Plot: Tensions and feelings arise when you and Sherlock end up in a precarious situation when running from a murderer.
Prompts: Forced Proximity, Sexual Tension (mild), “Hold my hand and don’t you dare let go.” <changed slightly, I hope you don't mind
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes) x Gn!Reader
Written for @multifandomfix for their birthday event. Happy Birthday! I couldn't decide on one prompt so I kind of mashed a bunch together lol.
Warnings: Nothing really.
Words: 1k.
A/N: After watched Enola Holmes 1&2 I've been debating writing for Sherlock. I have a Christmas fic planned for him, and I thought this might be a good time to test it out. Also I had no idea what to title this lol.
-
Your throat was hoarse as you ran down the cobblestone street. You glanced behind you, seeing the man chasing you not far behind. Glancing to your right, you saw Sherlock, jaw clenched, hair flying as he ran beside you.
When you agreed to help Enola with her current case - which she fervently assured you wold be an easy one - running from a murderous and crooked inspector with Sherlock Holmes beside you, was not how you thought it would end up.
Slipping through a small group of people, you stumbled to a stop, as your eyes cast over the busy market square.
"The market?" You asked out of breath.
"Yes, we could lose him in here."
The bustling crowds would surely provide you cover from your assailant, giving you time to lose him, but you risked being split up in the busy crowd.
Apparently Sherlock had this same thought, as you felt his hand reach down and grab your own. You felt your heart jolt in your chest as you looked from his hand, to his eyes, which he locked with yours.
"Hold my hand and don't let go." His voice was tense, and his gaze sharp.
You nodded, before he quickly started off into the crowded market. His hand was gripped tightly around yours as you ran close behind him, slipping through the crowds of people.
Looking back behind you, you spotted the familiar bowler hat of the man chasing you, as he bobbed through the crowd. You could tell he was losing sight of you as he hesitated in his steps.
"Were losing him!" You called to Sherlock as you weaved past a large group of vendors.
Taking a sharp left, and slipping past a market stall, Sherlock pulled you into a thin, darkened crevasse of an alleyway.
The alleyway forced proximity between the two of you, as your chests pressed together. You felt Sherlock slowly let go of your hand. You moved your hands and planted them against the wall behind you. The pressure of Sherlock's grip slowly fading.
Noting the closeness of your bodies, you found yourself holding your breath. Your eyes locked for a moment and you felt something pass between you, before you both broke eye contact and peered out into the crowds.
If your sudden avoidance of eye contact was to avoid the tension that palpitated between you, or to look for your assailant, you weren't sure.
Your eyes moved from one person to another, waiting to see the man pass by. After a few moments of not seeing him, you felt nervousness and relief wash over you. You may have lost him for now, but he could be anywhere.
Looking back to Sherlock, you felt a small jolt course through you, as you saw his eyes already locked on you. You felt the back of your neck heat up, as his eyes bored into you.
The detective had made you nervous from the moment you met him. The way his eyes seemed to follow your every movement, the way he studied you, you couldn't help but wonder what he could see. It had to be something notable since he seemed determined to keep you with him since he agreed to help Enola with her case a day prior.
Finally breaking the tension that seemed to be growing heavier between you, you spoke with a hushed voice. "What now?"
Sherlock seemed to snap out of his thoughts as you spoke. He paused for a moment as he took a breath.
"Now, we slip out into the crowd, grab something that could disguise us, and find our way back to Enola. Hopefully she and Tewkesbury have gathered the evidence she needed while we were being chased through London. She should have had plenty of time. Once we have it, we take the evidence to Lestrade, and then-" He paused, his voice going silent.
You rose your brow lightly "And then?" You asked.
"And then-" He began, his voice soft, but you saw his thought falter as he spoke "And then the case is done."
You weren't sure why you thought he intended to say something else, but you felt the disappointment of it anyways. You nodded your head as you forced yourself to look away from him.
Peering out into the crowds, you mumbled softly. "Sneak out. Find a disguise. Find Enola. Case closed. Sounds easy enough."
Looking back at Sherlock, he had a soft smile on his face "Something Sounding easy, and being easy don't always coincide."
