Starring: Kim Taehyung Genre: Fluff Words: 508 Summary: Taehyung wakes up much too late. Warnings: None Notes: This was more of an attempt at getting back into the swing of writing so yeah take that as you will.
- they definitely meet on their first day of classes (history class taught by washington) because alex pours an energy drink into his coffee, stares john in the eye, and says “i’m going to die” before downing it
- John gets into a fight. Alex finds it incredibly hot.
- Alex is a huge flirt. huge flirt. he writes poetry about John’s freckles.
- but as soon as john reciprocates his feelings Alex is a stuttering mess
- lams is the type to be up at 3 AM preforming songs in their underwear together on the kitchen table
- they definitely go to protests n political rallies together (getting angry about the same thing is great first date material)
- FMK with historical figures
- (”You’d bang George Washington??” “You wouldn’t??”)
- they might have fights over lil things, but at the end of the day they always come back together
- Even when they have a big fight and Alex is temporarily kicked out of their apartment, all John does is worry about him not finding a place to crash at
- they don’t give a FUCK about pda, they’re always holding hands, touching, kissing, etc. occasionally gets them kicked out of places.
- man these nerds love each other so much, the living embodiment of “kick his ass baby, I got yo flower”
The first thing Sherlock notices is that John’s fingers are not soft. They stutter across his cheek, roughened callouses catching on evening stubble as John’s thumb grazes across his cheek.
The next thing is that John’s hands are warm. So much warmer than he could have imagined, radiating heat that he is certain isn’t actually being emitted from his skin, but rather must be a combination of his own anticipation and the proximity of John’s entire body to his own transmitted through the one place they’ve come in contact.
John’s eyes are soft, wondering, a little dazed. Guilt creeps into Sherlock’s spine. A burning reminder of all the time wasted where he had done nothing but push John away with his own misunderstandings, only to have had made it all the worse with the walls he built and the lies he told. But that’s over now, Sherlock reminds himself. John is here, staring up at him with a small, crooked smile and soft navy eyes that are so full of affection it’s difficult to breathe.
It is impossible, later, to untangle the moment. It seems as if in one instant they are staring at each other, laid bare, words they’ve never said hanging from their lips, and the next John’s mouth is on Sherlock’s, with no in-between moment of hesitation or awkward slide of noses.
Fire and lightning and something that reminds Sherlock of soda water, all fizzy and expansive, rockets from his lips into his stomach. It is so forceful that he almost pulls away, but John’s hand is there, now, at the back of his neck, fingers toying with the curls there, and he stays, and the fire and the lighting and the fizzy something becomes manageable, if only just.
He wants to categorize John’s lips, how they are slightly chapped and slightly dry and very firm. He wants to hold the reality up to his imagination and say ‘see? This is so much better,’ but he cannot because John’s other hand has slid around to the small of his back and is slowly moving down over the rise of his arse. Not squeezing so much as palming, massaging, and Sherlock cannot focus on more than one thing right now, so he chooses John’s lips because they’ve opened slightly and John’s running his tongue along Sherlock’s bottom lip, and oh.
He thought it would be very strange, to have someone else’s tongue in his mouth, but it is not strange, it is marvelous, all wet velvet heat. John groans, a small noise, but the reverberations in his mouth are exquisite, and Sherlock presses more firmly against John, trying to get him to do it again. He does, louder, and the sound goes straight to Sherlock’s cock, the heat pooling below his stomach, coiling in his spine.
But that is not for now. For now Sherlock takes a tentative lick, tasting, exploring, and John opens to allow it, tongues twining together, and a small, needy noise escapes into John’s mouth. A tiny huff of amusement ghosts across Sherlock’s cheek, and then both of John’s hands are on his arse, pulling him flush, John’s erection pressing into his thigh, and the small, needy noise grows deeper.
John pulls away. No, wait, where -
“Sherlock,” John breathes into Sherlock’s still open mouth. “Christ, Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s tongue ceases functioning for speech. He stares dumbly down at John, his mind flipping through all the things he wants to say, all the things he should, perhaps, say, and settling on none of them. He says simply, “John,” and burdens that one syllable with everything he cannot find words to express.
John smiles, really smiles, that brilliant, thousand-watt smile that lights Sherlock’s heart and pulls his own lips up in response. Sherlock leans his forehead against John’s, their noses brushing, breathing each other’s air, existing in this same shared space for a heartbeat that seems to stretch and contract around them.
