“Steve?” Bucky says, a little hopelessly; his partner’s over by the bar, notebook flipped open and completely disregarded as he blushes at the bartender with the gorgeous gap-toothed smile.
The guy swaying a little in front of him has a pretty great grin himself. He’s got a black eye coming up, sticking plaster across the bridge of his nose, and his fists are raised and loosely clenched. He kinda looks like he could take Bucky, which is rare, but only if someone drip-fed him caffeine first.
“Sir,” Bucky says, which never comes out sounding as genuine as Stevie manages, “I think you need to sit down.”
“Make me,” he says, and grins again, beckoning like he’s in the damn Matrix. A woman in a nearby booth kicks her heels off the table and gets smoothly to her feet, coming over to push the guy’s fists down and scrubbing a hand affectionately through his hair. Bucky scowls at her.
“Being arrested after a bar fight will go down no better than the real story,” she tells him. “Besides which, you suck at lying.”
“Fuck you I’m great at everything,” he says, and then giggles a little, staggering sideways to lean - annoyingly attractively, considering the state of him - against the corner of the booth.
“You are great at one thing, Clint,” the woman says. “Perhaps two, on a good day.”
“I’m amazing,” he protests. “It’s right there in the name.”
“The amazing Clint?” Bucky asks, arching a sceptical eyebrow.
“The amazing Hawkguy.” Clint says, then frowns. “No, wait. Eye.”
“Me,” Clint says. It’s a little easier to mistake him for sober, leaning the way he is, stable against the wall of the booth and giving Bucky a lingering look. He’s got a surprisingly sharp look, for someone who can barely stand up straight. “I’d like to report a crime, officer.”
“You’ve stolen my -”
He’s cut off by his friend smacking the back of his head, and she rolls her eyes at Bucky.
“That is not one of the two things,” she says. “Now come, Clint. Let’s go tell Katie-Kate about the kitten -”
“I rescued,” Clint says, eyes flicking to Bucky, a pleading kinda look on his face.
“ - that chased you out of a tree.”
Bucky snorts, mouth curving up in a smile, and Clint - who’d been almost steady for a moment there - walks into a chair.
“Aaw, chair,” he says, and looks so endearingly betrayed that Bucky scribbles something down, tears the page out of his notebook. He hands it to Clint’s friend, as the safer - or at least, more sober - option.
“In case he wants to press charges,” he says, feeling his cheeks flushing under her amused regard. “For the theft.”
I’m not 100% sure this even belongs here and I’ve posted this story elsewhere so some of you might have read it already.
Some background: I work in a rather specialized area of Forensics. Officially I’m employed by Police Scotland but they tend to let other law enforcement agencies, universities, etc borrow us from time to time. A lot of the time it’s for consulting work or guest lecturing but sometimes we’re sent to teach training courses.
About 18 months ago I was asked to lecture at a training course for some of the CID higher-ups in an English Police force. It was the first time I’d done anything like it and I was crapping myself.
I met with the conveners and other officials for dinner the night before my first day, and after dinner and drinks, I was dropped back at my hotel.
So to set the scene; it’s about 10pm, I’m all dressed up in my evening wear and I’m sitting at the bar in the hotel lounge. The place is dead, it’s just me and the barman so I’ve taken off my heels and am unraveling my hair having just ordered a hot chocolate. The barman asks if I want mini marshmallows on my hot chocolate. Yes, of course I want mini marshmallows on my hot chocolate. No I don’t mind waiting while you run to the kitchen.
So I’m sit there trying to trick my phone into connecting to the hotels WiFi when Angry Man walks in.
He stomped into the room and slammed his fist down on the bar about 3 ft from me and barked out one word:
I didn’t know it but apparently that attempt at communication was aimed at me; a fact I learned a moment later when Angry Man moved right up next to me, bent over me so his face was practically in mine and barked out again;
In an attempt to get away from the screaming coffee man I slipped off the bar stool, putting it between the two of us. Extremely confused and more than a little terrified, it didn’t immediately occur to me that he thought I worked there, hell it wasn’t even registering that he wanted a coffee. He was just repeating it the same way a toddler does when they learn a new word but don’t entirely know what it means.
