#i have ideas for a few oneshots here and there but not a full-blown fic

[whisplion]

Cloaked Hearts

Feysand x Court of Nightmares Reader

“I’ve dreamt for so long of what the warmth of the sun would feel like.”

“You know nothing High Lord of what it is we endure in that prison you forbade us from leaving.”

“You speak of equality for all of Prythian but we are not considered into that equation.”

“I love you more than I care to admit to you or myself.”

[gukieater]

Saudade || Chapter 1: Seoul Rain

Summary: A man of plan. Jungkook didn't live a life he didn't design. But when fate decides to take control will he take it back or he will lose his way, like he did when he was 15?

Or

Mafia AU where OC helps her coworker runaway from her mafia fiance and get caught on the process by his men. But when Jungkook finally sees you, anger is not what he feels.

⚜️ Pairing: Mafia Jungkook x Reader

⚜️ Rating: M

⚜️Genre: Mafia, angst, Lil fluff later on, slow-burn, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn.

⚠️ Warnings: Swearing, name-calling, violence, physical abuse, domestic violence, illegal drug dealing, childhood trauma, attempted sexual abuse (I'll ad them as I write, feel free to remind me if I forget something as well)

First thing first, as originally planned, this is not going to be a one shot. I'm sorry (am I?)

And since it's not a oneshot, I am really really not sure when the next part is gonna drop. Again, I'm sorry.

One of the reasons this not being a oneshot is the character development of both Jungkook, mostly the OC. Since it's going to be officially my full blown fic, I really want to play around with her character and I may have quite a few idea. So again I apologize for the delay.

Another thing is that I really don't proofread what I write so it's pretty much the first draft I wrote. So for obvious reasons there will be tons of tons mistakes. So basically how it goes is when I get the chance to re-read the entire thing, I correct the mistake as I go. And English is my second language so if you are looking for finesse, I must warn you, you will be disappointed 😞.

🔹🔷 Series Master list 🔷🔹

10:30 am, Trimage, Seongdong-gu, Seoul.

Funny how change of perspective changes the reality of things. He always felt like his apartment building wasted a lot of space for open parking now staring at it from the 38th floor of his apartment building, the space looks impossibly small. Insignificant even. Like his childhood.

Jungkook is staring at his image on the window. He can count the changes in his body that took place through out the years. He can't see the scrawny, malnourished 14 years old boy reflect back at him anymore. Instead he is looking at someone well-built, not buff yet farm, well postured man staring back at him.

A man.

He's not surprised with his transition, far from it. He worked for them, to the point that he's almost proud. He calculated every single change that took place in his life, measured and laid out by him, with precision, patience, and control- impeccable control.

His thoughts are interrupted by a phone call. Looking at the window now, it's starting to fogg up, a tale tale sign of untimely Seoul rain, he can't see his shadow anymore. He reluctantly takes the call, almost dreading it. Although he has been anticipating this call the entire morning, something tells him he's not gonna like what he'll hear and how things roll from there.

"Minho"

"We found her"

"Tae-hee? She is in Korea!?"

"No, but we got a lead. Found the whore who caused this whole riot in the first place. Tae-hee doesn't have the gall to . . . "

"I know what she is capable of and what not, I didn't ask for her resume Minho. Now would you get to the fucking point, what do we know. You are wasting time?" Jungkook cuts him off annoyingly.

"We've been trying to coax stuff out off her since last night, the bitch here won't budge"

"Hold on..." Jungkook can feel the headache forming already. "Are you trying to tell me we had a lead since last night and I am being informed now? In the dead-fucking morning? When I clearly remember giving clear instructions to notify me the instance we have some sort of lead on her whereabouts?"

Minho noticably gulp over the phone, " Bos-ss . . .we were just trying to give you something solid before we pass on the information of having a lead. Thought. . .'

"It would impress me? Well you thought wrong because I can think of at least 10 reasons why I should put a bullet between your eyes. Not working so well for charming the big boss, is it Minho?"

" I-I . . . We'll get you s-something valuable . . ."

"Oh I know you will! If you want live pass to see the next day that is. I'm coming to the camp myself, ping the location to my driver. And Minho?"

"Yes, boss"

"It's Miss Song to you, you disrespectful bastard." Jungkook all but lowly hisses over the phone, calm and collected. But Minho on the other side, nearly soils his pressed slacks, that's the affect he has over the man that works for him. If given the option, they'll probably slit their own throat than facing a pissed of Jungkook and bear the consequences. He's a rational man but he could be very devil when he wants to be.

It has started to rain meanwhile. The rain was a much needed relief to the summer heat in Seoul. Still, Jungkook doesn't like the rain. It reminds him of the uncertainty, things or situations he cannot control. And he absolutely hates it.

Jungkook is also a prideful man, rising from the streets to become the king of underworld and he doesn't like when other people meddle in his business. He hustled the life of a ring fighter, it was his own kind of school for all the illegal business he runs. He learned how to stay invisible even he's standing in front of his opponent. How to make himself small enough to the point they dismiss him till he can take a leap and devour them.

From his fighting days if one thing that he has hold on to till this day is his disciplines. He has a certain rhythm set for things and he prefers to stay attune to them, he likes his control like that. So whenever someone or something tends to disturb it, he's rather ruthless taking care of it. Bloods are shed. Again, he's not unnecessarily violent. Even his violence are measured, calculated. He thinks it gives out the message more effectively.

He's now on his way to meet the intruder that recently caused the disharmony in his otherwise disciplined life. He doesn't even know the name of the person yet. You see Jungkook lays his plans out where he can see them clear as a vision, like scenes unfolding in opera. He designs the prologue himself. Knows how the next scene unfolds, where to draw the climax in and when to drop the curtains. So when did Song Ta-hee become part of that vision? When Jungkook drew and laid out the outline for his next victory.

Jungkook met Tae-hee at a strip club named Tokyo, formerly owned by the Ha-Jongs, given out to Bangtan as a token of appreciation later, more like a courting gift to show that they are willingly to give out part of their territory because they want somewhat of a more permanent alliance.

Song Tae-hee was one of many illegitimate offsprings of the Lord, Ha-Jongs gnarly and ruthless leader Yi Kang-Hwan. Now Ha-Jongs were very proud of their roots, traditional even. Although Tae-hee and her mother never got the legal recognition nor legitimacy through marriage, because it was against their tradition to take more than one wife legally. Kang-hwan still wanted to acknowledge them by making them take the family name. It wasn't an option for discussion, it was a decision. And Yis' don't take so kindly to rejections. It goes beyond saying what it would implicate if one of them to actually reject that decision, it's an direct insult to the Yis' and by default, to the Ha-jongs.

So Tae-hee being the perfect bull-headed daughter of Kang-hwan did the first only thing she could to piss her father off. She declined to take up the family name and ran off to Seoul to become a stripper. As ruthless as the Ha-Jongs were, they weren't uncouth. They were very traditional the way they carried their family, legitimate or not. Everyone associated with the YI's are to abide by their family tradition where woman stays within certain boundaries.

So when Kang-hwan decided to break her mother's heart, she decided to strike back the way she knee, she could.

Jungkook needed to have access to Samcheok port to smuggle his supplies in uninterrupted without constantly thinking of anomalies. The only alternative to that was the northern part of the regime but that's under military supervision.

It's more hustle than he would like handle, not to mention taxing to his resources. Samcheok port falls heavily under the area controlled by the Ha-Jongs, they were the farm believers of, if you control the sea, you control the country. So there's no way to bypass them without brewing unnecessary wars. So Jungkook got creative and decided to write his own verse to the family drama.

And the curtain rises.

"You look seemingly lost with a touch of pissed, Miss" Jungkook lazily drawls, inspecting his surroundings. The club could use a makeover and set of new sound system. His head is pounding. This gets her attention.

"And you look like you got no business being here. What, your stripper dumped your goody two shoes ass for someone more loaded?" Hye-Jin doesn't back down when it comes to snide remarks. Jungkook smiles at that.

"How did you guess? Don't you look like the sympathetic one? What got you in this part of the town? Daddy issues?"

That wipes all the smugness off Hye-Jin's face. Now all she feels is anger brewing in the pit of her stomach.

"Are you one of his dogs? Did my pathetic excuse of a father send you sniffing around me? Well you can go ahead tell him he can't do shit in this side of the town and he can fuck himself. Bangtan pulls all the shit here now."

"Now that's no way to talk about your own father, is it Princess?" she scoffs at the nickname.

"You don't know shit about him so if you wanna go lick his boots, go kill some mutts for him or fondle one of his whores so she can put on some good words for you." At this point Jungkook has seemingly grown bored of the conversation. Same old, same old. She's wasting time.

"Look,I get the anger, really. Mine was a bastard too. So what if I tell you I have a plan that will do a lot more than pissing of "Pathetic excuse of a father" of yours and doesn't involve getting strangers tongue getting shoved down your throat and flashing your assets to sweaty, deprived old man every night."

Hye-Jin contemplates the offer for a second before dismissing him, "As much charming as you are, I don't trust you. For all I know, you could be a trap and I don't plan to get fucked both ways soon. So unless you want a lap dance, I suggest you haul ass. Therapy's over, you are wasting business hours."

Jungkook looks down and chuckles at this," You know, for a girl who looks this elegant, you sure have a foul mouth. When I first heard you were in ballet and this close to become a Prima Ballerina, I thought there must be a strong reason as to why you decided to throw that away and chose to live the life that you are living. Now that I've met you I know why." Hye-Jin's mouth hangs open at that. Who exactly was he? Even her father didn't know that.

"And what is that? Not that I care about your opinion." She tries to wash down her nervousness with feint arrogance.

"Because you are outright stupid, Hye-Jin, is why. Anyway, now that you have wasted my time, I will see myself out. If that dead brain of yours miraculously starts working and you change your mind, give me a call. As you said, we are losing business hours." Jungkook carelessly threw his business card on the bar and walked away. Hye-Jin looks perplexed for a minute and contemplates her options. The pay was generous and she didn't have todo anything that was forced but this isn't remotely the life she wanted for herself. "Fuck it!" She groans and picks up the card and her eyes shot open. "Jeon Jungkook . . ." The new owner off Tokyo, the one who took over this club shortly after she become a stripper here. Intrigued is a understatement, she needs to know what is going on.

So when Jungkook's phone went of that night and he saw her number, he already knew he won. From there, the announcement, the engagement went pretty fast. What Hye-Jin was getting out of this? The satisfaction to watch the Ha-Jongs and her father come crumbling down as Jungkook laid out his plan to dismantle them from the inside out. What irked her though the plan required her to play the good daughter and a perfect fiance to Jeon Jungkook.

The later part was a lot bearable though. Jungkook was not ill-spoken like her father, in fact they barely talked. But he made sure she was well taken care off, respected and safe. She didn't mind the occasional intimacy as well in fact it was better than what she had in the past. He was a gentle lover, complied with her needs and at the same time could be rough when she wanted him to. He let her take the charge of her pleasure and he took care of her after they were done. Cleaning her, tucking her under the sheets, making sure she gets a warm bath drawn the next day and the breakfast delivered to her bed. She rarely met someone who cared about such small details without being explicit about it. And that led her to make her first mistake.

She became emotionally drawn to Jungkook. She started to crave more. But when she started to understand this strictly business for Jungkook and this is as far as she gets, it broke her.

She retorted her old ways to get the attention she craved from him. So when she declared she is going to work as a barista to the cafe she was recently frequenting just to spite him and he just nodded, not paying her attention she decided to deliver her final blow.

"I want to call off the engagement"

At this, Jungkook throws her a brief, almost a bored look. He dives back to his paperwork, "Back being a brat, aren't we?" Jungkook chuckles, sipping his coffee, "It's amusing how you think it's up to you to decide what you can bring to this arrangement we have and what not"

He puts down his mug and throws her one final look, "So, no Princess, you are not calling off the engagement. Your car will be ready in 15 min to take you to the cafe. Wouldn't wanna be late in your first day of work, would we?" At this Jungkook walks out of the study the close the door behind him.

Hye-Jin doesn't know what made the first drop of tear rolled down her cheeks, was it the frustration of being denied what she longed for or the anger towards the man she held some sort of adoration who didn't even take a minute to reduce her down to nothing. No, she didn't love Jungkook, but she could, she wanted to. Now she can't seem to even breathe around him.

Hye-Jin slowly came to terms with her situation, accepting it even. She would daily remind herself why was she here. There was no point in hiding, running, this was her life now. That Jungkook won once again, how his plans were flawless. Everything was on track, just how he painted.

Funny how sometimes a small shift can throw a wrench to a perfectly engineered plan and everything comes toppling down due to that one measley change. Jeon Jungkook's designed his plan to be precise, flawless and infallible but he did not plan for one thing.

You.

Next

Tag list:

@mwitsmejk @scuzmunkie @drunkzseok

@joonwater can't tag you bub :(

[13atoms]

Slippery Fingers [Dhawan!Master x Reader]

Took longer than I expected, and I haven’t written smut in forever so forgive it being a little rusty, but here’s the Dh!Master smut which (barely) won the oneshot fic vote! 

Also sorry if you’re a massage therapist, we’re on a different planet so I’m hoping the now-defunct word ‘masseuse’ is still in-vogue there!

Contents: Happy Ending Massage from an alien, Smut, Jealousy, yet another unsuccessful trip to a spa planet. [8k]

*

“You never take me anywhere fun!” You had pouted, pushing the Master’s buttons as he researched yet another scheme.

In truth, he did take you places fun. At least, places he thought were fun. But in all of time and space, there had to be more relaxing ways to have fun than overthrowing monarchies and trying to instigate political disasters.

He’d tried taking you hiking, once, but both of you had complained an hour in. He was bored, you were too sweaty, and no one was enjoying themselves. He’d teleported the pair of you back to the TARDIS, and you’d robbed a weapon store instead.

Still, you were determined he should take you somewhere fun.

The Master’s raised an eyebrow, a concealed smile making his lips twitch.

“A theme park, a beach, a… um… a waterpark? I’ll wear something revealing?” you teased, knowing he would never take you up on the offer.

The flirtation the two of you engaged with was frustratingly endless – just a bit of fun.

You relished in the way his eyes couldn’t meet yours, as he considered your suggestions. Maybe imagined them, too.

“Sounds boring,” he finally commented.

“What’s boring about a little hedonistic fun?”

He smiled, striding across the outback-interior of his TARDIS to finally meet you beside the console. Good. Co-ordinates were being set, the screens displaying a stream of impossibly fast information in a language you couldn’t read.

The Master was planning something.

“Hedonism is about pleasure, dearest,” he ground out the last word, and it made you smile.

You refrained from making the ‘old married couple’ joke that so many strangers made on your travels, because it rang a little too true.

“Yeah?”

“And if you’re in the mood for hedonism, you won’t find that pleasure in an amusement park.”

You raised your eyebrows, leaning against the console very intentionally, so his fingers had to brush your hip to flick the switches he needed. He shot you a knowing glance, as his hand lingered a little too long.

“Where will I find pleasure, Master?”

For a beat he paused, his lips parted and somehow inviting, mere inches from yours. Then he leant forwards, only to whisper.

“A spa.”

You felt the tension in the room pop, blown-bubblegum pierced by a pin and flying back into your face. Sticky and shocking and unpleasant. It took you a second to remember where you were – and who you were with. A retort came uncomfortably slowly, and you startled as the TARDIS began to dematerialise.

“Still trying to get me in a bathing suit?”

The Master winked.

*

As you stepped off the TARDIS, you found yourself in a stiflingly warm room, reaching for the Master’s arm subconsciously as he offered it.

All around you was a plush whiteness, creams and sterile surfaces somehow designed in such a way that the space felt both perfectly welcoming and clean. The TARDIS door locked quietly behind you, disguised as an inconspicuous cupboard, as the Master chose a direction to walk.

“This is one of the most exclusive spas in the whole quadrant – horrendously expensive.”

“Want to split the bill?” you teased, knowing damn well he’d never let you pay for anything.

Not that you could. What was the currency here? Credits? You’d never even considered it.

He gave you a laugh, tightening his hold on your arm as a lavender-skinned member of staff walked past you in mint-green scrubs, politely avoiding looking at you. They were a clear foot taller than the Master, and you tried not to stare.

“I hacked their systems to check,” the time lord boasted, “and it’s the quietest day they’ve ever had. We’re the only patrons.”

“That doesn’t seem very time-travel safe,” you chided, remembering the phrase from the countless times he’d warned you against doing something to change a timeline.

He rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t help smiling fondly.

“It’s okay when I do it,” he sniffed.

Finally, you had found some kind of reception desk.

With nothing more than a smile and a few nods to the softly-spoken receptionist, you watched as the Master handed over a payment stick and arranged everything. You found yourself handed a dressing gown as white as the rest of the décor in this place, and so fluffy and warm you immediately pressed it against your face, much to the Master’s fond amusement.

“It’s really soft,” you explained, and he rolled his eyes.

“Go get changed.”

*

In the end, the cubicles you were offered to for changing were adjacent, and you were quite glad you didn’t have to offer any kind of gender-segregated spa-experience. The Master chattered away as the two of you showered and changed, spa employees silently arriving to administer all manner of hair and skin treatments before you enjoyed the rest of the facilities.

Hair conditioned and skin moisturised, you emerged from the cubicle to see the Master in just a dressing gown – mirroring yours – and the sight made you strangely uneasy. It wasn’t often he dressed down. Certainly never willingly, as far as you could remember. With conditioner combed into his hair and beard, a treatment across his nose, he had never looked less threatening.

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh which he clearly expected, already glowering at you.

“Come on,” he complained, heading for the next room.

He didn’t offer you an arm, but he did hold the door open. As you brushed past him, you noticed they’d combed the hair treatment into his eyebrows. You wondered if choosing the quietest day in history hadn’t been – as you assumed – for your benefit. His pride seemed a little wounded.

“It’s good to relax!” You reassured him, holding out your arm. He ignored it.

“For humans, perhaps.”

You leant into his shoulder briefly, trying to wind him up.

“Even big scary time lords need a break! Though, you do have a disappointingly tame interpretation of hedonism.”

“I was thinking of bodily pleasure, darling.” he purred, “I’m sorry if this doesn’t meet your exacting standards.”

Trying to ignore the rush his implication sent through you, you kept your eyes trained on the soft carpet ahead. How do they keep it so clean? I suppose no one wears shoes here.

“But I’ll ask you to reserve judgement until you’ve seen how good the massage therapists are. I believe on earth you might call it sinful.”

