#god carrie please take pity on him this is not a joke he really does love you XD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aomine-ryo · 4 years ago

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Your last ask was seriously funny! We need more of that. If possible, can I request different scenrios where the s/o of the gom gets asked questions by the s/o of their boyfriend's teammate(s) about their night (because reader has a looot of love marks).... this is so freaking specific, im sorry😂😂 if you cant do it it fine, if you do, then i appreciate you and your writings (i love your blog and im also a simp for Aomine)

Aren’t we all a simp for Aomine 😭💕 I really couldn’t think of anything for Midorima and Murasakibara without it being too repetitive and boring so I unfortunately left them out of this one, so I’m sorry and I hope you don’t mind too much!! xx

Scenario: Kuroko, Kise, Aomine and Akashi’s s/o being questioned about their love marks

Kuroko

It was a rather chilly Wednesday afternoon and you were watching Seirin’s practice as you usually would. While you initially came there to watch your boyfriend play, you actually also ended up becoming quite close with Kagami, Izuki and Mitobe’s significant others who also came to watch quite often.

As you watched over the practice while chatting away with your friends, you began to feel rather warm due to the gym’s heating, so you took off the scarf that you’d wrapped around your neck. Not thinking too much of it, you continued with your conversation, only to notice that your friends had their eyes fixated on your neck. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?” you questioned, trying to decipher the strange smirks and nods they shared with each other.

“Y/N, your neck...” Mitobe’s s/o trailed off, getting caught up in giggles before they could finish.

“What? Is there something on my neck?” you asked, beginning to panic as your hand immediately reached for it in the fear that there was a bug on it.

“I’m guessing you and Kuroko had some fun last night,” Kagami’s s/o giggled, causing you to freeze as you came to a realisation of what they were referring to.

You quickly wrapped the scarf around your neck again to conceal the red marks your boyfriend had left the night before. Filled with embarrassment, your averted your gaze and fixated on the boys’ practice to avoid making eye contact with your friends. Of course, they didn’t let you off the hook that easily.

“I didn’t think Kuroko was the type to leave marks, but damn he really went to town on your neck, huh Y/N?” Kagami’s s/o teased, making your face turn red with embarrassment.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“So, was yesterday a special night? Or does he always leave marks like those?” Mitobe’s s/o interrogated.

“It’s always the quiet ones...”

“Oh my God, stop,” you said, unable to hold back the giggles from the ridiculousness of their comments. “It was just a normal night okay?”

The two of them shared a look before hooting a long “oooooh,” making you wish you didn’t say anything at all.

“So it’s a normal thing then?” Kagami’s s/o continued, the grins on their faces growing wider and wider.

“I’m gonna pretend like I can’t hear you,” you said finally, looking everywhere but at them. You didn’t lie when you said that though. They kept teasing you, but you just sat there as though they weren’t talking to you.

Eventually, they got tired of it, but they didn’t hesitate to shoot you knowing glares when practice ended and you hurried over to Kuroko to escape them.

“Is everything okay?” Kuroko asked you, when he noticed how much of a hurry you were in to leave.

“Yeah, they just saw the marks from last night,” you informed him, making him blush at the memory of the previous night’s events. “So can we just leave before they come here and embarrass me even more?”

Not wanting to draw any attention to himself, Kuroko agreed with you after letting out a small chuckle. “Sorry about that, Y/N,” he said sincerely, not knowing how he’d respond to remarks if he were in your position.

You gave his hand a tight squeeze and flashed him a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, I’ll let it slide because last night was really fun,” you beamed, causing his face to flush red before the two of you left the gym after exchanging brisk goodbyes with the team.

Kise

It was just another practice day at Kaijo where you were casually chatting with your friends. They weren’t normally people you would hang out with, but you’d gotten quite close during these practices since they were the significant others of your boyfriend, Kise’s teammates. Whilst you considered them friends, they weren’t exactly close enough where you’d feel comfortable sharing personal details about your relationship, so you would often stick to light hearted stuff— which you quite enjoyed because they always gave you a good laugh.

“Y/N, is this the first time you’re wearing a scarf?” Moriyama’s s/o asked you, eyeing the bright blue scarf that Kise lent you this morning.

“Yeah, it is,” you nodded.

“I can tell. It’s really not your usual style— it’s not even wrapped properly,” they continued, giving you a pitiful chuckle as Kasamatsu’s s/o bobbed their head in agreement.

“Yeah, I know. I was trying something new, but I’m not sure I like it,” you sighed, fiddling with the end of it. To be honest, you didn’t even want to wear it. It was only there to cover up the bright red marks Kise left all over your neck the night before. You wanted to cover it up with makeup, but you remembered that morning that you needed to buy a new bottle of foundation because Kise accidentally knocked your old one over while playing around with you and broke it.

“Here let me wrap it properly for you,” Kasamatsu’s s/o offered, shuffling closer to you and taking your scarf off before you had time to protest.

And just like that, you were left bare-necked, with both of their eyes glued onto you in shock as your face flushed red. You immediately snatched the scarf back and wrapped it back out of embarrassment.

“Oh my God Y/N! Your neck was covered in hickeys!” Moriyama’s s/o squealed, making you want to dash out of there.

“So you and Kise got it on last night huh? Go on, give us the details!” Kasamatsu’s s/o urged excitedly as they nudged your shoulder with their elbow.

“Details? It was nothing,” you said nervously, desperately searching your head for a way to change the topic.

“Nothing? Y/N, those marks were plastered all across your neck! He barely left any spots untouched,” Moriyama’s s/o laughed.

“Well, what do you want me to say? We were just messing around,” you shrugged. “Can we please move on—“

“Hey guys,” Kise chimed in, cutting you off with a kiss on your cheek. You looked around in confusion and realised that he was on his water break and began to prepare yourself for what’s to come. “What’re you talking about?”

“Well, Y/N was just showing us those marks on their neck—“

“I wasn’t showing them to you! You saw them against my will,” you corrected as you buried your face in your hands.

“Shhh, seems like you two had fun last night,” Kasamatsu’s s/o giggled.

“Oh those! I kind of got carried away, didn’t I? Sorry, Y/N-cchi,” Kise said sweetly as he wrapped his arms around you apologetically.

“We were trying to get Y/N to spill some details but they’re too embarrassed,” Kasamatsu’s s/o said as you continued to pray that this hell of a conversation would end. You hated how charismatic Kise was sometimes, because it often ended with him slipping into conversations like this so easily and just fuelling the fire.

“Embarrassed? Y/N-cchi, you don’t need to be embarrassed. I left those marks there for a reason— you should be proud of them!” Kise sang as your friends nodded along, a smug look on both of their faces.

“Ryouta please stop,” you whined as he only hugged you tighter.

“But those marks look nice on—“

“Captain! Hasn’t this water break gone on long enough?” You called out to Kasamatsu all of a sudden.

“Oi Kise, get your ass back on the court!” Kasamatsu yelled back in reply, causing Kise to sigh.

“Why’d you do that?” Kise pouted.

“Because I like watching you practice,” you said innocently. “You’re playing a game now aren’t you? Why don’t you go score a cool dunk for me?”

Just like that, Kise immediately lit up. “I’ll score the best dunk you’ve ever seen!” He said cheerily before turning back to your friends. “Take it easy on Y/N-cchi, it’s my fault after all.”

“Yeah yeah, we’re just joking around for the fun of it. It’s not funny if it goes on for too long anyways,” Moriyama’s s/o replied reassuringly.

“Great. Thanks,” Kise grinned. Just as you thought he was going to leave, he suddenly leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “You know, those marks on your neck really do look pretty— I might just make some more later.”

And like it was nothing, Kise strutted off confidently, leaving you with a face that couldn’t be more flustered even if you tried.

Aomine

It wasn’t unusual for you to have marks all over your neck since everyone had already gotten used to it. The first few times the team and their significant others noticed them, there were a lot of questions and reactions, though they were mainly directed at Aomine so you didn’t mind all too much. Of course, you’d still try to hide them as much as you could, but makeup is expensive and to be spending so much on concealing marks that would just appear again within a week or so seemed quite redundant to you. You also tried to tell Aomine to limit the marks to places that clothes could cover, and while he’d agree beforehand, he’d often end up getting carried away and doing what he wants.

It was the day of an important preliminary match for Touou and you met up with the significant others of Wakamatsu and Imayoshi at the stands of the arena after wishing your boyfriend good luck. Upon greeting them, their eyes were immediately directed to your neck— which you expected. You tried covering the marks up with makeup but they were still quite visible. Furthermore, it was the summer so a scarf or turtleneck was not an option— you weren’t going to suffer for something this trivial.

“Y/N, did you even try to cover that up?” Wakamatsu’s s/o asked with a sigh.

“I did! I think I need to get some better foundation, honestly,” you groaned as you took a seat next to them.

“My God, that Aomine really doesn’t quit huh? Even before a big game?” Imayoshi’s s/o asked.

“Somehow he’s even more riled up before games. I really don’t know how he has the energy,” you sighed.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Imayoshi’s s/o said with a smirk.

“Well, of course I like it. Just let me complain, will you?” you joked.

“Haven’t you tried telling him to take it easy with the marks?” Wakamatsu’s s/o questioned.

“I have— many times. But he never listens.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d ever really listen to things like that,” Imayoshi’s s/o said.

“That’s just Daiki for you,” you shrugged.

“Well, was last night fun?” Wakamatsu’s s/o asked suggestively, nudging your arm.

“Yeah it was,” you said, beginning to feel slightly flustered as your mind wandered back to moments from the night before.

“Oooh, go on, give us the details,” Imayoshi’s s/o said excitedly.

“No way. That’s only for me to know,” you said firmly. “Besides, I’m way too tired to be going into details anyway,” you added as you let out an exhausted yawn.

“My God, how long were you up till?” Wakamatsu’s s/o asked.

“I don’t even remember— I think it was 2 a.m.?” you guessed, cursing Aomine and his stamina for keeping you up so late.

“Don’t you think he’d be too tired to play today then?” Wakamatsu’s s/o asked.

“He’s an idiot, but he wouldn’t be up so late unless he knew he could handle it,” you replied.

The topic quickly died out once the game began, and all of you were so consumed with it that all of you’d completely forgotten about the marks. And of course, Touou won with a massive lead— with Aomine scoring almost half of the points. He truly was incredible, you thought.

Akashi

You were often very good at hiding marks left behind by Akashi, but there was this one morning where you were in such a rush that you had no time to cover them up. So as you headed to the gym to watch Akashi’s practice like you usually would, he seemed to notice the red spots on your neck. As a smile spread across his face, he took his jacket off and handed it to you.

“Sorry for rushing you so much; I don’t like being late. Here, wear this so you can cover those up for the most part,” he said, eyeing your neck with a look that had no traces of regret whatsoever.

You took his jacket and zipped it all the way up so that it would cover your neck. “Shouldn’t you be apologising for leaving the marks instead?”

“I wouldn’t have left them if I thought I’d have to apologise for it. They look quite pretty on your neck if I’m being honest—I’m just saving you from being interrogated,” he explained coolly as you neared the gym.

