#i suck at tagging | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

escapetheshark · 9 months

Text

Off the Deep End | part 1 | swim instructor Bang Chan x fem reader

Genre: fluff; smut; angst

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem reader

Word count: 3,6k

Warnings: mentions of past trauma, drowning, adult language (warnings will be added to each chapter)

Summary: Hellbent on facing her fears, she starts taking up swimming lessons from one attractive young instructor named Christopher.

A/N: In case you're new here, I always name my characters because I don't like writing in the second person. This story is set in Australia, therefore I use some Aussie slang and lore, lmk if there's anything you don't understand that I can clarify for you. I'm not Australian, I just tried my best to recall things from my time there and I suppose a lot of things are similar to New Zealand. If any Aussies find anything really OOC, please do let me know.

A massive thank you to @seo--changbin for her help aka putting up with my bulshit. Love you <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | to be continued

Masterlit | Network

It's a lovely day: the sun is shining down on me, hot and bright, not a single cloud in the sky. I take another sip of my boozy cocktail and look over to my right where my sister has fallen asleep with a book on her face, several empty glasses piled on her side of the table. Not even her kids' loud screeches can seem to disturb her slumber, or maybe she's got good at zoning out. Her husband, who had disappeared inside the house God knows how long ago, has come back with a bucket in his arms and places it down by the lawn chairs.

"Help yourself," he enthusiastically says, before noticing his wife's sleeping form and immediately repeating himself in a lower voice. "Help yourself."

"Thank you," I simply say, raising my cocktail glass to show him I'm good for now. The bucket is full of beer, soda cans and water bottles for the kids.

The two boys decide to have a cannonball contest at the far end of the pool and are arguing about whose technique is the best, although I personally didn't find either that impressive. My brother-in-law finishes his Heineken and joins his kids with what was probably the only good cannonball of the day. He swims over to the edge of the pool and his head peeks out from the surface of the water.

"Come on, Jess, get in!"

"No thanks, I'm good."

"You need to face your fears at some point," he shrugs. "It's a lot more fun than just sitting on the lounger all day!"

He does make a compelling argument, however, I still see blood flowing and swaying on the water anytime I stare down into a swimming pool, the bottom seemingly invisible, like an endless pit. The scar is well hidden, thanks to really good surgeons and my own talent in makeup, but it is there and I do see it and feel its ridges whenever I touch my jaw. I'm facing my fear, looking straight into it. Maybe someday I'll be able to take a dive, but today is not that day.

I want to go home, I really do. My sister's friends are all a little obnoxious and I'm starting to feel sick from all the grilled meat I end up consuming at her weekend barbeques. At least the kids have all gone to sleep, not that the adults aren't equally as loud, especially after so much beer.

"-this year we'll go skiing in Austria instead, you know, see something new," one of the women says, wine glass in hand. "It's always Mount Hutt, I'm tired of Mount Hutt!"

"Snow all looks the same, Brenda," her husband spits with an annoyed look on his face. "You just want an excuse to go to Europe and see the hunks over there!"

"Imagine that, sitting on a plane for a day just to see snow when there's perfectly good snow down in New Zealand," some other guy retorts. "Taking those five kids of yours, too!"

Both Brenda's husband and this other guy laugh, but Brenda doesn't seem to be having fun. She sulks and pours herself another glass, keeping her head down.

"What about you, Jess, have any exciting plans for the new year?"

My eyes avert from Brenda and her troubles to the person sitting next to me, I believe her name is Amelia. She has very well-kept long blonde hair that doesn't suit her skin tone but her roots are barely visible still. Her face is somewhat orange, but I guess she pulls it off.

"Oh, I'm just gonna stay here in good old Melbourne," I shrug. "Might pop to Montague Street Bridge to see all the trucks losing their roof." I giggle at my own joke, but Amelia just seems lost, sparing me a pained smile. "I don't think they have Tim Tams in other countries."

"Oh that's not true," Brenda's husband interjects out of nowhere. "I'm pretty sure I've seen them in England!"

The awkward conversation dies down as they continue discussing their lives and I keep to myself, pretending to be very interested in the cranberry juice in my glass, avoiding meeting anyone's gaze lest they strike up more conversation and ask me why I don't just travel to Europe or the US, it's lovely up there, how can I miss out on such fun? It's either that or asking if I'd like to meet this guy they know, he's single too, he's divorced, his wife just died, he's got kids but he's nice, he works in IT. I don't want to meet their friend and I don't want to hear about Paris again, yet I keep getting dragged to my sister's pool parties where someone always asks me what drowning feels like, as if everything is supposed to feel like something else.

"By the way, my kids are taking swimming lessons with this extraordinary instructor," another woman invades my personal space to drunkenly tell me things I didn't ask about. I can't remember her name even though I know I've seen her face a few times. I remember her kid is called Jessica like me. "I hear he does lessons for adults too, he's a doll. I'll give you his card!" She reaches for her purse and pulls out a small rectangular card, very unassuming, with just a name, a phone number and a simple tagline - swimming lessons for all levels and ages.

"That's the most boring business card I've ever seen," I comment out loud, although I should have kept it to myself.

"Well, he's pretty good, just give him a call. Jessica loves him and she's making so much progress so quickly! She might get into the Olympic team at this rate…"

I feign enthusiasm, like this 10-year-old girl having such immense pressure put on her can be any good. I suppose she's growing up in a 5 million dollar home in Toorak, so she'll be fine. I place the card in my pocket and forget about it, deciding that if I'm stuck here in this rich people hell, might as well have a laugh, like when I eavesdrop at the deli section in Coles.

The smell of chlorine makes my head hurt and it takes a minute for me to adjust to the stuffy warm air. I might vomit my heart out with the way it's beating in my throat. My right hand caresses my left elbow, knees trembling, mouth dry. It's hard to focus on a single thing when everything happens so much at the same time - background music, chatter, kids screaming, whistles, splashing, that awful chlorine smell that I can't ignore no matter how hard I try. I'm not even sure where I'm supposed to go, I just stand by the door to the shower room, the swimming cap feels too tight around my head.

"Hey, are you alright?"

The voice that interrupts my anxious contemplation belongs to a short slender man in swim trunks and a tank top who appears behind me.

"Yeah, I'm just looking for my instructor, his name is uhm- Christopher?"

"He's me, I'm Christopher," the young man smiles sheepishly, his small eyes disappearing into his face for a second. "Oh, are you Miss Jessica?"

