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satans-helper · 1 year

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Reaching for Stardust - Part V

Read Looking For Space here / RFS on wattpad / Playlists

Word Count: ~4700

Warnings: drinking, some sexual content ;)

Hi <3

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The drive to the airport felt ungodly. The morning air was thick and humid and the sky was too cloudy to see the stars–pure darkness led the way. No sun, no moon, no nothing, and I kept dozing off in the passenger seat, feeling sorry I’d let Josh talk me into sitting up there next to his dad. Josh was awake, caffeinated but only temporarily I knew, and he kept chatting with his dad and singing along to songs that were drifting listlessly in and out of my own ears. I was still in a daze when we arrived at the airport but uncomfortably alert when it came to TSA time, although we both made it through without issue. Then came the time for us to march our way through the infinite-feeling space, the fluorescent lights lining every wall and tile and creating a false daylight that guided us along.

We located a Starbucks before we found our gate which we both used to our advantage–Josh could maintain his pep while I could actually gain some–and sat outside the gate, carry-ons in front of our feet, as we sipped our drinks and people-watched, taking note of who would be boarding the plane with us.

“He looks stressed,” Josh said quietly, nodding at an older man standing, leaning against the column just beyond the rows of seats, who was all tight shoulders and an even tighter face, staring at his phone.

“Sort of looks like he’s waiting for someone,” I said, taking another drink. I looked past him, half-expecting to see someone else rushing up to meet their friend or husband or whatever he may be, but the back and forth of the external crowd kept moving. I was feeling a little stressed myself with the caffeine triggering more anxiety than excitement–flying was a rarity and there was always some part of me that felt like something would go wrong, but that feeling was even more palpable now, a harsh bite against my gut that sent a red warning sign off in my head.

It must have showed in some way because Josh put his arm over my shoulders and leaned in close. “You okay?”

I nodded, sipping my drink again. “Yeah. Nervous to fly, I guess.”

“It’ll be okay,” Josh assured me. “It’s always better once we’re fully in the air, right?” He knew how much I hated take-off. On the other hand, he loved it.

The shuffle to our seats was slow and it felt laborious, everything and everyone so cramped, but we eventually got our bags in the overhead compartments and settled into our seats. Josh gave me the window and I was immediately fixated on the outside of the plane even without being in motion, trying to sink myself into our surroundings so I could sink the heavy feeling that was still torturing me. I didn’t even necessarily think anything bad was going to happen during the flight–the feeling wasn’t that specific–but it felt like something dangerous was coming.

I froze up against the seat when take-off began; Josh took my hand and held it gently between us, not saying anything. He didn’t need to. The contact, that soft touch, was enough to make the bad feeling drift a little further away and remind me that the literal physical, lurching feeling of our ascent was temporary–I squeezed his hand when things got a little rocky, as they always did, and kept my eyes out the window, watching the wing gradually tilt more and more, and then we were really soaring.

“Here,” Josh said, handing me the right earbud of his wireless set. I put it in my ear and Van Morrison was there, giving me some words about searching his soul that felt so right on that it was as though both he and Josh could read my mind. With that and the scenery below me, the two hours began to fly by. I watched the streams of clouds, stared down at the blue rivers, distant green fields and the terracotta mountains that looked so shallow and small from way up above, listened to Van in my right ear and the subdued chatter of passengers in the left, while Josh intermittently stroked my hand, arm and leg, lost in his own world of the book he’d smartly brought along. I always liked watching him read, honestly–he couldn’t control his facial expressions with anyone or anything, certainly not when he was by himself with a book, and I observed him for a couple minutes here and there between gazing out the window. Soon enough, the pilot was announcing our descent and Josh was squeezing my hand to keep me level.

Josh had also been smart by reserving a car rental before our trip. Despite his ADHD brain and general attachment to the big picture versus details, he’d really come through with this trip. Of course, that was almost entirely because it’d been a secret from me.

I’d imagined lots of walking around the city but when we started to drive to our airbnb, it became clear that we really were staying in the suburbs. That didn’t diminish any of the allure, however–I was transfixed by this new place, mystified by the soft blue sky, the palm trees lining the streets, the thick vegetation growing in people’s lawns and the breeze that drifted through the car’s cracked windows. The air smelled so different and felt different, too–its warmth was unfamiliar but inviting. The neighborhood we were staying in was so different, the streets lined with little bungalows that sat close together but were largely protected by those deep green gardens everyone seemed to be so fond of.

The neighborhood clearly wasn’t where affluent people lived and the exterior of our airbnb solidified that, but the inside was surprisingly chic and spacious. Dark hardwood floors led the way to an open living room and kitchen, with a small enclosed porch off the living room; the kitchen was all dark tile and granite, the counters bare except for a Keurig machine and a toaster on one end.

“This is so you,” I said to Josh while we made our way down the short hallway, hauling our bags behind ourselves and over our shoulders. The walls were a warm sienna brown and there was indigenous artwork everywhere. “I see why you chose it.”

“I mostly chose it because of that porch, actually,” Josh said. “It was hard to find a place with any kind of real yard space. That’s the best I could do. Though I bet we’ll be spending most of our time out on the town, you know?” In the master bedroom, which seemed to harbor the most natural light out of everywhere else in the house, he dropped his bags onto the floor and stood at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips, observing. “I like it.”

I followed suit, happy to free myself of the extra weight of clothes, shoes and toiletries threatening to burst the seams of my bags. I was a notorious overpacker; Josh was skilled at paring down to basic needs and a few “special” things only. I liked the bedroom too–it deviated from the main parts of the house. Its walls were a pale blue and bright windows and sheer curtains that would no doubt make sure we got up early each morning; the king-sized bed that was tucked perfectly with crisp white sheets and harbored a couple interesting throw pillows–one was shaped like a clam shell and the other was a conch shell. Cute, though we weren’t quite ON the beach. We would be soon, though. One thing Josh made sure to tell me as a selling point was Tybee Island being a short drive away.

“It’s nice,” I affirmed, getting one arm around Josh and holding him close. Since we’d landed, my prior anxiety and dread had disappeared–it felt impossible to have such a heavy heart in such a foreign and beautiful place. “But there’s two other bedrooms. What are we gonna do with those?”

“Maybe there’s ghosts,” Josh said, grinning and raising his eyes as he looked at me. “Savannah has a lot of them.”

“Can we do a ghost tour one of these nights?” I asked, remembering the slew of information I’d seen on those during my Google research. We had three nights to tear the town up, as far as I was concerned, and why not try to connect with some spirits?

“Of course, my spooky darling.” Josh got his arms around me in turn and spun us around, careening us both forward so my back collided with the bed and he landed on top of me. He was still grinning, his hands positioned on either side of my head keeping him from crushing me, though he knew I loved feeling his full weight on top of me any chance I got. “I’m so glad we’re here. It’s gonna be the best trip ever.”

I put my hands on his chiseled, hard waist. “Best birthday ever?”

He grinned even bigger, teeth biting into his bottom lip as if he were trying to pull it back. “It could be. Why not?” He let the weight of his lower body fall, pressing his hips against mine, and brought his mouth to my neck. “I’m in a beautiful place with an even more beautiful woman.”

I giggled softly at the ticklish sensation from his facial hair rubbing against my skin. “So really–what inspired all of this? I mean, why pick this city?”

“Why not this city?” Josh replied, then nibbled my earlobe, making me giggle louder and his whole body making contact with mine and his languid touches that made their way underneath my clothes made me forget how badly I wanted a real answer.

We drove into town later on when we were mostly unpacked and hankering for a real meal for the first time that day. Josh let me decide and we ended up at what seemed to be one of the most popular diners in town, with a line of waiting, hungry people trailing down the sidewalk. Josh and I shifted weight from foot to foot during our own wait and I kept peering at the old apartments across the road and down the street, with large, long windows that were frequently covered in tangled green vines. Everything looked old and full of carefully constructed detail. What had been curious to me, as we’d walked from our street parking spot to the diner, was how there seemed to be very few houses in the actual city, just lots of apartments within what used to be full houses, though many of them looked big, maybe even bigger than the houses in our temporary neighborhood.

After lunch, mostly stuffed with french fries and a giant sticky pecan roll Josh and I had shared, we set out on foot. That was when we saw the sprawl of independent houses–large, colorful, beautiful and no doubt expensive. They were set close together like the apartments though, lacking true yards, but I could imagine waking up within all those big windows and stepping out into the heart of the city each morning and how accomplished those people who actually live those lives must feel. It was like this everywhere though, really–visiting a new place and speculating how the native inhabitants lived, what brought them there, how they got to their place in life, what they did every day.

I often felt like a bit of an imposter when I was in a new place, like everyone there could tell I was just a visitor, but Savannah may have been the most profound in that way. It was a tourist city for sure, with Josh and I being far from the only ones who probably stood out. That helped, to not feel so alone in living up to the stereotypes of a tourist while we perused through little shops selling Savannah and Georgia t-shirts alike, magnets, keychains, mugs and beach bags. Josh kept trying on different pairs of sunglasses everywhere we went, not settling on a new pair until I had managed to settle on a t-shirt with an alligator printed on it, and he wore them as we walked down the boardwalk by the river.

The sun was high and hot but the breeze helped; more than that, the array of characters along the boardwalk served as a distraction as we moved in and out of those shops and then finally sat on a bench with big iced cocktails. There was a man playing a trumpet in the middle of it all, spouting a different, comical tune for every person who walked by him. I expected Josh to make a point to parade past him just to hear what the man would play, but he stayed sitting next to me, sipping his honeydew and mango drink while I sipped my strawberry margarita.

“We should go out tonight,” Josh said as we watched a huge boat go by, more music soaring from somewhere inside of it.

“Even though we’re celebrating your birthday tomorrow?”

“We have every day and night we’re here to celebrate,” he told me, knocking his plastic cup against mine. “Let’s make the most of this first one.”

“That rooftop bar I saw on Google earlier did look really cool,” I said, my eyes still on the boat as its tail end moved further and further away, the people on it getting smaller and smaller. “Can we go there?”

“Anywhere you want.”

We ate dinner in this small and tightly packed restaurant modeled after a trailer, with photographs of actual trailers backlit by sunsets hanging on the walls. The place was cute but loud–Josh and I had to yell at one another across the little square table, trying to surmount not only the clamor of our fellow patrons but the loud array of pop and soft rock that blared in from the speakers. We ate fried chicken and fried pickles and I had another, albeit smaller, margarita, and then we headed back to our rental to change.

We both kept ourselves free of glitter for the night but Josh declared us “two stylish cats” nonetheless. Josh was wearing a fitted white tee and a pair of shiny gold pants he’d found at a thrift store and they’d gotten a little tighter since he initially bought them–his glutes, quads and calves were delectable curves accentuated by the fabric–and the bull pendant to top everything off. Once we were both ready, I scouted out an uber to bring us back downtown. I was itching to give Josh his birthday present a little early but kept it in its little wrapped box back in my suitcase, silently deciding this whole night was a gift to both of us in and of itself.

“Do you think there’s a password or something?” Josh asked me while we approached the main door to the rooftop bar. It was tucked away in the corner of a cobblestone courtyard, not far off from the boardwalk, with a large fountain in front of it. Neon lights glazed the water, making the endless streams glow in hot pink, electric blue and vivid green, giving real truth to its name of Electric Moon Skytop Lounge.

“Doubt it,” I said, though I hadn’t thought about it. I took Josh’s arm in my own, linking us together as we made eye contact with the bouncer standing outside. “Maybe just a door fee or something.” But there was not, just the usual ID check. As always, whenever I caught a glimpse of it, I stifled a giggle at Josh’s old driver’s license photo, with his short-cropped curls and goofy smile, the face of someone I hadn’t met yet but who the universe had generously placed in my path.

An elevator took us to the roof. The place wasn’t quite packed but it wasn’t dead–it was the perfect sort of in-between, with half of the actual bar flooded with people leaning over the glossy cocktail menus or their phones and the rest of the space harboring plush leather seats. There was no door to the actual outside roof–it was just a huge gap in the space, a wide open entrance and exit that was letting the comfortable breeze waft in and dissipate the clashing scent of various colognes and perfumes from the patrons.

The cocktail menu was extensive and I couldn’t decide what flavor I wanted–what would fit this mood, with the balmy darkness beckoning us outside, the loud dance music that most of the people were neglecting to groove to, the bar backsplash of bright white lights that bounced off Josh’s crisp t-shirt?

“You should stick with tequila,” Josh recommended while he scanned the menu along with me, our arms touching. “We’re OLD now and can’t mix drinks as well as we used to.”

I scoffed. “We are not old, Joshua. Young forever, remember?” I caught his smile in the corner of my eye and I smiled too as I resumed my perusing of the menu. “Alright, then. Moon Margarita it is.”

“Wait!” Josh exclaimed, grabbing my arm. “Shots. We should do shots.”

My stomach clenched at the thought. “The birthday boy wants shots? For real?”

He laughed, bouncing next to me. “Yes, for real! Come on, please? When’s the last time we did shots?”

“Not since we were with the guys, I’m sure.” I sighed and patted the menu, finalizing my decision. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Two shots and two cocktails each later, Josh and I were perpetually giddy and as electric as all the lights shining on the river, sitting at a high-top table at the edge of the patio and sharing a cigarette. He only ever pulled those out on special occasions, keeping a pack to himself that would last for months, and the nicotine was curling through my blood, buzzing in my brain, making everything seem even more brilliant. Sitting there with him, I no longer cared that he’d kept this all a secret–it was a beautiful, fun and special secret and I was actually glad it was just the two of us. At the core of it all, that’s kind of how it had become and years prior to knowing Josh, the thought of that would have nauseated me–being tethered to one person had always seemed scary but, more than that, like simply a bad decision. I’d never questioned it with Josh, though. We had our tribe–my friends, his friends, his family, my family–but the bond between the two of us felt unbreakable in a way I hadn’t known before. The world could crumble around us and I was confident some piece of Josh and I would remain.

