Tags: Pure fluff, girl dad Sebastian, established relationship, it's more about his dynamic with the baby than his relationship with reader, vague mentions of his trauma as usual
A/N: I like exploring him in situations we'll never see in canon. Inspired by none other than Fushiguro Toji my goat. I took the liberty of naming the kid. It's very short, sorry about that. Feedback appreciated as always!
A sharp cry pierces through the still of the night, followed by the creak of the bed and an exhausted sigh. You look at the source of the noise; your five-months old daughter fussing. A cold hand yanks you back down to the mattress. A grumble.
“I’ll get her.” You don’t try to argue, you’re worn out, sore and more than happy to stay in bed. Sebastian pads over to the crib and looks down at your baby. Her little face is scrunched up, wailing like you didn’t feed her less than an hour ago.
“What’s wrong, little one?”, he murmurs, voice raspier than usual from sleep. He checks her nappies, only when he ensures they’re empty does he lift her and cradle her against his chest. He begins rocking her gently, humming some old lullaby he only remembers remnants of. It’s off-key and he probably sings the wrong lyrics, but it works wonders on Lottie, and her cries soon fade into soft babbles. His voice calms her down more than yours, you often express jealousy over that fact. How dare she betray you like that!
“There we go”, he coos, stroking her chubby cheek with his pointer. “You’re having nightmares, aren’t ya? Me too”, he smooths along her already visible eyebrows, a tired smile curling on his lips. “Lucky for you, I’m here to chase ‘em all away.” The little girl smiles back at him, flashing her yet toothless gums. He chuckles quietly, admiring the life the two of you created. She’s a beautiful baby, nearly a one-to-one copy of Sebastian. A head full of raven hair, his eyes with the long lashes, his dark eyebrows, the same crooked smile- the only resemblance to you is her skintone. He wasn’t always this fond of her. When you first told him you’re expecting, happiness was the last thing that came to mind. He never said it, but you knew, and you honestly didn’t blame him- having a baby wasn’t on your list for now either. He had just returned home after three long years of rampaging- William’s faked death messed him up, it’s a wonder he came back in one piece physically. Mentally, he was completely out of it, and even though William being alive calmed him down for the most part, the matter of you two was still complicated. Most people probably wouldn’t have taken him back, and he honestly didn’t expect you to, but you did- because you loved him too much and you knew he didn’t leave for selfish reasons. You did resent him for not telling you about it and letting you worry to death, but you worked it out in the end. You conceived almost immediately, which was a miracle given the condition you were in, his absence has taken a serious toll on your mental health, thus your body. He was afraid. Afraid of responsibility, afraid of not being able to protect the two of you, but most of all; afraid that he’d be just like his father.
“You’ll be wonderful”, you’d reassure him, “You’re good with kids. And Fred.” That made him smile, but the doubts still lingered. Never once did they fade, but somewhere along the way, he grew accustomed to the idea. The first time he felt that he loved this child was when he first felt her move in your womb. Strong little feet high-fiving his palm through your skin, and it really hit him then- that he’d do anything for the rascal. From then on, he asked to feel her every night, falling asleep with his hand still on your bump. Maybe she knew, that’s why she’s been such a daddy’s girl from the start. She barely reached five pounds when she was born, an absurdly tiny thing when he first held her. He was shaking despite himself, scared he’d break her if he breathed wrong. A new kind of warmth bloomed in his chest then. Having a family tamed him, in a way. He kisses you with newfound worship, as if thanking you for bringing his greatest gift into the world. Only leaves the house for work, despite you telling him countless times that you’ll manage for a few hours without him. He prefers to stay in with you and Lottie. He likes to steal her while you nap, you hear her happy gurgles and his laughs in your half asleep state. You thought he was sick at first. Oh but don’t get it twisted, if you ever catch him playing with her, he’ll claim it’s only your imagination.
Now after a while of him talking to her in a hushed voice, she yawns one last time before her eyelids finally fall shut. He pries her iron grip off his pinky and gives her forehead a gentle kiss, then lowers her back to the crib, careful not to wake her. He then returns to bed, cuddling up against your sleeping form, and wonders what he did to deserve this after his bloody past until he succumbs to slumber.
Tags: wlw, fem x fem, established relationship, homophobia, mentions of human trafficking (the crime they're investigating), no physical descriptions of reader
A/N: Hi to the three Moneypenny lovers how do we feel? I haven't written her before so I hope I did her justice. Based on a request.
“Stay still, please!”, Moneypenny scolds, tilting your head to get a better angle. She’s been doing your makeup for half an hour now, making sure each and every line is perfect. Now she’s painting your lips a pretty pink with careful strokes. “You’re going to ruin it.”
“Sorry”, You smile sheepishly, stopping the tapping of your foot against the floor. “I’m just nervous.” She applies the last bit of lipstick when you stop talking, swiping her thumb against your lower lip to blend it in and give it a more natural look.
“So am I, if it makes you feel better. It’s normal to feel that way”, she reassures, leaning back to assess her work. The focused frown fades, an admiring smile replacing it. You look beautiful. She steps aside so you can see if you like it in the mirror.
“You have golden hands”, You beam at her. She made the eyes harsh but left the lips and blush pale, creating a nice contrast. Her own makeup emphasizes her big eyes and plush lips with darker colors. “Your turn now”, you jump up from your seat, guiding her to sit in your place. She hands you the hairbrush and you comb through her long auburn locks. Separating it into three strands, you braid it and pin it up in a bun, styling her bangs to sit nicely over her forehead. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t tame the baby hairs sticking out everywhere, but you don’t mind. It gives her a certain charm, especially the back of her neck, where you can’t help but press a brief kiss. Goosebumps rise on her skin. It is too late when you realise you have lipstick on, and you rush to wipe it off. You wish you could leave the mark there.
“Does it need touching up?” She asks, voice wavering. You notice that she’s red ear to ear, making you chuckle. You shake your head.