"She's me, I'm Jessica," I chuckle nervously. "We spoke on the phone."

"We very much did," he agrees, motioning for me to follow him around the Olympic-size swimming pool towards the far end of it. He waves at some other guy, I look politely at him and try to forget that I'm about to really have to get in the water. There's no escape this time, I've paid for my first fifteen lessons and it wasn't particularly cheap either. No refunds, unless caused by provable illness. Is it too late to break a leg…?

"Right, so you mentioned you cannot swim at all," his attention is back on me when we stop walking as we reach the very last lane on the opposite end of the pool. I look over at a storage unit full of various floating devices and wonder if I will be allowed one or two. Or ten. "The first step will be getting you comfortable in the water."

I watch as Christopher removes his thongs and leaves them under the bench then proceeds to lower himself into the pool using the pool ladder. He's got water up to his chest. He's maybe one or two inches taller than I am, so I definitely will be able to stand. It's too late to have a panic attack and run away so all I have left to do is go in. He's right there, the swimming instructor I've been told has several medals and apparently was part of the Australian junior swim team. It's his job to not let me drown. He's not my drunk mother thirty-two years ago who didn't see me slip and fall into the pool while she sipped cocktails.

"Go on, then," he smiles at me the way a proud father smiles at his kid's doodles before leaving them on the kitchen counter to be put up on the refrigerator door later. "See, you can stand."

My sister's friend did mention he seemed to teach mostly children so the slightly condescending tone is probably just an occupational hazard and I can't blame him for being a little bit snooty towards the thirty-something year old lady who's trembling just standing in four feet of water.

"See, it's not that bad," he offers and I can't tell if he's thinking in the back of his mind that I look like an absolute buffoon. He probably is. "So now all I want you to do is walk to me. Just walk," he instructs, making his way towards the middle of the pool, a few steps, stopping once the water reaches his shoulders. "I'm right here."

It's nothing like walking on dry land, I had forgotten what it feels like to be submerged. The water slowly and gently undulates as my legs move, tiny step by tiny step, like a newborn foal immediately forced to learn how to walk within ten minutes of being yeeted out of the womb.

Christopher keeps reassuring me that he's right there and will absolutely not let anything bad happen to me; it's almost more nerve-racking than if he simply stood at the edge of the pool yelling instructions, like the instructor a couple of lanes to our left with a class of about eight teenagers. It's hard to appreciate his seeming kindness when I'm trying so hard to focus on not letting my knees melt into wobbly pudding, each step feeling like a mile long.

He's got water up to his chest, Jessica, you'll be fine.

He's just standing there, the smile eventually fades from his face and he just watches me take slow, careful steps towards him, arms stretched out as if he expects me to tumble over like I did when I was four years old. Shit. I was doing fine without those memories, this is not a good time for the dramatic flashbacks! I stop, taking a deep breath and looking up at the tall ceiling, my vision not focusing on anything in particular, just the way the harsh bright lights illuminate the interior of the swimming complex.

"You good?"

Somehow I've muted all the noises around me, but his voice seems to come from way too close and that's when I realise I either moved without realising or he took a few steps to come meet me halfway because the next thing I know, he's a lot closer to me than I remember him being.

"I-I'm fi-fine?"

I'm not sure I sound convinced, but my head is still out of water and completely dry so I don't think anything happened to me. I look at Christopher again, his eyes seem almost worried but he offers yet another little smile. Do his cheeks not hurt from smiling so much? He already seems very non-threatening with his short and slender build and jovial face, he doesn't need to put so much effort into making himself appear as inoffensive as possible.

"Look back," he says, "you walked all this way!"

There's the condescending tone again like he's talking to one of his six-year-old students. Or maybe I'm just being a bitch to this man for absolutely no reason and he's just trying to be helpful and do his job properly. I've already paid him, either way. Might as well learn to actually swim while I'm at it.

"I sure did-"

"Do you want to try and extend your body? I'll hold your arms." He reaches out again, his pale arms extended towards me. I hold onto his hands, unsure of what exactly I'm supposed to do and how to even do it. Seems easy enough, right? Just extend your body out, like you're lying down in bed, except this isn't a safe comfortable bed, it's a dangerous swimming pool.

"Lift up your legs and kick them back," he instructs, his grip on my hands very strong, as a way to say he won't let go and let me drown. "Try one leg at a time first."

The movement is awfully uncoordinated and lacks any sense of grace, but I do manage to pull my leg back, then the other, then both at the same time, my eyes on Christopher's arms, worried he would let go on accident and leave me to brave the waters on my own. You can stand up, I remind myself. You've got water up to your shoulders.

"Good job," he praises, and I must admit a sense of mild pride washes over me. Yeah, it's a fucking good job! "Stand back up now." I obey, strengthening my grip on his hands, my body feels like it's floating and I can't remember how to get back down. It takes a minute, but I'm eventually standing up again, my hands still in his for a little longer until he finally lets go.

"How are you feeling," he inquiries "bit more confident?"

"I guess," I shrug, very clearly not that confident.

"You'll get there." Another smile. This one feels more earned, though, not as mechanic as before. I doubt his words for a minute before scolding myself. You will get there, it's just swimming, not rocket science. I nod, my knees relaxing subconsciously as I watch him get out of the water using the ladder again, making his way to the storage unit and picking up a couple of accessories he promptly throws in the water before joining me once more in the shallow end of the pool.

"Will these help make you feel safer?"

I nod again, holding onto one of the pool noodles as if I've never seen one before. I never told him my tragic backstory, yet somehow he acts like he knows there's something deeply wrong with me. I wonder if my sister's friend told him something…

"Thanks."

"Right, so the goal for now is to get you to feel confident and safe in the water," he explains, his face serious and stern. "You can have as many noodles as you want and I'm right here, I swear on my PS5 I won't let you get hurt." A little giggle leaves him, like he's making a silly little joke to the little kids he teaches. It's hard to take this man seriously when not only he seems to have never interacted with an adult, but he himself looks almost like a child, small and sweet-looking, like life hasn't yet taught him a lesson. I'm being so judgemental for no reason. This young man is just doing his job and trying to be nice about it. I have to scold myself again for thinking so negatively all the time and wonder if my sister does that too or if she's cured now that she has the perfect life…

"You basically paid me to not let you drown, if that's any consolation." His joke pulls me out of yet another session of inside-my-head rambling. He's trying so hard to be the cool and fun teacher and I'm not sure what to make of it. I'm at least ten years older than this wide-eyed pale boy.

