It’s been a long, exhausting day. Between the flight, check-in, the press junket, the photo ops, all Eric wants is to get a little bit drunk with the guys, grab some dinner, and fool around in Jack’s hotel room. Hopefully in that order, but he’s open to fooling around whenever.
He must have a dopey smile on his face thinking about the debauchery he’s been looking forward to all week when he realizes someone is watching him from across the bar.
Tall, nice hair, professional, and he’s looking at Eric, no, at the empty chair next to him. And he’s walking over.
Neil and Snapchat 01
(Part IX of my aftg Snapchat serie)
Ok neil is my fave so there is a part two of this with like only 3 snaps but idc. Basically he posts about Andrew 90% of the time. He’s just in loooveee. The rest is of Matt or Allison or his cats lmao. I love him. Oh and also he posts about Exy bc yeah he’s obsessed. Now I’m done.
Links to All of My A Court of Thorns and Roses/Mist and Fury Stories
I decided to make a post with ALL OF MY PERSONAL FANFICTIONS ON IT because it’s difficult for you guys to find them. This way, they’re all collected in one nice, easy post that I will update periodically whenever I have written a new story or have updated one that is listed below. I will also post this in my bio so it’s easy for everyone, new and old followers, to find!
“I wanted to do that with you,” I sighed, nestling my bottom back against his hips, “for a very long time.”
“Oh, aye?” I could hear the grin in his voice as he kissed my shoulder and nipped kisses down my arm. “How did ye ken I’d be any good at it?”
“Who’s saying you were?”
He heard the obvious teasing in my voice —calling a spade a spade: he’d been pretty bloody fantastic—and he gave it right back to me as he tsked with a mock-wounded, “Och, but she’s a vicious, cruel thing.” He slipped his arm under my head and brought the hand around to hold me close, whispering, grinning, “Cruel, cruel, cruel,” as he nipped his way up my still-flushed neck.
I hummed a happy laugh. “I didn’t know. But…” I turned my head back toward him, and right on cue, he brought his ear down near my mouth, so that hot breath moved against him as I finished, “…I knew I wanted you inside me.”
I felt him shiver at that, and he moved his hips ever-so-slightly against me, tracing a slow, warm hand up and down my hip and abdomen. A devilish grin still in his voice, he murmured, “Have I married a wanton, then?”
“You’re going to have your hands quite full with me in your bed,” I laughed, giving ‘devilish’ right back to him, “whatever rude name you wish you assign to it.”
“It’s wonderful, mo nighean donn,” he said, his voice suddenly soft. “I never dreamed—I—I didna even ken what it could be like.” I melted as he kissed my shoulder, my neck, my jaw. “How….perfectly happy a person could feel.”
I had known—
but to feel it with him…
Itwas a new kind of perfection.
“When I’m inside ye, Sassenach….” My husband pulled me tighter, seeming to fix his entire being on surrounding me, pulling me into him. “….I feel like….God himself.”
The laughter fizzed out of me before I could suppress it, which startled Jamie, but another moment, and the both of us were giggling uncontrollably. I had trouble getting the words out. “Is—that why you—took his name in vain so much??”
“While you’re already laughing at me—” Jamie choked out, the whole of him quaking behind me “—shall I tell ye that I didna ken there—was more than one position for coupling?”
“No!!!!” I gasped, feeling my cheeks would break from delight. “WHICH ONE??”
“The—back way—” he groaned, his voice wobbling as absurdly as his belly against my back, teetering on the edge of hysterics, “—like HORSES—”
“Jamie—” I moaned, coughing, a full two minutes later, “…hhhhhhhhORSES!!!”
“So YOU’RE—” Jamie gasped between veritable sobs of laughter, “—a—w—wanton, and I’m—a daft—LOON—”
More giggles. And hacking and coughing and still more giggles, until we were little more than a quivering puddle of flesh, our muscles absolutely spent from laughter.
I sighed a huge, deep sigh, exhausted from all the love and happiness. He did, too, and we settled back into each other, spooning close, snuggled under his plaid.
“So, what will we do, now, love? Make for Lallybroch?”