You smiled softly and shrugged your head "I guess we'll find out if it does this time."
As you began to step out from the alleyway, you jumped back when you felt Sherlock grab your hand
"Wait."
"What?" You asked as you looked around hurriedly "Did you see him?"
"No, no, we're fine, it's just..."
You eyed him with curiosity as he seemed lost for words. "What is it Sherlock?"
"I- I don't know how much time we will have to talk once we leave this alley and get back to Enola."
You felt your heartbeat speed up as your neck grew hot again. It was unusual seeing Sherlock Holmes uncertain.
"Yes..?"
"I- I have enjoyed my time with you these last few days. You...pique my interest in ways I find to be unexpected. So, if- if it is desirable to you. Perhaps, once this case is over, you would be willing to have dinner with me?"
His previously downcast gaze slowly rose to meet yours. The restraint you had to use not to show your surprise was great. But you remained stoic, before you smiled softly at him.
"I would love to have dinner with you Sherlock."
You saw the small hint of relief wash over his face before he smiled. With a nod of his head he spoke softly "Great. I could pick you up tomorrow, around six?"
You repressed the grin pulling at your face as you nodded "Alright, six it is."
His smile grew wider for a moment before he remembered your current situation. He cleared his throat.
"Perhaps we should go now, before we are found here."
You were jolted back into the moment as you nodded your head "Yes, right."
You both spared each other soft knowing smiles before you slipped from your hideaway. Sherlock's hand reluctantly slipped away from yours as you quickly returning to your previous business. But both of you anew with an excited and expectant energy.
xx End xx
General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry
I have every intention of writing at least one more Sherlock fic, so if you wish to be tagged in that, or any future Sherlock fics, let me know! (Please be specific which Sherlock Holmes as there are multiple I write for)
⚔ — 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥; (tyrion lannister x f!reader)
@multifandomfix requested: Hey, for your start of the year event, could I get #44 with Tyrion Lannister, please? Thanks in advance if you end up choosing it. I hope 2021 will be a great year for you. 😊
song: bazzi - beautiful | 𝄞
summary: How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?
author notes: I ain’t never seen a fluffy one-shot written by me, always half of it gotta be depressing
word count: 2.7k (what the HELL)
warnings: language + the typical stuff that’s commonplace in GoT
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 younger, young enough to hear her speak freely around you, you’d often heard the illustrious Cersei Lannister, blessed may her reign be, mutter her implacable adage through slit eyes and arrogant teeth; in Westeros, when one played the game of thrones, they were either crowned or buried. Some win and some die, she’d state with a smug grin, ignoring Jaime rolling his eyes right by her. You would always nod in silence; partly because you, lesser Lady of King’s Landing, certainly did not dare to contradict your most redoubtable playmate; but also because, deep down, you believed in her truths. You’d seen it when your father came back from his battles, commanding the Crown’s armies across the Southern seas, or when you heard the whispers at Court of yet another fallen Lord who believed he could play with fire like the Targaryens; there was little more than victors and vanquished, and you, as a lady-in-waiting to the future Queen, could sleep easy at night knowing you were on the right side of the world.
Yet when the rebellion led by your father’s army of mutineers was crushed by the King’s forces, when your brothers all fled into exile across the continent; when your title, name, and lands became those of a traitor to the Crown; you understood that in the game of thrones, death was the only blessing the powerful bestowed when they were clement; for there was far crueler and harrowing a punishment than torture: humiliation and servitude.
King Robert Baratheon, his mercy guided by Tywin Lannister’s murmurs, decided against sending you to death as he would have any of your brothers, despite the abject crimes your name now carried. In all his bonhomie, he had made you a servant of his wife instead, perpetually condemned to following the Lannisters around and never quite catching up to them.
“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked Jaime one time, in hushed tones, aware that a servant caught talking to the Kingslayer with such familiarity would cause quite the scandal.
“Probably because he knows you were always a dear friend to Cersei and me.”
That was Jaime, as always; believing what he wanted to believe, and damned would be the one who’d change his mind. And to think he still thought, with a disconcerting assurance, that Cersei and you were still dear friends...