With a contented hum, you walked with him to the open treatment room.

*

As you sat in adjacent chairs, you realised just how naked both of you were, both adjusting your robes to cover yourself as a receptionist approached. She explained everything rapidly, and the Master nodded in understanding. You trusted he would reiterate anything important – you were distracted by the bare slice of his thigh he kept fidgeting to cover.

In lieu of clipboards they handed you tablet-style devices, which seemed familiar enough. The prices of the treatments seemed huge, but the Master told you to ignore them. Maybe the currency here was just inflated. The Master never seemed bothered, at any rate.

He was scrolling through his own options, and you knew he struggled to allow himself to go through anything that might seem self-care-y. The parallel massage tables set up ahead of you seemed to suggest you would be in the room with him, and privately you hoped he might allow himself to relax, to trust a highly-skilled stranger, with you right there.

“What are you getting?” you asked, curiously looking at his screen.

The options were all described luxuriously, with various options for oils and smells and styles, different firmnesses of touch and different problem areas the therapists could focus on. You were settled on some focus on your left thigh, the lingering ache of a muscle there had been bothering you since you’d fallen running from an enraged palace guard last week. Besides that, you had no idea what to select.

“Just something standard,” the Master told you non-committally, and you marvelled at how embarrassing this seemed to be for him.

Then, something caught your eye.

“What are these options?”

You pointed on your own tablet, pointing to one of the most expensive options at the bottom of the page.

Indulgent twenty-minute full body muscle release with Lerimoya blossom oil, Akesian-style massage and skin treatment. Completed with sexual release and relaxing cool-down.

The Master’s jaw seemed to clench minutely, but you pretended to ignore it.

“Exactly what it says,” he told you curtly.

You scrolled back up to the top of the options, taking a moment to consider his bluntness. You had to admit… there was something very tempting about it. Getting yourself off on the TARDIS made you nervous – a living ship with a consciousness watching you bite back moans as you masturbated a deeply un-erotic thought each time you remembered it. But this was clinical. Self-care.

The Master was a ceaseless flirt, but seemed unable to deliver on his gazes and winks and comments. You needed something.

“Isn’t that… taboo here?”

“As common as a back rub, love.”

His curtness hadn’t ceased, and it irritated you for some reason. So much for being relaxed.

The time lord had impatiently clicked some arbitrary option at the top of his list, no doubt the shortest massage he could get away with. He was already clicking his tongue, holding the device out to be collected by the receptionist. You took a deep breath.

He was always telling you to take what you want and be hedonistic. You scrolled down quickly, selecting the option, selecting the areas of your body which hurt (not least that damn thigh) before holding out the device.

You could feel his eyes on you, your cheeks burning, and some deep part of you igniting at the thought of what was about to happen. You were looking forward to it, you realised. So much.

“Chosen something expensive?” he ground out, the joke landing flat as his tone seemed oddly monotonous.

“If you’re paying, then of course.”

It was only as the tablets were taken gently from you by a kindly receptionist that you remembered the massage room would be shared. A screen seemed to have appeared silently between the massage tables, and you hoped your look of appreciation was understood by the alien.

*

There was something surreal about being asked to undress just a screen away from the Master, knowing he was doing the same on the other side, mere feet away as the lights dimmed and incense burned.

The spa workers were softly spoken and considerate, putting you at ease immediately as you lay down, feeling acutely aware of your body against the table. You weren’t sure where to put your arms, fidgeting, until warm oily hands smoothed them down by your sides, and you fought your instincts in order to stay still.

You wondered how the Master was doing. He wasn’t the best at letting other people touch him. At being vulnerable. He hated leaving his back exposed, always afraid someone would stab him in it.

You thought, for a moment, about trying to talk to him.

Would that be rude? Would it help him?

But talking felt uncomfortable, laying like this, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

As large, warm hands started their work on your bare back, you let all thought of conversation go. You closed your eyes, feeling the smooth, gentle release of your muscles as they were expertly relaxed. The larger frames of the aliens here seemed to make them strong, pressure spread across fingertips which felt human-enough, the smell and warmth of the room tempting you near sleep, wringing soft noises of approval from you which you didn’t bother to conceal.

The time seemed to stretch on forever, in a delicious, in-urgent way you rarely experienced with the Master. He was always in a rush, unable to stand still even with a time machine.

This was, you conceded, luxurious and hedonistic: pleasure above all else. Pure self-indulgence. The pursuit of nothing but feeling good.

You could almost forget he was there. Soft music and the gentle movements of the massage therapists were the only sounds, until suddenly he was there again. For seconds at a time, in small noises, his presence seemed looming. The shifting of his beard against the table beneath him, a grunt of discomfort as a knot was released in his back, once a snap to not touch my neck.

He settled, soon enough, his treatment seeming more painful and intense than yours. You could hear the slap of skin onto his, the breath forced from his lungs as a considerable force was applied to his body. You tried to tune it out, each time the masseuse seemed to be hurting him. Likely by his own choice, you lamented. It was short, too. Your massage therapist had only just begun to work on the ache in your thigh, doing a marvellous job of easing the pain, when his massage was slowly finished.

Your body felt as though it was melting into the table, pleasantly warm with the oil and the heat of the room. Only because you strained your ears, you heard his masseuse leave the room, with a gentle instruction to lay still until they returned.

It was strangely difficult to enjoy the rest of your massage as you wondered what he was thinking about, just laying there. You had feared he might ignore their instructions and move, but he seemed to be behaving himself for the day.

A gentle murmur of “turn over for me” brought you back to your body, made your eyes snap open and a sudden rush of blood to the head caused you to feel disoriented.

“Take your time,” the massage therapist coaxed, as their soft hands guided you in turning slowly, careful not to let you fall off the table.

You had forgotten what was coming next.

The low murmur of something indiscernible started, a humming noise you soon tuned out, as hands found their way across your stomach. You felt yourself clench at the contact. This was different. Slower, more sensual touches, beyond the realm of what you would consider professional. You bit your lip, toying with stopping the treatment early, until you realised the source of the quiet buzzing.

As one huge hand began to knead at your breast, the other reached for the slipperiness between your legs.

Vibrations against your clit made you gasp, their expertly firm touches pulling you lazily yet inevitably closer towards orgasm. Your entire body felt dragged along with the certainty of a current in a river, moved as surely as gravity, pleasure growing stronger and stronger. As fingers pried your willing, limp legs apart, you let your hands roam your own oily skin, no longer caring about the noises you let slip past your lips, the quiet begs for more.

The calls of yes, please, fuck.

For a second, the Master’s fidgeting pulled you back into the room, making you gasp. But then the buzzing sped up, rubbing fingers joining it, and your mind went blank.

*

The Master grit his teeth, knowing nothing good could come from letting you tick that stupid box. It had been a kind of dare, a test of whether you’d actually do it. He thought he’d been playing good odds, in truth, even as a feeling of something uneasy had risen in his stomach at the thought of it.

A happy ending massage.

Or rather, you receiving a happy ending massage.

Perhaps he’d underestimated his own fondness of the pure art pleasure seeking, because his barely-relaxed body was already tensing again just listening to the hum of whatever tool they were using to finish the complete sexual release you had requested.

The whole time that damn alien had been abusing the muscles of his back, he had been wondering what you’d selected. If you actually had the nerve to go through with it. The treatment was popular here, he knew. In fact, the spa was famous for it. Famously good at it. Human anatomy and human pleasure were close enough to theirs that the richest interstellar-travellers from earth colonies would begin to arrive just a few years from the date he had chosen. They would all be seeking out the exact treatment which had caught your eye.

A strange thing to be famous for, he supposed, but popular. Certainly lucrative, and – was that moan?

*

It felt like it lasted an eternity, listening to how those… creatures finished their supposed-treatment, moans and calls and staccato words leaving your voice with a keening, sensual desperation he had never heard from you before. The slick sounds of your body had accompanied the buzzing of that device in the most insufferable symphony he had ever heard. He had considered leaving, so many times, gritting his teeth and trying to school his body into nonchalance as you finally came. The Master tried to block it out as you moaned, and laughed, and thanked the massage therapist, and apologised for thanking them… joked with the alien, no doubt glowing and coated with sweat and oil, flushed, your pants filling the room alongside contented hums.

He wondered why he couldn’t stand it.

“I’ll leave you for a few minutes to calm down,” the massage therapist had told you gently, and he had grimaced as you gave a breathy, giggling reply.

“I think I’ll need it.”

Then they were alone. And nothing should have changed dammit, and yet everything had. And he damned Rassilion and all those other bastards who decided time lords should be sexless and uncomfortable naked because fuck nothing had prepared him for this, no matter how much he pretended he was nothing like them.

He loathed to admit when humans were better than him at something, but in this situation, he longed to be the kind of species who could meet your eye after this.

You laughed again, suddenly, airily, and he wondered if that was supposed to be some kind of cue for him to say something.

Something witty.

Something clever.

Something him.

“All okay?” he choked out.

He was still on his front, and frankly dreading standing to change, and he wondered how you were laying. On your back, still, he presumed. All sticky and sweaty and mile-a-minute heartbeat like humans tended to be. He could smell pheromones from here, loathing his body for how he was reacting.

Yet another reason to dread standing.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” you called back, so obviously sated and giggly from just your voice.

“It was exactly what you chose, love.”

The pet name sounded unnatural, forced, and he prayed you were too whacked out on hormones to notice. The spa worker slunk back into the room, and he took a moment to hate them, to hate those fingers which had been slippery and clever all over you. His stomached clenched as he wondered if they’d been inside of you.  

As the lavender and mint form disappeared between the divider, the Master shoved his face roughly back against the table.

This room is too hot, he grumbled silently to himself, stupid human temperatures.

He wondered if you were cold, your skin risen in goosebumps, or if you were warm. Pliable. Slippery and soft and –

“How are you feeling?”

“Perfect.”

He could hear the stupid smile in your voice.

“Glad to hear it, if you’re ready to stand for me…”

The Master couldn’t help the furrow of his forehead, the dig of his fingernails into the soft surface of the table. Then he heard the matching gasps of you and the massage therapist, half-way pushing himself up to run around there and save you from whatever had happened and… you were fine.

Laughing, apologising for being lightheaded, saved from falling by the spa worker who had righted you. They were coaxing you to be slow, to be careful, and suddenly the Master was remembering the times he’d bellowed at you to go faster. To push your human physiology, to keep up with him. He could hear his own rough shouts, loud and harsh enough that they had made everyone around you wince with sympathy.

Then, he wondered why those thoughts were in his mind. And why that pang of guilt was making his hearts ache.

His damned masseuse had come back, no doubt from a smoke break or a lunch break or whatever these purple creatures did, helping him quickly into his robe. They offered him far less comfort than your massage therapist seemed to think was appropriate, still fussing and saying goodbye on the other side of the stupid divider.

He waved them away with a curt “good, yes, thank you.”

Then, he found himself looking straight at you.

And he couldn’t stand it.

*

The Master led you from the room with a military stride, taking some twisted pleasure in how you jogged to trail behind him.

“I can see why this is so popular,” you smiled, legs a little weak and your entire body feeling raw underneath your gown.

The Master ignored you.

The softness of the material was slightly tacky against your oily skin and you pulled it closer as you trailed behind the Master, enjoying a slight giddiness and feeling lightheaded, toes digging into the carpet as you took slow steps.

He seemed in a rush to get to the pool, swinging the door open, ignoring you as he let it swing closed after him.

The cloudy water of an oversized pool was pink tinted and sweetly aromatic, none of the chlorine smell you would expect on earth. You took in the fragrance with an indulgent sigh, refusing to give up your relaxation, even as a nagging feeling refused to leave you.

The Master was unhappy.

He waited for you to look away before quickly sliding into the water, chest-deep as he rested his elbows against the poolside behind him. He looked straight ahead as you disrobed and slid into the water beside him, the emptiness of the whole complex striking you yet again, as a sole employee passed whisper-quiet through the room.

The high vaulted ceiling was as simply designed as the rest of the complex, beautiful in its simplicity, and you looked up at it as you moved slowly through the warm water.

“Are you okay?” you asked the ceiling, hoping the Master might deign to answer instead.

He hummed, something affirmative and insincere. You let yourself float back, buoyant in the cloudy water, your toes breaking the water near the Master. He regarded you with a judgemental curl of his lip, before fixing his eyes on the wall opposite.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The Master didn’t reply, he just scoffed. You pouted, the water lapping at your face, paddling to stop yourself drifting into him.

“Just trying to have a conversation,” you grumbled.

Your words rolled off him like the sweat off his forehead, oil and water mixing on both of your skin, the heat of the room just a few degrees shy of stifling.

“Does this feel warmer to you, because you’re colder?”

He nodded. You rolled your eyes at him, finally standing in the water, crouching a little to keep your shoulders covered by the flat surface of it. You waded towards him, closing in on his personal space until the underwater bump of his leg against yours made you stop.

“Too hot?”

“Fine,” he ground out, rolling his head back towards the side of the pool.

You glimpsed the sweat and oil on his neck as you let your eyes drift over him, knowing he wouldn’t catch you while his gaze was trained on the ceiling.

“You’re in a bad mood.”

“I’m not.”

“Are.”

He gave an exasperated exhale, pinching his nose, and you watched the movement of his shoulders as he shifted his weight. You’d never seen so much bare skin, and you couldn’t help staring.

Sidling closer to him, you felt the brush of your leg against his once again, not recoiling. The Master tensed, and you ended up beside him by the pool.

“You are.”

All but whispering in his ear, you grinned as a shudder passed through him. The Master didn’t find it as funny, flopping his arm back beside him, wincing as it brushed your bare breast. He pulled away at lightspeed, shaky and sudden in his movements. You were getting to him.

He kept his lips tightly sealed, teeth clenched, making the muscles of his jaw bulge slightly beneath his beard.

A door opened, intended to be quiet but deafening in the tense room.

The Master snapped his eyes open at the noise, before moving away from you. He ducked his head underwater, rubbing product and oil from his face, before re-emerging with his fringe plastered to his face.

You laughed as he tried to brush the hair from his eyes, and that was the final straw.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” he snapped.

The Master marched to the side of the pool, soaking his robe in his eagerness to cover himself as he climbed the steps, turning to face you for just long enough to reveal something unsettling in his glare.

“I’ll wait in the TARDIS. Don’t hurry.”

His curt words remained in the room longer than him, echoing as the door closed itself softly behind his indignantly retreating form.

“Grumpy,” you sighed to the vaulted ceiling, floating on your back, and wishing that high ceiling housed the consciousness of the TARDIS.

At least when you argued on the TARDIS, you knew the ship was (usually) on your side. Maybe her gentle hum would have alleviated your guilt.

You managed to float in the pool a little longer, swimming for a bit, trying to relax. It was no use. With a mournful last duck under the water, you emerged from the pool, not hurrying to cover yourself now you were alone.

What had the Master been so pissed off by, you wondered. Hadn’t he known what this place was like? His research was usually meticulous – in fact you suspected he tended towards places he had been before when planning days out for you. Was it the nakedness? The touch of a stranger, in that massage parlour? Or simply the strangeness of a place devoid of stress and terror and chaos.

You’d thought about your life with him a lot, of late. About how you couldn’t just keep seeing the darkness of the universe. Perhaps it was naïve, but you had hoped that his recent movements towards flirting with you might have been the start of a few nicer trips. Of something a bit… more with him.

But he was acting like the bastard you’d first known, no longer softer, kinder, towards you.

Somewhere the two of you had taken steps backwards. And now he was fighting with you at a spa, of all places.

You pulled the robe tighter around you, gave a passing member of staff a tight smile, as you found the cupboard door which led to the TARDIS.

Deep breath, you told yourself.

Stepping into a different dimension always felt a little disorientating, but the TARDIS was your home now. Welcoming in her warmer, yellow light as the door closed behind you and cut off the spa’s true white lights and pristine décor.

You saw the form of the Master the second you stepped inside, the first thing your eye was drawn to. He was in a different gown, a thicker, longer one. Dark purple like his coat, and just as modest in its coverage.

He was leaning heavily on the console, hunched over with his hair messily towel-dried and barely styled. He’d clearly made some attempt, then gotten frustrated.

“Sorry for being annoying earlier,” you tried to weakly joke.

The Master didn’t even turn to regard you, he just tensed his shoulders, leaning defensively closer to the ship’s console.

“You still reek of that oil,” he spat, “and hormones.”

Even across the room, you took a step back from him. You pulled self-consciously at the neck of your robe, hoping he couldn’t see how genuinely shaken you were.

You couldn’t reply, biting down a surge of emotion at his rejection and turning from him, inspecting a side table by the door. The TARDIS sent a wave of comfort through you, but it only made things harder.

Highlighted what her pilot wouldn’t give you.

After a few seconds of silence the Master whirled around, a furrow in his brow.

“Say something.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You had nothing to say to him.

He strode closer to you, and you stepped back again, closer to the doors.

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, an uncertainty in your tone which made the Master take pause.

“Why?”

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know why you were meant to be sorry.

“For upsetting you. Whatever I did, I…”

You trailed off as the Master regarded you for a second, something approaching genuine conflict on his face as he fully took in your appearance. Wet hair, dressing gown tightly around your skin, shivering from the change in temperature… you wondered what he saw.

He sighed heavily.

“‘Whatever you did’?”

The words weren’t cruel. It was a question. But he could be terrifying, even in a bath robe. And you watched his eyes, looking for a trick or a spark of something more troubling.

He was searching your eyes too, looking for sincerity. For some kind of comfort.

“You took me there, and I really don’t know what I did… why you hated it so much. But… I’m guessing it was my fault.”

To your surprise, he pulled you into a gentle hug, cradling your head as he pulled you near to him. He wasn’t squeezing you, your bodies hardly touching. He was just… holding you close to him.

“I don’t like being touched,” he mumbled, his words over your shoulder, like they were trying to evade being heard.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you into –”

“No I just… I don’t like you being touched. Either. It makes me nervous.”

“Nervous?” you echoed back to him.

You felt his fingers twitch against your head, tightening and loosening slightly.

“Maybe… I just… I couldn’t stand them touching you. Or seeing you. I wasn’t expecting that.”

In the silence which passed between you, you wondered if he was mulling over his own words. If he even suspected what you heard in them, the vivid green between the lines of what he’d said: jealousy.

“If there had been anyone else there, other guests, I would’ve made us leave. But you seemed happy and…”

He was struggling. Struggling to articulate himself, maybe even struggling to come to terms which his own motivations.

