⌗ synopsis: you're fixated by her, observing every step she takes, every breath — haunting her like a ghost. she's mesmerized by you, keeping stolen pictures of you on her walls. what would happen if you found out about the mutual obsession?
↓ mood boards! | playlist! | upcoming fic!
mood boards !
⌗ ellie williams, 20, majoring in astrophysics.
໑ incredibly possessive — but it's okay because you're equally possessive with her
໑ fixated in you photography
໑ big fan of great acts of love
໑ her favorite color is red because the red lighting highlights your eyes.
໑ would kill for you. actually... she kinda– well, never mind.
⌗ you, 20, majoring in aeronautical engineering.
໑ your favorite hobby is to stand like a ghost and observe your surroundings.
໑ cold skin
໑ blood mean love
໑ loves the cold, but not as much as you love your fixation
໑ oversized hoodies
this fic contains lots and lots of dark content, such as murder and blood pact. but dont worry, I'll list all of them on it!
huge thank you to @ssssduction 💖
@almadellie thank you for the help with the banner 💓
Isn't it true that movies on the basis of books that are actually just inspired by them are just more or less canon fanfiction that somebody has the money to put on a big screen?
Benedict Bridgerton becomes a little too curious when he sees a lady such as yourself hidden away from the ball in the artistry gallery. / fluff / fem reader
Paintings were able to uplift all spirits, regardless of how dire their circumstances may be. However, the ton that toured the gallery was entirely careless with the pieces of art that sat before them. Luckily, the mistreatment of the artwork was a blessing in disguise, rewarding me with a plea to flee from all suitors.
An exquisite painting was merely disregarded to the side, raising bewilderment and slight fury at the fact that someone could be ever so careless. I politely excused myself from my current suitor, being able to put the oeuvre safely back in its place.
The enormous entrance closes behind me with a sound barely louder than a tiptoe, and for the first time that evening, I disburden my lungs from built-up breath. The noise of the ball, the music, laughter, the endless questions, "Do any gentlemen take your fancy?" "Do you wish to have a family?" But as soon as I stepped foot into the gallery of hopes and dreams, all expectations fell away at once.
The lanterns along the walls cast soft halos of light, leaving the corners of the rooms with a soft and gentle shadow. I paused in admiration, taking each and every one of the paint strokes in, using my imagination to interpret a story for each art piece. "These paintings have been dismissed by the ton too quickly. They are unremarkable." I spoke, my words imperceptible.
I walked deeper into the gallery, the footsteps that belonged to me, softened instinctively. I knew exactly where the piece belonged, seeing the empty space among the others.
Carefully, I placed the work onto the wall, as if it were a delicate vase just waiting to smash. Standing back to view the painting that sat peacefully on the wall, that's when I found out the presence of another. Which led me to abruptly turn around, my dress flying through the air like a scared pigeon, facing the silhouette.
"Forgive me," the voice was soft, which calmed your panic down a tad. "I did not mean to intrude."
He, I assumed, stood a few paces back from where I stood, “Uh.. No worries, my Lord.” He slowly made way into the light, finally casting shadows in certain places, but not his entire face. Making his feature more deceptive. “May I ask the lady of her name?” I stared at him, trying to find an answer, not sure whether his knowing of your name was a good or bad thing. “What could you possibly need it for?”
“So I’m able to address you properly,” his eyes scanned over my face, as if he were trying to break and churn me down, almost trying to figure out what I possess as a person. You turn to face the paintings, hoping that hiding away would make the Lord leave you to be. Except his presence seemed to be a lot louder than the faded laughter and music. “Miss L/N.. and you?”
“So, Miss L/N, shouldn’t you be at the ball?” dismissing my question, making his way to stand right beside me, except i cant bare the thought of trying to look him in the eye. “Yes, I should, but I’m clearly not. What is it to you, My Lord?”
“I’m curious, is all, most ladies would be in there having the time of their lives, so My Lady, why aren’t you with them enjoying your evening?”
“With all due respect, My Lord, not everyone is comparable, even a Lady. And I am simply admiring the amazing art before me, when some inconsiderate, thoughtless Automaton decided to throw this art piece on the floor. I naturally felt the need to take care of such a piece and put it back in its place.” I purse my lips, eyes still staring at the art, appreciating each delicate stroke. The artist, whoever painted such a beauty, was more than talented, worth millions.
“You’re right, My Lady, and not just that, you have excellent taste.” He pointed out that it made you feel happy, even though you weren’t an artist yourself; you were glad that someone had the same level of respect for art as you did. “Thank you, My Lord. It seems you do as well. Whoever painted this piece is quite talented.”
“And although I do enjoy your company.” I look him in the eye, smiling, trying my hardest to be polite. “We must not risk being seen with one another; you must go.” He laughed quietly, but enough for my ears to just pick up. “You’re right. It was a pleasure seeing you, My Lady.” He turned around to leave, “The pleasure was all mine.” I curtsy, still smiling out of respect.
And before the young man stepped out from the room, he left me with one more thing. “Oh, and thank you, I’m glad someone other than stuck-up mothers who use art as a way to show of riches, enjoys my artistry.” He smirked. I stood there stunned, trying to process what the man had just said. Although it may have come to you as a surprise, it was rather fascinating to be able to put a face and a name.. You didn’t get his name. But now there was more for you to think about, and that made it all the more fun.
Plot: After the groups close call with Grail and his men in the theater, you take care of a wounded and restless Sherlock, though he insists he does not need it. The gentleness of your care, awakens feelings in Sherlock he has tried very hard to hide.
Pairing: Cavill!Sherlock Holmes x Gn!Reader
Requested By: @that-choir-girl
A/n's: This derailed a little bit from your request, but I hope you like it! :)
Warnings: Mentioned of wounds, light blood. Mentions of medicine/pain killers, etc. Main character death in the form of a nightmare multiple times.
Words: 3,934
You followed closely behind Sherlock as he entered his apartment, knowing he was going to try and stop you from entering. Determined to be alone, as always.
Just as you expected, the second he stepped foot inside, he turned to you, attempting and failing to hide his pained expression from the movement.
"Thank you for seeing me home Y/n, you can retire to your-"
Slipping underneath his arm, causing him to silence himself, you smiled to yourself. "I'll just make sure you're set up for the night."
Sherlock let out a soft sigh as he watched you walk through his apartment. Brief shame due to the mess washed through him before he cleared his throat and closed the door.
"As much as I enjoy your company, and appreciate your care, you really do not have to stay. I know Enola asked you to but-"
"I want to."
Sherlock felt his chest clench at your soft tone as you turned and looked at him with a smile. "Even if Enola requested I help you, I want to help you. Besides, you never help yourself anyways."
Sherlock let out a soft amused scoff. "You speak as though you know me."
"I know you well enough."
Sherlock observed you, the way you easily avoided touching anything that he did not want to be touched, even without his request. You did dot rearrange, only cleared spots with obvious trash, or unnecessary things. You prepared him tea, and as he watched, you did so with his exact preferences.
Maybe you did know him more than he thought. God knows he knew you, more than you might be comfortable with. But he never thought you had the interest to know anything about him. But it seems he was wrong.
And you wanted to be here to help him, a truth he was not expecting to hold such a gentle tone. His heart was beating heavy in his chest, something he told himself was solely due to exhaustion and pain from his wound. This was a lie, and he knew it.
Sitting down in his chair, he found he could not stop himself from watching you. Glancing over at him, you caught his stare. Many others would often instantly become uncomfortable under Sherlock's heavy and detecting gaze, but you simply smiled at him as you brought over his tea and a small cake.
As his eyes scanned the cake he frowned, "This is not mine. You brought it with you?"
