#Henry!Sherlock x ofc
Text
Finished
Pairing: Henry Cavill x you
Prompt:Henry & y/n invited to his moms for thanksgiving. Mom also invites his ex.His mom is super strict so everyone is supposed to have separate rooms, mostly for his ex to slip into his room but she opens the door to find you sitting on his face.
This one was kind of tough but, ended up being a super fun story to write!Hope you guys enjoy it !Thanks for your ask, hope this lives up to the expectation.
“Are we going?” you ask quietly.
“Do you want to go?” he says, cocking an eyebrow in your direction.
“I mean….. It’s your mother. We kinda have to.” he pulls you in closer letting out a low hmmm.
“Yes. but, I don’t visit her often for a reason.” he says quietly. The heft of his arm and the sheets around you calling you to relaxation.
“And what’s that reas-”
“She’s crazy.” he says bluntly. You laugh,immediately knowing he’s joking . It was very out of character for him to call anyone out of their name. Much less his own mother. You look up at him to notice he isn’t laughing, not even smiling.
“O Henry, come on! She is not crazy, I’m sure she just misses you. That’s why she calls so often.”
He caresses your face “My mother is a tiny, blonde psychopath. I love her with all my heart but, everytime I bring a woman home she gets so attached I- it’s hard to explain.” he trails off.
“Guess I’ll just have to meet her then!” you squeal sleepily into his chest before drifting away in an ocean of plans.
You packed, you brushed your teeth, and were ready early in time for the flight. Henry slept most of the way but, you were too filled with questions of if she would like you, and what he of all people meant by calling his mother an attached psychopath. The hours ticked away and you looked worriedly from the clock on your phone to Henry.
“Maybe she just forgot we were coming today?Should we call?” you ask
“Nooooo. No. She has forgotten nothing. This is what she does. Constantly trying to keep me on my toes, I guarantee you she’s up to something.”
You snort through your nose “Henry I guarantee your mother is not that malicious.”
“Have you met her yet?” he jokes flatly. Just then the car pulls up a decently clean but embarrassingly tiny red kia soul, flying like a bat out of hell.
You exhale, taking a step off of the curb and waiting for your moment of truth.
She jumps out of the car and runs to her son, jumping into his arms. He smiles for a minute holding her and you see the light of a little boy flicker in him for a moment. He pulls back at the sound of the trunk popping open and begins to load the bags into the back for the weekend.
“Mrs. Marianne I am just so excited to finally get to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and I’m really excited to-” She cuts you off turning back to her son.
“And Hen you remember Ellen.”
That’s when you see her, a leggy blonde with a perfect smile stepping out of the car that just makes your heart drop. Ellen fucking Whitaker. Ofcourse, champion show jumping horse rider from a family of professional horse trainers and not to mention gorgeous but, most importantly Henry’s ex- fiance.
“Cool, cool ,cool ,cool” you can hear yourself muttering under your breath trying not to explode.
“Mum this is y/n! She was very excited to be invited.” he confirms, giving you some comfort that he’s on your side.
“Mmm. Well that’s darling.” she spins on her heels heading back towards the driver’s side of the car.
You follow Henry as you both hug Ellen and exchange your greetings. She seems to think his mother bringing her here is just as ridiculous as you do and while you still despise her presence that knowledge makes it vaguely reassuring that she hasn’t come to fight for his love.
“Henry, dear sit up here with me I want to hear all about LA.” he rolls his eyes, making his way to the passenger side while you and Ellen assemble yourselves in the back of the tiny car with the luggage. You flip your phone over in your lap and notice a text from Henry. “I love you.Don’t stress out. She’s just like this.” you text him back a heart emoji but, it’d be a lie to pretend your heart wasn’t still caught in your throat. Not only did his mother refuse to acknowledge you. But, she brought some random ass woman that she obviously plans for Henry to be with instead. Actually , no.Not random, which is even worse! Am I spirialing ? I feel like I’m spiraling. You had completely zoned out of the sweet family reunion happening infront of you an attempted to string some words together in your head that would help you explain how you feel to him when you finally got alone time. You entered the driveway of the estate and his mother handed the keys to the valet , excusing herself and calling Ellen to follow her inside. Being excluded from the girl’s powwow didn’t bother you as much since if gave you a chance to speak to Henry. The Butler offered to help but, he insisted on doing it himself, calling him by name. And you were momentarily reminded of the things you did love about Henry. You followed behind him as he carried things to the room. You tried to make small talk with him as you unzipped your suitcase and began pulling out your necessities for your facewash routine.
“O ummmm-” Henry looked at you as if trying to hide back from saying something. More bad information you were sure.
“You actually have the room down the hall.”he says sheepishly.
“What do you mean?” your eyes widen despite your attempts to quell your emotion. He has to be crazy. There’s no other way to explain.
“My mom doesn’t want me to share a bed in her home unless its with the woman I’ve marrried.” he says , hands up in a defensive position.
You exhale slowly repacking your things. “Sure. Ofcourse. What wouldn’t she want that.”
You knew it sounded bitter but, you couldn’t help it.
“Hey -” he grabs your arm as you head towards the door, pulling you in and kissing you .His hand coming to your cheek, fingers resting on the back of your head, giving you the comfort he couldn’t offer with words.
“Plus” he whispers into your lips “It will be fun to sneak around like kids for a few days.”You roll your eyes at him as his hands make their way to your ass. He gropes you for a bit before you escape his grasp headed to your room or Marianne created dungeon. Actually the room was quite nice. The flowers on the wall paper felt like a bit much but, the room got great sun and wasn’t to far from the bathroom . You liked that the estate had an old-timey feel of walking down the hall to use the toilet. Plus, it allowed you more excuses to be where Henry is. You unpacked your room and then sat on the bed next to your empty suitcase before exhaling,and finding the strength to get dressed for dinner.
You stepped gently down the stairs ,trying to avoid the steps that creak when your hear the door close behind you. Looking up over the landing you see Henry at the top of the stairs.
“What are you doing?”he asks flatly.
You become aware of your hunched back and your body language from testing the step with your toe.
“I- I just don’t want to go.” you confessed.
He rushes in your direction, “Sweetheart you don’t have to.”
“No I mean I want to I just ….I was so excited to meet your mother and she just-”
“Listen” he leans against the wall scratching the side of his face. “I was trying to protect you. I should have tried to explain her more but it’s- she’s just so embarrassing. If you want, we can cut it short and go home tomorrow.” he seems genuinely saddened that his mom had been so rude. You hadn’t even had the chance to tackle Ellen’s presence before you hear a fumbling downstairs and his mother calling for him. He looks at you silently giving you time to decide.
“I still want to try and win her over.” you whisper back to him. He laughs a little at your determination and offers you his arm. You walk to dinner together and his presence gives you comfort.
At dinner your seats are assigned. Shockingly your seat is not next to Henry’s but one of their family friend’s who was also visiting. You thought it a smart call on Marriane’s part. Had it just been the four of you for dinner the meal was sure to mostly be had in silence. You sat across from Henry and although he and Ellen had a few hushed moments this test actually caused you to feel more confident in your relationship. His mom was being a bitch but, when she did he’d nudge your foot under the table. This nudge eventually turned into a quiet game of footsies but, as adults your were grateful for the reminder that no matter how it seemed he was always prioritizing you. By the time dessert came you decided you wanted to try pushing the boundaries. His mother hadn’t said anything rude to you, she simply had not spoken to you at all. And if she had already decided she hated you then there wasn’t much left for you to do but, enjoy the sculpture of a man that she had created. You slipped your foot from your shoe and let your footsies progress to you rubbing him through his pants with your foot. His eyes shoot to you across the table,but he doesn’t give you away. You can feel him growing harder under your toes as he melts into his chair. His face looks so small and innocent, looking at you, trying so hard to be in control, to be good. His mother hurls a few rude words but, you are to turned on by the view across from you to care. Once dismissed from the table, the tempered dash to the bedroom is quick. His hand presses into your back as he practically pushes you up the stairs. His room was the closest to the stairs , as you walked past he grabs your arm , pulling you in.
“Heeeeey hey hey.” you whisper to him as he slips his hand up your dress. “I think your mother will notice if I’m not in my room.” he groans into you. “Shhhh. I’ll come back later” you pull back winking at him. He slowly removes his hand and you turn, switching out of the room.
You promptly switch into your best lingerie and robe while counting the minutes, listening as the sounds of the house grow softer and softer. When the coast seems clear, you softly make your way to Henry’s room. You push the door open slowly trying to mitigate the creak as much as possible.You can see his figure sitting up in the dark. You drop your robe to the ground as he closes his book. “ I thought you’d never come!” he exhales. He places his book on the nightstand and you jump into bed, straddling him. His hands reach around to cup your ass and your grab him by the wrists.
“Don’t touch.” you warn. He cocks his head to the side as if to question the change from your usual power exchange.
“Only with your tongue.” you smile, leaning in to kiss him. He smiles coyly and you move yourself up the headboard of the bed. You grab onto it as he pulls your panties to the side. He hums into you and you are doing your best to keep quiet as you grip down onto the headboard beneath. You reach your other hand down cradling the back of his head while his tongue explores further into you. Biting your bottom lip in an attempt to keep from crying out ,you pull his hair and his hand smack your ass in response.
“Fuck” you exhale into the darkness and just then you hear the door creak open.
“Oh no!” you turn around to see Ellen, and no sooner than you lock eyes, you grab the duvet pulling it over both of your bodies.Henry is confused and ends up being mostly exposed during the shuffle.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Ummm your mom told me to- I’m sorry I-” She turned , rushing out of the room; a flurry of nerves and embarrassment. The door slammed behind her and you both looked at eachother, momentarily embarrassed too. But, then you both broke into laugher. This entire trip had been absurd, this is almost just on brand. You lift your leg in an attempt to end your straddling of him , when he stops you with a hand to your lower back. Smiling while looking up at you he says
“I wasn’t finished yet.” and you melt back into him.
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Wails of Wedded Bliss
Chapter 6 || Masterlist || Chapter 8
Chapter Summary: Upon meeting the Baroness you are enamoured by her devotion.
Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader
Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, (No Smut), typical historical misogyny and sexism, mentions and discussion on miscarriages. Implied domestic abuse and infidelity.
Word Count: 9k
Author Notes: This is an important but rather sad chapter. I beseech you all to read the warnings. The details of this chapter are important to the plot of the missing Baron Thaddeus Pennicott.
Inspiring Song: "Flightless Bird American Mouth" by Vitamin String Quartet
8:30am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.
Sherlock tucked your arm into his side as you three entered the Groveland house foyer. The floor was made of fine marble tile and with ever step a light echo raced down the halls.
The inspector called upon a nearby dusting maid to fetch the head of the house. Who returned was a thin and tall man in a butler’s uniform with a sliver pocket watch hanging from his chest. His hair was the colour of autumn leaves and his face littered in freckles.
He bowed, “I am mister Edward Redmayne, head butler of the Groveland estate, how may I assist you?”
The inspector shook his hand and stated quickly, “We spoke on the telephone yesterday? A telegraph was sent.”
The butler smiled with a relieving gasp, “Detective Holmes?”
Lestrade sheepishly looked over his shoulder to you and your husband. He nodded. His expression wore a emotion of embarrassment mixed with annoyance. Perhaps he was jealous of your husband’s successful published case stories. You wished you could have told the constable not to fret as Sherlock was nothing short of a arrogant mule...yet again- the mark on his face...he probably already knew that.
8:42am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.
Upon meeting the lady of the house, you stood frigid by your husband. You felt somewhat self conscious by her grey eyes that lingered over your dress. Perhaps you should’ve worn your Sunday best before meeting a woman of such a high status.
The baroness was unmistakably pregnant. Her belly was bold and rounded beneath her maternity gown. She had been sitting calmly on a resting chaise, knitting a small bonnet for her future child. Her hands were covered in fine burgundy velvet gloves to match her modest dress.
Her face was framed by a light brown curls, that appeared almost white in some places, twisted into a bum at the base of her neck. Her pale face was blotchy with pink flecks and slight acne.
“Lady Pennicott, I am Inspector Braydon Lestrade of Scotland Yard,” the British officer proclaimed as he bowed dramatically forward. You withheld a girlish giggle by how low the man had bent his head and presented himself foolishly, and from the corner of your eye you manage to catch the whisp of Sherlock’s smirk.
The inspector waved his arm behind him and moved aside, “-and with me is Detective Sherlock Holmes and his wife, Mrs Holmes.”
You produced the baroness a respectable curtsy, your eyes glued down to the beautifully patterned carpet. You wondered how the servants could keep it so clean and freshly unstained by dirty guests.
It must have been new.
The baroness shuffled her knitting needles and ball of woollen yarn into a Whicker basket and disposed of it beside her.
A slow stretching smile graced her thin lips as she spoke to you, “Oh, are you the little dear who solved that factory match girl incident?”
You weren’t sure how to answer her question. You weren’t entirely sure what the baroness was referencing until Sherlock stepped closer with your arm still cradled in his.
“No dear Baroness,” Sherlock pat your hand gently, “That would have been my sister Enola Holmes, she has her own detective office at present moment. My wife is here on my invitation. I wished to gift her a sight of the grand park and estate while I was here upon duty.”
The Baroness cocked her head, from her ears hung pearls that swung and hung like rain drops.
“Come forth dear,” she lifted her hand and beckoned you, “I would like to have better view of you.”
You wondered if she could smell the sweat beginning to drop down the back of your neck. You bit your tongue and tried to refrain from trembling. You were nervous. Her eyes were cold but her smile warm, two conflating details that you couldn’t understand. The last thing you needed now on top of a terrible start to your marriage was to be scrutinized by a haughty pregnant baroness.
She flickered your fingers for you to bend down to her. As you leant down, you swore you could smell copper, a metalic scent. A vein on your scalp pulsed. She scanned your face of its details. You dared to wonder what she was searching for. And then it clicked...the smell...
‘Dear god, you prayed, please don’t let her smell my blood, please let this not be my blood...’
You should have sprits on some perfume before leaving baker street.
She glanced behind you and questioned angelically, “How does it feel having such a clever husband?”
Your lips opened and closed. You resembled a fish. You were stumped to answer quickly.
‘Miserable, infuriating, torturous, pleasurable mixed with a cup of agony...’
She lifted her brows until you hurriedly blurted, “He is...formidable and righteous...” you stood up tall and took a step back, adding with a monetarism of truth, “I am very lucky to have become his bride.”
‘Lucky, while incredibly resentful.’
You reached back, Sherlock adopted your arm back into his hold once more.
Lady Pennicott rubbed her belly, her eyes started to twinkle, “And soon you will have a plethora of children that will look like him I gather.”
Your eyes fluttered. Sherlock’s hand tightened around your glove and his throat bobbed. You felt hot in the face.
Yes that’s right, that’s what normal husband and wife did isn’t it? They have children. That was your role, to be the mother of Sherlock’s offspring...
You couldn’t answer.
And there. That dear girl is when you questioned for the first time. ‘Is this what I want?’ and ‘Do I want Sherlock’s children.’ Because having a knowing of his barbarism conflated a fear in your belly...would Sherlock hurt his own children if he could easily hurt you, his wife?
When you hesitated for too long to answer her again, Sherlock said with a strained tone that was masked in a hopeful joy, “One may only hope, Baroness.”
“Lady Pennicott,” Graydon interrupted, “We have come to ask you on the whereabouts of Lord Pennicott and the evening he was last sighted.”
Her eyes narrowed at the inspector and with an annoyed twinge she muttered and wiped her hands on a nearby blanket, “I already informed the police of what I was informed of by our butler Edward.”
She glanced up next her right. Mister Redmayne observed her, looking down. The pair smiled to each other. She reached out to him. She grabbed his hand and they squeezed.
The inspector laughed nervously, “Indeed but Detective Sherlock Holmes was not presently involved in the case until yesterday.”
Her eyes flickered quickly to your husband and her face flared with confusion quickly to be matched with a impressed smile, “Of course, please sit all of you as I am near a indisposition with my child,” she gestured to the mirroring chaise and a chair beside the fireplace, “Edward, please tell Martha to bring tea and biscuits for our kind service men and Mrs Holmes.”
The butler bowed to you all and left the sitting room.
Lestrade took his place on the lone chair while Sherlock sat you beside him on the chaise. You took your time to lower yourself. Sitting on your bruises was uncomfortable while another cramp hit you. Your fingers dug into his palm.
From Lestrades breast pocket he pulled out a notebook and small pencil.
“Lady Pennicott,” Sherlock softly hummed, “Please, could you tell me what your husband is like as a person?”
The woman who you believed was in her late thirties smiled and stated softly, “My Thaddeus is a noble man, good taste in wine and very devoted to his work. He likes to go hunting and we share a passion for gardening,” she glanced up at the ceiling and paused, “He prefers to plant vegetables to donate to the church and orphans, whereas I have always loved to grow my flowers.”
The way she described him, her devotion was deep and honourable. She touched her round belly.
Sherlock looked over to the fire place behind the baroness. On the mantle was a magnificent portrait twice your height, painted on the canvas was who you recognised as Lord and Lady Pennicott. He was sitting up straight on a fine red cushioned chair with his dirty blonde hair and softened mutton chops while she stood at his right and her ringed hand on his shoulder. The similarities were there but Lady Pennicotts hair had lightened in reality perhaps from all the years that separated her likeness and her reality.
“I was informed Lord Pennicott is a father of five?” Sherlock asked.
The Baroness smiled proudly and pat her tummy softly, “Six soon.”
You couldn’t help notice something was missing from the painting, Sherlock also had a similar thought.
Where were the children in the portrait? Where was a family portrait in the house?
“Forgive me,” a breath of air escaped from him, “are the children away at school?”
“Oh,” her uncanny smile remained while her brows angled down, her throat tightened as she spoke, “I fear they are in the loving embrace of angels now. All of them were taken from us by God,” her eyes glanced to you, “They came out sleeping.”
Your heart sunk to the pit of your belly with sorrow and pity.
Five babies lost, five babies gone…five pregnancies… four and a half years of pregnancy and for what? Five angels.
A woman had one holy role in life, to bare her husband children, and when a woman was defective or produced a sickly child, it was a symbol of failure in society. But you never saw it that way...you imagined it must’ve been agony to lose so many babies. One or two was a common occurrence but five? Five was a curse to experience and relive over and over.
“Well,” you interrupted Sherlock rudely, cutting him off from his next abrasive question by squeezing his hand a little too hard.
You could see the mourning in the baroness’ face. You saw the classic look of all women made uncomfortable by something a man has said. What the hell would the detective know about a woman’s emotions after how coldly he has treated all women and yourself.
You shuffled on the opposite chaise and smile softly, “I will pray this one will come swiftly and feel the warmth of their mother.”
The baroness’ face lifted and warmed. She smiled happily and nodded, “Thankyou, oh I’m just so excited! This one really is a big one, I can feel it. I hope it’s a boy.”
Sherlock was staring at you intensely as the maid Martha finally delivered a pot of tea and poured the steaming liquid. His brows were knitted and his eyes held suspicion as he kept you in his sight. You politely nodded your head once at him before reaching for a hot cup and lifting it to your lips.
Sherlock sighed and turned back to his questioning, “You would say you liked your marriage?”
The baroness appeared offended by your husband as her face wrinkled and a sneer spread her thin lips, “Of course, any woman who doesn’t like her marriage should not be married in the first place. She is a burden to her husband if she cannot perform her duties as a wife.”
Lady Pennicott leant forward and collected her own cup of tea, she delicately pinched a biscuit and dunked it into the contents.
…you felt Sherlock drag his thumb across your fingers. You felt chilly, could he read your thoughts? Did he know truly how much you already hated him and his ideas of intimacy in your marriage? He clear his throat when both your glancing eyes caught each other.
“Can you tell me what happened,” Sherlock pressed, “The night of your husbands disappearance?”
“Well...after dinner,” the baroness sighed in thought and nibbled on her moist biscuit, “Thaddeus wanted to speak with me in his office about a spending I had made a week ago. You see, I had bought a cradle for the nursery. The one we had originally was broken and beyond repair, we disposed of it a month prior. Thaddeus was not pleased with the price and claimed it was an unnecessary purchase,” she paused and set her cup aside before she touched her belly again; rubbing in soft slow circles, she began to blushed, “He was sorely hurt by my choice. He then became very cross with me and left his office in a huff.”
She looked to the yarn, to the tea pot and then finally to the painting on the mantle, “I deemed that he would find forgiveness in his heart by the morning and brush it off. I returned back to the nursery to tidy up before I went to my rooms and went to bed to sleep in my quarters of the east wing. Thaddeus keeps himself to the west wing most nights.”
The detective nodded, “What time do you believe it was when you went to your bed, Baroness?”
She hummed softly while pursuing her lips, “A quarter to nine in the evening.”
“And how did you realise your husband was missing?” Sherlock stole a scone off the tea tray and lifted it to his lips. He paused amidst chewing it slowly.
The noble woman sighed and recollected, pragmatically, “In the morning Mr Redmayne informed me on how Thaddeus took off into the night astride Arion, our prize stallion Clydesdale. Thaddeus had not returned by the next morning and that is when concern drew near. I sent members of my staff to the factories to investigate his whereabouts and none had come upon him. I knew something had to be wrong so I alerted the authorities by the second morning.”
Your husband took a deep breath and discarded the half bitten scone, he wiped his hand unceremoniously on his jacket and throatily asked, “Do you recall if Lord Pennicott has any potential persons he might be deemed as an enemy towards?”
“Only his company competitors, Detective,” She said saccharinely with her smile, “He was a very loveable man.”
“Do you have a list of the names of staff who were working that evening here in Groveland House?”
The butler stepped forward and cleared his throat, “That would be in Lord Pennicotts office,” he pulled out a pair of keys, “I can you show you gentlemen in and where he keeps his accounts and other paraphernalia to his business if you’d like?”
Both Sherlock and Lestrade smiled and stood up.
“Baroness,” Sherlock gently requested, “Would it be overly bothersome if my beloved wife remained and kept you company while the inspector and I look in your husband’s office.”
Your heart jumped to your throat. What was Sherlock doing leaving you behind with the Baroness by yourself!?....what if you spoke out of turn or said something too presumptuous for your status!?...
“Most certainly not,” she beamed “I will gladly accept such delightful company,” She held out a hand, palm down to her right. The butler speedily stepped to her side and leant her his hand. She winced as she scooted forward on the cushioned lounge before struggling to rise to her feet.
Sherlock leant down and kissed the back of your wrist again, so scantily in front of the baroness. You tried tor refrain from loudly gasped and bringing anymore dangerous attention to yourself. Your husband left your side and followed the butler with Lestrade out of the sitting room.
So the party turned to two married women. The baroness was pleased.
She stepped closer to you and reached for your arm. You were surprised by her familiarity but you would not deny the assistance of a woman so desperately swollen and ready to birth any day.
“My dear, would you care to have a stroll with me in my garden?” She smirked and jerked her chin, “Knowing how dear Thaddie kept his space organised I suspect the gentlemen might be a while.”
You nodded and quickly made the warning assurance, “Are you in a condition to move great feets Lady Pennicott?”
“Fret not,” She giggled girlishly and waved her hand casually, “The physician told me fresh air is delightful for the health of the babe,” she tapped the top of her belly, “I have a month or so before they come.”
Your eyes widened, she looked huge enough to give birth now, surely she wasn’t a month away!! Maybe she was going to be blessed with a pair of twins. You had such a limited knowledge of pregnancy in women. Your grandmother hadn’t given birthed a child in the last forty years before your birth!!!
She pointed the way out of the main mansion to enter the garden paths. The sun was perfect today amongst the clouds. It was neither cold nor hot nor humid and dank...it was pleasant and you could smell the fresh nature of bushels and flowers.
“How long have you been known as, The Mrs Holmes?” She inquired cheerfully with her shining silver eyes.
“...Not very long,” you replied warmly before risking a white lie, “We recently finished our honeymoon.”
She grinned and waddled passed a wooden bench, she took a quick stop to rest and pat the seat for you to join her instead of standing dumbly.
“Shall I share some words of advise?,” She hummed, “From a woman that has been married for twelve years?”
“I would be ever so grateful,” you said rushed and desperate. You wouldve listened to anything she had to say. A woman of her standing must’ve held adequate wisdom.
She warmly cupped both your hands and squeezed them. And yet there was an ice creepy into her gaze. She appeared to dissociate, her voice losing its youthful lilt. Her lip wobbled slightly.
