#sebastian x jim

[thesleepy1]

The Sniffling Tiger

A/N: I have loads of things that I should be doing. Am I doing those things though? No. No I am not. Instead of getting work done, I am writing a fanfic. :D This one is another incorrect quote by the lovely @devil_in_westwood on instagram.  

Pairings: Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Summary: Sebastian is taken by the Virgin and his Soldier. All that he can hope for is a swift death before Jim finds out that he’s gone.  

Or, 

“Sherlock: Where’s your owner. 

Sebastian: I aint’ tell you SHI—wait what you call him?

Sherlock: *to john* After all the blows to the head he must be losing his hearing… Your OWNER, Colonel where is he? 

Sebastian: Oh fuck you virgin, I heard what you said. But he’s my Boss not my owner. 

John: Tell that to the GPS microchip in your neck.” 

Word count: 924

Warnings: Violence, possessive!Jim, dark!Jim, brief mentions of torture, brief mentions of water boarding, language,

Sebastian was going to catch a cold. He just knew it. He should’ve put on the jumper that Jim had been nagging him about. But he had wanted to be a brat and now he was paying for it. 

The sniper didn’t actually think that Sherlock was going to waterboard him. He thought that it was an empty threat. The pale, lanky man looked like a swift breeze would blow him over, let alone be capable of torturing anyone. If anyone was going to draw blood, Sebastian had thought that it would be Johnny boy. 

Boy was he wrong. 

The dirty water was soaked into his clothes, clinging to his skin. His hair was damp. His gooseflesh had gooseflesh. A draft from an open window made him shiver. Sebastian hated that he knew his skin would be flushed red right now. The cut on his lip wasn’t helping his appearance either.

Suffice to say, Sebastian wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants in the future. 

“Where’s your owner?” That came from Sherlock. The man was in his signature overcoat, a scarf snuggly tied around his long neck. 

“I ain’t telling you SHI—wait what did you call him?” 

Sherlock turned to look at his soldier. “After all the blows to the head he must be losing his hearing…” His head turned on a swivel back to Sebastian. Blue-green eyes glared down. “Your OWNER, Colonel, where is he?” 

Sebastian spat venom, “Oh fuck you virgin, I heard what you said. But he’s my boss, not my owner.” 

John gripped Sebastian’s sandy hair in a vice. He tugged Sebastian’s head back, exposing his neck. “Tell that to the GPS microchip in your neck.” 

Sebastian laughed at a punchline only he knew. It wasn’t the happy kind of laugh either. It came with thick mucus and sniffling snot. “Jim likes to keep track of his assets. I’m not a fucking dog, I’m a weapon he doesn’t like being misplaced.” Sebastian laughed again, his voice rough. “A dog would get better treatment.” 

“Oh I bet you get treated just fine,” Sherlock said with a condescending tone. “You probably get to sleep at the foot of his bed if you behave, don’t you?” 

Sebastian tensed up, wrenching his head out of John’s grip and glaring at the floor. His breaths were coming in heavy. “Fuck you. You know nothing about me.” Sebastian was going to break his hands to get out of his bindings if he had to. He really did not want to be here. 

“But I do, Colonel Moran. Or…what was it Jim called you again? Panther? Lion…? Ah, something with patterns.” Sherlock held his chin as if deep in thought. He had a shit eating grin plastered on his face. “That’s right. Tiger.” 

“Shut up!” Sebastian snarled. “You have no right to use that name.” 

“Well if you prefer pussy cat, I can call you that too,” John added with a smirk of his own. 

“Tiger’s a much better fitting name for him. You should see his lovely strips sometime…” Jim said in a singsong voice. “Then again, I’d have to kill you after. His strips are for my eyes only.” The gun pressed to John’s head was for theatrics, but the present audience didn’t know that. 

They could all hear when the safety was off. 

“Sherlock,” Jim sang. “You know better than to take away my toys. I wasn’t done playing with him just yet.” 

“Kill John and I will stop at nothing to end you,” Sherlock threatened. Everyone present knew he meant it too. 

“Take away my tiger again and we’ll see what I’m capable of. You’ve seen nothing, Sherlock. NOTHING.” 

Sherlock seemed to debate the odds in his head for a second. All was quiet. 

“Fine…Take him and leave. No one has to get hurt.” 

“He’s bleeding, Sherlock. You’ve already broken my toy.” 

Sherlock gestured to his own lips. “Do the same to me. Then we’re ev—” 

Jim took the opening before Sherlock was even finished. Only Jim didn’t aim for the mouth like offered. He went for Sherlock’s nose. He felt his knuckles ache, knowing with certainty that he broke bone. 

“Now we’re even.” 

***** 

Sebastian couldn’t stop sneezing as he got off the elevator. He was definitely sick.Which made an already shitty day worse. Jim didn’t like anything to do with germs, let alone spend time with someone with the flu. He was going to make Sebastian sleep on the couch or have him stay at a shabby safe house with no heating. 

Sebastian hugged his arms to conserve what little heat that he could. “Thanks for getting me, boss.” He coughed, the action causing more pain than it was worth. “Let me get some warmer clothes and then I’ll head out.” 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“To a safe house…? Cause I’m sick?” 

Jim pressed his lips together into a straight line. He had never looked so visibly angry, “If you think I’m going to let you out of my sight then Sherlock must’ve hit you harder over the head than I thought. 

“B-but I-I,” Sebastian stumbled at a loss for words. “But I’m sick? 

“All the more reason for you to stay close to me. You can’t defend yourself in this state.” Jim pointed into the direction of the bathroom. “Go. I’m running you a bath.” 

“Really?” Sebastian couldn’t keep the hopeful smile off his face. 

“Don’t look so happy. The minions will accuse me of abusing my pets. Don’t make me change my mind.” 

Sebastian never ran so fast.