I’m going to blame the confusion, fear and tiredness for my completely moronic response, which was to parrot the word back at him.
Angry Man: “COFFEE”
Then he slammed his fist down on the bar again. This time I noticed that he was actually throwing down money.
My brain suddenly came back online.
Me: “Oh. Eh, the barman should be back in a sec. H-”
Angry Man: “Get me a coffee. Now.”
Ooooh four new words. Progress.
Me: “I’m sorry, mate, I don’t work here.”
Angry man (shouting now) “You fucking lazy liar!! Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”
Yes, actually, but I’ll be keeping that to myself.
Angry Man: “Get off your fucking phone and get me a shitting coffee”
Me: “I really don’t-”
Cue rant about me being the only person in the lounge so of course I must work there and I was just being lazy and did I take him for an idiot. All while I’m slowly backing away from the bar so he can’t pin me between it and the bar stools. Then he throws in this:
Angry Man: “Do you have any idea who I am? Do you have any idea how important I am?”
I never got to find out how important this guy thought he was. Instead Angry Man’s Friend came wandering in.
He took one look at me; pretty much cornered by Angry Man who is now screaming about how he’ll make sure I never work again while I’m trying to calmly tell him to back off and he tries to intervene.
He took Angry Man by the shoulders and moved him back away from me while asking him what was going on.
Angry Man: “This stupid little whore is refusing to serve me”
Me: “I really don’t work here”
Angry Man’s Friend: “She doesn’t work here. Let’s just all try to calm down”
There was a few moments of Angry Man’s Friend trying to calm Angry Man while he ranted about getting me fired until two barman arrived, one of them with my hot chocolate. The presence of the three men distracted Angry Man enough for me to grab my shoes and escape with my chocolatey goodness.
As I left I could hear him demanding to speak to a manager.
The next day, after being introduced to a lecture theater full of high ranking CID Officers, I stood and walked to the podium only to be greeted by one guy in the audience laughing hysterically.
I just sort of froze trying to figure out the joke. Did I have food on my face? Was my shirt on inside out?
A quick check confirmed that, no. I’d managed to adult that morning.
A few other people began to chuckle as this guy struggled to get a hold of himself. As he regained control he pointed to his left.
Where a very red looking Angry Man was sitting.
I think it was the sheer relief that he wasn’t actually laughing at me that caused me to open my mouth and say to Angry Man;
“Oh did you get your coffee in the end?”
He walked out and I didn’t see him for the rest of the course.
I just wanted to let you know I love following your blog. Your art is absolutely gorgeous. You made me low key ship bakudeku which is impressive seeing as my OTP is kiribaku!! The way you draw Bakugou takes my breath away. He is so so good. I also really enjoy your kirikami pieces! Thank you so much for sharing your art with us. You truly are a wonderful person!
!! ; ; omgh really?? thank you so mUCH Aaahh it’s kindda really an honor to hear–! To bridge my love for boom boom and Bakudeku/Kirikami to another fellow boom boom fan (and a Kiribaku shipper nonetheless–!) makes feels like an accomplishment lmao hjnfjkdfjk feels bad I havnt really drawn these two together so as a kinda apology/thank you…
here this just for you anon–! and any of my followers who are quiet kiribaku shippers lul
You heard your colleague’s voice in the background. But you didn’t react to it. You were focused on something else. Rather someone else. Your boss, that was sitting on the other end of the table, twisting and twirling a pen between his long, slender fingers. He was completely staring at you, head cocked to one side in a rather smug attitude. He was young, not much older than you. Only by a year or two. It always amazed you how successful he was for his age, but with that charm - although he most of the time radiated arrogance… and that smile, his success did not surprise you.
