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#sherlock holmes x reader
corinthianism · 5 months
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corinthianism's fic recs
here are my personal favorite fanfics! idk how often i'll update this, but i hope you like them as much as i do :) *indicates smut
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last updated: march 26, 2024
MARVEL
loki laufeyson - from the void, with love — by whirlybirbs (my fav fanfic of all time!!! i think about this fic several times in a day bro) - riptide — by starks-hero - the tailor* (series) — by birdofhermes (ao3) - time after time (series) — by goldencherriess (ao3) - a friend from work — by cozy_the_overlord (ao3)
thor odinson - god of fertility* (request) — by charnelhouse - highway don't care (but i do, i do)* (part one, part two, part three) — by spacelabrathor
peter parker (andrew garfield) - agree to disagree — by delicate-dorothea - nerdy peter (request) - webslingingslasher - good boy x bad girl trope (request) — by webslingingslasher - hold you here, my loveliest friend* — by p3mybeloved - your friendly neighborhood sensitive spider* — by jin0 - glad you're home — by withahappyrefrain - the mechanics of a soul — by irndad - 3 is the magic number* — by withahappyrefrain - crush — by ptersparkers - as it goes — by forever-rogue - here comes the sun (part one, part two, part three) — by withahappyrefrain - stability, reciprocity, and a romance for the ages (series) — by privateanxieties (ao3 - need an account to read)
steven grant (moon knight) - hold me close — by stormkobra-5 - gift of min* — by astroboots - puzzles* — by stormkobra-5 - first time* — by luvpedropascal - domestic adonis* — by peterman-spideyparker - where it starts — by silversweetpea - fallen from heaven, grown on earth* (series) — by davosmymaster (ao3) - call me poe* — by kittyfandom (ao3) - elemental — by batsingotham (ao3) - the boy with the thorn in his side — by eating_flowers (ao3)
marc spector (moon knight) - not him — by loud-mouth-loser - it's worth it, it's divine* — by the-archxr - i'm getting to know someone — by davosmymaster (ao3)
wade wilson (deadpool) - tea and sympathy (series) — by bucketsoffrogs (ao3)
SHERLOCK (BBC)
sherlock holmes - your hidden strength — by okay-j-hannah - sublime dexterity* (part one, part two) — by daydreamtofiction - literally everything by starks-hero
SUPERNATURAL
sam winchester - playing house (part one, part two) — by uncouth-the-fifth - baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) — by uncouth-the-fifth - move over.* — by ggwritesstuff - where's your head at?* — by beau55515 - birthdays: sam winchester style* — by karleekarma (ao3) - the comforts of home — by zepskies - under the hood* — by shawslut
dean winchester - whether you like it or not — by kbeautimous (ao3) - reading you wrong — by zepskies - cherished — by thatonewriter15 (ao3) - soft touch — by wearywinchester - i love her, that's why* — by kaleldobrev - drivin' me crazy* — by lis-likes-fics
castiel - salt n' lick* — by aperfectgrace (ao3) - a bite of apple pie (series) — by ac_deanc (ao3)
THE SANDMAN
the corinthian - bring me a dream* (series, ongoing) — by placeinthemiddleofnowhere - nihil — by lis-likes-fics
dream/morpheus - sweet dreams (are made of this) — by stranger-nightmare
CRIMINAL MINDS
aaron hotchner - from eden — by heliotropehotch - gold star — by honeypiehotchner - love, an abstract concept — by luveline - honeymoon phase* (series) — by hotchsbitch (ao3)
THE BOYS
soldier boy (he's absolutely horrible but so. so. hot.) - break me down* (series) — by zepskies (go read their other stuff too!) - talk to me — by zepskies
homelander (also absolutely horrible. would sleep with him.) - if i can't have you — by watchstarscollide - milky white* — by after-witch
GAME OF THRONES
jaime lannister - i'm not made by design — by ichorai (this legitimately changed my brain chemistry)
STAR WARS
obi-wan kenobi - like turning on the light* — by full-time-make-believer (deactivated acc) (this also changed the trajectory of my life) - where it wasn't* — by 221bshrlocked - your thoughts are loud — by spidersbane - empty me out* — by 221bshrlocked - house of memories* (series) — by meshlasolus - bad idea, right? (series) — by mischiefling (ao3) - you make me feel like dancing — by saradika (ao3) - it's a wonderful lie — by firstofficerwiggles (ao3) - temptation's kiss — by karasong (ao3) - you make my dreams* — by wickedscribbles (ao3) - like a living mirage — by karasong (ao3) - broken drought* — by rosalindbeatrice (ao3) - never grow up — by doihavetoloseyoutoo (ao3) - never ending story — by kybercrystal (ao3) - volveré* — by kxnobi (ao3)
din djarin (the mandalorian) - the savior* (part one, part two, part three) — by dindjiarin - significant — by softlyspector - touching din — by archieimagines - uncharted territory* — by pedrito-friskito - creed* — by wheresarizona - home is wherever i'm with you* (part one, part two, part three) — by saradika
DRACULA (BBC)
count dracula - the székely* (series) — by theplumsoldier
LOTR/THE HOBBIT
thranduil oropherion - a boon* (series) — by inksplots (ao3) - beauty and the beast (series) — by tamurilofrivendell (ao3)
DOCTOR SLEEP
dan torrance - of monsters and men* — by helaintoloki & obitwo - domestic life (headcanons) — by thornsinmycrown - smut alphabet* — by daincrediblegg
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holylulusworld · 4 months
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Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (1)
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Summary: Your marriage starts rocky.
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader
Warnings: angst, injured reader (light), mentions of getting robbed, angry Sherlock, implied innocent reader
A/N: A collection of drabbles on how you became Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.
Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist
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“Where is my brother? We need to talk about Enola and the upcoming event. She needs to make her debut…” you hear Mycroft downstairs. He’s usually a stoic and silent man, but you kinda like he’s silent and leaves you alone most of the time. “Where is the lady of the house? Maybe she can help my sister correct her behavior."
You hear his voice grow louder as Sherlock’s head housekeeper raises her voice. She always acts more like the lady of the house than a servant.
“Mr. Holmes,” you gracefully walk down the stairs, putting on a strained smile hurting your bruised face. “I’m afraid my husband is not at home. He’s solving another case.”
“Again?” Mycroft holds out his hands. He presses a quick kiss to your offered hand. “He should’ve left his lovely wife all alone so short after your wedding.”
“Sir, it’s fine,” you flutter your eyes shut as you try to keep the wrong words from spilling from your lips. It all became too much lately.
Sherlock's absence, and his displeasure in participating in your marriage. The head housekeeper acting like you are not Sherlock’s wife but a peasant.
“My dear, what happened?” Mycroft gasps when his eyes finally see your swollen left cheek and your split lip. “Please tell me my brother didn’t raise his hand on you. If he did, I’ll make sure he’ll regret putting his hands on you.”
“It wasn’t my husband,” you reach out for Mycroft and grab his hand. “He’s a little distant and mostly interested in solving cases but…he would never. I swear, Sir. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone to town on my own. But Mrs. Demeter refused to send for a carriage.”
“What happened, my dear,” Mycroft worriedly asks. He offers his arm to you, and wonders if you are lying to protect his brother. “Please do not fret. Tell me everything.”
“I left the house to get the books Sherlock wanted,” you sniff. “I paid for the books and carried the books out of the store. A woman ran into me, and I dropped the books. I tried to pick them up and then…” You choke out a sob. “There was a masked man. He ripped my bag out of my hands and hit me with it.”
“My dear!” Mycroft gasps audibly. “Did you tell my brother about this?”
“He wasn’t home,” you drop your gaze, ashamed about your weakness, and inability to stand up for yourself. “The owner of the bookstore helped me pick up the books and accompanied me to Scotland Yard but…they didn’t want to listen to me.”
“Did you tell them your name?” Mycroft is furious. “How dare they ignore a young lady in need.” He huffs as you tell him repeatedly it was your fault for not telling them your name. “Stop blaming yourself, my dear. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s my brother’s for ignoring his wife.”
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Downstairs it sounds like a war is going on. Sherlock and Mycroft yell at each other. And you are afraid, Mycroft is winning.
Your betrothed falls silent after a while, and you hold your breath as you repeatedly hear your name. The last thing you wanted was to cause a rift between the brothers.
They already have their hands full with their younger sibling. Now you are causing trouble too.
You wring your hands while hearing footsteps on the staircase. You hold your breath and step away from the door. “Wife,” Sherlock grumbles as he opens the door. “Where are you?”
“I’m here,” your voice cracks. “Sir.” You add, in the hope of appeasing your husband. He steps inside your room, eyes roaming your body. “Please accept my apology.”
“What for, Precious?” He steps closer to cup your face with both hands. “Why didn’t you send for me? I would’ve come here to take care of my wife.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you, Sir. It’s nothing,” you close your eyes when his gaze gets too intense.
“You got hurt. This is not nothing,” he raises his voice but gets a grip seconds later. “No one touches my wife.” His lips press against your swollen cheek, but you only feel the warmth of his soft pillows, not the slight pain. “I will call for Lestrade. We will find the man hurting you.”
“I think he worked with the woman running into me,” you explain while Sherlock inspects your injuries. “She distracted me long enough for the man to steal my bag.”
“Why did he hurt you?”
“I-I didn’t want to give the bag to the man. You gifted it to me,” you shyly batt your eyelashes as Sherlock angrily furrows his brows.
“You are fearless, my dear,” he cracks a smile. “I am sorry about my absence. After our wedding, we should’ve…” He clears his throat. “I'll send for a doctor.”
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“She’s well then?” Sherlock sizes the doctor up. “I need to know every detail. Please don’t shelter me.”
“Her cheek is swollen, but the cut on her lips is already healing. She’s mostly frightened of the person attacking her,” the doctor says. “I’d suggest not leaving her alone for the time being.”
