#jim moriarty fanfiction

[moriartsy]

beyond gilded chains

pairing: jim moriarty x fem!reader

warnings: toxic parents, anxiety attack, sexual tension

summary: what is the lesser of two evils? your father and his world of elites he wants to trap you in? or the overt yet unspoken reality of moriarty's darkness?

w/c: 1.7K

a/n: okay, i know this is kind of cliché, but i have an idea for a jim moriarty story and i have to warm up before i get into it. so i wrote this. i plan on writing a second part and possibly making it a series of oneshots / drabbles. but we'll see how it goes...you can send in requests if you want (and if there are any moriarty enthusiasts still)! thank you for reading !! <3

The grand ballroom of the opulent Ravenscroft Hall shimmered with a golden hue as crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a soft, ambient glow. A symphony of murmurs filled the air, blending seamlessly with the soothing melodies of a string quartet playing in the background. Lavish floral arrangements adorned each table, their fragrances intermingling with the scent of expensive perfumes a polished mahogany.

You stood at the periphery of the extravagant scene, your eyes wandering over the sea of elegantly dressed attendees, each adorned in designer gowns and tailored suits. You fidgeted with the hem of your own exquisite dress, a creation of silk and lace that clung to your figure with the same precision as the couturier's careful stitching.

Despite the expensive fabric enveloping your body, your mood was in a poor state. Honestly, you’d rather be at home, rewatching The Office for the millionth time, but your parents will never let you not attend these events. It's like a chore.

Your parents were proponents of social grace and high society and they had meticulously trained you to navigate such events with poise, concealing any trace of your true feelings beneath a veneer of practiced smiles and genteel conversation.

You sighed.

Suddenly, you felt a new presence at your side. Following the sound of slow footsteps, you found one of your father's associates wearing a smirk that mirrored the self-assured glint in his eyes, sauntering towards you with his hand in the pocket of his dark pants as the other held the fragile flute, a fizzy liquid swirling inside.

"I can see attending these social shindigs brings you such a genuine pleasure. A sheer joy is just radiating from your every pore.“ he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

You forced a tight smile. "That would be an understatement, Moriarty."

You took a sip of your Dom Pérignon, the liquid gold sliding down your throat as Jim chuckled, unfazed by your icy demeanor.

"Is there something you want, Moriarty, or are you just here to grace me with your charming company?"

Moriarty grinned, "I'm just marveling at the spectacle, my dear. Your enthusiasm is truly contagious."

Rolling your eyes, you retorted, "If that's all, then kindly go and marvel elsewhere. Go strangle someone just because they looked at you the wrong way."

Moriarty feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart as his lips formed an 'O' and his brown eyes widened.

"Oh, (Y/N), don't be like that. I thought we were bonding over our shared love for wealth and excess this boring bunch put on display oh so exquisitely," he said as his hand, still occupied by the glass, swept over the room before facing you again with a knowing smile. "But just so you know. I just did." He added with mischief.

You honestly didn't know if he was joking just to entertain you or maybe intimidate you. Moriarty was capable of bringing all of those people to their knees right in that instance. Including you.

"Do you really want my father to come after you that much? He won't stand for anyone bothering his precious daughter, you know," you sassed with an ironic smile, bluffing your way through.

"Ah, the protective father card, awfully clever.“ He murmured, his eyebrows knitted together before his expression became serious again as he leaned in. His scent invaded your nostrils as you fought to maintain your composure. "But you and I both know, (Y/N), your dear father is at my beck and call. He wouldn't dare lift a finger against me, no matter how many threats you throw around."

You held his gaze, but as much as you tried to hide the signs of the turmoil he stirred within you, you cou+ldn’t help but grind your teeth together. You knew there was no point in attempting to deceive him. He was remarkably good at reading people and you couldn’t be more of an open book to him.

His eyes fell to your lips just for a millisecond before they bored into yours once again.

Suddenly, a clink of the glasses between your bodies made you jump and he smirked at that.

"Cheers," he said with his psychotically soft voice, taking a sip of his drink. With that, Jim turned around a walked away, disappearing into the sea of the richest.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He seems to always find you at these events, making your blood boil every time.

Your solitude was short-lived, though, because soon enough, your father appeared at your side. He observed you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"(Y/N), my dear, what was that all about? What did that spider want?"

Always adept at concealing the complexities of your emotions, you responded with a nonchalant smile.

"Oh, nothing. Just a brief exchange of pleasantries."

He probed further. "Pleasantries? You seemed rather tense. Did he say anything about me? Any threats, perhaps?“

Your father was a man driven by self-interest and the desire to maintain his social standing. Moriarty was right, your father would be willing to sell you in pieces if it meant saving his own ass.

You shook your head, your expression composed. "No, Dad, nothing like that. Just some small talk."

Satisfied but still slightly suspicious, your father linked his arm with yours. "Well, let's not dwell on such matters. We're here to enjoy the evening, aren't we?"

He guided you through the lavish crowd, engaging you in conversations that held little interest for you. Stock portfolios, luxury vacations, and exclusive club memberships. You hear it all the time.

It didn't take long for your father to notice your disinterest, though, and it didn't make him happy.

"You should really take more interest in these matters. People talk, you know. It's essential for your future, especially in our circle.“ He hissed at you when he made sure nobody was paying attention, his words dripping with toxicity that echoed the unspoken expectations of your privileged world.

In that moment, you fought an overwhelming urge to snap back, to unleash the resentment that had long been bubbling beneath the surface. You just bit your lip, resisting the impulse.

"I'm sorry, I'm just tired is all," you said with a tight-lipped smile before putting on the aristocratic mask and this time truly engaging in the conversation.

But the air started to feel thick and your eyes started stinging. You couldn’t take a nice deep breath and your joints started to tingle. You quickly put the flute on the tray the passing hostess was holding to hide the slight tremor in your hands.

Fuck. Here we go again.

5 things I can see: chandeliers, flowers, couples dancing, gilded mirrors, candles.

4 things I can touch: my dress, the Champagne glass, smooth marble surfaces, my silver necklace.

3 things I can hear: string quartet melodies, hushed conversations, footsteps.

2 things I can smell: rich perfume, and leather shoes.

1 thing I can taste: bitter Champagne.

You'd fought this anxiety battle right in the middle of a circle of elites many times before and you'd always pushed through. And you always will.