“God,” I said, tapping the cigarette into the blue glass ashtray on the table, then laughed. “I’m wasted, Josh.”

He laughed with me and took the cigarette back when I passed it across to him. “Me too, darling. But in the best way. Like, just the right amount.” He turned as he took a drag, lashes fluttering as he looked out over the water. “This is great. I really love this place.”

“Me too,” I echoed, following his gaze to the river. “This might be the coolest bar we’ve ever been to.”

“The bar, yes. Or lounge, whatever,” Josh said with a wave of his arm, his hand holding the cigarette letting the curls of smoke soar through the air. “But the whole city, too. I just love it. It’s got such charm.”

I tilted my head, so drunk and forever enamored, and smiled. “It does. So do you.”

He extended the cigarette back to me once more. “Charming enough to buy you another drink?”

“Wait, no,” I protested, putting the cigarette between my lips as I rifled through my bag. Through the obstruction and the slight drunken slur that was happening, I said, “I should’ve been buying you the drinks the whole time. It’s your birthday.”

“Hey, hey, no, absolutely not,” Josh scolded, laughing, and began to get up from the table. “We’ve been over this a thousand times.” He came over to me, kissed my cheek, and whisked away, calling out, “Be right back!”

I sighed but laughed just the same and worked on finishing the cigarette as I checked my phone. It wasn’t quite midnight yet but I figured I’d forget later on to text Jake happy birthday, so I sent that text with a selfie of Josh and I in front of the fountain in Forsyth Park and a little sentimental message about missing him. I felt myself slipping into too much of the inebriated heartache and willed myself to stop, bringing my attention back to the glittering black river and the sounds around me, the feeling of the night air and the moon suspended within it, right above me.

When it was, in fact, officially midnight, Josh and I were walking out of the cobblestone courtyard back up to the streets, preparing to hitch our next uber. I was looking at the map with the little cars following zig-zagging lines when I noticed the clock change; I pulled Josh aside and behind a thick oak tree while real cars wheeled past us on the dark road.

“Happy birthday, beautiful,” I said, hugging him against my body, with my lips right against his ear.

He giggled, a sound frequently reserved for drunken nights. “Thank you, darling. Another trip around the sun. I feel wiser for it.”

“You are wiser,” I agreed, closing my eyes, keeping him there. He hugged me right back and left us to slightly sway on the sidewalk, our faces brushed gently by each other’s hair and the night breeze.

Back in our temporary home, we were a further mess of drunken giggles and increasingly heated touches until we were actively ruining the white sheets with our mingling sweat. I felt less head-drunk since we’d started kissing and touching, Josh’s hands extra exploratory and wandering, but the body buzz was exacerbated; I couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled from my chest as Josh kissed, and inadvertently, tickled my neck and ears and I couldn’t stop my own hands from wandering in turn. His skin was warm and soft beneath my fingers and the muscles in his arms flexed while I grazed over them and he tried to maneuver us both, to get the rest of our clothing off. My fingertips found the column of his neck and I traced up his throat to his jaw, caressing the sharp lines there and the softer lines of his mouth before I brought that back to mine to devour.

“I’m ready for a present now,” Josh said when he pulled back, dark eyes shimmering in the moonlight filtering through the window.

“Blowjob?” I asked in earnest, mentally readying myself for the task.

“Ha!” Josh let out loudly, throwing his head back, which made me laugh in disbelief. He shook his head then and tapped my nose with one fingertip. “Nope.” With that, he crawled down the bed until he was on the floor in front of it, grabbed my ankles to yank me down, then planted his face right between my thighs.

“Shit,” I hissed, squeezing my eyes shut while I latched onto his hair with my fingers. I hadn’t been expecting that and the sensation was so sudden and intense that I was already trembling. Josh remained there, his hands gripping my thighs, and sent little vibrations up my spine with his muffled moans; it didn’t take long until I was seeing stars and clawing at his scalp, trying to push him off in my hyper-sensitive state.

Mercifully, Josh did. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he came back up and pressed his hips between mine, kissing me and sliding through the slick wetness that was all thanks to him. I shut my eyes and let go, let myself become lost in all of his touching and the song that expanded in the room with our mutual moans, sighs and soft words. I felt like I was slurred and nearly unintelligible, but Josh was as eloquent as ever; he sighed praise and affirmations into my ears and against my cheeks and lips while he thrust deep and intentional within me.

Lying in the afterglow, we snuggled underneath the warm sheets; I pet Josh’s curls back and traced lines down his neck and chest while he curled himself against me. “I love you, Starshine,” I said, mostly sober then and not even all that tired. But Josh’s ability to become so quiet and still once we were in bed together was almost contagious, even if my mind didn’t always slow down at the same pace.

“Mmm,” Josh hummed against my collarbone. “Love you more.” He looped his arms around me and squashed me into a hug while squashing his own face into my neck. “I want us to be together forever.”

I laid one arm over my head to give us both more breathing room. “I think we’re doing that,” I told him. It was true. “I’m either gonna be with you forever or be with nobody forever. You know that.”

Josh nodded. “You’ve told me. Sometimes I just need a reminder.”

I played with the curls at the base of his neck. “I love you more than the sun, moon and stars combined.”

He giggled softly. “That’s a lot of love,” he said, then popped his head up to pop a quick kiss onto my lips. “I love you more than the whole universe.”

I chuckled. “You always have to one-up me, don’t you?”

Josh settled back down, his eyelashes fluttering against my neck. “No. Just stating facts.”

“Wait!” I said, suddenly alarmed and wide awake, and shot up from the bed to scramble around for something clean to wear. “I have to give you your real present.” I rifled through my bag to throw on a t-shirt and shorts before I retrieved the box wrapped in sapphire blue paper from the small pocket that had been keeping it safe.

Josh sat up and I met him halfway up the bed, placing the box on his sheet-covered thigh. “You really didn’t have to get me anything,” he said, laying his long fingers over the paper. “This trip was more than enough.”

“I like getting you presents. It’s just one thing,” I said, wishing I’d remembered to give it to him earlier. “But I saw it and thought of you.”

He leaned back and to the side, straining to reach the lamp on the nightstand. “I imagine I’ll need some light for this. Jewelry?” he asked, grinning at me before he looked down, concentrating on peeling back the paper.

“How’d you know?” I quipped, smiling too. I never had to worry about whether or not Josh would like what I got him–the bull pendant from our first anniversary was still hanging around his neck and I was sure he’d be pleased with the change.

When the box was opened and Josh was holding up the chain in one hand, the pendant twirled in the air and the tiny jewels caught the light and it really did look like a small, brilliant golden star he could keep over his heart. He laid the pendant down in his open palm and traced the sharp triangles and gemstones with his fingers.

“I absolutely love it,” he said, his touch moving up the length of the chain, then he looked up and smiled at me. “It’s very me.”

“I thought so, too.” I leaned over him and kissed the top of his head. “For my Starshine.”

Josh put the chain over his head and the starburst–I was committed to it being a star now, not a sun, because it just suited him so well–settled over his chest, right beneath the shiny bull pendant. He grabbed my arm with one hand and the back of my head with the other, pulling me to him, pressing his lips to mine that caused a different kind of starburst in my own heart.

“Thank you, darling,” he said before kissing me again.

It was always gratifying when Josh was seemingly at a loss for words. I toyed with the pendant while I stroked his shoulder with my other hand. “You’re welcome,” I replied, knowing he would be in my orbit forever, he’d be my stars and moon and universe forever, he’d be mine forever.

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Tagging: @jjwasneverhere @colorstreammind

#josh kiszka #josh gvf #greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka x reader #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #danny gvf #sam gvf #jake gvf #gvf fic #josh fic #lfs #rfs #gvf fan fiction

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sleepymarmot · 10 months

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The Giggle

Obviously my memories of the original serial are very vague after a decade, but the Toymaker seems pitch-perfect. Well done everyone! I'm imagining time travelling to my past self to tell her that the obscure villain she just saw is on new who and faces off against the Doctor who is now capable of openly expressing emotion and Donna who's made a full recovery.

I'm less enthused about the second half of the episode. The dance number was fun but felt too much of a retread of I Can't Decide, especially after Rasputin only last year. The bi-generation also felt less like a bold new addition to the canon, and more like tentoo take two. (In both cases, the outcome is both overly sweet and feels kind of treacherous in its sweetness.)

It's a bit worrying what this means for the future of the show. At least tentoo was shoved into an alternate universe, never to be seen again. What does the presence of another Doctor on Earth mean both for the franchise, and for the world within the story? Is the "main" Doctor going to avoid the "secondary" one forever? Or is Fourteen going to keep hanging around indefinitely? Is there a spinoff planned about Fourteen's adventures? Are the two of them going to team up? How is every disaster set on present-day Earth going to be explained now that the Doctor is a permanent resident?

Also, the claim that the Doctor has never settled down before... Come on, The Time of the Doctor? The Husbands of River Song??? Settling down for years somewhere in a December episode is almost a tradition by now!

Other notes:

I thought the twist with the puppet head in the cold open would be that it's a real human head that was removed from its body and set on fire. But I guess that would be more of a Moffat territory.

My first reaction to bi-generation: ah so that's why they made Fourteen wear so many layers!

The Doctor finally got his Agent of Asgard moment!

Speaking of other media, I think we need a contest for the best Fourteen Fifteen joke about this episode.

Missing scene between the main events and the epilogue: Fourteen awkwardly asks either Donna or Kate for spare underwear.

I know Fourteen is such a sweetie specifically because he's a special incarnation that exists only for the anniversary and its feel-good content, and given enough time and normal episodes he would have shown his shittier side just like every incarnation does... But it still feels so nice to watch Tennant play an incarnation that doesn't piss me off. The show, and the Doctor with it, have grown so much since Ten.

#doctor who #dw spoilers #liveblogs and reviews #blah blah blah #i have 80+ posts queued... finally returning to the form

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richardsphere · 6 months

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Leverage Redemption Log: The Muddy Waters Job

Penultimate episode, with a name that implies ambiguity and shady-ness (also potentially actual mud, EG: a company that's been deforesting a mountain and as a result destabilised it/removed the soils ability to absorb rain into treeroots and caused mudslides that killed people.)

Yeah this is definitly gonna be a 2-part finale in disguise, ending on some kind of cliffhanger. (knowing the show, and how they've kept teasing "harry is still keeping secrets" and "Harry's old firm still kind of wants him back cause he's good at being evil" im gonna say, probably ends with Harry "defecting" to team Evil again, only for the finale to do a Trojan Horse reveal). --- Little Modern-day Romeo and Juliet scene? Unfortunately as Juliet descends of the balcony she is shocked to find a kidnapper? Well that is awkward.

Romeo runs in front of the Would-be-kidnappers car and makes him crash it (he's dead now). --- Ok so I dont watch Who, but my family does and I get the references. (do wonder if they ever get in trouble cause people assume its an obviously fake name, or if they just "Parents agreed mom gets to name the odd-number children and dad the evens."-splain it away)

Also why is Hardison using the presumably female River Song ID?

Teddy Bear, Sophies Personal Irregulars are making a return (or at least one of them is). So this is gonna be one of those "is she re-retiring" plotlines.

Wait... Julliet is Harry's daughter? (Alsoi thought his daughter was a "Nick?"-name, not saying he cant have multiple kids or anything, but its weird to have a second kid dropped on us?) Any way "Becky" is confiding in her dad (apparently a child-tracking app works both ways. Normally i'd complain about parents violating childrens privacy, but the dad in question used to be a billionaire's personal lawyer, the kind of person who makes enemies that may have a desire to put pressure on him to "fail" in his job. So with her being a particularly high-risk kidnapping target. Im gonna say he's justified in putting it there, but not necessarily in trying to be sneaky about it)

Ethan and Ex-wife (Maybe she is Nick? Was he on the phone with his wife talking about his daughter in the christmas special instead of talking to his daughter?)

--- Ethan is the CEO of an oil company. Im sorry Harry you have some splaining to do if you want us to trust this guy. (Presumeably Harry is right and its the "not so good" members of the company trying to coup him)

Harry thinks its a competitor trying to get GulfOil to go back to being Black after it started a pivot to Green. (absolutely not, its an inside job)

Harry, I get that you are presenting this stuff the way you'd present a case (Story first, disclosure second) but this is definitly a "disclosure first" case. Also Breanna is on Strike, (minor note to the writers: Parker should know that striking is an option. IE: Hardison in the Gold Job)

Ok admittedly not a good look for Harry to be trying and get Sophie to Scab on Breanna as a hacker. --- Parker and Elliot arrive to the interogation mid-assasination. (my guess: the man isnt an assasin or kidnapper, he's an attempted whistleblower trying to reach Ethan)

Ok guy in a suit showed up with his grandkid, says that would-be-assasinee works for him against his (the employer's) will. --- Suit is a lawyer working pro-bono to deal with the oil spill. Vantons kid has leukemia from Benzene (oil) poisoning the groundwater after a hurricane caused a mudslide (muddy water).

Ethan isnt the good man Harry thinks he is, he's just a PR Guy.

"every bit of data is in the hands of the legal team", and there we have our motive for Harry to turn Trojan Horse. Be part of Legal Team=Get the Data. Harry's gonna double-check Ethan, (he still has faith in his ex-wife's husband) Wife's name is grace (Seriously am I misremembering a Nick? I swear that was the name he used on the phone). Parker is waitstaff, (classic Bard and Rogue)

Ethan insists that though he'd love to pay her a check legal refused (also insists they do have the wrong company. I think this might be the number 6 job again. Good Corpo being forced by Bad Corpo.

Better encryption then expected, little stall here. ("gonna have to card you" is a great compliment if you're old enough) Sophie is gonna go after the evidence,

Legal doesnt actually have real data. All they have is doctored stuff. (real data is on probably the oil rig, the less people know your crime, the less potential for whistleblowers) The question is still if Ethan knows.