"I guess that helps," I shrug, looking at him. "So what now? You throw me off the 10 metre plank and I have to somehow not die?" He laughs, his little eyes completely disappearing into his face and becoming crescent moons. He has dimples.

"Yeah, let's go," he jokes again. "No, we take it as slow as we need to. The goal is to not scare you any further."

"I'm not scared!"

"Yeah, that's why you were shaking coming down the ladder and holding on to me like that just now," he snarkily comments right before becoming apologetic. "I-I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."

"Don't worry, doll," I shrug, still holding on to the pool noodle, standing near the edge of the pool.

"Well, anyway, let's practice some more." His demeanour is back to the overly-friendly one from a few seconds before as he passes me another pool noodle, instructing me to loop it around my stomach. He holds out another noodle, one hand near each end, keeping it straight. "Hold on to this and look at me."

I do as he says, placing my hands next to his and facing him dead-on. "Now let's try to kick your legs back again, just like before." The noodle naturally doesn't feel as sturdy as Christopher's hands on mine, and the one on my belly almost pressures my body upwards and I have to actively force my torso down. My hands almost want to slide closer to his, to feel someone's skin on mine rather than polyethylene foam would make me feel a little more secure, but he's right there. He's literally a foot away from me, his feet firmly pressed on the tile. He won't let me drown. He wouldn't.

"It's okay, I'm literally right here," he reassures again, that damned smile that he just can't avoid but flash every damn minute. I wonder if he's always like this or maybe he's secretly a dick outside his lessons. Maybe he even voted One Nation.

Hands firmly on the pool noodle, I kick my legs back, slowly, immediately feeling the tension in my belly releasing. "You don't have to be so tense, you know." I feel light headed again, my eyes fixated on his but not focusing or registering what I'm looking at.

"Let's breathe slowly okay," his voice lowers an octave and catches me off guard. "Breathe in through your nose. One. Two. Three. Four. Five." He's breathing in too, still looking into my eyes, and it almost feels uncomfortable. I can't remember the last time I really looked at someone for so long, especially what is essentially a stranger. "Good, now breathe out through your mouth, slowly." He counts to five again, just as slowly as before and it feels like I have never breathed before in my life.

"I've got you," he reassures once more, of course he has a smile on his face and I can't really tell if it's sincere or not because my head is spinning and it's hard to focus on anything. "I'm gonna let go of the noodle, okay? But I'm right here."

"Please don't," I beg, my hands sliding closer to his until they're slightly touching.

"That's alright," he replies. "Okay, no problem, I won't let go."

I breathe out a relieved sigh as his hands come to hold mine once more, and I feel a sudden urge to cry. It's all too much, too much noise, too much water, too much human contact, all in a day's work.

"We can take it as slow as you need, Jessica."

I nod, this time I actually pay attention to him instead of fixating on a random spot without focusing on anything. His eyes seem sincere. Again, I have to remind myself that he's a professional doing his job and there is absolutely no reason for this man to let me drown or get hurt in any way.

"Take your time."

I'm not sure how long I stayed like that, looking absolutely ridiculous with a pool noodle through my waist, holding on to my much younger swimming instructor like I'm about to drown in four feet of water, that stupid swimming cap so tight around my head it feels like my brain is on the verge of exploding. Next thing I know, I'm standing under the shower trying to remove the cap without pulling all my hair out. The water is a little too hot, but I barely register the way it burns my skin as all the background noise morphs into one giant blob of white noise.

I get dressed, put away my wet swimsuit inside a plastic ziplock bag, dry my hair and apply moisturiser to my face, still unsure of how to feel about this whole thing. I could just quit, money be damned…! No, money do not be damned, it's not like I have a lot of it and I can't afford to just toss it away like that. I- I could just- No! I'm going to finish this now. I'm going to book my next lesson and stick to this, it can't be that hard. My nephews can swim and they're kids. That Jessica girl is training to join the goddamn Olympic team and she's like eleven! I can at least learn how to doggy-swim if anything, right? Right…?

To be continued...

#neverendingdreams #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan #skz #stray kids #bang chan smut #i suck at tagging #pls give feedback

99 notes · View notes

simpscripts · 1 year

Text

A Spoonful of Love (Bernard the elf x Reader) Part 1

Authors notes/tags: Part 2 of the Naughty or Nice series for service subs with praise kinks. Smut starting on part 2, 18+, Nsfw, afab reader, she/her pronouns used. I hope you all enjoy!

Summary: Your crush and superior elf has been pulling away for months, fueling your need to please and serve him to hear him praise you again.

The click of your nails against the the large work counter echoed out in the empty kitchen. The usually packed and bustling kitchen now remained nearly empty with just a single occupant after the busyness of the holiday season finally wrapped up for the year. Over the new years holiday, Santa give a vacation period to everyone to celebrate all the hard work of the year before everyone picks right back up to create it all again, but you never took the vacation time.

You had no other place that felt quite like home as the kitchen did and this free space without work tasks or distraction from other elves gave you free reign to try making new confectionary creations. As the head elf of the kitchen you reveled in the honor of being in charge of looking for ways to elevate the treats and teach the rest of the staff of baker elves how to recreate them. This vacation was the perfect time to workshop, try out new ideas, play around with ingredients, and take notes on how each experiment resulted. You got a chance to try new things out during normal working time in between specific tasks but this is the month that will set the ground for the rest of the year. More importantly every time you created something up to your standards you get to share it with your favorite head elf for his final approval. Bernard has held a large grip on your heart for centuries and you leaped for every chance to show off your creations to him to have a chance of basking under his praise.

Your eyes peeled away from glaring daggers at the little timer as you waited for it to ring out, instead shifting to peer around the room to check if anyone was crazy enough as you to come into work during the vacation period. As your eyes scanned around your surroundings they pass over the grand kitchen doors peeled open to look out over the workshop area. Your breath hitches in excitement as you catch a flash of red clothes and dark curls whizz around in the background of workbenches. A laugh bubbles lightly out of your throat as you noticed he has dragged poor Curtis into work with him as well.

Your eyes follow their path around the workroom, watching them stop shortly every so often to adjust the equipment on work stations, jot little notes in his small work journal, or clearing bits of scrap parts into bins. Your head sinks down to rest against your palm as your body slumps in your high chair against the counter, mind slipping away to dream. This sighting of him in the same room for so long is a bit of a rare sighting as of late, you have only really seen him in a room for a minute or so this past few months and you can’t blame him due to the nature of the season.