You’d lie if you said you weren’t attracted to him. Hell, that man could have his way with you without you even questioning it, you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, you wanted it. You wanted him to fuck you, and by judging the look he was giving you, you understood he knew that, too. What made your chest rise and your heartbeat increase, was the fact that he tugged on the collar of his shirt. Then, he gazed up at you again, and the look he was shooting you this time made you weak. He wanted it, too.
Beginner level taijutsu: you kick somebody Advanced level taijutsu: you kick somebody super hard Master level taijutsu: you kick somebody into the planet’s stratosphere, jump above them while they’re still going, and kick them back down to earth.
Beginner level genjutsu: you make yourself look like someone else for five minutes. this is useless if a hyuga or uchiha is around. Advanced level genjutsu: you can make someone else look like another person to all of their friends for five minutes. this is useless if a hyuga or uchiha is around.
Master level genjutsu: you can trap someone in their brain, torturing them for hours, and they feel all the pain and suffering as if it were real. this is still mostly useless if a hyuga or uchiha is around.
Beginner level ninjutsu: Fire spell. Advanced level ninjutsu: Firaga spell. Master level ninjutsu: You create fire in the shape of an ancient god dozens of stories high and bring its burning fists down upon your enemies, annihilating anything in it’s path.
Beginner level fuinjutsu: you try to make an explosive tag without killing yourself in the process. Advanced level fuinjutsu: you try and make a seal that holds objects in a pocket of space time without killing yourself in the process. you then use the tag to carry your luggage Master level fuinjutsu: you hand a person a note that says ‘i can do what i want’, only the note is actually a seal that instantly brainwashes them upon looking at it so you can do what you want. you can do whatever you want. you place a seal on a building and it is all sucked into an equivalent of a black hole. you can rip people’s souls out from their bodies and damn them into super ninja hell indefinitely. you can summon an actual death god to hang out with. you can carry your entire house in your wallet. you can do whatever you want
Y/n freezes as she hears Harry’s voice ask her the question she’s been dreading to answer.
It’s been two weeks since she’s heard that voice. It may sound rougher now, more stern and harsh than it normally is as it growls behind her at the counter of Lexi’s bar, but it’s still the first time she’s heard it in two weeks.
After her sober confessions to a very tipsy, slumberous Harry, Y/n had to understand what it truly meant to move on.
At first, she thought she would still be able to be around him as she searched for ways to rid her feelings. She distracted herself, mostly. She would interact more with Savannah than she would Harry, and even started picking up new habits whenever she felt her emotions creeping in. Anything that reminded her of him was disregarded entirely so that the only time he was able to consume her thoughts was whenever he was near her.
For the first couple weeks, she was holding up quite well, considering the circumstances. She was able to contain her emotions and take her mind off of the raging heartache that kept burning in her chest.
But it wasn’t much long after that night when Savannah and Harry finally became official, and if Y/n wasn’t anguished before, she surely was then. She was forced to witness the transition of their relationship in hindsight. What was once casual flirting and innocent touches turned into secretive giggles and loving hand gestures.
It was as if her heart broke all over again. What seemed to be almost completely mended was destructed all at once. The chase between Harry and Savannah was over, and reality set in that Harry was happy and in love with someone that wasn’t Y/n.
Watching them together was Y/n’s most devastating nightmare, and the thought of that alone meant she couldn’t mentally handle being alone anymore. With all of the emotions built up inside of her, being alone for Y/n meant enduring the pain and suffering she didn’t want to feel anymore. She just wanted it all to end, everything.
The earliest hours of the morning wrecked her the most. With only the moon illuminating the room and the radio silence throughout her house gave Y/n no choice but to be alone with her thoughts. She wasn’t loved, and no matter how many nights she’s tried to convince herself that this wasn’t the end, it was.
She had to let Harry go, completely this time. She gave up on him entirely because she couldn’t keep loving him when he didn’t love her. Not anymore, not like that.
She keeps her back to him as he heaves heavy breaths, eyes sending daggers and teeth clenched from his crippling frustration.