[nightingale2004]

Sherlock bbc next gen: Mormor (Moriarty x Moran) version

Dahlia Mavis Moran Moriarty

Faceclaim: Dove Cameron

Dahlia is the daughter of Criminal Mastermind James "Jim" Moriarty and his partner Sebastian Moran

Her father Jim faked his death by using his brother and came back to Sebastian and Dahlia, who were already out of the country

This girl is a criminal mastermind

Master hacker and master of disguise

Very good actress

Loves to play games with the Holmes family

Loves 80s, 90s, and 2000s music

Her dad's have tried to keep her out of their "business," but she figured it all out and decided to join in

She always has a backup plan

✨️Fashion icon ✨️

She never misses a target when shooting a gun (thanks to Sebastian)

She has her own network for her "bad guy" business

Keeps a close eye on the Holmes family

?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?¿?

+ Molly Hooper's daughter

Margot Joanna Hooper

Faceclaim: Giorgia Whigham

Father unknown (Molly and Sherlock have no idea and have trouble tracking him down)

Margot has known the Holmes since she was a newborn

Sherlock is her godfather

Has a crush on one of the Holmes twins (you decide who 😉)

She does volunteer work at the hospital and spends time with her mom in the morgue

Sherlock and his family love Margot like she's their own

Knows random facts

Knows a few......hundred ways to get a human to stop breathing

Loves spending time with Rosamund and Allison

Loves hearing the Holmes twins play their instruments

Margot and her mother take care of each other

Loves gardening

Loves game nights and holiday dinners

Was taught self-defense by the Holmes kids

She often questions how she got involved with the Holmes and their strange cases

She often cooks for her mother, the Holmes kids, Allison or herself

Helps her mom at work sometimes

[sobbingstars]

Wolfstar but it’s Johnlock

Rosekiller but it’s Mormor

Jegulus but it’s Mystrade

[therapyandprozac]

Always! Wake Me Up!

This is my first fic in a while. I had my partner proofread and they liked it, I hope you do too! I wrote this very late at night and didn’t add a name so this is an any fandom you wish fic, basically this can work for any character.

****

     He has always been the sweetest to you, especially after a scene where he’s basically been beating you for 30 minutes. You're cuddled together on the bed, he’s half asleep up against your back. His foot is touching yours, so you try something that you saw on TikTok. You move your foot forward, just barely out of the way of his toes. It takes about 30 seconds for his half-asleep brain to understand what happened. When it does he jolts his foot back onto yours. You giggle quietly and try again, pulling your foot slowly away he reacts just as quickly but a little more aggressively this time. You decide to test your luck and pull away one more time. 

     Deep in the chest of your boyfriend, forms a dark growl that rises up into a rough “Mine!” As he fully twists your leg under his. Your eyes go wide and you squish your legs together, feeling your anticipating pussy send shivers up your spine. He falls back asleep and you keep squeezing your legs together chasing and craving an orgasm. 

     Your breathing increases and stutters, when behind you “Well,” vibrates through your body. You go stiff as a board pretending nothing happened when you notice pressure on your ass. You turn bright red and hot “He’s hard! I must have been rubbing against him, oh god, oh god.” You think in a panic. 

     “Mmm, my love.”

     “Yes.” You whisper, covering your eyes with your hands so fast. 

     “You woke me up.”

     “I know, I’m sorry!” You bury further into your hands. 

     “No, you're not.” With a smile on his lips that you hear but can’t see, you curl into a ball of embarrassment. He chuckles and pulls you up and over his legs so you’re straddling him. “Does my baby need more?” He says as you bury your face into his shoulder. “Mmm you were just tied to the vibrator for an hour Darlin, I even lost count of how many times my pussy came tonight.” He said moving his hand possessively to your clit and teasing you. Your shoulders drop against him as you moan and your body involuntarily shakes. He laughs and waits for you to sit back up. His voice is rough with sleep “You want more?” he asks. You nod your head from behind your hands. “Words, angel.” He says gently pulling your hands away from your face. 

     “Yes, yes please.” You whisper avoiding his gaze. 

     “You’re so hot mmm, I want you to ride me.” He says running his fingertips up and down your thighs, you nod pleadingly. “Mm, that's my good girl.” 

     You groan, beginning to grind against his dick. You sit up on your knees to line him up, using his tip to play with your clit. You tease him by just barely taking it in, just the head over and over until he groans impatiently and pulls you all the way onto him. You yelp and moan as your hand falls to his chest, he has an evil smile and tired eyes. You lose just about all shame as you grind your hips up and down on him. Taking in everything he gave, feeling it rip out and rush back in. He was the perfect size for you, enough to fill you good and tight but big enough to cause that slightly painful stretch you’ve grown addicted to. 

     You never lasted long on top, because you knew where your g spot was and exactly how to use his dick to fuck yourself senseless. Gasps and moans escape your lips as he just smiles that coy smile, loving watching you bounce on him. It isn’t long until you are so close to coming you beg for help and he chuckles. He grabs your hips in his hands and starts rolling thrusts up into you. You collapse your face back, buried in his shoulder, moaning uncontrollably.

     “Please, please, please!” You gasp so close. He moans but doesn’t say anything. “Mm please, daddy please let me cum.” He groans sitting up pushing you flat on your back. One more dark chuckle as he loses himself in your pussy. Thrusting, pushing and pulling, so fast you’re eyes roll to the back of your head. He hits deep and hard as you cum, short circuiting your brain. He groans but keeps the same speed and your pussy is crying from overstimulation. That beautiful rain before the sun, the pain overtakes your writhing body before it shifts, and it feels like heaven is running through your veins again. 

