off. A preemptive measure.”

You gasp in mock offense, smacking his bicep, “You ass! You never take time off. I see you even on your alleged days off. So, you naturally assumed I would just fall into bed with you and stay the night?”

Stephen shrugs, grinning boyishly, “Call it a hunch.”

“You think far too highly of yourself,” You scoff, but there’s no bite behind you. So, you smile and lean into his side, melting.

“Well, you just had first hand experience with my sexual prowess. You’d think highly of yourself too if you were me,” Stephen quips, sneaking a quick bite of the pizza in your hand.

That earns an eye roll, but you can’t help agreeing with him. He is just that good.

#fanfic #ao3 #fanfiction #doctor strange #marvel #marvel fanfiction #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange smut #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange marvel #marvel doctor strange #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader

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universeofdreams · 7 months ago

Text

Common Sense Pt. 1

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BBC Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Genre: Pure Nonsense, a little bit of Mystery

Warnings: gunshots, nothing else.

Wordcount: 1800-ish. Sorry, I forgot the number TT

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Summary: You didn’t really engulf in hanging out with your neighbours, especially because most thought one of them was going bonkers, until you got a demonstration of it in form of a very big hole. Curious, as you were, you didn’t bother listening to their conversations. And to their surprise, you weren’t just the „little neighbourhood girl“, you were also bloody intelligent.

A/N: Here I am, able to finally announce my comeback with nothing greater than a good ol‘ Sherlock fanfic. Thanks to Prime for the given opportunity to re-binge-watch the show because it’s only available for 8 more days, I had to make a move and rewatch it. I was addicted to Sherlock a few years before I actually started writing fanfictions. And I’m going to Paris for the christmas holidays so there will be plenty of time for me to write. Don’t be shy, send me your favourite character and I’ll write a oneshot about them!

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Thank the heavens it was a normal morning ‘til now. You walked down the creaking stairs into the kitchen of your two-floors-flat. It wasn’t particularly early but your alarm didn’t ring yet, which means it should be around 8am.

You mentally thanked yourself for filling up the kettle yesterday evening as you turned it on and got one of the tea bags out of their little box.

A few birds were chirping outside and the sound of cars passing the house was a sign that the people of London started to wake. The sun beamed through your kitchen window that had little lace curtains on the sides and filled the kitchen with warm, cozy light.

The bottom of your favourite mug touched the countertop and the water in the kettle was bubbling uncontrollably. The sweet, slightly aromatic smell of the tea unfolded in the ground floor as soon as you poured the hot water into the cup and the dark brown colour took over the plain, transparent water.

The gunshots almost made you drop that favourite mug. It wasn’t like you weren’t used to disturbance caused by your - almost - lousy neighbours but things like this didn’t happen YET. And so you sighed, placed that mug back on the counter and walked up the stairs.

Right in your bedroom was a big, gaping hole in the wall.

‘Oh, come on, that’s not possible.’, you thought to yourself, brushed the hair out of your face and looked through that hole. The grey hair of your neighbour, Mr. Watson, came in sight.

He pointed right towards the hole and Mr. Holmes, his roommate, was standing a little further away from it.

“Now I will have to go wake (Y/N) and apologise for your temper.”, the doctor sighed and shook his head, pinching his nose bridge.

But before he could leave, you cleared your throat, cocking your head to the side and waving them through that hole.

“No need to.”, you said sarcastically.

He whipped his head around and his eyebrows shot up, almost meeting his hairline. He once again glanced at Sherlock, signalling him to apologise. Sherlock, who was holding the gun and seemed to be cause for this situation, just shrugged and walked away.

And now it wasn’t a normal morning anymore. Well, that day was a week ago and since then you ignored Sherlock for a good reason. The hole in the wall wasn’t fixed and yet the dark-haired consulting detective didn’t seem to make a move on fixing it. Of course, you told your landlady, Mrs. Hudson, about the inquiry but she didn’t have an effect on him either.

“What? How are you not able to crack that code? You said it’s simple!”, you overheard John exclaim as you came home one day.

“It’s not my fault. I’m not able to think.”, Sherlock bit back.

The feeling in your gut told you he was looking through that hole in the wall and so you, as quietly as possible, sneaking up the stairs to listen to their conversation.

“You’re unbelievable! What was the code again?”, now asked John.

You perked up, fiddling a small piece of paper out of the pocket of your coat and the small pen you brought back from your trip to Ikea yesterday.

“3C-5A-2E-7B. Locker.“, the detective read out loud.

You scribbled the combination of numbers and letters down on what you had in hand and quickly shuffled down the stairs, hoping they didn’t hear you. Usually you weren’t one to eavesdrop, but codes were something that genuinely interested you. And so you found yourself sitting in your bed almost every night, thinking about that code.

After a week and three days you asked a good friend if he was able to fix the hole in your bedroom wall and when he agreed, you were happy to finally sleep without hearing John and Sherlock talk. He fixed the wall and while doing that, Sherlock inspected him and probably deduced stuff.