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“Sir, what are you doing?” You almost screamed when Sherlock entered your room. He softly whispered your name and picked you up in bridal style to carry you toward his bedroom.
“I’m bringing my wife to my bedroom,” he carried you out of the room. His chest swelled when you rested your head on his chest.
"Sir, I think...you have a case and..." you whimper. If he wants to finally have your wedding night, you are not sure you are ready to be with him.
“I shouldn’t have taken case after case. We didn’t have the chance to get to know each other better. I know this was an arranged bond my mother and your father agreed to. But I…I want you to know that I’ll protect you from now on.”
>> Part 2
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Tags in reblog.
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a-asterias · 1 year
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— micaela's february recs
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ty to all these amazing writers who have left me with butterflies in my stomach and/or tears rolling down my face, much appreciated <3
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GRISHAVERSE
— nikolai lantsov.
young royals by @clairecrive
currents by @lantsovsupremacist
↳ you are in love
the art of pretension by @fleurspun
↳ sick and stubborn
↳ healer's duties
love language by @fishley
speak up by @prince-septimus
sugar cube by @magpiencrow
a dare for a truth by @sumsebien
— kaz brekker.
when am i gonna lose you? by @crowsmybeloveds
confrontations in a lonely club by @curseofaphrodite
what do you want from me? by @romeomontaague
silent birthdays by @amourology
↳ schat
you are done for by @sumsebien
this is what happens by @fishley
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MARVEL
— peter parker.
you more than anything by @nghtwngs
↳ you love me, i love you
on that rooftop by @nezuscribe
skateboards, the force, and a lack of pants by @damnedparker
secrets and skateparks by @earthgirl616
aurora by @mgparker
scenes from a modern romance by @dameronology
— marc spector.
just let me dream a little more by @the-archxr
— matt murdock.
green is the color by @courtforshort15
the defence rests by @dameronology
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OUTER BANKS
— jj maybank.
hot for a pogue by @butgilinsky
meet me at our spot by @amourology
— rafe cameron.
midsummers by @butgilinsky
so gorgeous it actually hurts by @folkloreslovechild
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HARRY POTTER
— fred weasley.
after all this time by @httpbakugou
MARAUDERS
— james potter.
five times james wanted to kiss you and the one time he did by @moonlitmeeks
— sirius black.
all your fault by @heloisedaphnebrightmore
↳ absurd ideas
'cause i don't want you like a best friend by @evermoreal
grand scheme by @fishley
— remus lupin.
it's time to go by @godlessandwrecked
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BRIDGERTON
— benedict bridgerton.
en garde by @delphispoeticals
show me love by @romeomontaague
— anthony bridgerton.
should've never let go by @writeroutoftime
illicit affairs by @marwritesgood
— colin bridgerton.
alone together by @romeomontaague
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TOP GUN
— bradley bradshaw.
delirium by @kyber-crystal
↳ head in the clouds
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ENOLA HOLMES
— sherlock holmes.
invisible string by @marwritesgood
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AVATAR
— lo'ak.
in full bloom by @loaksky
— neteyam.
warm hands by @loaksky
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HOUSE OF THE DRAGON
— aemond targaryen.
corridor kisses by @flowerpotmage
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loganbcrnes · 1 year
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Midnight activities
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!reader
Words: 766
Tags: Dom!Sherlock Holmes, doggy-style, hard sex, dom/sub Ethnicity and body type isn’t mentioned. I want everyone to feel inclusive. Authors note: heyy whilst catching up on the requests, i figured i'd write this in celebration for Enola Holmes 2. I loved the movie, not as much as the first one, but seeing Sherlock again has made me feeling certain..emotions, so here's this drabble. Enjoy :)
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Sherlock has you on your hands and knees, his deliciously thick body on you, weighing you down. You feel his body heat and the coarse chest hair that you love so much, on your back. Pinned down and with your legs spread apart he tells you, with your dripping pussy on display. “I’m going to fuck you, like this- hard and fast and you’re going to take it.” He brings down a hand to your ass and gives it a sharp slap, making you moan, your ass to his thick erection. As he groans into your ear. “God, you smell amazing, Little one.” He squeezes your ass. “You want it, Sir, it’s yours” you say breathlessly.
Without any other warning he slides his hand underneath your nightie that’s pulled up. He glides up and down a few times, taking in the curve of your back. He groans as his hand descend to your folds. Strumming his fingers down your center, gathering your arousal on his fingers. Circling your clit, round and round making you a delirious mess. “Stop teasing please, Sherlock… ahhh” you try saying as he smacks your apex. Making you moan loudly once more. He knew how you liked it rough. The red marks of his spanks marking you. Exciting a new wave of arousal. “Fuck, Darling, I can see how wet you are” You turn your head to the side to look at him. “then do something, you said you’d fuck me. But here we are” you say in a defiant tone. You watch him yank his sleeping pants down. You shivered, and elongated your arms up, pressing your face into the mattress. Getting ready for the fucking of the night. He rubs the head of his dick down and up your center. Groaning he slaps his dick against your clit. Making you try rolling your hips. He knows just how turned on you get when he rubs his cock over your pussy. He suddenly wraps your hair into his hand and wrist making your face lift up and making your back arch. “I wanna hear, Princess.” His low deep voice sends shivers down your spine. he slams his girth into you. Gasping from the full force of his thrust, he pulls at your hair exposing your neck. His mouth sucking a mark into your skin. Knowing damn well you have work at the bakery the next morning, he keeps sucking at your skin. He continues to pump his thick girth into you. a hand glides over your ass, squeezing the flesh. His left hand wanders up to your breast. Smacking sounds fill the room as his heavy balls slap against your clit. Coming from Sherlock a groan mixed with a moan as you squeeze his member inside of you. You feel his right hand on your clit, rubbing circles, “That’s it, Little one.” he says softly to you. “Taking your husband’s cock so well”. Your moans amplify with the hard thrusting, letting out “ahs” with each thrust. “Let me fuck you open” He keeps the pace fast and brutal making you feel full and crazy. You are almost at the brink of your orgasm, groaning he slams harder into you. “Fuck Princess, This… fuuuuck you feel like a dream” he groans loudly. He grabs at your hips with both hands with a tight grip. You know you’ll have the bruises the next morning. And you buckle and meet his pace. Both of you fucking back into each other.
“Sherlock, Sir!,” you say his name like a prayer, like a plea. You feel the orgasm forming once more. Feeling Sherlock inside your tight heat, pulsing knowing that he’s waiting for you to cum. Sherlock hand comes back down to stroke your clit, pulling a bit but rubbing in small circles. With that small administration of his hand you come undone. You yell a garble of his name. He pulls out of you, flipping you over and shoots his cum on the column of your throat. You stare up him in shock. He marked you, in a way he hadn’t in a while. His dragon eyes look down at you. A smirk playing at his lips, “why do you look so surprised Darling? You know you belong to me” he says as he spreads his cum all over your neck and with a delicate finger he brushes some on your lips. You automatically open your lips to suck at his finger. Maintaining eye contact you moan with his finger inside your mouth. His eyes darken, “Careful darling, you got work in the morning”
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ithebookhoarder · 1 year
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En Garde (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)
Synopsis: Your husband has always been protective of you, given his line of work. However, when he offers to teach you the basics of self-defence, it quickly becomes clear that his intentions may not be quite so innocent after all... 
Warnings: Mild reference to bodily harm, light smutty behaviour, spoilers for the second film.
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A/N: Oh, how I’ve missed Enola Holmes. I loved the books, and the films are just as great in their own way, so expect a bit of spam for the next few weeks - apologies in advance. 
Masterlist
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“Now, try again-”
“-Sherlock-”
“No. Come on. Focus, darling. Once more, from the beginning. Eyes forward-” 
Oh, that was it. 
You were going to kill your husband. Slowly… and painfully… It would be the least he deserved, torturing you as he was. 
“Call me ‘darling’ one more time, husband,” you warned dangerously, “and see if I don’t shove this sword in your direction.” 
Why you agreed to this in the first place was beyond you, given that the day had so far been much more satisfying for him rather than you. 
After all, it had been Sherlock’s idea to help teach you the basics of self-defence - throwing a punch, dodging one, along with the fundamentals for using weapons such as a pistol, club, and now a sword (although when he thought you’d be in such a position to use one, you weren’t sure). 
Given his profession and the fact that his cases often lead to unplanned consequences, it had seemed a rather sensible idea at the start. His recent run in with the infamous Inspector Grail had rattled him, helpless to protect Enola everyone involved in the case from harm. 
Luckily, they had all survived, if not a little worse for wear - most of which was down to your skilled hands, having sewn, cleaned, and bandaged each and every wound they presented you with following the confrontation. 
You had seen the pain etched into Sherlock’s face that night, as you had helped wipe the blood from Enola’s head where she had been struck. He may have often denied having emotions, but the brotherly love and concern was all too clear to you as he seemed to blame himself somehow for failing to protect her. 
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So, now, Sherlock was determined to equip you with the tools you may need should a similar situation ever arise. It made it an easy yes, to agree to his tutelage in the hopes of soothing both his and your concerns. That, and dare you even say it sounded like fun? 
Well, fun for you, yes, but evidently even more fun for your husband as it turned out.
Indeed, Sherlock was certainly a ‘hands-on’ kind of teacher and it had become clear early on that his focus was not entirely on developing your skills in combat. You didn’t have to be the detective to notice how his hands kept drifting to places they didn’t belong, or that his eyes seemed to be capitalising on the opportunity to observe your form in tight trousers as you lunged about the room. 
And that wasn’t the worst of it - in fact, for the past half an hour, he had been standing behind you, his chest pressed to your back, one of his hands covering yours as it gripped the hilt of the sword - or the foil, as he had informed you. 
As for the other, it was rather distracting, pressed against your stomach so as to allow your husband to correct your stance… or so he claimed, as he pulled you closer once again. 