“Aye,” he said, “taking a verra indirect route, so as to stay off MacKenzie lands, but we’ll begin heading that way, to be sure.”
“And…we’ll stay there? Indefinitely?”
I hoped the raw eagerness didn’t show too obviously in my voice. I’d never had a real home, before—a place on the earth that was mine in some lasting way; and I’d never truly acknowledged to myself just how much something in my soul yearned for such a thing—a place to settle and grow—to fill with love and good food and memories. From what Jamie had said to me of his home, I knew Lallybroch could be that place; but I didn’t want to get my hopes up if we were going to be uprooted again.
“Well,” he said, shifting at my back and sounding nervous. “I suppose it’s—something we must decide together, aye?”
I smiled, touched. He was acknowledging my choice. That it might always be together.
“’Tis naught but a humble farm estate, ken?” he was saying, his words rushed and clumsy. “If ye—think you’d be happier someplace more–”
“No, I didn’t mean—!” I rolled to face him and let the truth of it show in my eyes. “It’s only that I don’t want to fall in love with a place we might have to leave.”
Happy relief flooded his face. “I dinna ever wish to leave, truthfully. I do think you’ll love it, Sassenach.” A flicker of doubt. “But do ye truly think ye can be happy? It’s no’ an easy life, a farm. We’ve servants and laborers, but there shall still—”
“I know I can, Jamie. I know it.”
And just as I vowed it, just as I savored the happy joy radiating from him, from me, the weight of history came crashing down around my shoulders.
My face must have fallen, for he was turning it up to him. “Mo nighean donn?”
And though it threatened to crush my heart into dust, I told him. About the war to come; the ‘45, and Bonnie Prince Charlie. The doomed cause. The famines. The Clearances. The endless upheavals and hardships that would all but destroy the Scotland he knew in just a few short years. How our life together would almost certainly be shaped—friends and family destroyed, if not ourselves, and that only by the grace of God— by an utterly doomed cause.
He said not a word while I spoke, but I watched his face harden into a mask of control, a sign of just how deeply he, too, felt the fear and dread of the devastation that loomed so close at hand. He had come to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of stars as I prophesied doom over the perfect happiness of this night, our life.
“Is there…” he said, long after I’d fallen silent, “…anything we can do against this?” I turned onto my side to face him, though he still stared at the sky. “Mightn’t we—” He ran a hand backward through his hair. “Since we ken what’s to come, might we take steps to change things?” The desperate hope in his eyes… “Prevent some of this tragedy before it can run its course?”
My mind reeled. Intentionally change the future?
“I don’t know how much two people could do, Jamie,” I said, giving him honesty.
He set his jaw and nodded, closing his eyes for a moment as though committing some prayer upward. I brought an arm up and across his chest, half-laying on him as I put a soft hand on his cheek. “But we will do what we can. We’ll take measures to keep Lallybroch safe, at the very least; to keep our family safe. I promise.”
A sigh escaped him, something like relief, and he pulled me close, my cheek on his chest. “Then lead us, wise woman,” he murmured, “and keep us from harm.”
There was no laughter in his voice—only feeling, and genuine supplication. “Perhaps, Claire….Maybe ye were brought back to this time no’ just to save me, but many in these troubles to come.”
God, the weight of those words upon me—the burden of knowledge of what was to come.
“I don’t—It still might not be enough—”
He put a gentle finger to my lips. “I trust ye, mo nighean donn. And whatever must be done, we’ll face it together.”
I kissed him, long, soft, and deep. Together.
A long time later, my parched throat overcame coziness and I stood, at which he made the most adorable little needy sound of protest. “I’m only going to get the canteen, you animal!”
Still, I made a little show of sauntering over to our bags by the adjacent wall, bending luxuriously over, and taking a long swallow with my back to him, nearly spitting out the water to hear his sounds of distress all the while. “You do know how to make a girl feel gratified, Jamie. Positively got it down to an ART!”
“No’ art. Sheer. *animal*. weakness.”