‘One daughter, divorced. Very overworked, enthusiastic, has a dog, probably a German Shepherd. 31 years old, has a crush on you.’

The latter made the detective eye your friend up and down. He wasn’t ugly, instead a slightly handsome man. Short, blond hair and green eyes. Tall and knew how to work with his hands. And how the sight burned in his eyes.

Until it knocked on your door. It was your only day off this month and you planned on enjoying this with some self-care, ordering take-out and watching your favourite TV-shows.

Fiddlesticks.

John Watson was standing on your doorstep, still his finger on the doorbell when you opened the door. A puzzled look was plastered on your face as you asked the man to step inside since it was raining cats and dogs today. He gladly accepted your offer, tore his shoes off of his feet and placed them on the black mat you had prepared for soaked shoes. You took the wet coat out of his hand and hung it close to the heater so it at least had a slight chance of drying a little.

While he walked into the living room and took a seat in one of your beloved dark green arm chairs. You once again filled water into the kettle and prepared two cups of Darjeeling tea. You gently set the fine porcelain cup onto the coffee table and smiled at him.

“No sugar was that, right?”, you asked, to which he nodded with a little confusion.

It wasn’t like you were able to listen to each conversation John and Sherlock had in the past few days. Nah, that wasn’t the case. Your hearing was just extraordinary and you heard them talk through the wall… Sike.

You sat down in front of him in the other dark green arm chair. You had two of them. One without pillows and the other one had a pretty pillow with white ornamental flowers on it. It did fit to your interieur and also kind of to your personality, at least that was what John thought.

“I have a feeling I might know why you’re here.”, you told the man opposite of you. His brows shot up the same way when you peeked through that hole a few days ago.

“How come?”, he asked, sipping on the freshly brewed and still a little hot tea, finding it a little more aromatic than his own favourite brand. And he didn’t mind showing his admiration for a good cup of tea.

You nodded, got up once again and pulled a piece of paper out of the pretty little bookshelf that was standing next to your TV. Sitting down on the chair again, you placed the paper on the coffee table, written side up. John took a moment to read what you wrote down until he looked back up at you.

3C-5A-2E-7B. Locker.

A chessboard was drawn below the code, some of the squares were marked with a cross.

3C = 3. row , C column

5A = 5. row, A column

2E = 2. row, E column

7B = 7. row, B column

M-I-N-D

“Mind?”, John asked, even more confused than before.

How was that girl from their neighbourhood able to solve a code like this? What did that even mean? You just nodded. There was more than just the word.

John knew how he and Sherlock would solve that mystery. He immediately stood up, ran to the door, put on his clothes and called out for you to follow, something you usually don’t like but today you let it slip. Slipping into your coat and shoes you followed behind John, just to enter the building next door.

Mrs. Hudson was standing in the hallway, cleaning it sloppily with a worn out broom. She was very happy to see you but Watson dragged you further up the stairs, leaving the sweet elderly landlady behind without a conversation. You promised yourself to talk to her later today.

John knocked the door of Sherlock’s and his flat open and Sherlock, who was currently experimenting in the kitchen, didn’t bother turning around.

“Why did you bring this woman?”, he asked while inspecting something in the fridge.

“Because she decoded the message we got.”, explained John. Sherlock wasn’t interested in your presence before but suddenly he turned around and you were able to take in the man you were trying to avoid the past two weeks. He was wearing one of his suits and the same basic white button down as every day but it still looked sleek on him.

His dark locks were seemingly freshly washed and hung a little in his face while his piercing blue eyes scanned you, up and down. He wasn’t able to read you. Well, I mean he was able to but there were only a few things everyone would deduce.

Things like ‘Came back from work’ or ‘Looks a little tired’ were usually a little too inefficient for him. Why wasn’t there more?

“How can the girl, that needs someone else to fix a wall, decode something?”, he asked with a snicker and made you scoff.

“Firstly, it was your fault. You didn’t fix it. Secondly, I might be more than just ‘The girl that needs someone else’”, you answered and repeated his words, making eye contact with him.

He could see that you weren’t happy about his wording, especially about the wall incident. But he also wanted to know the answer to the code and so he, same as John does, raised his eyebrows. He wanted you to tell him what you found out.

And so you sat down and explained your theory of how each letter is on the chessboard and showed him the sketch you did. The only thing both Sherlock and John didn’t understand were the words MIND and locker in combination. Little did they know.

“Okay, now that we solved the code, what is that word going to tell me? Does the murderer want to tell me that he thinks I'm brilliant? I am, I know.”, Sherlock said and started walking up and down the living room.

“No, it’s the code to a locker.”, you revealed.

Holmes puzzled gaze was definitely something you’d savour for later, moments in which he’d tell you he’s the brilliant one.

“One of millions of lockers in London.”, John sighed and you added: “A locker in the British Library.”

Sherlock once again nodded, took his coat and grabbed your hand, kissing it.

“I love people with common sense.”, he said, chuckling. “See you in the library.”

And then he ran off, leaving you and John behind. Both of you called a cab to follow him but you weren’t in a rush, unlike your consulting detective.

#bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock fandom #sherlock & co #x reader #reader insert #gn reader #fem reader #female reader #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader #fanfic #mystery #short story #story

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lokidokieokie · 2 years ago

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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 :(

#stephen strange #doctor strange #dr strange #stephen strange fanfic #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange fanfiction #dr stephen strange #dr strange x you #dr strange fanfiction #dr strange x reader #doctor strange x fem!reader #doctor strange fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #exes to lovers #pregnancy #unexpected pregnancy trope

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french-vanilla-in-the-clouds · 2 years ago

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𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It is finally Y/N's turn to walk down the aisle. Sherlock can't keep his eyes off of her. She is certain that the man waiting at the alter is the one she will spend the rest of her life with. Is he?

wedding fluff and angst

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Sherlock stood at the alter, hands clasped behind his back. To the wedding guests, his sharp stance would suggest ease. In truth, each deep breath he chased was laboured and unsure.

She was a vision in white. Precious in deep sheets of ivory.

Sherlock had never seen such perfection.

Y/N took measured steps down the aisle in time to the music's pace. A few steps further and the bride would become somebody's wife.

Sherlock promised himself he would not cry today. Not one tear, he swore. He was better than that. Still, as Y/N drew closer, step by step, he wasn't certain he could keep a dry eye.

He considered turning away or focusing on the flower arrangements set behind her shoulder. Anything to keep the strain in his chest at bay.

It was in that moment of deliberation that Y/N chose to wink at him. A small gesture, hardly visible behind her veil but even so, he caught it.

Propping his shoulders back, he chose to keep looking. Better to face the music than miss a flutter of her lashes or the quiver of her lip when she smiled.

Though his throat felt constricted and his chest heaved for breath, Sherlock Holmes could not turn away from the bride.

He registered John shoot him a grin from the left. He wasn't sure that he returned it.

"She's beautiful," John said in a hushed tone.

"She's beautiful," Sherlock repeated.

Three years earlier, Sherlock had met Y/N for the first time. Since then, she had stumbled through the flat each day, always with a shy smile and a soft spoken, "hello".

He loved her from the start.

Their highs and lows, they would experience together. When she threw her head back in laugher, teeth gleaming at something her lover said, Sherlock would see it. He often revealed his experiments to her, if only to see the wonder shine in her eyes.

Even after every lover's spat, Sherlock would wrap his arms around her and swear that things would look brighter in time.

He was right. By God, he was right. He had to be, for now, she stood just steps away from him, at the alter, incandescently happy in her wedding gown.

A slow tear trailed down Sherlock's cheek.

Y/N finally reached him and there was silence in the cathedral when the music at last, had died.

"You're crying," she said.

Sherlock choked out a laugh that hurt his head. "I'm not," he replied. He tightened his lips together to ease the line of worry that had suddenly appeared on Y/N's brow.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. Closing his eyes, Sherlock shifted her veil aside. His hand trembled as he pushed it just far enough to kiss her cheek.

Though he gave her the softest of kisses, he felt a sharp stab in his heart, as arduous as the touch of his lips on her skin was brief.

He dropped her veil again and opened his eyes. "Every happiness," he said to her. His gaze steeled into her own. He hoped she wouldn't understand but she did.

Y/N nodded and her veil rustled. "Every happiness," she said back to him.

Sherlock clenched his jaw and feigned a smile for the wedding guests that stared from the pews. Then, he took Y/N's hand in his own and walked with her for three final steps.

John waited beside the priest.

Sherlock presented the groom with his bride and took his position as best man.

He was good at that, after all; standing on the outside, looking in. It's how he captured so many of his friends' most private moments in the small space of 221B.

Throughout the ceremony, the words, "every happiness" rang in Sherlock's mind.

When John and Y/N shared their first kiss as man and wife, Sherlock clapped along with the others but still, "every happiness" lingered at the tip of his tongue.

He simply couldn't manage to add the words, "I wish you..." at the start.

Things would be brighter in time, he told himself.

He knew it was a lie but for now, he clapped.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

I'm crying. I have reposted this thing like, 10 times. Last time, I swear. omg. please work. If you'd like to be tagged, let me know.

Thank you for your patience, literally everybody I'm tagging: @twisted-monster @starryeddie @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian @aephereal @andthevillainshallrises @baby-bloos @cookiemumster1 @eternal-silvertongued-prince @bogginsreadings @lumosouls @spencerrxids @serenity-lattes @msseijii @classickook @starstruck-loner @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @lucywrites02 @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes @pytharuw @antsn @kabubsmagga @newtsniffles @cemak @liv-olive-oliver @iamtrash-withrespect @asgards-princess-of-mischief

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strangesthirdeye · 1 year ago

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It's been a years, daddy.. I really really miss you.. PLS COMEBACK PLEASE

#benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #doctor strange x female reader #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange #dr stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor stephen strange #dr stephen strange

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homeofthelonelywriter · 1 year ago

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Celebs - Masterlist

Tom Hiddleston:

Series:

🌺 Take the Stage: While once again sneaking out of the Palace, you meet an actor...let’s just say there is something between you two. (Royal! Reader)

Romeo to my Juliet: You are a student and a teacher at a college in Lodon, which is the same place a very handsome acting professor is employed. Discontinued for now.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

🌺 New Beginning:

(Part 1) | Part 2 | Part 3

Headcanons:

HC - Tom Hiddleston x clumsy!Reader

HC - Tom helps Reader deal with anxiety and stress

HC - Tom loves Reader’s boobs

Oneshots:

Forgotten Fears - The Reader had some bad experiences with her ex-boyfriend when he was drunk and is still traumatised by that. What happens when Tom forgets about that fear of hers?

