#but sherl gets different clothes

[aquamarineglow]

[harringtonstudios]

gonna lie.

plot: this might be the last straw. 

A/N: mentions of cheating, slight smut so i’m tagging it as smut! based off of “if you’re gonna lie,” by FLETCHER. pls give feedback <3

masterlist!

It’s 7pm when you pour out your second glass of wine, stare at the door of your new apartment with burning eyes and anger swelling in your heart. He was supposed to be here two hours ago, should’ve helped you move in, settle in the furniture that you two bought together one night, high scrolling the IKEA catalogue. 

He’s not here, hasn’t been for a couple of weeks if you’re honest with yourself, dipping in and out of your life as if he isn’t your boyfriend. Just playing the part for when you two find yourselves in bed, or in the shower, or when he needs you for the night. 

The wine slips down your throat, settles deep in your stomach as you lick over your lips. Eyes still trained on the door, you lean back in your chair, get comfortable for the rest of night. He’s gonna show up eventually, you’ll just wait it out until Colson remembers you exist again. 

-

In the beginning, you didn’t blame him. It was long distance at times, he was busy filming and recording and being a rockstar, and you had your own life, own things to worry about. Then he convinced you to move to LA, and you’d agreed only on the condition that you’d be living in an apartment, not with him in that big Hollywood Hills house of his.

It’d been an argument, or two, and then he’d conceded, realized that you both just weren’t used to being together all the time and that was okay. It was natural to want distance, and this was healthier than hating each other because you spent too much time together. 

-

So here you were, in Los Angeles, three hours later with a half-empty bottle of wine on the table and your eyes sluggishly falling closed. The couch was the right type of comfortable, your head was spinning, and the darkness in your apartment just made you feel more at home. 

The jingle of keys made you alert, sit up just a little as you heard them knock against the door. There was a noise or two, like conversation happening, and then the door was opening, revealing none other than Colson Baker, with a hoodie on, rain soaking his shoulders. 

“Where’ve you been?” you murmured out, catching sight of the way his head flinched a little at the sight of you, sitting in the dark.

He tossed the keys on the kitchen table, closed the door before kicking off his shoes and shrugging the wet clothes onto the floor. 

“I’m sorry I genuinely forget,” he said before leaning down to pull at his socks. There’s sincerity in his voice, but you’ve heard this before, you’ve played this game more times than you can count. 

“Where were you?” you question again, voice harder this time. You’re aware of how you look, wine-drunk, angry, but he’s seen you in worse conditions before.

“With the guys, you know this. I was with Rook and -” he starts but you cut him off.

“Slim and Baze. Yeah, I know Colson. You were with them the last ten times too,” you spurt. 

His face freezes at your poisonous undertone, the way you’ve gotten off the couch and started to move closer to where he is. 

He stands up straight, takes advantage of the obvious height difference before saying, “If you know, why’d you ask?”

“Slim called me an hour ago, asked if I was done with you yet and if he could steal you away for a quick basketball game,” you say, words swirling around with the wine in your head. 

It makes you dizzy, field of vision going blurry at the slight rise of tears. You knew he wasn’t with them, but you didn’t expect his best friend to call you, expose Colson in the lie like that. It wasn’t part of the game, never had been, they would always cover for him and you’d always accept it. 

Colson’s hand comes down to your face, splays across your cheek so that all you can feel is the weight of his fingers against your skin. His thumb goes up to your eyes, strokes across your eyelashes as you feel the tears drop slowly. There’s an intake of breath and you can’t tell who does it, if it’s him or you but it’s so palpable in the quiet surrounding both of you. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

You try not to break at that, let the scoff fall off your lips as he looks down into your eyes. It’s obvious where he’s been, clear to both of you, there doesn’t even have to be an admission. It hurts. Twists a knife into your heart, makes you feel colder inside than you have in years. 

You don’t want this to end, don’t want him to say goodbye or leave tonight or disappear from your life. It doesn’t fully click in your brain, too gone swimming in the redness of the wine when you mumble, “If you’re gonna lie, at least do it in my bed.”

His eyes widen, hand drops from your face at the words. He’s just as confused as you are initially, but you see the minute he understands what you’re implying. 

“Make it worth it,” you continue, voice lower than it’s ever been. Your eyes are still glassy and you can feel the swell of tears stuck in your throat, aching into your bones, but if this is what you can get from him, then you will take it with both hands eagerly. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, and you know he can tell you’re intoxicated, somewhere between reality and floating in headspace. 

You breath out once, make sure you’re as stable as can be when you whisper, “Yeah.”

His hands find your hips, bring you in close but he doesn’t do anything else, just holds you up to his chest. You relish in the heat there, move your head to the crook of his neck, kiss the skin there softly once, twice. 

Tilting your chin up towards him, he leans down to kiss your forehead, softly exhales as you feel his breath drift around your hair. You get on your toes, push up until you can meet his lips and dive in.

This is the best kiss you’ve ever had with him. You can feel it everywhere, behind your eyelids, down to your legs, radiating out of your fingertips. There’s so much heat packed in, intention leaking out of your lips as you open your mouth slightly, letting his tongue find solace within you. 

You moan a little as his hand pushes at your lower back, bringing you impossibly closer. Breaking off from his lips, you push a little at his chest and his arm falls from where it’s around you, letting you move away from him. 

“Take your shirt off,” you say without hesitation, already pulling off your own sweater. His eyebrows raise slightly but then your head’s getting caught in the sleeves and his hands find yours, tugging so that the sweater can come off completely. 

“You’re not wearing anything underneath,” he remarks and you don’t even justify it with a response, hands grabbing onto the bottom of his white t-shirt. 

“Okay,” he mutters before placing his own fingers on yours again, pulling up so he can take the shirt off. 

You connect your lips with his again, this time leaning fully into him. The heat from his chest emanates onto yours, filling you up inside. 

You’re still angry and upset and charged with a thousand thoughts but all that flashes across your brain is Colson right here, right now. 

He groans a little as you bite at his lip, pull it slightly. You nip harder at his reaction, feel the way his dick twitches against you. 

It feels good, having some sort of power against him, knowing it’s you making him weak right now. It goes straight to your core, makes you feel heated. 

Your hand goes up to his hair, matted against his forehead, laying limp as your fingers pull it up. It’s damp from the rain, and you style it out of his face, all while pushing into his kisses. 

“You’re wet,” you mumble in between lips. 

“Not as wet as you’re gonna be,” he groans out and it fuels you on even more, makes you flutter. 

You both don’t even end up taking off the rest of your clothes. A couple of minutes later, you’re grinding against his thigh as he leans on the door he came in from. His hands are leading your hips, pushing and pulling at just the right rhythm. 

He kisses you hard, strong and stubborn and you soak it up. You come first, whining out against him as he keeps the pace going, stimulating you far over the edge before he’s cursing under his breath, panting against your neck. It’s over quick.

-

The next morning you wake up in bed, Colson’s arm thrown over your waist. He’s asleep, face soft in the streaks of light through your curtains. 

You trace the bridge of his nose, let your finger explore the curve of his lips as his eyes flutter open. 

“Morning,” he breathes out, voice rumbling into your own chest. 

You could have this for years, if only you fight for it. You close your eyes, get into his space and drop a soft feather-light kiss on top of his chest, right where his heart hides. It’s like a promise, unbeknownst to him, but important to you; you’re going to fight for him. 

-

taglist:  @iamdorka @no-shxt-sherl @bakerkells @findingmyths @rosegoldrichie​ @mayaslifeinabox​ @itjustkindahappenedreally @hnbtx @backoftheroomandnotbelonging​ @sophroniaa​ @enchantedamusedslightlyconfused​ @calum-defense-squad​ @kara-246 

[grellsutcliffsworld]

How to annoy Sherlock Holmes:

1. Say that Moriarty is better, than him.

2. Be Moriarty.

3. Be Mycroft.

4. Be Anderson or Donovan.

5. Make him think, Lestrade is in love with Mycroft.

6. Make him think, Lestrade is in love with John.

7. Kidnap John.

8. Hide Sherlock's cigarettes and drugs.

9. Ship him with John and scream "Johnlock4ever" from the top of your lungs throughout the flat.

10. Ship him with Moriarty and scream "Sheriarty is alive" through the flat as loud as you can.

11. Ship him with Anderson and scream "Anderlock" or "Sherason".

12. Tell Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock has a boyfriend and it's not John.

13. Tell Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's in love with her, but too scared to admit it, which is why he's send you.

14. Mimic John's, Moriarty's or Anderson's writing and slip a fake-valentines card under his pillow with one of the three names underneath and a little heart behind the name.

15. Act like you have an ultra-exiting secret and don't tell him what it is.

16. Solve a case, Sherlock's working on, before he can.

17. Call him Sherl, Sherly or an adult-virgin.

18. Constantly interrupt his deductions.

19. Get in the way of his cases.

20. Be clingy and overly affectionate with him.

21. Pat his head and call him a good boy, whenever he's nice to someone, made a smart deduction or solved a case.

22. Hurt John.

23. Hurt Mrs. Hudson.

24. Hurt Mycroft. (You'll probably have to almost kill him xD)

25. Hide his clothes and sheets.

26. Get him drunk and make a embarrassing video or picture of him, then show it to Anderson, Moriarty, Mrs. Hudson, Donovan, Lestrade, Mycroft or John.

27. Get Sherlock drunk and dye his hair pink or some other embarrassing color.

28. When you meet him for the first time, wear different clothes, then you normally do, so his deductions will be wrong.

29. Kidnap his violin and- or pipe and break them.

30. Insult Sherlock and everything/everyone he likes.

31. Dye his favorite coat.

32. Switch his male clothing with female clothing.

33. Sold his costumes on eBay.

34. Deduce him back everytime Sherlock deduces you.

35. Be extra dependent on Sherlock.

36. Make really stupid and obvious deductions. (Like: "Hillary Clinton killed the victim, because they were better at lying to her husband.")

37. Hide important pieces of evidence and switch them with new ones that point him out as the suspect.

38. Ask Sherlock, if he's sure, whenever he says something or makes deductions.

39. Mimic his personality and give him a taste of his own medicine.

40. Act as his mum and constantly mother him.

41. Constantly play "Stayin' alive".

42. Force-feed Sherlock or force him to sleep.

43. Yell, whenever you talk to Sherlock, but speak normally to everyone else.

44. Create an Grindr-account for Sherlock or an account on several dating websites.

45. Hide his skull.

46. Throw away everything, Sherlock his in his refrigerator.

47. Whenever Sherlock talks to a guy, scream "Ha, gaaaaay !" from the top of your lungs.

48. Make Moriarty think, Sherlock's in love with him and wants a child.

49. Make Moriarty, John, Lestrade or Anderson believe that Sherlock is actually a trans-woman and that Sherlock is pregnant with their child.

Tell them, theres no doubt that it's their child.

50. Constantly make him socialize with all sorts of people or don't give Sherlock the opportunity to spent time alone.

Hope you liked it ! :)

[iamdorka]

Fashion week... in Paris

*I brought you something different this time, hope you will like it. If you have scenarios in your head that you want to read in this style, tell me I could work on them*

Going with Colson to Paris fashion week (headcanon):

- When he got invited to a show he got really excited not just because of his love for fashion but because he knew he wanted to invite You. He knew about your love for fashion world so he didn't even had to think about it twice. And it was your first time attending to a public event by his side so he did everything he could to make this trip unforgettable experience for you.

- You've never been to Europe, not alone Paris so when he asked you to join him you were all over the moon. For a brief moment you even believe you could fly... and to be honest you did fly but only into his arms just to fall with him to the bed and kiss him everywhere you could. And ohhh you could kiss him everywhere.

- He enjoyed watching you talk about your trip because when you started to talk about it... you lost your sense of time and you talked like there were no tomorrow. You were like a little child and your excitement made him more than happy. He sometimes needed to remind you to breathe because you forgot to do so.

- Fashion was your art. You couldn't sing, you didn't play any instruments or neither could you draw anything other than a circle so choosing your outfits with care was always your way to express yourself. Sometimes you dressed like a diva, sometimes like a skater girl (not that you could skate or anything) there were no between but this was you. Putting clothes on in a way you wanted meant the world to you because if you couldn't wear what you wanted your mood was ruined. Everybody asked you if they wanted a fashion advice because they knew you always had the answer and the brutally honest opinion. You could make everything fashionable... so did Colson. This is why you were so good for each other.

- When you two met, it was because of your outfit of the day the reason you started talking because your DIY clothes, unique style cought his attention. You did not give a fuck about the stares people gave you because of your outfit, you just lived your life and he already loved it.

- The last month before the shows was hard to handle because your excitement almost got out of hands. Who you gonna trick? It did got out of hands but you couldn't care less. You counted the days before your trip like it was Christmas. To be honest for you it was.

- When Colson told you that you would even got designer pieces because of tradition, you almost got a heart attack. Seeing the sketches, choosing together the matching pieces with him was the best time. Him in a suit always made your knees weaker than usual. He was a four course meal and you made sure he knew about it.

- He likes to treat you like a princess, an actual Queen so before you started to pack up your things, he wanted to take you out for shopping because he knew very well you deserved it. You were the most hard working woman he knew and he wanted to shower you with all of he could.

- You could care less about his money, but you didn't want to fool nobody, everybody knew that you you loved getting presents no matter what that was. And even is it was just a smoothie or a piece of cake... you loved it. If it was from him, your heart was even more happy.

- You literally spent a whole afternoon in the most expensive shops in LA, doing your own fashion shows for each other (your professional smile, your walking was kinda perfected for the last shop... not that you didn't think of walking to the show barefoot).. which most of the time ended in hot making out sessions in the private dressing rooms. You even let him choose the lingerie for you because you knew he loved to do so.

- You knew it was just a quick trip because he was working on lot other things, mostly his new album so you two tried to make the most of the 48hours in Paris period. Sleeping not really was an option so you really tried to do that on the plane, not that your body wanted to cooperate.

- You never crossed the ocean before but doing it with him, for this specific occasion was really special to you.

- Arriving to Paris early in the morning, catching there the sunset was magical. Like if you two were in a Disney movie. You had to pinch yourself because all of that seemed like a dream.

- The jetlag hit you hard but it could have been worse. When you landed, you got in your car and the first place you went was the atelier where you got your fittings of your chosen outfit. You already knew that without caffeine you would not survive this trip.

- Colson was one of the starts who attended the show, but he made sure that they treated you well too, not that he needed to say anything because they already knew that he was coming with her special girl. You got your time with the hairdresser, the make-up artist and even if you loved yourself without any of this magic you loved what they created out of you. You appreciated this beauty too, it made you even more confident and you loved to play with it.

- It was the first real public even where you joined him and he did not let you go, not for a minute. He was doing his job, but he didn't forget about the fact that his job above everything was... being your boyfriend. He really meant it.

- You loved watching him talking about his passion, because when he was able to do so and his words were heard his face lit up in a different way. You really could listen to him all day, not saying a word just smiling. Which was a huge thing from you because you loved talking.

- The show was something you never could even imagine. Front row at a concert is a thing, the best one to be exact, you knew that already, but being in the same position at a fashion show... was something next level. You mentally purchased everything to your imaginary closet, but already wearing a piece from the clothes was a memory already. You really did feel like a Queen, beside all of the Kings and Queen who were already there.

- First time in Paris. First time front row show at fashion week. You lived it with him and you knew you would never forget it. The power couple feeling was real... more than real.

