sparks-stephen

[sparks-stephen]

yeah uh... don't do this :)

[sparks-stephen]

miss sunshine

pre-outbreak Joel Miller x neighbor!reader [7.3k] summary: He's always been out of reach. A fantasy. Joel was too much of everything—too handsome, too friendly, too una-fucking-vailable for any of you. Too bad his kid adores you. (What a blessing.) Too bad she uses you as a scapegoat and lands him right on his door. One bottle of wine, and Joel shows you he might be closer than you thought. 📝 I wanted to try something different. Less hurt, less end-of-the-world bullshit. Let me know your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. ⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex, oral (f and m receiving), riding, missionary, passionate neighbors sex, yay.

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Summer of 2002.

When the bell rings, you think it's best to ignore it.

Living alone equals a lot of privileges, but the ability to go out alone and answer the door on a random Wednesday evening was not one of them. You're wearing compromising clothes and a robe, the bottle of wine you craved was finally open, and the last thing you wanted was to be murdered before enjoying it.

Then, you hear it. Your name, followed by, "It's Miller. Joel."

Fuck.

Well—this is exactly how many of your dreams started. Although this wouldn't go like them, for him, you'd open the door.

His eyes do little to hide the once-over when the door slides open.

They go down, then back up, and he seems to catch on to the fact that you saw it. Then, he shakes his head just a little, and says, "Is Sarah here?"

Well, well, well. You lean against the door. "Did she say she was?"

Joel pierces you with his Dad Look. "Yes." Obviously, it goes without saying.

What other reason would he have, right? Clearing your throat, you feel the anxiety bubbling underneath the surface. "Uhm. She isn't," you look apologetic as you say it. As if it's your fault his prepubescent daughter uses you as a scapegoat.

His sigh is enough to make you feel how tired he is. Overworked. Exhausted.

You try to understand what might've happened before he loses his mind, "What time d'you usually come back from work? Maybe she's at a friend's. She probably thought you'd be back later than this."

He finishes rubbing both palms all over his face, and he threads one hand through his hair. "I'm usually back at nine—well, I'm supposed to be back at nine. I'm usually home by ten." That checks out, then. "But—that doesn't explain why she lied to me."

"Any special occasions coming up soon?"

Joel frowns. "Uhm. My birthday's in a few days, but—"

"Ahhhh." It shuts his mouth, the way you exclaim it so clearly. "She's brainstorming, Joel."

"Brainstorming...?"

"A gift." No daughter had easy access to what made their fathers happy. You take pity on him. "C'mon—let me scare the little one."

You walk inside without waiting for his reply, knowing Joel will make his way in. "What d'you mean, scare her?"

The noise of his boots hitting the floor makes you happy.

You take the phone out of the wall and look at him. "She always keeps that cellular phone with her when she goes out?"

"Always," he nods.

"Perfect." You know it by heart already. As you dial, you feel Joel's eyes on your house. It's the first he's ever been inside, and it makes you hyperaware of every movement of his. "It's ringing," you inform him with a grin forming.

He looks confused. More tired than anything else, but it'll make sense in a second.

"Hey, miss Sunshine!" the nickname she gave you always brings a smile to your face.

Time to put on a show. Feigning panic in your voice, you yell-whisper on the phone, "S, love, would you mind telling me why on Earth is your pops—" you fake cover your end of the line to yell, "one minute!" then you're back at whispering again, "why is he parked outside my house right now? Is there something I should know?"

"Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit—"

You're glad he can't hear her end of it. "No time for panic. Explain."

"I am so sorry, Sunny! I thought he'd be back in like, two hours or something. Oh, god, can you please cover for me? I wrote a note saying I was at your place. Sleeping there. I was gonna call you before he came back home but Jenny and I—"

"You're at somebody named Jenny?" you repeat the information, looking at Joel with a question in your eyes, and when he nods, your heart soothes at knowing she's safe. "And you didn't think to mention your brilliant idea earlier?" going for the full effect again, you yell out, "One minute, Joel!"

At least she's fast in her rambles. "Yeah, yeah. My best friend. She's trying to help me come up with a surprise for him. I'm not there often and it's never on his birthday. I wanna make it special."

"Okay. Cool. Next time, fill me in as you make the plans."

"I will, I promise. Pinky promise. You think you can convince him I'm sleeping there?" the plea in her voice is adorable.

You chuckle. "I've got you, S." Joel sighs in relief in front of you. "Just one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Be back here tomorrow first thing in the morning. 7:30 sharp. I'm gonna invite your dad for breakfast, as punishment for your lack of planning, and you'll be the one making us the pancakes," before she can even answer, you go, "Toodles!" and hang up.

When you put your phone back at the base, you turn around with a proud smile.

Joel's looking at you funny. "You're good at that," he says.

"At what? Acting?" you laugh when nods. "I was a trouble child. I'm great at lying."

"Aren't those the same?"

"Eh. A thin line separates them." You can sense his awkwardness creeping up, so you do your best to think on the spot. "Is she one to escape?"

"Not really, no." He's shuffling on his feet, uncertain of what to do in your home. "She's never done this before."

"From what she told me, she's never around for your birthday."

"That's true."

"She wants to make a surprise for you," you inform. It puts that smile on his face that makes your knees a little weak. "And now she has to be back here at seven in the morning. All is well."

He laughs. "Yeah, I guess so."

He's gonna see himself out. You swallow all the nervousness that being in his presence creates and just... goes for it. "Is it hard? Having a kid?"

That relaxes some of the tension in his shoulders. He leans on the counter of your kitchen and shakes his head. "Not really. It's a lot of work, but it's not hard. It's rewarding."

I wish my mother felt the same. You smile at the truth in his words. "I can see it's hard work." He laughs again. "Well—I had just opened that before you rang the bell," you point at the Pinot on top of the counter. "Want a glass? Unless you tell me you're 'only beer' kind of guy, then I can't help ya."

Joel looks between you and the bottle a couple of times, then looks down at himself. "I'm uh—I'm all greasy and gross from work. You sure that's the company you want for wine?"

Rolling your eyes, you walk towards your glasses cabinets. "If I told you that you can go home and shower, you'd never come back."

"And that'd be a bad thing?"

"Sure it would. You're the only person in this entire street that hasn't interrogated me on my life so far, I feel left out. Offended, even," you add with a dramatic twist. Your robe flows around you, and you can't help but smile when you see his eyes following you.

It's the way he swallows visibly, almost audibly, that plants a seed of maybe inside your head. "I'm not usually one to pry."

You place both glasses on the counter. "Neither am I."

"I know. It's why I like ya," Joel says it with eyes on the glasses instead of you. "That and the way you talk to the plants."

Your hand on the corkscrew stops, and you want to slam your forehead against the wood. "Oh, god."

His laughter is so nice. "Nah, don't be embarrassed. 's why I gave you your nickname."

"Don't be embarrassed? That's mortifying, Joel. I thought no one—wait." Had you heard him right? "What d'you mean you gave me my nickname?"

Joel's head tilts, and he's definitely a charmer kind of guy. If you do have a chance, you might be fucked. "Your nickname."

"Miss Sunshine?" He nods. "I thought that was Sarah."

"No, Sarah used it first in front of you," he pulls one of the glasses closer to him. "I said it first."

Well... that made it just as special but in a different way. You pour the wine into both glasses. "Good to know. I was under the impression she was the creative genius in the household—I just. Quick question that I never asked her: Why?"

"'Cause every mornin' before I left for work you're there on that big window," he points at the glass window that's occupies ceiling to floor, the very reason you picked this house, "talking to your plants as if you're the sun itself waking them up. 's cute."

Cute. You hate how he has the ability to make you blush. What is this, fucking high school?

"That makes sense."

Joel wipes his palms on the side of his t-shirt and then looks up at you. "If I go home with the promise of comin' back, will you let me shower?"

Let me. You're thankful your arms are covered because you're unsure of what this man is capable of when he knows the effect he has on somebody.

"I'll let you," you answer.

Joel nods and his smile is so genuine that you wonder why you never tried before.

"'kay," he takes one sip of the wine, hums in approval, and then takes a deep breath. "'m gonna go. I'll be back to interrogate you."

"I'll leave the door open."

"No—Jesus bloody Christ, are you and Sarah mad? Lock the door, Sunshine." You like it so much when he's the one that says it. "I'm serious."

"Alright, jeez," you laugh.

It's less tense than you imagined as he puts his shoes back on and walks out of your door. Joel crosses the street with a little wave in your direction, and all you can think is—what on Earth am I gonna do to him?

When he's back, Joel smells so good it's intoxicating.

It makes your brain melt.

Minty and fresh. That's what his stuff smells like, and you know the idea of that scent's now painted on the walls of your brain.

He does that stupid little dad pose, widening both arms and lifting them up in a display of 'what do you think' before walking in.

It makes you want to push him against the wall, but you do your best at behaving.

For now.

"Brand new man?" you ask.

He points at his glass of wine, untouched since the moment he left. "Will be in a sec."

You wait for him to take a sip before extending him what you held in your hand before he arrived.

Joel eyed the cigarette and, thank fuck, there was none of the annoying judgment sometimes people carried. He stops his movement to sit on the stool and asks, "You smoke in here, or are we goin' outside?"

"There's a table there. Weather's nice. D'you mind?"

Joel grabs his glass, shaking his head. "Not at all, ma'am. Lead the way."

"Ma'am," you echo him, sounding disgusted. He laughs behind you, "Who am I, Mrs. Adler?"

Still laughing, Joel answers, "Nah. Too talkative for that."

You turn around with your mouth hanging open, trying very little to look offended. "I beg your pardon. We never spoke for longer than, what, five minutes?"

Joel shrugs his shoulders. His smile is as intoxicating as his presence. "I hear things."

"You hear things?" you ask, pushing open the door that leads outside.

"I do," he sips his wine, looking to the small terrace where your little table is. "My daughter's a gossiper, little Sunshine. I think y'should know that."

Little Sunshine. Goddamn this man.

"Should I be scared, here? I haven't even told her anything, but I feel like I should be."

"If you didn't tell her anythin', than why would you be?"

"Because!" you laugh, feeling just a little out of your depth with his smoothness. You expected more closeness from Joel. Less teasing, easy banter. "You're talking like someone who knows a lot, that's all."

"And I do," he says, sounding every bit as serious.

You sit down on one of the chairs — your chair, precisely — and watch as Joel walks around a little, taking in the environment. He adds, "Did ya know," pausing for a dramatic effect, he sips again, "that in all of three months, you became one of my daughters' favorite people?"

He pins you under his gaze.

You cross your legs, and watch happily as his gaze drops to the motion.

"Did I?" if you sip at his pace, you'll be throwing yourself on his lap in an embarrassing amount of time.

Joel nods behind his cup, touching one of the many plants that cover your backyard area from floor, to walls, to ceiling. "You did," he smiles, dropping the fake seriousness. "Are you ready to deal with the six months absence? 'Cause from personal experience," he points both hands at his chest, "you try convincing yourself you won't miss her all that much 'cause, y'know, it's "just" a girl, but—fuck," he spits the last word, smiling widening around the fact. "She's so cool to have around. You'll see. Your phone's bill's about to create life."

It grounds you.

The way Joel speaks of Sarah makes you feel comfortable sitting here, and any doubts you had are sucked by the green life around you and returned as oxygen.

Joel talks about anything, no reservations.

In his absence, you doubted whether this could be any different than most times.

Would Joel be like that—like any of those other guys?

He wasn't.

Joel, as much as you hated to admit it, was an exception.

Maybe these things were fated. Simple chemistry. Similar mindsets. Whatever it was—you had it every once in a blue moon.

Your expectations settings were long ago molded to expect the least, and it takes only half a bottle of wine for you to notice the need to rear it in.

He's so damn easy. Joel goes from one topic to another like he's interested. He answers your questions with full interest, sometimes going on tangent stories, and he's the one who keeps the glasses filled.

Attentive, you take note the second time that happens. Before any of the glasses got empty, he served you both.

He compliments your taste in music and sounds genuine about it.

The weird silences you most dreaded never happen—if he's not answering you, Joel asks things. Interesting things, unlike any other neighbor.

"Was it you who decorated your place inside? 'Cause, there are very specific things in there. And you seem like the type to know what you like."

Joel was very attentive.

He asked, "and is this what you like to do with your free time?" pointing at the books you put away when you both arrived, "Drink wine, read, talk to your plants?"

"I still can't believe you've seen me doing that."

He laughed at that. "It's a pretty big window, Sunshine. Jesus Christ—you don't lock the door, you don't know people can see through your gigantic-ass window—I'm genuinely starin' to get worried here."

"Okay, first of all, I do lock my door."

"Do you?"

"'Course. Most days."

"Oh my—"

"—and! Now that I was reminded of my window's size, I'll consider buying drapes. Long, white ones. That'd be cool."

It was easy.

Talking to Joel—sharing a table with him, a glass of wine—so easy.

He never looked uncomfortable. Even if he moved a lot, Joel looked good—so damn good you lost focus every now and then—, but good with himself.

In his skin.

That was intoxicating.

When he does more than just talk and asks things; it's almost too damn easy. Was time supposed to go this way?

The first bottle end, but it's too soon.

You know it. He knows it—plays with it, in fact. Waves the empty bottle after pouring it for you and him in the air very lightly then places it on the floor.

Offering another one is almost a visceral reaction.

You don't have the same finesse he does, or at least, you think not, but if his smiles and closing proximity are anything to go by, he's enjoying himself as much as you are. "I dance around opening these a lot," you say pointing at the empty bottle. Pulling your legs closer to yourself despite the voice of your mother telling you that's a body language sign of insecurity—fuck insecurity. "Don't wanna be the wine lady on top of the plant one. But they're good. I like it."

"I only drink wine when my brother cooks," he offers.

The glass in your hands makes you feel safe enough to land this conversation where you want it. "Really? He cooks a lot?"

"More than me," Joel confesses with a shrug. "He likes to match the wine to the dish and that type o' stuff."

"I was taught how to be picky, but if I'm being honest—" you like the way Joel leans in closer when you pause it. You smile, "it's all just grapes tastin' really, really good." The sound of his damn laugh. This man's gotta have a flaw, you think. "As long as it's wine, I'm happy."

"I think that about a good beer after a day of work."

"We're all just trying to give ourselves little positive reinforcements for playing nice at doing our jobs, huh?"

Joel pauses at that. Lifts his eyebrows, then bursts out laughing. "Oh, wow—"

"Oh god", while it took you a lot of alcohol to get drunk, being open-mouthed about weird things came with the territory of feeling comfortable.

Joel made you comfortable, even if you were mortified at how amused he was.

When he's done laughing, he looks at you. "That's cute. You're the philosophical type."

"Isn't everybody who enjoys wine?"

"I don't know. I enjoy wine and I'm not one to go that far, I think."

"Hmm. Philosophizing can involve different topics. Lenses."

Joel wolf whistles. "Well, I think I'd need a couple more glasses to unlock that side of me."

"Not a problem," you get up, and resist the urge to wink at him. "I'll be back."

Your reflection in the kitchen mirrors is the confirmation of how fucked exactly you are.

It's more than just the color on your cheeks—it's the glassy screen over your eyes, making it shine like...

Well, very few times.

Fuck, you think.

Maybe that's why your palms are sweating.

He's more than you bargained for—Joel's looks were hard to move on from, but this?

Once in Rome...

Fuck it.

It's not as if either one of you was blinded to what a moonlight late-night conversation leads to.

The air outside could be felt.

When you're going back with the opened bottle, another pin drops in your mind.

He has the whole night free.

You don't break the bottle, but it's a close call.

Joel asks you the second you're back, "I have a depressing confession to make—I was tryin' to keep to it to myself, but honestly, it's all I taught about when you left."

You place the bottle in the middle of the table carefully and sit back down with your eyes on him.

He moved his chair closer again.

"Do share," you urge.

Joel looks around the yard—he seems to do it a lot when he's dipping his toes into personal places and says, "This is the first time in a—uh—I don't even know. A while. That I just... sat with another adult. Drank something nice. Talked about more than just—fucking politics, or whatever." Joel's eyes on you make you feel honored. You know he'd say that's a silly thought if you said it out loud. "It's really nice. And—the depressing part comes in now: I'm only here 'cause of my brother."

You tilted your hair. "You're here because... of Tommy?" you tried connecting those dots, but came up short.

Thankfully, Joel was here. With his smile, and his explanation.

"You see, before Sarah's mom and I decided she could spend some months here instead of just a few weekends, I was already... shutting in. His words, not mine," Joel picks up his glass for a sip, and you hang onto every word he says. "So when she came, he took me out one night. That little bar a few blocks from here—y'know Mr. O'Donovan's place?" when you shake your head, he waves a hand, "I'll take you someday—'s the only place around here that's worth a dime."

"I'll take your word for it." I hate bars. You'd go for him. With him.

"I think I know what beer you'd like," it comes off as a whisper, and you have to hide behind your glass again. "I only remember that talk because he made me promise. He's not one to ask for promises."

"What did he make you promise?"

"He was upset 'cause I kept turnin' him down every time he wanted to do his 'meet my friend and you'll be good friends' match-making shit, so he said, 'you promise that the next time someone invites you do somethin' you actually wanna do, you're not gonna turn 'em down? You'll actually fucking go, without makin' excuses to yourself'. And that sounded fair. So I promised."

You take note of the effort he's making.

The subtle 'this isn't just about what's about to happen'.

'I'll take you someday'.

'Next time someone invites you to do somethin' you actually wanna do'.

So more than just neighbors. You nod at that, smiling at him. "He seems like a good brother," you say. "Siblings can be a pain in the ass."

Joel stops his glass on the way to his lip to shake his head at you, "Oh, no no," he takes the sip first, and says, "one doesn't negate the other. He very much is a pain in my ass, trust me."

You laugh. "Older and younger?"

"Younger," he nods. "I had a lil' bit of peace here and there before he was born."

"Can't imagine you'd have it any other way nowadays."

He agrees with you.

When he doesn't, Joel scrunches his nose as he shakes his head.

He does silly faces. You wonder if he's aware of how unfair it is that he gets to look like that. Tender. Charming.

He proves your theory to be right with only half another bottle.

Put two or more adults plus a certain amount of alcohol in a closed environment, and sex will be on the table.

It makes you blush when you think... it could literally be on the table.

Joel pretends he doesn't see you growing hotter. He keeps his eyes on you as you take off the robe instead of looking at your arms. Listens to what you're saying without losing focus.

Only when you're done and asking him something in response that he looks.

It makes your throat dry when he does.

Joel has an unabashed, almost cocky tilt to his mannerisms.

You thought he'd be quieter than he is—more serious.

It's a welcomed contrast.

When sex is laid on the table, it comes because he brought up the joke you made at the beginning of the night about his lack of interest in your life, and decided to ask you things. Where you grew up. If you were always like this.

"Define 'like this'."

"Smart with the calculating glance, and sweet-talking."

"Is that me?"

"Sure is, Sunshine."

None of the questions that people usually ask.

It makes you bite your lip more than you wished—his manly, tall presence gets under your skin in ways that no previous partner managed to. Tucking your hair behind your ear, avoiding leading the conversation to the exact places you liked, giggling—those weren't things you did.

He pulled them from you.

When he does ask you the 'usual' questions, it lacks the malicious curiosity inflating others whenever they did.

Sex is laid on the table because Joel looks you in the eyes with that easiness in his shoulders and asks, "I'm not as private as you, though—all of my neighbors already know Tommy, and Sarah. You, on the other hand... the mysterious crime and horror novelist, who talks to her plants and moved from so, so far. I might not be the prying type, but I was curious about you long before my gremlin set her little claws on you. How come I never see anyone coming in or out of here? You tellin' me not one friend of yours followed you here to god-forsaken Texas?"

Your glass is almost empty, and you focus on the twirling of the red inside it to avert your mind from the way he's sitting. "The point of moving was getting away from them. All of them, as bad as that sounds," you cover your eyes with your free hand, and Joel's hand touches your forearm.

"Hey—it's fine. Don't feel bad. 'm happy you had the privilege of gettin' away. If you wanted to move away from all of it, I'm sure you had your reasons."

Looking between your fingers, you try appraising his face. "Really?"

"Really," he nods.

"Okay." You sit up straight. "And I do have people over, sometimes. You're just always at work."

"Yeah? You made friends already?"

"A few, yeah."

"Where?" he removes his hand from your forearm but drops it to your chair's armrest. The proximity is doing something to you. "I thought you worked from home."

"I do," you agree. "But I do other stuff. I'm not always here with my plants, Joel," you roll your eyes, smiling amusedly.

Joel laughs, "I wouldn't know. If I could work from home and stay with my tools and wood, I would."

"And I believe you," you nodded.

He bites on his smile before asking. "What other stuff d'you do?"

"I joined a book club," you reply, feeling all levels of boring.

From his look, he disagrees. "You got the patience for that?"

"Sure do," you nod again.

He nods, pouting in awe. "Nice," he says. "Are your book club friends givin' you the right impression of Texans?"

"I'm warming up to them," you smile.

Nodding, he asks, "Should I ask now the questions all my neighbors already know the answer to? 'Cause I am curious. Did you know Mr. Adler tried tellin' me what he 'discovered' about you? He tried looking blasé when he said that, but I'm sure he just wanted to gossip about the pretty girl who moved across from him."