      “Ahh mmm daddy, daddy please cum inside me please!” You choke out between moans. He groans and keeps plowing into your sweet cunt until you cry out in ecstasy, cumming for the final time tonight. You can feel him pulse as he cums violently inside you. He is groaning and grunting while still pushing and pulling in and out of you. He has his arms to either side of your head as he slows, his breathing shutters as he pulls out of you. 

     “Mmm, I can’t believe you almost didn’t wake me up.” He whispers in your ear. “Always. Wake me up!” He growls.

[renx01]

Out of Sight - Part 6

General idea: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader  & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 2758

Like Jim, Mycroft Holmes is a busy man who doesn’t particularly care to spend his time not working, only tending to make time to deal with family business when absolutely necessary. This was one such occasion, though he didn’t want to alarm his brother. For this reason, he’d approached Charlie, Sherlock’s new neighbour and acquaintance. They seem trustworthy enough, with nothing out of the ordinary coming up during the background check he did on them. What he hadn’t realised before meeting them for the first time, was that they would be able to keep up quite well and for them to not be a goldfish like most people that surrounded his dear brother. Upon their first meeting, they had come off as intelligent and seeming to understand his dealings immediately. Now, he is on his way to meet them again, as something has come up over the past few days that’s actually worth talking about.

Anthea gets out of the car and holds the door for you, motioning for you to get in. ‘Good afternoon Charlie. I’ve been asked to escort you.’ Nodding, you get in and thank her. While you’d expected this, knowing what happened the previous evening, you hadn’t fully considered it before stepping out. Still, you’re wearing a black shirt with black trousers, black Doc Martens chelsea boots and a wool overcoat of the same colour, which you suppose is nice enough, though it’s not nearly as impressive as the three piece suits the British government himself tends to wear. The drive is quiet, as it had been last time. Anthea doesn’t move to talk to you and neither do you move to talk to her. It’s no use, even if you wanted to gather new information by speaking to the assistant, you’re convinced she wouldn’t let anything slip, Mycroft probably had her selected partially based on that ability. Luckily, the drive itself wasn’t too long, only being around twenty minutes. Anthea gets out before you and holds your door for you once again. When you get out, you realise that you’re outside a small patisserie that doesn’t seem to be too busy. ‘Please take a seat at the table that has been reserved for mister Holmes; he will join you shortly.’ She says to you before getting back into the car and telling the driver to head somewhere else.

Stepping inside, you’re met by a warm homey atmosphere. It’s very welcoming and unlike what you would have expected from a meeting with the elder Holmes. You are approached by one of the staff and tell her, a pretty ginger girl that seems to be in her mid twenties, that you would be joining mister Holmes this afternoon. She seems somewhat surprised, but shows you to a table near the back that has a view of the entire shop. After taking off your coat and sitting down, you look around a bit more before glancing at the menu briefly. As per your expectations, it consists mostly of pastries, tarts, and cakes, which can be accompanied by various sorts of teas and coffees. Nothing seems too out of the ordinary for the sort of establishment it is, and based on the staff knowing Mycroft, it seems to be a favourite of his. Having known his younger brother for a short while now, it isn’t out of the realm of your expectation for him to only visit a limited number of establishments because he likes it there and feels comfortable. Luckily for you, the wait isn’t long or anything, about three minutes. You see him walk in and interact with staff, the manner of which confirms that he is indeed a regular at this particular establishment. Standing up, you greet him and shake his hand. ‘Good afternoon mister Holmes.’ ‘Afternoon Charlie, I’m glad you could make it.’ He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. It never really does with him, there’s a reason as to why Jim’s nicknamed him the “Iceman”. ‘Well thank you for the invitation, sir. This establishment is quite lovely.’ He sits down opposite of you. ‘Yes of course, I thought it more comfortable to meet in a different setting this time around; and please, do call me Mycroft. If we are to keep up this arrangement and discuss quite intricate details about my dear brother, I suppose it would only be fitting for us to call one another by our first names.’ He waves to the girl from earlier that you’re ready to order after you nod your head, confirming that you’d understood. She approaches and smiles at the two of you in a manner that you aren’t quite familiar with. ‘I’ll have a piece of your Opéra accompanied by a cup of black coffee, please.’ He turns to you, looking expectantly, probably wondering what you’d get. ‘A piece of tarte tatin with a cup of your English Breakfast blend for me, please.’ The waitress miles and writes it down before walking away. ‘Hadn’t expected you to go for tea.’ Mycroft notes. ‘Well, I’ve already had a few cups today, and it doesn’t go particularly well with tarte tatin, so I thought it’d be better for me to have some tea.’ ‘You are correct about that.’ He muses at your response. 

You only start talking about business once your drinks and pastries arrive, not wanting to risk others overhearing. You’re to the point with everything that’s happened up until now, giving him a chronological timeline of the goings on at 221B and answering any questions he has. 

‘So then John was kidnapped and I joined Sherlock in getting him out.’ Recounting what happened the previous night was easy enough. ‘How did you “get him out”, supposing there was this deadly assassin.’ Looking him dead in the eyes, you tell him that you’d used his brother as a decoy and shot the assassin in his shoulder before he could really do anything, then moved the ballista so it wouldn’t hit Sarah. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re a good shot then.’ Mycroft leans back, having already finished his cake and slowly drinking his coffee. ‘I’m alright, pretty average for someone with basic police training, I think.’ Quickly, you turn to ask him a question. ‘Did you manage to find the leader of this trafficking ring? I’m assuming correctly, you’ve been tracking them in the background considering they’ve been involved with a few murders recently.’ He nods. ‘This is strictly confidential, so the only thing I can let slip is that we did find her, but unresponsive. Make of that what you will.’ You widen your eyes slightly, mimicking surprise. Knowing Seb, shot clean between her eyebrows and nothing left to trace the bullet to him. ‘Well alright, thanks for informing me.’ You smile, ‘I won’t ask any more questions about it then.’ He sighs slightly. ‘Well I do appreciate it. Usually Sherlock and his acquaintances tend to ask a lot of unnecessary questions; or at least questions I legally cannot answer.’ ‘I assume you mean John.’ You muse before taking another sip of your tea, finishing the cup. ‘Yes, indeed. He does ask awfully many questions even when the answer is right in front of him.’ He finishes his cup as well. ‘I think Sherlock doesn’t mind, he likes showing off his cleverness.’ ‘That he does indeed. His personal goldfish to impress.’ Mycroft whispers that last part, probably so you wouldn’t hear it. But you do, and you can’t help but smile at the comment. Jim had mentioned something similar about Sherlock and “his little friend”. Though Jim seemed more jealous than anything, while Mycroft just seems annoyed. You assume it’s because Sherlock has started to become more sentimental than he was before, more weak in Mycroft’s opinion. 