While bragging and flirting and banter came as easily as breathing to the time lord, sincerity was something much harder.

“You didn’t like being vulnerable?” you prompted, afraid to push him too much.

Something like an awkward, coughing laugh happened in the back of his throat – you only heard it because you were so close to him.

“I suppose you could say that.”

Snaking your arms around him, you pulled the Master closer, feeling your bodies properly together between thick material. He sighed indulgently, and you smiled, face hidden from him.

“You should have said. We could have left,” you tried to comfort him, “tell me, next time. We’ll just leave.”

He gave you the silent treatment again, though you suspected this time it was not unkind. He just genuinely didn’t know what to say.

You tried a different tact, returning to something more familiar.

“You really hate how I smell?” you teased.

He groaned, and you squeezed him just to make him groan more.

“You don’t smell like you.”

That was sweet, you conceded, rubbing his back in a few soft, gentle sweeps across the towelling of his dressing gown. He gulped.

“Did you enjoy your massage?” he asked suddenly, and edge to his words which made the question seem suspiciously loaded.

You tried not to let your wariness show, holding your posture perfectly still.

“I did. It was… intense. Good though. How about you?”

He gave a low laugh, and the knot in your stomach grew tighter, pulled taught by his sudden change in demeanour. He was holding you. In the way he might hold a hostage, not a friend. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, made you open your eyes and look across the TARDIS for any sign of danger.

You couldn’t know it, but you suspected that if you tried to walk away his tensed arms would stop you.

“My massage wasn’t nearly as satisfying, if the noises you made were anything to go by, love.”

The laugh you forced was barely loud enough to leave your lips. You felt the Master’s breath on your neck.

“Tell me what they did to you, love.”

“It was just… um… massage oil. And… they did my back. And rubbed that muscle I was complaining about, the one in my thigh. It feels a lot better now, actually.”

The Master stood silently, waiting. More, you could hear him thinking, more, love.

“They turned me over, massaged my front, and then they did the happy ending bit,” you laughed, awkwardness creeping into your tone where you tried so hard to suppress it.

“How did they make you feel?” he asked, an edge to his voice which barrelled straight past the boundaries of flirtation he had set before.

His voice was gravelly, seductive, each word painfully intentional as he whispered the syllables in your ear.

“Good,” you choked out, and he shook his head with a quiet, dark chuckle.

“No, darling, tell me what they made you feel. What did they do?”

Your mouth was dry, the TARDIS and your robe too hot, constricting against your sensitised skin.

You could feel yourself getting wetter, clenching, the faintest, most frustrating waves of pleasure in your clit. The Master was tense all over, and as you fidgeted, you felt him, hard against the front of your thigh.

“They hid you from me. Behind a barrier. Tell me what they did to you.”

In some deep part of your mind, a part which wasn’t clouded by lust and overwhelmed by the Master, pieces clicked into place. How he hated being exposed, but hated you being exposed more. His curtness, after you asked someone else to touch you. You damned him for being too proud to admit what he wanted, before you sought out pleasure elsewhere.

“They made me relaxed,” you began, “so relaxed. With these strong, gentle touches. All over. And then they turned me over, and I was so relaxed, I didn’t even notice how turned on I was getting.”

You paused, hoping the Master wanted to hear your words. That this was what he was asking for. His ragged breath told you enough. In his silence, he seemed to be begging for more. As you spoke, remembering the moment, you could feel your body responding to the memory. Growing wetter at saying it all out loud, at the knowledge the Master was desperately hanging off every word, his own arousal matching yours.

“When I was on my back, it was more oil. All over. Across my chest and my stomach and dripping between my legs and that was when I remembered what I had asked for.”

His grip on you tensed, his body thrumming with energy as it seemed to encircle you, and you forced yourself to conceal a smirk.

“The touches started on my stomach. They were teasing me, working me up. Then they moved to my nipples – I think your massage was done by then,” you pretended to think about it, and your tangent made him press his body against you insistently. You could feel that delicious jealousy, almost making him growl, as you paused.

“The oil was amazing. It smelled amazing and felt… so good. I don’t know if there was something in it, or if the masseuse was just that good,” you felt him shift again, privately delighting in how worked up he was getting.

“Then they had this toy thing. I never saw it, my eyes were closed, but… it was wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better, I can’t even remember it I just…”

“Came.”

The Master’s hoarse voice felt like it was in your very head, and maybe it was, his telepathy sending a powerful jolt through you as you felt his arousal and jealousy and anger for just a second.

“You let them touch you… those aliens, those strangers –”

“You’re an alien too,” you reminded him, another rush of irritation rushing forwards from him.

“I am the best alien you’ve ever met, love, and you’d do well to remember that.”

He was so close to you, and your skin was so hot, you shivered at the snarl in his words.

“I was right there, and – ” he fumbled for words, and you smiled, pulling against his grip a little so he could see. His eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“You were right there, and what?” you challenged.

The Master shifted on his feet, his arms loosening around you, before he leant in again. His beard brushed the softened skin of your cheek, nuzzling, the slight scratch making you shudder from the rawness of it all. He inhaled deeply, pressing his nose into the swathe of skin beneath your ear, tutting with a condescension that sent a jolt of heat down your body.

“You still reek of sex. Even more now, darling. Do you want to go back? Cheat on me again?”

“I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship.”

With a bitter laugh, his hands found your ribs. Their grip was higher than they ought to be, brushing the underside of your breaths over the robe, squeezing just a tiny bit too tight. You reached for the belt of his robe, your own threat held between your fingers as you assessed the flimsiness of the knot he’d tied.

His fingers dug in tighter.

“Then I’d better make you aware,” his words came out as a threat, but you didn’t feel intimidated. The muscles in your abdomen clenched, and he noticed, fingers spreading wider on your ribs. “Can’t have you going elsewhere again.”

He was teasing, but you wondered if he had perceived what you did as cheating. His surliness made it seem that way.

“Think you can convince me?” you muttered, already far more focused on the roaming of his fingers, closer to the opening of your robe.

“Obviously.”

He stepped away, and you missed the contact already, searching his dark eyes. They were unfocused with lust. Flickering lazily and obviously to your lips. His robe had loosened slightly, a sliver of chest hair exposed below the smooth skin of his neck, and you didn’t bother to conceal the bite of your lip as you trailed your eyes down across his body.

“It really bothered you that much?”

In lieu of an answer, you found your head cradled in his hands, fingers haphazardly strewn across your face and head as he pulled you in, his lips against yours. When the Master kissed you, it was everything you’d imagined. His lips were intense and firm and bruising, but not rough. The fingers wrapped around your skull were firm, intense, but not painful. Not aggressive, not trying to hurt you, just demanding all of you.

The rest of the day melted away, the TARDIS’ presence disappeared, until all your senses could perceive was him. You could feel the wetness of his lips as he kissed you so desperately you thought he might sob, hear the sound of his breathing, the squeak of your shoes on the floor as he dragged you closer still to his body. You couldn’t smell anything his skin, the oil and the water from the spa mixed with sweat and the TARDIS’ laundry detergent and him.

Even the press of his fingers on your head made you close your eyes, focussing everything on the Master.

Your fingers fumbled to reach him, hold him somehow, finding the neck of his gown and pulling, blindly reaching to run your hands across his chest hair while you fought to open the gown further. Through where he was kissing you, you could feel his amusement, the smile which threatened to break your kiss as his hands slowly released their hold on your head.

With a slight tug at his chest hair you finally broke the kiss, pulling away as he hissed at the pull of your fingers across his

You thought you should probably say something, as the two of you stood panting, eyes glazed with want, but there were no words which could serve this moment.

Your fingers went back to the belt of his robe, tugging greedily until the knot was almost free. As you were about to undress him completely, his hands covered yours, holding them in place against the slight swell of his stomach.

“My room,” he demanded curtly, though the words came out stilted and strange as he fought to catch his breath.

“If its closest,” you agreed, happy to fluff his ego in exchange for that sincere, indulgent smile which spread across his face.

In a strangely sweet gesture, he reached for your hand, pulling you eagerly towards his room. You had never been in the space before, but you barely had time to appreciate it. The dark mahogany of the furniture and the scattered books, stolen goods, and components were completely ignored by the Master as he tugged you by the hands towards a four-poster, shoving blankets and books aside. When the bed was clear he pulled you bodily around in a wide circle, before shoving you back onto the bed with a boyish grin.

Unable to resist his glee, you let yourself flop back, the robe riding up and opening at the neck, much to the Master’s delight. He was quick to try and get the white fabric off you, one deft motion undoing the belt at your waist, pulling it open down the centre with a flourish that made you roll your eyes fondly at him.

You had expected a smartass comment, some kind of brag or joke, but instead he sank over your torso. Lips pressed to the gap between your breasts, he was astonishingly serious.

The room was silent aside from the sounds of your breathing, the gentle smack of his lips as he kissed his way down your body, and the sincerity of the moment took your breath away.

The Master wasn’t a man easily moved to reverence or seriousness, not by beautiful palaces or ornate temples or tragically burning civilisations. He always had a cruel remark, a joke.

His astonished silence meant more to you than words ever could.

When he reached the slope of your pubic bone, he looked up at you, hands flat on the bed either side of your hips.

“Can I fuck you?”

Your voice shuddered as you told him ‘yes’, a ‘please’ wrung from your lips as his tongue found your clit.

He looked up at you again through long eyelashes, seeming somehow, despite the context, surprised.

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” you repeated.

One hand reached down for his chin, stroking the line of his jaw in a mute reassurance. He smiled softly, lips pressed tightly together.

Your gentle touch on his jaw followed him as he moved up your body to kiss you again, gently, with all the veneration which seemed to have overcome him since the console room. His soft lips against yours made you groan, and he paused for a second, as though afraid you might suddenly be made of delicate porcelain and shatter from the gentlest pressure. You kissed him back harder and relished in the rumble of a moan from deep in his throat.

Then he was standing, eyes refusing to flicker from staring into yours, pulling your legs astride his hips and slipping his fingers into the wetness between your legs, fingers methodically stretching you for him.

“Good?” he asked, fingers toying at your entrance, refusing to find the nerves you wanted him to be playing with.

You nodded, trying to be patient.

“Good.”

With one last look of wonderment, he lined himself up and sank into you. You broke his eye contact, throwing your head back, whining at the stretch of him inside you. His hands reached to hold your legs, a thumb stroking across your thigh, before he gently started to move.

“Good?”

“Good.”

He thrust slowly, almost tentatively, as though trying to convince himself he wouldn’t hurt you. His pace gradually quickened, desperation growing on his face as pleasure built inside of you, until suddenly you were holding yourself in place on the mattress and the Master was grunting with the force of his hips meeting yours. Your feet dug into his back, supported by his hands holding your legs up, one arm thrown over your eyes as the other desperately tried to stop him from shunting you further up the bed.

All you feel was him, the desperation in his thrusts, the tightening of his hands on your thighs as you subconsciously clenched around him, your desperation mounting in tandem with his.

“Tell me,” you panted, a fistful of his sheets clenched painfully tight as he pounded into you.

“What?”

He was barely there, you realised, uncomprehending and stupid with pleasure. A groan ripped from his throat as you shifted your hips, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place.

“Tell me you were jealous.”

“Furious,” he grunted.

“Because you were jealous,” you ground out, feeling the Master reach between your legs, distracting you with the roughness of his fingers across your swollen clit.

You arched your back, uncovering your eyes to glare up at his sweaty face, his eyes trained hungrily on your body. As he looked up to your face, neck and stomach clenching with the strain of keeping up the furious rhythm of his thrusts, you laughed at the grin spreading wide across his gritted teeth.

His fingers on your clit fumbled for a moment, before letting you reach down to take over, your own slippery fingers barely needing to work across your clit before you gasped at the break of pleasure washing over you, the Master’s hips stuttering, struggling to stave off his own orgasm.

As you came down, he slumped over you, fucking you more and more erratically until he was coming inside of you, fingers scrambling to grip onto your body any way he could, pulling you closer as he gasped for air. You couldn’t help watch, mouth hanging over and sweat mixing with his, marvelling as he finally softened and caught his breath on top of you.

“Since it seems to really matter to you,” he mumbled into your neck, “I’ll say it. I was jealous.”

You laughed. He was heavy on top of you, his chest crushing yours as he laughed too, face pressed to the crook of your neck. You could feel his teeth against the sensitive skin connecting to your shoulder, the wetness of his mouth as he laughed, exasperated and high from the hormones.

“You were jealous!” you teased breathlessly, the words making a barest attempt at being sing-song, before his lips pressed against your neck gently.

“I was jealous,” he replied soberly, his hair brushing at you as he fidgeted, taking his weight off you a little. His legs were intertwined with yours, and you could feel the contractions of his muscles as he moved. “So, unbelievably, jealous.”

Even as you dedicated his words – this moment – to memory, you could feel sleep pulling at you. You sorely needed showers, and food, and probably water, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“So we can’t go back?” you asked airily, if only to feel the rumble of a short, exasperated laugh in the Master’s chest.

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I want a massage?” you whined, pouting for show, then gasping as the Master teasingly pinched at your hip.

“Then you’ll have to ask me.”

You pinched his hip in retaliation, his thigh jostling yours as he fidgeted irritably.

“Hm, I can live with that. If you’re any good.”

He was halfway to sleep too, tugging a displaced blanket across the pair of you blindly with his free arm.

“I’m the best, darling. Obviously.”

[mha-platonic-yanderes]

Not sure if you'll allow angst but here's a idea. What if reader ends up to deeply hate the Todoroki clan when she gets older, and started to train herself very hard (it can be quirk or no quirk) without any of the Todoroki members knowing somehow. And let's just the readers hate is the Shouto's and Natsuo's hate for Enji kind. When the reader finally turned 15 or older, they ran away from the Todoroki's with a few people's help. When the Todoroki family find the reader they full on panic and try to do everything they can to get reader back. But alas they are unable to, meanwhile the reader is planning to murder each of the Todorokis (but not Enji since he was the most mentally stable, le that's what reader thinks) for revenge of them murdering her real family and making her suffer for her whole childhood. When the reader finally comes back to Todorokis (just to murder them all), the whole family were relieved but very angry at the reader. When they finally have the reader back in their "home" they will never know what hitted them.

I had this sitting in my inbox for days thinking about what to do with this where it wasn’t just a full blown revenge fic oneshot (which it’s the perfect prompt for, don’t get me wrong). I enjoyed seeing this, but my goal with the asks is not to create seperate oneshots from the timeline(s) I’m establishing.  Anyways, this is great and will be a good thing to think about!

[i-am-just-a-kiddo]

2020 content creator review

i was tagged by @vishcount as usual, thank you  💕  i answered the questions below the cut, and everyone that is tagged is there too, if you just wanna skip my ramblings and go straight down there.  (also gosh i hope all the links work rip)

1. first creation and most recent creation of 2020: 

this lan wangji oneshot, apparently. i can’t remember when i actually wrote it, but my ao3 tells me i posted it in january 2020. i remember i just wanted to explore lwj’s time of mourning and dive into his mind of that time, even if it made me eternally sad?

my most recent 2020 creation that is public, is the second chapter to this casmund/edmund character study fic i started writing in 2016. i did not expect to return to that but rewatching the narnia movies did that to me. i guess it’s one of those ever-returning fandoms

2. one of your favorite creations from 2020: 

my niemo (nie huaisang/mo xuanyu) fic, no question. diving into this, i fully knew that this pairing probably has a tiny audience and honestly, i did not expect to churn out 30k for them. god. am still suffering because why the fuck did i do that to myself (and everyone reading). thank you vishie for standing by me all the time.

3. a new style you tried this year and a gifset edit that uses it: 

my historical taegi AU set in silla korea - i don’t think it’s actually a new style writing-wise, but it was an entirely different process of creating. i did a week of only research, diving into amounts of academic texts and sources to figure out my frame and setting. it was so much fun and in the end, with everything i learned, it felt like the fic was only just the ‘by-product’ of my research. though i must say, writing the story itself was challenging in a very different way, by that i mean that the characters made me furious and yet i had to write it like that cause i like to suffer :) 

as for gifset, am not sure? i can’t think of any so i am just linking the daechwita mv cause it’s iconic. i guess this mv is more joseon inspired, while my setting was silla somewhere between the end of 7th and beginning of 8th century; but it was the final straw to finally make me write that historical taegi au i always wanted to write with hwarang tae. also this mv inspired me to have yoongi as a tyrannical king cause why not amirite?

4. a creation to be proud of: 

my wei wuxian oneshot during burial mounds; i had a lot of fun writing him and projecting all my nightmares onto him. i went in without a plan and ended up with something i am actually quite proud of? it gave me so much space and room to just...pour out my words and not worry too much about anything else. 

5. a creation that took forever: 

my post-canon wangxian adventure or qinghe chaos, as i lovingly call it. i think i started writing it in november 2019? not entirely sure about that, i only know it took ages. i wanted to create a whole new political environment, as it takes place somewhere around 70 years after canon (they wanna be immortal, shut up) and it was fun thinking of new challenges and new obstacles that face the new generation of cultivators. unfortunately i did not have the capacity to write a full blown political conflict. that’s why i never really incorporated all my thoughts into the story itself, but hey, if anyone has questions i have notes (and vishie, once again, is the most blessed person to plot with me, ily)

6. your creation from 2020 that received the most notes: 

am gonna measure this by kudos on ao3 in that case, which would be the aforementioned lwj oneshot Cold Moon, Long Nights Moon. I feel incredibly fond of it and i’m really happy that people liked it. it feels special somehow and i just want to thank everyone who read that and liked it.

7. a creation you think deserved more notes: 

oh i wrote many fics that year for smaller fandoms, which makes me grateful for every single feedback i received. i think i had hoped my previously mentioned historical AU would receive more, but it’s okay because i still loved it. 

another one is this princess sook myung/ah roh fic that i wrote for my ‘make hwarang gay again’ series. i finally finished this show and it furstrated me so much - the gay potential that went to waste, the horrendous writing for female characters. i liked the chemistry between ah roh and the princess, and yes i get it, it’s a rare pair and this fandom is kinda dead, but. the girls deserve their shine and love (though still, i am grateful for every single kudos i receive and i am still proud of it)

8. a new fandom you joined and a creation you made for it: 

i joined many new fandoms this year for which i wrote, but i want to mention my shang xirui character study for winter begonia, because it was very interesting to explore that? and i had fun too, it was one of the first things i properly wrote after my hiatus, so i felt quite proud. also once again, this fandom has way too little content and the show is underrated. 