"Ew, Joel," you laugh.

His eyes never leave you—you feel it even when you're not looking at him. He's laughing too. "What? It's true."

When you look back up at him, you wonder—when did you two get this close?

"You can ask," you say. "It's not that exciting, the answer. Actually, it's not exciting at all."

"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that," he sips his wine, and leaves the glass on the table. "You already know my backstory, so kill my curiosity now," he pierces with his eyes for a moment, "how on Earth is there no ring on this finger?" he points to your ring finger, then he leans in closer, and you can smell the wine in his breath; you want to kiss it until it's taste is gone, "and how is it that I never see anyone leaving here early in the mornings?"

Well. "No ring 'cause I didn't want one so far," you reply. To him, you give more honesty than anyone else who's asked. "And I have the luxury of living without it. I know many friends of mine who don't—and actually, that was part of..." don't go there. "Nevermind," you shake your head, pinning yourself to here.

"You just didn't want it?" he echos.

You nod, "Never did," there's no reason to lie to him. He smells so good—why would you lie to him? "Most men bore men, Joel."

"Wow," the smile that widens is a little baffled. A little dirty. "Should I be scared?"

At that, you burst out laughing. "Really?" You have no clocks outside, but the starry sky and the deep silence in the houses next to you are a good enough indicator. "It's been... a couple of hours, at least. We're one bottle and a half," you say, looking at your glasses shining on the table, "deep into conversation... and you wonder if you should be scared?"

Joel's still looking at you when you look back. His arm is around your chair, and your back touches it when you lean back against it. "I'll take that as a no."

"You are very far from boring."

"'m happy you think so," he smiles. He lets his eyes drop to your lips, without a care for the two palms of distance that separate your faces. It's meant to be blatant. Obvious. "Just another question..."

Here it comes, you thought. Why no kids? Why so alone? Do you feel lonely?

"Why me?" he asks.

It's nothing more than a breath.

You could ignore it. Give any answer, and close the gap. Instead, you give him honesty. "Honestly? I was so attracted to you, the second I saw you, that I was willing to even hear somethin' stupid coming out of your mouth if I could just—," do it, do it, do it. Seeing his eyes darken from up close is torture. You can feel the pulse of your heartbeat between your legs. "Now, if I were any smart, I'd be wishing for you to be bad at all the rest, because..."

This was amazing already.

Joel laughs, just a single, breathy laugh, and then does something you would never see it coming.

He pushes his chair back with the weight of his hips and drops to his knees.

The gasp you let out is enough to put the most insufferable smile on his face.

"Don't say that," he feigns hurt, as if he wasn't smiling with his eyes and lips. "It might've been a while, but I don't think I lost my touch just yet."

Joel's hands envelop your knees and slowly pull them apart. You feel like an open wire—aware of every breath your body takes and each minimum reaction to him.

You feel the wet pulse inside your panties when he kisses the skin of your inner thigh, right above your knee.

Joel smiles up at you, blinking his eyes.

Damn him, you think. His hands caress their way up your skin, and you wished you were naked already.

He seems like someone to enjoy the torture—when his hands reach the curve of your ass, they stop there, holding onto your waist.

"Have I?" he asks, kissing the other inner leg. You feel a hint of his tongue in the short kiss.

What could you say to that?

"You really haven't."

Feeling the hot breathing of his laughter on your inner thighs was not in your list for tonight.

"Do I get a kiss, then?"

He would never have to ask you twice.

Your legs wrap around his torso when you lean down to meet him for the kiss. Joel seems to love the position—he smiles at first, gripping you by the neck.

He takes his time to look at you before he dives in. A mental check-in. Maybe just admiring, just as you were from the second he kneeled.

His kiss comes from experience. A lot of fucking experience.

If you were weak in the knees before, you seal the notion that you're out of your depth there and then.

Joel kisses like no one's ever kissed you before—like he wants to explore, discover, conquer.

He licks his way inside of you with the first kiss.

His tongue isn't shy; he makes you adjust to his rhythm, to let go and open up, and when you, you're rewarded with it—he pulls up just an inch, just to whisper, "that's it," and then dives back in.

Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and neck in a possessive manner. It's why he makes it so easy for you let him guide it—he's holding you, and you moan as you melt into him.

He wants to feel your body.

The more you press yourself against him, the more Joel grants you little sighs of his own pleasure.

He never pushes his hips against you. Never presses you towards him.

It makes you want to scream.

When he pulls away, Joel sighs happily. He presses his right thumb over your swollen bottom lip, and nodding, kneels on his heels again.

"Joel..."

Your face remains close to his, gravitating to where he does. He whispers, "Lift your hips up for me, Sunshine," wrapped around a smile.

You do as he says.

His hand takes off your shorts without your eyes ever leaving you, and when the item is on the floor, Joel releases the robe you foregone earlier tonight from your backrest to slide down where you sit.

To not make a mess, it says.

Your face is burning up, but not as much as the rest of you.

"Is this ok?" he asks.

He waits for your nod of approval before pulling you by your knees. "Good," he's strong enough to get you where he wants in one pull. Your hips are nearing the end of the chair and from this angle, Joel gets to look.

He eyes the underwear as if it's personally offending him.

"I like the color," he says. He traces a finger across the baby blue lace and looks up at you. "Suits ya," he says. That's when he hooks a finger on the fabric, pulling it to the side. "I dreamt about this."

That gets to you.

Joel's fingers are thorough—able. He uses his knuckles to spread the lips apart, uncaring about the whines you let out above him, still holding on to the shame of being the only one exposed.

It lasts until he places two knuckles on each side of your clit, stimulating it with back-and-forth movements.

You were right about the torture.

He enjoys it.

Joel waits for your clit to be hard between his fingers before he puts his mouth to it.

You can only cling onto his hair.

I dreamt about this, too.

"Fuck—I dreamt about this too," you confess.

His moan vibrating against the core of your pussy makes you clench.

Joel's only starting.

He takes his time in finding the rhythm you most feel pleasure on your clit. He never bites, never nibbles, and doesn't go softly, like other men.

He eats.

Joel's mouth is stuck to you—the way he laps and slurps and sucks on your hardened nub only makes your volume go from whines and pleas of his name to moans in very little time.

That's when he dips his tongue inside. When he uses it as muscle and proves to you why the idea of oral is so good for men.

Because it's good.

Joel gives no indicator that he wants to stop at any time, and it turns you into something that blossoms.

At some point between him almost making you cum just by sucking on your clit and fucking his tongue in and out of you, your legs made their way to his shoulders, and his hands have secured themselves groping your ass.

He pulls back for air, once.

His fingers enter you instead, two at once.

"So wet already," he says. You only hear it, until, "look at me," he asks.

As if his thick, long fingers dripping into places inside of you weren't enough, you get to look at him.

His face glistening on your back porch is something that burns behind your eyelids the second you see it. You feel incoherent, needy, and exposed in more than one way.

Joel looks like he could eat you like this.

"Joel—please. Please," you're begging, but for what, you're not sure.

"Cum for me first. I'll give you whatever you want later, just," he pumps his fingers inside of you, keeping a steady and strong pace, and then says, "You look so good like this, Jesus fuckin' Christ."

Profanities.

That's what he says before getting his mouth back on you—his tongue sucking and vibrating against your clit.

It's too much. Too fucking much, and, "Joel, Joel—"

He pulls back just to say it, "That's it, doin' so good, Sunshine—" and that's when you lose it. The coaxing. It's so earnest. Sounds so pleased, dipping in honey as if it's him who's feeling this good.

"'m gonna cum Joel, fuck me, just like that—"

"Like this? Hm? Show me. Cum on my mouth."

All it takes is for him to put it back on you. Joel knows how to push himself inside—knows how to explore the hot and tight confines of your cunt, because he coos a first orgasm out of you with the right pace only.

No strength. No speed. Just sucking, and curling right against your spot.

Your vision whites out.

The time you take to come back to yourself, he keeps playing with your pussy and the mess he made in it, seeming as satisfied with the result as you are. Somewhere in white land.

What a little death.

After that, it's more a mess and clashes of teeth and desires than you knew you were even capable of.

He pulls you in for a kiss, and you pull him inside the house.

The idea is to make it to your room, but you never make it past the living room.

When you press him against a wall to finish taking off his clothes, seeing him only in briefs makes gravity pull you in.

Nothing but black briefs.

You have to drop to your knees.

Joel curses under his breath and tries his best at keeping his posture, but you're with a mind entirely clouded by raw need.

To him, you want to do only your best.

You're addicted to the way he mutters, "atta girl," every time you discover something that brings him pleasure. It sounds so fucking dirty.

"That's it. Atta fuckin' girl, god."

With him, you use tricks your friends once told you that are buried in the back of your mind. You hold the part of his cock your mouth can't cover and move it in sync with your lips. You make it wet, make sloppy, make it whatever he leads it to be.

Joel hisses and moans louder when you find the special places hidden—the sensitive skin between his balls that leads up, you lick it from start to finish and are rewarded with a full-body shudder.

He shows you what strong body means.

"Where's your room?" he pulls you by the arms, and you somehow end up jumping on him. Exactly what you wanted.

"I'm not makin' that far," you tell him with a grin.

He has his thumb on your lips again—he seems to like your mouth.

"Didn't think you'd want my bare ass on your couch."

"That is exactly where I want your bare ass right now," you tell him.

He's good at following requests, just as he is at giving them.

Joel sits with you already straddling his lap, and bless his gentleman's heart, he says, "I left my pants outside—wait," he curses under his breath with your hips circling his shaft. Letting it slide between your pussy lips. "Fuckin' hell."

"Fuckin' hell indeed," you sigh. "Wait here."

You run outside for it, only because you're not on the pill. Maybe you'll start taking it. Maybe you shouldn't think that far.

Joel's waiting for you alright—he has his hand at the base of his cock, sitting on your couch like a modern-day Adonis.

A sluttier Adonis. Sexier, too.

"Stop starin' and c'mere," he demands;

And who are you to say no to that?

Joel does you the favor of putting it on as you make yourself comfortable on his lap again, taking all of your out of the way. He looks like he wants to eat you alive piece by piece, and you love it.

"Lemme know if you want me to take over," he tells you.

"Yes, sir," you whisper in a taunting manner.

Joel rests his forehead against yours when you line himself up with you, and it's a reward of your stupid, gigantic-ass window letting in the light from outside that allows you to see the pleasure on his face as you sink around him, burying him to the hilt.

His digits press so hard on your sides they'll brise.

You'll be bruised tomorrow morning.

Fingerprints on your hips, beard burns on your inner legs, palm shapes across your ass.

When you start moving, none of you say a word about how it feels.

It's criminal.

Only curses and your names are allowed in the thin space separating your wet bodies.

The thin layer of sweat makes you two glide on each other, and the drag of him inside of you is almost too good for words.

You're scared of the ones that'd make their way out, anyway.

So you let out what you can. You call for him, and he calls back. Joel slaps your ass, both sides of it, and urges you on to take him as you want it.

"Fuckin' christ, I'm never gonna—fuck—never gonna sleep again."

There it is. Being pussy-drunk makes him loose-lipped.

Your own are aching with how hard you bite on them.

Joel lets the reigns remain on your hands as you stay on top. He lets you ride him painfully slow, and faster, just because it feels good. He lets you climb all the way up only to slam back down, praising you through the fog in your brain.

"Does it feel good, Sunshine? Mm? My cock feels that good for you?"

You're sure it'll all come back to haunt you once your brain can be coherent.

He takes charge when you start begging him, and for what, you're unsure of. It's a mixture of please and his name, which Joel takes as his permission slip.

He flips you onto your back, hooks one of your legs on the middle of his back, and fucks you both into another orgasm.

It should be concerning the way he does it—like he's familiar with your body and your cues. He just follows your pace and moans until you're clawing at his back, and when his name comes out over and over again, he coaxes it again. Coos at you, holding your face in one hand. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't ya? Do it. I'll cum for you when I feel you shakin' around my cock, Sunshine. Cum for me."

It comes so hard you almost faint; blackout.

Joel takes care of you afterward.

Of course he does.

Even with the weakest legs and the minimum sense of reality around you, he manages. Joel leads you upstairs, tells you he's collected your clothes, and even lays down when you ask him.

"Just for a while," you ask.

He lays in front of you in bed, and pulls your arms around him. "I'm puttin' an alarm."

Little spoon. "You gotta be back here in the morning anyway."

"I know," he kisses your wrist. "Can't wait."

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[sparks-stephen]

The Most Beautiful Riddle

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

In which Sherlock finally proposes to Y/N.

a/n: Henry!Sherlock pulls this poetic side out of me, I don’t know. This is me trying to write this period-appropriate, but don’t hesitate to tell me that I’ve failed miserably. This was also a request from this lovely anon - I hope you like it!

word count: 2.9k

warnings: fluff, fluff, and did I mention fluff?

If it weren’t for her, he would have surely misplaced his head by now, Sherlock thought as he was on yet another venture to look through his study for those particular cufflinks he adored. Though he was certain, he had placed them right on his desk the other night, they weren’t anywhere to be found. 

“For god’s sake. They can’t have bloody disappeared,” he huffed in the stuffy study when a pile of books tumbled over the edge of the desk. And then, there it was: an envelope wedged between his most recent read and a note that said: ‘in case you forget’. The cufflinks were neatly placed within.

The detective smiled with a shake of his head. The handwriting was unmistakable: the soft swing of the quill made the harshest words sound lovely. There was only one person who could have done this. And this particular person, he was late to meet by five minutes already. He could not leave her waiting, he thought, not in that heat outside. 

Sherlock hurried down the stairs of his house as he placed the delicate silver pieces on his sleeves, a light touch grazing the surface of the sapphire pinched in the metal with remarkable expertise.

“There you are, Sherlock. Whatever took you so long?” Y/N’s bright eyes glimmered under her sunhat but the smirk on her lips told Sherlock that she knew. Of course, she did. She was the woman who had placed the cufflinks in the envelope after all, because she had grown custom to his scattered thoughts whenever he was deep into a case, seemly leaving every other aspect of life pass him by as if he were sitting by a train window. 

“Darling, I am sorry for I have left you waiting. But somebody appeared to have replaced some items in my study.” Y/N straightened his jacket when he reached her, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment longer, her eyes staring into his with a playful gleam.

“Now, who would do such a thing? It’s quite improper to go through a gentleman’s belongings like that.” She did poorly in hiding the mischief in her smile when she turned around. Not, however, before Sherlock caught her hand and placed a sweet kiss on her knuckles.

“Indeed. Though I seem to be relying on this someone after all.” It was an honest attempt in telling her something entirely different than the words he had said. And Y/N knew the meaning behind them all. It was their own personal riddle. A beautiful one, that was, and the very thing he adored most about their relationship.

“Well,” her hand squeezed his in a reassuring manner, “it’s good to have people look after one, don’t you think?” Y/N gathered her skirts and entered the carriage waiting before his home. It would take them to the market, where his favorite part of the day was awaiting the man who stood dazed before the horses, a hint of a smile on his lips and the whisper of a thought hanging in the light summer breeze.

“So it seems.”

❁ ❁ ❁

It had become a custom for the pair to visit the market every Wednesday. Though this tradition had not come to life until Sherlock had started to worry excessively for Y/N’s wellbeing after they had confessed their feelings for one another. It had been a hot summer's day then, too. And Sherlock could not help but be surprised when Y/N had kissed him under the old oak tree by the meadow and shared her feelings with him, that he in fact felt them as well. Much like now, he had been deep in thought about an interesting case of his that seemed to have his head everywhere but in the moment. Y/N had managed to pull him back with this sweet and fleeting kiss. And he were to have almost missed it had it not sparked an overwhelming feeling in his chest. A feeling he had felt many times before but were never able to place; and one he still felt whenever she was close. So, it appeared only natural to accompany Y/N to her weekly market visits. 

Sherlock would not admit it to anyone, really, but he found great joy in watching her frolic through the stands, smelling the flowers, conversing with sellers, and making him carry all the items she had acquired throughout the day. He always made sure to buy her a bouquet of the prettiest flowers as well just to see that bright smile shining through. 

It were these moments that reminded the usually rational man that he too was allowed to feel. His mind would scatter like petals on a window sill, showering his head with thoughts and scenarios he seemed to be able to visit only in her presence. Faint whispers suggested how the wind blowing through Y/N’s hair made it look just that much softer, or what it would feel like to have his fingers stroke through her delicate locks again. Sherlock knew what it felt like. He had had the pleasure of pushing his hand through the strands when they would kiss - if they were able to catch a lonely moment amongst the endless sea of banquettes and work events their life shipped them through. But he missed it nonetheless. Her laugh made him think of children running through a lively home and her loving stare whenever she presented another item for him to hold showed him how very easily he could look at her eyes and fall lost in them for hours. 

And yet, he had not found himself able to ever take their remarkable relationship to the next step. The both of them made a noteworthy team in more aspects than one. Y/N had proven herself of great help on many of Sherlock’s cases and the amount of time the pair spent together seemed unconventional for an unmarried couple. Sherlock himself was constantly reminded of that by the critical eyes of his fellows and the uttered remarks of the old women in the city. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He loved her. That he was sure of. And though Eudoria had been scolding him for courting a lady like Y/N for almost a year now, he had yet to ask the question his mother so desperately wanted him to pop. Sherlock had thought about it of course. There was no other woman he could even imagine marrying that was, but he was also aware that a normal proposal would not nearly do her extraordinary personality justice. So it was not that he didn’t want to ask her, it was more like his sister concluded: he was scared to mess up. Though he would never phrase it that way. His sister was a smart young woman and it seemed to prove her intelligence right once more when Sherlock agreed with her on this behalf.

Another item being placed in his arms pulled him back from his thoughts. Apples. Sherlock looked up with intrigue in his eyes, the smile on the woman’s face in front go him just brightening further.

“I will be making pie today. You love apples, do you not, Sherlock?”

Heat rose up his generally unfazed face. Sherlock was not able to prevent it from happening. 

“I do.” 

And for some unexplainable reason, this moment felt different than many as such before. Sherlock could feel his heart swell in his chest, the constant thumbing beneath his ribs aggressive and unrelenting. And it did not falter. Not when he followed her back to the carriage later that afternoon. Not when he guided her back to his house, hand resting on the small of her back and the other securely holding a basket of acquired goods. And not when he watched her prepare an apple pie for him while contently humming an unfamiliar tune that still sounded like the most beautiful melody to his ears. 

As his broad frame was leaning on the door way, his hand secretly pressed to his chest to still the violent pounding before it would kill him, Sherlock's mind began to wander again. Though this time, much to his dismay, it did not stray to case-related endeavors. It was entirely focused on the very woman spinning through his kitchen in the yellow hues of the afternoon sun. He imagined her cooking there every day. At some point, Sherlock was even surprised to hear the faint sound of tiny feet pattering through his hallway as his mind spiraled into a fantasy world he were only able to visit seldom.

To be entirely honest, it was out of the detective's comfort zone to feel as at home around someone as he did with Y/N. Sherlock was not a man to waste his time with wishful thinking. He was a man of action and rational. The feelings that were enlightened by the very woman dancing in his kitchen, however, were far from any of those attributes. Furthermore, they showed him yet again, how unreasonable he had been acting toward her. It was clear to him that something needed to change in order to set his mind at ease again. And the wave of warmth pushing through his body at the look of Y/N with flour on her nose just confirmed his suspicion. 

He stepped forward with careful strides, one hand reaching out towards Y/N and pulling her into his warm and welcoming chest. She must have been able to feel his heart pounding beneath his skin as his decision settled in his mind, he was certain of it. Sherlock placed a ginger kiss on her temple before excusing himself to his study. And when he sat down at his desk, dipping the quill in the dark ink before him, he willed himself to concentrate not to butcher his writing with the way his hands were shaking.

Dear Enola,

I was hoping to receive your help on a personal account of mine...

❁ ❁ ❁

The paper in his pocket was burning holes through the fabric as Sherlock stood above the meadow, where the trees opened to a beautiful view of the sunset. Enola had placed the last hint in the branches of the oak just a couple hundred meters away from him. It was strange for the detective to feel nervous, but this particular endeavor had him experiencing a number of new things. It was the first time, too in which he was not thinking about any case of his. His mind was entirely circled around the moment that stood before him and the plan he had acquired together with his sister. 

Y/N would arrive any second now, and Sherlock found himself lost in the speech he had prepared yet again. It was only regarding her in that he ever felt his hand clammy or his nerves firing with a speed he’d never experienced before. But it was confusing nonetheless because Sherlock was certain that Y/N was by far a thing that he could be sure about. Every time anew she proved to him how secure her love for him was, and he had never wished for anything more than her to stay by his side. 

“I have to confess: the last puzzle took me some time to solve. Though, I really liked the code you used for the letters. That was quite witty.” Y/N appeared behind the tree line, a soft smile painting her features as she approached the brunette waiting with eager curiosity. He laughed when she held out her hand towards him, fixing her hat with the other. “I believe you have something for me?”

His fingers tightened around the parchment in his pocket. She had solved his riddles - all of them - and that within the span of 34 minutes and 16 seconds, he confirmed after glancing at his pocket watch. 

“How very right you are, Sweetheart.” Sherlock held out the paper triumphantly, desperate not to draw attention to his rapidly beating heart, making his wrists pulse vigorously. He had anticipated this moment, of course. But he could not keep the shivers at bay when her delicate fingers unfolded the small note that would reveal what this whole ordeal was for.