Deciding that the conversation has gone on for long enough, you stand up. ‘Well Mycroft, this has been lovely. I do, however, need to run some more errands this afternoon.’ You pull out your wallet and start pulling out the money necessary to pay for your drink and pastry. ‘Charlie, I’m paying.’ Mycroft tries to stop you. ‘I insist.’ You reply. ‘No, please.’ He stands up. ‘I insist, Mycroft.’ He signs and gives in. ‘Alright then. If I cannot stop you, I shall repay you by other means.’ ‘You may certainly try.’ You grin at him before putting down the required money onto the table and turning around. ‘See you in two weeks.’

You did, in fact, run the remaining errands for that day. You did your grocery shopping for the week before also quickly picking up the package of kickboxing and MMA gear you’d ordered since Seb couldn’t get yours to you in time. That evening you would have your first class at a new gym, so you’re hoping it’s at least somewhat successful. You have noticed, over time while training at many different gyms, that it can be a bit hit or miss, but generally the people tend to be quite nice. Over the past week you looked into a few gyms, but not all offered sparring, which is why you ended up at this one. Before heading there, you got dressed in your training clothes and put on some joggers, sneakers and a hoodie over top for the road there, which luckily, isn’t too far.

The gym itself isn’t large by any means, mostly consisting of mats with punching bags lining it and a small section with weights somewhere tucked away in a corner. When you walk in, you’re greeted by a guy with short jet-black hair, wearing kickboxing shorts and a tight shirt. ‘Hello, you must be Charlie.’ He shakes your hand. ‘That’s correct.’ You smile at him. ‘My name’s Noah, nice to meet you. I saw you applied for a trial lesson, do you have any experience with fighting?’ His inquiry is pretty standard for these sorts of classes, especially when it’s your first time at a gym. ‘Yeah, I’ve been training for a couple of years now, but had to get new gear because of an unexpected move.’ He starts walking in and motions you to follow. ‘Well, no worries, everyone needs to get new gear from time to time.’ As you walk past a few doors, he motions at them. ‘We have a few dressing rooms, lockers, and showers here if you want to use them.’ You nod. ‘Thanks, that’s quite useful to know.’ ‘Yeah, though they aren’t used much. Most people prefer to get ready and shower at home.’ He laughs a bit sheepishly. ‘Well, it’s always nice to have the option. I already got ready at home, but I’ll keep it in mind.’ You’re fully led into the gym and Noah introduces you to the group you’ll be training with tonight. ‘Everyone! This is Charlie, they’re new here so please, as always, be respectful.’ You wave at the group of men. ‘Hello Charlie!’ They say in unison, before continuing to get ready for the training. You put your bag on one of the shelves that line the walls and take off your shoes and joggers, leaving you in a pear of loose-fitting shorts and your hoodie. You prefer keeping on your hoodie throughout the warming up, which starts not too long after you finish wrapping your hands.

The training session at the gym went relatively normally. After warming up, you take off your hoodie and put on the rest of your gear before doing some basic combinations using both punches and kicks. It isn’t too bad, as you slowly build up the intensity throughout training. Towards the end, there’s the possibility to do some sparring, though most of the guys seem somewhat reluctant to do so with you as you’re new to the gym. Jay, one of the guys you were paired with most, eventually agrees, based on how you’d performed in the pair exercises. Still, it wouldn’t be too serious since you don’t have too much protective gear, so you agreed not to hit each other in the head. ‘Good luck.’ you both say to each other before giving a fistbump. You do a little hop, but he’s the first one to throw a jab. You’re able to block it with ease before responding with a basic left-right combination, breathing out with each hit. He blocks both punches and responds by giving a jab that’s followed by a right hook. You duck so that he swings over your head. When you get up, you feign an uppercut motion, making him move to the right, and follow by a low kick to his knee. It connects with relative ease and forces him to stumble forward, almost falling. You use this momentum to follow up with a knee to his stomach, though not at full force. Apparently, he hadn’t expected this from you, resulting in him not being able to prepare for the hits. ‘Fuck.’ He whimpers and holds up his glove. ‘Give me a moment Charlie.’ You step back and look at the man that’s quite a bit taller and heavier than you are. ‘Yeah of course.’ From the corner of your eye, you see Noah move to watch the situation a bit more closely. Jay stands up again after a while and signals that he’s ready to continue again. You give him the possibility to throw the first hit again. His moves are pretty predictable, his body showing what punches or kicks he’s about to do next. You answer each and every single one of them with punches and kicks that are about seventy percent of your ability, but they’re still hard to those that aren’t professionals. Eventually, Jay goes for a roundhouse kick with his right, his preferred leg to kick with. You see it coming and block it with your arm before doing another low kick, this time to his left leg, making him fall to the ground. He looks at you in defeat as you stand over him, smirking slightly. You take off your right glove and offer him your hand, which he takes and so you help him up. ‘That was quite impressive.’ Jay seems quite tired, breathing heavily. Noah approaches you not too long after, congratulating you on the win and telling Jay he did well. ‘Nicely done Charlie, your moves were very well calculated. Nice job to you as well Jay, there were a lot of good combinations in there.’ You thank him and start taking off the remainder of your gear. Noah starts helping Jay and makes sure he’s alright after your session. Apparently, it did more of a number on him than you had expected. The other guys had been too busy with their own sparring to see how you did, but still congratulate you on “beating” Jay. ‘Thanks guys, I appreciate it. He was pretty solid generally, but his legwork could be approved upon.’ ‘Yeah that tends to be a bit of his weakness when sparring. Got a solid low kick though.’ You agree and put on your hoodie back on when you’ve undone your handwraps. Jay joins your little gaggle not too long after, smiling sheepishly at you when he’s putting away his things. ‘Hadn’t really expected you to be this good.’ His admission doesn’t surprise you, most people tend to underestimate you a bit. ‘Well, glad I proved you wrong then.’ You look at him and grin.  You quickly make your way home after thanking everyone for the training session. It hadn’t been extraordinary or anything, but it remains a good way of keeping up your form while undercover. You’d come to an agreement with Noah and got a membership so you could train there whenever, whether that be in a group or on your own during their opening hours.