“Men are visual creatures. While you are so young and beautiful, you must become pregnant as soon as possible,” Lady Pennicott ran her palm across your waist, her eyes like razors cut across the yard to a bush of red rose buds, “It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature,” those grey stones in her face rolled back and weighed you down, “as I said- visual creatures. The sooner you make a babe, the easier his devotion comes,” A joyous grin returned to her thin lips, she playfully tapped the tip of your nose and stated, “Trust me upon this.”
You clenched your hand behind you and strained a smile, “I thankyou for such wise words Baroness. I will endeavour to do what I must to conceive.”
At this moment in time Sherlock had proved himself a monstrous villain. Would it be possible for you to fall pregnant?
You looked out at the divine lush greenery and exhaled softly.
“Do you garden Mrs Holmes?” the baroness queried.
You chuckled softly and removed your gloves, you flashed her a sight of your palm, “I am afraid my hands have never been introduced. My grandmother preferred I focus on mastering piano and embroidery.”
The grey orbs fluttered back at you with a surprised him, “Embroidery is a lovely skill,” she pat your hand and pointed across the field, “Please help me up Mrs Holmes, let us take a look at my lilacs.”
You stood straight up and leant out your arm, she was surprisingly light for a woman her size. She leant against you and took small timid steps to her flower patches.
She stood and admired the flower patches, pointing to different types and explaining the breeds of flowers she hoped to grow in the future.
You finally bent over enough and cupped the petals of purple to hold up to your nose and took in a wiff “They smell lovely,” from the corner of your eye was a line of crimson, “I see your roses will soon be in bloom.”
She pinched a bud that was peaking to bloom soon.
“Oh yes, the soil is rich and healthy,” she giggled, “I can’t wait for Thaddeus to return, he liked the roses. He would stand here for a while and think. I know he will love the red colour. It is his favourite shade you see...” She sighed dreamily with her eyes scanning the bushes of scarlet rose buds, “I miss him terribly. I hope he’s alright. I want him to come home soon before the baby arrives.”
A fly smacked into your eye and you sputtered, battering it away. When you gracelessly composed yourself, you stood back up to your feet beside the Lady of Groveland.
You could see how her eyes puddles with droplets of mournful tears. You felt bad for any woman that did not know where her husband was. Especially if there was a rumour about him fleeing the marriage and abandoning her in her serious pregnant condition.
Taking the chance, you boldly took both your hands into yours and now squeezed them. Another buzzing from a fly sat on your shoulder.
The day was growing warmer and a bead of sweat rolled down your neck. The fly tickled your neck and suckled along your salted skin.
You tried your best to ignore the annoying creature.
“I am sure he will Lady Pennicott,” you soothed with a soft welcoming grin, “And he will be most happy when he returns.”
She sighed solemnly and glanced back at the rose bushes. You felt obligated for her happiness in that moment. Glancing back to the house you felt a opportunity come to you.
“May I visit your nursery Lady Pennicott, so I may have references for my own in the future?”
Her eyes flickered up, her face shine bright and her hand tightened over your wrists excitedly as though she was still as youthful as a school girl.
“Why of course Mrs Holmes,” she spun on her heel and wobbled a slight, she lifted her hand and called to the maid Martha still packing the china set inside, “Please inform the detective that I am taking his wife up to the nursery.”
“Yes Baroness,” she said with a humble curtsey and scurried off while Lady Pennicott took you totally inside the house and up a grand stair case from the foyer.
9:03am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.
Up, up, up you both climbed the stairs. You noticed how the stairs didn’t bother her ladyship once, she was fit and stridden widely whereas you were breathing a little hard by the top step.
She pulled you down a hallway to a white painted door.
She excitedly opened the door wide and practically skipped inside to show you around her future child’s room.
The walls were covered in light blue and yellow paint. There were small peonies covering the trim of the room. There was no carpet but who needed one when you had a newborn.
“Welcome to the resting nest of my baby,” Lady Pennicott proudly exclaimed, spreading her arms out at the room around you.
There was a tall shelf filled with stuffed animals and teddy bears. There was a rocking horse, a doll house, spinning tops, tin cars and rubber balls all waiting, collecting dust, awaiting the arrival of a playmate. There was a permabulator by the window sill. There was a rocking chair in one corner and against the wall closest to the door- you smiled and swaggered over curiously, “Is this the cradle you bought?”
It was made of fine cream painted wood. You chewed your bottom lip in the thought. It was a lovely crib, why was Lord Pennicott so upset by such a delightful purchase? He didn’t have money issues. You put it down as that you didn’t understand the way men thought and men will never know what women think.
“Yes,” Lady Pennicott chirped, “it is from William Whitely department store in Baywater next to the Howard & Co dress department.”
The Baroness sat down into her rocking chair and slowly moved it back and forth, watching you admire the nursery she spent hours and years consistently curating.
You clenched the edge and looked over the railing down at the empty bedding. There was a teddy lamb in the corner, you pinched it’s fluffy white tail and sighed. For a brief moment you let your eyes close and your imagination wander far.
One day you’d have this...with Sherlock. An empty cradle to be filled. You caught the vision of a tiny hand squeeze around your finger and the sound of soft gurgles with the warm pressure of a hand on your waist...was that Sherlock’s hand? Was that your child?
One day you’d have a baby to care for, to provide these things that meant love...yet, was any child of Sherlock’s capable of love? He certainly wasn’t as far as you were concerned.
You bit down a shudder and opened your eyes, feeling hot tears glide down a cheek. You pushed back and sighed, “I am most confident on one thing Lady Pennicott.”
“And what is that Mrs Holmes?” she said softly, she could see the unspoken pain in your face. You swallowed hard and your face fell into a smile, you flashed her a wink.
You laughed softly, “Your child will be spoilt rotten by the love you give.”
She chuckled with you and nodded.
“Have you thought of a name?” you inquired, waltzing over to the chested drawers of baby knick knacks on display.
“Thaddeus Colin if it’s a boy,” she hummed, “or Theresa Grace if it is a girl.”
“Theresa?”
She giggled gently, “That is my name dear.”
Mrs Theresa Pennicott. It suited her. Her old soul eyes reflected her devout name.
A shine of glass pierced a ray of sun into your eyes, you pinched the glass object carefully. You touched a long black tube pulling out of it. You couldnt understand it’s purpose, your eyes narrowed at the rubber end that was shaped like a thumb or a cows udder. There was a second tube attached to the first with a rubber squeeze ball at the end.
“What is this?” you humoured.
“Oh that? It’s a fantastic invention,” The baroness said, “It’s a pump for breast milk with a tube that syphons the milk into this baby feeding bottle. When babies start to teeth they can scar your breasts. This is an effective and modern method I look forward to trying.”
Your eyes widened, scarring!? Babies teeth could scar a breast!?
You placed the bottle bump back and helped Lady Pennicott when she beckoned to stand back up from the rocking chair.
“Have you ever felt the sensations?” She suddenly, “In which they kick within?”
Your face must’ve looked idiotic as you asked plainly, “Kick?”
She giggled and nodded, “Give me your hand, perhaps you may feel them moving.”
She plucked your palm and pulled your glove off your fingers. She pressed your entire hand intimately to her belly. You felt a sense of taboo shame, she was making you touch such a beloved spot.
“Do you feel it?” she then asked.
Felt what? Confusion flooded your mind. Your hand moved around her belly slowly.
“I am afraid I don’t know what I’m meant to be feeling?”
She moved your hand and again you felt absolutely nothing.
“They are very brutal on my body,” Lady Pennicott sarcastically assured, “trust me there is a kick.”
She made a point to push your hand harder, but all you felt was the hard material of her corsetry beneath her main dressing materials.
“Baby’s kick you inside?” you marvelled with stunned horror. This was the first time you’d ever heard of such a notion of a baby beating it’s mother inside.
“Not out of malicious intent Mrs Holmes,” she reassured, “mostly it is the baby using its limbs to move their cramped bodies inside or excitement at the sound of voices, I truly believe they can hear us while still inside. Fear not, to you it will feel like a faint touch like this-”
Lady Pennicott softly tapped your wrist, “Like that.”
And there again was new knowledge you heard from a woman on matters of pregnancy. You moved your fingers around, seeking the supposed feeling of a kick...
Still nothing. You frowned, was there something wrong with you that the baby was choosing not to reveal itself.
“How interesting...”
A soft knock on wood alerted you both to glance at the door.
“Mrs Holmes,” the butler from earlier politely spoke, “the detective is requesting your return, I believe he intends to depart.”
Your face fell. You couldn’t believe it but you’d found this experience immensely enjoyable. You had surprisingly made a friend of the Baroness.
The fair lady hugged your side and sweetly exhaled, “Then I shall escort you back to your husband, Eddie fetch me my cheque book.”
He nodded and walked ahead of you both. You solemnly shut the nursery door, trying to remember every precious detail as possible. It was a innocent place to escape from the crude world.
You returned to the bottom of the foyer and smiled at your husband that stood by Lestrade at the front doors.
By the bottom step you faced the noble woman and curtsied.
“Thankyou Lady Pennicott for your kind hospitality and agreeable cooperation to the case,” you heard Sherlock’s voice float over your shoulder.
“Of course detective, please,” the Butler returned with her cheque book, “find my beloved Thaddeus.”
She scribbled speedily with a modernised ink pen, a sharp tear of paper flashed to his direction, “Here. Thirty pounds. I am sure you are busy with other clients considering your reputation, but I beseech you to seek out my husband quickly.”
Sherlock bowed his head as he deposited the cheque into his pocket, “We shall try our hardest. Good afternoon Lady Pennicott.”
Your mouth might’ve collected flies. Thirty pounds. THIRTY pounds. That was a hefty wage for a year to many men.
Sherlock was granted his coat and walking cane along with Lestrade.
He opened the front door and left slowly, glancing over your shoulder back at the heavily pregnant Baroness.
9:21am Wednesday 7th May 1890, Grovelands House, The Bourne, London, England.
Sherlock and you walked up the gravel path in silence for sometime. You weren’t in much of a mood to speak to him despite well knowing conversation would need to spark eventually.
The three of you slowed down beside the inspectors horse cart.
Thankfully it was Sherlock who destroyed the silence with a stretched sigh. Lestrade grimly smiled at that sigh and rocked on his heels.
“Lestrade, show a useful skill,” Sherlock slapped a coin purse into his chest, “Find my wife and I a decent ride homeward. You still need to return back to the office and finish writing those reports on the Spring heeled Jack sightings....” he snickered.
The mutton chop male grumbled and left you pair alone to walk down the path into the main parklands to hail a cabriolet or another hackney carriage.
Sherlock pulled out his pipe and lit it quickly, he inhaled fast and asked curiously, “Did you learn anything else from our suspect?”
You squinted and felt a gasp pop from your lips, your hand snapped out and dug your nails into his arm with a scolding hiss, “Suspect? Look at the state she is in Sherlock. She clearly loves her husband. How could such a indisposed woman do anything to her husband?”
He smirked, “Perhaps a jealous one?”
Your brows pulled together. Jealousy wasn’t something you would’ve describe Lady Pennicott as especially with such a privileged life. Such an emotion wouldve been beneath her...but.. ‘It is inevitable that our husbands will stray their gazes to other women, it is in their nature.’
Sherlock pinched out a piece of card from his pocket, a business calling card, he flashed it through his fingers and let you carefully pluck it from his hand.
“it is no wonder Thaddeus Pennicotts name was so familiar,” Sherlocks huffed a puff of air, “He visits a like minded establishment.”
On the front of the card was a single image, a dove holding a olive leaf, and when you turned the card around there was a woman modelled in immodest clothing with text and an address in perfect hand writing.
“The Mayfair Row Dove club.”
You almost dropped the card in the mud at your feet.
He tucked the card back into his breast pocket and hooked his arm around yours, walking you closer to Lestrade waving his hands back at you both.
“I’m curious who his go to bird is there,” He chuckled.
You shook your head and scoffed in disbelief, “but she’s pregnant.”
“Men have needs,” Sherlock sighed, “I thought you’d have learnt that from last evening?”
Your nails dug harder into his arm and grit your teeth. Not everyone was as depraved as Sherlock, surely not. You couldn’t imagine Mycroft or your grandfather practicing such atrocities on women, especially women that weren’t their wives.
You noted snootily, “She said her husband liked to stand out by the roses to think. Perhaps he regretted his choice.”
Sherlock laughed cruelly and hard enough to almost drop his pipe from his lips. He plucked it out of his mouth and kissed you hard and squarely in front of Lestrade and any passing people that shook their heads in disgust at such public affection.
The taste of his tobacco filled your cheeks and floated down your throat into your chest. You could feel how his breath became your breath. Your head grew dizzy from it. His release left you trembling and collapsing against him briefly. His arm grabbed around your waist and held you totally against his chest.
“You see too much good in the worst people,” he whispered wetly into your ear.
“Not true,” you panted, you blinked your eyes hard and tried speaking again. You weakly pushed away from him back onto your own two feet. From the corner of your eyes you could see the inspector standing beside another hackney carriage.
“Not true,” you repeated and swallowed hard, “...I don’t see any good in you Sherlock.”
He grinned devilishly and walked you both to the carriage, He ignored Lestrade entirely except for retrieving his own purse.
“None at all?” Sherlock asked as he helped you step up inside of the carriage. It jostled as he plotted himself next to you instead of opposite.
You thought hard on his question for a time. You shouldn’t have ever been as petty as him. So you kept your silence before you could decide on a eloquent response. You did try to find the good in him. The trouble was you barely knew Sherlock and the side that you’d encounter was nothing short of a blagged, insufferable man that happened to be very experienced in the arts of the bedroom. So you tried to think about qualities you hadn’t seen in him but had at least heard of him.
“You help solve cases and even sometimes restitution, these deeds could be counted as decent and beneficial...perhaps good...”
He smirked until you finished hastily, “However your mistreatment and lustful addiction is nothing short of that than a person that suffers in his sin.”
A long annoyed sigh drew from his lips, however the corners jerked up.
He tug out his pipe and tapped it’s contents out the moving window, “Might I ask Mrs Holmes...” he inquired as he tucked in his pipe, and wiped his lips thoughtfully, “Do you think yourself better than me?”
The silence shared between the horses trotting along the cobblestones allowed you a chance to glare long and hard at Sherlock.
It was a jab, a jibe, a joke, a trick, a trap...
He wanted you to say yes... You could see it in his eyes the way they flicked to your lips and almost drooled with anticipation. He wanted to start a fight.
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at you, you turned your head away and scoffed, “You may have quick wit and a expansive knowledge Sherlock, but I at least carry myself with the fairest morals.”
And that? The reply was granted a omen of Sherlock’s sickly chuckles and his heavy warm hand to sit over your thigh, running his them over the fabric of your skirts.
“We will see how fair a baker street whore morals really are when we arrive home then shall we?”
You leant against the wall of the carriage and chose to ignore him. You closed your eyes and held Sherlock’s hand to prevent it wandering anywhere else. His thumb rubbed along the back of your gloves hands.
You couldn’t understand Sherlock. And feared you never would.
HELPLINES:
If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.
Australian Helpline Services
UK Helpline Services
American Helpline Services
India Helpline Services.
#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x y/n#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x ofc#sherlock holmes x female reader#sherlock holmes x poc!reader#sherlock holmes x y/n#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#sherlock holmes x reader#dark!sherlock holmes#dark!henry cavill
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Coach Sy Part 5
I'm so sorry this took so long!!! Here it is! I feel like this is all over the place but I kind of just wanted to get a feel of them spending a day together. I love it. And I just wanted to give you guys something while I plan more of this out!! Enjoy.
Warnings: Cursing, Smut!! Oral,(f and M receiving), Mentions of sex
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“So are we gonna talk about that?” I asked, shyly. I was lying with my head on Sy’s shoulder absentmindedly drawing shapes on his chest with my fingertips.
“Talk about what baby?” He met my gaze, raising an eyebrow. My throat went dry and I flushed trying to find the words to describe what just happened.
“The way we… you were so…I liked it, a lot! But I’ve only ever read about it being like that, and It's so hot but I didn’t think that it was a natural thing and…No one’s ever been like that with me… God, I sound so stupid.” I groaned, pressing my body closer to his and hiding my face against his chest. Logan chuckled. He ran his fingers through my hair, tightening his grip at the back of my head and tugging softly, letting me know to look up at him. I bit my lip and sat up a little, lifting my eyes to meet his.
“You’re so fuckin cute,” He leaned down and captured my lips in a gentle kiss. “I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific, baby girl,” He smirked. He knew I was embarrassed about saying it.
“You’re so…in charge and dominant. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not much different than when you’re coaching. I just didn’t expect all of that. The spanking and dirty talk, the manhandling,” I blushed.
“You like me throwing you around like that?” He went back to slowly dragging his fingertips up and down my spine. I loved this feeling. He was so warm. And he felt safe. Even after how rough and aggressive he was, He was still loving and gentle and kind and caring. I’d never experienced that with anyone else. Like I knew he was going to take care of me. No matter what it takes. And I didn’t feel so shy anymore.
“Yeah” I spoke finally, and pressed my lips to his chest and left a trail of kisses up his neck. He groaned softly. “I liked it a lot.” I smirked when I met his eyes again.
“What’s gotten into you little girl?” He purred, rolling me onto my back and pinning me to the bed.
“You, Sy. I’m so stuck on you, I can’t figure out what we’re doing but I don’t want this to end.” He was straddling me now. He sat back on his knees and brushed my hair out of my face, giving me a big smile.
“This is just the beginning baby, and if I’m being honest,” He paused, looking me over and letting his hand trail down my chest resting it on my hip. “I’m planning on forever baby, I’m not going anywhere.” He bit his lip meeting my eyes again.
“How can you be so sure?” I asked, feeling my insecurities bubble up again. Logan sat for a second, still straddling me, trying to think. God he was trying to find a way to break it to me gently. Of course it was just pillow talk. Just something you say… He probably didn’t mean it and I was being so ridiculous.
“Some people say when you know you know.” He explained simply.
“We’ve only been on one date, Logan,” I chuckled.
“You wanna know when I knew?” He asked, ignoring my last statement. I smiled softly and nodded. “My second month teaching. I sent you an email, about a girl in my class I was concerned about. I had to be honest with you. I just wasn’t sure how to pick up on signs of mental health and eating disorders and all that. But I knew something wasn’t right. You remember that?” I nodded. I did. It was an everyday thing answering emails about students that teachers wanted to recommend I speak to or may need further help. So I didn’t think much of it. But he asked if he could come down and talk with me about what to look for as far as when they are troubled. Which was so unexpected. I’ve never forgotten it.
“I knew that day. You cared so much. You were so detailed. But I really knew when we talked about your friends and people you knew. How personal it was to you. We talked so long I was late to practice. I understood why you were doing your job. I admired you. But from that day on I wanted to know everything about you. I started finding excuses to drop in. Find reasons to see you. Have lunch with you. It took me over a year to get you where I wanted you baby. This isn’t gonna be some temporary thing.” I sniffled softly. I hadn’t realized I was tearing up. Sy leaned down to kiss me softly.
“You’re not gonna get bored of me?” I asked. He laughed. Literally belly laughed.
“What’s there to get bored of baby? I love learning about you, and doing things with you and just being with you. Hell no, I’m not gonna get bored of you, Darlin,” He smiled softly and shifted, holding himself up on his arms and kissing my jaw and down my neck.
“Promise?” I bit my lip softly. He looked up and met my gaze and captured my lips again.
“I promise sugar. You’re the only woman I want, I know I’ve been laying it on kind of heavy but I just think it’s kinda silly to deny ourselves of something, we’re grown, I know how I feel about ya. I don’t need to waste any more time, sugar.” I kissed him again, holding his face as if in my hands. Smiling softly as I pulled away.
“Sy, I..” I stared up at him but the words got caught in my throat. I felt it, at least I think I did. I just couldn't say it yet. He pressed his lips to my forehead.
“I know, baby.” He said, then continued to kiss his way down my body. I felt his hands on my thighs as he pushed them apart.
“Mm, sy, what are you doing?” I asked keeping my eyes on him. He started to kiss my thighs and the bruises he’d left on my hips.
“You know what I’m doing baby,” He smirked, biting at the inside of my thigh. I arched my back, moaning softly. “Nope, never gonna get bored of that.” He pressed another kiss to my thigh before he pinned my hips down and attacked his lips to my clit licking and sucking relentlessly.
“My God Sy!” I moaned pulling at the sheets beneath me as he continued his assault on my clit. He shifted lower licking past my folds pushing his tongue inside me lapping at my juices. “Fuck don’t stop!” I felt him grow against me sending vibrations through me bring me closer to the edge. He hooked his arms under my thighs dragging me closer, holding me against his mouth. I was completely at his mercy. I was shaking, and a complete mess as he fucked me with his tongue. I whimpered letting my head hit the pillow when I finally fell apart against his mouth. He drank in all my juices before pulling away with a smirk. He kisses back up my thighs and stomach and kissed my neck before he laid next to me again.
“How the hell could I ever get bored of that?” He teased. I bit my lips softly trailing my hand down his chest.
“Okay you’ve proved your point cowboy,” I pressed my palm flat against his stomach feeling his muscles tense beneath my finger tips as I slowly dragged my hand further down. Logan grabbed my wrist and stopped me. I whined softly and lifted my eyes to meet his. He chuckled.
“Easy sugar, I’ll gladly let you return the favor another time. But this was about you baby. It ain’t always gotta be 50/50 sometimes I just wanna please my girl.” He pulled me closer, sliding his hand over my hip to squeeze my ass.
“But,” I started to protest.
“Shhh go to sleep, it’s 2 am baby, you need rest,” He smiled and kissed my head softly pulling my thigh over his waist as I laid my head on his chest. “Good girl,” He mumbled. As he rubbed my back softly. God this man was something else. I couldn’t wait to learn everything about him.
I woke up to the feeling of a cold wet nose against my hand. And… was that a tongue?
“Aika” I heard Sy call and then whistle, “Come here, leave her be.” The bed shifted as the dog jumped up laying at the end of the bed as Sy walked in the room. “Don’t be difficult.” He said to her, I tried to hide my giggle as he argued with the dog. Who sneezed at him and laid her head down resting on the bed. “I heard that,” he smirked. I smiled and sat up stretching a bit.
“Good morning handsome,” He watched me for a moment. Eyes scanning my body as I let the blanket fall to my waist.
“Morning trouble,” He smiled leaning in the doorway. Standing there in a pair of black sweats, still shirtless, a cup of coffee in hand. He looked so good. I looked down at the beautiful German shepard laying at the end of the bed.
“So this is the famous Aika,” I smiled and reached out my hand for her to sniff before scratching her ears. He nodded and walked over holding out the coffee for me to take. I accepted the mug and he smiled sitting beside me on the bed.
“Yeah, looks like she likes you too. She ran right in here after I fed her, jumped right up next to ya on the bed. Where she knows she’s not supposed to be.” He looked at her sternly. She just stared at him and laid her head on his leg. He chuckled.
“She’s a sweet girl,” I smiled. I took a sip of coffee and sighed content. I scooted closer, cuddling into his side. He grinned and wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
“Did you sleep well?” He asked. I nodded resting my head on his shoulder.
“Mhmm, did you?” I asked.
“Like a baby,” He smirked. We sat like that for a minute. While I drank my coffee and woke up. Finally after a few minutes we got out of bed and he handed me one of his T-shirts to put on.
“I have clothes Sy,” I giggled softly.
“I know, I like it when you wear mine.” He pulled me in by my hips and kissed my forehead. I blushed softly. I slipped on his shirt that just barely fell to the top of my thighs. Logan smirked. “Yep, I like this better.” He said as he followed me out of his bedroom.
“You’re staring at my ass aren’t you?” I laughed.
“Hell yeah!” He chuckled. We walked out to his kitchen. Sy poured me another cup of coffee and offered to make breakfast. I offered to help but he wouldn’t let me. The second I turned to grab something out of the fridge for him he grabbed me by the waist, lifted me up, and sat me on the counter.
“Sy!” I pouted trying to hide my giggle.
“Sit still and let me cook for you,” He scolded before he playfully smacked my thigh.
“Yes, sir,” I mocked, rolling my eyes. He paused letting his eyes roam again, growling low in his chest. My thighs involuntarily clenched and he smirked. Finally he turned to get the eggs out of the fridge. I don’t know what it was about him. Why do we naturally fit so well? Or Why I trust him so much. Everything about him in moments like this feels so …primal. But At the same time he’s so gentle and intelligent and ..strong. So damn strong. Whatever was starting between us. It was like. Electricity. Or Magnetic. There was some kind of pull. I could sense whenever he was close to me. And it set my senses into overdrive.
