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Imagine Cass humming to Dean's all-time favorite rock tunes, and they end up jamming over "Carry On, Wayward Son".

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Imagine Dean trying to make Castiel understand something about humans and they end up experimenting on staring and then... and then Dean "accidentally" kisses Cass.

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Drink?

Coffee, two teaspoons Close your eyes, drift For a moment Run through your mansion Of facts and dreams Then stop a while, Take a whiff. Sometimes you need to know Small things, They love the best They hurt the most. Sugar, two cubes Move, scream, run To where I am In the place you Cherish the most. I'll anchor you to Where the rooms aren't Padded And the sounds aren't Muffled. Tea, no milk. The quiet surrounds Me I taste bitter words Coming from Your mouth Your lips They scathe my soul. Cups rattle in my hand One doesn't have an owner. Not anymore. Champagne, two glasses. Surprises, They aren't meant for me. It was hard You came Back When I moved Forward. Like yesterday, you thought Like tomorrow, I said But the glasses clinked And at least I have you Now.

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Do You Imagine...

Sherlock would sometimes climb the stairs to their flat, two steps at a time, trying to waste the remaining energy he stored for the day. He won’t let John see it, of course; too much worrying and fussing around on him, he can’t have that. John would be behind him, his eyes quickly scanning for any indication that Sherlock would be exhausted. He had seen Sherlock become so exhausted to the brink of fainting right after they finished the case, and he won’t have that happening on his watch again. 

The detective nearly faints at the sight of the sofa and crumbles into the softness of it, sighing in relief. It was only then that John arrives by the doorway, leaning on the doorjamb that Sherlock straightens up, clears his throat and ruffles his hair. John tells him to go straight to his bedroom and catch a few hours of sleep; Sherlock tries hard to dissent but his yawns betray him. 

Then Sherlock closes his eyes for a second, and then there was John in front of him, caressing his cheekbones and landing a soft, pure, gentle kiss on Sherlock’s lips. Then both straighten up, go their separate ways, and sleep-- or try to, at least-- for the night.

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Just A Kiss

His words were quiet. Actions speak louder, don’t they? Feet shuffle, chests rise and fall Hands shake, heads spin, Throats constrict, eyes give in. Glances, peeks, glimpses Smirks, smiles, laughs Spinning, revolving. He was the world, The world was his.

His words were strong. They can hurt, right? “Come at once”, "Make me tea", "This phone call, It's my note." "Goodbye, John." Voicemails repeated, listened, Texts read, reread, His words Trying to make him alive.

His words were gentle. It's like his lips, ain't it? Bow shaped, spewing facts Moving, smiling, pouting Speaking his name one more time Like a prayer A whisper A kiss That's never made.

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Little Things (Still Count)

It’s the tea Specifically. I make two cups One leaves itself Untouched The liquid never passes Bow shaped lips The light never shines Multi-colored eyes As no one drinks The cold liquid.

It’s the wallpaper Obviously. Holes through smiles Smiles with holes Bleeding through Familiarity Without you. I try to sit The couch is empty But you Fill up the space.

It’s the cab rides Naturally. Fingers almost But not Touching Windows trying To mask smiles Within, And failing. Silence Was golden.

It’s the coat Presumably. Swishing through The air Solace Peace Home. Then home Fell To the ground And you Were gone.

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Imagine uni!John meeting speaker!Sherlock in a summit and falling in love with him in the first paper the latter presented.

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John walks home, as tired as he could be. The past few hours haven’t been nice to him and it was all that he can do not to pass out on the couch in the clinic.

After all, his family waited for him in the sanctuary of their home. Sherlock, and their daughter. 

He trudges all 17 steps up, then sighs as he twists the knob of the door, almost not realizing that it was quiet-- too quiet. John’s senses kick in and soon he is inside, going first to Sherlock’s room where there is no sign of the daughter. He wants to shout his partner’s name but afraid that their son would be awake, refrains from doing so. Quick but silent steps carry John to the living room where he spied black curls on the floor, chest evenly rising. 

Sighing with relief, he realizes that their daughter was resting her head on her Father’s stomach, a crayon in one hand. John’s lips broke to a smile and with an “oh”, he went and made tea.

My heart aches

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Imagine Sherlock experimenting on John by staring at him for the whole day until John cannot take it and he asks, “What in God’s name is your problem?” then Sherlock answers, “You.”

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Imagine John saying this to Sherlock: "One kiss, Sherlock, that is all I would have needed. One kiss to let me know that you really do love me."

Tweaked the S02 script a bit. Seriously, my friend and I are really hoping you guys would make this to a fic. So please, if anyone out there’s interested in doing so, just go.

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Imagine Sherlock x Supernatural crossover just because. Sherlock, being rational, decides not to believe until John tells him to, asking the help of Sam and Dean to solve a case.

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Imagine Dean having a staring contest with you.

Who will win? Who will give in?

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Imagine Sam meeting you and instantly falling for you but since he's had a bad streak with women, mistakes you for a supernatural being because of your actions until you need to prove to him that you're really just an ordinary girl.

because spn got me feelz lyk woah.