You nodded, "Made it myself. Thought I'd bring it with since I know you rarely ever have enough food here."
A soft smile pulled at the edge of Sherlock's lips. He knew you loved to bake. And many a time he often wondered to himself if he would ever get the chance to try it himself. He would never ask you directly of course.
Grabbing the bag of supplies given to you by Sherlock's doctor, you gently started unpacking it and setting it out in a methodical order as to what you thought Sherlock would prefer.
Sherlock, taking a quick bite of the cake you prepared him, felt a rush of what he could only describe as pure comfort wash over him.
He forced away the smile that dared to show, before he took a sip of the tea you made him. Perfect.
Daring to look at you, he noted the way you were arranging the medical supplies in order of use. He smiled to himself, once again feeling his chest clench with an emotion he refused to acknowledge every time he was in your presence.
As you turned, you once again caught him staring at you. Sherlock, somewhat embarrassed cleared his throat. "You know you would make a good nurse."
You smiled, feeling your heart thump unevenly in your chest. "As good as I would be, I don't think I have the heart for it."
"Ridiculous." He said bluntly and you laughed, a sound that made Sherlock smile.
"No really. Seeing all the pain so many people go through and not being able to help as much as I'd wish. I don't think I could take it, not for long."
Sparing a glance at him, your cheeks grew hot at the surprisingly gentle gaze locked on you.
Noticing your bashful demeanor as he stared at you, Sherlock couldn't help the smile that threatened to show. No discomfort, just a shyness he found very endearing. You did not mind him seeing you, but it did effect you.
Noting the time you took a breath and turned back to him. "Its nearly time for your next dose of pain relief. After that you should try and rest. I'll stay until you fall asleep."
Sherlock seemed surprised at this, "You really don't have to do that. In fact I insist you-"
Holding out the bottle of medication, you locked eyes, yours determined and unwavering, "And I insist on making sure you rest and don't dive head first into another case before recovering."
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but seeing your determined look, he let out a soft sigh before taking the bottle from your hand. "I suppose I should not waste any effort trying to convince you otherwise."
You shook your head silently, and he let out a soft breathy laugh. Often if people tried to force him to relax, to rest, or simply stay put he would grow annoyed with them, often snappy. But with you, there was nothing but comfort and gentle acceptance.
You lingered around his apartment until you saw he had inevitably lingered into sleep. As you watched him for a moment, you saw the way his eyes twitched as his breathing became uneven.
You frowned as you continued to watch him. Thinking he may be cold, you grabbed a nearby quilt and laid it over him, only now hearing the very soft mumbled coming from him.
Pity hit you as you realized he was dreaming, or perhaps having a nightmare.
As Sherlock continued to fight, Enola ran off with Grail chasing after her, his eyes cast over you, fighting near Tewkesbury.
You had been pushed to the ground and fear and anger rushed over Sherlock. Pushing his assailant away, he tried to make his way towards you, but was once again grabbed and attacked.
Sherlock was too distracted by your cries as you fought, that he hadn't had enough time to dodge the bullet that pierced his shoulder.
Hearing your voice call out, he turned to see you rushing towards him, fear present on your face.
But before you could reach him, he saw the man who shot him take aim at you. Sherlock yelled out, lunging to grab the gun, but two shots were fired before he could.
Laying out the man who shot, Sherlock cast his gaze over to you just in time to see you fall to your knees.
"No!" Sherlock yelled out in shock as he ran over to you, grabbing you as you began to fall limply to the ground. Holding you in his arms, your now lifeless eyes stared blankly as he felt his chest tighten with grief and anger.
Another shout echoed through the theater as Sherlock looked up just in time to see Enola plummet to the ground from the catwalk above.
His cry of fear couldn't leave his throat fast enough before Enola lie dead on the ground ahead of him.
In shock his gaze trailed around the room before landing on Tewkesbury's lifeless body not far from Enola's. You were all gone, all dead.
Suddenly everything was still, and from the darkness walked Mira Troy, Moriarty. She smiled a sad smile at Sherlock before speaking softly, malice lacing her tone.
"I suppose you aren't as great as they say. You couldn't save them, after all. And now you are truly alone."
The pain and grief rushing over Sherlock shook him awake, as he sat up quickly, pain searing through his shoulder. His eyes darted around the room quickly before they landed on you.
You quickly kneeled in front of him, damp rag quickly pressed against his forehead as your worried gaze searched his face.
"You're alright Sherlock, you're awake, it's alright. God, I tried to wake you, but you were so deeply stuck in your dreams."
"Not dreams." He said softly, but you understood.
Dabbing the rag along his head you sighed softly, "Do you wish to speak about it?"
He looked at you, really looked at you. You were alive, you were here. Enola was alive. So was Tewkesbury. It was just a nightmare.
He let out a soft sigh as he rubbed his eyes. "I failed all of you, in the theatre, you all-" he hesitated, and you frowned softly.
"But that didn't happen did it?"
Sherlocks heart skipped as you grabbed his face in your hands, making him look at you. "We're okay. Enola, Tewkesbury, me, you. We're all alright."
Sherlock nodded mutely as you smiled sadly at him. Wiping his forehead softly you hummed, "Even the great Sherlock Holmes has to suffer from nightmares hmm?"
He didn't answer, only let out a soft sigh. He rarely had nightmares, usually his dreams were more frustrating than frightening. And they were never like this. So real, so painful.
You met his gaze and Sherlock felt a comfort in it that ceased all memory of the nightmare, if only for a short while.
"Do you want to try and sleep again?"
He sighed, still being exhausted, "I fear I must."
You smiled softly as he lied back down again. He looked at you once more, "Thank you, Y/n. For being here."
You smiled down at him, your heart fluttering. "Any time."
As Sherlock woke, the soft glow of the morning light, was paired with a soft humming he did not recognize. As he slowly sat up, aware of the pain he was still in, he picked up on the smell of coffee, and breakfast.
Rising, he walked into his kitchen to a sight that made his heart nearly stop.
You were cooking in his kitchen, softly humming, wearing the same clothes you had been before. Had you not left him?
Looking over, a smile graced your face that made Sherlock's heart skip a beat. "You're awake."
Quickly heading past him, you grabbed his pain medication and brought them to him. "Here, you must not feel great. You were supposed to take it earlier, but you were finally sleeping peacefully I did not wish to wake you."
"You stayed, all night? Why?"
You chuckled softly, "I did not intend to originally. I just wanted to make sure you fell asleep properly, but I made the mistake of sitting down, and before I knew it I was asleep too."
"And now you are, cooking breakfast?"
You smiled and nodded, "Yes."
Looking over at him, you found him staring at you with a gaze you had not seen before. It made your cheeks burn, clearing your throat softly you turned away to continue cooking.
Pulling his eyes away from you, Sherlock took his medication and sat down. A nervous feeling sat in his stomach as he watched you. The sight of you in his kitchen, comfortably walking around, cooking, it was almost domestic. And as much as he tried to ignore it, he very much liked the way it felt.
The memory of his dream from the night before crossed his mind. The sight of your body in his arms. Discomfort and fear crept through him. If a nightmare alone did so much damage to him, what if...
He cleared his throat as he felt anxious at his thoughts. "I appreciate your care Y/n, but you really do not have to do so much."
He was pushing you away again. You expected it. But it still made your heart ache.
Setting a plate of food in front of him, you smiled down at him, "Eat first, and then I'll leave you alone."
Sherlock spared you a look. The same soft smile was present on your face, and he swallowed hard before nodding silently. He did not want you to waste your time taking care of him, and yet, he wanted you to stay.