Your teeth move to chew at the corners of your lips as your thoughts turned more anxious, searching every memory for clues to throw on the fire of your fear. It wasn’t just the past month and normal holiday season, it started a few months before Christmas even came around. Your thoughts can’t stop bubbling at the thought that maybe its you. You have never seen him in a room as of late longer than a few minutes, you swear you remember or at the very least that your mind provides vivid memories of him making eye contact with you in the room and making his way out shortly after.

Your fingers fidget together as you get lost in your mind. The only thing saving you from your descent down was the slight bit of vocal echos that bounce their way up to the kitchen and to your pointed ears. Your body shifts on its own raising forward at an angle towards the door as if that will help you hear any better. You can’t make out the words but you hear Curtis’s tone playfully mocking Bernard. Your eyes follow them as they make their way to the benches located just under the balcony nearest to the kitchen.

You glance quickly at the timer, it’s a bit older and gets stuck on the track right before going off some of the time. You’ve been meaning to replace it but honestly it got pushed back in favor of you trying to seek out Bernard whenever you could to offer your help and service during those blissfully boring moments of waiting for things to finish baking. Your curiosity quickly outweighs your concern and your body moves on its own to tip toe out of the kitchen to hear better, your mind giving you a quick pat on the back for not wearing any bells on your clothes today.

Once out you manage to sneak along the wall to sit back into an alcove that would hopefully protect you from being seen if they move back out to the center of the room. Now you can hear a bit more but just broken words in between mumbles so you make yourself comfortable and wait. Your fingers twirl around the hem of your skirt, a bit of guilt gurgles in you from sneaking but you miss the sound of his voice. Even hearing the echoes of his tone calms your heart and eases your anxiety. You catch some laughs coming from Curtis as he seems to tease Bernard again and your ears prick up as you hear them getting louder. Then you hear Curtis making loud chicken noises.

“Would you stop being a big fat chicken?” Curtis chortles before continuing his bawks.

“Knock it off Curtis!” This is the first time you can clearly make out Bernards words as he yells out exasperatedly and you itch closer to the balcony’s edge to hear better. “I don’t get scared, I just want everything to be perfect, as I expect with everything else around here. Now get back to work.”

Their voices hush back down to murmurs as they change the subject. Your stomach churns at the word perfect, something you strived for constantly especially with helping him knowing how much he values good work. You can’t figure out the exact context for their conversation but knowing he is looking for perfection makes you slightly giddy, hoping he will be pleased with your new baking creation you’ve created just for him. You hover to make sure you can’t hear anymore of their conversation before pulling away to go check on the oven. As your body tip toes back into the kitchen to not alert your foot steps to the elves just below you it all quickly gets abandoned as you smell the harsh scent of smoke pouring from the oven.

“No, no, no, no, no, no!” You scream out unconsciously as you ran over.

You’re ungraceful as you snatch the safety fire extinguisher from the wall and slam open the heavy oven door to spray down the flames with white fluff before they can burst out towards you. As the white foam pops from the remaining heat it sinks and pools enough that you can clearly see that the lava cakes you were making overcooked, the cake sponge hardened until cracking open, letting the sticky liquid filling bubble out and over the tray side to burn on the bottom of the oven. Your heart races as you turn to glare at the timer, seeing it’s once again stuck on the second to last tick unable to notify you before you ended up burning the whole place down. In the background you make out two bodies rapidly moving up the staircase towards you and you panic.

You hopelessly and awkwardly try positioning your body to cover the sight of the oven from their eyes. Bernard skips into the room first with his long strides he takes when he is serious, Curtis rushing behind him with little steps that desperately try to keep up. Your heart beat quickens as you watch Bernard come closer to your side, his eyes trained on the oven as he deduces for himself what occurred, while his hand absentmindedly reaches out to graze past your arm to keep you back.

“What happened, are you alright?” He shifts to face you and dips his head down to look you in the eyes. You’re a bit too star struck watching his eyes, and seeing from your peripheral that his hands hover above your arms but not quite touching the skin.

“Mmhm just a small accident.” You cough as you hear how hard the words felt to choke out and turn away from his gaze to motion towards the timer. “Timer is broken I just forgot to replace it and I got a bit distracted. I’m sorry, I’ll clean this up.”

“No need to apologize, just an accident.” He shakes his head smiles at you warmly, letting his hands now rest against your wrists. “I’ll take care of the timer for you, I’ll go get it fixed up after I finish the rest of my tasks for the day.”

“Hey! When I make a mistake I have to do reindeer walking duty for a month, and she almost burned this whole place down.” Curtis muffles out in between small bites of truffles he snuck from the dessert tray on the counter.

“Curtis you don’t even do the jobs you’re supposed to, let alone pick up a bunch of tasks to help me out like Y/N does. She follows orders perfectly.” Bernard clicks out while letting his hands fall from your skin so he can turn to inspect the damage while you stand back shifting in delight from the praise.

“That’s not true and you know it! In the past six months alone I have swept up all the tinsel in the workshop, I shoveled the steps, I cleaned the entire stables top to bottom, gave Dasher the bath he desperately needed, and even drug up half of the stupid library books up to your office!” Curtis continues through mouthfuls of chocolate.

You try to make out their interaction as Bernard snaps his head back briefly to glare at Curtis, quickly shutting him up. He goes back to looking over the oven, bending down to make sure the flames didn’t do any damage. You squirm a bit in your spot as he scrutinized your mistake but snapped back to the present as he spoke to you again.

“I didn’t know you were back in here today Y/N.” He hums while leaning his head around to check different angles.

“Oh yea, you know me. I like having the kitchen to myself and I don’t feel content unless I am getting stuff done.” You see his hand reach for the cleaning rag you keep tied to the door handle, presumably to start wiping it up and you wave your hands hurriedly. “Don’t worry about cleaning, I’ll take care of it while the new batch bakes in another oven.”

This seems to satisfy him as he stands up and glances to Curtis with a smile. “See Curtis, that is why she is my favorite.”

Curtis just rolls his eyes in response while Bernard moves to grab the timer to examine it next. You’re a bit amused at how gentle he is with it seeing as every muscle in your body just wants to smash the timer to bits with how much trouble it has caused you.

