#the utter nonsense and silliness that is this au god

[cuubism]

please please please more silly rabbit au? (eyes)

i... literally had to go write more because there was none XD

more... utter nonsense designed specifically to satisfy @magnusbae 😂

--

The Middle Ages had been getting… weird, lately.

Not the Middle Ages, the historical time period, though that was always reliably weirder than expected, in Daisy’s experience. No, what was truly weird nowadays, and getting weirder by the minute, was The Middle Ages, history and literature class taught by Professor Robert Gadling.

Daisy had heard a lot about Professor Gadling before enrolling in his class. She’d heard he took a common man’s approach to history, focusing at least as much, if not more, on the experiences of average people than on the movements of kings. She’d heard he’d read everything under the sun and was far better than Google if you needed a source for your paper. She’d heard he had a playful lecture style that the burned-out older students, in particular, appreciated.

She had not heard about the boyfriend.

This was, admittedly, a new development, at least according to the gossip mill. Which was feverish, as Prof. Gadling was both well-liked and mysterious, a deadly combo.

But now there was the boyfriend, and what a boyfriend.

If Daisy had been asked to picture what any boyfriend of Professor Gadling might be like, she would definitely not have pictured this pretty goth thing, this being with a preternatural elegance to him. Where did this guy even come from? He even managed to look elegant dressed down and comfy in jeans and a sweatshirt as he was.

The rumors said that he was way younger than the professor, but Daisy didn’t think so. There was something… unaccountably ancient about him, no matter how young he looked on the surface. An old soul, she supposed.

One who just happened to win the genetic lottery and age – or rather not age – like a god.

Morpheus, which was apparently what his name was – and that was a whole other trip – was reclining in one of the seats near the front of the lecture hall. Reclining, quite literally, as he had his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him, notebook balanced on his thighs.

And he was writing with a quill. A fucking quill.

Daisy would have thought he’d just be listening, not being a real student and all (she assumed and also hoped), but he seemed to be taking proper notes, unreadable, swooping cursive notes though they were.

He was also doodling birds in the margins of the page.

Daisy should really stop staring. She forced her gaze back to the front of the room.

Professor Gadling was in the midst of explaining the historical background of the text they were reading, The Book of Margery Kempe. It was a fascinating book, actually. If only Daisy didn’t keep getting distracted by whatever strange competitive game it seemed to be inspiring in her weird professor and his weird boyfriend.

The first time Morpheus had interrupted the lecture with a comment, Prof. Gadling had straight up ignored him, just steamrolled over him, waited until he raised his hand, and then called on him. Morpheus had not seemed embarrassed or chastised about this in the slightest, just blithely asked, “Professor, are we certain that Margery’s visitation from Jesus was a psychotic break, or could it have possibly been a dream?”

Professor Gadling had sighed, hands on his hips. “I think you’re going to have to answer that one for yourself, Morpheus. Also, we haven’t even gotten to that part of the text!”

“I read ahead.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure that you did.”

This sort of thing had continued apace for the rest of the lecture.

Then there had been the eye-fucking. Dear God, the eye-fucking. Every time Morpheus made a snarky comment. Daisy wondered if they knew how obvious they were being.

Daisy had to give the prof credit, though. Despite all the antics he never skipped a beat in his lecture. Didn’t miss a goddamn bullet point.

Daisy really hadn’t thought university would be like this, though.

Now it seemed they were again having an argument over the book.

“It’s said that Margery’s tale is the only surviving firsthand account of an ordinary person’s life in the late thirteen-hundreds,” Prof. Gadling was saying, when Morpheus interrupted, very much in a drawl—

“Oh, but I don’t think that’s quite true.”

Prof. Gadling raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

Morpheus smiled, very snake-like. “Quite.”

“Care to share with the class, Morpheus?”

Morpheus leaned further back in his chair, arms crossed. “I think you know whereof I speak.”

“Oh, I see.” Prof. Gadling’s smile was pleasant. Too pleasant. “You’re talking about that one lost manuscript. Very much lost and not accessible.”

“If that is how you wish to interpret my words.”

“That’s how I wish to interpret it, you git. Stop interrupting the class.”

“I’m simply engaging with the material,” Morpheus protested, pouting. “I believed this was a modern classroom.”

“You can engage with the material later,” Prof. Gadling said, with a significant look, which brought a smirk back to Morpheus’s face.

Oh God, back to the eye-fucking. Daisy did not need this. Right in front of her lecture notes and everything.

“Right,” said Prof. Gadling, forcibly dragging himself back to the classroom and the present. He pointed at Morpheus. “You, quiet. Does anyone else have questions or comments?”

Based on that one class, Daisy might have assumed they had a sort of contentious and snarky relationship. But at the end of the lecture, she caught something different.

She’d lingered behind to ask Professor Gadling a question about the assignment – though she was starting to think that question was better left for office hours later.

As the students were filing out, Morpheus climbed down from his lounging position in his seat, picking his way down the steps until he was standing by Prof. Gadling at the board. Daisy hadn’t noticed before that his notebook had ravens on the cover; why was that so cute?

Prof. Gadling ran a hand through Morpheus’s hair, then let it fall to rest on the side of his neck, softer than Daisy would have expected after their snappy conversation from earlier. “Going to have to ban you from sitting in on lectures, love.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow. “You would dare?”

“I would dare.” There was something soft about the way he said it, though. Like he was daring to steal a kiss rather than kicking him out of the lecture hall.

Morpheus tipped his head back, looking at Professor Gadling from under his eyelashes. “What if I promise to behave myself?”

Prof. Gadling played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You can’t be giving away all my secrets.”

“Never,” murmured Morpheus, his free hand finding Prof. Gadling’s jacket. “Though it has occurred to me that your students are missing out on some unique historical knowledge.”

Prof. Gadling sighed. “Can’t do much about that. Such is life.”

“Full of frustration?”

“Full of give and take,” Professor Gadling corrected. “Most blessings require a sacrifice of some kind, too, you know.”

“Oh?” said Morpheus. “And which am I?”

Professor Gadling smiled, fond. “Which do you think?”

Morpheus gave him a look that was sly, mischievous. “Nightmare.”

“Oh, too right.”

Prof. Gadling pulled him into a kiss, tilting his head into it with a hand on his jaw, and Morpheus dropped his notebook to bring his hands up to Prof. Gadling’s shoulders.

Daisy realized she was staring again, and slunk out of the classroom before she could be caught.

Yeah. She’d definitely just be waiting until office hours.

#this random student oc is having quite a day #the utter nonsense and silliness that is this au god #ask #anonymous #silly rabbit au #my writing #i think the thesis of this au is actually just Let Dream Have Fun 2kForever altho the version of 'fun' going on here is... interesting #long post

[tired-biscuit]

I think kiba LOVES to suffocate his face between your plush thighs and turn you into a begging hot mess coz he loves to tease the fuck out of you and overstimulate you while praising you with a sprinkle of degradation just like how he says "you're 𝘮𝘺 pretty little slut" in his raspy voice you love sm

18+ fem!reader // cw: corruption, oral (f!receiving), college AU.

yes yes yes; i always felt like he’d be a sucker for really responsive, audible partners in bed! (it’s even better if they’re shy at first and then turn absolutely feral as time passes and the clothes come off.)

he loves the whole squirming, whining, pleading, fucked out state that you sometimes slip into. he’s no patient man, but he’ll sure as hell become one if it means that he gets to tease you for a small eternity as a result.

to be honest, he doesn’t know why he does it. he loves it quick and rough. raw and straight to the point. foreplay is just to get you wet enough so that he can slide in without trouble, is it not?

but maybe it’s the sight of you, or perhaps it’s the goddamn noise that you start — and continue — to make without stop whenever his head ends up between your legs, that makes his cock unbearably stiffen in his pants. the way you babble utter nonsense and keep moaning his name just because he’s got his hot mouth pressed against your clit gets him so hard every. single. time.

you pride yourself with being a smart, pure girl; someone who’s neat and tidy, and who never misses a chance to scold him for not being either one of those things. and yet here you are, now; looking so fucking stupid on top of his bed that he never succeeds in making the exact way you want him to. looking outright brainless because you’ve got your ‘dumb jock’ of a boyfriend’s tongue shoved so far up your tight hole that you’re thinking about praying to god.

you’re constantly moving. writhing. trying to push him away without any success — the way he can overpower you so easily makes him throb. your crumbling decency is appealing enough to make him consider spilling everything he’s got then and there; completely untouched. but he’s not going to do that, of course. he’s not a fucking weakling like some of his buddies are.

of course they talk about how they fuck their girls. i mean, did you really think your boyfriend was the only one who wasn’t an absolute sleaze, just because he sometimes gets you flowers and takes you out on cutesy dates?

all of his friends know how good you are at taking his cock despite the innocent appearance you portray. take that piece of knowledge as you wish.

so instead, he humps the bed on pure instinct as he eats you out because he’s yearning for friction below his waist so fucking bad, even if he refuses your silly pleas to let you give it to him. he’s too into watching you lose your composure whilst he tongue fucks you to stop now, after all. you’ll get to stroke and sit on his cock later. you’ll bounce on it, too.

and that determination turns him all the more eager. messier. sloppier.

he’s never been much of a giver, but markings that his teeth have left behind cover every inch of your thighs, now. they prickle with hurt whenever his thick fingers graze over them as he manhandles you and forces you to keep still — it makes you hiss. your pussy is gleaming with a mixture of your arousal and his spit. he can smell you everywhere; in the room, on his fingers, in his fucking mouth from the way it connects to his nose.

he doesn’t budge even when you beg him to. you’re getting overwhelmed as he keeps licking you; twitchy fingers tugging fistfuls of his hair so frantically that it makes his scalp ache. your back is arching off the bed, head tipping back into the pillow, toes curling, heels digging into his back that’s gotten so broad and strong from all the years of playing football.

goddammit, you’re literally shoving your cunt right into his face so that he can get you off at long last. it’s pathetic; he makes sure to tell you that even if his eyes are warm and soft as he says it. he can’t help but chuckle at the outraged face you pull when he calls you his pretty slut.

you’re nothing of that sort, of course, but maybe he’s partially right. because when he pushes two digits inside you and sucks your poor little clit into his mouth, mumbling something about how fucking good you taste, your entire world shifts to the movement of his fingers. your eyes cross. your mouth starts to drool.

you moan so loud, it’s like you’re a cat in heat. you’re just unable to stop it from slipping out. greedily, kiba hopes that his roommate on the other side of the wall can hear how good he’s making you feel, as well as every other squelch of wetness that is your warm slick. he’s seen the fucker throwing googly eyes at you once or twice before. it only spurs him on; he’ll make you scream if he can prove a point with it.

so as a consequence, he makes you endure overstimulation without the orgasm part — for now. it’s so intense that it borderline makes you so frustrated that you could cry. and that’s good, he wants to make you cry. he wants you to sob and to spill big, fat tears just for him as your legs shake and he licks you from inside out like he would a packet of crisps. to be responsive and hyperemotional and loud and overwhelmed, because it’s him that invokes it all in the first place.

not his roommate, not his friends, not your ex.

him. you react to him; only him. he’ll leave his mark, both on your body and soul.

and only after that, will he let you cum.

#you’ve killed me anon omg #kiba smut #naruto smut #biscuit drabbles #kiba x reader

[archetypal-archivist]

A Kinder World AU- Part 11

Mike and Pac’s House

masterlist

Pac and Mike are a pair of young adults with a love for chaos, a deeper fondness for each other, and an utter distaste for anything resembling the stuffy atmosphere of university. As such, they've moved to Quesadilla island to work as fishermen alongside their longtime friend Felps while they try to figure out what they want to do with their lives. However, the introduction of Forever, Cellbit, and Forever's son Richarlyson have thrown a wrench into their plans and now they now find themselves titled not only as fishermen but as parents, alongside their more normal role of “horrible pranksters from the pits of hell, oh god why did you bring them with you Felps.”

1) Pac and Mike have been friends for years, having grown up and into each other such that they can't conceive of life without having both of them in it together. As such, their houses are really two smaller ones shoved together, an extra difficulty for Fit during the initial design process of building their home, but a necessary change all the same. The larger building their home is part of is known as the Favela, nicknamed by Forever upon seeing the monstrosity of stacked houses and rickety ladders that Felps had asked Fit to build for them when they all first moved there. It's a name that fits the structure well, not least because it's had problems weathering storms in the past much like the one that wrecked huge parts of it and left the Favela five homeless and couch surfing for a time. Fit blames Pac, Mike and the rest for skimping on paying for good materials, Felps and company blame him for not building it more structurally sound, but all can agree that the redesign after the worst of the storm had past looks much better than the initial draft.

2) Given their need to repay Fit for the property, Pac and Mike work long hours to earn enough to keep on top of the fees, with Pac leaving in the early mornings to fish out on the open water and coming back to trade the boat off to Mike, who takes the night shift and fishes by the light of the moon. On most days however, they’ll stay up a few hours at dawn and dusk to hang out with each other and the other Favela members. Both men are chronically sleep deprived and thus prone to the sillies, but it’s a welcome trade as they enjoy each other’s company too much to only see each other on weekends. Due to their nocturnal vs diurnal sleep schedules, Richarlyson thought for a long time that they were one person who could shapeshift or perhaps split into two beings like a cell committing mitosis. His curiosity prompted his dad Forever to stalk their front door with a camera to try and photograph the transition. Mike thought this was hilarious and convinced Pac to go along with the bit for a week before they showed up to  game night as two people instead of only sending Mike to play.