“That’s it,” you huffed, trying and failing to ignore the sudden shiver that ran down your spine as he ground against you. “You are certainly having too much fun. Perhaps I should have asked Enola or Edith to be my tutor instead. At least they can be trusted to remain professional.” 
He scoffed, not sounding the least bit ashamed at the accusation.
“You wound me, wife,” he murmured, his lips grazing against your cheek, “After all, was it not you who said you didn’t wish to be a ‘maiden in need of rescuing’ should anyone wish you harm?”
“You know that I am neither a maiden, nor in need of rescuing, Mr Holmes.” Turning your head, you were quick to return the favour, letting your lips graze his teasingly. His soft groan was enough of a sign that your efforts appeared to be working. 
Two could play this game. 
“In fact, the only person I seem to need rescuing from right now is you, and your wandering hands.” 
You felt his laughter shaking through him, making it hard not to laugh yourself as he began peppering kisses to your neck. 
Clearly your lesson in swordplay would have to wait; it appeared he had a different kind of physical activity planned for you both. 
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littlefreya · 1 year
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i am DECEASED but now the question is , which one of ur henry boys would do this (and preferably drag it to something more 🥵) , Henry or Sherlock or August !!!!!!!
(the link isn't porn dw)
Oh!!!! You are speaking my brat language. I love denying kisses >:D
And ...
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It's not often that Sherlock displays affection. It's not that he doesn't yearn for you. It's just that he likes to maintain a certain persona, pretending that these frivolous games are beneath him.
So imagine his surprise and ire when he leans to kiss you, and you turn your face away to deny him the sweetness of his lips. He sulks, unapproving of your behaviour and tries again with his fingers lightly caressing your cheek.
But before his lips meet yours, you sway to the other side and then quickly step away and attempt an escape. You hardly make it to the door when the hook of his cane locks around your waist.
With a yank, he hauls you back to him, and before you can even whimper, you are flushed against his chest with his arm wrapped securely against the small of your back.
"Don't deny me," he warns darkly and, with his knuckle below your chin, tilts your head up so he can finally devour your mouth.
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Geralt is voracious.
And while he can be patient and soft, he is still a wolf, one that doesn't appreciate being denied of his prey.
As you sway your head and avert your gaze, he immediately snarls. You don't get to do it twice. Before you can even step back, his hand is locked around your jaw, and he is shoving you against a tree bark with his body fully pressed into yours.
His mouth ghosts upon your lips, he hums and you can taste ale and danger on his hot breath.
"Mine," he simply growls and then kisses you with the utmost vigour.
Any thought about denying him dies as his tongue penetrates your mouth.
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sherlocksoft · 10 months
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The Experiment
Sherlock Holmes x reader
Masterlist
Summary: When you married Sherlock, you discovered a side to him that you would never have expected. A side that was only for you.
Author's notes: See if you can spot the line I included from a Sherlock Holmes story as a nod to Victorian Sherlock… I used a few Victorian terms in this to make it authentic, so on the off chance that you're an historian specialising in Victorian dirty talk, please be kind 😉. This is written with any Victorian Sherlock in mind, but leaning toward Henry.
Warnings/content: nsfw, shameless smut, 18+, f!reader, reader has a vagina, dirty talk (but make it Victorian), first time, marriage, breeding kink, fingering, cream pie, cunnilingus, overstimulation, discussion of safe word, mentions of blow jobs, dom Sherlock if you squint, mentioned aftercare
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Marrying a gentleman like Sherlock, there was no surprise that when it came to matters of the marital bed, he was technically as inexperienced as you.
You had been delighted to learn that he had a tendency to live slobbishly from time to time despite scrubbing up exceptionally well; neglecting his hair, sleeping in, wearing his dressing gown all day, not bothering with trifles like what time you ate dinner or who was calling in when his organised chaos took over your home (especially if it was his brother Mycroft).
You were also pleased that he wasn’t a prude — in his line of work you supposed it would be difficult to be completely prudish — because you felt you could comfortably be yourself around him, which seemed such a rare treat for a woman living in these days.
But the one thing you were utterly surprised by, was the way he spoke to you about sex. And even more surprising; how completely crazed he seemed for you. It went against everything you expected of him while courting, and definitely against everything that the general public would ever imagine of him.
Always treating you entirely properly, you’d expected an awkward and perhaps uncomfortable encounter upon consummating your marriage, sure that he would not have time or care for physical affection, especially since he usually displayed such an obvious aversion to the touch of others.
On the contrary, he seemed to have a great deal of confidence as well as an intricate insight into the topic, even upon your first time together. His approach set every nerve in your body aflame before sating you completely and providing a generous offering of his pearly seed to establish itself in your belly.
When you found yourself atop your newly shared bed, at first you worried your ankles may be revealed as your dress lifted above your boots, but he didn’t seem at all phased. You supposed people did see one another in the nude once they were married, and although the thought had been eating away at your nerves, but Sherlock didn’t seem nearly as on edge, which went a long way to soothing your worries.
You’d seen this look of his before. His sparkling eyes devoured you as though you were a new and exciting mystery to be solved, and knowing him as you did, he would no doubt be filled with drive fit for a thorough investigation.
‘Do not worry, darling, I shan’t strip you of your beautiful dress just yet,’ he soothed, caressing your cheek before shedding himself of his jacket and loosening his ascot. ‘Let us start slow, we do have all night after all.’
He moved down to sit beside where you laid upon the bed, and his fingers worked to remove your boots, sending shivers tingling up your legs as his flesh eventually brushed against yours.
You watched him carefully as he rolled his sleeves up, wondering what on earth he was preparing for. You began to feel entirely like one of his experiments, and you supposed that in a way, since this was his first time too, you were. The thought made your lips curl in amusement and your heart race.
‘Have you researched sex, Sherlock?’ you asked bashfully as he lifted your skirts further and ran his fingertips, featherlight and only slightly shaky, up along the contours of your inner thighs.
Gently, he pushed your legs apart, fingers hooking under the soft fabric of your bloomers as that gorgeous curl loosened to fall over his forehead.
‘Of course I have,’ he said simply, still entirely focussed on contributing to your growing arousal. ‘One cannot possibly get something of such delicate balance down to an exact science without sufficient data… just like one cannot perform an exact art without practise. And practice, we shall…’
Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson at the imagery of him studying indecent books with your pleasure in mind. You were overcome with an unusual desire to squeeze your thighs together, but ignored it in favour of feeling entirely safe in his apparently capable hands. Hands that were slipping your bloomers down past your knees and dropping them unceremoniously to the floor.
His fingers began to explore your slick folds, not at all helping to cool the red hot blush that powdered your cheeks.
‘Oh, how I’ve dreamed of bedding you, my darling,’ he breathed, settling properly beside you on the bed. ‘I’m going to satisfy you in ways you cannot fathom. Don’t be shy, you’re doing so well for me.’
Your unexpected cry of pleasure tore through the otherwise silent room, his finger now slowly pumping in and out of your heat. You gripped his arm as if holding on for dear life, fearful that you might otherwise float away in this unexpected haze of bliss.
‘You feel like silk,’ he praised, voice weakening slightly. ‘That’s it, hold on to me, you’re safe. You’re going to come on my fingers first, my needy little minx. Focus on how they fill you, how they caress your inner walls. Does it excite you as it excites me?’
You nodded. Your mind was fuzzy with pleasure like you’d never known, so much so that answering verbally seemed a certain impossibility.
‘I have fantasised about taking you on my fingers,’ he whispered, low and deep into your ear, ‘how divine you would sound as you give in to your pleasure, my name slipping hungrily from between those pretty lips.’
He removed his finger then, and a whine of protest erupted from somewhere within you. You just felt so empty without his elegant digit sliding in and out of your swollen entrance, dragging against something inside that made you absolutely ravenous for more — but a new sensation soon took over and you felt disappointed no longer.
His slick coated fingers dragged up through your folds and you shuddered, all the nerve endings in your body, it seemed, set alight at once. But when he reached the throbbing nub at the apex of your sex, there was suddenly ten times the bliss you’d felt before and your body jolted upward as your scream pierced the room.
‘Ah, it seems it’s not so hard to find after all,’ he said casually, ‘I summised that most men were simply to lazy to bother with this little trick, and perhaps I was onto something. But look at you darling, how you tremble for me while I massage your pretty, soaked flower. What man wouldn’t want to witness their love so utterly wanton for their touch? To feel her blatant arousal at his very fingertips?’
Your mind had turned all but blank, the sensations shooting through your body overwhelming you as his fingers danced with perfect pressure against your clitoris.
‘Sh-Sherlock- I- oh!’
‘I know, darling, I know, you need to come for me, don’t you?’
Swiftly, he pressed his thumb to your clit and slipped a finger easily back inside, fucking you harder and faster than before, watching with delight as you unravelled beneath him.
As the lewd slapping of his fingers fucking into your sopping sex filled the room he, quite pragmatically albeit with a much darker voice than that which he uses during his usual experiments, talked you through your release.
‘This pleasure will soon overwhelm you, culminating in your orgasm. If all goes to plan, your quim will rapidly clench around my finger and there’ll be something like sparks at your clitoris, then you’ll feel a few moments of indescribable ecstasy...’
Your own fingers snapped around his wrist, feeling his steady yet vigorous movements, and you wondered how on earth anything could feel better than this, right now.
And then it hit.
‘Ah, yes, there it is. That’s it! Yes, come for me! Come for me!’
His name did indeed tear from your parted lips, shaky and breathy and desperate, and then his fingers began to slow, easing you down from your high until he gently withdrew them.
Your eyes closed as you relaxed back against the pillows, your legs shaking. You heard a humming sound that pulled you back to the present, though, and glanced across at your husband to see him gleefully sucking your slick from his fingers.
‘It is frankly a disservice to the entire human race to consider that act depraved. Mmh. And you taste like the sweetest nectar, darling... tell me, did it feel good?’
You nodded, biting your lips together.