As you finally managed to take a breath and your tears dissolved, you took a quick scan of the room, catching the sight of Moriarty as he watched you.

Great. I’ll never hear the end of this.

The circle of riches finally broke not long after your crisis, and you took that opportunity to excuse yourself from the suffocating atmosphere. The sound of your high heels echoed through your personal space as you headed toward the exit. Unbeknownst to you, on the other side of the room, Moriarty discreetly signaled to his bodyguard it was time to leave, making his exit too.

As he stepped into the darkness of the night, he unbuttoned his midnight blue suit jacket, his eyes scanning the grandiose driveway. He started descending down the grand staircase and as soon as he reached the bottom, he spotted you leaning against the newel post of the steps, your eyes closed and arms crossed over your rising chest.

Jim jerked his head at his bodyguard, who nodded and rushed away, leaving you and Jim alone.

"It's a shame for such a magnificent creature to be hiding out here." You opened your eyes, slightly turning your head to follow his nearing form. "I mean, can they even call themselves 'crème de la crème' when you're not around?" he asked with a furrowed brow as if it was a serious question.

"You're disgusting," you said and let your eyelids fall again, rolling your head back into its original position, the sturdy structure of the stone scratching the back of your head.

He was now right in front of you, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

„Your father certainly knows how to orchestrate an impressive show. How long are you planning to dance to his tune?“

You opened your eyes again, the cool darkness giving way to the silhouette of Jim Moriarty standing before you. As your gaze locked with his dark brown eyes, you felt a complex mix of emotions swirling within.

Everything about him was dark, a demon steeped in shadows, but as your eyes lingered on his, you couldn't shake the feeling that, in some inexplicable way, he appeared lighter than the suffocating life you led with your parents.

"Well, you know. It's a waltz I've mastered"

„Sure, sure. But I also know you can only twirl around the predictable steps for so long before the music changes.“

You studied each other in silence before your forms were illuminated by the headlights of a black SUV. He turned on his heels and headed towards the awaiting car, pulling a gum out of his pocket and popping it into his mouth. Once he reached the vehicle, he opened the back door and turned to you, tilting his head as he waited for you to make a decision.

There was no point in stalling, he knew what you were going to decide anyway. You pushed yourself off the hardness of the pillar and walked towards the car. Moriarty smirked as the two of you locked eyes, watching as you got in.

Before he followed your suit, he took a glance at the doors leading inside the manor, spotting your father as he watched the situation unfold with terror on his face. Jim’s smirk widened as his jaw worked the gum, savoring the flavor. Then he disappeared into the luxury of his SUV, and your father only watched as the car sped away, the tires screeching against the rubble of the driveway.

tbc.

oop👀

a/n2: thank you for making it this far! sorry for the pineapples.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

✧.*  𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✧.* || REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

**tell me in the comments if you would like to be tagged in anything!**

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

➤ General Taglist | @twisted-monster @starryeddie @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian @aephereal ​ @andthevillainshallrises ​ @baby-bloos ​ @cookiemumster1 ​​ @eternal-silvertongued-prince ​ @bogginsreadings ​ @lumosouls @spencerrxids @serenity-lattes @msseijii @classickook @starstruck-loner @spnfan2020

-ˏˋ CHARACTER X READER! ˊˎ

➤ Sherlock Holmes | @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson ​ @lucywrites02 @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes @pytharuw @antsn @kabubsmagga @newtsniffles @cemak​ @liv-olive-oliver @iamtrash-withrespect @asgards-princess-of-mischief @summer-is-0v3r

➤ John Watson |

➤ Jim Moriarty | @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @asgards-princess-of-mischief

-ˏˋ SERIES! ˊˎ

➤ The Winged Victory | @justanotheromen @jaseena​ @jessiediegomax​

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A couple notes...

TO ALL THAT HAVE BEEN TAGGED - YOU’RE ALL SO GREAT!! *HUGS*

If you would like to be tagged in any of the lists above, just tell me in the comments! Either on this post or any of my fics! These are all the characters I’m working on (for now), so let me know because I would love to add you!

If you would like to be added to multiple lists, just say the word! This list is always changing!

[almaadst]

Finished Art Raffle prize which was a fanfic cover for @tex-treasures !  A Turing of the Tides is a fanfiction in BBC Sherlock universe and it’s story about Jim Moriarty and Tex -  you can find more about it HERE , please check this out and give author some love because xe is the nicest and the sweetest person I got opportunity to know! 💕✨ Other: Commission info MHA cover:  Baepsae Paris PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT MY or OWNER PERMISSION!

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Sherlock

Sample Size: 104,398 stories

Source: AO3

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-04-03

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite BBC!Jim Moriarty stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

Legend: 〔E〕 ⇢ Erotic/Steamy | 〔F〕 ⇢ Fluff | 〔A〕 ⇢ Angst/Hurt 〔M〕 ⇢ Minor Angst/Hurt | 〔C〕 ⇢ Comfort | ♥︎ ⇢ Established Relationship | 𑁍 ⇢ Pregnancy/Children | 🚫 ⇢ Content Warning

✑ Little Holmes￨Prt. II￨Prt. III by deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts • 〔E᜶A᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ After You Love by lacelynpage • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "You meet the most puzzling person at a café..."

✑ Complicated [Soulmate!A.U.] by megs-mostly-random-fandoms • 〔A〕 •

Summary: "This was not at all how you expected meeting your soulmate would go..."

✑ Devil is a Gentleman, the by keravnous • 18+ • 〔E〕 • 🚫 •

Summary: "You started working at the National Gallery a couple of months ago. Today, the whole staff has gathered to give one of the most benevolent private sponsors a tour. What could possibly go wrong?"

✑ Doomed by make-me-imagine • 〔A〕 •

Summary: Jim never thought he'd fall in love. He never thought he was capable of it, so how can he convince you he loves you

✑ Landslide￨Prt. II by frost-queen • 〔A〕 •

Summary: When John and Sherlock attempt to use you as leverage against Jim, it forces you to come to terms with who exactly you've fallen in love with...

✑ Suprise Sweetie by frost-queen • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Imagine going out on a date and Jim... surprises you by showing up and claiming you as his."