Once you left him alone, Sherlock's apartment felt oddly cold. He was always so used to it's loneliness, he took comfort in it. But now, having seen your effect, the enticing smells of your cooking, the soft sound of your humming, the warmth of your care. It now felt damp, cold, and lonely.
All day you found yourself worrying about Sherlock. Was he pushing himself too hard? Was he eating? Taking his pain medication? Was he nose deep in another case already?
You were restless and wanted to check on him, but you feared he may find you overwhelming, your presence bothersome.
So, when Enola asked you to check on him for her, also fearing he would not be resting as he should be, you took the opportunity. It was a decent excuse, and if he did not need you, you would simply leave.
Taking a deep breath, you knocked a few times at his door, wondering if he was even home.
A few moments passed before you heard footsteps approaching. You took in a deep breath as he opened the door. His eyes fell on you as he bit back a smile, though you did not catch this.
"Y/n, back so soon?" There was a softness to his tone that put you at ease. At least he was not annoyed you returned already.
"Enola asked me to check in once more, she had a feeling you might have been pushing yourself."
Sherlock studied you. You were telling the truth, mostly, there was something else behind your tone. Sherlock felt his heart beat unevenly. You were worried about him too.
"I assure you, and Enola, that I am fine."
You squinted softly as you stared at him, subtly mocking the way Sherlock himself studies you. He bit back another smile, knowing what you were doing.
You let out a soft smile, "Fine. I believe you. But," bringing out your arms from behind your back, you revealed a bag. Sherlock quirked his brow and you smiled, "I brought you some food, since your kitchen was empty."
Sherlock bit the inside of his lip before stepping aside and opening the door for you to enter. "I suppose there is no reason for me to refuse."
You smiled as you entered, "I would hope so, since I'm sure you haven't eaten since this morning?"
You glanced back at him, as he cleared his throat softly, giving you your answer.
"Thought so."
Sherlock watched you as you cooked, becoming happily accustomed to the sight. You used utensils he didn't even know he had, and some he was sure you brought with you.
"Enola told me she has been pressuring you to get a roommate."
Sherlock sighed softly, "Yes. And what do you think of the notion?"
You hummed, "I think the company might do you good."
He smiled softly, "For company, I would prefer you to a stranger."
Sherlock didn't miss the very subtle way you stopped in surprise at his comment. You let out a soft laugh. "I would be happy to give you company when you wished." Looking back at him, you smiled "But I think you may grow tired of me."
Sherlock's heart thumped in his chest. He wanted to correct you, to tell you no, he could never see himself getting tired of your presence. In fact, he often finds himself craving it.
"I think I would grow tired of a stranger's presence faster. And you are no stranger Y/n."
"What am I then? I once recall hearing you say you had no friends."
Sherlock paused in thought at your question. No, he did not see you as a friend necessarily, he was not sure what you were, he only knew what he wanted you to be. Though he often pushed the thought into the back of his mind, not daring to risk such a relationship. The reason why, slowly being forgotten.
"That was a long time ago, I've...changed since then."
You smiled to yourself. Did Sherlock Holmes just indirectly call you a friend? It's not what you desired to be to him, but you would take it nonetheless. He was opening up to you, and you would wait.
Pushing off of the couch he had been leaning on, he winced at the pressure he mistakenly put on his wound. Your head snapped back at the noise and Sherlock raised his hand, "I'm fine. I promise."
You let out a soft 'tsk, "Careful. Don't need you agitating your wound."
He chuckled, "Are you sure you have no desire to become a nurse?"
You laughed softly. "I could always become your nurse. I fear that might become a full time job."
Sherlock let out a soft scoff, though the thought of you taking care of him again in the future did not seem undesirable.
After dinner, Sherlock lounged on the couch as he listened to the sound of you cleaning in the kitchen. He attempted to help but your stern look chased him away well enough.
Without realizing, the sound of your actions and occasional soft humming caused Sherlock to drift into sleep.
What started out as a normal dream, quickly shifted into a familiar nightmare as he stepped foot into the theatre, only to see you being held at knife point by Grail.
Sherlock looked around for Enola and Tewkesbury, but they were no where to be seen.
"Let them go Grail." Sherlock warned as he watched your fearful face, wet with tears.
"Now why would I do that? Why would I give up the chance to take away something Sherlock Holmes cares about. HA! The great and lonely detective, cold and calculating, in love? No, no, perhaps you should stay as you are, alone."
As Grail swiped his hand across your neck Sherlock felt his heart drop.
"NO!"
Time seemed to slow as your limp body dropped to the floor. Sherlock rushed to hold you in his arms, to stop the bleeding, but as your tear stained face stared up at him, the light leaving your eyes, he felt desperation he had never felt before.
Sitting up with a gasp of air, tears leaving his eyes, Sherlock looked around desperately.
"Sherlock?!"
You rushed from the kitchen to his side, seeing the fear and pain on his face as he woke from another nightmare. You knelt on the floor in front of him. His eyes scanned yours as he reached out and grabbed your face, as if desperate to make sure you were real.
"Sherlock." You spoke softy, gently encasing Sherlock's hand as he still cupped your face. "It's alright, your awake."
He clenched his eyes shut and let out a frustrated sigh, "Blasted nightmares. Why now, I've never had them before."
You frowned, gently taking his hand from your face, causing him to look back at you, but still holding his hand in yours.
"Maybe because you finally have something you fear losing. Before, you were alone, this time you had others with you, everything ended alright, but that doesn't stop fear from tormenting you with what could have happened."
Sherlock sighed, you were right. It never mattered before. He was the only one at risk before, now there was more to lose.
"But don't let your fear of losing Enola push you away from her Sherlock." He looked up at you with a frown. "Embrace the feeling of not being alone. It might make you more afraid of what could happen, but it can strengthen you in ways you may not yet understand."
"It is not just Enola I fear losing."
Sherlock's voice was soft, softer than you had every heard, holding an array of emotion and fear you had never expected. Slowly, he reached his hand up, once again cupped your cheek before gently caressing your face with his thumb, and then dropping his hand.
"Sherlock."
You could see him. More than he had ever allowed you to before. The fear, the sadness, the gentleness, the feelings, he has always hid. Hid from everyone, from you. The way he looked at you made your heart burn.
"It's not a bad thing to feel, Sherlock. Nor is it to hide your feelings to protect yourself. But you may regret never indulging in the things that could make you appreciate life so much more."
You saw something akin to a sparkle reach Sherlock's eyes as you spoke.
"It's always terrifying to think of losing the things you care about. But why should that stop you from caring about them while they are here? To feel, is to live."
A smile slowly stretched across his face as he let out a soft breath, the heaviness on his chest seemed to disappear with every word you spoke.
"To feel is to live." He repeated your words softly.
You nodded, wondering if your words really reached him.
Sherlock sat forward on the couch, his eyes staring deeply into your own. You grew nervous as the silence stretched on.
Your heart started beating rapidly as Sherlock placed his hands on either side of your face.
He tilted his head slightly before he spoke, his voice soft, almost a whisper. "Why did I waste so much time?"
You didn't speak, letting him figure out his own mind once and for all, as you waited patiently, as you always had.
Sliding from the couch, Sherlock was now knelt on the ground with you, right in front of you. Bringing your face forward, he pressed his forehead against yours.
"If I were to show you the way I truly feel, every emotion and thought I have been hiding from you. Are you sure you would stay?"
You took in a breath as you nodded slightly, "I would not have stayed by your side, waiting, if I wouldn't."
It was true. You were always there. Before Enola, you knew Sherlock. An acquaintance, he called you at first, answering questions he would have regarding his cases that apparently only you knew the answers to.