And there it is, "he lied to my face", fucking damnit. Im gonna be honest, im a bit dissapointed there, Like i get we need a bad guy and we're too far into the episode to make it anyone but Ethan without having to do a really late character introduction but man... I really hoped we'd get a non-evil stepparent. We need more good stepparent representation in media. Its a hard position, with strange powerdynamics as you try to fill an already semi-taken chair at the dinnertable and figure out the role of parent to a child. (remember, most parents have 2-3 years of learning opportunity before the kid forms their first permanent memory, stepparents have to figure it out from scratch while the kid is already old enough to know what it's like to be alive. Now imagine having that struggle in a world where the only cultural referenceframe a kid has for "stepparent" is Lady Tremaine and you can see why we need more examples of good stepparents in media)

--- So... Breanna can just see into Elliots flash-forward imagination sequence? Also the fact that our formula-mandated once-an-episode Elliot fightscene is taking place in a hypothetical flash-forward tells me the mission is gonna go way South. Like "hey look how flamable this chemical accelerant pumping station is" type of "goes south". --- Harry is watching his daughters house. Talk about morality being seperate from legality, honour amongst thieves. --- Back on the Rig, Parker is shocked to find that Breanna's never been on a helicopter before.

Maria calls Elliot (i thought phones werent allowed on the rig?) and they talk relationship status. (another thing that is gonna go South before the end of this two-part finale)

Harry is talking with Grace. Elliot is asking Parker for relationship advice (she's shocked to be considered an authority)

Sophie discovers that the time limit is 1 hour, not multiple days, and unfortunately the rest of the team is out of celular reach.

Ok so personal phones arent allowed but Satelite Phone is. Good to know. Nice improv conversation. --- Elliot suprised to find he doesnt have a dozen mooks to punch, mysterious stranger aproaches from behind: his cover is blown. Harry and Sophie are trying to figure out a way to stall for time. Elliot ready to knock heads, finds a "you're a dad"-party held for him. (most heartwarming heist-complication in the history of the show)

The look on Parker's face when she realises how Sophie just accidentally solved ALL of their problems by clearing every worker from every station except the cameras.

"rewire this whole place so we can send it back", you mean open up all the electrical wiring, posibly causing a bunch of sparks and setting the entire rig ablaze? Bad Plan. --- The Raw Data doesnt exist because the machine mucks the math at the source. (Thats... suspicious? Are we sure Ethan is evil? Cause at this point all evidence we have of him being evil is "Harry thinks that Ethan has a tell)

Why in the hell do they have a CAMERA POINTED AT THE LEAK. So im fairly certain that this might technically count as a discovery violation. But also this is now clearly publicly available information.

The judge agrees that this evidence is unproven, and insists that though it cannot prove guilt it defintly means that the defenses assertions ("they havent been able to prove a causal link" is not correct. This opens us up to further discovery.)

No Sophie, that is not what this means. This means that they're about to destroy the evidence before the Department of Whatever Governing Body Is Responsible can find it by destroying the oilrig. (its a single old rig tapping into a drying well. It would be more profitable to write it off as a loss and blow it sky high then risk hundreds of multi-million dollar suits)

Ok so was Harry doing this to get back with his wife? I dont think so, i think he's trying to redeem himself to be worthy of his daughter, wife doesnt count into it. He's just legitimately shocked at his wife's apathy to her new husbands evil. (but then, she married you so... maybe she's just got a taste for bad people.)

Breanna with the video, goddamn man. Props to the writers for using the fight-scene subversion to make us personally like the people who just died. These might be the first post-leverage victims in the shows entire run. --- Harry is at RIZ playing presenting himself as a Trojan Horse.

#leverage #leverage redemption #leverage redemption season 1 #The Muddy Waters Job

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noddytheornithopod · 9 months

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ask for no reason! Favourite companion for each (modern) Doctor

Let's see...

Nine: Wow, this is a really difficult one... who could there be... Rose. *remembers Jack counts* Eh, still Rose. Jack felt more like a guest companion only being in it for five episodes (only three stories), and of course I haven't listened to Big Finish so I can't judge from that, so Rose wins by default. She had the most complete relationship with the Doctor anyway, and that all worked out. I actually prefer the dynamic she has with Nine than Ten. I'm not anti-companion romance, but I just found Ten and Rose's dynamic being happier and less complicated less interesting, even if Doomsday is a massive gut punch.

Ten: For years I said it was Donna... but that's actually changed since my rewatch. I think Martha slightly edges her out. It kind of comes down to just me having a soft spot for the most underappreciated (seriously when they brought her back in Series 4 she didn't do much of note until the finale and even that's debatable) but I do really like how she basically decided she was tired of the Doctor's shit and also understandably needed a break from everything after all the shit the Master did. I hear she even gets unlucky in Torchwood.

As for why Donna got slightly bumped down... I think it's a couple things. First... revisiting the Meta-Crisis as I'm older? Kinda total bullshit. I envy kid me who was able to just run with it, now I'm just seeing total nonsense. I still love Donna... but I'm not really sure how I feel about the culmination of her self worth being basically "she absorbs the Doctor's brain so now she can be like him". Not to mention there's an absurd amount of ass pulls to make meta-crisis stuff work in the story. For other things... I think it's just that she's kind of been elevated in a way that was unncecessary? I'll explain under 14's section.

Honorary mention for Wilf I guess even if he's more a guest companion? Still loveable as ever even as growing up I now feel he has some major boomer energy lol (look I think he's pre-boomer but you get what I'm saying). Imagine him in the room with Christopher "parasite in chief" Eccleston when he's telling people to show respect for the queen for example, lol. But yeah, joking aside, it's amazing how much heart he's able to bring to being the supportive grandad of Donna.

Ugh if I listed Wilf as a guest companion but wrote about him anyway, then I'll have to also give an honourable mention to Adelaide Brooke. One episode, but she was amazing in it (it's also awesome to see the Doctor play off an older, less wide eyed woman for once), even as she had one of the darkest endings for a central character yet.

Eleven: This is a weird one, because this is what I remember the least, having watched his era the least of everyone's recently (and I didn't even see eps with Amy and Rory). Honestly... I'm not sure how much stock I put in anyone here. If I HAD to pick, I'd actually say Clara, but I think that just comes down to me loving Day of the Doctor and Jenna Coleman being great in the role even if she was just a walking mystery box in Series 7.

So why not Amy and Rory despite being actual characters here? Look, the main stuff I remember about them is basically Rory falling under the "henpecked husband" trope and Amy treating him poorly through that, not to mention you have weird stuff like them needing to get back together like three times (with Asylum of the Daleks being an especially bad example). Just not my thing.

I guess River Song could count since this was the era she'd count as a companion... but her best appearances are the episodes with Doctors that aren't Eleven (and having now seen Husbands of River Song I literally only think the final scenes are genuinely great there). Funny how that works. :v

Twelve: Nardole. Just Nardole.

...okay enough kidding around. I think I'd say Bill here. I don't really know her in and out and I haven't seen most of Series 10 in ages, but not only was it nice to see Moffat finally write a character that doesn't fall into his usual female companion tropes, but her dynamic with the Doctor was genuinely refreshing, and is honestly still pretty unique in the modern era.

I will say that I do think Clara could potentially give her competition though. I think I'd need to revisit Series 8 to be sure (aka where she's arguably the least likeable lol), but I do think her Doctor-companion dynamic is genuinely one of the most fascinating even if not everything worked in that era. Also, I'd need to see how much their relationship is able to step above the usual domestic abuse BS Moffat can't help but insert cuz he loves his dominant women, lol. Huh, Capaldi gets all the cool unique dynamics huh?

Thirteen: ...can I say Dan? For the memes? No? Fine. What's the point of being alive?

This is interesting though, cuz looking back, I do kind of think a lot of the companions blend together. It's not as bad as most say it is for sure, like I feel like they do fit specific roles (Graham and Dan as the older comic relief with a dash of heart, Ryan the more youthful person being opened up to the world, Yaz being the more experienced/accomplished person to match the Doctor when needed), but I do see why people feel like they blend together.

Hmm, if I had to pick... I'd go Yaz. Please ignore that she's a cop though. ACAB. Not sure if it's fair, but I think it might be BECAUSE she got to be with Thirteen the longest (her whole run in fact). Like, I feel like she didn't really get to live up to her full potential, but I do think seeing someone like her with her rough past going all in on the Doctor only to be shut out because Thirteen is afraid of being emotionally vulnerable (which could arguably be influenced by what happened with Clara, and I do think you could argue Yaz has some similarities here, like she even got taught how to fly the TARDIS). Her story is honestly pretty tragic, but I guess like Martha, I have a soft spot for the underappreciated (gosh it's always the companions of colour who are the underappreciated ones huh?). I think the whole semi-unrequited love aspect certainly added to that, and kind of cemented why she had to leave (even if she didn't really have much of a say, it was more just a quiet understanding, at least I think so). Power of the Doctor was also honestly a nice culmination of everything for her, too. Wish it was clear how much she knew about the Timeless Child stuff though.

Fourteen: Gosh, another really difficult one... so hard to choose... oh, Donna. Okay I'm sure some might argue Rose Noble and even Mel could count, but I don't really see them as full companions here.

I guess to continue what I was saying on Donna earlier, I described her as kind of being elevated in a way that was unnecessary. Like, after everything, as great as it was to see her back and get a happy ending... was that really the best or most interesting thing to do for her? I just can't help but feel like RTD was being overly indulgent with her, like how many felt he was with Rose (Tyler). Also... yeah, the metacrisis stuff is still bullshit. "Just let it go." I know emotions were running high in Journey's end, but come on, it makes all the drama there feel kind of hollow now.

I will say I do enjoy the evolved family dynamic though.

Fifteen: Ruby Sunday. I'd say it's super hard and there's so much to pick from, but we've seen so much, and there's so many rich complex layers, it's unlike anything we've ever seen... okay, enough kidding around. We've only seen one episode of them so far, but I am curious to see where they'll go with them.

...but wait, there's more! Time to acknowledge all the other Doctors that were created for the revival!

TimeCrash!Five: Look, he might be a bigeneration, so I'm counting him just in case... oh wait, no companions. Fuck, forget this.

TenToo: Rose! So hard to choose, I know. But isn't it cool that Rose has her own home grown Doctor she can fix again? ...what am I even saying?

Dream Lord: He's from the Doctor's brain, so he counts. Seemed to like fucking with Amy a lot, really exposed the whole love triangle she was in, lol.

Ganger!Eleven: Ganger Amy. Gangers traveling across all of time and space.

War: Clara. Day of the Doctor. Oh wait, I already mentioned that for Eleven. But I guess she kind of ended up working a lot with him specifically.

Curator: The painting. Gallifrey Falls No More. Look, I haven't listened to Big Finish, I don't know what counts. Also something something bigenerated Fourth Doctor (who also might end up being the Watcher if you subscribe to that version of bigeneration theory, like me who's trying to stay sane?).

FakeOne: That's not the First Doctor in Twice Upon a Time, that's a new incarnation who got his brain scrambled from the bigeneration reaching back in time for his first regeneration, making the side effect of him being a bad sexist parody of his original self. So who does this bigeneration have as his best companion? That one soldier dude. The Brigadier's grandpa or dad or whatever. Because they can laugh about women being made of glass. Oh right, Bill was there. Or Bill's avatar from Testimony. She had actual heartfelt moments. Or they would've been if I liked that episode. I'm committing way too hard to this bit.

Fugitive: Lee Clayton, anothe really har- Oh wait, Karvanista was one. Do you think her and Karvanista ever dated? I'm sure someone thinks Karvanista is acting like a bitter ex. Danvanista shippers, team Ruthvanista is gonna give you a run for your money!

OG Timeless Child: That kid who pushed her off the cliff. He's not just the best companion of this very first Doctor, but the best in the whole show. Without him, Tecteun would never have found out the child could regenerate, and therefore we'd have no Time Lords. And no Time Lords means no Doctor Who. This kid is the reason the show exists. Show some gratitude to this kid, guys. Also, who wouldn't push their friend off a cliff to keep playing with a toy?

The other pre-Hartnell Doctors: IDK Tecteun? Are the worth calling a companion? ...why am I still doing this

The Thirteen Doppelgangers from the Vanquishers: um how many people did she interact with, also wait it's all still one consciousness trying to manage three bodies this is a reach sorry forget i said this

The Master!Doctor: It was so great when he shouted at Yaz right? Or when Vinder held a gun to him? Oh yeah what about the Dalek and Cyber-Master perplexed at the Rasputin dance? They were still around after the Master stole the Doctor's body right?

The other bi-generated Doctors that are basically canon now that RTD is in charge: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

#ask #doctor who #shitpost #for the final bit #look i couldn't help myself okay #weird morning today

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took-hold-of-nothing · 4 years

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Years ago for me. Years from now for you.

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random-fandoms-fanfics · 3 years

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One Mamá, Two Papás

Can I request an Agustin x male reader x Julieta where they're making dinner and some of the kids ask how their relationship works, and while they're explaining it, out of nowhere Antonio asks where babies come from? 😅

@milomalaise1, hope you enjoy

It was Abuela’s birthday and you and your partners were busy making her a nice diner, you were at the middle table slicing some potatoes and cassavas until you felt hands snake around your waist and start swinging them side to side, “anadón I’m busy and so are you,”

“Come on Amor, a little break won’t hurt,” while humming some random song only he knew he nuzzled his nose into your neck and unbeknownst to you rubbed flour against your. Slowly but surely you found a smile growing on your face and your hips consciously moved with his hands, placing your knife down you turned in his arms, grabbing his shoulder and one of his hands the two of you began a gentle dance in the humid room, not noticing the woman starting a few feet away with a smile. “Papa (Y/N)!” you were brought out of your trance as you heard the voice of your youngest non biological daughter, Maribel, call out for you, “in the kitchen Querida!” Maribel walked in with Camilo and your second youngest, Ada, right behind her. Kissing your boyfriend’s cheek goodbye you turned back around to face the group, your hands immediately going back to work, “what’s up Mariboo?”