‘There’s no shame in it, my love. Especially if it feels good.’
‘It felt exquisite,’ you breathed, punctuated with a blissful sigh, and Sherlock smiled broadly. A rare sight. ‘But what about you?’
‘I do not wish to rush you. I will be truthful, however — after watching that beautiful display, my root is as solid as a rock. Whilst I've no intention of pressuring you, I will not turn you down if you’re sure you feel sufficiently ready for me.’
‘I… I think I do,’ you whispered, and you loosened your grip from the layers of your skirt to rest a hand delicately on the broad expanse of his chest.
He gasped at the simple affection, and the reaction caused your lower lips, still throbbing with the after effects of your climax, to quiver.
‘May I?’ you asked carefully, and he nodded. Your hand trailed down gradually, until it reached his lower stomach.
Sherlock’s breath quickened, and you pushed lower still, cupping his erection.
‘Ah- ohhh-’
His eyebrows raised and his eyes fell closed as you stroked his length softly and slowly, but before you could find a proper rhythm, he quickly snapped his hips away, grabbing your hand firmly in his as he leant in to kiss you with fierce passion.
As he pulled away from your lips, he muttered, ‘I hoped to inject you with my seed, but I fear that if you continue touching me for a moment longer, the only thing filled with it will be my undergarments.’
‘Then please, Sherlock, take me-’
And take you, he did. Within a second you were pushed onto your back, and he was settling between your legs, hurriedly unfastening his trousers to release his steadily leaking arousal.
As he carefully pushed himself into you, your warmth enveloping his length, an expression of sheer bliss relaxed his handsome features.
‘Am I too big, darling?’ he panted. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘No- please, don’t stop, Sherlock, I want to be filled with your cock- filled to the brim with your blow-’
He smirked at your words. You mustn't be quite so innocent if you were using words like that.
Sherlock began to steadily roll his hips. Your core burned with an unusual pain, a pain that made you crave more.
His forehead pressed to yours, your hot breath mingling with his each time he thrust gently into you and let out a sweet little whimper.
‘I told you I’d- fantasised about- pleasuring you- ha- ahhh- I can’t deny- I’ve thought of many acts, some of which you might consider- mmh- indecent- but each flood of bliss I give to you is- ha- simply the perfect result of an experiment I’ve been dying to carry out since I met you, and- ohhh-’
His voice was so breathy and shaky now, you knew that he wouldn’t last much longer, but you wanted to give him a taste of how he’d made you feel. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your heels into his back, pulling him closer and signalling for him to go harder.
‘Do you- ohh- do you w-want my children, darling? Do you want me to- ah!- unleash my potent seed within these t-tender walls and- give you a child?’
‘I want nothing less,’ you breathed, thrilled at his words, and at that he snapped his hips unrelentingly, snaking a hand between your writhing bodies to massage your sensitive clit once again, and Sherlock relished in the moan his touch elicited.
‘Clever little- ohh- trick, isn’t it?’ he just about managed, and less than a second later, came with force inside you.
Your walls tightened, contracting around his thick cock to milk him of every last drop, your tightening walls taking him to a plane of existence he’d never before explored.
This orgasm felt different for you, you noted, and if either of you had been coherent enough to discuss the matter you were sure he would ask you to write it down and keep a record detailing those differences.
Nevertheless, your second peak was just as strong, and you fell weak once again as Sherlock’s seed dribbled onto your thighs and he rolled off you, panting.
‘Darling- that was- oh, it was-’ he muttered, half delirious. ‘You feel- good god, you feel-’
‘I came again,’ you admitted, proud this time, knowing it would please him.
‘I know. I felt it,’ he smirked, and then, almost as if he read your mind, ‘did it feel different?’
‘Yes,’ you chuckled.
‘Oh how wonderful! I should write a monograph on the matter. Only for your eyes of course — although it could benefit at least half of the population if there were more literature on women’s pleasure.’
‘So, a filthy love letter just for me, with a touch of the scientific?’
‘You understand me so well,’ he cooed, stroking your cheek. ‘This is precisely why I adore you.’ And suddenly, there was a sparkle in his eyes that you’d seen when he reached a breakthrough. ‘Tell me, have you ever heard of cunnilingus?’
You shook your head. ‘Not… really. I may have gleaned a… basic understanding-’
‘It’s precisely the act I mentioned may be considered indecent, but I would very much like the opportunity to try it with you.’
‘Tell me about it?’ you breathed excitedly.
‘Perhaps it would be easier to show you. Do you trust me?’
‘Yes. Do it,’ you said eagerly, hungry for as much as he was willing to give you.
‘Consider this another experiment… if you dislike it, you must tell me and I shall end it, however my understanding is that if it works, you will not be entirely in your right mind so we must set a code in place.’
‘How about a word that we don’t associate with sexual activities?’ you suggested.
‘Precisely. “Mycroft” it is.’
You burst into a simultaneous fit of laughter, until he silenced you with another, fervent kiss.
‘You might need to loosen your corset for this one. Providing three orgasms in restrictive clothing is no way to treat one’s wife. And what if there are four, or five? I would never forgive myself.’
Taking his advice, you began to strip, soon revealing your breasts to him.
‘Oh, darling, what a perfect start...’ He wrapped his lips around a nipple and sucked lightly, his fingers toying with the other. He was pleased to feel you squirm beneath him and jolts of pleasure shot from your chest to your core and back again.
‘Oh- I never knew they could- mmh- feel like that…’ you groaned, but once again he left you cold to move onto something new, shimmying lower to settle his face at the apex of your thighs.
His tongue lashed warm and wet against your sex, circling your nub, exploring your folds and lapping at your entrance to collect your combined juices.
The way you shuddered had him fighting off a second erection. Not now — he needed to concentrate, and was hoping that with this new method he could give you multiple orgasms in one sitting. His own pleasure could wait.
He hummed into your quim as though he were enjoying a long awaited meal, and you quickly fell apart once again as his hums of delight vibrated through your core.
‘Sherlock,’ you whined, ‘Oh, Sherlock…’
‘One more?’ Came his muffled response, his deep growl reverberating through your weakened body. It didn’t take long for another peak to take over, your mind completely clouded in a haze of overstimulation.
‘I think it’s time for a break now, my love,’ he muttered softly, coming up to hold you, his pretty lips coated in your juices. ‘I rather think that this has been an experiment I would take pleasure in repeating regularly, if you’ll allow me.’
‘I’d be delighted,’ you sighed dreamily, already feeling the pull of sleep.
‘I will also mention that, as soon as you’re comfortable enough, I would rather like to experiment with my own orgasms. See how they feel inside your hand… or your mouth…’
‘Yes, yes I would… I would like…’
‘Shh… for now, it’s time to sleep. Rest, my darling wife you’ve done so well for me.’
You nodded, and that was the last you remembered of the evening.
A thin blade of warm sunlight woke you in the morning. You found yourself comfortably wrapped inside his shirt. He’d cleaned you up after you drifted off to sleep, and you rose feeling refreshed and relaxed.
Creaking open the bedroom door, you heard his handsome voice floating through. He had a client, and when you peeked through the gap you could see that your husband looked impeccably well put together. Unlike you; if anyone saw you like this… you dreaded to think. You smiled to yourself, though, wondering what his stoic looking client would think if he knew what Sherlock had spent all night doing before meeting with him. You bet Sherlock could teach him a thing or two.
You could only hope this case would be too boring for him so he would return to your bed, for you entirely planned to take Sherlock into your mouth the moment you were able. To taste him. To give him as many releases as he had given you. To see him entirely, blissfully weakened by pleasure…
2K notes · View notes
cinebration · 1 year
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Bewitched (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]
hii, if you taking requests, you could do sherlock holmes (of enola holmes) x reader fic with a pride and prejudice quote?? thank you so much!! ♡ Quote: “You have bewitched me…body and soul.”—Requested by @folklorecavill​
I apologize for this feeling a little OOC, but I tried!
Warnings: none
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Gif Source: henricavyll
Sherlock found himself on your doorstep once again, calling on you.
It wasn’t until you descended the stairs and entered the receiving room that he suddenly froze, the feelings that had driven him to your door immobilizing him. He wanted nothing more than to flee and at the same time stay to enjoy your presence. The feelings were both unusual and regular—unusual because as a man who took great pride in divorcing emotion from reason, it was irregular for him to be so arrested by feeling; regular because it only ever seemed to happen around you.
The furrow between your brows reappeared. “Mr. Holmes. How may I help you?”
Sherlock swallowed thickly, words lodged in his throat. A distant part of himself regarded his reaction with distrust bordering on horror. He was Sherlock Holmes. Speechlessness was not in his being.
The furrow between your brows deepened. The sight of it struck of a chord of distress within his chest, ratcheting up the mounting alarm he felt.
It was too much.
Words swam up his throat suddenly, and he blurted, “You have bewitched me!”
You took a step back, disconcerted by the unschooled outburst. Sherlock withdrew into himself, struggling to compose himself as he heard his own words echoing in his ears. He did not believe in superstitions, they being instruments for the uneducated masses to process that which they did not care to understand, but he had dared to say bewitched as though it were true.
It had to be, did it not? How else to explain his uncharacteristic behavior? The whirlwind of feelings buzzing beneath his skin and making him physically ill?
Moderating his voice as best he could, he repeated, the words springing to his lips and spilling over through a thick throat, “You have bewitched me…body and soul.”
Surprise transitioned by increments into disbelief, followed by cautious optimism. You glanced away demurely, pausing to gather a response.
Sherlock’s heart thudded in his ears. He tried to bat the feeling away, hating how beholden he was to your response, whatever it was, his stomach twisting.
Deliver me from this torment, he thought, pleading. What fresh hell was he being subjected to?
“You mean to say you think only of me?” you asked carefully, not meeting his gaze yet.
“Like a lesion on the brain,” he answered. The words did not strike him as anything but true.
You laughed. “A lesion on the brain, yes.”
