My name is Reader, and I'm about to enter the dih zone..
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@mlgmtn
My name is Reader, and I'm about to enter the dih zone..
Hellboy x reader (who loves cute trinkets) hc’s + ficlet <3
(Side note: idk if ‘librarian in the big ass BPRD library’ is a real position in universe, but it will be today! Also- idk if you can even really call most of this headcanons- but ohhhh weeelll xo)
(Also I’m sorry if I butchered HB and/or the English language, it’s past midnight and I’m tired and delirious—)
• Ordinarily, the library was of little interest to Hellboy; he really only went in if he needed to, and the former librarian may as well have been part of the furnishings— but that was before you.
• His mission at the time was a particularly extreme haunting, and to figure out the cause, some sleuthing needed to be done… He needed some old occultist texts, well, some copies of some old occultist texts— after all, the real stuff was too ancient and delicate (and cursed) to keep around people.
• So, to the library he went— with a singular purpose, fully intending to get outta there and back on the job asap… but something threw him for an unexpected loop: a new librarian. It’s unusual to see fresh faces at the bureau; hell- he’s sure your former must’ve worked there going on 30 odd years, so seeing you was a surprise, to say the least.
• The first thing that really caught his attention was the state of your desk, seeing as you’d completely covered it in.. well, crap, as far as he was concerned— small stuffed animals and hyper-cute figures, trinkets of all kinds, toys— you’ve got a couple little... things he’s pretty sure are Hello Kitty? Maybe? He didn’t look down on it necessarily, but like... is that allowed?
• The second thing that caught his attention was the way you smiled at him; it was instant, easy—you didn’t hesitate… Nor did you hesitate in speaking to him “Hello! What can I help you with?”
• After getting what he needed, he found himself compelled to spark up some sort of conversation with you, why? Well, you were new— and certainly… intriguing…
• “So- what happened to, uh...” he gestured vaguely around you, and you took a second to work out what he was getting at “Oh! Mr. Volkov? He retired, great guy. I’m really happy for him!”
• Well, you certainly have a sunny workplace disposition— “Right, well- that’s good...” there was a brief moment of silence between the two of you before he gave you a nod “Thanks... ‘Preciate it”
• Over the course of the next few weeks, Big Red finds himself popping into the library more and more frequently. At first, he lies to himself, telling himself he’s trying to turn over a new leaf and really apply himself to increasing his knowledge of the paranormal, not wanting to always rely on Abe for it— yada yada blah blah, it’s all a racket, though— in reality, he just wants excuses to see you.
• You’re just so normal about him, so nice to him… That might seem like a low bar, but you have to remember, 95% of the people around him are afraid of him on some level, either treating him like this volatile, ticking time bomb or looking at him like he’s a one-man freak show… but with you? It’s different…
• The small talk you two share soon graduates into actual conversation, dare he say, banter, and he even becomes comfortable enough to joke around with you… not in his normal dry, defensive way either—
• He tells himself that his budding workplace crush on you is nothing more than that— you’re cute, you’re nice to chat with, you’re... so sweet…but that’s it! Unfortunately though, he realizes he’s in tremendously deep shit when one day, while laughing at one of his stories, you put your hand on his arm… It’s a small gesture; you do it so casually… but it’s enough to set his pulse racing, and when it happens, he practically has to clench every muscle in his body to keep his tail from wagging too obviously.
• Needless to say, this whole kerfuffle has made him very antsy— even more than usual, so, to clear his head, he breaches containment to go on a little unauthorized ‘patrol’ of the city. While jumping from rooftop to rooftop, he spots something out of place on the block below.. Nestled between a cafe and a bookstore, is a little stand absolutely overflowing with stuffed animals— it’s glaringly pastel against the otherwise dull surroundings, and the sight is nearly enough to give him a migraine, but…
Looking up from your work, you see Hellboy striding your way. “Hey you” you lilt, flashing him a broad, genuine smile.
“Hey,” he replies, closing the distance between you. He stands in front of your desk, the fingers of his right hand twitching at his side, a lifelong nervous habit you hear before you see, stone scraping faintly “I… gotcha somthin’”
“…You.. did?” Got you something? That’s the last thing you expected to hear— and he barely gives you time to process the news before reaching into his coat, pulling out a very obviously bootleg Sanrio plush— you’re fairly certain it’s supposed to be My Melody, but the eyes are way too far apart, and her little ears are two completely different sizes…
You take it in your hands, looking it over— it really is comical, but you don’t laugh; you’re too busy processing how sweet of a gesture this is… You turn your attention back to Hellboy. “I don’t know what to say-“
He shrugs “S’just a stuffed animal. I know you like all that cutesy crap...” he’s trying to act nonchalant, but it’s exceedingly difficult when you’re looking at him like he hung the damn moon over a stupid toy— but then, it’s more than that… and you both know it…
Your lips pull upward into a sly grin, and you hug the plushie to your chest “Sooo… you realize this means I’m gonna be hoping for a gift every time you go out now, right?” You tease, batting your eyes exaggeratedly at him.