Tag list (write me if you wanna be on it❤)

@no-shxt-sherl @kiss-yall @bakerkells @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @mgk-rooklover1997 @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @southernmgkpunk @thegunnerkelly @lovemythsworld @painkillerash @rosesinmars @rosegoldrichie @pinksocktingz @itjustkindahappenedreally @cclynn88 @bluehairedtracii

[professorlaytonconfessions]

is it worth buying lmj again on the switch if you already have it on 3ds?

Yes, it has different puzzles more suited to the Switch, you can get the Azran design post website closure. all except the Flora dress and Katie uniform is here, and you can get 3 clothes for Sherl (you get daily farthings so no microtransactions).

Yeah I say the Switch is the definitive version of the game

[hollandroos]

just to see you smile | peter parker

summary: you and your boyfriend are in europe for a school trip and you sneak into his and neds room.

words: 1.1k

warnings: none, it’s all fluff

a/n: this was inspired by the far from home trailer!! i wrote it on my phone so there are no capital letters.

“you’re such an idiot, did you even pack your toothbrush?”

peter furrows his brows together, trying to remember what he chucked into the large suitcase just yesterday. “uhh… i think so?”

you laugh and rummage through the boy's bag, attempting to find even one jacket besides the one he was wearing himself. peter was known for forever being in a hurry, throwing things together instead of making sure he was prepared.

that was one of the reasons you worried so much about him being spider-man, especially after the events just a few months ago.

peter didn’t like to admit it out loud but he was still riddled with persistent nightmares and fears that he’d have to relive everything he did right from the point where he was thrown into outer space to seeing Tony Stark turn into nothing but ash.

but peter parker as determined and selfless as he was had made you promise not to bring up the events of the past starting the second you landed. you planned to stick to that promise.

outside, europe waited for you both in all its glory. your trip was planned in great detail, with a different activity each day to keep you both occupied. for you, this wasn’t just a school trip but another step in your relationship.

“oh so i see you remembered the toothbrush but not the toothpaste.” you hold up the plastic stick and shake your head at him. “smart, parker. real smart.”

knowing you were ever so sarcastic, your boyfriend takes the toothbrush from you and chucks it back into his suitcase. “oh and i can’t wait to see what you forgot.”

“bold of you to assume that i forgot anything. i’m prepared… unlike someone here.” you raise a brow in suggestion and gaze up. from your spot on the floor, you could make out a hint of adoration in his coffee coloured eyes, laced with swirls of amusement and affection.

you didn’t realise it then but you’d left your hairbrush at home.

you knew that you’d get in trouble for sneaking into his room but ned wasn’t going to say anything- wherever he was and honestly? you didn’t expect the teachers to be knocking down the doors at nine pm.

besides, all you were going to do was have a few laughs and hopefully catch up on some rest.

peter stood a few feet away above you with his phone in hand right after sending may a text. you knew it was may because he’d previously chuckled about something she’d said. you liked seeing him happy like this, carefree and content.

“you’re staring at me.”

you blink and screw up your face, nearly missing the way his cheeks flushed red. after a long flight, you both looked exhausted, dark circles lined the area beneath both of his eyes and his cheeks looked drawn but maybe that was from a few nights of missed sleep. at that moment, you couldn’t think about it twice.

your hand rested on his open suitcase, right on top of the spider-man suit and you grasp the material, feeling web shooters beneath them.

“i am not.” you defend yourself.

“you are, and that usually means that you’re thinking.” peter gets down in front of you and crosses his legs, sitting right beside the discarded suitcase holding items of clothing you had yet to steal. he strokes the area just above your brows once where a crease had formed. “what’s going on inside my loves head?”

his simple action was enough to make you relax- somehow even more then you already were. peter may be clumsy but he was also gentle in the way he spoke, moved and touched when he was around you.

if he tried hard enough, every small circle drawn on your arm or stomach or ever gentle twirl or your hair could feel like nothing more then being brushed by a butterfly. you ease closer to him until your knees are touching, hands laced. outside the streets hurl into chaos as taxis force their way through traffic and men and women shout between streets.

“we’ve been together for two years and i still love you as much as i did the day i said i love you for the very first time.” you speak over the chanting of teens down the hotel halls. “you still have every inch of my heart and there is no one else i’d rather be here with right now.”

peter feels his chest swell with love, corners of his lips curling up and in his back pocket his phone vibrates only once but he ignores it.

“and here i was thinking you were thinking about something serious.” he shakes his head playfully and presses a kiss to the side of your face. they say actions spoke louder then words.

“this is serious!” you exclaim. “I’m proclaiming my love for you despite having done it yesterday too.”

peter throws his head back in laughter, thumb running circles across your knuckles and you smile, small creases forming beneath your eyes in the darkened room illuminated by street lights and a dull, overhanging bulb.

“pretty girl, you proclaim your love to me every single day and i never get tired of it. you’re a huge sap.” he brings a hand away and you almost whine at the loss of contact before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “by the way, i love you too.”

you raise a brow and inch your face closer, basking in the fact that for the first time today there were no teachers staring you both down, waiting for one of you to step out of line so they could scold you.

“do you though?”

peter gasps in faux offence and places a hand over his chest. the smell of mint settles between you. but still, peter smiles a real smile.

“are you questioning my love?”

“depends, are you insulting my romantic gestures?” you tease.

peters lips come down, soft and gentle at first as they run over your own only barely before he captures them in a love filled kiss. the taste of his mint gum lingered on his lips and yours too, but from the piece you stole from his back pocket when he wasn’t paying attention.

fun fact: he was paying attention and he was aware of your hand snacking into his pocket. at first, he thought you were using it as leverage to pull him closer for a much-needed hug but soon noticed you popping a piece into your mouth.

the gum wasn’t important- despite the fact that he had bought mint over strawberry knowing it was your favourite.

you truly loved him and you’d tell him every day if it meant giving him something to smile about.

-

Please remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me what you thought of this

Everything tags: @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @smexylemony @thewiseandfree@zendayacolemen @dej-okay @hollandsletters @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @liz-gayllen@marvelismylifffe @lovelyh0lland @tomhollandandmarvelsworld @woah-jess @southsidefandoms@justannothermonday @its-claire-louise @sophiatomlinson23 @mockingjaygirl1221 @joyfullyjenny@damnhisfaceisliketheskyatnight  @bride-of-loki-odinson @in-the-corner-coffee-please@futuremrsb-r-main @spideyyypeter @saturn-aka-six @c0prolalia @buckykinz@ashtonsbandannas @dennasaur @amyyleblanc1999 @fnosidam@randomfangirl1701@maybeandperhaps @acciorinn @marvel-language @micki-smiles@justmesadgirl @converseskyline @niall2017 @gavemylifetotomholland @tomuchmarvel@leslieandjensen @painted-soulss @practicallylivesonline @mischiefmanaged49 @its-the-unknownspidey @holyrose96 @for-my-mind @mlxbm @erindillon11 @captainbuckyy @shawnandhisroses @converseskyline @smitten0-0kitten @parkeroos @whileinparis @unicornio-vomita-mierdas @draqcnheartstrinq @rainyboo-posts @mikalaka @petxrpxrker @tony-starks-ego @thedaydreamingwriter @peter-quackson @kateelyse96 @lesbian-jesus-jr @wheresmyquill@elyshugh @hollanderheart @tomshufflepuff @marvelismylifffe @tomsh0lland @obsessed-fandoms @girl-in-the-chair @trashqueenbitch @dramatic-and-young @honey-honey-5644@parkerluvs @chingonaconcha @captainbuckyy @jes-sica1 @tomsfireheart @Rainbow-marvel @spideysimpossiblegirl @spideys-gurl @thomasstanley-holland @mlxbm @ixchel-9275@parkerssweb @peter-parkersbb @tom-hollands-eyelash @starlightfound @vldlvj  @paradoxparker @lustfulcry  @mlxbm @musiclover1263 @justatheatredork @peterparkerscamera@fandomnerdsarecool @thequeensardine @cutesy-angst @httplayer @mischiefmanaged49 @loca-lola @softboyparkerr @desir-ae @dangerousluv1 @t-hotland @laucontrerasv @peter-parkersbb@whatdafricklefrackle @thatblondebelgiangirl @fairydustparker @they-call-me-le @jamiemac26@nephalem67 @underoos-tom @quaxon-holland @lovelyspidey @no-shxt-sherl @xlatinaaxx@starlightfound @mikexpeter @moonandstars-xo @httpmcrvel @evelyn120700 @fromheroestodust@hollandfieldblurbs @ghostlypandacolorpersona @spazclaiire @curlyhairedparker @josierosie@unicornio-vomita-mierdas @icondy @euphoricholland @desir-ae @lovelyspidey @thelazypangolin@ameeravioli @ramen-tically @mellifluous-tom @mrs-webslinger @krazykiara @scottyisthatyou @@s0cial-retard @sithskywalkers

[darlingpetao3]

The Council of Adlers (Sherloque x Reader)

Rating: G

Summary: When Nora brings in four of Sherloque’s ex-wives with a certain “wooing” plan in mind, you accidentally stumble upon the ladies who warn you against having anything to do with the man.

A/N: Flash Drabble (Ficlet) S05E13 - major drama ahead. Clearly, I’m on a Sherloque kick. Sorry not sorry.

“Sherly? You weren’t in the Cortex where I saw you last, but I brought you some...” Your words falter as you fall into a deep sense of confusion. Sherloque stands somewhat frightened next to Nora in the Speed Lab, maybe even to say behind her would be more accurate.

The detective seems skittish, and there’s another look in his eye that is undeniable.

It’s the same expression you feel when you look at Sherloque.

You trace his gaze over to the other side of the room where stands four different versions of a beautiful woman, all staring heated daggers at the detective.

Have I missed something, here?

“Oh, look, you have a poor little thing to serve you tea,” one of the women says. She is dressed in impeccable clothing, with her hair is done up to perfection.

“I remember when I did that,” tells another woman with the same face, but presents herself as a fierce businesswoman, “Once. Never again.”

“Yeah, Sherloque always was extremely picky for his own good,” the country girl doppelganger remarks.

“What have you done to this one, Sherl? Wink a few too many times at her?” This question comes from the version resembling a biker-chick.

“Ah, (Y/N), merci,” Sherloque thanks you, embarrassed. “You did not have to-”

“-Sherloque, who is this? I mean, who are they?” There are far too many eyes on you right now, and it’s starting to get very hot in here.

“Right, you do not know,” he replies, “these are my ex-wives. Renée Adler.”

“Or, as I’m sure you remember us - one, two, five, and four… well, four/six,” says the businesswoman Renée, who then peers over to address Country Girl. “Damn, that remarriage really was on you.”

“Well, hello, Renées,” you say awkwardly with a small wave. It’s impossible not to feel threatened by her. Each one of her. Besides never previously mentioning her name, Sherloque’s ex-wives are one of the few things he talks about. “What brings you here?”

Finally, Nora pipes up, “Oh, sorry, (Y/N), I’ve been meaning to tell you I was helping Sherloque woo this Earth’s Renée.”

“You’re what-?” Having felt all feeling lost in your hand, you accidentally drop the teacup and saucer. “Crap, I’m such a-”

The four Adlers all stare at you with knowing pity. They’ve zoned in on your love for their ex-husband.

“Don’t get tangled up with this one, girl, we’re warning you,” advises Country Girl Renée.

“You’ll regret it,” huffs businesswoman Renée.

“Excuse me?” you ask.

“He’ll send you running for the hills,” adds the posh Renée.

“You know what, I’m already gonna peace out,” Biker Chick announces and turns to the Speedster in the room. “Nora, was it? Sorry, hun, I can’t help you with your little scheme. Let’s at least save one of us from his eighth marriage.”

The holographic forms of each Adler dissipate from the room. Nora appears too bummed that her plan didn’t work out to see that her idea has hurt you in the process. You thought she knew you were head over heels for the guy! Everyone else seems to know…

“I have to go,” you say, carelessly leaving behind your mess. However, Sherloque runs after you with concern.

“Chérie, attends.”

Trying to contain your emotions, you turn back to face him, acting as if none of what just happened bothers you. “Hi, yes? What?”

“I am very sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what my ex-wives said to you. They can be tellement, er... aggressive.”

“Is it true?” you can’t help but question. “Are you trying to woo yet another version of her?”

“I cannot help les sentiments I have for her,” he admits. This whole thing makes your head spin because since he’s arrived here, Sherloque has done nothing but send you vibes like he’s interested in pursuing you. Or was that just wishful thinking?

“So, just so we’re clear, you don’t have these same feelings for me, right?” When he doesn’t answer right away, you go to leave, but the man takes your hand in his, reeling you back to him.

“It is complicated. I do feel immensely for you as well, Chérie.”

“Well, you know what Mister Detective? I’ve fallen hard for you! So, I think it’s best if you figure out what you want so that I can get over you sooner rather than later.”

“It is not that easy, (Y/N),” he pleads with puppy dog eyes looking down upon you.

“What’s it going to be Sherloque?” you ask one last time, “The one who consistently ends up leaving you in every universe? Or the one that could be your real shot at happiness for good?”

Taking your hand back, you walk briskly to the Cortex to fetch your coat and car keys. You know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but you desperately hope the man clearly set in his romantic ways, chooses another track for once.

~

A/N: In this story, I’ve made it so that Nora’s plan was to create love triangle with the Reader and this Earth’s Renée to deter Sherloque from figuring out her secret mwuahahaha

[agirliswriting]

You both like Sheriarty, and Holmescest.