Truly he came to you for things he already knew, telling himself he only needed confirmation, to put his thoughts into words, to use you as a soundboard. But it was really just to see you, to hear your voice, to see your smile, to be near you.
You were always there. And slowly, you stepped closer and closer, pushing his walls down little by little. Before you burst through the final one, even if it was with the help of Enola.
But he was glad of it. Glad you were there when no one else stayed. Many would leave, but never you.
Slowly opening his eyes, he looked into yours, and was met with the familiar warmth he had grown so fond of.
Gently he caressed your cheek, and then gently your lips, before he leaned forward, finally closing the space between you with a deep and passionate kiss holding all of his unspoken feelings.
He would no longer stop himself from feeling, from wanting, from needing. He would embrace these emotions, even through the fear, he would keep you by his side, he would close the distance you had tried so hard, yet so patiently, to lessen.
He would feel, he would fear, he would struggle, but he would live. And he would do it with you by his side from now on.
xx End xx
First fic I've written in about a year, I hope you enjoyed it!
Taglist Form
General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @rexit-mo, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry,
— you slip on peter’s glasses while waiting for him to get back, not expecting anything more than a blurry view of his apartment. but when he walks in and sees you wearing them, well, his brain short circuits. you, of course, can’t resist making him suffer a little longer.
🌌 0.4k — tasm!peter parker x fem!reader, fluff, dangerously adorable levels of fluster, peter is absolutely not prepared for this, reader steals his glasses, borderline illegal amounts of cute
author's note — first peter fic omg ?? was kinda gonna make a longer fic on the more angsty side but then i was like nah that’s too much effort so drabble it is. and honestly i love it so much ughhh enjoy !! ‹𝟹 also pls tell me it it's terrible
masterlist : navigation
gif by @dailyflicks | divider by @/lavendergalactic
The apartment is quiet, save for the hum of the city outside and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Peter had left a little while ago, probably off to grab coffee or run an errand, leaving you curled up on his couch with one of his old textbooks in your lap.
Your gaze drifts toward the small table beside his desk, where his glasses sit, slightly askew, as if he had taken them off in a hurry. A small smile tugs at your lips. You’ve seen him push them up the bridge of his nose a thousand times, seen the way he squints when he forgets them, how they somehow make him look both like the smartest and the cutest person in the room.
Curiosity wins. You reach over and pick them up, slipping them onto your face.
Everything is… a little off. The lenses make the room blur at the edges, and you blink rapidly, adjusting. A quiet giggle escapes you. “Wow, how does he even see in these?” you murmur, tilting your head at your reflection in the window.
The door creaks open.
“Babe, I—” Peter stops mid-sentence.
You turn toward him, wide-eyed, and his breath catches in his throat.
He blinks once. Twice. His mouth opens, then closes again as if he’s buffering.
“Pete?” you say, confused by his sudden speechlessness.
“Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Why—why do you look so cute right now? What is happening?”
You snort. “What?”
“No, seriously.” He steps closer, eyes locked on you like you’re a puzzle he’s desperate to solve. “That’s illegal. You can’t just—just put on my glasses and look like that.”
You grin, tilting your head. “Like what?”
“Like the most adorable human to ever exist?” he groans dramatically, dropping onto the couch beside you and burying his face in your shoulder. “This isn’t fair. I wasn’t prepared for this.”
You laugh, tugging the glasses off. “So what you’re saying is I should wear them all the time?”
Peter lifts his head, eyes soft but full of mischief. “Babe, if you do that, I’m never gonna be able to focus on anything else ever again.”
You smirk, slipping them back on. “Guess you’ll just have to suffer, Parker.”
And judging by the way he grins before pulling you into a kiss, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t mind one bit.
— your carefully hidden secret relationship unravels in the most humiliating way possible. but the undeniable fact through it all was that eddie munson is terrible at pretending he isn’t in love with you. by the time the whole group figures it out, eddie’s already lost his ring, his dignity, and any hope of acting normal around you. . . but at least he gets to stop pretending you aren’t his.
💍 2.1k — eddie munson x fem!reader, fluff, secret relationship gone wrong ( right ), eddie munson yearns so hard it’s embarrassing, mutual pining even while dating, accidental coming out x4
request — [ by anonymous ] hii! i saw your cry for requests and im here to save the day 🦸♀️ can i req eddie and reader who are secretly dating and she's steve & robins friend so she's around the party a lot and they find out thru little things ( wearing one of his rings, talking like him, love curls theory 🫣 ) if you end up doing this, thank you sm!
author's note — okay hi first of all thank you so much to the lovely who requested this. and also thank you to everyone who’s sent in requests lately because wow. . . there are a lot and i see you and i appreciate you more than i can explain. anyways, requests are open. enjoy <3
masterlist : navigation
gif by @keery-joe | divider by @/lavendergalactic
Eddie Munson was exceptionally bad at secrets. Horrifically, painfully bad at them.
This was an objective truth, right up there with gravity and the fact that Wayne always knew when he was lying. Which made it deeply unfair that he was now in a secret relationship with you — someone who could kiss him breathless in a supply closet and then walk back out five minutes later like nothing had happened. Like your mouth hadn’t just been on his. Like his hands hadn’t still been shaking when you’d adjusted your shirt and told him to “act normal.”
Normal? Eddie Munson had never once acted normal in his entire life, and you expected him to start now?
The worst part in his opinion was that you were criminally good at pretending. At acting like Eddie was just. . . there. Someone you tolerated for Steve and Robin’s sake. Someone mildly annoying. Someone whose knee hadn’t been wedged between yours twenty minutes ago. Eddie, meanwhile, looked like a man actively resisting the urge to gnaw his own arm off.
Which was why Robin Buckley was currently psychoanalyzing him with narrowed eyes from behind the counter with the kind of look that made Eddie feel like confessing to crimes he hadn’t even committed yet. He slapped on a lopsided grin and gave her a little bow. “Buckley,” he said, hand to chest.
She rolled her eyes so hard he was pretty sure she saw her own brain, then turned back to the counter, organizing the stack of tapes you’d just dropped in her arms. Eddie sagged in relief and took a seat against the counter. Robin paused.
“. . . What do you need?” she asked without looking at him.
“Uh,” Eddie said, buying time. “Horror?”
She finally looked up. “You need horror?”
Eddie straightened, offended. “Wow. Love the confidence, Buckley.” He jerked his chin toward you. “Ask your coworker. I love horror.”
Robin’s brow arched. “Why would she know what you like?”
Words jammed up in Eddie's throat. “I— I mean—”
“Of course it’s because she’s the smartest and most emotionally evolved out of you three,” Dustin cut in at lightning speed, suddenly appearing at Eddie’s side and waving his hands vaguely between you, Steve, and Robin. “Like. Obviously.”
Robin gave Dustin a long, assessing look. “You and I have never really clicked, have we?”
“Uh,” Dustin drawled.
She stared at him another second, then huffed and disappeared into the storeroom.
Dustin leaned closer. “You owe me one,” he muttered.
Eddie exhaled and pointed at him. “I owe you several.”
Dustin grinned and wandered back to the rotating shelf.
Oh yes. Dustin Henderson was the only one who knew about you and Eddie. And it hadn’t been intentional. If Eddie had gotten to choose, he might’ve told Nancy — if only because he would have talked about you to her and she would just listen, not caring in the least. But the unfortunate incident had already occurred. You’d been over at the trailer. Dustin had, at that exact moment, decided to drop by unannounced. And well. He’d caught the two of you in a. . . compromising situation.
The secret had cost Eddie a science kit Dustin had been eyeing for weeks. Worth it, probably. Still unfortunate.
Eddie was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of your voice.