9. a creation you made that breaks your heart: 

i wanna mention two here. first is this wen ning & song lan oneshot that was a pure joy and also very sad to write. i just love these two so much, and i love them together even more. i have many thoughts how much comfort they could give each other and believe me, i have many more that i want to explore in the future. 

the second one is the mu nihuang & xiao jingyan oneshot i wrote for the nirvana in fire gift exchange 2020. it broke my heart, but at the same time it felt like something was healing too? it hurt at the pain both characters go through, but i also felt fond that maybe, they were not alone.

10. a ‘simple’ creation that you really love: 

hmm there are a few, i mostly want to mention my fei liu character study? it has no plot or anything, it is just an exploration of his mind and thoughts, which was an absolute joy to write and somehow so easy. 

i also quite like the yyy series i started - maybe i can write more for these two because they somehow give me the feels.

11. a favorite creation created by someone else: 

alright here we go folks:

first i want to mention my dearest @vishcount because newsflash!!! i am the biggest fan. of course i need to mention your wondeful, stunning, breathtaking masterpiece that is your xicheng novel (and yes it is a novel, i say so). it is still ongoing and you started it in 2019, but i need to mention it here because it truly is something that is lifechanging. i feel so blessed that i get the front seats and vip access to all the updates, to all your thoughts and ideas. you go through a lot with it and i am never not proud of you ❤️ another one i want to mention is this wei wuxian & mo xuanyu oneshot you wrote for me because i am still crying about it. i have no words.  honourable mentions: your easter islanders (lan wangji and jiang cheng) and this xicheng soulmate au 

another creator i want to mention is @the-cloud-whisperer and their nirvana in fire fic Heroic Woman（烈婦） , which is absolutely wonderful.  i found you through your ATLA fics (which i adore) and saw you posting about nirvana in fire and this year, finally, i watched the show and was blown away. i love your other NIF fics too, but this one feels very special because i always thought li yang’s character was so incredibly fascinating. thank you for writing this 💕

for more other creations just look at my bookmarks on ao3, there is the untamed, nirvana in fire, yyy the series, hwarang, winter begonia and original sin (from 2020 and many more if you scroll further) please give everyone i mentioned love!!!!!

12. your favorite content creators and blogs that you appreciate: 

oh boy here we go. once again @vishcount, @the-cloud-whisperer, @intyalote, @sassyassassy, @isabellaofparma, @passionpeachy, @finny-red, @guzhuangheaven  @honeyiling, @holmesandwhatson  @bloody-bee-tea, @leoyunxi, @gusucloud, @ohsehuns and many many more that must slip my mind.

all of you, consider yourself tagged in this game and even if we never spoke to each other, i greatly appreciate all of you and i want to give some love. if you feel like doing this, i hope you can have fun!  💕

[metalbvcky]

Daww, thanks for the tag @musette22 and @hawkeyeandthewintersoldier <3 :D 

What is your name?

Mandy, although you could easily figure out my real name by looking up an old Nickelodeon show from the 90′s :P 

What are your fandoms?

Marvel (Stucky) and Supernatural (Destiel + Gen bc I’m writing that Spongebob crossover) 

Where do you post your fanfiction?

AO3! I post snippets/previews of my WIPs here, because I love rambling on about writing. I also figured out how to put my long list of ideas to good use: by making moodboards and writing ficlets. Because if I dedicated every idea to a full fledged fic, I would never be able to move onto things I really wanna write lol. 

Going by kudos, what is your most popular one-shot?

Bucky’s Got a Bun in the Oven? with 205 kudos! It was my first published fic and I’m still blown away by the reception. It’s crack, but now I’m planning on a series (not crack lol I think I’ve had my fill of it during 2020- gonna be taking it seriously) of Pregnant!Bucky because...why not? :D 

Going by kudos, what is your most popular multi-chapter?

Buchanan Medical with 195 kudos! It’s got a lot more hits than kudos but tbh you can never go by the kudos/kit ratio. That fic is my baby, I put a lot of research/love into it and I’m proud of it even though the AU/tropes might not be everyone’s cup of tea :P 

What is your personal favourite story, out of your current content?

Ooohh, I have so many. But I gotta go with my most recent fic that I posted yesterday: Hot as Sand. I said I wanted to go to the beach and that fic definitely has beach vibes haha. Which was my goal and after reading through the comments, apparently I did good :) 

What work were you most nervous to post?

I don’t really get nervous when posting a fic, but I was a little nervous to post Pumpkin Spiced Roadtrip. Everyone’s lovely comments is what settled me aha. It didn’t get nearly as much attention as my other fics but that’s okay, not everything is for everyone :) 

Is there a method to how you title your work?

PFFFFFFFT I wish. It’s an endless loop of going through songs and looking at pictures on google images/pinterest. Sometimes the title will just come to me, but that doesn’t happen often. 

Do you outline your works or just wing it?

YES, YES, YES! Outlining is my favorite part of writing, next to editing. (yes, I love editing!!! can’t edit if there’s nothing on the page) My outlines can get very detailed (oh and messsyyy) but I’m a bullet point outliner so it’s somewhat-organized lol. When I get to writing, my outlines can change. Sometimes I don’t add a scene I outlined, instead come up with something else and add onto the outline. The only fics that didn’t have an outline was a few of my short crack oneshots. 

Are you excited about any of your up-coming works?

You’ve all probably heard it oven a dozen times by now because I’m super ecstatic about it but I’m literally dying to get to my second longfic: Apple Pie Crumble Cake, a Bakery/Kidfic AU. Now that I’ve got my spur of the moment oneshots out of the way, I can get to work on it soon!! Oh, and there’s that Spongebob+Supernatural crossover on my main, too, haha. 

No idea if you guys were tagged yet or not but here ya go (no pressure of course <3) @kalee60 @buckybees @captainjanegay @greyhavensking @ixalit @hbalbat 

[sapphireswimming]

11?

thanks for the fanfic day ask!

11. What’s a fanfic idea you haven’t done yet? 

I posted a screenshot of my wip file here but to dig a little deeper into some of those Danny Phantom documents, I haven’t yet done:

AU where ghosts looks like humans outside of the Ghost Zone and Jazz stumbles upon a full ghost Danny trying to hide in an alleyway one night, and convinces him to come home with her since he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He has to survive living with the Fentons and meeting the few people Jazz regularly brings over to the house - her unlikely friend Spike, Sam and her best friend Tucker, the football players she tutors, and Valerie who is honestly just there for the tech after her father loses his job because of ghosts

Fully human Dance AU that had super fleshed fleshed notes for a multi chaptered fic (and I did actually do some art for it while I was still working at the dance studio but I’m not sure all of it got uploaded to tumblr?)

Fic where the Fentons rescue a nearly-unconscious Dani from a ghost attack, bring her home, and then she has to deal with waking up with the over-enthusiastic Fentons hovering over her when waking up because sure they’re friendly now while they think she’s human but she doesn’t trust how long this will last

15 pages of 100 word drabble wips

Fic about the ramifications of people dying in Amity Park after the Accident, and the increasing number of ghosts that people recognize coming out of the GZ

10 pages of alternating scenes about the Fenton Family relationships from Jack and Vlad’s perspective in a weird sort of Father’s (and Not Father’s) Day fic

plot bunny adapted from jeanette9a: Danny runs away when he first gets his ghost powers. He and Vlad have never met. But Vlad finds Danny lurking around in the forest around his castle. When he happens to observe the boys struggles with his powers, he decides to help Danny. But after a while it's time for the reunion. And that turned out to be a sticky situation when your step dad wants you to kill your own dad. What would you do?

French Future Fic (FFF) - 20 pages of notes for what would be my long chaptered fic. Where Danny accidentally kills Sam via friendly fire in a fight with Vlad and, devastated, runs away to another continent, refusing to contact friends or family for years as he tries to put the ghost stuff behind him. But it doesn’t work because ghosts are everywhere. And Tucker, who has never given up on trying to catch up with Danny, joined a branch of the GIW and ends up developing tech and trying to train a better generation of agents. When he finally meets up with Danny, he convinces him not only to not run again, but to come see what he makes of the new recruits. Which ends up with Danny working as an unofficial all-knowing consultant for the new team while trying to repair his relationship with Tucker and stay out of the GIW’s clutches

A few more Gray Ghost Week prompts which were going to be more in the Nerves (Ghost Hunting Camp AU) and For the Sake of the Song (1920s Superphantom crossover) universes, plus a Hunger Games AU where Valerie knows she shot Danny, she knows she did, but instead of crumpling to the ground to the sound of a cannon, he turns, locks eyes with her, and starts running her way -

58 pages of ideas that haven’t gotten expanded out enough to get their own docs yet

Move-In Security of Amity Park (or MISAP), a new city program courtesy of Mayor Foley. Outside pov, Post PP.

Belated bday fic about Valerie and her fractured relationship with the A Listers (beginning of the wip posted here)

Alex Rider crossover where they become international pen pals for a school project and wonder if they can vaguely vent about some of their respective problems to each other without spilling secrets only to realize that they may both be dealing with some truly awfully ridiculous stuff (wait so you’ve been nearly killed several times by the guy who wants to adopt you as his son?? me too???)

40 pages of more ideas for Apricity, probably including enough complete sentence-stories to post more chapters (note to self...)

14 pages of ideas for “short” things that wanted to grow longer than I had capacity for at the time, apparently

Fic where Danny is battling Spectra in Fenton form, the Fentons barge in to save him, and Spectra realizes just how much misery she could feed off of if she targets them instead to the point that they’ll only get out alive if Danny outs himself by using his powers

6k worth of notes of a 1920s Swing AU superphantom crossover of epic proportions co-created with Chynna (I don’t know what your username is these days ahaha)

Fic where Danny was being held prisoner in some abandoned ghost-proofed warehouse? And gets rescued by a teenager who has absolutely no clue what is going on but has to follow the orders of a half starved kid talking about ghosts in order to get them both out of there before it’s too late

Danny in a hospital because his ghost half is killing him and no one can figure out why

AU where Maddie worries about Jazz who sounds like she’s having full blown conversations with her dead brother when she thinks no one else is around to hear

Ambitious idea I don’t feel up to writing exploring a Danny who hates the fact that after his growth spurt he starts to look and sound like Dan. To the point that he takes down the mirror in his room and stops talking unless absolutely necessary. Sam and Tucker, of course, understand, but no one else does.

Plus some oneshots I wanted to expand into full fics (Nerves, Who I am, Introuvable, etc). And the few chaptered fics that haven’t been updated in a while because I haven’t written anything in a while whoops (Teenage Ghost Punk, Footballer’s Wife, UltraViolet)

Plus the other, you know, 50 documents of superphantom and other fandom wips that I wish I wish I wish I could write haha

[lovelylogans]

odds are

LORELAI: Oh, come on. This will be fun. LUKE: No way, not happening. LORELAI: But this is our first Halloween together as a full-blown, committed, soon-to-be-married couple. We need to start our own traditions. LUKE: Tell you what. I'll build you the chair, help with the test tubes, and then I'm done. LORELAI: But you would be so scary with smoke coming out of your nose. I really want to see that. LUKE: Well, we're gonna be together the rest of our lives, so odds are you will.

-gilmore girls, twenty-one is the loneliest number

part of the wyliwf verse | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: dogs, costumes, bittersweet nostalgia, homesickness, loneliness mentions, deceit

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 4,748

notes: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! we’ve hit the last prompt for 13 days of halloween prompts over at @sanderssidescelebrations​! today’s prompt is costume party! this takes place about two years later after the events of cohabit and about nine months after the events of cocoa—so it’s logan and roman’s freshman year of college and don’t worry the whole Relationship Development and like, Other Developments that get dropped pretty soon in the story will be subject to a oneshot(s) or potentially multichap sideshire files, don’t worry boo i gotchu you can find the various foods mentioned throughout the story here.

seven days

patton has been well aware that halloween is virgil’s favorite holiday. it’s not even their first halloween since they’ve been together or lived together—but virgil’s really stepping it up this year.

“pat.”

patton makes a grumbling kind of noise—patton’s close to drifting off to sleep, which virgil knows, and virgil also knows not to really expect a lot of conversation from patton when he’s near sleep, either waking up or falling asleep—and squints. the only light on in the room is virgil’s phone.

“pat, we forgot to get a costume for cocoa,” virgil says.

patton mumbles something that’s supposed to be “we have a week,” but it comes out garbled. somehow, virgil understands it—it’s probably the almost-nineteen years of knowing him.

“i don’t even have an idea,” virgil says.

“can we figure this out in the morning?” patton mumbles. 

“it’s cocoa’s first halloween.”

“cocoa doesn’t seem to care much right now.”

cocoa is, indeed, flopped out at their feet, snoozing happily away. patton’s kind of jealous.

“but—i don’t have an idea,” virgil says, and patton sighs, adjusting as much as he can without kicking their dog, and ends up flopping most of his body on top of virgil’s torso, pillowing his head on virgil’s shoulder. this also, conveniently, brings virgil’s phone out of his sight.

“sleep now.”

“patton—“

“sleep now,” he repeats in a kind of growl. 

there’s a hesitation. then, the light clicks off, and there’s the sound of virgil’s phone being settled on his bedside table. patton almost smiles, and readjusts, getting comfy.

“...so, like, do you think we should dress her more cute or more scary?” virgil asks tentatively.

patton lets out a huff that’s the closest thing to a snort he can get, when he’s this close to dropping off. “definitely cute,” he mumbles.

“okay,” virgil says. there’s another long pause, and patton’s about to slip off into sleep, before—

“is it too on-the-nose if we dress her up like a cup of cocoa?”

“darling,” patton says, “i love you, and i will super definitely listen to your rambling as you try to narrow down your costume ideas, because that is what fiancés slash almost-husbands should do, but if you do not let me get to sleep there might just be a halloween-themed murder.”

there’s a pause.

“so no to the cup of cocoa idea, then,” virgil says, and patton laughs, pressing a kiss to virgil’s shoulder before he nuzzles against his chest.

“so if we’re thinking cute, then we’ve got a lot of options since she’s pretty ambiguous about clothes, she likes the jacket we put on her when it’s cold out, so that’s not a limit,” virgil muses, and patton falls asleep to the gentle lull of his voice as he talks about dog costume ideas.

...

six days

logan really shouldn’t still be doing this, by now. he’s been at college for nearly three months, now. it only took twenty-one days to form a habit, and it seemed the twenty-one days had snuck up on him, and now—

“hi, dad.”

“hey, kiddo,” his dad says, and logan leans against the wall of his lecture hall, closing his eyes tight. “how’s your day going so far?”

“mostly good,” logan fibs. “i just got done with my history course, so i’m done with classes for the week.”

his dad makes a sound of celebration, and logan smiles, just a little, avoiding the gazes of the anonymous sea of people flooding forth from the lecture hall.

“but i’m going to the library soon,” logan adds, and his dad lets out a familiar sigh.

“well, as long as you’re not overworking yourself,” his dad says.

logan hums, because if he says something about how he’s going to be plotting out an essay that’s due right before thanksgiving break his dad will tell him to take a break and that he can take a weekend to relax, but he absolutely cannot do that. instead, he says, “what plans do you have for the weekend?”

“oh, not much, really,” patton says. “hang around the diner, take cocoa for some really long walks before it gets too cold, try to talk virgil out of turning the front yard into a graveyard for the trick-or-treaters, you know, the usual.”

“trying to talk virgil out of what,” logan says. 

“halloween,” patton says, by way of explanation, and logan makes a noise of understanding.

it’s virgil’s absolute favorite holiday—logan remembers thinking, as a kid, that whenever virgil started getting excited about halloween, it meant his birthday was coming soon—and logan attempts to forcefully quell what absolutely was not disappointment at his first halloween approach away from sideshire. the setup’s half the fun.

“you still don’t know what you’re dressing up as?”

“nope,” his dad says cheerfully. “he insists that all of it’s gonna be a surprise, so—”

“you don’t even have the slightest idea?” logan pushes.

“well, i’m no you,” his dad points out, and laughs when logan sighs.

“are you doing anything fun, this weekend?” his dad asks, and logan ignores the little squirming guilty feeling in his stomach, the same way he always feels when his dad asks the question, and when he answers.

“i think i might go out to dinner with some people on my dorm floor,” logan says vaguely, thinking of the meal that he’ll pack away from the dining hall and eat alone in his room, “or see a movie,” he’ll be making flashcards and quizzing himself over and over and over again, “we haven’t decided yet.”

“oh, that’s great!” his dad says, sounding pleased. “let me know if you see a movie, if it’s good or not, yeah?”

“yeah,” logan says, making a mental note to look up movie reviews in case his dad asks, in their call tomorrow. “how’s work been?”

he leans against the wall, listening to his dad prattle cheerfully on, and he sinks further and further back into the shadows, relishing the autumn chill, the news of home, and the slightest balm that his dad’s voice offers against the gnawing presence of homesickness and loneliness that’s been in his chest since he was left alone in his dorm room for the first time.

...

five days

“hello?”

“hey! hey hey hey hey hey hey. hey.”

“hello. are you drunk?”

“i’m at a halloween party, and i’ve had a couple drinks.”

“mhm.”

“not many! just a couple.”

“of course.”

“a man drunk-dials you one time...”

“it’s been three times, but i’ll allow a pass, since your memory recall is clearly impaired.”

“were you sleeping?”

“no, just reading.”

“s’late. you should be sleeping.”

“roman, why would you have called if you thought i was sleeping?”

“get your logic out of here, i love you and i wanted to check in.”

“ah, okay. have you hit—what was the phrase?”

“...i might be in rambly drunk territory.”

“what a shock.”

“hey.”

“it’s true!”

“seriously, though, what are you doing up? usually you’re all about the whole... getting eight hours of sleep thing. or at least you always tell me to get eight hours of sleep.”

“i have an essay—“

“it’s the weekend.”

“that does not change the fact i have an essay, roman. in fact, it indicates the nearness of the due date. besides, i’m working ahead so i can better focus when we’re both home next week—”

“ugh, fine, fine. i’m sure i’ll remember this when i can more coherently bring a point together to tell you why taking at least one day off a week is better for your mental health and general productivity, but—“

“roman, was there a point to this call?”

“i love you and i wanted to hear your voice.”

“...you’re pouting.”

“am not.”

“are too.”

“am not!”

“are too.”

“am—“

“i’m cutting it off now, or we’ll keep going in circles until the sun rises.”

“fiiiiiine.”

“....are too.”

“hey!”