He frowned, hesitating. He could hear Mycroft chastising him—not merely for fumbling social interactions but for even succumbing to a woman’s charms in the first place—and the ghostly sound of his brother’s voice in his skull nearly made him storm from the room, embarrassment and shame working to displace the other feelings he had. Shaken by the emotions, he struggled to remain steadfast. Pursuing killers down harrowing avenues had never instilled such trepidation within him.
“And if I told you the same?”
Sherlock glanced at you sharply, his brow furrowing. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I think of you too often to be…salubrious,” you said, a note of laughter chased by distress in your voice. “As you said, a lesion on the brain.”
Hope fluttered in his chest, making him sick even as he felt himself chasing the feeling.
“In that regard, I suppose you also have bewitched me…body and soul.”
Silence stretched in the quiet room, so complete that Sherlock was sure you could hear the thundering of his heart.
“I…I’m afraid I do not know how to proceed,” he managed to say. He had never found himself in such a predicament.
You smiled lopsidedly, then drew near him. Your hand reached out to brush his, first the back of your knuckles against his, then your fingers twining with his as he responded in kind.
“I’m not sure how,” you murmured, “but we can learn together, can’t we?”
4K notes · View notes
elorday · 10 months
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— ✪ valerie's may fic recs
thank you so much for all of these writers for making me smiling with a lots of butterflies in my stomach, making my mouth hanging agape, or crying so hard and sweating hot. i really can't thank you enough<3
some fics contain nsfw (✦)
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𖥔. SCREAM—
⭒ — ETHAN LANDRY
✦ title taken : @astermath
20/20 vision : @echnated
slyther-in to my heart?! : @ghostfacd
✦ “it's okay, i'll show you.” : @messylustt
sleepy : @corpsebasil
bejeweled : @xyzstar
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𖥔. ENOLA HOLMES—
⭒ — SHERLOCK HOLMES
we'll be alright : @love-strawberry
✦ exactly what you need : @delicate-moon-princess
bewitched : @cinebration
what happens after death : @hannibals-favourite-meal
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𖥔. HOUSE OF THE DRAGON—
⭒ — AEMOND TARGARYEN
would you love me if i were a worm? : @chiss-and-crackers
valentine's day : @vhagarlovebot
you belong with me : @mybeautifuldelirium
⭒ — CREGAN STARK
among dragons and wolves : @fairysluna
✦ dissolve : @vermithorn
the snow fairy : @wackapedia
⭒ — HARWIN STRONG
✦ i am his and he is mine : @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics
keep you save : @auroraborealyss
✦ princess : @faith-forgxtten-land
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𖥔. BRIDGERTON—
⭒ — BENEDICT BRIDGERTON
drunk sketches : @delehosies
little things : @inpraizeof
⭒ — ANTHONY BRIDGERTON
✦ right in front of me : @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69
✦ melt away : @healmydesires
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𖥔. F1—
⭒ — DANIEL RICCIARDO
meet me at midnight : @fleetwooods
don't wipe away my love : @avisgrace
memories hold me hostage : @libraryofloveletters
it's okay, i'm here : @norrisleclercf1
still into you : @starkwlkr
⭒ — CHARLES LECLERC
when you're missing me : @silverstonesainz
name(s) of love : @kiwisa
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𖥔. SPIDERMEN—
⭒ — TASM!PETER PARKER
lean in, lean out : @literaila
i know : @vivwritesfics
✦ hold you here, my loveliest friend : @p3mybeloved
clingy : @bruisedboys
⭒ — MIGUEL O'HARA/SPIDERMAN 2099
i need you to stay : @intoxicated-chan
mid night : @eyelessfaces
⭒ — PAVITR PRABHAKAR
dance with you tonight : @foreverwiththeunknown
⭒ — MILES MORALES
cheesecake : @ichorai
first kiss : @moralesie
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𖥔. DC—
⭒ — ADRIAN CHASE / VIGILANTE
five times vigilante definitely does not have feelings (and the one time he does) : @tropes-and-tales
now or never : @whirlybirbs
⭒ — BRUCE WAYNE / BATMAN
talk : @ichorai
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𖥔. JOHN WICK—
⭒ — JOHN WICK
one-sided love : @desoolate
remember me : @arece
⭒ — MARQUIS VINCENT DE GRAMONT
stay : @unreliablesnake
✦ something wrong with me and you : @fonteyn
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𖥔. LOCKWOOD AND CO.—
⭒ — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD
the language of longing looks and stolen glances : @fleetingvow
just another love song : @tangledinlove
public displays : @vi-trying-to-survive
ain't a life many splendored thing? : @wellgoslowly
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love-strawberry · 1 year
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we'll be alright
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summary : in which they fight but there's no doubt that they'll end up alright.
pairing : sherlock holmes x reader
warnings : slight spoiler for enola holmes 2, ooc!sherlock, slight angst
author's note : so, hi!! i love you, thank you for sticking around, i love you!! <3
tagged : @0oolookitsme
masterlist
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“sherlock?” 
“enola. what are you doing here?” sherlock questioned, swaying as he tried to focus on his sister. “it’s not safe. there are scary people about”
“yes, let me know when you meet one,” enola sighed, walking towards him and standing close in case he fell over. “brother, are you quite yourself?”
“i’m fine, it was just a disagreement over a glass of wine and whose wine it was,” sherlock waved her off, looking around. “there was another disagreement that i had, not here, no. at home. it quite upset me. very much, in fact.”
“you fought with y/n?” enola asked, her eyebrows raising. she absolutely adored y/n and to hear that her brother and her sister-in-law were fighting was a shock considering they were totally smitten with each other.
“i find after wine, it’s very difficult to make your arms and legs move,” sherlock completely ignored her question, swaying dangerously. enola rushed to support, a wince escaping her as sherlock leaned on her for support. “i don’t usually imbibe but i’m not a case, you see. it’s proven rather tricky”
“cab,” enola called for a carriage, walking while supporting her brother’s weight, losing her footing every once in a while during their very short walk to the side of the road.
“hello,” both the holmes’ siblings greeted the driver, moving to sit inside.
“where are we going?” sherlock asked, looking at enola for answers.
“221 baker street,” enola replied, helping him get in the cab.
the ride to 221 baker street was filled with silence, with enola occasionally trying to ask about y/n and sherlock mindless chatter about his latest case.
the pair of siblings exited the cab, paying the driver and walked to the front door. after opening it, enola stood with sherlock in front of 221a and stopped, looking at her brother for any sort of indication that he was going to open it.
“that’s a and i’m b,” sherlock mumbled, his eyes unfocused as he first pointed at the door in front of them and then at the stairs going to the upper level.
enola sighed, rolling her eyes slightly as she moved over to the staircase. she looked at the number of stairs they’d have to climb before looking at her drunk brother.
“i didn’t know you had steps,” enola mentioned, wanting nothing more than to just sleep and wake up in a week or so.
“one should always have steps to avoid people stepping on you,” sherlock said, his words slurring together as he stood there. “that’s a tip, you should probably write that down.”
“alright,” enola started as she let go of him slightly and helped him lean against the wall, “how about i go upstairs and get y/n and she can help me get you upstairs?”
“y/n?” sherlock’s attention shifted to enola, his head leaning on the wall. “i don’t know if she’ll be here.”
“why not?” enola asked, worry growing in the pit of her stomach. had the fight really been that bad?
“she was quite upset with me,” sherlock spoke, his words stringing together to a somewhat coherent sentence. “i wouldn’t be surprised if she chose to go and stay with her sister for the time being.”
“we’re not at all done with this conversation as i’m very eager to know just how you’ve messed it up with the most loving and caring woman but we do need to get you upstairs,” enola said, her tone of voice sharp as she supported sherlock and guided him towards the first step. “all right, lift your left leg.”
“enola?” a voice questioned from the top of the stairs, making both the siblings look up. “and sherlock? what happened?”
“y/n!” enola exclaimed with relief in her voice, excited to see her sister-in-law and to get some help. “could you please help me in getting your drunk husband in the apartment?”
“y/n, love,” sherlock called out but his voice was ignored by both the ladies, leaving him with a frown on his face.
“oh my, i’m so sorry,” y/n rushed down the stairs, her dress flailing behind her as she went to sherlock’s other side and supported him. “did you get him here all by yourself?”
“had to,” enola informed, climbing up one step at a time. “he was drunk and got thrown out of an establishment.”
“god,” y/n mumbled, ignoring sherlock’s attempts to talk to her. it was obvious that she was angry with him. “i’m sorry you had to see him like this, enola.”
“it’s alright,” enola replied in her cheerful voice, the one that made y/n smile at the girl. the company of three finally reached the top of the stairs and y/n opened the door. “i can hold this incident over his head for years to come. at least, until he does something else.”
“i got him from here,” y/n assured the girl, her hands going over her husband’s shoulders as she supported him. “you go, get freshened up."
“alright,” with that enola went off in the direction of the bathroom, leaving sherlock and y/n alone.
“you should sit down, sherlock,” y/n said to her husband, leading him to the couch in the corner of the room. 
“you’re right,” sherlock mumbled, tripping as he moved across the carpet. “of course you are, darling.”
sherlock sat on the couch with a grunt falling from his lips, y/n’s hand automatically going to his shoulder while the other cupped his cheek, making him look at her. when she realised what she was doing, she quickly withdrew her hands and folded them in front of her, trying to ignore the confused look on her husband's face.
“are you okay?” she questioned, keeping in mind to keep her voice low.
“yes, i’ll be up and running in no time,” sherlock assured, reaching for her hands but stopped when she made no move to take his.
“i was worried when you stormed out and didn’t come back before nightfall,” y/n admitted, her fidgeting with the numerous rings she wore, a nervous habit she had; something sherlock always picked on.
“i apologise,” sherlock whispered, burying his head in his hands, the light from the lamps making his head hurt. “for worrying you. and for other things.”