Kinky Surprise - pure smut

Application - When you loose a bet, you are forced to send an application for Loki’s love interest. Who would have thought that they actually want to meet you?

Jealousy - Tom is insecure because of your age gap. What will happen when he sees you with one of your co-workers who is about your age?

Hidden - As an artist, you find a way to tell Tom that you’re pregnant

Bun in the oven - Pregnany reveal and a proposal. What could go wrong?

Drunken Start - After a night out with his buddies, Tom calls you, neither rembering you, nor how he got your number

Trick or Treat - Halloween Special

Best boyfriend in the world - You have trouble sleeping, so Tom decides to help you out

Dance with me - Reader and Tom slow-dance in Paris

Diary - Tom finds your diary while you’re moving and reads it

Drabbles:

Christmas Surprise - Christmas Drabble

Let it snow! - Christmas Drabble

Drabble #75

Drabble #3

Imagines:

Imagine while on vacation with your BFF you catch Tom Hiddleston during a photoshoot. Your BFF makes sure he remembers you.

Imagine tagging Tom Hiddleston in a meme and actually getting a reaction.

Benedict Cumberbatch:

Drabbles:

Drabble #69

Sebastian Stan:

Drabbles:

Drabble #46

Shawn Mendes:

Series:

🌺 Better that way: When Shawn’s girlfriend finds out that she is pregnant, she decides that she can’t burden the superstar with a child. She makes decisions which may seem stupid, but she knows that it’s Better that way.

🌺 Surprise: Walking a Victorias Secret show was an honour already, but being able to see your boyfriend while doing so? Pure bliss. Especially when he has a little surprise for you.

Part 1 | Part 2

🌺 Fan Mail: Writing to Shawn every so often paid off when he asked you to come to one of his shows.

Part 1 | Part 2

Oneshots:

When you’re ready - Inspired by his song

Guard my heart - You are a part of the security at one of Shawn’s shows and he notices you

Nervous - Inspired by his song

One more chance - Filming an explanation video why Shawn and you broke up, leads to some interesting realisations

In my Blood - Inspired by his song (Triggers)

Late Late Show - You are present during your boyfriend’s appearance on the Late Late Show with James Cordan. Let’s just say it was disgusting.

Sad song - Shawn finds out you can sing during a very sad occasion

Tom Holland:

Migraine - rl!friend has a Migraine and Tom wants and tries to comfort her

Back to the Master-Masterlist

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch fanfiction #shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #fanfiction masterlist

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alexendria-rose · 2 months ago

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But daddy I love him~

Stephen Strange x Reader!Stark

Part one - who are you?

A/n - can’t believe it took me this long to write this - hope you enjoy.

warnings: SMUT WITH PLOT, EATING OUT, STEPHEN STRANGE(he needs a warning) P IN V, baby girl nickname, SMUT SMUT

“We shouldn’t be doing this-“

“My dad doesn’t need to know.” Y/n says softly as her lips attached to his neck. He groaned loudly- tilting his head back against the pillow as she straddled him.

“You’re trying to get your father to kill me.” He muttered in a breathless way. His hand moving up to grip onto her hair. She pulled back from his neck slightly admiring the work she had done.

“You scared?” She smirked as she grind her hips over his clothed bulge making him hitch a breath- his hands making their way to her hips helping her move against him. Which made her whimper lightly bitting her lower lip as she looked down at him- a knowing smirk on his face.

“I’m not scared.” He grunted before hooking his leg around hers- turning her around so her back hit the bed and he was on top. She gasped slightly blushing as she looked up at him. He grins smugly. “What? Are you scared?” He mumbled mocking her before moving his head towards her stomach pushing her shirt up and placing soft kisses on her stomach which made her whine lightly- her legs rubbing together. Stephen grunted grabbing ahold of her thighs and pulling them apart- his look at her stern. “Worried that your father will find out how well I’ve been fucking you?” She whined when he started to pull off her sleep shorts before throwing them off to the side.

“No- because who says you’re doing it well?” She retorted back her gaze on him- he just chuckles deeply moving his way down her body spreading her legs wide open.

“Oh- baby girl you’re going to regret saying that.” He muttered; moving her panties down her legs and throwing them somewhere in her bedroom. She gasped when his face was between her thighs- eating and sucking her out. He licked between her folds tasting her sweetness on his tongue; eating her out was like a dessert he could never get sick of.