...

four days

"okay,” virgil says, checking the list that he’s taken off the wall as patton pushes the cart behind him, with the squeak-squeak-squeak of a wheel that needs to be oiled.

usually, when he and patton go grocery shopping, they go to taylor doose’s shop in town, but since they need to get decorations and bags of candy and a ton of other stuff, they’ve driven a little closer to the city so they can go to a bigger grocery store that’s got everything they’ll need.

squeak-squeak-squeak, and virgil glances up at the listings hanging from the ceiling.

“so this is food, and i guess over there might be decorations?”

“mhm,” patton says, squeak-squeak-squeak.

“we’ve gotten candy,” patton had snuck at least three extra bags into the cart and virgil pretended not to see, “we’ve gotten streamers, we got banners, i was thinking about getting some spare fabric in case my idea for cocoa’s costume doesn’t pan out and i have to go to my back-up plan, and we still need to get—”

the squeaking’s stopped. virgil turns back, curious, and sees patton stopped in his path and staring at—

oh.

virgil plods back a few steps, so he’s hovering near patton’s shoulder. patton doesn’t seem to notice, though, as he’s staring at the racks of superhero costumes—from onesies for babies to about the size logan was, when he was seven or so.

“sweetheart,” virgil says, soft and gentle, and patton jumps just a little.

“sorry!” he says, and shakes himself, reaching out a finger as if to brush it against a baby onesie, but thinking better of it, hand curling back toward him. “sorry, sorry, just—i wondered if...”

“yeah?” virgil asks.

“i was just thinking about,” patton says, and swallows. “logan, y’know. when he was this tiny.”

virgil had figured. over the past few months, he’s found patton lost in thought and staring at any number of things—the jam shelf in doose’s grocery, whenever he sees rudy out and about in town, the telescope logan had gotten for his sixteenth birthday that he’d had to reluctantly leave behind since there wouldn’t be enough space for it in his dorm room, any time he passes the press—and it’s just...

it twists at virgil’s heart, every time it happens, a bittersweetness that surges unexpectedly to the surface for him, too—making jam tarts three times a week is an exercise in making sure he doesn’t cry at work, which feels stupid, they’re just tarts, but every time he rolls out dough he thinks of all the times logan had helped him with it, the smiles he’d get whenever virgil snuck him one, and it—

it’s just. hard. kids grow up, and that’s natural, and good, but...

but, well. it didn’t stop the nostalgia.

“do you think he would have been a big superhero fan?” he asks, soft. “if they were as big a market then as they are now.”

patton swallows, leans his head against virgil’s shoulder, just for a moment. “the science ones,” he says softly. “he’d like—he’d like the science ones.”

virgil smiles a little, feeling that familiar lump in his throat. “the reporters, too. he’d have the alliteration thing going, too—lois lane logan. and roman would be superman.”

patton lets out a laugh that’s really closer to a sob, and virgil wants to wrap him up in a long, lingering hug, virgil’s general shyness about public displays of affection be damned, but before he can do that, patton turns. he’s smiling at virgil, just a little, but it’s fake around the edges.

“sorry,” patton says, and swallows. virgil nudges him, just a little.

“he’ll be home soon,” virgil reminds him, soft and quiet.

“i know,” patton murmurs, and a slightly rueful smile twists his lips. “i know, i know. it’s just—”

“i know,” virgil murmurs, and allows himself to lean over and press a chaste kiss to patton’s cheek. “it’s okay to miss him.”

it’s been a common refrain.

“i know.”

that’s been common, too.

“i miss him too,” virgil admits, quiet, and patton squeezes tightly at his wrist, before he takes a deep breath and forcefully turns away from anything resembling a baby clothes section.

“okay,” patton says, and maybe he’s forcing himself to sound a bit brighter and perkier than usual. “what else do we need to get?”

virgil lets it slide, and if he maybe hangs back so that he can hold patton’s hand as they walk through the store—well, patton’s clinging to him tightly enough that it’s clear that he needs it, too.

...

three days

"i’d had no idea you were so fascinated by halloween,” logan comments, from where he’s holding up the banner as dee affixes the other side.

“you think my spooky bitch aesthetic wouldn’t be all over this?” dee says, voice studiously bland.

“well, you were never ‘all over it’ at chilton.”

“you wore those uniforms for three years,” dee says pointedly. “and you know how strict they were with dress code.”

“true,” logan acknowledges, and steps back when dee comes to attach the other edge of the CREEPIN IT REAL banner to the wall. “are you sure you don’t want to come to sideshire?”

“i’d have to visit my parents,” dee says, with an eye-roll. “i have an invite to get wine-drunk with some poetry majors—“

“i thought it was whiskey-drunk with pre-meds?”

“—so i’m afraid i’m booked, and cannot upstage your little boy-toy with my clearly superior costume.”

“it’s roman,” logan says. “you know it’s roman. you got drunk and spilled a lot of your life story with roman, even if it directly conflicts with the varying life stories you’ve told me. you can no longer pretend that you are not on a first-name basis with him.”

“of course, sanders,” dee says, and logan rolls his eyes, before he draws his hand back from the pile of decor.

“um,” he says, and then winces, because dee can detect any sense of uncertainty in anyone’s tone, like a shark smelling blood. 

“what?” dee says, glancing at him.

“would you,” logan says, and his mouth twists, since he knows he can’t pass this off as anything but sentimental. “would you be willing to keep the fake spider webbing to your room?”

dee narrows his eyes at him. “you’re not afraid of spiders.”

“no,” logan agrees, and hands it over, conscientious of the lack of spider webbing in his halloweens all his life—because his dad’s afraid of spiders, and virgil has always catered to him. “but i’d prefer you kept it to your room anyway.”

...

two days

"all right, what’ll it be?” virgil asks, leaning a hip against the counter and readying his pen to write down patton’s order.

“thiiiiiiis whole section,” patton says, outlining the special insert of halloween-themed foods with his pointer finger. “oh, and a hot cocoa/coffee, too.”

“patton.”

“c’mon, pleeaaase?” patton pleads, batting his eyelashes at virgil. “i’ve barely tried any of them, and you only do it once a year—”

“you won’t be able to eat all that,” virgil starts.

“sample sizes, then,” patton says. “little bits of everything.”

virgil pauses.

“you can control my portions, that way,” patton points out. “and i’ll be taste-testing everything, and i won’t be wasting food. win-win.”

virgil hesitates, tapping the pen. “bigger serving of the butternut squash risotto, so you’ll have an actual meal, a side of vegetables of my choice that you’ll eat, and only one cup of caffeinated hot cocoa/coffee, it’s already late in the day.”

patton beams at him, handing him back the menu. “you’re the best.”

“yeah, yeah,” virgil mutters, and patton blows him a kiss, just for extra measure.

virgil rolls his eyes, trying to act like he’s not grinning like a lovestruck idiot, and retreats back into the kitchen to stick the ticket into the deck.

“i really should make a halloween sampler platter next year,” virgil muses aloud, and taps the idea into his phone for later, so he remembers it, before he starts readying patton’s dinner—caramel apple slices, cheesy spiders, monster pizza bites, mummy jalepeño poppers, spooky spinach dip in a bread bowl cauldron, a saucy spider, ghost toast. he adds on a couple decorated cookies that he’ll default are part of the menu, if patton teases him about it.

and, when patton makes the same happy noises that he always does whenever he eats anything that virgil makes him, well. if he’s smiling to himself as he clears out the coffee filters, then it’s no one’s business but his.

...

one day

“i got it,” virgil says triumphantly.

“got what?” patton says absently, taking out the various kinds of candy they’d bought earlier in the week to put into various bowls.

“cocoa’s costume,” virgil says. “i got it.”

“yeah?” patton says, glancing up at him and grinning. “can i see?”

“nope,” virgil says, and drops a kiss to the top of his head, before he drops into the opposite chair at the kitchen table. “but it is very cute, and it ties in with ours.”

“which i’m also not supposed to know about,” patton says.

“exactly,” virgil says, and he frowns at the bags of candy. “are we mixing or sorting or...?”

“stuff with nuts in red, stuff that’s allergen-safe in blue,” patton says, gesturing to the bowls. 

“got it,” virgil says, tugging a bag full of fun-size skittles toward him. 

cocoa, loyally, takes up her regular seat under the dining table, where she begs for scraps, and patton laughs, reaching down to pet her, tousling her fur and sending her ears flopping.

“no, cocoa, honey,” patton says, smiling, “no candy for you.”

cocoa, however, lives in eternal hope, so she sets her chin on his thigh and lets out a little sigh.

patton does sneakily pop a fun-size snickers into his mouth, though, because he’s an adult and he can eat candy if he wants. 

and a milky way. and a three musketeers. and a reese’s. and—

“it’s cute you think i don’t notice you doing that,” virgil says, not looking up from where he’s opening another bag of candy, and patton smiles at him, only a little guilty, as he tosses a handful of m&ms into his mouth.

“aw, babe,” patton teases, “you think i’m cute?”

virgil looks up at him, fond and jokingly exasperated all at once. “we’re literally engaged.”

“yeah, but,” patton says, and grins wider. “you think i’m cu-ute.”

virgil huffs, before he leans over the table, standing, to press a kiss to patton’s lips, and patton can’t stop smiling for long enough to let him do it properly.

virgil doesn’t seem to mind all that much.

...

halloween

"okay,” virgil says, and hands over a vast bunch of black fabric. patton accepts it with eager hands.

“my costume?”

“your costume,” virgil confirms. “i figured i’d do some makeup too, as we’re waiting for trick-or-treaters, if that’s cool with you.”

patton makes a distracted sound of agreement as he unfolds it—he can’t quite unparse what it is right now, but it’s virgil-made in both idea and fabric-wise, so he’s sure he’ll love it.

“okay,” patton says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “i’ll change and take the first shift of babies trick-or-treating while you and cocoa get everything ready for the party, yeah?”

“yeah,” virgil says, looking pleased, and patton ducks into the bathroom, untangling the fabric.

it’s a black shirt, a black jacket, black pants—they all have feathery-looking accents, subtle and yet so clear, and patton tilts his head at it, trying to figure it out. it’s some kind of bird, definitely, but—

patton shrugs, and tugs it on, before he stares at himself in the mirror—it’s a bit low-cut, front-wise, but there’s threads criss-crossing in the front to seal it up, so he does. there’s a long, duster-type coat that patton really likes and might wear regularly, too, since the feather stuff is maybe subtle enough to pass off in the middle of the regular season. 

“do you have a shoe preference?” patton hollers through the bathroom door.

“black ones!” virgil calls back. 

“is this a sneak method to make me look goth?” he calls, and he can hear virgil’s snort through the door. 

“just for today,” he calls.

“am i a crow?”

“raven, actually, but there’s a specific one, you’ll realize it soon enough,” virgil says, and patton opens the door to see virgil gathering up his own swaths of dark fabric in his arms, cocoa sitting politely at his feet. patton does a little spin to show off.

virgil smiles, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “you look great.”

“thanks,” patton says, and flaps his arms, and the duster makes it look like wings. “i really like this coat.”

virgil’s smile turns a bit more pleased. “thanks.”

“okay,” patton decides, and makes some last-minute adjustments, making sure his costume sits on him right, and virgil reaches out to correct his collar. “i’ll go out on the porch, just come on out when you and cocoa are ready, yeah?”

he presses a kiss to virgil’s lips, and the last thing he sees is virgil ducking down to cocoa’s level, unearthing a dress-looking thing.

he tries to brainstorm what it is, even as he gives out generous handfuls of candy to the tiny, toddling members of sideshire—mostly toddler-aged kids, at this time, so they don’t have to stay up late—exclaiming over mermaids and superheroes and princesses and witches and ghosts and video game characters, winking at them when he slips them extra.

when their parents ask after him, what exactly he is, he simply shrugs, beaming, before sending the kids on to the next house.

the sun’s just dipped below the horizon when he hears the door open, and the familiar click-click-click of cocoa’s nails on hardwood, then on the porch.

patton whistles lowly, and pats his lap, craning his neck to see her.

she does, indeed, look very cute. patton had been right—it had been a dress, with a kind of vest, maybe, and a tiara nestled amongst the fake flowers on her head that’s already knocked askew.

“you look so cute, baby girl!” patton gushes, getting onto his knees, all the better to pet cocoa without dislodging her costume and to adjust her tiara—it’s ringing a bell in his head, what exactly she is, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

that is, until—

“the princess shall indeed grow in grace and beauty, beloved by all who know her,” virgil’s voice rumbles, and patton looks up and immediately feels his mouth go dry. “but, before the sun sets on her sixteenth birthday, she shall prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die. or, uh. prick her paw, i guess.”

patton makes a noise that kind of sounds like guh?

virgil is... wow. he’s dressed in sweeping black robes that make him look taller and slimmer than he already is, imposing, somehow, absolutely towering over everything in sight. the robes have a v neck and a pointed, sharp collar that brings attention to the horns emerging from his head. his cheekbones are absolutely chiseled, his lips ruby red, his skin pale and smooth and flawless, his hair—what peeked forth from the horns, anyway—dark and lush and just begging for patton to run his fingers through it.

there’s only peeks of skin—his hands, his neck, a bit of his chest, his face, of course—but he looks so...

patton tries to swallow as he rises to his feet, mouth slightly agape.

virgil’s lips—so red, so full—quirk, and he adjusts his robes, looking self-conscious. “it doesn’t look that bad, does it?” he asks cautiously.

patton reaches up, and scratches lightly through the thin, delicate hairs at the nape of virgil’s neck. he shivers.

and then patton tugs virgil down to his level, and tries his best to kiss him absolutely silly. he threads his fingers through whatever bits of virgil’s hair he can grab, tugging him close, the other closing possessively over virgil’s hip and he just pulls him in, as hot and close and tight as he possibly can, and virgil’s lips part under his and he tastes like snuck chocolate and caramel and nougat, and he bites at virgil’s lip, almost half-hoping it’ll taste like what the color reminds him of—candy-coated apples.

when patton manages to let go of him, once he’s at least a little satisfied his emotions on virgil’s costumes have been almost-adequately conveyed, he leans back to see virgil’s slightly-smeared lip gloss that sends a thrill up patton’s spine.

“oh,” virgil says breathlessly.

“yeah,” patton says, grinning, “oh.”

somehow, they manage to haul out the two rocking chairs and sit out on the porch for the express purpose of ease of access for trick-or-treaters without patton getting distracted, though he does, for most of the rest of the time they wait for the ebb and flow of floods of kids, keep a hand on virgil’s knee, occasionally squeezing virgil’s thigh.

virgil flushes, just a bit, behind his makeup. he ends up fixing up his lips, and making sure that there aren’t any remnants on patton’s face that give away what they’d been doing, lest any of the children ask why maleficent had been kissing her raven, diaval, as they looked up from petting sleeping beauty.

and, as the promised time inches closer and closer, patton can’t stop himself from fidgeting, and virgil snickers.

“excited?” he teases.

“don’t pretend you haven’t planned out all of logan’s favorite meals for the weekend,” patton says, unable to stop his own smile at the thought—since logan’s birthday is on sunday, he’s come home early with one of the default absences that his lecture professor on friday’s given him, and roman’s coming home, too, so the kids will be around and they might have a big dinner with isadora (and probably one with his parents) but he’ll be able to spend time with his son. 

their daily phone calls are great, true, but he’s missed just hanging out with logan—their companionable silences, seeing his son furrow his brow with interest when he reads a book or an article, the meaningful, wordless quirks of his brow or twists of his lips that patton’s spent eighteen-almost-nineteen years deciphering—so he’s just. he’s really excited.

when the first guests come—emile and remy, dressed up as steven and connie—patton welcomes them perhaps a bit too eagerly as cocoa barks, tail wagging wildly, and patton tries to correct her tiara again. 

he throws himself into hosting as virgil handles the last of the trick-or-treaters that’ll be face-to-face—he makes sure their spooky cauldrons of punch are full, that the platters of themed snacks that virgil had spent most of the day preparing (and mostly preventing patton from eating) are out from the fridge and ferried about the room, and that everyone is having a good time, that he greets everyone and exclaims over their costumes, before—

cocoa starts barking excitedly from the porch, and patton grins, setting down the platter on the nearest available surface and dashing for the door, half-hanging off the ledge in order to see virgil letting logan out of a hug, and tugging roman into an awkward, one-armed kind of thing.

“kiddo!” patton says eagerly, and wraps his arms tightly around logan’s shoulders. logan tolerates it with something less than his usual stiffness—he hugs him back, and patton draws back to grin at him.

“happy halloween.”

“happy halloween,” logan repeats, and patton takes a look at him. he’s wearing a suit, and a dapper hat, and he’s holding a candy cigarette between his fingers, the box with the rest of them tucked away in his breast pocket.

“who—?”

“walter burns, from his girl friday.”

patton snorts, just a bit, because of course logan stuck so stubbornly to his interests for a halloween costume, before he looks for roman—who has matched with logan, as hildy johnson, because last year they’d dressed up as two prince charmings and it’s logan’s year to pick—and hooks him into a hug, too.

“i tried convincing him to do black-and-white makeup, but he wouldn’t go for it,” roman says.

“we were already running late,” logan begins, and they barely pause in their bickering to pet cocoa—patton’s given up in keeping her tiara and flowers straight on her head—before they disappear inside, and patton turns to virgil, grinning.

“happy halloween,” virgil says, and leans down to kiss him on the cheek, and patton beams up at him.

“happy halloween.”

(patton doesn’t wash off the bright red lip print on his cheek until he’s getting ready for bed that night.)

[kinkymagnus]

tagged by @iactlikegarfieldonamonday​ sorry i took forever lmao

20 First Lines and you just copy the first lines of your most recent stories. Bonus: Look for a pattern.

im doing the first three lines or so, and like... okay so i have like 5 fics actually published so imma give y’all a little sneak peek into 15 of the prompts that i have written ;)

1. mercy (here)

Magnus trembled in his arms, moaning as Alec slid a little deeper into him.

The angle was perfect—Magnus was sat on top of him, grinding his hips down so that Alec’s cock went deep into him.

Magnus still wasn’t ready to submit fully in bed—lately, his life had been so out of control, and then with the loss of his magic, he had felt completely powerless. But this… this was the perfect amount.

2. pose (here)

Alec was having a great day.

Really! He was.

He and Magnus had a nice dinner planned tonight, so he was looking forward to that. They'd had some amazing sex before even getting out of bed, leaving him in a relaxed and good mood all day.

3. sitting on the throne (here)

It was quite a sight.