He scoffs, tail flicking behind him, unable to hold back a smirk. “Don’t count on it...”
*in the voice of Jeb Bush* please kiss
kateclaires cheerleaders au come to me...
Molly Hooper moodboard
finn after realising the duffers and shawn levy had him checking out noah everyday over the course of 10 years for no apparent reason
𝓕ATHER 𝓕IGURE ♡
˚ 𝜗ৎ father figure ❪jim moriarty❫
ongoing
❝ doubt is just the door before devotion.❞
━ 𝖎𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 ,
the youngest watson follows her brother to baker street, and accidentally discovers that some devils wear collars, adapt too easily, and smile too kindly.
; JIM MORIARTY X FEM!OC
; © greghousescane 2025
cross posted on wattpad — @/-REALMRSHOUSE
ao3 — realmrshouse
MATERLIST
-𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐄
𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈
i | the soldier, the sister, and the sleuth
ii | tea in the trenches
iii | the yard
iv | a stranger in the house of god coming soon
Out of Sight - Part 19
Summary: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 2252 words
Masterlist AO3
‘You need to snap out of it.’
You’re staring at yourself in the mirror, hands clenching around the edge of the sink. You’d be meeting with Jim in less than an hour and you are a mess. Having just gotten out of the shower, your hair is still wet, water dripping onto your face while your towel is tied around your hips. For some reason, the cold calculated person you were before this particular mission seems to have vanished to some extent and it frustrates you to say the least. You’re fully aware of the implications of this attachment—the problems it causes for how well you’re able to function; no, execute your mission. How well you’re able to do the one thing you’re good at. First, you run a hand through your hair, then over your face. ‘For fuck’s sake.’ Your voice is quiet. ‘Get it together. Be Spike.’ After letting out a harsh breath, you slap a bottle off of the counter and walk out, to your bedroom, to get dressed; realise your hair is still wet; return to the bathroom to dry it; and then go back to your bedroom once it’s done.
MINE
Jim Moriarty x Reader
~★~❤︎~✦~
‘But you can call me Jim 💕✨’
diva down
i've got this thing where i always get into ships because i go 'haha what if they were in love' as a joke and then an hour later it's my otp and i devour fanart and fanfic like i've been starved and kept in a basement for decades
sherlock & co firmly establishing sherlock as a gay man before introducing irene adler is one of the sexiest things this podcast has ever done. bbc sh*rlock found dead in miami ❤️
Sherlock Holmes is truly every woman’s greatest fantasy: a sexist man gets humiliated by a woman much smarter than him and he responds by having a ton of respect for her and never being sexist ever again.
you can’t convince me that they didn’t get married and raise aaron together after the show ended
hi cat!!! Halloween is over so that means it’s CHRISTMAS SEASON!!! I was wondering if you could do a fic that’s Sherlock x reader where Sherlock invites the reader (girlfriend/partner) to come with him to his parents’ house for Christmas for the first time and yk all the Holmes would be giving Sherlock a hard time bc this is the first time he’s ever dated anyone- I just think it would be so cute ☺️ Mycroft would be so over it too LMAO maybe a little smut at the end but if not that’s fine. Also DONT feel pressured to do this at all you can ignore it if you please ik you’re busy ❤️❤️ sending lots of love your way cat and I hope you’re doing well! (I hope I worded everything well and you understand the ask bc I feel like I sort of ramble 😅)
The case of...Oh, Happy Christmas
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!reader
You weren’t entirely sure how Sherlock wanted you to react when he said it.
“My mum,” he announced abruptly while reorganizing his experiment table, “wants you to come for Christmas.”
You stared at him. “Your mother?”
He refused to meet your eyes, shifting a beaker half an inch to the left. “Yes. She insisted on meeting you. Apparently my failure to produce a girlfriend by my age” he waved a hand vaguely, “ is a ‘growing concern’.”
You tried not to laugh. “So this is…a welfare check?”
“A ridiculous one,” he said stiffly. “But they’ll be insufferable if I refuse.”
You weren’t sure if that meant he wanted you to come or not, until you noticed the pink creeping up the back of his neck.
So you’d gone.
And now you were standing in front of a pretty Sussex cottage, while Sherlock glowered at the front door like it owed him money.
“Sherlock,” you murmured. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”
“I’m considering it,” he replied.
“Too late!” chirped a voice, his mother’s, because she had excellent timing and zero respect for her son’s dramatic brooding.