“that’s alright,” y/n replied, chuckling lightly, though it was weak and she sounded tired. “i think i'll always be worrying when it comes to you. i’ve made my peace with it.”
"you're not mad?" sherlock asked, his voice muffled.
"we'll talk later, sherlock," y/n spoke, her voice sharp as she took a deep breath. "you make it hard to be mad at you, when you're in this stage."
“i suppose i don't make it any easier," sherlock asked, a small smile on his lips though y/n couldn't see it. "being me."
"you don't," y/n looked away, choosing to look at the portraits on the wall. "but that's okay."
sherlock was about to say something else when enola's voice sounded from their bathroom.
"i better go and see what she wants," y/n spoke though she made no move to leave. a moment passed between the couple before y/n moved towards him and pushed him to lay on the couch by his shoulders. "you, rest. please."
"if i must," sherlock said, leaning into her touch and craved it when it was gone. he settled and closed his eyes. "is she to stay the night?"
"yes," y/n spoke sternly, leaving no room for argument making sherlock grumble but he didn't object; knowing it would be fruitless.
y/n moved through the living room, making her way to the bathroom and knocked twice before waiting for enola to open the door.
"a moment," enola called from the inside and half a minute later, the door was thrown open and y/n was pulled inside.
"is everything alright?" y/n questioned, looking at the teenager whose hair were down, strands falling in her face.
"could you do my hair, please?" enola questioned, a pink tint on her face. "i usually just throw them in a bun and that does the trick but i love how you do your hair and since i'm here and you're here, maybe you could do my hair?"
"of course i will!" y/n exclaimed as she pushed enola's hair out of her face. "you shouldn't ask, enola. you're like my sister. i basically raised you."
"still, i felt the need to ask," enola shrugged, handing her the brush that was on the counter and turning around.
"you shouldn't," y/n reassured her, brushing her hair softly. "i'd never refuse."
"i'm glad to hear that," enola smiled at her, looking through the mirror in front of her. "is sherlock okay?"
"he's resting," y/n mentioned, starting to braid small braids. "at least, i hope so."
"did you two have a fight?" enola questioned, no longer being able to control her curiosity.
"he told you about it?" y/n asked, mild surprise on her face but still, she smiled at the girl.
"he wasn't sure if you'd be home when we reached here," enola spoke, wincing slightly as her hair got caught in one of the many rings y/n wore, the latter apologising profusely as she untangled them. "said you might've chosen to go to your sister's house. and he also mentioned something about a disagreement at home when i first saw him outside the bar."
"oh, um, we did have a fight," y/n admitted, a small frown on her face as she recalled the harsh words that were thrown around. "but i'd never just leave."
"did he apologise?" enola questioned, admiring the braid y/n had finished. "please tell me he did."
"he did," y/n assured the younger girl. "i wouldn't be here any longer if he didn't."
"that's good," enola smiled, her fingers twirling around the braid. "you're both good then?"
"i don't think it works like that, darling," y/n spoke slowly, her eyes trained on her hair, a sad smile on her face as she refused to look at her in the mirror. "it's not just a simple 'sorry' and then everything is fine."
enola stayed silent as she thought about what y/n and finally after a couple moments, spoke. "what do you mean?"
"i mean, you can't just hurt someone and then realise that what you did was wrong. you can't apologise and expect everything to be okay, that's not how it is," y/n spoke, her voice calm and controlled but her mind was filled with the words that sherlock and her had spoken—yelled at eachother. "the person you hurt, they're not just going to forget and forgive you."
"then, what are we supposed to do?" enola spoke, her voice a whisper as she watched y/n finish off the last braid and tuck it neatly with the others. "if we apologise but they don't accept it, then what? we're supposed to keep on telling them?"
"we need to show them," y/n corrected her, turning her around to she could pin up the strands that kept getting in her eyes. "with actions, not just words. with what we do, with gestures. they need to know that we cherish them, that we're thankful that they're here, with us, they need to know that we love them and that we're sorry."
"sherlock does that?" enola asked, her eyes on her sister in law.
"he does," y/n whispered, looking down as she felt the familiar burning in her eyes and the floor became a mosaic. "he really does."
"then why are you both not okay?" enola asked, comforting y/n as she rubbed her arms.
"because i'm so worried," y/n started, her breathing heavier and her voice choked up. "i'm so worried, enola. it's starting to affect me physically. he's taking on dangerous cases everyday, the next one more dangerous than the last and he goes out without any sort of protection and i'm so scared that he's not going to come back home to me."
"he's always going to come back to you," enola spoke, her hearting hurting when she heard y/n sniffle. "he's sherlock and you're y/n. you'll always find eachother."
"last night, he didn't come home until midnight and i had stay up waiting for him because i hate it when he comes back and there's no one greeting him and he had a cut on his upper arm and i freaked out," y/n rambled, her hands clutching enola's, the latter not letting go even for a second, "and we had a small argument about him coming this late and coming home hurt when i've told him many times to take someone from scotland yard with him but it ended in a big fight and we both went to bed angry, it was the worst. in the morning, i brought it up again and he just—yelled at me and i yelled at him and he just stormed out."
"i—i don't know what to say," enola breathed out, her hands still onto y/n's. "except, let me go out there and smack some sense into him."
y/n let out a shaky laugh, letting go of enola's hand to wipe her eyes.
"letting all of that out felt good," y/n admitted, sniffling slightly, twirling enola as she looked over her hair. "i needed this, thank you, enola."
"of course, y/n," enola smiled, her eyes sparkling under the lamp in the corner of the bathroom. "thank you, for doing my hair."
"don't mention it, love," y/n waved her off, her heart feeling lighter. "the guest room is neat and clean, you should get some sleep."
"ah, yes," enola spoke, looking at herself in the mirror before smiling at y/n. "i'll see you in the morning."
"of course," y/n smiled back tiredly, her head hurting.
"good night," enola called as she walked away from the bathroom and towards the guest room, her voice drifting as the door closed.
"good night," y/n whispered, knowing that there was no way she heard her. she looked at herself in the mirror, taking note of the year stained cheeks and how anyone could tell that she had been crying. her hair was a mess, flicks restricting her view.
she sighed, before opening the faucet and washing her face, cursing at herself for not doing it earlier as it already made her head feel less heavy.
after drying her face with a cloth, she made her way to the living and spotted sherlock in the same position in which she had left him. he seemed to have fallen asleep, with how even and deep his breathing was and how he was still and peaceful. there was no furrow of his eyebrows, y/n noted as she admired him.
"sherlock?" y/n called as he leaned over him, her voice barely audible as she didn't want to startle him. "we should head to bed."
sherlock groaned as his hands covered his face, moving slightly but he made no indication of sitting up.
"sherlock, please," y/n spoke, her hand on his shoulder. "let us go to bed."
"hm?" sherlock hummed, opening his eyes a fraction before closing them.
"sit up," y/n ordered, her voice still light. sherlock pushed himself up, looking up at her with tired eyes and y/n had to resist the urge to kiss his forehead.
“come on, let’s get you in bed,” y/n spoke softly, holding onto sherlock's shoulder as he stood up. she lead him to their bedroom, his body swaying slightly at the movement, making y/n grip onto him a bit tighter.
“that sounds nice,” sherlock mumbled, his hands holding her waist as he walked into their bedroom with her support.
“it does, doesn’t it?” y/n sat him on the bed, removing his coat, tie and vest. “have some water before you fall asleep. here.”
“i’m not going to fall asleep,” sherlock huffed before drinking the water y/n from the glass on the bedside table with a small ‘thank you’, “i’m not tired.”
“sure you aren’t, love,” y/n muttered, helping him get under the covers and adjusting the pillow under his head. “do you need anything else?"
"huh?" sherlock asked, his head falling against the pillow. "no, i suppose."
"alright," y/n moved towards the dressing room to change into her night gown. "i'll be back in a minute."
y/n only got a hum from him in reply as she made her way into the small attached dressing room and changing as fast as she could into her night gown. folding the dress as neatly as she could, she opened the door to find sherlock sitting up with his back to the headboard.
"sherlock?" y/n asked, confusing evident in her voice as she made way towards him. she sat on the edge of the bed, her worries increasing as sherlock stayed silent for the better part of a minute.
"i'm sorry," sherlock spoke, his voice small as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "for yelling, for storming out, for worrying you, everything. all of it."
"it's okay, love," y/n didn't even notice the term of endearment fall from her lips. "we can talk in the morning. you need to rest."
"no, it can't wait," sherlock argued, opening his eyes and looking at her with utmost seriousness. his hands clasped hers, holding them with a firm grip. "i have only just realised how much worry i cause you."
"sher—"
"if you were out there, i don't know what i would do," sherlock continued speaking, the words falling from his lips effortlessly. "and i realise that i have been selfish, worrying my wife about my well being, coming home late and sometimes even injured."
"darling—"
"i'll work on that," sherlock nodded, not noticing y/n trying and failing to speak. "i'll talk to lestrade about getting a constable with me on dangerous cases."
"love—"
"we already went to bed angry at eachother yesterday," sherlock spoke tiredly, his eyes dropping and his grip on her hands going lax. "i didn't want you to be mad at me tonight. i love you and i'm sorry, y/n."
"i love you and i'm not mad, not anymore," y/n shook her head, smiling as she leaned over and kissed his forehead, stroking his face with her thumb. "i just worry about you, a lot."
"and from now on, i won't give you a reason to," sherlock promised, leaning into her touch.
"good," y/n dropped another kiss to his forehead, smiling when he looked up at her and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. she smiled as she met him halfway.
the kiss was messy, with y/n leaning over him and sherlock's hand supporting her. y/n's hand found the front of his shirt, pulling him even more closer while sherlock's hand circled her waist, tracing small circles on her hips as he kissed her back with fervour.
they broke apart, their breathing heavy as they smiled at eachother, hearts beating fast.
"you need to sleep, mr. holmes," y/n reminded him, pulling away from him and moving towards her side of the bed. "you're tired."