Y/N’s eyes flew over the page and it almost seemed as if she took her time doing it in order to make his nervousness spiral. The note was not long. It was simple, too. A riddle Sherlock were able to solve when he was only six years old. He knew very well that Y/n was more than capable of doing the same, but she left him waiting still. It would not be Y/N if she didn’t anyway.

When she finally looked up, her stare was questioning. It did not go unnoticed by the detective, however, that the corners of her mouth twitched into a court smile. 

“Sherlock? Whatever is this about?” 

Sherlock snatched the paper from her fingers to look it over again:

In boxing I am square

On fingers I am round

I’m inside every tree

And too a bell’s sound

It was clear as day: Y/N was making a fool of him.

“I will not believe that this is the riddle you cannot solve, my dear.” The shake of his head spilled a curl into his face, “but since I have left you waiting for so long...” Sherlock got down on one knee and her smile finally broke free.

He reached out for her hand and was surprised to find it shaking as well. She knew what he was about to reveal to her, she just wanted him to say it. And if it weren’t for anything, Sherlock needed to subsequently get this off his chest. His mother had been right: he had left her waiting for far too long. A year too long. Being there was no denying that he had known he needed to marry her the second she had walked into his life with a witty remark and a teasing smile on her lips.

“I am grateful for you have not run from me after all the things I have made you do and wait for. I realize I am a lucky man to have you by my side. As a friend, a partner, and someone I love. You are smart, witty, and beautiful... and I would be the-”

There was an unusual lump building in his throat, blocking his words from escaping. It was a rather strange experience for the man kneeling. He had never known himself to be capable of emotion. And perhaps his body was resisting the horribly cheesy words he needed to say.

“Do not grow sappy on me now, Sherlock. You better finish that sentence right now,” Y/N cried with playful urgency. Though there was a truthfulness in her tone he had just placed into his. He swallowed the lump and took a deep breath in. This was the moment he as well as her had been waiting for.

“Perhaps what I am trying to say is...” Sherlock reached for his pocket once more to reveal a velvet box. Hidden within was a beautiful sapphire on a silver band. Much like the cufflinks she had gotten him because they shone like the color of his eyes, he wished for Y/N to always think of his whenever she looked at it. The ring shone brightly in the orange sun hues, reflecting the warm summer’s evening light and mixing into a beautiful green. It was perfect, just like her. “I love you, Y/N. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Y/N’s head tilted to the side as she eyed the blue stone beneath her. It presented a nearly perfect replica of the cufflinks adorning Sherlock's wrists. He loved them and suited in them every day, and he hoped for Y/N to love her ring just as much. And though he was as certain of her answer as he was of every case he had ever had, the silence coming from the woman in front of him pushed a nervous shiver over his skin.

Her hand reached out to stroke his chin, a loving stare seeping through her irises. “I love you so much.” 

“Please, Y/N.” Impatience rose to his head. Her little games were fun most of the time, though right now, he really wished for an answer that would put his racing thoughts at ease.

“Why of course I will marry you, Sherlock!” Y/N jumped forward as her arms slung around his shoulders, a warm kiss pressing to his lips that pulled a bright smile in its wake.

“Excellent,” Sherlock whispered, too afraid to have his voice fail him once more on this evening. He placed the ring on her finger and Y/N reached up to the sky, catching a rainbow of colors in the delicate stone. 

As they rose from the ground, he pulled her further into his chest, a deep simmer of warmth traveling from his body to hers. His heart was full of contentment when Y/N pressed her face beside his neck, a soft-shivered promise traveling to his ears as he watched the sun set behind the horizon, filling the sky with colors as hot and intense as the love shared between the pair.

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[sparks-stephen]

Letters To A Friend

{Part Two}

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!reader

Summary: Sherlock loses a good portion of his letters to his childhood friend when a sudden wind blows through his study. However, the mishap results in you discovering one of those same letters.

Word count: 1,119

Warning: Mention of broken nose

{Part One} - {Part Three-Coming soon}

~Do not repost, copy, or translate any of my works without permission~

Sherlock muttered to himself as he patted his vest pockets, his eyes scanning over his study in search of his pocket watch. Where had he put the bloody thing? He swore he’d set it down on his desk while writing his latest letter to you but it had vanished into thin air. He muttered to himself as he pushed the papers about once again to check if it had simply been hidden beneath his notes or the like. The floorboards outside his study squeaked before the door burst open. Sherlock wasn’t the least bit phased as Enola burst into the room and promptly plopped herself down onto one of the armchairs.

“Sherlock, I need your advice,” She declared, watching her elder brother fumble about. He looked as if he had lost something. Her brow furrowed as she continued to explain her reason for visiting.

“I’ve been threatened to be taken to court for falsely accusing a man of an affair. Although it isn’t a false accusation, he’s either hidden his mistress or killed her.”

“Is that so?” Sherlock mumbled, opening the drawer of letters he’d kept carefully tucked away. Had he somehow misplaced it in there? He didn’t think so. He was always so careful with what he placed in the bottom drawer so the letters wouldn’t be ruined or crumpled. Enola hopped up from her place on the chair with a scowl as a swirl of dust trailed after her.

“Why do you always keep the windows closed in here? Surely, you can’t enjoy breathing in all this dust,” She huffed, making her way over to the windows. Sherlock was too preoccupied with his watch to realize the possibilities of what could happen as Enola opened the windows. A gust of cool wind swept through the room, helping to clear out the stale air. The letters Sherlock had hidden away in his desk were swept out of their drawer and sent flying into the air. The Detective's eyes widened in alarm as he watched the bits of happiness dance about him. He reached out in an attempt to snatch them before he lost them but it was too late. He watched helplessly as his letters escaped out the open window into the streets outside. Enola stood frozen, unsure as to what had just happened when Sherlock turned to face her.

“What have you done?” He whispered, his heart plummeting. He’d just lost the most detailed memories of his childhood in one simple moment.

You tugged on your gloves as you made your way down the street. You were returning from visiting your Aunt. You didn’t know why you kept going over to spend tea with her. All she ever did was nag you about the sorry state of your life. You had told her time and time again that there were far better things to contemplate than what current man fancied you or how many children you could bear despite your old age. What man would love a woman who had her own home and a job that paid better than most men who’d attempted to court you? None from your experience.

You were startled from your thoughts when something struck your head before fluttering at your feet. You glanced up wondering where it had possibly come from. You bent to pick it up, before flipping it over to find it addressed to someone in a blue dress. Although what was far stranger was that no address was written below it. You might have assumed a child had written it with how it was worded, except it was written in beautiful calligraphy. You turned it over once more before carefully prying the seal open. It wasn’t like it would ever find its recipient. You may as well open it and see what was inside.

‘To the girl in the blue lace dress,

Well, that was certainly an odd way to address someone. Though you supposed that was to be expected considering the envelope had the same title written on it. You continued to read on, finding details of a summer you recalled all too well. One where you had broken an older boy's nose and flipped off a little boy in a red vest. It was one of your happier memories of that summer really. You had been callous to the other child you’d met while growing up. You were on a mission most days and nothing could pull you away from what you’d set your mind to.

Your mother had been sick for as long as you could remember, but you never recalled a moment when she wasn’t smiling. She made you believe in magic. She would tell you fairytales and promise you that everything would be alright. She would give you lists of things to find every day. She claimed the sheet of paper was a recipe for a potion to make her feel better. You knew now it was a ruse to get you out of the house and play so you didn’t have to watch her waste away.

The only friend you’d ever made while growing up was a little boy. You couldn’t recall his name now other than that it was difficult and strange. You remembered his red vest that looked like it was falling apart at the seams because he’d worn it out. Along with his wild dark curls that reminded you of the poodle your Aunt had. He was sweet, if not a bit odd, and he knew the most astounding things. He’d often times helped you to collect the things on your lists. He never once asked what it was for. He seemed just as task-oriented as you were. Though his task was helping you rather than making a potion. You often wondered what had happened to him and where he was now. Your eyes skimmed over the rest of the letter before you found the writer’s name scrawled neatly at the bottom.

Sincerely, your friend Sherlock Holmes.’

That was the boy's name! Sherlock. How had you forgotten a name like that? You may not have the address on the letter or envelope but surely you would be able to find someone with a name such as Sherlock Holmes. And hadn’t you heard that name somewhere before? You thought you’d heard it mentioned in the papers. Something about a scandal? You certainly hoped your childhood friend wasn’t like the men who often tried to chase after you. He had always been so sweet. He couldn’t have possibly grown up to be so boring and lecherous. Surely, he’d gone on to do better things. You tucked the papers into your clutch before beginning back toward your home. A new mission now engraved in your mind. You were going to find your childhood friend and return his letter.

[sparks-stephen]

Midnight activities

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!reader

Words: 766

Tags: Dom!Sherlock Holmes, doggy-style, hard sex, dom/sub Ethnicity and body type isn’t mentioned. I want everyone to feel inclusive. Authors note: heyy whilst catching up on the requests, i figured i’d write this in celebration for Enola Holmes 2. I loved the movie, not as much as the first one, but seeing Sherlock again has made me feeling certain..emotions, so here’s this drabble. Enjoy :)

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[sparks-stephen]

Family Man (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

|ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ|

summary: in which he, along with other ladies of high society, learns his wife is with child (requested by @germangirl321​)

word count: 1563

warnings: not proofread, mentions of pregnancy, fainting, and period-typical misogyny

          “Did I tell you that you look quite dashing tonight?” she questioned, taking her husband’s hand as he helped her off the carriage car, the rest of her gown trailing behind her as they walked.

          “You only told me about nine times before we left the flat, darling,” his eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed at her sycophancy, “And that’s not including the other times you told me the exact same thing in the coach as well.”

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[sparks-stephen]

Run Away

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: When Sherlock went to work in London, he made a promise, a promise he has to keep and now, even more urgently as your father found a suitor. 

Ever since your eyes met his, you loved him. 

Back then, all he was is a handsome young man who intrigued you, but as the years passed, as he matured, your feelings grew. 

You two met in secret, just on the edge of your father’s property, you met him every night. 

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[sparks-stephen]

Cold case

Sherlock holmes x reader

A\N: This was really fun to write! But have to mention, that this time , it wasn't really beta read. Sooo if they happen to be mistakes I'm really sorry.

Warnings: None

Words: 1k

Gif not mine

“Sherlock you shouldn’t work in that condition!” you scowled at the detective with your hands on your hips. Trying to reason with him could be really a pain at times… Especially, when he doesn’t take care of himself, like now when he’s ill.

“I’m completely capable of w-“ his face furrowed, as he let out a sneeze.

You handed him with a sigh the tissue box which he accepted, but knowing how stubborn he could be; he likely wouldn’t give up so fast. You crossed your arms with a frown. “I told you; that you shouldn’t run after the murderer in the cold rain, but you’ll never listen… So, please listen now, and just rest; you can work again, when you’re recovered.”

Sherlock groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow in silent defeat.

“Good that we settled that. I’ll make you some tea and soup now. Also if you need something just call.”

Sherlock watched as you left the room, leaving the door only with a slight gap open.

Being bedridden could be a pain for the detective, meaning no cases to work on which comes with boredom he despised. But it would be the least of his problem as a pounding pain started to spread, from the back of his head; his eyes wandered on the side where he saw a glass of water and some painkillers you most likely left there, since you knew how he suffers from headaches when he’s… sick as much he doesn’t wanted to admit it…

Sherlock sat up with a grumble and reached for the medication which he gulped down with the water, before he laid back down.

In the kitchen you poured hot water in a cup leaving it now to rest, just as you grasped a pot, so you could prepare the soup; you heard someone haste up the stairs. Wondering who was the one rushing inside, you turned around and your gaze landed on the ex-army doctor.

“Oh, hello John!” you greeted and laid the pot on the stove. “I’m glad you here.”

John’s eyes scanned around the flat, most likely looking for his friend. “Where’s Sherlock?”

Just before you opened your mouth to respond a sneeze echoed from the bedroom where Sherlock was in. It answered the question for John.

“I see… Should I take a look at him?”

“I even insist, maybe he’ll listen more to you with you being a doctor…” you replied and pointed towards the mug with the tea. “Could you also bring him that, if you would be so kind?”

With a nod John took the cup and headed towards the bedroom, knocking first before he entered his friends space. The veteran found Sherlock laying on the bed, and he looked definitely sick with his red nose, and a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead, most likely from a forming fever. That Sherlock wrote him that he needed to come for a case, and that he wanted to work in this condition was beyond him��

“Hello John. Did you saw my message?”

“Gods sake… You really wanted to work on the case while ill?” John raised an eyebrow and laid the hot beverage on the night table.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, first you, and now John… telling him he can’t work while ‘sick’. “I’m feeling good enough to work, so… can you hand me the files… please?”

John crossed his arms and a soft sigh left his lips. “You need to rest, doc’s order! And I’ll tell Greg you won’t work on cases for now. Just take it easy and rest.”

With that being said John left without another word being exchanged, as he closed the door behind him; he left Sherlock once again alone.

The detective crossed his arms with a pout. Resting… Not even criminals rest. Right now there were crimes happening and he? He was just laying in his bed without something to do…

****

It felt like a eternity when the door opened again, hearing soft steps approaching him; his gaze wandered to you. Sherlock saw you were carrying a tray in you hands with a steaming bowl on it, your face in a frown noticing the full mug with the tea from earlier, which was cold by now.

With a sigh you switched the cup with the bowl. “Sherlock… you haven’t touched your tea… Would you at least eat something?”

“Not hungry..” he replied and faced the ceiling again. He couldn’t smell it let alone wouldn’t he taste anything with how stuffed his nose was.

You crossed your arms across your chest. “I know you want to work on cases but even John told you that you need rest and eating a soup adds also for a quick recovery. So please eat, even if it’s a tiny bit… would you do it for me, please?”

A smile of victory spread on your lips, as Sherlock sat up with a low grumble and took the bowl without further complains. You watched him silently take spoon, after spoon, till he put it aside; half of it eaten. Pleased from the result, you wanted to take the dishes back to the kitchen but just as you wanted to step towards the door; you got pulled on the bed from Sherlock.

“Please stay..”

You couldn’t say no when you stared at him, seeing those puppy eyes begging you to stay.“I hope you don’t make me sick.” You chuckled and just as you laid back beside him, he rested his head on your chest.

“Then it would be my turn to care for you.” He replied closing his eyes and eased into your touch, when your fingers glided gently through his dark curls.

As much how grumpy he could be when he’s ill, you loved every moment like these, when he showed his soft side as well. You pressed your lips on top of his head for a kiss, pulling back, when you felt how hot he was. “You’re burning…”

He hummed as respond, too tired to respond correctly.

You smiled and continued to caress him, watching when his breathing slowed, as he slowly drift off to sleep. You didn’t care if you get sick in the end, when this moment is far more valuable.

[sparks-stephen]

Bewitched (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

Gif Source: henricavyll

Sherlock found himself on your doorstep once again, calling on you.

It wasn’t until you descended the stairs and entered the receiving room that he suddenly froze, the feelings that had driven him to your door immobilizing him. He wanted nothing more than to flee and at the same time stay to enjoy your presence. The feelings were both unusual and regular—unusual because as a man who took great pride in divorcing emotion from reason, it was irregular for him to be so arrested by feeling; regular because it only ever seemed to happen around you.

The furrow between your brows reappeared. “Mr. Holmes. How may I help you?”

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[sparks-stephen]

𝐣𝐢𝐠𝐬𝐚𝐰

pairing ~ sherlock holmes x f!reader

word count ~ 7k

summary ~ as you wonder what it would be like for him to return your affections, sherlock finally understands what he would sacrifice to fit within your world.

warnings ~ angst, sappy fluff, happy ending i promise, crying, friends to lovers, mentions of reader wearing a dress, mutual pining but they're idiots, sherlock is tall (reference to height difference), yearning.

a/n ~ yay!! sherlock is back on the blog!! this one was a request by my dear @donutloverxo , but i'd be lying if i said this wasn't also a bit of a birthday week present for myself hehe, i do hope you all enjoy this one!! i had a whole bunch of fun writing some pining so without further ado, enjoy!!

It began with a smile.

You hated how cliche the thought sounded, but it was true, it did.

Though, didn't it always?

You cursed yourself for falling so hard, so quickly, but even more so for allowing the concept of your affections to haunt you the way that it did. Every time you believed you were surely over it, over him, the man who seemed perpetually unavailable due to cases or traveling the world or other duties you quite understood, that was just the exact moment he would smile again.

His bright, shining, kind smile. It was the sort of smile that filled one with hope, false hope, you supposed. The kind of hope that made you believe that a man as indifferent as him could love, but beyond that, that a man like him could love you.

In a city filled with so much history, the kind that either made you want to plug your ears and squirm in your seat or the kind that made you take a bit more pride in humanity, you were often told of the ghosts that lurked around every corner. Ever since you were small you could remember the tales, the idea that shadows of the past would always find a way to return. Then, you had never particularly put much weight behind the notion, but now a days, you found yourself being absolutely haunted, though your ghost was more of the present kind.

And it's name was Sherlock Holmes.

You never intended to get so entangled with a man like him, did anyone really ever? You thought. With the exception of his brother and sister, you wondered if anyone truly ever meant to get caught in his general vicinity.

Caught, yes, that was the best way to put it, you'd maybe dare to even say trapped, doomed maybe, destined to continue the same disheartening, bleak cycle until he finally decided he had had his fill of you.

The both of you sat in chairs opposite of each other, your tormenting thoughts not allowing you to read a single word on the faded pages of the book you had thoughtlessly picked off of his bookshelves. You wondered at what point in your friendship you had stopped putting so much thought into your choice of novel when you would visit. You used to be friends, you thought, and though as harsh as it sounded, you missed the time when you two were nothing but companions, when afternoon visits were just that, visits. You found yourself almost longing for the times when you simply read and enjoyed each other's company, now though, you thought, sighing as you finally closed your book, placing it gently on your lap as you looked across to see him, now, it seemed you visited to pine.

You wondered what sort of thoughts were going through his head, if the strain on your relationship was even noticed by him, or if it was just you. There seemed to be no more friendship, at least through your eyes. The only thing lying in the shallow grave of kinship the two of you had developed over the years, was hopeless optimism.

Beyond all of yout typical conversation and occasional kind gestures, you couldn't help but resent yourself for even wandering into his path, because now, all that you felt with him, was possibility.

Every movement, every glance your way, it pained you even more, not because of what was, an enduring friendship, but because of what it wasn't.

"Finished already?" He muttered from behind his newspaper, and you instantly snapped your head up to face him.

You hummed, glancing down again at your book before smiling. He was looking at you fully now, a sly, strangely knowing half smile on his lips.

"If I knew you any better I'd say you've started getting bored of me." He smirked, folding his newspaper and placing it on the small table that sat beside him.

"Who says you know me that well?" You counter, despising how your confident tone wavered just in the slightest as you raised a teasing eyebrow at him. You discovered that as of late, your only way to communicate with him during those moments when your already fragile resolve threatened to turn to dust under the weight of his intoxicating gaze, was from behind a veil of friendly banter and sarcasm.

Because in truth, he did know you that well, and with every moment that passed while in the Holmes estate, surrounded by his knick knacks and books and that undeniable feeling of home that flooded you every time you entered his space, you feared that you'd end up blurting out something that could ruin everything you had built together.

"You'd do better than to challenge him to something like that," The sneering voice of Mycroft entered the room with the abruptness of a nearby mirror shattering, "Lest you want the entirety of your past, present, and quite possibly, your future exposed to the world."

You watched Sherlock's expression falter for a moment, a slight twitch in his jaw as he looked back at his brother.

There was a strange, undeniable tension that suddenly filled the room as the pair continued to glare at each other. A self assured smirk tugging at the corners of Mycroft's lips as Sherlock continued to scowl at him.

You quickly turned to the window, not even bothering to really look at the world outside, using it as more of an opportunity to escape the strange atmosphere that had befell the library.

"It's getting late," You smiled, placing your long forgotten reading material on the nearby coffee table as you stood, "Thank you for having me," You turned to Sherlock, your throat going just a tad drier as he stood to his full height. "As always." You finished, clearing your throat.

"It's my pleasure," He replied, that damned, kind smile flashing once again, "As always." He added.

You sighed, running your palms down the front of your dress as you began your way towards the exit, throwing a quick, thankful nod to Mycroft before Sherlock joined you on your way through the home.

"Until next time." He breathed, opening the door for you.

The spring breeze that suddenly flew through the entryway shocked you both, Sherlock's deep chuckle rumbling through him as you failed to stifle the amused gasp that escaped you.

It was strange to see him like this sometimes, you often forgot that such a world famous detective could be like this, his curls gently tousled by the wind as he gently runs a hand through it, doing his best to keep them under control to no avail against the persistent wind. A light smile on his lips as his head tilted back just a little when he laughed.

"You know, one of these days, you're going to get sick of me visiting you all the time." You suddenly quipped with a smirk, attempting to salvage the rest of your dignity before you entirely revealed yourself.

He raised a suspicious eyebrow at you, his head tilting slightly as he scanned your features. It was in moments like these when you realized that not even you were immune to his inquisitive stare.