We ate breakfast, just some simple eggs, bacon and toast. Sy let Aika back out to run around the land. She has a doggy door and just comes and goes as she pleases. That makes perfect sense for them. Very low maintenance. Both of them come around to check on each other every now and then. It’s cute honestly.
“I think I’m gonna shower,” I said when we’d finished breakfast and finished cleaning up the kitchen. I rested my hand on his chest and looked up at him, I could see the mischief in his eyes.
“You want company?” he smiled softly. I chuckled.
“Are you gonna behave yourself?” I raised an eyebrow. He just laughed and shook his head.
“You know I’m not, Sugar.” I rolled my eyes.
“Come on cowboy,”
As desperately as I wanted him I couldn’t handle anymore after last night. He made sure of it. I turned back just in time to catch his smirk when he saw the slight limp I was walking with. Sly bastard. But, him, I would gladly take care of.
I sank to my knees in front of him in the shower. He smiled down at me brushing my hair back. “You sure about this darlin?” He lifted my chin to look him in the eyes “I don’t wanna hurt ya.” He said brushing his thumb over my bottom lip.
“Mmhmm, you promised I could return the favor, and you had no problem being rough with me last night,” I smirked. He growled softly and grabbed my jaw
“I can’t promise I can control myself baby, can you handle me fucking your little throat sugar?” He had no shame. He stared right and my eyes with that cocky smirk on his face. This man drips confidence. The things I’ve done with him in the last 2 weeks I never knew I would do. But I loved it. I reached up wrapping my hand around him pumping slowly. He groaned resting his head against the tile. I licked up his length slowly before I took him completely in my mouth I held eye contact and answered him.
“Don’t hold back, Daddy,” Before finally wrapping my lips around him and taking him all the way to the back of my throat. I started to bob my head slowly. I watched his face and saw something hungry flash in his eyes at my words. He tangled his fingers in my hair pulling it back away from my face and holding it in a ponytail. He started to guide me on his cock moving me faster and pushing himself further down the back of my throat. He moaned cursing, feeling me gag around his head.
“That’s a good girl. Fuck you take it so well.” He moaned. I pulled back gasping for air. And smiled.
“That all you got? “ The shower was hitting his chest and flowing down down his abs. He looked like a God from this angle.
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” His eyes were soft as they held my gaze I gripped his and bit my lip.
“I trust you Logan, “ That was all it took. He was guiding me back on to his cock and holding my head still. I twirled my tongue around the head and moaned around him and he pulled my hair softy.
“Fuckin tease. Hold still darlin, Gonna fuck that pretty face.” I hummed sending vibrations around him and tugged at my hair harder. I met his eyes again and he smiled. “That’s my good girl, you like when you I take charge don’t ya?” He moaned and started thrusting into my mouth. His cock hitting the back of my throat everytime. I knew he was enjoying this. I slid my hands up to his stomach and felt his muscles tense under my fingers. He had his eyes closed his head tilted back agaisnt the shower wall and his jaw was slack. I loved making him feel good like this. He didn’t let me take care of him often. I moaned around him he pushed me down further holding me down taking him down my throat. I tried as hard as I could to swallow around him as he held me down. I felt tears stinging around my eyes as he let up and and I pulled back to take a breath coughing hard. “Fuck are you..?”
I didn’t let him finish his sentence before I had him back in my mouth bobbing my head teasing him with my tongue. He groaned loudly tightening his grip in my hair. “That’s it baby don’t stop.” He was close. He held me still again thrusting into my mouth erratically. He growled gritting his teeth. “Fuck yes,” he moaned as he released in my mouth. I swallowed it all licking him clean. He shuttered and shook his head with a chuckle before extending his hand to help me back to my feet. He held me close to his while he caught his breath.
“Was that good?” I bit my looking down at the shower floor. He lifted my chin kissing me passionately.
“Jesus, baby you are, full of surprises,” He smiled. “Fuckin Incredible.”
We finished our shower and got dressed for the day. But we’ren’t in a hurry to go anywhere in particular. We stayed cuddled up on his couch all afternoon. Watching some old movies. We talked a bit about nothing in particular. Getting to know each other some more. Although it felt like we already did. This felt really normal.
“Do you wanna take Aika for a walk with me?” He asked. I think it was almost 5 or 6 o’clock now. I nodded.
“I’d love that,” I said. He called her in and got her on a leash and we set out down the road.
“Can I be honest with ya?” He said as we started to walk.
“Of course you can,” I smiled.
“This has been one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.” He said. I stopped walking for a moment.
“But we haven’t really, done anything.” I said. He smiled and took my hand in his and lead me to keep walking with him.
“I know, but I got to spend good quality time with the woman I care about. That’s all I need.” He squeezed my hand softly. I met his eyes again.
“I really enjoyed this too. I’m kind of sad that you’ll have to take me home sometime soon.” I admitted.
“No I don’t,” He stated. “I don’t have anything going on this weekend. I ain’t in no hurry to get you out of here.”
“No?” I asked “What are you trying to say Sy?”
“Stay the rest of the weekend with me.” He smiled pulling me closer. I squeezed his hand blushing slightly.
“Answer something for me first,” I said.
“Anything,” He said.
“Are we together now? Am I your girlfriend, I know it’s kind of fast we’ve only been on one date, but the way we’ve been talking. It just seemed like that’s what you’ve been trying to say and..”
He kissed me softly on the lips.
“Sugar, I thought I ….Maybe I wasn’t completely clear.” He chuckled. “I want you as long as you’ll have me baby. You’re mine. I wanna take you everywhere with me. Stay with me this weekend?” I smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, I will” I smiled. He kissed me again and we continued our walk. Back at the house we settled in on the couch again. Cuddled up for another movie. “How are we gonna do this at work, Keep our hands to ourselves, behave?” I chuckled.
“It’s not like people aren’t expecting it.” He laughed. I raised an eyebrow.
“Am I really the only one that didn’t know how you felt all this time?” I asked.
“I mean… The boys know baby…” He chuckled. I groaned.
“I’m sorry baby.” I blushed realizing what I said.
“I’m not, I got you now. I’m not complaining.” We finished our movie and I stretched yawning. “Tired?” I nodded. “Come on sweet pea. Lets go to bed.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
@summersong69 @carrie80reads @identity2212 @caramariehurst @redheadrouge @warriormirkwood @kingliam @gummydummy19 @deandoesthingstome @starfirewildheart @foxyjwls007
#captain syverson#henry cavill#henry cavill smut#fanfic writing#captain syverson smut#captain syverson x ofc#fanfiction#henry cavil x reader#august walker#august walker fanfiction#henry cavill fanfic#mike hellraiser#enola holmes#sherlock holmes#clark kent smut#clark kent#coach sy#Coach syverson#football coach fanfic
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Prompt because your work is aMAZing: when it’s before Sherlock and y/n’s wedding day, and he’s being an insufferable gentleman but she bats her eyes going “do you not want me” and he absolutely loses it 😏😏
Your Only Warning
Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes
Summary: Alone in the library with his betrothed, the Reader, Sherlock fights to remain a gentleman…with limited success.
Content: 18+ for incredibly filthy language, explicit description of future sexual intimacy, dominant, angsty “I AM A GENTLEMAN” Sherlock, with a side of mild “look what you’ve made me do” rhetoric from our dear detective, but for the benefit of the very eagerly consenting Reader who absolutely intended to make him do precisely what he’s done.
Notes: Thank you so much for the prompt; I loved it, and hope you like the story, Anon!
It is a rare occasion that your future husband allows you to be alone with him.
Ever the gentleman, ever possessed by the fine arts of propriety, justice, compassion, and self-discipline…all the qualities for which you find yourself more deeply in love by the day…Sherlock has become increasingly distracted, sometimes even dismissive, of your endeavors to cultivate closeness, as the day of your wedding draws near. You do not know what precisely has caused his detachment; never once has he expressed any regret for his proposal, nor suggested he does not wish to proceed with the marriage, but something has changed.
You cannot recall the last time he was tender—if ever he truly was. No soft words, nothing of your beauty, certainly, rise to your memory, even as you entertain the recollections of shared laughter, discussions of books or music, your eager interest in his cases and his equal enthusiasm to share his work with you. Meanwhile, you long to pour out your heart on the subject of his handsome face, his gorgeous eyes, how much you long for his touch, his kiss, his…
Well.
Sherlock’s true feelings for you are a mystery that only he could solve, and finding the time alone to ask him to unravel his secrets has been nigh impossible. But tonight, at another interminable dinner party for your family and his, a challenge from Enola to discover the secret passages of the Holmes estate has led you to the library, opening a hidden door behind a bookshelf to your delight…and the surprise of Sherlock, whom you discover pensively staring out the wide window behind his desk. He looks back over his shoulder, slightly startled, but smiles when he recognizes your familiar form emerging from the shadows.
“Very well done, Miss —,” he praises you, and your heart flutters happily at the accolade. “My sister will be most pleased to have such a companion as yourself with whom to roam these halls. When we can coax her back home, that is.”
“I hope you will find me a fine companion, too,” you offer, stepping out from the passageway and into the library proper. You look about you: no one else is there. Good.
“Naturally,” he replies, leaving the sanctuary of his desk, but still keeping a polite distance. “It will be entirely pleasant to share a home with you, here or in London. I have too long breakfasted alone, beginning the day in sullen silence, only to let supper grow cold, too, for want of more companionable nourishment.”
“Yes, I quite look forward to that, too,” you reply politely, a few tears of disappointment pooling in the corners of your eyes. His once ardent interest truly does seem to have waned into a wish for company over meals. Still, your hope preservers; perhaps this is only a gentlemanly demurring from more intimate matters? You have had some success in delving into his captivating mind. What line of inquiry might unlock his heart?
“And you must never hesitate to make use of this library.”
“Thank you. But…Mr. Holmes…”
“Yes?”
“I mean…certainly we shall share other…other rooms, too?”
“Of course. You must be honest with me in the correction of my bachelor habits.”
“Yes, and you must similarly address the conventions of my customary solitude.”
These mirrored platitudes are maddening. You steel your courage and make a bolder proposition.
“But is it not true that, as is only proper, to my understanding, that when we marry, we will be…as one?”
At this, he meets your eyes for a brief, flickering moment, then turns away from you entirely, and begins to meticulously examine the books on the shelves, uttering a monosyllabic: “Ah.”
You wait.
And wait.
And wait.
At long last, he clears his throat slightly and says, “I hope that if you should have any concerns of that nature, you might seek out the counsel of a recently married woman of your own age—Mrs. Watson, for example, is a lady of faultless virtue and excellent education, and might allay your fears—“
“I have no fears!” you exclaim. “I have…great anticipation. Longing, for a closeness I thought you equally desired. Sherlock, please I long to know and be known as a wife, to share with you every facet of my life, including—my…our—“
“Please, Miss —“
“But of late you scarcely look at me—“
“Dear girl,” he interrupts again. “I beg you to cease this line of inquiry!”
Your frustration bubbles over. Determinedly, you cross the room to where he stands, and slip around his hulking frame, insinuating yourself betwixt him and the bookcase, demanding his attention whether he will or no.
“What is it, Sherlock?” you ask, gazing up at him through your eyelashes, feeling your pulse quicken at his nearness. “Do you not want me?”
“Do I,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Not want you?”
In an instant, he has you restrained against the bookshelves, one hand pinned above your head and the other left to grasp frantically at his lapel, feeling the hard muscle and pounding heart beneath his fine coat, like an ember burning beneath your fingertips.
“Every moment I am plagued with wanting you! Do you not understand why I have withdrawn from you, why I must keep my distance from the woman I love?”
Sherlock lays his palm against your cheek, then slides his fingers down your neck, across your collarbones, coming to rest against the heaving swell of your breast over your gown.
“This is why. To prevent this.”
Hands over hearts, you are more closely entwined than you have ever been, and you can see with perfect clarity that his eyes burn with deep, profound emotion as well as increasingly unbridled yearning. Pinioned there by his full weight and bulk, you are completely helpless to his whims, and nothing has ever felt so freeing in your entire life. Finally, finally, finally, you exalt in your mind, and you sigh his name, unable to suppress a slight moan, which only seems to afflict him further.
“Oh, Sherlock…”
“I am a gentleman of unimpeachable conduct, but you would turn me into a brute. The more time I spend in your presence, the closer the day draws near when you will be mine, the more I find my resolve tested,” he despairs, drawing in a deep breath, and shuddering as the scent of your hair, your skin, permeates his senses. “Look at us, look what you have done! All this time I have resisted, but you undo it in a mere minute…”
His lips are practically touching yours, his grip on your wrist grown tighter, the press of his unmistakable hardness against you firm and unyielding.
“This,” he explains, his voice gone ragged and low. “Is your only warning, my dear sweet bride. If you speak another word of wanting before I may lawfully, licitly show you every way a man may possess his wife, if you touch me—or, or, you perfect minx, my gorgeous tormentor, if you with all your whiles force my hand…if you insist I kiss your glove in public, or ask for my arm to cross the street…I will make you pay for it the minute we are wed. I will turn you over my knee and spank your backside bruised. I will have you in every room of the house; damn who might see us. I will hunt you down across the estate and take you in the fields or the forest like an animal, for so you make me, darling. I will bind your hands to my bed and make you come for me over and over again until you have not a single thought left in this brilliant little mind, and then I will fuck your pretty weeping cunt until I’m sated and you are dripping with my seed. And that for a start.”
Sherlock, eyes glittering with his barely leashed lust, presses a light, chaste kiss to your cheek.
“Are we understood, Miss —?”
“Yes, yes,” you gasp, and, with the final indulgence of skimming the pad of his thumb across your trembling bottom lip, he very gently, courteously releases you, and then promptly flees to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a substantial drink. He downs it in one gulp, then takes several very deep breaths, and though he keeps his back to you, you can tell, with a secret thrill down your spine, that he is adjusting his clothes in a futile attempt to disguise his arousal.
“You were best return to the drawing room at once,” he instructs, almost bashful at his body’s insistence against his mind’s prudence. It is incredibly endearing. “I must compose myself.”
“Of course. Forgive me, sir, that I have discomposed you so.”
“No, no, it is I who must apologize. Can you forgive me, dearest girl, that I have not made clear to you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen? I was never a man of sentiment until now, and feared that to linger too long on the object of my desire, might make me lose all control. But I will tell you every day, ten times a day—from now until the end of my life, that your loveliness of body and soul is to me as vital as the air I breathe.”
“Are you becoming a poet, Sherlock?” you tease, melting all the more at his rush of tenderness, so looked for and longed for.
“Only for you,” he sighs, and you almost faint away as his hand drops to palm the outline of his cock through his trousers. Realizing the nature of his reflexive gesture, he gives a frustrated groan and points at you accusingly. “Only a romantic fool, and only a devious, seducing scoundrel, because of you.”
You laugh together, and, sneaking one last fervent look over your shoulder as he sinks into his chair and begins to unfasten his trousers, you close the door behind you depart, practically skipping through the halls of the home that will soon be yours, too, to rejoin both sides of the family in the parlor.
About ten minutes later, Sherlock rejoins the party, too, and no one seems to suspect anything untoward, clearly a relief to you both as your eyes meet across the table with a shared, secret glow. Once all parting pleasantries are exchanged, Sherlock follows you and your family out to the carriage, keeping a painfully respectful distance all the while. He offers only a formal bow and a stern, “Good evening” by means of farewell, but you have other designs.
“Good evening to you, too, Mr. Holmes,” you reply with a cheerful smile, and then, in front of the whole company, you elegantly present your hand to your fiancé to be kissed…
I am so, so honored by all your kind replies and reblogs! Thanks to those who commented on my other prompt fic, Pulse Point:
@fluffycutecevans @madeanaccounttoreadfanfics @nana1000night @writing-for-marvel @raccoon-eyed-rebel @sarcastic-coffeedrinker-reads @holmesbunny @peachyvulpixie @sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @inlovewithhisblueeyes @kingjuli3n 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰
#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#henry cavill sherlock#henry!sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#enola holmes fanfic
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Strangers to lovers part 4
Sherlock x reader
Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Implied Alcohol consumption, Major fluff (finally)
Word count: 2.1k+
Sherlock staggered out of the pub and into the street. "Sherlock?" his younger sister's well-known voice called out to him. "Enola, my beloved sibling," and he asked, "How are you on this nice evening?" as he struggled to return to walking. "From what I can tell, significantly better than you," she said, shaking her head. "Mycroft would scold you for acting in such a manner if he could see."
Sherlock laughed drunkenly at his sister's obvious acknowledgment. "Come with me; let's travel home so you can recuperate from this." Sherlock collapsed onto his couch as she pulled him to his apartment. "I'll stop by tomorrow to see your state of mind." As his eyes drifted for the night, he witnessed Enola depart. Sherlock grimaced when the strong sun shone through the tiny gap between the curtains the next morning, as he woke up with a headache. He put his hand over his eyes. With a groggy expression, he got up and went to take a soak in the tub.
Soon after, he heard Enola calling from behind his front door, "Come in." Sherlock shouted. A smile spread across her face as she said, "Oof, you look horrible." Sherlock tightened his jaw and said, "Thank you; that is how I feel right now."
"With her, communication, patience, and listening will work better than drinking until you can no longer stand or function."
“Indeed, but it appears that the situation is insignificant. I'm not wanted by y/n. Although I've changed significantly since then, she wants the man I was four years ago. She loves him, not me now.”
“She wouldn't have accompanied you yesterday if she didn't want or love you now. Perhaps go meet her; tomorrow is best. wouldn't be a wise decision to travel today."
Sherlock glanced sideways at Enola before averting his eyes.
//
At the precise moment his door opened, you raised your fist to knock; however, your move was cut off, and you spoke first. "Good morning. After yesterday, I wanted to stop by and see you."
Sherlock widened his door for you to enter.
You could smell booze as soon as you came in. "Have you drank today?" you asked, turning to face him. "Ah, no. Simply put, yesterday's evening wasn't pleasant.” Seeing how you made him feel that way, your face sank. Sherlock became increasingly uneasy since he could see by the expression on your face that you felt deeply guilty. "Don't worry about me. What happened last night was, in my opinion, difficult for us both."
"Yesterday is behind us; I wanted to speak with you today. And while I am aware that we have had a lot of conversations lately, I hope that this one will make us both happy.” Sherlock started to feel anxious and wondered whether this was it. Your talk of happiness was merely a means of telling him it would be better for you both to part ways.
You took a seat on his couch, close to him. "I have taken note of your efforts. Please don't think that I didn't find it beautiful or that I didn't appreciate the gesture, especially yesterday. And the conversation we shared made me consider accompanying you on your endeavors because I truly want us to work," you said, and Sherlock listened to you intensely before replying.
"Are you certain? We may be in love, but the future is not clear. If we decide to have children, it will be difficult, love—not the typical difficulty that parents go through with raising kids, but the kind of difficulty where you will be alone with our kids for months or even years at a time, and I know you want them. However, you would have to accept that. I want you to feel that you are not required to do something simply because you love me. To you, that wouldn't be fair."
You gave what he said some thought. You had not completely contemplated the possibility that he would leave even after the two of you established a family together, and you had desired to have children with him. However, you grinned and said, "I'm certain, Lockie." He arched an eyebrow at you and asked, "Did you just call me Lockie?"
"That's right, your assigned nickname." After kissing him and putting your hand on his face, you began to move away, but he stopped you and drew you closer to him. His tongue skimmed across your lower lip, causing your lips to part and allowing him to enter. He filled the air with his scent, and his kiss was tender and loving rather than forceful and demanding.
“Stay here for the night," Sherlock said against your lips, and you obliged by giving him a peck on his lips.
//
Sherlock made multiple unsuccessful attempts to prepare a supper for you. Your gut ached from laughing at him more and more each time. You continued to giggle as you said, "Okay, stop, I'll do the cooking." He nearly set his kitchen on fire. "I think you should watch me so you know how to feed yourself when I'm not around." You possess a sarcastic tone. You jumped as his hand gave you a little smack across your bottom, so you struck his arm in return, saying, "Hey!" and continued to say, "I was joking," and then paused for a short while before continuing. When you turned to face him again and said, "Or maybe I wasn't," he initially gave you a grim look, but as he turned away, you could see a tiny smile.
//
"No, you are my professional chef, and you will never leave my apartment. Baby, this is too good. You've been hired," he declared, his mouth full of food. Being the sole person to whom he has shown this aspect of himself gives you great joy. It was more intimate because he had never revealed it to his own family. "Thank you, my love, but that is unfortunately not acceptable."
He asked, "No, and why is that?" to you.
"Neither can you buy me, nor can I be employed. I'm not a lady of the night.” He agreed, "No, you’re surely not.”
He said you two should take a bath to unwind after you finished dinner. Sherlock came up behind you and assisted you in getting out of your dress as the hot water was poured into the tub. Untying your gown and letting it fall, following your undergarments. He grasped your hand and eased you into the bathtub. Your skin felt warmed by the water. You turned to watch him take off his clothes, observing as each article of clothing dropped to the ground until his bare body was visible.
As you turned, he murmured, "You have very watchful eyes, my love." "What harm does that cause?" You questioned him, "Not at all, particularly with your wandering eyes upon me." He joined you in the tub.
Your laughter echoed through him after he said that. Sherlock desired to enjoy that indefinitely. When he brought the sponge near the water, it began to absorb the water, and he began washing you. "Darling, how does it feel?" You closed your eyes and hummed in return, saying it felt wonderful.
Sherlock kept lifting the sponge over your body and letting go of the water it contained, and for the next few minutes, you spent each other's presence in a relaxed silence. As the water trickled down your breasts and down your stomach, you two gazed. He kissed you on the side of your neck, and you could feel how silky his lips were at all times.
"Do you want to go to bed?" You agreed with him; Sherlock took the lead by removing himself first. You bit your lip and poked his buttocks with the end of your foot while his body was still turned away from you. After a little period of inaction, he snatched you from the bathtub and flung you onto the bed. "Ah! Sherlock!" you exclaimed. With a playful "You think you can kick me and there will be no consequences?" tone, he started to tickle you. "Sherlock, stop, stop," you would say between chuckles. Your laughter never stopped.
He nuzzled his face into your neck and started kissing every inch of your face. "That was sufficient punishment!" you told him. "You asked for it when you kicked me," he shrugged. "But you know I don't like being tickled," you said.
Afterward, you demanded that he get you both some clothes.
He looked at you and said, "Demanding now? Politely ask, and I'll retrieve them."
"I'm not saying please, and I’ve always been demanding."
"Yes, of course you have," he responded with pursed lips, "but I'd much rather stay here and stare at you."
You shooed him away and said, "We have all night for that Lockie. Now go."
"I refuse to allow that nickname to stick."
"Yeah, it will; I'll make sure of it, Lockie," you added, and he glanced over at you. "Plus, you can never say no to me." With a smile of amusement, you both acknowledged you were right.
//
A couple of hours later, you were laughing at his foolishness while lying on top of him behind the covers. "You're just an idiot, baby, but it's funny how the most notorious detective in history is deemed to be a genius."
He turned you over and said, "You may be right, but I'm your idiot, and you also happen to love it." You scowled as he gave you a shocked expression.
"Yes, tragically, I do," you replied to him.
"I have no fear of tickling you again," he said, and you rolled your eyes at him.
He bent down and smiled cheekily at your request to "shut up and just kiss me."
He moaned under your intense kiss as you encircled his neck with your arms. He kissed you again, tracing his nose along yours.
"Are you interested in knowing something?"
"Of course," and he swept your hair aside from your face.
He kissed you on the lips, saying, "I love your lips, and I love your cheeks that always have a rosy tint to them; I love your hair that always smells of flowers," and brushed your hair behind your ear. “I love how your arms fit so perfectly around my neck,” he remarked. He took hold of your arm and planted a kiss below it. He made his way down to kiss both of your breasts. "And naturally, I adore both of these," he chuckled. With your eyes fixed on Sherlock, he continued to descend. Your heart enlarged as he kissed your stomach and said, "I love your stomach, which will someday carry our children." After kissing your thighs on the inside, Sherlock proceeded to kiss along your legs. "Y/n, I adore every aspect of you. I will always love and cherish you."
It was as though you could explode at that very moment, the way his declaration of love for you made you feel. He kissed you again, this time up your body to your lips. It was unbelievable to hear what he had just said. It was not what you had anticipated. As for your response to him, you had no idea.
"I love you so much," you said, peering between his blue eyes.