“Well, I have a feeling that it’s gonna happen whether I like it or not.”

And just as you expected, when you got to the gym and met up with Mayuzumi, Hayama and Nebuya’s s/os, you were greeted with a few strange looks. “What’s up with the jacket, Y/N?” Mayuzumi’s s/o questioned.

“Oh, Sei gave it to me because I was feeling chilly,” you lied with a shrug.

“You don’t usually zip it up all the way though. It looks weird,” Hayama’s s/o pointed out. You didn’t realise that they were this observant until then.

“Y/N’s probably hiding something under there then,” Nebuya’s s/o said jokingly, almost as if they knew exactly what was going on but tried to pass it off as something humorous.

“What could I possibly be hiding?” you played along, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Nebuya’s s/o said suggestively, still clearly joking.

“Could it possibly be hickeys?” Mayuzumi’s s/o guessed, causing the group to break out into a chorus of hoots as you genuinely questioned whether they had psychic abilities.

“What? Why would you say that?” you laughed, still determined not to give it away.

“I want to say that I did some incredible detective work, but there are still marks poking out ever so slightly from your neck that gave it away,” Mayuzumi’s s/o explained, drawing all the attention towards your neck as the other two tried to spot it.

You let out a sigh, “Alright, you got me. I didn’t have time to cover them up this morning.”

“Let us see them!” Hayama’s s/o said a little too excitedly.

“Why do you need to see them?”

“It’s the prize for our investigative abilities,” Nebuya’s s/o said.

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly unzipped the jacket, revealing the bright red and purple marks spread across your neck and earning a gasp from all three of them.

“Akashi really doesn’t hold back, does he?” Hayama’s s/o giggled.

“Sounds about right— it’s Akashi Seijuro we’re talking about after all,” Mayuzumi’s s/o commented.

“So, did you have fun last night, Y/N?” Nebuya’s s/o grinned.

“Well, yeah,” you mumbled, beginning to feel a little embarrassed as you zipped the jacket back up.

“There are a lot of marks though. Is he really that rough?” Mayuzumi’s s/o asked, a slight hint of concern in their voice.

“Kind of? I don’t know. It feels weird talking about it. But he has his moments,” you answered, not knowing how much you should be sharing with them.

“He just seems so cool and collected that I can’t believe he did that much damage, you know?” Nebuya’s s/o explained.

“Yeah I get what you mean,” Hayama’s s/o nodded along as all of their heads turned to take a look at Akashi, who was instructing his team about something.

“Can we please move on from this topic, it’s weird,” you said quickly, not liking that they were all probably thinking about Akashi in a whole different way now.

They were somehow quite understanding of your request and the conversation quickly moved on to a different subject matter so that whatever happened between you and Akashi remained between the two of you— and you hoped that it would stay that way.

#kuroko no basket #kurokos basketball #kuroko no basket x reader #aomine daiki #kuroko tetsuya #kise ryouta #akashi seijuro #aomine daiki x reader #kise ryota x reader #akashi seijuro x reader #kuroko tetsuya x reader #knb #generation of miracles

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 22 | S.R.)

Summary: Things are changing for the better. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Difference, Sub Drop, vague mentions of trauma/dissociation, PTSD (mostly comfort) Word Count: 7.25k

MASTERLIST

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The dulcet, bustling sounds of the Dulles International Airport were more soothing than I expected. Normally, the massive crowds and constant barrage of information would make my brain go into overdrive, but there was something about Spencer being there that made it all turn to white noise. If I had to guess, I would say it was the feeling of trusting someone to take care of you.

I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

“Hey, I got you something.”

Even then, when he’d approached me from behind and gingerly placed the bag on my lap, I barely even flinched. I smelled the contents of the bag before I noticed the logo or managed to open it, but once I confirmed it was what I thought it was, my eyes immediately teared up.

“Oh my god,” I keened, pulling out the familiar blue cup holding a much too sweet, much too large cinnamon bun. Although my mind was running with a million things to say to express just how appreciative I was, I took a bite out of it before I said anything else.

“I love you so much,” I mumbled around a mouth full of pastry.

Spencer tried to respond, but after one glance at me, fingers and face already covered in frosting after only a few seconds, he burst out laughing.

“You’re a complete mess,” he chastised, trying to cluck his tongue but failing in his laughter.

I just smiled back, not even bothering with the plastic utensils and enjoying the indulgence with absolutely childlike joy. It wasn’t even just the sugar or my fingers pressing into the warm, sticky dough that made the morning seem so much better; it was the way Spencer watched me.

With one arm leaned against the chair, his whole body was turned towards me. It was clear from the slightly glassy look in his exhausted eyes that he was also stuck trying to find the right words to say to express just how grateful he was that we could still have moments like that.

Those same eyes roamed over my figure with such an overtly intimate gleam that it almost made me blush. If he’d touched me, I definitely would have. But he kept his hands to himself, and eventually, buried them into his carry-on bag. I didn’t even look at what he was doing, too lost in the sweetness of being cared for.

That foolhardy trust was a mistake. Because, it turned out, Spencer Reid was a monster.

Without any warning at all, a cold wet wipe was dragged over my cheeks. I flinched back, only to find Spencer’s hand holding onto my head and stopping me from turning away. The madman even had the audacity to smile as he gingerly wiped the frosting from my cheeks and chin. Of course, considering the fact I was thrashing wildly away from him, it ended up mostly on my lips.

“Pfftbtb! Spencer!” I spit and whined, earning confused looks from basically everyone in the vicinity. What they would find when they looked over was him in a fit of laughter, continuing to try and clean my face, which was still covered in sugary frosting despite his best efforts to remove it.

“I thought you enjoyed the taste of alcohol,” he teased.

“First of all, no one does, and second—” I started, only to be cut off with a kiss over my much too clean mouth. I smiled, but only because it used to be my move. I wondered when exactly the tables had turned, and it became his job to shut me up with a kiss.

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips just to cringe at the taste he’d forced on me, “I’m just joking.”

I decided then that the sight and shared disgust for ethyl alcohol were enough for me to forgive him for the time being. I let him clean the rest of the evidence of my greed from my face but decided to clean my fingers myself. I popped each one into my mouth in what I’d imagined was a very non-sexual manner, but Spencer still seemed to enjoy watching me as each digit was cleaned. Granted, he handed me another wipe seconds later. Damn germaphobe. Like he didn’t shove his tongue in my mouth on a daily basis.

The rest of the treat was shared between us, with utensils this time, in a relative quiet. Brief giggles or sighs were all there was to be said. Once there was nothing left to fixate on, I was left only with my thoughts and Spencer’s eyes that still watched me like a horribly affectionate hawk.

“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled without realizing. I’d almost hoped he wouldn’t even hear it, or let it go without a conversation, but of course, he couldn’t do that.

“For what?”

“For making you do all of this,” I explained with a heavy sigh, “I feel like a big baby.”

Spencer’s hands came to brush away the stray strands of hairs from my face. They weren’t actually in the way of anything; I think he just wanted to make a better view. That alone was enough to make me smile, but that only seemed to make him feel guilty.

“Don’t apologize for this. This is my fault,” he said just as quietly. I mirrored his motion, running my fingers through his hair and watching as his mouth dropped open in a pleased smile.

“No, it’s not. You’re wonderful,” I said through my own. It was only a little bit sadder than his, but wasn’t that usually the case? I could only imagine what would happen the day we were both overflowing with nothing but joy. Before, that thought might lead me back to the bank, the place that ended our last purely happy encounter, but…

I looked at Spencer, with his mouth still slightly open and his head lolling back and forth with the little weight of my hand, and I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything bad. So I just thought of the picnic, instead. I thought of him licking my hand as we rolled in grass, and of his own hands working through my hair to make it into something besides a mess on my head.

I looked at Spencer, and I saw beautiful things. And the longer I played with his hair, the more relaxed and content he became. Of course, I would never be satisfied. His smile was the most beautiful thing to see, and I needed it to deal with the guilt still sitting like rocks in my stomach.

“Besides, it’ll be so much easier putting down my work and actually getting sleep when you’re waiting for me,” Spencer slurred, his neck relaxing to drop the weight of his head against my palm.

“I hope not too easy. The world needs you, Dr. Reid,” I kindly reminded.

His eyes fluttered open, trapping me in dark honey irises filled with pure adoration. “You need me, too,” he whispered.

“Arrogant bastard.”

Naturally, he took it as a compliment, his smile growing into a smirk as he answered, “A little bit.”

He should have known better than to give me that look, though, because within seconds my hands fell from his hair. A small whimper came from the pitiful man at the loss. It was quickly followed by a sharp inhale when my hand grabbed his thigh.

“You think I’ll actually let you sleep?” I whispered.

Aside from the obviously tense quadriceps beneath my palms, Spencer showed very little response to my suggestion. Well, rather, he showed little arousal to it. There was a reaction— just not the one I expected.

He looked... nervous.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that...”

“What?” I shot back immediately, my hands withdrawing and tugging on my shirt while I instinctively tried to hide from him. I was trying to look less guilty, but I was acutely aware that my actions screamed the opposite. So, I tried to combat my obvious anxiety with a voice that was far louder than it needed to be. “I swear I’m on all my medications. I haven’t missed a single therapy appointment, either!”

Spencer’s hands were gentle and cautious when they came to my wrists, gently pulling them away from my chest. “I know. I trust you,” he said with a sad but still genuine smile, “I just wanted to ask you how you wanted to handle this.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” The words tumbled out of me in the least convincing manner. Spencer was too smart to fall for them, although I could see a playfulness bloom through his features.

“No offense, but you just cried over a cinnamon bun,” he said, unable to stop a few chuckles from mixing with the words.

“It was just really good, okay?” I scoffed, tearing my hands away from him and feigning offense despite his little disclaimer. From there, I sank down in the shitty airport chair and refused to look up at him. I could still feel his cheeky, arrogant little grin watching me.

Eventually, after I thought we’d suffered enough and I could already feel my legs going numb, I weakly conceded, “Fine. What are my options?”

“Well, basically anything. But the main thing to consider is...”

He paused. It was one of the sure signs that he was taking the situation very seriously. Usually, he would just spout out whatever came to mind and sort out the details later. But this time, he spoke slowly and purposefully. “Majority of our relationship has been based on physicality. Whether it was sex or healing or hurting and I... I want to give you the option to not do that. At least, not for a little while.”

A feeling of dread filled my blood that I could suddenly hear rushing through my ears. I didn’t tell my heart to beat faster, but it did. My hands that had once again crossed over my chest suddenly itched to hold him.

“Why would I not want to?” I asked, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt and occasionally glancing up at him only to realize that he wasn’t looking at me, either. I tried not to read into it. After all, he was the profiler— not me.

“It’s not a matter of avoiding it. I just need you to know it’s not expected of you.”

Without shifting my body at all, my eyes were glued to him. The strain of the angle and the sound of those words caused them to burn, but I refused to let tears fall again. He wasn’t rejecting me, right? He was telling me that he loved me. There was no reason to be scared.