"no," sherlock denied, watching her as she got in under the cover. "maybe, yes. god, am i tired."
"told you," y/n smiled at him with satisfaction. "sleep."
sherlock watched as she leaned over her bedside table and turned off the lamp settled comfortably, shifting slightly. he waited until she was fully settled in before moving close to her.
he laid his head in the crook of her neck, his nose touching her collarbone as his breath hit the exposed part of her neck, making her shiver. her hands automatically went to his hair, running her fingers through it.
minutes passed as y/n laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and running her fingers through her husband's hair.
"sherlock?" y/n asked, her voice barely a whisper.
after hearing no answers from him, she shifted lightly to get a good look on his face and smiled as she noticed that he was fast asleep. his mouth was parted slightly and each exhale of breath made y/n shiver and get goosebumps. his grip on her was relaxed and the look on his face was so peaceful that it made y/n feel at peace.
kissing the top of head, y/n inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and sending a prayer to whatever force that made him hers.
sure, they had their disagreements, both big and small. their difference of opinion cause a rift every now and then but still, there was no doubt.
we'll be alright, she thought before falling asleep with the love of her life.
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dearfandomdiary · 1 year
Text
Waiting on your husband
sherlock holmes x wife!reader
Wordcount: 617
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Author's note: Well, my first sherlock imagine! It's short but i hope you enjoy! I have a second part in mind — regarding the morning after; what do y'all think? 👀🫰🏻
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You have been waiting for Sherlock for a better part of 4 hours.
I will be home at 8 pm. Keep the dinner in the refrigerator, I will eat then. I promise, Y/N.
Those were his words. It was now almost 1 am. You were sitting in his armchair, a book in your hands. His scent was keeping you somewhat calm.
The moment he came home, you would tell him what you thought of such antics. Coming home later than promised, not even letting you know that it would be later than expected. You were worried sick. After all, you had agreed to many things. Be patient with him, not get involved in his cases — he simply wanted to protect you which you understood — but you never agreed to be lied to.
And then you heard it. Heavy steps, slurring of words. He was drunk.
Quickly, you stood and marched towards the entrance, opening the door. “Where have you been?!” you asked, your voice raised. Worry and something akin to anger coursed through your veins.
“Y/N!” he said, blue eyes wide as he stumbled towards you. He reeked of wine and cigar smoke which caused you to take a step back. “ ‘was busy on a case! Missed you!”
You rolled your eyes and grabbed him by his jacket lapels to bring him inside. “On a case? You are intoxicated, Sherlock.” you huffed.
He blinked once, twice, thrice. He let out a low hum, gathering his thoughts. “It was jus’ a … disagreement over wine. And whose wine it was.” A hiccup left his throat. “You know … after a glass of wine, I find it very hard to move my arms and legs.”
You scoffed. “A glass of wine?” you asked, clearly amused. But then you furrowed your brows. “How did you make it up the steps?"
He hummed again, his hands grabbing the edge of the table and your hip. “Dunno…walked. One should always walk after drinking. You should probably write that down.”
Sherlock swayed slightly and your hands tightened on his waist coat, keeping him steady. “Of course, darling.”
The touch to your hip made you shiver. Even the simplest touch calmed you, tamed your anger. You could be mad, uncontrollably angry but when Sherlock brushed his hand along your hip, brushed one of your y/h/c strands out of your face; it immediately calmed you down.
You made quick work of his jacket, brushing it down his arms and taking his scarf with him. As you hung both on the clothes rack he walked over to the chaise lounge. “Sherlock be care—” you began but he had already let himself fall on it. He let out a groan. You chuckled softly.
“Mhm…I love youu.” he said, shifting on the chaise lounge to get comfortable, beginning to fall asleep.
One of these days he is going to break his back, you thought as you grabbed the throw blanket from the armchair you had been sitting in.
“I love you too, Sherlock.” you said softly, tugging a curl behind his hair. Then you turned and took the candle to walk to your, normally shared, bedroom. There was no way you would be sleeping in the armchair or on the chaise lounge.
After all, you loved him. No matter what sort of idiotic and dangerous things he did, you’d love him and you knew he loved you. You had found your way into his heart after all but you wouldn't hurt your back or neck sleeping in old armchairs that were older than you.
In the morning, you two would talk and he would get a stern talking to. You were sure of that.
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imyourbratzdoll · 10 months
Note
Hi Cheleah😌❤️
drunk sex with Sherlock(Henry) pls👀👀
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hi baby! another request done, hehe. I hope you like it even with how short it is.
summary - your husband fucks you after a few drinks.
warning - smut, intoxication, swearing, creampie.
18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips
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You moan, feeling his slow but rough movements against you. Sherlock moves inside of you, whispering slurred drunken words into your ear. “So fucking tight and warm, my best darling.” He groans, gripping your hips roughly, thrusting harder and deeper. Your mind is fuzzy from the intense pleasure mixed with the alcohol. The feeling of his thick member sliding in and out of you feels excellent. Everything felt so electrifying, so raw and passionate. Your husband looks deep into your eyes, smirking as he notices your glazed-over look matches his. “My precious little darling, letting me have you even while intoxicated.” The scent of whiskey on his breath causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head and your walls to clench around his throbbing member. 
Sherlock cups your cheek, instructing you to wrap your legs around him as he picks up the pace, slamming into your sweet spot deep inside. You cling to him, not daring to let go of the man you love, the man currently splitting you open over and over again. You feel shivers roll through your body, a bliss washing over you as your back arches and your juices flow out of you. Sherlock snaps, becoming feral in his drunken state, pinning you down into the mattress and pounding you into it. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream. 
He buries his face into your neck, grunting when his balls tighten and his cock throbs wildly, thrusting as deep as he can before he lets go. Thick spurts of cum fill you to the brim, leaking from your full cunt. You whimper, trembling underneath him as his cum continues to shoot out of his mushroom tip. “Good girl, such a good girl.” 
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thank you for reading!
feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
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holylulusworld · 4 months
Text
Mrs. Sherlock Holmes masterlist
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Summary: Your marriage starts rocky.
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Wife!Reader
Warnings: angst, implied innocent reader, smut in future chapters, innocent reader, shy/insecure reader
A/N: A collection of drabbles on how you became Mrs. Sherlock Holmes.
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Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (1)
Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (2)
Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (3)
Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (4)
Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (5)
Mrs. Sherlock Holmes (6)
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Text
Unraveled 1
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No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)
Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.
The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.
The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed. 
The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.
As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.
By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.
He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.
You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”
His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.
“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”
It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”
He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.
“And the shop owner?”
“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.
“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”
He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.
“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”
“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”
“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”
“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”
You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.
“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.
He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.
You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.
“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge. 
He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”
“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”
“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”
“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”
You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”
“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”
“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”
He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”
Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.
“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.
“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”
“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”
“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.
“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.
“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.
“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”
“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”
“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”
You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.
“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”
“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”
“Good day, sir.”
“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.
You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.
“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”
“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”
“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.
Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.
“Very well then, I’ll be off.”
He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.
🪡
Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.
That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.
“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.
“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”
You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.
“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.
“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”
“For me?” You echo.
“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”
“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”
He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.
You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.
You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”
“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”
“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.
You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.
You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.
You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.
“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.
“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.
“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.
As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.
You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”
“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”
“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”
“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”
“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage. 
You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.
You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.
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callmemaeverick · 1 year
Text
Dangerous Games [Sherlock Holmes x fem!Reader]
A/N: This little oneshot has been playing in my head since the release and I had to get to get it out. Forewarning, this is unbeta’d AND non-period accurate. I am not a Brit, nor am I from that era, though I like to pretend. I just like Henry as Sherlock and I like whump, so when he was shot, well, this came out of it. 
Summary: You are Mrs Hudson’s niece and you were at your aunt’s for your monthly visit, when you heard her favourite tenant stumble through the door
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You knew of him, of course. How could you not? He had commanded attention and admiration wherever he went. And that case Basilweather case a few months ago made him even more popular. But you knew him not as the brilliant detective. No. You knew him as your aunt’s reclusive tenant.
Sherlock Holmes.
He was definitely a character, you decided. Sharp as a tack and not a bad violinist. But he was also blunt and straightforward, sometimes to the point of rudeness. You could recall a time or two where his unsolicited remarks and astute observations made you clench your fists and narrow your eyes at him.
And then there’s the constant revolving door of guests, wanted and unwanted, going up and down the stairs to his flat cum office cum lab cum whatever else. It was very irritating for one looking for a peaceful afternoon with one’s reading.
Your aunt loves him though. Dotes on him as if he was her own. You knew he had helped her with something serious, but no matter how many times you asked, she wouldn’t tell you what. It sometimes drives you mad, but deep down you were grateful he was there to help.
So, despite his apparent lack of empathy, you knew he was a good man. Which was the only reason you put up with him.
xxxx
“You’re an idiot, Sherlock Holmes,” You hissed as you pulled the thread stitching his skin back together.
Judging by the quirk of his eyebrow, you knew it was not something he hears often. In fact, most of the time, it was probably the exact opposite. But you were undeterred, especially since he almost gave you a heart attack, walking through the front door limping and covered in blood.
“Do I want to know the reason you decided to forego a hospital and the attention of a real doctor?”
Sherlock grunted at a particular sharp tug of the suture but did not pull away from your hand. "And miss out on your charming company? Never."
Rolling your eyes at his snark, you returned your focus to the gunshot wound. "Don’t be glib with me, you know it doesn’t work. And it’s not like you couldn’t afford the hospital, so tell me what’s going on?”
When your question was left unanswered, you finished off the last suture and looked up, just to find that his attention was no longer on you but on his map over your shoulder, still cluttered with notes. Frowning, you shifted to block his line of sight. “Sherlock?”
“I had to know.” There was no trace of jest in his voice anymore.
“Know what?”
“I had to know how deep the corruption goes. Her web. I need to know what she’s involved in.”