“It’s Thursday, I see,” Harry grumbles before giving her the chance to answer, jaw locked as his fingers grip harshly around a stray, unfinished glass of alcohol. “You never work Thursdays. ’S this where your Friday shifts went?”
There’s an unpleasantly rough tone in his voice that makes Y/n’s breath hitch in her throat. She’s never witnessed this side of him, filled with anger and exasperation. He’s always been so soft and gentle, never having the heart to speak down to someone. But here he is, eyes dark with anger and words spewing venomously from his lips.
And as much she hates to admit it, she can’t blame him for being so angry with her. She knows she means the most to him—even if it’s not in a romantic sense—she’s become such an important part of his life. Ever since they met, she took in the truth about his past, understood the feelings and thoughts he’s carried all through his years, and was able to provide him with anything she was able to when he needed her most. She was one of the very few people he trusted and felt most comfortable with in his life. She was irreplaceable, he’d always tell her, nobody could compare to her. She meant everything.
And then, she left him. She distanced herself so far away from him until it was as if she was never apart of his life. She ignored him and all his attempts to reach out to her again. It hurt her tremendously, knowing that what they had together was completely and utterly helpless, but she never questioned how Harry felt about it. She did what was easiest for her and never thought about it twice. She left him so that he can be happy, but as he stands so tensely and confused before her, she can’t help but blame herself what’s happened between them.
She nods her head softly, still refusing to look up at him as she gathers all the used glasses in front of her, making herself seem distracted so she doesn’t have to make much effort into speaking to him.
“I—uh, yeah. Friday nights were getting hectic and I couldn’t keep up with the late hours. I thought Savannah told you.”
It’s a lie. A shitty, impulsive lie that Harry almost finds humorous. Of course, Y/n switched her Friday night shift. She felt as if she had no choice. She couldn’t bare to look at him with Savannah another goddamn second, and he thought of spending Friday nights with Harry without being alone with him and going to the 24-hour movie theater together was enough to make her sick to her stomach.
“She did,” he clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing as he watches her scramble around the bar, “didn’t have to, though. I knew she was lying.”
Y/n’s actions halt for a moment, a feeling of dread flowing in her veins before she goes back to cleaning off the bar, disregarded his statement completely.
Harry knows Y/n’s been avoiding him, she hasn’t exactly made it as subtle as she thought. Their entire friendship changed, and Harry knows he wasn’t the one ruining it.
The morning after Y/n drove Harry back from the bar, all he could really remember clearly was falling asleep with Y/n. There were other bits he remembered, but that was really the only moment that came to him when he woke up. And he was confused when he woke up alone because, in all honesty, he was looking forward to waking up next to her. It was all his drunk mind thought of, and that terrified him.
When Y/n started distancing herself from him, Harry kept wondering what he had done wrong. She was fine with Savannah, keeping up with their lives as usual. But she was different with Harry—closed off, in a way, and it made him feel something he’s never felt in his life before.
He was confused, to say the least. Because when he was kissing down the bare chest of the woman of his dreams, he couldn’t stop daydreaming about Y/n, and how he hasn’t heard her voice and how he hasn’t felt her in so long.
He had Savannah wrapped around his finger, yet he still felt as if everything about it was wrong. He changed when Y/n left him, because even when he was around the most loving company, he felt alone.
He was helpless. As much as he tried to love Savannah, Y/n was always in the back of his head. She was there, all the time, trapped in his mind with no escape route.
At first, he was confused—upset and lost without Y/n. He didn’t know life without her would feel so lonely, so empty and incomplete. It was strange, not knowing how to live his life without her. He’d never expected her disappearance to be such a hindrance to him, but it was. Oh, how it was.
Then, he was angry—angry because as many times as he tried to get her to speak to him again, she never came back. She was gone, forever.
Now, he’s hurt. So damaged by her leaving his side, so incomplete and destroyed without her with him anymore. His heart is heavy with sadness and he couldn’t let himself feel this way anymore.