"And just when I thought you truly knew me..." He mumbled, the corners of his lips turning into the shadow of a sly grin before retreating into something more genuine as he continued, "I could never tire of your visits."

There was a moment of silence between the both of you, the sort of lingering, spring-haze, romantic quiet in which a confession could surely debut, and so a quiet in which you found no solace in. Thus, you did nothing to prolong it, clearing your throat just as quickly as the silence had settled.

"Then I will be seeing you very soon." You turned, not daring to spend another moment staring into his eyes, in fear that if you waited a second longer, you may have just thrown yourself at him.

You threw a quick wave behind you without even turning to face him.

"I look forward to it!" You heard him call, and you couldn't help how your steps faltered at the sound of his voice behind you.

Sherlock was your friend, one of your closest in fact, and yet, now it seemed you couldn't even bare to spend another moment with him, the entirety of your visits spent torturing yourself with thoughts of what else could be instead of what you already had.

You two were an unlikely pair, with him being so critical and even cynical at times, it was a surprise he had so quickly taken to you in the way that he did when the both of you had first been introduced. During the time you had come to know him, Sherlock had taught you how to sift through the evidence and clues and opinions of others to only leave behind the absolute truths.

As you walked through the winding path that led out of the estate, you thought for a moment, knowing that in some strange, dismal way, maybe Sherlock would be proud of you for the absolute truth you had now just uncovered within yourself.

You were in love with Sherlock Holmes.

And that was exactly why your friendship had to end.

Sherlock wasn't a stupid man by any means, but for a man who had made his entire career by exploiting other people's weaknesses, it was a wonder that you had even made it this far in hiding your true feelings for the man.

You'd visit him today as one last time to enjoy yourself, you thought, before you ultimately robbed yourself of his company.

You took another glance up at the ivy covered stone that you had grown to love so much, the unkempt shrubbery adding a sense of character to the home that you so cherished.

Just as you were about to knock on the door, the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you had you turning on your heels instantly.

An immediate wave of relief washed over you when you saw him, even though you knew of the doomed fate that soon awaited your relationship, it seemed that you couldn't help the way your mind and body reacted to his presence.

"Sherlock," You smiled, "I hope I didn't come at a bad-"

"It's never a bad time," He quickly replied, a peaceful, at-ease smile etched onto his features as he spoke to you, "In fact, I believe that the only times that I would consider dreadful are the moments when you aren't gracing us with your company." He smirked, outstretching his hand to you. "I was hoping you could join me in the garden?"

You suddenly became unsure if the abrupt feeling of heat was due to the unobstructed rays of the noon sun, or his swift, quick witted suavity that always seemed to have you melting.

"Of course" You replied, quickly taking his arm and following his steps beside you as he led you around the grounds.

A peaceful calm settled between the two of you as you walked, the world only being filled with the pleasant chirping of the afternoon birds and the hushed sound of your footsteps the ground beneath you.

You looked at the man beside you, a mixture of melancholy as well as a ill-fated feeling of hope falling over you. He would never be yours, but it didn't hurt to pretend for just a moment, would it?

"You know, I have been meaning to ask you of something." Sherlock finally spoke, turning to you with a smile.

You only smiled in response, cheerfully waiting for him to continue as you absorbed the moment you found yourself in. You almost knew for certain that it wouldn't be the question you so longed to hear, but you would enjoy the brief flicker of hope while you could.

"I was wondering if you would..."

You watched as he trailed off, a sudden puzzling expression falling onto his face before it returned to the same, casual smile he had been wearing.

"...If you would assist me in the library? I've been meaning to better organize the books, though I can't seem to get the system quite right." He chuckled, turning from you to look around him once again.

You hummed, doing your best to hide your almost anticipated ache that materialized within you once he completed his question.

No matter the situation, whether it was government officials or bakery owners, he had always seemed to know just what to say, though now, the bleak realization that he would never say the right thing to you finally came to pass within you.

"The great Mr. Holmes needing my help in a library? I'll alert the press." You teased, cursing yourself for the slight tremble in your tone that even you hadn't noticed until the words left your lips.

"I would believe you, it's only that I know far too much about you for you to even dare." He smirked, squinting his eyes at you in mock challenge.

You hadn't at all been keeping track of how much time had passed, it felt as if every time you were with him, time became a foreign concept, passing you by before you could even count a second. All you did know, was that you had begun to remember passing the same twisted tree trunk a few too many times.

You sighed as you turned the familiar corner, the entrance of the large home beckoning you to enter, begging you to indulge yourself in it's comforts one final time.

Sherlock seemed to have the same idea, turning to you with furrowed brows when he noticed you had stopped, your arm falling from his.

"Are you not coming in-"

"I think I should be heading home," You feigned a gentle smile as you continued, "I didn't sleep much last night," You stammered, "But thank you as always, for having me."

You saw how he tilted his head, the shadow of a question already creeping onto his expression. His suspicion seemingly faded just as it came to him though, a timid smile replacing his concern almost instantly. "I'll see you soon then?"

What were you to even say? That you had already made the plan to never see him again? Or that you were too hopelessly in love with him to even spend a minute more alone with him?

You only nodded, not having the strength to lie to him so directly.

"I appreciate you." He suddenly blurted, and your eyes widened at his sudden exclamation. "Your company, I mean," He clarified, "I know I'm often not the most...Amiable... So thank you, for always joining me."

"Sherlock," You sighed, shaking your head, "I appreciate you for not yet getting tired of me."

He let out a soft, amused huff before replying, "I could never."

For once, you decided to spare yourself from any more pain, deciding to only smile before quickly turning to begin your journey home.

Sherlock was nothing if not logical, and now, you suddenly feared that some of his critical, almost pessimistic rationale had rubbed off on you. As you tramped through the dust covered path, you wondered if some feelings were meant to be felt, only to be let go.

Maybe feelings like this were never meant to be lingered on, that was why crimes of passion happened, wasn't it? Because someone, somewhere, decided to feel just a little too much.

Maybe feelings like this were only meant to be temporary things, or maybe, you thought, you had left your last sliver of sanity at the Holmes' doorstep.

Regardless if feelings like this were truly temporary, you knew you would have the initials of Sherlock Holmes perpetually etched into the memory of your heart.

Dear Friend,

I hope you are able to visit us in the coming week, the library is in desperate need of your expertise.

~

S.H

You knew he would question the fact that you had sent a letter to notify him of your lack of a visit this week, but you hoped he wouldn't think too much about it, you had always prided yourself on the fact that Sherlock could never quite seem to break you open they way you had so often seen him do to others.

You tried to recall a week that had gone by without you visiting him, and with a huff, quickly reminded yourself that this was precisely what you were supposed to not be doing.

You should have been excited, to finally have all the time in the world entirely to yourself. No worries of rushing off to read in someone else's home, or to assist anyone with whatever horrific crime that had landed at their doorstep that week.

Though as you glanced around your quiet living area, the only sound being the muted ticking of the clock, it took you less than a second to understand that whatever you did, you could most certainly not stay here. It was almost silent, much too quiet for your own liking, and though there were benefits to living alone, you couldn't help but think that your space needed some sort of life other than your own, more movement, more books, more...

Less thinking, you quickly decided, swiftly grabbing your gloves from the small table sitting beside your entryway before leaving with a frustrated huff.

You found that the park was not much different, but with the absence of quiet, you found the presence of people.

Which brought entirely new problems.

Like seeing.

It seemed that everywhere you turned, you found cheerful pairs wherever you looked.

And as it often did, with the looking, came the thinking.

Him in that brown vest and coat he always seemed to be sporting in the spring, always paired with that deep blue tie that always brought out his eyes. As much as he tried to keep his curls under control, they'd always manage to fly about every time even the gentlest of winds blew his way. Would he hold your hand? Or would he intertwine your arm with his to keep you closer?

A young boy called out across the park, holding out a single flower, outstretching it to any couple that happened to pass him by. He must have noticed you staring from the way he tipped his cap at you.

Would he buy you one? A part of you wondered if he would find such gestures cliche, but on the other hand, you could already hear his voice in your head, explaining the cultural significance and meaning of each of the blossoms. Maybe he'd even buy one for Enola, he's always adored her.

What would she think of you and him? You two wouldn't go without teasing at first, that was for certain. Though in the end, she probably wouldn't mind, you always enjoyed your time with her whenever you managed to catch her before she left for whatever adventure she had planned for herself that day.

You hummed, swallowing back the sudden lump that formed in your throat. Home, you decided, home would definitely be much better than this.

You hadn't made any more plans to step beyond your doorway this week, only dressing yourself to quickly grab the newspaper you had heard thump against your door this morning.

It was only by complete chance you had seen them, if it had been any other day, if the news hadn't been delivered this morning, you would have never even been aware of them.

But the news had been delivered today, and now you were very aware of them.

A dozen orange Tulips, wrapped neatly in burlap and brown paper, sitting on your doorstep.

You looked out into the street, searching both ways for any sign of any flower vendor or any distraught suitors that may have accidentally thrown their flowers onto your doorstep.

Flower vendor. You thought, a quiet 'hmm' escaping you as you thought of the possibility, swiftly grabbing the unexpected gift before shutting the door behind you.

Even as you told yourself, promised yourself that you wouldn't find yourself back at the park again, or at least not so soon, here you were, sat on the same bench as the day previous.

From this vantage point, you could see nearly everything, the carousel, the various walking trails, even your own apartment, but more importantly, the barking flower seller that sat right in the middle of everything.

You suddenly wished you had listened more to Sherlock's impromptu detective lessons he would often share with you, how did he always stay so discreet?

And just as you glanced his way again, the younger boy spotted you once again, quickly flashing a salesman-worth smile your way before tipping his cap once again.

His suavity was of no importance to you though, when you noticed just what type of flowers he was selling. Orange Tulips.

He'd be proud.

You raised a suspicious eyebrow as you scanned the park's crowd once again. Mistakes happen, you thought, things get delivered to incorrect addresses constantly, you were certain your situation was no different.

Dear Friend,

I am sorry to hear you are feeling ill, please do not hesitate to phone if you so need anything.

~

S.H

As much as you disdained lying to him, you determined that your small deception this week would be less painful than the truth.

You really only meant to check the temperature outside, quickly cracking your door open when you saw the flash of color peeking out from under the door.

Orange Tulips.

You bent down to swiftly grab them from your doorway, you stood, opening the door further to take a better look around the street. Though you couldn't bring yourself to truly care about searching for any suspects, the only thoughts managing to cross your mind being of the Tulips you now clutched to your chest.

Maybe it wasn't a mistake? What were the chances of the same flowers winding up on the same doorstep again?

You smiled, looking down at the bouquet. When was the last time someone had gotten you flowers? This was precisely what you needed to begin to move on, something new, someone new.

You turned your back to the street as you slipped back inside, still holding the tulips close to your chest as if they were the most precious thing in the world to you. You closed the door, sighing with a smile as you made your way into the kitchen, finding a small vase and filling it with water from your sink.

He'd probably know just what they were called, he'd probably know just where they were from as well, not just from some park vendor, but some specific garden just a little south of the London, all by looking at the leftover soil on their leaves.

You groaned as you sat the vase on your table, he truly was a ghost wasn't he? Following you around as if some archaic witch had cursed you, shackling him to you for the rest of your days. You supposed there were worse demons to manage.

Dear Friend,

Should we be expecting you for dinner this coming Friday? Ferndell Hall has grown incredibly dull without you.

~

S.H

You continued to read the letter over and over again until you felt you could recite the few words by memory.

It had been sent to you two weeks ago, and you had received no letter since, the only mail gracing your doorstep to be the orange tulips that never failed to appear every Tuesday now.

Possibility used to excite you, the idea of something new coming into your life used to fill you with joy, but now, the notion of something unfamiliar only filled you with a strange, dreary feeling.

It felt as if the sun filled the sky, though your mind could only focus on the scattering of clouds that would occasionally block it's shine. Whoever this unknown admirer was, you almost felt bad for accepting their gifts knowing that it was him you wished for them to be from.

It had been six weeks since you last saw him, a mere flash of time in the grand scheme of things, though you'd have to admit that the most arduous portion of your time alone was the time since he had sent his last letter.

You supposed you couldn't be upset with him, for it was you who had stopped writing him in the first place, believing it would be less agonizing to cease all communication rather than to continue lying to him.

Though now, it was painfully clear to you how wrong you had been. He had now given up on you, and in a solemn moment of clarity, you supposed that's what you had always wanted.

Wasn't it the natural progression of things anyway? Even the strongest of chain links eventually fall to rust and decay, ultimately separating from each other when their bonds become damaged enough.

Reasons, seasons, or lifetimes, you could recall the lesson being told to you early on in your childhood. You would always discover why someone had fallen into your life's path some way or another. This time was different though, you supposed Sherlock fell into your life for all three.

He was your only reason for staying in this god-forsaken city to begin with, and you supposed that now, he would be the reason you would never leave. The seasons you spent in the Holmes's estate were some of your most cherished memories, memories that, despite your situation, you would continue to hold on to regardless. And no matter how bitterly or abruptly your friendship had ended, you knew that he would remain with you for a lifetime.

You looked down, suddenly noticing the iron grip you had suddenly developed around the now slightly wilted tulip you had been holding.

You wondered where else in the world flowers like this would grow, surely there were other flower sellers in the world, surely there were other cities, right?

You hummed, your fingers now fidgeting with the few fallen petals that rested in your hand as you thought, certainly other towns grew orange Tulips?

You almost felt hysterical, pondering a question so pointless, knowing there was no use in even wondering. The thought killed you and calmed you all at once, for you knew right then, that no corner on Earth would relieve you of Sherlock Holmes.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, and you instantly turned to the window.

The harsh droplets of rain almost carpeted your window and you wondered how you had not noticed the building sound of the storm outside all this time.

You furrowed your brow, setting the damaged flower on the table before making your way to the door. You sighed, almost groaning to yourself at the thought of whatever salesman or tax collector that was awaiting to torment you.

You quickly wiped your suddenly dampened cheeks, quickly flashing a soft smile to ready yourself turn down whatever useless product that awaited you on the opposite side of your door.

You closed your eyes for a moment as you began to open the door, "Hello-"

"Why have you stopped seeing me?"

You could do nothing to stifle the hushed gasp that left you at the sound of his voice. You snapped your eyes open, his hair was absolutely dripping, a soggy newspaper in hand that he had no doubt been using to shield himself from the storm at some point along his journey.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?-" Your words came out more as a plea rather than a question.

"To ask you a question." He replied simply, his tone determined and unwavering as he spoke, "Why have you stopped coming to visit?"

"Sherlock, I- It's pouring, you shouldn't-" You stammered before he interrupted you once again.

"Please. I just-" He ran a hand through his sopping hair before making a sound akin to something crossed between a sigh and a groan, "I needed to see you."

You noticed how his chest rose and fell rapidly, how his knuckles turned a lighter shade as he gripped the drenched paper.

Even in all the time you spent away from him, attempting with all of your heart to begin to despise him as best you could for whatever reason you could concoct, you couldn't help the way your heart leapt at the site of him at your doorstep.

You furrowed your brow, your lips drawing into a thin line of concern before you stepped aside the doorway, "Come in." You quickly muttered.

His large frame stepped into your space almost instantly, and you abhorred the way your heart warmed at the sight of him in your space.

You closed the door behind him, turning to face him just as quickly. In just a few moments, he would leave, you thought, and you'd be alone again, though despite what you had tried to convince yourself of over the last few weeks, you couldn't deny the familiar feeling of comfort that washed over you at the sight of him.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your day, but I wished to speak with you immediately." He spoke firmly. "Is there a reason you've stopped seeing me- us." He suddenly corrected.

How could you ever explain what truly had happened between the two of you. The words sat the tip of your tonuge that you had been holding in your heart promised to relieve you of the ever growing weight you had been carrying, though you would sooner strangle yourself than allow them to slip with him still present.

"I've been busy." You spoke plainly, attempting to keep your tone as even as possible, even as the tightness in your throat slowly threatened to suffocate you. "I'm sorry."

"You could have-" He interrupted himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he began to pace, "Is there someone else?" He suddenly asked.

"Sherlock, I have no idea-"

"I thought you enjoyed my- our, company, I thought we were friends."

You sighed, your eyes darting back and forth as you watched him pace, the floorboards beginning to creak under the sudden stress. "We were, we are. I promise there's no reason-"

"Why have you stopped visiting then?" He almost spat, his face turning a lighter shade of red as he paused, now standing directly in front of you. "If nothing has happened, then why have you so seemingly abandoned us?"

If it were any one else standing in your foyer, you would have most likely cast them out already with his pacing and frantic tone, but as he stood before you now, a his dampened, stray curls plastered to his forehead, his breath becoming increasingly shallower as he spoke, you began to see the desperate little boy that Mycroft so often teased him of being.

"I know-" He swallowed, gathering himself before continuing, "That Mycroft isn't often the most welcoming, and I understand that even Enola can be a bit anarchic herself. Even I find myself to be a bit irritating at times, but please, I'm begging you, tell me what's happened."

You could only quietly whimper, finding yourself speechless, the beginnings of tears stinging the corners of your eyes offering him your wordless response.

There was a weighted pause that settled between the both of you, threatening to crush the both of you if it continued for any longer.

"Have you..." He took a deep, steadying breath, "Have you truly gotten tired of me?"

A muted gasp left you instantly at his question, and your response came as quickly as your initial reaction, "I could never." You offered him a melancholy, tearful smile. "I could never." You repeated, shaking your head as you tried to swallow back the barrage of tears that began to build within you.

You watched as his expression fell even more than it had before, his forlorn smile reflecting your own. "You know, I believed that the flowers might begin to apologize for whatever I had done to hurt you." He slowly began to saunter over to the table on which you had placed your withered flower from before. "I thought I would surprise you one day, visit you instead of you having to make the journey..." He gently plucked the Tulip from it's place, lifting it to his eye level before gently turning it between his thumb and forefinger, he smiled weakly as he continued to examine the flower.

Your voice was broken as you finally replied, your tone crumbling under the weight of his confession, causing your words to come out as shattered whispers as you held back tears, "Then why didn't you visit?" A sudden, unfamiliar anger flooded you at the thought, if he was so close, than why didn't he?

He finally put down the flower, his eyes quickly falling to you, "Because..." He straightened himself, clearing his throat before continuing, "You looked happy."

"What?" Your reply left you in an instant, almost much too quickly for your own liking, but it couldn't be helped.

"I could see you, just from that bench just across the way, you seemed to be just as lively with your flowers as you once were with me. And so I found myself content to watch."

"Sherlock, I never- Do you-" You stammered, and though your thoughts raced, you attempted to collect yourself, and taking a deep breath, you continued. "Do you think so little of me?"

His eyes immediately widened at your response, "I would never," He took a testing step closer to you, watching your expression to gauge his next movement. "I find that it is myself I think so little of."

You tilted your head at his puzzling confession, only watching his features carefully as you waited for him to go on.

He took another step closer to you, and even as your bodies stood with only inches separating them, you stood your ground.

"I apologize if I led you to believe it was someone else gifting you flowers, I understand now that to think that someone such as myself, could ever, deserve affections from someone like yourself. It was foolish of me, and I am sorry-"

"Sherlock, I-"

"Please," He begged, "I don't know if there has been someone else in my absence, and I don't believe I would ever like to know, I'm only asking you to tell me the truth of what happened between us."

In all your years of knowing him, you weren't sure if you had ever seen him like this. You had seen him at his limits, pushed to his very wits end during certain cases, but you had never seen him as the way he was now. His shoulders sagged, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes darted across every inch of you, no doubt trying to decipher your every movement to find an answer to his question.

You wondered for a moment, what did he see? You could find no reason to hide your feelings now, the walls you had put so much effort into constructing already began the slow process of decaying over the past few weeks, so you were almost certain you probably looked as lovesick as you did when you first realized your sudden passions for him.

Regardless, you figured there was no use in attempting to conceal yourself now.

Freedom, on whatever scale, seldom came for free, and if loosing him was the price you would pay for independence from your own feelings, you thought, than so be it.

"Sherlock," You breathed, "You have been... My closest friend-"

"Have." He quickly interjected, "Then what's changed." His tone was more frustrated now, determined to pull the truth from you no matter how long it would take him.

You groaned, hating the sudden interrogation tactic he had now adopted with you. You had no energy to argue against him though, you last fragment of strength dissolving into the unwieldy atmosphere around you as you finally allowed your tears to fall. "I'm sorry, I only- Friends grow apart, that's all." You feigned a weak smile, unable to look at him directly as you fidgeted with your hands. "That's all that happened." You whispered.

When you finally looked up at him, you noticed how his lips parted in a silent gasp, his eyes widening just a tad more than before, as if the very notion of the two of you growing apart had astonished him to his very core.

Or maybe he was expecting a different answer.

"You mean to tell me that that, is the truth?" He asked, and before you could even gather yourself to form a response, he continued. "That our friendship, everything that has come to pass between us, was only thrown away because of nothing?"

You despised how grim his explanation sounded, but if that was what he had to believe to finally leave you, you would accept it.

You could only manage to nod in response, knowing your voice would be too broken to reply in any sort of convincing manner.

"That all of your visits, all of that time, together," He emphasized, "Meant nothing to you? So little that it could be discarded so quickly?"

"Yes..." You muttered even as it pained you to even speak, the tightness in your throat only constricting you further as you attempted to thwart your sobs.