“She? Enola?” You referred to his young sister, someone you had just met a few days ago helping the man before you up the stairs. She endeared herself to you quite quickly, you realized, as you felt your concern for the Holmes’ siblings grow.
“No. Mira Troy. Moriarty.”
You scoffed at the clever wordplay and turned to look at the map behind you. The name was written clearly on one of the cards.
“She could have died… Enola.” He clarified before you asked. “Had the knife been real, she could've…”
You didn’t know what had truly happened and you suspect you might never will. But you knew it had shaken him quite seriously.
“Sherlock, hey, look at me,” You called, turning back to him. You waited until he pulled his eyes to yours, until you could see the slight discoloration in his left iris. “She is safe, hm? She is sleeping, right in there.” You motioned to his bedroom. "You need not worry."
His gaze moved to his closed door as if he could see right through the wood.
“I just got her.”
“And you’re scared you’re going to lose her.”
“Yes.”
You smiled at the sentiment in his soft voice. He wasn’t as unfeeling as he would like people to think him to be. “You’ve changed, Sherlock Holmes.”
He hummed, coming to the same conclusion. “Perhaps.”
“Give her some credit, Sherlock. She’s tougher than she looks.”
He was silent as he contemplated your words and you didn’t know what he was seeing as he turned to look at you but you refused to break under his stare.
“Like you?"
Heat tinged your cheeks at the sincere mirth dancing in his eyes. It hadn't escaped your begrudging notice that Sherlock Holmes is an attractive man, all wide, strong shoulders and deep voice. It also didn’t help that he was indeed one of the most intelligent man you’ve met.
The feel of his soft touch on the back of your hand stole your attention and your breath stuttered in your lungs when you saw that your hand were clasped overtop his. You didn’t know when you had reached out to him, but what shocked you more was that you felt comfortable enough that the action did not even register to you.
You could only watch as he leaned a little bit closer, grunting with the effort. His head dipped to where his thumb was tracing your knuckles. “My sister believes I’m alone here. In need of a companion."
"Is that," Your voice had dropped to a whisper, as if you were sharing a secret, so you cleared your throat to return it back to normal. "your way of asking me to be your friend?"
Sherlock looked up at you and you froze at the look in his eyes. Heart beating wildly in your chest, you followed his gaze as it dropped to your lips. "Not a friend." He said.
You opened your mouth to respond.
"Sherlock?"
The call of his name might as well be a clap of thunder with the way you both jumped apart at the sound of it. And in that instance, the moment was gone. Blood rushing to your face in embarrassment, the both of you awkwardly stood to face Enola, coming out of the room.
"Are you two alright?" She asked taking in the sight of you, wide eyed and flushed, and Sherlock, shirtless and bloodied. "I heard-"
"Y-yes. I was just... leaving." You sidestepped the man before you and headed for the door, highly aware said man following closely behind.
He called your name, exasperation in his tone, but you ignored it.
"Keep the wound and stiches dry and you'd be right as rain in a few days." Over his shoulder, you smiled at his sister. "You take care of yourself, Enola. If you still feel dizzy and nauseous, have your brother take you to the hospital, alright?" Finally meeting his eyes, you tried to convey what your lips hadn't had the chance to.
"Goodnight, Mr Holmes."
His lips twitched at the game you had initiated. He inclined his head in reply.
The game is on.
Part II
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starkleila · 1 year
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Thursday 4pm
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Summary: enola deduces something about you before sherlock
Henry!Sherlock Holmes x Wife!reader
not proofed read, double ending as did not know what to choose
Warning:  minor reference to implied smut but just implied, discovering of pregnancy. 
Notes:
Sorry for the grammatical errors. I’m new at writing so feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading. do not translate or appropriate my work
Comments and kudos are highly appreciated :)
words: 1800
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Headcanons of you being Sherlock’s wife in Enola Holmes 
Headcanons of you being Sherlock’s wife in Enola Holmes 2
You and sherlock went to visit enola to check on her. You were very proud as was sherlock on how she was helping people in need.
‘we were thinking maybe you could join our detective corp? Holmes & Y/L/N & Holmes? A partnership?’ sherlock said as you stood next to him smiling
‘that is the kindest offer, but I would be behind your shadow. Victorian London favorite couple’ she replies meaning no harm but you two know that she is right, you squeeze sherlock’s hand as you know he is saddened
‘Though I do like this new version of you, having emotions or relying on other is not bad, as y/n had been trying to drill in both our minds’ she adds as you smirk, as sherlock smiles at both of you
‘perhaps I should write that down’ he says smiling ‘perhaps I should come check on you more often’
‘I would like that’ enola replies
‘perhaps you-you could come to baker street time to time to check on us’ he says almost shily while you hug Enola
‘he is right you should come visit us too Enola. We love your company, he loves your company’ you tell your sister-in-law whispering the last part, it warms her heart the affection you two have for her
‘I prefer to give you two privacy, while you have it’ she replies smiling as she ends the hugs
‘what do you mean?’ you tell her as she looks at you confused, her deductions had brought her to the conclusion that you were pregnant, did you and sherlock really had not deducted that about you? She thought you two wanted to wait to tell her and she respected that, but could you two really have not understood it? She had come to the realization after the case had ended and was weirded out that you had engaged in such dangerous activities in your state.
‘nothing’ she replies, that could be a very fun prospect on making you two find out, you look at her confused ‘you know what, I’ll see you Thursday at 4 at your house’ she said quickly, an idea forming in her head
You and sherlock agree happily as you see tewkesbury entering ‘looks like your boy is here’ sherlock says grinning ‘he is not my boy!’ enola replies adjusting her dress ready to go ‘and he has flowers’ you add smirking ‘you two are insufferable!’ she replies annoyed
‘sherlock, y/n’ the young lord tell you two as you greet him too as he takes enola’s arm ‘see you on thurday’ she replies as she leaves, you smiling fondly at the young couple that reminds you of yourself and sherlock gender swapped
Thursday 4pm 221b baker street
You and sherlock were reading the newspaper seated next to each other on the sofa as you were curled against him, waiting for enola when  There is a knock on the door
You and sherlock open the door happily to greet his sister when instead you find a big delivery box instead of enola, confused you two look around seeing no one, little you know that enola is hiding under the stairs
‘this is peculiar’ you say as sherlock takes the box in, he closes the door as he takes the note resting on the box and opens it
‘I deducted before you two, again. I’m excited for you, love Enola’ sherlock read aloud the note
‘what does she mean?’ you ask your husband ‘I strangely have no idea love, but I presume that the answer will be in the box’ he replies as he opens the box
To find a baby crib inside
‘what..?’ you ask confused as you two look at the crib
Sherlock mind and yours run miles , did his obsession with the case really made him blind to his own wife’s symptoms?
‘where is y/n?’ enola asked ‘she is indisposed she Is having trouble keeping food down these days’ sherlock replies
‘don’t eat that cake enola. It’s awful’ you tell her as sherlock gives his sister the cake that was left in your kitchen ‘it was your favorite’ he says rolling his eyes ‘well it tastes different’ you reply ‘no it doesn’t’
‘what is this awful smell?’ you said as you entered the match factory with sherlock and enola ‘I smell nothing’ enola had replied ‘weird’ you had muttered
You had said some profanity as your corset did not fit as you got dressed in your shared bedroom ‘need help love?’ he has asked you entering the bedroom ‘it doesn’t fit anymore, I should really cut on the carbs’ you had told him jokingly ‘or we just buy a bigger one’ he had said fondly as he helped tying your laces ‘sounds better’ you had replied
but before you can add anything sherlock  face goes blank as he faints due to the emotional build up that he is not used to experience
‘sherlock!’ you replied confused as what was going on, gently slapping his face to make him wake up  while enola from the door laughs at the scene
Alternative ending:
‘f3ck’ sherlock said as realization is hitting you too ‘she is surely mistaken’ you tell him ‘right?’
‘every morning you feel sick, your breasts have got heavier, your smell and taste sensory also changed’ he says addressing all the signs. He was rights, What was the last time you had your blood? And as he could read your mind he replied and ‘it’s been two moons since I prepared you a bottle of hot water’
You are processing the info
‘how could I be so blind? Moriarty took all our strengths and left us not seeing the signals’ he says angry at himself
‘sherl we have always been careful’ you reply still not understanding how is possible, he stops in his tracks
‘that night. were we were drunk after the ball we went to find the bank coordinates. I- I don’t remember clearly if I pulled out, we were both too intoxicated’ he says eyes low in shame
‘you mean that?’ you asks eyes wide slowly accepting it. He comes near you, eyes worried but tender, he puts one hand tenderly on your cheek caressing it while the other goes rest on your not yet showing belly,
‘you are with child my love’ he says
You hand cups his above your womb, a tear rolling down your cheek ‘I’m scared sherlock’ you whisper looking at him. you had not plan this yet, you both lived a dangerous life, how?
‘I know, me too’ he replies giving you a sad smile. Sherlock holmes could be scared?
‘but I promise you I will take care of both of you’ he says wiping your tears ‘I love you. Both of you’  he says, your heart swells as you drawn him for a kiss
‘there is no one else I would want to share this with apart form you’ you tell him, once more your love and care manage to plague the demons in his mind that make him worry that he is a terrible husband and that will be a terrible father.
‘we are going to be parents’ he whispers in your lips ‘it appears so, and enola understood it before you’ you giggle ‘don’t ruin the moment’ he whispers back as he kisses you again
From the other side of the door enola is laughing happy that you both are happy and that he beat you both at the deduction game. Her joy is short lived as she hears the increasing sound of kissing and of clothes tearing and a sound quite indecent leaving your mouth, she runs out of baker street before she can be traumatized further
Main materialist
Sherlock materialist in ‘other characters materialist’
Headcanons of you being Sherlock’s wife in Enola Holmes 
Headcanons of you being Sherlock’s wife in Enola Holmes 2
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