Opening the door, you’re met by an empty hallway. Considering it is already getting late, you decide to remain quiet and slip into your own apartment. There, you take a shower and put on some comfortable clothes before heating up some food. It isn’t anything special, just some spicy noodles with vegetables on the side. Upon finishing your food, you do the dishes and decide to just head to bed. Despite it being the weekend, you prefer keeping a relatively steady rhythm when it comes to getting a night’s rest. Especially with what your job usually entails, it means that the not so hectic days and nights allow you to regain energy, which you’re fully allowing yourself to do now. After getting into bed, you feel your body relax, releasing the stress of the past week.

Taglist: @h-malacus @thegirlwhosimpstoomuch @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

I forgot to add certain characters to my last post 😪 so here are the ones I forgot, also requests are closing soon!

[roguishnymph]

Hello! I have a Black Butler reader insert fanfic that currently has three chapters out. It's called 1875. If you are interested in reading here's the link:

[hitchell-mope]

Stranger things little mermaid au

Jane. Ariel

Mike. Eric

Will. Flounder

Jonathan. Sebastian

Jim. Triton

Brenner. Ursula

[mormorproposal]

I probably won't ever finish the shards of my aphasia au mormor fic, HOWEVER I still feel like posting it, soooo have at it under the cut, if you wanna read it :)

apha·​sia

(n.) loss or impairment of the power to use or comprehend words usually resulting from brain damage

Your teeth tear up my skin without a single hint of remorse. You simply latch onto me as is your given right. Hands dig into my hips, I relax against the fridge. It isn’t ideal but who am I to negate anything from you ever?

It’s going to bruise. Your palms etched onto my skin like ghosts. We’ve done worse to each other, I know – still, it’s the imprecision behind it all that keeps me up at night.

You used to map my body with delicate rivers plastered on me. Precise. Fine lines, sharp edges, the most complicated brush strokes. I was there to ride out your artistic urges. The new art style needs adjustment to. I’m not used to you being out of control, it sets me on edge slightly.

But it is still you after all, even after everything, so I relax and let you do your personal kind of therapy. Pain and blood is what we always communicated best in, anyways.

You set upon sucking my skin in between your teeth, keeping a rhythm of releasing my flesh and trapping it again. My eyes flutter shut, the hand that is on your back pressing you more tightly against me. Responsively, your nails are scratching at my skin through my shirt. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to and something in me feels like breaking.

“Jim,” I croak. Your eyes wander upwards, meet my gaze, hold it. I want to pick you up, cradle you, keep you safe from harm, bash anyone’s head in who makes you feel small. There’s a quick jab in my upper torso. What?

I exhale a ragged breath I was unaware of ever holding and shake my head slightly. Your teeth sink deeper, drawing blood. I groan. Boss didn’t like that.

Still, you resume your work, searching for another place to bear pain. I do not think about the implications. Do not think about what it means. I certainly don’t think about your eyes. Haunting me, pleading me to take it all away. I stiffen; your left hand clumsily pushing against my side in discontent. I wince. Look up to the ceiling and blink. Do not cry, Moran!

***

The doctor eventually leaves us to it. One last look of sympathy and she’s out of the door. I hate her already.

“You look awful, sir” I say for lack of better words. It feels hollow. You hate small talk and here I am talking away. You simply grunt, disapproval encapsulated in it. I don’t blame you. It’s not every day that you wake up in a hospital room after blowing your brains out. I hate you for that, you know? The thought of what could’ve been if I hadn’t been quick enough gnaws at my insides; I have to watch your chest raising and lowering to keep my own breathing in check.

You could’ve died and that just wouldn’t do. Holmes is dead, after all – I saw him jump myself. I had orders to watch Watson, I know, I know, I know but then there was the gunshot ringing and how could I not look. Surely you know me better than that. You are always my first priority. Always have been, always will be.

“You won, in case no one told you yet.” How could they possibly have? Last time they saw you, you were still unconscious, staining the concrete. I swallow and you watch my Adam's apple bob, something like triumph glinting in your eyes. You open your mouth at that, exhale shakily, and knit your eyebrows together in confusion. Maybe the glint was just a trick of the light. Your mouth closes and opens again; fish on dry land.

I have crossed the room in an instance, press down on your shoulder lightly. “What’s wrong?” The metal of the hospital bed is cool against my triceps and I can’t shake the thought of Everything. “Great” You mutter eventually, nodding to yourself, before shaking your head a small fraction. “Great” You repeat again, facing me this time and smiling. It doesn’t reach your eyes and something in my heart goes terribly cold. Sure, you aren’t in the bestest of conditions but your looming win shouldn’t feel this gloomy. You should be ecstatic, if anything. Bordering on manic. I’ve planned it all out for us, honestly. The restaurant we’d celebrate at. The camera in our room, only waiting for us to shag, a sympathy card for the upcoming funeral.