"I'm sorry, but I just cannot accept that." He stated, though you noticed how his voice had grown slightly less assured as it was before.

His sudden abruptness shocked you, almost as much as it seemed to shock himself, his face contorting into a wince at the sound of his own harsh tone.

"Not when-" He quickly softened his voice as he stared back at you, his eyes continuing to search your own for some sort of sign for him to stop, though you gave him none. His breaths became almost heaving, as if he were warming up for a sprint, "Not when I've just began to understand..." He trailed off, swallowing as his eyes dropped to the floor for a moment before returning to you. "That I love you."

Your heart faltered and you had to fight the overwhelming urge to pinch yourself. If Sherlock Holmes loved you in this reality, then you would be perfectly content from never waking again. It was only when he begun speaking again that you had realized you hadn't responded.

"I found that in your absence, that I am nothing short of miserable. You plague my mind in every waking moment, and yet, I find myself never having enough of you."

"Sherlock-"

"Please," He begged, "After living without your visits, your kindness, your smile, I understand now that nothing in this world could wound me in the way your leaving has. That," He chuckled lightly, "Is one fact I have never been more certain of."

You couldn't muffle the choked sob that escaped you, you shook your head, still standing before him in disbelief at his confession. In all that time you had spent concealing your own feelings, had you really not seen his?

"Tell me you've never felt the same and I will stop, even if you have found someone, if that is the truth of the matter, I will accept it. All I am asking is just a portion- a moment of your thoughts, and I'd be content." He sighed before he continued, "It would be a privilege, to have my heart broken by you."

His words both froze and freed you all at once. Sherlock always had the talent of uncovering truths, of seeing straight through people, and for all the time you had known him, it occasionally begun to feel as if he was only seeing through you, just as he did so often to others. Though as he stared at you now, you began to recognize the certain way his eyes fell to you. It was the same look he gave you when the two of you were both first made acquainted, the same light reflected in his eyes just as it did when the both of you found yourselves under that tree in the garden, laughing until both of your stomach's hurt. It was the same gaze you found paralyzed by whenever he would greet you, and the same glance he would throw your way every time you two parted.

In all those moments when you felt so invisible, when it felt as if he was only seeing through you, you realized now, he was seeing you.

He looked at you, with all of your insecurities, with all of your mistakes, with all of your flaws, and every time, regardless of the faults you found within yourself, he still chose to love.

"Sherlock," You finally managed to sputter through your tears, "I- I could never have found someone else." You smiled, "I love you." You reached for his hand mindlessly, as if some invisible string began pulling you to him. "I think I always have."

His long forgotten, sopping newspaper fell to the floor as he reached for you, his other hand suddenly finding itself resting on your lower back, slowly urging you closer to him.

You stared up at him, his face only inches from your own as his breath fanned across your cheek. You were close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, the feeling was intoxicating, you wondered how you were able to go so long without it.

You watched as his eyes switched quickly to your lips before he spoke again, his voice laden with a barely audible tremble. "May I?"

You discovered yourself once again at a loss for words, even as your body felt as light as a cloud, it felt as if your mouth had filled entirely with lead, and so your only reply was a slow nod, your chest meeting his with every heavy breath.

In the instant you gave your wordless confirmation, he was crashing into you, like a storm wave meeting a rocky shore it was always destined for. His arm pulled you snugly against him, not allowing you any room for movement as his lips molded into yours. His lips were warm and soft as they moved against yours, your hand gripping onto the lapel of his jacket to steady yourself. He held you with a tenderness that you never thought him capable of, as if he feared you would disappear into thin air if he gripped you too tightly. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, every curve and ridge interlocking until the two of you could almost be mistaken as one.

It was every farewell and every hello, every moment of longing and endless wondering, and every second of hope that you had once thought to be lost, poured into one enchanted gesture.

He was now yours, just as much as you were always his.

When he finally parted from you, the two of you found yourselves panting as you both attempted to regain your balance.

"I've been wanting to do that, for far too long" He spoke breathlessly as your eyelids finally fluttered open. He must have seen how your eyes quickly flickered to his swollen lips, his timid smile quickly growing into a endearingly wicked smirk before he continued. "And I believe I'm about to do it again."

ah!! i'm so excited to be posting full fics again!! i know it's been a minute, but honestly i feel like i'm in such a better place mentally now after Things, and i truly have you all to thank for that. over the past bit, i've received so many kind and motivating messages, the support that i received here was honestly overwhelming (in the best way) and was honestly my primary reason for continuing on and pushing through some days. so please take all of the sherlock hugs from me, you all deserve them more than you'll ever know :)

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always, always appreciated!!

want more sherlock? check out my masterlist!!

[sparks-stephen]

Exactly What You Need

Exactly What You Need

Summary: It seems Sherlock understands your needs better than you do.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, rough sex, outdoor sex, size kink, breeding kink, slight ass worship? (Sherlock just has such a nice ass what can I say?), old timey views on sex, brief mention of body changing during and after pregancy- Let me know if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 3k

Any typos are my own.

A/N: This was a request from anon for some size kink with Sherlock. But I accidentally deleted the ask from my inbox.😭 I hope you see this, anon! Sorry it took a while, I just wanted to make this perfect for you.💖 Please let me know what you think.

Your favorite place to sit was on the lap of your newly wedded husband. His warmth enveloped you completely. You sat cradled in his lap like a doll, the back of your head rested on his chest. As he loomed behind you like a predator, you could feel his breath brush over the top of your hair.

Despite his intimidating statue, you knew Sherlock would never harm you. He had always been gentle and romantic when it came to you. Just like today, he planned a perfect picnic under the old oak tree that adorned the estate.

The two of you reclined against the tree’s strong trunk, taking in the beautiful summer day. Sherlock was reading a novel as you rested your eyes. His hands absentmindedly rubbed your arms and shoulders, occasionally taking a break to turn the page.

As always, his gentle caressing began to set your body ablaze. The heat from his palms caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. You knew he felt them as he hummed.

“Are you cold, darling?” He asked you softly, looking away from his novel to gaze at you.

You turned your head to look at him, smiling bashfully as you shook your head quickly. 

“N-No, I’m alright.”

“Hm. If you say so.” He nodded, not looking convinced as he turned his attention back to the book. You caught the corner of his lip twitching, almost smirking.

As he looked away, you bit your lip. He continued stroking your arm, making it even harder to relax. You tried to suppress your urges, letting out a soft sigh. 

You’d been wanting him all day. You couldn’t remember a time you had yearned so intensely. Lunch had taken your mind off your desire, but now that he was so close and touching you so tenderly, it was harder to ignore.

Your eyes rolled back when he squeezed your shoulder, having to stifle a moan. You couldn’t help but squirm. Moisture started to build between your legs, damping your bloomers. A grimace flashed on your face from the uncomfortable sensation.

Sherlock must have decided to ignore your wiggling. You braved a quick peek back at your husband. He was still not looking at you. So, you felt confident enough to let your hips roll once more. There was a vague pressure on your clit when you rubbed your legs together.

A shiver ran through you from the bottom of your spine. You leaned your head back against his shoulder, squirming unconsciously to chase the feeling. Images of Sherlock filled your mind. 

The sight of his nude body, shoulders spread wide and huge chest covered in soft hair. His biceps bulged. You could barely get your arms around the man because his abdomen was so thick and muscular. You fantasized about the feeling of his weight on top of you as he thrusted his big, thick cock in and out of you.

He was a giant in every way possible.

Another harsh tremble ripped through you. You tensed when you heard him close the book. The soft thud made your snap eyes open. You knew you were caught now.

“My, my. Aren’t you a wiggly little thing today?” He observed, lifting his eyes to you.

His smirk was evident when you hesitantly looked back at him. Those eyes you fall in love with were full of mischief. He dropped the novel to place both his hands on your shoulders. He gave them a squeeze, causing you to hiccup. He chuckled, knowing exactly what his actions were doing to you. 

“I… I’m sorry.” You whispered, ashamed of yourself. 

Your yearning was wanton. You should not be grinding against this man like a sinful whore, even if he is your husband. This sort of thing belongs in your shared bed, not out in the open where anyone can stumble along and see you.

Before you could lower your head in embarrassment, his fingers gripped your chin. Your eyes met again, and his hand left your chin to hold your cheek in his palm. His thumb stroked your bottom lip.

“Darling, what have I told you about being ashamed of your desire?” He could already read you like a book, despite the short time you’ve been married. After all, he was a detective.

“That I should never feel guilty about my desire.” You managed to whisper, knowing he expected an answer.

“And?” He pressed you to continue, slowly leaning down to press his lips against your shoulder. You gasped.

“A-And that all my urges are completely natural.” You breathed out as he peppered kisses all along your shoulder and neck.

“And who will always take care of these urges you have?” He murmured.

“You will.” You whispered, his curls tickling your cheek as he lathered your flesh with affection.

“Because?”

You gulped, “Because you are my husband.”

“Yes. And it is my husbandly duty to fulfill every need or want you might have.” He inhaled against your hair, taking in a big whiff of your scent.

“And I know exactly what you need right now.” He growled against your neck. The sound was almost menacing. It still ignited a fire deep in your gut.

You yelped loudly when you were suddenly flipped around and pinned to the blanket on which you had your picnic. He quickly hovered over you. Any sunlight beaming down on you from between the leaves on the tree was eclipsed by his enormous physique. 

How did a man of his size move so fast? More so, how did he toss you around like nothing but a sack of potatoes. And why did you love it so much?

Your heart began to beat faster in your chest. All you could do was stare up at him in a daze, his manhandling of you only made you that much more aroused. You laid under him as he grinned, his eyes dangerous as he began to lift your skirts.

Your eyes widened when you felt this, tensing up. You hiccuped as you lifted your hands to his chest to stop him.

“Sherlock!” You whispered frantically. “O-Out here?” 

You took a look around at the great outdoors that surrounded you and your husband. Never had you made love with him outside the comfort of your home. It was rare that you did it outside your bed. He did, however, manage to seduce you in other rooms a few times. His study, the kitchen, even once in the bath. Oh that was delightful. The memory caused you to leak into your underthings.

The detective watched as you bit your lip again. He grinned, nodding. You shivered when his fingers played with the hem of your dress and danced along the flesh of your ankles.

“Yes, here. What’s wrong, darling? Don’t you want me to make love to you?” He cocked his head, smirking playfully.

“I want you more than anything.” You whispered, blushing as you looked at his chest.

“Then we shall do it here. Though ‘making love’ would not be the best term for what I’m about to do to you.” He chuckled.

You shivered. Oh.

“My dear, we will rut like beasts. It’s really only fitting I take you while outdoors like this. It makes me feel that much more… animalistic.” He growled after pausing to think of the right word to use. You clenched your legs together, whining for him now.

Never had you seen him be so primal. You were thoroughly enjoying it, however. And you wanted even more.

“Please, Sherlock. I need it.” You finally admitted defeat with your desire. 

He grinned as he watched you submit to your passion, he continued in lifting your skirts. His tongue came out to lick his lips. As he sought to expose you, you studied his features. His expression was one of hunger. He was starving for your body.

He tugged off your bloomers after he bunched your dress up around your middle. You jumped and whimpered when you felt the cool breeze upon your warm cunt. A deep growl rumbled inside Sherlock’s chest as he looked down at the sight between your legs.

“Look at you...” He murmured under his breath as he gazed at your wet flower. He licked his lips, taking a look at the beauty before him. His gaze made you squirm.

You watched him quickly get to work undoing the buttons of his trousers. You licked your lips at the bulge in his pants, knowing soon you’d get to see your husband’s lovely cock. He pulled out his length, stroking it a few times as you stared at him intently. His thumb rubbed against his leaking tip. The sight made you whimper.  

Sherlock’s chuckle snapped you out of it. You turned red, caught ogling his magnificent manhood. He grinned, bending down to kiss you deeply. 

He kept his lips on yours as he spread your legs wider so he could fit between them. You felt him rub the tip of his cock up and down your slit, moaning at the sensation. 

“You are absolutely soaked, my darling. I wonder if I could just…” He trailed off, catching you off guard when he sank into you in one smooth thrust.

You gasped loudly, the delicious stretch of his length breaching your hole made your brain go haywire. There was always a little bit of a sting whenever he entered, but it mixed delightfully with the irresistible fullness you felt when he was completely inside you. Your eyes rolled back and you let out a moan.

“A-Ah…” That was all you could whimper as you tilted your head back, driving your nails into his clothed biceps.

“Shh, shh my sweet darling. It’s alright. This is what you’ve been begging for.” He shushed you softly, his hand coming up to touch your face.

Quickly, you turned your head to nuzzle his palm. His huge hand almost engulfed your entire face. With your eyes closed, you peppered heated little kisses along his skin. He hummed at the sweet affection, nuzzling your temple as he still rested inside you. You just needed a moment, that’s all.

“Your body was begging me to stretch it… to fill it with my cock. Oh, I know.” He cooed a little when you let out a soft hiccup. His vulgar language made your delicate walls pulsate around him, squeezing his cock even tighter. He grunted sharply.

“It’s a tight fit, isn’t it, love? An awfully big peg for such a tiny hole.” He snarled a little and straightened his spine so that he was fully stretched out above you.

With your height difference, your head only reached his chest. You leaned in quickly to bury your face in his vest. His handkerchief was still in his breast pocket. It smelled faintly of orange and clove from the cologne he dabbed on it earlier. Underneath the spicy sweet scent, a hint of tobacco lingered from the pipe he’d smoked before lunch.

When the smell of him entered your nose, you let out a groan and unconsciously clenched around him. It seemed like every little thing was making you ache for him. You were certain you had never been this needy in your life. He moaned when you squeezed him, tilting his head back for a moment.

“Oh yes, you’re ready for it…Prepare yourself, darling. Hold onto me.” He warned you, his voice deep.

Sherlock growled, bucking his hips. When the tip of his cock brushed against your sensitive cervix, you let out a soft cry. Wrapping your arms and legs around him, your mouth dropped open in a breathy moan. You clung to the enormous detective, knowing he was about to give you the plowing of a lifetime.

He propped himself up on his forearms and began thrusting at a brutal pace. You were sobbing into his chest with each piston of his hips, biting his vest to try and silence yourself. Even if your estate was a little ways outside town, your sounds were likely to attract anyone close by.

“Don’t you dare muffle yourself. I want anyone or anything lurking nearby to hear you scream as I take my beautiful wife.” He slowed his hips for a moment to murmur to you.

A snarl vibrated in his chest before he pushed back inside you and rested. A choked little whimper fell out of your mouth when he somehow managed to thrust deeper inside you. He grunted and panted like a beast. His trousers had slipped lower on his hips, exposing the top of his firm buttocks.

Your hands reached down to dig your nails into one of his cheeks, attempting to squeeze him closer. It wasn’t enough, you needed more of him. You needed all of him. Your second hand sank further into his trousers to hold his other cheek, allowing you to fully grasp his ass.

Sherlock moaned as your hands pressed into his bum, causing his muscles to spasm. You took the time to admire the plump cheeks that you always stole peeks at. Each time you caught a glimpse of his wonderful behind, you felt compelled to squeeze it. 

However, it never felt appropriate to do so. Until now, that is. This felt like a perfect time to hold your husband’s ass. You massaged the firm muscles he had, occasionally squeezing. You even raised your hips in an attempt to presuade him to keep fucking you.

A deep chuckle left his lips. Sherlock almost sounded predatory.

“You dirty little minx. Yes, I know exactly what you need.” He repeated his words from before, sucking in a breath before he resumed his previous aggressive thrusting.

Each time he rammed his cock inside you, he would somehow nuzzle himself farther into your poor cunt, elicating loud and needy sobs from your mouth. The wind was knocked out of you with each thrust of his hips. The both of you groaned in unison. 

It felt like he was in your guts by now, his manhood making itself known as it delved into your body roughly. Both the dull pain and overwhelming pleasure brought tears to your eyes. Your tears made a wet patch on his rustled shirt.

It hurt so good. But you needed more.

Sherlock bent back down to look into your eyes, your cheeks soaked. You had no idea what you wanted, you just knew that whatever it was- you needed it badly. The ache inside you had not been eased, and you knew one orgasm would not cut it.

Your desire ran deeper than a wonderful climax. You wanted to feel him inside you for as long  as you could after he was finished fucking you. Hopefully the weight of him rested comfortably in your womb for a very long time. 

“Please! I-I…” You hiccuped, cut off by his surprisingly soft hushing. You pleaded with him to take the ache away. If he knew what you needed, why wasn’t he helping?

Despite his gentle comforting, his hips never stopped slamming into you. You felt his hand cup your cheek as you wailed in pleasure, your eyes pinched shut. His thumb wiping a tear away made you open them, gazing up at your husband as he fucked you.

“I’m preparing you to take me, my love.” He grunted, his curls falling in his eyes. “To take me entirely. To take my seed. It’s what you’ve been begging for all along, darling. Your fertile womb is just pulsating with the desire to be bred by me.”

You hiccuped when he said that. Is that what you’ve been yearning for? To be bred by this man? By the way your cunt clenched down onto him, the answer was yes.

With his forehead pressed against yours, the detective let out a growl. It was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate as your body burned with desire. Desire to have your husband’s seed planted in your body. You were becoming impatient now that you understood what you wanted.

You squeezed his ass again, urging him to quicken his pace even more. The sooner you were swollen with his brood, the better. A raspy chuckle escaped him, giving you just what you wanted as he plowed you even harder.   

“Yes. I will give you exactly what you need. My seed will take root inside you, where my child will grow large and heavy in your womb. Each day that you carry my spawn will be a reminder of who you belong to.” He hissed in your ear, never ceasing his pounding.

You gripped him tighter, gasping as his deft fingers rubbed circles on your clit. A cry left you, clawing at his flesh as he groaned. It only made you wetter, his cock making a squelching noise as he rocked in and out of you.

“Then, after you give birth to my strong and healthy son, I will fill you up again. And again. U-Until your body cannot take anymore.” Sherlock’s voice began to shake, you knew he was close.

The constant pressure on your nub was making your vision fuzzy. His words made it too much to go on. With one more thrust, you tumbled over the edge. Your cunt clamped down onto his throbbing cock. Sobbing, you held onto him tightly.

Sherlock groaned loudly and tossed his head back. Buried all the way inside you, he released his thick seed against your cervix. It was hot, which only fuelled your orgasm even more. You gasped, his spunk never seeming to end as he pumped you completely full.

The two of you rutted against one another, chasing your highs before you floated down together. Sherlock’s breath hit your skin as he planted languid kisses along your neck, both of you panting.

“The feeling of my children will live on in your womb forever, my love. I will leave your body with my mark; my pups.” He growled softly, his voice still thick from desire.

You felt a shiver run through you. If his offspring were similar in size to him, you knew you would never forget what it felt like to carry and birth the next generation of Holmes. Giving him a strong legacy will undoubtedly take a toll on your body.

And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

A/N: Sorry if my breeding kink overpowered the size kink. 😅 Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke Credits: Divider- @firefly-graphics

[sparks-stephen]

The Only Woman

Pairing: (Henry Cavill!)Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Requested: Yep - “Hello Ma’amMay I request a Sherlock Holemes x Redaer?That when they were younger she was BSF with Sherlock and Mycroft. And all of the sudden they disappeared and never wrote to her a letter or nothing. And she got closer to Enola and when Edoria disappeared she reunites with Sherlock and Mycroft and Reader is Mad and Sad that he left without saying nothing. She always was in love with him and at the end she finds out he also was in love with her! And lots of fluffThank You so MuchAnonymous (she/her/hers)”

Summary: Basically just the request

Warnings: Probably some swearing, some 20th century misogyny, pining, fluff, angst, denial, all that fun stuff, probably ooc Sherlock but we vibe with it because he’s soft af

A/N: My first full length Sherlock fic! I should mention that my requests aren’t actually open right now, especially not for full fics but I was inspired by this request and so decided to make it into a full one! I hope you guys enjoy, please remember to reblog, comment or send an ask letting me know what you think and if you want to see me write more for Sherlock (and Henry and his other characters for that matter) in the future!

Y/N had been essentially another resident of the Holmes household her whole life, having been introduced to the family through the two boys - Sherlock and Mycroft, whom she had run into while out playing in the woods. Her family lived in the house nearest to the Holmes residence, technically making them neighbours.

Sherlock and Mycroft didn’t exactly do ‘friends’, that much had been clear even to Y/N’s young mind after meeting them. She was a year and a half younger than Sherlock and yet she still knew more about interacting with other people than he did. Not that either of the Holmes boys had ever seemed interested in other people, they had their brains to keep them occupied, and when they failed to find entertainment in learning, they had each other.

Despite this, they took a shine to Y/N when they found her playing make-believe on her own in the woods and insisted that she come over to have dinner with them and their family.

Mr and Mrs Holmes had gone out of their way, following that initial visit, to make Y/N feel as welcome as possible at Ferndell Hall. At first this was simply because they were astounded that their sons had actually made a friend and seemed interested in maintaining this friendship, but then it was partially as a result of the somewhat turbulent relationship that it became clear Y/N had with her family.