“Are you ever going to marry papá and mamá?”

“I can’t Querida, the priest won’t allow it,”

“Why?”

“Because some people don’t like men being with other men and they think women should only be with one man, don’t know why they think that but they just do,” pouring the now sliced potatoes and cassavas into the beef, pork and chicken filled stew you covered it for one last time, proud of your work you turned to your girlfriend who just placed the beef filled pastries into the oven, “You all done Judía?” she hummed positively before going over to help her husband with frying the small balls of dough, “how did you get with the two of them? Tai Julieta and Toi Agustin were already married when you came in,”

“Well you see we have been together since our late 20’s,” Julieta leaned up against you as she spoke to the children, “we just didn’t show it due to, as (Y/N) said, people not liking our relationship,”

“Ah those were the days, ducking around corners, sneaking behind barns and hiding in the cramped spaces of casita all to just steal a kiss, I miss those days,” Agustin came up behind the two of you, his hands holding both of yours waists, “I miss the days before we got together,”

“Julieta come on those days were a catastrophe,”

“Oh really, how did you get together,”

“Don’t,”

“Well you see (Y/N) and Agustin were courting me at the same time, fighting for my affection day in and out,”

“Stop,”

“Two rivals one upping each other every chance they got,” she moved away from Agustin’s grasp, her hands erratically moving with her words, leaving the two of you to stand in each other’s arms and begging her to stop, “Amor please,”

“Annoying the entire village with their trumpets and accordans, hurting themselves with stupids feats of bravery, trying to prove to Abuela they were better for me by doing chores,”

“Please stop this is embarrassing,”

“That was all until the accident at the river,”

“Julieta!”

“They were so desperate to get a kiss they didn’t watch were they were going, (Y/N) tripped and pulled Agustin with him, next thing they knew they were sharing a kiss, (Y/N) ran off leaving Agustin in the mud as a blushing mess, the two of them could barely look at each other without blushing,”

“So they started liking each other? I’m guessing at that time they were still in love with you,”

“Mhmm, a few days after the incident Agustin came to me a muttering and stuttering mess, talking about how the kiss felt, how it made him feel and changed the way he saw (Y/N) while he kept reassured me that he still wanted to be mine and how big his love for me was, (Y/N) came by the next day doing the same thing,” by now you and Agustin were on the other side of the kitchen with your hands in your faces as Julieta retold the story of your younger life to a new set of children, “they were so confused and so was I, I never thought that I could have two loves of my life and love them equally but I do and I would have never of come to that if we didn’t talk about it, after that night these two began courting each other, giving each other gifts, showing off their musical talent to the other and sitting on a bridge playing in harmony and through all that they never forget about me and reminded me everyday that they still loved me,”

“Aww papá, why haven’t you told me this before, it’s so cute,” Ada grabbed your hand away from your face and entwined your fingers with hers, waving your hands about, “because the first part is embarrassing, I always wanted my love story to start with me serenading my love, not me tripping and pulling them into mud and accidentally kissing,”

“Wait, if you’ve been together for that long how can you be sure who’s kid is who’s?”

“Well, seeing how Julieta and I weren’t even trying to make kids until after Luisa it’s pretty easy to tell, plus Mirabel looks more like Agustin” feeling your pant leg being tugged on by tiny hands, looking down you found a mass of dark haired curly there “tio how are children made?”

“ah well you see when a man and a woman lov-, when two people feel… when people want children they engage in…” staring down at him you struggled to talk, lumps blocking the air in your lungs, “You see men gives women a, special liquid, women take this and put it into a pot filled with, special, tiny eggs, woman drink this and the magical mixture gets into their bellies where they are, able to grow a baby inside them,”

“How does the baby get out?”

“... they um, you see they come out through- women will get them out by pu-Pepa get your child he snuck into the kitchen,”

#encanto #encanto x reader #encanto x male reader #agustin x reader #julieta x reader #agustin x julieta #agustin madrigal #julieta madrigal

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how-masterful · 3 years

Text

Remastered

Dhawan!Master x Reader

Chapter 6: The Husband’s of River Song

Summary: You’d lost Missy. Or at least, you thought you’d lost her. After a run in with a mysterious stranger, you find yourself stuck on a doomed intergalactic cruise with the head of a king in your bag... and a crowd of his most loyal supporters around you. How are you going to escape from Scratch, his followers, the headless robot body of the king, and the smarmy Flemming? And why is this mysterious stranger oh so familiar to you?

Notes: Happy Valentines Day one and all! What better for this day of love than reading about the blorbos from our shows that we love so dearly! It’s absolutely the drill by now, but this is dedicated to the one and only @plethora-of-imagines , of whom I love so dearly and think you should all go show some love to aswell! I hope it lives up to the hype, and that you love what you read!

The Master watched in silence, emotions swirling and metamorphosing in his mind. There were a million and one thoughts and feelings that desired to fight their way out of his mouth and pool in a pile of word vomit on the now rather ratty dining room tile. You had your teeth grit, shoulders pushed back in typical, standoffish fashion, glaring down at the ugly blue creature with absolute disdain. Flemming’s spindly fingers prodded and lanced at the pages of your precious diary, each page littered with bountiful notes. Precious memories of your encounters with the Master, each marked down on to the pages with sincerity and adoration: Plastic flowers to Devil's end, the Gallifreyan council to Traken and Logopolis, The Death Zone to the Planet of the Cheetah People. The turn of the millennia in San Francisco, the Utopia project to 10 Downing Street and the Valiant, all the way down to the glimmering sun of the tearooms at 3W. He was gliding through them all, breezing through the pages as if they were a children's picture book: pointing, sneering, giggling mockingly at the pictures and doodles that sat between events. Some he found so amusing that he had to share with the crowd, the furious blush that appeared upon your face a sign the knife was being twisted deeper and deeper with every word.

“Skaro is a whole lot dustier than the books in the library made it seem.” Fleming spoke, a horrid chortle snorting its way down his upturned nose. “But who knew the sight of a Timelady whittling a stick down into a spear could be so attractive. Then again, it is Missy, and that woman could read the Sinthaxian manifesto and make it sound sexy.”

You hung your head in shame at that one, lips pressing into a thin line. The Master quirked an eyebrow, a light smirk creping up his lips. As embarrassing and tension filled the situation before you both were, this look into your secrets and thoughts was rather entertaining. Or at least it would be, he reasoned, if you didn't look so distraught.

“Go on, keep going. I honestly didn't know you could read.”

Flemming huffed, before furrowing his greedy brow as he scoured the next page.

“Ah, here’s another. It gets hard, seeing her like this. Caged like an animal. I thought it was hard enough the first time, seeing her locked on an island prison. Or when she was in so much pain from her dying body, even to touch her hardened skin hurt her. In both those instances, she’d planned an escape, a way out. But I guess this time she doesn’t want to. Maybe this time she feels she can't escape even if she tried. At least the Doctor shows us both a slight bit of mercy once in a while, letting me in to sit and read and just be with her. I don't like being alone. And I don't like her being alone either.”

The Master watched your shoulders tense, locking themselves into place and grinding against your other bones. He remembered his time in the Vault well, circling the glass panes of the containment field like a fish in a tank when the Doctor brought his pets to visit the violent creature he had locked away in his pretty little enclosure. He was a zookeeper, and he was his most incredible exhibit- the rehabilitated predator. Still a work in progress.

“She looked sad today,'' Flemming continued, chuckling to himself and swallowing his own laughter like it was the finest wine. “I don't think she knows how to process the last few days. Since she’s been allowed back into the Tardis I think she feels more trapped than she did in the vault. She’s different, the Doctor's plan to make her ‘good’ seems to be working the way he wants it to.”

“That was impressive, well done. Be careful, there's some really big words coming up. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Personally I don’t think she’s truly happy with this path to redemption the Doctor keeps pushing her on to, I don't think this form of good is something she’s able to become. I’d ask myself what good she could truly be then, but I think my answer would be much different to everybody else's. I’m not even sure I truly have an answer. All I know is that if she asks if I love her, I'll still give the same answer I always have. Some things never change. But at least now I get to hold her when she cries.”

Flemming’s laughter was beginning to infuriate the Master even more. He looked down as he shuffled his shoe uncomfortably against the floor- for once in his lifetimes he found it hard to look at you. Your shoulders were rising up and down with shallow rage, lips pressed into a thin line of lipstick across your face. Your fists had balled at your sides, but beyond your shaking hands you seemed oddly calm. His own hearts, not so much, seemingly in competition to see which one could race the fastest in his chest.

“Oh, this just gets more and more depressing, doesn't it?”

“Don't you dare. You’ve already made a death wish by reading the rest of it, and I really don't think you want to find out what happens if you read on.”

“Oh, but I think I will. Last entry, hmm?”

Flemming flipped another three pages. You didn't even blink as you threatened him.

“If you think I didn't learn a thing or two from her about mass execution of the people that piss me off-”

“She’s gone.” He started. Instantly you stopped in your tracks. The Master felt his heart’s stop in place for the first time that evening.

“And if you really don’t think i’ll use them-”

“These weeks are feeling longer and longer. If she escaped that Cyber ship, which I hope she did, she still hasn't made contact. Who knows what she’s doing, or why she did what she did in the first place. I miss her. I miss her more than anything. Maybe I just need to do something reckless. Maybe I need to be dangled over a volcano, or be moments away from being the sacrifice at a ceremonial meal-”

“Every line you read will just prolong the time i’ll take pulling you limb from limb alphabetically”

“Maybe then i’ll see her again, strutting in with that umbrella and those pointy shoes and stupidly tight corset. Perhaps then she’ll saunter in and taunt and tease and hurt and maim, and then she’ll look at me with those mischievous blue eyes and laugh at how much of a ‘silly little goose’ I am for getting myself into ‘such a pickle’. She’ll swoop in and save the day, save me, and then we’ll be back together and have afternoon tea and laugh about the whole thing over tiny little cakes and sandwiches and everything will be as it should be because I'll be with her. Until then, I'm just waiting. This may be my last entry for a while.”

You had no retort. Just a stoic, pained silence. The Master felt a wave of almost nausea soar through his veins, his double pulmonary system taking an absolute beating. So this was how you felt, after everything that happened. He hadn’t meant to just take off. He remembered well your last conversation- his, or her, hand slipping out of your grasp before he trudged into the woods to face his former self and make the decision he felt was right. It had cost him a regeneration, and even now he was still debating if he was happy with his choice. Still, some part of him secretly wished you’d find something better for yourself, something that wouldn’t put you in as much danger. Perhaps his time under the Doctor's reformative spell had taught him a lesson he didn't want to learn: What's good for others may not feel good for him. Happily, he was now starting to unlearn some lessons that just didn’t fit his style.

“WHAT IS THE RELEVANCE OF THIS CONVERSATION?”

The suit of king Hydroflax barked. Flemming whittered to himself, turning around to formulate a groveling answer. Scratch stood proud, teeth clenched and spit escaping through the gaps.

“Your majesty,” He sneered, beady eyes glancing proudly at the hunkering robot.

“The Master is a being known to us all, with a vast number of faces. They are the longstanding enemy of our greatest foe, the Doctor. To defeat them would be a true achievement, and would raise you to the ranking of most disgraced arch enemy of the Doctor.”

The Master almost gaped. Is that all he was to them? A stepping stone to the position of the Doctor's worst enemy? You seemed similarly offended, unclenching your jaw and finding a slither of confidence.

“You do know the last time somebody tried to claim that title, they got poked right in the eye? If you don't believe me ask Davros himself, I'm sure he’d still be applying his eye drops if he weren't dead.”

“Ignoring that, besides which-” Flemming tapped upon the shoulder of Hydroflax, his gloved hands rapping upon the metal. “All of us here on this ship would be rather glad to see their criminal career cut off at the neck, as it were. They’ve been nothing but a great inconvenience to us all. They’re the reason we had to generate a banned list. Too many complaints from other passengers about the prospect of their boarding”

“Banned from a cruise they hadn’t even been on? Impressive.” The Master blurted out before he could stop himself. You turned to shush him quietly, the look of unfamiliarity in your eyes panging deep within his gut. He nodded, oh so casually, before grabbing his hands and swallowing his pride.

“PROCEED FASTER, OR YOUR HEAD WILL ALSO BE TAKEN.”

“I would give MY head with gladness.”

You both rolled your eyes at Scratch. How typical, the one ship you board with a hostage turns out to be full of his sycophants. It was almost poetic, in a really annoying way.

“THIS WOMAN-” Flemming angrily gestured towards you. “Is the known consort of the Master!”

“Consort?” You chuckled. “Honestly I'm flattered.”

“It’s all right here! In this book! She is their known companion!”

“Not so flattered anymore. We don’t really like that word.”

The Master smirked. He couldn’t have said it better himself.

“Your sarcasm hides nothing” He yelled, waving the diary in his hand. “Because this is indisputable proof!”

Your hand suddenly jutted out, grasping hard onto the diary and yanking it towards your chest. Flemming glowered as the book slipped from his grasp, his hand elegantly clenching into a fist at his front. You clutched the book towards your jewel covered dress, feeling some sense of comfort that your writing was back where it should be. You never liked when people would pry when you didn't want them to.

“So tell us… Where is the Master now?”

There was silence. Nobody dared speak. All eyes, or scanners, simply watched as a melancholic smile began to spread itself up your lips, barely reaching your eyes.

“You already have your answer.” You calmly replied, punctuating each word.

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“Do you honestly think we’d find the ramblings of a hopeless romantic to be credible?”

“Even if they weren't, they're still true.”