He turned just in time to see you leaning against the counter with Steve, who was pointing at the jacket slung comfortably over your shoulders. His jacket. The one Eddie distinctly remembered owning. The one that was very much not on his body anymore.
“Hey,” Steve said, squinting at you. “That’s not yours.”
You nervously laughed. “Wow. Gold stars for you, Steve.”
“No, I mean,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck, “that’s not your style at all. Funny thing is,” He paused. “it is someone else’s style.”
And then, like the universe hated Eddie Munson personally, Steve turned to look at him like it was a genuine coincidence.
Steve’s smile faltered.
His eyes dropped to Eddie’s shoulders and to the absence of denim and patches. His eyes widened slowly, realization crashing in.
“Oh,” Steve said.
You and Eddie locked eyes. Yours went wide. Eddie’s probably fell out, he couldn't tell.
“Nope,” you said, clamping a hand over Steve’s mouth before he could finish that thought. You shook your head, your eyes begging, a little threatening, pleading all at once. Then you nodded sharply at Eddie like move, grabbed Steve by the arm, and hauled him toward the door.
Eddie scrambled after you, heart in his throat, while Dustin looked up from the rotating shelf just in time to see the three of you disappear outside.
“Wow,” Dustin muttered to himself. “Science kit paid for itself already.”
You dragged Steve far enough that the neon glow of Family Video buzzed behind you, then finally yanked your hand away from his mouth. He sucked in a breath like he’d been underwater.
His eyes bounced between you and Eddie. “You two?” he blurted, voice cracking like a kid going through puberty again.
You shook your head on instinct at the exact same time Eddie nodded, helpless and completely incapable of lying when it came to you. Steve stared at the contradictory answers.
“What? Okay, hold on,” Steve said, backing up a step and pointing between you. “So that’s why you’ve been acting weird. And you,” he pointed at Eddie, who waved weakly, “you’re always acting weird so I didn’t notice anything.”
Eddie perked up. “Hey.”
Steve laughed suddenly, then stopped just as fast. “Wait. How long? And does anyone else know?”
You hesitated. Eddie didn’t. “A while and yes, Henderson knows. He kind of walked in when we were uh. . .” he drawled and thankfully Steve put up a hand.
“Wow,” he breathed. “Okay. Okay!” He straightened, visibly puffing up. “First of all? I figured it out. Me. Not Robin. Not Henderson. Me.”
Eddie scoffed. “I told you Henderson knows.”
Steve waved that off immediately. “Yeah, but he didn’t figure it out. That doesn’t count. That’s like. . . accidental knowledge. I solved it. I’m a genius.” He pointed at his own head. “Brain like a steel trap.”
Before either of you could react, Steve stepped forward and wrapped both of you into a hug. You stiffened in surprise as Eddie froze entirely, arms hovering uselessly at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
“Oh,” Eddie muttered, patting Steve’s back awkwardly. “There there, Harrington.”
Steve pulled back just enough to give him a look. “This guy. Seriously?”
Something in Eddie’s chest suddenly unlocked as he had a quick realization. If Steve knew then that meant Eddie could finally. . . He leaned in without thinking, instinct dragging him forward, nose brushing yours, heart thudding loud enough he was pretty sure Steve could hear it too.
“Hey, dude,” Steve said immediately. “I’m standing right here.”
Eddie froze mid-lean, eyes snapping open. “But, you know,” he said, like that explained everything.
Steve stared at him. “Yeah. I know. That does not mean I want to watch you two suck each other’s faces off outside my place of work.”
Eddie groaned, tipping his head back. “This is oppression.”
You laughed and patted Eddie’s chest in a traitorous way, like you weren’t the reason his brain had short-circuited entirely. Steve shook his head, lips twitching despite himself, and gave you both a lopsided, fond smile. He turned and headed for the door. You followed for exactly three steps.
Then you pivoted on your heel, grabbed Eddie by the front of his shirt, and kissed him. Eddie made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper and promptly melted, knees going weak.
When you pulled back, grinning, Eddie just stared at you, eyes blown wide, brain fully turned to static.
“Oh,” he breathed. “Yeah. I’m— I’m ruined.”
You squeezed his hand and slipped back toward the store before he could recover. Eddie stood there for a second longer, heart racing, smiling like an idiot, as he ticked off a second person off his list.
The third coming out came much faster than expected.
You had Nancy and Jonathan over for movie night from which Robin had bailed with a vague excuse about a headache that sounded suspiciously like people. You’d all piled onto the couch Somewhere around the halfway mark, you’d half-dozed off, cheek pressed into a pillow, brain blissfully empty.
You woke up to whisper-arguing.
Groggy and unconcerned, you brushed it off immediately. Nancy and Jonathan fought sometimes. You rolled over, eyes still closed when you heard Eddie’s voice.
“Oh shit,” you whispered, sitting bolt upright.
You scrambled off the couch, just in time to look toward the front door. Nancy stood with her hands planted on her hips. Jonathan stood beside her, looking sleepy. Eddie was trapped between them, glancing around, clearly assessing every possible exit — the door, the windows, maybe the floor could magically open up. Now would have been a great time for one of those demogorgons to come out.
“Hey,” you offered weakly.
“Hey? Hey?” Nancy repeated. “Would you care to explain this?” She pointed directly at Eddie.
You blinked. “That’s. . . Eddie.”
“Oh yes,” Nancy said flatly. “Thank you. That was exactly what I was asking.”
You winced. “There’s no way I’m getting out of this, is there?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Nope.”
What followed could only be described as an interrogation. Nancy was pacing the entire time as Jonathan offered Eddie some water who was answering far too honestly when directly addressed and clamming up the second she looked away. You tried to help. You really did. It did not help. At one point Nancy paused mid-lecture, eyes widening.
“Wait,” she said. “Steve figured it out before me?”
Eddie groaned quietly. You covered your face.
Eventually, Jonathan managed to steer Nancy toward the door, hand on her shoulder, murmuring reassurances and promises of later discussion. She shot one last suspicious look over her shoulder before leaving.
The door shut.
Eddie exhaled deeply which told you he’d been holding his breath for ten minutes straight. “She scares me,” he said faintly.
You nodded immediately. “Me too.”
The last coming out somehow managed to involve everyone.
It happened during one of the group’s meetings. Eddie was half-sprawled in a chair and you very pointedly sitting not next to him. Everything was fine.
Well, until you accidentally made a D&D reference.
Will’s head snapped up. “. . . Wait,” he said with narrowed eyes. “You hate D&D.”
You froze and shrugged, forcing a laugh. “I mean. I don’t hate it.”
Lucas squinted at you as he began assessing you and then his eyes dropped to your hand. “Is that a new ring?”
Your stomach dropped.
“I’ve actually seen that before,” he continued, leaning closer. “Eddie has the exact same one. Eddie, show her.”
All eyes turned to Eddie. He swallowed, then reluctantly held out his hand. The ring was gone.
Jonathan immediately tried to redirect the conversation so hard it almost qualified as cardio. Robin leaned forward, interest sparking.
“Hey, Munson,” she said. “Where’s your ring?”
Max’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
Everyone turned to her.
“They’re dating,” Max said, pointing wildly between you and Eddie. “They’re dating.”
“No!” You exclaimed before clearing your throat. “No. Eddie just. . . happened to give me his ring. Because I liked it.”
Max raised a brow at you which made you nervously twirl your hair.
Max gasped. “Oh my god—”
“Your hair is curly,” Mike cut in.
You deadpanned. “Yeah. I’ll tell you the secret later, Mikeala.”
Mike rolled his eyes as Max shot him a glare. “I was about to say that. Girls’ hair turns curly when they’re in love. See?” She gestured at her own hair. Lucas grinned proudly.