“This should be an easy fix.” Bernard slides the timer over to Curtis to hold in his hand not occupied by sweets and turns to you. “Well I’ll still be here for a bit doing chores but then I will work on it once I get back to my office. If you’re still here later you can drop by to pick it up.”

“Of course, and I’ll also bring by the new treat I came up with as long as it doesn’t burn again. I think you’ll like it, I had you in mind when I came up with it.” You’re eyes freeze for a moment as you realized you just babbled and hoped he didn’t understand the deeper need behind your words.

Flicking your gaze up you see a smile close to the one you see on his face when he praises you for a good job but it looks to be mixed with another emotion, maybe smugness. It’s too hard to tell and you fail to get a good look in the second before he looks away to gesture Curtis back towards the workroom.

“Sounds great, I am looking forward to seeing what your brilliant mind comes up with next. Now it looks like the oven is ok, but are you sure you’ll be alright to clean it up by yourself?” He gestures over to the pile of goo in the oven.

“Absolutely, not a problem at all! I don’t want to add anything else to your busy plate and besides I will have plenty of time while I remake this batch. I’ll bring it to you right out of the oven tonight when you’re not busy anymore so you can have it when it’s warm and perfect.”

“That’s why you’re the best, I know I can always rely on you.”

You happily take in all the details of the moment, committing everything to memory to store away with every other accomplishment you have made for him. As your eyes travel away from his eyes you catch a few flecks of something light hiding in his curls. Now you can see more clearly there is a bunch of different wood shavings clinging on to his hair that you try pointing him towards the biggest piece you can see.

“Oh Bernard, I think you have something in your hair.” His eyes scrunch in confusion as he threads his fingers through some strands and pulls out the bits of wood. “Just a bit more, here let me help.”

You move to thread your fingers through his hair to pull them out but he awkwardly laughs and pulls back. “That’s alright, probably just a bit of wood chips from the workshop.” He starts backing away more to leave and lets out a small oof as he backs straight into the edge of the counter.

“Ooh, are you ok?” You wince watching him grab his side, and your chest stings as you watch him pull away.

“Yep I’m good, I’ll see you later.” He pushes out before biting on his lip and turning.

You offer him a small smile with flushing cheeks as you watch him start backing out of the room with a wave that you return to him. He meets Curtis at the door and you watch them curiously when you see the younger elf elbows his senior before getting snatched by the back of his collar and pulled down the stairs. The breath you held exhaled once you lost vision of them, and you dumbly looked at the mess while organizing your thoughts and emotions. The strong bitter sting of failure crawls through you sickly first, mixed with the happiness and confusion of having him near you longer than the last few months combined.

Once your perfectionist feelings of failure leak out slowly your left with longing that consumes you. It wasn’t until you had another taste of the close friendship you once had that your heart starts to deeply ache to have again. Your lungs draw in a big breath to stabilize the tide before you moved forward to clean up. It may be a silly thought but you drive yourself forward with the hope that you can complete this next batch and worm your way back into his life.

Time passes while you clean silently, consumed by your thoughts, and the light shifts to an orange glow as the sunset starts to beam in through the windows. By the time you make it to starting the new batch the loss and ache now gives way to frustration, a need to fix this. You’re a bit aggressive when throwing in the new ingredients, despite you trying to growl out in your head of all the love your going to pour into these lava cakes. You have to whip your head to the side to avoid being suffocated by the plume of flour that puffs out of the bowl when you throw it in and your clothes are quickly becoming collateral damage to the spray of ingredients as you viciously mix.

You freeze your hand from stirring when you hear light foot falls head in your direction. Your chest rises with hope that Bernard is checking in on you but instead you see a tired looking Curtis turn around the corner. You try to mask your disappointment with a roll of your eyes.

“Coming to rob me some more of the treats I worked hard to bake?” You flick your eyes to him before going back to your rough mixing.

“I deserve these, I was being bossed around all day. You try dealing with him and see how you like it.” He huffs out while grabbing a seat across from you at the counter and happily biting into the truffles with an exaggerated moan. “What the heck do you put into these things that make them taste so good”

“Just a spoonful of love.” You growl out your signature line as you finish up your beating of the mixture.

“Seems like a violent love.” He mutters back under his breath.

“Alright, alright! Take your truffles and get out my kitchen so I can concentrate.” You shoo him off, even giving him the tray to take with him when he hesitates to leave.

You were friends with Curtis and enjoy his company but it’s hard not being a bit jealous of him getting to spend all day with Bernard when he so openly complains about something you would so happily trade him for. The ache and bitterness consumed you as your mind snowballed harder into your pain. You haven’t even stepped a single foot inside his office for months, the once upon a time open door invitation was now firmly locked every time you have tried to visit. You used to have a small ritual of making a tray of food for him, knowing he forgot to eat with how busy he was, and brought it to his office to set on his desk for him and offering your assistance if he was there. After it started being locked you tried leaving a few trays outside his door but with no guarantee he was even in there you had to stop to not waste food.

It’s just now starting to sink in truly just how high of stakes this cooking assignment was for you. You wanted nothing more than to prove yourself to him, make yourself useful, and earn his praise. For too long you have been robbed of that opportunity that your mind was going crazy without purpose but he had to sign off on new recipes you implemented. This was a chance to get answers on why he has been avoiding you and hopefully earn his praise you’ve sorely missed.

Once the new tray goes in you glance down at the state of your clothes, splattered with flour and wet chocolate dots that didn’t easily wipe away. Just as you were about to walk away to quickly change or at the least clean up in the bathroom you remembered your lack of timer. Instead you let out a sigh of defeat, letting go of the notion that you would be able to sneak away to clean up so you can watch the lava cakes instead. You’re cursing yourself in your head for not picking something less finicky that could be babysat less so you could clean up. You also stupidly promised Bernard fresh out of the oven lava cakes and with the chill of the North Pole you would be surprised how quickly it could cool down just on the way to his office. Not everything could be perfect though as you have bitterly come to realize throughout your centuries and so you would have to just deal with a disheveled appearance.

The sun fully set over the snowy hills in the distance of the village by the time the tray was ready to take out. You were growing more anxious the darker it got that he would have already left for the night that you had to stop yourself several times from removing the tray too early. As quick as you could without dropping or making a mess you plated up the small lava cake, sprinkled some powder sugar, and cleaned the rim of the plate to finish it off. With a small pat along your clothes to brush off any flour you could you picked up the plate and headed off to his office.