✑ You're Alive by make-me-imagine • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: You mourned Jim after he shot himself on that rooftop. Hurt, angry and confused you can't understand why he did it and why he never told you who he really was… Needless to say, when he miraculously appears in your apartment, doesn't get him the warm welcome he expected.

✑ Always by ladyalicesbookstore • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Deadly by bonniebird • 〔M〕 •

✑ Fight, the by writings-of-a-british-fangirl •

✑ Hostage by megs-mostly-random-fandoms • 〔E᜶F᜶A〕 •

✑ Midnight Swim by geeks-universe • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Miss Me? by justauthoring • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Moriarty's Secret by megs-mostly-random-fandoms • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Now Pet by lacelynpage • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Privilege by bonniebird • 〔M〕 •

✑ Problem by oneshots-imagines-and-that • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Rooftop Reservation by movedtosalamooneder • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Secrets by magicalthoughtsendinterribkefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Sleepover by thepokyone • 〔F〕 •

✑ Swoon by bonniebird • 〔F〕 •

✑ We'll See by writings-of-a-british-fangirl •

✑ You Look Like You Need a Hug by make-me-imagine • 〔F᜶C〕 •

✑ Dating Jim as John's Sister… by charliesmdawn • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating Jim Moriarty... by lacelynpage • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Living w/ Jim Moriarty... by oneshots-imagines-and-that • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation || James 'Jim' Moriarty Master Index

Authors: @bonniebird || @charliedawn || @deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts || @frost-queen || @geeks-universe || @justauthoring || @keravnous || @lacelynpage || @ladyalicesbookstore || @magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics || @make-me-imagine || @megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms || @movedtosalamoonder || @oneshots-imagines-and-that || @thepokyone || @writings-of-a-british-fangirl ||

[butchersmiles]

was the fanfic i wrote at age 12 good? no. but i did write this happening in the middle of the pool scene in the great game which is moderately hilarious to me 9 years later

[pleading-the5th]

realizing House is just a Sherlock AU where Sherlock and Watson are doctors was life-changing

ik its not based on bbc’s sherlock, i just wanted parallelling gifs

[toxicyaoibeliever]

Please I’m begging anyone who reads this, help me find a very specific fanfic my family is dying and this is the only thing that will save them:

Ahem, so for context there is a fanfic called Younger by Marcceh (but has been orphaned along with all of their Sherlock fanfics so I cannot look their account) where Mycroft is the younger sibling and Sherlock is the older brother. Mycroft and Jim Moriarty get into shananigans and shit. It’s fun and I love it

Anyways, I’m pretty sure there was a kinda sequel to that fanfic. Or like a fanfic with snipets based on Younger or something similar. I’m pretty sure it was also by Marcceh but I’m not 100% sure. If someone knows what I’m talking abt PLEASE TELL ME. IM GOING INSANE OVER HERE

[doflamingadonquixote]

Even the devil was once an angel | [1/?]

Summary: You are a psychiatrist and decide to play a dangerous game with the worst of criminal minds. Or: you're a bit bored too.

Pairing: Jim Moriarty x Fem!Reader

Chapter word count: 2714

Warning: +18, mind games, angst and smut, hurt/comfort, stalker!Moriarty (Jim Moriarty is his own warning)

Next Chap: 2

I. The day we met

The first time you meet James Moriarty, he pretends to be someone else.

💥💥💥

That morning London showed leniency to its citizens, letting the clouds clear from the gloomy day of the day before and giving way to warm sunshine that broke the dry and cold temperatures.

The little park outside your window was teeming with so many different people. Mothers who accompanied their children to school, engaged couples who stopped along the road to exchange affection, elderly people who let themselves be carried away by their pets.

For a brief moment you identified in one of those people, away from the twisted world you floated in, gasping for air to try not to fall down again.

How pleasant it must have been to lead such a simple life. Follow a policy that doesn't put your life at risk for even a second.

You heard the unmistakable sound of an email and turned on yourself in the mobile chair, taking your mind away from your fantasies and returning to reality. You opened the mail and read its contents.

You absentmindedly ran your fingertips over the computer keyboard, quickly deciphering the message and dwelling on the unmistakable initials of Mycroft Holmes. 

Although it sounded more like an order than a real request for assistance, you forced yourself to respond passively and affirmatively about your presence at the appointed meeting place.

Just before you could send the mail, a soft knock came to your door.

Let your eye scroll one last time on the encrypted script you used and then with a click you send your reply back to the sender. You immediately closed your email-box and invited your patient to come in.

Your secretary had warned you that same morning that a new patient had requested a consultation and since she had determined from the tone of his voice that it was urgent she had placed him the same day.

The white door clicked and this little man appeared on its doorstep and snapped his neck from right to left, trying to locate you.

When he found you, his lips parted in an embarrassed smile and he moved from one foot to the other on the door while he seemed to assume an excited and anxious attitude that made you raise your eyebrows in a funny way.

“Good morning,” he stomped forward and reached over your desk, “Richard Brook. I made a meeting this morning with your assistant.”

With a smile, you grabbed his hand and noticed an unusual nervous tremor. The grip was weak and his fingers were smooth but before you could linger too long, his hand slipped away from you.

“Of course, I've already been informed. Nice to meet you, Mr. Brook.”

You rose to your feet and with your heels you noticed that you were slightly taller than the man. You went around the desk, approaching him and with one arm pointed to the real leather armchair not far from you.

You avoided touching him, raising a hand behind his back only to urge him to move forward but without creating real contact. You felt too much agitation in the air. Probably an unexpected gesture from you would have put him on the run.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” He makes an odd leap forward as he runs a hand behind his neck. “Please, just Richard.” He added as he dropped to the soft dark leather.

The room offered a wide space, occupied only by a mahogany desk and an office chair, the welcoming chair for patients and a small single armchair where you sat immediately, closer to study your client.

He was wearing a one-size-fits-all gray T-shirt and ripped jeans of a faded blue. He waved his sneakers over each other, often making your gaze fall down.

“Anything makes you comfortable, Richard.”

You forced your gaze back to him, focusing on his hazel eyes and his dark, undone hair.

Everything about him showed little attention to himself but inevitably your eyes rested on young, well-manicured hands. His nails were short and freshly trimmed, no bite marks along the surrounding flesh and cuticles.

Richard caught your attention and casually placed his hands between his thighs, hiding any other signals. 