3) Pac and Mike are a pair of frighteningly intelligent people with horrible sleep schedules and a chronic prankster streak. As such, their rooftop is home to not only the local seagulls but also a wide variety of doodads, gizmos, and whatsits the likes of which the world has never seen and never really wanted to in the first place. Their inventions range from the useful, like “sonic flash bangs” and “turbo trawlers” to help with fishing, to the utterly nonsensical like Mike's hair-cutting bot that they made when Philza began complaining about his hair getting too long. It's not exactly safe to be up on the roof all the time, but Pac installed a harness and belay system that keeps the worst of the falls to something manageable. Pac and Mike also work on prank ideas too, and they are the instigators of Quesadilla's worst prank war to date, although they didn't end up the victors in the end- that honor goes to Richarlyson and his crack team of Luzu, Dapper, and Philza. The stories told about the final prank that ended it all are truly epic.

4) Since their houses were originally two that have since been squished together, the layout is more than a little atypical. The green portion of the house is an exact mirror of the blue portion, but flipped 90 degrees, and many of the rooms that are duplicates of intention and purpose keep much of their structure, even if the furniture has completely changed. For example, the green portion has what was clearly a bathroom at one point, tile floor included, but its current function is of a walk-in closet. The blue portion has a bathroom but no central living space, the room taken up by a miniature machinest's shop full of scrapped projects- the ragged sofas and half-deconstructed TV relegated to the green portion of the building. The only thing the house actually has two of is bedrooms but even that hasn't fully escaped. Given how often Mike and Pac stay up “late” talking and laughing together, it's not uncommon for the duo to end up passing out in the same bed unintentionally. This earns them some teasing from the rest of the Favela five but they laugh along with the rest of the crew- you can only wake up so many times with your best friend's feet in your face and your hand over their mouth to smother their snores before you find it funny too.

5) The second floor of their house is dedicated to their kitchen, which receives plenty of use, if not always by the duo themselves. After Cellbit’s injury that left  him unable to commit to his usual work, Felps moved them both to Quesadilla, picking up Pac and Mike to come along like two stray cats. Initially it was just to help their friend Cellbit move in, but upon seeing the community, Pac and Mike decided to stay and live with their friends. The quartet were incredibly close and when Forever suddenly arrived with his beleaguered son Richarlyson, they took pity on the kid and invited him and his dad to build a house alongside their own. Thus, the quartet became a quintet and Forever’s incredible love for good food led to the formation of daily meals together. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner, one meal a day is always held as a collective in someone’s kitchen and who’s turn it is to cook is a topic of hot debate. Pac and Mike’s kitchen is fairly standard, albeit with a few rube goldberg machines to do things like make toast, so they often will hold dinner for everyone, serving up oddly tasty pizza with even odder toppings. Sometimes they’ll even invite other members of the community to dine with them, although the faces they make when it’s Mike’s turn to cook are often a little funny. (Who thought it was a good idea to put canned corn on pizza?)

6) Because of the layered nature of the Favela houses, there isn’t much parking for everyone’s boats. As such, it’s a race every morning and evening to see who gets to park at the docks and who has to park elsewhere for the night. Given their sketchy schedules, Pac and Mike often get the short end of the stick and thus have taken to leaving their boat- a beautiful green and light blue vessel with a vicious motor and plenty of room for nets- in other people’s “front lawns” so to speak. They find it hilarious whenever someone stumbles out of their house, half asleep, and tries to drive off to go fish only for their key to not fit the keyhole as it’s not their boat. The only ones exempt from this practice are Rubius, Luzu, and Quackity as all of them will either prank the boat (the former 2) or hotwire it and drive off with it anyway (the latter).

#qsmp #mc #a kinder world au #my writing #quackity smp #townscaper #pactw #mikethelink #pac #mike

[jennanydots]

im a huge cats the musical and ds9 fan please tell me everything about the AU

hehehe thank u for enabling me I will do so ! (pls bear in mind that in building this around elecetera I have largely disregarded the canon relationships in ds9 simply because I think it is more fun that way and also I LOVE to talk so this is so god damn long)

this started with the thought that electra and etcetera doing the nojay consortium plot would be unbearably cute, so of course Etcetera is cast as Nog (excitable accidental mischief maker who grows into a brave little champ and joins starfleet!) and Electra is cast as Jake (still silly but much more levelheaded/quieter than her counterpart, a worrier, and grows into a writer! a little reference to my own hc of electra as a library cat).

"why would pollicles steal your homework?" "[head tilt] because they don't have ethics?" PRECIOUS

so then building out from there you get Bombalurina as Benjamin (which I think is REALLY cool also visually I think she suits that part and I think it's such a cool thought to cast her as captain and emissary over anyone else. I love her I'm gay). and then obviously you need Demeter as Kasidy (the obvious choice for dem would be kira but I think this is much more fun for her. hot and in charge cargo ship captain! (and of course this makes her Bomba's gf :3 and Jemima their as-yet-unborn baby who I'm not technically meant to know about cause I haven't finished ds9 yet but hey) aslo. just really super hot. I'm gay. got stuck thinking about int tour dem in kasidy's boiler suit lookin outfits and ceased functioning.). as I mentioned I also cast Munkustrap as Jennifer just cause u know. makes sense. and obvs Deuteronomy as Joseph Sisko! (honestly my favourite characterisation of deut always has that little flavour of grandpa sisko I love him)

then on Etcetera!Nog's side of this family tree we have Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer taking over hybridised roles of Quark and Rom! (neither of them are her parents they're her older siblings/cousins/idk but she's theirs to raise. I've kind of been mixing and matching what narrative roles each of them take so it's sort of a. they run the bar together, jerrie is the one to become an engineer, teazer is the one to date the Leeta, they take bits and pieces of each of the ferengis plots u kno). speaking of, Victoria is cast as Leeta (because victeazer 4eva but also beautiful but kind and deceptively intelligent is literally her. also that shot of cet and vic hugging from 98 but it's rom/leeta stepmom moment Yes). also I love Ishka and originally I cast Jenny as her because YES but now that role goes to Skimbleshanks just for the utter nonsense! (I know moogie's plot is mostly about stuff that can't be reflected to skimble but I'm again thinking more of the relationship to etcetera here and I think this gives the best dynamic! also teazer as the mommas boy and jerrie with the rough relationship Yeah)

this is getting ridiculously long so I'll try to be more brief with the rest! Tugger as Kira (bomba's right hand man!), Mistoffelees as Jadzia (bestie!), Cassandra as Julian (Electra and Cass's roadtrips to disaster!), Asparagus as Worf (look at me and tell me that humour/grumpiness isn't familiar), Alonzo as Odo (elecetera hijinks to cause him to sigh grumpily as Much as possible), Jennyanydots as Miles O'Brien (this one feels kind of out of left field but 1. I love her as cettie's mentor and 2. I would LOVE to see her in the kind of irritated distress obrien lives in. I adore her let me put her in the torture machine just a little), and of couuuuurse Jellylorum as Keiko! (mentor to electra! deeply sweet and caring but also strict and kind and oooooh!), which means Tumble and Pouncival fall into Molly and Kirayoshi's places (makes them even littler than elecetera as revenge for [thing productions do that irritates me that I won't get into here cause we're having fun]), Tantomile and Coricopat as Morn (but instead of silence to the viewers and annoying chatter offscreen it's eerie staring to the viewers and referenced ominious statements they make offscreen. this is deeply funny to me), then Macavity as Dukat obviously (boos and hisses), Grizabella as Lwaxana (beloved), finally Plato as Alexander (my favourite star trek character the ds9 writers Don't understand him like I understand him but this makes so much sense), and Bustopher as the klingon chef!!!!!

this became a very long post!!!! I hope you enjoyed it!!!! please think about electra teaching etcetera to read in secret.

#I have approximately 10 million variations of mixing up star trek and cats but this is one of the more normal ones <3 #op #do I dare tag this #cats the musical #au #electra #etcetera #I feel like I didn't talk about electra much here but I Do have thoughts about her it's just that most of them are mental images of- #-her in various jake scenes that make me feel All of the emotions !

[scriptaed]

...cause i like you?!

genre: fluff/crack; e2l!au;

pairing: jin x reader;

length: 2.1k;

synopsis: just the thought of it, no, the mere possibility of it boggles the ever so egotistical mind that belonged to kim seokjin. him? and... her? his arch enemy? his sworn nemesis whose incessant badgering he simply refuses to surrender to? struck with a capricious cold, jin’s teapot of a mind attempts to conceal its steam fall short when you pay an unexpected visit and all mayhem is set loose. when did it happen? how did it happen? no... no, it can’t be... he can’t... possibly... like her?! 

You [4:05 P.M.] are you sure this is the right address????

Dipshit Tae [4:05 P.M.] yes for hundredth time

Dipshit Tae [4:05 P.M.] why would i give you the wrong address??

You [4:06 P.M.] you mean why WOULDN’T you give me the wrong address..

You [4:06 P.M.] is that loser even home? 

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] yeah, he should be. he was texting me about how bored he was just a while ago.

You [4:06 P.M.] wait.. he was texting you?? I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WERE WORRIED CAUSE HE WAS BEDRIDDEN AND WASN’T RESPONDING???

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] uh… yeah, he was :) I swear :) which is exactly why you’re there because YOU have a car and I don’t! 

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] aren't I a good wingman? :)

You [4:06 P.M.] I DON'T LIKE HIM 

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] awww I can see you blushing through text you

You [4:06 P.M.] I hate your guts also why isn’t he answering the door

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M] he’s not?? try ringing the doorbell

You [4:07 P.M.] you think I haven’t, dumbass? 

Dipshit Tae [4:07 P.M.] hold on, let me call him 

"God," your breath marks the air in white puffs as you pace in place before his house, "hurry up—"

—swoosh, the door opens magically and, lo and behold, there stands the devilish man himself, Kim Seokjin… except unlike the formidable foe, this skeptical phenomenon stands before you, lips gaping and doe-like eyes widening in utter shock rendered by your presence. You only manage a quick scan of his donned baby pink bathrobe matched with pink bunny slippers until the both of you practically jump back into an ephemeral moment seemingly frozen in time. 

Just as his phone rings, Jin quickly slams the door on you. His efforts prove fruitless, however, once you somehow manage to stick your foot in between his doorframe and the merciless force of his, which fortunately comes to an abrupt stop before your potential stop to the emergency room. There are trivial incidents like these—when he ignores the itch to tease you on the days you wear a frown or when he reluctantly chooses to lose an argument although you are very clearly in the wrong—that you bestow him the honorable badge of consideration… but the stubborn part of you theorizes he’s just trying to avoid a hefty hospital fee. 

“Ahem, ahem,” the boy feigns a cough into his phone, “Taehyung, can’t you tell I’m sick?”

Scoffing into the air, you call out loudly, “sick enough to slam the door so hard—”

“—ahem,” he shoots you a death glare, “sorry, I’m just so very sick. Can’t talk. Need my beauty sleep. Bye—”

“—beauty sleep?! You? Beauty?” 

It’s almost impossible to hold in your cackles; in fact, it takes you only a split second to surrender to the crackling fireworks of your laughter. The quip’s effect is shortly lived, however, when his unusual lengthy silence has you gradually settling into the cold winter air beside him. With his eyes glaring at you from underneath the dampened locks of his bangs clearly fresh out of the shower, it’s nearly impossible to deny the tiniest thought that flashes across your mind.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Jin’s pretty damn hot. 

“Are you here to tease me or what?” he retorts, burying the phone into the fluff that is his robe. “I’m not in the mood.”

“What? Pshhh,” you wave a dismissive spare hand, “silly, no!” 

“Then?” he quirks a brow whilst slowly guarding himself behind the door. “Are you here to watch me wither on my deathbed?” 

“No, will you please just let me in? I’m freezing here. I heard you were sick and classes just became too quiet without you—” and when the boy remains unconvinced by your pleas, you let out a loud sigh as your hand raises to reveal a bag of much needed warm soup “—I have food.”

He immediately swings the door wide open, “come right on in.”

“Wow, so you’re not in the mood for me but you’re in the mood for food?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rolling your eyes at his 90 degree bow, you march your way into his halls and directly to the kitchen as you have done so in the many times you had unfortunately been paired with the most self-absorbed classmate for a group project. At this point, you know his everything like the back of your hand. From his house and his obsession with pink to his hobbies and his quirky dialogue, you, his sworn nemesis, probably know him even better than his friends… and oddly enough, you take pride in that—although you’ll never admit it. 

“So,” you say nonchalantly as you set out the utensils on his kitchen island, “what could possibly be going on in that peculiar mind of yours?”  

“Peculiar? Aw, did Y/N just call me unique?” he snorts. “I said I wasn’t in the mood for you, not anything else.”

“Okay, so,” you gesture for him to dig in despite the evident hesitation in his eyes once he seats himself across from you, “why me specifically?”

“Cause—” he stares at you confidently but struggles to spill before playing with his spoon “—cause something’s been on my mind.”

You flash a cheeky grin, “you mean I’ve been on your mind?” 

“What?!” he almost springs from his seat in absolute denial, leaning forward across the counter enough for you to take a step back. “No! Wooow, that’s just… that’s… preposterous!” 

“Alright, alright, I was just joking,” you raise two merciful hands but leave the latter half of the sentiment to yourself—because who even uses the word preposterous nowadays? Your silence, however, rightfully ends when you notice him constantly probing around at the congee, as if looking for something lurking in the soup. “Don’t worry, Jin, I didn’t poison it.” 

“Ah,” he nods, thereby confirming your completely accurate reading of his mind. 

When another second passes and you’re finally at a loss for how to prolong a conversation with Jin, you subtly join in on his silent nods; but with each succeeding nod, you begin to notice his cheeks gradually burning a flush shade of pink much stronger than his robe. 

“Jin,” you frown, “are you okay? Your face is turning really red—”

“—it’s probably the steam from the bowl,” he blurts, eyes quickly averting to his bowl before downing a big spoonful of soup into his perpetually ravenous stomach, leaving you little to no time left for you to retort. An unsettling silence follows—an undeniable rarity between the rowdy atmosphere between you two—and you begin to wonder what exactly are you staying silent for. 