We both laughed, but when I turned back to face him, on his side watching me, his expression was serious, sweet with love. “Ye ken…I loved you, Sassenach, since I held you in my arms, that first day we arrived at Leoch.”
I could only beam with happiness at the memory. God, that fireside…
(…and given the evident solemnity in what he was about to say, I refrained from mentioning the rather vivid association in my mind between that encounter and HORSES.)
“I loved you, then…” he went on, grinning, “—but Christ, when you fell into that river–”
“Pushed,” I couldn’t keep from correcting with a playful grimace.
“Oh aye, when Ned Gowan—may he be sainted for it—pushed ye into the river,” he amended with a flash of a grin before continuing, quiet once more “—and ye let me carry ye… undress ye… hold ye… Christ….” He sat up and stared at me, shaking his head. “Claire, mo chridhe: my entire life just—rearranged around me.”
“I wanted it to be you.” My throat was so tight, it came out in a pitifully flimsy whisper.
“What was that, lass?” he asked eagerly, standing and crossing to me where I stood leaning against the cool stones of the wall.
“When you set me down by the fire, that night, I knew I needed body heat.” I splayed my hands across his broad, smooth chest, tracing the beautiful outline of him. “I was so far gone I couldn’t get the words out, and Murtagh, bless him, he was on the right track, so I just curled up and let things take their course, but—Jamie, I so badly ached for it to be you. I wanted….I kept trying to pluck up the courage to just say it.”
He brushed a curl back from my face. “Say what?”
“‘Jamie! You. Me. Warmth Cuddles! Spit spot!’”
We both laughed, but I felt my belly clutch in memory. “But I was afraid, for so many reasons.”
He pressed me gently back against the wall and kissed me, giving me the gift of not having to speak aloud the main reason for my fear and shame over my feelings that night. “Well, if you were afraid, Sassenach,” he said against my lips, “I was fairly shitting myself.”
Memory, sadness, shame: banished. I chortled rather gracelessly into his mouth. “Oh, yes, that was quite apparent, love.”
He rolled his eyes as he smiled, sheepishly. “Christ, I wanted ye so badly I could scarcely breathe. A green, virgin lad handed a naked goddess and asked to mind her through the cold, dark night??“
“I wasn’t naked, you oaf!!”
“Ye should have told that to my cock. It couldna seem to tell the difference.” We nearly dissolved into another fit of giggles before he groaned ruefully. “Had to say my hail marys to keep from embarrassing myself. WELL, I did embarrass myself, did I not?—to keep from doing something lecherous.” He stepped a pace back from me, shaking his head with a kind of dark awe as he surveyed me from head to toe. “It certainly felt as if it should be a sin….to behold you, so.”
I gave a dramatic look backward at my posterior, then another conspicuously between his legs, raising my eyebrows in pleasant surprise at what I found there. “Makes one wonder whether sin is half so bad, after all.”
THAT fast. Fire burned in his eyes as he closed the distance between us, jerked me off my feet, and pressed me against the wall—NOT gently. I came alive for him, wrapped my legs around him in visceral, lightning-fast permission, and he entered me with a sharp thrust that sent a deep gasp wrenching from my throat. And he was moving deep, deep, deeper inside me as he growled into my ear:
“Then give me my sin again, Sassenach.”
Thank you all SO MUCH for your support of this story!
I’m leaving things open-ended on purpose, just in case there comes a prompt that fits nicely with this AU that compels me to open it back up (just like I did with this renewal!).
But for the time being, I’m perfectly happy to leave the Frasers to ride off into the sunset. Thank you all again :)
Summary: “You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”
You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.
Lallybroch reminded Claire of the cuckoo clock Uncle Lamb had had in one of the few rental properties they’d lived in. Life was run on a schedule; the tenants and livestock the cogs and wheels of the machine that ran it. If one piece was missing or broken, time and progress would not move forward.
The Frasers had been the central piece of this land since the 1700’s, Claire learned. The Fraser ancestors built the house and their descendants inherited the property through generations of tradition and hard work. While modernized technology found its way into parts of the farm’s processes, the Lallybroch estate had remained one of the few working farms in Scotland that was fully self sufficient. Because of this, they continued to survive when the Last War ended.