Your fingers gripped the plate to make sure you didn’t accidentally drop it now that you’re so close to delivering it. Once at his door you take in a shaking breath, just being outside filling you with unfamiliar nerves for a place you felt so at home in. With a trembling hand you reach up to knock on the door and wait with baited breath to hear if anyone would answer. You calm slightly as you make out some sweeping sounds and a clatter of things being shuffled quickly once your knock rang out before footsteps hurried their way over.

The door quickly swishes open, wafting a curl of the warm air from inside and you couldn’t keep yourself from inhaling the familiar cinnamon wood scent that surrounds him. Your eyes flick over to see the room behind Bernard that you haven’t laid eyes on in forever taking in the disheveled state of the room. You look back at him and go breathless as you take in his own disheveled form in informal clothing.

“Hi sorry, I know it’s late but I finally finished it.” You stutter out once you shake through the nerves.

“I’m glad you’re here,” He steps to the side to let you in. “Come on in, don’t mind the mess, I haven’t had much time to clean up.”

As your feet pad across the floor you can feel the soft grain of sawdust add traction to your steps. Peering around curiously you see a thin layer of dust on most of the surfaces of the room, along with clumps of thicker wood shavings scattered around the edges of the furniture. You’ll have to remember for later to sweep up in here for him if you get the chance. You try following back into your normal routine of sitting down in the plush chair in front of his desk, pushing through the awkwardness that suffocates you as you fixate on positioning the plate on his spot just right while he comes around to sit across from you.

“Alright moment of truth.” You spin the spoon around for him to grab onto. “Bernard I present to you the creamy hot cocoa lava cake complete with little marshmallows inside, I hope you like it.”

He gives you an excited glance before happily digging in to the cake. You watch with anticipation as he breaks through the cake layer and exhale in relief when you see a nice slow flow of creamy chocolate dotted with tiny marshmallows starts oozing out. He hums in appreciation at the visual and lifts his spoon for his first bite and you can’t help but feel yourself dipped into the familiarity of the scene. With the first moan of appreciation your face lights up and your skin prickles with bumps at the sudden warmth spreading through you in pride.

“Absolutely perfect.” He hums out before going back for bigger spoonfuls. “I don’t know how you manage to blow me away every time.”

Your heart is banging to beat of your chest with pride and you’re overtaken with just how much you missed the sharp burning of your cheeks that threatened to sting your eyes.

“It’s nothing more than a spoonful of love, you know that.” You happily chirp out your signature phrase he’s heard time and time again.

You watch him closely as he stares down at the lava cake with a soft smile that twitches when you spoke those familiar words. With only a few bites left he finishes it off and takes the small napkin you provided to wipe any remaining chocolate that lined his lips.

“This might be my favorite one yet, I can’t wait to see what the big man thinks about it when he gets back from vacation.”

“Yea if he decides to come back to this mad house.” You joke softly, trying to ignore the crawl of awkwardness creeping back in when you realize you don’t know how to move forward now. “Sorry again about earlier it was a silly mistake.”

“It’s alright just a small accident and this more than makes up for it.” He says softly with a wave of his hand before leaning down to grab something. “And I have small something in return for you to thank you.”

“Oh, right, the timer I completely forgot.” Your jaw clenched slightly as you feared this meant the end to your night with him.

“Oh,” He raises slowly and looks lost in thought like he forgot something. “No.”

“No?”

“I mean yes but no, um.” He reaches back into a drawer and slowly pulls out the timer to place in front of you. “I actually got you another gift, it was actually supposed to be done by Christmas but I had to restart, a few times actually.”

You watch him closely as he fidgets with the object located in his lap slightly before raising it up so you can see the medium rectangle package neatly wrapped in beautiful paper. “Anyways, I wanted to get you this to show you how much I appreciate everything you do around here, and not just for the job but for me also personally.”

He laughs a bit nervously and starts handing over the gift gently to your hands. “I can rely on you more than anyone, and this is a little something to show you how much I care.”

You play with the ribbons tied around the box slightly as you see him move to sit in the chair beside your own, and angle it towards you as he watches for your reaction now. You untie the ribbon and start lightly pulling at the paper to tear it off the box, jumping slightly when you feel his hand brush past your own as he goes to take the ball of paper from you once you slide the box out. The air feels heavy as you grasp the box and go to remove the lid while feeling the stare of his eyes focused on your face.

The first item in the box was a small envelope with Bernard very own wax seal stamp in beautiful red wax and detailed with gold gilding along the raised edges of the intricate B. You wanted this moment to drag on forever as you took in every detail he put into this present with just the card. Before you could start to swipe your nail under the crease to open it he reached over and grabbed the card out of your hand.

“You should save this for last.” He whispered out, gaze still trained carefully on you and you fully take in his tense pose leaned forward with elbows resting on his knees to wring his hands together.

“Then it shouldn’t have been on top.” You roll your eyes but follow his direction and continue unwrapping the present.

You moved the layer of tissue paper that the card laid on top of and froze once you unsealed the object underneath. Cradled in a blanket of velvet was an intricate carved wooden spoon. The spoon itself was a heart shape, above that was a hilt of mistletoe that curled up on the left and right to mirror itself. The very top of the spoon was a big bow with tendrils that twirled down on both sides to meet down at the hilt and cradled between the tendrils as the true handle of the spoon was a large Christmas tree.

As softly as you could with shaking hands you pick it up with your finger tips cradling the back as you run your thumbs over the smooth grooves and indentations of details carved into its design. Looking closer at the Christmas tree you see little bobbles of ornaments carved in the shape of hearts. Your heart clenches as you take it all in and you flex your fingers to get a better grip on the precious gift alerting you to the line like grooves you can feel on the back. Flipping it over the stinging tears building up along your eyeline flows over your cheeks as you read the beautiful cursive words sprawled across the back of the tree ‘a spoonful of love’.

Your eyes burn as you squint to blink away the tears and look over to him confused but filled with hopeless adoration. He doesn’t give your look an answer, instead he tensely moves to hand the letter back over to you once you gently place the spoon back into the box. Your less gentle now that you’re seeking answers as you break open the seal and pull out the handwritten card.

Lovespoon: A Welsh lovespoon is a wooden spoon decoratively carved that was traditionally presented as a gift of romantic intent.

I figured you needed a spoon as beautiful as you to add all the love you include in your baking.