He reclined next to you, entwining your legs with his. All night long, he kept you near, keeping you warm with his arms encircling you. Sherlock was always wide awake until he heard your sweet, soft snores. He was soothed to sleep by your steady, peaceful breathing.
//
You whimpered when you woke up the next morning and felt empty where Sherlock had previously been lying. You could see your eyes straining to open and acclimate to the new light when the curtains were slightly drawn. When Sherlock came into his room with a tray of food, he noticed that you were stirring. "You're awake at last," he said, and you raised your head. And as he got closer, you could see that food had been ready for you. He planted a kiss on your forehead and said, "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast; I did not burn anything this time." You chuckled at him.
Despite your messy bed hair, he felt you looked as stunning as ever, and he crawled back into the bed and watched you eat in awe staying with each other for the rest of the day.
Part 5
#henry cavill#first post#fluff#henry cavill x reader#sherlock holmes#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill sherlock holmes#sherlock fandom#sherlock fanfic#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x you#enola holmes#enola 2#enola and sherlock#ofc x sherlock holmes
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🎧Elle the Space Unicorn's Masterlist🎧
Reader inserts will have no descriptors, OFCs will be black and plus-sized(unless otherwise stated). I love being able to give girls/femmes who look like me the chance to romance some of their faves.
🎧Bless my current muse...🎧
I love to write fanfiction. Right now, my main muse is Henry Cavill. But I also like some Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan characters (see below who I will write for - send prompts or requests to @ellethespaceunicorn HERE).
Buy Me A Ko-Fi? | AO3 | Author Recs | Fic Recs | Headcanon Recs | Fic Prompts | Fic Title Ideas | Words to use instead of ‘said’ | WIP List | 2023 Fanfiction Wrapped | 2023 Character Wrapped
Masterlist is under the Cut...
Bright Like The Moon (ongoing)
Love, Napoleon (ongoing)
Scrapbook (finished)
Daddy Knows Best (possibly on hiatus)
Don't Take My Sunshine Away (possibly on hiatus)
Touch and Go (possibly ongoing)
The Howling in Claw Creek Forest (ongoing)
What Are You Doing, StepBro?
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Humphrey x Stepsister!Reader
Summary: You and Humphrey don’t have the best start, but before long you will reach an arrangement.
Hold Me Til I Scream For Air To Breathe
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Sub!Clark Kent x Domme!Reader
Summary: Clark needs to give over to his submissive urges, specifically he yearns to be tied up and owned.
I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Reader
Summary: Napoleon wines and dines.
Make That Kitty Purr {DARK FIC}
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader
Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU
Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend.
Make That Kitty Purr [Director's Cut] {DARKER FIC}
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader
Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU
Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. This is the darker pre-edited version.
Some Things You Just Can’t Refuse
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Dom!Clark Kent x Sub!Reader
Summary: A collection of first times with Clark Kent, and one last time.
Happy Birthday, Cupcake
Rating: General
Pairing: Clark Kent x PlusSize!Reader
Summary: Clark surprises you for your birthday.
Treat Me Like A Slut
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: August Walker x Reader
Summary: August has had enough of your antics, and you’re going to pay for it.
Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.
Don't Take Your Eyes Off It
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Steve Rogers x Black!Fem!Reader
Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, and you have a surprise for Steve!
Don't Kill My Vibe
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader
Summary: You help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.
Fifteen Minutes
Character: Walter Marshall x Unnamed Black!OFC
Rating: Explicit
Summary: What Walter does with 15 minutes of his time.
There Is A Light That Never Goes Out
Pairing: Syverson x Reader
Rating: Mature
Summary: When an unexpected pregnancy rocks your already uncertain world, you decide the best option is to run. Apocalypse AU.
Pretty As A Picture
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: What started as a hobby day in the park turns into Lloyd Hansen showing you why taking photos of strangers is a bad idea.
Something Old, Something New
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Nick Fowler x Reader
Summary: Your childhood best friend invites you to your old vacation spot for her wedding, and you have been catching up with your first crush: her recently divorced big brother Nick.
Oxytocin
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Older!Black!Fem!OFC
Summary: At a New Year's Eve party, Ransom Drysdale's life is forever changed by a chance meeting with Ivy Kensington.
My Little Strawberry
Pairing: Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches)
Rating: Mature
Summary: A follow-up to Shape Up. Sy has a conversation with his baby girl while she’s still in your stomach.
Doing Something Unholy
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Charles Brandon x Reader
Summary: This is a prompt fill for some teasing of Charles Brandon and then him taking over.
Praise You
Rating: General, pure fluff
Pairing: Clark Kent x Insecure PlusSize!Reader
Summary: Clark Kent loves everything about you, especially what you think are your flaws.
Get My Pretty Name Outta Your Mouth
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader
Summary: You hate everything about Detective Walter Marshall. He feels the same about you. Now, kiss!
Shape-Up
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Cpt Syverson x Black!Reader (Peaches)
Summary: Syverson and his girl, Peaches, try and trim his beard without causing a ruckus. Spoiler alert: they fail.
Follow-up to Shape-Up: My Little Strawberry
The Paganini Problem
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader
Summary: Being Sherlock’s wife proves to be difficult when a case stumps him.
Power Play: After Hours
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Assistant!Black!Reader
Summary: What happens when Lloyd sees you, his assistant, in something other than what you usually wear? Well, you should be worried about what he does when he sees you.
No Good Deeds
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader
Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.
Executive Temptation
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: CEO!August Walker x Employee!Reader
Summary: You’ve caught the eye of CEO August Walker. What happens when he asks you to go to his private office?
Walter Marshall - Hobbies
Lloyd Hansen - Family, Quirks/Hobbies, Sleep
Lloyd Hansen - What happens when reader starts dressing to match lloyd?
Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)
Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher)
Clark Kent (Man of Steel, BvS, Justice League)
Humphrey (Stardust)
Charles Brandon (The Tudors)
Mike (Hellraiser: Hellworld)
Napoleon Solo (The Man from U.N.C.L.E.)
August Walker (Mission: Impossible - Fallout)
Will Shaw (The Cold Light of Day)
Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes films)
Captain Syverson (Sand Castle)
Evan Marshall (Blood Creek)
Melot (Tristan and Isolde)
Thomas Apreas (Hotel Laguna)
Chas Quilter (The Inspector Lyndley Mysteries)
Stephen Colley (I Capture the Castle)
I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR HENRY
Lloyd Hansen (The Gray Man)
Andy Barber (Defending Jacob)
Ransom Drysdale (Knives Out)
Steve Rogers (Avengers films)
Curtis Everett (Snowpiercer)
Ari Levinson (The Red Sea Diving Resort)
Nick Gant (PUSH)
Jake Jensen (The Losers)
Frank Adler (Gifted)
I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR CHRIS
Bucky Barnes (Marvel)
Charles Blackwood (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)
Steve Kemp (Fresh)
Max (Sharper)
Nick Fowler (The 355)
Lee Bodecker (The Devill All The Time)
Chris (Destroyer)
Justin Capshaw (Law & Order)
I DO NOT WRITE RPF FOR SEBASTIAN
Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz, so far only these categories 😁 Let me know if you ever want to be removed!
General Fanfiction (Everything)
Henry Character Fanfiction
Chris Character Fanfiction
August Walker
Bright Like The Moon
Love, Napoleon!
Daddy Knows Best
Don't Take My Sunshine Away
The Howling in Claw Creek Forest
~Please DON'T ask me to tag you in a series that you've never 'liked' or 'reblogged'. It's just kind of rude. Also, don't ask for an ETA on the next chapter.~
*Blog Header, Cover Art for fics, Masterlist Header/MDNI 18+ Banner, Support/Reblog banner and Masterlist Dividers made by me in Canva*
#elle the space unicorn#ellethespaceunicorn speaks#my masterlist#ellethespaceunicorn masterlist#ao3#chris evans#walter marshall#clark kent#napoleon solo#syverson#walter marshall x ofc#hc sherlock holmes#ellethespaceunicorn fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill#sherlock holmes#august walker#hellraiser mike#mike hellraiser#evan marshall#lloyd hansen#ellethespaceunicorn requests#humphrey stardust#charles brandon#ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill#sebastian stan#nick fowler#steve rogers#ransom drysdale
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Danse Macabre
Summary: She cannot tell who she is anymore, nor where she is. All that she knows is that Sherlock is not the man he pretends to be and that every night he comes to her bedroom to feast on the delights of her body...
Pairing: Vampire!Sherlock Holmes x Virgin OFC (no mentions of body type or ethnicity)
Word count: 2.2K
Warnings: 18+, Dark, horror, dubious consent, sex, supernatural themes, I guess we can say monster sex? Mentions of blood, hinted Stockholm Syndrome, loss of virginity, metaphors, obsession, hinted hypnosis, bites, vampire sex, mind manipulation.
A/N: I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes.
Many thanks to my angels: @agniavateira for beta'ing my work and supporting me, and to @notabronte for giving me feedback and encouraging me to post. Please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed it. 🖤
Danse Macabre 🕯️
How long has it been; a month? A year? An eternity?
Time swayed differently in Mister Holmes’ mansion — if it moved at all.
The nights seemed endless, and the days… she couldn’t remember the last time she was awake during daytime. Perhaps this was a nightmare, or maybe it was the cold tentacles of death that pulled her into an abyss; but then, if the dead couldn’t feel pain then why did his kisses hurt?
It was in the bawls of midnight when Sherlock stalked into her bedroom— his jaw stern, cheekbones sharp and strikingly distinguished by the flame of a single candle held in his hand. Hunger filled his careless face, and his eyes flickered brightly like glowing orbs of ice.
Unable to scream or move, she watched him behind the ghostly veils of her bed. Hot wax dribbled down his fingers—little white tears of sorrow that she wished she herself could cry, but Sherlock had not only drained her of such force but by some enchantment, coaxed her to submit to his sacrilegious desire
“Undress,” he demanded from the doorway where he stood, shrouded by the crimson haze of the poorly lit corridor. Whatever was behind him, she could never see, the width of his bulky figure blocked the path like a monster from a children’s tale.
‘Monsters are real, Momma. They look like men in tailored vests and shiny leather shoes.’
Her fingers trembled, hands stiff and heavy. Yet she did what she was told without question, allowing the straps of her nightdress to fall down her shoulders the way a dying leaf falls from a branch.
Eyes a shade colder than ice, his glare fell to her breasts, and his chest puffed with a rumbling growl. Slowly he stalked forward, treading like a spider on its web. The tips of his fingers turned black as if dipped in poison whilst his nails grew long and sharp at every step.
“The duvet. Set it aside.”
His voice was the rumble of an inching thunder, an echo inside her head that made her bones rattle. Whenever he spoke, it felt as if invisible strings wrapped around her wrists and persuaded her limbs to do as he commanded. Even when her soul begged her to give a sliver of resistance, her hands still lifted to obey this dark ventriloquist and pushed the blanket away.
The stem of Sherlock’s throat clenched at the delicious splendour: bare, youthful skin, so tight and so supple. A thing that should have never been touched, should have never been spoiled and yet he yearned for nothing but to leave his marks at the depth of her soul.
The scent that emanated from the flesh between her thighs elicited a guttural groan from his chapped lips. In his throat pulled the ghastly hunger. Setting the candle on the wardrobe, he stalked toward the bed, his shadow metastasizing and devouring every shred of light that dared enter the chamber.
Both the mattress and her heart sank once he placed a knee on the bed and began to crawl between her parted legs, slowly and predatorily, dragging himself closer to her heat. Black, sharpened nails graze their way up her inner thighs, admiring the pureness of the forever-young flesh.
Encased in a glass coffin, his young ward would forever be protected from famine, disease, and time; and what was Sherlock if not a warden fulfilling his duty?
‘A monster! God, please! There is a monster in my bed!’
If only she could scream, if only God hadn’t abandoned her. Instead, all she could do was shiver, her heart giving no sound as Sherlock forced himself between her thighs. One razor-sharp fingernail traced the plumpness of her breast, tenderly circling and caressing the nipple.
“Mine,” he growled and slipped his nail down the valley of her torso, casually tugging the remains of her gown to expose her pure mound. Red glinted on those piercing shards that replaced his eyes—red like a flicker of fire from a match. “Look at me,” he demanded, though there was no need for him to ask.
That same gaze that possessed her had sliced through the tendrils of her mind.
Nodding, she lifted her gaze to meet his, her lips parting in a quiet plea as the ghastly, pointed talon made careful strokes amidst the swollen petals to collect the honeyed dew that gathered at the seams of her untouched cunt.
“My poor little dove, it’s so lonely in there…” he keened, attempting to slide his long monstrous finger inside of her. But her maidenhood, still obstinate to protect her from the vile urges of men, forbade him access.
Foolish.
What strength did her flesh have against such a sinister entity if even iron locks and carved religious figures couldn’t keep him away? Huffing with scorn, he drew an icy fingertip around the outlines of her slit, further spreading the sinful wetness across the seams of her cunt.
She mewled, despite herself, her waist moving in a smooth tidal sway.
Sherlock could never tire of this, not of the terror in her eyes whenever she saw him at her bedroom door nor the moans she emitted as he traced her engorged flesh with a finger or his tongue. But what he favoured above all was the sensation of his cock as it tore through her seal and those heavenly pained cries that eventually turned into the moans of a whore.
What a great fortune it was that they had an eternity of this dance.
Hovering above his prey, he propped his knees between her legs, the fabric of his trousers brushing against her inner thighs as he lowered his weight upon her. If there was any air in her lungs, she would have let out a shuddering breath; but what came instead was a silent gasp, and only her lips quivered as she prepared herself for the familiar twinge of his invasion.
Reaching for his groin, he freed his hardened cock and stroked a hand across its length before nudging the heart-shaped crown at the gates of her purity. Not yet pushing in, he teased himself up and down her narrow slit, treating her the way a lover treats his delicate mistress— the way a cat toys with a mouse.
Lips swollen and tingling, she whimpered, her yet-empty hole twitching as if heeding a primal call. How could she fear and need him at the same time? Did she loathe herself so much that she wanted him to defile her? Tears began to rim her eyes, and from quivering lips, she whispered, “please…”
Letting out a low rumbling chuckle, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead before whispering in her ear, “You, my ward, are such a mystery…”
Her mouth opened to speak but a scream followed instead. One unceremonious thrust and he sunk into her lush depth, his girthy cock devouring the sweetness of virginal flesh. Indifferent to her pain, he pushed further and deeper past her folds until every inch of him was buried within.
Cries and squeals sputtered from her mouth—the monster had tore her innocence, the pain had seared, and in pathetic pleas for mercy, she slapped against his bare chest and tried to shove him away. But Sherlock knew no mercy, for truly he was a beast, not just by the breadth of his shoulders and untypically muscular figure, but by his blunt absence of elegance and heartless mien. Giving her no moment to adjust, he had already began to pump himself inside of her now-defiled cunt.
Such a mask of virtue did her warden wear; to the world, a perfect, eloquent gentleman. But behind closed doors, lurked a sick, sinister man who only wished to desecrate this tender maiden in this dark sacrament.
Over and over, he pulled away only to plunge into her again, each thrust harder than the last, each thrust ending with the slap of his sack against her cunt. And the moans that came from him - had the most debauched resonance, as if she was a long anticipated feast to a voracious man.
Unable to meet his vigour, her walls whined a protest and squeezed around him in a futile battle to drive him out; yet for Sherlock, this tightness was nothing less than an aphrodisiac. If any, her insubordination did nothing but provoke the ungodly creature within him. Reaching a clawed hand to her chin, his fingers pressed into the hollow of her cheeks, forcing her to stare directly into his bright-red eyes as he began to fuck her in a punishing pace.
“I am already inside you, little dove. There is nothing that can be done,” he rasped while his hips continuously snapped into hers, every second rut bringing her closer to surrender as friction drew that which she so religiously wanted to resist.
“Give in to me, and I will give you pleasure like no other.”
His words were but a spell. Briefly, unbidden, a spark inside her womb ignited, giving life to ecstatic flames that cascaded through her canal. While a part of her wanted to stay pure and deny this vicious man, an unbearable ache for his return struck her every time he pulled out from her slit. In mindless despair to hold him close, she had finally caved in and wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him near.
Triumphant grunts rumbled in his throat. Appeased by her surrender to his whims, he lifted his upper torso, his taut abs flexing as he rose to hover above her. With his hand still around her jaw, he pressed her deeper into the mattress while pummeling her cunt.
“Make us whole…” he begged, his voice a husky—almost pitiful—groan.
“Make us whole again.”
Depraved as an animal, he ravaged her with the selfish degenerate intent of a man yearning to impregnate his mate. Though this union could result in nothing of that sort, still she thrashed against him in an archaic frenzy, her screams unfurling into the night as her body became enslaved to the same foolish wanton. Soon her trenches began to tighten around him in demand of his seed, and the whispering embers that smouldered in her womb had suddenly imploded into a wave of molten fire that scorched through her completely.
It was in that moment when her cunt devoured him completely, when he felt her heat gush and hug around his shaft so longingly that his eyes glowed bright red, and his fangs flashed sharply before her dazed eyes. Even though she had seen this play out numerous, endless times, she couldn’t help but gasp as he lowered his mouth to her neck and drank her pleasure-tainted blood.
Eyes staring into the ceiling with shock, she trembled like a thing that was about to be shattered. The waves of her ecstasy ebbed away as Sherlock stole from whatever maw of force she had left. Black mists began to waft around her, blurring her sight and pulling her down below. And suddenly, she was limp and heavy at the same time while a cold, strange tingle jittered through her veins.
‘Death…’ she smiled with her eyes half-shut, ‘Oh, finally… Release me!’
Just then, a secondary implosion spasmed through her core and caused her entire body to jitter with delight as the sensation elicited from his bite was an unlikely aphrodisiac. Mouth agape in a silent cry, she threw her head back and stared through the open window while the monster inside her continued to feast on her throat.
The moon—it was covered in blood, painting the room in a crimson shade.
Lost in this trance, Sherlock hummed; the blood of a newly deflowered virgin was sweeter than ambrosia; after decades and aeons of searching, he could sense the wind on his skin, feel the thrum in his veins and abruptly… in a moment passing, he felt a rumble in his chest as his heart pumped once again.
‘Make us whole.’
‘Make me whole.’
‘Make me feel alive again.’
Losing his control entirely, he thrusted into her with a few last powerful strokes and then finally lifted his head with a savage-like shout while his thick elixir overflowed her womb. Cum seeped around his cock at the same manner of the blood that trickled down his square chin.
He licked the corner of his lip, eyes red and sated, peering down at his prey.
“Oh, my sweet little flower,” he murmured and carefully lowered his head to kiss her. She returned the kiss, uncertain if by choice, little did she care now. Her body still tingled and the taste of her own blood had an odd sweetness to it that had made her thirsty. Once he broke from her lips, she suckled them dry.
Like petals plucked from a rose, she laid raw beneath him. Not dead. Not yet. Not ever. She no longer remembered her life before him, no longer remembered who she was. All she knew was that when she would wake the next day, it would be night again.
And he would return to claim her, again.
His fellow companions warned him of such abomination; it was dangerous to drink from his own kind, or so they claimed. It poisoned the mind and the body according to the myths, but whether it was true or not, Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to care.
No matter the fashion, he came every night, drank from her veins, deflowered her and left.
And every night, she woke up a virgin again, clueless as to who and what she was.
But Sherlock knew the one and only true answer.
She was his.
For all eternity.
#henry cavill#enola holmes#enola holmes 2#sherlock holmes fanfiction#sherlock holmes x reader#henry cavill x reader#sherlock holmes x ofc#henry cavill fanfiction
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Sherlock and his cane...
Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill) x Female OC
TW: impact play, light bondage, sex… (as always, 18+ only)
Word Count: 2,593
Sherlock sighs, gripping his cane as he enters the New Year’s Eve party his brother, Mycroft, was throwing. He hated these parties almost as much as he hated his brother. But he knew that two things would make it worth it; one being the whiskey and two being the girls his brothers would hire. The girls were always top-notch and down for whatever he wanted to do. And to say that he needed a release was an understatement.
He allows the young maid to take his top hat but keeps a tight hold of his cane as she blushes under his gaze. He smirks, basking in the hold he had over women. He shakes his head gently as he hears her giggle before turning to rush away from him. He turned swiftly, entering the lounge where women danced in the middle of the room as gentlemen pretended to remain composed, drooling over themselves.
He rolled his eyes, crossing the room to the bar to pour himself a drink. He brings the glass up to his lips just as he feels someone smack his shoulder a little too hard, causing him to spill some on his jacket. “Fuck…”
“Ah… language little brother. A foul mouth makes you sound uneducated.”
Sherlock scoffs at his brother, refilling his glass as Mycroft comes to stand beside him. He brings the glass up again, this time the amber liquid disappearing down his throat. “What do you want, Mycroft?”
Mycroft laughs, grabbing the bottle to pour them both a new glass and nudging Sherlock’s shoulder. “Come on, why so gruff?”
Sherlock doesn’t answer, only turning around to take in the sight of the half-dressed women. A few of them threw looks at him as he stared back, taking them in. They were all the same… all a little *too* eager. No, he wanted someone different, someone more timid, unsure… inexperienced.
“Oh… on the hunt I see,” Mycroft offers with a snicker as he watches his brother finish his second drink before pushing away from the bar, stalking slowly through the crowd of people.
A few women come up to Sherlock, running their hands on his chest as he shakes his head, shrugging them off. He stops near the door where a young, brunette girl he didn’t recognize danced slowly, stopping as he approached her. She hung her head down as he took in the sight of her dusty pink lingerie hugging her curves. He grabs her chin between his thumb and forefinger of his left hand, lifting her chin up to him as she blushes. He was drawn to her, her innocent face pulling him in. He couldn’t help but to take in the sight of her full cheeks and pouty lips. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? I’ve never seen you at a party here before. You new?”
“Yes, sir,” she mumbles shyly as Sherlock’s grin widens, moving his hand to tuck a tendril of dark hair behind her ear.
“Are you a virgin?”
Her eyes widen as she swallows hard, shaking her head. “N—no, sir.”
He makes a clicking noise with his cheek, dropping his hand to his side. “Should have lied.” He watches her squirm in her spot, rubbing her thick thighs together as he chuckles. “No matter. Come with me.” He grabs her hand, obediently following him as another man stands up to grab her other hand, causing them to stop.
“You can’t just show up and take who you want, Holmes.”
“Funny, because that’s exactly what I’m doing…” Sherlock brings his cane up, smacking the man’s hand, forcing him to release her with a grunt before he shoves the end of the cane into the man’s abdomen, causing the man to fall back onto his chair. He ignores the other men grumbling and drags the girl up the stairs to his bedroom, practically tossing her onto the bed as he slams and locks the door behind them. “Name, girl.”
She swallows, suddenly more nervous now that she was alone with the infamous Sherlock Holmes. “I—Is—Isabelle, sir,” she manages to stutter out as he grins, pulling her to her feet in front of him.
“Get undressed, Isabelle.” He moves to the chair in the corner of the room, relaxing back into it as he watched her drop her robe to the ground. She began to undo the ties of her corset as his cock began to grow in his slacks. “Slower…” he demanded as she nodded, pulling at the laces slower before dropping the corset onto the ground, displaying her breasts, nipples turning hard against the cool air of the night.
She sits on the edge of the bed, rolling down her stockings slowly as she felt Sherlock’s eyes burning through her, the heat in the room rising. She stands back up, facing toward the chair as she tucked her thumbs into the bands of her underwear, stopping when she sees Sherlock stand up.
“Turn around and drop them.” He shrugs off his jacket, setting it neatly on the arm of the chair before kicking off his shoes as he watched her comply, bending over slightly as she dropped them to the ground. He cocked his head to the side, seeing just the hint of pink between her legs, glistening and ready for him.
She shifted nervously in her spot as she felt him approaching her from behind. This wasn’t her first time with a client, she got into the business only a few months prior when her mother kicked her out, no longer wanting to feed and house her. But this was the first time with someone as well-known as Sherlock Holmes. And she knew all too well a few of his favorite proclivities. The excitement and anticipation filled her as he moved to stand in front of her and she darted her eyes to the ground.
“Stop looking at the ground. Look at me,” he demanded a little too harshly as he grabbed her chin to force her blue eyes up to his. “Good girl. You only look down if I tell you, you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hands behind your back.” He smiled as she raised her chin, straightening her back as she placed her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts out. “Good.” He stands in front of her, bringing a hand up to her neck, dragging his fingers gently down to her right breast, grazing over her nipple as she squirmed slightly.