Across the room, Will and Jane exchanged a look.
“No,” Will said.
Everyone turned to them. “What now?” Dustin asked.
“Last week,” Will continued, “we saw her leaving Eddie’s trailer.”
Eddie spluttered. “Why are you snooping around my trailer, Byers?”
“We were going to Max’s house,” Jane said. “We thought we were hallucinating.”
Will nodded. “Because, well, she’s gorgeous. And you’re Eddie.”
Eddie paused. “. . . I’m not even gonna argue. That’s true.”
What followed was a long, exhausting debate with who almost caught them when. You exchanged a look with Eddie who had now been deemed the love coach by Max and Will for having to be able to get a girl like you while being like him.
Only Robin was quiet which was very unusual and mildly unsettled you. You nudged her when everyone got distracted by another argument. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
She sighed. “I just— I can’t believe the dingus figured it out before me.”
summary: Nancy is deeply offended when she finds out her own sister is dating Jonathan Byers and hasn't told her, but after a little investigation, she finds out nothing was ever hidden from her. In fact, you and Jonathan were so open about your relationship that maybe she was just blind the whole time.
wc: 1.4k+
cw: nancy and jonathan never dated thanks, i villainise nancy once more i'm sorry
Nancy never considered herself to be particularly close with any of her siblings, but she never thought she had a bad relationship with them. Now, she can’t help but rethink what she knows. She always thought that you'd come tell her about your relationships like she's somewhat done in the past. But as she stands across the street from her own house, she watches through your lit up window as Jonathan Byers pulls his shirt back onto his naked torso, your hands resting on his chest. Jonathan doesn’t try swatting your hands away, even when his shirt can’t slide all the way down his body — instead, his hands come up to cup your face, and he leans forward to kiss you.
Your sister gulps thickly as she shamelessly stares, feeling an ugly emotion build up inside her. Why wouldn’t you tell her about having a boyfriend? It’s not like she’s never met this man before - that you’re keeping him secret from everyone in your circle. This is Jonathan. There was a point in time where she saw this man everyday. Sure, they’re not exactly friends, but Nancy would have expected you to tell her that you’re seeing him. That he’s in your bedroom every night between your sheets with his shirt off, your hands on his bare skin. You don’t even have to tell her all these details, but at least a little ‘Jonathan and I are seeing each other.’
Jonathan now fishes your hands out from under his shirt, tugging you closer to him so he can kiss you deeper, but it doesn’t last long before you’re pulling away from him. Nancy sees your lips move, face only inches away from Jonathan, and your boyfriend steps away from you, leaning down to grab his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. He struggles to get his bag over his second arm, especially when you cling onto his side, draping yourself over his body. Jonathan hums, hands securing themselves on the dip of your waist when he’s finally comfortably settled, accepting the kisses you press all over his face. One of his hands leaves your waist to cradle the back of your head, guiding your lips back to his.
Nancy feels utterly betrayed. She feels stupid like this, just standing on her side of the road spying on her sister. She rushes across the street when Jonathan separates from you. She doesn’t want to bump into him while he makes his way out of your window. She scrambles through her purse for a moment, looking for her keys before giving up and trying the door handle to see if she even needs them.
Luckily, the door is open. Nancy sighs as she pushes it open, wiping her feet on the doormat before entering the house. She doesn’t think she can speak to anyone, so she heads straight towards the stairs, but she violently stops in her tracks when Jonathan comes skipping down them. He offers her a “Hey, Nancy” as he passes her, but all she can do is stay frozen as he passes her. She catches sight of some glitter on his cheeks as he zooms by, and she instantly knows which lip gloss of yours it’s from.
Maybe she’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe in a week you’ll come to her and let her know that there’s something going on between you and the Byers boy - that everything is very new and you hope things go well with him.
But that week goes by and you act the same as normal. You offer to drive Mike to Will’s when it’s late at night, and Nancy knows what you will be up to. She wonders if Mike and Will know. She wonders if the whole lot knows — Hopper who is often with the Byers, Steve and Robin who are often strung in weird experiments with you, Dustin who is somehow always with you and your friends. Everyone but her. So Nancy brings it upon herself to ask around about it, and who better to ask than your very best friend?
Robin shifts awkwardly on your doorstep, clearing her throat at the sight of a very still Nancy in the doorway. “Can I come in?” Robin asks, eyes glancing towards the stairs, which she needs to get to in order to retreat to your bedroom. In the meantime though, Nancy holds her hostage.
“Can I ask you something?”
Robin’s eyes widen in that very obvious sign of panic of hers, and she squeaks out a high-pitched “Sure!” Nancy steps out of the doorway, letting Robin step into the house. Robin momentarily deliberates running up the stairs past Nancy, but instead, she follows your sister to the kitchen, awkwardly standing in the sport nearest to the door in case she needs an escape.
“Why is my sister hiding her relationship from me?” Nancy asks in a confrontational tone, expecting Robin’s nerves to make her spill out the truth. But instead, Robin’s eyebrows furrow in a state of confusion, posture straightening in her own sense of surprise. “Hiding?” Robin echoes, watching as Nancy’s eyebrows raise and she nods her head meanly, scoffing out “Yeah, hiding.”
“Nancy, she’s not hiding anything - everyone knows about her and Jonathan.”
“How does everyone know but me!?” Nancy questions, feeling deeply offended at the smirk that makes its way onto Robin’s face. “Maybe you’re the only one not paying attention. They haven’t explicitly told anyone, Nancy. They didn’t need to.”
Nancy almost flinches back at the honesty in Robin’s voice. What on earth is she on about? She doesn’t realise that for the past three months you and Jonathan have been the most disgustingly adorable couple to be around. On the Byers’s couch during long nights, Jonathan’s arm around you whilst you nuzzle your face into his neck. Or when the entire crew is huddled together after making potentially life saving discoveries, and Jonathan drags you out of the room by the hand, stealing you away from everyone else.
Max and El have accidentally interrupted your kissing in the front seat of Jonathan’s car when retrieving Will's backpack. Dustin has walked in on your kissing in your own kitchen when you thought no one was home and he wanted a snack. Will has seen way more than he wanted to in the middle of the night when fetching water from the kitchen and interrupting a ‘movie night’ of yours. Steve and Robin took the brunt of it though, forced to constantly be exposed to whatever PDA you had to offer whenever you and Jonathan seemed to be in the same room.
But you’re not always this disgusting.
Everyone found out long before your relationship even happened from slight changes in behaviour around each other. Shy glances towards each other, volunteering to do things together, or even the quality of your voices when speaking to each other in comparison to everyone else. Then came the subtle hand-holding, the comforting hand on each other’s arms, the growing comfort in each other’s company. Obviously, this developed into the displays of affection your friends and family hate seeing, but in your defence most of the time you’re somewhere private! Semi-private. Whatever.
And still, Nancy hasn’t noticed anything.
Even when Jonathan has parked his car down the street, waiting for you. Even when Mike has caught you halfway out the door, insisting you to take him with you to Will’s otherwise he’ll tell your parents. Even when you both have a hushed argument downstairs, you telling him that you were leaving because there’s already too many people in this house and him replying that he’ll know what you’re doing either way so it won’t change anything. Nancy doesn’t know how she didn’t notice when you’ve apparently been been dragging your feet down the street with Mike happily trailing behind you. All she could’ve done to find you out was look outside her window. But she never did. She never saw how you’d get in Jonathan’s car, giving him guilty eyes as Mike climbed into the backseat.
Jonathan would always give you an extra long kiss just to spite your younger brother, grinning when Mike would make a disgusted noise and heat would rush to your cheeks.