I wasn’t used to that yet, either. But I wanted to be. And judging by the way his hand cupped my face and guided it back to his, I think Spencer felt those anxieties. He tried to will them away by pressing his forehead against mine and letting his thumb ghost over flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to know that we don’t have to have sex for you to be worth my time and attention.”

The tears grew bigger under his scrutiny, but they didn’t fall until he closed his eyes. I think that was why he did.

“I love you,” he assured me with a whisper, “I’m not going to deny you affection or intimacy if that’s what you want. I just need you to know that it is always an option.”

Normally when Spencer pulled away, the air felt cold in his absence. For so long, my body had felt lonelier and less than without him. But in that busy, bustling airport, I felt just as loved even when his hands fell away and he sat back up in his chair.

For those who might’ve been watching, they would just see two lovesick idiots whispering sweet nothings in a flagrantly public display of affection. They wouldn’t have heard the weight of the words or felt the way my perception of the whole world shifted from them.

Spencer smiled again, still nervous, but also clear and authentic.

“I’m sorry,” he told me with his eyes fixated on my hands in my lap. He made no move to hold it, although I could tell he wanted to. I suspect he wanted me to focus on the words, so I tried my hardest. I almost asked him what he was sorry for, but he answered first, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

A lump quickly formed in my throat that I tried to swallow. When that failed, and I felt the telltale signs of tears filling the sides of my eyes, I did the only thing I could think of to hide. I threw my arms around the only thing that never failed to make them better. I buried my face in Spencer’s neck and laughed along with him as my eyelashes and breath tickled the soft skin.

After a brief second of listening to our hearts settle into a matching rhythm and letting our body heat sink into the clothes between us, Spencer groaned, “How are you still sticky?”

—————————————————

A couple weeks prior, the thought of being alone in a hotel room waiting on Spencer to finish work for the day would have instilled the fear of God in me. I would have done just about anything to avoid the exact situation I found myself in now.

But honestly? It wasn’t all that bad. It was the perfect opportunity for me to force myself to slow down. Granted, that mostly just meant that I would watch bad TV in a bathrobe with overpriced food, but... like they say, change is as good as a rest.

The hardest part about it was actually just convincing myself that I deserved the rest. While I was taking naps and trying to do anything to unwind, I knew what Spencer was doing.

Well, I had some idea of what he was doing. Reality was probably worse than my imagination— it usually was with his job. At first, I had let that guilt get in the way, but at some point over the nine hours, I realized that I would have to find a way to cheer myself up. Because as soon as I heard that small beep of the keycard, I would have to find a way to remind him of all the beautiful things in the world.

No pressure, right?

The sun had already started to set, and I hadn’t heard from him in hours. We’d started the day out with a constant line of contact, but over time he became too busy. Which, again, just meant that I would have to work even harder when he finally arrived.

Luckily for me, by the time Spencer had arrived, there was no need for a pep talk or acting of any kind. My heart immediately started to race the second I heard his voice down the hall. I had already bolted from the bed and positioned myself just far enough from the door that I could jump forward the second it opened far enough to fit me.

And when it did, I pounced.

“Spencer!” I cheered, throwing myself into his arms that had fully been expecting me. Still, the two of us crashed back against the frame and I heard the breath be knocked out of him from the impact.

“Hey, little girl,” he managed to laugh with empty lungs that made it impossible to forget how tired he was. His arm eventually settled at my lower back, lifting me slightly so he could move us from the door’s path. But when we were out of harm’s way and the latch clicked softly in place, Spencer didn’t let me go. In fact, he tossed his bag into the chair at the desk and wrapped his other arm around me, too.

“How was work?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“You know...” he muttered with a crackling voice, “awful.”

If that hadn’t given it away, the way he buried his face in my neck certainly did. His hands were even more insistent, pressing into my back as he led us both to the bed.

I had to laugh, though, as the realization dawned on him that he’d have to let go of me if he didn’t want to track filthy shoes in our bed. A heavy sigh fell from his lips when he finally released me, practically throwing me onto the terrible mattress before taking his seat next to me.

“I missed you,” I announced in the ambient noise of the cheapest hotel that the government could justify using.

Spencer looked up at me, but the words took a little longer to register. I could only imagine how busy his mind must’ve been, and the guilt quickly came creeping back.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, albeit with a tint of sadness in his tone. But the longer we stayed there, the calmer he seemed. It was such a powerful effect of our proximity that by the time he did lay down next to me, he seemed like the man that had wiped frosting from my face in the middle of a busy airport.

Spencer must have noticed the shift, too, because no sooner had his head hit the pillow than he had flipped over, throwing his leg over me to pin me down against the bed.

My initial reaction was to keep laughing, but the noises were muffled by the persistent kisses he gave. They started at my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose but landed on my lips. I felt the tension leave his shoulders as he lowered more of his body weight against me, and I reveled in the feeling of his presence.

“God, I needed this,” he growled just before his tongue slipped into my mouth.

Everything we’d talked about at the airport felt a lifetime away, and as soon as I felt his erection pressing hard against my thigh, I only had one goal in mind. I forced my hands between us, trying to remove his tie with the hope that it would shed some of the thoughts he’d brought back from work.

But then it all stopped. Spencer had pulled away, grabbing onto my wrist and pinning it to the bed beside me once more.

“No, we don’t need to do that. I just wanted to kiss you,” he panted through heavy breath and swollen lips. I couldn’t stop staring at them long enough to answer, but it was clear from the look on his face that any plea I gave would be for naught, anyway. “I’m honestly way too exhausted to give you the attention you deserve.”

I believed him. Even when he hadn’t slept for nearly two days, he still looked livelier then. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with sleep and more to do with emotions. I wanted to help him with that, too, like he did for me, but I didn’t know how. So, I did the only thing I did know how to do well, which was to place a soft peck against his lips until they turned up into another smile.

“Get some rest, old man,” I murmured, “I’ll be here to kiss again when you wake up.”

“Let me hold you,” he answered immediately, nuzzling his face against my neck like a puppy seeking any shred of attention. I couldn’t tell if I was laughing because of the way his hair tickled or because it was so strange to see him so vulnerable while still in dominant, albeit disheveled, work clothes.

“Fine. Only because you asked nicely.”

Continuing the trend of being remarkably adorable, Spencer giggled as he rolled onto his side. I was almost tempted to turn towards him, but he had already wrapped his arms around me before I could decide. He pulled me as close as he could before his lips once again settled against the column of my throat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he stated absently. It was so quiet that I’m not sure he’d actually planned on me hearing it. But when I reached a hand up to run through his hair, he spoke with a shaky, relieved whine, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

A gentle, warm exhale breezed over my skin as he continued, “I love you so much.”

From that point, any words he might’ve whispered were muffled through sloppy, sleepy kisses over my neck and shoulder. His hands, though slow, were still rough and purposeful as they pawed at me in a way that was only vaguely sexual. It was more like he was trying to prove to himself that he was actually here with me, and my breasts just happened to be the first thing he could grab.

That still didn’t stop my mind from running wild. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I focused on the way his breath felt against areas still wet from his kisses. And when I arched my back, I felt his hips press harder.

Eventually, when I could trust myself to speak without whimpering, I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to...”

I peeked back at him before continuing, having noticed a lull in his kisses. Sure enough, Spencer was fast asleep, his lips still attached to my shoulder. I had to chuckle at the sight, but my heart did hurt for him. I couldn’t imagine how tired he must have been to fall asleep then, and still in his clothes, much less.

The guilt over being the main cause of his tiredness was enough to keep me still for at least two hours. I spent that time slowly inching to a more comfortable position, only to be squished seconds later by Spencer. Even in his sleep, it seemed he was terrified of the prospect of me slipping from his arms. He was just being dramatic, though. It’s not like I had anywhere to go.

Wait, that sounded wrong. Truthfully, there were many places I could go, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with Spencer, tangled in his long limbs and tickled by his hair that had grown long enough to gracelessly flop onto my face regardless of position.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to leave at all.

But I did. Inch by inch, I carefully slipped from Spencer’s arms. Against all odds, I managed to maneuver through the death grip he had on me and plop down on the ground beside the bed. My mind found that to be the perfect time to recall the lecture he’d given me about how suitcases, and more specifically, their wheels, were the most dangerous bacteria-laden aspects of traveling, but I dismissed the thought shortly after I stood again.

I didn’t want to leave Spencer’s embrace. I’m not really sure why I did. There wasn’t even really a particularly angsty reasoning for it. I just had this feeling, this tingling on my skin and a weight in my stomach that told me I was meant to be doing something different.

The only problem was that I had literally no idea what the fuck that something different was.

So, naturally, I did what every young child does when their parents had grown tired of their restless children jumping on the hotel bed. I grabbed the keycard and the ice bucket and set out on a very thrilling journey to find the vending room. The first part was the hardest. It was shutting the door to return the room to darkness, knowing that Spencer was alone in bed.

It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. I slipped from the room into the horrible yellow lighting of the halls with the dizzying wallpaper and patterned carpet without another thought. I’d hoped that the walk might bring me answers to the mood I was currently wrestling with, but I was wrong. Because it basically only took me three doors to find the room that I was looking for.

Great.

I threw the door open haphazardly, actually contemplating grabbing the ice and returning to bed no wiser than I had left it. But when the door swung shut behind me, the humming from the machines bled into my brain and started to cover all the other thoughts. It was warmer than my room, as well as smaller and quieter. Of course, it was also remarkably less private, but it was also like 2am. If someone came in to find a strange girl sitting on the floor next to the ice machine, that was their own fault.

In a strange way, it was the most peaceful I’d been in a long time. As much as I loved being with Spencer, these circumstances made it hard for me to not feel like I didn’t belong. Probably because I didn’t. He was here on work, a life that he’d tried very hard to keep away from me. I didn’t blame him for that, either. I was sure he’d gotten a number of questions from Morgan and Garcia about my presence, but he hadn’t shared them with me. I’d even asked him, just so I could concoct my own retaliatory questions for the nosiest of them, but he just laughed the question away.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just the realization that Spencer had a life of his own and I was just starting to see it for the first time. I was learning so much about him and honestly… None of it was bad. Most of it was just downright silly. Things like prank wars and physics magic and careful, chemistry-based improvements to shitty coffee. I was just too busy realizing that I was falling even more in love with Spencer to notice anything else.

Including, apparently, the sound of the door to the room opening. Trust me when I say that was saying a lot; the presence of Aaron Hotchner was not easy to miss.

“Can I join you?” His voice filled the room despite its low volume, and I followed the sound with a small smile that grew at the sight of him in casual clothing. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it sure did make him less intimidating than our previous encounters.

“Sure,” I said as I pulled the still-empty ice bucket into my lap. Once he took his seat beside me, I rolled my head toward him to try and figure out what exactly he had planned. But after another few seconds of silence, I realized that he was doing the same thing I was.

Improvising.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I asked, insistent that it wasn’t my job in this scenario to come up with the advice.

Hotch seemed equally lost, and with a slight shake of his head, he explained, “I only heard the door open once. Figured it was worth a trip to get some ice to check.”