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Imagine Sherlock knocking on your classroom door and asking you to come out, only to have you taken out on a date.

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Imagine uni!Sherlock trying to court you but overthinks and fails every single time until he snaps at you by saying, "What else should I do to make you realize that I love you?"

Eep.

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Imagine photographer!John taking pictures in London and there he chances upon an interesting subject: Sherlock Holmes.

Because Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. hue

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Old Habits (Are Just Adorable)

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When life throws rocks at you, go make a zen garden. And when someone’s habit irritates the shit out of you, go tell them, or you’ll regret it in the long run.

This was what Jongin held as his new motto in life after seeing Kyungsoo bite his upper lip for the nth time that day. The dancer could not, for the life of him, determine whether it was just a tick of nervousness, an old habit that just wasn’t dying hard, or both, from his otherwise stony-faced hyung. He curled his fists as he watched Kyungsoo first purse his lips and lick them, then jut out his lower lip as his upper lip is being trapped by his teeth, biting gently, all the while nodding at their choreographer with wide, almost owl-like eyes. The singer did it in concerts, he did it in the dorm, he bit his upper lip in the studio just before they record; Christ, everywhere that Jongin looked, there was the presence of Kyungsoo and his upper lip biting. And what annoyance did it bring to Jongin.

That day, the tanned guy’s eyes were always drawn to the plump, thick lips of Kyungsoo, and how he bit those so gently. Concentration on the dance was hard when all the dancer could think about was how he would, if he only can, run his own lips against Kyungsoo’s, how he would bite his hyung’s upper lip too just to feel the sensation, and how he’d hate to let the moment pass.

On further contemplation, when Jongin was lazily slouched on the sofa in their dorm after that long and tiring day at the dance studio, he realized that Kyungsoo’s lips may not solve his problems, but it sure as hell will be in his mind till kingdom come. It wasn’t just because of those lips, it was because it was Kyungsoo, and Jongin would be damned if he didn’t realize that time, there and then, that he was irrevocably in love with Kyungsoo.

The next day, the same thing happened. And the day after. And the day after that. Kyungsoo kept lip-biting, Jongin kept his rage simmering. It was irrational, he knew that, but the rage was more of an irrational envy on Kyungsoo’s teeth because at least they get to know how Kyungsoo’s lips are like. Whenever they’d be beside each other, Jongin would always try to persuade Kyungsoo to speak or do something else, just not bite his upper lip. It was distracting, but at the same time enticing. If it weren’t for the shame Jongin knew he would feel if he let his lips peck the other’s, he would have done it a long time ago.

It all boiled down to this: on one of their concert tours, while Jongin was injured and was hurting like hell and he knew he had to sit down the entirity of the concert, Kyungsoo was fussing all over him, again biting his upper lip. The dancer was so frustrated with everything that he blurted out, much to the amusement of everyone who heard (which was, mercifully, only the other EXO members and their manager):

“Jesus, Kyungsoo, bite your upper lip again and I swear I’ll kiss you.”

There was a sudden siloence, where Jongin’s eyes widened with the realization of what he just said, and a tomato-red Kyungsoo stepping a few steps back, as if the younger would poince on him any minute and kiss the lights out of him.  Not that Jongin’s gonna complain if he had to do that, he just didn’t want everyone to know he does.  He stretched out his arms and worriedly smiled, frantically waving his hands and chuckling.

“Hey, hey, I was just joking--”

Chanyeol didn’t help the case when he said, “Jokes are half-meant truths, Jongin.”  And the tanned boy knew that.  Kyungsoo, bless his little soul, breathed deeply in and out before smiling at Jongin rather uncertainly.

“Jongin, I--”

“Hey. I’m sorry. We’re cool?” Jongin quickly said, pointing at the clock.  Kyungsoo nodded, then turned to let his hair have another round with the stylist.

They were the last to get on state, Kyungsoo and Jongin, and as the former helped the latter, Kyungsoo spoke quietly as to not let the crowd hear what they were saying.  Jongin effectively covered the microphone with his hand just as he heard the other speak.

“Did you mean it? What you said about kissing me.”

There were moments in Jongin’s life where he lied about things related to him. He’d say it’s okay when in reality in a few moments later he could have screamed in pain, he’d say one more when he knew he could not handle the pain in his legs anymore, and he’d say no when clearly he could’ve said yes. In this particular moment, however, he knew he shouldn’t lie- not to Kyungsoo, anyway.

“Of course.”

Jongin then saw a movement on his side, then looked to see Kyungsoo leaning dangerously to him. His eyes were looking straight at Jongin’s and the latter knew he had to move, now or never.  Closing the distance between them, Jongin smiled and let his lips gently touch Kyungsoo’s. A light squeak, then Jongin could have sworn he could have danced that time because the smaller was responding quite enthusastically, kissing back and gripping his arm.

Kyungsoo smiled and unlatched his lips from Jongin’s, then smiled rather cheekily as he wiped the underside of Jongin’s lip, mouthing a ‘later’ before they ultimately stepped on stage.