The throne room was closed: it was a large, grand room, and thankfully soundproof.

They were alone, but Magnus felt exposed and watched: it was spacious and there were many shadows to hide in.

It felt like anyone could be watching.

Alec, his personal servant, sat sprawled lazily on the prince's throne.

Magnus sat on his cock.

4. goldenrod (here)

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Alec says lowly, raggedly, his voice breathless and rough with want.

Magnus moaned softly as Alec bit down gently on his neck, nipping and kissing at his skin.

Alec had always had a fondness for marking Magnus up, leaving hickeys all over Magnus’s body (but especially his neck. and his thighs. and his collarbone. and his chest. fuck it, yeah, his whole body).

5. playing with toys (here)

Magnus was dangling between pleasure and pain. The feeling was intense and wonderful, leaving him shivering on the bed.

He was squirming against his tight bonds, wrists pulling helplessly at the silk ties holding him in place. The silk ropes were enchanted to hold back his magic so he was left completely helpless under Alec.

Every part of his body was tingling and burning with pleasure.

OKAY SO THE REST OF THESE ARE JUST. LITTLE TEASERS AT SOME PROMPTS I HAVE PARTIALLY WRITTEN. 

none of them have official titles and these are all subject to possible change so. just take them as a teaser for some of the stuff in the works. 

(this isn’t a guarantee these will be posted, though, unfortunately. also, there are several that i have docs full of ideas and brainstorming on, but aren’t like, concrete with lines, so they’re not included. 

for example, the daddy kink oneshot--i have several pages of ideas and blurbs but no “first lines”. so if your prompt isn’t on here (although it’s probably hard to tell) or if there’s something you asked me about or whatever and you don’t see it, it’s still on my drive, just not here. sorry!)

6. “The TWI AU Where Alec Just Uses Cheesy Pickup Lines Nonstop”

“There are 265 bones in the human body. How would you like one more?”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Magnus said, huffing a slight laugh.

“Why thank you,” came the reply. “You know how they say the skin is the biggest organ in the human body? Well, not in my case.”

Magnus couldn’t help but laugh a little at that, although he ruthlessly suppressed it behind his fist. “Do you really think these cheesy pick-up lines are going to work?” he asked, lowering his hand once there was no trace of the smile on his face.

He only got a shrug in response. “You seem to have a good sense of humor. Besides, I like that in a man. You know what I also like in a man?”

“Your dick?”

“Got it in one.” he winked.

7. “Angry Sex All Over the Apartment But They Love Each Other So Much”

Magnus and Alec had been a little tense for a few weeks now.

It wasn’t really anyone’s fault, but their conflicting schedules were taking their toll, and it was only getting worse.

Alec was always busy and rarely seemed to be home, off on missions and doing paperwork at his office.

Magnus was similarly busy with clients and spells and potionmaking.

They both were running out of patience, always just missing each other, only having the time to trade quick kisses or the occasional fast and dirty fuck in the shower.

And as they saw each other less and less, they each grew more and more antsy. They fought, even over little things.

They still love each other—indeed, more than anything—but there were moments where it was all too much.

It all came to a head on Saturday.

8. “The Mpreg One With A Side of Breeding Kink ;)” 

Magnus felt a pressure on his asshole, teasing.

He was on all fours, swollen belly hanging down low, his hole loose and wet. Copious amounts of cum and slick spilled down his thighs.

And his alpha was getting ready to fuck him again.

9. “That Sweet, Sweet Overstimulation”

Magnus was completely fucked-out, mind-blown and dazed with pleasure. His gorgeous golden eyes were hazy and unfocused, his pink lips parted.

His whole body was flushed and trembling with pleasure, his cock (which was painfully hard and had a ring wrapped around the base) twitching on his stomach.

Alec’s hands were tightly gripping his hips, anchoring him in place. Magnus—despite his trembling and squirming—couldn’t move, trapped in place.

10. “The Waaaay Too Long One Wherein Three Alecs (Consensually and Lovingly) Gangbang Magnus”

“…Are you sure about this?” One of the Alecs asked, voice low and soft, looking down at him with concern and fondness in his eyes.

“I’m sure,” Magnus said firmly, knowing that the other two were listening, too. He wanted them to know that he wanted this, too. Honestly, three Alecs was like some sort of wet dream come true.

It had been an odd mishap, to say the least, splitting Alec in three. Well, splitting wasn’t quite the right term—they were all wholly Alec, but diverged. They would all merge back into one in a day or so, memories intact, but for now they were like three separate people. Three of the same person, but separate nevertheless.

And they were all Alec Lightwood, Magnus’s loving boyfriend.

Really, they had a day to kill, and Magnus was outnumbered three to one. What else were they going to do?

11. “The Way Too Indulgent Omega!Magnus AU That’s More Angst Than Smut and Involves Time Travel, of All Things”

Magnus stared into the crystal ball, swallowing hard.

The heavy scent of incense was clogging his nostrils, making his head swim. 

"Do not look away," the fortune teller said somewhere behind him. "Do not close your eyes."

Magnus did as he was told, staring as intensely as he could. Even as his eyes burned, he didn't falter. 

His vision began to waver, black spots crawling from the corners of his line of sight.

The crystal ball seemed to grow hotter, brighter, and Magnus swore he smelt burning---

The black spots crowded his vision and completely overtook him.

His head was pounding and he couldn't see and--

he fell back, sightless eyes rolling into his skull.

His fuzzy mind was buzzing with panic, and he vaguely felt himself flinch as he prepared to hit the cold, hard ground.

But instead, he landed onto something soft and warm, and then finally he blacked out completely. 

12. “The First Prompt I Ever Got, I’m So Sorry It’s Not Done Yet @cinta-bane” 

Magnus was flat on his back, whole body pressed to the golden sheets.

Alec was on top of him, warm weight pinning him down, leaving open-mouthed kisses up and down his neck. He paid special attention to the marks he’d already left, kissing and licking at the mouth-shaped bruises littering the sides of his throat.

Magnus could feel his boyfriend’s warm breath, feel the way his skin tingled under Alec’s touch.

13. “The Trippy Dream Sex One That Has Way Too Much Plot”

Magnus didn't know how it started, or when.

He just knew he was lying on something soft, and he felt warm, and he knew he was safe.

Someone was with him.

Magnus felt hands trailing up his sides.  Warm, large palms, stroking him gently.  Soft lips made their way up his neck.

He still didn't open his eyes.

He could smell Alec's aftershave. He could feel his warm weight.

Magnus wanted this to be real.

"Do you want this?" Alec asked. His voice was low and breathless.

"Yes," Magnus breathed. "God, yes. Please." 

14. “Magnus Gets Fucked By a Bunch of Dudes in a Club While Alec Watches (And Helps!)”

Magnus had done a lot of things in his long life, especially in the realm of exploring his sex life.

But this… this was admittedly a new one.

He knew that he was in no danger, that he was in for nothing but a night of extreme pleasure and hedonism. But there was a still slight anxiety tingling across his skin, his breath caught in his throat.

He was currently stark naked and cuffed to a stand. He was bent over, comfortably cushioned by the stand, arms tied in front of him and ass in the air and exposed.

15. “A Continuation of Prince Magnus and Servant Alec in Which I Combine a Cum Kink Prompt and my Deep Need for Alec to Fuck Magnus Doggy Style”

Magnus looked fucking beautiful.

On his hands and knees, ass in the air, thighs dripping with cum and littered with hickeys.

The crown prince, trembling and pretty for him, ass all nice and ready to use.

16. “More Prince Magnus/Servant Alec, with Plot This Time! Say Hello to Lingerie, Tournament Fights, Arranged Marriage, and Angst.”

Magnus had never felt so relaxed, curled in Alec’s arms, head resting on his chest and snuggling happily into his embrace.

Alec had just thoroughly ravished him—he was well and truly debauched, despite the surprising lack of anything particularly “kinky”—and Magnus was just… content.

There was a sharp rap of knuckles against his door—Magnus would know that knock anywhere.

His eyes snapped open. “Shit,” he hissed, sitting up. “Alexander, wake up.”

17. “In Which Omega!Magnus Has Never Been Knotted Before and He’s Very Nervous About It. It Actually Gets Good During the Lightly Angsty Smut”

Magnus lay on his stomach on the bed, trembling, completely naked and vulnerable.

“You’re shaking,” Alec said gently.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus said, biting his lip.

“Are you sure about this?” Alec asked.

“Y-yes, completely. I just… I’ve never done this before. With anyone.”

18. “Yet Another Angsty Omega!Magnus AU Because That’s Just My Jam, Guys.”

Magnus had been on the receiving end of a rut before, and he wasn’t eager to do it again.

But his boyfriend—the first alpha he’d dated since… in a while—was due.

And Magnus wasn’t sure he was going to be able to bear it—his sweet, considerate, wonderful, and gentle mate… becoming rough and violent and cruel, uncaring, completely focused on getting what he wanted, what he needed from Magnus.

He knew, of course, that under normal circumstances Alec would never, ever hurt him.

But he’d witnessed firsthand what ruts did to alphas.

19. “Office Sex with Spanking and Oops They Get Caught”

Magnus moaned as Alec’s angle changed, his hips pumping even faster, balls slapping against his ass.

“A-ahh..aah… harder…”

The words were out before he could stop them, just springing from his lips. He couldn’t help it, the burn was so good and he felt so full…

Alec’s grip on his hips tightened and he thrust roughly into Magnus, then slowed his pace. After a few thrusts, he’d stopped.

“What did I say about speaking?”

“N-not to,” Magnus whimpered. “A-ah… please…”

20. “My Super Self Indulgent Monster AU, Wherein Werecat Magnus and Sea Monster Alec Netflix and Chill. (Yes, This is An Excuse for Alec to Fuck “Catboy” Magnus with Tentacles. But Catboy is a Weird Term, Okay?)”

Magnus hadn’t exactly expected this end to the night, but he certainly wasn’t fucking complaining.

The movie was still playing in the background—Magnus could hardly remember what it was through the haze of oh my god Alec is gonna fuck me and he has fucking tentacles what the fuck—

Admittedly, he’d known Alec was like him—a “monster” as they affectionately called each other, a supernatural being—but he would never have guessed sea monster.

He felt a tentacle slip under his pants, curling around his thighs, and his ears flattened against his skull as the one already curled around his cock squeezed him and stroked upwards.

Magnus’s thighs were spread wide, one leg practically hooked over the back of the couch, and he was pretty sure Alec was about to rip off his pants.

EDIT: FORGOT TO TAG PEOPLE LMAO

I TAG: UHHH @tenderalec @enkelimagnus and i just know i’m forgetting a bunch of people so like, anyone who wants to do this????? sorry im tired slkgdflkg

[bouwrites]

Blue Laguz

I know I haven’t written anything in approximately forever and that this isn’t at all what I said I was working on but... I wanted to do this.

So, uh, here’s a proof of concept oneshot of the Three Houses lords and Rhea meeting Ranulf and getting their minds blown by the concept of laguz.

The title means nothing except that Ao3 won’t let me post fics without one and I thought the idea of the giant blue cat being in the same room as the Blue Lions house is frankly hilarious.

Anyway, Ao3 link here, story under readmore.

Claude’s first thought when he’s rescued from a bandit’s axe is, “Sweet merciful Goddess, fuck me!”

He then takes what little composure he has left, ties it up with a neat little bow, and chucks it cleanly out the window, even as he mentally pats himself on the back for finally cursing to the Goddess like a proper Fódlani. And in the right language and everything! Expletives are so hard to change.

Edelgard chastises him for running away but what is he supposed to do? Sit and watch the bandit get gored by a massive blue lion? Wait for the beast to finish off that guy? Pray that its intervention on his behalf means it’s on his side and not just attacking indiscriminately?

Yeah, no. Claude hightails it out of there like he’s got Seiros herself on his heels and does not look back. Hopefully the bandit will be enough of a meal for… whatever that thing is, and it won’t give chase.

Bandits are one thing. He can handle bandits. But when bandits get the jump on him and then a giant blue lion jumps in out of nowhere, Claude’s capacity for bullshit just about fills up and he has little choice left but to make a strategic retreat.

He makes a mental note to brush up on fighting beasts. Assassins and bandits and soldiers are all child’s play, but Claude is suddenly very aware how woefully underprepared he is to fight things that move on four legs. Which, it’s not like it comes up often, but if it comes up even once and he isn’t prepared, that could be the end of Claude von Riegan – hence, run away from the giant cat.

When Claude slows down and there’s another, more welcome, intervention, Claude finally has a moment to gather his thoughts. Remire is a nice little place. Quiet. Peaceful. Definitely not the kind of place where he’d think he’d end up wanting little else but to curl up in the dirt and work through an existential crisis, and yet…

Dimitri and Edelgard are both fawning over the mercenary – the Ashen Demon – but Claude’s brain, the one he’s oh so proud of, is still trying to catch up with the other elephant in the room. …Cat in the street. Human? He’s (Claude thinks it’s a he? He hasn’t introduced himself yet and Claude still isn’t sure what he is, so it’s hard to say.) definitely more human than the massive blue cat that gored the bandit earlier in the forest, and yet Claude is quite certain he’s the same entity. He wouldn’t believe it, frankly, if he didn’t see the guy shapeshift right in front of him.

Oh, and also the little cat ears perched atop the man’s head, and the lazily swishing tail on his backside, and the fact that his hair and fur matches the color of the cat in the forest perfectly, and the cheeky smirk on the damn cat’s face as it watches Claude attempt to politely figure out what in the world is happening.

Being completely and utterly unable to think of a single thing to say to him that isn’t potentially extremely offensive, Edelgard and Dimitri both focus on the Ashen Demon – Byleth – but Claude spies them both casting furtive glances the cat’s way, too.

Shit. Looks like the guy isn’t interested in talking first, so it’s up to Claude to risk looking like either an absolute ass or an absolute idiot. (That damn knowing smirk makes Claude think he’s going to come out of this looking like both. Luckily, the latter helps his façade with the other two leaders, and the first is… well considering the looks on their faces, he’ll be forgiven at least by his fellow house leaders. Plus, he’ll – hopefully – have some answers.)

So, Claude decides to introduce himself, politely biting down the question, “What the fuck are you?” to ask something altogether safer.

The man – cat – man? Goddess. He introduces himself as Ranulf, making absolutely no mention of what the fuck he is to elaborate on the who. His tail does swing playfully, though, drawing the eye, which Claude is positive he’s doing purely to tease them all.

“Forgive us,” Dimitri says carefully, “but we have never seen… someone like you before.”

Ranulf just tilts his head, flicks his ears, and says, “You’ve never seen a cat before?”

Asshole. Claude thinks, valiantly failing to fight the overwhelming urge to laugh.

As Claude wheezes, Dimitri collects himself and says, as politely as ever, “Er… none quite like you, I’m afraid.” Which really doesn’t help stop Claude from collapsing from lack of breath.

Ranulf nods sagely. “You’re kind of weird, too, Your Highness.”

Claude thinks he likes Ranulf, and not just because, in hindsight, Ranulf saved his hide from a bandit. Whatever he is, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and as much as Claude wants all the answers about this mysterious shape-changing cat, watching Dimitri and Edelgard squirm over politeness and not knowing how to properly address him is hilarious. Full marks to Ranulf for milking it.

Maybe Ranulf will appreciate some milk, once they get back to the monastery. Or maybe that’s offensive. Hard to say, but Claude is starting to think Ranulf will appreciate the joke if nothing else.

Finally, Edelgard, who looks supremely uncomfortable (like, Claude is frankly astonished at that expression – he really thought she would handle herself better with an unknown like this) asks, “Please pardon me for asking, but… are you… human?”

Ranulf snickers, and apparently Edelgard is either bold or uncomfortable enough for him, so he finally relents and answers, “Nah, I’m laguz. We’re a different thing.”

Edelgard looks like she goes through all seven stages of grief in a moment, and then oscillates between wary and furious, though it’s naturally all covered up by her princess coolness. So, that’s interesting. Claude will have to bug her about that later.

After all, there are so many things to focus on at the moment that even Claude risks losing track of them all. The Ashen Demon, her father – Jeralt! The blade breaker! Captain of the Knights of Seiros! – Edelgard’s strange expressions even now looking at Ranulf, just… Ranulf in general, the bandit attack in the first place, Ranulf and the mercenaries’ intervention in that attack, their coward supervising professor who Claude assumes isn’t coming back anytime soon and will most likely need replacing.

Ranulf is by far the most intriguing, though. A complete unknown – much like Byleth (and distracted as he is, he has not forgotten about her) – but oh so outsider. And here Claude thought his skin would set him apart.

He’s going to have to watch out for this Ranulf character, that’s for sure.

Dimitri would like to say that he takes Ranulf’s arrival with the grace and dignity his station as a prince implies, but that would be a bold-faced lie.

He should probably think about all the implications of Ranulf’s existence. Why he’s here, where he’s from, what a “laguz” is. And yet, in a flash of inspiration that Dimitri can only blame Sylvain, or perhaps Claude, for, the only thing that occupies Dimitri’s mind with regards to Ranulf as they march back to the monastery is, “Goddess, he’s a literal blue lion.”

Which, frankly, is neither graceful nor dignified, he thinks.

Coloring aside, Ranulf reminds him rather much of Claude in personality, with those lazy jokes and purposeful needling and, of course, the withholding of information they’re obviously fishing for, for what seems to be no purpose at all but to watch them stumble over their own etiquette training.

Yes, he’s rather exactly like Claude. But Dimitri is still stuck on the fact that Ranulf is an actual blue lion (or something close) that the only capacity he even registers these similarities in is a vague offense to the idea of Claude being a lion. And a somewhat less vague feeling of thankfulness that Claude is, in fact, not one of his lions.

Byleth is so much easier to handle, so he leaves Claude to badger Ranulf, for the most part, and makes conversation with her. He does fear she is either too shy or too polite to speak up any more than she does, and that he’s just blabbering on, but she’s attentive and doesn’t show any signs of discomfort (though as she doesn’t show many signs of anything it’s not that reassuring) so he tries his best to be friendly with her.

And to keep an ear open and tuned into Claude’s conversation. He is still a prince, and even if no one in Fódlan has ever heard of a laguz before, he will not be the one to say something stupidly offensive and make himself into a fool. (He learns some interesting terminology, including some words he should never repeat, and the laguz’ word for humans – beorc.)

Byleth, for all that she looks interested in anything, seems to be paying their conversation some attention as well, so it’s not all that hard to do the same even as he chats with her.