He held up his matching ice bucket, to which I lifted mine to knock together like the worst kind of toast. It at least succeeded in making him laugh, although the sound was short-lived. We both recognized the shoddy attempt at humor was just masking the things I didn’t want to talk about.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

He had never really been a beat-around-the-bush sort of guy.

“Freakin’ profilers,” I affectionately muttered back, which only earned me a playful warning glance that I, for once, didn’t choose to ignore. “I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s probably the 3-hour nap I took when we got here.”

Then, deciding that still didn’t describe the situation well enough, I tagged on, “You know, while you all were working and saving the world and what not.”

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of the BAU: Do not ever speak poorly about yourself. Not even an implication.

“Rest is important. No reason for you to suffer for us,” he returned without pause.

“You sound like Spencer,” I said through a half-hearted laugh.

Hotch shared my laughter, causing them both to grow in volume as he snarkily replied, “And who do you think taught him?”

“Right. Sorry.” I held my hands up in surrender, but we both knew it would be harder than that.

But that was okay. He came prepared.

“So, what else is wrong?”

“So persistent, you lot,” I chuckled. I half expected him to let it go, but he just turned to stare at me with that usually stoic face contorted with an obvious reprimand. I swear, I didn’t even realize his eyebrows could move that far. But there were, raised up his forehead as his cheeks dimpled from his little, knowing smirk.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Just thinking about things and I was scared I would wake up Spencer. Like he would feel my anxiety in his sleep.”

“What’s making you anxious?”

I paused. For a moment, I thought about lying. Not the kind of transparent lie that you do when you say that everything is fine. The kind of lie that also contained the truth. There were many things that had happened lately that would explain my anxiety, and they would be believable enough because I did still feel them.

“Everything. You know. The usual,” I said softly, attempting to stall.

Because that wasn’t what the problem was that day. The problems that day were… complicated in a different way than the usual angst. So, I let the thoughts marinate for a moment, considering the different outcomes and deciding which I really wanted.

I hadn’t let myself want things in a while. Maybe that realization was why I decided to just tell him the truth, despite how embarrassing it felt.

“It’s not bad anxiety, necessarily. It’s just this realization that… I don’t know.”

“Take a guess,” he pressed, feeling the hesitance as I stood at the brink of what I really wanted to say. The real answer to why I was sitting on the floor of an ice machine vending room with my boyfriend’s boss, who also happened to be our shared adoptive father figure.

I took a deep breath, clutching onto the ice bucket so tightly that my knuckles blanched and the edges imprinted on my hand until I blurted out, “That I think I’m ready for something else. Something more.”

We both stopped then, enjoying the noises of machinery and the barely-there echo of my words.

“Something more, huh?” he repeated more clearly.

I didn’t appreciate the way the words were practically sung through a clever grin, and before he could take that train of thought any further, I stopped him with an answer too loud to not be deemed defensive.

“Not like that! Not like, let’s run off and elope and have lots of babies tomorrow!“ He didn’t look convinced, so I continued with a much more believable promise. “Don’t worry, I’m not sniping your genius.”

“Thank goodness,” he replied sarcastically. I appreciated his ability to keep things lighthearted, and for a second I did have to laugh at the fact he was such a different person when he wasn’t at work. He must’ve taught Spencer more than I realized. And, in turn, Spencer was teaching me. I just wasn’t sure when the lesson would be over, or if it had already ended.

“I’ve just held onto my independence and this… heavy bullshit for so long, and I’m a little worried about what that means,” I thought aloud.

Again, Hotch had read my mind, or at least, my body language, and demanded the answer he saw written across my features. “What do you think it means?”

“Do you always give fatherly advice like this to whiny girls in ice machine rooms?” I shot back with my first attempt at a glare. It only lasted until he flashed me a toothy smile and his own clever retort.

“No. Now answer the question.”

“I had to try,” I grumbled, only to be shut down again in an instant.

“I’ll forgive you when you answer.”

With a begrudging sigh, I tried to do what he asked. But I only barely got through one word before they turned to a lump in my throat. I choked on the words strongly enough that tears I hadn’t anticipated began pooling on my eyelashes. The power of a profiler, I guess, to know I was on the verge of an emotional catharsis before I did.

“I know we all change. I know that no one stays the same. We all go through things and they change who we are. And that can be good, right? But…”

Once the words started, they wouldn’t stop, turning and tumbling from clumsy lips still chapped from incessant biting. But teeth and willpower couldn’t stop the feelings that caused them, and if Spencer had taught me anything, he’d taught me that speaking a feeling into existence was half of the battle to let it go.

“But sometimes it’s gotta just be bad, right? Like, we’ve got to acknowledge that sometimes we change in an irreparable way that’s just bad for no reason.”

“Right,” he very eloquently returned. Normally, I would have bullied him for giving such a simple response to such a complex question, but at that moment I was just grateful that I could continue. Heaven knows Spencer wouldn’t have let me.

“So, what if that happened to me? What if one day I wake up and finally find out the answer to the question I’ve been asking myself?”

When I turned to the man then, I saw a genuine confusion for the first time that night. I couldn’t tell you where I’d lost him, but it was clear that he heard something in me that alerted him that some deeper rooted issues were just now finding the light of day.

Of course, in this situation, it was really just a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“What question is that?” he whispered, like his voice would intrude in the thoughts.

But the truth was they didn’t feel like they belonged to me, either. That was the problem. I’d spent so long with memories that felt like a dream. I saw them playback when I closed my eyes, just to open them and find the same images reflecting in Spencer’s. I knew they were real because they were written into my skin, yet my mind rioted against them so hard that instead, I just started to think that this body wasn’t mine, either.

“How much of me died that day?”

The question sat with us, taking form in the reflection on the metallic surface that hummed a somehow somber tune. And even though I knew I was looking at myself, it didn’t feel that way. When I saw Hotch move in the background, I turned to him just in time to feel his hand resting over mine on the metal pail in my hands.

“Can I tell you what I think?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

I felt the warmth flow through him, bringing life back into a hand that suddenly started to feel like me again. His voice shared the same rejuvenating quality as he quietly but confidently answered, “I think… it’s much less than you think.”

As tears slid down my face, they felt less like the beginning of a downpour and more like the drizzle that follows the storm. I let them fall without wiping them away, hoping that as they fell away, they would take the fear with them.

After they did drip from my jaw, I laughed. I couldn’t hold it in because it seemed so silly how much lighter I felt after losing just a few droplets of saline. But, realistically, I knew it had more to do with his hand still holding mine.

I dropped my head to his shoulder, selfishly stealing his body warmth as I croaked, “Thanks for talking to me. I know I must sound like a stupid kid to you sometimes.”

“Not at all,” he said with that tone that was difficult to discount, “You sound just like you should.”

“Can I tell you something now?” I asked between sniffles.

“I’d like that,” he mirrored.

“You’re like… a really good dad.”

It was his turn to shed tears, then, which he did. They were much manlier and less silly than mine, but they were there. I almost accused him of creating them just to make me feel less embarrassed, but before I could, he’d enveloped me in a hug that was way too genuine to question it.

As I hugged him back, I realized just how badly I’d missed moments like this. I’d fooled myself into really believing that loneliness and independence were the same things for so long that when I was granted the support all human beings need, I didn’t know how to respond.

But that was the beauty of family, right? You don’t have to try to earn their love. They already thought you were worthy.

So I hugged him harder, ignoring the clanking of the machines and the sounds of crowds of people stumbling back from bars in the hall that could walk in any moment. I wasn’t embarrassed to be sad anymore. I was just a person. It happens sometimes.

“Speaking of, it’s well past your bedtime,” Hotch said finally, gracelessly shattering the moment in a very dad-like fashion.

“I walked into that one.”

Following that trend, he continued with a gentle bump of his shoulder against me, “If you don’t want to go yet, you can talk to me about that something more.”

I practically shoved him off me, huffing between chuckles and shaking my head in the hope that he wouldn’t notice how it flushed.

“Please. Spencer talks about that stuff, but he’s all talk.”

At first, Hotch just nodded. But after a few wayward glances, he confessed, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

That time the warmth I felt came from within, carried by butterflies that had burst in my stomach at the thought. I almost asked him what he meant, but then felt the familiar, creeping embarrassment that came along with loving someone a little too much.

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

I knew he was reading my expressions, but I couldn’t hide the smile, no matter how hard I tried. He still had the decency to ignore my blatant displays of excitement, instead asking the question we both knew the answer to already.

“Is that something you’d want?”

“I…” Such a simple syllable still seemed like too much, and I stuttered it a few more times before I landed on an answer that wasn’t too humiliating. “I guess he’ll have to ask and find out.”

“I hope it turns out well when he does,” he said, pausing to correct with a sarcastic, “Sorry. If he does.”

“Yeah, me too,” I sighed heavily. It was a last ditch effort to hide the way my cheeks were still stuck in a full-faced smile. I turned to see him with a very similar expression.

I knew just how to change that. When he stood up and offered me a hand, I took it and let him do half the work for me. But once we were on equal footing, I placed my hand on his shoulder with a complacent pat.

“You know, if it doesn’t turn out well, you’ll have to figure out how to comfort the both of us.”

“The horror,” he jokingly cringed with a shake of his head.

I almost left then, but thankfully he’d remembered the actual purpose for the room we’d had our impromptu surrogate-father-daughter moment in. He grabbed my ice pail from my hand and dropped it under the dispenser without saying anything else, letting the chaotic crunching signal the real end of the moment.

Once it was over, I looked down at the now freezing bucket in my hands that suddenly felt warm. Then I looked back up at him and saw a pride that I wasn’t expecting.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” I said as the last remaining bit of tension fell from my shoulders.

“Goodnight,” he answered, opening the door and watching as I padded down the hall. He waited until I slipped back into my room before his door clicked shut, and mine quickly followed.

That tiny sound was just enough to wake the man in the bed, and when I turned to him, the sight took my breath away. Because there was Spencer, the man I loved, reaching his arms out into the darkness and grabbing the empty air as he whined, begging me to come to him faster.

And I did. Tossing the bucket onto the table, I rushed over to him and threw myself into the bed beside him without any grace. With a similar restlessness, Spencer wound his arms around me as soon as I was within his reach, pulling me as close as he could without sacrificing all the air in my lungs.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against my hair.

“Don’t worry. I’m back,” I whispered back. The words were lost in his shirt, but he somehow heard them well enough to ask, “Where did you go?”

I didn’t know how exactly to describe what had happened, so I told one of those lies I’d contemplated earlier. “To get ice,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was just a very inefficient summary.

Spencer didn’t care, either. In fact, he giggled at the thought, nuzzling his face down into my neck and tickling me with his lips as he mumbled, “Let me warm you up.”

It did succeed in warming me up, but only because it turned into a fit of giggles and more intense tickling. His fingers danced along my sides and his whispers turned back to the same kisses that we’d started the night with.

But it couldn’t last forever. The poor guy still had only had a couple hours of sleep, and I felt the excitement wear off all at once, leaving him only half-awake on the pillow beside me. He still found the energy to look at me like there were stars in my eyes.

“Where did you really go?” he asked again, dragging his hand over my cheek like he could see the tears I’d shed just a few moments before.