“No, it’s perfect like this.” You rest your chin on her shoulder, looking over her hair in the mirror. “Do you like it, or should we do another hairstyle?”
“It’s beautiful.” She smiles, squeezing your hand. “Thank you, darling. Now, onto our task.”
It is hard to keep your hands off your lover in public when she looks this stunning. She’s wearing deep red satin, black lace at the neckline and sleeves- matching her bold makeup and fiery hair. She’s a breath of fresh air amongst the suffocating, filthy nobles that surround you. Your job is to gather information, about one man in particular- one that is involved with a trafficking ring. That man is standing right across the ballroom, sizing the two of you up. Either he figured out you’re not nobles or he’s about to invite you over to him and you’re going to have an unpleasant, but useful conversation. He waves. This is your chance. The two of you approach him, revving up your acting skills in your head. One, two, three, big smile.
“Good evening, ladies”, he greets, kissing your right hands. “I am Jonathan Anson, but you must already know me. And you are?”
“Mrs. Moriarty”, Moneypenny speaks up first. “And this is my sister in law. Albert Moriarty is my husband.”
“Ah, husband! Take no offense, I almost thought you were one of those perverted women that lay with their bosom friends, you were so close the whole time.” He barks a laugh, his blue eyes burning with malice. Your fists clench at your sides, trying to keep your calm and not tackle this disgrace to the ground. Moneypenny is so upset she can’t find words, but it doesn’t show on her faint smile. ‘Fortunately’, he continues speaking so you don’t have to break character.
“Albert Moriarty, you said? I didn’t know he got married. Allow me to note, he’s a lucky man.” He gives her another once-over, making your stomach churn with disgust. The sheer audacity to compliment her after saying something so insulting... Yet she keeps smiling through it. “Is he present?”
“Why, thank you! Although I believe I’m the lucky one. He’s wonderful.” She makes sure to keep eye contact, playing the confident noblewoman, opposite of her. You take over the conversation now, seeing her discomfort.
“Unfortunately, he’s bedridden. He sent us here because he wanted to make a business offer.” He catches on immediately, his smile turning more cautious. He doesn’t suspect anything, his ring is an open secret between nobility- most of the guests in this room are already involved. Still, he steps closer and speaks on a volume only the two of you can hear.
“Let us talk somewhere private.”
And somewhere private you go, only hoping nobody notices that it’s you that left with him. You find yourself in the bedchambers upstairs, presumably his. He is naive and believes in his power- not believing for a second that two noblewomen would or could trap him.
“Two beautiful orphan boys, around seventeen”, Moneypenny says. “We’ve adopted them secretly- nobody will notice they’ve gone missing.” Even lying about something so horrible makes both of you nauseous. “Just name the place and my husband will sell them to you.”
“I would like to have a look at them first.” He opens the balcony door, watching as the rain falls on the empty backyard. You take it as a sign to follow him. “There’s an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of the East End. You’ll recognize it. We keep and sell the product there. I expect the boys at midnight on Tuesday.” His objectifying, despicable words fill you with rage to the brink, to the point where you can’t let him speak any more, grabbing his collar and smashing his face into the railing so hard, blood splashes on the pink silk of your dress. You hear a crack, possibly his nose, and you revel in it. He lands on cobblestone with a loud thud before either him or Moneypenny could stop you. She doesn’t leave time for your actions to dawn on you, dragging you out of the room, down the lonely halls, outside to your carriage waiting on the other side of the manor amongst the others. From the carriage window Moneypenny makes sure that the ballroom curtains are closed- nobody saw Anson fall. Maybe nobody noticed the three of you together. Either way, you fucked up and you know it. Silence occupies the carriage all the way home. You’re in a haze, and she’s trying to figure out what to report to William. You only talk when you’re back in your hotel room.
“We weren’t supposed to kill him.” She says, trying to maintain her composure while she undoes the back of your dress. You only nod.
“I know.”
“What if someone realises it was not an accident and they move the trafficking location? What if someone heard us and traces back the ties to Moriarty??”
“We’ll figure something out. I’m sorry!” You sigh with frustration, turning to face her. You don’t regret killing him- he deserved it-, but you regret not waiting for the right moment. “I couldn’t bear listening to him anymore, not for another second. The way he talked about human beings was enough, but he also looked at you like you were… and what he said about us…” You’re just rambling at this point, fiddling with her hand nervously. That is until she grabs your face and redirects your gaze onto her, straight into her doe-like eyes. They’re not angry. They’re worried and understanding.
“Breathe for me, okay?”, She talks low, her voice soothing you. She smooths your hair back, her slender hand coming to cradle your head. “It wasn’t your fault. He provoked it, and we’ll solve this, like everything else. Everybody makes mistakes.” You almost forget what you are upset about the longer you stare into her pretty face. You could count all her freckles up this close. The faint scent of lavender, ink and old paper wafts from her skin. Comforting. Uniquely her. Her lips meet yours before she knows it, soft and gentle.
“That man was lost”, you murmur against her mouth, coaxing her onto her back. You lean back to look down at her, running your fingers through her now undone, disheveled hair. “If he ever loved someone the way we love each other, he wouldn’t have had so much hate in his heart.” She smiles, a genuine one. Not the polite smile she gives others. The flush on her cheeks isn’t the same either.
“You think so?”
“I know so.” You brought this up because you sense she’s just as upset about it as you are, if not more. She doesn’t like making things about herself. “Those who know true love don’t hate others for experiencing it differently.”
“My philosopher.” She chuckles, and your eyes light up. You kiss her again, and once more on her neck.
“How about a nice bath together?” You wink. “I’ll wash you. We both deserve it, I think.”
Tags/warnings: nsfw under the cut, oral (f receiving), a bit of hair pulling, unprotected p in v (obviously, it's the Victorian era and we know our guy is not exactly rich lol), biting, use of petnames, brief mentions of Seb's self loathing, established relationship, lot of feelings involved, slight mentions of a size difference but that's evident when it comes to him, I think that's all. I avoided describing reader's appearances so anyone can read it!