An alarm bell rang in your brain, warning you that you had a great actor in front of you.

Before he could notice your moment of evaluation, let the most sincere smile slip on your face and closed your eyelids to prevent him from reading a fake.

“So, Richard. What would you like to talk about today? Is there a reason for your presence here?”

You brought your hand to your chest and hips, mimicking a search for something and stood up. You had to get back to your desk as quickly as possible.

The man followed your movement, his mouth slightly open to speak.

“What a careless, I forgot the folder. Forgive me a second...”

You had just passed the chair when the reloading click of an unmistakable weapon rang behind you.

“Unusual for the government's personal psychiatrist to forget something so elementary. Reeeeeally disappointing.”

It was the low pitch slowly rising into a childish moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

It wasn't the first time you had dealt with psychotic killers but it was definitely the first time anyone had found you in the undercover job.

You wore the best rigid and impenetrable mask you could find in that unexpected situation and forced your eyes to focus only on the weapon that was pointed directly at you instead of looking for the cameras that Mycroft had placed in your office. If you only had a vague idea who he was you were sure he would easily catch your eye.

The rigid and anxious body of the man who had entered the office seemed to have completely melted away, giving way to one full of arrogance and sadistic fun.

“Beginner's mistake, right?”

You frowned at his remark but luckily the guy was protagonist enough to explain without having to ask for anything.

“The hands. I didn't want to ruin them. I'm a prima donna on this.” He held his right one up in front of his face, looking curiously at the nails. “I must have underestimated you a little too much.”

He laughed a little at your neutral expression, almost wanting to break it just for the sake of seeing you scared or angry.

“It seems that my boys are doing a great job with bugs...” He dropped his back against the chair as if he were the owner of the place and waved the gun to point to the whole office before pointing it at you again.

You felt that if you remained silent for a long time, the man would have shot you without thinking twice.

“Who are you?” It was a stupid question, the first thing you thought of saying without sounding nervous.

The amusement that lit up his face turned into an expression of complete coldness. His eyes blocked your every chance of reading, darkening and narrowing dangerously.

“No, no, no...” he moaned, looked away from your figure but before you could even think of moving a muscle, he jumped up from his chair and took two big strides in your direction.

It took all your willpower not to flinch from that sudden outburst that had dragged him within inches of you. The barrel of the gun pressed hard just above your breasts, giving you bursts of pain from the excessive pressure.

“Haven't you figured out who I am yet ?!”

The high tone of voice made you clench your jaw and painfully bite the inside of your cheek to avoid jolting. The difference in height didn't give you any advantage and the more you looked into the depths of those dilated pupils, the more you became aware that it was an animal ready to jump on your throat.

You thought about it for a few moments and then sighed loudly. It couldn't be anyone but him.

“My assistant does careful research on every patient who crosses my threshold. Before letting you in, she must have necessarily identified you and this means that the results she found on Richard Brook were reliable. However, you staged a little theater, committing yourself to make me believe that you are exactly the desperate and melancholy little boy without keep in mind my professionalism.”

You watched his irritated expression slowly crack. You took that as a good sign.

“The ability to create a well-recognized false identity, the art of knowing how to play a role, your knowledge about my work, the fact that I have stand in the way of only one subject in the last two years...” eyes from bottom to top, connecting your gazes again. “I can't say it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moriarty.”

You were incredibly angry with Holmes for not showing you at least half a photo of the man you were dismantling the entire criminal link to.

Knowing the identity of Moriarty was reserved for very few, true, but if there was even the slightest chance that the criminal could identify you, you wanted him to have been reported to you.

James Moriarty gave you a smile before turning his back to you and spread his arms in a theatrical and dramatic gesture.

“Din din din! Looks like someone just spared a bullet.” He commented enthusiastically.

Without being seen, you turned your head to the desk and thought of the Walther suspended and away from you under the desk. You took a couple of steps back, pretending to have pain in your joints and being forced into a movement to stretch your legs.

But the criminal didn't seem to care because he slipped the gun between his waistband and jeans, stretched like a cat with his arms up, and began wandering around the room, studying the various photos and documents leaning against the gray wall.

“I thought you were just another puppet in the hands of the government, doctor.” He said your title as a strange mockery as he grabbed your psychotherapist qualification off the wall. “But I have to change my mind, you seem to be vaguely competent in what you do.”

The rational and conservative part of you suppressed the compelling and suicidal urge to retort and humiliate him.

“He seems to be very knowledgeable about me. I thought there were no documents certifying my work with the government.”

You took another cautious step back and finally felt the surface of the desk beneath your fingers as you slowly arched your knees to feel down.

“What a stupid conclusion, doc. I can call you doc, right?”

You finally feel your fingers closing around the grip of the gun but you see Moriarty's free arm rise high and the sound of a snap of fingers resounds in the room.

A few seconds passed where you couldn't figure out what had changed but then the figure of the criminal turned and focused on you and at the gun that you were holding by your side.

Exasperated, he rolled his eyes.

“I feel offended, doc. I thought we were having fun here.” He rests the frame that he was holding back in its place, adjusting it to the maximum of obsessive and then holds out a hand to you, in a clear gesture.

When you look down on your hand you find the red dot of a sniper rifle and a tired smile is painted on your lips. Did you seriously have any chance against this man who was 10 steps ahead of you?

“You can't blame me for trying, can you?”

Your voice came out more amused than it should and Moriarty noticed it because he returned to smile at you with that maniacal expression as you put the gun in his open hand.

You had learned a lot about James Moriarty. Mycroft Holmes had told you about it, back then when he had entrusted you with several members of the Mexican cartel to be questioned and 'persuaded' to gossip about their highest bidder. You had been told of the criminal's incredible danger and you were also aware of his unstable voluptuousness in changing his mind, opinion and actions. 

You were certain that if the vocabulary was aware of the person, under the word psychopath you would find his face.

To buy time, it was enough to play his own game without unbalancing.

“We are not all great geniuses, Mr. Moriarty, but I assure you that we can do very well even without being.”

Interminable seconds of silence passed and your thoughts wandered to your young secretary a few meters from you, regardless of what was happening inside your room. If the man had shot, would she have run to see what happened or would she have run away?

You were hoping for the second one, you really didn't want to have a woman on your conscience not aware of your real job.