You can’t possibly be… waiting for his reaction to your cooking, are you? Why does it even matter to you? Why did the flow of things become so awkward? And why is he so… jumpy? Something must be definitely off today, but, oddly enough, you don’t exactly mind this change of pace from your usual bickering comedy duo selves.

Whatever it is, the silence is deafening and you swear he can even hear you gulp. 

“Did you…” he scrunches his brows and sets his spoon to the bowl with a clink, “...did you cook this?”

“Yeah, I did,” you follow suit with a frown, “is there something wrong with it…?”

“Yeah, no, of course you did,” he leans back into his seat with a loud huff and a cross of the arms, “you added too much salt.”

“Hey! What’re you imply—”

“—but,” he cocks his head, frowning as he drowns himself deep in his nonsensical thoughts, “it just doesn’t make sense…”

“Hello? Earth to Jin?” you wave a hand across his lost gaze that remains affixed to his mystery of a meal. “What are you going on about now?” 

“There’s too much salt in this soup. So, theoretically,” his two parallel hands tap the table sequentially, as if marking some sort of a complex timeline, “this should be a terrible meal… but…”

“But…?”

It takes everything in Jin to squeeze the grand reveal out of his zipped lips and very reluctantly so. 

“But… why does it taste so good?” The utter concentration in his dartlike eyes and sheer conviction in his nearly convincing albeit silly argument makes it almost sound like he’s questioning himself, especially when he continues rambling without your response—although, really, you had nothing but a flabbergasted look. “Everything you make should theoretically taste bad but why, when it’s you and only you, does it taste… so good? It makes me—” he clutches his chest dramatically, but noticeably on the opposite side of where his heart should’ve been, and locks a quizzical, almost desperate gaze with you “—so warm and fuzzy inside?”

“You mean your heart?” you point at his chest. “It’s on the opposite side, Jin.”

“And why,” he gasps for breath like a mad man, an emotionally mad and a mentally mad man, “why do I always let you tease me? Why do I let you win? I’m Jin, Kim Seokjin, for God’s sake! I never lose! And the most confusing part of it is: why do I always supposedly smile whenever I argue with you?!”

“Oh, can confirm, you definitely do that.”

He points an accusatory finger at you, “you do, too!” 

“What?” you gawk. “Do not!”

“Taehyung said so!” 

“I do?”

The both of you challenge the other in a stare off, eventually and silently admitting a mutual defeat to the subtle nagging side of you that had always taken note of that true albeit irking fact. 

“It just doesn’t make sense…” he begins pacing back and forth with a finger to his pursed lips. “I never had problems with my beauty sleep until I met you… I never lowered my food standards to such devastating levels until you started feeding me… I never enjoyed having someone trying to get under my skin until you came into my life… it all doesn’t make sense. The only possibility I can narrow it down to is—”

“—wait, Jin, are you—”

“—is it all cause I like you?!”

The both of your jaws drop open, possibly to the floor, staring at the other as if whatever had slipped from his mouth was the most preposterous thing he had ever suggested! In retrospect and to the general public, you know you should have seen this coming from a mile away. It’s impossible not to acknowledge the several times the lines between a vigorous argument and a flirty quarrel became blurred; but to you, the offensive enemy participating in a never-ending duel with the infamous Kim Seokjin, there’s nothing you could’ve done to anticipate this confession pulled out of thin air. 

Did you like it? 

The possibility of being something more than a fervent pair of enemies and a questionable pair of friends? 

Your mind says it’s unsure, but your smile says much more. 

You have to get out of this house, anywhere but here before the opposing enemy catches onto his advancement.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’re you smiling at? You’re the reason I’ve been losing sleep!” he warns sternly, pointing a finger at you whilst you gather your things. “Hey, you must be the reason I’m sick right now! Take accountability!”

“You mean I’m the reason why you’re lovesick now?” you stick a tongue out as you head out the kitchen and you can’t help but laugh at the way he follows like a lost puppy. “What? You want me to make more of my terrible food in return?”

“What? No, shut up! Hey, hey, hey!” he stutters over his own scramble of words, watching you pacing around his front entrance and calling out to you from the hallway. “Where are you going? I think I just confessed to you? No, I’m pretty sure I just did!”

You shrug, “and?” 

“And what’s your answer?” he throws his hand in the air, as if his mental stability depended on your very response. “Is it a yes or no? Do you like me, too?”

“Umm… I don’t know,” you hum, “I’ll let you know over dinner? At 6?” 

His eyes glimmer with hope, “d-dinner?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a cheeky grin before quipping, “hey, why’s your cheek so red?”

A loud huff of his follows your series of cackles and you can hear his last remark that has you undeniably smiling from ear to ear even through the closed door behind you. 

“Damn it, you know it’s cause I like you!”

#bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts x you #bangtan scenarios #jin x reader #jin x you #jin fluff #seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #seokjin fluff #bts crack #bts au #bts imagines #bangtan fluff #bangtan fic #bts fic #bts fanfic #jin scenarios #seokjin scenarios #jin fic #seokjin fic #bts x y/n #jin x y/n #seokjin x y/n #kim seokjin #jin fanfic #scriptaed

[jaskierswolf]

Fuck Indeed - Pt. 3/4

OnlyFans - Geraskier AU

Previous - AO3

CW (for whole story- Although this chapter is smutless!): 18+ only, anal sex, masturbation, exhibition kink, sex work, rimming, sex toys, talks of blow jobs, Geralt bottoms but it’s mentioned they switch, biting (but no blood), Jaskier wearing lingerie and makeup.

It was three months into Jaskier’s new job online and it was going well! He’d gained more subscribers than he’d ever thought was possible, and quickly too. He was proud of himself, if one was allowed to be proud about wanking in front of a camera, although he couldn’t help the niggle of doubt in the back of his mind. That annoying little voice that told him he wasn’t allowed to have that many subscribers and that he was a fraud. One day he’d wake up and they’d all be gone, but every morning he woke up and there were just…. more?

It was utter nonsense, but he was having the best time!

The White Wolf was still a favourite of his, and his videos were just getting better and better, which just wasn’t fair. Jaskier’s heart just couldn’t take it, and his dick wasn’t doing much better. Wolf was often the, umm, inspiration for Jaskier’s videos, which was blurring some lines that really shouldn’t be blurred.

Jaskier thought back to Wolf’s bottoming video. At one point it had sounded like he almost said “Dandelion” before the word was muffled by his hand. Jaskier must have watched that video a hundred times, before he’d told himself he was being silly. Yes, Wolf was also subscribed to his channel but they’d never spoken. Jaskier had thought about DMing him a couple of times, perhaps if they were local then they could film a video together.

It was nothing but a pipe dream, and it would never happen.

And anyway, tonight wasn’t about that. He had a gig! Like an actual, using a guitar not a dildo, gig. It wasn’t much, he wouldn’t even be getting paid. Ok so it was less of a gig, and more of an open mic night… but he was excited! It would be good to play again, to have an audience he could actually see.

He stepped into the bar, stinking of sweat and booze as they so often did, and he grinned. He loved bars, they were grimy in the best way! The atmosphere was just brilliant. You couldn’t get it anywhere else, and these were real people with real stories to tell. It was what kept him coming back. Honestly, the songs he’d written just from listening to people in these godforsaken places. It was a gold mine.

Last week, for example, he’d met a rather terrifying, gorgeous woman. She’d had violet eyes and smelled like lilac and gooseberries, with long raven black hair that fell down her back. She looked like something out of a fantasy game, Skyrim or the likes, so naturally Jaskier had strolled right up to her to get the details. She’d been utterly fascinating, a biting wit to match his own and he’d practically run home to write a song about her, well… after he’d been told that there was absolutely no chance in hell that they would sleep together, but one couldn’t blame him for trying.

He grinned, perhaps she would be here again tonight. He enjoyed a good flirt and she’d been fun to hang out with after his performance. She’d also had excellent taste in wine.

“Jaskier,” a silky smooth voice called and he spun round, gripping the straps of his guitar case.

“Yennefer,” he greeted “I wasn’t expecting to see you here again.”

Yennefer snorted. “I’m not here for you, buttercup. My friend, however…” she nodded to a booth to Jaskier’s left.

He frowned and followed his gaze. His jaw dropped when he saw the shock of silver hair. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

But it couldn’t possibly be him. No. No, no, no. Jaskier was just a little infatuated, seeing him in places where he simply wasn’t. He was sure lots of people had long silver hair and were built like fucking gods.

“Problem?” Yennefer asked, smirking at him, and fuck it was like she could read his fucking mind.

“Oh ho, no… no problem. There’s no problem. I just… I thought I recognised him, but I’m mistaken,” Jaskier rambled, tapping out fingerings on his guitar strap to try and calm himself down.

Shit.

Did he have a Pavlovian response to silver hair now?

No. It was more than that, it was in the way he was built, the line of his jaw. “What’s his name?” Jaskier asked, aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably.

“Ask him yourself,” Yennefer said with a laugh and then went off to the bar, leaving Jaskier alone in the middle of the room with just his guitar for company.

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Come on, Jask,” he muttered. “It’s not him, get over it.”

He nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet a couple of times before heading over to the stage instead. He was being a coward, but he needed a drink first and his performance was scheduled soon. If he played well, he’d get a drink on the house and he really could do with that right now, although his wallet wasn’t quite as empty as it once was.

He channeled his nerves into his performance, using that energy to pour his soul into every note. The audience were entranced, he could feel it, pride bubbling up in his chest, he was able to open his eyes and bask in the attention, letting the music flow from him like a river into the sea. His gaze drifted over to the booth where Yennefer’s friend had been sitting but it was empty.

His voice wavered slightly as he bit back the disappointment.

Fuck, another missed opportunity. He tore his gaze away and smiled at his audience, winking at a pretty blonde by the bar, and then smirking at Yennefer. She had her arms around a gorgeous brunette, almost a tall as he was, wearing red flannel and black jeans.

And then he saw him.

Standing right at the corner of the stage.

It was Wolf, it had to be. Jaskier knew those lips. He knew that jaw. He knew the soft wave of his hair. He almost dropped his guitar and he forgot to sing for a couple of beats but he was a professional, sort of, and managed to pick it up to finish the last few lines of the song. He quickly thanked the crowd, dropping his head in a barely visible bow and then he jumped off the stage. He grabbed Wolf’s arm and started to pull him back to the more isolated booth at the back of the bar.

“Get off!” Wolf growled in that low sexy voice that had Jaskier’s heart thumping in his chest.

“The booth is more private, Wolf,” Jaskier snapped back. “Or do you want the whole bar to know?”

That shut him up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. He should have known that Wolf was a man of very little words, he barely spoke to the camera when he was being paid to perform, why would he bother free of charge. “Eloquent as always, darling.”

Wolf stiffened at that word, skidding to a halt. Jaskier turned around, both hands on his hips. “Wolf, please, let us have a little privacy.”

“Right, yes,” he mumbled, and was he blushing?

Jaskier smirked and then licked his lips, he supposed he did use that particular term of endearment in his videos quite a lot… and Wolf did watch his videos. Jaskier filed that information away for later, perhaps his dream of a collaboration could actually become a reality. He willed that glow of hope to go away. He didn’t want to set himself up for disappointment, but fuck… Wolf was even prettier in real life.

Were his eyes honestly that golden, or was it just a trick of the light?

Jaskier could write sonnets about those eyes, like honey, like molten gold, gorgeous amber eyes…

Oh fuck… perhaps it was a little more than an infatuation. He had always fallen in love a little quickly, but this was really taking the biscuit. Wolf grunted as he fell into his seat. Jaskier slid in opposite him, planting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands.

“You watch my videos,” he purred, his eyes dropping to Wolf’s lips.

“It’s research,” Wolf growled.

Jaskier laughed, “Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s why you were watching my performance so intently?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head.

“You have more subscribers than I do,” Wolf leant in, in a way that was probably supposed to be threatening but Jaskier… well… he was getting hard already. It probably didn’t help that he’d seen this man cum in so many ways already. “Do you know how frustrating that is? I’ve been doing this for longer than you, and then you just swan in looking all pretty.”

Jaskier frowned. Wolf seemed angry at him? Of all the things he’d imagined… this hadn’t been one of them. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and sat back at little. “Well I’d have one less if you unsubscribed,” he muttered, the words sounding bitter on his tongue. “Fuck you, Wolf.”

“Geralt.”

“What?”

“My name. Is Geralt,” Geralt growled. “Not Wolf.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “You do know I watch your videos?” Geralt nodded. “And you don’t even show us your quite frankly gorgeous face?”

“So?”

“Is Geralt your real name?” Jaskier said, biting his lip, not sure whether he was flirting or just anxious. It was probably both.

“Fuck.”

“I’m Jaskier,” Jaskier said softly, a peace offering of sorts “A name for a name?”

“Jaskier?” Geralt snorted.

“Oh fine!” Jaskier through his hands up. “You got me, it’s Julian, but no one calls me that. So Jaskier is my name, Dandelion is my stage name.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier pouted and leant back forward onto the table, catching a lock of Geralt’s hair in his fingers. “I recognised your hair first, it’s really quite unique.”

“Don’t touch me,” Geralt grumbled but didn’t move away, face still flushed.

“Are you really mad that I have more subscribers?” Jaskier asked, licking his lips as he dropped his hand away from Geralt’s hair. “Perhaps I could help?”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him. “How?”

“Well, individually we are good, right?” Geralt nodded. “So together… we could be unstoppable.”

He watched Geralt’s face carefully as he processed Jaskier’s suggestion. At one point Geralt seemed like he was about to decline, and Jaskier steeled himself, ready for rejection, but it never came. “Alright.”

Jaskier sat back, surprised by his success. “Wait, what? Really?”

“It’s a good idea.”

“Well, yeah, it’s a fantastic idea! but I didn’t think you’d agree. Honestly, I was just hoping for a quickie in the bathroom at the very least,” Jaskier admitted, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t like losing.”
 “Right, yes well… Do you want my number? Easier to umm.. well. You know, organise this…” he gestured between them.