A/N: This is a moment in history, I finally finished a fanfic! I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing it. This is probably my first and last time writing smut because as fun it is, I don't see myself doing it frequently. I tried to focus on the emotional aspect rather than trying to make it sexy, so it might not be as good. English isn't my first language. I'm so nervous Jesus Christ please don't hate me after this.. If you wanna set the mood listen to Surrender by Suicide. You're welcome
You’re grateful your lover is a walking heater at times like this. When your breaths appear as white clouds in the air, like smoke. When nights are brighter- the moon reflecting on the fresh coat of snow. When you constantly wear a scarf, even in your home, to keep yourself from freezing. When he’s keeping you company under the heavy blankets, all that seems like a distant memory. You woke up because you started sweating, but now that you think about it, you don’t even remember him going to bed with you. No, you fell asleep alone, in the middle of reading some sappy romantic novel. You didn’t close the curtains, neither did he, so it’s bright enough for you to check the clock on your nightstand- three in the morning. He must’ve arrived around midnight. You hear a grumble behind you and soon he rises, his dark eyes heavy with exhaustion. Even the smallest movements startle this poor man awake.
“What is it, for God’s sake?” He looks down at you with mild annoyance- that’s what you see in the dim light, at least-, but that quickly fades when he sweeps a cold mechanic thumb over your lower lip, leaning down to give you a tender kiss. You almost whine when he pulls away, it’s been a while since you last saw him and you crave his proximity. You'd never admit it, but he can tell by the way you immediately melt into him as he leans back against the headboard, pulling you between his legs so your back rests on his bare chest, and he’s free to bury his face into your neck. He breathes you in; the scent of lavender and candle wax fills his head with longing. One hand slips under your nightgown, splaying over the softness of your abdomen. His good hand finds its place on your inner thigh, the warmth of his palm enveloping it. You settle for tracing patterns on his forearm, raising goosebumps on his skin.
“You still haven't answered. Is there something wrong? Nightmares again? We can talk about it, if you want”, he offers, ever the considerate man he is. “No, it's your loud snoring” Your teasing earns you a slap on your thigh. You yelp and attempt to close them, but he's quick to soothe the sting, running his hand down to your knee, then back up to the edge of your bloomers over and over again. Usually this alone would get you going, if you weren't so tired. Now it's just a comforting gesture. He takes to peppering kisses from your flushed cheeks to your shoulder, his nose nudging your jaw up to give him better access. You sigh and turn over to face him instead, your chests pressed together, your arms snaking around his neck. He adjusts to the new position, both his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips under the fabric. “And you? Are you okay?” You ask, nimble fingers running through the thick raven locks you love so much. “Never better, sweetheart. Now that you're here” You giggle, and he rolls his eyes because he really did mean it, as cheesy as it sounds. He gives you an uncharacteristic, awkward smile, and you wish there was a way to capture it, because in that moment, he doesn't look like someone with blood on their hands, but the sweet man he really is. Watching you admire him as if he was the one to hang the Moon and stars on the sky, he swears to whatever greater power there is- if there is one- that they sent you just for him to keep his sanity. An angel, you are. His angel that deserves better than him. He often beats himself up over not being able to give you a better life, but you're there to remind him that he is working towards a greater future for everyone and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Still, he can't help but think about all the what ifs. You always told him you don't want kids because he’s all the family you need, but would you say the same if he took you away from all this? Somewhere safer, more stable? He’d give you all the babies you want, or anything else your heart wishes for, really. He breathes your name like a prayer, and when you kneel up to be at his level, he leans in for a second kiss, messier than before. Your hands cradle his face, moaning softly as his tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like whisky, tobacco and freedom. His own hands are resting on the small of your back, pulling you closer, if that's even possible. He'd crawl under your skin, if he had a way. Even that wouldn't be close enough. He leaves your lips to kiss down your neck instead, and you know he's getting serious because soon you feel the sting of his teeth on your collarbone. He starts undoing the buttons of your nightgown, but you grab his wrist to stop him. “What's wrong?” He sounds surprised, his eyes search your face with concern. It's three in the morning, your sleepy expression is only natural, that must be your problem, right? He's quick to reassure you before you have a chance to answer. “Don't worry about it. I'll do all the work”
You shake your head, leaning your face into his hand as he cups it. “That’s the thing. It’s not about me, it's about you, Sebastian. You've been on that mission for…” “Two weeks”, he finishes. “Two weeks. You're tired, I can see you are. This can wait” He chuckles dismissively and resumes what he started, soon the only fabric separating you is your underwear. “You tend to forget who you're talking to. Gimme some credit, yeah?” Whatever witty remark left your mouth is lost on him, because he's too busy admiring your barely dressed form. He missed you. He figures you feel the same when he lifts your hips and tugs your panties down, two fingers dipping into your sex to test the waters. You’re dripping. You suck your teeth with pleasure, and he withdraws with a triumphant grin.