She saw him smile before moving behind her, feeling his breath on her neck. Her eyes fluttered at the feeling of his lips on the base of her throat just as she felt him wrap something around her wrists. “Wha—”
“Shh,” he whispers, using one of her stockings to tie her wrists together behind her back. “Here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to do what I say when I say it… and if you’re good I’ll take care of you. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.” She sucks her lip into her mouth as she feels arousal pooling between her legs.
“Good. Now… if you want me to stop at any time, you say peach.” He smirks as she giggles and he reaches around to wrap his hand around her throat, lifting her head toward the ceiling, “that funny?”
“No,” she breathes as he nips at her ear.
“Then say it, say peach…”
“Peach,” she whimpers as he releases her swiftly, pulling away from her.
“Good girl. Now bend over the bed and wait.” He watches her hesitate before doing as he commands, bending over the bed with her head facing to the side, bottom in the air. “Spread your legs. I want to see your pussy.”
Isabelle spreads her legs as she hears rustling behind her, the anticipation growing in her core as she breathes heavily.
Sherlock takes his time, undressing as he sets his clothes neatly on the chair in a pile. He grabs the base of his cock, giving it a few relieving strokes before grabbing his cane and approaching her from behind. “You have a marvelous backside, dear Isabelle.”
She opens her mouth to speak just as she feels the stinging of the cane on her flesh, forcing tears from her eyes with a gasp.
“Now what do you say? I complimented your beautiful, round, bottom, Isabelle. What do you say to that?”
“Th—tha—” Another gasp as the cane comes down once more, this time on her other cheek and she squeezes her eyes shut.
“Do you want me to stop?” He runs his hand along the two new red marks that were already welting as she whimpered.
“No…” Through her watered eyes, she sees him lean over to look her in the face, the stinging subsiding as the pain turns to pleasure, shooting down to her pussy.
“Have you ever been caned before?”
“No,” she repeats softly as he smirks.
“Only a few more then,” he promises as she nods, swallowing as she braces herself.
Only a few more turn into more than she can count, tears now streaking her cheeks as she barely mumbles out a “peach.” Her head spins slightly, as if she were floating, causing an almost euphoric feeling.
“Sorry…” Sherlock tosses the cane onto the floor with a huff, looking at the welts that now began to bleed against her delicate white skin. “I lost myself for a minute.” He leans over to brush some hair out of her face, wiping her face with his hand. “Are you okay?” He watches her nod slowly, whimpering as he smirks, bringing her back to him as he almost lost her in her sub space. He keeps his eyes on hers, giving her a few minutes as he runs his hand down her back, over her bottom to her wetness. He drags his middle finger along her slit, down to her clit, rubbing gently as she moaned softly. “Good,” he whispers, standing up behind her once more.
She squirmed against his hand, trying to push back against him as he slid one finger into her, turning his palm toward the ground to curl his finger down. She moans as slips a second finger into her, thrusting them in and out slowly.
Sherlock groans, feeling every ridge inside her as he moved his fingers slowly. “You’re so tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to feel you gripping my cock, Isabelle. Do you want that?”
“Yes,” she practically begged as Sherlock chuckled, removing his hand. He grabbed her wrists, pulling her down onto her knees at the foot of the bed before turning her back toward him.
“First… open your mouth, sweet girl.” He smiles down at her as her blue eyes shine up at his and her mouth falls open, her tongue sticking out. He moans softly as he pushes slightly forward, rubbing the tip of his cock along her tongue.
She rolls her tongue around the tip, before flicking the underside as he hissed above her. She giggled softly, allowing him to insert his cock into her mouth as she wrapped her mouth around him. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking him into her mouth, uncontrolled drool dripping down her chin as she did.
Sherlock panted, resting his head back as he gripped her hair, guiding her on him. “Fuck…” he grunted, pulling his cock from her mouth. He gripped it, holding it as he guided her mouth onto his balls. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth as she pulls a ball into her mouth, sucking gently before pulling off with a small pop. “Yes, you’re far more experienced than I was expecting. Stand up, I want to feel your pussy.” He helps her to her feet, crushing his mouth hard against hers, one hand around her throat, the other on her back, keeping her body pressed to his. He kisses her for a while, taking his time to lay claim to her mouth with his tongue as she whimpered, against him, arms straining.
She stumbles slightly as he pulls away abruptly, causing him to chuckle. She gasps as he nudges her back, making her fall onto the bed as she tries to shimmy up to the pillow.
Sherlock laughs, crawling onto the bed toward her, flipping her onto her stomach, pushing her shoulders down as he pulled her hips up. “Ready?” He asks, not waiting for a response as he thrusts his cock into her hard, her moan stifled by the pillow under her. He stills, his head falling back as his fingers dig into her hips. “Fuck… I was right, you feel so fucking good.”
“Sh—Sherlock,” she begs softly, turning her head to the side for him to hear.
“I know, sweet girl.” He keeps hold of her hips, pulling out before pushing back into her hard, over and over again, feeling her hips shaking under him. With every stroke out, her pussy gripped him, pulling him back in again. He grunted as she pushed back against him. “Your pussy is so needy, isn’t it?”
Isabelle doesn’t have to respond as he grips the stocking around her wrist with one hand, his other hand wrapping around her. She moaned as he pressed his middle finger to her clit, rubbing in small circles as his cock stretched her.
Her moans were barely audible, coming out as almost gasps as she gripped him. He moved into her faster, no longer wanting to hold back as her sweet moans filled the room. “I need you to come apart all over my cock… grip it good, Isabelle.”
She whimpers and moans, her eyes fluttering closed as her entire body tightens, the orgasm rolling through her like crashing waves, her mouth falling open, screams falling from her.
“Yes,” he grunts, leaning forward to wrap his hand around her throat once more, feeling her pulse and contract around his cock. He leaned down to her ear, “that’s my sweet girl,” he growls, thrusting hard into her one last time, burying himself deep inside as he emptied himself in her.
She whimpered as he pulled away, feathering kisses down her back as he undid her wrists, allowing her to collapse onto the bed. She doesn’t say anything, just laying as she hears him walk over to the corner of the room to the small water bowl as she hears the ringing of a washcloth.
Sherlock sits on the bed beside her, dragging the cool towel along the welts on her bottom as she winced under him, turning her head toward him to watch him. When he finished, he used the cloth to clean between her legs, standing up to take the cloth back to the bowl. When he turned back to the bed, Isabelle was snoring softly as he chuckled. He grabbed the blanket, pulling it up over her before pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
***
Isabelle woke up with a groan, sunlight burning her lids as she turned away from the window, forgetting about the stinging on her bottom as she flinched. She whimpered, looking around to find herself alone in the bedroom. She moves to stand up beside the bed, finding a note on the nightstand along with a small tin jar, a single rose, and a bag of coins. She smiled, lifting the rose first to take a small whiff before opening the note.
Salve for that beautiful bottom of yours
Rose for the sweet blush of your cheeks
Coin in hopes to see you again…
You know where to find me…
-SH
#henry cavill#Sherlock Holmes#henry Cavill Sherlock Holmes#Sherlock Holmes x ofc#henry Cavill fanfic#henry Cavill fanfiction#Sherlock Holmes fanfic#Sherlock Holmes smut#henry Cavill smut
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honestly, one of the main reasons i need enola holmes 3 at this point is because mrs hudson. she needs to be there. idc how.
#and ofc john and sherlock#and holmesbury#god i loved the new movie so much.#enola holmes#enola holmes 2#holmesbury#enola x tewkesbury#mbb#millie bobby brown#louis partridge#henry cavill
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Wails of Wedded Bliss
Chapter 3 || Masterlist || Chapter 5
Chapter Summary: Sherlock fulfils his husbandry duty and desires to play some more with your weak resolve.
Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader
Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Period Sex, Blowjob, Bondage, Pet Names, Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pubic shave, Humiliation.
Word Count: 9k
Author Notes: This chapter involves description of period blood and sex, please be warned!!
Inspiring Song: "Copy Cat." Billie Eillish classic cover
•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•
6:39pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.
You had no choice. Not really...he was your husband and you were his wife. His threat of infidelity brought a great fear to your mental strength than your threat to murder him without a solid plan.
Oh how you hated him for this. You despised him with every sense. You weren’t sure how you’d be able to forgive him.
You knew he wasn’t a good or kind or even gentle husband, but a husband is meant to be faithful. And if humiliating yourself to pleasuring him with your mouth kept him straying in sin; by god you would obey.
You crept closer to him and slowly lowered yourself on one knee, then the next. Your eyes could not leave his face. A sick and twisted smile spread over his rosy cheeks.
In his palm was his half hard cock. His large hand made it appear smaller. The memory of its violent entrance had not been forgotten however.
It stared you back in the face. The pink head peaked up and out of his pale skin. His thumb rubbed over the pink head.
You felt cold and strange in comparison to your usual jitters. You fluttered your eyes closed. Your hands sat in your lap on your thighs.
‘He just wanted a kiss. I can kiss it...’
You leant forward and puckered your lips. His skin was feverishly warm. You pulled back fast and blinked up at him with wet eyes.
He chuckled meanly and touched your damp cheek in his other hand before moving his fingers under your jaw and guiding you closer to his cock.
“Lick the top with the tip of your tongue.”
Your lips trembled nervously. You weren’t sure if this was worth it. The thudding of your chest made you forget what he had asked.
Visions of the lewd novel in his chest flashed in your mind.
“P-pardon?”
His thumb pressed against your mouth, forcing its way past your lips and teeth. You knew better than to bite him. You weren’t an animal...you didn’t want a repeat of the night before where you had bitten his tongue.
“Stick out,” he pulled your tongue out with his thumb, “this little tongue.”
He pulled you closer by the chin and held his cock upwards.
“Lick.”
You whined softly and batted your eyes. Did you have the guts to do this? To truly perform fellatio? You didn’t really have the choice. You had to do this.
He let you go and waited patiently. He undid his cuffs and rolled the shirt off his shoulders.
“Are you so dim witted?” he gruffly asked, his fingers grabbed at your jaw after you took too long,
“Need I repeat myself once more?”
You shuddered and shook your head side to side. It was just so scary. Why did you have to have such a cruel husband!?
“No,” you licked your chapped lips, “I am sorry Mr Holmes.”
His eyes widened, his face softened but his lips smirked, “So polite, little lamb...”
Your lower half tingles with delight at the warmth of his sudden praise...
‘Little lamb, how do I despise it...yet feel warmth within?’
You pushed your face closer. You stuck out your tongue again and this time, glided it over his hot red tip. The gleam of your saliva and his desire shone in the soft candle light of a kerosene lamp on his bedside table.
You tucked your nose quickly back to your chest. You flushed.
Fluttering his eyes, Sherlock clenched the covers. His gasp on his breath was a sound of pain you originally believed.
“Again,” he said clearing his throat, “Come now, I grow tiresome to your reluctance.”
You wanted to spit at him. He knew you didn’t want to do this and yet still made you do it. You licked him again. His hand clapped on the back of your neck, forcing you closer and blocking you from pulling away.
You fell into him slightly, forced to need to grab his pant covered knee and thigh. Your fingers squeezed his trousers to stabilise your balance on your knees.
You looked back up into his eyes. Perhaps it was easier to look him in the eye instead of looking at the brutal beast between his thighs.
You opened your mouth and licked his cock little by little...his thumb pushed up your nose, opening your mouth wider. He pushed his cock into your mouth. His eyes were glued on you. He appeared relaxed.
His skin lacked any flavour. It was like licking your palm...but after a while there was a hint of salt in the taste buds.
You kept your mouth open, you kept your tongue out as he moved his hips in and out. His hand pushed you down and pinched you back up.
Your eyes remained only on him. He was grunting and sighing. A twinge of triumph tickled your heart. You were pleasing him! He would not want to seek out the unsavoury company of whores or any other woman overall.
He paused and leant down. He grabbed at your wrist and picked up his hand and rested your fingers around his length of his cock.
Your blinked and stared at the placement.
“Squeeze, and rub me up to the tip, down to the sack.” You nodded, his cock still rested on your tongue.
He chuckled and rested back on his hands. He waited for you to take over.
This was it. This is what would bring him pleasure. You cupped his shaft and moved the way you were instructed. You did it at a pace where he appear to struggle how to breathe. His words were nothingness under his breath.
He looked to the ceiling and moaned.
The skin was hot and twitched under your finger tips.
He let out a choking groan. The back of your mouth felt that harsh slapping squirt of his release.
You pulled back in horror. Your bottom slid across the rug. You weren’t sure what it was really. In fact you feared he had the audacity to piss in your mouth. You spat on the floor and coughed.
“Ugh!”
He cackled at the mortified look you had written over your sweet face.
He sighed and chewed his bottom lip. He slowly clapped his hands.
“Well done... Forgive me, I had intended to finish myself over your sweet breasts, little lamb.”
He cocked his head to the side and hummed, “Take off my shoes.” He lifted his foot to your direction.
You thought he was entirely despicable! You wiped your mouth with a growing glare. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, in fact, he took glee in your narrowing look..
“You wish to be a wife? Act as a wife. You want my loyalty? Well, you must be my whore...and whores suckle their johns cream with pretty smiles on their painted faces. Wives help their husbands undress from long days of work.”
You felt...weak and disgusting. You felt like an idiot. In your grumpy defeat you crawled back to him and began to unlace his shoes. In the corner of your eye you saw his hand reach back to his front and touch his thick meat. The looser the laces, you lifted your hands and rocked his heel out of his shoe.
Demurely you sat both his shoes aside. His socks smelt of his sweat and the filth of London street ways. You gagged and pinched the wool socks away from his calves and flung them from his toes.
A cramp waved through you and forced a grimacing groan out of your quiet misery.
Sherlock stopped laughing, his smugness dissipated. His face fell. He tucked his cock away with an annoyed sigh.
His hands unexpectedly tucked beneath your armpits and lifted you off the floor. He pushed you lightly onto his mattress onto your front. You felt your breath hitching, worrying what he would do to you. It wouldn’t be right for him to have sex with you during your menses.
He palmed his giant hand over your bottom. Hoisting your night dress up your thighs and over your back. He slapped one cheek lightly and chuckled at your cry and hiss. He grabbed your shoulder and held you down slightly. Your fingers gripped the covers of his top blanket. You had washed and changed this set. They smelt of a sweet lemon citrus.
His lips touched your bare shoulders. His hot breath tingled in your ear.
You flushed and squeezed your eyes shut. God it felt strange and ticklish.
“Look at this perfect little arse,” he admired, groping at the flesh, “Plump and ripe for a needed disciplining. Your grandparents let you get away with far too much.”
He slapped you harder. A scream bellied from you. Your spine curled up and you desperately reached back to scratch his bare arms.
“Stop it! Or I will bite you again!” you shouted.
The detective smacked his lip and hummed, “Ah that reminds me, thankyou little lamb.”
In two fingers he held in front of your eyes his cravat. He stuffed the material deep into your mouth and slapped you swiftly when you tried nipping his hand. Tears poured like boiling water.
He tied the rest of the fabric tightly behind your head. You violently shook your head and fought against him, you tried pushing away only to be shoved down by his strong hands.
He rolled you into your back and used your nightgown to tie your wrists together, over your hands. Your claws were contained from clawing his eyeballs out.
The bonds were pushed above your head. He attached a loose part of the arm of your clothes to the headpost.
He smacked your thighs apart hard. You shrieked behind the gag.
He tore the sanitary apron away and tossed it across the room. You turn your nose into your arm, too embarrassed to look at your husband who played with your body.
You twitched and tried to kick at Sherlock as his hand tickled down your side and between your thighs. The wicked man smirked as he watched your pleading eyes water. He pushed two fingers inside your red hot messed cavern. You felt ill. This was an abomination! He fingered you and held your upper body down, watching you like a hawk as you struggled.
His digits within you flexed and curled. You felt them touch along the top of your walls while his thumb rubbed down into your forbidden button. You whined and shook your head. He removed his hand all together. You clenched your legs back together.
“Oh my, Mrs Holmes,” he purred, glancing down, “You secret slut...this isn’t blood,” he held his fingers up to the light, “Why...this is arousal...”
His lips curled, flashing those pearly white gnashers.
Your eyes widened with horror. You were humiliated. Surely it wasn’t possible that you could be enjoying this? Why did he have to be so handsome. Why did your fear mix in with attraction so easily.
With the clear gleaming on his hand, with little pink streaks, he kissed your cheek and pinched
your nipples.
You shook your head and whimpered. Your legs were buzzing at the pain inflicted increased a desperate certain warmth within you.
“My was that a moan? Interesting,” he whispered cheekily.
“and if I...do this...” he asked as he shoved his hand back onto your snatch, rubbing in fine circles ontop of your clit. Your hips lifted and your thighs trembled. Your toes curled hard and your head rolled back. God it felt delicious and evil.
Amongst your lustful whines, Sherlock chortled happily, “How perfect you might be dear wife...I had no little hope for this morning, but now,” his nose shoved into your ear, “...oh you’ve just gone and damned yourself for good.”
He tugged at your pubic mane lightly, it didn’t matter, it made you squeal and howl in pain.
Your husband sat up and left the bed. Your arms were still bound above your head. You lifted your knees protectively to your chest.
“All this hair...” He tutted, “it shall not do.”
You heard him wonder across his bedroom. Out of his personal drawers he found a straight razor. He also brought forth the basin of water he had near the door way. With a cloth napkin and tiny sliver of soap, he returned and forced your legs down on to the bed. He knelt on your spread ankles and lathered your nether curls.
It was when the soap started to foam that you realised what he was intending to do. It was impossible to word the begging but he knew...you knew he knew what you were pleading out.
You knew how sharp a razor could be. What if he mutilated you!?
He glided the cold metal over your wet sensitive skin.
He licked his bottom lip as he scrapped away your mass of pubic hair.
“Hold still wife or I will cut you,” he scolded sarcastically as he went through the white bubbles.
Cleaning the razor in the water before returning it back between your thighs he hummed, “I am displeased you didn’t confer with me about the states of my accounts before deciding to pay them all off yourself. That dowry was meant for dresses, and necessary accessories such as calling cards...” he tapped the razor on the basin bowl, “now we must both rely on Mycroft and my cases for wages...stupid girl.”
The way he stared into your eyes as he held the blade up to the light...was he threatening you...was this...a warning.
You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep shuddering breath. Tied to his bed and at his whim you were significantly helpless.
His hands took the towel and wiped your cunt clean of the hairs and soap still left behind. He whistled dramatically and smirked.
“My, my, what a pretty pussy you have.” He mused as he tossed the razor into the basin and moved the water bowl under the bed, out of the way.
His middle finger pushed inside. You gasped. The stretching intrusion took you off your guard.
“So tight still. I might need to train you to take me.”
He tore it back out and touched your naked clit lightly.
You gasped and choked behind the cravat. With deep moans, you wept pathetically.
“Oh look at that reaction,” he cooed condescendingly, he caressed the skin with his knuckle, “and all I’m doing is touching your clit. So sensitive.”
He licked his bottom lip and smirked, he pulled his hand back and slapped his palm across your labia. You squeal as the hot fiery pain rose up under your skin and spread out a dark shade with the rushing of your blood.
“Splendid responses to the nerves,” Sherlock noted before running the stinging flesh, you whined and turned your face into your arm.
“Bit sore I gather?” The man mocked, “Poor Lamb. All mine and bloody for sacrifice.”
A horrid in taking sound came from him. He spat on his fingers and pushed the wetted digits against your labia, dragging them down before sliding in home.
“There we are, squeezing so tightly around my finger, feels filling?”
He paused and listened to your heavy breathing behind the man made gag he had over your mouth. Listening to your ragged gasps and wheezes made his cock stir. You were so innocent and confused, he could see through your prudish and proper demeanour so easily. He fingered you until you were on the brink of insanity. Your eyes were becoming hazy, strained and almost crossed.
He thought it incredible...a true virgin. Not some pretender whore that his friend Miss Adler supplied. You were the authentic innocent.
“Now that you are properly tied up and without risk to harm me,” he whispered wetly, “-And decently groomed... I will complete our union.” He removed his fingers slowly out of you.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You needed to compose yourself. You wanted to pretend you were back home with your grandparents. You imagined yourself in the gardens with your cousins playing balls. Oh back then life was a struggle but comparing to this...it was truly childsplay.
You yearned for your girlhood once more before you felt him move off the bed a moment only to shove your thighs wider apart and sit the head of his cock on top of your naked hairless lips.
Here the devil had come to steal all girlhood for good and inflict the agonising curse of
womanhood.
He entered slowly. Clearly he had learnt from yesterday that this task would only be accomplished with patience.
Indeed yesterday would’ve been considered a consummated marriage...so why he cared so much to refer to this as a completion of union alluded you.
You whimpered softly and peaked through your wet lashes to see his invasive entrance breaking into you.
To say you were full was placing it lightly. This man stole all possible space inside. He left no pocket of air as he pushed along and settled within.
His hands were tightly holding each ankle apart.
You now understood why he touched you with his hands before...your slickness welcomed and slid him deeper into you.
“Oh, my poor little lamb, taking in her masters thick cock so bravely,” he praised and then laughed as you struggled against your own nightgown binded to the headboard, “unable to nip or kick back at him.”
You grew silent in defeat. You submitted to the chance of zero hopelessness. Your legs fell limply.
He released your ankles.
You were plagued in your own paralysis.
You felt like he was pausing before pushing more inside. He was huge. There’s not many you could compare it too as a recently deflowered woman but you were confident his size must’ve been abnormal. Even he winced every so often at the tight squeeze.
When his pelvic bone pressed against your cunt, he sighed, “There...truly man and wife...at last...” A small scoff was heard.
You said something behind the gag that caught his ear. It was too muffled.
He pulled the gag harshly down your chin.
“What was that?”
You narrowed your eyes at him and huffed stubbornly, “Hu-husband and wife. Not man and wife.”
You wanted to remind him exactly who he was doing this to and why he could do it...because you allowed it.
“Correct you are, my darling,” he let a laugh escape him before he moved back, “Now if I just pull and twist my hips like this.”
He re-entered and this time he put his thumb on your clit as he went inside. Your eyes blew wide and you began to babble.
“Oh oh oh! Wh-what wait, please!” You started to moan and whine.
Your husband cackled proudly, “It feels good doesn’t it?”
You foolishly nodded in truth. Something sparked a flame that flooded your insides.
He did it again and again. He repeated and rubbed down into you. The filling of his member rubbing against all parts of your inner skin made you clench and groan.
You felt increasingly needful to collect the same high feeling he had delivered on you before. You were climbing an imaginary hill. The urge to release your bladder made your eyes widen.
Desperation took you into the most needful begging, “N-no! I need to use a bedpan please
Sherlock, please, I am going to make a mess! Stop! I’ll do anything.”
Your little gasps and desperate moans spurred your husband on.
His hips were making a fast speeding pace that made you dig your knees into his sides.
You wanted him to stop. You were scared of pissing over him, especially in his bed.
“I want you to let go,” he moaned and shoved his nose against yours. His breath entered your mouth as he raggedy groaned, “Release, trust me...it will feel good.”
You didn’t trust him. You didn’t know what he meant. How could this behaviour be acceptable.
“No, no, no, no, ugh, ugh, stah-, Sher-, ugh, pl-please!”
He slammed himself harder and licked at your chest, “Such a pretty beggar, dear lord, I predicted you to be a homely creature, I have been proven wrong. In this light, you are rare gem of the seas of Venus. Oh sweet lamb, give me your release.”
You couldn’t hold yourself in containment any longer. You let your lower half go. You clenched hard down onto him.
You found your spine curl and your mouth wordlessly wailing.
“Breathe dead, breathe,” you heard Sherlock call above your silent choking before unleashing a brutalising scream. It was like taking your first breath, being reborn.
When the air released, your chest burned. You gasped and cried out as some mighty string was torn within and drowned you in a flooding dam of pleasure.
Sherlock followed your desirable agony and let his mind go. His grunting was feral and full of need.
Your muscles released and you cried with the feeling of warm melted gold ran through you.
You weakly called out, “Sherlock...”
His hot lips kissed against your sweaty skin. He kissed your neck up to your chin and cheek and engulfed your own mouth in a sloppy sensation of saliva and soft lips.
When your eyes focused and found a semblance of sane sight, you beheld a pleased man. You felt his fingers touching along your arms and wrists.
“I am going to untie you, hush you are safe...”
You shut your eyes. The last tears to come derived from pleasure and a overwhelming sense of joy that was foreign to you. You trembled, still drinking in the vibrations of your body.