Holy mother of fuck, they were actually doing this. Jaskier was actually doing this… and Geralt, his Wolf, had agreed. Now Jaskier just had to keep his pesky feelings in check and everything would be Dandy!

Fuck.

_______

Next

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier smut #the witcher fanfiction #onlyfans au #wolfie's witcher writing

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 2 | " TEA IS SPILLED "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

word count: 1.8k

taglist: @serendipitysung (again, thank u for beta reading this chap) @angeljungwon @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @fluffi @gyeraniee @miffythoughts

[ PREV. CHAPTER ] | [ M. LIST ] | [ NEXT CHAPTER ]

In a family of four, the grand manor is typically too massive of a place to frolic about considering the children are, now more than ever, entering the wobbly world of adulthood. Lady Park isn't at all saddened, not even the slightest, of the lack of silly beings bouncing around the halls. Her three blissful children are more than enough to fulfill the abundance needed to fill up these wide walls of comfort.

With wild banters resonating from the top floors to the angry cries of frustration and bullets being fired in the grassy yard, boisterous laughters even in the parlour and magnificent tunes from the pianoforte in the lobby, who would've thought the widowed lady only has three creatures in the solace of her household?

But of course, despite the few kiddos giddily leaping around and about the toughly cemented abode, the house never once lacked a single servant happily offering their services to the ever most humble aristocratic family. They rather consider it as the greatest honor to have even worked in this clan as they, amongst the fewer fews, have exuded nothing but kindness, generosity, and upholding of such exquisite manners despite their highly-acclaimed titles and places in Northumberland’s high-class society.

It’d be a blessing to be affiliated with the three children and whoever be so lucky to earn such fortune is very favored in life indeed. One would say they and the Yang family have always been the highly influential clans even of late and who wouldn't dare say? The two rich families have been one of the greatest friends of the city. Even their children could almost pass as siblings due to the tight-knit bond they shared over the years. Kindred spirits, I dare say.

This season will duly prepare the fine and charming jewel of the family, Lady Y/n, as the debutante’s ball is coming up briefly. A day well spent in the modiste is a woman's dainty bliss as the perfectly sewn dress is finally ready for appealing suitors and the royalty herself, the Queen.

“You look nothing more than gorgeous, sister. Madame Fleur has outdone herself again with another splendid piece.” Jay, the eldest of the family, pinches the silky fabric while gently pulling it upwards to gain better access to the dress’ features.

“Thank you, Jay. Although I admit, the measurements in the waist are a bit funny.”

“I wouldn't doubt that. It is Mother’s liking to keep your corset tight and deadly.” The eldest rubs his chin in contemplation. “Rest assured if you need any assistance in loosening that wretched piece of torture, Niki and I will be of help at the ball.”

“Again, brother, thank you. And speaking of help, where's Niki? He was supposed to help me with my waltz today.”

"I have no idea. Last I saw him he was with Daniel. Shouldn't he be home by now?"

Without any warning, the youngest comes dashing into the parlour like a carefree prince who just had the best slumber of his life.

“I’m right here. Forgive me, dear sister, for my unannounced absence in today's dance practice. I shall have you know, the Duke’s son sent us an invitation this morning. One that Daniel and I,” the two eldest eye him suspiciously, awaiting a usual remark whenever the topic is about the marquess. “refused to reject… surprisingly.” Niki clicks his tongue before proceeding to join his siblings on the cushioned couch.

“Shocker. Tell me, brother, was your day positively horrific?” Jay sarcastically huffed. “Oh, you don't have the slightest idea.” The two boys joined together for a rather boisterous laugh that made the only lass cross her arms as she sits between the two brothers.

“How’s life treating Park?” Jay questions. “Oh, you know. The usual. Living in luxury as well as wasting it away. He seemed more ashen lately.” Niki downs a glass of water that was resting on the coffee table.

After a few more barbs and laughs against the Duke’s only son, Y/n decides to butt in as time’s a wastin. “Apologies for the intrusion, but it’s necessary for me to rehearse for the dances I might have in two days' time, unlike you two who are accustomed to sweeping girls off the dance floor. Come, Niki, before mother sees me to bed.”

In the middle of an exhausting rehearsal with his sister, Niki sits down on the edge of Y/n’s bed with both hands leaning on the mattress. “You could've asked Jay.” he mutters under his breath.

It's not that the boy was complaining to teach waltz, it was more of trying to keep himself away from social interactions for the time being as he felt the need to mope again after a long while.

“True, I could have. But I haven't seen you wandering about the house today. Except this morning when I was awakened by your harsh firing in the garden.” Y/n looks over her shoulders to give a playful glare at the nearly knackered, blonde-haired lad. “How was your day, Riki?”

“Don’t call me that.” He hisses.

“Must I remind you that I was the one who wiped your tushy when you were a tiny bum and I also-”

“Oh you must, mustn't you?” Niki throws his hands in the air in vexation. But his sister could only smile at him in a manner that he couldn't argue any further. “Fine. We did fencing today, with the Duke’s trophy of a son.”

“You know, I never understood your hatred towards that man. I envy Jay, honestly. He gets to listen to your burdens about the marquess and console you."

“Soon, sister. The story’s very… profound.” Niki lazily plops his body back on the fluffy mattress with both hands at the back of his head.

“You mean the feelings behind that story?”

“You're too keen on unearthing this from me, aren't you? You clever bean.” Niki smirks at his sister’s antics.

“Anything to have my little brother confess. I am your most favorite sibling after all, am I not?” Y/n intertwines her fingers with her brother’s and seals it with a comforting kiss right on his thumb.

“Whatever it is, no matter how inexpressible or profound it may be...”

“Thank you, Y/n. I’m going to miss these melodramatic moments with you.” The lass scoffs at Niki’s almost sweet words. “It's not like I’m guaranteed marriage this season.”

“Oh but mother will do anything to try and get you married. That's guaranteed right there. Although Jay will be meddling at most in choosing a husband who's fit enough for you. But whoever that lucky chap may be, as long as he makes you happy, he already has my blessing.”

“Do you think Jungwon will ask someone's hand this season?” Y/n joins her brother on the bed as they both stare at the ceiling in deep ponder. Niki gulps at the very sudden question from his sister, but he shrugs it away as he recalls a distant memory of her and Jungwon frequently fighting over twigs and branches when they were nothing but ten.

“Jay can only answer that for you. Why don’t you ask Sunoo? He never misses an opportunity to spill details about his brother to you.”

“But that would be too much, wouldn't it?” Y/n sighs in exhaustion. “I can never get that man to look in my direction.”

“He’d be damned to even try to, especially when Jay’s around. He may be his best pal but Jay has always been very protective about you.”

“Whoever’s the pretty lady to be asked by Jungwon will definitely be the luckiest girl, I bet.”

The boy has all the means to help his sister as he is deeply affiliated with Jungwon’s brother, Daniel. But Niki could only look at her in pity thinking of all the years Y/n has set her heart on the oblivious boy next door, only the latter seems to care less in bearing the lady’s genuine sentiments.

"Yang Jungwon!" A stern voice from a woman in her fifties resonates throughout the lad's powder room.

"Mother." He monotonously mumbled.

"Did I hear it correctly? You're not to dance with anyone at the ball?" With two hands on her waist, the young lord could almost see his mother's vein popping out on her wrinkled forehead.

"I suppose brother spilled the tea, huh? And yes, mother, you heard it correctly."

"Madness! If it weren't for Sunoo's knowledge of this I wouldn't have known. God knows what's going on inside of that brain of yours!"

"Mother, I am not fond of-"

"Nonsense! Not even the daughter of our dearest friend, Lady Park?"

"Most especially not her." Jungwon mutters under his breath.

"Do you even hear the absurdity of your words?"

"Certainly, I do, mother."

"Oh god, oh dear. You're giving me a headache right now." She rubs her temple in utter anxiety followed by a frustrated exhale. Lady Yang fumbles the surface of her dress until she got a handful of its fabric, gripping it upwards to free her steps from the hindrances while turning back from her son to leave him be. Until the eldest shows up from his supposedly brief reading schedule in the pantry.

“Ah! There you are. Talk some sense into your brother will you, dear? I might collapse if I bother to argue even more about his foolishness.” And Lady Yang leaves the two swiftly before they can even utter a word.

“What is it that you've done to mother now?” Sunoo, the eldest, walks slumpily towards Jungwon’s side while half-slamming the book on the marble counter.

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?” Jungwon side-eye him with a sneer.

“She was interrogating me with her unconquerable motherly vexes if you must know. Sincerely, brother, I'm not one to lie. Though, I did try my best.” The younger boy could only scoff at the sassy rebuttal from his brother.

“You could've tried harder. Or maybe, you could've just silenced yourself. Marvelous idea, isn't it?”

“Or maybe, you can put on a little effort to satisfy mother’s hopes even for one night. Brilliant, isn't it?”

Jungwon hisses as he unbotton his puff sleeves one by one with Sunoo looking at him in an almost scorn, pitying his brother for being a complete idiot, not to mention a coward too.

“I’m not a coward if that's what you're thinking. Let’s hear it, what would you have me do, brother?” The younger one looks at his brother’s reflection through the mirror like a brazen knight ready to be thrown into war. With both hands resting on the shiny countertop, he bites his bottom lip with a foreseeable answer in mind.

Sunoo taps the boy’s shoulder before heading to the door to leave him in his fickling decisions.

“Lady Y/n Park. Two dances, brother, then you can pray to spend the rest of your nights in peace.”

Jungwon gulps down followed by a deep sigh the moment Sunoo left the room, like an exhale he’s been trying to hold underwater for over a minute.

He could only hope that those two dances will be the last of it, or he could kiss his peaceful nights goodbye… forever.

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series' taglist!

ㅡ ©ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

#enhypenwriters #enhypennetwork #of lords and mischiefs #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen fics #enhypen series #enhypen jungwon #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunoo #enhypen niki #iland daniel

[raisswrites]

Ever Friends (M)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader(female)

Genre: smut, Friends to Lovers!AU, angst(ish).

Rating: M

Warnings: explicit sex, explicit language, dirty talk, bruising, violence, drunk sex, unprotected sex.

The sky was pouring. The droplets of water rained down relentlessly, rendering the streets wetter by the second. You sat there, chin in your palm as you watched the rain knocking on your window. You let out a sigh, creating fog on the glass. You told him to stay in, to not go out on this cloudy day. You went so far as to send him the weather forecast for today. But being the thick headed man that he is, he didn’t listen to you. Now he must be in some downtown club getting wasted with the assholes he calls friends.

It’s not like you’re anyone special to him, you’re just the friend he comes to whenever his friends are too drunk to care about his complaints.

Right. You’re nothing but his emotional crutch.

The thought made your heart knot up. But it was the truth, unfortunately. It’s not like you haven’t tried to let go of your feelings. It’s just that the more you tried to suppress them, the stronger they grew. To say you haven’t contemplated cutting ties permanently with him would be a lie. Your friendship with him hurt like nothing else. But you also cherish it more than you’d care to admit.

As you watched the rain slow down to a steady trickle, sleep started to take over you. You took a peek at the clock. It was 02:34 in the morning. You got up from your seat next to the window and made your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth. The drip-dripping of rain has completely stopped. You sat on the bed in your small bedroom, your hands busy shoving your books into a box that was lying around. In no time you were tucked in, your head sinking warmly into your pillow.

A knock broke the silent darkness of the night. You froze in your place, suddenly the blankets felt too cold for you. You weren’t expecting anyone this late at night. Seulgi would never come without calling. Joohyun was out of town. And Baekhyun... well, he was probably in some random girl’s sheets by now.

You walked on shaky legs, your feet almost soundless against the cold ground. “Who’s there?” Your voice sounded smaller than you wanted it to.

“It’s me, Baekhyun. Open up.” The answer came to you as a surprise, it was indeed his voice on the other side of the door.

You unlocked your apartment and swung the door open. The sight that greeted you was not a pleasant one. Baekhyun was leaning heavily on the doorframe, his clothes were soaked through and stained. You let out a strangled gasp. “Goodness! What happened to you?” you asked as you helped him inside.

“I got into a fight.” he answered as you sat him down. His breath reeked of vodka, his left eye was bruised and blood was leaking from his brow. He was wincing as he made himself comfortable on the sofa.

“No, Baekhyun. You got your ass handed to you, is what happened.”

He let out a weak laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Very funny.”

“Baekhyun!” His laughter seized, he looked at you with wistful eyes, his lips pressed into a straight line. “What happened?” you asked, your voice so soft it was barely a whisper. You were sitting at the edge of the sofa, your legs shaking anxiously as you awaited his answer.

He pondered for a moment, his eyes looking everywhere but at you. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slouching. “It’s not important, okay? Just let me stay here for the night, I’ll leave in the morning.”

You stared at him for a moment, pondering whether to pressure on or just leave him be. “Fine,” you huffed. “Let me get you something warm to wear, you’re ruining my sofa.”

As you were returning to the living with your first aid kit and fresh clothes, Baekhyun had just got up on groggy feet. You could hear him wincing as he slipped off his sweater. What you saw made you almost drop the kit, but you kept a strong grip on it. Baekhyun’s broad back had been tainted with a big patch of bruising that was blackening by the second.

You rushed to him, your hands hovering over his back by default. He turned around, his breath hitching. “What are you doing?” he asked, bemused.

“What the hell happened Baekyun? Who did this to you?” you yelled, barely holding it together.

“Stop asking, (Y/N). You don’t wanna hear the answer.”

“Of course I want to!” Baekhyun looked away, his fingers brushing his wet hair back. “Baekhyun, for God’s sake answer!”

“That asshole Minho.” he answered after a long second, his bare shoulders looked tense, his fists gripping the air tightly.    

“What?” was the only thing that you could utter. You put your hand on his shoulder and turned him around.  

He looked into your eyes, looking very much boozed up. “That dickhead was being disrespectful, what do you expect me to do?”

