Posts tagged fluff
Posts tagged fluff
Sebastian strained to look back at the man currently clinging to his back in a disturbingly koala-like fashion.
“You know, boss, this is getting ridiculous.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes.
“You were injured. Two months ago. You’ve been perfectly capable of walking for about six weeks,” he replied.
“Some people don’t have your recovery rate, Seb,” he muttered, nuzzling his head against the sniper’s neck, “Besides, this is fun.”
“For you, maybe. And I know you’re fine, I saw you climb up onto the kitchen counter to reach the milk yesterday,” he retorted, shrugging his shoulders back slightly to dislodge Jim’s head from its place above one shoulder blade. The shorter man scowled.
“You put it right at the back of the bloody fridge.”
“That’s not the point I was trying to make. I’m saying that I don’t have to carry you everywhere anymore.”
Jim smirked, moving his head back to the crook between Sebastian’s neck and shoulder.
“Because it’s an order, Sebby,” he answered, “And you know what happens when you disobey orders.”
Sebastian paused for a moment.
“If you’re too injured to stand, I don’t see how you’re going to manage that,” he answered, grinning slightly as Jim didn’t reply. They both knew the consulting criminal had won, but Sebastian still maintained that small victories against James Moriarty were good enough.
((I miss being an age when piggy back rides were a tri-daily thing… Anyway, hope you liked it and feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions or general spam my way))
“I wasn’t aware that they made shirts like that, sir,” Sebastian remarked, raising an eyebrow as Jim tugged it over his head.
“Sebby, the ‘kiss me, I’m Irish’ shirts are a rich, cultural aspect of St Patrick’s Day,” Jim admonished, tugging the hem of the shirt down so all of the text was visible.
“And the ‘fuck me, I’m Irish’ shirts, sir?”
“Are equally important and cultured,” the shorter man replied, smirking his smirk that was reserved for banter with Sebastian.
“Interesting. Are there any more variations you’d care to tell me about?”
“Well, you can get shirts with minor personalised features.”
“Minor? ‘Fuck me over a desk until I’m screaming your name, Sebastian’ is just a small modification then?”
“Details, Seb. And you read it wrong, look here,” Jim answered, walking over to the sniper and pointing at the shirt, “It’s ‘fuck me over a desk until I’m screaming your name, Sebby’.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad, sir.”
“Careful, Seb. Bad things happen if you disobey the shirt” Jim muttered, leaning into Sebastian, “Very bad things.”
Sebastian just grinned, pulling the consulting criminal into a rough kiss.
“I think I can manage it, Jim.”
Later that evening, Jim would reveal to Sebastian that pretty much any modification could be made to the shirts if you held a gun to the factory supervisor’s forehead.
((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and random spam my way))
Sebastian flinched as another loud bang sounded across the apartment.
“Is that really necessary, Jim?” he called, leaning back in his chair to catch a glimpse of Jim sitting on the floor in the next room. The consulting criminal was surrounded by balloons and was holding an array of different blades ranging from a skinning knife to a scalpel.
“Of course it is, Seb. We had a party, now we need to get rid of the balloons.”
“Most people just let them deflate, or pop them all at once. No, scratch that, most people don’t throw birthday parties with 200 balloons for 35 year old men.”
“I wanted it to be special,” Jim answered, pouting as he grabbed a black marker and drew a frowning smiley on the nearest balloon, turning it to face Sebastian. The sniper groaned.
“It’s not your birthday. It’s not my birthday. Stop pointing that thing at me!”
Jim scowled and burst the saddened balloon with one of the bowie knives, moving on to inspect the next one, hovering the scalpel over it as a (rather pointless) threat.
A series of bangs sounded and the sniper bit the inside of his cheek. He knew Jim was winding him up on purpose.
“Se-bas-tian,” Jim called, emphasising each syllable with the pop of another balloon.
That was the final straw.
Sebastian got up from his seat. Walking calmly over to where Jim sat he snatched away the set of knives, grabbing one at random and using it to pop the remaining balloons in five seconds flat before tossing the kit back.
There was silence for a moment.
“That… that was strangely satisfying,” the sniper admitted quietly. Jim grinned, standing up and planting surprisingly chaste kiss on Sebastian’s lips before - for lack of a better word - bounding off into the living room, shouting back to Sebastian.