“Just ice. I promise,” I answered, ending the thought with a quick kiss on his palm. When I could tell that he didn’t believe that, I brought my hands up to his face as I snickered, “See? Cold hands.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he just leaned forward, letting our noses touch and pulling me in to him again. His eyes fluttered shut, and I could almost see the way his body started to return to sleep as he barely muttered, “No cold feet, though?”

It took me a moment to register the words, and once I did, I still couldn’t believe them.

“Cold feet for what?” I whispered back.

Spencer’s answer only came in the form of a dreamy laugh. He didn’t open his eyes again, instead choosing to drop his face back into my shoulder just like he had before. This time there were even fewer kisses against my neck before he went still again.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time they weren’t scary. Because marrying Spencer Reid was not the worst thing to imagine by far. In fact, there were very few things I’d ever wanted more.

—————————————————

| Part 23 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid request #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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cocobutnochanel · 4 years ago

Text

Brother | 18+

Genre: smut, slight fluff, discharged!Kyungsoo

Characters: Do Kyungsoo x Reader (oc: female)

Summary: Heartbreak makes you do crazy things like getting drunk with your friends and letting yourself loose. But with Do Kyungsoo back in town, letting yourself loose was a wrong move.

Warnings: alcohol intake, smoking, profanity, mature themes, sex scenes, one night stand

Kink List: drunk sex, unprotected sex, oral (male & female receiving), boob fetish, clothes destruction fetish, creampie, one night stand

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Authors Note: Soo is finally discharged and this AU was inspired by it!

"Fuck." You mutter a curse under your breath when you feel your lungs constrict and your vision blur. "Where the hell is Chanyeol?!" You hiss when another pang hits your head.

You were slightly drunk and you were at a stranger's house. Break-ups were never nice to you which was why you needed breaks like these. Chanyeol brought you to a classmate’s house who was having a large house party for the football team's victory. You were here with your cheer team too but this would've been more fun if you came along with Jongdae and Minseok.

As if on cue with your thoughts, you hear Dae's voice. "Y/N! Yeol said you'd be here!" You see him walk inside the crowded kitchen you were in.

"Daedae! Mini!" You slurred, making him and Minseok laugh. "You were having all the fun alone, huh?" Minseok teases you which you respond with a grimace. "He's here.." You were sick to the stomach at the thought of your ex again.

Junmyeon was a nice guy. He was the best boyfriend to you even. You had bo idea what went wrong that he suddenly broke up with you. But that was the thing with good boys, they will mess you up good because you never saw what you were getting in the first place. You'd think it's all rainbows and cuddles. It's not, Junmyeon proved you that.

Minseok gives you a red cup with booze inside as his way of comforting you. "Thanks." You wink at him and at his attempt of cheering you up.

"If I didn't know better, I'd be mad at Chanyeol for leaving you alone but I know he's probably making out with the house owner." Jongdae sighed, looking at you with pitiful eyes. "I'm okay, Dae. Y'all can hook up all you want but please drive me home after." You laugh at him.

"Who's the house owner?" You ask him, remembering what he just said. "You don't know? He was your lab partner in bio." Ah! Now, you remembered. It was Baekhyun, the golden boy. He was a guy like your ex, Junmyeon: straight As, student-athlete and school councilor. They were the kids your parents compared you to and you paled in comparison.

You couldn't imagine your friend, Chanyeol, being with a guy like that. He was perfect, Chanyeol fucked whoever he liked. "Calm down. They're hooking up, not getting married." Minseok said before your drunken thoughts ran further in your head.

"God, why did I drink so much?" You ask them with a wince. Jongdae only sighed and looked at you with eyes full of pity once again.

"Stop with the pity, we came here to party." Minseok rolls his eyes at Jongdae and drags you two out of the kitchen and into the dancefloor.

The stench of beer and sweat clouded the air. The music was loud, making your head pang but your hips swing. Jongdae puts his arms around you and Minseok as you swam through the crowd with heads bobbing to the beat. It was a feeling you knew but longed for. The drunken euphoric feeling. It made you forget your ex was even here.

"Wooh!" Minseok hoots while dancing to the music that was deafening yet comforting at the same time. You match his energy and let yourself loose. It has been a while since you've been this free.

You feel the alcohol get to you. You had the sudden urge to get out and breathe.

You eye Jongdae who was having a good time with Minseok. "I'll just get some air.." You point outside and they just nod.

You make your way through the dancing crowd and find the main door. You walk out and finally, you have the oxygen to inhale. "Ugh.." You groaned, cracking your neck.

Walking to the front porch, you see a number of partygoers here too. Just like you, they needed air too. You spot an unfamiliar man with a bottle of beer in his hand. You wouldn't have the courage to approach him if you were sober but you weren't. The booze Minseok brought have officialy kicked in and it's giving you confidence.

It was dark but it was obvious that he was handsome and buff. "Hey, I don't know you." You stupidly greeted him, making him laugh heartily. Doe eyes, heart-shaped lips, defined jaw, thick eyebrows. He wasn't just handsome, he was a lot of it!

"I feel the same." He jokingly answered you when you neared him. You mentally curse yourself at how dorkish you approached the good-looking guy. "What I meant was you're probably not from our school?" You tried to explain and he nodded.

"I'm long out of school, kid." You snicker at his nickname for you. It's not like you're a literal child! You were a senior and nineteen now. He talked like he was 70 too, when in fact, he looked barely 20.

He notices your sneer and he laughs again. He offers you his free hand and your eyes widen at that. "Kyungsoo." He says his name with a glint in his eyes. A naughty one, at that.

"Y/N." You shyly answered, taking his hand too. "Smoke?" He shows you a box of cigarettes and you shake your head at that. "I'm still buzzed." You smile at him and he nods, taking a stick to his lips.

He lights it singlehandedly and starts sucking some of it in between his lips. "What's a grown man doing at a high-school party?" You jokingly jeered at him, trying to get back at him with the 'kid' nickname.

"Picking up my brother." He chuckles in between puffs. "Isn't your brother a senior like me? Can't he go home himself?" You pry further. "Strict parents." He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

You nod at what he said, running out of things to say. You really haven't seen him around despite your neighborhood being small. But you guessed it was because he was older and people around here left after high-school.

"Why are you out here?" He asked out of nowhere, cigarette still in his fingers. "Needed air." You breathe out and look at the empty sky above you.

"Wanna get out of here?" He says, tapping on his cigarette stick. You were surprised by his offer. It wasn't that you were unattractive but you didn't sleep around. You weren't the type to be asked to things like these.

He chuckles lightly at your shocked face. "What? You're gonna stare at my face the whole night?" He jokes, sucking his cigarette in for the fourth time. You didn't know what was taking over you but you knew you couldn't stop it. You were drunk and you were feeling a little hot. This handsome man wasn't helping either.

You inch towards him, the moment he breathes out smoke. You get on your tiptoes and kiss his perfectly plump lips, tasting nicotine and alcohol on them. Like him, it was addicting. The kiss was addicting.

You suckled on his bottom lip causing him to hold onto your neck. You hear him moan against your kiss and you smile at that. To tease him, you get back to your original height and stop kissing him.

"It's bad to tease a deprived man." He eyes you and the skimpy hot pink silky dress you were wearing. "Deprived?" You laugh at him. "I just got discharged." He smirks which surprised you. He was from the military? That explains why he's buff.

Unable to stop yourself, you get on your tiptoes to meet his lips once again. This time, he responds with much more fervor.

He throws away his cigarette stick and grabs your face in place with both hands. You groan against his touch as his fingers roam around the sides of your body. His touch drove you crazier and braver.

Without breaking the kiss, he guides you to his car and lets you inside. After a minute or two, he distances himself and starts walking to the driver side.

Your lips instantly felt the absence of his touch and it drove you nuts. You wanted him, all of him, now. The car roars to life as he started pulling out of Baekhyun's driveway.

"Weren't you supposed to pick your brother up?" You ask despite the growing hunger inside you. "He's a senior, he can go home himself." He smirks, mocking your question earlier.

You smile amusingly at how he's so charming. Well, he charmed his way into your pants in less than ten minutes. What did you expect?

The hunger inside you pushed you to be braver. You never did anything like this inside a car but you guessed there was always a first for everything. You bent down which surprised him.

You unzipped his pants and his 8-inch member sprung to life when you let it peek from his boxers. He was hard after one kiss? Well, he was right. He was indeed deprived. The reddish tip looked swollen as it twitched in your hands, begging you take it in.

Lust took over you and you let your tongue roll off its head. You hear Kyungsoo groan and it drives you crazier than you already were. You gather your hair and hold it yourself since he was driving. Your head bobbed up and down as your lips enveloped his cock.

"Holy shit." He speeds down the street as you let your tongue swirl around the erection. You smile as your tongue ran around it, making it harder for him to control.

His hips bucked as you taste his precum oozing. Salty, bitter but satisfying, you thought. He finally pulls up into a garage and the car stops humming.

He puts his pants back in place and drags you out of the car, his lips meeting yours as soon as you step out. "Jump." He growled. You obey him and interlace your thighs against his torso. He carries you inside the house and up to his room without breaking the kiss.

His hand rested on your bottom, alighting an unknown flame inside you. He throws you onto his bed and hovers above you after. You squirmed under his lustful eyes. You knew you wanted more. You wanted him.

You were on some unknown high the moment he tore your silk dress apart effortlessly. His eyes skimmed over your body like a beast eyeing his prey carefully and you, the prey desperate to be devoured.

You arch your back when his fingertips met your bra. His eyes were glued on your face and every reaction you made, his erection throbbed even more.

He ripped your underwear aggressively. You wanted to worry about what you will wear after this since your dress and undies were now ruined but lust clouded your judgment.

His hands roamed around your body and you whimpered like a cat in heat. "Fuck." He curses under his breath when his warm palms massaged your breasts. "Kyungs-soo." You stuttered while still squirming under his touch.

"What do you want, baby?" He growls, looking at you with dark eyes. "I-I want you.." You begged but he smirked. "Later.. I have to spoil this baby first." His teasing eyes left yours as he went down on you.

You feel his tongue flick your clit as if he was testing waters. You quivered at that contact while his hands still on your boobs.

His teeth grazed your wet pussy as you felt him smile against it. His hold on your chest even became tighter, making you moan and arch your back even more. "Sweet." He commented, licking his lips and making it touch your clit at the same time.

He ate you out while you squirmed under him, your fingers in his locks. You close your eyes when he starts pinching your nipples. "K-Kyungsoo!" You couldn't help but scream in pleasure as a wave of release washed over you. Your thighs trembled and your eyes roll back when you finally feel something come out of you.

"Kyungsoo, I want you. God." You breathe out as he starts teasing the tip of his dick against your throbbing pussy. He bows down to suck your nipples and you whimper for the nth time tonight.

He senses your need and desperation. Finally, he enters you which surprises you. Your eyes widened at the impact when he filled you up to the brim, making him grin mischievously. He starts thrusting slowly, feeling every inch of you inside.

He picks up his pace as he holds your thighs in place and his mouth still on your nipples. You moan repeatedly while he pounds you harder and harder. "Soo!" You scream when he started biting your hard peaks.

