Hello! Just a Steven for youu 😄
Just look at him.
Imagine him coming home from work, having spent the day being berated and bullied by his boss, (he always bites his tongue because he's just too much of a nice guy to retaliate.) He feels tired and worn down, like his sanity is only being held together by a thread.
But then he opens the door to his apartment and sees you and it's as if he's just witnessed the sunrise after an endless winter. The tension melts from his shoulders and he doesn't even bother kicking off his shoes or removing his jacket as he makes a beeline for the couch and joins you there.
You've grown accustomed to him being the small spoon and his body moulds perfectly against yours as if whoever was responsible for your existence had prior knowledge of your union and created you both accordingly.
He'd tell you about his day, speaking his words into your neck and adding that his work shift was only made survivable by the knowledge that afterwards he'd get to return to you. He'd probably apologize for being tired and not making much conversation because he's just that sweet.
Such pretty, strained whimpers would fall past his parted lips when your fingers work their way into his curls and he'd just fall apart beneath your hand, secure in the knowledge that you'll put him back together again when the time comes.
Pairing: Sherlock x Reader
Summary: It’s taken you a while to realise. But Sherlock Holmes is a very touch starved man.
Word Count: 800
Warnings: none, just fluff and soft Sherlock
a/n: It’s been a while since I’ve written for Sherlock and I think it’s about time I go back to my roots :)
You hadn’t noticed it before now.
You hadn’t noticed when his fingers would drag across your palm when you released his hand, almost as if he were hesitant to let you go. You hadn’t noticed when his hold on you tightened and your shirt bunched in his fists each time he had his arms around you. You hadn’t noticed when his eyes softened and slid shut when your hand fondly made its way through his hair.
But now, as you lay together in the quaint living room of 221B it was clear as day. You suddenly couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it before. Sherlock Holmes was touch starved.
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I could fix him. I could make him worse. Good for you. I could gently take the weapon out of his shaking, blood-soaked hand and hold him until he finally believes that he doesn't have to be defined by all the ways the world has hurt him. Then we could ruin the lives of everyone who has ever treated him like he's a monster who doesn't deserve love.
(◡‿◡✿)
(ʘ‿ʘ✿) “what you say ‘bout me”
(ʘ‿ʘ)ノ✿ “hold my flower”
Hey alexa, play ‘hippopotamus’ by Oscar Isaac
"layla turned you down, didn't she?"
lmaooo even marc knew khonshu had no chance with layla
Sherlock x Reader
Summary: When Euros entangles Y/N in her violent game of intellect, Sherlock must sacrifice something he never expected to care for. As he looks back upon what he will lose, he sees only the fragments of his shattered heart…
▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️
Sherrinford, High Security Prison
“If you want her out of the game, you’ll have to burn her out of it.”
“Sister, please. I beg of you… don’t.”
Sherlock Holmes stood hunched before the monitor, his tone bleeding with desperation.
“I’m afraid this is non negotiable. It’s either her heart or her life. Choose one or I’ll have no choice but to take both. Of course, the bit about her heart won’t be in the metaphorical sense, you understand.”
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Request: could you please do what would dating my sweet baby steven grant would include please if not it’s okay! i love you hope you’re doing good! 🤍
Of my goodness my lovely of course!!
If you enjoy, please do let me know!! I’ve been really anxious about posting my work recently, so every kind comment really does help <3
Warning, slight NSFW content!
(I do not own Moon Knight or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @marveledits.)
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°
Steven Grant, first and foremost, is a worry wart. I mean, a MASSIVE worry wart. Poor man was lying cradling his knees on the museum’s bathroom floor before he even had a chance to build up the nerve to ask you, his colleague, out for some bread or pizza or something.
The poor man, he nearly passed out when he came scrambling out from the bathroom after lunch and back to the gift shop desk. The sweat was pretty much dripping off his skin, and his mouth kept floundering as he ran and skidded to a stop in front of where you were scanning the new box of scorpion jellies.
‘Hiy/n-I think you’re really beautiful-and I’ve liked you for aslongasIcanremember- do you wanna maybe get some bread?’
You weren’t sure whether to start blushing as you placed the scanner down, or jump over the desk and hold your hands out for him with how much he was wobbling back and forth on his feet. As you step round towards him, the poor boi is wringing his hands so tightly they fear they might snap off. So you do the only thing you can think of and grab them, lips twitching at the way his eyes widen and you can hear the breath hitch in his throat.
He’s watching the way your lips move, eyes brimming with tears and close to crying as you tell him ‘you’d love to go to dinner with him, are you free tonight?’. He finds he can only nod fervently, the grin that brightens his face so colossal and overwhelming he starts hyperventilating. You have to sit with him, tucked knee to tuck knee under the desk for a while, hiding from your boss and cradling his shaking hands on your knees. Every so often while you’re talking his forehead accidently bumps against yours, and he breaks out into a fit of nervous giggles.
I feel like your first kiss would be on the museum steps a few weeks after dating. It had been a lovely evening of eating chimichangas and sharing an ice cream on the stone fountain by his living statue friend. He had extended his arm to you, and you gripped the soft rumples of his jacket happily as the two of you wandered back to the bus stop by the museum square. The two of you had a few minutes to spare before your buses arrived at the terminal, so he gladly agreed when you asked if he’d like to just sit for a while and watch the sunset.
You can find him inching closer and closer every so often on the cold marble step next to you, stopping so often as if terrified that you’ll finally come to your senses and reject his presence. Eventually, he’s sort of half sitting with his fists resting uncomfortably on his knees, and half scrunched over you. But his presence is always so soft, so calm, so comforting, as he peers up at you with those wonderous eyes. His attention is always on you. Always. Just looking at you with this almost timeless intensity. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, to want to spend his whole life ensnared by the most superlunary being he’s ever met. It feels like burning, the fire flickering in his eyes as he gazes at you betraying how much love cripples him on the inside, and yet he’s still smiling that gentle smile. As if he’s just always been waiting for you, and suddenly everything makes sense.
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I love daydreaming and not having to participate in life
“I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy.”
— Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.
#meet my friend.