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[sparks-stephen]

propriety

pairing ~ sherlock holmes x f!reader

word count ~ 4.9k

summary ~ sherlock was sure his heart stopped when he saw you lying in the hospital bed, all because of him. he has to take care of you. he has to. so who cares if the only way he can be in the room with you is to tell them he’s your husband. certainly not him. absolutely not.

warnings ~ vague descriptions of wounds and injury, mention of blood, mild violence, hospital descriptions, super mild language, mention of passing out and almost-unconsciousness, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED!!!! kind of?? (finally, literally always wanted to write it), sherlock goes feral, mention of crimes (murder, burglary, kidnapping, just sherlock things), probably incorrect depictions of technology (phones) for the time period (but shh its for the vibes), sherlock is YEARNING (and so am i)

a/n ~ ‘whoah madeline hold on you’ve been writing so much lately’ alright i know, i’ve just felt a random burst of inspiration + plus working on some requests has very much helped with some writers block i had been dealing with a little bit ago, but here's another bit of sherlock fluff! anyways i hope you all enjoy!! mwauh!!

Sherlock had never believed in what many called ‘near-death experiences.’ Moments in which one watched all of their life experiences flash before their eyes as they drifted in and out of consciousness.

But he was certain his heart stopped when he saw you.

Your shoulders were slumped as you hobbled over to him, limping just the slightest as you trailed your hand on a nearby wall to keep your balance. Despite your obvious pain, you held his gaze with a soft smile, still trying to keep up your appearances no matter the fact you were very clearly injured.

Sherlock gasped your name, surging forward as you stumbled over your own feet, threatening to fall before he caught you, carefully adjusting you upright. “We need to find John” He murmured, his words almost coming out slurred at the fast pace he spoke them.

“No, no I’ll be fine” You sputtered, your voice hushed.

If he wasn’t so panicked, maybe he would have paused for a moment to wonder how you had grown to care for him so much, so much so, you would lie about your own state as to not worry him any more than he already was.

Your almost-silent wince broke him from his thoughts though, and his heart broke at the sight of your always so lively eyes slowly being filled with the beginnings of tears. He began to call out for his friend as the two of you emerged from the alley you had initially been injured in. Sherlock was only met with concerned and shocked mumbles from the crowd, and frighteningly, not a single one of them came from John. He felt the spaces between his breaths become shorter as he tried to compose himself. He frantically searched the crowd, continuing to firmly place his hand on your lower back to keep you steady.

He swallowed thickly at his next thought, “We must get you to a hospital.”

He heard your quiet grumble of protest, though you did nothing to change his course as he carefully guided you through the crowd in the direction of the hospital.

Sherlock’s mind was clouded with pacing thoughts, scolding himself for even bringing you with him on something he could have easily handled himself. She could have been killed. He found his eyes had screwed shut at the thought, as if trying to push the idea entirely from his mind.

“Sherlock” You softly whispered, and he almost got whiplash at the speed at which he turned to you. There was an ever more pained expression on your face now, “Could we um, slow down… Please?”

“Of course, I’m sorry” He mumbled, a twinge of embarrassment in his tone, he was almost ashamed of himself at how he could have so quickly forgotten that you were still indeed injured and probably wouldn’t be able to simply sprint to the hospital as he was in his concerned state.

He should have left you at home.

That was all his mind kept repeating as the two men emerged from the shadowy corners of the alley.

When he turned to you, he saw how your eyes flickered to him, the slightest bit of worry written on your features, though you didn’t scutter behind him, you held your place, readying yourself as your lips drew into a thin line when the men drew closer to you two.

From that moment on it was a blur, a mess of fists and rusty pipes and grunts that even Sherlock could barely keep track of.

And then he heard you.

The soft whimper that broke through the deep rumble had a feeling blooming in his chest that he couldn’t say if he had ever felt before, a growing, seething rage that seemed to take over his entire body.

His actions weren’t calculated, he didn’t care, he knew it would be messy once he stepped away from this, but he didn’t care.

He wasn’t even sure if you were hurt, you may have just made a startled sound from the shock of being cornered, but it didn’t matter, you shouldn’t have even been in this situation in the first place.

He had to protect you.

When the men finally lay on the ground, breaths steady and eyes closed, he raised an eyebrow as he viewed his work, an appreciative hum escaping his lips.

But then he turned to see you, “Are you alright-”

And the words were lost on his tongue.

“She’s hurt. I need a doctor, now.” His voice boomed around the entryway as the nurse staff only stared back at him at first, he swallowed before continuing, his eyes quickly darting to your drooping frame, you were still holding your side, doing your best to cover the blooming crimson liquid that was now staining your gown. He knew that if he looked at you any longer, his stern expression would surely crumble, and his resolve turn to dust.

“Please” He begged, his eyes furrowing as he looked to the women for any sympathy.

That was all it took for the nurses to begin scuttering around him as he reluctantly let go of you, watching on in almost horror as they assisted you onto a nearby stretcher.

Another woman suddenly appeared before him, halting him from following after you. “I need some information from you” She almost sneered, tapping her pen impatiently on the clipboard she held.

“I’m sorry, I have to-”

“Are you her husband?” She asked, the question left Sherlock with wide eyes and even quicker than before beating heart.

“Excuse me?” He replied, doing his best in concealing the telling shake in his voice.

“Are you her husband? You can only join her if you are married or family. Which one is it?” She added nonchalantly.

Married or family? Sherlock wondered, why couldn’t friends visit? He grumbled internally as he weighed his options. Pretty much all members of the Holmes family were fairly publicly known, adding some unknown, long-lost family member to the family tree would surely raise suspicions of everyone in the hospital.

But Mrs. Holmes.

He was already seen as a private person by everyone in the press already, other than his cases and government brother, most of his life was lived in the privacy he found behind closed doors. So why would his marriage be any different? It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Surely no one would bat an eyelash at that.

“Yes,” He finally responded, his tone more confident now, “I’m her husband.”

The woman eyed him suspiciously, before mumbling a quick “Congratulations” and finally allowing him to pass.

Sherlock rushed into the sterile, white hallway, peeking into every open door to find where they had placed you. He silently muttered a curse under his breath at the woman who had stopped him earlier, if she hadn’t been so intrusive, he would have been with you by now.

He called your name as he swung himself into another room, his shoulders sagging in relief when he finally laid eyes on you.

There was a nurse standing beside your bed, quietly looking over your sleeping form before turning slowly to face him.

“Mr. Holmes-” She said, her face stoic as she walked closer to him.

“Is she alright?” He frantically interrupted, “Is she going to be alright?” Sherlock flinched away from her touch as she hesitantly pushed him into the hallway, gently closing the door behind her as Sherlock raised his gaze above the woman to look at you.

“She’s going to be fine” The woman sighed, obviously exasperated from dealing with concerned spouses and family members all day. “She just needs rest, we’ve patched her up just fine, it was really just a scratch-”

“May I see her?”

The nurse must have seen the pathetic desperation in his eyes as he spoke, and normally he would scowl himself for such outwards display of emotion, but if he were being honest with himself, he was scared, and the last thing on his mind was how he looked in the eyes of others right now.

‘It was really just a scratch’ He tried to keep repeating to himself as the woman’s words turned to thoughtless droning, ‘She’s going to be fine.’

But you shouldn’t have even been there in the first place.

“...Just needs to stay here for a few days”

What? “Stay here?” He sputtered

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, just to make sure she’s stable” The woman smiled

Sherlock supposed he should feel comforted, you’d be in a perfectly safe and sterile environment while you recovered.

But your books, He thought, they were back in the library, when you finally awakened, wouldn’t you want to read? Just to have something to pass the time?

“Is it possible for her to be...” He cleared his throat before continuing, his gaze now stuck to his shoes, “Released any sooner?”

The nurse turned her lips in a sad smile, he hated it, the unavoidable glare of her judgment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much with the thought of you spending so many days and nights in confinement, alone.

“Unfortunately not, Mr. Holmes.”

“Then may I stay?” The words fell from his mouth before he could even give permission to them.

“Apologies-”

“May I stay? Please?”

She huffed in response, “Well yes, but visiting hours are over at-”

That was all he needed, immediately reaching his hand over the women’s shoulder to push the door open, not even leaving a moment of hesitation before shutting it behind him.

He sighed, finally taking in your sleeping form without any interruption.

You were so vulnerable, so fragile, he shook his head at his own actions, asking you to join him today, he scoffed, how could he have been so selfish?

You looked peaceful though, and that was all that mattered now, you were safe here, But Sherlock still despised the sight of you in these surroundings.

Though that was a problem for tomorrow.

Tonight, he would be content with simply watching over you, falling asleep to the steady sound of your breathing.

“When you phoned you said it would be an emergency” Mycroft sighed, drumming his fingers on the edge of your bed, “The nurses said would be perfectly fine in a few-”

“She must come home with us” Sherlock interrupted sharply, “This isn’t any place for her.” His eyes lingered on your still sleeping form, he would hate for you to wake up now, sterile, arid walls, in a bed with a paper-thin sheet draped over you.

You deserved better. You deserved to be in a familiar place.

“I’m sure they’re taking awfully good care of her here”

Sherlock hated the condescending tone his brother took with him, had he no heart? Mycroft looked upon you with an almost ice-cold glare, the idea that anyone could look at you with anything but warmth and affection bothered him to no end.

“Maybe they should take a look at you as well, hmm?” Mycroft added, “You look like shit.”

Sherlock grumbled to himself as he stood from the chair situated in the corner across from the bed to examine his reflection in the small mirror hung on the wall. Mycroft was right. His curls were tossed haphazardly against his forehead, the beginning of dark circles shadowed under the pinkish-red hue that now surrounded his iris’. He only offered an observant ‘hm’ in response.

“But seriously, what good do you think it would be for her to come home with us? She’ll be fine here, Sherlock, now-”

“I’ll stay here then,” Sherlock said assuredly, his lips now drawn into a thin line of determination as he spoke.

“Sherlock, that is absolutely unnecessary-”

“If you won’t allow her to come home with us, I’ll stay”

Mycroft huffed an exhausted sigh, his mouth opening and closing rapidly as he tried to think of a response.

“I hope you don’t mind if I request Enola to bring a few things by then? Just some books, maybe a journal for her as well…” He thought of all the other things you would enjoy having with you when you finally awoke, maybe he would even be able to send for someone to fetch some pastries from that small, street-corner bakery you loved so much.

Sherlock watched Mycroft’s face fall slightly as he seceded, “Alright then, I doubt I would have been able to stop you from putting yourself through this anyway” He muttered, gathering his hat and cane he had placed on the small table by your bedside, “I can assume you won’t be joining me for lunch then?”

Sherlock only shook his head with a soft smile as Mycroft turned and exited the room with a huff.

He made his way around your bed to the bedside table, turning the dial of the rotary before picking up the handset, “May I speak to Enola, please…”

On only the third day of your stay, it seemed that Sherlock had successfully brought the entire contents of the home library into the small room. So far, you had only awoken for small moments of time, always offering a delicate, faint smile to him before your eyes fluttered softly closed again as the nurses checked on you.

Regardless of whether you were awake or not though, he would still read to you. It was a silly thought really, thinking you would be able to comprehend or even hear any of the words that came out of his mouth, but he continued regardless.

Maybe it was better you couldn’t hear him at all, he was sure that his face would turn as red as the cross that adorned the aprons of the hospital staff if you happened to stir awake in those quiet moments when he closed his book, and simply just spoke to you.

He wondered what you dreamt of, or if you were even dreaming at all.

He smiled when he recalled his own dream that his mind had conjured last night when his eyelids finally became too heavy to open anymore, though he would never explain the exact contents aloud, and maybe he would forget the precise details in a few days, even then, he would still fondly remember that he dreamt of you.

“Sherlock?” Your soft voice broke his thoughts, your voice was still heavy with sleep, but he could tell you were now fully awake.

Your name fell like a sigh from his lips, he was careful not to make too much noise, even when the chair he sat in threatened to severely scuff the floors at the force at which he leapt from it.

“Are you alright?” He asked frantically “How are you feeling?”

You first chuckled in response, “Good…” You hummed, almost checking if your voice was still in working order after so many days out of use.

Sherlock watched you slowly raise your right arm, and though his urge to stop you from exerting any energy was immense, he just continued to watch you as you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He was certain he had turned into a puddle right then, an oozing mush of emotions just from your single touch.

“I feel fine, Sherlock” You added, smiling.

Sherlock felt a surge of relief flood through him at your words, you were fine. His smile seemed to grow uncontrollably as the words continued to repeat in his mind. “I’m happy to hear that” He sputtered, almost barely able to form a sentence through his grin.

“You look tired, is everything alright?” You instantly followed up, now beginning to trace comforting circles with your hand on his shoulder.

It never ceased to amaze him, the way you still withheld your kindness after the world had sometimes treated you less than compassionately. After joining Sherlock on various cases and witnessing the world’s cruelty firsthand, even after all that he told you about all of the murders and burglaries and kidnappings, you still kept your heart.

You were injured, lying in a hospital bed, yet your first full thought, once you awoke, was to ask after him.

He didn’t deserve you.

“Everything’s fine” He chuckled, “I’ve brought you some of your books...”

He then gestured to the messy stacks of novels and poetry books that surrounded your bed, and you looked around with wide eyes, your eyebrows furrowing, “Sherlock, you didn’t-”

“But I wanted to.” He interrupted, he knew you had a habit of refusing for help, deflecting any sort of help or offer that came your way, but he longed for you to know that he wanted to do this, maybe that guilty part of him felt that he needed to, all he was sure of, though, was above all else, you deserved this, after all your kindness, he thought, it was the very least he could do.

Sherlock could see in your eyes how you wanted to argue, say how all of this fuss was unnecessary, that you would be perfectly contempt with just his company, and though he wouldn’t mind you saying that, he could tell by the sigh that slipped past your lips, you were too weary to contest.

“Have you slept at all?”

He so wished he could lie to you, but all of his previous attempts at that proved pointless when you seemed to be the only one who could read him just as well as he could others.

“Not very much, no”

He could see a flash of inquisition in your eyes as you thought for a moment, your mouth opening slightly with a hushed gasp of realization, “Have you… You haven’t stayed here all this time, have you?”

Sherlock could feel the surge of embarrassment he had anticipated when he thought of this exact scenario. He was certain at some point you would ask that, of course, you would be slightly confused as to why he was just sitting in your room, with stacks of books surrounding the both of you, but no amount of anticipation could prepare him for the flood of humiliation he felt at your question.

“Um…” There really was no use in lying to you, you had a way of always finding him out later on, one way or another. “Yes.”

Sherlock was sure being put on trial would be easier than admitting that to you, and he could do nothing to stop the blush that crawled onto his cheeks as he spoke.

You let out a soft hum, before finally responding, “You have to get some rest”

“I’m fine, really-”

“Sherlock” You raised your brows at him sternly, yet the tender smile you wore betrayed your tone.

He smiled in response, raising his arms in feigned surrender as he turned from you to sit once again in the chair he had spent so many restless nights in already.

“Sherlock?”

He turned to face you again instantly.

“You aren’t going home?” Your voice was laden with worry as you spoke

“Why would I be doing that?” Sherlock did his best in trying not to scoff affectionately at your question

“To sleep?” You sheepishly replied, “I’m perfectly fine here”

How could he explain to you, that even if you had no healing injuries, he still would seek every opportunity to be in the same room as you?

Propriety be damned.

He quickly snatched a book from the top of one of the many stacks around the room, handing it to you, “I wouldn’t want you to be alone if anyone came in to check on you”

“Sherlock, I promise-” You cut yourself off, your eyebrows furrowing as you looked at him, eyes once again filled with too much concern for Sherlock’s liking as you studied his features. “I promise, I’m fine. Now go, get some sleep in your own bed instead of that chair” You laughed, placing the book on your bedside table.

He knew you were simply being considerate, he would probably say the exact same thing to you if he were in your position, though he couldn’t help but let out a quietly frustrated grumble at your stubbornness, a trait he both admired and abhorred all at once.

“No.” He replied simply, crossing his arms over his chest as he huffed.

You chuckled lightly, suddenly lifting yourself from the bed with a groan, Sherlock found himself bounding once again to your side before you lifted a hand to stop him, he froze, like a trained puppy to your silent command, and you smiled softly, continuing to shift yourself all the way to the left side of your bed. “If you aren’t going home to sleep in your bed, then I am not letting you sleep in that chair again.”

And though Sherlock was standing still before, now he felt frozen, absolutely petrified in his place as he thought over your words. You certainly weren’t proposing what he thought you were, right?

But then you gently tapped the left side of the bed.

Sherlock couldn’t discern if his face had flushed from embarrassment or excitement, but either way, he felt the familiar warmth of mortification wash over him at his realization.

Yet, despite his own conflicting feelings, he knew he couldn’t deny you.

Even on any other day, in a place which wasn’t a hospital, on an afternoon where you weren’t injured, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to resist you either.

“Okay” Was all he managed to sputter as he slowly sat on the edge of the bed, bit by bit lowering himself onto the mattress until his large frame entirely covered the once empty side. He sat up straight, staring straight out into the room, not daring to make any sort of contact, eye contact or otherwise, with you as he settled.

He could feel your gaze on him though, your lips parting for a moment, he could tell how you were about to argue that he get actually comfortable, but after a moment, you just sighed, leaning your head back against the pillows.

“Goodnight” He could hear you mumble under your breath.

“Goodnight.”

The room was warm. It had been ever since your arrival, but as his eyes blinked open groggily as he slowly awoke, it felt too warm.

He felt a gentle weight on his chest just as the rest of his body became conscious, a blanket, perhaps? He was suddenly struck with panic at the thought of one of the staff coming in to change your sheets and seeing the two of you in this state, and in an instant, he was completely awake.

His eyes shot entirely open as he looked down on himself, and he couldn’t stop the shocked gasp that spilled from his lips.

Your arm was draped gently over his torso, hand barely wrapping around his waist while your head lay on the edge of his chest, rising and falling slightly with his breathing.

Sherlock had to actively regulate his breath, for if he didn’t, he feared that his franticness would wake you.

He screwed his eyes shut for a moment as he thought, you couldn’t have done this on purpose. This was just your unconscious need for physical touch during this stressful time for you. That was all this was.

Though as much as he tried to rationalize the situation, he still found his own mind wandering to less analytical places.

Like if you had done this on purpose.

He wondered what it would feel like to have you wrapped around him while you were still awake, talking to him about your day and asking questions about his, your fingers tracing those senseless patterns on his chest as you both laughed about something Enola had said at dinner.

Sherlock was never one for fantasies, but this was one delusion he couldn’t help but indulge.

You had a way of doing that to him.

You made it easy to dream.

To think of a life beyond all of the chaos of his current life was something he didn’t often ponder, but in moments when you quietly strolled into the library or parlor with a book, gently flipping through pages or sipping your tea, you made the large estate feel like home.

Maybe it wasn’t the house that felt like that, even when you simply walked beside him at the market, those same feelings, without fail, always seemed to stir within him.

Maybe you were his home.

“G’morning” You sighed, shifting yourself against his chest.

Sherlock was shocked at the sight, even when you gently slipped into your own consciousness, you didn’t pull away from him, grumbling a distraught apology for your actions. You just stayed as you were.

He stumbled on his own words, “G- Good morning”, he almost winced from his own lack of suavity.

Sherlock’s chest tightened as he heard your muffled laughter, “You’re cozy” You murmured, he looked down at you, seeing the faint smile that pulled the corners of your lips.

Was it the way you looked at him? Or the feeling of your weight pressed against him? Regardless, he instantly knew he could never live without this feeling again. “I love you.” The words seemed to force their way through his lips on their own accord, though Sherlock wasn’t sure he would be able to fight them from coming out regardless. He watched you for a moment, awaiting some sort of recoil or retch at his confession as you finally pulled yourself from him to sit up against the headboard.

Though your smile only grew, only a twinge of soft anxiety in your eyes, nothing like the tension that flickered in your gaze during your arrival to the hospital, it was a sort of childlike nervousness that made his heart beat even faster.

Before you could get a chance to reply, Sherlock continued, in fear that if he didn’t speak now, he would never be able to gather the nerve again to say them. “I think I always have.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, “When I saw you…” He swallowed, cringing at his own mental image of you in the alley that day, “I couldn’t- I just couldn’t stop myself from thinking of what would happen if you hadn’t-” He found he couldn’t even continue, his heart almost shattering at the very notion of your absence. “I couldn’t bear the thought. And seeing you here, I’ve had time to think, how much you do truly mean to me, I know I don’t often show it, but, I love you. I have from that very moment we’d been introduced, and from every greeting afterward, I’ve loved you, and I find that I never want to stop saying hello to you.” He shyly lifted his gaze to your own again, seeing that same softly joyful, wide-eyed expression from before, “I don’t think I could only ever go back to what we were after this… I’d rather spend the rest of my nights in that horrid chair than sleep without you again.” He laughed, and just as sudden as his first confession, a new question forced all air from his lungs, “Would you marry me?”

There was a moment of silence as he stared at you, a gentle grin still on your face. He was sure he looked absolutely pathetic, his hair a mess from sleep, his eyes almost brimming with tears with the weight of his confession, but he didn’t care, he would beg on his knees in front of you if it meant you would only just give him a chance.