You were stuck in a blanket of bodily pleasure. You had never been so relaxed and warm in your entire life.
You enjoyed what he had done and you didn’t know why especially since you heavily disliked your own husband.
Was this what Mrs Hudson referred to? Screaming followed by smiles?
‘Oh’, you thought, ‘never again will a woman have what I just claimed. This is mine and always shall be.’
“I...need...um...I...words...I...you’ve...I can’t think...I am spent,” you mumbled dumbly.
A part of you wanted to thank him and have him leave you alone to wallow in sleep. Another wanted him to do it all again.
“Pretty Lamb,” he cooed in your ear as your hands limply fell to the mattress, “I am going to carry you now.”
He had tucked himself away and scooped his hands under your legs. He moved your arms around his shoulders and pushed you to sit up before clamping his arm beneath your back. His nose tucked into your neck where he left another kiss.
Carefully he lifted you off his bed and stepped out into the dining parlour where he turned and took you to your room beside his.
He pulled the blankets and sheets away before sliding you down beneath them.
He pulled the cover up to your chin and you whimpered, “I...am sore.”
His hard face softened, he pressed his lips to your cheek and asked, “You are?”
You nodded your head, “I...feel...light...tired.”
He left your side to shut your door. The light disappeared completely. Only the moon that casted light over his face helped you see as he faced you again. He wondered over and invaded your bed space.
He climbed in along side you. The wood creaked with his added weight. You were slightly alarmed he was coming into your bed and not returning back to his room.
You were drowsy and moaned.
“Sleep, in my arms,” He said as you weakly tried rolling away.
You turned back and stared at the shadows of his face. His eyes were black with only small specks of the light reflecting.
His skin was sticky and hot... But tonight it was cold and windy...you needed him...he wanted you...you succeeded.
In the darkness, you decided to reclaim some small pride...you pushed your face up and kissed his lip. Breathing him in you could finally smell him and taste him. Chalk, blood, and tobacco.
You shut your eyes and imagined the joy of your grandmother if you could tell her how you finally became the wife of Sherlock Holmes before the rites of Godly flesh.
He was silent and still. He said nothing. Did nothing.
When you pulled back from the kids he rested his head softly back on the pillows with a light hum. His fingers tickled up your naked back, holding you close. You rubbed your cheek into his bicep and listened to his heart beat and breathing until you passed into the dreamlands of sleep.
•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•
6:04am Wednesday 7th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.
You dreamt of your father and mother. Two people who never married, but at some point were in love. You never had the chance to see them together in happiness.
They were well dressed and strolling in the park pushing a perambulator. And as you followed them it had not struck you that this was a dream. Inside the baby carriage was nothing at all...it was odd.
Yet your parents smiled and both leant in to kiss each other....their hands both held wedding bands.
If you had never been born, you suddenly thought, would they have been able to marry and be happy?
Your mother as she loved upon your father shoved the perambulator away. It rolled fast down the path and you followed it for a moment before hearing a terrible wail of a baby inside. A baby that wasn’t in the carriage before suddenly appeared, pulling back a blanket that covered it.
You chased after the carriage as it sped up and went down a hill. Your heart ached with terror. You struggled to keep up and reached out your hand to the handle bar. It was rolling just out of your reach!
You sobbed as the carriage crashed into Tree and fell to its side. Out rolled...a bleating lamb...the creature rose up on its four wiggly legs and bleated again. It’s long wagging tail flickered around anxiously.
You landed on your knees before the lamb and kept crying. Not even you knew the reason for your tears. You held the small animal to your torso, checking it over for any broken limbs. The baby sheep was fine.
A tap on your head made you look up and standing above you was a dark faceless shadow of a man. The shadow sucked you in and you screamed at the darkness before waking up.
Above you was a face you did know...your husband’s. His eyes danced around your features. His lips curled into a smirk, “Good morning Mrs Holmes, how did you sleep?”
You blinked and peered up at him warily before slowly you sat up and away from him. His hand touched your shoulder, your hand grabbed his wrist.
What was he doing in your bed? Why were you nude!? Ah the revaluations if the previous evening re-established back into your memory. He had fully fucked you. He had claimed you...and in your drunken sleepy state, you kissed him. You flushed.
“I slept fine...” you lied, “Please let me up,” you glanced between him, the door of the bedroom and your wardrobe, “I need to start my day.”
You swallowed hard as you looked over his broad chest.
“Nonsense,” Sherlock stated before dragging you closer to him by your waist, his hands were huge and warm, it would be too much to say even comforting.
“We have plenty of time before Mrs Hudson climbs up the stairs.” His lips touched your jaw and peppered down your neck..
“Mr Holmes...please,” you cleared your throat as your hand pushed his chest to force a pause. You flushed with embarrassment. He noticed very quickly at your strained tone.
“Oh...I see...you recall the events of last night...your self deduction?”
His hands under the blanket slid downward to your thighs. He touched the soft shaved skin of your pubis. You felt twice as sensitive...
“H-humiliated, st-stupid and angry,” you shuddered.
You had let him hurt you again...and yet this time it came to a pleasant conclusion. You were disgusted in yourself for obeying him so quickly, so willingly I’m regards to giving him fellatio.
His fingers pressed your clit and he smiled at your gasp.
“And now?”
You gulped and turned your face into the pillows away from his eyes.
It was hard to deny how much you enjoyed the jumping buzz in your lower belly.
His laugh was crude to your ears, “See how easy it is to feel that sweet entrapment?” He rubbed his hand between your legs and marvelled at your heightened reaction, “My goodness look at you, your cunt is pulsing against me, hot and hard in my palm.”
Your breath hitched and your hips accidentally rolled into his touch. Your body craved the addictive buzz. Your thighs parted for him...he accepted the invitation and moved a finger inside while he ground his palm against your bundle of nerves.
“Oh, are you going to release again?” he whispered proudly.
He chuckled at your shaking head. Your pathetic attempts to mentally deny it. You were close by how tightly you fluttered around just his lone finger. Your knees shook and clamped together. His finger continued jerking in and out.
“Oh ride the sweet death, come to be me, come, come, come to me little lamb.”
His mouth ducked down to your nude chest. He licked across your nipples and suckled them into his cheeks loudly.
Your hand grabbed the blankets and his wrist. You rolled your head back and sighed as whatever that spell was took over you.
“Did you know,” he smacked his lips across your breasts, before tonguing a single nipple, “you’ve the most delicious teats?”
You groaned and blushed. You were trying to catch your own breath.
He pressed his cock against your leg before taking your hand and forcing you to hold him.
“Touch me, hold it and slide your hand up and down like a silk pole.”
You did as he asked while he kissed your mouth openly. Your eyes fluttered shut and jerked him off until you felt a wetness glide down your hands, he moaned.
This is the kindest he has ever been to you presently.
You pulled your hand away and up to the light of the morning. Your eyes widened at the white goop stuck on your fingers and back of your hand.
“Wha-what is this?”
He chuckled and kissed your cheek proclaiming, “My seed.” Seed...to make children...but it was so...
“Its...liquid,” you disagreed, “and wet and sticky...it’s like mucus.”
He raced his fingers along your hip and patiently explained, “When drained inside of you,” his hand touched your lower belly, “it goes up and impregnates. But you are still bleeding so it washes out and won’t catch in your womb.”
You blinked and let your dirty hand fall back on the top of the covers.
“Oh...”
You felt him sit up and you mirrored him. You slid out of the bed as his warmth left you. Watching him pull his trousers properly back up over his hips and waist made you fluster from the sight of his bare arse.
It was such a plump bottom.
He pulled away your blanket, unveiling your nude self to the cold morning.
He turned around and brought back your water basin and a cloth. He soaked the material in and pressed the wet cloth to your thighs.
“Stay still,” he said softly, “I’m just washing you.”
You paused before you spread your legs for him and awkwardly nodded, “Thankyou...husband.”
Surely you could’ve cleaned yourself. You hissed as he scrubbed the dry blood and release from you thighs. The cold water on your hot dirty skin was soothing.
You stood out of your bed finally and hurried to your dresser to find either some padding tubes or a sanitary apron.
Your rolled the bandage up quickly and turned away from Sherlock as you inserted the material.
You felt...strange doing this in front of him. A part of him you were sure might be repulsed at the sight.
Except he had his back turned to you, he was washing himself in the basin while he asked, “How did you find the carnal pleasure?”
You froze and felt your mouth dry up. Had he forgotten that he had tied you up?!
It was hard to meet his eyes. You wrapped your arms around yourself. Your husband turned to you.
You felt the need to cover your privates with your hands.
“Strange, it...felt correct...but...wrong...” you cleared your throat, “forbidden, despite our vows.”
He smiled and nodded to the bed while he passed you to your wardrobe and investigated the contents, “Many young ladies new to it have expressed the same condolences...that is sex. That is coitus. That is what husband and wife do. To make babies, and to feel pleasure.”
Your nose wrinkled. Sherlock was significantly older than you. You trusted this wisdom. He was clearly an experienced man from the prices spent at Mayfair.
“Why did it hurt so much the first time?” you asked.
No one had prepared or explained why having sex with your husband would hurt. He was so brutal the first day. And last night it hurt but not as much...
He sighed and pulled out dark navy blouse and a skirt to match. You felt the urge to correct his choice as he held them up. It was an outfit for outside outings. You weren’t meant to leave the home during this delicate time.
He asked over his shoulder, “Have you ever ridden horses?”
“I have,” you answered honestly.
“Side saddle?” His left brow raised.
“Sometimes,” you pursed your lips and watched him lay out your clothes on your bed, “It was easier for balance when riding as men do.”
He nodded and went to collect a pair of your boots, “And that hurt your thighs the first time?”
“First few ride like that yes,” you agreed, huffing impatiently, “Where is this conversation leading?”
He pulled you closer by pinching your hip. He pushed a chemise over your head. Your eyes widened, this wasn’t his role...to help you dress. It was your responsibility and Mrs Hudson if you were inclined to ask for her assistance.
“How did the pain go away?” he asked.
You rolled your eyes and answered the obvious explanation, “Because my body accommodated and my muscles for the riding evolved to accept the saddled position.”
He passed you a pair of open crotch bloomers. You pulled the material over your legs and tied the strings to your waist over the corset.
He smiled and pinched your chin, “The same is said for sex. The more you practice, the better it will be for you and...your health.”
You flushed and turned your face away from him...you felt foolish with the way his eyes ran over your bare body. He turned you around and helped pull a corset over your head and began fighting the strings in the back.
“I...it hurt and felt good...I felt...suffocated...I thought I saw a bright light,” you grunted as he tugged.
Your husband shut his eyes and with a smile he hummed pleasingly, “La petite mort.” “The Little death?” You gasped.
He flicked his eyes open. He sounded amused, “ah you know French little lamb?”
“of course I do,” you scoffed lightly, “any self respectable lady must learn French.”
Not his sister, “I suppose so.”
He pulled more of the ties closer. The corset grew taunt and supportive of your chest. His fingers tugged down further.
“Why did you go to Scotland yard yesterday?” You asked him as he finished tying the laces together.
“And who did you have a fight with?”
You tapped your face with a soft finger. He passed you a hose suspender belt. You clipped the hooks behind your back while the belt sat on your waist.
“There’s now a bruise under your chin that I most certainly did not cause Mr Holmes...” A part of you wished you had. He would’ve deserved it from you. He rubbed the dark spot and smirked.
Your husband sat on your bed and plucked your stockings. He pat his thigh and opened the stockings up. You lifted your leg and rested it on his thigh. You clenched the wooden canopy pole to steady your balance.
You were embarrassed. At this angle he would be able to see your cunt stuffed with the white fluff soaking up your menstruation.
He showed no care or disgust. He slid the soft cotton up your leg and kissed your knee cheekily.
He clipped your stocking to the suspension strings.
“I inquired upon the Pennicott case,” he claimed,” his thumb rubbed dangerously over your thigh...
God, you felt a spark at the touch.
“I thought you said it was obvious,” you stuttered, “He ran out from his wife.”
“I did, and...I rethought it,” he admitted, he slid the other stocking up your other leg, “Pennicott is a Baron and a owner of many warehouse factories. His wife comes from a well off family too and she is pregnant last heard, baby number six now. Why would he disappear off the face of the earth?...”
He stood up straight and forced your arms above your head before he slid a petticoat across your waist.
“A lover?”
He smiled as he tied the strings at your waist and shook his head, “No, men like Pennicott would just keep their arm candy and refer to them as a niece of a distant cousin. And if he was attached so lovingly, he would just move to another country but to completely eradicate and leave all his finances? To leave his wife in her state? It makes not much sense. He was making a fine quarter profit! So why is he missing?”
He passed you the blouse and skirt.
“Well,” You pulled the skirt over your arms and buttoned the buttons up to our neck “Perhaps he’s been kidnapped, for ransom?”
Sherlock hummed, “Maybe Watson, but I do wonder still.” You blinked...
“Pardon?” you gawked.
He raised his brows to your exclamation.
“You called me Watson.”
“Oh dear god,” he chuckled and passed you your skirt, “it’s already happening.”
You slid on the final layer and wrinkled your nose at him, “What is happening?” Sherlock stood up from the bed and clapped his hands.
“Come with me,” he softly begged, “Today I will be visiting his wife. The Baroness. I am investigating the case.”
Your eyes fluttered. Your thoughts couldn’t keep up. You sputtered as you tried to find sensibility. “Sherlock, it is our honeymoon and I am bleeding,” you whispered, “It is improper. I need to conduct laundry. Both our bedding must be soaked in...” you cleared your throat, “the blood.” He winked at you and pulled you close to his nude chest by your covered waist.
“Isn’t it marvelous that we have a housekeeper for such things?”
You narrowed your eyes... “A housekeeper is not a maid and I would not subject Mrs Hudson to cleaning that. She has told me herself that linens is not of her department.”
The tall man bent down and offered, “Mrs Hudson will clean the laundry, trust me..”
Despite his assurance, It wasn’t right for you to be out and about in public like this.
“And what would I be doing,” you tested, “Running after you as you speak to the Baroness?”
“Sitting pretty,” Sherlock stated, “And looking for clues.”
Your eyes sharpened, “Clues?”
Your husband tapped your nose, “Yes, you seem to have a hint of talent in that department. You just don’t know where to deduce the end results for the clues.” You blinked....
With a soft mutter you stated, “I suppose it would allow me more insight to your profession and a chance to bond and learn about each other...”
Before you could continue anymore questions you heard a soft knock on your bedroom door.
“Mrs Hudson,” you both whispered, glancing to one another.
Helplines:
If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.
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#dead dove fic#dead dove do not eat#sherlock holmes x y/n#sherlock holmes x female reader#sherlock holmes x poc!reader#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes#enola sherlock#henry sherlock#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x y/n#henry cavill x ofc#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x reader#wowb
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Someone to take her home
Hey guys so I wrote this a while ago! This is a Henry one shot it an OFC because I'll die on the self insert hill! LOL it gives me so much comfort. Is that weird IDK. Anyway this story is kind of heavy. I wrote this to get out some feelings about an SA that I had experienced. I've always been someone that if I'm stressed I rewrite the situation with a comforting outcome or a better outcome to release the stress or make myself feel better. I wanted to sort of write myself a way to get some comfort from the trauma. And I hope having a character like this sweet soft version of Henry may help some of you too. I never reached out for myself for help and maybe I should have but if you experienced something please talk to someone. If you need someone to talk to or just want a place to let it out my DM's are a safe space <3 Just as disclaimer this doesn't mention any of the actual situation that happened to me. Just a filler to get out the emotion. Still this is a fluff with lots of love and sweet gentle young Henry bc I just know in my soul this was and is how he is as a person!
Warnings: Light Cursing, Trauma, Mentions of sexual assault. (Please reach out for help even if it's just talking to someone about your situation. My DM's are open if y'all wanna talk after this <3)
Description: OFC goes to college party and meets Henry and they become fast friends. and he helps her when things turn bad with a guy he warned her about.
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I stared at myself in the mirror one more time. I needed to leave soon. If I looked any longer I would find something I hated and talk myself out of going. So I grabbed my bag and turned off my bedroom light. Nervous didn’t begin to describe how I was feeling. I’d never been to a party like this before. Sure I’d been out a few times in high school. But it was usually theater cast parties. And one time my friend and I stole some captain morgan from her parents liquor cabinet. But this was on an entirely different scale.
Most of my drinking was a night in with the girls with wine or movie night drinking games. God I sound so boring. It’s not that I don’t enjoy partying. I was genuinely excited to be invited out tonight. Lilly and I had worked together for a few assignments in class. And we would say hi when we ran into each other in the dorms. But, I never expected to get a text this afternoon inviting me to her boyfriend's party. Purdue was an incredibly large campus. Upwards of 40,000 plus students. Yet somehow Lilly’s boyfriend Riley Hardesty seemed to know everyone. He was known for throwing huge parties all year. They weren’t exclusive. You could just be driving through the neighborhood and stop in. But she told me a friend of Riley’s had asked her about me.
Matt Parker. I know of him. He’s in my English 204 lecture. But we’ve never talked. But he is really attractive. So maybe something good would come from all of this! I decided just to walk as my dorm wasn’t far from the house Riley and his roommates lived in. It was a cool night in mid october and I was definitely regretting the little black denim skirt I was wearing. I was smart enough to wear a cardigan but it was still cold. Thank God it's only 2 blocks down. I bit my lip nervously. Am I even going to know anyone here? Anyone I actually talk to? It’s too late now. I already got dressed and ready. I walked here. I have to go through with this.
I took a deep breath and walked inside. Things were already full swing. I could hear the music outside before I even opened the door. No one seemed to notice me and honestly I was okay with that. I looked around scanning the room. Almost everyone had a drink in hand, standing around in groups talking. The smell of pot hit me immediately as I started to walk through the house. I wasn’t the least bit surprised. I made my way to the kitchen where I found multiple drinks, alcohol and mixers available. I kept it simple and grabbed a wine cooler. Something fruity. I was definitely going to need a buzz if I was going to be here longer than 5 minutes.
I pushed my way out of the kitchen and found a quiet corner to drink and observe for a while. I was busy listening to some guys talk about last weekend's football game when I heard someone’s voice. And I realized they were talking to me. I shifted my eyes seeing a guy standing next to me. He was maybe 6’1, blue eyes, and brown hair with soft curls. I gave him a gentle smile,
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I asked. He smiled and chuckled softly. His smile was beautiful.
“I uh, Just noticed your shirt. Are you a Def Leppard fan?” He asked. I looked down. I completely forgot that was the shirt I was wearing. I just thought a band t-shirt would look cute with the skirt. But
“Yeah! Well I know a few of their songs! My Mom was in her 20’s in the 80’s and she loved them!” I said.
“She has good taste! They’re awesome! Are you here by yourself? Not trying to be creepy I just noticed you were by yourself over here and I wanted to make sure you were alright,” He rambled. I nodded.
“I look that out of place huh? Yeah, I um. I’m friends with Riley’s girlfriend. Well not friends necessarily. But I know her. Anyway she invited me because of some friend of Riley’s but I don’t know this isn’t normally my scene. Wow that was a lot,” I blushed. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“For?” He smiled, raising an eyebrow. “We’re talking. I like getting to know people! And I totally get it. This can kind of be a lot sometimes. I actually came with some friends but I needed to step away from all the crazy for a second. I’m Henry by the way.” He smiled, extending his hand. I took it and He squeezed mine softly.
“Alayna!” I said.
“It’s nice to meet you!” He smiled. “Which one of Riley’s friends? If you don't mind me asking,” He raised an eyebrow.
“Matt Parker,” I said bluntly. “You know him,” Henry took a sip of his beer and nodded.
“I do, He’s alright. We’re sort of friends I suppose. He may have good intentions. Listen, I know you don’t need my advice, but just be careful around him. I don’t know what you were expecting with him or hoping for. But he can be a little, well, if I had a daughter I wouldn’t trust him with her. But I could be wrong. I’m sorry, that was a bit much. I don't want to ruin your evening,” He said.
“For?” I smirked copying his face from earlier. “You seem to have pure intentions. Just looking out for someone. That’s really kind of you actually. I honestly don't know what I was expecting. But I can handle myself. I didn’t really come out tonight for him. I wanted to actually let loose and have fun for once. I’ve been trying to have more adventures, meet new people, make new friends.” I smiled looking him in the eyes on that last part. He gave me a big smile and held out his beer bottle to cheers me.
“To new friends,” He spoke and we clinked our bottles together. “I like you, I mean talking to you.” He said.
“I like talking to you too! I was honestly super anxious about coming tonight. I was worried I’d be too anxious and awkward to have fun or it would be too much. Because this is a lot. I’m 100% sure I saw someone do coke off the kitchen counter. But I’m actually enjoying myself. Right now anyway.” I laughed. Henry chuckled.
“Good! Well, I’m going to go find my friends but, what's your number? I’ll send you a text real quick and if you get overwhelmed or uncomfortable or need to escape all of this for a bit come find me! Or text me. I’d be happy to be there for you. And we can just chill out for a while.” I smiled and gave him my phone number. It was nice to meet someone as kind as Henry. You don’t meet a lot of people that… genuine and gentlemanly in places like this. He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before he walked off to find his friends. I wandered off to get another drink while I was standing in the kitchen waiting to grab another wine cooler. I felt someone lay their arm across my shoulder.
“Hey gorgeous,” I recognized Matt’s voice. I gave him a soft smile.
“Hi,” I spoke.
“I’m glad you came tonight, You having a good time,” He asked, clearly buzzed.
“Yeah,” I said tentatively “One hell of a party!” I laughed.
“For sure!” He smiled and moved to the side of me taking his arm off my shoulder. “What are you drinking babe?” He asked.
“Just Mike's lemonade.” I chuckled awkwardly.
“Aw come on girl you can do something stronger than that huh?” He joked. I shook my head.
“I probably could but I’d rather not get sick.” I said.
“Aw well come on at least do a shot with me?” He asked, giving me a puppy dog face and pouting. “Just tequila, we got training wheels!” He added.
“I don’t know… I don’t wanna get too crazy,” I said.
“Nah, it’ll be alright, it’ll just loosen you up a bit!” He spoke already pouring the shots. He slid one over to me. And a piece of lime. “Ready?” I picked up the shot and stared at it questioningly.
“Alright,” He smiled. We clicked the glasses and hit them against the table before taking the shot. It was super bitter. I immediately followed it with the lime. But it didn’t help much. When I looked up again Matt had gotten me another Mike’s from the cooler.
“Atta girl!” He smirked. He took a step closer and I took the drink from him. Then I heard someone call his name from across the house. They were starting another game of beer pong. “That’s my que babe, but wait for me yeah? I’ll come back to you after this game!” He smirked and left a wet kiss on my cheek before running off to join the boys.
Charming is certainly not a word I would use to describe him. But he’s nice. And he’s just trying to make sure I have fun. There’s no harm in that. I wandered around the party again. I opened up my new bottle and tossed the cap on a nearby coffee table. I thought about watching the beer pong game but I honestly wasn’t interested. I found the door leading to the backyard and saw there was a bonfire going. I stepped outside and found an empty seat by the fire. I watched it crackle for a bit and took a long sip of my drink. I felt a warmth inside me and knew it was coming from the alcohol. I started to relax as I listened to the fire and the white noise of the people chatting around me. It was a gorgeous night.
“Hey!” I heard a voice from behind me. “Funny meeting you out here!” Henry spoke, pulling up a chair next to me.
“Hey!” I said excitedly. “It’s calm out here. I like it!” I said. Henry smiled.
“I do too, I love a good fire. Fuels the soul.” He half joked.
“ I love the smell! Is that weird?” I laughed.
“No,” He chuckled softly “Not at all! So, besides the band on that very cool shirt, What other music do you like?” Henry asked, leaning back in his chair and taking a long swig of his beer.
“Oh all kinds. I’m a big lover of the stuff from the 70s though! Elton John, Heart, the Beatles, I guess they’re technically 60’s. I know it’s kind of old school but. I feel like they just don’t make music like that anymore.” I explained.
“Classic! I like it,” He smiled.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Oh I’m all over the place too. I’m actually a big country fan!” He smirked.
“I wouldn’t have expected that from you but I respect it. It’s not my favorite genre but there are definitely some good ones there!” I smiled. Henry and I chatted for a while. We talked about our majors. He's a history major. Where we’re from, he has an accent but I didn’t want to ask and be weird about it. He told me he’s from the UK. We talked about books, history and our friends. It was nice. A little while later I felt an arm around my shoulder again. I knew it was Matt.