“What did he say?” you asked in an oddly calm voice.

He put his cold hands on your shoulders and plastered a smile on his face. “Just forget it, okay? Go-”

“No,” you swatted his hands away. “What did he say?”

His eyes grew hard and dark, it was the first time you witnessed such intensity within them. He sat down on the sofa, his hands rubbing at his knees nervously.

“He was sitting at the table with his friends, I didn’t really care at first. I was having a great time… but then the bastard started getting drunk. He started spouting nonsense; how he was the first guy in campus to fuck you, he kept telling his friends that they could fuck you now because he got tired of you. He said you weren’t as good in bed as he imagined you’d be.” The more you listened to his words, the angrier you grew. You wanted to stop him, but his words were all the more reason to hate Choi Minho.

“He said you were groveling at his feet when he ended things with you. He said he fucked you and then broke up with you before you could even put your clothes back. The more I listened the more I wanted to pummel him into oblivion.” Baekhyun grabbed the arm of the sofa aggressively, he looked up at you. “Can you blame me for it?”

“No,” you answered, your eyes glossy with fury.

“When I tried to stop him, he told me I was just jealous that he got to nail you before I did. That’s when I snapped.”

His words sunk into your brain with the realisation that you’re the reason for his state. You sat down next to him, your hand grazing his back. “What about this bruise, then?”

“Oh, the bouncers kicked us out and I fell on the pavement.” he answered, his mischievous smile making an appearance. You couldn’t help but smile back at him. You stared at each other, your gaze full of love while his was an odd mixture of lividness and playfulness.

“Did he break your heart?” His voice was silky soft, slightly wavering. He was close enough that you smell the alcohol in his warm breath. “If he broke your heart, I’d go right now and beat his goddamn bones. I don’t care how much I’m hurting.”

You let out a chuckle.”No, I broke up with him, silly. He’s just saying all that because his ego is hurt.”

“Why did you date him, then? You’re so much better than him, you deserve so much better.”

You looked down at your lap.”I was in love with someone I can’t have.”

“Well, they’re one blind person.” he looked away.

Silence settled in between you like the darkness outside your window. It was finally broken by Baekhyun.

“If I was a better man… someone not as broken, not as fucked up as the man that I am. If I wasn’t someone who steals bravery from alcohol, I would say that I love you. But I’m not that man, and I’m probably too wasted right now to make sense. I’m probably gonna regret this in the morning. But if I was in that guy’s place, I would hold onto you and never break your heart.”

By the time he turned around to look at you, your eyes were soaked in tears. “Because it’s not everyday a guy meets a girl like you.”

Before he could finish his sentence, and without you even knowing what you were doing, your lips were on his. A tear rolled down his eyes and landed on your cheek. He was frozen for a moment before he put his hand on your waist. He put you on his lap, his pants were wet but you didn’t mind. Your fingers ran through his hair, you tilted your head deepening the kiss as he moved in perfect rhythm with you. His warm tongue ran over your lips before interlacing with your tongue.

You moaned against his lips. His hand started moving down before he grabbed your ass. His other hand was under your top, timidly touching your stomach. His cold fingertips against your skin made you heat up all the more. You could feel a knot of hot lust form in your abdomen. You grabbed his bottom lip between your teeth and started pulling it slowly. The action pleased him apparently, if his hips’ involuntary movement was any indication.

You felt him get hard against your core, the feeling of it made you let out another moan, this time louder and more wanton. That was enough to make him flip you over onto the sofa. He looked at you, his eyes mad with hunger. Yet he was hesitant, waiting for you to give him the cue. Just barely holding himself together.

Seeing him like that made you all the more sure of what you wanted. You wanted him, plain and simple. You wanted him on this sofa, gloriously naked and deep inside you. Just like you daydreamed about for as long as you knew him. “What do you want?” he asked.”How far do you want to go?”

“So far that I can’t remember we were ever friends.”

Your voice came out more like a whisper, you watched him close his eyes as he relished in your words. Without missing a beat he grabbed your sweatshirt and practically yanked it off. He unclasped your bra, you looked him in the eyes as you slowly took the piece of undergarment off and threw it on the floor. He stood over you, his broad shoulders outlined by the light. You watched him as he watched you, eyes completely focused on your bare breasts. In one smooth motion, he enveloped your nipple with his lips, his hand busy playing with the other one. A deep grunt escaped your throat, your back arching on instinct under his touch. His teeth gave your nipple one last graze before they abandoned it. He started leaving open mouthed kisses on your chest and all the way up to your throat. Your fingers tightened on his black locks before you pulled his head up. You looked at him, still catching your breath.

“What are you waiting for?”

He leaned closer to you, his lips in a lopsided smile. “I wanna take my time, princess.”

“Fuck that,” you retorted, pulling him into another kiss. Your hands moved down towards his jeans. You let your hand rove over his bulge, causing him to groan deeply into your mouth. You started unzipping his pants, your greedy hand grabbing him shamelessly. He melted into your touch, his body almost completely squeezing you. He broke the kiss, his hands instantly dragging your pants and underwear off.

His eyes roamed over your naked body, you opened your legs for him, too drunk on lust to care. He put his bottom lip between his teeth, his hand dragging his boxers down to touch himself.

“You’re so perfect,” he purred. You let out a chuckle.

“You should see yourself,” your hand moved down to your clit, you started caressing the swollen nodule. You peered at his cock twitching in his hand at the sight of it. “So you're just gonna jerk off?”

His hands movement ceased completely at your words. With his eyes still on you, he stood up.

”Ah, so cocky. Let’s see if I can fuck that cockiness out of you.” He rid himself of his jeans and boxers before aligning himself with your entrance. 

You put your hand on his shoulder, pushing him lightly off of you.”No no no. I’ll be doing the fucking.“

You sat him down on the sofa before positioning yourself on top of him. You slowly start to lower yourself on him. As soon as his tip was past your entrance, you started wincing. You always knew that Baekhyun was well endowed, you’ve always dreamed about filling yourself up with him. But now that he was here in person, hard as he can be and just barely inside you. You couldn’t help but grimace at the largeness of him. Despite it hurting slightly, it still felt blissfully good. You sunk him deeper into you, your walls moving around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts.”You’re so tight.”

Your only answer was to move in an upward motion, your breath caught in your throat from the pleasure. You lowered yourself slowly, your insides barely adapting to his cock. He threw his head back, his hands shooting up to your waist. You took that chance to plant a kiss on his Adam's apple. You dragged the kiss down to his collarbone, leaving a trail of saliva in your wake. The kiss turned into a bite when he started moving you up and down on top of him. You put your hands on his shoulders, your chin resting in the crook of his neck.

 “Ah, fuck.” you moan.

You started moving your hips in rhythm with his, so filled up with him you couldn’t think of anything other than where your bodies intersect. His breath was labored, you could feel it on your neck as he grabbed your skin between his teeth and pulled at it. His hands were leaving marks on your back, so intense he was in his fucking that he didn’t realize he was hurting you. His biceps were taut, and his face was getting more and more sweaty. 

You interrupted his trail of bites down your neck when you started kissing him. The kiss was nothing short of feral, it was all teeth and madness. Nothing like the tender, awkward one you shared not even 20 minutes ago. 

As you rode him, your mouth traveled from his mouth up to his bruised eye. You started kissing his brow all the way down to his ear. A small whine escaped his lips, his right hand moved from your back up to your breast, grabbing it rather fiercely. He started kneading it, all while thrusting into you with sharp powerful movements. 

“I’m almost there,” you said. With one swift motion He laid you down on your back, both legs around his waist while your ass was lifted off the sofa. The way he loomed over you hungrily made you almost go over the edge. But not quite, you suppressed it. You wanted him to get you there. The days when you touched yourself to the thought of him were long gone. It was him inside you now, instead of your vibrator. 

He started ramming into you in such an angle that you felt like you were losing your mind. The ecstasy only heightened when you reached your climax. You dug your nails into his forearms as he rode it with you. He came not long after, the word “fuck” was nothing but an ostinato as the waves of pleasure took over him. He laid on top of you, his breath as labored yours. 

You started feeling sleep take over you, your eyes heavier than they were before. But not yet. You still had things to do. 

As soon as you got up, he sprawled over on the sofa, still basking in his delightful nudity. 

“Get up,” you said. “Those wounds aren’t gonna clean themselves.”

#exo #baekhyun #baekhyunexo #smutbaekhyun #kpopsmut #exo x reader #baekhyun x reader #kpopangst #exo smut #baekhyun smut

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Are we going to get more flood my mornings?

FMM: Of Small Kangaroos

This story takes place in an AU where Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

FMM Master List

Previously: Found

**Backtracking timewise just a bit on this one! The woes of getting acclimated to your own AU timeline again ;)** 

—-

November, 1952

“Can’t you stay home this morning?” she wheedled, wiping maple syrup from Ian’s chin. Christ, how sweet she looked in her Turtle’s-Neck sweater, the cabled one the same color as her skin. Not even six o’clock—bairns make early risers of all, aye?—and still her eyes were bright and sharp. “It’s Sunday and cold as b…all-get-out.”

“I wish I could.” He’d like nothing better than to spend a few stolen hours abed with her while the children napped away the afternoon. “But I canna,” he said,  the last piece of toast in his mouth as he began clearing up the dishes. “Promised Hank I would go in and cover for h—”

“DA, Mummy SAID, it’s—”

“Don’t *interrupt*, Bree,” they chanted with one well-worn voice. 

Brianna sighed with even greater exasperation and piled every remaining piece of bacon onto her plate with a grumble that sounded a great deal like.  “…interruptin’ me….” 

“Brianna Ellen.” Claire’s head tilted, hawk’s eye fixed with deadly precision. “Attitude.” 

“S’too cold out there, Daddy,” the lass piped at once with saccharine primness that dared anyone to question its sincerity.  

“Aye, ‘tis cold,” he agreed, sharing a secret, rueful glance with Claire, “and that means the horses will be, too.” He laid a freshly-scrubbed plate onto the rack and took up the next. “Shall ye come along wi’ me to the barn, then, cub?”  

“Me?” 

“ME!” Ian parroted, slithering down from his seat. 

“Aye, you, and yer Mam, and Ian? Make a wee outing of it?”

“No-thanks,” came the verdict of the bacon-cruncher. “Dinna wanna put my coat on.”

“Ye lazy wee baggage!” He cast over his shoulder for her and spied Claire first, hiding behind her mug. “No!…Et tu, mo nighean donn?” 

“It’s awfully warm and cozy indoors….” Her guilty grin gave way to a yawn, then a stretch. “And I really do need to stay,” she said, bringing her stocking-feet up onto the seat and hugging her knees, “got to make a dent in these applications today.” 

This last rose in crescendo, still barely heard over the din of: 

            “CAN I–” 

             “Me-me-meee!!!” 

               “CAN I BE ‘SCUUUSED!?”

“Verra well,” he sighed at Claire with a wink, Bree seizing upon this as permission and tearing out of the kitchen while Jamie dried his hands. “I suppose I’ll don my coat and set off all alone into the frigid—”

“Meeeeee!!”

At last, he took notice of the smallest Fraser, who had been wrapped around his leg. “Why, hallo, YOU.” 

“Go, too?” he asked excitedly in Gaelic, giving a little bounce for emphasis. “Me, too?”

He took a moment to simply marvel. The boy didn’t always choose to speak, but when he did, it never failed to surprise Jamie how much he truly understood of the action swirling about over his head. And to reply to English with Gaelic, forbye! Perhaps it shouldn’t be shocking, seeing as how Ian had been hearing it spoken since birth, but Lord, his pronunciation was near perfect as he begged, “Go, too, Daddy?” 

“Ye want to come wi’ Da to see the horses, jo?” (in English, for Claire’s sake). 

Ian nodded once and beamed, raising his hands expectantly and switching languages without missing a beat. “Go-’IF!”

Jamie gripped Ian’s wrists and let the lad climb up his front like a mountaineer, grinning as broadly as he. “Go we shall, then!” 

“But, shouldn’t–? Jesus H. Christ, I can’t believe I’m asking this, with the chance at a 50% less chaotic day on offer,” Claire laughed, coming to stand with them and rumple Ian’s hair, “but won’t he be in your way?”

“This wee face?” he said, kissing it. “Nay, never.”

—-

It might well be, in actual fact, Jamie admitted as he set the pair off them off for Fernacre. A child of sixteen months was never a simple matter, even as one as generally agreeable as Ian, but having the lad with him was well worth a bit of disruption here and there.

It wasn’t simply Ian’s acuity that had startled him earlier, but that the lad had asked to go with Da. With him. 

His heart melted afresh as he thought on it, as he felt Ian’s head, warm and heavy against his hip. 

Naturally, the singular bond with Claire had stayed strong, even past the time he was weaned. Many was the occasion that Ian would suddenly turn from Jamie and wail for her, entirely inconsolable until he might cry against her shoulder and be soothed by her hands, her voice. 

There was nothing malicious in the preference, of course. Brianna was a never-ceasing demander of energies and was always happy to fill any vacancy left by her brother. Besides, Jamie could see the wee one’s point, for he likewise had a very strong desire to be held by Claire at all times. 

Even so, being singled out himself by the lad was yet new enough that it sent a warm, silly thrill through his chest each time, almost like being a schoolboy again: happily heartsick over his attentions being returned. 

“And if it’s no’ being in love,” he murmured as he slowed the car, palm atop the boy’s head, “I haven’t the faintest idea.” 

“We-heer?” Ian exclaimed, coming to life and nearly toppling over as he tried to stand on the seat mid-parking. ‘We-heer?”

Scooping him up with one arm, Jamie stepped out into the chill. “Aye, here!” He bent to set Ian down, remembering the great bag of diapering supplies, food, and toys in the back seat.  “Off ye g—”

“Nooooo!” The boy turned violently legless, twisting impressively to avoid touching the ground. 