James closed his hand on the weapon but also grabbed your fingers in the process. You still felt that the sniper was aimed at you but Moriarty had an interested and heated look in his eyes.

“I can't deny it. John Watson seems to be a great addition to the balance of the Holmes and you...” he chuckled, maniacally as he absently stroked your fingers over the gun, the barrel of the gun pointed at you “... you definitely pissed me off doing that magic number on my precious buyers and sellers.”

Then, without warning, you felt the cold surface of the Walther forcefully push under your chin, like a dangerous caress. The fingers of James' right hand landed on your face and he used his thumb to force against your lips, violently, squeezing the soft flesh against your white teeth.

“I wonder how much your language proficiency is really worth.”

An unhealthy thought won you over. Jim Moriarty was really a rare case to study, a level of psychic disorder so severe that it could no longer even be considered pathological but that he maintained a healthy and real awareness of himself and the surrounding environment. You had dealt with psychopaths or schizophrenics but they all had a different, almost abstract, unreal conception of the world. 

And he had a weakness. He liked to play.

You must have been a bit crazy too to propose what you were about to propose to him.

“How about betting then?”

The pressure on your face eased, the gun lowered a few centimeters but you didn't dare to take your eyes off the man who was holding you in his hand and under fire. His body reaction had confirmed that you were riding the right wave, though.

“I can give you a demonstration of how I do it. I guess you are thinking that your clients are stupid enough to be manipulated by a simple psychotherapist. If you really think you are immune to all sorts of my therapy, you risk nothing.”

You felt his fingertips absentmindedly caress your skin just below your dark circles and for a second you had the terrible feeling that he could snap and pull your eyes out of their sockets just for the sake of making you scream and apologize for your insolence.

But instead of doing so, a long groan of perplexity vibrated from his throat as his lips slowly curved into a crooked but satisfied smile.

He unexpectedly pressed his hand with the gun against your cheek and the free hand on the opposite side. You felt the cold metal push until it left temporary marks but you were too busy with his face hovering over yours to be distracted.

“You have a special subject to study, what do I have in return?”

“A temporary distraction...” his face remained impassive at your words so you forced yourself to add more sarcastically than rationally: "and the satisfaction of being able to shoot me in case I have shown you that I'm not as good as the government describes me.”

You were still alive and your head wasn't leaking brain matter so, somehow, he must have liked your answer when he left your office.

[mysteriouslover1516]

Sherlock Holmes (Part 2)

The next day you wake up to gunshots, coming from the room next to you. “Gosh!” you shriek and quickly get dressed. “Please be okay, please be okay,” you keep whispering as you carefully open your door and creep out into the hallway.

Your mouth drops open as you see what was causing all the commotion. “What the heck are you doing?!”

Sherlock doesn’t bother looking at you, instead his focus remains on the shot-ridden wall in front of him. “Bored!” He says and then shoots the pistol some more. He quickly switches the gun to his left hand and then pulls the trigger continually.

You cover your ears and shout, “STOP IT!”

John rushes up the stairs and quickly opens the door to the flat, “Not again, Sherlock!” He grabs the pistol out of Sherlock’s hand and scowls at him. “What the heck are you thinking?!”

“Bored, bored, BORED!” Sherlocks lets himself slide off the couch.

“You mean this is a regular occurrence?!” You gape and look at the wall that was victim to Sherlock’s boredom.

John gives you a face that expresses, “Don’t even ask.”

“What is Mrs. Hudson going to do?!” You freak out.

“Something about, ‘oh Sherlock, you’re going to pay for that. Oh Sherlock, why can't you control yourself.’ Something stupid like that.” Sherlock offers.

“Sherlock, I can’t believe you! I left my sister here thinking she’d be fine, and instead you wake her up to gunshots!”

Sherlock shows no emotion whatsoever and pushes past John to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and then slams the door shut. “There’s no milk, Silena. Go to the store on the corner and get some.” He then returns to his chair and closes his eyes.

“My name is Syrena,” you say, annoyed.

“And while you’re at it, some crumpets would suit me well. Thank you.” Sherlock replies, shortly, paying no attention to what you just said.

You cross your arms in annoyance and frown.

John shares a look with you and both of you head out of the apartment and into the breezy, London air, after you get some shoes and your jacket on of course.

“He’s impossible!” You screech. “How on earth do you deal with him for so long?!”

John sighs, “I ask myself that very same question regularly on a daily occurrence. I really don’t know.”

“I thought he had a good side, but for only my two days of knowing him, he’s insufferable!” You kick the sidewalk irritably.

John smiles out of amusement, you were usually quite calm-headed, meaning Sherlock must have made a big impact on you.

“It’s not funny, John.” You grimace at him.

John laughs, "It kinda is if you think about it."

"Well let's not think about it, then." You shake your head, smiling.

"Well, we better get the milk and Sherlock's precious crumpets, or else he'll freak out." John sighs.

"I thought shooting the wall was him freaking out," you giggle.

"No, that is him being bored. You do not want to see him when he freaks out, trust me."

"What does he do?" You ask curiously.

John says in a serious voice, "You'll see at some point."

You cringe, "It sounds bad."

"It is," John says, making you feel hopeless.

You two walk to the store and purchase the milk and crumpets, and you also stop at the coffee shop on the way home.

When John finally opens the door to the flat you had been gone for over an hour.

John sets the bags on the counter and Sherlock is in the living room staring intently at a newspaper in his hands.

“I asked for a pen,” Sherlock says coolly.

“When?” John crosses his arms. “Did you not realize we were gone?” Sherlock gives him no response, his eyes remain glued to the newspaper and his arm is outstretched as he waits for the writing instrument.

“There’s one on the table right in front of you,” John sighs.

Sherlock finally looks up expectantly and John rolls his eyes, walks over to him, picks up the pen, and places it in Sherlock’s hand.

“Thank you,” Sherlock says and then starts scribbling on the newspaper.

You walk over to the fridge to put the milk away, but as you open the door you shriek.

“What the heck is that?!” You scream.

Sherlock says nonchalantly, “It’s a human head.”

John races over and then covers his eyes frustratedly, “Sherlock!”

“It’s for my experiment.” Sherlock says calmly. “I hope she didn’t touch it.”

“Why would I touch it?!” You yell angrily. “What normal person has a human head in their fridge?!”

John gives you a look that says, Sherlock is clearly not a normal person.