“There she is! Did you think I forgot about you babe?” He asked.
“No,” I smiled blushing softly. He smiled.
“Hey Henry! Are you having a good time, man?” He asked. Henry nodded and finished his beer.
“Yeah! Actually I should go get another one. It was nice talking to you Alayna!” He smiled at me before he got up and left. I don’t know why but I could tell Henry wasn’t the biggest fan of Matt. He said they were friends earlier but I think he was just trying to be nice
I was shaken from the thought when I heard Matt’s voice again.
“Hey, follow me!” He said enthusiastically.
“Okay,” I smiled. I got up and followed him back inside. He led us upstairs and down the hall to what I assume was his room.
“Too many people out there, I wanted to be alone with you,” He smiled.
“That’s really sweet! It is pretty crowded.” I said.
“Yeah,” He said blankly. “Are you enjoying the party?” He asked.
“I am,” I said half telling the truth. I enjoyed talking to Henry.
“God you’re so gorgeous,” He said. “I always want to talk to you in class but you always leave so quickly I never get the chance.” He said.
“Thank you,” I blushed.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked. I don’t know if I wanted it or if it was the alcohol but I nodded. He smirked and leaned in kissing me on the lips. It was gentle at first but then he quickly started using tongue. I felt kind of awkward. So I backed away. “Oh sorry, you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I lied. He just nodded and went back to kissing me. I kissed him back a bit but then I felt him start to feel me up. I froze. I really didn’t want that. He moved his hand under my shirt and I stopped him.
“Uh Matt, I really don’t know about this.” I said nervously. He pulled back
“It’s fine, nobody's gonna come in, don't worry about it.” He said and started kissing my neck. Oh god this sucks.
“No I mean. I don’t… want to do this.” I stuttered.
“Come on, it’ll be fun babe, it’ll be alright.” He kept feeling me up and continued kissing me. I felt stuck. He pushed himself against me, grinding into me. He moaned. I swallowed hard. Fuck, I really didn’t want this.
“No, Matt, I really don’t want to.” I said again.
“Shhh just go with it.” he said, shushing me. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise.” He said, sliding his hand under my skirt and rubbing his fingers against me.
“No, stop Matt,” I said again, my voice quivering. He was definitely stronger than me. He used his other hand to take himself out of his shorts and he grabbed my hand putting it on him while he kept touching me, forcing his fingers inside. It hurt. I don’t know how but finally I found the strength to push him away from me. He stumbled back and fell against the bed and I ran out of the room. I could feel the tears stinging in my eyes already but I had to get out of this house. I quickly ran down the stairs and out the front door. Matt was pretty drunk so I don’t even think he tried to follow me. I walked a little way down the street and stopped letting out a sob. What the hell just happened. How did I let that happen? How could I have been stupid enough to trust him or follow him? I didn’t know what to do. I probably should have headed back to the dorm but I didn’t want to be alone right now. I took to my phone trying to think of who to talk to.
I saw I had a text. It was Henry. “Hey it’s me! Henry I mean lol feel free to text me anytime.” I sent him a quick text taking a deep breath and trying to pull myself together. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I was so stupid. He tried to warn me.
“Hey, it’s Alayna, where are you?” I sent it. To my surprise he responded almost immediately.
“By the fire, You okay?” it read.
“Would you wanna go on a walk with me?” I asked. There’s no way I could go back there.
“Sure :) where are you?”
“On the front sidewalk like 3 houses down toward campus.”
“Be right there!” true to his word about 2 minutes later I saw him walking down the sidewalk toward me.
“How are you?” He asked.
“Good,” I nodded absentmindedly.
“Were you leaving?” He asked.
I um,” I stuttered “Yeah, it was just… too much. I was gonna head home. I feel stupid I was just gonna walk home. I'll be fine, I’ll let you have fun. I don’t wanna interrupt your night.” I rambled.
“No! Please do! I’d be happy to walk you home. Talking with you was the most fun I had tonight actually.” He stated simply. I smiled weakly.
“I’m glad.” I said.
“Are you alright?” He asked me. I sighed trying not to get emotional.
“Yeah, just a little overwhelmed and tired.” I lied. We walked in silence for a bit. I couldn’t believe how kind he was. The fact that he would leave his friends to walk me home. He was genuinely concerned about me. That feeling made me even more overwhelmed and finally after everything I could help but start crying. I felt like I had no control over my body as I started to sob. I felt my shoulders start to shake. Henry stopped and put his hands on my shoulders.
“Alayna what's wrong?” He asked me. I tried so hard to speak.
“He wouldn’t.. And I said… no, but he kept…” it all came out in broken sobs. Henry didn’t say anything. He just pulled me into him and hugged me tightly. After a few seconds. I started to calm down and tried to steady my breathing.
“Shh it’s alright, just breathe.” I heard him say. I slowed my breathing. “Did he touch you?” He asked gently, trying not to upset me again. I couldn’t speak, I just nodded. Henry went stiff. I looked up and saw his jaw was clenched. “Mother fucker,” He mumbled quietly under his breath. Then he spoke louder “Do you want to go talk to someone? Like report it?” He asked. Again his voice was gentle. I shook my head.
“I can’t, I know I should but I really can’t, not now.” I said. He nodded.
“Okay, well let's get you home.” He said. I started to walk again. Henry kept an arm around me as we walked. We were quiet the whole way there. He walked me all the way to the door. Wanting to make sure I got in okay.
“Thank you,” I said. But just as he turned to leave I grabbed his hand. “Wait, please don’t go.” I said, trying not to sound desperate. Not that I had the energy to care.
“You want me to stay?” he asked. I nodded.
“Yeah, no, I .. I don’t .. You don’t have to, I’ll be okay.” I said.
“Hey,” He paused, grabbing my hand. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” So I took off my shoes and slipped into the bathroom to change into some shorts. I laid in my bed and Henry sat next to me. “Do you want to watch something?” He asked. I nodded. And turned on my TV scrolling aimlessly. I stopped on some old 90’s sitcom.
“Thank you, for staying,” I said.
“You shouldn’t be alone right now. And I meant what I said. I had more fun talking to you tonight than with anyone else.” He smiled sympathetically.
“I did too,” I said. I sat up going to kiss him but he stopped me.
“Not tonight, darling. Believe me I would love to kiss you. But I think you’ll regret it later if you do this now. I like you. I’m not going anywhere. Let's take this slow. You’ve been through a lot tonight. I’ll still be here when you’re ready. But I think tonight you need to rest.” he said. The universe gave me Henry tonight. If I hadn’t ran into him. I’d have been alone after being sexually assaulted by a guy I barely know. Any other guy wouldn’t have treated me like him. He was so gentle and respectful. He was genuinely looking out for my best interest when he could’ve taken advantage of my vulnerability. I just nodded.
“I’m sorry that was stupid.” I sighed.
“No, it wasn’t” he put his arm around me pulling me into his side and I naturally rested my head on his chest. “You don’t need to apologize. Try to get some rest.” He spoke gently. I could hear his heartbeat and my breath slowed to match the rhythm. Eventually so did he. I looked up to find him asleep with his arm still around me. I settled in snuggling into his side. All the noise around me slowly faded away and I finally got to rest, falling asleep in Henry’s arms.
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That’s it you guys please let me know what you think. I love you all so much! You’ve shown my writing so much love 🥰
#henry cavill imagine#fanfic writing#henry cavill#captain syverson#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill smut#Henry Cavill x ofc#captain syverson smut#sherlock holmes fanfiction#enola holmes#august walker fanfiction#august walker#captain Syverson fluff#mike hellraiser#henry cavil x reader#captain syverson x ofc#walter marshall#fanfiction#walter marshall fanfiction#Henry Cavill fanfiction#captain Syverson fan fiction
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Can I request an nsfw fic sitting on Sherlock Holmes’ lap while he explains a case to reader, she start kissing his neck and he starts stuttering 😩😩 (also, Im literally in LOVE with your works 😫 😭)
Pulse Point
Fandom: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes
Summary: To help him relax in the midst of a trying case, Reader exploits Sherlock’s only vulnerability.
Content: 18+ for smutty smutty smut, Sherlock’s filthy mouth, unprotected sex, and pure domestic bliss.
Notes: My first prompt! Thank you thank you thank you, Anon; I love this so much. I wrote it quite quickly and unedited, so apologies for any imperfections!
“Come, sit with me, darling girl.”
Standing in the door of your husband’s study, you fall even more in love with Sherlock Holmes. He sits behind his desk in his leather wingback chair, attired in his shirtsleeves, coat discarded, posture tense—it has been hours since you saw him come home, carrying a crate of papers and wearing the expression of determination and passion that lets you know the game is well and truly afoot.
Eager to be of help, you follow his directive at once, crossing the room to his side. He settles you on his lap and places a chaste, gentle kiss to your temple, pausing to breathe in the scent of your hair. A little of his tension seems to melt away with your closeness, and you return his kiss—but on the lips, this time—with a smile. He smiles, too, and whispers, “I love you so.”
“As I love you! Now, tell me the matter of the case,” you prompt, with another light, teasing peck. “Begin at the beginning, and perhaps some new detail will reveal itself in the telling.”
Sherlock smiles, a little wearily, but with a clear relief at your presence and enthusiasm.
“Yes, pray lend me a little of your brilliance, Mrs. Holmes, for I am at my wit’s end.”
“Nonsense; your wit is endless,” you scoff, and at last he laughs, too. You share another kiss, deeper this time, and he settles more comfortably into the chair.
“It is Moriarty,” he sighs, loosening his cravat and tossing it aside. “It is always Moriarty, the spider in the center of the web. But for once, he torments me with leisure, not urgency. There is no captive aristocrat, no explosives planted, no threat of impending murder; and thank god for it. But instead, he spins me an ever-expanding list of riddles, each more obscure and particular than the last. To what end I do not know.”
He tips his head back against the chair, exposing the long line of his throat to your gaze. Though you would find it nigh impossible to select a favorite part of your husband’s body—for truly, it seems that every night as he fills your aching channel so perfectly, so completely, there is some new, glorious detail of his physique thrown into prominence—Sherlock’s neck is especially tempting. It is a singular point of vulnerability in such a massive, muscled man, and one you love to exploit: you know well that so much as a single kiss can bring the man to his knees, or else drive him to bend you over the nearest surface and make you his in the most primal, profound way.
“He boasts of the reach of his accomplices by infiltrating those systems in which we have the greatest trust, so much that the average man may not even notice anything has changed.”
You simply cannot help yourself.
Delicately, you shift upon his lap, wickedly delighted that he has fixed his eyes upon the cluttered wall opposite his desk, where his series of pinned-up schedules, diagrams, and ciphers distract him from your intentions.
“But I first noticed that the regular seven o’clock train from Trafalgar to Charing Cross was delayed on Tuesday—“
With a slow deliberation, you kiss the point where his pulse beats steadily beneath his jaw.
“—initial—initially—by seven—“
You part your lips ever so slightly and kiss him again.
“—by seven—se—“
A large, lissome hand lands heavily on your thigh. You do not let this deter you; no indeed, it only incites you further, and you press your lips more firmly against his neck.
“By seven minutes!” he concludes in a rush, and you take advantage of his pause for breath to trail your kisses lower, pulling aside the collar of his shirt for a better vantage.
You lightly sink your teeth into his flesh, just at the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, and he moans.
“Angel—oh, my g—god…”
As you work your way back up to his pulse point, he still stutters out a little more on the subject of the case: “Angel, the—the trains—I am—tr—trying to—explain…“
You raise your head up innocently.
“Shall I stop, sir?”
Sherlock kisses your lips hungrily, squeezing you tighter, and you wriggle in delight, feeling him grow hard at your ministrations. It gratifies you to no end, when this stern, controlled man falls prey to his own lusts, unable to help the way his length strains at his trousers—and all for you.
“No, no—“ he breathes, and you take your cue eagerly, shifting to straddle his thighs, their breadth forcing your legs wide apart. “Don’t stop, my sweet—ah—angel.”
He fumbles with the fastenings of his trousers, but can’t seem to manage the simple motor function, such is his arousal, especially as your lips return to his neck.
“Let me help you,” you offer, murmuring against his throat as you pepper it with more kisses. “Let me please you, please, Sherlock…”
“God, lo—look what you’ve—done to me,” he sighs, throwing up his hands. Laughing breathlessly, you finish the job yourself, a rapturous smile of triumph gracing your lips as your hand wraps around his freed cock, already leaking and flushed with desire. “You…you undo me completely,” he groans, thrusting up into your grasp. “Fuck, please, my darling girl, please, let me feel you—“
“Yes, Sherlock, anything you want!”
This seems to reinvigorate him, and he growls, pushing aside your skirts roughly. He does not allow the time for you to rise and doff your undergarments, but instead simply tears the delicate fabric at the seams to reveal your dripping petals.
“I’ll buy—buy you more,” he promises, as you rock your wet heat against his achingly hard cock. “What do you want, angel? What can I give? All the lace in the world. A dozen gowns, a hundred, anything for you—emeralds or pearls or—oh, Christ, you are so fucking tight I can hardly—“ This as you sink down on him, sheathing him to the hilt with your own a cry of ecstasy. “I’ll give you the world. Oh, my love…”
You continue to besiege his neck as you ride him, finding out each sweet spot that makes him clutch your hips all the harder, with Sherlock babbling out a litany of absolute filth mixed with romantic nonsense:
“That pretty, pretty mouth god your lips—you will be the death of me, angel!”
Sherlock hardly lasts a moment more after your climax causes you to clench around him, holding him tight and deep and perfect, and he gasps your name and a stammering profession of love as he spills himself inside you. You gaze into his eyes as they come back into focus, and you share a little panting laughter, for you are both an absolute mess of half-discarded clothes, dripping seed, and riotously disheveled hair. You have even left a clear mark on his neck, which makes you feel as grand as the empress of the earth, to have laid such an intimate claim upon his otherwise unassailable body. Murmuring quiet, loving little praises, you help one another to undress fully, till you stand before one another fully natural, each drinking in the sight of the other.
“My god. Just look at you, Mrs. Holmes.”
“You are the most beautiful man alive!” you cannot help but exclaim, and he tosses his head in evident pride at the compliment. How you love to make him vain.
“And at last, I am thinking clearly—for the first time all day!” he says, making you laugh again, then he lets out an exultant “Ha!” and strides over towards the gallery of evidence pinned to the wall. “You’ve done it. By Jove, Mrs. Holmes, you have knocked the scales from my eyes. I see the whole design now…”
“Then let me fetch you fresh clothes—and some water to wash, hmm?”
“Yes, give me leave a little while to dole out justice upon Moriarty. And then turnabout’s fair play for you, wife: I think your lovely neck deserves a mark or two of its own…”
If you enjoyed, please do leave a comment, reblog, or visit my Masterlist!
#Sherlock Holmes x Reader#henry cavill sherlock#henry!sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x ofc#enola holmes fanfic
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Part 15
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Part 14 🟣 Part 16
A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock
Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...
Warnings: Ongoing vampire shenanigans, mentions of blood, biting, angst. SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face fucking, Dom!August, p-in-v sex, and we're finally putting that special little talent August has to good use. I think that's all necessary warnings, but as always; tell me if I missed something, please!
Word count: 4334! (hm, yes, beautiful number <3)
A/N: Alright! We're finally fucking some vampires - ones who don't answer to the name "Mike", that is. So I guess it's a moment we've all been waiting for... Or like... Y'all have been waiting for, I knew it was going to happen. Enjoy, loves.
@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld
“Hello, princess,” August yawned as he stepped into the kitchen. “Everyone’s out.” It was not a question, but rather a statement – of something so glaringly obvious that you had already figured it out before you set foot outside of Sherlock’s bed, where you had woken up. He’d been the last to feed last night, after Mike had gracefully accepted – save for some slight protesting – that you wouldn’t share his bed that night, no matter how happy you were that he was home again. Now, he was probably out to talk to some teachers about his recent absence. Sherlock had kissed you goodbye that morning at an absolutely unholy hour, to make the commute to his new workplace – a university in another city almost two hours away. Marshall was… where he always was, working some case or another until he could barely stand on his feet.
August was the only one of the guys who had taken a vacation these weeks, and you found yourself oddly grateful that you weren’t all by yourself this morning.
“Hey,” you answered, “want some breakfast?”
He laughed, taking your hands in his and leaning his forehead against yours. “Allow me,” he muttered. For the first time, you dared to ask him why he always seemed so happy to cook for you – the question made him laugh. August didn’t laugh often, but when he did… The sound was something mystical, in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “It’s my second-best way of showing you how I feel about you,” he chuckled.
“What’s the first?” You realized your error too late, and by the time you figured that out, August had you pinned between the counter and his body, with no possibility of escape.
“I could show you,” he said, grinning widely.
“You know how I feel,” you teased, hoping to get him to do the heavy lifting, which – surprisingly – he didn’t. Instead, he took a step back.
“No, princess,” he sighed, shaking his head. “That’s not gonna work.” He stepped closer to you again, putting a hand against your cheek. “I want to hear the words. From you,” he mutters, his voice dangerously void of emotions – until you look into his eyes.
“August?” With your thumb, you gently wiped the tears away. “What’s wrong?”
“Yes, I know how you feel, but talk to me, please,” he whispered softly. “I want your feelings for me to be important enough for you to say them out loud. Despite my already knowing them.”
“Oh, August, I didn’t think…”
“No one ever does,” August replied to you plainly, although there was an apologetic smile on his face. “Promise me, princess… Share your feelings with me, your desires with Mikey and your thoughts with Marshall the way you talk to Sherlock.”
Slowly, you became aware of August’s hands, resting on your hips. Resting your head on his shoulder, you leaned into him, and he responded by wrapping his arms around you. “All of them?” you asked quietly. His answer was a simple nod. You hummed – a half-chuckle that didn’t seem to surprise August at all. “You make my heart beat faster, and when you touch me, it sends shivers down my spine – even if you just hold me like this… When I think about you at night, I feel butterflies. I am so completely, incredibly and undeniably attracted to you, and I want to know you in every possible way.”
Before you had good and well finished your sentence, his mouth was on yours, eagerly moving against your lips, the coarse hair of his mustache scratching your skin. There was something uniquely romantic about the way he kissed you, as if you could feel the walls he normally had put up around him fall away – as if he was really letting you in for the first time since you’d met him.
After some time, he broke your kiss, holding your face in his hands. He moved away, leaving you looking into a pair of hungry blue eyes. “Can I take you to bed?”
You gasped your answer – a clear, resounding ‘yes’ – and nodded as his eyes begged you to temporarily waive the ‘human speed’ rule in the house, which you gladly did for him in this instance.
When your back his the mattress, you laughed. “You need this, don’t you?”
“’Need’ is a strong term,” he chuckled, laughing when he saw your puzzled expression. August pulled you into his side, where you quickly got comfortable.
“There’s something about you, August,” you sighed. “Something that’s not entirely like the others. Something…”
“A little deviant?” he asked, using your words from the day before. You nodded. That was exactly what you were getting at. “I’m surprised you noticed. Most of my kind… or kinds, I suppose, don’t.” He absentmindedly ran his hand over the arm you had lying across his chest. “I’m not a full vampire.” Now that was surprising… “I wasn’t bitten, I was born. About four hundred years ago. I am a vampire – my father was one. My mother, however… She was a succubus.”
“Succubus as in… female sex demon?” you asked, slightly confused by the revelation that those, too, existed.
“Put bluntly, yes,” August chuckled softly. “They’re quite rare, and there’s not a lot known about them, unfortunately. It’s said they need semen to survive, which we know isn’t true, but it’s a rather persistent piece of folklore. They feed off energy of a sexual nature – orgasmic nature, to be precise.”
“Do you?” It didn’t sound like much of a problem to you if he did.
“Yes and no,” he answered vaguely. “It can’t sustain me, but it’s a very nice snack. My gifts to feel and influence other’s emotions seems to be a result of my mother’s proclivity for perceiving those energies…”
“So, when you say ‘nice snack’…” Your voice trailed off, but August laughed understandingly, anyway.
“I mean I’m going to make a point of making you cum so many times you won’t be able to stand,” he growled in your ear before chuckling. “You like it when I talk to you like that, don’t you, princess?” Instead of answering him, you squirmed in his arms. “I love how comfortable you are around us,” he said suddenly, taking you by surprise – to say the least. Nevertheless, you knew exactly what he meant.
“It’s very… liberating,” you said slowly, “not being able to hide from you guys… At first it scared me, but now – ever since the agreement, I’m sure you noticed – I don’t want to hide anything from you anymore.”
“Nothing at all?” August asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. What could he possibly be up to now? Hold on…
“What’s the… range on this gift of yours, Walker?” you snapped, slapping him on the shoulder out of reflex, hurting your hand in the process. “Do you just go around listening… feeling in on my, eh… private time with Mike?”
“I try not to,” he replied apologetically. ‘Try’. A very nice word to hide a ‘yes’ behind. “Sometimes I can’t help it… You and Mike – especially Mike, unfortunately – are very loud in your affection for each other. When you first moved here it was so bad I had to leave the house on occasion…”
“August!” you shrieked, pulling the pillow from under your head and putting it over your face to hide your embarrassment – completely unsuccesfully, of course. Your cheeks were burning, and you were overwhelmed by shame – not just because August knew some extremely intimate details about your sex life, but also – if not mostly – because you found that really, really hot in a way you couldn’t describe, even if you tried.
“Marshall couldn’t stand the two of you, either,” he chuckled, “but he didn’t feel the same way I felt about you back then.” Right… August had a thing for you when you first moved into the apartment… “I can tell you’re curious,” he laughed, “it wasn’t a crush so much as a… craving. It’s not gone – it never went anywhere, if I’m being perfectly honest with you.”
“A succubus-craving?” you asked, putting the pillow back where it belonged.
“Incubus, technically, but yes.” He turned his head, laying his forehead against your temple. The soothing baritone of his voice seeped right into your bones, making you shiver, and an involuntary moan escaped you. “It’s a very intense need to see that you’re taken care of.” August startled you by gently sucking your earlobe into his mouth, and biting down on the soft flesh, making you gasp. “And I would have preferred to be the one doing it myself, but as long as he managed… And from what I’ve gathered over the past months, he manages just fine…” His voice was nothing but a low growl now, with a jagged, feral edge to it that effortlessly caused goosebumps. “But today…”
“It will finally be you,” you sighed. Fact of the matter was that you had been waiting for this moment as much as he had – although maybe not for quite as long.
“Well… I need you to do something for me first,” August said softly while he grabbed your hand and guided it between your legs. “Touch yourself. Cum for me. Let me know how it feels…”
“You know how it feels,” you muttered. It had only been a few months since you first had sex with the lights on, for crying out loud, and now August, who wasn’t your boyfriend, wanted to watch you finger yourself until you came so he could what? Get off on it himself? This was beyond scary…
“I want to know what it feels like when you know I’m watching you,” he growled, “you’re different like this, just like you’re different when you’re by yourself. Sometimes I wish I had Marshall’s gift, too, so I could know if it’s different depending on which one of us you’re thinking about.” With every word your heart rate climbed higher and your cheeks burned hotter. “You do think about us, don’t you?” There was no point in lying, but there was also no way you could speak, so you nodded. While August was talking, your fingers had started to move as if by magic, drawing circles around your clit. Soon, you found yourself restricted by your underwear, and you slipped your hands underneath the fabric. “All of us?” Another nod. “Separately?” The question pulled you away from your self-induced pleasure; your eyes flew open and your muscles cramped. When your eyes met August’s, it was like he’d tapped directly into your most private thoughts. Maybe you hadn’t been speaking the whole truth when you said you had nothing to hide from them anymore. But it was no use trying; August may not have been able to read your mind, but he had certainly felt your heart skip that proverbial beat when he mentioned it – as if your eyes didn’t give away everything anyway. Despite your obvious terror, August didn’t seem prepared to drop the subject. “Hm, I’d be up for it.”
“What?” You hadn’t really expected that to be his response to your half-admitting to having thoughts of fucking more than one of your housemates at the same time…
“After a few centuries…” he made a vague gesture you were not sure you understood the meaning of.
“Does it get boring?” you asked.
“Never,” he nuzzled your neck, occasionally pressing his lips to your skin. “It always feels different.” His hand covered yours and gently guided it back into your panties. “Please,” he muttered, “keep going. I need to know.”