“Cryin’ f’ me, the poor thing.” You swear you’ll slap him for his teasing one day. When you’re in a less vulnerable situation and not desperate for his attention. He wastes no time pushing you on your back and dragging you to the edge of the bed, his name slipping past your tongue in a quiet squeal. You love his strength, that he’s capable of handling you however he pleases. He leans over you and takes your lips in a kiss that leaves them bitten and wanting more. Your breaths speed up as he makes his way down your body, dragging that sinful mouth all over your warm skin. Littering your neck and breasts with bites that his tongue follows, kissing your stomach, and finally arriving to his destination as he moves to kneel between your legs. He places them over his broad shoulders, and your breath hitches when he bites your inner thigh as a warning. He kisses your core and your legs jump together so harshly, you’re scared you’ll choke him. Not that he’d mind, but it’s not the ideal position now. “Stay put, hm?” His words are muffled against you, and the vibrations coming from his mouth draw a breathless whimper from yours. He forces your thighs open with his big hands and continues with his work, licking a harsh stripe all the way up your center. You know this’ll be a short session when you feel two thick digits prodding at your sobbing entrance. Soon the sheets are soaked with your slick and his spit- he’s always disgusting and messy with it, eating like it’s his first meal in weeks. You grind your hips on his face like you're in heat, his nose stimulating you while his tongue is occupied with your opening. Yet you're trying to pull him closer still, grabbing the back of his head and tugging him into you. You come with a sharp cry of his name when he sucks on your clit while he pumps in and out of you, each thrust of his fingers hitting your sweet spot. The heights he’s capable of taking you just with his tongue and hand is nearly ridiculous; your entire body is shaking, otherworldly sounds erupt from your throat, and you feel like you’re gonna pass out any second. He holds you down to prevent you from trashing around, not giving you a chance to catch your breath as he licks you clean. A string of his saliva and your essence connects you when he leaves with a satisfied hum. You’re wondering if you’ve gone deaf , he proves your ears are perfectly fine when his smug face comes into view and he pinches your cheek.
“You alright? I thought I lost you there” He presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, making you grimace because his face is covered in you, but you nod nonetheless. You don’t trust yourself to speak in coherent sentences right now. He laughs and wipes you both off with the handkerchief on the nightstand. Once that’s done, he repositions you so you’re in the middle of the bed, your head resting on the pillows comfortably. You reach down to free him from the confines of his underwear, he’s glad to help you and toss it away. You take a moment to admire all of him as he kneels in front of you; his nearly black, seductive eyes framed with long eyelashes that brush his high cheekbones- now trained on your pliant body-, the unique curve of his nose, his full lips promising heaven, his strong jawline. Your eyes travel lower when he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. His shoulders are wide and strong, a scar running down on the left one. Another one across his muscular chest, ending right below the collarbone, then a smaller one that a bullet left on his ribs. You brush your knuckles over the raised skin, and he shivers in anticipation. You drag your hand all the way down his toned abdomen, to the path of curly hair starting under his belly button. A fourth scar across his right hipbone. There, he stands in all his glory, hot and heavy and begging for you. Gorgeous is a weak word to describe him. He’s running his hand up and down your sides, and he can't believe you let the calloused hands that took so many lives touch you, something so admirable and fragile and- oh, you're opening up and offering yourself to him once again. All doubts leave his mind and he’s on you in an instant, hips slotting between your legs. He laces your smaller fingers with his, praising how good you are for him as he lines himself up and pushes inside you, but not before rubbing his aching head between your puffy folds- you both moan in unison. He bites back a whimper as your warmth envelops him, for the first time in weeks. He thinks your expression when he bottoms out is the cutest thing; your jaw clenches, your teeth sink into your lower lip, your eyebrows furrow together, and your nails sting his beefy biceps just right. The stretch brings tears to your eyes, always does, but he’s there to kiss them away and tell you it’s alright. And it is alright after seconds of stillness and calming words. Taking him is hard, no matter how much he prepares you beforehand, and he rewards you with another sloppy kiss when you signal you’re ready. Grabbing your behind, he finds the right angle and makes sure you're comfortable before he starts thrusting, building up the pace slowly but surely in a way that doesn't hurt you.
The world seems to stop when you’re with him like this. Only a few minutes passed, but to you, it feels like it’s been hours. Warmth and peace surrounds you, making you forget about all the problems the two of you might face tomorrow. The room is quiet, save for your soft moans, his grunts and the occasional creak of the bedframe. You put one hand on his chest, your palm meets a rapid beat- your heart is dancing along with his, but he only feels it when you arch into him to make out, your breasts pressed against his pecs. You raise your arms to wrap them around his neck, his messy dark hair tangling with your fingers as you play with it. You take the opportunity to pull on it; you know that would get him to make sounds he doesn’t like you hearing. He whimpers and nearly bites your tongue out of surprise, his movements faltering for a second as he withdraws from your needy mouth. Proud of your accomplishment, you flash him a cheeky smile, and his ego would’ve been bruised if he wasn’t buried in your wetness to the hilt. “We’re playin’ dirty now?” He pinches a nipple playfully, rocking into you with speed that knocks the air from your lungs. “Revenge… for earli-er”, you bite the end of the sentence, a humiliating noise ripping out of you. You tighten up and he notices you’re getting close, his flesh hand finds its way back to your neglected clit to rub circles into it. You lose your voice when the tension in your belly snaps, coating his upper thighs. Your contractions bring him closer to the edge, he decides he won’t even try dragging it out, considering you’re about to fall asleep in his arms. He folds you in half, knees pushed up to your chest so he can drill into you faster. You whine because your orgasms left you incredibly sensitive, he attempts to apologise but is interrupted when his own crashes down on him- who can blame him when you sound so sweet? He curses under his breath, his hips stutter, and soon you feel a splash of something warm and wet on your lower half. His breathing is still heavy when his eyes finally leave the mess between your thighs and land on your face. Lashes wet from tears, the indents of his teeth on your skin, your swollen lips- he can't help but admire the work of art that is you. To him, you're the most beautiful being that ever walked this earth, even more so when you’re dirty, worn out and he’s to blame for it. He wipes you down with your discarded underwear- the fabric makes you wince, and he rubs your hips to soothe you, “I know baby, just hold on a second f’ me.”
The next few minutes are quiet and serene. Your bodies are covered in sweat and you’d be cold if it wasn’t for his hot skin burning against yours. His scent fills your senses; he smells so good, even now, traces of gunpowder and smoke still on him. Satisfaction and contentment runs through your veins, overshadowing the sleep that’s trying to take over your mind. “I love you so much”, you confess with a hoarse voice, aiming to peck his cheekbone, but you’re met with familiar lips instead. They feel rough, yet the way they press against yours is anything but- it’s gentle and careful, nothing like the passionate, harsh kisses he gives you when you’re making love and it feels like he's trying to devour you. The smile on his face is boyish and his eyes sparkle with something reserved only for you when you part, and you know that even though he never says it, he’d go to Hell and back for you. And he already has, in a way, but it was all worth it because he gets to be in Heaven with you.