He needs her, no matter how wrong and pathetic it sounds, he needs her.
“So you gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me, or am I gonna have to force it out of you?” he seethes, nose flaring as he tries to steady his uneven breath.
Y/n shakes her head ignorantly, a flash on innocence in her eyes as she does so. But she damn knows well what he’s talking about, and her oblivion drives him crazy.
“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking ab—“
“Oh, fuck off with it!” Harry spits, slamming his closed fist down on the wooden counter.
He doesn’t seem to care about how sudden the bar falls silent, or the glisten of fear in Y/n’s eyes when she finally looks up at him. All he can seem to care about is how much pain he feels, all over. All he can think about is how now, after the last two weeks of not being able to understand why he cares so goddamn much, he’s finally able to feel some sense of sanity being in front of her now.
“You know what you’re doing to me, Y/n! You know damn fucking well what you’re fucking doing and—“
“Harry, please.” Y/n whispers and she isn’t sure as to whether or not she’s begging him to lower his voice or begging for him to understand.
“And it’s not fair!” he cries out, tears of frustration overflowing from his eyes as he grips tightly onto his hair.
His breaking point is approaching, he feels it. He feels it with every breath he takes and every word that emits from his mouth. His heart twists and breaks as he expresses every feeling that’s been consuming him for the past two weeks. He needs her to know what she’s doing to him, needs her to know how he feels in this moment.
“I did nothing to you and you keep pushing me away and that’s not fair because I don’t know how to live without you. Isn’t that something?! I don’t know what to do without you, and you know that!”
Suddenly, his head falls in his hands as he begins to sob. Complete heart-wrenching sobs, making his chest tight and breathing shallow.
Y/n reaches her hand out for him, her fingers clasping harshly around his wrist. Her own eyes start to brim with tears as she watches him sob below her, his body shaking with undying cries. She swallows harshly when he grabs ahold of her hand, bringing her palm against his forehead. His lips reach to kiss her wrist softly, quickly refraining from keeping them there longer.
To touch her, for the first time, is every answer he needs. She’s the only one to make him feel this way—she’s the only one to drive him to the brink of insanity and resurface him back to clarity. She has power over him he never understood until now, after he’s lost her.
“I don’t know why it hurts this much, Y/n,” He cries, his eyes squeezing shut as he inhales sharply, “I’ve never been more confused in my life.”
She chokes on her cries as she nods her head softly, her free hand reaching up to rake her fingers through his hair. Her lips shake from their craving to touch him, watching as he weakens beneath her.
She’s missed him, in the most desperate of ways. She’s missed every part of him, and every atom in her body yearned to feel him again. Whether it was to feel the warmth of him from a distance or to feel his skin ignite her, she wanted every part of him against her. If she wasn’t with him, she was missing him, and craving him with every breath she took.
Her lips press tentatively to his forehead, her breath fanning through his hair as she does so. The action is quick, leaving just as quickly as it comes, but it carries sentimental meaning for the both of them.
Harry frowns, his heart thumping in his chest. He looks up into her eyes, filled with concern and sanity as she maps his features.
“It’s been ever since me and Savannah got together.” He mumbles, eyes watching her face as it pales slightly at his words. “You haven’t spoken to me since.”
Her eyes flutter shut as he speaks, finding it completely pointless to try and make him believe otherwise. He deserves to know, one way or another, and even if it’s now, she feels like she’s already lost him. There isn’t much she’d be losing now, anyways. He was never hers.
“Please leave, Harry.” She whispers.
She backs away from him, her touch leaving him was like a gunshot to his chest. It’s a feeling he’s felt all too much that he can’t bare to feel again.
His heart breaks as he watches her begin to cry, her usual glistening eyes now filled with tears of sorrow. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he tentatively takes a step closer to her.
He’s desperate, and he doesn’t care how weak he seems. He’s desperate to see where he’s missed it all along, to know how long he’s been making her feel this way. He’ll never forgive himself for all the pain he’s caused her, for all her nights alone when all she wanted was to be with him.