It doesn't take both of you long to come at the same time. He groans one last time as you feel his hot liquid fill you up.

He pulls out, juices dripping out of you making him smirk in satisfaction. He heads to his bathroom and take a shower as you unknowingly doze off in his bed, soreness and his scent enveloping your bare body.

Blinding sunlight woke you up. You flutter your eyes open and see an arm draped over your stomach. Kyungsoo, you remembered.

"Fuck.." You whisper when you spot your torn dress and underwear on the floor. You wondered what the hell you would wear now that Kyungsoo just destroyed everything.

Your soft voice woke him up. His face looked so much better under the sun that it did last night. If you didn't know better, you'd even think he was innocent and soft. Yet you knew how he rocked your world last night said otherwise.

He gets up, still in his boxers. "Good morning." His groggy voice was hot and you couldn't deny it made you feel something you felt last night.

"Good morning but first, what will I wear now?" You bite your lip nervously. He chuckles at your worried face. "Here." He gives you a black hoodie and grey sweatshorts from his closet.

"These are mine now?" You ask him while slipping them on. It was weird wearing clothes without anything underneath but you had no choice.

You open his door and get out of his room. "No, silly. It's an excuse to meet again." He growls in your ear which makes you giggle. He was flirting with you the next morning. This was more than just a one night stand, you thought.

"Have breakfast with me?" He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. You smile at how he can be so sweet. "You aren't a deprived man anymore. Why let me have breakfast here?" You teased, earning a smile from him.

He goes up to you and kisses your neck as he leads you to his kitchen. His lips started darting upwards to your jaw and you couldn’t help but let out tiny moans. You were about to meet his lips with your own but someone interrupted.

"Y/N?" A familiar voice thundered from his kitchen. You whip your head around yet Kyungsoo stays unbothered, his lips still suckling your sensitive jaw.

"What the hell are you doing with my brother?" Junmyeon glowers, a smirking Kyungsoo teasing him. "Jun?" You ask with so much disbelief in your voice. You knew he had a brother but you had no idea who it was or where he was.

"Didn't your dumbass break up with her already?" Kyungsoo smiles as he snakes an arm around your waist visibly, eyeing his brother mockingly. "Yeah but-" Your ex wasn't able to respond when he was cut off by his own brother.

"Your loss, bro." Kyungsoo chuckles.

329 notes · View notes

leafsgarbage · 4 years ago

Text

A bet- Sakusa Kiyoomi

A/N: This is my first scenario so I am a bit nervous but excited! Obviously its going to be a Sakusa one lol

Warnings: Panic attack

Spoilers! Timeskip!AU

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Pairing: Timeskip!Sakusa x fem!reader

Main Masterlist

pt.2

You had just finished all your classes, and since Omi was still at practice with the Jackals, you decided to go back home and make him a lunch. (He really doesn’t like eating out that much because he can never know for sure how they made it, but he trusts you).

You had been dating for three months now and you were as happy as can be. You were both used to each other by now, Omi even allowed himself to be a bit more open with PDA (a handhold and a kiss on the cheek is all you’ll get, but if he’s sweaty- forget about it). And you easily slipped into his life, like you were meant to. Sakusa appreciated how patient and respectful you were towards him since your first meeting

After a tiring day of exams you just needed some time to yourself with a quick cup of tea to brighten your day. And to take your mind of how bad you think you did.

The cashier takes your order and proceeds to ask you to wait to the side. In the meantime, a group of men make their way to the register and begin to order. You see one of them half a step behind the rest with a mask on and his hands in his pockets. He stands pretty tall, his black-wavy hair covering one of his eyebrows, but you can still perfectly see the two aligned moles on his forehead.

When he looks at you it seems as if he’s staring you down, but you don’t want to assume because of his mask. To be nice you wave at him, to which he nods his head at you. Then, one of the guys he’s with, a blonde one, skips over to the wavy haired man and pulls his hands out of his pockets while holding them. “Omi-Omi, what do you want to order? My treat!”

This time the black-haired man’s eye was twitching, the one you could see at least. Before he can pull his hands away, a smaller orange-haired guy pulls the blonde one back. “Tsumu!” He scolds. “You can’t just hold Omi-san like that, you didn’t even sanitize.” The orange man takes the blonde one to the table that this grey haired guy was saving.

You returned to look at Omi as they called him, and you see him struggling to find something in his pockets. He’s looking a little fidgety and uncomfortable. You remember what the orange-haired guy said and grab the hand-sanitizer in your pocket. Ever since your little sister was born, she always got sick easily, so you carried them in your pocket out of habit.

“Hi, um Mister.” You call to his attention and he stops what he’s doing. You hold out your hand, palms up, holding the hand sanitizer. “Would you like some?”

The man relaxes his shoulders and nods his head. He cups his hands together holding them out and looks at you. “Could you put it on my hands please.” You nod and do as he asks. He rubs his hands together and looks back at you. “Thank you...”

“L/N Y/N.” You tell him. “You are?”

He nods. “Sakusa Kiyoomi.” There’s no need to tell you a nickname, which you understand, you’ll probably never see him again. But he’s so handsome and attractive that you want to talk to him more.

“Do you-”

“Order for Y/N!” The worker calls. You curse in your head and give Sakusa a tight smile.

After you grab your drink you turn back to Sakusa. “It was nice meeting you Sakusa. I usually come here around this time, so if you’re ever around I’ll be here.” You smile at him then leave the shop.

At this point you want to rip your hair out. What the hell was that. I’ll be there.

A week goes by and there is still no sign of Sakusa anywhere. You don’t even blame him for not showing up, but you decide to go back to the store the next day just in case.

Meanwhile at the Jackals’ gym....

“Come on Omi-”

“No.” Sakusa replies.

Atsumu grumbles and stares pointedly at him. “She was super pretty and definitely into you. Why don’t you go to her?” The setter questions. “It’s not nice to leave people waiting.”

Sakusa is beyond annoyed. “I’m not interested.” He tells him. Bokuto and Hinata are quietly watching from the sides, waiting to see if they have to intervene.

However, the Jackals’ setter is determined, and he knows just how to push his spiker’s buttons. “That’s fine Omi, it’s not like you would be able to sustain a relationship with a girl like her.” Sakusa stares at Atsumu, only a little bothered. “I mean we all know that, but if you did date her for two months, I would stop trying to touch you all the time-”

“Deal.” Sakusa tells him. “Anything to get you away from me.”

The next day, you did see Sakusa, and though conversation started a bit rough, once you got him going on volleyball, he was on a roll. It’s not that he expresses how much he loves it or even if he does at all, but he has a lot of great stories that came from volleyball.

The rest is history.

3 months later...

He introduced you to the rest of the Jackal’s by accident, when he forgot his jersey at your house. The boys teased you endlessly and you joked around and got to know them all well. You were close with them, especially Atsumu.

When you show up to the gym with Sakusa’s lunch, everyone lights up as they see you, especially a certain black-haired spiker, albeit’s a small grin. They walk up to you and Sakusa kisses your forehead. “Omi, I brought you lunch just in case you forgot.”

“Thank you Y/N. I will eat well.” He smiles.

Atsumu grunts. “GAHHHHH. Y/N I don’t know how ya deal with his deadpanned faces. You deserve someone who will give ya great praise for yer hard work. Someone like me!”

Bokuto laughs at Atsumu. “Tsum-Tsum, you better quit joking around or else Omi’s gonna serve the ball real hard at you today.”

The setter waves his arm and puts it around you. “I know I told Omi two months, but ya’ve been together three months now, and I’m so glad he decided to keep ya.”

You tense under the setter’s arm and look at your boyfriend who’s jaw is clenched, staring holes into Atsumu’s head. “What?”

“Did Omi-Omi not tell ya? I thought- Y-ya’ve been together for long so I-” For once in his life, Atsumu stops talking completely. Bokuto and Hinata drag him out and go back into the lockers.

You stare at Sakusa, uneven breaths leaving your body. “What was Atsumu talking about?”

He nods at you and clasps his hands together. “Y/N,” he starts just hear all of this out ok.” Your face is stern and he nods. “When we met, I wasn’t going to go see you.” You just felt a pang in your heart, but held yourself steady and listened. “But Atsumu agreed that if I dated you for two months then he wouldn’t try to touch me anymore.” All you do is nod your head, hands clenched at your sides. “I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with you-”

“No.” You tell him. “You have not so much as told me you loved me at all this whole time, and you choose now to tell me?” Sakusa cocks his head to the side. “Were you just going to let me fall for you then dump me after you no longer needed me?”

He shakes his head. “No Y/N, please, I didn’t know I was going to-”

“Don’t say it again.” Your tone is cold, Sakusa has never heard you speak like this to him. “Let me play this back to you, so you can hear what you sound like.” He waits. “You were never really interested in me, but you pretended to be this whole time-”

Sakusa shakes his head vigorously. “No! Y/N it wasn’t, not after-”

You laugh at him, “I didn’t finish.” He decides to stop and listen to you. “You pretended and made me believe you really liked me and you did all these amazing things for me that had me believing you cared.” Your chest is heaving up and down, eyes watering saying this out loud. “And- And all because, you didn’t have any other way to get your teammate to respect your personal space.” Your voice cracked and a couple tears fall, but you quickly wipe at them. “Why would you do something like that? Did I deserve that?”

He doesn’t say anything, because he knows he’ll just make this worse if he does. You’re right. You didn’t deserve that, from getting to know you, he understands that you deserve the world, and he tried- oh god he tried so hard to give that to you. To make up for what he did wrong. He wanted to tell you how this started because he knew if you found out any other way, it would be like this. Hell, it might even be like this if he ended up telling you himself. To even his surprise, he just wanted to hold you, tell you that while this may have started out that way, he loved you more than he ever thought he could. He loved you so much he found himself taking out two mugs in the morning out of habit. There is a cleared out drawer with all your things in it. Your toothbrush is in his bathroom, and he bought you the skin care you have at your own house because he knows how important it is to take care of your skin. On his couch, there is now a soft blanket sitting on the arm rest because you like to snuggle under them. His favorite thing in his apartment is the picture frame you bought him that sits by his bedside of you and him, and it is the only one he owns.

Sakusa wanted to tell you how much he loves you. How much he is ready to scream it out loud so you would understand, but you’re slipping away from him far too fast and he finds himself at a loss of what to do. “I wish-” you start to say but get choked up. “I wish I never met you.” Sakusa is gutted and that what it takes for him to come back too, but it’s too late because you’re gone.

His voice hitches as he tries to say something but he can’t. The boys shuffle back in and his eyes land on his setter. Something breaks inside him, and his composed demeanor goes down the drain as he lunges at Atsumu. However Bokuto is quick to jump in front of Sakusa and hold him at arms length. The D1 6′4 tall player tries pushing aganist the owl man, but Bokuto holds on, their strength almost equal. Hinata stays close to Atsumu while looking sadly at Sakusa. “Don’t pity me Hinata.” Sakusa tells the little giant. “Don’t- Don’t” Sakusa’s chest is heaving and he begins to cough as his butt hits the floor. He can’t breathe and is holding his head. Bokuto reaches out to him but he smacks his hand away, breaking down in front of his teammates.