Well, until Edelgard swoops in to steal her away, at least. At that point Byleth is somewhat monopolized. Dimitri knows she’s trying to recruit Byleth, but he also knows that Byleth’s answer to where her loyalties lie is her father, and that her father is (or was) a church soldier, and before that, if the family records are to be believed, Faerghan.

If Edelgard really wants Byleth on her side, perhaps she should focus a bit more on Jeralt. Dimitri may not be so politically minded as either of his peers, but that is the thought that occurs to him nonetheless, and so he strikes up a conversation with the grizzled mercenary.

By the time they reach the monastery, Dimitri actually has a few new lance techniques to try out. Time well spent.

It’s not until Felix catches sight of Ranulf and mutters something about “another” beast in man’s clothing (which, wonder of wonders, Sylvain chides him for, and gets him to grudgingly admit to judging prematurely) that it occurs to Dimitri that yes, Ranulf is a cat. A beast. And from the glimpse of him on the battlefield that Dimitri had, a dangerous one.

Dimitri has no illusions that clever Ranulf is like him. Beast or no, there is no indication of the madness that touches Dimitri’s mind in the thick of battle. He almost dismisses the thought outright until Ranulf pauses for a moment at the gate of the monastery and frowns.

“Nothing,” Ranulf says, waving off Claude’s questioning, “this place is just unexpectedly chaotic for a church.”

And what in the world does that mean? The monastery seems to Dimitri to be one of the most peaceful places in Fódlan.

Claude echoes Dimitri’s thoughts, and Ranulf just chuckles. “Not like that. Laguz like me are more sensitive to the energies around us than you beorc. You should see our armies if you don’t believe me. Once things get real chaotic, nothing can stop them.”

Oh. Perhaps they really are similar.

“The church is chaotic?” Claude is clearly thinking quite hard. Dimitri, meanwhile, is struggling to breathe. “Like a battlefield?”

Ranulf laughs. “Not nearly that bad! Still, churches are usually the most orderly places around. Took me off guard a bit, I guess.”

Suddenly, Edelgard, who has been quite insistent on avoiding Ranulf since he introduced himself as laguz (and what does that mean?), turns to give the conversation her full attention.

Dimitri is still focused on what Ranulf’s words about laguz armies implies.

Battle madness. The chaotic energies of the battlefield overwhelming them until they are unstoppable. Unthinking, even? Dimitri can’t know without prying deeper, and he’s frankly terrified to do so.

He’s never denied that Felix’s observation of him is entirely correct. He is a boar prince. A wild animal. Unthinking, and unstoppable killing beast.

Goddess forgive him, but even if it isn’t quite the same, even if what Ranulf speaks of is nothing like Dimitri is thinking, the mere thought of an entire species of people succumbing to even the mere practical aspect of what plagues Dimitri (That is, only the battle madness – not the… ghosts that he sees even now in this peaceful place – or… or is it truly so peaceful? The thought unsettles Dimitri so deeply that he turns from it, to focus instead on the no less unsettling but much less avoidable thoughts.) is… if it’s true, there must be some way that they counter it.

Dimitri doubts he will ever be brave enough to ask Ranulf about it outright – he definitely doesn’t trust Ranulf enough for that – but he will keep a careful eye on him.

Mad, wild animal as he is, Dimitri is at least aware enough to know that revenge is better served cold. If not, he risks too much… collateral damage. Perhaps it is a vain hope, but so long as there is any hope at all, he will be watching Ranulf closely.

Edelgard doesn’t know what to think. That is very dangerous situation to be in. As soon as she returns to the monastery, she sets Hubert on the information Ranulf has divulged. The laguz, beast-shifters. There are whole tribes of them? Enough for nations? Armies?

In hindsight, it’s not ridiculous. After all, Rhea – Seiros – is a dragon. There’s no reason that it should be impossible for other beasts to take human form. And yet… Ranulf makes no effort to hide what he is. Not like Rhea.

At first, Edelgard thinks he is merely another twisted experiment by the Agarthans. When she sees the transformation, she is reminded of the horrible transformations that crest stones can induce in the crestless. She hasn’t heard of any experiments to make controlled, reversible transformations into demonic beasts, but she hardly expects that the Agarthans are being upfront with her about anything at all, and it is not a terribly illogical goal to aspire for.

But when she asks… he says he’s laguz. Just… a race of peoples, one unknown to Fódlan, with this exact power to transform into a great beast?

Likely story.

Ironically, however, it is the idea of Ranulf being entirely honest about his story that makes her more nervous. If he’s lying, perhaps trying to hide Agartha’s experiments on him by claiming he’s a mere traveler from a distant land where… things like him are normal, then that would make sense. That wouldn’t shake anything about her plan or Fódlan as a whole. In fact, if she’s careful about it, she could even make a powerful ally in him just as she’s hoping to with Lysithea.

If he’s telling the truth, though… the implications are tremendous. Ranulf mentions dragons. Offhandedly, as if dragons are no big deal at all. Is it possible that Rhea is truly nothing more than… laguz? Is that all that the Nabateans are? Some separated tribe of laguz who found their way to Fódlan? What does that mean about the Goddess herself? Could she be just another laguz like all the rest?

She was killed, like any mortal. Edelgard knows this much. Her crest, though significantly more powerful, is not, in practice, much different than any other crest, all of which came from her Nabateans.

If Ranulf is telling the truth, then either he’s in grave danger stepping foot in Rhea’s domain, for his very existence threatens to unravel all of her lies, or it is solely her thoroughness in her lie that allows him to remain. Either way, he will surely be under the closest scrutiny.

If he’s telling the truth, he may ally himself with his kin. With Rhea, who may in fact be laguz under another name. If so, he is Edelgard’s enemy.

Edelgard should not be hurt by that thought. Even still, the familiar pain grips her heart. Another death on her hands. She prays that he chooses to flee instead. He is a foreigner. Laguz or no, he is not Nabatean. Edelgard has no reason to believe so, anyway. He’s no dragon, after all, and he tells tales of his homeland far, far away. Even if the laguz and Nabateans are cousins, she need not hunt down every laguz. It is not him, after all, who rules over Fódlan with lies and tyranny.

That would be as ridiculous as hunting down the Almyrans, and Edelgard is already considering how she might smooth out relations with them and gain an ally rather than an enemy.

Even still… He is just a little too close to her enemy. Edelgard does not know what to think.

Hubert returns later with little information, but what there is seems to corroborate Ranulf’s story. Legends of shapeshifters in foreign lands, mostly regarded as myth, but definitely in line with what Ranulf is saying.

Is he using the myths to guide his fiction, perhaps? Or is his truth guiding the myths?

And what does that mean for Rhea?

Edelgard will go mad with all these questions. Meanwhile, Ranulf himself simply smirks and watches her stumble over her etiquette. As if it’s funny that she hasn’t been taught how to properly address shapeshifting, sentient animals.

Ugh. He is far too much like Claude.

At least there is Byleth. She, Edelgard believes, will be a valuable, if not necessary, asset when the time comes, if only she can sway her to her side. Of this, she is certain.

And with Ranulf snickering at her, certainty is exactly what Edelgard needs. Doubt will crush her dreams in their tracks, and unknowns like Ranulf are too dangerous to leave alone. More than anything, Edelgard needs to watch Ranulf closely, she needs to know what his motives are, how Rhea reacts to him. If Rhea strikes out, perhaps she can draw him to her side. If not…

Well, Edelgard is allied with quite enough monsters already. She doesn’t need to waste precious resources on another. Better to focus on Byleth. Having the Ashen Demon on her side, and possibly the Blade Breaker as well by extension (she is his daughter) is too great a chance to pass up.

It is a shame, though, about Ranulf. Just as Byleth has, he has impressed her on the battlefield. He also has the advantage of being unexpected. Few soldiers will be prepared to fight a beast like him, and that is worth its weight in skill and experience, both of which he clearly also has. That is the same advantage she’s counting on by utilizing demonic beasts, after all, and even if he is considerably more fragile, and less overtly powerful, he is sane and focused, which is far, far more valuable than a rampaging beast.

And… if he is lying… if he was also subjected to Agarthan experimentation…

No, best not think too much on it. The truth will become clear soon enough, just as his allegiance will reveal itself in time. Edelgard needs merely to be patient, careful, and observant.

What’s one more life, in her larger plan? She will watch him, but she will not allow him to throw her off. Freedom will come to Fódlan. Swiftly.

Today is a blessed day. Rhea wakes up knowing it. She is already in good humor when she receives word that the house leaders are returning, and when she reads the message further and sees that Jeralt of all people is returning with them, even she cannot fight the smile that tugs at her lips.

And the day just gets even better.

The message tells of Jeralt’s daughter, accompanying the group. Rhea fears to get her hopes up, that this daughter is the selfsame babe that she gave her mother’s heart to. But, when the party enters the gates and Rhea looks down upon them, there can be no mistake.

Her mother’s heart! It is not lost! All these years, Rhea thought she had finally failed utterly, with no more hope of even trying again, but here… it simply must be fate. Indeed, Rhea has a very good feeling about this child.

What’s more, the notice of a beast-shifter, the thought of which tickles at ancient memories, gives her some concern, but upon seeing him…

His hair is blue, not too far off-shade of the young Bergliez attending the Academy this year, and the ears and tail are too obvious even from Rhea’s perch. More importantly is what she feels deep in her bones.

Recognition.

That is not to say she knows this man, of course. He is without a doubt a stranger to her. But her blood sings with a similar familiarity that she senses in dear Cichol and Cethleann. It’s fainter, more distant, but if she focuses on it, there can be no mistaking. This man, whatever he is, wherever he comes from, is a Child of the Goddess.

Truly, this a blessed day.

Rhea can hardly contain her excitement as she waits for the party to arrive in the audience chamber. She gives them some time to rest and eat but summons them swiftly. Jeralt, dear Jeralt, his daughter – her mother, if Rhea is lucky – and another of her mother’s children, though in an unfamiliar form.

Even dear Cichol’s frown cannot take the luster from this day.

When they finally arrive, Rhea knows instantly that Jeralt’s daughter is not yet Sothis reborn. A true shame, but hope is not lost. With her return, so hope does as well. That fate sees fit to bring Jeralt and his daughter back to Garreg Mach may even mean that this vessel is the one fated to work. Rhea has little choice but to have faith.

And faith she has. Always, in her mother.

And the Child, the one who introduces himself as Ranulf; now that he is so close, Rhea’s bones scream of their relation. She glances to Seteth and sees in his eyes that he feels it as well, though he tries so very hard to remain stern and mean. In fact, Ranulf himself eyes them both with a very interesting look that tells Rhea that even he feels it.

A long lost brother – or given he is no dragon, perhaps it is better to say cousin – wandering right onto her doorstep alongside the vessel of her mother. His mother, as well?

It pains Rhea to admit it, but she truly does not know a thing about Ranulf. She has never heard of the laguz he claims to be. Her best idea is that they are another group of Mother’s children, though why She never mentioned them to the Nabateans, to Rhea, she does not know.

It could also be that the relation is even more distant, that Ranulf is truly a cousin, that Mother has a sister, or brother, somewhere else in the world and is having their own children in a similar, but different image. If that’s true, then that aunt or uncle was never mentioned by her Mother. Not to Rhea.

That is a mystery, and one that Rhea has every intention of solving, but what is undoubtable is that Ranulf is her brother. In some way, it is true. She feels it in the way that only Mother’s Children do, and she reads his recognition in his face and the twitching of his tail as easily as she feels their relation in her blood.

Though, looking at him now, perhaps he is not a brother, but a nephew. He cannot be young, not like Byleth, not by human standards, but he is still so youthful. Compared to Rhea, at least, he is, without a doubt, a child. Perhaps older than Cethleann, before her slumber, or perhaps the cats are different from the dragons.

It’s is so painful, not knowing about her kin, and yet Rhea feels little but joy that he has found her now. Seteth warns her of caution, but Rhea will not turn away their kin, however distant he may be. Seteth knows as well as her how it feels to lose family. Any family found is nothing short of a miracle.

Not to mention how he walks into Mother’s domain at their Mother’s side.

It can only be a sign, and so Rhea welcomes the miracle that is Ranulf with open arms.

[daebakinc]

Happy Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day!

Happy Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day! I’m planning on dropping notes some writers’ inboxes as well  (and you should too!), but I also wanted to help them get more love!

To all of you fanfic writers, thank you so much for blessing all of us on this site with your talent, dedication, and love for our kpop girls and boys. I know it’s hard to keep up writing with busy schedules, life events, and other chaos of the world, but you all carry on. There’s also been a lot of hate going around to the people who deserve it the least, so I’d like to tell those of you who this has happened to to ignore those ingrates and write what you love and at your own leisure. We in your writing family will support you. Anyway, before I get too carried away, thank you again and happy writing!

@an-exotic-writer Mostly BTS oneshots. Missy has to be one of the sweetest people on the planet and somehow her writing is even fluffier than she is. Her oneshots are perfect no matter the theme, intricate snapshots of complex relationships that are ultimately goals. Recommended: 50 kisses series (although her baby jeon series will make you die of fluff!!!)

@causekpop  Multifandom scenarios, including BTS, BAP, EXO, GOT7 and Monsta X. Her tags are some of the best. Seriously, read them. Of course, her scenarios and drabbles are even better! Recommended: Born Survivor

@duizhangdeluxe​  EXO scenarios, lots of AUs. Mama Duck! A sweetheart whose writing is as magic as the stars and dragons she loves. Her works are some of the most original I’ve seen here and no matter the member, I devour the story. Recommended fic: Suhobot series

@floralseokjin BTS scenarios. I’ve only been following for a few months but it’s long enough to be blown away by this blog. There are tons of details and twists that will have you yelling at your screen for various reasons. You’ll also probably fall for Jin, because her love for him really shines through. Recommended fic: A Fragment

@idol-daydreams​  Multifandom scenarios, including some gender neutral. Jay will tell you his writing style is too simple, but don’t let him fool you. He’s an excellent writer. The simplicity of his style is why I love it. He strips away unnecessary words and flourishes so you can enjoy the raw emotion in each scenario. Recommended fic: A Wrathful God

@i-would-rather-be-queen​  Multifandom reactions and oneshots. , including 2pm, BAP, CNBlue, VIXX, and many more. Kels is like a big sister to each of her followers, a very talented big sister. I very much feel like she can read people well and she’s very creative in what themes she chooses to pursue in her writing. Recommended: Tender Heart

@jeonjagiya​  Iris has to be one of the most patient and intelligent people on this site. Her scenarios and very insightful into human emotions and the human experience, but at the same time incredibly relate-able. On top of her writing, she’s always willing to give the kind of no-sugar coating advice that people truly need. Recommended fic: Transference

@keypea Multifandom scenarios and oneshots, including Monsta X and EXO. Her scenarios are gold, but it’s her drabbles that captured my attention. I seriously want every one to be a full blown scenario or series. Recommended fic: Starting Fires

@melodic-reverie Multifandom reactions. If I ever doubt I’m writing an idol true to their character, I hop over to this blog to see if they have a similar reaction. The wide range of groups and situations are all well-thought and passionate.

@modestlydreaming: Multifandom scenarios and oneshots, including Monsta X and EXO. Don’t forget to congratulate her on getting married recently! Another AU queen. It honestly doesn’t matter who she writes, I am on top of every AU because they feel very real. The fantasy related ones are particularly inventive and delightful. Recommended fic: Hunted

@ricepot-jisung  BTS scenarios, but I think she’s planning on become multifandom in the near future? Rams is a precious, insanely talented bun who needs protection. I’m really glad she decided not to delete despite assholes heckling her because her fics are ones I keep coming back to. I’m a fluffy person, but her angst is irresistible and you should be prepared to cry your eyes out because her writing makes you feel so much. Recommended: After Hours

@rosegukk   BAP scenarios and oneshots. I’ll admit, I’m only a recent follower, but I am so so glad I found her. BAP needs all the love and she gives it to them through her work in aus I never would have thought of. If you want something novel and well-written, check her out! Recommended fic: A Field of Flowers

@sexonextdoor  Multifandom NSFW rankings/imagines. I don’t know how this blog churns out so much, but it does, and the quality is all top notch. If you need to dirty your mind in the best, most delicious way, go here.

@tayegi BTS scenarios. Another lovey lady whose higher intelligence is clear in every story. Lu’s honest and has a wry sense of humor that keep every bit of her writing amusing and insightful into human nature. I hope she knows I love her stories as much as she loves cheetos. Recommended fic: Equilibrium

@thesammtimes  Multifandom scenarios, including EXO, 2pm, Monsta X, GOT7 and BTS. Let me just first say I’m really proud of Sam. She’s been very upfront about her mental health and life choice struggles, but she’s thriving! I do have a warning for you though: you will fall in love with every idol she writes about, bias or no, bias group or no. She’s that good. Recommended fic: Bounty

@versigny Multifandom scenarios. If you need a new spin on an old trope or just a fresh fic, look no further. She weaves minute details into her stories that some writers end up making tedious, but here, they develop the characters in amazing ways so each story a rich tapestry.Recommended fic: The Take-Home Test

@writingseoul Multifandom scenarios including BAP and BTS. Y'all really have no idea how happy I was when I saw this lovely came back! I go back to this blog time and time again to read fics that aren’t even for my biases. The way she writes the characters makes them more complex than some in published books I’ve read. Recommended fic: 3AM

Here are some other writers whose work I’m still getting to know but they still deserve recognition. 

Multifandom Reactions: @flowerpotfanfics BAP: @chemical–chaos BTS: @btsboyinluv, @btssmutgalore, @gukvory, @jheartseok, @kitten-dont, @mintsyubbie, @daeguilt, @stillgotmydignitae, @taecup

EXO: @i-write-storiesandsuch, @olionheartedgirlo, @soobadnoonecanstopher, @theboyswhomwelove VIXX: @onlyvixxscenarios, @vixxenarios Multifandom Scenarios: @thelilyamongstthethorns , @deliriousscenarios, @fromthe-seoul, @after-you-fall-asleep, @spcywolf, @lunarimagines, @thisisjustmywritingblog, @xhixtape, @coffee-and-kpop, @iq-biased , @awkwardturtle486, @noonachronicles, @hoenytae, @imagination-of-a-melted-bitch, @onlylovekpop, @after-you-fall-asleep , @awkwardturtle486,@craft-rose ,

[tetsucchin]

Of Something Old and Something Blue

Summary: Kagami doesn’t want to get married. Let alone to a corpse that won’t stay dead. But sometimes weddings don’t go the way people want, and sometimes there are grave misunderstandings.