There is a knock on the door, and a familiar sing-song call, and they both giggle together before John takes pity on the poor landlady and lets her in.
This is a thank-you ficlet for @inevitably-johnlocked for their invaluable assistance in finding me links! Thanks so much!
Don’t imagine your bias trying to get over you. Don’t imagine him pacing back in forth in the dorm, trying to talk himself out of texting you while his bandmates look on with concern for his sanity. Don’t imagine him throwing himself into his work, exhausting himself every day only to fall into bed and dream of you each night. Don’t imagine him showing up at your doorstep at three in the morning, completely and totally wasted, with tears in his eyes as he confesses, “I messed up, jagiya, and I miss you so, so much. This is torture for me, being without you is the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do. I’m losing my mind, you’re all I can think about anymore. Please, please take me back.”
He’s supposed to be out getting diapers, but he can’t stop himself from wandering through the toy aisle while he’s out. It’s his inner child that drives him to it. Castle walks down the aisle lined with plush stuffed animals on either side. He’s not looking for anything in particular, but his eyes are instantly drawn to a grey ball of fur on his left.
He runs a hand over it. Oh. It’s soft. Soft like that one robe Kate likes to wear in the winter. The one he can never seem to keep his hands off of. Castle plucks up the toy and when he turns it over in his hands he quickly realizes it’s an elephant with a white bow tied around its neck. Well now he has to get it.
Castle gently places it in the cart along with the diapers and heads to check out, hoping that he can beat Kate home with it. He wants to surprise her.
Sure enough, when he makes it back to the loft, his kids are the only ones home. Alexis is sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, playing peek-a-boo with her baby brother. It warms his heart, seeing them together.
“I think he’s winning,” Castle jokes, shrugging out of his coat.
Alexis groans, causing Elliot to laugh.
“It’s not that kind of game, Dad.”
He pats her on the head as he passes them. “I’m well aware. You and I used to play it quite often.”
Castle unloads the couple of groceries Kate asked him to pick up and drops off the diapers in Elliot’s room before he returns to the living room, brandishing the stuffed elephant. He sits on the floor with his kids and passes the toy over to his son. The baby squeals in delight and buries his face into the soft fur.
“I thought Kate told you to stop buying him toys every time you go out,” Alexis says, laughing at her little brother’s delight over the animal.
“Yeah, but this one’s an elephant,” Castle protests. “She loves elephants.”
“Your funeral,” she jokes, pushing herself off the floor. “I’ve got to go ready for my night class. See you boys later.”
He bids his daughter farewell and then turns back to his son. The boy is still hugging the elephant tightly, his small little fingers rubbing over the fur. Well, at least he likes it.
Kate steps through the door at the same moment Alexis starts to step out. They greet each other in passing.
“And how are my two favorite boys today?” she asks, slipping her coat off and moving to hang it up.
She hums, walking over to them and skimming her hand across her husband’s shoulders, before sitting down on the couch behind him.
“It was a long day,” she sighs. “Just glad to be home.”
Castle turns and reaches for her hand, placing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “We’re glad you’re home too.”
She smiles at him, before shifting her gaze to her son.
“Babe, what’s with the elephant?” Kate asks.
“I spotted it today while I was out getting diapers. I couldn’t resist. And he really seems to love it, look at him.”
Elliot now has his chin resting on top of the toy’s head, his tiny fingers still buried in the fur.
“Come on, Kate. He’s continuing your family tradition of loving elephants.”
She sighs, transferring herself from the couch to the floor. Elliot finally releases the toy to crawl towards her. She lifts him into her lap and his hands reach out, stretching for the elephant. Castle laughs and hands it to him.
“I think he has a new favorite toy. Like mother, like son, huh?” Castle says.
“More like, like grandmother, like grandson,” Kate corrects. “All the elephants I have were hers.”
Castle skims a hand up her back, scooting closer.
“She would have loved him, you know,” she says softly, with a small smile. “And you too.”
He kisses her cheek. “We would have loved her too.”
Kate smiles down at her son as he starts to chew on one of the elephants ears.
“I’m willing to let this one slide. But seriously, Castle, no more new toys for a while, okay? He already has more than he knows what to do with.”
“It’s just so hard not to spoil him,” Castle says, rubbing his son’s back. “I mean look at that face.”
Kate laughs, shaking her head. “He is the cutest. All thanks to us, of course.”
“Oh of course,” Castle agrees, laughing as well. “Good genes and all.”