He could have done so much to change this. If he had just listened to his heart from the beginning, this would all be different now. If he hadn’t been so blind, they would both be happy right now.
“Don’t.” she whispers, her voice cracking as she speaks, “Please, don’t.“
She isn’t exactly sure what she’s saying—isn’t quite sure what she’s begging him not to do. Maybe it’s the nickname he’s always called her that makes her stomach twist a bit more, or how he’s trying to make her feel better that makes her eyes sting with a fresh new wave of tears, or how he looks at her now the way he never did before that makes her throat tighten around a sob. Whatever it is that makes her beg, she can’t handle it anymore.
“I’m trying, Y/n,” He whispers, “please.”
“Please just—“ her eyes flutter shut as she speaks, “just leave me alone.”
Harry lets out an unsteady breath, his green eyes brimmed with red as he watches her begin to sob.
He nods, because he can’t let himself keep doing this to her. If he keeps trying with her in her current state of mind, she won’t be able to think properly. She’ll be a wreck, more so than she is now, and he can’t find it in his heart to do that. Even if it means fighting for her.
“It’s not worth it, you know.” He whispers, his eyes staring lovingly into hers, “Being with her, it’s not worth it if it means losing you.”
I just terminated my #Netflix subscription over their cancellation of
#Sense8. By cancelling Sense8 when
not only was the 3rd season already slated to be its last but almost 500,000
people have request its salvation as well, it is plain to see that Netflix
truly does not care about its viewers. #MarvelsIronFist was still renewed for a 2nd season despite widespread fan and critical dislike of its premiering
season. Sense8 was eliminated
regardless of a devoted fan following and critical recognition of it being one
of the most inclusive, unique shows available today. Yes, Sense8 has its flaws but its contributions far outweigh its
shortcomings. Netflix’s refusal to even give us a special or 2 hour-long movie
as closure to the series if they will not renew it for a 3rd season shows
their continued lack of concern when it comes to fans of their original programming.
As another slap in the face to fans, Netflix announced Sense8’s cancellation on the first day of June. June is Pride month.
A show that is renowned for its realistic #LGBT characters and inclusive
storylines gets abandoned at a time when #LGTBQIA people get to celebrate being
who they are. It is as if Netflix told fans- whether intentionally or not- the #LGBTQ
people who drive this show are not good enough. You #queer fans are not good
So, I’m doing the only thing that matters to companies. I’m speaking the
only language they know: money. I’m taking my money out of their hands. I had
previously planned on buying box sets of Sense8,
now I’m not sure if I will do so. Netflix’s sole concern being profit is
illogical with them consistently renewing some unpopular shows while rejecting
quality, popular projects known for their diversity (#TheGetDown is another
prime example of this).
I hope those of you who have not already
cancelled your Netflix subscriptions in protest of Sense8’s termination will join me. Maybe with us united, Netflix
will reconsider and give Sense8 the closure
it deserves. I know that is unlikely. Even if we do not succeed in getting
justice for Sense8, perhaps our
actions will make Netflix think twice before betraying their fans again.
warnings: SMUT, swearing, dirty talk, NSFW GIFS. porn without a plot, basically.
prompt: going into heat while living in the loft with derek being the only available alpha.
the cold loft was deserted as you laid in the middle of your bed, beads of sweat ran down your sore skin and your breathing was coming out harder than usual. you’d turned down the AC as soon as you’d woken up, the icy air doing very little to calm your raging hot skin. you had lived with derek and issac in the loft for 6 months after being turned by scott and having no where else to go; at first you thought of yourself as an inconvenience yet derek and issac constantly reassured you that you weren’t. al though they had said it many times, you still didn’t bother them with any of your problems and tried to keep to yourself in your room.
John lifted his head, turning his attention from the depths of a packing crate. God, he was tired. They’d been at this for hours and the flat still looked half-exploded. ‘I’m sorry, what?’