“Ian, ye–” 

“Hoam-me!”

“Do ye no’ want to walk on your own feet like a big boy?” He already kent well the answer.

His brown-haired lad gave an uncanny impression of Claire’s ‘don’t talk nonsense’ face. “HOAM-me.”

A Sucker he was, wi’ no hope for it whatsoever. He chuckled and sighed, hoisting the lad up higher.  “Today you win, joey.” 

Strange, thinking back now, that he’d gone the first quarter-century of life knowing nothing of Kangaroos.

He’d first learnt the odd word in the days when his appetite for knowledge of the centuries missed had made trips to the library a near-daily event. Australia— what a wonder that place seemed to him! All that vast expanse, filled with such uncanny creatures. A nightmarish beast, this one had looked from the illustration: like a man-sized hare with a great, thick tail, tapering like a lizard’s; eerily man-like in the arms and chest, capable of leaping thirty feet in one bound before kicking one’s teeth in.  

Still, a softer recollection had come straightaway to mind later, when Claire began to carry Ian about the house in a sling on her front. Jenny, too, had worn her bairns, wrapped in a shawl on her back, yet there was something all the more intimate in seeing mother and child nestled chest-to-chest amid the mundane tasks of the day; seeing Claire wrap her arms around him with utter tenderness, whispering soft love; the babe dozing as she worked and moved about, warm and safe in the comfort of her heartbeat, just as he had been in the womb.

Both the nickname and the love of being cuddled had stuck, and it was only sight of the horses of Barn A that coaxed Jamie’s little marsupial down. True-to-form, he hit the stable floor with a hop.  

Jamie made quick inspection of his four-footed charges. No need for mucking out, God be praised; just feeding, watering, and a bit of love for each. He began making his way down the first aisle of eight, Ian toddling along to watch, full of quiet wonder. 

It had been some time since he’d gotten to be alone–mostly alone– with the horses. Nearly all his working days were spent in the paddocks, training the young or new ones; coaching the riders on how they might better work in harmony with the being beneath them. He loved it, took such pride and joy in witnessing the excitement of human and beast alike as they improved, as they bonded.

Yet it brought his heart a different sort of joy, the quieter sort, to be in the stables on a still morning such as this, gentle mist seeming to soften the hard edges of world and word.

They soon reached the last stall on the eastern side. “How goes it, a nighean?” he crooned to Cornflower, who knocked her snout into his shoulder in companionable greeting. 

“Pat him?” Ian asked in the same language, honey-eyes glowing. 

“Aye, ye can pat *her.*” 

Lifted high, Ian gingerly reached out to touch the mighty neck. 

“Morning, Jamie!” 

“The same to you!” 

He turned them to face Tom, who was coming through the door with two steaming cups.“HEY! Look who came to help his Papa out! Jeez, Jamie, when did he get so darn tall?” 

“Tis our constant question, as well!” He set Ian atop a stack of hay bales by Corny’s door and gratefully reached to take the mug. 

Tom winked at Ian. “How you doing today, little man?”

“Hiii,” was all Ian said before covering his face so nothing save grinning eyes showed between hat and mittens. 

God bless Tom Harper, Jamie prayed sincerely as they sipped and chatted, discussing business, the children, all the usual things. Of all the people in his new life, it was Tom that minded him most of Murtagh: always near, always willing, always irreverant, yet always looking after ye from afar. It wasn’t often he thought of it: but knowing that Tom was only ever a call away should emergency strike or counsel be needed of one with more years of experience in the world was an immense comfort, more than Jamie could ever truly express to the man. 

A jubilant shriek erupted from behind them. 

Ian had descended the hay bales and was now right underneath Cornflower’s stall, head thrown back, both hands reaching up to touch– 

“IAN, STO–” 

“Mmmm-wah!” Ian kissed the fuzzy snout, right in the spot between the heaving nostrils. He bounced on his heels, chirped ‘Bye!!’ to her in Gaelic, then ran toward the next stall. 

Jamie crossed the space in two leaps to yank him backward….but of all the wonders, Hector was already at the front of the stall in response to Ian’s command.

“What’d he say??” Tom whispered.  

“He said, ‘Come here.’”

“Whoa….” 

The horse had lowered his neck, inspecting Ian judiciously. Jamie kept both hands around the boy’s ribs, half-crouched in readiness to rip him away at the slightest sign of danger….but as though by magic, Hector nudged his snout deliberately into Ian’s outstretched hands with a tiny nicker, getting an enchanting giggle and kiss in return. 

“Christ in Heaven…..” 

Tom hooted. “I. will. be. DAMNED!!” 

Jamie discovered both that his mouth had fallen open and that his son was already in front of the next stall, charming his mark. He and Tom stayed close, heart still thudding in terror of the inevitable crushed finger or nip on the face, but no….  one by one, each horse willingly lowered their nose for a kiss. 

It wasn’t just heedless affection young Ian radiated: it was instinct, too. For, when Bard put back his ears and snorted, the lad took a tidy step backward, not offended in the slightest. He only gave the brute a cheery wave and moved on to find his next sweetheart. 

“Well done, a bhalaich!” he laughed, giving the lad a squeeze.

“Fanks!” Ian wriggled out without a backward glance, intent on his mission. 

Tom groaned as he settled onto a bench, beckoning Jamie to do the same.  “So little Ian takes to horses a bit more naturally than Brianna, huh?”

“Aye…” Jamie exhaled heavily, allowing himself to sit and relax. “He’s got a way about him.” 

Tom resumed sipping his coffee (Jamie’s somewhere on the floor), watching Ian and chuckling. “You do crank out some damned cute kiddos, Jamie.”

“I do have a damned cute wife.”

They laughed and Jamie’s mind wandered, even as they continued to chat, even as he kept Ian in the corner of his vision. 

Strange, no? How bairns can be so similar in some ways and yet so different in others. Bree, with her warrior spirit, indomitable, was nearly as frightened of horses now as the first time he’d brought her here. This morning she had blamed the coat and the cold, but Jamie knew it was more to do with the great stomping hooves and enormous teeth. Never would she admit fear, of course. She would fluster and put on that wee glower he loved so well, but beneath it, the lass was petrified.

Contrast this with Ian, for all he might be the more quiet and cautious in life as a whole, who showed no fear whatsoever here in the stable. True, he had seen horses before, even ridden one on Jamie’s lap, so there was no factor of shock as there had been with Bree. Still… Strength and courage manifests to each of us in our own way. A comforting thought, in this ever-changing world, no? Unlike Jenny and Ian, he had not one clue how his children might spend their lives once grown, so many paths being available to them. It weighed heavily on him some days– but if they each find their strength, wheresoever it might lie, then surely they shall find their own prosperous path, as well….

Sounds of human and equine unease sent his head whipping round. Merlin, one of the younger horses of this bunch, was standing in the window with no apparent intent to lower his head. Ian was grunting, jumping up and down to get the laddie’s attention with a persistent, “Hiii? HIIIII???” on repeat.

“He may no’ wish to talk just now, Ian.”

The boy whirled eagerly and pointed back up over his shoulder. “Up, Da?” Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted over, eyes bright with urgency. “Da, Up! Up, ‘kay?”

“I think you’d better pick him up, Jamie, before he blows a gasket,” groaned Tom as he stood, heading toward to door to continue his day. 

“Take it easy, Tom,” he called. 

“You do the same!” 

“Daaaaa, UPPP???“

He heard Tom’s infectious laugh vanish into the distance. 

–

“Easy now,” he murmured to the horse in Gaelic as they approached, reaching out his free hand to carefully rub the long, white neck. Merlin blew out through his nostrils. “Aye, I ken, your wizardship, ‘tis a bit unconventional, but the wee thing just wants to say hello, aye? Can ye find it in your heart?” 

“No scary,” Ian promised. 

With sudden inspiration, Jamie rifled in his coat pocket and held out the contents to the wary brute. “And what say ye now, friend?”

Merlin held back a moment for dignity, then descended upon his treat. 

“W’ ‘is ‘it?” demanded Ian, back to English in his curiosity.  

“Give me your hand—“ Jamie pulled the mitten off with his teeth. “Cup your fingers like a wee bowl, aye?”

Ian peered into his palm.“…..’Is ‘at, Daddy?” 

“'Tis a sugar cube. Shall we see if he’d like some more?”

Ian’s eyes lit up and he swiveled around toward the horse so suddenly he dropped the cube. Once resupplied, he held his arm out at full length, bellowing, “Hiiiii!”  

Ian squealed in delight as the huge lips and teeth explored his hand. “Mooorr-Da!”

Many, many sugar cubes later, Jamie crouched to set Ian on his feet, but the lad  flung his arms about Jamie’s neck with an insistent “Nnnhhhh!”

“Christ, you’re truly naught but a barnacle wi’ legs!” Jamie gave up, kissing the boy’s capped head. “If I ever thought your sister was a cuddly sort, there was no fathoming what was to come, wee jo.”

“Moor-coops?” Ian asked, popping up to search Jamie’s face.

Jamie checked his pocket, coming up with one last sugar cube. Ian didn’t miss a beat. He took it between his fingers, said ‘Heer-Da,’ and pressed it firmly against Jamie’s lips. 

“You’re a sweet one, a chuisle,” Jamie said, crunching the sugar and kissing the hand. “And you’re lucky the horses didna chomp all your wee fingers off—!!” 

Ian squealed as Jamie made play of gobbling them up, his little belly shaking with giggles so deep he began turning red. 

“Allllllright, lad,” Jamie soothed after a time, before the lad exploded, “we’d best be going.” 

“Go home?” 

“Nay, no’ until later. We have three more barns to check, yet. Let’s hope ye have enough kisses left in ye.”

.

He did. 

#Anonymous #Flood my mornings #FMM Chapter 73 #;mod Bonnie

[juliairian]

...in which we continue the silly “trapped in a closet AU” writing prompt

(First Part here)

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John started. “Sorry?”

“Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Um. Afghanistan. How did you know--?”

“I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, your voice, you’re used to receiving orders, but… also giving them. Interesting. Captain, I’d guess, and I rarely guess. Old friend of Mike’s, but not too close as evidenced by him practically forgetting about you like this—“

“He did not--!”

Sherlock rambled on unimpeded. “…But close enough that he’d bring you here; not a date, though, so must be a colleague. Not authorized says former colleague. You trained here, so, army doctor. I only saw your face briefly, but it looked tanned. You don’t seem like the kind of guy to go sunbathing, so you’ve been abroad for the military.”

He took a breath. John was still blinking over the fact that anyone could think him Mike’s date.

“Your cane is lying on the floor, so you have a limp of some kind. However, you haven’t shown any discomfort in that area specifically since we were trapped so you clearly forgot about it in the presence of a more pressing issue. Psychosomatic, then; that suggests trauma. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.”

John gaped. “That was… amazing.”

There was a pause. Sherlock Holmes had stopped rummaging through his pockets and now appeared to hold a few small items in his hands, metal gleaming in the sliver of light. “Do you really think so?” He sounded surprised.

“Of course. We’ve never met. And you just… knew all of that. It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary.”

John could have sworn the man sucked in a breath. “Oh. That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do they usually say?”

“Piss off.”

And that was it, something cracked. John laughed. After a moment, he heard a deep, answering chuckle from the body in front of him. He relaxed a little.

“John Watson,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Hm? Oh.” The man paused sorting through the things in his palms. He shifted the items to one hand and shook John’s with the other. Firm grip, long, nimble fingers. “Sherlock Holmes, but you knew that already.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Holmes.”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock Holmes scoffed. “Aren’t we a little past pleasantries? We’re stuck in a cupboard, for Christ’s sake.”

He pulled out a particular tool from a set of what appeared to be lock picks. Who just carries lock picks around like that? Perhaps it’s a detective thing, John thought. “Also,” he continued, “Call me Sherlock. Mr. Holmes is my brother, and I avoid thinking about him as much as possible.”

“All right. John, then.”

Sherlock’s quick smile flashed in the sliver of light. John noted an unruly curl as it dropped onto his forehead. He was still fairly close and the fact that Sherlock had begun picking the lock had not improved matters. He shoved away an elbow as it neared his kidneys. “Watch it.”

“Do you want to get out?” Sherlock ignored his efforts to remain unmaimed and went on with his tools.

After a moment, John had to ask. “Why would you say I wasn’t—I mean, why the hell would I be Mike’s date?!”

The faint slanting light illuminated one raised eyebrow. “I said you weren’t. Why would you be?”

“I don’t know,” John bristled, feeling a little uncomfortable.

The man sighed. “You might be obviously bisexual, but Mike Stamford happens to be completely straight. Therefore it is unlikely that you were his date.”

“Ex—excuse me?!” John felt his face flush.

“Oh,” Sherlock tried to straighten, but only managed to wiggle a little closer to John in an effort to be comfortable whilst lock picking. John got another whiff of shampoo and felt the deep voice rumble in the man’s chest. “Were you not aware of that? Sorry. Didn’t mean to spoil the surprise for you.”

“I’m, I think, I—“ John stammered, feeling like the world’s most colossal idiot. “I’m gonna shut up now,” he finished, sagging back against the wall.

“No,” Sherlock said.

“I beg your fucking pardon?!” God, and a minute ago, John had thought this insane person was amazing. What the hell was wrong with him?

“This is boring enough as it is. We might as well make conversation while I work. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?!” John pushed back against the wall to gain some height. He failed miserably and sagged back.

“Why did you stay in the closet?” The man paused, then chuckled. “And yes, I do appreciate the double entendre.”

“What—oh. I get it, very funny.” John felt his face grow warm again.

“Well?”

“You’re the detective,” John grumbled. “Shouldn’t you tell me why I’m in here? Seeing as you know everything else?”

“Very well,” Sherlock said and turned slightly sideways to look him up and down again.

“Oh God, no I didn’t mean—“ John groaned.