Your fingers seemed to move on their own again, but this time, you didn’t get distracted by the words August muttered into your ear: “You’re killing me, princess. Cum for me, please.” After that, he showered you with praise, every word of it bringing you to new heights until you finally exploded. August let out a loud gasp. “Fuck, princess you’re delicious.”
“Right,” you chuckled while trying to catch your breath, “incubus-snack.”
“And a catalogue-building moment,” August chuckled mischievously.
For a moment, you wondered what he could possibly mean by that, and then you felt it; another orgasm building inside of you, steadily and very quickly, and without a single touch.
“Are you serious?” you laughed.
August responded with a dark chuckle. “Until you can’t stand, princess,” he reminded you of his promise from before while he continued to push you towards your sexond climax without so much as lifting a finger. “Be a good girl and cum for me again.” Naturally, you were more than happy to oblige, and August roughly pulled you into his side – almost hurting you – when you came again, whispering another comment about how good it was in your ear as you did.
“Are they as good as the… manually obtained ones?” Weird way of putting it, but for lack of a better way to say it…
“Every bit as good,” August hummed contently, “I could do this all day.” Honestly? So could you… Sure, your muscles would get tired eventually, but the lack of friction meant you could likely keep this up for quite a while. Besides, you doubted that August’s gift would let itself be stopped by a little leg-cramp. “The one thing that’s better…” His voice trailed off as he slowly kissed his way down your neck, his hands slipping underneath the old t-shirt you wore to bed. Without thinking, you reached for the hem and pulled it over your head, leaving August chuckling at your sudden eagerness. Your hands moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, but you soon got distracted and allowed tourhands to roam his chest.
“The scars…” you whispered as your fingers trailed the raised crescent lines on his chin.
“Paris in the nineteenth century was a dangerous free-for-all,” he sighed wistfully, “it was swarming with vampires and other creatures. Succubi, incubi, werewolves, vampires, some monsters you’ve never even heard of. Feeding was a criminal offence, and this was France, so breaking the law didn’t typically end well.”
“Yet you seem to remember it fondly,” you said bitterly, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from saying something stupid. “What was her name?”
“Miriane,” August answered. “And his name was Elias, in case you were going to forget about that question.”
“Was she like me?” you asked. “Or was he?”
“He was,” August remembered, “but she found him, and he was hers – and so was I. Admittedly, I was first, but… like I said. Free-for-all. My gift made it easier to find willing victims, but as you can see, I got attacked a lot. That ended with him. Until…”
“What happened?” you asked breathlessly, looking at August with wide eyes.
“I left,” he snapped. Clearly that was the end of that line of inquiry…
“Who attacked you?”
“Other vampires. Ones without powers. Ones with powers that were less useful in those particular instances. Most of us didn’t want to kill to survive, but few had the option. I guess one would consider me lucky, even though I hardly have what’s considered an ancient gift.” He scoffed, then smiled, sensing your confusion. “Sherlock’s is – the compulsion, I mean. My father has it, too. Unsurprising, since he and Sherlock were turned by the same man.”
“So Sherlock is more or less your uncle?” you asked with a barely discernible smile on your face.
“Oh, please, no! Trying to impose human family ties on vampire covens is next to useless and will quickly make several things very, very awkward,” August laughed, laying his head on your chest. His hand moved up to cup your breast – which he somehow managed to do incredibly casually.
“Awkward, how?” Why? Why did you always have to know? The answer would probably make things awkward and…
Luckily, August was smarter than you in this particular instance: “After, princess.”
And that was the end of your conversation; August turned his head to wrap his lips around your nipple, and that was your cue to cease any and all rational thinking. So, this was wat patience felt like? Several centuries of practice in restraint? Paired with the ability to feel exactly what each move did to you… All those things put together should have made him better than Mike in more ways than one – maybe even more than the obvious – but weirdly enough, they didn’t make him better so much as exquisitely different. You’d become used to the way Mike would spend a whole lot of quality time with your boobs, so the fact that August moved on relatively quickly only to tease you relentlessly when he settled between your legs was almost disappointing in a way.
“I’m not Mike, princess,” August laughed when you tangled your hand in his hair in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to pull him to where you needed him most.
“I know that,” you huffed, scowling down at where August was busy scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Immediately, his icy blue eyes shot up, meeting yours.
“Do you?” He raised an eyebrow in that way that made you want to punch him and bit down harder on your leg. “I might even try Marshall’s favorite technique,” he said indifferently, a grin spreading on his face as you struggled to remember what he meant by that. Oh no! August chuckled when your expression told him you finally remembered. Another nip at your thigh was followed by the wet warmth of his tongue soothing the sting of the playful bite, and finally another stinging sensation as he sucked on te sensitive skin.
“Do you know you’re not Mike?” you chuckled. He rolled his eyes at you. Why did it make you so happy when he did that? Simply because he looked so incredibly hot while doing it? Then again, when did this man not look incredibly hot?
He stuck to that one love bite, and seemed to decide that that was plenty of teasing for today. As it turned out, being able to feel exactly what you felt was as good a gift as being able to sense desires. Honestly, it was such close competition that you wouldn’t dream of trying to figure out which was better – even more so because it would cut into your ‘enjoying being eaten out’-time. As if you had a prayer at thinking straight while August worked your pussy with his mouth, anyway; as soon as he flattened his tongue against your clit, it was over for you. Your back arched off the bed and you tangled your hand in his hair to pull him closer.
He finished you in no time, chuckling as he kissed his way back up your body again.
“I need you inside of me, now.” Whoever this breathy, more-moan-than-anything-else voice belonged to, it couldn’t be you, could it?
“Good girl,” August murmured. A few swift moves later, he was naked. You let your eyes travel down his body and sighed. He looked just as good as you’d imagined. “Let me take care of you.” Another orgasm hit you out of nowhere as August teased you by sliding the tip of his cock along your slit. It startled you – unnecessarily, of course. You just hadn’t noticed him putting on a condom. Fucking vampires – literally.
“Please stop teasing me,” you pleaded, “and come here.” Pulling him in was a fruitless endeavour, as always – annoying the everloving hell out of you, as always. And as always, the alternative – him indulging you – would have made matters so much worse. So he stayed put, teasing you more, until you were a squirming, whining mess underneath him, and he had an insufferably cocky grin on his face as he made you cum again, and again. You’d already lost count – but his eyes clearly told you that he hadn’t. “God, I wish you were Mike,” you blurted out. It was a lie – you were happier than happy to be here with August right now, but damn the man could do with half the patience he had.
A sadistic chuckle escaped him. “You’re so incredibly desperate for me,” he whispered. “I didn’t know it could feel this good.”
“Another snack:?” you asked sarcastically – and before you registered any movement at all, August’s hand was on your throat.
“It’s that attitude, or my cock, princess,” he snarled, “you can’t have both.” The pressure on the sides of your throat increased slightly, and you gasped. The next orgasm felt different – heightened, in a way, no doubt by the way he handled you right now. “So, which is it?”
As far as you were concerned, this condescending asshole could go to hell – which you didn’t neglect to tell him. Did it have the predicted effect? Absolutely. Did it have the desired effect? Not even close.
He dragged you up by your hair. “Knees.” Not a question. Very, very much not a question. It was also impossible to disobey him, as he still held much of your hair in a tight fist at the back of your head. “Open.” You had to give Mike credit; when he’d done his little failed experiment, his August-impersonation had been eerily on point. Which, of course, you hadn’t known at the time. But now… now you knew. And God, it suited August so much better – although he’d already shown you he could easily do ‘sweet and caring’, too.
Despite the orders shooting straight for your clit, you opened your mouth with the utmost reluctance, helped along by August’s piercing glare and a very persistent thumb that all but forced its way into your mouth. You made a few quick mental notes for comparison – you simply couldn’t help it. Mike was all about sensations; temporarily taking senses out of the equation, heightening others, playing with them, blending pain and pleasure… August didn’t give a damn about sensations. And who could blame him. He could already make you feel anything he wanted without lifting a finger… This was about control. And he was going to have to fight for it. At least that’s what you would have bravely thought about the whole situation if you hadn’t had cock stuffed balls deep down your throat, tears gathering in your eyes, and a ruthless man hovering over you, making you gag around him.
He fucked your mouth like he owned you – and he wasn’t wrong about that. You couldn’t move away from him, you couldn’t breathe, and the tears blurred your vision to the point where you couldn’t see, but you didn’t panic, finding comfort in the thought that August could feel exactly what you were feeling. A few months earlier you’d never thought you’d feel this way, but now you trusted him to take care of you on such a deeply intimate level, that you instinctively relaxed around him. He wouldn’t hurt you.
“That’s my good girl,” he said softly as his grip on your hair relaxed a bit. Oh, he still held you in place, but not with the same iron grip he’d used before. This was softer, gentler and something vaguely reminiscent of a kind of trust.
Surely enough, he soon let go of your hair altogether. “Keep going.” His voice was gentler now, but you didn’t dare make the mistake of assuming anything was up for negotiation. Despite your realization, his hand found its way to the back of your head again rather quickly, nudging you along. “You can do better than that,” he said as he pushed himself deeper into your throat until you were taking all of him again. “Perfect.”
When he let go of your head again, you quickly found yourself in the same predicament. “Just because I let go of you, princess,” he grunted, a tinge of annoyance to his voice, “doesn’t mean you don’t have to take every inch of me. Come on.”
He didn’t allow you to stop sucking him off until you were taking all of him, all by yourself – and for a good while. As you did, he kept giving you those little compliments that made your heart beat faster. Somehow, knowing he knew exactly what his words did to you made it even more exciting. By all means, you should feel terrifyingly exposed, unable to hide from him and his gift – or any of the others – but you didn’t. It was, as you’d mentioned before, very liberating to have them know everything.
After some time, he pulled away, sinking to his knees in front of you, cradling your face in both hands as he wiped away your tears with his thumbs. “You did so well, princess,” he whispered, leaning in so he could press his lips to your forehead. “Now be a good girl for me and get on your knees on the bed so I can fuck that pretty little pussy.”
You had to admit, as you very willingly – eagerly, even – crawled onto the bed again, that August had already done a very good job of fucking the attitude out of you, and something told you he hadn’t even really started.
This time, he didn’t tease you. He just sank into you with one smooth thrust.
“Fuck, princess,” he grunted, his tone suggesting he was going to say more, but he didn’t – or, more accurately; he couldn’t. His near-continuous stream of moans was interrupted only by the occasional swearword as he set an intense pace. With every thrust, your walls clenched around him, your thighs quivered and your fingers’ grips around the sheets tightened. “I’m gonna make this short,” he growled as his hand found it’s way into your hair, and he pulled you up until your back hit his chest. His final thrusts into you were merciless, and another orgasm rippled through you – his doing – exactly at the same time August reached his own peak.
Moments later, the vampire had taken care of cleanup and he held you snugly against his chest, where you quickly threatened to doze off, if it weren’t for Mike, who came home at that moment.
#mike hellraiser fic#mike x ofc#mike hellraiser#mike (hellraiser)#hellraiser mike#mike hellraiser fanfiction#henrycavill fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill#henry cavill characters#walter marshall#hc sherlock#henry cavill sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes#august walker#august walker fanfiction#natural fic#naturalfic#august walker smut#august walker x reader#august walker x ofc
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I know I’m not a big part of the xReader community, as I rarely read it and even more rarely interact, but I wanted to try making some friends there so I’m going to be posting a Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader multichap soon! Usually, I like to write 4k+ chapters and to have everything completed before posting the first chapter, but since this multichap will serve as my entries for July Break Bingo, I’m going to try something different this time.
Each chapter will be whatever length it ends up being at first (I’ll bolster them all in the revision stages later), and I will post them here as soon as they’re done. Once every chapter is posted, I’ll go back and edit, and then I’ll post the new version on AO3. I look forward to sharing the journey to a good copy more closely with my readers!
However, that does mean there will be some inconsistencies to be suffered through. Especially since this multichap will be a case fic, I’m expecting plot holes as well as OOC moments to abound. I apologise in advance, welp.
Now, for the more fun info!
Below is my empty JBB card if you are curious to see what will be giving the fic some direction. I intend to get a blackout with this multichap. 👀👀👀
Synopsis: Your father hires Sherlock to investigate your husband’s death…a decade after it occurred. Why is your father suddenly concerned foul play was involved? And what is motivating Sherlock to take on a case that has every expectation of being dry and uninspired? (Takes place in the world and time after the Enola Holmes film but before the sequel.)
Warnings: please see this post for those and feel free to send me an ask if you need more details (I’m keeping them separate to avoid spoilers)
Masterlist: A Galling Yoke Part 1 … Part 2 … Part 3 … Part 4 … Part 5 … Part 6 … Part 7 … Part 8 … Part 9 … Part 10 … Part 11 … Part 12 … Part 13 … Part 14 … Part 15 …
Status: on hiatus [as of 2024-04-24] (but Part 15 should be a satisfying ending until the next update) – please let me know if you would like to be tagged with updates! :)
Thank You, God, for letting me write this and thank you, dear reader, for reading. <3
#enola holmes#sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes x ofc#henry cavill#henry cavill sherlock holmes#henry cavill sherlock x reader#a galling yoke#the erasable ink
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Chance Encounter
As I entered the small Strand restaurant where I had asked Watson to meet me, I saw at once that it was unusually crowded for that time of day. As I searched in vain for a table with two empty chairs together, I noticed a young woman sitting by herself at a table for two, reading a recent issue of the Strand. Her molasses-brown hair was up in a loose coif, though a few locks had come free. Her apparel was fashionable, but not extravagant, and her boots were of a style not frequently seen in London.
I stayed where I was, intending to wait until she had left before claiming the table, but presently she glanced up and caught my eye. She indicated that I should approach, though I did not recognise her and she gave no indication of recognising me. Out of curiosity, I walked over to the table.
"I will be leaving shortly," she remarked once I had arrived, "So you needn't worry that you or your friend will be left standing."
"What led you to believe that I was expecting someone?" I asked, my curiosity piqued by her comment.
"If you expected to remain alone," she replied, "you would have simply taken one of the solitary seats in the restaurant. As it was, you hesitated in the doorway and scanned the entire dining area, apparently looking for a table with two or more chairs together. It isn't usually this crowded at this time of day."
"I hadn't noticed you here before," I said as I sat across from her.
"I haven't been here before. You glanced at your pocket-watch as you came in, and you looked annoyed at the crowd. Hence, you were expecting it to be empty enough now for both of you to sit."
Not to be outdone, I observed, "You're very keen, for a left-handed, unmarried, secretary,recently returned from a travel to America who hadn't the foresight to take a cab here on such a windy day."
She arched an eyebrow at me. "How do you know all that?"
"The indentation of a pen is plain upon the second joint of the middle finger of your left hand, though even had I not observed that, one can see that you turn the pages of your magazine with your left hand rather than your right. You also do not wear a wedding band, nor is there the shadow of where one might otherwise be. The skin on both hands is overdry, as might be expected when one handles a lot of paper in their profession.
"Even before you spoke I noticed your boots, which are of a style manufactured chiefly in America, which told me that you had certainly been there when you purchased the boots. I could see you had walked here, as there is road-grime splashed on your boots, and the stiff wind has blown some of your hair free of its pins."
"Hum!" she said when I had finished, and she sat back. A slight smile played at her lips. "Well, even a left-handed, unmarried, secretary - whether or not she has the foresight not to walk in the wind - can easily spot someone who smokes tobacco, favoring the pipe when he is feeling meditative; who is a deep thinker on many puzzling issues and has a very keen eye for the minutest details; who is a lover of classical music and in fact plays the violin himself; who is a bachelor but takes a roommate; who takes a great interest in chemistry; who is a master in the art of theatrical makeup and disguise; who is a pugilist and fencer; who takes little interest in anything which he finds boring or irrelevant or which does not otherwise engage his intellect; and who is quite disinterested in romance or in fact in women as a gender outside of the necessities of his line of work."
She picked up the magazine and continued reading as I sat, slightly stunned. Finally my curiosity overcame my pride, and I said, "That is quite a detailed catalogue. Perhaps you might explain how you came to these conclusions."
"Well, there are two possible answers to that question," she said, "A long answer and a short answer."
"The long answer first, then."
"Certainly," she replied, "The smell of pipe tobacco is dreadfully difficult to get out of one's clothing, particularly if one smokes heavily at a stretch, so it has quite permeated your clothing, defying all efforts to remove it.
"Your powers of observation were quite clear from your own remarks about myself, but as they were quickly deduced it was clear that this process takes very little time at all. Nonetheless, there is a pronounced furrow between your eyebrows which naturally forms when one knits the brow in deep concentration.
"Your choice of musical instrument is evident by the broad callouses on the pads of the fingers on your left hand where they would touch the strings, and the narrower callouses on the fingers of your right hand where they would grasp the bow, and the slight indentation on the underside of your chin where it would rest on the body of the instrument. One who plays the violin could hardly be uninterested in classical music.
"The lack of a wedding band indicates that you are not married, but your clothing is well-worn, indicating that your income has not been substantial enough for you to afford new clothing for some time. The only way a gentleman in such a financial situation might afford reasonable living quarters is by going halves with a roommate.
"Your interest in chemistry is as plain as the chemical-stains and acid- burns on your hands, though I daresay a home laboratory would cause your roommate no little annoyance.
"Your lean frame is not indicative of a sedentary lifestyle. Furthermore, your upper body appears to be well-muscled, as would be necessary in boxing, and your right arm is slightly more developed than the left, which would occur in someone who practiced in fencing or played singlestick.
"Your interest in theater is evident by the slight smell of cold cream, used by professional thespians to clean off their greasepaint. All the same, there is a thin line of greasepaint at your hairline - hardly noticeable, mind you - which might result if you had washed it off your face in poor light.
"Your selective interest in most topics underlies most of these, particularly the fact that you have a keen interest in such diverse topics as chemistry and theater. It would be difficult and frustrating to cultivate such a level of expertise in all topics, so you pick and choose those which are most interesting and useful to you. The fact that this list does not include women was indicated by your bachelorhood, the lack of any indications - such as the use of cologne - that you are courting anyone, and your apparent reluctance to approach this table in the beginning and ask me if the seat you are now occupying is taken."
She thus concluded her explanation, and returned to her magazine. I sat silent for several minutes, digesting her essay on my personal habits, until I could no longer contain my curiosity.
"The long answer covers every detail," I said, "So what could be the short answer?"
She glanced up at me over the edge of her magazine, and silently folded back one half of it to reveal the full-colour title page of "The Adventure of the Speckled Band," which depicted me thrashing away at a rearing adder with my stick
"Occam's Razor," she said quietly, "How quickly you forget your own fame, Mr. Holmes!" With that she got up and left.
I was still laughing when Watson joined me and asked me if I was quite all right.
Head on to my sequel
the adventure of the trading trinkets
To find out more about her.
#sherlock x y/n#sherlock holmes#sherlock hound#sherlock holmes x ofc#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes x you#sherlock holmes x oc#sherlock x you#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes fanfiction#sherlock holmes fic#sherlock holmes fandom#sherlock holmes fluff#henry!sherlock#henry!holmes#henry!sherlock x reader#henry sherlock#acd sherlock holmes#acd sherlock#victorian sherlock#ronald howard#ronald howard holmes#sherlock holmes 1954#1954 Sherlock Holmes
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Sherlock Holmes x OFC (Emily)
Warnings: • DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT • Somnophilia • Non-Con • Implied kidnapping • Drug use • Breeding Kink • Lactation Kink • Daddy Kink • Oral sex • Penetrative Sex • Creampie • Knife play
Summary: Sherlock is pent-up and agitated. Luckily he knows exactly what to do to blow off some steam.
Author’s note: My first foray into dark fic! Will it sink or will it swim? Who knows. Honestly I've been plugging away at this for god knows how long that I'm not even sure if it's good. At this point, everything is just a blur of words.
I would like to thank Anne Rice for inspiring this little trash piece. Have any of you ever read the The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty? No? Well you should. Definitely fucked me up.
I also would like to thank @littlefreya for encouraging me to write this and helping me figure out some things. You're the best babe!
Please Anne Rice's lawyers don't sue me. This isn't a fic of her works. For God's sake I was inspired by it.
Anyway, enjoy! Or not. I can't tell you what to do.
Sherlock took the stairs two at a time. He was on edge, every muscle in his body wired with tension, frenetic energy coiled deep in his belly begging to be released.
He stood at the threshold of her room and admired the delectable sight laid out before him.
Her dark hair spilled over the pillows like ink bleeding onto paper, and her nightgown of loose, gossamer fabric revealed her rounded breasts and the shadow of her nipples. He pulled the heavy damask curtains that shrouded her room in darkness. The late afternoon sun trickled into the room and - he gasped - she was as lovely as a painting, tender eyelids that gave way to long lashes that swept down to her rounded cheeks and dusky rose lips.
She was perfection and she belonged to him.
Depositing himself beside her, he traced her delicate brow with his tongue and the bridge of her nose and made his way to the shell of her ear.
Curious. For she did not stir.
He drew out a dagger he kept hidden within his boot and slipped the blade between her breasts - oh no, he had no patience with these laces and ties and strings - letting it rip through the fabric.
Her breasts were wonderfully plump and firm. And his rough hands pawed at them, cupping each breast, moving them about, almost as if he were weighing fruit at the market.
Her brows drew together into a frown.
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. For she still did not stir.
Carefully as to not draw blood, he ran the tip of his dagger round and round her nipples until they hardened like berries ripe for the picking. He latched onto them like a suckling babe, and a sudden thought flashed through his head.
Her perfect breasts, round and heavy with milk, her stomach swollen with his seed.
He inhales sharply.
Yes. He should put his baby in her. Stuff her tiny cunt with his cock; fuck her full till she's leaking. Fuck her till everybody knows who she belongs to.
He palms himself through his trousers, knows he is already thick and throbbing with need. But he can wait. He's always been a patient man.
He cut away the rest of her gown and threw it to the floor. Her body was now bared to him, a smorgasbord of delights.
Sherlock ran his hands all over her body, marveling at the young, supple flesh. He caresses her dainty feet with kisses, worships at the altar of her milky, white thighs before his tongue debauches her center.
Like a man starved, his lips latch on to the sensitive nub between her lips. Sucking and lapping at the wetness like it was ambrosia from the gods, skillfully working his tongue until she arched her back and rocked her hips on his face.
A smirk grew on Sherlock's face, satisfaction heavy on his mind at the needy whine that spilled forth from her lips. Even in sleep, her body responded to his ministrations, trained her little cunt so well that she needn't be awake to feel pleasure.
He doesn't waste time undressing, mounts her, parts her legs, grasps himself at the root and runs the blunt head between her lips, coating it in her slick. He sheathes himself to the hilt, growls at the wet heat that engulfs him.
"What a perfect cunt, my Emily. So hot and tight, my darling girl." he rasps, snapping his hips, watching as his cock disappears into her drippy cunt.
Obscene squelching sounds fill the room as he begins to pick up his pace. He places his thumb at the nub of flesh between her puffy lips and draw figure-of-eights. Her reaction is instantaneous; she mewls, mouth in a little moue of distress.
"You like that, my darling girl? Like it when Papa fucks so deep into you?"
He almost wishes she were awake, just so he could gaze upon her face, half-crazed with confusion, terror and pleasure. Sherlock knows he is a wretched man, but the rush of power he feels at her helplessness is a powerful aphrodisiac.
As he feels her cunt tighten at every thrust, Sherlock watches her tits bounce. Soon they'll be swollen and leak milk. A growl rises from him as he envisions his tongue swirling over her nipples, the cloying taste of sweetness at the back of his throat.
"Fuck, Emily. Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Her cunt clamps vise-like against his cock, it drives him over the edge. He spills into her; the force of his climax leaves him light-headed. Panting, he thrusts slowly one, two, three more times before he withdraws. He catches his spend pooling out of her abused cunt, scoops it and tucks it back inside.
Sherlock wipes at the sweat gathered at his brow and drags a hand through his curls, fixing himself to a semblance of decency. He gets up and pushes a pillow under her hips, to ensure that he takes root.
He putters around the room, dips a washcloth in the creamware bowl at her vanity, and wipes away their combined fluids on her thighs.
Sherlock looks at the assortment of bottles on her bedside table, picks a bottle and holds it up against the fading light of the sun. Ah, he's almost out. He uncorks it, and five drops of reddish brown laudanum disappear into the glass of water.
It'll calm her when she wakes up.
It'll steady her hand and keep her his pliant, little girl.
#sherlock holmes x ofc#sherlock holmes x original female character#sherlock holmes fanfiction#sherlock holmes imagine#henry cavill#henry cavill sherlock holmes
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