You: You need to update your security. SH

Stranger: Why, excactly? JM

You: It seems a bit boring and easy. SH

Stranger: What? You breaking into my apartment for hundredth time? JM

You: I forgot my key. And stop exaggerating. SH

Stranger: You know that I am still working. JM

You: I do know that. You are not here after all. I can wait. SH

Stranger: We both know how impatient you are. JM

You: Not as impatient as you. SH

Stranger: Me? Impatient? I beg you pardon. JM

You: You spent 30 million quid just to get my attention. I would call that impatient. SH

Stranger: It's not my fault when my boyfriend stops visiting me and I start missing him. JM

You: I apologised for that. SH Now I'm here of my own accord. SH

Stranger: And what do you want to happen, excactly? JM

Stranger: I don't forgive, I accept. JM

You: Can't I come over to spend time with you? SH

Stranger: Of course you can, honey. JM

Stranger: Look: I need to finish something and than I cancel everything else and I'm all yours. JM

You: So that's what I am doing. SH Of course, you finish it up what you're working on. I'm not going anywhere. SH

Stranger: I missed you. Very much. JM

You: I'm sorry I haven't been around much the last couple months. SH I've missed you too. SH

Stranger: No, it's okay. Whenever I longed for you I just starting another crime for you to solve. This works wonders, really. JM

Stranger: Let's have a sweet reunion today, Sherl. JM x

You: I bet it does. You like watching me work on your cases. Gets you worked up. SH

You: I'm yours for the next few days, Jim. SH

Stranger: It's one of my favourite parts of my job. Seeing my boyfriend all clever. JM

Stranger: This sounds wonderful. With what do I deserve this? JM

You: You'd have all the bragging rights, if you could brag about it. SH

You: I have no idea. Have you been good? SH

Stranger: All those other gay criminals would be more than jealous, believe me. JM

Stranger: I haven't had sex in three fucking months. I think this says all. JM

You: They would rather kill me. SH

You: You can fuck me, I can do you. Anything you want. SH

Stranger: I wouldn't let them kill you, stupid. JM

Stranger: And all of this sounds wonderful. JMm

You: I know you wouldn't. I'm just saying what they would prefer. Besides, I can look out for myself if I should get into trouble. SH

You: How long will this thing take? SH

Stranger: I really hope you do. JM

Stranger: Just about for forever? JM

You: You'd have a hissy fit. Sebastian would never forgive me for it. SH I'd offer to help, but I'd rather not have my fingers in your pies. SH

Stranger: I'd have what? And does Sebastian really care about us? I don't think so, honey. He isn't like John. JM

Stranger: I'm almost finished. JM

You: You'd have a tantrum. And what I meant is that you've been calmer. SH He told me once that I better not die before you otherwise he'd find a way to bring me back just to kill me again. I think he likes not being shouted out. SH John hates us together. SH

Stranger: I have a bit of a hot temper, once I'm without you, nothing was ever extremely wrong with that. When I killed, I killed unimportant people. JM

Stranger: You told him? JM

You: I know you do. Sometimes it's fun to watch you shout at others. SH He caught us. SH

You: I had a telling off from him and he even threatened to tell my brother. SH

Stranger: Hm, it gets you aroused doesn't it? JM

Stranger: When did we do something at Baker Street?! JM

You: What can I say? SH Not at Baker Street. Do you remember that date we had, a couple years ago at that restaurant? Well when we were coming out, John happened to be passing us in a black cab. SH

Stranger: I love you getting embarrassed, honey. JM x

You: Oh hush, Jim. SH

Stranger: Oh fuck. And now that bitch is jealous and can't hold his tongue? JM

Stranger: Never. JM x

You: I am not sure about jealous, but he has a temper as well. Shouted at me. Told me you were dangerous and couldn't actually love me, blah blah blah. I tuned out the rest of it. SH

Stranger: I /am/ dangerous, darling. JM

Stranger: And I just got into a car. 8 minutes and I'm yours. JM x

You: No more so than going undercover or going to war. SH

You: It's about time. I was wondering when you'd be done. Thought I was going to die of boredom, waiting for you. SH

Stranger: Are you defending Watson? JM

Stranger: Pour us some alcohol. My cigarettes are on the bedside table. JM

You: No, I'm defending you. SH I will. I'm not smoking. I've given up. SH

Stranger: Hm. JM Oh? Why did you quit? JM

You: I didn't have access to any when I went undercover for two years. SH I just use patches. SH

Stranger: Patches, huh? Still not the real thing. Would you share one with me? Only one. JM

You: No it's not, but it gives me nicotine. SH [Delayed] Only one. SH

Stranger: Thank you, my dear. JM

Stranger: I love You, Sherl. JM

You: Sherlock smiled down at the last message Jim had sent him. It did make him feel loved and warm inside, despite how sappy it sounded. He wasn't going to say that out loud. Jim wouldn't mock him about it, but he still had a little trouble expressing it well enough. Sitting cross legged on the sofa, with two glasses on the coffee table, he waited until the door opened. "It's about time." He said, yawning quietly before rubbing his eyes. Even after his shower, he looked just as tired. His causal clothes didn't help that. "Everything you requested is right here."

Stranger: James got to his partner quickly, smiling at him. "Including you." He kissed him passionately and demanding. "Sherl.." As the detective yawned again, Jim raised one eyebrow. "What on earth..."

You: Sherlock just smiled at how eager Jim seemed to be. It was nice to see it after so long of being away from him. "Including me." He echoed, letting Jim lead but kissing him back with as much passion as he was getting. Looking at him, he shrugged a little. "What? I'm tired. I do get tired every so often, my dear."

Stranger: "Let me wake you up then.." James put Sherlocks crossed leg down and sat down on his lap, kissing him again. Their tongues were in a heated tango dance in eachothers mouth and he lost his hands in Sherlocks black, luscious curls. He occasionally moaned into the kiss and pulled the detective even closer. They haven't seen eachother for so fucking long.

You: That just made him laugh, he wondered if Jim could actually do it for him. It would certainly be a surprise. Regardless, he pushed everything else to the back of his mind and just focused on Jim's lips on his own, hands coming to rest on his hips. The Irishman was a fantastic lover, not that he had much to go on. Pulling him closer, he gently massaged his thumbs near his hip bones. "You feel good, James." He whispered against his lips.

Stranger: "And you feel like heaven, Sherlock.." He whispered back, rocking his hips against him. Their passion didn't shrink when they decided to leave the kiss. James played with Sherlocks hair, while his other hand unbuttoned his shirt. "I missed you and all that so much..." He hummed our, grinning at him

You: He moaned softly. There was not much between them, his pyjama pants were thin. He could feel everything. "I've missed you and this. I should have come around sooner." Sherlock whispered softly, kissing his jaw and let out a chuckle. The detective decided to follow Jim's lead, unbuttoning his suit jacket before starting on the pale blue shirt beneath. "When did you start wearing coloured shirts?"

Stranger: "The white got a bit boring after wearing it for 4 years straight, you know? You just want to re-invent yourself sometimes in fashion." He kissed his forehead lovingly, stroking over Sherlocks now exposed chest. "I love it when you speak like this, honey..." He whispered into his ear. "You're so raw, so soft..." He kissed his throat. "You're so different than what you want the world to see..."

You: That was true, he hardly ever wore white shirts. He liked the coloured shirts, especially the dark jewel colours. It went well with his eyes, made them brighter. "I do know." The detective murmured, baring his neck a little and smiled. "Of course I am. I have to keep up a certain image otherwise my clients won't take me seriously." He said, his own hands coming up to play with his hair. "I like it when you don't gel your hair down."

Stranger: "Hm, do your clients really take you serious though?" He teased, grinding against Sherlocks cock with his hips. "They were gelled last morning.. two days of straight work break the strongest look.." He sighed; kissing his cheek.

You: Sherlock gently slapped the back of his head, giving him a look. "They do. Otherwise they wouldn't come to me. And I'm not including The Yard." He said, rolling his hips upwards and whimpering almost inaudibly. "Well I prefer this look. I can get my hands through your hair." Even though it still felt a little like the grease he put in his hair.

@dehydratedzombie

[thepokyone]

Superwholock Extravaganza: Sherlock Edition

Gif not mine

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Content/Warnings: Angst; fluff; violence

Words: 4477

A/N: The final installment of my Superwholock Extravaganza is here (finally)! I hope you guys enjoy reading this ridiculously long fic!

Episode 4: Werewolves of London

You glanced behind you, panting. Your back was pressed against the rough bricks of the alleyway, and you were praying that the thing that had been chasing you for the better part of the night had finally given up. There was the scuff of shoes against pavement, and you knew whatever-it-was was still hot on your trail. You were exhausted, sweaty, and dirty. The night had seemed to wear on forever. You hadn’t returned to 221B for fear that whatever was tracking you would follow you in, and you didn’t want to put the boys in danger.

You heard the puff of breath from farther down the alley and edged quietly along the wall, your fingers digging almost painfully into the brick wall. You slipped around the corner, holding your breath as you heard footsteps and scuffling from around the corner. You continued inching along the wall, away from the corner. Maybe if you could reach the dumpster, you could mask your smell - assuming that was what the monster was tracking you by. Too late. It sprung out from behind the corner, growling, and you sprinted away, down the sidewalks of London and continuously mumbling “oh shit” under your breath. At the very least, the moon had disappeared and the sky was quickly lighting up. Dawn was here. All you had to do was hang along a little longer.

You could still hear it behind you, and you could swear you felt its breath on your neck. Pressing yourself to go faster, you put on a new burst of speed and skidded around another corner, the dazzling light of the sun hitting your face and warming your body, which was clammy with sweat. The footsteps stopped behind you as you slipped past the small groups of people. Finally, you slowed enough to glance behind you. Whatever was chasing you had disappeared with the moon. Gasping, you hailed a taxi.

“221B Baker Street,” You said, the fear slowly fading in the light of day.

The taxi driver glanced at you through the rear view mirror, looking slightly concerned. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” You said slowly. “Just… long night.”

“If you say so,” He said, but didn’t look convinced.

You spent the rest of the ride in silence, resisting the urge to doze off on the quick drive. Paying the man, you climbed out of the cab and limped towards the door. Adrenaline gone, you were aware of how much your body hurt. Sherlock met you at the door, swinging it open. “Where have you been?”

“Nice to see you too,” You said sarcastically, ducking under his arm and into the flat. Quite honestly, you were relieved to see Sherlock. “I’m going to get a shower.”

“You’ve been gone all night! What the hell have you been doing?” He quickly answered his own question. “You’ve been running? All night? From what?”

“Look, Sherlock, I’d really rather not talk about it right now,” You said wearily. “I just want to get a shower and sleep for a day.”

“Y/N -” He tried.

“Sherlock, if you prevent me from doing either of those things I swear I will punch you,” You warned grouchily, grabbing the sweats and tee shirt you had stowed in his bedroom and making your way to the bathroom. “We can talk about it later.”

Sherlock seemed to realize he was fighting an uphill battle, because he agreed. “Fine. But I want to know what’s got you so spooked that you didn’t just come back to the flat, or at least call.”

“Deal,” You said, shutting the door to the bathroom behind you.

Shadows. Growls. Pain. Fangs. Pain. Moon. Blood. Pain. Death.

You bolted upwards, chest heaving, feeling Sherlock’s hands on your shoulders. “It’s alright, you’re alright. It was just a dream, Y/N, just a dream.” Your chest heaved in a sob, and you buried your face into Sherlock’s chest. His hand rubbed soothing circles into your back. “You’re safe  now. Shh, I’ve got you, you’re alright.”

“I thought I was going to die,” You said between sobs, your breath coming in and out in short bursts. “Last night. I thought I was going to die.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Sherlock said. “But I need you to listen to me. If you keep breathing like that, you’re going to hyperventilate and pass out. Just breath with me, okay? 1, 2, 3, in. 3, 2, 1, out. There you go.”

After several minutes, your crying subsided, and air chafed against your throat, still raw from staying out on the London streets all night. “I’m okay,” You said between shaky breaths. “I’m okay.”

“Yes, you are,” Sherlock soothed, his hand still rubbing your back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“My phone died around nine last night,” You divulged. “That’s why I couldn’t call. I remember the moon was out, it was bright. The streets were pretty empty, and I couldn’t get a taxi. So I decided to walk home. Take a shortcut.”

“Y/N,” Sherlock groaned. “Taking a London shortcut at night? You could have been killed!”

“I’m getting to that,” You said irritably. “Please, Sherl, just let me finish. No interruptions. Please?”

“Fine, fine,” He said. “Continue.”

“I got about halfway back to Baker Street. I was cutting through an alley. It was dark, shadowed by the buildings, must have been nearly 10 at that point. I remember because the moon was providing a little light. There’s a point where the alley I was taking met another. I heard noise from the other alley, and paused. I guess I just shook it off, kept going. But I felt like I was being watched, so I picked up the pace a little bit.” You paused, taking a breath. “Then something growled. I thought it was just a stray dog, or something, and glanced behind me to see some sort of… monster. It was like a person, but wasn’t. We sorta just locked eyes, and the eyes were feral, empty. I just knew it wanted to kill me.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t…” Sherlock started, but quickly trailed off at the look you gave him. “Right, no interruptions. My apologies. Please continue.”

“I turned and ran. I could hear it, whatever it was, behind me. The alley felt like it went on for miles before I eventually ended up on a road. I decided darting through traffic was better than the alternative, and for a few minutes I thought I had lost it and headed towards the direction of 221B. And then… there was another one. It wasn’t the same as the first one, Sherlock. It looked the same, feature-wise, but the face was different. This one was a girl. So I ran like hell in the other direction. It chased me for hours. I was too scared to come back to the flat, I didn’t want it to break inside. Eventually dawn came, and the thing, whatever it was, left once the sun was out.”

Sherlock was silent for several long minutes. You wondered if he thought you were crazy. Eventually, he spoke. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“That’s very comforting,” You muttered sarcastically. If it weren’t for the fact that you had known him forever, you’d probably wonder how he sometimes seemed to read your thoughts. “It still doesn’t explain what’s going on, though.”

“I can… make a few calls,” Sherlock said slowly. “I have some acquaintances who might.”

You glanced up at him, tears still damp against your lashes. “You never mentioned any acquaintances.”

“Yes, well, it never came up,” He said. “You should get some more sleep. You still look exhausted.”

Nodding, you moved away to lay back down, curling up on the bed. “Sherlock?” You asked, voice slightly muffled by the pillow. He hummed in response, indicating that he was listening. “Can you stay for a little while? Just until I fall asleep.”

There was a pause, and you felt the mattress shift before he responded. “Of course.” You burrowed into his side, the sound of his steady heartbeat lulling you back to sleep.

Several hours later, you woke up feeling much more alert and refreshed than before. Sherlock, not surprisingly, was gone, though the sheets where he had been laying when you fell asleep were still warm. He hadn’t been up for long. You wondered, in still-sleepy bemusement, if he had fallen asleep too. Stretching, you eventually climbed out of the safety of the bed, pulling a hand through your messy hair as you padded into the sitting room. John was seated, watching the TV on low volume, and glanced up when you came in.

“Hey,” He greeted. “I came as soon as Sherlock called. He said something had happened last night, but he needed to run off and wanted me to stay and make sure you’re alright.”

“Thanks, John,” You said sincerely, sitting down in Sherlock’s chair. The detective didn’t seem to mind you sitting in it, as long as he wasn’t using it. Otherwise, you’d sit on the couch or Sherlock’s lap (though that was only when you wanted to get him flustered). “What time is it? When did you get here?”

“Around three. I didn’t get here long ago,” John said. “Half hour, if that. Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”

“Not really,” You said. “Not right now, anyways. I told Sherlock last night. I just… don’t know if I can relive it right now.”

“I understand,” The army doctor said sympathetically. You realized that, out of everyone, John was probably the one who understood the best. He knew what it was like to be forced to relive unwanted memories. “I’ve just got some trash telly on, not much else playing right now.”

You offered him a smile. “Good enough for me.”

Sherlock returned a couple hours later. John had made sure you had changed into other clothes and made yourself presentable, rather than sitting around all day. It had made you feel better, even if you didn’t want to admit it. You were reading some crappy romance novel when Sherlock entered. He was always confused as to why you read the things - you said it was because you wanted a glimpse of what a ‘normal romance’ would be, not that you wanted one. It seemed boring. At the very least, Sherlock kept things interesting.

“Good, you’re up,” Sherlock said briskly. “I visited an old… friend, of mine, if you will. I was right, it’s more up his alley.”

You blinked. John, too, looked confused. “I’m not following.”

“Monsters, Y/N,” Sherlock said, clapping his hands together. You jumped. “Monsters.”

“Right,” You said uncertainly. “I wasn’t aware that you believed in -”

“Actually, I do my best not to think about it,” Sherlock said flatly. “Regardless, he has contact with a couple brothers who can help.”

“I’m still very lost,” John said. “Sherlock, you’re making that ‘everyone knows what’s going on here’ face, but I don’t know what’s going on. So please, continue to leave me out of it.”

Sherlock looked slightly amused, though his expression quickly sobered. “I’m referring to what happened to Y/N last night, when she was coming back to the flat. She was chased by a monster.”

“Wha… wait, you mean like an actual monster? You were serious?” John said disbelievingly. “I thought you were talking about some creep or something.”

“It was like a human, but not,” You told John, putting your hands under your thighs to keep them from shaking. Sherlock noticed anyways, of course, giving you a knowing look. “They had like… fangs. But not vampire fangs. And almost claws, maybe? And their eyes… there was no humanity in those eyes. It was like… a rabid animal. I don’t know. I didn’t want to lead it back to 221B, so I spent the whole night running terrified around London.”

John grimaced. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe…” He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “Anyways - who were the two brothers that are going to help with whatever this is?”

“I’ve never personally met them,” Sherlock said, pacing around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “They’re coming from America. Apparently, they’re the best hunters in the world. Word spreads among their type, I suppose.”