His eyes finally refocused to find Sherlock standing by the window, looking out at the familiar sliver of London. As unruffled as ever, and what kind of bastard does home restoration while wearing a tailored shirt? Had he even been helping? John rubbed his forehead and felt like he had grit embedded in his soul.
What had Sherlock said again?
‘I play the violin when I’m thinking,’ Sherlock said, still watching the street. Musing.
Yeah, OK. A remarkably obvious comment. Was this one of those conversations Sherlock had without bothering to open his mouth? Or had John been so engrossed in rooting through back issues of the BMJ _ and Christ, was that old copy of Hustler actually his? _ that he simply hadn’t noticed him speaking?
Or was it something more? John had trotted somewhat cluelessly after Sherlock at even the best of times, but he was embarrassed to admit that recently he felt more out of touch with his best friend than ever before. A lot had happened, even for their admirably high level of functionally insane. Quite uncomfortable things. And of course he didn’t live at 221B anymore.
Maybe that instant, unworldly bond they once formed had finally snapped. And really, hadn’t it been extraordinary, that bond? John idly scrubbed the dust from his knuckles and remembered that day …
… and then he remembered.
Now he looked at Sherlock more carefully, as if the man was no longer standing across a disheveled room but on the brink of another time. Sherlock, still gazing out the window. Waiting.
John cleared his throat, deliberate. Again: ‘I’m sorry, what?’
And there, the tiniest curl of a smile.
‘I play the violin when I’m thinking,’ Sherlock said. ‘Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end.’
He turned to look at John, settled in the shadows, elbows-deep in the past. Still that air of drama. But John saw the haughty, untouchable cool of that first day missing.
Sherlock looked almost unsure. Just something there, at the edges of his eyes. With a twist of self-loathing, John thought: I put that there.
And then: Please let me fix this. Right fucking now.
With a silent cry of protest from his knees, John stood and paused, pretending to consider.
‘I’m a terrible typist,’ he said.
Sherlock cocked his head, assessing. ‘I’ve been known to keep internal organs in the crisper,’ he replied.
'I sometimes have nightmares.’
'I have cigarettes stashed around the flat.’
'I … I have problems with my temper,’ John said, looking down, fists curling at his sides. 'I am so sorry. Sherlock …’
'I often interrupt and find apologies tedious. Also, I am a master of baritsu and will not hesitate to demonstrate it in the future.’
That tight half-smile. A sigh. Something in the room lightened by a degree. Then John looked serious again.
'I have a daughter,’ he said. 'Honestly, Sherlock, would that bother you?’
'I love her,’ Sherlock said softly. 'Please, do keep up.’
John exhaled. And just like that, it seemed a decision had been made.
They really did know the worst about each other, John thought, looking around at the boxes and skulls and wondering how their lives could possibly fit in more. He glanced up to catch Sherlock doing that annoying mind-reading bit, miles ahead of him as usual, grinning.
Summary: “Don’t you ever get tired?” You asked, referring to the last four times you’ve had sex today. “Nah baby, I’ll never get tired of you,” He cooed softly, taking one hand off the steering wheel and slowly trailing his fingers up the inside of your thigh.
“Jimin,” You playfully scolded, pushing his hand away from the passengers’ seat you were sitting in, “Stop it.”
It was your last night together and you were on your way to the airport to spend the last hour with him because he soon would be touring overseas in Europe for the first time. During your road trip to Incheon Airport, Jimin struggled to keep his eyes on the road in front of him and kept glancing at your bare legs.
He let out a chuckle and reached for you again, making you sigh dramatically as you thought about how you’ve been at it all day, until a couple of hours ago when you frantically helped him pack his stuff at the last possible minute.
“Don’t you ever get tired?” You asked, referring to the last four times you’ve had sex today.
“Nah baby, I’ll never get tired of you,” He cooed softly, taking one hand off the steering wheel and slowly trailing his fingers up the inside of your thigh.
“Oh and by the way,“ He began, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, not really paying attention to the road, “We didn’t make that second sex tape you promised.“