Sherlock flashed him a toothy grin. “Be careful what you wish for, doctor.” His voice seemed to have dropped another octave, and it made something warm and heavy unfurl in his belly.

“You get angry quickly, but it dissipates just as fast as it comes. You seem to have a streak of resignation in you, probably since you were invalided home. Understandable. However, you suddenly allowed yourself to speak up and yell at a complete stranger, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about.”

Sherlock smiled in the darkness. “You are a straightforward kind of man, no-nonsense; yet as soon as you’re faced with the utter nonsense of this situation, you relax for what’s probably the first time this month, judging from the buried tension in your muscles. You laughed when others would have been embarrassed or put off. You’re quite the study in contradictions, Doctor. Interesting.”

He shifted around a little and John felt an arm brush his side. “You clearly crave any kind of distraction from your monotonous life, but I think this particular odd occurrence is exactly the thing you needed and you’re only just realising it. Also, there’s the physical aspect. Elevated breathing – not claustrophobia – and a certain tone of voice? You’re attracted to me – bit odd, that, but perhaps it’s because you don’t know me yet, or perhaps simply because of the suggestive position in the closet, the whiff of the forbidden – who knows what kind of attractions the subconscious cooks up? At any rate, if you weren’t as fascinated by the weirdness, as attracted, or as desperate for excitement, I think you would have cried for Stamford the second I entered this closet.”

Sherlock paused. John blinked, completely dumbfounded. “Yes, you were right,” Sherlock sounded pleasantly surprised. “That was much easier than asking you to explain it.”

Several things rushed through John’s head all at once. He said the first thing he managed to grasp a hold off. “You’re a right berk, you know that?”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock grinned again. “I told you, it’s just because you don’t know me yet.”

John’s first impulse was to deny it outright. But before he could open his mouth, an inner voice just said, he’s right and you know it. Somehow, that made John feel free. Now that this virtual stranger had told him everything there was to know about him, there was no more need to pretend. So he was attracted to a man, big deal. He’d been attracted to plenty of men before, but he’d never confronted himself about it. Suddenly, he realised that Sherlock had told him things even his therapist had a hard time figuring out, which was amazing, truly; but he had also fired all of his ammunition and had practically nothing left to really bother John with. For the first time since he’d returned a broken civilian, John decided to throw caution to the wind and say whatever the hell popped into his head. It wasn’t like he’d ever see this Sherlock Holmes again once they were out of here.

He turned his torso just a little so that he was deliberately crowding Sherlock against the door of the closet. “So, you think I’m interesting, then?”

Sherlock froze. John saw a flutter of lashes in the tiny light beam. “Please,” he scoffed, but it didn’t sound nearly as derisive as Sherlock probably hoped. John grinned.

“You’re one to talk, you know?” He leaned over and up a little and quite deliberately spoke close to Sherlock’s ear. “You could have simply picked another locker. You saw the cane on the floor; you knew someone was in here. Anyone else would have made deliberate attempts to distance themselves in here, but you’re constantly all over me – so either you simply have no concept of personal space, or you’re actually hitting on me in the only way you can, by insulting me to my face – or both. I’m guessing with that kind of attitude you don’t get many friends, yes? Come on, I took psychology 101, your behaviour is pretty textbook. You insult everyone as quickly as possible, take it for granted they hate you and then you don’t have to worry about disappointing anyone ever again. Not a bad plan, to be honest.”

John took a moment to breathe. He could feel Sherlock standing absolutely still. “So. How’s that lock coming along?”

Sherlock clicked his jaw shut. “Impatient,” he grumbled.

“Sounds familiar?”

“Stop it.”

“What?” John grinned.

Sherlock’s head whipped around and the curls tickled John’s face. “Stop trying to do… the thing. Deducing me. It doesn’t suit you.”

“How do you know what suits me, you don’t know really me,” John pointed out.

Sherlock scoffed again. “Seriously? I just laid out your entire personality for you to look at and agonize over.”

“Oh,” John said casually, “but that was just the first impression, wasn’t it? And I think I’ve agonized over myself enough in the past few months. And I get the feeling you were a little surprised just now, and nothing much surprises you, does it? Not with a mind like that.” John was actually quite proud how calm he sounded, when really, his heart was dancing the samba by now. He hadn’t felt this alive since the last time he’d been on a battlefield. This whole conversation could go all kinds of wrong any moment now; in fact, with any other person, it would already have died under the weight of societal convention, politeness and the somewhat British necessity to maintain emotional distance.

Yet with Sherlock Holmes, this seemed to be the only way to chat. Of course, the man was still too observant. He’d given up on the lock picking entirely, it seemed. “Hmm,” he mused, and turned around. With his back to the crack in the door, he blocked out any remaining light. “I have to admit, you’re quite foolishly brave. It’s refreshing. Interesting. Surprising.” With each word, Sherlock inched closer. He leaned in and John felt a smooth cheek brush his own, the eye lashes beating butterfly kisses against his skin. He flushed and simultaneously felt the inconceivable urge to laugh out of sheer happiness. “You know, John,” Sherlock breathed, lowering his voice suggestively; and oh, the way he said his name. “I don’t indulge often in this sort of thing, but I have to say, you sure make being trapped in a closet a lot more entertaining than I’d imagined.”

John wanted to reach out and touch him. He wanted to see what he actually looked like with his hands. He wanted to know if this sort of thing was allowed. How it felt. But the last rational part of his brain told him that sooner or later, they’d get out of this closet, and he needed to at least not die of embarrassment for the moment before they turned their backs on each other.

“I’ll say,” John managed, and for a moment, he felt Sherlock grin against him, his lips briefly brushing his cheek.

Suddenly, Sherlock pulled back. A moment later, John heard why. There were footsteps approaching. “You know,” Sherlock said brightly, “I think this flat-sharing thing will work out splendidly. Don’t you?”

“Flat-sharing?”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock replied off-handedly. “Isn’t that why you went to lunch with Mike in the first place? I told him this morning I had a difficult time finding anyone I could stand living with. Next thing he traps me in a closet with an old friend who’s just returned from military service, looking for a place to stay.”

John let out a laugh and shook his head. But before he could say anything, the steps approached. “John? Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Mike’s voice rang out. He heard the jangle of a key-ring.

Suddenly, the door was unlocked and pulled open. Sherlock somehow managed not to fall backwards and stepped out of the cupboard gracefully. John slowly picked himself up from the wall he’d been pressed against and sighed.

Sherlock turned to Mike. “Yes, he’ll do,” he said with a wink and turned to leave.

John stumbled after him. “Wait, what?”

Sherlock stepped back and leaned into his personal space again. “Well, that was fun,” Sherlock murmured quietly. “We should do that again sometime.”

“But—“

“Got my eyes on a nice little place in central London, we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening seven o'clock.”

John suddenly felt the embarrassment rush up at the same time as a hopeful kind of excited. “We've only just met, and we're going to go and look at a flat?” He couldn’t help but notice that Sherlock picked up on his utter excitement and smirked.

“Problem?”

“I—I don’t even know the address.”

“221B Baker Street,” Sherlock said with a grin. “Now I’ve got to dash, I left my riding crop in the mortuary. Afternoon.”

John stared after the madman as he strode out of the lab, his coat flaring after him. Yes, he was actually as attractive as he’d sounded.

“Yeah, he’s always like that,” Mike said with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the closet thing.”

“Actually, that’s all right,” John grinned and huffed out a little laugh. “I think it did me a world of good, actually.”

Now on AO3 cause I like to be tidy ;-)

#sherlock #fanfiction #crack #alternate universe #trapped in the closet #yes it's also a metaphor #writings #writing prompt #AU #sherlock holmes x john watson #alternate first meeting #silliness

[feyreofthewildfire]

Rewrite the Stars (Lysaedion AU)

Aedion’s a bit of an optimist. Lysandra knows it’s not that easy.

Oh my god, I am complete and utter trash for ‘The Greatest Showman,’ and this is my new favorite song. Enjoy this quick and dirty Lysaedion AU that I wrote in half an hour. 

Note: Knowledge of ‘The Greatest Showman’ is NOT needed and there are no spoilers either!

Word Count: 1230

When no one else understands, at least the ropes do.

Lysandra had already stripped off the silly gown she’d thrown on in exchange for practice clothing, shapeshifted herself with the muscles necessary for her favorite act. True, she switched acts every night to keep the mystique, but she had always found herself back at the ropes—trapeze bars and aerial hoops that hoisted her high in the air, where she could fly without retribution, without being shot down.

Images of Aedion’s wretched parents run a loop in her head; the sneers on their faces, the disgust. It was nothing she hadn’t seen a thousand times before but in front of Aedion… Perhaps she had cracked. Perhaps it had mattered.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts that she almost misses the sounds of the doors to the stage opening—undoubtedly Aedion with some fanciful words to throw her way about how the opinions of others didn’t matter and that they could be together despite that.

As much as Lysandra wanted him… He could never understand. The scrutiny. The disgust. She was a shapeshifter, had been unable to control it in her youth. Even now, fully grown, everyone knew who she was. A freak of nature. Unnatural. Her magic was devious—she could rob a bank or kill someone, they all claimed, without anyone knowing it was her. Elemental magic could be traced back. Shapeshifting left limitless criminal possibilities, even if she had never wanted to commit any crimes.

“Lysandra!” She doesn’t bother to look up at the sound of her name, trying to finish taping her hands as fast as possible. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to fly—to forget even if only for a few hours, even if the ropes tore through the tape and made her bleed.

Aedion’s polished shoes stop at the base of the stairs she sits atop of, though now covered with the dust that lines the floor of the performance ring. “I.. I’m sorry about them. They don’t understand.”

She sharpens her teeth into canines only long enough to rip the tape, finally finishing her right hand. “And you do?” Lysandra looks up as she stands, taking in his disheveled appearance. His jacket has been lost somewhere, bowtie hanging undone around his neck, breathing heavy as if he’d ran to find her. She wouldn’t be surprised.

“I…” he stutters, “I won’t claim such a thing. But I don’t care, and neither should you. Let them say what they want.”

All she can do is scoff at his ignorance, walking over to the post where the rope had been wrapped. If she could get into the air, she wouldn’t have to listen to his nonsense anymore. “Spoken like a man who’s been given everything.”

Blessedly, he doesn’t follow after her. “I don’t want everything. I want you.”

Finally, the rope is loose. She walks to the center of the performance ring with it, preparing herself to be upheaved into the air—hoping for it. “Wanting isn’t enough, Aedion. Some things just… aren’t possible.”

He stalks over to her, coming toe-to-toe with her. “I don’t care what I have to do. I’d rearrange the sky for you.”

“Are you arrogant enough to think that the world will bend at your command? That oceans will rise and fall because you tell them to?”

The weight drops and she’d hauled into the air, hanging dozens of feet in the air. The air is easier to breathe above, her body on autopilot as she spins and wraps herself on the rope. It’s as though she’s free-floating in the air, uninhibited by the weights of society that hold her to the ground. In the air, Lysandra is anything she wishes to be. Nothing can stop her when she’s on her ropes—Not even Aedion Ashryver and his incessant dreams of a world that will not exist. At least, not in their time.

“That’s hardly fair.”

She spins herself to face him, looking down towards the ground with little pause. There was nothing to fear in a fall; she could simply shift into a bird. “Nothing is fair, Ashryver. I will not yield to you, and neither will the world. Get over yourself.” Thanks to gravity, she begins to descend back to the ground. Lysandra only wants to stay in the air.

“Let’s rewrite the stars then.” Aedion grabs the rope above where her own hand sits as her feet touch the ground again. He’s taller than her at this height, towering over her. She allows the hand that slowly sets itself on her waist. “No one needs to have a say in what we are except us.”

The rope lets go again, trying to pull her up. He stops it. A frustrated groan escapes from her. “Do you really think it’s that simple? There are mountain ranges and doors with no handle, not even a lock for you to pick. Some things can’t be done, no matter how much we may want.” She shoves him away, “Let go. You’re not trained for this, and even your brute strength won’t keep the weight down for much longer.”

As commanded, he backs away from her. “No one can rewrite the stars, Aedion. What you’re saying is impossible—and I’m not even the one you want. I’m just a… a commodity. Something new and shiny to play with. Please, just leave.”

His response is lost in the whirring of the ropes as Lysandra’s pulled into the air once again, this time hanging upside down with the rope coiled around her right leg.

There had been nothing to tie her hair back with, leaving it to fall freely towards the ground. Instantly, she makes it half the length. The weight of it on her head was unneeded, and she no longer cared what others thought—what Aedion thought. She’d left those prejudices on the ground below her, in a neat pile where’d she forced to pick them back up once gravity pulled her down.

Lysandra still wondered sometimes why she hadn’t opted to live as wildlife—to give up that human side of her and become the animal that her mother had always told her she was. Something ferocious, something mean. A snow leopard, or a mountain lion perhaps. Something that would be left alone.  

“It’s not impossible.”

She turns to her left and there he is—standing on the railing of the mezzanine like an idiot with a death wish. Which is what he was, if he wanted to be with her. Aedion only hangs onto the pillar next to him with a single hand, body leaning out towards her, easily over three dozen feet in the air. But he doesn’t look down. No, he stares at her.

Turning herself upright, she begins to descend from the rope, slowly falling towards the ground. Her feet touch the dirt floor with little more than a slight tap, her movements near silent as she rewraps the rope around the post. It seems that Lysandra would get in no practice tonight, after all.

“I’ve never hidden how much I want you—but wanting isn’t enough. My hands are tied.”

Aedion doesn’t make a sound as she walks towards the door, closing it behind her with nothing more than a soft click.

#throne of glass fanfiction #lysaedion #lysandra #aedion ashryver #lysaedion au #throne of glass au #lysandra caraverre #queen of shadows #empire of storms

[thelionshoarde]

obizanayuki photo!au

continued from here

“I just --” Shirayuki gasped for breath, her fingers suddenly slick enough on her camera that she nearly dropped it, relieved when the weight caught against the leather strap around her neck. “A moment! Take, uh, five?”