“Fuck!” She groaned out- her thighs squeezing his head and her back arching as she somehow needed more of his tongue, she couldn’t even help herself grinding on his mouth. He grunted gripping onto her thighs holding her still as he started to dart his tongue in and out of her perfect little hole. Which made her moan loudly- she covered her mouth quickly knowing that there was indeed other people in the avengers tower including her father. She bit onto the palm of her hand trying to stop the loud moans escaping her lips. “Fuck Stephen.” She whispered into her hand. He moved his hands to her ass squeezing as he lifted her hips up lightly to get more access to her perfect pussy. She covered her face with her hands trying her hardest to not shout out loud but was it getting harder for her as her thighs started to shake. Stephen smiled adding a single digit into her as he moved his tongue to lick and play with her clit. She moved her hand from her mouth.

“Fuck!” She shouted. “I-I’m gonna-“ she started and Stephen just hummed- knowing exactly what she was going to say. The humming and the vibration sending her over the edge- her orgasm coming out violently. “Fuck- mm-“ she moaned. Stephen licked her juices up before slowly setting her back down- he moved his head away licking his lips as he stared at her.

“Delightful darling.” He cooed- he turned her around to lay flat on her belly before smacking her ass hard; a gasp escaping her lips. “That’s for being snarky about me “doing it well” “ she hid her face into the pillows blushing lightly.

“Well I was obviously wrong.” She laughed softly- picking her head up to look at the sorcerer, he was laying on his side looking at her with his head on his palm his elbow propped up.

“Yes you were sweethear-“

“Y/n stark!” Tony voice booms from outside her room- both of there eyes widen.

“Under the bed now!” She whisper shouts pushing him off the bed- he groans moving under the bed. She jumps up off the bed panicking when she realized her underwear and shorts were somewhere around the mess she called a room. She looks around hearing her father’s footsteps coming closer. It’s too late. She jumps into the bed covering up her lower half before grabbing her phone pretending she was busy.

“Y/n.” Tony opens up the door seeing his daughter- she looks up at him faking a small smile.

“Oh hey dad…”

“We need to talk about the Stephen situation.” He groans lightly crossing his arms as he walks into the room shutting the door behind him with his foot. She rolls her eyes groaning.

“Can we please not?” Y/n looks away keeping her blankets to her chest as her dad sits down on the side of the bed- her attention trying not to be drown from the said man they’re talking about under the bed.

“He’s too old for you y/n- way too old.” Tony remarks his gaze on his daughter- as Stephen under the bed scrunched his eyebrows rolling his eyes. He wasn’t THAT old.

“I think I’m old enough to make decisions on my own- so if we’re done with this conversation.” She muttered paying attention back on her phone trying to ignore her dad.

“Fine- but this conversation is not far from over.” He mumbles before standing up and leaving her room. Y/n sighs looking under her bed to see Stephen had left- oh yeah his slingie thing that lets him go anywhere. Sometimes she forgot he was literally a sorcerer.

"What are you doing here pretty girl?" Stephen said a small smile opening up the door to the sanctum for her. She just laughed lightly tucking her hair behind her ear. His eyes flickered up and down her body- god was it so wrong to find her attractive to the tiny plaid skirt she was wearing on her beautiful body?

"What I can't see you when I want to old man?" She teased moving herself closer to him- he smirked lightly staying still in his spot as she moved closer to him. He grabbed her hips pulling her flush against his body. A slight giggle escaping her lips as she looked up at him.

"Mm I've missed you." He hums his scared thumb running circles against the skin on her upper hip, which sent shivers down her spine.

"Dirty old man." She smirked lightly- his eyes darkened moving his hand to grip onto her chin bringing his face closer to him.

"Dirty little girl." He groans before moving her head and attacking her lips- a slight moan escaping her pretty plump lips. He smirked against her lips- before dipping down grabbing her thighs and hoisting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. The slight gasp that came out of her lips made him unintentionally moan at the sweet sounds that comes out of her mouth. He moves his lips away. "Hold onto me." She blushes tightly keeping herself upright as he uses his slingie to open a portal into his room in the sanctum.

"Too old to walk up the stairs old man." She smirks lightly- he groans moving his way into the portal watching as she bites her pretty little lips softly.

"Little one- I swear to god." He grunts before throwing her on the bed- the skirt hitching up her thighs as he did. She looks up at him before closing her thighs blushing at the way he looked at her with dark eyes and heaving chest. He makes him way over to the bed before with the flick of his wrist- making her clothes disappear. She was vulnerable and exposed to him- her nipples perky and wanting so desperately wanting to be sucked and touched. "Look at you pretty girl." She blushes lightly trying her best to cover herself up- no matter how many times they have been naked and fucked as many times as they have; she still was so insecure thinking she wasn't enough for the sorcerer. He crawls on top of her before grabbing her wrist and kicking apart her legs with his knee. "Awe beautiful- don't cover up, I want to see your pretty body." She nodded shyly relaxing her arms as he pinned her wrist above her head- he moved his head down to her chest- before putting her tit in his mouth knowing how sensitive they were to her- she whined and whimper trying her best to create fiction with her thighs but his knee was keeping her from doing so; he moved his head away from her breast taking his fingers and putting them to her mouth- "Suck now," He commanded. She opened her mouth doing exactly what he told her to do- she gazed at him through her lashes using her tongue against his fingers looking at him with innocence in her eyes which made his mouth water watching her. He pulls his fingers out of her mouth- he smirks before using those same fingers to inset them inside of her making her squirm under his touch.