Rating: T for terrifying creepy crawlies

Chapter: 1/5

Word Count: 2800+

Pairings: KagaKuro (brief mentions of MidoTaka/AoMomo/HyuuRiko later)

A/N: Sooo, this fic has been in the works for about three years. I started it for Halloween forever ago, but there was so much to it, that I kept putting it off. Until this year! It was supposed to be a oneshot, but it became this multichapter mess. Anywho! Here is my rendition of a Corpse ‘Bride’ AU, with a few plot changes, some musical numbers sorta, and a whole bunch of nicely tailored suits~

Fair warning: Since this is inspired by Corpse Bride, a few of the characters will be dead (though still present, talking, and just as smartass/silly as always). There’s also some murder business, but nothing worse than the movie. You also don’t need to have watched the movie to read this, but I’d recommend it anyways~

AO3

“Taiga? Taiga, are you listening to me?”

Kagami glanced from his corner of the carriage, slumped so his head banged against the side whenever they hit a bump. His father arched an eyebrow at him expectantly and he barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he slouched further in his seat and went back to looking out the window.

“Yeah, Dad. I heard you,” he said, cynical. “Everything must go according to plan, or whatever.”

His father’s face morphed into a scowl. “Not ‘whatever’, Taiga. This is important. For all of us.”

‘Except for me,’ he wanted to snarl back.

But instead he sat in silence, eyes trained through the small cutout window. The time for arguments had already come and gone. He’d lost that fight spectacularly. It seemed his parents were so determined to decide his future, they didn’t care much about what he had to say about said future.

“Taiga,” his mother said, composed and cold as always, “I told you to stop fidgeting with your tie.”

He yanked at it again for good measure, just to loosen it in that way that drove her crazy, before letting the red silk fall from his fingers. It had taken him five tries to get it right that morning, but it still felt wrong. Like a rope around his neck.

For a moment, just a moment, he entertained the idea of jumping out of the carriage. Of escaping from this greyscale town and the miserable buzz of people and the gloom of the air. He wasn’t sure what he wanted for his life, but he knew he didn’t fit here. He was too vibrant, too loud, and too red.

He was too much.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed when a butterfly flew by his window. Normally, he wouldn’t pay any attention to such a small thing. But its wings were so blue, brighter than the grey sky could ever hope to be and clearer than the sad fog that clung to the buildings. He sat up in his seat, watching it fly past.

And then it was gone. Somehow leaving an empty place inside Kagami in its wake.

They pulled up sooner after that, sooner than he would’ve liked—though any amount of time would be sooner than he’d like. The mansion stood tall and ominous, dark spires cutting into the sky and windows suspiciously lifeless. Kagami scowled up at it, immediately uneasy and unimpressed by its grand size.

“Come, Taiga,” his father called after him, already heading up the front steps.

As he stepped inside behind his parents, it felt like the doors swallowed him whole. The interior was just as uninspired as the outside—stone walls and floors, colorless carpets, and a grand piano sitting to one corner. The only color in the whole entryway were a vase of roses on top of the piano and a family portrait at the top of the stairs.

Kagami tried to ignore how sad everyone in it looked.

His mother turned to him, reaching to fix his tie. “We’re going to speak to the lord and lady. Try not to break anything.”

He barely managed to resist rolling his eyes. Instead, he waited until his parents walked away before tugging his tie loose again. Trying not to break anything, he walked around the foyer, his footsteps echoing as he looked at blank walls.

It was only a few minutes later that someone interrupted him.

“You must be Kagamin.”

The new voice echoed through the hall, lilting like a lullaby. Kagami turned to face her, and felt his stomach bottom out, twisting and feeding on knots. He swallowed and stood stock-still as she walked over to him, her black dress twin to his black suit.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, choosing to ignore the random nickname. He extended his hand out to her when she reached him. “Kagami Taiga. You must be Momoi.”

Momoi Satsuki smiled at him, small and strange in a way he couldn’t place. He supposed to anybody else, she would be really cute. With her long pastel hair, big Valentine eyes, and…generous chest, to say the least. But Kagami felt nothing but dread when he looked at her, and he couldn’t see her as anything other than a guillotine.

She curtsied. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

He frowned. “You don’t need to be so formal with me. I’m not like my parents or anything.”

Her shoulders immediately relaxed, as she looked up at him curiously. “Yes, I suppose not. After all, we’re getting married in two days.”

It was like a sucker punch to his gut, so hard that it almost knocked him over. With just that one sentence, she made it all real. He thought he’d already come to terms with it, but the pounding in his head and the panic in his pulse said otherwise.

He was getting married. To a girl he didn’t know. For parents who didn’t care. In two days.

Fuck.

“This is…strange, isn’t it?” she asked, stepping away from him.

“Yeah,” he choked out, then cleared his throat. “Strange is one way of putting it.”

The silence hung heavy between them. He scuffed his feet against the floor while she pulled at the ribbons of her dress, both of them looking around the room at nothing. There were a thousand things he could say, and probably a thousand more that he should say, but Kagami had never been good at words.

There was only one thing he could think to say.

“Hey. Momoi.” Her name sounded weird coming from him. “I’m…really sorry.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“I just…” he hesitated, jerking at his tie anxiously. “I don’t really wanna do this. I know I don’t have a choice, and that’s not fair to you. I thought you should know.”

Surprisingly, she shrugged.

“It’s okay, Kagamin. If it were up to me, I’d rather not do this either.” She trailed off, looking to the vase of roses. “But I suppose neither of us has a choice.”

Another bizarre smile spread on her face, stretching her cheeks and squinting her eyes. It didn’t reach anywhere else on her face, and her rigidity returned in full force. In that moment, he realized why it looked so weird on her.

“Shall we go to practice the ceremony?” she asked, already walking away from him.

“Yeah,” he said, following behind her. “Sure.”

There was a reason they were dressed for a funeral rather than a wedding.

“Just take your time, Kagami.”

Kagami glared harder at the candle in his hand, wishing that sheer hatred alone could light it properly. His and Momoi’s parents stared at him from their seats, until Momoi’s father cleared his throat. The candle almost snapped in half under his grip.

Kiyoshi, the priest who would be officiating their ceremony, smiled wide and patient. “Would it be best to take a small break?”

“No, I got this,” he growled.

He tried yet again to properly light his candle against Momoi's, holding it to her burning wick. And yet again, as he moved to hold it properly in front of him, the flame flickered out. A sigh slipped through Momoi's nose, masked behind his own bark of frustration.

How the hell he couldn't get a freaking candle to stay lit, he had no idea. He wasn't even sure why they needed candles for the ceremony, when neither of them wanted to go through with it. What kind of significance did a candle have for a wedding anyways? That arranged marriages would eventually go up in flames or burn everything down?

He knew that much already.

When the candle finally lit, before Kagami could even yell in triumph, it was blown at as the door to the hall swung open.

As the man walked in, Kagami couldn’t help but feel it was more like a spider crawling along the ceiling. His hair, slick and dark, matched his solid black suit, like an oil spill on the floor. He barely regarded either him or Momoi with eyes like ink, before turning to Momoi’s parents.

The room was so much colder, Kagami didn’t know how the candles stayed lit.

“Hello, I hate to interrupt,” he said with a sudden smile that sent chills down Kagami’s spine. “I heard there was a wedding, but I’m apparently a few days early.”

“And you would be?” Kiyoshi asked, closing his book with a curious tilt of his head.

He shot Kiyoshi a look pouring with venom, his charming mask cracking. “Hanamiya Makoto.”

Then he turned back to Momoi’s parents, going so far as to bow before sitting beside them. His smile was back in place, but it looked just as strange and warped there. Kagami frowned at him, glaring, until Momoi cleared her throat, setting her own candle on the makeshift altar.

Right, there were more important things.

Or at least, there were things that had to be dealt with, rather than worrying about some sleazy guy.

They picked back up where they left off before they were interrupted. He still had an awful time getting his candle lit, just for how his hands shook. But not from nervousness. Instead, they trembled more and more with each sickly sweet word that Hanamiya whispered to Momoi’s parents.

“Your daughter is lovely. Black certainly suits her. Her husband-to-be is…” he trailed off, eyeing Kagami up and down. “Charming, I suppose. In that quaint sort of way.”

Kagami’s candle finally snapped in his hand.

He slammed the candle down on the table, the loud crack of it echoing through the room. In the silence that followed, he turned to give Hanamiya a piece of his fucking mind. Getting married to someone he didn’t know was already bad enough, but to have some asshole insulting him on top of all of that?

He couldn’t stay quiet. After all, he was too loud.

Hanamiya seemed to flourish under Kagami’s glare, his smile stretching into a grin. It made Kagami’s stomach turn in on itself. He drew back and inhaled deep, ready to hit with words or first, whichever came first.

Until Momoi screamed.

It was only then he recognized the smell of smoke and a familiar crackling warmth.

He spun around, mouth agape and eyes wide, to find he had knocked over Momoi’s candle as well. The tablecloth caught fire, burning a sizeable hole in the table. Kiyoshi grabbed a cup of wine—another prop in their vows that Kagami didn’t understand—and tossed it over the flames, dousing them.

No one spoke or moved. The only sounds were Momoi’s harsh breathing and his own confused noises. They held still as statues until Kiyoshi sighed and set the cup away, turning to smile at Kagami.

“Maybe we should wait until a later date,” Kiyoshi said, not unkindly. “When you’re more ready, Kagami.”

Their unwanted guest chirped in. “We’ll be waiting until death do us part then.”

Honestly, Kagami thought that didn’t sound too bad.

“Her hair is pink, that’s not normal.”

Kagami could see Tatsuya trying not to laugh. “Taiga, you’re not exactly normal yourself.”

He scoffed. “That’s not the point, Tatsuya! The point is that I don’t want to marry her! Or really anyone for that matter!”

Both Tatsuya and Alex looked like they didn’t know whether to laugh or wince at that.

The whole day had been a disaster. From having to meet the girl he was having to marry, to the asshole that showed up out of nowhere, to even the carriage ride home where he was served a lecture by each parent. Crashing on the sofa with Tatsuya and Alex was the only thing keeping him from freaking out.

“Taiga,” Alex said, leaning over the back of his seat to brush his hair aside. She had her motherly voice, which meant Kagami would hate what she said next. “As much as you may not want to, you may still have to. If your parents want you to marry her, there’s not much that can change their minds.”

His whole body froze under her touch, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“It’s not fair.”

“We know,” Tatsuya said. “You know we’d change it if we could.”

They’d known him his whole life. Tatsuya had been his best friend since before he could remember, and Alex had taken care of him since he was little. Both of them had always been there, because they knew him better than anyone.

But in that moment, it was like they didn’t know him at all.

Because what did it matter if that’s what his parents wanted? Why did it matter that money wasn’t enough for them, they wanted social status too? How could either of them possibly know when they’d never been forced into something like this?

“Neither of you know,” Kagami growled before he could stop himself. “You don’t know what I’m dealing with, and you don’t know how much I fucking hate this.”

He knocked Alex’s hand away and stormed out of his house, even as they yelled after him.

Kagami didn’t know where he was going, but it didn’t matter. He was going, and he felt better than he had all day. Just to be doing something of his own will and to be getting away from this awful place. He took off across the bridge leading out of town, towards the woods.

At the foot of the bridge stood two men, who Kagami vaguely recognized as the news announcers. One was completely silent, just ringing his bell, while the other was yelling with his cat-like grin, “Town wedding postponed due to fire!”

He kept walking.

Through dead trees and talking crows, he stomped. The more he walked, the more he kept thinking about the horrible practice ceremony, and how none of it made sense. He started to mumble to himself, mocking the vows that were supposed to bind him to another person.

“How could I be someone’s wine? Are they drinking me or something? And you can’t lift sorrows, it’s not that easy, dammit!”

His feet carried him to a clearing, with a few stumps and tree branches scattered on the ground. The crows had gotten louder around him, but so had he. Until he was screaming and yelling at nothing but the ring burning in his pocket.

“I mean, what’s the point of a ring anyways?!” He yanked it out of his pocket, glaring at it. “Won’t we just lose them?! ‘With this ring, I make you mine’? That’s bullshit!”

With his words resonating, he shoved the ring onto a tree branch.

Everything went silent at once.

It was like the earth itself stopped breathing—the wind held still, the crows had nothing to say, and the leaves waited in anticipation. Kagami looked around in a panic, only to find all the crows staring back at him. A quiet hum vibrated beneath him, shaking somewhere deep in the soil.

Then the branch snapped out and latched onto his wrist.

”Holy fuck!”

His scream—his incredibly manly scream—echoed in the clearing around him. It bounced off the trees, making the crows shuffle in their place, but none of them flew away. The quiet hum in the ground grew to a rumble, so strong that it knocked him off his feet and left him scrabbling backwards.

He watched in horror as a hand lurched out of the ground, clawing and hoisting a body behind it.

Out of the ground stepped a thing the likes of which Kagami had never seen.

Its skin was blue. Blue like the sky and sadness and the butterfly’s wings from that morning, with matching hair and eyes. A black suit trimmed to its frame made the color stand out even more, like how the night accentuated the stars, or a lake accentuated the moon’s reflection.

More than anything, however, Kagami was fixated on the parts that weren’t there. Such as the chunk of its cheek that was missing, molars and canines visible in a skeletal grin. Its shirt was torn in the front, his ribcage peeking through the dusty material.

In a sick way, it was almost beautiful.

Blue eyes stared at him, as Kagami stared back slack jawed and terrified. Vaguely, he felt the tree branch let go of his wrist. He somehow managed to tear his gaze away to look down, and he would’ve screamed again if he had any breath.

The branch was a skeleton hand, with his ring glinting on its third finger. It hopped away from him and walked over to the body on its fingers. The body reached down and picked it up, reattaching it firmly before looking at Kagami again.

Then it spoke, voice like a mix of wind rustling leaves and the soft flutter of a butterfly.

“Those could be beautiful vows, but I’m afraid you need to work more on the delivery.”

And Kagami fainted.

[tornrose24]

Chief Mate: Seawoman vs Sea

NOTE: This was written by Future Legend for Miss Anthrope. I do not own this one shot and they deserve full credit.

A/N: Hi! I’m the one who asked about letting Miss Anthrope be a navy officer. The story rolled around in my head for days, and I decided that I wanted to write it. Oh, and I changed Miss Anthrope’s name so she didn’t share one with Edith. Anyhow, hope you enjoy! :) To say Ella Anthrope, the janitor of the S.S. Seaworthy, was interesting would have been an understatement. She spoke to her superiors with a sword in her tongue. She struck anyone with a mop who crossed her. She knew the ins and outs of a navy ship she was only supposed to clean up. And she had some kind of vendetta with the sea. Mike, the lieutenant, had asked her about it once, and given that he was her only friend, she told him. The wind rushed to and fro, forcing the waves to strike the ship on which a man, woman, and six year old girl had been sailing. The water drenched the couple and swirled around the whimpering girl, causing her to clutch her father for safety. Suddenly, the father pried her off him and threw her into the stairway. The last thing she saw before blacking out was a wave rushing onto the boat, dragging her parents into the dark heart of the stormy waters below. Ella had grown bitter and cold after that day, and twenty years sure didn’t help heal her. The only reason she’d joined the navy was so that one day, she could possibly defeat the sea and prove herself strong, just like her father would have wanted her to be. The janitor’s chance came one day at sea. The Seaworthy had just won a battle with an enemy ship and was on its way home when a roar of anger signaled the beginning of a nightmare. The ocean began to get turbulent, crashing against the sides of the boat. Ella sped to the cafeteria, where the sailors were laughing and joking. “Captain,” she said quickly, “a storm is here! A storm is-” The captain laughed. “Storm? Ha! A little water slaps the boat and the janitor calls it a storm,” he slurred. “Swab the poop deck, El.” No matter what Ella tried, the Captain didn’t listen- alcohol did that to a man. So she ran back upstairs, where the weather had only worsened. There was thunder and lightning, the wind had picked up, and the waves were more intense. Ella scowled and grabbed the wheel. Anger and drive pulsed through her veins as she started spinning the wheel. The water, as though it had a mind of its own, rushed toward her, trying to knock her off course. “No,” she whispered, tightening her grip on the wheel. “No!” Hoping that someone was there to listen, Ella roared over the waves. “Listen well, controller of the wind and sea! You took my parents from me! You took my joy from me! And you are trying to take my crew from me! So come on! If you’re so powerful, kill me! Drag me into the depths like you did my parents! Smite me! I challenge you, King of the Ocean! Go on! Try and KILL ME!” The wind and waves intensified, and Ella held on to the wheel with all her might. The storm lasted for days. Ella poured her rage, her hate, and her determination into this battle. The sea had killed her parents, had forced her to fend for herself, had hurt her in every way possible. She was not going to lose her life to whoever was its master. No matter how much thunder boomed around her, no matter how many vortexes of wind and sea threatened to tear her apart, she steered the ship out of danger. The Captain, long out of his drunken stupor, knew it was too risky to go up and take control- he could only hope Ella could let the Seaworthy live up to its name. Finally, after the fourth day, the ship reached port. The winds had subsided, the waves were calm, and the sun was shining. With the storm reaching all the way to port, people had been filled with suspense concerning what had happened to the Seaworthy. Ella was the first to exit the ship. Her clothes were tattered drenched, her hands had gotten blisters, and running down her face was a deep cut from when a sailor’s knife had blown in her face. But she was alive. She had bested the sea. A silent victory shone in her eyes as she stumbled back onto land. Mike, one of few who had been sober enough to know she’d challenged the ocean, was next. He and a friend instantly began relaying the tale of the journey back. As everyone stood in awe, Ella turned and faced the sea to whisper, “Mom, Dad, that was for you.” If you liked it, I’d love a picture for this! Thanks!

So someone by the name of Future Legend (I don’t think they have an account on here yet) wrote this for my Captain Underpants Little Mermaid inspired AU (THIS ONESHOT WAS NOT WRITTEN BY ME, BUT I CAN’T PROVIDE A LINK TO THEIR ACCOUNT SINCE I DON’T THINK THEY HAVE ONE YET). Specifically for Miss Anthrope’s potential role in the AU. I love how awesome she is in this story and how epic this scenario is! :D

I do love this and I might not be able to get to a drawing right away, but I am intending on including her in the official fan fic ‘From fathoms below’ and I WILL give you full credit for this idea. She might appear in chapter four or five, so keep alert for it if there is anything more that you wish to tell me about her.