This doesn’t feel like anything celebratory at all. Hasn’t felt that way when all the doctor had for me was a sympathetic look and a referral to another doc, and certainly doesn’t feel that way now with you actually staying in bed instead of yanking me to you, insisting you shall be out here at once!

“Phon” You manage to mumble near the direction of my hand on your shoulder, then again. “Phon, phon, phon!” It grows more frantic each time, stumbles out of your mouth, tickles the skin on my hand. You laugh. Bubbles out of you, bounces off the walls, rings in my ears. You choke on it, possibly as surprised by the sound as I am. My brows knit together in confusion. The next giggle has panic vibrating through it. “Ligert” You sigh when the shaking of your shoulders subsides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phon, in this context, is supposed to be the word "won" & Ligert is supposed to be the word "Tiger" - both of which faced a common symptom of fluent aphasia (namely: phonemic paraphasia during which incorrect phonemes are substituted or, as for the t in ligert, added)

[hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon]

The final chapter of my “Jim Jimenez has thoughts about gender and identity” fic is up!

This one focuses on Jim realizing who they are as a person now, and enjoying it. It gave me so much joy to write I hope you guys like it!

[magerightsyeah]

the third most popular ship in Sherlock was between two characters who didn’t have a single on-screen (or off-screen) interaction and there was also a ship between two characters where one of them did not exist in the show at all (except he did kinda once but the fandom completely ignored that version of the character)

TikTokers are such pussies when it comes to ships. “B-but they’re not canon 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😖😖” honey back in my day we shipped characters from entirely different medias uphill both ways in the snow

[renx01]

Out of Sight - Part 5

General idea: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader  & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 2006

Masterlist

The show was interesting to say the least, but you were happy when you finally managed to return to your flat. Keeping Sherlock from constantly over-explaining the acts to Sarah, who only got closer to John as the show continued. At some point Sherlock disappeared backstage, only reappearing by crashing into the auditorium with a warlord on top of him. John shooting out to help him as the audience scattered, you take Sarah out of the room. You’re followed by the two men, not too far behind you. 

On the way to the police station, Sherlock explains what he had been doing behind the scenes. He’d found the yellow paint moments before he’d been attacked by the warlord. He also notes that he had seen a tattoo on the bottom of the foot of one of the performers, with it matching the ones they’d seen on the victims. You mostly just nod and enquire about what the seal looks like. ‘It’s a seal with a lotus of some sort.’ Sherlock had said. Upon your arrival at the nearest police station, you’re met by an officer you haven’t seen before. Sherlock quickly explains to him what happened, noting that you’d been followed out of the venue. The officer puts it into the system before sending you away, saying he isn’t able to do much more at the moment. 

The four of you leave and head back to Baker Street, where John decides you should probably have some food. Not wanting to be a part of John’s date for much longer, you tell them you’re quite tired and before heading downstairs to your own flat. Not too long after, you hear the front door open, you suppose for their food delivery. You turn to your kettle to start boiling some water, but you stop midway through the motion because you hear shuffling and something drop. That’s unusual. You put down the kettle and walk to your door, opening it as quietly as possible. When you look around the corner, you see a man dressed in black quietly shuffling down the stairs with John, who you’re pretty sure is unconscious, thrown over his shoulder. Quickly, you close the door. Had it not been for you having to lay low and you’d have helped him then and there, but you supposed Sherlock would find out soon enough and go look for his companion. You turn on the kettle and message Jim.

You should reel them in, they just kidnapped John and his date. I assume they think he’s Sherlock or something. Will probably have to help SH and intercept. -S

As the water starts to come to a boil, you quickly change in some more comfortable, black clothes. Something that doesn’t look too suspicious given what you usually wear, but will help you manoeuvre around without too making much sound. You also grab one of your (many) guns and put it in one of your somewhat hidden pockets, where it’s easy to reach but hard to find if you don’t know it’s there. The kettle finally boils and you make yourself a cuppa. Upon taking the first sip, you hear multiple heavy and somewhat frantic knocks at your door. ‘I’m on my way.’ You put down the cup and open the door, where you’re met by the consulting detective himself. He looks quite panicked, which in a way you had expected, just not to this extent, meaning his weakness for John is much bigger than Jim (or Mycroft for that matter) had anticipated. ‘John’s gone. I’m certain that he’s been taken by the murderer and by extension the criminal network we’ve been investigating.’ Nodding, you grab your coat and join him, heading outside as quickly as possible.

‘Sherlock, I suggest you go in and I help from the shadows. You’re an amazing distraction and then I’ll be able to get John and Sarah out from the shadows.’ He nods, agreeing that it’d probably be the best plan of action. And so, that’s what the two of you do when you go in. John and Sarah are bound to separate chairs with rope about five feet from each other. While John has a gun pointed at him, Sarah is unfortunate enough to have a balasta pointed at her. John does look somewhat worried, Sarah on the other hand looks frightened and like she’s about to lose it. Given that she probably hasn’t been in such a situation, it makes sense, and any sensible human being would probably react like she is. Being the drama-queen he is, Sherlock waltzes in as if he owns the place, ridiculing that they hadn’t realised they had the wrong person entirely. Still, the ballista is slowly getting closer to being fired at the woman. It’s unclear to you what exactly happens, but one moment Sherlock’s trying to untie Sarah, and the next he’s been caught by some sort of a rope, forcing him away. ‘For god’s sake, he can’t do anything on his own, can he?’ You whisper to yourself before shooting in the shoulder of the man that’s trapping the detective. After which you immediately sprint to the ballista and point it towards one of Shen’s other henchmen, since it’s about to fire. It does so, and pierces the man through his chest. You take the opportunity of the confusion that ensues to run to John and cut the ropes. Sherlock does the same for Sarah. However, when you look up, Shen is gone.