“Sherlock,” You sighed, your eyes lighting with a particular glimmer he had never seen before, “I’ve always loved you, I don’t think I’ve ever not loved you” You laughed, “Even when it took you this long to realize it”

He felt his shoulders drop as he let out a sigh of relief at your words, instantly surging forward to take your hand in his. “You needn’t answer now” He rushed, becoming aware how early it must have been now, he internally cursed himself for not waiting until you had entirely wakened, “I know-”

“Of course” You interrupted, “Yes, Mr. Holmes” You chuckled, “I will marry you.”

Sherlock tried to ignore the quiet sniffle that came from you, he was sure his heart would burst if he witnessed any tears coming from you.

You continued, “It would be my honor.”

“No,” Sherlock replied, “I would be mine”

It was at that moment when he finally realized how close you two were, your faces only inches from each other.

The door wasn’t locked, he thought, anyone could come in.

But what did it matter anyway, to them, you were already Mrs. Holmes.

And so he kissed you. He wasn’t even sure when he had begun imagining it, but your lips were just as soft as he had always dreamed of. His hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb wiping the stray tear that fell as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His heart surged when he felt your one hand grip onto his vest, pulling him impossibly closer against you.

Once he reluctantly pulled away, he found himself at a loss for words, but he didn’t mind, any words worth being said had now already been spoken.

A sharp knock on the door had you both breathlessly turning, quickly adjusting yourselves and your clothing as to not raise any questions.

“Mrs. Holmes?” A woman questioned as she opened the door, her eyes almost immediately falling to the floor, obviously flustered by the state of the two of you.

You turned quickly back to him, a soft, confused look in your eyes, your head tilted in question at the woman’s title for you.

But all he could do was smile lovingly at you, almost entranced at the sound of your new, soon-to-be surname. Sometime in the future, maybe he would explain it all to you, after all, he had all the time in the world with you now.

A single chuckle left your lips as you turned again to face the woman, and for the second time that morning, the words fell from your lips.

“Yes”

oh my goodness, me wants, me wants so badly. i didn't think i'd be writing another piece for sherlock, but here we are, yearning again!! i want to thank and shoutout my lovely may,@uncle-kenobi, for your endless headcanons and inspiration for sherlock yearning hours (which is always) and i hope you all enjoyed this one!! and please let me know what you think!! as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always always appreciated!! i hope you are all doing so very well today/tonight!! mwauh!!

want more sherlock? check out my masterlist!

[sparks-stephen]

Sherlock x Reader: what it would be like to love you [One Shot]

Plot: What happens when a genius and a hopeless romantic are arranged to be wed?

or, the one where you broke your own heart to keep him happy only for him to realize all of his happiness lied with you.

Tags: angst, fluff, cheesy proposals, painfully emotionally unavailable men, my poor oldey writing, jealousy, canon-level violence, guns, injuries

A broken engagement.

Sherlock presumes he should be happy -- relieved at least.

But he was … surprised. Painfully so.

Sherlock Holmes, the greatest mind in modern history, has an inability to be surprised. He sees too much, understands every glance and touch. If it intrigues him he will be able to decipher a situation in one glance.

He thinks of it as a gift, one that has proven useful in more ways than one. It had definitely saved his back from many situations. His surprisingly hopelessly romantic little sister (all thanks to a certain young duke) seems to think otherwise.

“Those inquisitive eyes of yours make you incapable of understanding a woman’s heart, dear brother. You’re too logical. It makes you blind.”

A woman’s heart. He had scoffed then. He knew it would be a while before he would try to settle down, or actually find a woman he would find tolerable enough to spend his waking moments with. In fact, he doubts he would’ve found someone who would be willing to deal with his intricacies too.

Yet, if there was one person who would be able to catch him off guard it would be his eccentric fiance.

Logically, it wasn’t that she was as brilliant as he was, as conniving as his older brother Mycroft, nor as sneaky as his little sister Enola. In one glance she was a pretty average but certainly a beautiful woman. A bit simplistic sure but not too doltish either.

However, she just refuses to be predictable, doing things that not even one as smart as Sherlock can foretell. He still isn’t quite sure if he had been underestimating her or she was too daft for Sherlock to apply the logic of his world.

It was arranged -- one that would bring her family honor for marrying the genius of the century Sherlock Holmes and his a proper title that would leverage him some power that would be useful for his … line of work.

When the engagement between the two families had been announced he had expected the brat that was half a decade younger than him to throw a hissy fit -- a noblewoman born with a golden spoon would not want to marry one of lower position with lesser blood.

But she had been agreeable.

Even giddy at the prospect of marrying him.

“I’ve read so much of your work!”

She was bluffing, he was certain. Many women had tried to sneak their way with sweet words only to go mute when he asked them about the details.

“I thought for sure the butler was the murderer,” she pouted. He told her not to feel bad, almost everyone did. “But I did think the way the maid told the police it was murder before there was an investigation was a bit weird. Though a part of me thought maybe she was just her lover.”

That made Sherlock’s brows raise. He had the same observation the first time, it was one of the first clues he had that the woman had not been a simple servant.

He thought maybe she wasn’t so terrible then, at that very moment.

That was until he had learned from the whispers of their social circles that she had been the one to instigate the engagement after all. Probably a whim of hers that was a bit too eagerly given by her doting father.

It left a bad taste in his mouth.

But, truly, you weren't a horrible person, he had observed.

Despite living in high society her entire life she was never one to look down on those beneath her. Her head may be up in the clouds most of the time, a bit too idealistic and naive for his liking, but to her everyone was equal that even a man from a fallen house would be worthy enough to marry into hers.

Even sparing those nosy hags a sharp glare, using her undeniably high status to cut through any whispers and rumors of his own lesser status. Reminding everyone of how he had managed to crawl and sneak himself from a fallen family back into high society -- a feat not achieved by a mere no one.

It made him see her as a powerful ally.

Then she became a friend.

He didn’t have a lot.

Someone who won’t think of his corrections on facts as bragging. A person who won’t purposefully misunderstand him to soothe their own wounded pride.

“You’re brilliant, ‘lock!” she’d grin, eyes always twinkling in pure delight every time he’d prove himself right, even at your own expense. “Absolutely brilliant!”

Someone who won’t think of his painfully practical gifts as a mockery.

“What was it called? Hairclips?” she’d look at them curiously at first, making sure to understand both its intricacies and simplicity until he explains it.

Then she’ll smile -- always smiling at him. “I love it!”

Then … she was gone.

Slipped through his own fingers like sand. As she got crushed by his own betrayal.

It all started with a ghost from his past.

Victoria.

She was an old childhood friend and a teammate when he was still starting in his sleuthing skills. His hobby pissed off a lot of important people so it was a nice help to have someone to watch his back.

He thought his young fiance would be livid, turning into a vile woman from jealousy like so many women he has seen.

But she tolerated them and their relationship as best as she could.

“'lock?”

He turned, surprised to see his fiance in her sleeping ware and a thin coat over it. Despite her many quirks, she wasn’t one to dress inappropriately in front of others much less in front of him. So he was quick to close the front door and protect her decency as best as he could.

“Are you …” she turned to look at him, and for the first time she wasn’t smiling like she always does, Sherlock saw the insecurity in her eyes.

“Is she coming with you?”

The jealousy was slowly eating her up from the inside.

And … it made him smile.

Almost relieved.

It was confusing but he didn’t have time to figure it out. Time was ticking, and he had to catch the burning wick before it imploded.

And Mycroft’s screams from the carriage outside were getting vexing.

Knowing what he knew now, he should’ve stayed in that goddamn house and let everything else explode into chaos.

He should’ve stayed with you.

“Darling,” It was his endearment for her. Cause she was such a darling to be with. But now, he simply meant it. She was his darling, his darling fiancee, his darling friend. “You wouldn’t have to worry about my fidelity.”

“I --” she yelped, shaking her head as if embarrassed at the thoughts in her head. “... I knew that.”

“Look at me,” he leaned down, gently pushing her chin up to make her look up at him. “When I come back, let’s talk about the wedding, hmm? I’m still not quite convinced about the bouquet arrangement that the damned florist from hell picked.”

That seemed to perk her up and he couldn’t help but smile with her.

“So wait for me, okay?”

He should’ve known that the fates wouldn’t be that kind.

That they wouldn’t wait.

It wasn’t until he was knee-deep in uncovering secrets that he realized they had pulled a fast one on him. That their target to keep his mouth shut would not be his own life but his Achilles heel.

His darling.

“You don’t want to do this, Mikhael!” Mycroft, Sherlock’s older brother tried his best to use his veiled threats to convince the rat to put down the gun aimed shakily at his sobbing fiance and a Victoria that tried to hide her behind her own back, hands spread out with only a few feet between the two of them.

“Mikhael put it down. It’s over.”

Sherlock was frozen a few feet from the two ladies, fearful that a single misstep would cost him a friend.

He didn’t have a lot.

“I’m not falling down alone.”

“No!”

He must’ve gone insane, or it must’ve been his instinct to protect his old partner in crime.

But to this day he could never wipe the betrayal in your eyes as he grabbed Victoria away from the bullet’s line of sight instead of you. The two of them falling to the ground just in time for the great Sherlock Holmes to finally realize his great mistake as he lay sprawled out on the floor.

Looking up just to catch your tearful eyes, a hundred different emotions running through it.

Mycroft, bless him, managed to pull you down by your feet but he had been just a split second too late, the bullet piercing on your left arm instead of your chest. But Sherlock had a feeling his betrayal hurt deeper than any bullet could burrow on your skin.

He had a feeling the bullet might as well have pierced your bruised heart.

Especially as you laid there with tears in your eyes, but failed to let out a single scream.

Sherlock had never been good with emotions.

It was one of his few flaws -- could never read when a person is getting offended or if his corrections have started to embarrass them. Could read their minds but not their sentiments.

Just like now when you surprised him once more as he stared at you in the hospital bed with a bouquet of flowers he had spent too much time thinking about gripped in his hand. Narcissus for forgiveness, and bright purple hyacinth for regret.

“I’m fine, really!” you smiled, but it wasn’t the one he was used to. Head flinching to the side, suddenly uncomfortable. It had the same curve, your eyes still crinkling the same but you still looked so sad.

A deep sadness, one that rooted from somewhere he could never reach. One he could never heal -- not with his too careful, logical, cold touches.

But what does he know? He was never good with emotions.

“I … I have no excuse,” he started, trying to apologize but you just shook your head.

“You will never have to give me one,” you looked at him like you understood but still he had a feeling you didn’t have the same train of thoughts running in your heads. He almost feels you pulling away, your train trudging away into a place he couldn’t follow. Your roads diverging, seemingly never to meet again.

It sent shivers up his spine, his hand twitching as if desperate to reach out to you. That despite all logic of reality, his heart screams of the feeling of you suddenly disappearing right in front of his very eyes.

“Darling …”

You flinched. A normal man would miss it but not him. Maybe his gift truly was a curse.

“I’m --”

“Visiting time is over, dearie.”

The old nurse was apologetic at having to cut short the reunion of the two lovers but it was the rules.

“I’ll come to visit tomorrow,” Sherlock walked to your side to place the flower on your lap.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll come,” he insisted, reaching out to touch a stray hair on your face as he always does but you turned, looking down on the flowers on your lap and pressing on its fragile petals.

Sherlock could’ve almost felt your connection snap.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.”

You flinched, taking a breath before looking up at him, smiling.

You still looked so fucking sad.

“Goodbye, 'lock.”

“Sherlock.”

The familiar voice broke him out of his reverie as he paced the steps back to his carriage.

“Victoria.”

He tries not to be bitter, tries to be rational, and not blame his old friend for the grave he had dug himself in. But it was difficult not to grind his jaw when he was barely out of the hospital he had unintentionally put his fiance in.

“I never thanked you,” she approached him slowly, like a wild animal she was trying to befriend.

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t want to be thanked, doesn’t even want to be reminded of what he’s done -- or did not do. Yet here she stood, the greatest piece of evidence of his mistake.

“We need to talk,” she sighed, blocking his way and effectively halting his steps.

“Victoria, I’m tired --”

“You do not belong here.”

You froze on your step, just about to go to the ensuite bathroom when an eerily familiar voice sneaked into your room from the front window overlooking the entrance of the hospital.

“Here?”

This time, you knew before looking down outside the hospital walls just who exactly the other voice is.

“Yes, here,” the fiery woman with her fiery hair stomped the ground she stood on. Eyes blazing in passion and determination you had never had on your own. “Here in this stuffy place with your stuffy clothes that make you look like a circus fool trying to make pleasantries with people you don’t even like.”

Gritting your teeth, you felt like a nosy child, listening to personal conversations that just chipped away at every piece of your tattered heart.

“Well, don’t you know me quite well.”

“I do.”

She answered.

“I do know you,” Victoria reached out, hand gripping the one that wasn’t holding his cane. “And I know I could make you happy.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, frozen on his feet. He wasn’t a fool. He knew of those affections behind her eyes, it was all too familiar with him. But as the years passed he had appreciated her friendship and companionship way too much, pushing and pushing it until it just disappeared.

He had hoped the years had done the same for her.

He was a fool.

The silence was all too thick but Victoria knew pushing a man like Sherlock for an answer would lead to pointless nothing, “My uncle in America, he wants me to work for him. And … they have an opening for a lead detective and a President’s assassination to solve.”

That piqued his interest.

An American president was assassinated?

This is exactly why he needs more connections. One that would give him priceless information so he doesn’t have to keep chasing tails. But … a position as a head detective would also do that for him.

Logically, remaining engaged to you would only chain him down.

Yet, his chest constricts, each breath made his lungs throb.

“Sherlock,” he led his eyes back into her eyes. Their history flashed before his very eyes, good ones, but the last one had him nearly crushing the cane you gave him in his hand.

The look in your eyes as the bullet pierced you -- the resignation, the lack of shock.

Like you knew he would run.

“You can always run away with me.”

Foxgloves for confusion.

White Poppies for the one who gives him peace.

And a pink ribbon because he knew it was your favorite color to tie it all together.

However, just as he finished the last bow for the flower he was gonna bring you tomorrow, the door opened, his servant bowed letting him know of who exactly waited for him, unannounced, in the tea room.

“Sir,” his voice was shaky, and Sherlock knew exactly why. “We have a guest.”

The duke has always been a fair man, it was one of the reasons he always had a certain fondness for this sponsor of his.

But even he knew his glare was meant to cut.

“Mr. Holmes,” he eyed the love seat on his right to let him know where exactly he wants him to sit. He had been prepared for this, knowing your doting father would have his head.

The silence that filled the glamorous room was almost too much.

It wasn’t until the duke called his name again that he realized he had been so full of shame that he failed to be polite and look your father in the eyes.

“You know, when my daughter shoved a newspaper to my face, droning on and on about the brilliant detective that was putting the Queen’s men to shame, I thought nothing about it.”

He felt his heart drop at the nonchalant revelation.

What?

He hadn’t heard of this version of the story yet All that was said to him was a certain duke had been fond of him ever since he had disrespected his nemesis that had once been the Queen’s head of security and that’s why he decided to sponsor him.

“And even when she begged me to support you, saying how you needed all the help you could get, I thought it was nothing short of an infatuation. So I did what any respectable father should do and tried to buy my way into her happiness, getting her to be your fiance was easy enough,” he let out a small bitter laugh as if recalling the memories. “But you could not imagine her rage when I told her of what I did. Nearly dragging me back all the way to your home to take it back. Screaming about how she did not want to trap a man like you who was clearly meant to fly.”

Sherlock was flabbergasted. It was well-known throughout the social circles that you were the one who had ”trapped” the man into an engagement. You had always laughed it off, teasing him for falling for your charms.

But …. you didn’t want to marry him?

He had thought all this time that this silly little engagement had been all your doing.

“But then you accepted,” the duke gritted his teeth. “And you gave her hope.”

He did. He remembered nonchalantly accepting it, simply thinking of the arrangement as a necessity -- a thing he has to suffer for if it meant getting to what he wants in the end.

But it seemed you knew. You knew all along he had no love for you -- barely tolerating his fiancee who he treated like a fool when all she had ever wanted was to be the one to walk beside the lonely path he had created for himself.

“I know a rational man like you is probably wondering what an old man like me aims to achieve by coming here,” he didn’t, but Sherlock already knew of his effect on people, his dead glare that offended the most rational of minds, always making them think that he was looking down on them.

Except you.

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Did I use the hairclips right, Lock?”

“I think people always hate people who they think are better than them. And you are better than the lot of them so don’t bother with it and let other people lick their own pride. I like you just the way you are.”

The Duke leaned back, slumping on the arm of the couch while rubbing his forehead.

“I guess I’m making a case for my daughter,” he pursed his lips as if he was disgusted that he would even have to, especially to a man who would benefit more from the arrangement than his daughter ever would. “To show you that the woman you failed to protect had never failed you behind your back.”

“Sir --”

“I am not done!” he slammed his hand on the arm of the chair. Even someone like Sherlock would know unbridled rage when he saw one. “I did not just come here just to rip you a new one.”

Pulling out a plain envelope with a certain scent that had been all too familiar for him. The letters that had been his constant companion in the long months he would have to leave the country.

“The engagement is broken.”

He was fairly sure this was the first time he felt horror.

True horror.

An unexplainable chill that crawls up from behind him, snickering, mocking.

The consequences of his continuous mistakes finally piled up on him one by one until he felt like his chest would burst. His blood turning so cold yet his skin couldn’t help but sweat. His brain, for once, finally failed him as he grabbed the fragile piece of paper without uttering a single word.

It would seem this was something he could no longer fix.

“I know someone as brilliant as you would have a life full of adventures. One brighter than the next,” the duke stood up, slamming the teacup impolitely on the glass table. Sherlock could only focus on the crack that ran on the base. “But I hope you don’t wake up one day, tired and worn, sitting at the top with no one to call home. Too focused on the adventures you didn’t take that you never realized the treasure at the end of the trail had been something you once had all along.”

The old duke walked towards to door, sparing the young man one last glance – satisfied in the sickest way as a father should when he saw the look on his face. But then he felt sad, wondering what would happen to this lonely soul now that his daughter had given up on him.

“Well, son,” he sighed. “Now, you can fly.”

The country air has done you some good.

It’s been a long month but the throbbing in your heart has finally ceased even if just for a little bit.

Your late mother always told you to let bad things flow through you as you go through life – to not ignore it, nor suppress it but to let yourself feel it as it passes then let it go.

The problem now is you didn’t want to let go, because all the memories that did nothing but hurt you were all you had left of him.

“My lady.”

You turned your face away from the view of the balcony of your room to look at your polite maid by the door.

“We have a guest.”

Was your father visiting?

He had explicitly told you to take all the time you need in your countryside home. The humiliation of your broken engagement you would’ve been able to take but everywhere you went was nothing but a painful reminder of the man who had betrayed your heart and thus you had to leave.

Every nook where he had dragged you in when the crowds gets overwhelming to every store he bought the intricate gifts he would offer you on the daily made you wilt.

Your father was all too willing to get you out of that place.

“Dad?”

Yet what stood in the middle of your waiting lounge was the sturdy body and mop of curly brown hair that had chased you from the shadows of England to the edge of your wildest dreams.

“Not quite, darling.”

A breath you didn’t know you left you.

“Sherlock.”

It was him. You turned to the small mirror hanging by the wall to as if to check if he was real yet his reflection stood the same way he did. Maybe it was the months of the distance between you two or the longing you have been trying to supress for months but looking at him now he seemed taller. A bit less confident but his eyes didn’t hold the same blankness that was nearly constant except in the few moments you managed to make him chuckle. He seemed finally sure of something, not the lost man that always had wandering eyes for bigger brighter things.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes were as bright as the last time you had truly looked at it. Though now, it wasn’t as sharp as he let his gaze run to you, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I’ve come to deliver a letter.”

You frowned.

The last you had heard of him was that he was on a boat to American soil. What the hell is he doing in your self-imposed exile with a freakishly ominous letter.

“Is it … bad news?” you waried. He grimaced.

“I hope not.”

That did nothing for your worries. Sighing you took a couple of steps, holding your breath in hopes his scent won’t go into your system after you had vigorously flushed it out of your memory but it wafted in your nose the same.

You clenched your jaw to stop a shudder.

Flipping the letter, you found nothing to indicate that it had come from your father. Instead, in his print was a small header that let you know exactly what the rest of the official letter would contain.

A letter of proposal.

You steeled yourself to not look up in the mesmerizing eyes that threatens to bore holes on the top of your head.

“What the hell.”

“Language.”

Despite yourself, you glared up at him, your proximity forcing you to crane your neck but he just chuckled, nervously.

“Sherlock, what is this?”

He sighed. He didn’t break eye contact as he gently took your hands, guiding you to sit in the plush sofa while he kneeled down on one knee in front of you.

“Darling.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Unfortunately, my darling, I can’t,” he smiled, one of those rare ones you once used to steal from him. “After all, you are my darling, are you not? It would be silly of me to call you otherwise.”

“Stop with the games, Sherlock!”

That seemed to take him off guard, horrified when he finally saw the tears in your eyes.

“I am not one of your people of interest that you can trick with your confusing words! I did my dues! I gave you the freedom to make you happy! Was it not enough? What would be enough?! Because I’m –” you bit your lip to stop a wobble. “I’m empty now. I have nothing left of me to give you.”

“My darling.”

You looked at him to throw him another glare when the knives behind your eyes wavered at the grief in his. An unfamiliar emotion you never once saw in him.