Eyes glanced between you as you engaged in your verbal tennis match. Each retort caught the eyes of every gaze in the room. But not the Master, he refused to take his eyes from you. Some part of him was manifesting a sudden realisation, that you’d put all the pieces into place and realise it was him, all this time, That you’d see every previous face behind his eyes and know he was still here, all this time. He’d even dressed in purple, hoping you’d see through his signature shade. At this rate, he was really regretting forgoing his typical goatee. Maybe you’d have figured this out quicker if you’d clocked the facial hair.

“But you know who you are. You’re the woman they love.”

You smiled bitterly. “No, I'm not.”

That caught the Masters attention, his eyes refocusing on every microexpression upon your features. He tilted his head, trying to read you. What was your game here? What was your plan?

“She’s lying!” Flemming spluttered, looking towards the giant form of king Hydroflax for support.

“No, I'm really not. The Master has never loved me. I’m not lying.”

You had to be, the Master thought. This was part of your cunning ruse, to buy you more time to figure out an escape. He did it all the time. It was nice to see you following in his footsteps. He was nothing if he did not lead by example.

A sudden red burst plunged through the chest of Hydroflax, bursting out into a sputtering triangle of light. The light made you wince, squinting your eyes as the beam passed over your entire face and body. After three beeps the beam withdrew back into the robotic forms chest, the machine churning and whirring as it processed the data.

“CONFIRMED. THE LIFE FORM IS NOT LYING.”

A sinking feeling consumed the Master's chest. It was a strange sensation, like the drop of a stomach on a rollercoaster, or the disappointment of waiting for somebody to call your name, and they say somebody else. It was odd, confusing and twisting itself in his stomach and tightening itself in his chest. He didn't like it one bit.

“But, but that's impossible! It’s a trick, it has to be!”

“It's not.”

“But you said it yourself! In that stupid little diary! Everybody knows you’re in love with the Master!”

“Yes, I am!” You cried, eyes widening as Flemming dared to leer closer to your face.

“Not once have I ever denied it. But whoever said they loved me back?”

His head hung in a mixture of shame, disbelief, and skin itching disappointment. The same feeling in his gut began creeping itself up his spine. He found his mouth had suddenly gone very, very dry.

“They’re the Master, for crying out loud! They don't just swan around the universe falling in love with people, let alone a small, insignificant little human like me! And if you think they’re in any way that sympathetic, that fond, or even that sentimental-”

Flemming stepped back at the fire in your eyes, swallowing thickly as you narrowed your gaze at the blue man's sickening sneer.

“Then you don't have even the faintest idea of what you’re dealing with.”

Your words were a violent hiss. You absolutely meant business. Flemming was struggling to match you, lip quivering in all manner of directions as he tried to convince Hydroflax, the king's followers, and himself, that he was correct. He was running on borrowed time, and everyone knew that.

“I can assure you, she- she’s the perfect bait!”

He coughed awkwardly, fists clenching as he wittered to the king.

“Your majesty, she said it herself in her diary! The Master will come and save her from any danger she’s in! She’s the perfect bait!”

You laughed sourly, causing the snivelling man to step back once more.

“Considering the fact you’re standing right here, there's a village out there in the universe missing its prime idiot!”

You laughed again, almost drunk on disbelief. Months of pent up emotion, grief and love and anguish, all came spilling from your mouth.

“The Master could possibly even be here! Better still, on this ship!”

“Of course they aren't! They won't be here, as if they would! Go on, scan the whole Parsec!”

The Master coughed awkwardly, stepping forward. That wasn't a good idea in the slightest.

“Um, I don't think-”

“Do it! I dare you! And if you find them, let me know!”

“I really wouldn’t.”

You let out a huff of frustration, your chest heaving with a million unspoken words.

“I have no clue where they are, what they’re doing, or hell! If they’re even still alive! But I PROMISE you, no matter where they are, they’re off doing whatever they like and not giving one SINGLE damn about me! And after all these years, no matter how much it hurts to think, I've finally decided I'm ok with that!”

The Master sighed, stepping towards you to hover near your shoulder.

“No-”

“Falling in love with the Master is like loving the biggest supernova, it burns like the hottest sun you’ve ever seen and dazzles you with the brightest light you could ever imagine. It's dangerous, every possible touch could burn and explode like a stagnant landmine from a war that hasn't been fought for decades, but you watch because where the world sees the self destruction of something once so powerful and promising, you see the beauty and pain and the power of the universe and you know you could dedicate yourself to nothing less. And you never expect it to love you back. Not for one moment.

“Its tragic, and poetic, and it’s downright heart-breaking because you know one day, when it reaches its hottest and burns the brightest it’s ever been, it’ll implode and die and disappear from the night sky, taking everything with it and turning into the deepest of black holes because a loss that great could never go gently into its goodnight. And suddenly you’re blind, floating in space with the rest of the debris and you’re scalded from the heat but you knew, deep down, nothing else could keep you warm- and when you get pulled in by the gravity of its loss and death you have not one single regret. Because who else could fall in love with a dying star? Who else would choose, out of every twinkling star in the sky, to love the one that's suffering?

“I love the Master, and I always will, but I can guarantee the reason they’re not here is because they’re where they should be! Burning holes into the night sky and painting the prettiest pictures with their destruction! And I tell you right here, right now, if I was ever in danger, the Master is not foolish enough, fond enough, and most definitely not in LOVE enough to find themselves standing in it with me!”

A breath finally found itself back in your lungs. A tear had dared to prick itself in the corner of your eye, but you couldn’t care less if it fell. Flemming, Scratch, and every other half faced loon in the dining room watched with trepidation. Awaiting the next words out of your mouth. It felt like a hole had formed itself in your chest, the words escaping from your heart and worming themselves out into the open like the greatest diary entry you could have ever written.

In the silence of the room, between your breathing and the humming of the engine through the floor, you suddenly became aware of the presence behind you. Slowly you turned over your shoulder, eyes the last to move, as the man you’d spent all day with stood there with an expression you could hardly figure out.

Fondness… Sentimentality… Familiarity. You gave a double take, then a triple, then a quadruple. Instinctively, you knew:

You’d seen those eyes before.

In the light of the dining room you could make out the small flecks of gold around his pupils, the age that sat deep within his iris’ that spoke of hundreds of years of existence, betrayed by the comparative youth of his features. It was as if recollection was bleeding into his features, the parts of his face that seemed such strangers now feeling like the oldest of acquaintances. But his smile promised more than that, the gentle curve at the corner of his lips teasing you with a million nights of something indescribable but beautiful. A short beard that travelled up his jawline and met his floppy mess of hair, the aura of his existence screaming at you to figure it out. Put it together. Answer the question you were desperately trying not to answer.

When recognition flooded into your eyes in a way your tears never could, the Master finally spoke.

“Your pet name came with good reason, y’know.” It was quiet, not quite a whisper. But that didn't stop it ringing in your ears like the whistle of a steam train engine.

“Hello, love.”

A shocked gasp pulled itself from your throat. Everything seemed to fall into place, the hole in your chest knitting itself together and yanking together your confidence for the first time in a long time. The Master smiled wider, watching it all click in your head.

You turned away, trying to hide your smile, as you pushed your lips together with all the strength you could. The Master saw right through you. He always did. Not just because of his telepathic capabilities.

“When we get home, you are so shaving that beard.”

“Not sure if i’ll have the time, being a supernova and all.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“It’s busy business painting pictures with destruction.”

“I swear to god, I was just keeping them busy-”

“It's a shame you decided to run off with a mad man instead of going into writing, you’d have made a killing on the slam poetry circuit.”

The first honest laugh came from your lips. You’d forgotten how good it felt. Good, truthful joy. The Masters grin was cheesy in comparison. This regenerations smile was definitely all teeth.

“WHAT IS THE NATURE OF THIS CONVERSATION?”

Hydroflax was losing the few morsels of patience his programming would allow.

“Private business, keep out!” You hissed, the Master giving a trademark wide-eyed smirk of trouble.

“Would you do me the honour of scheming with me once more, dearest?”

You gave a Cheshire Cat grin, folding your arms in thought.

“I’d be honoured. Any ideas?”

“Well-” He started glancing around the room for dramatic effect.

“Four exits: two concealed in the walls-”

“Boring, and too close to the machinery.”

“In that case, there’s one in the ceiling, but sadly I forgot to bring my heels.”

“You could always borrow mine, y’know!”

“Strappy stilettos with this cut of a suit? Get a grip, love.”

“You’re right, plus they clash with your shirt. There’s also one in the floor?”

“Never considered it, not too keen.”

“Too close to the engine ducts?”

“Just that bit too tight.”

You gave a gasp, matching his levels of dramatism with a swift smack of the back of your hand to his side.

“I hope you’re not being personal, considering these days only one of us is wearing the corset.”

“Waking up in that thing almost made me not make it to the next face, so i’ll happily pass this time.”

“What on earth are you talking about!” Flemming asked, wide eyed at the sudden comradery between the pair of you. The Master quirked an eyebrow as you leaned away from your conversation, furrowing your gaze and tilting your head.

“Hush, mummy and daddy are busy!”

The Master paused for a moment, before shrugging and nodding along. Another time, he thought to himself. He’d allow it. For now.

BONG. The sudden loud chime of a bell cut the conversation in half. The distant sound of rumbling surged through the atmosphere, the ship heaving and groaning as the ruckus grew closer and closer. You smiled sweetly, linking your arm within the Masters' own and clutching tight to your diary.

“There’s always my way out. Darling?”

The Master smiled, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Yes, dear?”

“In the event of, say, a sudden meteor strike on the lower decks at the starboard side, could you hazard a guess as to where the safest place to stand would be?”

The Master hummed in thought, the followers of Hydroflax looking between each other with uneasy glances.

“Meteor strikes, what do you mean?-”

“Right here, I should think.” The Master replied, happily ignoring the thin blue man's questions.

“Final question for all the points, and what do you think that isn't?”

“I’d say it's a coincidence. I’d also place a bet on it being your plan all along.”

“What can i say, i’ve not had your universal black card to pay my way around. I’ll take anything if it's cheaper than a taxi.”

The Master gasped, placing a hand on his chest.

“I’m shocked and horrified, love. Is this body truly only good to you for its wallet?”

You wiggled your eyebrows at the timelord, happy to land the punchline as you brushed a fallen cloud of dust from his shoulder.

“I’m not sure yet, I've only seen the face.”

“WHAT METEOR STRIKE?”

You smiled at the faceless robot, raising a finger into the air as the tannoy crackled and hissed over the ever growing rumbling.

“ALERT! METEOR STRIKE INCOMING!”

The Master gave a proud laugh as the minions of Hydroflax began to scatter away from the tables, the glass of the windows shaking and jittering as the floor beneath your feet began to tremble like the pre show of a volcanic eruption.

“That meteor strike, I should think.”

“What a shame.” The Master sighed.

“What?”

“I thought the mind reading was my thing in this relationship.”

“I’m good, but I'm not that good. One of my new favourite books, ‘History's best exploding restaurants- eat for free, skip the coffee’’. As you know, I'm working on a budget here.”

“Well, let's change that then. What do you say, dinner at the Ritz if we survive?”

“The one on the Catrigan Nova?”

“Whirlpools of gold, love. The very best. Why, not to your taste?”

“Well, there is this other place i’ve heard of at the singing towers-”

“How did you know about the meteor strike?!”

The widest grin spread across your face as the floor began to crack and crumble beneath your feet. The Master's arms wound tight around your middle, your own flinging around his shoulders as the figures still stood in the room shook and fell under the impact of the tremors.

“I’m dating a timelord, moron!”

You yelled, the Master's laughter sending wonderful shivers of nostalgia down your spine.

“YOU’RE JUST HISTORY TO ME!”

And with a final crack, the tile beneath your feet began to crumble and fall. You screamed in anticipation, the Master whooping with glee as the floor fell from under you, sending you both crashing down with the thick blocks of tile away from the hissing Scratch, the bumbling Flemming and the furious Hydroflax, and down to the lower levels of the ship- The whole time, not one of you letting go of the other.

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bluewhale52 · 4 years

Text

The House by the River

Summary: You, your husband and his brothers are back in the In The Soop house. But what happens when you forget the one thing you have to do during the pandemic?

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: idol!au, established relationship, fluff

Rating: R - there’s a bit of a talk about sex but nothing NSFW

WC: 2.3k

Warning: setting during the pandemic, a breach of safety protocol, Yoongi and OC sleep naked, talk of sex, pregnancy talk ~Part of the Domestic Yoongi Series~

It is a great idea, you have to admit. When your husband found out that he had two straight days of no schedules and no work, he immediately suggested going back to the house by the river, where he and his brothers had gone to for work and also for a time of healing and relaxation.

You were so excited at the getaway idea, and although his six brothers invited themselves for the trip, you did not mind. Your daughter adores them, moreover you would have six very eager babysitters at your disposal.

So that’s how you find yourself, on a beautiful autumn day, on a hammock and reading a book Namjoon has lent you. You hear Jimin and Taehyung back at the ping pong table, and Hoseok screaming gleefully at his toy aeroplane he has built himself. Sweet musical notes drift from the house; Namjoon and Jungkook must have gotten inspiration in nature and are creating a song together.

You hear the familiar giggles coming from the dock, and you close your book. Leaving the hammock, you head to the boathouse to meet the owners of those giggles.

Your little girl is smiling ear to ear, and shrieking in delight at Seokjin, who is carrying a bucket and two fishing rods- well, one fishing rod and a toy one. He has been regaling your daughter with stories of fishing, it was not difficult at all to get her all excited to be his fishing buddy.

“Hey baby,” you kneel as your daughter barel into your arms. “Did you catch a lot of fish?”

“Four!” She happily exclaims, wriggling out of your arms to pull Seokjin closer to you. “Look, Eomma!”

“She’s my good luck charm. Not Yoongi, not my painting, Min Soojin was all I needed to show these fish who’s boss!” He ruffles her hair. She beams at him proudly.