“Next time you forget our anniversary it won’t be the balloons getting knifed, darling.”
Realisation dawning on him, Sebastian withheld a shudder, trying not to notice the sad and deflated faces staring up at him from the brightly coloured rubber covering the floor.
((Hope you liked it and feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam! Seriously, I would really enjoy some prompts people. I’m running out, anything you want to see, cracky, fluffy or serious))
Sebastian looked down at Jim, his features contorted with exasperation.
“I’m not carrying you.”
Jim pouted, shuffling on the couch. “Please, Sebby,” he cooed, “I’m injured.”
“It’s your own bloody fault for smashing the goddamn window in the first place! Anyway, you can walk, the cut isn’t that bad,” the sniper retorted. Part of him already knew that he’d lost the argument; in fact, he’d lost the moment he decided not to just walk away and leave Jim to get up on his own.
“Come on, Seb,” Jim replied. His voice sounded genuinely defeated, but the smirk on his face told Sebastian that the criminal knew exactly how the argument was going to end.
Sighing and rolling his eyes in a deliberately exaggerated manner, Sebastian reached over silently and scooped Jim up from the couch, one arm resting under Jim’s knees and the other on his back.
Jim’s smirk widened triumphantly as Sebastian carried him towards the staircase, and he nuzzled slightly into the sniper’s chest.
“Bridal style, eh, Sebastian?”
As they ascended the staircase, Sebastian tried to ignore Jim’s humming of the bridal chorus. He managed for about thirty seconds.
“I swear to god Jim if I hear one more note of that I’m dropping you.”
“No, you won’t,” Jim chuckled, almost gleefully, finishing off the last few notes of the chorus.
Sebastian scowled, but then something clicked in his head.
“You’re right, I won’t. It’s fitting really,” he replied.
“Hmm, finally admitting defeat?”
“No, it’s just that you’re right. You’d definitely be the woman,” Sebastian answered, dropping Jim onto the bed.
It was Jim’s turn to scowl then, and the sniper knew that he would probably regret it later when Jim made an attempt to assert his masculinity. At that moment, however, he was satisfied to walk away from the criminal’s curled up figure, victoriously whistling the tune as he went.
((Don’t think this is quite what you were looking for, but feel free to prompt again a little more specifically. Otherwise, I hope you like it. Feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way))
Sebastian pulled Jim in closer, focusing more on Jim’s warm breath against his neck as the other man shifted than the shouting blaring out from the television.
“I still don’t understand this,” he muttered.
“It’s simple, Seb. The man comes onto the show and then the women turn off their lights if they aren’t interested. Then at the end he picks one and they go on a date. Didn’t you hear the catchphrase?”
Sebastian rolled his eyes.
“I heard the catchphrase. It’s ridiculous and he’s said it about twenty times. I don’t understand why this is television though, why do people watch this?”
“It matches the intellect of the average person.”
“And yet you chose to watch this show, not me,” Sebastian answered, carefully avoiding an argument. Jim could fight about anything, and though he wouldn’t admit it Sebastian was enjoying having the other man nuzzled against him.
“Because ‘Snog, Marry, Avoid’ isn’t on for another hour.”
“Don’t you see the problem with that answer?”
Sebastian looked down at Jim, who was frowning slightly.
“Of course,” he replied, the sniper momentarily thinking he had come to his senses, “I’ve completely forgotten about ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’.”
Sebastian scoffed, not saying anything and letting the shorter man press closer to him as a slew of red lights came on for the next contestant.
((For those of you who don’t know, the show is called ‘Take Me Out’ and it is the scourge of British television. I’m ashamed to have watched so many episodes. Hope you liked the fill, and feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions or whatever else floats your boat))
Sebastian had learned very early on that the relationship was only open for Jim. Meaning that Jim could go out shagging whoever he pleased (though more than often Sebastian was enough) but should the sniper attempt to bring home a girl there would be consequences. Usually for the girl and her various vital organs.
He had made his peace with that, or rather, he had been forced to make his peace with that after one knife wound too many.
Unfortunately for Sebastian, he hadn’t quite realised the extent of Jim’s possessiveness until one particular afternoon enlightened him.
“So you killed her,” he said, rather nonchalantly it would seem to the casual listener.