Obi stretched his arms up behind his head with an overly pronounced pout. His eyes glittered at her, but Shirayuki barely noticed; not when the pose pulled the swell of his biceps into stark, agonizing relief, the line of his trim, muscled torso devastating like this. God, how was he real.

“Fiiiiiiiine,” he said.

It didn’t count as running away if Shirayuki kept her gait to a power-walk, right?

Flustered, she threw herself at her assistant for the day, a bored thirty-something wearing sunglasses in-doors. Hangover, probably, which Shirayuki would feel kinder about if he hadn’t still managed to give her floral-patterned dress a scathing once-over even through the tinted shades.

“What is going on here?” she hissed, words tumbling quickly. “I thought -- Zen! Zen was supposed to be my model today!”

They were on location, an abandoned warehouse that let in light through broken planks and shattered glass. Shirayuki liked how cold the concrete looked, how the soft light filtering through made the whole environment look hazy and lost by time, and she had been eager about this -- a chance to prove herself to Izana, whose regard toward her so far made their locale look warm and welcoming by comparison.

But Zen had not shown up. Instead it had been Obi, striding in to where Shirayuki had blocked out a space before anyone had even noticed him. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he’d said, and Shirayuki, startled and confused, had looked over just in time to watch him shrug his shirt off.

“What,” she had gasped. “Who are --”

“I’m Obi,” he had winked, flinging his shirt to the side and rolling his neck. “You’re Shirayuki, right? The boss sent me. I’m your model today.”

“My -- my model?”

“Yes,” Obi enunciated, and despite the cruel cast of his smile he had been breathtaking, the slender beams of light glittering across his shoulder, his chest, catching on the curve of his thigh through worn, ripped jeans. He was a picture, all right: scarred and feral and terrifyingly handsome.

And then he had threatened to take off his pants.

Jesus, what was wrong with him?! Shirayuki rocked up onto her toes, trying not to bounce with nerves as her assistant let his sunglasses slide down his nose just enough to peer blearily at their surprise model. “Huh,” he said, and slid them back up.

Shirayuki lasted half a minute before she demanded, “What does that mean?”

“That’s Obi,” her assistant said with a shrug -- she thought his name was Greg or Ted; if he hadn’t been so into his act of suffering Shirayuki would have heard him when he’d introduced himself. “Izana’s personal assistant.”

“His -- his personal --”

Greg -- or Ted -- let his head tip over the back of his folding chair, nearly knocking over the bag with Shirayuki’s lenses as he stretched out his legs. “Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “Used to model, but he was terrible. Everyone hated him. Eventually he just sort of -- stopped, and started working for Izana instead, running errands and things, I guess. Hmm, wonder what you did to piss the boss off this much. You just started working for Clarines, what? A month ago?”

“I --”

“Forgive me if I can’t be bothered,” Ted smiled. “You won’t be here long enough to complain.”

And, just like that, Shirayuki’s assistant fell asleep. What an ass, she thought, fuming, because it was easier to think about Ted -- or Greg -- being a terrible human being than it was to consider the brutal reality: that Izana had sent her a model meant to make her fail.

He really did want to chase her out -- and for what? For being friends with Zen?

Outrageous. Childish. Damned annoying.

Turning on her heel, Shirayuki’s skirts flared out around her thighs. She didn’t know if Izana simply thought her so weak, or if he had some marginal scruples after all, but at least he hadn’t outright fired her for no reason. Yes, maybe he had set her up to fail, but Shirayuki was a photographer. Give her a camera and she still had a chance.

“Obi,” she said, gaze darting around the warehouse quickly. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. Sorry about being so, uh, surprised earlier?”

“Mm,” the model said, turning toward her with lazy grace. An eyebrow -- unbelievably fine; no wonder he had started as a model, he had a look to him -- arched mockingly at her. “A pleasure to meet you, I’m sure.”

Shirayuki grit her teeth.

“Do you have any triggers?”

“...What?”

At least he wasn’t looking at her like she was a silly toy given by Izana to amuse him. Shirayuki liked the way his face looked like this, confusion clouding his brow, mouth softening but still dangerous. Her fingers twitched toward her camera, but she let it lay inert, dangling from her neck.

“Is there anything I should know about you?” she asked. “Before we get started. Anything I could do that might upset you? Cause you discomfort?”

“That’s not --” Obi was handsome when he was amused, too, the tense line of his shoulders easing a little as he looped his thumbs through his belt loops. He was standing with his weight forward on one foot, the other bent gently at the knee with just the toe of his scuffed boot dragging against the concrete floor.

Honestly, Shirayuki wasn’t certain if he was posing on purpose, but it looked good enough to be centerfold on a magazine, damn it.

He said, “If you want to make it in this field you can’t care what the model thinks. This isn’t college.”

Shirayuki managed to keep from rolling her eyes, but just barely. The college crack wasn’t new; with her small stature and young looks and her bright, cheerful clothes, she knew what she looked like. It didn’t change the fact that she was good at what she did, and that she deserved to be here, working at Clarines.

“I care,” she said, staring him stubbornly in the eyes. “I won’t ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. It won’t matter to me -- I’ll still get the perfect shot.”

“Oh,” Obi breathed, eyebrows rising and a grin stretching across his face. “Will you, now?”

“Yes.” Stooping, Shirayuki reached for his discarded shirt. “Would you like to put this back on?”

That, apparently, was nearly a step too far. All at once Obi’s face went blank; Shirayuki kept her gaze carefully on his, strange and sharp and not at all sweet for all that his irises were the color of honey. Maybe it had been rude to suggest he might be uncomfortable showing off his scars? That he wouldn’t want to have them photographed? Shirayuki didn’t know. She only wanted to give him the option.

“Nah,” he drawled, “I’m fine like this, thanks.”

“All right,” she said, ignoring the way his body had seized up, all tight lines and rigid wariness. She tossed the shirt at him. “Originally I had planned on leaving Zen fully dressed, but this works, too. No triggers, then?”

“None,” Obi snapped.

Nodding sharply, Shirayuki circled him, finally giving in and scooping up her camera. She brought it up to hover near her chin, running her eyes over Obi. He was just as breathtaking as he had been before, mind-bogglingly handsome and an utter surprise. But this was a test. And Shirayuki had always been good at tests.

Obi twisted his shirt in his hands, narrowing his gaze at her. “What are you smiling at?”

click

“Oh, nothing,” she said, peeking up over the top of her camera. He looked disgruntled that she had taken a shot of him so suddenly, the shirt pulled taut between his hands, his biceps flexed. He looked away with a scowl, and Shirayuki took another three shots in quick succession, liking the line of his neck and the tilt of his hips.

“No,” she said, when he made to turn with her. “Stay where you are.”

The line of his tensed back was poetry, really, but Greg -- or Ted -- was in her shot. “Assistant,” she called. “I need you to move, please!” Another two paces to the right and she could angle it so that it was just Obi, his head half turned towards his shoulder, as though he couldn’t help tracking her. The sweep of his lashes fluttered against his cheek, jaw tight.

click

“Greg,” she snapped. “Move.”

At her suddenly strident tone, the assistant startled awake. “My name is Fred.”

“Sorry, Fred,” she lied. “But I am working here, and you are in the way. Please move the chair, your person, and anything else well out of the way.”

“What’s the point?” Obi muttered while Fred begrudgingly did as he was told. “None of these shots are going to be any good. They never are.”

Shirayuki circled back around to his front, camera bobbing down to her chin as she watched the fall of light across Obi’s chest, the way it caught against his forehead and made his eyes look even more mysterious, draped with a shadow. “Nonsense,” she said, and couldn’t help the way her voice sounded distracted. She brought her camera back up, peering at the screen and getting chills at the way he looked, the raw feeling in the twist of his mouth, the predatory way he held himself.

“You’re beautiful, Obi.”

#obizanayuki #photo!au #my fic #ans #superhappybubbleslove #i promise there is going to be izana #he is in the part directly after this but i didn't like how it was going #so i figured i'd post this first haha #also i have another one months later in the works #where they're all together #i dunno all my knowledge of this shit comes from when i used to watch antm #and a brief stint of black and white film photography in college #my writing

[jodiewhitaker-archive]

Okay so now that I’m back and I actually have stable wifi access I would like to do a more detailed post collecting my thoughts on Scherzo

(This sort of started out as actual commentary but turned into screaming, but really how does one discuss Scherzo without it turning into incoherent nonsense)

Basically me yelling about everything in order:

My main thought: Why was the Doctor so mean?? Like yep sure I can understand that he was angry with Charley for coming back, but surely that doesn’t excuse him being just downright cruel? They never really made it clear if it was because of the loss of his senses or the anti-time or whatever that he was acting so horribly (and I’ve already listened to Creed of the Kromon and there he’s pretty much back to normal?? what) but yeah that was like the one problem I had, everything else was amazing and horrifying at the same time so let’s scream about that

The CORPSE. The reveal that it was just one corpse, evolving, was just. disturbing. extremely so, I literally had to pause because it was too much. what? what? and also how did they make CORPSE EATING seem natural and not awkward at all I am scarED

“How long do you think it’s been since we’ve spoken?” “about half an hour” “nope actually 35 hours” that line was NOT OKAY it was emotionally scarring

Things were about to get much more emotionally scarring

Hold...my... hand... they held hands so long they fused together don’t talk to me

How does Paul McGann manage to deliver all these romantic lines (”the universe obviously think we were made for one another,” “of course I love you!” with such utter loathing?? please stop the paiN

“But I love you!” Doctor you complete jerk oh my god

“Pass the salt”

“Love, die, love, die, silly little girl stop the pain

oh mY GOD THEY WERE WALKING IN A CIRCLE NOT OKAY NOT OKAY

Charley’s face the corpse IT EVOLVED PLEASE NO WTF

I still have no idea what the sound creature was or how it worked or what it wanted but you know it’s just really damn creepy and I’m willing to accept that

The scene. The SCENE. They merged into a single entity while crumbing away into stone with a kiss and it was freaking horrifying but also amazing??

That scene is my wallpaper on my phone now and someone asked me what it was and I just went “oh my god”

Seriously not okay

I won’t even start on the weird child/mama/papa shit at the end because I just have. no words I am spent

They love each other and it’s canon and I can die happy

But also very traumatized

I listened to this on a 10 hour bus ride sitting beside my friend and occasionally I would just pause and take a breath and tell her what was going on and she just looks at me and goes “this is a standard anime plot??”

I went completely off the rails and tried to write a fluffy scherzo au for some reason and it’s possibly even more horrifying than the original but it’s also trash

I read all of the Eight/Charley fics. Why are there only like 20. I need to contribute

Lastly, the memes. The memes are awesome. I’m so glad tumblr decided to cope with the emotional trauma by creating a meme

#what is this and why did i write it #i need to scream about it #one post was apparently not enough lmao #eighth doctor #big finish #doctor who #scherzo #charley pollard #donna listens to big finish #donna is traumatized by scherzo

[mirkstrolls]

☽☢ ツ?

☽ Do you like writing angst? Why or why not?

Look…. it’s taken me a long time to be able to admit this, since being at the center of so much drama in the old group has left me kind of… gun-shy? But I’m utter garbage and I love writing angst. I love hurt/comfort and characters going through trauma and slowly recovering from it, and I love whumpy emotional conversations that leave both participants on the verge of tears, and I love couples learning to work around each others’ baggage, and I love writing things that make people go “OH NO THAT’S SO SAD!!” I don’t think I’d be as interested in a setting that’s explicitly designed to damage children if I wasn’t at least a little into angst, honestly! Although as is probably obvious from the above, if the angst is in a canon timeline I really prefer there to be a hopeful ending. Nonstop sadness spirals are really only good for Bad End AUs, though I have had my fair share of those.

☢ Are there any ships that you would like to write for one day? Any that you wouldn’t?

Oh my god, I never thought I was the kind of girl who planned out ships ahead of time bUT APPARENTLY I AM!!! Here’s some ones that will (probably) become canon that I’m super excited about:

Vide♣ Riccin [Tent Rope Braids]

Taz ♦ Liyiji [No ship name yet]

Widsth ♦ Arocle [Road to Bro Dorado]

Taz ♥ Warron [Burial Grounds]

Widsth ♥ Kadath [Written in the Stars]

Here’s some ones that are more tentative, but are a possibility at least:

Taz ♣ Sielan [So Perfectly Hectic]

Widsth ashen-nonsense with Oslian and Jerath

Widsth ♠ Pertha

Vide ♠ anyone at all (theories have been suggested including Mandra, Tiwani, and a brief and ill-fated fling with Pheres [otherwise known as Vide and Pheres get snippy until they realize they have no romantic chemistry at all])

As far as ships I’ll never play, mostly I’m okay with anything as long as I trust the other mun – unhealthy ships are fine as long as, like Mar said, it’s understood OOC to be unhealthy, and as long as it either gets broken up or the participants work out their issues at some point along the line. I won’t play ‘rails with pails though, because that squicks me to no end.

(Side note: I frequently have a hankerin’ to write ancestor ships, so this is again a reminder to people to throw their ancestors at mine if at all possible)

ツ Who has been your favorite muse to play so far? Why?

Widsth is the most fun to just throw at random people and see what happens! He’s flamboyant and silly and weird, and he has a tendency to just blurt things out – which can pretty much always get a fun reaction!

But Vide is also fun, because I like writing her weird speech patterns and she’s had so much development that it’s interesting to see where she’ll go next.

BUT Taz is really unbeatable for complicated political and religious thoughts, since the other two don’t care about those, and for challenging myself to write a grumpy characters, since I’m a bit of a pushover IRL.

SO ALL OF THEM.

(Or, uh, DSMI, who is just a bored teen liveblogging the Brewed Awakening experience)

#fractioustechnician #thank you for the ask! #dsmi #mirk on topic #munday meme #mirkstrolls answers #long post