“Wow! Are we having sashimi tonight?” You turn to find Hoseok right behind you, peering into the bucket. He turns to your daughter, innocently asking her, “you’re going to help Uncle Jin and Uncle Kook cut the fish?”

Soojin’s face immediately turns serious, her smile all gone. “Cut? Eomma?” She turns to you. “We cut fishies?”

“Well, that’s how we get sashimi, baby.”

Her face crumples at your answer, tears start pooling in her eyes. “No, I don’t want to hurt fishies.”

The two men immediately bend down and soothe her. “No, no, we won’t cut the fishies. Uncle Hoseok is just joking, right?” Seokjin gives Hoseok a stare.

“Yes, I was only joking, Soojin-ah.” Hoseok cuddles her. “Hey, do you want to see the plane I made?”

Soojin shakes her head. “No, I want to take fishies home so you don’t cut her.”

Hoseok resigns to his fate. He knows now your four year old daughter will see him as an evil villain, out to cut all the fish in the world.

“Baby,” you coo at Soojin. “Why don’t you, Uncle Jin and Uncle Hobi return the fish to the river?”

Seokjin glares at you. You know how challenging it was for him to catch even a single fish on his last trip here, and on the day he caught FOUR, he can’t even enjoy one as a sashimi.

Hoseok on the other hand, jumps at his chance of redemption. “Yes, that’s a great idea! Let’s do that, Soojin. Let’s free the fish!”

Soojin looks at Hoseok doubtfully. He grabs the bucket from Seokjin and offers his hand to your daughter. She gingerly puts her hand in his, and her other hand reaches for Seokjin’s.

Over your daughter’s head, Seokjin whispers sharply at Hoseok. “YOU put the fish back.”

You watch them squat by the dock, laughing along with Seokjin and Soojin as Hoseok squeals in disgust as he picks a fish out of the bucket and throws it inelegantly into the river. After the fourth fish is back in the water, Soojin is satisfied and her mood is back to her cheery self.

You look at your watch. 5pm. It’s time to get your husband out of his makeshift studio. “Soojin, want to see Appa?” You call out.

“No! Plane!” She points at Hoseok who is winding his toy plane again.

“Go get Yoongi. We’ll look after her.” Seokjin offers, and you give him a grateful smile. It IS nice to have your husband’s band mates around.

You walk up towards the campervan by the upper house. Your husband specifically made the request for the van to be there. You knock on the door, and you open it only after you hear his gruff response from inside.

“Hey babe,” you greet him from the door. “It’s just past five.”

Yoongi stretches behind the laptop and all his equipments. Rubbing his face, he mumbles, “Already?”

You open the door wider, letting more sun inside the dark campervan. “Did you manage to get all your work done?”

Yoongi gestures for you to come inside. You step in, and sit next to him. “Wanna hear?” He offers.

“Of course.” You take the headphones from his hands. You love how he always shares his rough drafts with you, even before he shares them with his members. It doesn’t matter that you know zilch about music, he loves watching you reacting to his creations.

He presses play, and your eyes widen at the sounds filling your ears. You turn to smile at him, pride on your face. He returns your smile with his own gummy one.

You love this kind of moment with Yoongi. You don’t need dates at fancy restaurants or expensive gifts like big diamond necklaces. Just time with him, alone like this, is enough. He watches you bopping along to his music, and burst out laughing in embarrassment as you scrunch your face at his attempt at a high note.

When the song ends, you take off the headphone and kiss him. “Well, Min PD-nim, I think you have another hit there.”

“You say that to all my songs.” He brushes away your compliment as he starts packing up his things.

“Well, it’s true. I’m not just saying that because you’re my husband.” You stand and move to the door to give him more space in the cramped sitting area of the campervan. You report to him about Soojin’s fishing experience earlier while Yoongi is putting his equipments in the bags.

“So Hobi actually held the fish?” Yoongi chuckles.

You nod. “I regret not capturing it on video. It was so funny.” You open the door and you both walk towards the upper house. “OH MY GOD!”

You exclaim as you see the state of the kitchen. Yoongi curses next to you.

All the foods you have bought for the stay are scattered all over the counter and the floor. Packages ripped open, vegetables and fruits half eaten.

“Oh no, did an animal- or a pack of them- get in?” You lift a bag of bitten and nibbled onions. “They like onions it seems.”

Your husband sighs. “Guess we’ll have to go out for dinner then. There’s no way we can salvage any of this.”

You agree with him and start cleaning up. Shortly after, the kitchen is clean and free of scraps, and you both return to the main house to break the news. The members don’t seem to mind going out, Taehyung even suggests going to the burger joint he visited with Hoseok before. Seokjin and Yoongi decide they could stop by a supermarket on the way back to get enough food for breakfast and lunch for the next day.

And so off the nine of you go to the town for a burger dinner. Arriving at the small restaurant, you are shocked at how crowded it is. “Wow, the burgers here must be really good.” You comment to Taehyung.

He nods, licking his lips. “One of the best, Noona. You’ll love it.”

You smile at his enthusiasm, and also when he picks up Soojin to show her the menu board.

Then you realize something.

Your heart drops when you realise that no one, not a single person is wearing a mask. The staff, the patrons, and even you, your husband and his brothers, and your daughter, none of you is masked up.

You start to panic. Reaching for Yoongi, you tug his hand. “Babe, we’re not wearing our masks!”

“Relax, baby, we’re fine. No one recognizes us here.”

“No! Yoongi, not to hide your faces. The pandemic isn’t over yet and we’re not wearing masks!” You shout at him.

To your shock, no one seems to hear you, or even care that everyone in this burger joint is ignoring the most important safety protocol. You panic even further, and while making your way to Taehyung to take Soojin back, you feel something tugging the back for your cardigan.

You turn to chide Yoongi, thinking it is him who is pulling your clothes. You gasp when you find no one behind you. Not Yoongi, not Namjoon, not anyone you came to the place with. In fact, the whole place has become empty, but for a little boy standing in front of you.

He has feline eyes, much like Yoongi’s, and his complexion is as milky white as your husband’s too. He looks up at you with such innocence, and you kneel down to meet him at eye level.

“Hi,” you greet him. “Are you okay? Where are your parents?”

The boy continues to look at you silently, then he fishes something out of his packet. It is a folded K94 mask. He offers it to you.

“For you, Eomma.” He says shyly.

=======

You sit up, gasping out loud. You immediately reach for your face, feeling for a mask around your mouth and nose. Your fingers touch bare skin directly, which sends you into a panic.

You start to look around for a mask frantically, only to find yourself... in your bedroom in Seoul? And your husband is stirring awake next to you. You reach for the baby monitor, and relief floods over you as you see on the screen that your daughter Soojin is sleeping peacefully in her room.

“Babe,” Yoongi sits up next to you, voice still thick with sleep. “You okay?”

You place a hand on your bare chest. Your heart is still beating fast. “I just had the craziest dream.”

Yoongi reaches for you and pull you down to lie with him. Rubbing your back, he asks you to tell him your dream.

“We were back in the house, that In the Soop house,” you begin. “We were having such a good time, Soojin was laughing, the boys were all there too.”

You try to focus but bits and pieces of the dream are already forgotten in your mind. “And somehow we all went out for dinner, and no one was wearing masks, Yoongs, including us and I panicked I think?”

Your husbands hands are soothing you. “And that’s when you woke up?”

“No...There’s something else.” You struggle to remember. “There’s a boy I think, and I thought he was lost, but he gave me a face mask.”

Yoongi stops rubbing you. “The boy gave you a mask?” He sounds tickled.

“It’s a dream, it doesn’t have to make sense.” You playfully swat his chest.

He nuzzles your hair. “You dream of the weirdest things.”

You giggle in his embrace. Your naked bodies pressed closer as sleepiness starts to disappear, slowly replaced by something more carnal.

You suddenly remember something. “Oh my god, Yoons!” You push Yoongi away. He leans back, confused.

“What if that was a conception dream? The boy called me Eomma.”

Your husband looks at you as if you have grown two heads. “A conception dream?”

“Well, we may have conceived a child tonight, considering... you know, how many times you came in me.”

“Only twice but thanks for the ego boost.”

“I’m serious!” You give him a stern look. “What if we conceived a baby tonight, and that was my conception dream? Oh my god, how could my conception dream be of a boy giving me a K94 mask?”

Yoongi starts laughing. “And what do you think that would mean? We’re gonna have a son who’d become a doctor? That wouldn’t be so bad, right?”

You pout. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

He cradles you back in his arms. You have talked with your husband before about giving Soojin a sibling. Your hand unconsciously moves down to your tummy. You and Yoongi have foregone all birth controls tonight, and you hope one of his swimmers has made it.

Yoongi strokes your hair gently. “You know, since you have the conception dream already, why don’t we make sure it doesn’t go to waste?”

His hands are moving down your body, sending sparks all over.

“I agree, Min Yoongi. You better give me a baby tonight. Just in case the first two times weren’t quite successful.”

Laughing, he rolls over to be on top of you, determined to get you all nice and pregnant by the time morning comes.

A/N: I actually had the dream OC had - minus the boy with the K94 mask. The fact that Miss Rona actually invaded my dream, that was just so crazy I had to write it down! And eventually it became this little piece of a fic 😄 Please remember to wear your mask, social distance and stay safe! 💜

Published 08022021

#thebtswritersclub #thetruthuntoldnet #btscreatorscorner #noonasinnetwork #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x oc #in the soop #bts fan fiction #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #husband Yoongi

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whocanbelieveit · 3 years

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Twelfth Doctor Favourite Scenes

As is becoming a tradition now, here’s my list of some of my favourite scenes of 12′s. I don’t know if I’ll do a complication of 13′s scenes yet just because her tenure hasn’t ended yet so I kind of want to wait until it has before I dive into that list.

[Edit: I thought I’d posted this months ago and it turns out I didn’t. As I’m working on my favourite scenes of the Thirteenth Doctor, I thought I’d post this one now. Guess it’s better late than never!]

So, without further ado, my favourite 12th Doctor moments (in no specific order):

1) The Woman Who Lived, the scene where Clara hugs him and he says “I’ve missed you, Clara Oswald”

Honestly, that entire scene was adorable when Clara was trying to show him the present that her student gave him and they were talking. It was one of my favourite scenes of the two of them because it was so innocent and shows how much he cares about Clara but also how much he relies on her. Their relationship was so genuine and true which is what made its ending so tragic and believable.

2) The Husbands of River Song

So this episode was one of my favourites and if you want to know some of my thoughts on it click this link here because I utterly adore River and the Doctor. The scenes of the Doctor being jealous are phenomenal, his scenes with River were iconic and that scene where he enters the Tardis for the ‘first’ time is utterly hilarious. I can just imagine him being so annoyed for years that no one was able to get it right so when he had his opportunity he took it.

4) Dark Water, fight with Clara

Let it be clear I hated this two-parter so much because it was ridiculous. Moffat messed with the lore of the Cybermen so much there was basically no lore left just a new alien he created. But this scene between him and Clara had so much tension it was excellent and I loved the execution of it. And I’m a huge Whouffaldi shipper so this scene means a lot because it shows just how far Twelve will go for Clara (and acts as excellent foreshadowing for the lengths he goes to in order to save her in Hell Bent)

5) Heaven Sent, the scene where it’s revealed where he is

I think this was done brilliantly well. Capaldi was the only one in the episode and yet he was able to make it incredibly compelling. His acting was exceptional- to show all that pain and grief was so well done and so impressive. The fact that I was still engaged in the episode in spite of the fact that it was just Capaldi is a feat I don’t think a lot of actors can achieve. And the reveal itself, that he’d been doing this for thousands and then billions of years were heart-wrenching to watch. And all for Clara

6) Deep Breath, when he asks Clara to see him

This scene breaks my heart because he’s pleading with Clara to see him, to notice that he is still the same Doctor, just a different face and different mannerisms. But he still has his memories, he still loves Clara. That’s basically what this scene is- he’s begging the woman that he loves to just see him, just see that he is the same person he always was. He’s devastated that she can’t see him and terrified that she never will. And it’s so hard to watch, even knowing how the scene ends.

(And I’m beginning to realise I may need to do a Twelve x Clara/ Whouffaldi favourite scenes post too)

7) The Lie of the Land, ending scene with Bill when he says about why he deals with humanity

It’s a cute scene between Twelve and Bill- who deserved way more than she got, I’m serious that ending for her was shit- and Bill’s optimism is adorable. I liked how the comment was also kind of a homage not just to Bill but to all of the Doctor’s companions. They remind him of the wonders of humanity when humanity frustrates him beyond belief.

#not my gifs #clara oswald #the woman who lived #the husbands of river song #dark water #heaven sent #the lie of the land #bill potts #deep breath #twelve x clara #twelfth doctor #hell bent #favourite scenes

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years

Text

five times geralt saw jaskier naked on accident + one time it was entirely on purpose. ~6k. Read on AO3 here!

“Get back here, you mangy knob!” echoes down the hallway, and Geralt pauses on the way to his room.

It’s been a long night, and Geralt would like nothing better than to collapse into bed, but trouble has a habit of following Jaskier like flies to shit. He’s the whole reason Geralt even has a bed for the night, so Geralt sighs and follows the shouting.

He wishes he could say he’s surprised when he rounds a corner and Jaskier runs head first into him, but honestly, it’s nothing short of expected. What does throw Geralt for a loop, though, is the fact that Jaskier is completely naked, expanses of smooth skin exposed as he sprawls back on the ground in a very undignified manner, clutching his nose.

“Fuck, Geralt!” he cries, but it comes out garbled. “You broke my nose!”

The man who was chasing after Jaskier comes to a sudden halt, panting in front of them. “He slept with my wife!”

Geralt frowns. “Are you sure it was him?”

The man gapes and gestures at Jaskier’s nakedness. Geralt curses Jaskier for being so obvious; it makes his job much more complicated.