-With all my love, Bernard

Your fingers clenched the card tightly as you read and reread the words over and over. When you finally managed to tear your eyes away you looked over at Bernard with blurry vision. Every word in the history of language was lost on you as you stared back at his gaze and your mouth gaped open in longing to say something in response. You watched as all the energy inside building inside him pushed out through shaking clenched hands as the rest of his body sat tense and he spoke out to break the silence.

“I wanted to find the perfect gift and had Curtis bring me every volume of the history of gifts around the world from the archive library. There was about 53 volumes in total, I um, got to this one but still read through the them all. This was the only one I thought fit you perfectly.” His voice babbled out more nervously than you have ever heard him before in a deep voice laced with a gruff edge.

Your gaze tore away from the heat of his as you once again locked eyes with some wood shavings across his desk. All the pieces of the puzzle locked in as a happy sob bubbled out of your throat.

“I thought you were ignoring me.” Your eyes dart back and forth as the anxiety fled completely from your body.

“No, Yes, I was but not for that reason.” His hand hesitantly reaches out to lace with your own and you tighten your hold on him once he makes contact. “Curtis was always with me and I didn’t want his loud mouth spoiling the surprise.”

He cautiously watches you for another moment and nervously whispers out, “Do you like it?”

You suck your bottom lip in a happy pout as more tears bubble out and you nod, leaning your body over to be closer to his.

“I will make you as many pastries and treats that you could ever want.” Your mind is already flooding with all the ways you want to show your devotion and affection to him, most likely starting with cleaning his office for him.

“No, no.” He shifts to cradle your cheek to move your gaze back to his adoring eyes as the air in the room shifts and warms you. “I think it’s well pass the time for you to be rewarded for all the hard work you do.”

#x reader #bernard the elf x reader #bernard x reader #bernard the elf #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #santa claus #fanfictions #reader insert #I suck at tagging #I hope you enjoy #this is super self indulgent #and super fluffy #idk man the smut will be kinkier #I need two shots of fluff for each smut

245 notes · View notes

j-eryewrites · 4 months

Text

All of You

MAIN MASTER LIST

ANON Request: Okay I can't have enough Sherlock angst so maybe just some feels or kidnapping or something like that. Thanks for your great work <3🙇🏼‍♀️

ANON REQUEST 2: I love your fics 💕💕 if requests are open, could you do one with BBC Sherlock in which the reader is kidnapped? (but they both have not confessed their love for each other yet, and the kidnapping perhaps prompts Sherlock to confess. idk up to you!) i just l o v e your Sherlock one shots!!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Haunted house, drugging, weapons, canon typical violence, kind of OOC Sherlock, cursing (Let me know if I have missed anything)

Author's Note: So, I got two requests A WHILE AGO and they were so similar I just decided to combine the two of them. (Requests are still not open, I’m just getting to the ones I never got around to writing to.) As for requests, I will be opening them back up once Arbitrary Lives and A Sinner's Redemption have concluded, so start thinking of some request ideas!!

The irony of the situation did not evade you. Sherlock’s latest case involved a serial killer. A serial killer who they were looking for at an abandoned haunted house attraction. The home wasn’t actually haunted, it was just a place years ago that would host a scary Halloween amusement park. However, that information did little to ease your nerves. What made things worse was that Sherlock suggested to split up. You, John, and he would all go separate ways to search for the killer.

Immediately, you had declined. You've seen too many horror movies with John to know that splitting up was the worst thing you could do. Not to mention the experiences you’ve had working with the consulting detective for years. Never split up, that’s what you told yourself, yet here you were, by yourself, walking down the dimly lit halls of the gigantic house. Your mind ran a-wire with the thought of how many hidden rooms and passageways that could be kept in the walls. That image alone terrified you.

With each step you took the house creaked and groaned. If that wasn’t a big neon sign blaring to the killer that you were there, you didn’t know what it was. You couldn’t but wince as the whole house squeaked with your latest step and at that point, you weren’t sure why you were trying to be quiet.

Muttering curses under your breath you lowered your torch and turned around. You wanted to find Sherlock or John. Their presence made you feel safer and all you wanted to be right now was safe. Your body shivered as a chill crept up your legs to the back of your neck. The waves of nerves tickled the minuscule hairs on your body and if this was a horror movie eerie music would be playing.

“Why did the killer have to be in a haunted house,” you whined as you approached the stairs to the bottom floor of the home where you last saw your tall consulting detective.

Looking down the wooden steps you searched for the bright light of Sherlock’s torch. There was no light to be found. You sighed and pulled out your phone trying to be smart about this. The bright screen of your phone illuminated your view darkening everything behind and in front of you. Your fingers danced across the screen as you pulled up Sherlock’s contact. You pressed a button. The screen flashed with Sherlock’s name and your phone buzzed. But before you could speak or before Sherlock could answer, everything went black.

There was something so insightful about being knocked out: the darkness of everything, the pain you felt in the back of your head like a soundtrack, and the erasure of all feelings. It was almost impossible to feel terrified about the haunted house when you weren’t even conscious in the first place. It was oddly peaceful and quiet, something you haven’t known in a long time since working for Sherlock. You weren’t sure how you became unconscious in the first place. As you lay in the darkness, there was one thought floating around in your mind. Shit.

____

“You’re finally awake,” a hoarse voice cooed.

A harsh light crept into your view causing you to wince. You longed for the darkness that you were encased in moments before. Soon your eyes adjusted to the bright light and began to take in your surroundings.

First things first, you were strapped down to a table. The straps were extremely tight leaving you with barely any room to breathe. You gulped and began to twist underneath the straps. If you could move in the first place.

The voice tsked before laughing. “It’ll be a while before you can move. The paralytic works fast.” Your eyes widened and you began to whimper. “Don’t worry, you can still scream.”

That when you saw them, your captor and the killer. Dauning a medical mask and surgical wear they leaned in close and sniffed you. You closed your eyes at the proximity, wishing that they wouldn't be real if you couldn’t see them. “I can smell the fear coming off of you. It’s intoxicating,” your captor chuckled.

“No…” you whimpered. Your voice was barely audible.

The killer pulled back away from you. “No?”

In your mind, you could go two ways. The first option, go with the idea that your “no” was terrified and try and plead with the killer. It was dignified and kind of cowardly but it was what you wanted to go with. Second, you could play it off cool. Well, as cool as you could while being strapped to a table with the killer’s face hovering over you. You could fight back. Taunt him and maybe provide Sherlock and John with enough time to try and find you. God, you hoped that they’d find you and that your brilliant consulting detective could solve the case. Now that you thought about it the second option seemed more plausible.