Hinata and Atsumu get closer but Hinata holds Atsumu back from stepping any further. “He needs space, get back.” Hinata was always respectful of his senpai’s germaphobic tendencies, Bokuto takes steps back as well. “Omi-San,” he calls out to him. “Listen to me alright. Can you count with me?” They both start counting together in 5′s. Sakusa’s hands were shaking. “Omi-San can you look at me?” He does. “It’s gonna be ok, I promise. We’re going to help you do whatever you want to ok, Omi-san?” Sakusa begins to come back to himself and Bokuto hands him a water bottle.

Atsumu kneels in front of him torn. “Omi-Omi... I’m sorry- I didn’t know. I thought you told her.”

He waves the setter off. “It’s not your fault for saying something I should have said a long time ago.” Sakusa bites the inside of his cheek as he stands up.

“What are you going to do Omi-san? I’m sure Y/N-chan will forgive you, you just have to-”

Sakusa cuts Hinata off. “I’m not going to do anything.” He tells them. “She deserves a lot better than me.” Then he just walks away from them.

And while he wholeheartedly believes that he doesn’t deserve you, he still can’t help but want to try. Because even if this started off as some silly bet, he loved you, more than he ever thought he could. He still wanted to give you the world, because you were his.

A/N: Ahhhhh that was exciting. I was originally going to make this shorter and do more of the characters but I found myself just writing and not stopping. I hope the panic attack scene wasn’t too bad for some of you. I’ve had maybe 1 or two and I wish there would have been someone there to help me through it. Pt.2??

Requests

#sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyu #angst #fluff #atsumu #hinata #bokuto #sakusa x reader #y/n #sakusa x y/n #msby #black jackals #sakusa angst

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

Text

With our veins running fire

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “May I please request a fluffy one shot with Ivar’s first time? I’ve always wanted a better rewrite of that one scene in 4B, besides his insecurities were fully fledged and he just deserved a nice lover to help him along the way.”

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: 18+. Smut and fluff, soft!Ivar, and again, there’s a top and it ain’t him.

A/N: Title from the Charlotte Brontë quote: “...soothe him; save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. (...) I am insane—quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs.”

I am so sorry it took me this long to get this request out, I have nothing to say in my defense. Sorry sweetheart, hope you like it!

The blond Prince nudges your foot with his, demands your attention as Hvitserk walks around the room somewhere behind you.

Sigurd lowers his voice, and tells you, “You can still back down. Say the word and-…”

“Thank you, but no,” You interrupt, lifting your eyes to his, “You can stop offering that now.”

“I’m just-…”

“I know what you’re doing.” You interrupt again. You know there’s kindness in his gesture, when it comes to you there’s kindness in all Sigurd does.

Doesn’t mean he can’t be cruel.

“She made her choice, brother.” Hvitserk states, standing tall across from Sigurd and leaning his shoulder on a wooden pillar. His eyes remain on his younger brother for a few moments before turning to you and offering you a smile.

You narrow your eyes, slightly unsettled with how the two just…linger here.

“Surely you aren’t planning on staying.”

Hvitserk offers you a lift of his eyebrows, and a playful smile.

“Why, are you offering?”

You throw a pillow at him, but there’s no anger behind it. You know he does it to make you laugh and he manages to ease your nerves a bit.

Because…this is a strange situation, there’s no way around it. Your family and theirs have always been close to one another, with your father being a earl under Queen Aslaug’s jurisdiction, and it is true you’ve always been interested in the youngest Ragnarsson. A couple of weeks ago, sitting with Ivar outside while the feast raged on in the main hall, you dared close the distance and kiss him.

Still, none of that made being visited by Ubbe and asked if you’d want to have sex with Ivar any more normal, or expected.

“I want to talk to you. About Ivar,” Ubbe states, eyes piercing but warm as they gaze into yours. He sits in front of you, elbows on his knees, and even reaches with one hand to put a hand on your knee, a smile on his face, “I know you care for him, I know you like each other.”

You stay silent, because there really isn’t anything you can say, and this doesn’t really sound like him questioning about it.

He offers a smile. It is polite, but strange.

Past the extremely strange interaction you had with the eldest Prince, or the incredibly odd situation you were asked to be a part of, you didn’t think much of it, until earlier today, when you were approached asking if you were free tonight.

Though you did question at first why it wasn’t Ivar the one who approached you with these questions -would have certainly helped make everything much more normal if he had been the one to ask you-, you know him well enough to know why it was Ubbe the one to ask.

The door to the cabin you are in is kicked open, and Ubbe walks in with Ivar thrown over his shoulder. It is foolish, but you feel a ball of nervousness tighten in your core.

You have been with a man before, it is no secret for you what awaits you know. A few months before your father first brought you to Kattegat, almost more than a year ago, the son of a family friend and you fooled around and stumbled into having sex with each other.

But it is completely different now, even if you tell yourself what you ought to expect is the same. Ivar is different, and how you feel about Ivar is different.

His brother drops him on the edge of the bed, Ubbe has that odd smile on his face as he remains bended at the waist, his hands on his knees and his eyes on his brother.

He relays some silent message to Ivar before he straightens with an exhale. Why Ubbe looks as nervous as you feel is beyond you, but he still smiles at you and nods his head, before signaling with his head for his brothers to leave, and doing the same.

And you are left alone with Ivar, who still sits on the edge of the bed and refuses to even look in your direction.

Knowing it is up to you to take the first step, you walk to stand before him, resisting the urge to fidget with your fingers.

Ivar spares you a glance but almost-wide and somewhat unmoored pale blue eyes fall from yours after but a breath, and he leaves you with no choice but to crouch on the ground before him, trying to find his gaze but not succeeding.

So, with a hand on the side of his face, a hand that you surprise yourself at seeing not shake as much as you thought it would, you gather your courage and lean up to press your lips to his.

It isn’t too unlike the first kiss you shared with Ivar. He remains unnaturally still as you cup the side of his face and guide his face to yours, he lets out the faintest of sounds when you press your lips against his, and he seems to want to chase after the faint touch when you pull back but is stopped by the way he holds his body so tightly under his control.

Your free hand lets you find purchase on the bed, and Ivar jumps a bit when the place your hand rests is right beside his thigh.

There’s something to the way he holds himself, still yet jittery, uncomfortable yet longing, scared yet wanting.

Which is why you kiss him again, not giving him time to think or speak. If he starts thinking, you know his thoughts will chase themselves in circles and one way or another he will end up angered or biting, and that is not what you want. The side of him they all know, the side of biting wit and wrath and dangerous edges; that is not what you want.

You want the side of him you and a few others are fortunate enough to have stumbled upon, the side of small smiles that seem to surprise even him and vulnerability and hesitant softness.

You want the side of him that you saw bare of any lies the night you kissed him, when he watched you with wide eyes and parted lips, asking questions you didn’t want to answer yet.

So you press softly against his mouth, willing him with gentle touches of your hand and careful movements of your lips to relax and let go of any thought that isn’t this.

But, of course, how could you hope Ivar would let anything be easy.

He pulls back, turning his face slightly down, you do not know if either to hide his expression from you or to give you a silent command not to kiss him again.

“Y-You saw Ubbe bring me here, didn’t you?” He asks, startling you. Ivar scoffs, but it sounds tremulous, “I bet it was quite a sight, him carrying his crippled brother for you to have sex with.”

His older brother meant well, even if he was a bit overbearing. You have a feeling Ubbe would have carried you here if you hadn’t arrived earlier.

You search his eyes, your hand on the side of his face trailing slightly downwards, resting at the side of his neck. Though you think of something to say, Ivar doesn’t give you a chance to, because he just…keeps talking.

“Maybe this was all for nothing, and the Gods really made me boneless. Thought about that when you said yes?”

You pull back, crouched on the floor in front of him, looking up at Ivar’s uncertain blue eyes that seem to want to look everywhere except in your direction.

“What is going on, Ivar?” You ask. It is the easiest way you can voice the turmoil of questions inside you. Do you not want this? Do you not want me?

“You said yes.” He states, but you know it is a question.

“I did,” You tell him, offering a soft smile, “It is no secret how I feel about you.”

His eyes fall from yours, and he offers a small hum, but it dawns on you like a weight in your stomach that he thinks you to be lying. Or worse, mocking him.

“I know how you feel.” He tells you, but he still doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I thought you knew I liked you,” You say quietly, leaning closer. He seems to tense up even more at your proximity. If he didn’t know… You continue, “Ivar…we’ve kissed before.”

There’s a twitch of anger in his expression, a tell of gritted teeth. The anger is familiar, but it speaks of no less fragility than his hesitance.

“Sigurd told me.” Ivar bites out, voice low, words almost a growl.

“Told you what?”

Now, he meets your eyes. A storm of rage and pain and so many more things.

Accusing eyes and cutting words leave his lips like a curse, “That he dared you to do it.”

“What?” You frown, your heart feeling cold on your chest, “That isn’t true!”

When his eyes search yours, you dare think for a moment he believes you, you dare hope he sees you for who you are and not who his insecurities make out of you.

But he holds on to the anger, to the resentment, to the bitterness and the vitriol. ‘It is easier to be angry’ he told you once, and you think the meaning behind the words becomes a tad clearer for you just now.

Ivar presses,

“You agreed to…to this,” There’s a faint tremble in his mouth that speaks of jagged edges and embarrassment. “Why? To say after that you had sex with the cripple out of pity? Just like you kissed me as a joke?”

To all his chaos what you can offer is certainty, and so you do, and so you remain unwavering, straightening your back and meeting his gaze, “I did not kiss you as a joke. No one ‘dared’ me to do it. You know me better than to believe that.

His eyes threaten to fall from yours, and at your truth you see the resolve his anger gave him crumble, and there’s a battle between holding on to the anger and surrendering to the vulnerability.

“And I did not agree because of pity. There’s nothing to pity about you, Ivar,” Your voice is certain even as your heart beats wildly in your chest, and after a breath of hesitation you confess, “I agreed because I want you, I have wanted you…ever since I met you. I thought…I thought you asked this of me because you wanted me too.”

And over the conflict and angry hesitance that were clear I his expression wins something softer, something awed and hopeful and vulnerable. His eyes soften as he looks down at you now, and his lips are slightly parted as Ivar takes in your words.

Still, silence reigns between you, for a few breaths but long enough that you feel exposed and uncomfortable, with your words, your confession, hanging in the air between you.

You offer what you hope is a smile and not a grimace, and your eyes fall from his, partially afraid of rejection and partially humiliated.

Ivar seems to realize you were waiting for him to speak, because he sucks in a sharp breath and stutters out,

“I did, I-…” He stops himself, but the words are still as rushed when he speaks again, “I-I did, I…do, um, want you.”

At his words relief mixes with the foolish hope and joy that make your heart flutter, and you smile around a sigh.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

Ivar’s eyes jump to your lips, and he swallows thickly before nodding his head.

“Y-Yes. I, um, I liked that.”

You close the distance between you slowly this time, lingering when your lips are but a hair’s breadth away from one another so you can admire the way his eyes flutter shut as he awaits the touch of your mouth on his.