“Maybe he can give you some tips on how to satisfy her so she doesn’t feel the need to look elsewhere next time,” Geralt suggests, one hand coming up to casually rest on the hilt of his dagger strapped to his belt.

“It’s all about the tongue,” Jaskier pipes up in a nasally tone, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

The man’s eyes dart from Geralt to Jaskier, and back to Geralt before a look of realization crosses his face and it drains of color. “You’re… the butcher of Blaviken?”

“That’s him! So you’d best get back to your chambers if you want to keep all your limbs!” Jaskier crows, but only half of it is intelligible through the hand he’s holding to his nose.

The man looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but he bites his lip and retreats, after one last withering glance at Jaskier.

Geralt turns to Jaskier, suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. “Will you ever learn?” he asks in exasperation. “I’m not always going to be around to clean up your messes, you know.”

“I’m fairly certain you have a much longer life expectancy than me,” Jaskier lisps, looking up at Geralt with doe eyes.

Geralt sighs and sticks out a hand to help Jaskier up.

Jaskier takes it, his fingertips lingering on the soft flesh of Geralt’s forearm, and heaves himself up. His hand stays on Geralt’s arm, and Geralt drags him back to their room.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, rustling around in his pack for a clean rag.

He steps over to the wash basin and dips it in before walking back to over Jaskier. He wipes the blood away from Jaskier’s nose gently, but an observer wouldn’t think so from the way Jaskier winces and groans.

Geralt sighs. “Serves you right.”

“That’s just cruel, Geralt.” Jaskier squirms on the bed, pulling a corner of the blanket over his lap.

Geralt resolutely focuses on his face. He squints at Jaskier’s nose, which is just the slightest bit crooked. “This is going to hurt,” Geralt warns. “One, two.”

Jaskier yelps as Geralt sets his nose back into its proper place, finishing up dabbing the blood away before he packs Jaskier’s nose full of gauze. “There,” he says. “Good as new.”

There are tears welling in Jaskier’s eyes from the pain. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he says weakly.

“Maybe you’ll be able to go more than a week without cuckolding another husband this time.”

Jaskier lets out an indignant snort. “Hey, sometimes I just sleep with the husbands themselves. Then I have to watch what I eat, though,” he blathers on, and Geralt is honestly impressed with the lengths of his chatter even when Geralt imagines it must be painful to speak. “Have sex with one wrong person, and all of a sudden everyone and their mother is trying to poison you.”

Geralt’s not sure how to respond.

Jaskier sighs and turns over in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

“Try not to drown in your own blood.”

“Always nice to know you care.”

And then, almost too softly for Jaskier to hear, “Good night, Jask.”

ii.

Geralt jerks awake and sits up in his bed roll. The fire is crackling happily, a far cry from the smoldering logs Geralt would have expected. He looks around, and Jaskier is gone. Normally, this would worry him, but if Jaskier took the time to stoke their fire, that probably means he hasn’t been eaten. Most likely.

The slight chance that something untoward has happened propels Geralt out of the warmth of his blankets. He tugs on his boots and follows the faint scent of Jaskier, a warm mix of wood smoke and contentedness, these days.

His nose leads him to the river bank, and he hovers right on the edge of the tree line, scouting for any possible dangers. He doesn’t see any, but as he does his sweep, his gaze catches on Jaskier’s bare back and lingers there. There’s a smattering of freckles that Geralt can just barely make out, until they disappear when Jaskier dunks his hair under the water.

Geralt knows that he should stop just standing here, should either reveal himself or just slink back to their camp and start packing things up, but he finds himself rooted in place as Jaskier rubs a rag over his shoulder blades.

Geralt is half tempted to offer his help in reaching Jaskier’s back, but he knows how that would probably be received.

Geralt is transfixed as Jaskier begins to sing, and he sinks down to sit with his back to a tree to listen. Jaskier is always wanting his opinion on his songs, so surely he’d be fine with this, right?

It's not fair, oh, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair, 'cause you make me ache, you bastard

And he'll say

Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here

And I'll stand—

Geralt’s jerked out of his trance of listening to Jaskier sing in his honeyed tones by a disturbance in the water, and Geralt focuses in on the ripples that are starting to froth before a drowner emerges, its scaly skin glistening in the morning light. Jaskier screams, and Geralt leaps from his hiding spot, unsheathing his sword.

Jaskier turns to look at the new disturbance with wide eyes, minutely relaxing when he sees it’s Geralt. Geralt jumps into the water, landing on the drowner’s back. It jerks and bucks, deceptively strong as it tries to toss Geralt off. Geralt hooks his hands around its neck, his sword gripped precariously.

The drowner gives one last shake, and Geralt goes flying, his sword falling with a splash. There’s a clawed, webbed hand on Geralt’s head, forcing him under the water. He thrashes, trying to get free, but to no avail. Geralt keeps his mouth tightly shut, and his lungs start to burn as he continues to fight.

Bright spots start to dance at the edge of his vision, getting darker and fuzzier now, and Geralt knows he’s right on the verge of losing consciousness. He’s unable to stop his gasp for air, but only water finds his lungs. He’s resigned himself to this being the way it ends when suddenly the grip goes lax and he’s able to propel himself to the water’s surface, gasping for breath.

“Geralt? Geralt?” comes a worried voice, floaty and distant sounding. “Geralt, are you okay?”

There’s a pounding on his back, and water dribbles from his lips. A litany of curses follow and sharp tugs on his arm that lead him back to the bank.

Geralt coughs and splutters, more water escaping him as he finally registers Jaskier pacing around anxiously... completely naked. Geralt chokes, and Jaskier is there in an instant, a warm hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles.

“You’re okay,” he croons with a gentle pat.

Geralt doesn’t feel okay. He feels like he about died and is seconds away from doing it again via spontaneous combustion at the sight of all Jaskier’s skin on display. Geralt picks a spot on the distance and fixes his gaze on it.

“Good thing you were around,” Jaskier says finally, and Geralt burns in shame at the thought of why exactly he was there.

He’s lucky Jaskier isn’t running away in repulsion, like he would be if he knew the truth.

Jaskier asks him if he’s okay yet again, and Geralt grunts.

“Oh, goody, you’re well enough for monosyllabic conversation. Back to normal, then.”

Geralt grunts again, and Jaskier laughs, a delightful trilling thing.

“Oh, here you go,” Jaskier says, handing Geralt back his sword that’s covered in monster guts and ichor.

Geralt’s eyes do not bug out as the realization hits him. “You… you?”

“Well, it was drowning you! I couldn’t just stand around, now could I?”

“I...suppose not,” Geralt mutters, but in actuality, he can count on one hand the number of times someone’s actually come to his aid while he was fighting a monster. The most he can wish for is someone who won’t recoil as they patch up his wounds later.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting a bit,” Jaskier pauses, “distracted.”

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly.

“Well, I guess it’s not every day you have a near death experience,” Jaskier muses, “Oh, wait.”

“Maybe if I didn’t have to save your sorry ass so often.” Geralt shoves at him and instantly flushes red as his hand touches Jaskier’s bare skin and he registers again that he’s naked.

“Put on some clothes,” Geralt mumbles, averting his eyes.

There’s a heavy silence as Geralt waits for Jaskier to say something in response, some sort of rib, but nothing comes, just the soft swish of fabric as he gets dressed.

Geralt grits his teeth.

iii.

Geralt trudges down the rocky path, Roach just behind him. The trail from Kaer Morhen is downright treacherous at the best of times and fatal at worst, so Geralt would rather walk than risk Roach making a wrong step and sending them both pitching off a cliff.

Not that that would be entirely unwelcome, after the winter Geralt has just endured. Eskel and Lambert took great pride in elbowing Geralt and making him the butt of their every joke, saying in glee that they could smell the longing drifting off of him.

“Is Geralt in loooove?” Lambert had sang, until Geralt shoved him off his chair to shut him up.

Lambert tumbled to the floor with a clatter of his armor, but he still wore his unbearably smug expression. Eskel had looked at him with soft eyes. “You could have brought them here, you know. I want to know whoever can make you happy.”

“Yeah, we all know how impossible that is for Mr. Melancholy,” Lambert said.

Geralt shakes his head and puts his focus back on putting one foot in front of the other. The other witchers had endlessly pestered him about his plans for the spring, but Geralt hadn’t wanted to tell them. He likes Jaskier being just for him, and he had waited impatiently for the snow to melt in the pass. He was the first to set out, and he valiantly tried to ignore Lambert’s snickers as he left.

Geralt is headed to Oxenfurt. He and Jaskier hadn’t made set plans to meet up, because it normally doesn’t take too long for them to accidentally on purpose run into each other, but this year, Geralt doesn’t want to wait. The winter had stretched out into much longer than normal, with biting cold and piles of snow, so Geralt is more than ready to be warm again.

When the path finally stops twisting and turning, Geralt mounts Roach and picks up their pace a bit. It’s certainly only because he’s eager to sleep in a bed, never mind that he’s been sleeping in one all winter.

Geralt pulls his hood up against the early spring chill and soldiers on.

When Geralt finally arrives, several days and sleepless nights later, it’s just before dawn. Jaskier has always had a proclivity towards nocturnal behavior, with only Geralt’s need to be up and moving at first light tempering it, so Geralt doesn’t think Jaskier will mind the intrusion.

Geralt ties Roach to a hitching post, promising to come back and find her a stable once the sun breaks over the horizon, and then he wanders until streets start to look familiar, and Jaskier’s cozy house comes into view.

Geralt steps up to the door and knocks, and he definitely does not try to tame his hair into some semblance of kempt or get an anxious churning in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Jaskier again. There’s no answer to his knock, so he tries again, but Jaskier still doesn’t materialize. Geralt tries the knob, and to his alarm, it’s unlocked.

His first thought is one of panic—what if something’s wrong? Jaskier wouldn’t just leave his door unlocked; someone could walk right in and steal his lute. Geralt opens the door quietly and creeps through the dark house. There are no immediate signs that there’s anything amiss. There are only three rooms, and Geralt eases the bedroom door open to peek inside. He’s immediately arrested by Jaskier sprawled out naked on his bed.

Geralt takes a hurried step back, but not before his eyes dart all over Jaskier’s body. He’s just taking stock of any new injuries Jaskier might have incurred while Geralt wasn’t around to protect him from the wrath of cuckolded husbands, that’s all. Jaskier looks paler and more gaunt than he was when Geralt left him, but Geralt supposes that’s just a side effect of winter.

Geralt retreats slowly, locking the door behind him and resolving to come back when the sun is high in the sky.

Geralt stumbles onto the street, the early morning light making everything washed out as he scuffs his boots along the ground. He meanders back the way he came, deciding he’ll stable Roach and then see about something for breakfast. He hadn’t felt hungry in his haste to get to Jaskier, but now that his enthusiasm has been tempered, he’s starving. He tries to remember the last time he stopped to eat something more substantial than whatever he could pull out of his pack. Two, three, days ago, maybe?

Roach comes into view, pawing her hoof against the dirt impatiently. Geratlt huffs a laugh as he walks closer, untying her reins from the hitch and clicking his tongue as he leads her in a direction that he’s getting a big whiff of horse from.

Geralt leaves Roach at the stables, with his usual stern frown at the stable boy and a chastisement to Roach to be good as she nips at his shirt.

Roach taken care of, he sets off to look for something to eat, wondering if it’s too soon for Jaskier to be up yet. His eyes flicker shut for a moment as he thinks of the Jaskier’s robe, and how if he goes right now and knocks on his door, he might answer wearing that and nothing else.

Although, if he does that, even Jaskier might be able to smell the lust rolling off of him.

Geralt sighs and continues his trudge, until he stops in his tracks and redirects his path. He looks up at the sun’s position in the sky. It’s been long enough. Surely Jaskier is wearing actual clothes by now?

Geralt walks back to Jaskier’s home, the path turning from dirt to cobblestone as he gets closer. There’s a patch of grass peeking between the stones with three orange wildflowers growing in it. Geralt stoops down and picks them without thinking too much about it.

Geralt carries the flowers loosely in one hand down at his side. When he reaches the steps leading up to Jaskier’s door, he pauses to steel himself, to try to prepare himself for if Jaskier’s whole chest is on display in his robe, but he’s interrupted by an obnoxious throat clearing.

Geralt whirls around to glare at the person, but he’s arrested by the sight of a man scowling right back at him. “Hope you’re not planning to bother some nice girl, Witcher. Like anyone would ever want you.”

Geralt glances down at the flowers in his hand, and then back to the man, mouth flapping uselessly. He has a point.

“She’s probably just too scared to tell you to fuck off,” the man sneers, and Geralt’s fingers itch to pull his dagger from his belt, but he restrains himself.

He surreptitiously looks around for a place to drop the flowers. The man is right; this is a terrible idea. What is he hoping to accomplish with this? Just to make Jaskier smile? He’s an idiot.

A door slams open, and then, “Well, I have no such qualms. Fuck off.”

Geralt turns around to see Jaskier—and thank fuck he’s wearing clothes this time, but he’s wearing that ridiculous lavender robe, with his leg jutting out right below where it’s knotted together. Geralt desperately averts his eyes, turning back around to frown at the man, but he’s disappeared.

He looks at Jaskier, then, drinking him in after a winter apart. Jaskier makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat. “For me?” he asks, holding out his hands for the flowers.

Geralt hands them over without comment, but he can’t hide the smallest of smiles as he follows Jaskier into the house, Jaskier chattering away about everything Geralt missed.

And, gods, did he miss a lot.

iv.

When Geralt bolts awake this time, Jaskier is gone again. Geralt would be concerned that just anyone could sneak up on him while he’s sleeping, but he knows his body has started to become in tune with the sound of Jaskier and it no longer deems it necessary to rip him from his sleep for just Jaskier padding around.