“A-Ah Stephen.” She moaned loudly her body arching towards his fingers as he started to move them in and out faster enjoying the way her face contorted with just his fingers- he could feel the way she tighten herself around his fingers. The sound of her juices surrounding his ears as well as her moans.

“Look at my pretty baby.” He cooed - her mouth parting as well as her eyes rolling back as she moaned louder as his fingers curled up to her g-spot making her squirm.

“I’m c-close mm.” She was able to let out gasping as he moved his fingers faster but right before she was about to cum- he moved his fingers out of her which made her pout. He brought his fingers up to his mouth licking her juices off of his fingers.

“My favorite taste baby.” He hummed - he smacked her thigh. “Turn around for me baby- ass up.” He ordered - she blushed immediately turning around on all fours her ass up just for him which made him lick his lips. He immediately snaps his fingers to make his own clothes disappear onto the floor. It was his favorite trick. She gasped loudly when she felt the familiar thickness of his cock slowly push inside of her making her whine at how big he was. Good god she loved it. He gripped onto her hips tightly- pushing himself all the way into the heat making his head roll back as he moaned. “Oh so good baby.”

“O-Oh Stephen fuck.” She panted out when he started to slam her ass against him moving in and out of her. The sounds of skin on skin slapping around them and the sounds of there moans and his groans around them. He looked at her smacking her ass creating a red hand print on her cheek making her yelp.

“Oh you’re my favorite pretty thing baby girl. Oh god.” He moaned his tilting back- she wanted to scream out his name and she almost did until the knock on his door was heard- and the voice of her dad on the other side.

“Stephen Strange!” The voice of Tony stark bellowed. Stephen eyes widen but he slightly smirked when he saw the panic in her eyes.

“Oh second Tony - busy with something.” He replied back looking down at her. “Finish quickly- and don’t make any noise.” He whispered. Usually he would stop but did she completely do something to him. She immediately panic eyes widen when he started to quicken his pace making her want to scream- she made a small noise and Stephen moved his hand to cover her mouth as he pounded into her; he knew he was doing well with the way she tightened around him and started to shake. “That’s it baby. Good girl.” He praised quietly- she was on the last edge as he hit her G spot making her gasps and her legs shake as she orgasm- him riding his own out following along with her.

“Fuck.” She whispered moaned- and he shoved his hand clamped around her mouth more.

“Good girl- now I have to deal with your father.” He smirked lightly pulling himself out - using his hands to but his clothes back on and to clean her up and put her own clothes on.

“Stephen strange open this door!” The voice of her father clear through the door. Stephen smirked lightly walking over to the door- her following behind but hiding behind the door so her father wouldn’t see her. Stephen opened the door to see a very angry Tony stark- his fist balled up at his sides and his face somewhat red. “Where’s my daughter?”

“Your very adult daughter? No idea.” Stephen said the same cocky smirk on his face as he moved his hand to cover y/n mouth making sure she made no noise whatsoever- making her quiet gasp which earned her a pointed look for Stephen. Tony heard the small gasp glaring at Stephen.

“Why my daughter huh? You could literally have anyone but you choose my daughter!” Tony groaned his knuckles turning white from being in fists. Stephen just sighed lightly.

“Why not? Why not your intelligent, nice, sweet and amazing daughter? Come on Tony I’m not going to hurt her.” Stephen muttered keeping his hand on her mouth- her eyes softening slightly at his words.

“But you’re so much older - she needs a guy her age come on.” Tony argued his voice softening a little bit but he wouldn’t dare show it.

“You really want her with a guy her age that is just going to mess with her? Come on Tony - I love your daughter; I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her even if she is a bit stubborn.” Stephen said with a slight laugh at the end- Tony sighed lightly rubbing his face with his hand and then his beard.

“I’m not happy about it - and the fact you love my daughter is beyond me she is a pain in the ass but I guess I’ll give you one chance and if you fuck up I’ll send pepper on your ass.” Tony warned but gave a look of somewhat approval.

“She is somewhat a pain in the ass but it’s kind of amusing.” Stephen agreed smirking lightly- she watched the exchange confused but also happy she couldn’t help but smile lightly but then she realized they called her a pain.

“Hey!” She mumbled against Stephen hand- Stephen immediately looked towards her giving her another look and Tony eyes widen.

“You jackass! She is here!” Tony almost roared- she made her way out behind the door giving her dad a small wave and a sly smile.