The remaining Frasers were the heart and mind of the estate, the focal points of decision and order. Winter was fast approaching, which meant all supplies and livestock needed to be accounted for and properly protected once the weather turned. Caches of supplies were hidden and stored for the winter and the planting in the spring.
Claire found herself slowly finding her place in the workings of the farm, beginning her duties as the estate’s temporary nurse and lending a hand wherever needed. News that she would be staying for a time spread quickly through the little community. Most greeted her warmly enough, but Claire could sense the hesitancy; while her skills were useful, she was still an outlander and would have to earn her place among them.
She was given her own guest room on the second floor; it was cozy and quiet and had its own small fireplace in the corner. Compared to the last ten years of dorm room beds, army cots, and whatever patch of brambles looked the most comfortable, the luxury wasn’t lost on her every time she curled up under the already warm covers.
Jenny bustled about, tending to who knew how many mental checklists inside her head and making sure everyone was properly fed and cared for. Her son, Young Jamie, could be found following in the wake of his mother’s billowing wool skirt, either helping or causing trouble at inconvenient moments. Claire was happy to learn that Young Jamie’s birth had been uneventful; she hoped for the same for Jenny’s new baby.
Jamie, despite discomfort and Claire’s insistence on taking things slowly, was found outside with his tenants every day doing what he could. Claire found herself watching him; the knowledgeable way he addressed concerns; the way he carried himself, despite his healing back and muscles; how well he knew each and every person around him. James Fraser was a leader of men. She could easily see him on the battlegrounds of Europe, leading troops through the rubble that remained of great cities.
She turned at the sound of her name, echoes of gunshots and spark grenade explosions fading as Jenny came toward her. Claire breathed deeply and wiped her sweaty palms on her cargo pants. Flashes of the Last War weren’t uncommon for her, but unsettling didn’t begin to describe it.
“Are ye alright Claire?” Jenny asked, brow furrowed as she looked up into Claire’s face. Claire tried her best attempt at a smile.
“Yes, perfectly fine. Did you need me to help with something?”
Jenny gazed at her a moment before turning and beckoning Claire to follow her with a tilt of her head.
“It’s no so much what you can do for me as what I can do for you. Here, this way.”
She led Claire into a smaller building near the barn. Assorted plastic bins and bits of machinery were piled along the walls; Claire didn’t doubt that Jenny knew what was in every last one of them. Jenny was moving about, mumbling a bit as she surveyed the boxes. She was still light on her feet, despite the pregnancy.
“Ah here’s the one. Claire, could ye help me please?”
“What’s in this?” Claire asked as they managed to extract the bin from the middle of the pile and place it on the floor.
“It’s wool,” Jenny answered, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Ye’ve seen the sheep herd aye?”
Claire nodded, feeling the soft yet slightly scratchy material. It still smelled slightly of fresh dye.
“Weel, we shear them and then make the wool. It used to be for the tourists, ye ken. We’d reenacted the process of making the fabric but we used modern dye instead of urine and plants.”
“Oh aye. It set the dye faster than anything else at the time. Dinna fash though. We still have plenty of dye to last us a long while yet.”
“It’s fascinating to me how this place has been able to survive, despite everything. You’ve all done a fine job.”
“Thank ye,” Jenny replied, appearing pleased. “Now, are ye any good wi’ a needle?”
“Yes, but only when dealing with flesh.”
“Och, we’ll manage. If you’d agree, I’d like to have clothes made for ye. Winter is coming on and I dinna think what ye have will be sufficient for the elements,” Jenny said, putting the lid back on the box.
“Oh you don’t have to,” Claire started, touched at the kind thought. Jenny gave her a blue eyed look.
“It’s the least we can do. Now,” she continued, discussion apparently ended, “Could ye please help me take this to the house. Mrs. Crook and I can take your measurements.”
Claire pulled the bedroom chair close to the fire and sat down, carefully balancing her hot cup of tea. The warmth from the flames and from the cup began to spread through her extremities, leaving her with a feeling of heavy limbed contentedness and well being. She curled her feet under herself, adjusting the tartan blanket into a cocoon of warmth. Halfway through her tea, she heard a soft knock at her door.