“Hunters?” You echoed. “Of what? Those… things I saw last night?”

“Among others,” Sherlock said. “Hunters of the supernatural. I learned about their existence when I was in high school. Ghost terrorizing the school.”

“Ghost,” John said weakly. “Ghost? Did you just say… he just said ghost.”

“It’s all real?” You asked. “Ghost, vampires, werewolves, all of it?”

“Yes. I decided to stay out of it. Some don’t, though, which is fortunate, as they kill what would be trying to kill us. Like that thing you saw last night, Y/N,” Sherlock said.

You swallowed roughly. “Do you know what it was?”

“I have a general idea,” He divulged. “From your description, it sounds like a werewolf.”

“But it didn’t have fur!” You blurted out.

Amused, Sherlock’s lips quirked up. “They typically don’t. But one bite will still turn you, and silver still kills them. To be quite honest -”

“Though we’d probably prefer it if you weren’t,” John interrupted.

Sherlock ignored him. “- I’m surprised you weren’t bitten, at the very least. Killed, at the worst. I’m very glad you weren’t though.”

“You sure know how to charm the ladies, Sherlock,” John said with an amused smile.

You weren’t offended in the slightest by Sherlock’s words - you knew what he meant. “So werewolves are a thing. Great. When will these brothers be here?”

“I assume after they manage to get a flight over,” Sherlock said. There was a knock on the door.

John glanced at Sherlock. “Were you expecting anyone?”

“No,” Sherlock said as Mrs. Hudson led the strangers in. There were three of them, one of which was dressed rather oddly. The other two, a red-head and a man with brown hair, were behind him.

“Hello!” The oddly dressed man, who for some reason was wearing a tweed suit and a bowtie, greeted you with a cheery smile. “Oh, Sherlock Holmes, I can’t believe it! Brilliant man, absolutely brilliant! I’m the Doctor, by the way! Just the Doctor, though I do wonder why people call me that sometimes.”

“Sorry, what?” John asked, after you and he had shared confused glances.

“Oh!” The Doctor, or whatever his name was (whose name was just ‘the Doctor’?), looked even more excited, if that was even possible. “And John Watson! Just as smart as Sherlock, in his own way. More people-smart, if you will! Sherlock is a bit lacking in that department.”

Sherlock looked like he was on the verge of strangling the man, and you sighed and stood to your feet. “I’m Y/N. Who are your friends?”

The Doctor looked as if he had just remembered something important. “Oh, right! This is Amy and Rory Pond!”

“Williams,” The man, Rory, intoned, but the Doctor didn’t look like he much cared. That, at least, reminded you of Sherlock. Especially when it came to Lestrade’s name.

“They’re my companions,” The Doctor explained. “Now, I’m not just here for a social visit, though I really wish I was since your brain, Sherlock, really is remarkable -”

“Doctor,” The redhead, Amy, interrupted.

“Yes, right, on topic,” The Doctor said, pulling a strange, wand-like tool out of his jacket pocket. “See my screwdriver here has been getting some odd, very odd readings -”

“That doesn’t look much like a screwdriver,” John said, crossing his arms.

Sherlock had been strangely silent, observing the odd strangers with the eye of a man who really wished he wasn’t looking at what he thought he was. “You’re the madman in the box!”

“Oh, yes, very mad!” The Doctor agreed cheerfully, before quickly backpedaling. His face was confused. “No, no, wait, how did you know that?”

“Well, for one thing, you just confirmed it,” Sherlock said dryly. “For another, my brother runs the British government. He lets things slip sometimes.”

“You mean, you hacked in to look at what he had on the topic,” You interjected with a teasing grin.

The Doctor didn’t seem to mind that Sherlock knew, a cheerful expression still on his face. You wondered if he was ever calm. “Ah, yes, Mycroft Holmes! Just as clever as his brother, twice as powerful, all but runs the British government and is doing a bang-up job, too!”

Amy looked like she wanted to disagree, but quickly decided against it. “Doctor? Why did you bring us here, other than to meet Sherlock Holmes? Which is interesting, don’t get me wrong, but we don’t typically take leisure trips. Even if we try, running for our lives is somehow always involved.”

“I’m getting to that, Amy,” The Doctor said, still using his screwdriver to investigate the room.

“What are you doing?” You asked curiously.

“Taking readings,” He said, as if it was obvious. “And you, Y/N Y/L/N, are giving off some very peculiar readings.”

“Wait, how do you know my name?” You demanded. “I’m hardly ever on the news!”

“I’m a time traveler!” He said.

“Unfortunately, that is not the strangest thing I’ve heard all day,” You muttered.

“Dammit, Cas! Could you possibly make that any less pleasant!” The low voice of a man right outside the door caught everyone’s attention.

“Guess 221B is the place to be tonight,” You joked with a grin.

“I apologize,” Another voice answered. You guessed that was Cas, whoever that was. “Your human bodies are less accustomed to my form of travel.”

“Those would be the Winchesters,” Sherlock sighed, moving towards the door as Mrs. Hudson returned.

“Sherlock, you would not believe what I just -”

“Mrs. Hudson, perhaps you should go lay down,” Sherlock said sympathetically, waving in the three men. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”

“But Sherlock -” She tried to resist.

“I really insist that you do,” Sherlock said, placing his hands on her shoulders and leading her down the hall. “How do you expect to keep your health otherwise?”

He reappeared a few moments later and closed the door. The three men were having an awkward stare-off with the Doctor and his companions. The Doctor was staring at the shortest of the three inquisitively, face scrunched up in confusion. “Well then, what are you?”

“I am an angel of the Lord,” The man said.

Of course. Right. Obviously.

“You’re a what?” The Doctor asked.

Once everything had been cleared up, and you had been allowed time to retell what had happened to you last night, the Winchesters had disappeared with Castiel (who really was an angel) to get their gear. The Doctor was lost in thought, the only sign of movement being the sonic screwdriver he twirled between his fingers. Rory and John were having a conversation about medical stuff. Sherlock was deep in his mind palace, leaving you to make awkward small talk with Amy.

“So, a time traveler, huh?” You asked.

“Yep,” She said. “Gets a bit tiring at times, what with all the running around.”

“I understand that,” You said. “Trying to keep up with Sherlock is like trying to keep up with a track star!”

“It’s the same way with the Doctor! I’m like ‘Oi, slow down!’ and he speeds up!” She said. The two of you shared a laugh, a bit more at ease now, continuing to chat until the Winchesters and Castiel finally reappeared.

“Well, I’m glad I haven’t had lunch,” Dean said, tossing his bag down on the couch. “Could you tell me again how many werewolves you think you saw, Y/N?”

“At least two different ones,” You said. “But there could be more, I don’t know.”

Dean nodded. “Now, from what I can tell we only have tonight to find those werewolves, and we can’t cover the whole city by ourselves. Which means you’re helping us.”

“I don’t want to go back out there!” You exclaimed. “The last time I was out there, I almost got killed!”

“Welcome to our world,” Dean said dryly. “Look, we have to make sure they don’t kill anyone else. Which means everyone needs to be out there. Including you and your friends, Doctor.”

“There’s no cure?” The Doctor questioned.

Sam shook his head. “None that we could have ready in such a short amount of time. A majority of the time, the cure isn’t even successful. We can’t risk letting them go on a bloody rampage tonight. Which means they have to be killed. Sorry.”

The Doctor frowned, but raised no more arguments. Dean took back over. “Wolves hate silver. It’s the only thing that can kill them. Silver knives, bullets, et cetera. I have enough knives in here for us each to have one. Dean and I both have silver bullets, and we have one extra for someone experienced in carrying a gun.”

“I’ll do it,” John said. You had no argument about that, and neither, it seemed, did anyone else.

You all went out in groups of three. Well, sorta. You were with John and Sherlock, and the Doctor took his companions. The Winchesters went together, though Castiel would be acting as the in-between to ensure that things were going alright. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you had never been more terrified in your life. You were still tired from the night before, but a mixture of fear and adrenaline kept you awake and alert.

“This is where I first saw it,” You murmured to John and Sherlock, gesturing farther down the alley the three of you were currently standing in. “Though there’s no telling if it’ll be there again.”

“Shh,” John hissed, noise from down the alley gaining your attention. The three of you crept closer, Sherlock nudging you behind him. Secretly, you were thankful, though you would never tell him that. The man had a big enough ego on his own. A snarl sounded as you drew closer, and you gripped your silver knife tighter. A figure appeared, the same woman that you had seen yesterday. Sherlock gave you a questioning glance, and you nodded.

The werewolf woman still had her eyes glued to the three of you. You kept glancing around, making sure that no others were sneaking up on you, and looked back in time to see her bound forward. You took a step back, giving John room, and the soldier took her down with one shot. Sherlock nudged her with a shoe, ensuring the woman was dead, and you prayed for Cas to come take care of the body.

The angel appeared along with the whisper of wings. “Well done. Dean and Sam have also killed another werewolf. They also managed to discover that this was a small pack, with only four members.”

“Good,” You murmured, nodding at Cas before he disappeared with the body. Only a small smear of blood was left behind. “Two down, two to go.”

The three of you continued on. Sherlock glanced around. “Where did you see the second one?”

“That was the second one, Sherl,” You said. “The first was a man, and this is where I saw him. I met that girl across this street.”

Castiel reappeared. “The Doctor and his companions have been attacked by three werewolves. The information was incorrect. Sam and Dean are already there, but may need your assistance.”

Without further warning, Castiel grabbed John and Sherlock and disappeared. “Well, great,” You muttered sarcastically. “Alone on the streets of London once more.”

Deciding to continue on (who knew if there were any more werewolves out there?) you stepped out on the sidewalk, jogging across the road towards where you had encountered the now-dead werewolf. You slipped into another back alley, hearing more scuffling. You told yourself it was just a homeless person. Hopefully.

The thing is, it was a homeless person - a dead one. He was being mauled by another werewolf, who was ripping through to the man’s heart. You whistled. “Here boy!”

The werewolf’s head snapped up, and he growled. You shifted into a crouch, your grip so tight against the knife your knuckles were white. But, to your credit, your hand was steady. The werewolf sprang, moving to leap on you, and by some stroke of luck, your knife plunged through muscle and bone to pierce the heart. Unfortunately, you were also flattened by said werewolf, who was now dead but very heavy.

“You took one down on your own,” Castiel said, sounding impressed. You started in surprise at his voice, and he pulled the werewolf’s body off of you and offered his hand.

You took it, using it to hoist yourself up. “It was an accident, honestly. I was terrified.”

“Rightly,” The angel said, looking understanding. “I believe all the werewolves have been killed. I looked all over the city before I came to get you, and couldn’t find any other wolves.”

“Wait…” You said slowly, peering at him. “Why didn’t you just do that first?”

He blinked. “I suppose I did not think about it. I apologize.”

“As long as nobody is dead, all is forgiven,” You said, only half-joking.

“Your friends remain unharmed,” Cas said with a comforting smile. “I shall dispose of this werewolf and then take you to them.”

He disappeared with the werewolf’s body with the flap of invisible wings, leaving you alone. “Okay then,” You muttered, deciding to stay put.

Castiel returned less than two minutes later. “I will take you back to your friends. Be warned that the feeling of my travel may not be pleasant for you.”

“Duly noted,” You said. The angel placed his hand on your shoulder, and you were off.

Turns out, the after-effects of angel teleportation didn’t like you at all. You had to sit down for five minutes before feeling sure enough that you weren’t going to pass out or throw up (or both).

Sherlock still ended up helping you back to 221B, which was only a couple blocks away. The Doctor, Amy, and Rory had departed, with the Time Lord stating there was an emergency in Victorian London that needed to be taken care of. Dean, Sam, and Cas were walking back with you, Sherlock, and John. Every so often, Sherlock would give you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher.

“What?” You finally found yourself asking. “What’s that look for?”

“What you did was dangerous,” He said.

“I’ve stood against Moriarty, Sherlock,” You stated. “Danger is relative.”

It didn’t seem to matter, though, since for several weeks after the incident Sherlock kept a closer eye on you than usual. And, of course, the three of you had come to a silent agreement: the Winchesters could take care of the supernatural stuff. That definitely wasn’t your area.

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Christmas Gift

A Sherlock Story

Summary: For Christmas, Gwynn Tern leaves her boyfriend Sherlock Holmes a gift as she herself goes back home to Virginia, to take care of her father, who has fallen ill. This gift keeps him company for the month she is gone for...

Warnings: cuteness (I hope)

2,787 words

“You’re not serious, are you?”

Sherlock’s head snapped up. He did not like the way Gwynn’s voice had suddenly gone fragile, or the way her face drained of blood, or the way her hands suddenly started shaking.

“Yeah, yeah, I—I’m on it.” A pause, during which Sherlock studied her. “No, no, no, it’s alright. I’m sure he’ll understand. He always does.” She rubbed her palms on her legs—suddenly sweating excessively. Nervousness? he wondered. “Y-yeah. Bye, Mom.” Gwynn stared at the phone for several seconds, then hobbled to the couch after her knees started to give out.

“Gwynn? You alright?” John asked, tossing a glance at Sherlock as the detective studied his girlfriend, trying to find out what her mother had said to elicit such a reaction.

“I— Yes. No. No.” She shook her head, put it in her hands, then lifted it again. “My dad...he...”

Sherlock was on his feet before she could get out another word. He scooped her up, sat with her, and held her. She fell heavily into his embrace.

“He just got into a car accident,” Gwynn pushed out. Sherlock wiped a tear from her eye as John’s sympathies started streaming from his mouth. Rosie crawled to Gwynn’s legs and tried to crawl up. 

“Ah!” the little girl cooed, repeatedly and softly tapping Gwynn’s knee.

“Thank you, Rosie,” Gwynn breathed as Sherlock started to rub her back. “I have to go. I have to go take care of him and Mom.” She nestled into Sherlock’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Sherlocket. I know Christmas is only in a few days and I know you wanted me here—”

Sherlock put a finger in the air, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. You should go take care of your father.” He kissed her forehead. “He matters more than I do.”

“Sherlock—”

“No, don’t deny it,” Sherlock interrupted. “He’s your father. He’ll always be your father, even if I’m not always your boyfriend. Go take care of him.”

Gwynn wiped her palms on her legs again. She kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said shakily, standing up uneasily. Rosie gave a squeal of protest and Gwynn bent down again to kiss the top of the little girl’s head. 

“Gweh!” Rosie giggled, the sound the closest she had made to saying Gwynn’s name.

“I’ll be back soon, little one,” she promised. “Sherl, can you find me the next available plane ticket?”

��On it,” the detective promised, standing and rushing to his laptop.

“I’ll go pack,” Gwynn muttered. She glanced at Rosie, who was still trying to climb up her legs. “You wanna come too, Rosie?”

Rosie gurgled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gwynn decided, scooping the little girl up. She hurried to the bedroom she and Sherlock spent a majority of the time sharing.

As Gwynn packed, John watched Sherlock carefully as the detective scrolled through plane tickets, trying to find one for Gwynn. John put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“You alright?”

“Fine,” Sherlock mumbled through his fist. “Is this one—? No, she doesn’t have enough time to get to the airport...”

“Sherlock,” John said quietly, “I know how much you wanted to spend Christmas with her. You were so excited—”

Sherlock cast John a look. “Please don’t talk about it,” he requested softly. “It’s hard enough without thinking about it.”

John’s throat tightened. “Oh, Sherlock...”

“Here, this’ll do,” Sherlock decided abruptly as his eye caught on a ticket for a plane that would take off in just a few hours. “I’ll go let her know.”