“Hi dad…”

Tony immediately looked towards Stephen his arms crossed- like a disappointed father(well he was)

“I will kill you- hear me?” Tony pointed a finger at Stephen before looking at y/n a soft look on his face. “If he hurts you let me know- now stop sneaking behind my back makes me think of things I don’t want to think about. And now we’re going to pretend I was never here.” Tony sighed turning on his heels and leaving.

“Bye dad!” She waved grinning- Stephen smiled looking at her with a caring look and she did the same with him. “So… you love me huh?” She smirked crossing her arms as she looked at him- Stephen just laughed shaking his head before cupping her cheeks.

“Yes - even if you’re a pain in the ass and stubborn like your father.” Stephen muttered lightly as he brought his face closer to her.

“Mmm but I’m your pain in the ass.”

“That you are.” He chuckled placing a soft and gentle kiss on her lips as she returned it back humming softly as she tilted her head to taste more of him. This was going to be her favorite part time- being with Stephen strange and this time no sneaking around and no hiding.

“I love you too.” She mumbled against his lips- he pulled back slightly placing his forehead on hers.

“Good- because I almost got my ass kicked because of you.”

“Mmm noted- now just don’t break my heart Stephen strange.”

“Not even in another multiverse baby girl…”

#x reader #fanfiction #oneshot #benedict cumberbatch #doctor strange #benedict cumberbatch x reader #marvel #stephen strange #stephen strange x starkreader #doctor stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader

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asgards-princess-of-mischief · 1 year ago

Text

Last Updated: 2024-10-28

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite BBC!Sherlock Holmes stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

✑ A 'Cold' Case by theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "[Dealing with] Sherlock could be... difficult, [and you] were about to learn just how [difficult he could be] when he comes down with an illness."

✑ A Queen for a Mindpalace [Victorian!Sherlock]￨by strangelockd • 18+ • 〔E᜶A〕 • ♡ •

Summary: "You and Sherlock have a past, but before you attempt to move on. You stop by to make amends, only for a realization to take place. The question remains, will you stay or go?"

✑ A Wedding Dance by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔F〕 •

Summary: After walking in on the boys rehearsing Watson's wedding dance your eager to tease them. However, your excitement quickly turns into regret when Sherlock unexpectedly asks you to dance.

✑ Admit It by iamsherlocked1479 • 18+ • 〔F᜶E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Sherlock believes that lingerie is pointless; you decide to prove him wrong, no matter the costs.

✑ An Unconventional Love Story [Victorian!Sherlock]￨by imagines--galore • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Summary: "Ever since you had met Sherlock at a Ball your parents had been hosting, you had been intrigued. He had no invitation, but had been able to fool all the guests into making them believe he was invited. Even your parents. You, however, had been suspicious and had trailed after him every step of the way…"

✑ Awkwardness and Revelations by ladyalicesbookstore • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "After working at Scotland Yard with your father, you met the world's only consulting detective. When feelings start to blossom between you and Sherlock, how will your dad find out about your romance with the clever detective?"

✑ Ballroom Blitz by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "John and Mary suspect a spark between [you and Sherlock]… they just can't… [prove] it."

✑ Bar Fight by bitternessismyname • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "[After finishing a case,] you, Sherlock, John, and Mycroft go to a bar [where] a man puts his hands on you. Sherlock doesn't take it lightly."

✑ Beg for Forgiveness by a-cup-of-earl-grey-please • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Your fiancé, the great Sherlock Holmes, comes back from the dead — just when you were ready to move on. Can you forgive him?"

✑ Brother Dearest by stark-hero • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Mycroft had never considered himself to be overprotective. However, he isn't overly pleased with how smitten his little brother is with you..."

✑ Date at a Crime Scene￨Prt. II by megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Half impressed and half irritated, Sherlock glared at John. The two hadn't had a new case in weeks so when John told Sherlock that he had found some new clients, Sherlock jumped at the chance. Now he found himself on a date!"

✑ Dear Jealousy by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔M᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "When [you] reconnects with a former lover on a case, Sherlock is overwhelmed with jealousy. [However,] by doubting [your] relationship, he might just be the one who destroys it..."

✑ Different by stark-hero • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "After a night in together, you find that Sherlock Holmes is rather endearing whilst drunk."

✑ Drunk Comfort by imagines--galore • 〔F〕 •

Summary: …

✑ Drunken Love by ladyalicesbookstore • 〔F〕 •

Summary: After you had an argument with your flatmate, Sherlock, you end up in a pub, drinking your sorrow and anger away. But when Sherlock found you, things started to get amusing. Did you confess your feelings while being in your drunken state?

✑ His Love for Her by imagines--galore • 〔F᜶C〕 •

Excerpt: "You had had your heart broken one too meany times in the past. The most recent heartbreak had occurred in the form of your almost fiancée disappearing off the face of the Earth..."

✑ Hold It Together by iamsherlocked1479 • 18+ • 〔F᜶E〕 •

Summary: "..."

✑ Innocent by futureplayboibunnie • 18+ •

Summary: "..."

✑ Iridescent: A Composition by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔F〕 •

Summary: Sherlock's compositions are straight from his heart, a depiction of his most secret thoughts. What will you discover when he dedicates a song to you?