“Come in!” she called as quietly as possible, unsure of how many Lallybroch inhabitants were still awake at this hour.
The door opened to reveal Jamie, soaking wet, presumably from the cold rain that currently pounded against the roof overhead. His eyes briefly searched the room for her, his body going still once he caught sight of her. The wetness of his hair made the red go dark; his eyes were brighter than usual. After a moment, Claire cleared her throat.
“You can come in. I’m decent.”
Jamie blinked, looked at her as if judging whether she was playing a trick or not, then eased himself all the way in.
“Sorry to bother ye, Sassenach. I ken it’s late.”
Droplets of rain water pattered to the floor, prompting Claire to stand and reach for a towel. She was thankful for the clean set of pajamas Jenny had loaned her. While the legs were too short, the top fit well enough for warmth and coverage. Jamie didn’t move as she approached, but she saw a slight shiver run through him.
“I see you’re ignoring nurse’s orders again,” she said lightly, throwing the towel over his head to dry his hair.
Jamie made a Scottish noise, bending a bit at the knee to assist her efforts.
“I had a wee project I was overseeing today. Only just finished.”
He blinked owlishly as his head emerged from the towel. Claire draped it around his shoulders, careful not to put pressure on his back.
“I hope this ‘project’ is worth infected wounds and pneumonia,” she quipped.
Jamie laughed, blue eyes bright with humor.
“That’s actually why I came to see ye.”
Claire paused, looking up at him. She felt his heart beat under her hand, the cold rain water dampening his shirt, and his natural blazing warmth that seemed to keep any chill at bay. He was solid and immediate, his ruddy skin glowing in the firelight. Despite the healing wounds on his back, Jamie looked like the picture of perfect health.
“Are you not feeling well?” she asked, turning toward her chair. “Here, sit down..”
“Thank ye, Sassenach, but I’m fine,” he replied, one corner of his mouth curving upward. “It’s just that I’ve a wee surprise for ye.”
“What sort of surprise?” she asked.
“It wouldna be a surprise if I told ye before ye saw it.”
He was outright grinning now. Claire crossed her arms and smirked.
“If it has something to do with you getting sick or infected, I’m not sure I want to be a part of this surprise.”
“Scairt, are ye?”
“Hmm we’ll see. Meet me at the barn after breakfast tomorrow?”
Claire eyed him for a moment, then smiled and nodded. Jamie’s shoulder’s relaxed slightly; clearly he was pleased. They stood looking at each other for a few moments before Jamie cleared his throat and looked away.
“Well, I’ll leave ye to your sleep-”
“Wait,” Claire interrupted, catching his wrist as he was turning away. Jamie turned back, glancing at her hand on his before meeting her eyes. Claire smiled softly.
“Let me take a look at those bandages. They might need to be replaced.”
“Really, it’s alright-”
“Sit,” she said firmly, pushing the chair away from the hearth and replacing it with the footstool before rummaging through the medicine box Jenny had gifted her. Jamie hesitated a moment but accepted defeat. He exhaled and slowly lowered himself down onto the indicated stool.
“Rate your pain from one to ten,” Claire said, beginning their usual exam routine while helping him shrug out of his jacket.
Claire gave him a look.
“Aye, seven then,” Jamie admitted. “It’s starting to itch something fierce as well.”
“That’s good. It means you’re healing.”
Claire set the supplies on her vacated chair before helping him remove his t-shirt. Jamie grimaced, but made no sound as the soaked fabric pulled at his bandages. Claire handed him a fresh towel before putting his clothes over the back of the chair to dry.
“Alright, let’s see the damage.”
Most of the taped edges had started to peel off from getting wet. One deep wound had started to bleed again.
“I’ll have to clean this one,” she said regretfully. “The bandage came off completely.”
Jamie nodded, settling himself. They sat in companionable silence while she worked, the crackle and light of the fire creating a hypnotizing ambience. Jamie swayed a bit, tiredness betraying him. Claire finished with the cleaning and moved on to replacing all of the dressings.