Sherlock gets up and walks over casually while taking a sip of his tea, “Did you bring my crumpets?”

You pick up the bag you had got and rip it open, “You don’t mind if I have one, do you?” You say just to annoy him, then you quickly pop one into your mouth.

Sherlock gapes, “Now there are only nineteen to be precise in that bag! You messed it up! If you take one out, take two so you always leave an even number in the bag!”

You roll your eyes and pop another one in your mouth, but you make the mistake of looking back into the fridge where the decapitated head is. You gag and make a run to the toilet.

“Please don’t-” Sherlock is cut off at the wretched sound of heaving.

“She better have not stained my carpet,” he tells John and then puts a clothespin on his nose and walks off.

“Why are you so insensitive all the time?!” John demands and rushes to the bathroom where you are hanging over the edge of the toilet. “Oh, Syrena, I’m so, so sorry.”

You nod pathetically and slowly get up and wash your face, “Almost forgot how much it hurt to, well, you know what.”

John sighs, “I need to find my laptop.”

“For what?” You ask and dry your face off.

“To look for a new flat for us,” John decides, then walks out of the bathroom with you following. “Sherlock, where’s my laptop?”

“I sold it,” Sherlock says without any emotion at all.

John stops and opens and closes his mouth, multiple times, apparently at a loss for words. “You did what?” He finally choked out.

“Sold it, needed a few pounds to pay the rent.” Sherlock says.

John scowls and says in a surprisingly low voice, “Who exactly did you sell it to?”

“Some beggar guy off the street."

“Great!” John throws his hands in the air and sighs.

"A beggar paid you money for a laptop?" You ask.

"He was disguised as a beggar, he was actually a very rich man and just wanted some pounds for no effort or work costs." Sherlock states.

"So you sold him my laptop," John sighs.

Sherlock starts to violently play his violin and you cover your ears because it sounded awful, “I thought you said he was a good violinist!”

John yelled, “He is, he’s just trying to get us to leave him alone now.” You roll your eyes and head off to your room, John behind you.

John slams the bedroom door shut and you pull at your hair, “Why is he such a jerk?!”

“I’m sorry, Syrena. I’ll find us another place to live, just a little bit longer and then we’ll be on our own.” He says as he hugs you.

You sigh into his shoulder and can’t help but hope it’ll be soon.

“On the bright side,” John starts, “you get to go shopping with Molly.”

"Almost forgot about that," you say and drop onto your bed. "Can you hand me my ukulele?"

John grins and gives the instrument to you and you immediately start fingerpicking a tune.

"Since when did you start learning such melancholy songs?" John suddenly asks.

"I don't know," you sit up and shrug. "It's called Tourist. Sometimes I learn songs just for the tune, not the words exactly."

John sits down on the bed beside you, "So what's the song Tourist about?"

"A tourist," you smile then laugh as he rolls his eyes. "It's about this guy who's in Paris alone. He's singing a song about this girl back home, and basically it's just him saying they thought they were in love, but weren't really. He sings that tourists, or the people in Paris would think they were in love, but that their thoughts didn't matter because the couple would know the truth."

"Um, that's sad," John rubs his chin.

"What time is it?" You change the subject.

"One," John says as he glances at his wrist watch.

"And I'm supposed to meet Molly at two, right?" You ask.

"Yep," John nods and smirks. "Are you going to rush to do your hair and makeup now?"

"You must really think I look awful," you sigh and stare at your folded hands.

John puts his hand on top of yours, "No, Syrena. You're lovely, I just sometimes forget you're not like most girls. Clothes and your appearance aren't a main priority to you, you're not obsessed with yourself, and that's an admirable trait."

You smile at his words, “Thank you, John.”

Forty minutes later you are rushing around the flat like a crazy person. “I can’t find it!” You say frantically.

“Find what?” John asks, eager to help you in your search.

“My phone, it was on the coffee table charging  this morning, but it’s gone now!”

“Wait, where’s Sherlock?” John suddenly says.

“You think he sold my phone now?!” You ask, astonished.

“Or he’s using it for his own benefit,” John sighs and walks towards Sherlock’s room.

He knocks on the door, “Sherlock, you in there?” He timidly opens the door and Sherlock slams the door behind him as soon as John gets inside.

You are still in the living room waiting, but you can hear slightly muffled yelling from both sides and you wonder what they could possibly be arguing about now. Not like you had to think that hard, knowing Sherlock as you already did, he was probably being the insensitive, annoying jerk he was 24/7.

There's a knock at the door and you open it up to greet Molly’s smiling face. “Hello!” You smile but Molly can tell you’re kinda distracted.

“What’s up?” She asks, and slightly winces as she hears the yelling.

“Yep, that’s what's up.” You shake your head and head over to Sherlock’s door.

“Are you saying that you-” John’s voice is cut off when you knock on the door.

“John?” You call, “Molly’s here and I could really use my phone now if he has it…..” Your voice trails off.

“Oh, um.” The door opens a crack and you see your brother’s face,

“Is everything alright?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhmm,” John nods and hands you your phone. “See ya,” he plants a kiss on your forehead then closes the door again.

“Suspicious,” You mumble and walk back over to Molly.

Molly smiles and says, “We’ll have to take a cab, it’s funny that none of us own a car.” She laughs.

You shrug and grin, “Doesn’t matter to me, you’ll just have to carry all the bags.” You joke.

“John said I’d probably have to force you to buy enough clothes,” Molly laughs as you both step outside into the London air.

“Did he now?” You smile to yourself and make sure you have your wallet in your coat pocket.

Molly puts a finger to her lips, "Shhh, it was supposed to be a secret."

"You mind if we make a stop before the clothing store?" Molly asks.

"Not at all," you smile, "so where to first?"

"The book store," Molly grins.

Your mouth opens in excitement, "I love books too!"

Molly nods, "I think John told me that before, that you were a bookworm or something."

You laugh, "Yep, everytime mom and dad left us alone when we were little I would force him to read to me."

"He sounds like he was a good brother," Molly smiles.

"He is." You smile back.

Once you arrive at the mall, your new friend leads you to a small book store.

"What kind of book are you looking for?" You ask as you scan the shelves.

Molly chuckles, “Don’t laugh, but I love romance.”

“I knew it!” You roll your eyes good naturedly.

“And what about you?”