Meanwhile, Gwynn was stuffing every item she could into a suitcase. She threw her laptop and a few notebooks and pens into the bottom of it, then threw clothes over the top, selecting several outfits Sherlock had bought her.

There was a knock at the door. “Hmm?” Gwynn asked, not looking up from the boots she was attempting to stuff into the case while Rosie played with one of Gwynn’s scarves on top of the bed.

“I found a ticket for you,” Sherlock said softly, coming up behind her and putting a hand on the small of her back.

“Thank you, love.” She turned around, mumbling to herself, and kissed his cheek. She threw a light jacket into her case, then turned to Rosie. “Rose, I’m going to need that scarf...”

“Take one of mine,” Sherlock interjected, holding one out to her. Gwynn paused, staring between Sherlock and the scarf.

“Really? But you love your scarves!”

“And I love you,” he reminded her. “You are permitted to take my scarves. Hell, take one of my shirts or something if you want to!”

Something sparked in Gwynn’s eyes. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

Gwynn grinned and flounced to Sherlock’s dresser. She searched for a few moments before pulling out one of his light blue ones. “Can I steal this one?”

“Mmhmm,” Sherlock hummed, nodding. He hugged her as she smiled, lifting the shirt to her nose. He raised both eyebrows.

“It smells like you,” she explained.

“And why...?”

“Your smell is comforting,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Good to know,” he laughed.

Gwynn kissed his cheek softly. “I have to put this in my case.”

They split apart and she carefully folded the shirt on the bed, placing it at the top of her suitcase. She did a mental tally of everything she’d packed, decided it was enough, and closed the suitcase. She collected her coat and slipped shoes on, then dropped her case off at the door. She glanced around 221B, then stopped with an “Oh!”, interrupting John mid-sentence.

Dashing back to the bedroom, she called, “I almost forgot!” From deep within the drawers of her dresser, she dug out a precisely and lovingly wrapped box. She carried it back to the living room and tucked it under the tiny tree she and John had forcefully convinced Sherlock into letting them have by simply buying it one day without telling him.

She turned to her boyfriend. “I was going to give it to you privately Christmas night, but seen as I won’t be here, it gets to go under the tree. Don’t open it until Christmas.”

“You think I wouldn’t wait?”

“You can be a child sometimes,” Gwynn reminded him, “so I wouldn’t put it past you. John, I’m trusting you to keep him away from it.”

“You have my word,” John promised seriously.

Gwynn smiled. “Thank you.” She gave John a hug, cooed over Rosie—who she had put back on the couch—and kissed the top of her head, then turned to her boyfriend.

The pair stared at each other for a long time. But then Sherlock caved, leaning down, his eyes fluttering closed. When he kissed her, he kissed her softly and kindly yet passionate, both ignoring the fact John was present. When at last they pulled away, Gwynn’s movements were slow, much different from her fevered flitting around as she had packed.

Sherlock wound the scarf he had given her around her neck and kissed her cheek softly. “Let me know when you get on the plane, and when you land.”

Gwynn put her hand on Sherlock’s cheek. “Always. I know the drill.” She kissed his cheek and whispered, “I love you.” And then she was out the door, hailing a taxi, the ticket information ready on her phone, the information sent to her by Sherlock.

“I love you, too,” Sherlock said into the empty space she had been standing in moments before.

/

When Christmas morning dawned, Sherlock yawned and sat up in his bed, stretching. He stared at the space Gwynn usually occupied as he had been for the past few days when he woke.

He’d been trying to sleep for her sake. So far, he’d only slept for two out of the six nights she’d been gone, but it was better than nothing. It was progress, as Gwynn would have called it.

As he usually did, Sherlock immediately checked his phone—there was, indeed, a text from his Gwynnie from late last night—though it would have been only around 6 p.m. in Richmond, VA, where she was.

I love you, my Locket. My father is doing well...my family wishes you a merry Christmas.

Even though she wouldn’t see it until much later, Sherlock sent her a reply he hoped would make her Christmas a bit better.

I wish you were here, Gwynnie. Tell your family I wish I could be there with you all and that I wish they, too, have a good holiday. I love you. - SH

Rubbing at his eyes, Sherlock wrapped himself again in his sheet and shuffled into the bathroom, fighting back yawns.

In the shower, he yelped as the cold water hit him, then cursed himself for not being ready. The hot water line had broken again in the last month, but none of them had bothered to fix it, not with Gwynn so stressed out over their financial status after her last book had flopped and the producer who was supposed to be making her best seller into a film continuously putting her off.

The good thing about the cold water, however, was that it woke Sherlock’s sluggish body and mind, putting him back into sorts, though it wasn’t nearly as pleasant as Gwynn’s morning kiss or her body weight pressing on him as she rested her head on his chest he thought with a scowl.

/

Sherlock had given up his chair to Molly and Rosie. It had first been Rosie to steal his chair, then Molly had decided to join her. So Sherlock sat cross-legged on the floor, feeling very much like a child.

For the first time, however, Sherlock found himself enjoying the laughter and the festivities, despite Gwynn’s absence. Smiles slipped freely across his face just as he teased John one minute and poked fun at Lestrade the next.

“Sherlock, dear, why don’t you call Gwynn? It’d be a pleasure to hear her voice,” Mrs. Hudson suggested.

“Even better, a video call,” John called from over his shoulder as he retrieved the bottle of sparkling cider Sherlock clearly remembered Gwynn telling them not to open without her permission.

“Don’t let her see you opening that bottle,” Sherlock warned with a smirk. “She might become murderous.”

John snorted his amusement and Sherlock’s mouth twitched up into a grin as he called Gwynn. It was 9:27 p.m. in London, which meant it would be 4:27 p.m. in Virginia—perfect. She would be with her family, who she’d confessed had been begging her to let them meet him via video call for the holidays.

She answered almost immediately, revealing herself in a low-cut red dress Sherlock had bought her for one of the rare occasions he’d let her help with a case she’d taken an immediate liking to and had worn for a great many of their dates. He was pleased, however, to notice that his scarf was wound around her neck, concealing her cleavage quite well. Behind her, the Tern family was gathered. They cheered the moment Sherlock appeared on screen.

“Gwynn!” Sherlock said with a grin. The others around him chorused her name and John held Rosie up for the Terns to see as the little girl squeaked, “Gweh!”

Lydia, Gwynn’s mother, cooed at the sight of Rosie. “Oh, Gwynn! You didn’t tell me how much she’d grown!”

Gwynn ignored her mother. “Sherlock,” she sighed wistfully.

He raised both eyebrows and teased, “I thought I told you not to wear that dress around anybody except me!”

As her family laughed, Gwynn rolled her eyes and sassed back, “I decided not to follow that order, Dad.”

Sherlock grinned. 

“How’s your Christmas going, Tern family?” John had wisely hid the bottle of sparkling cider, but he held a glass of it in his hand. Gwynn eyed it suspiciously.

He stole your cider, Sherlock mouthed with a cheeky grin, enjoying the look of absolute vengeance that crossed her face in response.

“Quite well, considering the circumstances,” Lydia replied, a certain heaviness settling in her eyes and on her shoulders. “But Stephen gets to come home in a few days, so that’s good. It’ll take him about a month, though, until he regains enough movability for us to send Gwynn back to you guys.” She gave Sherlock a pitying look. “Sorry, Sherlock, darling.”

Sherlock waved it away. “It’ll be difficult, but I’ll survive. I know my girl’s coming back to me soon.”

Gwynn smiled softly at him. “Have you opened my present yet?”

“The one you very specifically ordered me not to touch and told John to watch? No.”

She grinned, her shoulder shaking with gentle laughter. “You can open it know, my sweet.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” She fingered the scarf, lifting it absentmindedly to your nose. “Scarf still smells like you.”

“Shirt?”

“Also smells of you.”

“What the heck?!” Lestrade asked. Both Sherlock and Gwynn chuckled.

“She’s got one of Sherlock’s scarves and a shirt of his,” Lydia explained as Sherlock stood to retrieve the gift from underneath the tree. His eyes ran over the large family as he sat back down, taking in the cousins and aunts and uncles.

“She sleeps in the shirt,” Levi, Gwynn’s brother, called as he put an arm around his heavily pregnant wife, Charlotte.

Gwynn’s cheeks flushed nearly as deep a red as her dress. “Levi!”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Sherlock said and Gwynn gave him a look. “She does like to steal my shirts at night.”

Levi snorted, Sherlock grinned, and Gwynn groaned and hid her face as her family and Sherlock’s friends roared with laughter.

“Sherlock, I hate you.”

“Not as of this morning, you didn’t!” he reminded her. “Levi, Charlotte, I see the pregnancy is going well?”

Gwynn’s younger brother beamed. “Incredibly!”

“I’m due in a month and two weeks,” Charlotte added with a pleased smile. “We’re naming him William.”

Sherlock’s heart nearly melted. “Aww. I see Gwynnie dear told you my full name.” He shot his girlfriend a look. She stuck her tongue out at him. 

“C’mon, Sherlock, open your present and stop hogging the camera when you’re finished so the others can talk,” Gwynn laughed. “But don’t move until I see your face when you open it!”

Sherlock stuck his tongue out at her, then gently picked the gift up from his lap again. His eyes skimmed over the note: To my Locket for when we’re apart, or when we’re together. Here’s some memories we made for forever.

“It rhymes,” he remarked.

“That wasn’t intentional,” Gwynn said, her cheeks flushing.

Carefully, he untied the bow she had wrapped around it and slowly pulled the paper from it. He lifted the lid off the brown box to find a scrapbook of sorts. He raised his eyes to Gwynn’s.

“Look inside,” she urged softly, her voice like silk and her eyes more than a little nervous.

Lifting the book from the box, Sherlock lifted the cover and his breath caught in his throat. Centered was the first picture ever of the two of them, sitting across from each other in the library at Uni, both grinning at the camera. In cursive, Gwynn had penciled in the date, the place, and the photographer—Gwynn’s old friend Jenny.

“I—it’s us.” Sherlock didn’t seem to know what else to say. As he flipped through, he found pages of pictures with them and their old friends and acquaintances from Uni: their first date, them studying, Gwynn in costume hugging Sherlock after the theatre company’s final show in junior year, all sorts of fond memories.

“Well, do you like it?” Gwynn asked nervously.

“Gwynnie, darling, if you were here, I’d be kissing you to death,” Sherlock promised. “This...is amazing. Thank you, love.”

Gwynn could only smile.

/

Over the course of the next month, the photo album-scrapbook became Sherlock’s crutch. Whenever he felt low, he looked at the pictures Gwynn had so lovingly chosen. 

He relived his memories with her—they weren’t always good and the photos proved that; some of them depicted just one of them in a pissy mood and many had captions that told an entire story with just a few words.

On the day Gwynn was coming back to him, Sherlock selected one of the photos, tucked it in his pocket, and took a cab to the airport. He waited with Rosie and John, his foot tapping nervously on the floor.

When the flood of people came, he stood up so quickly his head spun and pulled out the photo. He waited, scanning the people, searching, searching, searching, searching—

There!

She was hurrying toward them. He held up the photo for her and she studied it—and a grin split across her face. Mindful of the photo, she flung her arms around him and they kissed each other all over, attacking lips, cheeks, foreheads, and noses.

“Home,” she sighed.

“Home,” he agreed, pressing his forehead to hers.

They walked to the cab hand-in-hand, the photo—the special moment of them both walking into 221B together, hand-in-hand as they were now, after they revealed they were dating to the others—tucked once more in Sherlock’s pocket and a new photo to be printed on John’s phone: the two of them, Gwynn with her legs wrapped around Sherlock’s waist and her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek as his hand ran in her hair and the other arm held her up, suitcase discarded and Rosie reaching for them in the corner of the photo.

[theunisexmode]

FENTY PUMA Cleated Creeper Suede and AW17 Collection...

PUMA and FENTY Creative Director, Rihanna, officially usher in the third season of FENTY PUMA by Rihanna by opening up the doors of FENTY University, where varsity sport gets a high fashion makeover and everyone can mix and match the variety of looks... Can we get a diploma too? 

Rihanna designed the collection to represent different youth cultural cliques and their unique styles that set them apart in hallways and locker rooms - Nerds, Jocks, Skaters, Preppies, Goth Kids and of course, Bad Gals. Lending her signature FENTY style, the collection features chunky hand-knit sweaters, chenille PUMA Cats and varsity F's adrorned rib knit sweaters, dresses and over-sized coats in faux sherling and furs. WHAT A DREAM! 

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The collection's footwear range instantly puts you on the honour roll of style...cheesy but we like it! Get ready for new styles and future icons - Chelsea Sneaker Boot, FENTY Trainer Hi and Knitted High Mary Jane Heel. The iconic PUMA Creeper makes a solid comeback in two new stacked sole iterations - the Cleated Creeper Suede and the Anke Strap Sneaker available in women and men's sizing in the latest seasonal colours.

FENTY PUMA Cleated Creeper Suede

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The wider FENTY PUMA AW17 collection hits stores from 28th September on PUMA.com, in PUMA stores and leading fashion & lifestyle retailers worldwide...

[harringtonstudios]

dusky pink (II).

plot: he’s supposed to be taking you out, but things take a sharp turn left. part 1!

A/N: this has been a long time in the works i’m sorry about that! i don’t think it lives up to its potential :( i hope you guys like it lemme know how you feel :)

SMUT!!! masterlist

taglist: @iamdorka​ @no-shxt-sherl​ @bakerkells​ @rosegoldrichie​ @findingmyths​ @mayaslifeinabox​ @itjustkindahappenedreally​ @hnbtx​ @backoftheroomandnotbelonging​

Walking out into the warm Californian air, you let the quietness settle in. Colson’s walked ahead of you, playing with his keys as you pass the house you’d posed in. Letting the champagne take over, you quicken your pace to meet his steps. 

“Slow down daddy long legs,” you blurt out, struggling to keep up with him. He bursts out laughing, slowing down just a little. His hand reaches out and you look up at him before casually taking it. 

His fingers wrap into yours and you smile at the way he squeezes your hand before saying, “There you go, happy shortie?”

Pretending to be offended, you shout, “Short? Me? You’re like 6 foot 2, man.”

He stops walking, grinning with teeth before muttering, “6 foot 4.”

You roll your eyes up at him as he lets out another laugh, happy with his own jokes. The keys in his hand click and then the car across the street lights up, flashing the dark sidewalk. You give him a look before dropping his hand to move towards the car. 

“She’s pretty,” you exclaim, hands running over the cherry red exterior. 

“You’re pretty,” he quips back, opening up the locks. 

“Well yeah, I know that, but damn. This baby’s a thing of beauty,” you continue, opening up the passenger seat door, still in awe of the condition of the car. 

“It’s a rental,” he murmurs, plugging in his keys. 

A second later, the engine roars to life and you pull on your seatbelt, ready for an adventure.

-

Sitting in the passenger seat of Colson’s car, you quietly tapped your fingers against your thigh. The champagne had gotten to your head, the world buzzing just a little bit as he drove past the streetlights. It felt good, even better when you rolled the window down a little, wind brushing into the car. 

“You good?” he asked, his own thumb tapping against the steering wheel to the beat of the music he had playing softly in the background. 

“Yeah, wind feels good,” you mumbled, smiling at him. He still had the cut on his cheek, eyeshadow dusted around it. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out a finger, tracing it slowly. 

“Is it real?” you asked, feeling his stubble under your fingertip. He laughed, tilting his head against your hand. 

“Nah. Real cuts aren’t so clean,” he explained, stopping the car at the red light. He turned his head to look at you, sitting relaxed in his passenger seat, all attention on him. You quickly pulled your finger back, and he pouted his lip just a little. 