“I’m her sister though. She should tell me.” Nancy finally says, voice unstable.
“Nancy, when have you ever told her anything about your life?” Robin genuinely asks, shrugging her shoulders in question. Nancy freezes, and Robin takes the chance to slowly step out of the room, running up the stairs when she’s far enough to do so.
Oh dear, she cannot wait to tell you about the conversation she’s just had. You’re about to be so mad at Nancy.
Please can I request a gif imagine for Enola Holmes? Imagine: Enola and John Watson playing matchmaker for you and Sherlock, when you’re both too stubborn to admit your romantic feelings for each other? Thank you!
THE CURIOUS CASE OF A LIBRARIAN AND A DETECTIVE
Enola sat at his brother’s dimly lit office, staring at him browsing through his latest cases — seeing what to throw out and what to keep. What won’t be needed, what’s going to solve the case, the usual.
But something in it was different, she knew he didn’t normally do it that thoroughly. She knew that he was waiting for you to close up the library so he could walk you home, even when he so desperately was trying to pretend it was always just a coincidence, him closing his own office and stepping outside just in time to meet you. And she knew you did exactly the same, accidentally slowing down by his office so he’d have time to step out.
Sherlock often caught up what Enola was planning or thinking, or figuring out, but she guessed his heart eyes directed at you had
“You are unbelievable,” Enola groaned. “All these cases and mysteries, you solve them like it’s nothing, but then you just can’t solve the case right in front of you, about your own life.”
Sherlock glanced up from his desk briefly, before he continued browsing through his documents. “And that would be?”
Enola threw her head back for a moment, barely restraining herself. “The curious case about your favourite librarian and you.”
Sherlock froze in place, staring at the documents in front of him, before suddenly continuing as if nothing had happened. “They are valuable to me, but not in a way you’d hope, dear sister.”
She snorted. “Oh, please.”
Sherlock glanced up again, this time with an annoyed glare. “The library offers a vast collection of material that’s crucial for my cases, and they… are incredible in finding just the right materials I need.”
Enola raised her eyebrows. “And in the progress, they made it to your heart. You’re practically synchronised to leave your office the exact moment they walk past, and they just happen to slow down every evening by your door? Don’t flatter yourself into thinking it’s all one-sided.”
He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t deny it. Instead, he returned to flipping pages. At least, he pretended to.
But when the clock struck nine, he started putting his documents away, clearly preparing to leave. And sure enough, as if on cue, your figure passed by the frosted glass of his office door. Sherlock stood swiftly, almost knocking his chair over. Enola just raised a brow.
The door creaked open. You peeked in, smiling. “Heading home?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Sherlock said, smoothing his coat. “Shall we walk together?”
Enola watched you two laugh and disappear into the London fog, and sighed audibly — something had to be done, and she knew the exact person she needed to have as her partner for that.
“We have a job,” Enola told Dr. Watson early next morning, clearly having awaken him up from a pleasant dream. He blinked at her. “We need the get my brother and his to-be-sweetheart to confess.”
He stared at her for a moment longer before grinning, clearly amused at Enola’s determination. “Are you absolutely certain we are able to pull that kind of case off? From what I’ve learned to know Sherlock, he’s awfully stubborn.”
Enola crossed her arms. “You’ve observed correctly. And so is the other side of their relationship, but we need to get them together, I can’t watch them pining over each other any longer.”
Watson rubbed his chin. “Sherlock is the master of deflection. And I’ve seen the librarian dodge emotional questions like they were being chased through a dark alley. You’re going to need a good trap.”
Enola grinned. “Oh, I already have one, but I need your help to do it. Sherlock will know something is up if I try to get him into a closed space, but if it would be you who asks him to fetch you something…”
A few hours later, you and Sherlock found yourselves locked in his attic, door having slammed shut behind him the moment he saw you.
Enola’s voice was heard from the other side of the door. “We’re not letting you out before you have a serious talk!”
Sherlock groaned. “This is ridiculous. Let us out, Enola.”
“When you’ve talked, sure.”
He let out a breath and turned to you. “I’m so terribly sorry about this. How did she lure you here?”
You tried to keep your heart from stuttering near him. “She said you have an old box of books I might be interested of having in my library collection, but I believe that was a lie, then?”
He sighed. “Yes, it seems like that.”
He was quiet for a moment. “You see, my sister has this obsession about getting us… involved.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it, and opened it again. “I… getting us involved, in romantic sense?”
You could have sworn the tip of his ears being bright pink, even in the near-dark light at the attic when he glanced at you, before his eyes darted away again. “Yes.”
You brought your bag in front of yourself, trying to keep yourself from smiling. “Where she has gotten such a thought in her head?”
He seemed restless, glancing around him, as if looking for another way out. But of course, there were none.
Sherlock shuffled in place. “Perhaps because I find myself incapable of functioning normally whenever you’re near. Or because I’ve rearranged my entire schedule to ‘coincidentally’ be available when you leave work. Or because I’ve considered asking you to dinner at least thirty-nine times and failed on each attempt.”
You stared. “Thirty-nine?”
“Forty now,” he murmured.
You blinked at him. “Are you… trying to confess your feelings for me?”
His eyes snapped to yours. “I… I believe I’m surrendering.”
You chuckled, carefully sitting beside him on that dusty couch. “Then, I’m surrendering too.”
Now, he blinked at you. Once. Twice. You almost heard the gears turning. You bit your lip, hesitated only for a moment but decided to take the leap, and slowly leaned towards him. A beat, and he leaned towards too, and your lips were on his.
And on cue, the attic door opened and you jerked back like guilty teenagers, smoothing your clothes even when nothing beyond a kiss happened.
Enola grinned with her arms crossed while Watson peeked in over her shoulder, sipping a cup of tea. “I believe we can consider this case closed.”
Enola nodded, stepping aside. “Yes, I think we can let these two out now.”
Sherlock, cheeks slightly pink, helped you stand. “She’s insufferable.”
You smiled at him, taking a gentle hold of his hand. “She’s also right.”
Sherlock sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he murmured, “Infuriatingly so.”
Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)
Summary: It's hard to come into terms of becoming a mother, but Sherlock reassures you that he'll remind you every day that you are worthy of being one to your child.
Warning: pregnancy symptoms, labor, mentions of abandonment, mentions of gun violence
It was around noon at 221 Baker Street. Sherlock was walking back home with a small packaged box in hand, holding it a bit tighter than he should.
He makes his way to his apartment, walking on the steps as he turned his key to the room. He looks around, not minding that his organized mess is gone and the smell of his pipe no longer lingered in the air.
Sherlock was territorial when it came to his home, but he made changes in his life when he met you.
You were the owner of a barkeep, feisty, and wasn't afraid of telling a man off when he didn't pay his tab. So when Sherlock came to the bar to ask about a suspect, you'd only answer his questions if he was a paying customer.
Either he was desperate to find answers or he just wanted to stay to talk to you for hours, the Holmes man paid a heavy load.
You both weren't afraid of courting each other in public, even if you two weren't of the same status. But, it was time to change some things. Your pub that you've built from the ground up turned into a legit business and Sherlock turned from his lone wolf days and finally proposed to you.
"I never knew I was alone until I met you, and I don't want that feeling again."
Your ceremony was small, Enola and his mother shed a few tears and you couldn't believe that his eldest brother, Mycroft, came (he never liked you due to your independent spirit, but he started to tolerate you more. Call it a win). Being married for about half a year has been a dream. But like a dream, one has to wake up.
Once Sherlock takes off his outdoor attire, he searches for you and lands his eyes on a figure on his couch.
"Hi." he whispered softly as he kneels to your level as you laid on the couch.
You turn around to face him and give him a tired smile.