A/N: Guys I'm still shaking as I'm posting this. I'm open to constructive criticism in fact PLEASE do tell me about your opinions. Hope you had a lovely time. I'm planning on writing an sfw cowboy AU fic soon. Love y'all
The lack of x reader fics are killing me🤧…anyways can I request a fanfic where reader was like ovulating and thought she is checking Sebastian out discreetly but it’s actually so obvious to him 😊😗
𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐒𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
Tags: suggestive, tiny bit of dry humping if you squint, wrote it with them being in a relationship in mind but it's not mentioned anywhere so feel free to interpret it otherwise
A/N: My face lit up when I received this request ily anon. I hope it lives up to your expectations.
It must be that time of the month when certain parts of you are insatiable again. No man should ever look this good whilst doing something so simple as sitting on the couch and talking to someone with an irritated expression on his face. Yet you can't help but see him as the most beautiful and desirable thing right now. He turns back to you and asks for your help in the argument, and for a while, you have to pretend you weren't just holding back from pouncing on him in front of everyone.
The backyard is green and quiet. It’s just you and the robin in the oak tree, you’re outside for gun practice. You’d ask for Sebastian’s assistance, but you want to surprise him and make him proud- you must admit, your aim could use some work-, so you’re doing it alone. Ideally, there should be moving targets, but everyone is too busy with next week’s preparations to accompany you on a hunting trip, thus you stick with empty beer and wine bottles for now.
“Yer holding it wrong.” A booming voice startles you, the weapon goes off and leaves a hole in the tree trunk you propped the bottles on. A hand steadies your posture before you could turn around and scold him, his chest pressing into your back.
“You seriously gotta stop sneaking up on people!”, you complain, but he’s not having it.
“And you gotta toughen up. You’re like a rabbit. You scare too easily”, He says sternly, noting the eagerness of you leaning into him. He adjusts your grip on the rifle, angling it towards the bottles. One hand on each of yours, arms enveloping you, his breath against your neck. Makes the heat crawl from your chest further down south.
“As if you wouldn’t have shot the person that snuck up on you instead.” You jest. “You’re more of a scaredy cat than I am.”
“Watch it”, he warns, but his voice holds no real anger. Rather, it’s rich and sweet, running down your spine like honey. “Now hold your position, breathe and pull the trigger.” He lets go and steps back, leaving you shivering from the loss of his warmth. You try to calm your racing heartbeat. You fail. You pull anyway. The bullet makes its impact just a tiny bit shy of the center of the bottle, shattering it with a loud crash. You look back at him to gauge his reaction.
“Not bad for a rookie”, he pets the top of your head, a faint smirk on his face. “Keep practicin’. I got other business to take care of.”
You follow him with puppy eyes as he leaves. You don’t pull the trigger again that day, too bothered by the sensations coiling deep in your belly. You only have to hold out until the evening, can’t be that hard, you tell yourself. You haven’t the slightest idea just how wrong you are. The hours drag on for so long, and he doesn’t know just how bad you need him. You watch- discreetly- from the couch as he works, putting some new furniture together with his sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing from the effort, cigarette hanging from his mouth. He looks so good that you forget to find him doing chores odd. He doesn’t look back at you, not once. The late afternoon light falls on his face through the window, illuminating his sharp features and the adorable, focused furrow of his eyebrows. You could stare for hours, but you have your own responsibilities, you must leave for now. Your thoughts never do, though. They’re back beneath the sheets with him even as you stand in line at the grocery store. You get the shopping done as quickly as possible, eager to load it all in the pantry and find him again. You’re about to bring a stool after a failed attempt of placing a bag of flour on the top shelf, when your knight in shining armor arrives once again. He snatches it from you and puts it there himself wordlessly, taking your breath when his crotch presses into the curve of your behind. He only mutters a quiet “You’re welcome” before stealing the box of biscuits from the shopping bag and leaving. You forget to demand it back.
You don’t see him for the rest of the day. Soon it is time to retreat to the comfort of your room. He finds his way there when you’ve just finished taking your hair out, combing through it for the night. Now it’s his turn to watch, and yours to pretend you don’t notice his presence. Not for too long.
“What?”
“What?” He repeats, coming to hug you from behind. His hand slides down your front, cupping where you need him most. “You were the one watchin’ me all damn day.” He talks low, pressing his mouth to the side of your head, then your cheek, where the blood rushes upon the realisation that you were not subtle at all. He looks straight into your eyes in the mirror, his gaze like pieces of burning coal.
“Not to mention you were rubbin’ on me like a cat in heat.” He added, thinking back on all the times you smoothed down a hand on his arm or back whenever you passed him, or kissed him just a little longer than necessary.
“So you knew and you didn't do anything?” You pout, muffled as he forces your head back to capture your lips. “You’re mean...” He grins against your mouth, teeth tugging on your lower lip when he moves away. You're not separated for too long as you turn to kiss him comfortably, and he hoists you up by your thighs with ease. He makes sure you feel him.
“What did you want me to do? Surely not fuck you with everyone downstairs with us?”
Silence. Eyebrows raising, he lowers you back on your feet while you avoid his gaze. He holds your chin, focusing your eyes back on him.
“Really? Cat got your tongue?” He’s got that look in his eyes. The one that brings you to the conclusion that if you don’t want him to leave you hanging for another day- he loves having you beg-, you must do something to get him riled up. Emboldened, you lick the tip of his thumb, and you see the corner of his eye twitch. He pushes forward, watching with want as your bitten lips envelop his finger. Pressing down on your tongue, he confirms that the cat in fact left it in its place. You observe the clench of his jaw and the rise of goosebumps on his arm with satisfaction. You’re so close to the goal. He pulls his finger back with a wet pop when you suck on it, weaving his lips with yours aggressively.