“No, he’s going to find me. He’ll beat you. That’s what he does,” you muttered. Your voice still trembled as you delivered this line, but your eyes conveyed your determination and belief in what you said.

All enjoyment from the killer’s face vanished and a darker expression replaced it. The look they were giving you would have paralyzed you if you weren’t already drugged. Their breath was scalding hot as they breathed into your ear. “He’ll never figure it out.”

You scoffed. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? He hasn’t even figured out that you’re gone.” They pulled down their medical mask to flash you a wicked grin. “This house has so many rooms. Twist and turns. You’ll be dead before he finds this room.

You paled. All hope of playing it cool dissipated. You were terrified: Breath evaded you, your heart beat faster than it ever had before, your blood ran cold, and tiny beads of sweat encased your body.

“I’m right. You can even see him here,” the killer pulls up video footage of the house. In the middle of all the split screens, you can see Sherlock and John searching. A tight pain in your chest formed at the sight. “You know that your dear detective is too enamored with the case to remember that others exist. It’s a game and he wants to win, even if it means some of his teammates get left behind.” You can’t help the tears that pool in your eyes causing them to laugh. “It’ll be too late when he realizes it and the closest thing he’ll have to you again are the organs that will be in the bodies of others. You’ll be de–”

“Wrong.”

You sobbed upon hearing that voice. It was Sherlock. He was here. He had come. The killer whirled around to find Sherlock standing with a gun in his hand aimed at them.

“How…” the killer said.

“Should’ve checked your cameras, then you would have realized they were on a loop,” the comforting voice of John spoke.

The killer’s jaw clenched.

“John,” Sherlock said. “ Get Y/N.”

John snuck out behind Sherlock and carefully moved over to you. His eyes scanned over your distressed figure as his hands began to fiddle with the straps.

“It’s alright, Y/N,’ John whispered as he untied the woman.

“I can’t,” you shook your head. “...I can’t move.”

John’s eyes filled with worry as the killer chuckled. “She’s paralyzed. I wouldn’t move her if I were you.” The killer turned around to look back down at you.

“If you move one more centimeter there will be a bullet lodged in your head,” Sherlock growled.

“You wouldn’t,” the killer hissed.

“On the contrary. I like to win my games, even if it means that the rules are bent.” Sherlock’s eyes were glaring at the killer.

Suddenly a muffled voice came from above. It was Lestrade. “Sherlock?”

“Down here, Gary!”

Time seemed to move superficially fast as the police entered the basement. However, time stilled the moment Sherlock retrieved you. John tried his best to pick you up but with the combination of his size and your apparent unmoving state, he found himself useless. Instead, Sherlock stepped up. With limp limbs and a stiff body, Sherlock lifted you off the cold and hard metal table. His gentle hand cradled your head as your body curled into him. He carried you as if you were the most precious and fragile things in the world. His secure and stable arms wrapped around you, pulling you immensely too close to his body, but you did not mind. He was warm and you were cold. He was safe and you were scared. Sherlock was exactly what you needed, and he was there. He was always there for you.

Soon the blaring lights of the police cars filled your vision, concealing the ambulance waiting for you. You hated you couldn’t cling to Sherlock as he passed you over to the EMTs. They scanned your body checking for injuries and asking you questions while they did so. With each response and your insistence on your perfectly fine well-being, the EMTs grew more and more concerned. They wanted to take you to the hospital, but that was the last place you wanted to be: being strapped down to a table, with an IV in your arm, the medical masks, and scrubs. It was all too much too soon. The fear in your eyes was apparent at their conclusion, but before you could open your mouth to display your concerns, Sherlock spoke.

“She’ll be coming home with me.”

“But sir, she’s still drugged and paral–,” the EMT began.

“If you just used your eyes, you would see that the hospital is the last place she wants to be,” Sherlock interjected.

The EMT briefly gazed over at you before recognizing the truth in Sherlock’s words.

“She still needs to be checked on after th–”

“I’m a doctor, I can make sure everything is alright,” John chimed in.

You looked at John and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” your hoarse voice whispered.

John smiled back. The EMT looked between the three of you and sighed placing her hands on her hips. “Alright, I’ll sign off on the paperwork and she’s free to go.”

The moment the paperwork was signed, you were whisked back to Baker Street. Sherlock never left your side as he carried you into his and John’s shared flat and placed you down on their sofa. Mrs.Hudson had brought up tea and snacks in an attempt to get something into your stomach. However, the idea of shifting your body to raise your arms and extend your hand to retrieve the cup of tea and biscuits seemed too big of an ordeal. You were exhausted. Instead, you found the weight of your head too much to bear and collapsed onto Sherlock’s shoulder. With one look, John and Mrs. Hudson ushered themselves out of the flat.

Your body was still trembling as the mental scars still flashed vividly in your mind.

“You’re safe,” Sherlock hummed in a soothing voice. His gentle arms came up to wrap around your torse encouraging a wave of stillness to course through your body. You weren’t sure of what to say. So many ifs running through your head, so you settled for a thank you.

Sherlock responded by pulling you closer. “I’ll always find you.”

A watery smile appeared on your face. It was a smile that you forced as tears crept into the corner of your eyes. “Well, if you hadn’t made it in time, I would have given you my skull. That way you’d always have me on your mantel.” You tried to laugh. It was a poor attempt at a joke and you weren’t really sure why you were making it. You just did.

Sherlock pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. You tried to look away, but his firm hand cupped your chin directing your gaze at him. “No. I don’t want your skull. I want you alive and safe. Anything less and I’ll never be satisfied.”

His eyes seemed to glow as you stared into them. The gorgeous blue lulled you in like a siren at sea. You couldn’t turn away as he brought your face closer to wipe away the tears that had fallen from your face.

“Okay,” you said in a hushed tone.

Sherlock seemed content with that answer and pulled you in to brush his lips against your forehead. He wanted to do more but now wasn’t the time. He wanted to whisper his heart and soul’s greatest secret into your ears and breathe it into your skin. He wanted you, all of you, but for now, holding you close, your heart thumping against each other, and the peaceful melody of your breath against his neck was all he needed.

____

Comment below if you would like to be added to the Sherlock One shot tag list! Feel free to reblog or comment, I love hearing from readers.

Tag list:

@bartokthealbinobat

@astudyinlaura

@sherlockstrangewolf

@yourleastfavoriteguyinthechair

______