Claire ran her finger down the edge of one scabbed over runnel, sealing the bandage covering it. Goose flesh sprang up on Jamie’s arms at the touch; the red gold hairs of his body standing up. His breathing had changed and he was unusually still. Claire swallowed. Suddenly, the room was feeling too small. Heat flooded her body with the knowledge that she was very much alone with him in her bedroom. She grasped at anything to distract herself.
“I have some exercises you can start doing once these wounds heal more. It will help strengthen the muscles again.”
“Thank ye,” he responded, turning his head slightly to smile at her over his shoulder.
Claire gently squeezed the shoulder in question, letting him know she was finished. She felt his eyes on her as she knelt in front of him, gathering spare bits of medicinals that she’d tossed in front of the hearth. The firelight sparked off of the gold ring on her left hand, catching her attention for the first time since she’d come to Lallybroch. A sudden wave of unexpected guilt washed through her and her breath caught in her chest.
“Sassenach?” she heard Jamie ask.
Her throat was too thick to answer without giving herself away; she tried to will the tears back down. She saw Jamie lean further over, trying to see her face.
How does he always know? she wondered.
“Claire, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice deep and filled with… something. Something she was too afraid to name. She sniffed, wiping away a tear that had made its way down her cheek.
“It’s nothing. I was just… just thinking about my husband.”
“Ah lass,” he said softly. “Is… is he not alive?”
Four years. Four years of being completely alone again; when the Last War ripped the only two people Claire had left in the world away from her. She’d cried for them of course but had never truly grieved. And now, in a strange land amongst strangers, Claire’s enduring walls dissolved.
“No,” she said, tears falling freely now. “No, he’s not alive.”
Jamie knelt beside her, wrapping her in his arms as she sobbed uncontrollably. A large, warm hand went up and down her back as he whispered soothing words in Gaelic. The hand moved to her hair, smoothing it out of her face as she began to regain control of herself. Claire leaned into the touch. Sniffing, she opened her eyes and met his; blue and fathomless and so, so close. He glanced at her mouth and back up again, his hand tightening imperceptibly in her hair.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking away, heart beating heavily in her chest. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Dinna fash, lass,” Jamie replied softly, giving her a sad smile as he wiped a stray tear away. He put a finger under her chin to make her look at him again.
“Ye need not be scairt of me,” he said seriously. “Nor of anyone else here. So long as I’m with ye.”
Claire merely nodded, unsure whether to return to him or pull away. Jamie sighed.
“Ye need sleep, Sassenach,” he said gently, rising from the floor before giving her a hand to help her up.
“You do too,” she replied, giving him a shy smile as she walked with him to her door. He smiled back, hand moving as if to touch her again, but he stopped himself.
Don’t stop, she thought.
“Goodnight,” she said instead, searching his eyes.
“Goodnight Claire,” he said softly. “I’m right down the hall if ye need anything.”
I want you to stay.
“Thank you, Jamie. For.. for everything.”
“I’ll see ye in the morning. Sleep well, Sassenach.”
Jamie left, moving quietly down the dim hallway to his own room. Claire waited for the click of his door shutting, but the sound never came. She sighed, berating herself for dissolving into an emotional mess, and shut her own door. Exhaustion won out over tidying up the room. She crawled into bed, buried herself in the tartan blanket, and gave into sleep and uneasy dreams.
Summary: You work at JYP as an analyst and are assigned to help a group of idols with their new collaboration song. Both Jinyoung and JB are assigned to the project, which is distracting since you bias Jinyoung. All of this would be fine though - if only Im Jaebeom weren’t such a pain in your ass.
Summary: You keep seeing the same guy everywhere you go. In the coffee shop, on the streets, in your philosophy class. It’s getting to the point where you think he’s stalking you - only to realize that maybe there’s something much more mysterious at play here. (AU: Chen is your guardian angel)
As I am working on a few new ideas it occurred to me that a Master List might be helpful for you all (and an easier way for me to update things) so here you go! Please let me know if any of the links don’t work!