"Same symptoms as yesterday?" He asks, unpacking the small box in his hand.
"Yes. When you left this morning, I awoke abruptly and felt sick." You said as your stomach churned.
"Here, chew this." Sherlock said, taking out an herb that was small as a chestnut.
You leaned your head further as he fed you the piece. You slightly grimace at the taste.
"It taste like grass." You said.
"I didn't know that you eat grass." He said, smirking. You lightly smack his chest as you lie on your side.
"It's already fighting off the nausea. How did you know it will work?" You ask.
Sherlock sat on the ground while he combed your hair with his fingers to help you relax.
"I remember my mother used it when she was pregnant with Enola."
You pause at his words, feeling your face pale.
Pregnant... the word scared you.
You got up from your lying position as Sherlock dotingly helps you too. He sits beside you as you laid your head on his shoulder. You've been feeling some sort of way since a doctor diagnosed you alongside your husband's deduction. Secretly, Sherlock was thrilled that he would become a father, he never thought he'd had a chance of having a family of his own.
He looks down at you, his eyes gazing at how you've been losing sleep and appearing almost crestfallen. He knows why you’ve been feeling like this, but he wants to hear it from you first.
“Please, love. I just want to know how I can help you.” He murmurs.
You begin to sniffle as you try to avoid his gaze.
“You can’t, Sherlock..” you said as you were about to get up.
He softly grabs your wrist and guides you to his lap, holding you still so you won’t leave him.
“You won't abandon them.” Sherlock’s voice rose.
“How can you be sure?” You ask, feeling the hot tears roll your cheeks.
You were given up as a baby, growing in an orphanage. When you were old enough, you ran away and decided to work at a pub when they needed a maid. The owner loved you as their own daughter, so they wrote you in their will to become the next barkeep. But even after your entire journey and becoming a business owner, you felt so incomplete of why your parents gave you up.
“Because you are full of love. You’re able to teach our child how to love, you’ve taught me how to love. There is not one ounce in my body that tells me that you will leave them. And I'm usually right all the time."
You chuckle loudly as you wiped away your tears. Not a lot of people saw this soft side of your husband, and you slightly feel selfish that you want to keep this side of him all to yourself.
You lean into his chest as he holds you closer to him, his hand suddenly resting on your now-showing bump.
"I promise you, I'll be there every second. Even for the birth."
You look at him worried, as it wasn't common practice for the father to be present for the birth. You haven't recovered from the stories from your friends who are midwives.
"Sherlock, I don't think that -"
"My love, I will never let you doubt yourself for one moment. I'm going to be there in your time of need. We'll be alright, trust me." He says, kissing the side of your temple. Sherlock wasn't any conventional man, so you knew his words were true.
You smile up at him as you cuddled closer to one another as you stare down at your abdomen, anticipating the life you're growing.
"Where is he!?" You screamed as you feel a contraction take control of your body.
"Sherlock's been working on a case since noon." Enola said, trying to support you in your distress.
"Typical, that man." You gritted as you sat on the edge of your bed, feeling the contraction go away.
After Sherlock went out during the day, Enola decided to pop in and say hello. She was going on and on about that Tewkesbury boy and suddenly you felt your water broke. Enola was shocked as well as you were and decided to call for her mother as she had no idea how to deliver a baby.
As on cue, your mother in law comes with hot boiling water and a towel on her shoulder, smiling at you.
"How are we doing dear?" She asks, putting the pail down.
"Like my body is splitting in half." You heaved out, gripping the sheets in your hand.
"It means it's almost time. Let me have a look at your dilation." Eudoria said, kneeling down.
You begin to cry, fearing that your husband was going to miss the birth of your baby.
A hostile knock echos the apartment alongside your moans, and Eudoria orders Enola to send off the person interrupting.
"I'm afraid you have to push, my dear." She said, seeing that you've dilated.
You shake your head, crying.
"I can't do it. Not without Sherlock."
"It will all be alright, we need to get this baby out so you can finally see them. Enola! Come quick, I need you to support your sister!"
Enola comes barging in, looking a bit pale at you.
"Please, don't freak out." She begs you.
You're about to ask what's wrong until Mycroft comes in, trying his best to hold your husband up as he was badly wounded.
"I'm sorry, he saw a sniper a few feet from us. Sherlock tried to push me away, but the bullet..."
You begin to sob, seeing your husband like this.
"Take him to the couch and treat his wound, you're upsetting her." Eudoria commanded, not wanting you to be in hysteria.
"No, I'm fine. I'm not- leaving my wife." Sherlock grunted, knowing the bullet went through some flesh and his pain was manageable.
His mother and brother shared an uneasy look, but after you cry again, Mycroft guided his younger brother to you.
Sherlock held your hand as you squeezed it tight, gritting your teeth as the contractions were doubling.
"You're here." You teared up.
"You know I wouldn't have missed this." Sherlock said, kissing your palm as he crawled behind you so you can rest behind his chest.
"Alright, are you two ready to have your baby here?" Eudoria asks. You look up to Sherlock who smiles at you as you shook your head, anticipating the greatest pain you faced to meet.
The birth was excruciating, and there were moments when you wanted to give up. But Sherlock kept whispering in your ear, urging you to keep pushing. Soon, you welcomed a healthy baby who was crying as loud as a symphony.
Now you were in bed, resting with your baby in your arms as Sherlock returned after saying goodbye to his mother, brother, and sister.
He stands there by the door frame looking at you, smiling at such a heavenly scene.
"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asks, knowing you're beyond tired.
"I feel so at peace, I can't take my eyes off of them." you whispered as they were sound asleep. Sherlock slowly makes his way to you and slips within the sheets.
"I was so unsure of what type of mother I'll be... but seeing them now, I never want to let them go." You said.
You turn to see your husband crying a bit, knowing since the day you found out you were pregnant that you'd be an amazing mother.
"I never doubted for one second."
Your foreheads connected as you breathed in his scent.
"I thought I almost lost you." you said in a low tone.
Sherlock sighs, knowing that any case he'd take would permanently take him away from both of you.
"You'll never lose me, I'll promise both of you that." he whispers.
You both lean in for a kiss and stare down at your baby once more. Two lonely souls found each other and they found what they didn't know was missing: love.
Summary: Your morning was normal until you received a telegram from your friend Sherlock Holmes with a simple request: help him find Enola.
A/n: This tiny idea had me so obsessed that it’s all I’ve been writing for the last few hours! I have no regrets <3
You had just poured yourself a cup of tea and set it down on the small table by the armchair when there was a knock at the door.
How peculiar. You thought to yourself.
Crossing the room, you turned the handle and propped open the panel of wood to see who your guest was and was met with a man from the post office holding in his hands a beige envelope.
“Telegram for (Y/n).” He explained. You confirmed your identity and were handed the papered item bidding the gentlemen a good day.
With a swift closing of the door, you leaned against it and opened the letter, recognising initials of S.H on the bottom right corner. Sherlock had told you that he was leaving to attend to a personal matter in the country yesterday morning so if he sent a priority telegram to you, then there must have been a development in the case.
Unfolding the paper, you read the message and learnt that he requested your assistance in locating his sister Enola Holmes who he suspected to be in London and that he would be back in the city later that afternoon. At the bottom of the letter there were the words ‘URGENT’ and a short series of words describing the girl scrawled rather messily, no doubt belonging to his brother Mycroft who was constantly teetering on the edge of patience.
You glanced over at the teacup still sending swirls of steam into the air and sighed - your drink would have to wait. Grabbing your coat from its stand, you hastily put it on and dashed out the door.
titsay
prguitarman
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart
gummygunk
2087
janainaart
tangentwithtanner