“Mystery, fantasy, thriller. Anything that hooks me on the first page.” You grin.

“You’re going to like living with Sherlock,” Molly comments with a knowing smile.

You look at her unconvinced, “I doubt it.”

After buying a couple of books each, she leads you to a massive clothing store. "So what's your style?" She asks.

"Casual, comfy, but it doesn't look like I'm a sloth," you smirk.

"Got it," Molly laughs and makes her way to a part of the store that she thinks you'll like.

Two hours later both of you arrive back at 221b Baker Street with three bags in each hand.

"I'm home," you call out as you manage to open the door.

Sherlock is pacing back and forth in the living room and doesn't pay any attention to you.

"Hello, Sherlock." Molly greets with a smile.

Sherlock sighs, looks up, and nods a hello. Then he departs for his room.

"Where's John?" You ask before he can slam his bedroom door shut.

"Out on a call," Sherlock answers shortly, then disappears into his room.

"Almost forgot he was a doctor," you smirk as you remember your brother's profession.

Molly laughs and follows you into your bedroom to drop the clothes off. "Well," she smiles, "I should probably get going. It was nice getting to know you more, Syrena."

You grin back, "Thanks for taking me! I think we'll be good friends."

Molly nods and you lead her out to the door and say goodbye.

You head back to your room and shut the door, there wasn't really anything else to do with John being gone and Sherlock locking himself inside his bedroom. You think you can hear the floor creak outside your bedroom, but you ignore it and think it's probably just the flat, and not someone.

Hey lovelies ;) I started this story a few years ago, I hope some of you can appreciate it still, lol. Depending on how many reviews and likes I get, I might post more in this series. Thank you for giving me a chance!

[envihellbender]

~2000lbs Jim Moriarty who moves around his lair by a hydraulic lift carrying his enormous body that he controls with his engorged bulging brain. Fond of crushing others by slamming his body on top of them without warning.

Characters: Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran (Sherlock Holmes - books), Zachary Brooks (OC)

Content: extreme obesity, brain growth, crushing, snuff (kind of)

—

Zachary Brooks had been brought to the conference room in silence, only having met the tight lipped doorman who refused to answer any of Zachary’s questions. He had no idea why he had been invited to meet his shadowy boss, Jim Moriarty, all of a sudden after years of only being contacted over email and text message. The room was gigantic, and could have easily fit Zachary’s spacious town house. He sat down on a handsome, black leather chair closest to the window, at the head of the table. An obvious power move, one that showed his confidence or his arrogance depending on your point of view. He looked up to try and get more information from the doorman, but he was no where to be seen. He felt his fingers tremble as his throat and mouth grew dry. Moriarty was late. It was probably a power play, Zachary told himself.

The room was strange, there was the standard long table with the same tall chairs at each end and down the sides but the rest of the room was gigantic and mostly empty. One wall was covered in glass from the floor to the ceiling, the doorway was taller and wider than what seemed necessary. It was at least twice the size of Zachary in height despite him being six foot three, and the width could easily fit several cars. On the ceiling there was a strange device that look like a pair of railings or a track of some kind for a mechanical device. Breaking the silence, a whirring noise began, one that made Zachary’s spine and shoulders grow tense on instinct. It got louder and louder, he leant forward to try and see through the doorway. He saw a strange shadow, one that resembled a cloud going over the sun in size. He stood up, assuming it would show some respect. He was irritated and affronted however when instead of the source of the noise appearing there was a tall, broad shouldered man with green catlike eyes and warm brown skin. Zachary recognised him instantly, but only through the man’s reputation.

“Sebastian Moran,” he said curtly. “I thought you were only a hired gun.”

“Brooks, right?” Sebastian grunted, sitting down on the chair at the far end of the table. Zachary wondered which one of them was at the head. He thought it was strange that he sat so far away, however, and that he wasn’t meeting Moriarty himself. Zachary lowered himself back into the leather seat, his brown eyes narrowed warily.

“Why am I meeting with Moriarty’s pet? I believe I-”

“Dunno, why have you been stealing from Jimmy for the last two years?” Sebastian shrugged, leaning back in the chair visibly bored. Zachary grew pale and swallowed, avoiding Sebastian’s gaze which was far too unconcerned and casual for his liking. His pale lips were dry and his balding chestnut hair that was flecked with white stuck to his skin with sweat.

“I- I have no idea what you-”

“You know the deal, Brooks. Your cut is 25%. And you’ve been taking…” Sebastian paused and rolled his eyes, he sighed in irritation. “I don’t know, more than that. I don’t care, I’m just here for the show.”

“What show?” Zachary asked, it was then that the whirring sound started again, and in the doorway appeared a large bloated balloon of flesh. It barely looked human as it hung from the ceiling, a gigantic man who’s fat and adipose were drooping down towards the ground. He was attached to the device through a harness around what Zachary thought might be his waist but with the mass of fat rolls it was hard to tell. What horrified Zachary the most however, was the beast of a man’s head. His temples were swollen obscenely and growing purple. They hung over his cheeks, which rested over his chin, and ultimately sank into his neck roll. Connected to his forehead were wires which were hooked to the harness connecting him to the ceiling. His head looked as if even his brain was fat and was bulging from his skull.

“You wanted to meet the big boss, right? Zachary Brooks, meet Jimmy Moriarty,” Sebastian smirked. Zachary swallowed, looking between the bloodthirsty sniper eyeing him up like a tiger and the terrifying parody of a man that hung above him, approaching at an alarming speed given how large he was. He looked up, his chin trembling as he felt Moriarty hover above him, dripping sweat over his body. The heat of the elephantine man was overwhelming, if Zachary didn’t know better he’d think he’d been shoved between two of Moriarty’s tires of flesh.

“Moriarty. Mister Moriarty. I don’t know- there’s been a mistake-”

“Tiger. Who told this cockroach he could speak to me?” Moriarty interrupted, his pin prick blue eyes shining in their piggish cage of fat. “Now, I think it’s time we got acquainted, Brooks.” Moriarty let out a low, wheezing cackle as his body dropped to the ground. Zachary didn’t scream, that was the most surprising part. He couldn’t breathe as Moriarty was lowered above him, the heat and humidity of his sweat causing Zachary’s lungs to grow full and heavy. He was frozen, unable to do anything but stare up in horror. He only began to struggle was he felt the two sagging breasts, each at least twice his size, on both sides of him and crushing his body. He was forced into the ground, the hard floorboards beneath him as the fat finally was released and crushed his bones with a sickening crack. The final thing he heard was a wheezing, exhausted laughter.