“Bring it back, that felt good,” he said, starting up again as the light turned green. You scrunched your eyes, trying to see if he was being honest. You felt kinda silly, playing with his face like a kid. 

“I’m serious,” he added in, like he was reading your mind. You laughed, reaching back up to his face, letting your fingers rest on his cheek. 

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked, mouth moving your hand atop his face. 

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you while he was driving. 

“Yeah,” you responded, sitting up a little straighter in the seat. 

“Why’d you become a model?” he questioned, eyes flicking over to you. You pursed your lips, trying to figure out exactly how to give an answer. It wasn’t a hard question at all, but you didn’t know how much to tell Colson, not really knowing him too well. 

“I kinda fell into it. I was living on a friend’s couch and instead of paying for rent, she’d have me pose for photography practice. It felt good yanno? A few years later, I ended up modeling for a clothing company, and things just snowballed after that,” you rambled, eyes gazing out the windshield. The sky was a nice midnight blue, stars dotting ever so often. 

The streetlamps whizzed by as Colson drove down the freeway, one hand on the steering wheel, the other lying in between on top of the stick shift. 

“Why’d you become a rapper?” you asked, eyes focused on the soft taps of his fingers against the steering wheel. He looked over at you, bit his lip before saying, “Wanted to save people. Save myself.”

The silence settled in again, deep into your bones as you let his answer wash over you.

Turning your head back towards him, you catalogued his movements. Waiting another beat, you let your fingers creep towards his, inching to get closer. Grazing your index finger over his hand, you watched the hint of a smile appear on his face. 

“Mmm,” he mumbled out, turning his palm fully to meet yours. Bringing it up to his face, he dropped a kiss on your joined hands before throwing you a look. 

Licking your lips, the words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them, “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll cancel our plans for the rest of the night.” 

Giving you a look of confusion, Colson paused at the red light. “Whaddya mean?” he asks, the red highlighting the angles of his face. 

Looking down a little out of a sudden bout of embarrassment, you mumbled, “Uhm, like, if you look at me like that again, I’m gonna, you know, wanna do things with you.”

“Oh yeah? What kinda things?” he egged on, eyes moving back to the road as the light switched to green. 

“You know,” you mutter, catching his little snort.

“Nope. Tell me,” he pushes, tongue darting out to the side of his mouth. 

“I wanna fuck you,” you spit out, exasperated as he starts laughing at the wheel.

“God Y/N. You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to get up all on you today,” he murmurs out a second later, shifting to focus on you.

“Why don’t you now?” you eagerly ask, moving in your seat. 

“Cause I’m supposed to be taking you out on a nice date,” he mutters, squeezing your fingers. 

You hesitate for a second and then you’re smiling as you exclaim, “Fuck the date. I kinda want you in me right about now.”

“Is that so?” he questions, eyebrows raising up. 

“Colson,” you softly let out, looking up straight at him.

“You serious?” he breathes out, and you nod, mind filling with thoughts about what you wanna do to him. 

“How bad do you want me right now?” he asks, voice deeper than before. 

“Scale of one to ten, a solid 20. You’ve been driving me crazy all day. I haven’t felt tension like that in a while,” you mumble, swinging your joined hands slightly. 

“Alright,” is all you get before the car suddenly swerves into a sharp turn. There’s a “hold on,” muttered and then you’re turning left onto a side road, houses lining the streets.  

-

The neighborhood is quiet, dark with a couple of street lamps flickering. Parked cars fill up the road and you spot a family eating dinner through one of the windows as Colson’s car creeps through the street. 

“What’re we doing here?” you whisper out. 

“Gimme a sec,” Colson whispers back before speeding up a little. Getting to the corner of the street, he stops. There’s a fire extinguisher and then right behind it, an empty parking spot. 

Winking at you, Colson throws his arm behind you, grabbing onto the headrest. Reversing the car, he backs up into the parking space before cutting off the engine. 

“I am not having sex in this car,” you blurt out, brain connecting the dots.

Colson smirks at you, unbuckling his seat belt. You glare at him for a second before moving out of your own seat. Awkwardly climbing over the front console, you dump yourself into his lap, arms wrapping over his shoulders. 

There’s a pause and then he’s settling you in, pulling you closer. His hands find home on your hips, gripping at your skin there. You widen your legs trying to get into a more comfortable position as he leans in. 

There’s a kiss, then two, and then you’re pressing into his lap against the bulge growing in his pants.

“Fuck. You’re a good kisser,” he mumbles out, in between the slow heat of your mouths. You grin, just a little. 

Pulling at the corner of his shirt, you tug it up a little, encouraging him to take it over. He does, and you grin before tossing it in the back.

Feeling him grow completely hard against you, you start moving in his lap. Grinding forward against the heat of his dick, you let out a moan at the slight friction. 

Taking in your moan, Colson breaks off the kisses, leaning in to drop his mouth to your neck. Nuzzling it slightly, he trails kisses up to your jawline as you continue to slowly move against the pressure. 

“Take your pants off,” you slowly pant out as he lavishes your neck with open mouth kisses. 

“Ask me nicely,” he mumbles, teeth tugging slightly at your ear.

“Pants. Please,” you tack on, as his fingers start moving up your back, pressing your further into him. 

Moving off of him, you hover, pulling off your own pants as Colson shrugs down his jeans. He pushes the driver’s seat back to give you both enough space. You laugh just a little at the thump it makes once the seat falls down. 

Bringing yourself back down, you sit on his bare thighs. Hands against his chest, pushing him back down. 

“Y/N wait,” he exclaims as you lean down to kiss him again. 

“Yeah?” you ask, suddenly feeling a little self conscious. It’s not like Colson hasn’t been posing with your half naked body all day, but this is different and you feel the nerves start to build up in your tummy. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?” he repeats, hands rising up to run through his hair. 

“No,” you admit, moving up almost off of him.

“I just wanted to grab the condoms before we forget,” he responds, getting up once your palms move off of his chest. 

“Oh yeah,” you respond, watching him reach over you to the glovebox. Pulling on it, he opens it up, sticking in a hand to feel around. 

“Fuck. I knew they were in here somewhere,” he starts, just as you say, “Here lemme look.”

Both of you move in at the same time, blindly searching for the strip of condoms. 

“Here!” he shouts, raising his head the exact moment you bring yours up. Both your foreheads bump into each other and you recoil slightly as he pushes an arm out to steady you. 

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” he laughs as you rub on the spot where his head hit yours.

Pouting a little, you move down, kissing him softly, murmuring, “This is the best idea you’ve had all day.”

Bringing a hand up to his cheek, you stroke the little scruff he has as you start grinding on him again, only thing separating the two of you some underwear. 

Slyly taking the condoms out of his hand, you rip one off of the pack. Leaning back, you open it up as Colson lifts his hips, pulling at his boxers. 

Rolling the condom onto his dick, you kiss the side of his neck, whispering in his ear, “I’m so wet.”

He bites at your bottom lip as he moves his hand, pulling away your underwear, dipping his fingers in. Feeling the slickness, he brings them to your mouth. You let the tip of your tongue lick his finger, just as you seat yourself down slowly onto his dick.

Letting out a soft gasp, you move just a little trying to feel him out. Colson’s hands travel up your shirt, fingers catching on the pink lacy bra you’d stolen off of set. 

“You took this?” he mutters out, tracing the outline of the bra, palm resting on your bare skin.

“Mmhm,” you reply, leaning down to give him another kiss as you slowly move on his dick. 

Dropping his hands to your bare hips, he pulls you forward, setting the beat of your bodies in motion to a faster pace. 

Soft moans filled up the air, falling out of both of your mouths as your hips follow his in pursuit. You can feel the pressure start to build in your core, and you hold Colson down, hands firmly pressing into his chest. 

A few seconds more and then the electricity pulses through you as he tightens his grip on your waist. Hips stuttering, you hear his heavy breath followed by mumbled curses. 

Moving back a little, you take in a deep breath. Rolling off of him, you fix your underwear and pull your pants back on. He’s all laid back on the seat, watching you. 

As you plop into the passenger seat, legs feeling weak, you laugh at the fogged up windows. Turning to the side to draw a smiley face, you turn back to see Colson’s jeans on, seat up righted. His shirt’s still thrown somewhere in the backseats, and you take a few seconds to admire his tattooed torso in the dark. 

“Here,” he mumbles reaching over to the glovebox again. Pulling out a pack of baby wipes, he takes out a couple before tossing it over to you. 

“Thanks,” you respond softly, watching him run a cool wipe over his slightly sweaty face. Leaning in, he gives you another kiss, before bringing the wipe he was just using to your cheeks. 

“Colson,” you squeal, nudging him with your hands to push him back. 

“Y/N!” he mocks back, hands running along back to the steering wheel. Turning on the engine, he pulls smoothly out of the parking space as you gather your hair up into a ponytail.

“Where to?” he asks, hand scratching at his chest.

You wait a minute, thinking it through in your head before saying, “Back to the hotel?”

He throws you a slight look and you protest, “I’m exhausted. And we still have to shoot tomorrow. Early.”

There’s a nod, a small smile and then you’re cruising down the quiet streets again, heart settling as you come to terms with what just happened. It’s a sharp realization: you’ve fucked this up. 

[whitecrossgirl]

A Sisterly Chat

AN: This was just a silly idea based on a concept that probably has already been written about before but I wanted to give it a try. I hope you enjoy it. Ask box is open for prompts.

We have a situation – MH

Busy – SH

This is serious Sherlock! – MH

So is this – SH

I know you are microwaving marshmallows with Rosamund Watson to see if they explode. They don’t. Now will you listen? – MH

Actually, Brother Mine, they do explode if you spear them with metal skewers and put them in the microwave. – SH

An eye-roll emoji? Seriously Sherlock? Grow up. This is important – MH

Fine. What? – SH

Eurus has escaped. - MH

“What?!” Sherlock yelled, slamming the call button on his phone. One ring later and Mycroft had answered. “Why didn’t you say that first?”

“I was trying to.” Mycroft replied. “I’m overlooking the footage now, it might have been one of the new recruits. She appeared to manipulate them as they just walked out together.”

“And no one thought to stop them? Mycroft, your people are idiots.” Sherlock snapped. “What is this? The third or fourth time at least that she’s escaped?”

“We’re working on it. I’m calling to warn you to be careful. Eurus is over eighteen months without incident but we can’t be certain that she won’t relapse.” Mycroft said as Sherlock began to run possibilities through his head. Where could Eurus have gone? Eurus escapes for reasons. What reason did she have now?

“Uncla Sherl, who is it?” Rosie asked as Sherlock held her tightly in his arms. He had been looking after her whilst John was at work. Her nursery was having a staff-training day. At two years and three months, her language was improving greatly and her cogitative development was fascinating to observe.

“It’s Uncle Mycroft.” Sherlock said before turning his attention back to Mycroft. “She can’t be going to see Mummy and Daddy; they’re in Australia. The old house was destroyed after we found Victor. She wouldn’t dare go to your building, you would catch her. She has no interest in Lestrade and John would recognise her by sight, no matter her disguise.”

“Then there’s only one option. She will be coming to Baker Street. You’re the only other- Oh God. Sherlock you need to go.” Mycroft said as one of is men pointed to a camera and Sherlock came to the same realisation. There was someone else. Somewhere else. The one who’s importance was the greatest. The one who mattered most. The one who never actually saw Eurus face to face. The one person who meant that much to both Sherlock and Mycroft to gain that reaction from the elder Holmes brother.

“Molly.”

John flexed his fingers as he wrote up his latest report. He could swear that working in medicine was now more about paperwork than actually helping people. John took a moment to smile at the picture of Mary and Rosie on his desk before his phone beeped with an incoming text. Then a second. And a third.

The East Wind has blown into St. Bart’s. Help is required. – SH

If convenient come immediately. If inconvenient come anyway – SH

Rosie is with Mrs Hudson. – SH

“Shit.” John muttered and glanced at the calendar. Thankfully there were only two appointments and the other doctors would be willing to cover. After quickly claiming Rosie was ill, John rushed out of the surgery and into the closest cab. Eurus had escaped. Eurus was at St Bart’s. This was not good. Not good at all.

“Molly Hooper?”

Molly looked up from her microscope and looked at the visitor. A tall, pale woman with elbow-length black hair was standing in the doorway; dressed casually in jeans and a purple hooded jumper. She was dressed far too casually to be part of the police or part of the hospital; Molly knew all the IT people and her plain-clothes guards who Mycroft assigned to watch out for her. This woman was none of them.

“Can I help you?” Molly asked as the woman stepped into the lab, closing the door behind her. Molly watched her move carefully; there was something very familiar about this woman.

“I just wanted to speak to you.” The woman replied calmly. “It’s about my brother.”

“Who’s your brother?” Molly asked as she cursed herself for not having something on her to protect herself with. Sherlock and John always tried to encourage her to do so. Now, that probably would have been a good idea, considering some random woman had just walked into her morgue and was trying to speak to her about her brother who Molly was certain she had never-

“Sherlock Holmes.”

-met.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock was sprinting through St Bart’s hospital; dodging doctors, nurses, visitors and patients; ignoring any of their complaints, comments or demands to slow down. Once glance at the wait for the lift sent him speeding towards the stairs, jumping over or missing several in his haste to get to the morgue. Molly. He had to find Molly. There was no telling what Eurus had done or said. No telling what she was capable of or how far she had slipped back into the darkness that had consumed her for so long. As he ran down the stairs, his foot slipped and Sherlock crashed painfully down the last six steps. Pain, however was not a priority; Molly was; so after a few choice curse words, Sherlock picked himself back up and kept running. Molly. He had to get to Molly.

The sound of the doors slamming off the walls echoed along with his running footsteps and Sherlock slammed his way onto the next corridor. Molly’s corridor. As he ran, the echoing of his footsteps was accompanied by the sound of something else. Laughter. Women’s laughter. A woman who was not Molly. Eurus. Why was she laughing? What could have caused her to laugh? What had she done to Molly?

“Eurus!” Sherlock shouted as he threw open the door, expecting to find a blood-soaked Eurus but instead found Eurus and Molly sitting on stools, cups of coffee in front of them and looks of amusement on their faces.

“Eighteen minutes since I entered the hospital. Mycroft is slipping although I was impressed how you managed to work the London traffic. Usually it takes twenty two minutes to get from Baker Street to here.” Eurus commented as Molly smiled at him.

“What are you doing here Sherlock?” Molly asked.

“I- Eurus has obviously escaped and I needed to check that-“ Sherlock said as Eurus cut across him.

“You needed to check that I was not undertaking some complex murderous attack against Doctor Molly Hooper as a result of our own difficult past relationship. That isn’t me anymore Sherlock. I’m done trying to get rid of your pets and anyway, Molly never was one of those pets. I’ve always respected you Molly. And your work.” Eurus explained as Sherlock looked at her perplexed.

“Why are you here? How did you escape?” Sherlock asked.

“Because I want to and because I could.” Eurus answered. “And before you interrupted, Molly and I were having a lovely conversation about pathology, her research on factors which can affect decomposition and the complexity of the human body.”

“It’s true Sherlock. Actually, Eurus, you did tell me you wanted to speak to me about Sherlock.” Molly said but Eurus dismissed that with a wave of her hand.

“Boring. I just said that so you wouldn’t have me thrown out. I actually wanted to meet you. Mycroft told me a lot about you and after my little ‘experiment’, I wanted to know more about you and your work.” Eurus explained before a mischievous glint shone in her eyes. “Although, now that he is here, Sherlock, did you ever tell Molly about your Reception Nativity play?”