You hadn’t asked her why you were still alive. You knew she’d eye you for a moment, then order you to fetch her some water. She savored the sight of you in rugged clothes and immensely exhausted.
The only one who knew was Tyrion.
He always knew everything.
Even more so when it was about you.
“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked him one evening, in the quiet banquet hall, only illuminated by flickering candles. He had looked up from his chalice of wine and at you, clearing the last dishes from the grand supper, and he swore his heart ruptured. He loved nothing more than staying absurdly late after dinner so he could catch you alone, but when your misty eyes, still too pure and bright for a world so cold, asked such unfathomable questions...
“I don’t know,” he had muttered casually.
Neither of you believed it. There was nothing Tyrion didn’t know.
But how could he tell you it was Tywin’s sick little pleasure, to keep you in chains at an arm’s length from him, from his embarrassment of a son? How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?
“Sometimes I wish he had not,” you had confessed with this outrageous beauty of yours, chin up and prosody of a dame despite the greasy plates in your elegant hands.
Tyrion had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. You were not the King’s prisoner, nor the castle’s, nor your family name’s; you were his, and he loved you so ardently, beyond all the words he knew, that he was utterly paralyzed.
The wine and hall were long cold by the time he went to sleep that night.
The following days, inexplicably, Tyrion was the first of the family to retire to his quarters after dinner. A pang of sullenness stung your throat when you brought the usual wine cup to an empty chair. Never before had he gone to bed without wishing you goodnight. Not since the night, so many years before, when you had run out on Cersei and Jaime to stay with their boring and lame little brother and talk the night away with his electric soul...
“Why didn’t Tyrion wait for you?” Jaime had whispered into your ear as you leaned over to pour him more wine.
You froze, almost long enough for Cersei to flair your discomfort. That was Jaime, as always; surprisingly perceptive when he allowed himself to be...
“I don’t know.”
You and Tyrion were so alike. You had the same inflection in the voice when you admitted to not knowing something... frustration and defeat.
“Maybe he’s not feeling well. You should check on him.”
“I’m certain he is f—”
“Y/N, go tend to my brother, please,” he cut, his voice a little louder.
You stopped, looking at Jaime, strong and tall and almost imperturbable. You were a servant of the Lannisters, but Jaime rarely bossed you around. You looked deep into his eyes, looking for a hint, a glimpse... and found it; a remnant of the boy you once knew, the childhood friend you sparred with wooden swords with. The boy with mischief and connivance.
“Yes, of course, my Lord.”
Your footsteps already echoed in the somber halls when you remembered you hadn’t even brought the wine pitcher back to the kitchens.
Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Tyrion’s closed door. Years before, you had run up and down all the castle halls in search of passageways and hiding spots with a giggling Cersei on tow; yet you had never felt as lost and out of place as you did then, knuckles hovering over the wooden panel.
“Lord Tyrion, your brother asks to see you,” you called in one breath after knocking sharply. Calling the twins by their titles was disturbing enough to you; but Tyrion, brilliant and dedicated Tyrion, Tyrion you'd find reading hidden in the library and who'd blush when you asked him what his book was about—Tyrion, a Lord of Casterly Rock?
“No, he does not.”
There was nothing he didn't know. Especially when it came to his brother... and you.
“I...,” you sighed, at a loss for words. So many untold truths jostled in your throat, none eloquent enough for his bright soul. “He insisted I check up on you, sir.”
“Well I'm fine, am I not? You can go now.”
His words echoed in your skull with the strength of a thousand storms. Taking a shaky breath, you prepared to turn around and leave him... but a sudden force rumbled deep in you like a menacing earthquake. You might have been stripped of your lands and rights, you might bear the name of a traitor and a criminal, but he had been a general before he was a corpse and you had been an eldest daughter before you were a plaything. Your foot grazed the door, almost with too much violence, when you turned to face it.
“Truth be told, I wanted to check up on you as well, and to tell you that I’m bewildered at your recent behavior towards me, and that I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this shift in your attitude, and that I esteem you dearly and dared to hope that it was the same for you, and that I am frankly hurt by your sudden coldness, and that if you will not deign to tell me whatever is happening, then I will merely wish you a pleasant night and disturb you no further. Sir.”