“You’re so easy”, you giggle, his hands on your hips urging you to stumble backwards to the bed. Bumping into the edge, you sit down.
“Not another word”, he grumbles, kneeling before you and placing open mouthed kisses up your legs. He stops at the hem of your underwear, exhaling shakily. The cogs in his head seem to turn.
“Is everything-” The world turns around, and you find yourself on your stomach. Cold air hits your skin as he pushes your nightgown up, chapped lips skimming your back before he tugs your bloomers down. When you feel his breath blow against you and hear his belt buckle clinking, you know tonight will be tiring, but it will all be worth it.
“Absolutely not.” The frown on Sebastian’s face is persistent, so is the dark blush dusting his cheeks. “I’m not lettin’ you make a fool of me again.” “When have I ever done that?” You question, tugging at his sleeve. “Please! Just this once!”, you try to convince him, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster. He sighs. Rolls his eyes. Looks down at your pretty face. Goddamnit.
Needless to say, he ends up giving in. That’s why he’s sitting on your bedroom floor right now. He holds your hand in his, applying nail polish to his best abilities. Cursing under his breath every time he messes up, which he often does- not that he’s clumsy, it’s just the size difference that makes it difficult. He has to find the right angle to be able to keep painting without smudging what he’s already done with. You try your best to stay still, giggling at his frustration. “What’s so funny?” He grumbles, dropping your hand once he’s finished. You check out the end results, letting out an impressed hum. He’s actually done a pretty decent job. “You next!” You beam at him, getting up to leave for the bathroom. He mutters something like “Good for me”, under his breath while watching your hips sway in those cute shorts you wear to sleep. You rinse your nails with some cold water to dry them faster, after which you return to him. You plop back onto the bed, pulling his hand into your lap. Where his hand is calloused and rough, yours are soft and tender, yet you're handling him like he's the one that could break any moment. He watches you coat his nails in glittery purple and matte black, the same as yours. Your brush strokes are way more precise than his were, there will be no need to clean the edges up later. His right hand, the prosthetic one, grazes its knuckles against your waist in a gentle motion, savoring the calm he doesn't often experience. You hum along with the odd post-rock track you put on as ‘background music’- a habit of yours he’ll never understand; most people would choose some romantic song when having their boyfriend over, but each to their own. His masculinity be damned, he enjoys getting pampered like this. He gets to spend time with you, and the paint will come off anyway. That happy smile you reward him with is worth every second of humiliation. You blow on the fresh nail polish to speed up the drying process, then hold his hand up by the wrist. “Done!” You exclaim, “Like it?”
He does. He really does. “Don’t get used to it, though.” He warns, his eyes more focused on the way your face glows with mirth. “I wouldn’t dare to dream of it”, you giggle, “Ah, I almost forgot…” You grab his face, pulling him into a kiss so curt he tries to chase it when you pull away. You give him another one as if to seal him, leaning back with a triumphant grin. “There. Now everything matches.” He furrows his eyebrows with confusion, but then his gaze falls on your soft lips, painted a deep shade of red. His are stained the same now. “I’m sure I look fabulous.”
A/N: This is in a modern AU, in case it's not obvious from the context clues. I wrote this to distract myself from the horrors (and also as an apology for not writing the cowboy AU fic), so it might not be a literary masterpiece. Very self indulgent as usual, I was listening to Godspeed You! Black Emperor while writing hence the post-rock mention
A/N: Due to popular demand I've come to feed you with more girldad Seb. This prompt in particular was requested. No angst this time, only teeth-rotting stuff. It kinda sucks but I hope you enjoy.
The past two years were the most exhausting, but happiest years of your life. It has only been so long since the echo of your sobs was replaced with apologies, then the familiar sounds of love, and it’s only been a year since that love has given you the current source of noise, in the form of a teeny tiny girl with Sebastian's looks, and to your disdain, temper. You wouldn’t have thought a baby could harbor feelings too big for her small body, but she proved you wrong. When she’s upset, she makes sure the entire house, no, the entire county knows, and she’s upset a lot. Especially when your man’s not home. That’s the case at the moment, too. You have given up on trying to get her to fall asleep after two long hours of doing every trick in the book. Gave her the teddy her father bought her when she was born. Sang to her. Rocked her in your arms. Told her multiple bedtime stories. Tried breastfeeding her, even though you’re weaning her. None of it worked, so you just put her on the floor and let her crawl around in hopes of exhausting herself to sleep. She got bored of that ten minutes in and pulled herself up on her feet, leaning against the couch, poking at you and babbling about something that involves ‘dada’. That’s when you understand that the little shit hates your guts, and you get an idea.
“Lottie, honey, if you don’t go to sleep right this instant daddy will be incredibly sad.” You try your best to sound convincing, but given your tired state, you probably don't. She seems to think for a moment, she then shakes her head and says;
“Nah.” She’s surprisingly wise for a one year old. You can’t decide whether to laugh or sob.
“What do you mean, nah? Yes he will be! So sad he might even cry. And you know what, I’ll join him!” Being strict was never your strong suit, you can’t stop smiling despite your frustration. “You’re being a bad girl right now.”
“What am I hearing, huh?” Sebastian chimes in, and his voice both startles you and makes Lottie brighten up. His usually tight frown softens the minute he sees you two. His little family he never hoped to have. “Why are y’all awake?”
“Dada!”
“I didn't expect you to be home so early”, you exhale with relief, knowing he’ll take the reins now. “She wants you.” He smiles, crouching down and watching as his baby’s trying to make her way to him, supporting herself with the furniture. She’s stopping every few steps to take a breath, as if she ran a mile. Sebastian and you share a look, one that’s full of admiration towards one another and the little one between you.