“Forgive me,” for once in your life, you realized, you were looking down on him. He continued to surprise you when he rested his head on your knee. “You loved a fool.”

“Sherlock …”

“But I’m begging you,” he was determined, now confidently grabbing your hand as he leaned in closer. “I’m begging you to marry this fool – make me yours.”

You could feel your jaw falling in shock.

“Wha –,” you blinked. “What about Victoria?”

He shook his head, “That ship had long passed.”

“But you deserve – you were supposed to –”

“No,” he tightened his grip on your shaky hands. “I adore you with all my being but even you cannot dictate what I am meant to do. Because I am a selfish man who had always done whatever I want.”

“I’m even more confused, did I not give you what you had wanted?”

He calmed your shaking faith down with a simple kiss on the palm of your hands. Looked at you as if he had ran through this situation a million times in his head, his answer study and sure like those times everything clicks in a case and he finally found his truth.

“In all my complexities I have realized one thing because of you,” he explained, a soft smile on his face that had you letting out a breath. “I am, after all, a simple man. Just like any other man I had looked down upon for turning into fools for a woman. That I am one of those men who will uproot their entire life and throw away all their vocations if just for a spare glance from the woman they love.”

He chuckled when you gaped at him as if he too couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“And for all my ambitions, my greatest one is that I want to be loved by you most of all.”

You didn’t realize you had forgotten to blink throughout his declaration of love until you felt a warm tear getting wiped away from your cheek.

“Sherlock …”

“So I come as a simple man, a second son from a fallen family, with no prospects other than the fact that I will assure you a life full of glory and happiness,” his free hand was suddenly holding a beautiful olive box that opened to show the family ring that was passed down from one wife of each generation. “To let me be the fool who will love you the most out of them all.”

“Papa!”

Sherlock’s conversation with the mayor was cut short, his only warning was the familiar hue of his daughter’s bouncing hair before he was nearly tackled to the ground.

“Allianah! You’re father was talking to the guest!”

His daughter pouted at his wife’s reprimands.

“Sorry, Mr. Guest.”

Both men chuckled, Sherlock pressing a kiss on her chubby cheeks. “Excuse me.”

The old man only nodded fondly. He had been familiar of Sherlock Holmes when he was a bit younger, so it was a pleasant surprise to see him become a doting family man no one could’ve seen coming.

“Darling, I told you to rest,” your husband softly scolded. Even though it was a party to celebrate his latest success as your father’s partner on your daily business and saving London by foiling the plans of wannabe bioterrorists on his spare time, he had still forbidden you in breaking the bedrest your doctor had ordered you to take after finding out you were probably carrying twins this time. “Let’s get you and the little ones upstairs, hmm?”

“I’m fine, lock,” a pout too similar to the ones his daughter gave him not a minute ago would’ve made him offer the world up to you on a platter, but this was one of the rare times he stood his ground.

“I know you are, my darling,” he cooed, but still placed a supporting arm on your back as he guided you up the stairs and into the master’s bedroom. “But humor me and my worries, don’t you?”

Once the three of you were on the second floor of your home he turned to his bouncing, energetic daughter.

“Yannah, sweetheart, why don’t you go to your bedroom, I'll tuck you in in a bit.”

Ever the daddy’s girl, your daughter nodded once then bounded her way out of your bedroom and onto the other side of the estate being chased by her maids.

“That was easy,” you raised a brow, letting yourself be led to the master’s bedroom, the dying light from the sunset outside drowned it in gentle orange hues. Despite your initial protests, you sighed in relief as you melted in your marital bed.

Carrying a Holmes' inside you was getting bad for your back.

“I guess I just know my way around Holmes women.”

That made you giggle, reaching up your hands to cup his face and press small kisses around them. He took the opportunity to tuck the blanket tighter around your body.

“Try not to give me a heart attack and stay here for the rest of the night, hmm?”

You nodded, pressing one last kiss to his lips “do you have to go back down, lock?”

It was lonely, having to be confined in your room all the time. The moment he had found out about your pregnancy he had taken the first ship off the foreign country he was in, his heart almost failing when he saw his heavily pregnant wife walking around the city with his daughter like she wasn’t carrying life inside her.

Which is exactly why you had tried to hide it from him as much as possible. In hindsight, it was foolish to do so considering who you were married to. It led to you and him being visited by a doctor he had trusted that broke the news to the two of you of the possibility of twins.

You had never seen the outside of your estate ever since.

Thankfully, your husband has banned work from entering your home either, dedicating his time solely to making sure you were well taken care of throughout the entire pregnancy.

Sometimes, when he has a dull moment for himself it makes him laugh.

Oh, what would his self from 5 years ago think if he saw him now.

He’d like to see his face if he knew that the giddy woman who got on the end of his every last nerve would one day carry his name, his children, and his happiness in her soft little hands.

That she would one day be the one to give him everything he had been searching for his entire life.

“‘Lock? Pretty please?”

That every adventure he had thought would brighten his life would dull in comparison to the colors of her eyes as she pleaded for him to abandon their guests like heathens and spend the rest of his days with her.

He pretended to think about it until your pleading eyes got bigger making him smile fondly at his wife. “Alright, I'm sure Mycroft can handle entertaining our guests till the night.”

In the ballroom, Mycroft felt a shiver run up his spine.

With you in his arms, he lets his mind wander.

He thinks his past self would think he did alright.

I know this is not stepdaddy but I promise that is coming soon! This has been sitting in my WIP's for so long i just had to finish it before finals end me. I hope you like it!!

- tia

[sparks-stephen]

Can I straddle Henry Holmes’ wide hips under that tree and just have him take me right there in the open in the middle of a field...? Please. I’ll do anything -🐺

My hand slipped, and that’s not even the Sherlock that’s waiting for you today but I am a kind demon.

Warnings: Smut, exhibition and such! Cockwarming, Henry’s tree trunks.

At the park.

Sherlock was leaning against the thick tree bark, calmly reading a book. The air was fresh with grass, damp moss and that animalistic musk that was him, the civilised beast. It toyed with your senses, making you feel suddenly flushed as you sat right next to him.

Sucking in the air, you absentmindedly played with your locks. Crickets and forest critters chanted around with the bliss of noon while the essence of Sherlock threatened to claim you, reducing you to a wicked, wanting thing.

"You're nervous..." his baritone nearly took you by surprise, making you jump in your seat.

"Why don't you come here and sit on top of me?"

Your heart dropped to your gut. Sherlock was ever so stoic, whenever he pulled something as audacious as this it made your skin jitter.

"We're outside".

He gazed at you as you made an excuse, giving you an unyielding smirk and darted his tongue between his teeth. Moving like a big cat, Sherlock inched his lips to your ear and groaned, "sit on top of me and slip your knickers aside, I want to feel your warm cunt around me."

As you shivered, his hand gripped your waist and hauled you to him. You stuttered, looking around with fright as Sherlock made you straddle his solid thighs.

"There's my good girl," he hummed, fumbling with his belt. The sharp sound of fabric tearing followed, and you made to cover your mouth with shame to muffle a gasp.

"Be quiet" he warned and grinned at you, pressing his lips as he lined his hard, hefty cock at your dripping entrance "don't want someone to hear what a dirty harlot you are, do you now?"

With one agonisingly slow stroke, he filled you completely, his meaty girth, pulsating hot into your squeezing cunt. A moan escaped you, involuntarily. Sherlock was too big, forcing you to take him all at once and then remaining still while your organs throbbed together angrily.

Giving a mischievous smirk, he picked the book up and began and read out loud, bottoming out inside you the entire while. One hand ran down your back, and every few second you felt the spasm of his shaft between your desperate walls.

"Now I want you to remain still," he whispered "and don't move. Like I said, I just want to feel you".

A sweet young couple and an old lady with a Schnauzer passed the pebbled path that was laid in front of you, giving the two of you glares. This lewd behaviour was enough to make them curl their nose with disapproval. If only they knew how deep he was inside you. 

*

More is coming 😈😈😈

[sparks-stephen]

What Happens After Death

Sherlock x wife!reader

Others Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Sherlock comes home after faking his death and finds an extra person in his house, but they aren’t entirely unwelcome.

Warnings: Sherlock’s “death”, fluff

WC: 1.5k

Minors DNI

The streets of London were quiet as a lone man stood outside the door to a house. The gold numbers on the black door perfectly reflecting the yellow street lamps. The 221 glared at him, inviting him to come in while saying ‘keep out’ at the same time.

Sherlock sighed, cursing his own emotions as he trudged up the creaky stairs, not bothering to remain silent in case he woke Mrs. Hudson. He slowly opened the door to his flat, and was overwhelmed by the scent of her perfume. That delectable vanilla and macadamia he had always adored in secret.

Though there was another scent mixed in, almost milky, a slightly sour scent that made him wrinkle his nose. He strained his ears, trying to listen out for her breathing, creeping further into the hall, to their bedroom. Her snores were soft, as they always had been but now, there was someone else with her, another breathing pattern that couldn’t have been hers.

His fury grew. Did she move on? Was there another man in their marriage bed? Sherlock knew this anger was dangerous but she made him weak. Made him feel things he should’ve never been able to. She was always too good to him. Too forgiving. He supposed that’s what he needed, someone to stand by him, to take care of him, someone with the patience of a fucking saint.

A part of him wanted to fling open that chipped wood, to catch her in the act of sleeping in someone else’s arms. But instead, the great Sherlock Holmes slowly opened the door, as he had done thousands of times before when he crept into bed long after his lover had fallen asleep.

And there she was, her skin almost glowing in the moonlight. Her chest, where he had spent many nights worshipping, was rising and falling with her breaths, her face serene. But where he expected to see a lover laying on the fatty tissue of her breasts, was an infant, no more than a year and some months, clutching desperately to her, fussing slightly.

Y/N moved in her sleep, as if sensing the baby’s distress, placing her hand on its small back and rubbing little circles till they settled once more.

For the first time in his life, Sherlock’s mind was blank. The child was beautiful, it had her perfect s/c skin, but everything else was him. Through the astronomical odds, it was his hair on its little head, his cheekbones poking through the baby fat, his eyebrows which were currently scrunched up as they roused from sleep once more, his lips. He couldn’t breathe. They were beautiful.

Ever so carefully, his slender fingers reached out, trembling slightly, and brushed a black curl away from their face. They squirmed, the movement threatening to wake their mother. He wrapped his hands around them and lifted, immediately bringing them to his chest, quickly smoothing down the shirt that covered their onesie. London was quite cold, especially in old buildings like his. The baby whined but surprisingly settled back to sleep.

Sherlock couldn’t move. In the span of five minutes his whole world had shifted. Something inside him snapped. He didn’t realise he was crying until he felt the wetness from his tears drip down his chin. He held them closer, the heat from their skin melting the last bits of ice in his heart.

“I thought it was some kind of cruel joke that I carried him around for nine months but he looks identical to you.” Her voice broke him from his trance. Sherlock hadn’t even noticed that the dawn had broken and the small room was slowly being lit up. His wife was leaning against their headboard, eyes still swollen from sleep.

“W-what’s his name?” His voice shook with fresh tears. “William John Y/L/N-Holmes.” He chuckled. “I always hated my first name, you know that.” She rose from the bed. “Yeah but I like it and I’m the wife so what I say goes. Now come on, we need to have a talk.” Y/N took his son from his arms and laid him back down in the middle of the covers, making sure he was snug before taking her husband’s hand and leaving.

The tea in front of the pair was steaming, perfectly made as it always was. “So are you going to tell me why you led me to believe that you’ve been dead for the past two years?” Her voice was flat but not cruel, it was never cruel when she spoke to him. “I had to, it was the only way to take down Moriarty’s web.” He offered no other explanation. “And that involved faking your own death? Breaking my heart?”

“Sherlock, all I needed was one word that you were still alive. I felt like I died that day, the only thing that kept me going was that baby in there.” “I couldn’t tell you. If you weren’t mourning, then people would’ve figured it out.” The detective argued. “I cried for days, weeks. You vowed to me that you would never make me cry. You broke that promise.”

Y/N sighed and walked around the little coffee table to her husband’s chair, taking his face in her hands. “I want to punch you so bad right now for all the pain that you have caused to not only me, but to your family. Enola was destroyed, so was John. But right now I just need to kiss you.” Big blue eyes looked up at her before she bent over and, for the first time in two years, Sherlock’s lips met hers, thick arms wrapping around her soft waist and pulling her into his lap.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered against her lips, letting his forehead rest against hers. “I knew what I was getting into when we married, Sherlock. I just missed you so much.” “I’ll never leave you two again. I need to be here with you and William. I should’ve known you were pregnant. I don’t know why I didn’t.” “My love, you were never good with women’s issues.” She laughed and he realised how much he missed that sound.

“I wish there had been another way.” Hands tangled in his curls, she lathered kisses to his face, his eyes fluttering shut. “You’re going to have a lot to make up to me my love. That includes letting me sleep while you deal with your son crying in the middle of the night.” Sherlock chuckled. “Anything you need.” “The best thing you can do now, is come to bed with me, and in the morning, well later this morning, you’ll talk to Enola and John to clear everything up.”

“Then let’s go to bed.” Just like so many times before, he scooped her into his arms, and carried her across the room, striding back to their bed.

William was just waking up, obviously displeased at being left alone. Sherlock’s blue eyes stared back up at him, fat tears beginning to brew behind them, bottom lip jutting out and trembling as he made slight whines at the sight of his parents. Y/N wiggled from her husband's arms in order to crawl back onto the bed, picking the baby up to comfort him.

“Take off your shirt.” “My love, if you wanted to have me, we should probably put William somewhere else.” He smirked, flashing those pearly whites. She huffed, like she was annoyed, but an amused smile betrayed her true thoughts. “He likes skin on skin.” Shuffling below the thick duvet, Williams' sleepwear was taken off and placed to the side as Sherlock pulled off his vest and white button-up, slipping in next to his family.

“Here we are.” Y/N turned her body so that Sherlock’s big hands lifted his son to his own chest, savouring his warmth, inhaling the baby smell that was still so prominent, his large nose burying in the boy’s soft curls as they settled. “Mama.” He murmured, little voice breaking the serenity of the morning. Y/N put one hand on their son’s back, stroking his soft skin while propping herself up on the other. William’s eyes shut and his breaths turned into little snores.

“Thank you.” The detective whispered. “What for love?” “For staying. For him. I never deserved this much kindness. You had every right to leave but you didn’t.” “Love makes people do crazy things, Sherl. And through all of this, I love you, more than anything.”

“I love you too.” A strong arm wrapped around her so Y/N could lay on his chest, right next to William. And right then, the world was at peace with everything Sherlock loved wrapped up safely in his arms, away from the horrors of his life. “I love you too.” He whispered once more into the morning light, falling into a restful sleep, his mind calm.

This was a better homecoming than he could have ever imagined.

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@im-a-slut-for-fluff

[sparks-stephen]

heyy, if requests are open could i get a geralt and reader where theyre dating and they meet after a long time?? ciri thinks shes just one of his friends so shes a bit cautious of her(reader)? and this leads to r thinking ciri hates her?? maybe one night ciri overhears r talking to geralt and asking him what ciri likes to grow closer to her?? and she sees him kiss and comfort her and she realizes theyre dating? and the next day she asks them how they fell in love and its cute and fluffy?? totally fine if you dont want to write it but thanks!!

words: 1.3k

warnings: just lots and lots of fluff!!

You waited at your usual spot, like you have been doing every three months for the past seven years. You knew what being with a Witcher meant-- absences, distances (both physical and sometimes emotional), and a lot of trust necessary for it to work.

But you loved Geralt, and he loved you. You both made sacrifices to be with each other, and it was always worth it. 

You stared down the road where you knew he’d stride in with Roach, keeping a look out for his tall, imposing figure that you missed so much. And when you finally saw him coming in from the snow, you could have cried from happiness.

He saw you, probably way before you saw him, and his eyes lit up in happiness. But he nudged his chin towards Roach, and that is when you noticed the girl atop the horse, riding in with him.

You froze. His Child Surprise. You’d know about the child he had gotten when he claimed the Law of Surprise, and knew how terrified he was of ever having her in his care.

I’ll help you take care of her, you’d whispered to him on nights when he would panic over the responsibility, promising him, You won’t be doing it alone. She’s your destiny, and you are mine. We will figure it out together.

But now they’d found each other. And you were suddenly the one terrified.

What if she didn’t like you? 

You managed to change your face to one of reserved happiness when Geralt finally reached you, fingers itching to reach out and hug him. But he seemed to want to take your introduction to the girl slow, and you would follow his lead.

“Ciri, this is the woman I told you we would be needing. She has the best apothecary in the Continent,” he said, and when he went to stand beside you, his rested his hand on the small of your back where she couldn’t see. 

You held back your shiver at finally feeling his touch. “It is nice to meet you, Ciri,” you said with a soft smile. 

The girl wondered why Geralt was friends with a woman who ran an apothecary; he didn’t have ‘friends’. She must be useful to them for something.

Geralt cleared his throat, seeing the apprehension in Ciri’s eyes. “Would we be able to stay with you for a few nights? There are things we need to get before we head to Kaer Morhen, and this is our last stop.”

You nodded. “Of course, I wasn’t expecting visitors, so I’ll just... get things prepared for you both. Give me an hour or so, and I’ll even have dinner.” Technically it wasn’t a lie, you were only expecting one visitor.

Dinner was awkward, to say the least.

You sat beside Geralt, your thigh pressing against his, but you didn’t dare reach out and touch him. You watched Ciri eat her meal, wishing you could have talked to Geralt before you met her.

Ciri wasn’t sure what to think of you. You seemed nice; too nice, almost. But Ciri assumed if Geralt trusted you, she probably could too.

You reluctantly pulled away from Geralt’s side, collecting the dishes. “Tea, sweetheart?

“I think it’s time you went to sleep,” Geralt answered for Ciri, keeping his eyes on you. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

You grabbed a fur and wrapped it around her shoulders as she rose, leading her to the bedroom. “If you need anything, just let me know, okay?”

When you returned to the main room, Geralt was standing in front of the fireplace with a grin that made you start crying, throwing yourself into his arms and finally getting to hold your lover.

He held you tightly against his body, face buried in your hair as he took in your scent, the warmth of your body, the steady beating of your heart against his chest; all the things he missed every single day while he was away.

You smiled as he rocked you slightly, gasping as he picked you up and carried you over to your favorite chair in the corner, arranging you on his lap so you could cuddle into him.

Cupping his face and kissing him slowly, Geralt groaned, deepening the kiss as you licked into his mouth, his hand on the nape of your neck.

You pulled away with a soft smile, murmuring, “You brought a child to me.”

He sighed, his thumb brushing against the spot behind your ear that made you shiver. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. But I know I need to protect her.”

You nodded, absentmindedly brushing your fingertips over a new scar he had on his temple. “I don’t think she likes me.”

He snorted at that. “Who wouldn’t love you?” he said lowly, trailing kisses along your neck.

You bit your lip, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling his face away from where it was wandering towards your breasts. He laughed.

“Seriously, Geralt. Tell me, what is her favorite foods, desserts? Perhaps she would like a new dress, we could go out tomorrow…” you mused, already planning for ways to win her off.

“Please, don’t worry, my love. She will love you. As I do,” he murmured, his yellow eyes watching you carefully as he held your face up to his. “She’s still adjusting to all this. We all are.”

You hummed, resting your forehead against his and taking in his soothing presence, finally getting these few moments together before he had to leave again. You kissed him softly, whispering, “I love you.”

Ciri peeked out from around the corner, surveying the scene in front of her. She silently went back to her room, not wanting to disrupt the moment of peace between the two.

The next morning, you sprinkled a few blueberries on top of Ciri’s porridge, taking your spot next to Geralt and resting your hand on his thigh under the table. “How was your sleep?” you asked.

“How did you two fall in love?” she said suddenly, tilting her head as she looked at Geralt. She didn’t like being kept out of the loop, and he clearly didn’t feel the need to tell her that the woman they were staying with was his partner.

Geralt almost choked on his food, coughing. You laughed, a slight blush in your cheeks as you regarded the observant girl. “It wasn’t anything special, honestly.”

That earned you a stare from Geralt, unimpressed by your beginning to the story. “Isn’t that sweet.”

You rolled your eyes, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers on top of the table. Now, you didn’t have to hide how happy you were to have him back. “It was an accident. I was being harassed outside the tavern one night, and he saved me. I brought him back here to tend to a cut he got in the process.”

Geralt’s thumb slowly stroked the back of your hand, watching you carefully. He had a small smile on his face, like he too was hearing this story for the first time.

“I knew he was it for me instantly,” you continued softly, eyes locked on his. “For me, at least, I’ve been in love with him since the beginning.”

Geralt cupped your face with his free hand, leaning in and kissing you. “Me too,” he whispered against your lips, and you felt your heart thud in your chest like it always did when you were around him.

A voice clearing made you both pull away slightly, reminding you that there was someone else in the room. Ciri sat smiling at you both, tilting her head.

“So you’ll be joining us from now on?” Ciri asked, looking at you. You dared to think she looked hopeful, perhaps wanting a woman with them on their travels.

You glanced at Geralt. You’d gone with him to Kaer Morhen most years, but didn’t assume. He looked back at you with a look of amusement, giving a barely imperceptible nod. You grinned, turning back to the girl.

“We’ll have him letting us braid his hair in no time, darling.”