The following day you contact Sebastian while you’re on your run. It isn’t that you see him or anything, you just leave him a codified message for him to find while you’re at the park for your daily run. The response follows in the form of a text message as you’re making your daily morning coffee. 

We dealt with it, you don’t have to worry about them anymore. -SM

You suppose he was the one to “deal with” them last night. 

I’d hope so. It really was a bit of a pain and entirely unnecessary. -S

Rather than getting a text back, he calls you.

‘Hello?’ His voice sounds low, as if he doesn’t want to alarm someone of his presence. ‘Hi, hope you’re alright.’ ‘Yes, yes, don’t worry about me.’ He pauses before continuing. ‘Jim’s pretty mad about the situation, he’ll probably contact you to apologise at some point soon.’ You sigh. ‘Will he? He isn’t one to apologise generally speaking. No matter, tell him to make sure the camera’s aren’t working wherever we meet up. The eldest Holmes seems to be keeping an eye on me. Probably wants to gauge if I’m trustworthy.’ You take a sip of your coffee before getting out your laptop. It’s one you usually use for purposes related to your actual job. Jim’s had it encrypted so that even the best systems the government uses can’t get into it. ‘I’ll let him know.’ As you’re typing in your password, he speaks up again, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled momentarily. ‘You know I do miss you, you know that right?’ You’re scrolling past a few documents, so you only make a noise that confirms you do. ‘We both miss you. The penthouse feels a bit empty. You were barely back and had to leave again…’ Jim rents a penthouse with enough rooms for all of you to live comfortably while still having your own space. The three of you have always been pretty close, with you and Seb being Jim’s closest confidantes, having been there pretty much from the beginning. And it’s true, you’d barely been back in England and Jim had sent you off, not even being able to stay in the penthouse you’d usually call home. Still, it was mostly you and Seb there, with Jim being at his estate most of the time to take care of business without being bothered too much. ‘I miss you guys too, but we both know it’s necessary.’ ‘You’re right, I’m just being sentimental.’ He sighs. ‘Don’t be, you know it’s a form of weakness.’ That last sentence comes out a bit harsher than you’d hoped, but it is the motto most go by in your profession. ‘We’ll meet again soon, I have to go now.’ You say as you hear someone walking down the steps, probably John based on the sound of it. ‘Yeah, soon Spike.’ He says before ending the call.

When you check for the caller ID, you see that there isn’t one. Not that it really mattered, this isn’t the phone you use to contact anyone you interact with on this mission. You have several phones you keep on you, two of them basically at all times. This one in particular is a blackberry, very much contrary to the iPhone you use on the daily to keep up appearances of you being a regular person that works at the Yard. A knock at your door has you going into action. Quickly, you close and put away your laptop before grabbing your cup of coffee and (somewhat) casually walking to and opening the door. As expected, it’s John. ‘Hello John, good morning.’ He looks up slightly as you open the door, since you’re about an inch and a half taller than him. ‘Good morning Charlie. I wanted to thank you for last night. You really helped us out there.’ You smile at him. ‘No problem at all, you were in a bit of a pickle and I suppose friends help in such situations.’ Friends. It’s a term you hadn’t used with him yet, but you guessed that he probably sees you in that way, so using the term could only strengthen that feeling. ‘Still, it was a lot; quite dangerous as well.’ The look you give him is nothing short of unimpressed. ‘John, I work at Scotland Yard, I’ve been in worse situations. Despite what you might think because of my current role, I’ve had basic training and been out in the field multiple times.’ He looks a bit surprised. ‘Do you want some coffee perhaps? It’s Saturday so I don’t have anywhere to go and I just made a pot.’ You step aside to invite him in. ‘Sure.’ He steps inside and you close the door behind him. You gesture for him to have a seat at your kitchen table. ‘I do hope I didn’t ruin your date with Sarah last night.’ He laughs. ‘Oh you didn’t ruin it. I think we both know Sherlock’s the one that was behind that.’ ‘About that, you are correct. Though maybe I should’ve expected where we were going and stopped him.’ You hand him his cup of coffee and sit down opposite of him. By the sounds of it, he doesn’t sound too worried about the entire situation. ‘So why do you tolerate it, John?’ ‘What do you mean? Tolerate what?’ Surely he knows what you’re talking about but just doesn’t want to admit it immediately. ‘Tolerate Sherlock ruining your dates, taking over your life and social life. All that sort of stuff.’ You make eye contact with him as you glance over your cup. ‘He does not take over my life Charlie.’ He deflects a little bit too quickly. ‘If you say so.’ You take another sip. ‘Well anyway, how is Sarah? Is she doing okay after yesterday evening?’ John stayed for about an hour before heading back upstairs, saying he’d promised the consulting detective to go on a case with him. From your conversation it became clear that John cares for Sherlock as well, though you aren’t certain whether he really knows that himself yet. You didn’t care, but you’re sure Jim will use it to his advantage.

That afternoon you decided you’d probably need to go to the shops again, realising that you didn’t have much food in your pantry. You went out not too long after in order to go get it, but you were stopped by a sleek black car pulling up next to you and stopping. Mycroft.

__________

Tags: @h-malacus

[spicyhotchocolate]

The Bored Baker Chapter One

He held the knife up to the white light that shone over the kitchen island, seeing a hospital room. His lips quirked upward, and he watched the knife intently as it lowered to operate. He plunged his other hand into the torn bag of cocaine on the far side of the counter, knocking it off in the process. White powder puffed into the air, and Moriarty took a deep breath, enjoying the small things in life. He idly reached out to wipe the excess cocaine on Seb's sleeve, eliciting a cry of annoyance.