Still, Geralt wipes the sleep from his eyes and slowly gets up to start disassembling their camp. Jaskier will be back soon, and then they can be on their way. Geralt casts his eyes to the horizon, noting the first rays of morning peeking over it.

Geralt ambles over to where he had tethered Roach to a tree and scratches his fingertips over her neck. She headbutts his other hand, impatiently waiting for her breakfast. Geralt huffs a laugh.

Geralt has everything packed up and he’s been leaning against a tree impatiently for three minutes when he starts to get worried. Who knows what could be in these woods? There could be any number of things looking to make a meal out of Jaskier.

Geralt paces in a circle around their doused fire. On one hand, Jaskier could be doing something like taking a shit somewhere, but on the other hand, he might be hurt.

Geralt freezes when he hears a faint strangled cry, and his feet are moving even though his mind has barely registered the sound. Geralt crashes through the underbrush, uncaring about how much noise he makes or the thorns that tear against his skin, until he skids to a stop in front of Jaskier. In front of Jaskier, who locks eyes with him while his cock is in his hand and comes with an aborted gasp.

Heat burns up Geralt’s face. “Sorry, I—” he cuts himself off and flees back the way he came.

He berates himself as he walks back to their camp. They haven’t been in a town in over three weeks, why was that not what he expected? In all honesty, that’s why he hadn’t gone after Jaskier immediately, but after he heard him shout all of the thoughts of restraint flew out of his brain. The only thing he could focus on was Jaskier needing help.

Geralt tries not to dwell on the thought of how Jaskier’s cock had looked, flushed and jutting out proudly. Geralt pulls Roach’s brush out of the saddle bag and works her over carefully, making sure every hair is going the same way and helping her shed her thick winter coat.

By the time Jaskier stumbles back, Geralt had thought he had managed to put the incident out of his mind, but the sight of Jaskier proves him wrong. “Ready to go?” Geralt grunts.

Jaskier opens his mouth and shuts it with a click of his teeth. “What are we waiting for?”

Geralt swings himself up onto Roach, and doesn’t let himself look back to make sure Jaskier follows.

Geralt’s eyes crack open as the door to the inn room squeaks. He grunts in displeasure at being disturbed, and then remembers Jaskier is supposed to be with the barmaid and bolts upright. The door is just out of view from the bed, so Geralt eases himself out of bed and picks up the dagger. He creeps to where the wall juts out and then jumps out on the other side, revealing himself.

“Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?” Jaskier laughs nervously, and Geralt sheepishly drops the dagger onto the chair as his eyes widen.

“What is with you and always being naked?” Geralt growls in frustration, trying not to look at the creamy expanse of Jaskier’s skin, marred with freckles instead of scars like Geralt’s.

Jaskier’s brows pull together in confusion. “What?”

“Nevermind. Just—what is going on?”

“Ah. Right. That. I got…kicked out.”

“Did she have a husband?”

“Um, yes, yes, that’s exactly right. He did not appreciate the soiling of their marital bed.”

Geralt rolls his eyes fondly even as a pang of longing lodges itself right between his ribs. He doesn’t stop to examine it for too long.

Geralt turns his back and slips back over to the bed. The one bed, because he had thought he would be alone tonight. Geralt sighs.

There’s a quiet swish of fabric as Jaskier pulls on some clothes. “That was one of my favorite shirts, and now it’ll probably end up burnt or some other ridiculous thing.”

The doublet in question was a gaudy scarlet thing with obnoxious gold threading and beading sewn into it. The light always caught on it just wrong to shine into Geralt’s eyes and give him a headache. “What a pity.”

Jaskier shoves at his shoulder as he clambers into the bed without a second thought. Geralt swallows hard at the dip of the lumpy mattress, at the body what so close to his all of a sudden. Jaskier’s heartbeat thuds, and a peculiar smell drifts off of him that Geralt can’t quite place.

Geralt turns over so that he’s facing Jaskier. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier buries his face into the pillow. The one pillow, that he tugs away from Geralt. “Nothing,” he says, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“Hmm. Well.” Geralt pauses and tries to think of a way to respond that won’t have Jaskier calling him an emotionless boulder later. “If you want to talk about it, I can listen.”

Jaskier lifts his head up from the pillow to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Wow, I didn’t know that I was speaking to anything other than the wall when I talk to you.”

Geralt yanks the pillow out from under Jaskier and hits him with it. “Shut up.”

+ i.

Jaskier sighs as he unfurls his bedroll. He’s been unleashing heavy sighs about once an hour for the past week, and it’s driving Geralt up the wall. He’s asked Jaskier if everything was all right four separate times now, and Jaskier has brushed him off each time.

“Jaskier, just tell me what’s the matter,” he begs after Jaskier sighs as he returns with water from the stream.

Jaskier plops the bucket down right next to the fire, and some splashes out and douses the small smolder Geralt had got started.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls before Jaskier can even react.

“Fine! You want to know what’s so wrong? It’s you!”

Geralt rears back, blinking rapidly. He wants to make a beeline for Roach and try to get the feeling of Jaskier’s eyes boring into his out of his mind as soon as possible, but he can’t just leave Jaskier high and dry out here all alone. Geralt shakes his head and turns away.

“Wait,” Jaskier’s hand comes around to clamp onto Geralt’s wrist. Geralt nearly shakes him off, but then Jaskier is saying again, “Wait. That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes cautiously and arches an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

Jaskier rubs the back of his neck. “You know I got kicked out of that room the other night.”

Geralt grunts. “For cuckolding the husband?”

“Well, yes, but not exactly. I lied. There was no husband. Turns out some people aren’t all that impressed when you say the wrong name in the heat of things.”

“Jaskier, what does that have to do with—”

“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers.

“Oh.”

Geralt is taken aback. He’s never had this happen with a human before. It’s… hard to imagine that a human could see him as anything other than repulsive, something to be tolerated just to part him from his coin.

“And now I see that I’ve made a complete and total mess of things. I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

As Jaskier’s grip on his wrist loosens, Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand instead. “You haven’t made a mess of anything.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen before he reaches the hand Geralt isn’t holding up to cup Geralt’s face. Geralt turns his head to nuzzle into Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier leans forward to press his lips to Geralt. Their fingers become untangled as they move on, Jaskier’s coming up to twist in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt’s stroking across Jaskier’s cheek bone.

When they pull away, Jaskier lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “Wow. It seems like I could have saved my hand some work while we were on the road.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s crudeness.

“Come on, you know that was funny,” Jaskier wheedles into his ear.

Geralt pushes him aside and crouches down to rebuild their fire. “You’re rarely funny.”

Jaskier claps a hand over his chest and splutters. “Okay, still incredibly rude. Nice to know some things never change, I suppose.”

Jaskier huffs and walks away, going over to feed Roach while Geralt attempts to find some kindling that isn’t damp.

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips.

When the fire is roaring once again, Geralt wanders over to where Jaskier is now sitting against a tree.

Geralt sits down beside him. “I do think you’re funny sometimes,” he admits.

“You’ve already wounded my pride, Geralt; it’s too late.”

“And so if I offered you a… hand, you’d turn me down?”

Jaskier jerks his head up and turns to Geralt. “That is not what I said in any way, shape, or form.”

“Hmm.”

In the end, it doesn’t happen that night, or the day after that. It’s when they’re finally at an inn that Jaskier pounces on him. Geralt has barely shut the door to their room when Jaskier is on him. “I’ve been so patient,” he whines.

Geralt raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Geralt, you’re impossible,” Jaskier huffs in exasperation. “Well, I’m asking now.”

Geralt kisses him, slow and sweet, and Jaskier groans his eagerness into his mouth.

Jaskier’s fingers fumble with the clasps of his armor, until Geralt laughs and takes it off himself. When he turns back around after carefully setting all the pieces on a chair, Jaskier is already naked, and finally, Geralt allows himself to look. He drinks it in, notices the tiny scar Jaskier has on his thigh, rakes his eyes over Jaskier’s chest. He moves closer so he can comb his fingers down the hair between Jaskier’s pecs, and he preens at the attention.

Jaskier reaches down to undo his trousers, and Geralt steps out of them. He takes off his shirt, and sheds his smallclothes, looking back up to see Jaskier staring at him. His soft expression turns into a self satisfied grin as he hums to himself.

“What?” Geralt asks, already sure he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Nothing. Okay, fine, just—the carpet matches the drapes, is all.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s a mutation. Do you think I would choose for it to be white? What were you expecting?”

“You’re no fun,” Jaskier pauses. “What color did your hair used to be?”

Geralt stops and thinks. “Brown, probably? I don’t remember.”

Jaskier whistles. “That’s terribly sad. Do you think your childhood would make a good ballad? I bet it would.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grits out.

“Okay, okay. Insensitive, I apologize.”

Geralt pulls back, but Jaskier winds his arms around his shoulders and keeps him in place. “I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing his nose against the delicate skin of Geralt’s neck.

Geralt shudders and lets Jaskier distract him. It’s not like his childhood is something he particularly likes to dwell on, especially when there’s something much better for him to focus on in the form of Jaskier’s swelling cock judging against his hip.

Jaskier presses up close against him, bracketing Geralt against the door and putting his palm flat over Geralt’s heart before he kisses him again.

Geralt lets the sensation wash over him, the pleasant feelings and the vibration that sends a thrumming through his bones. He walks Jaskier back to the bed and lays him out, crawling on top and straddling him.

Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Gods, Geralt. You’re beautiful.”

A hot blush rises to Geralt’s face and he turns away, but Jaskier takes his wrist.

“Don’t mock me,” Geralt mumbles.

“Darling,” Jaskier says, sitting up and taking both of Geralt’s hands in his. “I’m not.”

Geralt doesn’t know how to respond. He looks down at his body, littered with scars, some pink and small and some, long healed, white and wicked looking. “Hmm.”

Jaskier sighs and tugs Geralt in for another kiss, before he maneuvers Geralt so he’s the one laying down. Jaskier works his way down Geralt’s body, lingering on each scar until Geralt squirms uncomfortably beneath him.

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh as he makes it to the soft inside of Geralt’s thighs, and Geralt starts squirming for a different reason. A whine comes from the back of Geralt’s throat as Jaskier continues to ignore his cock, throbbing and painful at this point.

Jaskier finally has pity on him and takes him in hand, making Geralt sigh and his eyes flutter shut. Jaskier jacks him quickly, bringing Geralt to the edge faster than he would like to admit before he backs off and moves his hand. He goes back to tracing Geralt’s scars, his fingertips finding the one that cut through the muscle of his leg and healed jagged and rough.

He hovers over a different one, looking up at Geralt with a question in his eyes. Jaskier’s wheedled most of the stories of his scars out of him, but this one—Geralt huffs. “I tripped over a rock and fell right onto a very pointy root,” he admits.

Jaskier’s lips quirk up into a grin, and Geralt is about to chastise him for laughing when Jaskier directs his attention back to Geralt’s cock.

Geralt gasps as warm heat envelops him, and his hand comes down to tangle in Jaskier’s soft hair. Jaskier’s other hand comes up to stroke the part of Geralt’s shaft not in his mouth and scoots further back to trail his fingertips over Geralt’s balls and ghost over his perineum to his hole.

Geralt shudders at the feeling, and Jaskier pops off of him with a wet sound. “Can I—?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Geralt babbles.

Jaskier disappears for a moment to rummage through his pack, and Geralt tries to slow his pulse. His heart is practically trying to thud out of his chest compared to its normal steady pace, so he sucks in a deep breath through his nose.

Jaskier returns and settles himself between Geralt’s legs. Geralt lets Jaskier position him until his knees are bent and his feet are planted on the bed on either side of Jaskier. Geralt swallows past the lump forming in his throat as a wave of vulnerability crashes down on him.

Jaskier must be able to sense his skittishness, because he takes Geralt’s hand in his and rubs soothing circles into it with his thumb. With his other hand, he rests the pad of his pointer finger against Geralt’s hole until he slips it in, a second finger quickly joining it.

Geralt can feel himself tensing up, but he tries to relax, tries to let himself give in and just be boneless.

Jaskier stretches him out until Geralt whines in anticipation. Jaskier chuckles and pats his clean hand on Geralt’s thigh. “I seem to recall you saying I was the impatient one?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier laughs again. “Fine, fine. I truly don’t understand why people think you’re so frightening.”

Geralt could list a few reasons, but he doesn’t want to kill the mood. He just grunts at Jaskier until he finally shuffles closer to Geralt and presses inside of him.

Geralt’s head thumps back against the mattress as he squeezes his eyes shut, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness and the way the feeling radiates through his stomach.

Are you good?” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt nods, one of his hands finding Jaskier’s and tangling their fingers together, while the other grips the sheets as Jaskier begins to thrust.

He starts out slow, almost too slow for Geralt to bear, each slide dragging inside of him and creating delicious friction while the head of Jaskier’s cock nudges his prostate.

Geralt hums.

“Let me hear you,” Jaskier says into his ear.

Geralt looks off to the side, but Jaskier puts a finger on his chin and tilts his head back. “You’ve never been shy; don’t start now.”

Geralt stays sullenly even quieter than before, deliberately slowing his breathing.

Jaskier laughs at his obstinance. “No performance review for me?”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Geralt says breathlessly.

“Who am I to say no to that?” Jaskier asks, and then there’s no more talking for a while, just gasps and moans as Jaskier slams into Geralt at a pace that leaves them both panting.

Finally, Jaskier shudders to his climax and wraps a hand around Geralt’s weeping cock to bring him over the edge with him.

Jaskier slips out of him and collapses onto the bed beside him, draping his leg over Geralt’s thigh, his fingers meandering their way again to the forest of scars that live on Geralt’s skin.

“You’re lovely. Do you believe me yet?”

Geralt gives an unimpressed hum.

“Well, lucky for you, I have the whole rest of my life to make you see reason.”

Geralt likes the sound of that.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ficlet #fanfiction #contemplative writing #5+1 fic

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