She smiles, bumping her head against his as Elliot starts to wiggle around in her lap. Yeah, she really loves coming home to her boys.
not sure if you've done this yet but could you please do coliver + 37? Thanks!! <3
37. “Wanna dance?” I’m so sorry for how late this is, but I have midterms and they take up too much time. This turned into a huge fluff fest, but I hope you like it anyway and thanks for the prompt!! <3 P.S: The song mentioned is La Vie En Rose by Louis Armstrong
They moved gently to the humming music, their bodies swaying so
slowly they would seem suspended in time to anyone watching. And, Oliver
thought, maybe they were suspended in time. This dance after all was making up
for the one they missed over six years ago.
Oliver tightened his arms around Connor’s waist, mouthing
the words against his boyfriend’s temple and feeling the other man’s smile pull at
his cheeks. He often wondered what would have happened if they hadn’t ran into
each other a couple years back. He wondered what his life would have been like if
Connor Walsh remained the unattainable crush from Oliver’s high school years,
and silently thanked whatever deity listening that he never had to find out.
Ah your CS fluff with Emma and Killian living together is too cute. Please write more CS fluff (there's been too much angst in the fic tag lately). Thank you so much.
A/N: Fluff, did you say?
Emma likes the quiet.
It’s a rare thing around Storybrooke – her quiet too often perturbed by the bleep of her phone or cackle of her walkie bearing news – but not beyond the realms of possibility. When there’s no crisis that particular second (there may be one tomorrow, or the day after, but not right now) and everything’s just…quiet.
And Emma likes that. She likes how she can hear the sea because she has the top windows open; likes how the silence isn’t perturbed by yells or shouts but insignificant little noises (like car doors shutting and leaves rustling and birds squawking and chirping). She likes how she can hear the soft huff of Killian’s breathing as she’s tucked into his side (as well as the tired sofa creaking beneath their weight).
She doesn’t know quite how they got like this, only that there was TV that’s long since been muted and him kissing her foot and stupid giggles and –
Now she’s lying on top of him – the lines that separate them a blur of tangled limbs and feet twisting around one and others until she can’t tell where he ends and where she begins. (The proximity makes her feel whole – his fingers against her side and his legs around hers and she’s whole.)
If you're still doing that fic meme, how about Ten and Rose's first TARDIS kitchen disaster?
A/N: This is un-beta'ed and terribly late. I apologize on both those counts. All the other overdue fics from this meme are started in some capacity at least! Also, thanks to andrastesgrace for giving me the exploding pancakes idea.
Retrospectively, they probably should have known something would go wrong. Rose wasn’t much of a cook, it wasn’t that she couldn’t - after all Jackie hadn’t always been the one to cook back at home. She found it a rather boring necessity, to be quite frank. Add the Doctor into the mix, distracting her further, should have spelled out disaster in bright neon letters. But apparently it hadn’t occurred to them, since they were in the kitchen, surrounded by the remnants of ingredients and with a bowl of pancake batter sitting on the counter by the stove.
Said batter was also on the ceiling and both of them.
“Pancakes don’t just explode Doctor.”
“Well that’s not entirely true. On Fr-”
Rose fixed him with a steady glare. “On Earth, where I got the recipe from my mum, pancakes don’t just explode.”
This is pure crack (and fluff), which I blame entirely on anniviech cause she put the idea in my head. And it’s really written as a very late birthday ficlet for greatspacedustbin!
Basically, ever wonder what was happening in Pete’s World during Waters of Mars? This probably isn’t the answer….
— — — — — — — — — —
The first time she wakes, it’s to the sound of the Doctor beside her, mumbling under his breath about about Mars and water and Bowie. For a moment she thinks he’s talking to himself, but when she rolls over to look at him, there’s a slight furrowing in his brow, but his eyes are shut and he doesn’t hear her whispers. After a moment, his face smoothes out and he stops mumbling and she snuggles back into his side and goes back to sleep.
The second time Rose wakes it’s a bit over an hour later and the Doctor’s sitting up straight in bed, pain on his face as he says he can’t do anything to help and something about a fixed point. She waits for a moment, to see if he’s going to say anything else, but he falls back onto bed, his head hitting the pillow with a soft thud. His face clears and he starts snoring softly. Shaking her head, she tells herself she’ll ask him in the morning, when things might make more sense. Curling back into his side once more, she drifts off once again.
The third time the Doctor wakes her, it’s even more unexpected and even more apparent to her, something is definitely not right.