"Hey! There's a towel right behind you. Oh fuck!" Sebastian ducked as a bullet shot right past his head, then raised his own gun and shot back into the living room. "This motherfucker doesn't quit does he?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder as he made his way into the living room. Jim ignored him, though. He was busy.

Focused, he splayed his dusted fingers out on the cookie dough and pressed down gently. The knife in his other hand moved (of its own accord, you understand) to trace the delicate shape of his hand into the dough. It was exhilarating, though he didn't know why, and-

"PLEASE! NO! Nonononono. I'll- I'll give you any-" A gunshot, then silence. Good. He was sick of the interruptions. Jim cracked his neck and got back to work.

Keeping his hand still took a lot of effort, but he knew that the knife wouldn't hesitate to cut him if he twitched, so he made sure that his hand was firmly planted before each trace. Eventually, he had about five hand cookies. The knife fell from his hand with a clatter, and he took it as a sign to start balling the dough back up. When the dough started sticking to his hands, he remembered the cocaine and walked around the kitchen island to cover them in the powder. Standing back up, he clapped his hands together and watched the snowflakes fall.

"You good?" asked Seb from the doorway, evidently alerted by the clap. His face was spattered with blood, and his suit covered in cocaine.

"Master bedroom," said Moriarty without turning around.

"Got it," he said, then left the kitchen.

Jim turned back to his surgery, really working to flatten the dough out as much as possible. He was getting better at tracing now, and with each new handprint the knife worked a little bit faster, the edge ghosting between his fingers. He heard distant screams from upstairs- probably another patient being operated on. When he was tracing his final handprint, his fellow doctor appeared behind him and looked over his shoulder. "The code is eight, three, one, uh... What are you doing?"

Jim turned to face Seb, reaching a hand up to smear the blood dripping from a cut on his cheek. "Get me a baking sheet," he said simply.

Seb hesitated, but went to search the cabinets nonetheless while Jim finished his last handprint. The blood on his finger turned the thumb of the cookie red, and this distracted him so much that the knife cut between his index and middle finger, staining the rest of the cookie crimson. Before he could get angry about it, Seb reappeared with the baking pan. "Is it non-stick?" he asked, applying pressure to his wrist and walking over to the kitchen sink.

"Uh, I think so."

"Good. Put the cookies on and pop 'em in the oven," he ordered, turning on the faucet to rinse off the blood and cocaine, Dye 40 and flour. He hoped they turned out well, not exactly sure about the recipe. It was a shame they had to kill the wife, too. She had been baking cookies in the wrong place at the wrong time, that was all. He dried his hand on a kitchen towel that read, "I'm not bossy! I just know what you should be doing." He smiled back at the wine-guzzling woman embroidered on the front before dropping the rag unceremoniously.

He stretched up into the air. It had been a long fucking day. First Sherlock had gotten one of his dealers arrested, then the traitorous cartel decided to turn on him. They threatened him for money, then they begged him for mercy, and on and on and on it went. It was boring. At least this time there were cookies.

Jim turned and smoothed his suit, satisfied that it was much cleaner than Sebastian's, then headed for the door. "Make sure you pour enough gasoline in the kitchen," he called. "We wouldn't want them under-cooked."

[alicetallula]

BBC Sherlock x Silent Hill - 2012-2013

A little crack idea of a crossover ! I'll probly redo them in my more usual artstyle.

John Watson vs Nurses - 19.04.2012

Done using ink pens and colored pencils

AO3 post / DeviantArt post

Moriarty is a sadist - 28.04.2012

Done using ink pens and colored pencils

AO3 post / DeviantArt post

Moriarty loves Valtiel - 10.05.2012

Done using ink pens and colored pencils

AO3 post / DeviantArt post

Welcome to Silent Hill - 13.09.2013

Done using ink pens and colored pencils

AO3 post / DeviantArt post

Irene Adler approves Pyramid Head - 23.09.2013

Done using ink pens and colored pencils

AO3 post / DeviantArt post

(reblogs are unavailable until I scan and edit the drawing and put it through Nightshade)

[justapotato89]

Think about how many "friends" he's had who ended up "betraying" him. Seb (S1E2) going on about how all his peers in uni hated him. Redbeard betrayed him by disappearing. God knows how many people he's lost throughout the years. And then he meets John, someone who not only accepts him for who he is, but celebrates it. Sherlock isn't be horrified or mad or impressed or whatever by the fact that someone has managed to work past his defences, but hurt, tremendously so. Is he really as unlikeable and unlovable as he thought himself to be every single day? Was it only possible to pretend to like him and not really do so? The one person who has been complimenting, and celebrating him, just wanted to slip in past his defences. Anger would follow hurt, not at John, but at himself. How could he be so naive? How could he imagine that he could get a friend for once? How dare he dream for something more, given the prick he is? And you can see Sherlock just turning back into that hurt, little child. All those years back. A pirate with a map he doesn't understand, no matter how hard he tries. The treasure always out of his reach. The detective with the forever unsolved case. The kid forever unloved. Lost in deep waters again.

this post stabbed me so here's me throwing that knife back

Just want you guys to know what John wrote in his blog about what happened at the pool... "I was made to walk out into the swimming pool area where, I discovered, Sherlock was waiting. The voice in my ear, which I vaguely recognised, told me to say some stuff - which, I realised, gave the impression that I was behind it all. That I, John Watson, was Moriarty. I could see the look in Sherlock's eyes - a flash of, not anger, but hurt. For a second, he looked like a little, lost child. I should have been horrified that he'd even doubt me for a second but, to be honest, it was so refreshingly human of him. He actually did value our friendship. He did, despite himself, care. Then he saw the explosives on me and he realised what was happening."