Catching your breath, you turned on your heels before you could regret any of the words you’d just said. It would be a miracle if Tyrion managed to catch any of them clearly with how fast you had hammered them; let alone answer to them... yet as you were about to leave, the door was unbolted, and there stood a seemingly somber and preoccupied Tyrion.
“Come on in. And please, we’re alone. Don’t give me any of that “sir” crap, I know you hate it.”
And like so many times, so many years before, you stepped into Tyrion’s quarters like inside a forbidden dungeon, but it all seemed twice as small and dark as it did when you were reckless children.
The both of you remained silent for long moments, even after he had motioned for you to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of his bed; the shadows from the fireplace projected onto his face made Tyrion’s unmoving silhouette all the more unreadable.
“Is it something I’ve done?”
“Do you wish to know why the King didn’t have your head when your father rebelled? Well — why my father didn’t?”
Your eyes widened for a split second, but your irritation barely subsided. For some reason, despite your never-ending quest for answers, the subject of your family’s treason and fate always prompted you to defensiveness when it was mentioned by others... especially by your best friend. The one who knew too much.
“What does this have to do with anything, Tyrion?”
“Everything, Y/N. It has to do with everything.”
“Enlighten me, then. You always know better than everyone else.”
Tyrion took a deep, interminable breath before continuing. It was only then that you noticed how shaky his hands were; for the first time, you read a disconcerting uncertainty on his face.
“My father knows humiliation is far worse than death, especially among Lords... and he knows how to take the most pleasant acts of revenge on his enemies. Your last name... and myself.”
You kept quiet. The puzzle was starting to piece itself together, spurred by Tyrion’s voice, low and even, albeit a little unsteady — as though the charred logs and crackling fire were confiding in you themselves...
“He’s known you since you were an infant. You were always proud and righteous, a proper Lady and a treasure to your name, but still pure and kind... all the traits I adored in you when I first met you. He knew nothing would hurt you more than stripping you of everything you had - status, respect, poise, and dignity... and your friends. He’s burying your family’s legacy under grime and filth and savoring every second of it...”
His words became progressively spaced, as though he was choosing them carefully. You hadn’t yet noticed your own hands were shaking now, too.
“And he can screw me over as well. Any chance he gets, he takes.”
His shoulders were solid and unmoving, but his words came in ragged breaths and laborious swallowing. He took a step forward, finally breaking free from the backlighting of the fireplace; his eyes were fixated on you, resolute and, despite the nervousness, more tender than ever. You remembered the expression all too well; it was the one he had worn all through the night you had talked until daylight about anything and everything... and seeing the enamored child in the man before you, you started to understand it all.
“He’s always known how much I care about you. How your presence never fails to lighten my mood and ease my worries, or how I’ve always looked for excuses to talk to you alone and catch your eye at supper. Most of all, how you’ve always given me exactly what I wanted... a chance. And he always thought it was the ultimate example of my weakness. To kick you around like an animal when I can’t do anything about it and know it’s all partly because of me is his favorite game...”
You clasped your hands together on your lap to curb your agitation. He had taken another step towards you, and you couldn’t break away from his gaze. Each of his features held more love than you’d ever known; more than when your father would ruffle your hair, or when you’d share your family tart with your brothers and smeared all the jam on their cheeks; and you couldn’t fathom how long it had taken you to discover this warm and fuzzy feeling you got whenever Tyrion was around had a simple name: home.
“Tyrion,” you spoke before the tears invaded your eyes. “Are you saying you fancy me?”
“Ah, to hell with it.”
Eyes entirely bathed in light now, he responded almost immediately and clearer than before.
“I’m saying I love you, Y/N, and that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I first thought that I only liked your company, and admired your grace — that you were just the sister I wish I’d had, but I’ve had to face the fact that your face and voice set me afire in a way that nothing else can. I’m light and naive when you’re around... and you make me believe I have the strength they all won’t stop blabbering about. But I thought that if I could convince my father I saw nothing more in you than a whore like all the others, he would maybe let you go... maybe set you free.”