[adrianalinepizza]

We All Fall Down (II)

Part 1 Title : We All Fall Down

Warning: reader likes Sherlock, Sherlock likes reader's company, concern, ignorant Sherlock, frustrated/burdened reader, minor grammatical errors, part 3 upcoming,uselessly extended parts with irrelevant information 🤷‍♀️

Genre: one-shot(not a one shot),AU,imagine,

Pairing: Sherlock x fem!reader

Summary: Y/n is juggling alot of things at once physically and mentally and her vision wasn't making it any better as she TRIES to tell Sherlock about it.

A/N: Halo!! This part may seem slightly similar to the first as I was going through a major writer's block. Apparently, the story won't fit in two parts so well, more parts to come I guess. Love y'all!💕

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

After "interrogating" Sherlock, your mind was set that he'd go insane when your vision comes true. A slight terror had settled deep within you.

As for Sherlock, he'd noticed how you would zone out and not even acknowledge his presence anymore. It bothered him. Even though he would never actually show it, he simply enjoyed your existence in his flat. The way you would roll your eyes at another impressive deduction he'd make or proceed to smile even when his remarks were harsher than he actually intended it to be. At some point, he stopped deducing you... He felt guilty invading your privacy. But he was the high-functioning sociopath, wasn't he? How could he let you do this to him... It was all a mystery. A mystery that would unveil itself; not instantly but soon enough...

♣︎♣︎♣︎

THUD

With a deep sigh, you snapped your book shut as the mumbling in your head began to increase. Everyday you asked yourself if it was wise enough to not tell anyone about your vision, however you'd dismiss the thought as soon as it came.

You came out of the shower and stared at your reflection in the mirror. The staring seemed to have helped as you eventually realised the intensity of the situation and made up your mind to finally tell Sherlock about it. Grabbing a pair of bell bottoms and an aqua turtle neck, you opened the door of your flat and hurried upstairs to 221B. Maybe it was due to your loud steps that before you could knock, the door flung open revealing the curly haired detective. You stood there with a puzzled air as he passed by you and hurried down the stairs, too engrossed on his phone to notice anything. Throwing your arms above your head, you followed him outside the flat. "Sherlock there's something i'd like to... Can you please not text standing in the middle of the road!" Wait. What. Oh my god, he's standing in the MIDDLE of the ROAD! TEXTING! You yanked his arm, pulling him towards the other side. It was clear that this took him by surprise as he lifted his head up from the phone and surveyed his surroundings before meeting your stern gaze. You shake your head. "Listen to what I'm about to say very carefully... I know it's going to sound strange but-" Interrupted yet again. Sherlock puts his palm in front of your face to prevent you from speaking as he proceeds to do the honours instead. "Y/N, whatever this is, I'm sure that it can wait...for I have much more crucial things at hand." Before you could protest, he continued again, "wonderful, I knew you'd agree" he gave a brief "smile" and with that he dramatically twirled and went on his way... Again.

This was a bad BAD idea. The more you thought, the more complicated it became. How in the world were you going to tell him?!

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

A/N: Alrightyy! I'll try my best to make part 3 more interesting! Thank youu! 😘　

"wonderful, I knew you'd agree."

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃?

Below you'll find a quick review of my blog as well as my fic request guidelines! ♡

keepsake blog: @light-reading-from-middle-earth

°•°𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭°•°

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

₊˚.༄ 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞!

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: Francesca!

𝐚𝐠𝐞: how old are you? I'm 20! --- *SCREAMS*

𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠: The Last of Us, Boy Meets World, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠: Death of a Bachelor... without. a. doubt.

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞: V for Vendetta? Doctor Strange? 27 Dresses?

My intro sounds like an awkward camera confessional on The Bachelor, so I think we're done here... MOVING ON!

₊˚.༄ 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠!

• All fics and headcanons are written as fem!reader x character.

• I write fluff, angst, hurt/comfort... you get the idea

• fics styled in third-person POV (on the outside looking in!)

• headcanons styled in second person POV (you, your, etc...)

₊˚.༄ 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!

• REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!! - If I'm not feeling a request, I might not answer it... sorry!

• It might take a sec to get back to your requests. I have no excuse... I'm just the type to let things marinade until inspiration strikes *sniffle*

• Please send requests through ASK only!

• I DO WRITE...

° romantic/platonic relations - fluff, angst, hurt/comfort (AU's are questionable- depends on the idea...)

• I DO NOT WRITE...

° smut (no rolls in the hay on this blog *swat! swat!*)

° topics relating to pregnancy/raising a family with a character. (it's definitely a sweet idea, but just not my cup of tea when it comes to fic writing. Sorry!)

• please don't be too wordy/specific with reqs to the point where it's a drabble! It's awesome to hear your vision, but it can be a *smidge* limiting for me! ♡

• one request per ask, please!

₊˚.༄ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫?

BBC SHERLOCK

° sherlock holmes

° john watson

° jim moriarty

SUPERNATURAL

° dean winchester

° sam winchester

° castiel

° gabriel

° arthur ketch

THE X-FILES

° fox mulder

MARVEL

° stephen strange

° loki

MANIFEST

° zeke landon

₊˚.༄ I think I’ve covered everything for now, but if you have any questions, just shoot them my way. Laters!!!

[almaadst]

Sneak peek of the fanfiction cover which was the price in my Art Raffle! ✨ Jim Moriarty from BBC Sherlock and Tex together💕  

Commission info Finished art

[gregorovitch-adler]

There was this "Am I the Asshole- Fanfiction edition" was going on in r/fanfiction, in which you have to write a whole ass AITA post from the POV of the villain/morally dubious characters from your current WIP or whatever.

I'm currently working on a story from Jim's POV (basically I want to explore the off-screen Molly/Moriarty relationship and how all those dates between them were like, etc. Also, I want to explore Moriarty's character as well in some detail). So, here's what I wrote, lol.

(Someone who's got a better understanding of his character can feel free to add on to this post lol).

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-04-03

Main

James 'Jim' Moriarty x Reader

See Also: Navigation || Private T.B.R.