✑ Jealous, Love? by annesthaeticc • 18+ • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♡ •

Summary: "Sherlock Holmes doesn't get jealous. Well, that was until you volunteered to help him out on a case that puts his feelings for you in jeopardy."

✑ Jealousy by iamsherlocked1479 • 18+ • 〔A᜶E〕 •

Summary: "You don't want to get caught up in a friends with benefits situation with Sherlock so you attempt to go on a date. Key word attempt."

✑ London Eye, the by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "[You've] a problem; [you're] in love with Sherlock Holmes [and] decided to bury her feelings, but we all know that nothing gets past the consulting detective and his deductions. [However,] could he be hiding something himself?"

✑ Master Mind by a-cup-of-earl-grey-please • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Truly a mastermind, Sherlock outsmarts himself and you; at least he thinks so. How will he ask you out, though?"

✑ Meet the Parents by stark-hero • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Whilst visiting 221B, you finally get… to meet Sherlock's parents. Embarrassment ensues."

✑ Mine by fandom-puff • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: Sherlock has no issue with you accompanying him and John to crime scenes; however, he has a massive problem with seemingly every officer slobbering all over his girl.

✑ Puppy Luv by annesthaeticc • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: While on a case, Sherlock stumbles upon a new friend… He brings her home, and fluff ensues.

✑ Romantic Stupidity by ladyalicesbookstore • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Summary: When Sherlock and [you have] to share a... bed in... Baskerville, will [your] friendship get sprinkled with… romance? Or are [you] both blind enough to not notice the signs of love?"

✑ Sentiment by goldencherriess • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Sherlock finds himself entranced by Lestrade's best friend and co-worker."

✑ Sentiment by stark-hero • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Sherlock says something he regrets... can you forgive him for it?"

✑ Sincerity by a-cup-of-earl-grey-please • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Your boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes realizes you are feeling insecure — how does he remedy it?"

✑ Spiraling by stupidthoughtsinwriting • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ • 🚫 •

Summary: "After an accident during a case, a hostage situation leaves you in a coma for a week. During that week in the hospital, things are going horribly in Baker Street."

✑ Weak by futureplayboibunnie • 18+ •

Summary: "..."

✑ A Bit More than Friends by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔F〕 •

✑ Adorable Otters by bakerstreethound • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Always on My Mind by stark-hero • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Babysitter by megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Bedside Manner by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Bet, the by poppyisnotaflower • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Brother? by way2geeky • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Comfort by stark-hero • 〔C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Confessions by worldofheroes • 〔F〕 •

✑ Desperation Calls by bakerstreethound • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Drunken Confessions by sherlocks-blanket • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ First Time by fandom-puff • 18+ • 〔E᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Fixation by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔F〕 •

✑ Forever Yours by bakerstreethound • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Good to You by specialagentlokitty • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Hair Pulling by bakerstreethound • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ His Remedy by stark-hero • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ I Love You by strangelockd • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ I Took Care of It by stark-hero • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Keeping Track by specialagentlokitty • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Love Notes by bakerstreethound • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Lust by geeks-universe • 16+ • 〔E〕 •

✑ Mind Palaces by way2geeky • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Miss You by sherlocks-blanket • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ More Important by specialagentlokitty • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ My Type by specialagentlokitty • 〔F〕 •

✑ Pancakes by aephereal • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Pregnancy Hormones by thranduilsperkybutt • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Sherlock by make-me-imagine • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Stuck with Me by specialagentlokitty • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Thursday Thrill by french-vanilla-in-the-clouds • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Trying to Tie a Tie by theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction • 〔F〕 •

✑ Dating Sherlock Holmes... by make-me-imagine • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Getting into Trouble w/ Sherlock... by geeks-universe • 16+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Sex w/ Sherlock… by fandom-puff • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Sherlock Being Affection… by fandom-puff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation || BBC!Sherlock Master Index

Authors: @a-cup-of-earl-grey-please || @annesthaeticc || @aephereal || @bakerstreethound || @bitternessismyname || @fandom-puff || @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds || @futureplayboibunnie || @geeks-universe || @goldencherriess || @high-functioning-lokipath || @iamsherlocked1479 || @imagines--galore || @ladyalicesbookstore || @make-me-imagine || @megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms || @poppyisnotaflower || @sherlocks-blanket || @specialagentlokitty || @starks-hero || @strangelockd || @stupidthoughtsinwriting || @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction || @thranduilsperkybutt || @way2geeky || @worldofheroes ||

#BBC Sherlock x Reader #BBC Sherlock x Female Reader #BBC Sherlock x Y/N #BBC Sherlock x You #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader #Sherlock Holmes x Y/N #Sherlock Holmes x You #Sherlock x Reader #Sherlock x Female Reader #Sherlock x Y/N #Sherlock x You #Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader #Benedict Cumberbatch x Female Reader #Benedict Cumberbatch x Y/N #Benedict Cumberbatch x You #BBC Sherlock Fanfiction #BBC Sherlock Fanfic

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