And the last confession seemed to hurt him more than everything else he had admitted that night, because it cut him right in his pride.
“I was wrong.”
An impossible soreness had taken over your throat during Tyrion's tirade, leaving you struck and mute. For a few seconds, all you could hear was the gentle hooting of the wind outside and the rapid and disjointed thumping of your heart... when you spoke eventually, it was but a hoarse whisper.
“All these years...”
“Yes.”
“And all those girls I had to see you with...”
“None of them mattered. None of them were you.”
“Why didn't you tell me, Tyrion?”
“Why would I?” he puffed with an acerbic laugh, gesturing at his frame, his scars, his cynicism and selfishness, and his wit and brilliant mind and feverish eloquence and golden eyes...
And suddenly your father's voice echoed in your head, unmistakable yet so distant, as he had spoken to you one day when you were little; he had said that angels existed in this world, closer than one might expect, and more often than not they took on unexpected forms, but once could always recognize them as they were the shiniest forces in the world around when everything was grim and black.
Maybe it was the dim lighting of the fire and moonlight that cast abstract shadows on the walls, or maybe your eyes and heart playing tricks on you, but you swore Tyrion was veiled by a pulsating halo, gold and black, that got even more radiant as he half-smiled.
When you leaned over and kissed him, you did not doubt that he truly was the angel your family tales had told you about, and maybe the only remaining angel in Westeros — because kissing him was like every star in the sky falling into place and forming new constellations, and when he grabbed your face to deepen the kiss, you were certain you felt his wings rustle.
“You have the most beautiful soul in this damn city, Tyrion,” you breathed when you finally pulled back.
Had he always looked at you with this unshakeable air of triumph and delight, or was it another trick of the light?
“If you knew how long I've waited to tell you how beautiful you are...”
“Tell me. Over and over.”
There was a smile on his face, the first genuine and devilishly charming one you'd seen in weeks when he stepped back and closed the velvet curtains.
He told you all night.
tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee @softeninglooks (all my writing)
For those of you who don’t know: It’s my birthday this coming week!
So in honor of that, I’m honoring the people who I love the most on this app and who have made my life better for knowing them.
@kingofdarkness00 Obviously I cannot mention this app without also mentioning the coolest roomie of all time. Sam, you not only gave me a friend for life but you opened your home to me when I needed it the most. Though it didn’t go the way we planned it, you helped me grow so much in such a short time. We’ve laughed together, cried together, written so many things together, and have (obviously) had some great times drinking together. I am so lucky to have you in my life as a friend and a writing partner. From Seb and Ciel to Malcolm and Gil, your talent for fics shines through, and it’s been my honor to watch you grow as a writer and a person. I’m so proud of you, and I always will be. I’m so blessed to have you in my life and I hope we can have another California Adventure together soon! 💖
@sadieandmo Oh Sadie, I am so grateful for you. Probably more than you know. You have answered so many questions, helped with so many of my stories, and have tolerated so many of my baby Steve stories and ideas. (I know it probably gets boring and tedious after a while but I’m so grateful that you still listen anyway.) You’re not only an amazing writer, but a fabulous caregiver who helps give me some perspective when I get too inside my own bubble. Your compassion, tolerance, and spirit inspire me to be a better version of myself, and my respect for you as a person and a writer is boundless. Thank you for all the times you’ve helped me and offered support, even when it’s just a listening ear. You really do make a difference in my life, even if I don’t mention it as often as I should. 💖
@fuzzyhamish Your art inspires me so much! I have insane respect for those who dedicate themselves to their craft and oh, you definitely do and it shows. I look at the commissions you’ve made me often on bad days and they never fail to make me smile. Thank you for sharing your art and helping to light up my life. Your time and dedication doesn’t go unnoticed, and I’m so grateful for all the works you share. 💖
@multifandomfix Girrrrl, I am so blessed to have found your blog and to have made a true friend through it. I had no idea when I first made a request in your inbox a couple years back that it would lead to a beautiful friendship that has blossomed and grown in such a short space of time. You’re not only an amazing human being but also an awesome cat mom and an incredibly talented writer. You do things with your OC’s that I could never dream of. You’ve helped me through several tough choices and have been so supportive of my writing and it’s helped me to grow not just as a writer but as a person. Thank you for reading my stuff, helping me through some tough story choices, and showing me that I can find amazing friendships even after all this time. Your dedication is inspiring, and I couldn’t be prouder of getting to watch you grow as a writer and a person. 💖
Thank you all for the joy and friendship you bring into my life. You all inspire me to be the best I can be, and I couldn’t have made it another year without you 💖
I heard you were starting a tag list! I’d love to be on your lists for the following fandoms: A Series Of Unfortunate Events, Dead To Me, Game Of Thrones, The Good Place, Grace And Frankie, Harlots, Schitt’s Creek, Sex Education, Shameless, The Umbrella Academy, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, The Witcher, Alice In Wonderland, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Enchanted, Harry Potter, Hook, Ocean's 8, and Pirates Of The Caribbean.