“You just couldn’t let your mum rest, eh?” He eventually looks back at Lottie, who’s currently putting all the effort into not falling over. She shakes her head, which almost throws her off balance, but to her luck, she also inherited her father’s strength. She straightens again, and when she reaches the end of the couch, Sebastian is about to go and support her, but then… She lets go and stands by herself. She huffs triumphantly, and before you can process it, she's taking small, wobbly steps. You exchange glances with Sebastian again, not sure if you should believe your eyes. He looks back down at her and smiles the proudest smile you've ever seen, his eyes sparkling with the same emotion.
“Come on, kid”, he urges, holding out his hands in case she needs help, “Come to dad!” His encouraging works, Lottie starts putting her tiny feet forward one by one with newfound determination. You just watch with overwhelming happiness as your baby girl takes her first steps, and all because she missed her father so much. She nearly arrives at her destination when she trips, falling right into his arms.
“Whoops!” He laughs, scooping her up. “You are one strong wee thing, ya know that?” He pecks her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. She doesn't understand the words, but she understands kisses and she giggles happily, the sound mirroring his.
“Have you seen that, love?” He looks at you, his face innocent and joyful in a way you only ever see when he's with your kid. “Our strong girl. She's the best baby in the world.” You laugh wholeheartedly at the childish expression, finally gathering the strength to walk over to them.
“I’m so proud of you”, you tell Lottie, pressing your mouth to her black curls. No reaction. She’s too occupied with his matching hair, twirling and twisting it around chubby fingers. You look back at Sebastian because you feel him stare. The same stare he's always given you since the start. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I adore you. You're the first to lean in, pressing your lips against his with the intention of a fleeting kiss, but he tilts your head back with his free hand and deepens it. Slow. Passionate. The kind that leaves you breathless even after all this time. You part to meet his handsome face with a ridiculous, almost shy smile and he strokes the side of your neck with the satisfying knowledge that you're still head over heels for each other. Lottie has had enough of your cheesy romance, she nuzzles her cheek against Sebastian’s, babbling something unintelligible- probably telling him about her day. He pretends to be invested.
Tags: mental health problems, mentions of sh and suicide, vomit, angst, comfort
A/N: I knowww I was gonna take a break, but I wanted to post this last thing I've been working on for a while. Pretty self indulgent, reader is basically a tame version of myself but I left it pretty vague to make it relatable. Hope you enjoy and read with caution if you're struggling. Take care<3
If there is one thing Sebastian hates about his job, it's having to be apart from you for weeks, sometimes months at a time. The worst part is when the mission is too dangerous and it's too risky to send letters. Given his past, he’s a naturally paranoid person, but when it comes to you, those fears grow tenfold- not hearing from you kills him. The week leading up to his leave for Durham, he’s noticed slight changes in your behavior. You ate less than usual. Didn’t bother with playing into emotions you know you’re supposed to feel, responding to everything monotonely. Rejected his advances. He knew what it all meant, the walls were breaking down again. When you’re like this, it’s only a matter of days before it’s unsafe to leave you on your own. For this reason he’s entrusted Moneypenny with keeping you company, giving her a very vague description of the situation. He’s aware you don’t like anyone knowing, but he figured it’s either this or finding you dead one day. Moneypenny is good at keeping secrets and never pries, it should be fine. He left with a kiss and the request that “You’ll be a good girl while he’s away”, to which you gave him a well deserved swat on the shoulder but agreed anyway. A promise only matters so much when your feelings are too heavy to tame, though.
He almost missed a target, wrapped up in his concerns. As soon as his part of the job was done, he hopped on the next train home, leaving the clean-up to Fred and Bonde. The manor is eerily quiet when he arrives. Some sort of dark aura fills the space of life. It was expected, given only Moneypenny and you stayed home. What’s really unusual is you not flying down the stairs, straight into his arms when he steps through the doorstep. Instead comes an out-of-breath Moneypenny, and the knot in his throat tightens. He speaks before she can begin to explain.
“Where’s she?”
“Locked herself in her chambers”, she pants, seemingly having run all the way from the end of the corridor. He pushes past her, his mind repeating the same thing over and over again. Please don’t let me lose her. Moneypenny follows closely.
“She looked alright this morning, I didn’t think she would-”, she continues with the details, “I begged her to let me in, but she insisted on being left alone” He's more focused on getting into your room. He rattles the doorknob and calls for you. He can hear sobs. You’re alive.
“Sweetheart, it’s me. Please open the door”, he begs, pressing his ear to it for more signs of life. “Please. Don’t do anything stupid, for the love of God-” He remembers he keeps a spare key to your room in his pocket. He wastes no time unlocking and tearing it open.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything”, Moneypenny says with a worried frown, leaving to give you privacy. Sebastian throws her a thanks, making his way to you. You’re on the floor, eyes red, knees to your rapidly heaving chest. You didn’t keep silent because you wanted to- you were hyperventilating.
“Oh, Jesus, stop that!”, he nearly shouts, struggling to keep his calm. He noticed your nails drew blood from your upper arms, he’s trying to pry them out of your grip. You didn’t look at him until this moment. In your eyes he sees the same angry sadness he does in the mirror. He doesn’t have to ask what triggered this. It’s not always caused by stimuli. He checks if there are deeper wounds anywhere, sighing with relief when he finds none. You kept yourself together at least a little bit.
“C’mere”, he coos, pulling you to him. You’re too tired to protest, and can’t do so verbally due to the pressure in your chest. “Need you to breathe, yeah?” he whispers, petting your back. You nod, trying your best to calm down. He uses this time to assess the damage. You didn’t bring any sharp objects with you, and nothing’s broken. That’s good. You probably locked yourself in here to prevent more harm, keeping your promise to him, he acknowledges with a relieved sigh. Just when you think you’d calm down, you feel your stomach turning. Your jaw tightens and you lapse forward to avoid getting it all over him. He pulls your hair back, watching with increasing sadness as you struggle. You feel like a disgusting mess, refusing to look back at him when you’re done.
“Let’s get ya cleaned up”, he sighs, gathering you in his arms. He takes you to the bathroom, where he sets you on the sink, you brush your teeth and he checks your wounds again. Fortunately, they’re not deep and safe to take a bath with. He pats your thigh.