“No. I dismembered her. Then I killed her.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Jim quirked an eyebrow.
“You really have to ask, Sebastian?”
“Yeah, I get it, you have jealousy issue or whatever,” Sebastian replied, missing the twitch in Jim’s eye in his anger, “But we were just friends. We had coffee together - what is it - three times? And you killed her for it?”
Jim gritted his teeth, opening his mouth to snarl out Sebastian’s name in a warning tone before he was interrupted.
“Oh, I get it. You don’t understand the idea of friends. You’re such a little slut that you don’t talk to people if without shagging them?” Sebastian half-yelled. This time Jim succeeded in cutting him off, grabbing the collar of the taller man’s shirt and tugging him forward, fury etched upon his face.
“Listen to me, Sebastian Moran. You belong to me. You are my sniper. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking you’re anything but that,” he hissed, his eyes manic, “Now get the fuck out.”
Jim let go, stalking away into another room. Sebastian heard the shower turn on, taking it as his cue to leave.
When he returned the next day, neither men mentioned the fight, and Sebastian quietly disposed of the hand-less corpse.
((Hope you liked it, feel free to send me a prompt, headcannon question or any random spam you want to stuff my ask box with. Hopefully this will make up for me spamming you with happiness about getting followers and such))
Jim wrapped a towel around his waist, his ears twitching slightly as he heard chuckling from the next room. That was odd. Sebastian rarely laughed, and when he did it was usually satirical. This sounded genuine.
Tugging on boxers and a pair of jeans, Jim wandered into the living room quietly. The sniper was sitting on the couch, his laptop open. Jim walked up behind him, praying that it wasn’t some funny cat video as if that were the case he may have to kill his sniper. As he neared Sebastian, he finally spoke up.
“What’s so funny?”
Sebastian slammed down the screen of the laptop reflexively, swivelling around to face Jim. He still had a grin plastered on his face.
Jim raised an eyebrow.
“That isn’t even a good lie, Sebby. Tell me,” Jim demanded, moving closer to Sebastian. Apparently that triggered Sebastian’s laughter again, as the other man released a poorly supressed snigger.
“I didn’t know you danced,” he replied, between chuckles.
Jim was confused for a second, but then everything clicked into place.
“You saw the CCTV footage,” he stated, not needing to ask. Sebastian nodded, grinning and opening the laptop again.
“It’s like ballet, sir,” he continued, looking back and gaging Jim’s reaction.
Luckily Jim was still relaxed from his shower and hence was in a mildly good mood.
“Well, Seb, perhaps I should take you dancing someday.” He smirked, walking away and not needing to see the sniper to know that the smile dropped from his face.
Sebastian never could tell when Jim was joking or not.
((You were probably looking for something a little different, so feel free to prompt again more specifically if that’s the case, Anon. I just had this little scene stuck in my head, though I’m certain it must have been written before. Hope you liked it anyway, and feel free to send prompts, spam or headcannon questions))
“It just doesn’t make any sense, John. Surely you can see that it’s completely irrational?”
“I know it’s irrational. That’s why it’s called a phobia,” John replied tersely from the couch. The ‘debate’ had been going for about twenty five minutes and Sherlock didn’t seem to have been at all swayed by any of John’s arguments. He simply refused to believe that his room-mate was a phobic.
“Yes, but otters, John,” Sherlock remarked. John clenched his teeth.
“Lutraphobia. I’m not the only person who has it, and it’s not like it has a major effect on my everyday life. I live in bloody London!”
“It had an effect today.”
“Yes, well it’s not often that I find myself falling into a country river while you chase down a madman on a steam boat, is it?”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “In our line of work one must be prepared to face anything. Even otters.”
“Fine, I’ll get over it. I’ll look at some pictures of otters then go to an otter sanctuary or something! Happy?”
Two weeks later, John very much regretted that statement. Struggling in Sherlock’s grip as the creature swept past his foot, John barely listened to the taller man telling him that flooding had much higher success rates than systematic desensitisation.
He managed to resist punching Sherlock that evening. Or at least he managed to resist punching Sherlock until he opened his laptop to see the scarily high definition photograph that was locked as the background of his computer.
((Hope you liked it. Feel free to send more prompts but I might take a little longer to answer them than usual))