“Shut up! Shut up right now!” Sherlock insisted, looking terrified for a completely different reason. It had been one memory he had tried to erase.

“No, what happened?” Molly asked. This had taken an amusing turn; watching Sherlock turn from a mostly composed adult to a little boy bickering with his sister.

“Sherlock was playing one of the shepherds and Mummy was of course very proud; used her best tea towel as part of his costume and everything. However when the night of the performance came, Sherlock was supposed to proudly say his lines and lead the other shepherds in following the star. That didn’t happen. Instead, Sherlock stood up, said his line and fell off the stage.” Eurus explained.

“Oh no,” Molly said as she pictured Little Sherlock. The grown up Sherlock was red in the face and glaring at Eurus.

“It gets better, some of the children tried to help and the play carried on. However Mycroft couldn’t help but smirk and laugh. Sherlock happened to glance out at the audience when he and the others were gathered around the manger. He saw that Mycroft was laughing and decided to throw the baby Jesus at him.” Eurus explained, her blue eyes shining with amusement at the memory. At almost four, it had been the funniest thing she had ever seen.

“Sherlock!” Molly said as she laughed at the image of a little boy dressed as a shepherd throwing a doll at his brother.

“Mycroft shouldn’t have laughed.” Sherlock insisted as the door opened behind them again.

“You should have watched where you were going.” Mycroft replied, looking composed as usual as he and John walked into the room. “Eurus, I believe it’s time to go.”

“Fine.” Eurus replied fairly. “Molly, it was nice to finally meet you and I am sorry for making Sherlock think I had put explosives in your flat and forced you two to admit something that really should have been done privately. It was very immature although it did work out for the best.”

“And that is a true Holmes apology.” Molly retorted. “A good beginning before the inevitable turning the tables to make the one receiving the apology feel annoyed again.”

The two women looked at one another before smiling and laughing at one another. Eurus turned and walked back towards Mycroft. Just as she reached him, Mycroft shook his head at her. “Give it back Eurus, you know he needs it.”

“I was going to see how long it would take for him to realise.” Eurus said as she reached into the pocket of her hoodie and threw the item she had stolen from Sherlock’s pocket. “He has been carrying it around for three weeks.”

“Two and a half.” Sherlock argued as he held the precious item in his hands. “I just haven’t found the right time to do it.”

“Well you’d better hurry up.” Eurus replied simply as she looked at John who was looking completely stumped by the day’s events. “And do tell John what’s been going on otherwise his face may look like that forever.”

“No that’s just his face.” Molly quipped cheekily before smiling apologetically at John. “Sorry.”

Eurus however laughed and before anyone could stop her, rushed over and threw her arms around Molly, hugging her tightly. Molly hugged her back instinctively and Eurus stepped back, smiling at her. “I mean it, I really do like you. Had I had you for a sister, who knows how different things would have been.”

“Indeed,” Molly replied; she was certain that things probably would have not changed but it was better to let Eurus have these moments of happiness that didn’t come from torture or death. Any genuine happiness that could help Eurus’ mental state was to be encouraged.

“Come along Eurus.” Mycroft said as he led Eurus out of the room, his arm linked around hers in what appeared to be a kind gesture between siblings was also a way of reminding Eurus about the tranquilizer dart on the dial of his watch. One wrong move and she wouldn’t wake up until she was back on Sherrinford. If she did wake up from the dosage.

As the door shut behind them, John turned and looked at Sherlock and Molly. “What just happened?”

[fantasticallyfactualforensics]

Personal Protective Equipment: aka PPEs, an Investigator’s best friend

Wow, okay, masterpost number 2 lovelies. We suck, sorry. But here we are, the long promised PPE post.

Why are PPEs necessary? Well, first of all, you don’t want your investigators to shed their own DNA all over the place and contaminate the crime scene. Even something as simple as coughing or sneezing can deposit trace DNA (which is why face mask is so important). Crime scene contamination means your evidence is no longer viable in court, and all the work done to process the scene was for naught. 

Another big reason why PPEs are necessary is because it protect investigators from biological hazards. Crime is a cesspool of diseases. Any blood or tissue sample found at the scene is treated as though it is a carrier of infectious diseases (oh boy there are many, think: Hep B, Hep C, HIV, just to name a few common scary ones).

There are a couple of ways an investigator can be exposed to hazards at a crime scene: absorption (through skin or mucus membranes, or eyes), ingestion (in your tummy it goes! There is a reason why labs highly discourage food and water), inhalation (breathing can be dangerous on the job apparently), and injection (beware of needles or sharp objects like glass while handling evidence).

Below are a few types of protection:

Respiratory protection, usually masks or self contained breathing apparatus.

Eye protection, goggles, protect eyes from contaminants or chemicals. Face shields too when necessary, especially when playing around with blood spatter.

Chemical protective clothing, inexpensive, disposable, difficult to tear but easy to get. The material traps heat so the wearer must take breaks to prevent heat stroke.

Hand protection, gloves, needed to be changed regularly, especially after handing individual evidence. Different gloves dependent on situation. Polyvinyl gloves are bad as they don’t provide protection against chemical or acids but are fine for powder and biological fluids. Latex gloves are good for powder and biological fluids, but are thin and must be discarded after single use. Double gloving is probably a good idea, although beware of latex allergies. Nitrile gloves are better than latex, provide more protection and are resistant to some chemicals. Neoprene gloves are chemical resistant and must be worn around chemicals (ie acids, alcohol).

Shoes covers, or booties, prevent investigators from tracking traces of the scene back home with them. This prevent investigators from potentially contaminating their home environment with biological hazards from the scene.

Lastly Sherls’ favourite - the bunny suit (tyvek coveralls). They are made of tyvek, which keeps all of the you in and all of the scene out. These come with and without hoods, and are the the WORST if it is even remotely warm wherever you have to wear them. You will sweat the MOST. But they protect from biologics of all kinds and some chemicals. 

For fun, heres a Sherls in a bunny suit, goggles, facemask and booties during a mock scene investigation from our first year of schooling. 

(Actually, PPEs are not just for investigators, a lot of professional fields will have some kind of PPEs or another) But yeah, thats the basics of it! Hope it helps!

[harringtonstudios]

dusky pink.

plot: you’re called in for an emergency photoshoot, not really knowing what to expect, things can surprise you. part 2!

A/N: holy moly this is the most i’ve written! glad i got back in a mood. this is for the anon that asked about a model!au earlier, i hope you like it. 

taglist: @iamdorka​ @no-shxt-sherl​ @bakerkells​ @findingmyth​ @rosegoldrichie​

When you had gotten an emergency casting call from Galore Magazine, you hadn’t expected all this. YBeing an established model, you were  known for your unique photoshoots and uprising through runway walks. You had been in the industry for almost a full year now, feeling like a veteran when you were constantly being booked by different agencies. 

Galore Magazine was one of your first employers. They had allowed you to explore your creative side while posing for the camera, launching what the industry called your “brand.” You had developed a strong, personal relationship with the executive assistant of the magazine, and she would always offer you jobs when you felt like you needed something to do in order to keep busy. 

-

The phone call came in at 3am, disrupting a night out. You had immediately picked up, walking to the outside of a club after seeing her name flash on the screen. Within minutes, in a slightly tipsy haze, you had agreed to a two-day long shoot, confirming that you would be able to fly out in a few hours. 

The alcohol had settled into your bloodstream when you rushed to your apartment, throwing clothes into a duffel bag. The flight you were supposed to be on was scheduled to leave soon, and you knew that check-ins were going to be a bitch, so you grabbed a bagel from the 24/7 corner deli before setting off to get to the airport. 

It was only after you had settled into the airplane seat that you realized you weren’t exactly sure what you had said yes to. The alcohol from last night had drained out, leaving you with a pounding headache and you grimaced as the plane started lifting off. Pulling out your phone, you texted the editor of Galore, shamelessly asking what you had signed up for the night before. 

There were a few emojis exchanged and then finally, you got the creative plan for the shoot. It was supposed to be a Romeo-and-Juliet aesthetic, inspired by the 90s Leonardo DiCaprio version. You grinned, remembering how fully obsessed you were with that movie in your teenage years. The vibes had always seemed so beautiful, popping shadows and gold chains, it was something you were eager to emulate. 

As you read through the notes, you realized that they had a rapper coming in to play as Romeo. This threw you off, there was a certain way you modeled and when collaborating with others, you liked to be prepared beforehand. It wasn’t anything bad necessarily, you just liked to know your partners so that you could tweak your methods to their needs better. You took a breath before opening up Google to search up “Machine Gun Kelly.” 

There were a shit-ton of articles to sort through, mostly relating to his new album release, “bloom.” Scrolling through the different new posts, you bit your lip. He seemed nice enough,a few things catching your eye straight off the bat. The tattoos that lined his skin were amazing, creating a tinge of jealousy as you looked at all of them. Tattoos were your weakness, having about ten smaller ones yourself. This was going to be interesting.

-

Landing at the airport, you caught a Lyft straight to the set. Since this was an emergency fill-in, you didn’t have time to do much else, sighing as the Galore studio came into view. You loved being in California, the sun shining down on you, cobbled streets, lazing living and you really wanted to enjoy all of it. 

Right away, the front desk assistant shuffled you off to the hair and make-up room. The team had a very specific vision to execute and you smiled as their creation came to life. Putting on a natural, dewy look, you sat up straight, trying to make this process as easy as possible for everyone.

 Picking up tweezers, they aligned gems under your eyes, making the color pop. Lightly dusting some shimmery powder on your cheek, they moved on to your hair. Straightening it, they applied some sleeking oils before tying it back a little. All of a sudden, one of the top makeup executives came rushing in, holding a swatch of eyeshadow. 

“Put this on her! And make sure her lip color matches. Let’s go, hurry it up,” he clapped, throwing the palate to the artist working on you. You shut your eyes, letting fingers run over your eyelids. The color was a dusky pink and as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt good. 

Applying some Vaseline on your lips before the pink gloss, you pursed your mouth together, blowing a kiss at the mirror. Glancing up, you caught the eye of someone standing behind you. 

Turning around, you looked up to see none other than Machine Gun Kelly, leaning against the doorway. His makeup seemed to be already done, matching the glow of yours. His hair was done up, looking soft and sharp at the same time. There was a scar on his cheek, cut open and you saw the eyeshadow shade splotched around it, creating dusky pink on top of his cheekbone. He was smiling at you and you felt a blush start to rise on your cheeks. 

“Promise I’m not that cocky. Ever,” you muttered, trying to avoid his warm gaze. 

“Cockiness is sexy,” he laughed, leaning over to reach out a hand, “I’m Kells.”

“Y/N,” you responded, giving him a loose handshake. 

“Oh c’mon, I know you can shake harder than that,” he grinned, gripping the tips of your fingers in his hand. 

“I mean, I could. But why would I want to?” you responded cheekily. Raising his eyebrows, he smirked, dropping your hand. 

“HEY YOU TWO! GET INTO COSTUME,” the executive assistant shouted as she passed by. Walking behind you, she leaned in to whisper, “Looks like someone’s getting along,” before going on her way. Feeling the blush climb just a little higher, you got up off the chair. 

“Costumes that way,” you murmured, pointing down the hall as Kells followed behind you.

 “So, you know a lot about Galore?” he asked and you smiled thinking of all the memories you had in these very rooms. 

“Yeah, they gave me my first big break yanno? I’ve been eternally indebted to them since,” you explained, letting your fingers trail over the walls covered in autographs. 

“Wow, big ups to you. Most people forget where they come from, glad to see you sticking to your roots,” he spoke as you turned into the room. 

“Mhm,” you whispered, immediately getting distracted by the racks that hung around the room. Colors popped out from every corner, complementing the golden shades on your faces. Reaching out to touch one of the satin shirts, you felt Kells nudge your elbow from behind. 

“I don’t think we’re supposed to touch those,” he murmured, nodding to the sign that the costume designer had hung up. 

“They’re beautiful, I have to. Fuck the rules,” you muttered, picking up one of the hangers off the rack. 

He gave you a look before mumbling, “That’s what I like to hear,” and then both of you were grabbing hangers, pulling clothes off of the racks. 

“Where do we change?” he asked, hands bunching up the expensive silky shirts. You knew the changing stations were next door, but you didn’t want to really walk over. 

Looking up at Kells, you smirked before going, “Right here?”

“Oh? Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, throwing the shirts on one of the chairs in the room. Reaching to pull over his white t-shirt, he laughed, seeing your gaze on his bare torso. 

“Sorry, I um, haven’t seen so many tattoos on somebody,” you stuttered out, hands itching to reach across and touch. 

“I think that’s what they all say,” he said, running his tongue against his teeth. 

“Shut up, get naked,” you scoffed, turning around to hide the red of your cheeks.

 Pulling off your top, you reached for the first shirt you had grabbed, a deep blue button down. It wasn’t meant for you, reaching down to the tops of your thighs as you closed one of the lower buttons. The shoot was going to be in lingerie anyway, and you knew Kells would see your body, so there wasn’t any reason to hide it right now. Turning around, you presented yourself, throwing up jazz hands. 

He guffawed, palms reaching up to cover his mouth. Widening your eyes, you leaned over, putting your hands on top of his. 

“Stop, are you trying to get caught?” you shushed him, looking at the door for the costume director to walk in at any minute. 

“I’m sorry, you just look great, I. I can’t even come up with words,” he snickered as you moved your hands back. 

Flipping him off, you took a step back, admiring his look. He was wearing a deep pink suit, jacket open to reveal all his tattoos, pants tailored to his exact body shape. Looking him up and down, you wet your lips, tongue reaching out involuntary. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly a shout came through the door. “What is going ON? Y/N you know better,” came rushing out of the mouth of the director. Snapping at you, she pointed over to a rack filled with satin lingerie. 

“Get the white one on now. Take this shit off,” she said, reaching for the blue shirt you’d done up. Huffing, you shrugged it off, before walking over to the clothes for you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see her fussing over Colson’s fit, playing around with the buttons on his jacket. 

Shrugging off your sweatpants, you pulled on the white outfit. It fell to the bottom of your legs, slits done meticulously to show off your legs. The lace on it was beautiful, and you hesitated before stepping back around, suddenly getting a little bundle of nerves in your belly. 

“Perfect! Come here,” she muttered, reaching for something on the table. Picking up a set of angel wings, she turned you around, snapping them over your back. 

You saw Kells staring at you from his spot by the door, and the heat in his eyes was unmistakable. The bundle turned into a flutter and you swallowed, trying to calm yourself down. This was just going to be another shoot, nothing special. 

-

Oh how wrong you were. Right off the bat, the director asked you both to go across the street, in the mansion they had booked for the day. This was your first time exploring and you had quietly marveled in the grandeur of it all. There was a high wall, taller than you were, but coming to right around Colson’s chin. The director lifted you up, and then you were posing on top of the wall, bare legs soaking in the sun as Colson played with your hand, standing right below you.

For the first few shots, you looked out in the distance, trying not to catch his eyes. It had gotten intimidating to make eye contact, especially now that you were in the headspace of Juliet. After a couple of takes, you got pulled aside, softly told to “Act like you’re in love, dammit,” and then popped back up on the wall. 

Taking a breath, you steadied yourself as Colson put your palm in his, and made eye contact, softly smiling as he looked up at you. The pose felt like forever, eyes boring into each other, and then the director shouted, “Amazing! Ok next,” and you were being pulled down into the next area. 

-

A few solo photos later, they put you back on the wall. Colson stood in between your bare legs, leaning into you. His arms braced on either side of your hips. The close proximity made you nervous, and you let out a soft laugh as his hair brushed against your cheek.

“Shhh,” he whispered, barely moving his mouth. 