“Stay here, I’ll heat up some water.” He turns back by the door. “And don’t do anything.” You give him a thumbs up, staring at the wall across you. The pain in your chest doesn’t seem to wanna go away. The tears keep returning and your breathing is still heavy. Oddly enough, him finding you didn’t help, it just reinforced what you feel. You’re a burden. At least half an hour passes until he comes back, bringing you back to earth. Silence sits between the two of you, the only noise being the rustling of clothes and your sniffles as he undresses you, pressing kisses here and there. He can’t stop. He’s grateful you’re still here. He lowers you into the bath he prepared for you, taking to cleaning you. He never says a word, knowing you appreciate actions more.
“I know I’m difficult.” You hiccup, “I’m sorry I’m like this.”
“It’s not your fault. We’ll work through it.” He pecks your nose, your eyebrows, your forehead, finally your lips, leaving something akin to a smile on your face. He smiles back lovingly.
“Join me?” You ask, tugging on the collar of his shirt.
“Now that’s my girl”, he winks, discarding his clothes. He slides behind you in the bathtub, settling you between his legs. He takes up most of the space, it’s become quite cramped. You don’t mind his extra warmth.
“Thank you”, You whisper, pressing his hand to your stomach. “For staying with me.” He rests his cheek on the top of your head, caressing your skin with his thumb.
“It’s the least I can do.” You smile faintly again. The pain is still there. It will come back over and over again. But at least now you have someone that’s worth staying for.
Moran couldn’t recall the last time he ate or took a bath. The last few weeks blurred into a long, endless day, he didn’t know what month or day it was, he could just assume it was around mid-october based on the brown-ish color of tree leaves. He felt the urge to throw up, although there was nothing in his stomach. After a few hours of dragging himself through the empty streets, he slid down by the nearest wall to finally sit and rest for a while, his whole body weak and trembling from exhaustion and hunger. He lifted his head just to see heavy clouds gathering above London, he knew he was gonna get soaked again if he couldn’t find a sheltered place until then- but he had no strength left in him anymore. He didn’t even know how he made it until now, he came back without any money or spare clothes on him- he had nothing. Looking down at his calloused hand, he wondered if he made the right decision by remaining ’dead’. Was it worth it?
He swallowed as he observed how thin his wrist got, he was just skin and bones at that point. He reached up with his right hand to tuck his messy hair out of his eyes, grunting with frustration as he realised there was only a thump in its place. He still wasn’t used to it, his brain was messing with his senses. It was a miracle it didn’t get infected. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on top of them, staring at the muddy road ahead to avoid the passer-by’s judgemental gazes. He felt the raindrops begin to fall and soak his clothes and hair, but he didn’t move an inch. Might as well just die here, he thought.
With a big sigh, he glanced around the street one last time before closing his eyes. He stayed like that for a few minutes, already slipping into a deep sleep, when he heard a voice above his head. He opened one eye to observe whoever stood in front of him, he wasn’t even sure said person was talking to him. „Are you alright, sir?” A young man asked again with concern in his voice, holding an umbrella above his head. Moran furrowed his eyebrows, deciding whether he should answer or not. The young man couldn’t have been older than 16, by the looks of it he was a noble- he wore a brown suit and red tie, his blonde hair was well taken care of, his unique, red eyes full with curiosity and worry. He was about to repeat the question for the third time when the older man cleared his throat and answered in a bitter voice. „What do you care?”
The boy was suprised by the dismissive reply for a moment, but refused to give up. „In the most respectful way possible, you look worn out, sir. I thought you could use some help” The young man observed Moran’s dirty clothes, his sunken cheeks, the bags under his eyes, his toussled hair, then continued. „Do you have a place to stay for the night?” Moran’s shoulders slumped even more, answering these questions honestly would damage his ego. But he really could die any day now if he lied, so he took a deep breath and straightened his back. „No. Haven’t slept in a bed for a while now”
William offered a faint smile, extending his hand to help the man up. „I’m William James Moriarty, son of Earl Moriarty. I could offer you shelter until you’re stable, if you’d accept” Moran couldn’t decide if this was a bad joke, or if he was dreaming. „Are you sure this isn’t a sick joke? I’m not exactly in the mood to laugh” The young Moriarty chuckled softly, shaking his head and offering a shoulder to the veteran. „I’m serious, sir. I want to help” Moran steadied himself on his shoulder, nodding his head and muttering a ’thank you’. He still wasn’t sure the boy was honest. „I introduced myself, I believe it’s your turn now” William said after a few steps, adjusting the man’s arm on his shoulder. He noticed he was missing a hand, he figured he must’ve been a soldier.
„Moran” The raven-haired man answered shortly, not elaborating further. „Mr. Moran, would you like to eat something before we head home?” William asked as he saw a small restaurant across the street, with very few people inside, meaning they won’t have to wait for the food for long. Moran’s stomach growled at the mention of eating, so he took it as a yes and guided him inside, helping him sit down in the chair. Moran felt ashamed to sit in such a place with his dirty clothes and unwashed hair, the furniture and decoration looked pretty fancy for a small restaurant. He was hoping he didn’t stand out too much. The waiter came soon with a menu and a jug of water in his hands, Moran drank the latter with feverish tempo while Moriarty read through the menu carefully.
Moran finished drinking and took to watching William with growing curiosity, resting his head in his palm. What a strange boy he was. There was something in him that conveyed he should be on alert around him, but at the same time, he felt safe. He would’ve liked to thank him properly, but he couldn’t find his voice at the moment, he was just content he finally got to drink and his throat wasn’t that sore from dryness anymore. The two sat in silence for a while, waiting for the waiter to return and take their orders. „What would you like to eat, Mr. Moran?” William finally asked after choosing his own meal, noticing the man didn’t even open his menu.
„I’ll eat anything” Moran replied, leaning back in his chair with a tired expression. „Even Stargazy pie?”