Sorry it’s so much. I hope it’s not overwhelming.
I am, indeed! It's not overwhelming at all~ I'm flattered that you want to be on so many! I've added you to all of them!
Hello dear! I’d love a ship drabble for Peaky Blinders if I could. With prompts 17 and 72? She/her pronouns. I have blonde hair, hazel eyes, I’m 5’5” and bisexual. Ravenclaw/Slytherin. I’m clever, intelligent and don’t take crap from anyone. I like to do things for people, but I can also be a bit selfish at times. I know what I want and go for it, not letting anything stand in my way. I’m a romantic at heart, but not the kind that will throw away everything for love.
Characters: Reader x Polly Gray
Warnings: injury/blood and mild swearing
Prompt: 17. “What would you do without me?” & 72. “I told you to stay out of it.”
Word Count: 346
A/N: hey!!! i debated between polly and tommy but my first instinct was polly, i hope you like it 💗
want to request a ship drabble? Read this post!
“Jesus Christ, y/n,” Polly calls out as she hears you stumble through the front door of the house. She gets up from her armchair, putting out a cigarette before rushing to greet you, and she continues, “Where the bloody hell have you been?”
She stands before you, hands on her hips, and her expression falls as you finally look up. One eye is swollen shut, your skin bruised and slightly bloodied. You offer her a sheepish smile as you greet, “Hey, Pol.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Polly mutters, cupping your face in her hands as she inspects your wounds. She tilts her face to the side, before guiding you deeper into the house. She lowers you into an armchair before she disappears into the kitchen, grabbing a rag and rinsing it under the sink. She comes back to the living room, crouching in front of you as she tries to clean the crimson stains off your face, and she demands, “What happened?”
“In my defence, I didn’t start the fight.” you shrug, avoiding eye contact as Polly’s eyebrows furrow. “Y’know, with that rival gang that was giving the Blinders trouble. Thought I could reason with them.”
Polly resists the urge to slap you. Scowling at you, she scolds, “You’re as bad as the boys. I told you to stay out of it, y/n.”
“I just wanted to help.” you insist, and Polly softens as you reach up to place your hand over hers. “You’ve been so stressed lately, Pol, I thought I could do something about it.”
Polly lets out a soft sigh, her anger dissolving. She presses the cool towel against your eye, holding it against your bruise, being gentle as to not push too hard. You smile at her, “Thanks, Pol.”
“Someone has to take care of you.” Polly scoffs, but she smiles back at you. “What would you do without me?”
“No idea.” you laugh, leaning forward to press a kiss on Polly’s lips. You can feel her smiling, and her hand reaches up to caress your cheek as she kisses you back.
hey, here’s a friendly reminder that your original content is incredible! let’s spread some support by sharing this message to 10 other blogs whose creations you love, and don’t break the chain ❤️✨ have a great day/night and remember that you’re loved! (you're not obliged to do this, i'd just thought i'd let you know that you're fantastic!)
I did not expect this at all and my heart practically melted, thank you 🥺💕 your content is amazing too!
Can I be tagged in Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Friends, The Good Place, Harry Potter, Merlin, A Series Of Unfortunate Events, and What We Do In The Shadows? Please and thanks. 😊