“Oh, there you are!” she beamed, pulling Sherlock into a hug he endured like a hostage. Then she pulled back and lightly patted his cheeks. “Still no body fat on you. Honestly, you’re all angles.”
“Mummy,” he said through gritted teeth.
“And you,” she said, turning to you with delighted curiosity, “are the miracle. Come in!”
You stepped inside the warm house, smelling of cloves, firewood, and the faint chaos of two academic retirees, and Sherlock’s mother immediately looped her arm through yours.
“Now, tell me,” she said brightly. “How did you do it?”
“Do what?” you asked.
“Catch him.” She gestured vaguely at her son. “He’s like trying to hold onto a startled stork.”
Sherlock closed his eyes. “This was a mistake.”
“Oh, hush,” she said.
In the sitting room, Mycroft was already waiting like a disappointed headmaster.
He didn’t even stand. He just looked up and said, “So it’s true. Someone is willingly dating him.”
“Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped. “Behave.”
“Why?” Mycroft took a sip of tea. “It’s Christmas.”
You smiled politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Mycroft.”
He looked at you properly then, eyes assessing in a way that made you understand immediately how Sherlock’s mind had been honed. “Likewise,” he said after a beat. “You must be a very patient woman.”
Sherlock muttered, “Stop evaluating my partner like I’ve brought home a new prototype.”
“That depends,” Mycroft said smoothly. “Is she?”
Before Sherlock could respond, Mycroft waved a hand and reached for a plate of biscuits. “Either way, since you've found someone who talks sense into you...”
Sherlock blinked. “She doesn’t...”
“Yes, she does,” Mycroft said, handing you the plate as if entrusting national security. “Thank you for your service.”
You choked on a laugh. Sherlock looked betrayed.
Dinner was loud in a way Sherlock privately claimed to hate but kept secretly smiling through.
It began harmlessly enough, until his mother brought out the photo albums.
“Oh no,” Sherlock said immediately. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Yes,” his mother said, flipping to a page with gleeful vengeance. “Look, look, this was his first chemistry set. He was seven.”
You leaned over. The picture was of small, curly-haired Sherlock wearing safety goggles ten sizes too big, holding something smoking.
“What did you blow up?” you asked gently.
“Nothing,” Sherlock said.
“He set fire to the hydrangeas,” his mother supplied.
“They were boring!” Sherlock protested.
Mycroft didn’t even look up. “Some things never change.”
Sherlock glared. “You stole my Christmas chocolates for years.”
“You hid them in predictable places.”
“I was a child.”
“You were a Holmes,” Mycroft corrected.
You started laughing so hard you nearly knocked your water over.
Sherlock pointed at you. “Stop encouraging them.”
But he was smiling in that small, rare way, like someone quietly basking.
After dinner, Sherlock turned to you with a strained expression. “We’re leaving at dawn.”
“You are not,” his mother scolded. “You are staying for presents.”
“He hates presents,” Mycroft called from the other room.
“I do not,” Sherlock snapped.
“You returned my gift twice.”
“It was a GPS tracker, Mycroft!”
“For your safety.”
“You threw it at me.”
You looked between them, trying not to laugh.
Sherlock sighed dramatically. “This is torture.”
But he didn’t let go of your hand.
Later, in the guest room, you found Sherlock staring out the window at the softly falling snow.
He looked…peaceful. Contemplative. As though he’d allowed himself to exhale for the first time all day.
“You survived,” he said when you approached.
“That’s my line,” you murmured, slipping your arms around his waist.
He rested his forehead against yours. “They like you.”
“I like them.”
He groaned. “Why."
“Because they love you,” you said simply. “And because you lose all your sharp edges around them.”
“I do not.”
“You do,” you whispered. “And it’s very adorable.”
He closed his eyes. “Don’t let them hear that word.”
“Adorable?”
He flinched. “Exactly.”
You laughed into his chest.
From down the hall, Mycroft’s voice drifted faintly:
“Do stop flirting. Some of us are trying to sleep.”
Sherlock scowled at the wall. “I am poisoning his tea tomorrow.”
“You’re not.”
“I could.”
You kissed him, shutting him up. He softened instantly, hands sliding up your back, breath warm against your jaw.
When you pulled back, he murmured, “Thank you for coming.”
“For Christmas? Or for surviving the Holmes family hazing ritual?”
“For both,” he said quietly.
Snowfall glowed outside like dusted silver. Sherlock pulled you close, his chin resting on your hair, and you felt him relax fully for the first time.
A boyish, secret smile tugged at him.
His first holiday with a partner.
His first Christmas he genuinely wanted to remember.
And despite the chaos, the teasing, the embarrassment...He was happy. With Sherlock Holmes, that was a rare and extraordinary thing.