“You shhh,” you whispered back, leaning your shoulder against his.

 Instead of responding, he simply reached his hand over, putting it slightly over yours. Tapping his thumb against the back of your hand, he slowly moved it into a stroke and you pulled your legs together instinctively, forgetting he was in between them. 

You saw the smirk build in his face and you let out a breath, trying to not let him get to you. 

“What’s wrong,” he murmured, still moving his thumb agonizingly slow on your hand. Nudging him with your thigh, you tried to shut him up as the camera flashed. 

“Done. Okay, both of you. Take a break, go change. We need to get a few more shots in before the sun goes down,” the photographer shot out and you pushed Kells back a little, throwing him a grin before sauntering back to the studio. 

-

Switching into the green lingerie suit, you looked at yourself in the mirror. This one was a smaller one-piece and you glanced at your booty, making sure it looked good for the pictures. Pulling the suit up a little, you admired the way the lace cupped your boobs, perfectly covering your nipples. Picking up a towel from nearby, you wrapped it around before crossing back over to the mansion. 

Kells was standing there in the blue shirt from earlier, and you let out a laugh, seeing the perfect way it hung off of him. You reached up, adjusting his collar, smiling as you saw him gulp. 

“I think you look better in this,” you murmured, fingers delicately running right over his neck. 

Stepping back before he could respond, you took off your towel, putting it on the desk nearby. Turning back around, you saw his face, eyes eagerly running up and down your exposed body. 

“I think you’d look better in nothing,” he mumbled, hand rubbing at his chin. You felt yourself get warmer at his comment, and you threw a wink at him, before walking over to the director who was setting up a beautiful red car. 

“Game plan?” you asked, clapping your hands together. 

-

Ten minutes later, you were balancing on Kells’ thigh as he sat on the car’s hood. One leg hitched over him, the other extended as you stood straight. You pressed your torso against his, arching into him, throwing your head back so you could bare your neck. 

Placing both hands on his chest, you laughed as the director yelled at Colson, placing him into position. He wrapped a hand around your back and you felt yourself naturally lean into the touch. His other hand came to rest on your bare thigh, pressing in slightly, fingers barely there. He looked straight at you, and you feel your heartbeat pulse as the camera started clicking. 

“Y/N! Wrap your arms around his neck. Yes, now look right over at the camera,” came the shouts from the director. Colson pulled you closer, bringing the arm around your waist closer. He turned to face the camera too and you watched the director falter for a second before rushing over to take the picture. 

“Holy fuck! That was incredible,” she yelled from behind the screen, and you giggled, letting your head fall on his shoulder. 

-

“Y/n, you’re free to go for tonight,” the executive director said, pointing around the rest of the crew to pick up different set pieces. You nodded, grabbing your duffel bag as you turned to face her real quick, “Uh, what about Kells?” 

He was across the room, getting more eyeshadow dusted onto his cut, typing away on his phone. The director looked over at him, before looking at you, eager to get away with him. 

Rolling her eyes, she went, “Listen, I need him for a few more shots tonight, but he’ll be done in half an hour if you wanna hang around. I know Gina’s been dying to catch up with you.”

Grinning, you dropped your bag on the seat. Pulling your hair up into a ponytail, you walked past Colson to the hair station. Gina had been the first friend you’d made modeling and she was incredible at her job, a creative visionary when it came to not only styling hair, but keeping it protected when crazy things were happening too. 

Leaving the room, you heard Colson go, “Hey, wait where’s Y/N going?” and you smiled, knowing that you weren’t the only one feeling the heat building between the two of you. As you got out of earshot, you could still hear the director yelling, “Don’t get your panties in a twist!” and you almost walked smack into Gina herself, snickering at his panic. 

-

Half an hour later, you were clinging onto Gina’s words as she told you the latest horror story of a terrible famous client. She had broke out a bottle of rosé, sipping on bubbles while you picked at the platter of fruits you had stolen from the front desk. There was a knock on the door, and you hopped off of the counter, pulling it open. Kells stood there, back in his regular clothes, Converse knocking against each other as he stumbled a little. 

“Hey,” he mumbled. 

You lifted your cup up, taking another sip, raising your eyebrows, urging him to continue by nodding slightly. 

“So, I’m kinda stuck in the area for the next two days for this terrible photoshoot I’m doing with this horrible girl -” he started, and you interrupted him, choking on the rosé as it hit the back of your throat, laughing. 

“Sorry, uh, you were talking about this awful girl?” you continued, getting most of it out of your system. 

“Right, yeah. Would you wanna get dinner with me?” he finished, making that eye contact again, creating a warm fuzz in your tummy. 

“Yeah, yes. Yeah,” you blurted out, rosé and nerves rumbling within you. 

“You said that already,” he grinned as you went over to pick up your bag. 

“Shut up,” you grinned back, trying to hide your smile. 

“Bye Gins, I’ll catch you tomorrow,” you said, leaning in for a hug. Kissing your cheek, she whispered in your ear, “Get some please. I need to know, for science,” and you let out a belly-laugh before following Colson out the door as he waved goodbye. 

It was all in the name of science right? No harm, no foul.

[harringtonstudios]

bail. (part II)

plot: the morning after. part 1!

A/N: SMUT!!!! i don’t think i’ve ever written a part two as fast, thank you all for your encouragement. hope u enjoy :)

taglist: @iamdorka @no-shxt-sherl @bakerkells @findingmyth @rosegoldrichie @mayaslifeinabox @itjustkindahappenedreally @hnbtx @backoftheroomandnotbelonging​

Unlocking your hotel door for the first time this morning felt like a relief. Thanking the hotel manager, you shut the door, slumping against the back of it. Your phone was dead, you had the worst headache in the world, and things had gotten a little more complicated with Colson than you had ever wanted. 

Crouching on the floor for a second, you let out a long breath. Thinking through all the things you had to do today before leaving Portland, you walked over to your unmade bed from the night before. Plugging in your phone, you moved aside the sheets, starfishing across the mattress.

In a few hours, you were supposed to be driving everyone to Washington. Your dad was expecting all four of you at his house by dinner and you knew that once your phone charged up, his texts would come flooding in. 

You didn’t particularly want to address the whole situation with Colson. It was obvious last night that you weren’t the only one with some type of feelings, especially with the way his eyes had constantly tried to focus on your own. There was something there, and even though confronting it would be the mature thing to do, you kinda just wanted to curl up into a ball and push it all away. 

Mentally, you composed a list of reasons why you couldn’t talk to Colson about your feelings. 

He’s Rook’s best friend. Rookie basically idolizes him and you would just be getting in the way of their friendship.

 You two were supposed to hate each other. That’s how it had been since the moment you met.

He was such a dickhead.

Granted, the last reason wasn’t great, but everything else made sense. Closing your eyes, you made a decision. Your weird crush on Colson needed to end, for both you and your brother’s sake. 

-

Your phone dinged to life and started buzzing almost immediately. Reaching over, you saw your dad’s name flash. You picked up the phone call, smiling to get your tone of voice back to normal. 

“Hey dad!” you cheerily greeted, wincing a little at how excited you sounded. 

“Y/N, baby. Where are you guys? I’ve been trying to reach you all morning,” he responded, and you could hear the chaos behind him as he crashed around the kitchen. 

“We’re just getting breakfast. Can’t drive on an empty stomach,” you lied, gritting your teeth as your voice cracked. 

“Breakfast? Honey, it’s 2pm. You haven’t left yet? Is everything okay?” he rambled and you could hear the nervous tone laced in his words. 

“Yeah, the guys just had a late night. You know them,” you muttered, brain racing at the fact that it was already mid-day. 

“Well, drive fast sweetheart. We’re all waiting for you,” he stated before saying his goodbyes. 

Hanging up, you swung your legs around, getting off the bed. Throwing all your belongings into the rolling suitcase you’d brought, you cleaned up. Grabbing the key from the table this time, you dragged your stuff out before walking down the hall to Rook’s room. 

“ROOKIE!!! UP,” you shouted, banging on the door. You heard a crash in the room, and you hammered even more, trying to get his attention. The door cracked open, and Rook stood there, eye looking even worse than it had last night. 

“Oh fuck,” you mumbled before pushing his door open. His room was decently clean and he was still in the same clothes as last night. 

“Get changed, brush your teeth, I’ll pack your shit up,” you pointed towards the bathroom, eager to get this show on the road. 

Within a few minutes, you had partially covered his black eye with a light layer of foundation. Throwing him your sunglasses, you handed him both your suitcases. 

“Can you go wake up Slim? Make sure he has all his shit in order, then go put everything in the car,” you ordered as he groaned. 

“Why can’t you deal with Slim?” he asked, shuffling out of the room. 

“You deserve it for making me deal with this fuckery,” you responded, blowing a kiss before closing his hotel door behind you. 

-

Running into the staircase, you walked up to the fifth floor. You were ready to take charge today, brushing away any sense of feelings that may have come out last night. 

You had taken Colson’s key last night, just in case something had happened with your room. Keying in, he was still slumped on the bed. You spared him a single glance before getting to work. Shoving things into his backpack, you moved around the room, making sure you weren’t leaving anything out. 

After fully packing, you turned towards the bed. Hands on your hips, you thought of the best way to wake him up. After a second, you leaned down a little, nudging his shoulder. 

“Hey, get up,” you muttered, shoving him a little rougher. He stirred in his sleep, mumbling something as he moved his limbs around. You gave him a final hard push and he grabbed your arm. 

“I’m fucking up,” he grumbled and you twisted your arm. He softened his grip, letting you pull away. 

“Good. I put all your shit away, can you change? We needed to be on the road like an hour ago,” you explained, moving back towards the door. 

He lazily got up, moving to the edge of the bed before murmuring, “Did you stay here the whole night?” His morning voice was in full effect, and you bit your lip, avoiding him. 

“You’re just not gonna answer?” he asked again, and you sighed before saying, “No, I didn’t. Now, if you don’t mind I’m gonna go set up the car.” 

Leaving the room, you stood outside the door. You couldn’t just ignore him the whole time, and if you were being honest, you’d rather answer his questions now than later in front of everyone. You hesitated and before you could change your mind, you opened the door again, walking back in. 

Colson was standing in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but his boxers and a pair of socks. “Y/N, shit, fuck,” he shouted, reaching something to cover his body with. 

Usually, he wouldn’t care, walking around half-naked was his thing. But this time, he was scrambling around trying to hide the evident hard-on he had. 

You blushed, realizing that maybe you shouldn’t have just busted in. 

“You needed something?” he questioned, pitch a little higher than before. He was holding his stupid, white shirt from last night over his dick and you let out a little laugh. 

“Glad you find this funny,” he grumbled, throwing his shirt on the desk. You’d already seen his strained boxers, there was no point in covering anything. You closed the door, moving a little closer to him. 

“Not funny,” you said, smiling as he furiously pulled out clothes from his backpack. His eyebrows were furrowing and you could see his frown line as he threw his wardrobe out. Shirts flew up, and within seconds, the room was just as messy as before.

“I just packed those, c’mon,” you scoffed, moving right into his space. Reaching for his backpack, you put your hands around his wrists, stopping his movement. He paused, and you waited for a second before making eye contact. 

His pupils were dilated, eyes blacker than blue. It took your breath away, knowing that he wanted this more than you thought he did. His pulse was strong against your fingers, thudding in the silence. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered, breaking eye contact. He hung his head down and you bit your lip, all thoughts flying out of your mind at the sound of your name in his voice. Squeezing his wrists a little harder, you leaned in, kissing his forehead. 

He lifted his head and you dropped his wrists, moving to be right in front of him. Cupping his face, you pulled him closer, pushing your lips together. He kissed right back, warm heat enveloping your mouth. 

Immediately, he pushed you back a little, until your back was straight against the desk. Putting his arms on either side of your body, he moved closer until you could feel his body against yours. He was so warm, radiating heat and you let out a little moan as his dick brushed against your belly. 

At the sound of you, he kissed you even harder. You bit at his lip, trying to get a reaction out of him. Moving your arms to lace them behind his shoulders, you scratched at the base of his neck. At the feeling of your nails on his skin, he cursed, breaking the kiss apart to take a breath. 

He was panting and you could feel his dick twitch slightly. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed out. 

He looked back at you, smirking before getting back to your lips. This time, you opened your mouth wider, letting his tongue slip in. 

One of his hands came down, landing at your hip. Gripping it tightly, he grinded his hips, letting you feel every inch of his dick. 

“Yeah? You want this,” he muttered, voice low and husky. Your eyes fluttered and then, you were pushing him back. He stood there, and you looked at his body, chest rising and falling as he moved his hair out of his face. 

“Fuck it,” you whispered, mostly to yourself before pulling on his hand. 

“You have ten minutes. Make me come,” you shot at him, moving to the bed. He looked up at you, eyes wide before regaining his composure.

“Is that a challenge?” he whispered, hands already under your shirt, reaching to pull it off. You nodded and then he was taking off your t-shirt, slightly pushing you down on the bed. 

Hovering on top, he kissed your neck, one of his hands dipping behind you. Skilled fingers unclasped your bra and he moved it off before looking up at you. 

“Challenge accepted,” he rumbled out and you could feel how wet you were, just at his words. 

Moving down your body, his tongue lapped over your nipples twice, warming them before he bit down on one of them. Pulling one nipple between his teeth, you let out a moan, hands going down to his unruly hair. He moved to the other one, biting down again before leaning up to blow cold air on it. The sensation was so different and you arched a little. 

“Y/N,” he mumbled and you felt heat start to build at his use of your name. He kissed right between your chest, before putting your nipple in his mouth again. 

Sucking it slowly, he used his hand to play with the other one, pinching the nub in between his fingers. Rolling it slightly, he bit the other one a little and the pleasure started pooling. 

Looking down at him, you pushed his hair up, trying to catch his eye. Realizing what you wanted, he looked up at you, tongue swirling around your nipple. His eyes met yours and you felt your mouth fall open. He waited a second before moaning with you still in his mouth, and you suddenly felt yourself fall right off the edge. 

Moaning out loud, you felt your core pulse as he continued to play with you. You tugged at his hair, pulling him up so that you could kiss him, panting into his mouth. 

No one had ever made you feel like that just with their mouth and you were a little surprised, not sure if it was Colson or the unresolved sexual tension both of you had. 

Moving back a little, he looked down at you, arms on either side of your head. Smiling he whispered, “I win.” 

You laughed at his cockiness, pushing him to fall on the bed. Grabbing your bra, you clasped it back on, feeling the tenderness of your chest. Pulling your shirt on, you patted at the warmth on your face, willing it to go away. You knew that all day, you would feel Colson’s fucking mouth sucking and biting at your boobs. 

Looking down at him, you smiled. He was flushed, arms tucked under his head. Casually looking at his boxers, you saw that his hard-on was gone, a stain blooming against the material. 

“Did I do that?” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him once, chaste. 

“Mmhm,” he responded, letting his forehead touch yours. 

“I win,” you shouted, sitting back up, throwing your arms in the air as a victory. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he scolded, smiling as he looked up at you. There was no hint of anger in his voice and you felt yourself smile back, knowing that the meaning behind his insults had changed.

Your phone went off and you slowly got off the bed before seeing your dad’s caller ID flash on the screen. 

“Shit, Colson change!” you yelled, scrambling to pick up the phone.

“Yeah, Dad. We’re on the road, just a few hours away,” you lied, trying to stop a laugh as Colson started shoving things back in his backpack. 

Maybe you had ruined everything by letting your desire take over, but at this moment all you could see was the red of Colson’s cheeks and his smile as he looked over at you, flashing a thumbs up as he zipped his bag close and things just felt good.