You kiss him for long enough your nervousness dissipates, is lost in the shaky breaths you draw out of him, is drowned by the soft little sounds he lets out when you deepen each kiss.

But Ivar pulls back. Again.

“I don’t…I don’t really know what to do.” He confesses, not at all what you were expecting.

It’s not that you were expecting him to know what to do, or have any experience; it’s that you weren’t expecting for him to admit it, for him to be pulling back to offer unguarded truths instead of accusations or something else.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He grits his teeth, petulant, “I told you already, I want you,” He tells you, and even if the tone is biting it still sends a thrill through you. Ivar’s nose furrows a bit in anger, “Why would I ask you here if I didn’t want to, hm?”

You bite back a retort about how he could ask you here just to spend time with him, he has before, but you know this isn’t the time to try your hand at irking him.

So you kiss him, and between murmured words you move further back on the bed. And in between kisses Ivar murmurs the words that steal your breath,

“I want to see you.”

There’s a war between thrill and fear within you, a war that makes you demand the same if you are to offer yourself.

“And I you.” You tell him, the deal you ask for in exchange unsaid but understood. Ivar nods his head, eyes roaming over your face before venturing lower, tracing with his eyes a path over your clothed figure.

A deep breath, and you stand up, undoing the loose laces of your dress and letting it fall on the ground.

He doesn’t say a thing, but the way he looks at you, the slightly parted lips, the big blue eyes taking in your form in the low glimmer of the candlelight, it makes you feel beautiful, strong. Powerful.

You take another deep breath, and move closer to the bed.

“Your turn.”

Ivar forces his eyes to leave you and faces ahead again, a choked little hum leaving his lips as he accepts your words.

He takes off his shirt first, and the sight of the muscles of his arms and back moving as he lifts the shirt over his head makes your mouth run dry.

You know you are probably staring at him like a ravenous woman, and…you are. Gods.

He hesitates only for a moment before tugging down his pants, leaving himself completely bare to you. Almost, since he hasn’t fully taken off his pants, but there’s time for that, you tell yourself.

You let your eyes trail over the whole of him, before returning to his face, and meeting his wide eyes that now hold a silver of uncertainty you thought you’d banished.

Instead of saying anything, you return to your previous place on the bed, straddling him and claiming his mouth, your hands eager as they trace over his heated skin, as they find purchase on his chest and become witnesses to your effect on him as you feel his chest rise and fall in uneven breaths.

It doesn’t fail to make your heart skip a beat in your chest, the way you feel him gradually relaxing under your kisses and your caresses. The way his shoulders drop, his muscles loosen the tension they held, his hands don’t shake quite as much and start exploring your curves.

You lose track of time in all the breaths you share, and in all the sounds you are able to draw out of him, and in all the different ways he says your name.

The electrifying press of his half-hard cock against you is enough to draw a few shaky breaths from you, to make the daze of lust that envelops you take you under.

And hungry lips trail down his chest just as your hand reaches down. When your fingers wrap around him, you lose your breath at the moan you draw out of him, the mindless and unashamed sound you earn for yourself before he bites his lip and grits his teeth.

Your core tightens at the thought of what delightful sounds of pleasure you can draw out of him when you take him in your mouth, and so you continue exploring, and your hand keeps moving over him, feeling him harden more and more under your touch.

When you reach far down enough, Ivar stops you with a call of your name, and a hand on your hair. You look up, but don’t move.

“I want…I want to be inside you.” Ivar tells you, resolute even if his voice wavers and his chest trembles with yet another shaky sigh when he looks down at you, so close to his cock.

A stubborn part of you wants to insist that you want to pleasure him with your mouth, eager and starved for the moans and whimpers you may earn, for how you could make him quiver and surrender.

But you silently comply, moving back up his body and searching his gaze carefully, half hoping and half dreading he sees in your eyes everything you are too afraid to say out loud.

And you keep your eyes on him, you keep him trapped in the spell of your gaze, as you lean a bit back and ready to take him inside you.

Because he might be able to see all you cannot say in your eyes as they gaze into his, but you are also able to see all he doesn’t say. And you don’t want to miss a thing.

Your nails claw slightly at the skin of his shoulder as you take him inside you, and if having him watch you as you bared your body to him made you feel powerful, there isn’t a word the Gods have granted you to convey what it feels like to have Ivar underneath you, gasping your name in a choked moan as you move over him.

There isn’t a word for the thrill and the need that courses through you at the sight of him, there aren’t words for what each sound you draw out of his perfect lips does to you, there aren’t words for how each twitch in his expression and each quiver of his body reduces you to something that only wants to admire him and claim him yours.

He doesn’t last, and you certainly didn’t expect him to. Regardless, you lose a bit of yourself -a bit if your heart, maybe- as you watch Ivar’s face contort in pleasure. Head titled back, eyes screwed shut, and almost-painful ecstasy written in his expression.

Your breaths are still as heavy as his as you watch him fascinated as he comes down from his high.

His eyes remained closed for a while, but he doesn’t let go of you, hands firm -even if gentler than they were before- on your hips. You settle against him, unable to keep yourself from pressing a few kisses against heated and sweaty skin and whispering your praise in between those kisses.

Ivar sighs your name, and a shiver runs down your spine.

“That was…” He loses his breath again, as if breathless just from the aftershock of it, from the memory of it, and your smile widens.

Ivar’s hand on the back of your neck brings you closer to him, and he kisses you breathlessly, half a man starved and half a man that lost all his strength.

And you kiss him back, hoping he has found in this something he is as insatiable for as you have discovered you are.

When you pull back, and darkened blue eyes search yours, lips parted and breaths heavy, you find your answer.

You were asked to remain in that cabin for a night, you end up not leaving for almost two days. You were asked to be at Ivar’s side for one night, and you willingly give him all of your nights and days.

____ ____ ____

Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed! Ik this isn’t my best work, but holy hell I am so unimaginative when it comes to smut, sorry! Love ya!!

Btw, I don’t think Ivar would be so comfortable being completely bare on his first time with someone, but I debated with myself whether that particular insecurity is deepened by the events of 4x11 or if it was there from before, because he does go fully nude in canon, so idk. Anyhow, I wanted to keep this somehow related to canon since the person who requested asked for a rewrite of sorts, so completely naked it is.

Taglist: @flokisdaughter @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler@crazybunnyladysworld @stupiddarkkside

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

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rivers-rambles21 · 3 years ago

Text

The one with Cupid

Part 11 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Summary | Reader and Bucky become friends after he saves her from a creep in their apartment building. Each chapter explores a different point in their friendship - very slow burn!

Warnings | 18+ only, Smut in later chapters (this is a slow burn), swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, (later chapters)

With a sigh you slid your phone back into your pocket and carried on with your day of cleaning.

Around midday you heard noise coming from the hallway you shared with Bucky. Fearing yet another visit from the Police, you investigated.

"Hi, can I help you?"

A kid no older than sixteen stood opposite Bucky's door, fist raised to knock.

"Oh! Hi, I'm looking for Mr Barnes, does he live here?" The young man gestured towards the door whilst fidgeting with his bag that was slung over his shoulder.

"Who's asking?" You boldly asked, hand on the door knob ready to slam it closed as a precaution

"I'm Peter, Peter Parker" he held his hand out for you to shake before hastily retracting it.

"Oh my god you're Spider Boy!"

His eyes practically bugged out of his head as he frantically looked around the hallway to make sure you were alone.

"First off I'm pretty sure it's Spider man and no I'm ...not.. I'm not him"

Peter wasn't overly convincing, unable to get each word out without nervously coughing in-between.

"Uhuh and Bucky has two normal arms" You let go of the door as you teased the kid, amused at his panic stricken expression. "Relax Peter, I'm a friend of Bucky's, I'm Y/N" This time you held your hand our to his which he took, shaking it with a firm grip.

"I didn't know Mr Barnes had friends"

"Because of the staring thing?" You joked, knowing how intense your best friend sometimes came across as.

"Well, I, er… he's a bit scary at times yknow?"“

“So how come you’re looking for him? He’s out of town at the moment.”

With a sigh Peter looked down at the ground, clearly disappointed. “Of course he is” He muttered.

Taking pity on him, you reached inside your apartment, grabbing your purse and jacket before closing the door behind you. “Come on kid, you look like you could do with a milkshake.”

Peter pulled a face, a bit taken aback. “I’m sixteen”

“Well what do sixteen year olds drink? I can hardly take you out for a beer to talk about whatever is clearly eating you up.”

Realising you were right, Peter nodded and followed you down the hallway.

It took Peter a while to eventually open up, but after you divulged a bit more on how you and Bucky met, he relaxed around you and started to word vomit.

He explained how the loss of a mentor was weighing heavy on his shoulders, how the girl he liked didn’t know his secret, how the responsibility of being Spider Man overwhelmed him at times. You could tell it had done him some good to speak freely and openly to a stranger but you knew he needed someone to relate to, someone who knew what being an Avenger truly meant.

You both exchanged numbers and you left him with a promise you’d speak to Bucky, asking for him to get back in touch with him when he had the chance.

______________________________________________________

“So you and Y/N?” Sam couldn’t contain the grin on his face. He’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to quiz the Super Soldier on the subject and with Zemo and Sharon out of the room getting ready, he couldn’t pass up the chance.

“What about her Sam?”

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

Bucky's brows furrowed and his eyes shot up to meet Sam’s “We’re not- she’s-” he stumbled over his words before rolling his eyes as Sam held back a laugh, clearly enjoying making the other man uncomfortable. “Don’t okay? We’re just friends” With a dramatic sigh, Bucky fiddled with the edges of his worn out notebook, eyes no longer able to meet Sam’s. “Nothing more” He muttered, more to himself than anything else.

“So you won’t mind if I ask her out then?” Sam didn’t really have any intention on asking you out but he was enjoying tormenting Bucky too much to let it drop. He could see clear as day you both had feelings for each other but for some unknown reason, hadn’t taken the next step and admitted it to each other. Sam however, was more than happy to give a little push.

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed multiple times as he contemplated whether Sam was being serious or not. Inside he felt rage building up at the thought of you being with another man which mixed with an overwhelming feeling of sadness; knowing he didn’t stack up to Sam.

There was a reason Steve gave him the shield, he knew he was a good person, honourable, kind and decent. He protected people, stood up for the little guy and lived by clear morals.

Bucky on the other hand… he was damaged, he’d killed hundreds of people, tortured dozens, and protected war criminals.

But… despite this, something stirred within him. A need to claim you as his, to be selfish with you and have you all to himself. He sat for a while, pondering on what he should do but was mainly worrying about Sam asking you out, unaware the Falcon liked to act fast.

Please let me know if there’s any issues with the formatting or with the screen shots!

Tag list:

@iamtheonewhocares @indigo123789 @xpurpleglitter

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #text fic #tfaws

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mccoymccoymccoy · 4 years ago

Text

Kirk - Go to your quarters or I’ll pick you up and carry you there.

A/N: I KNOW. I KNOW THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE OPPOSITE CONTEXT FROM WHEN HE SAID THAT. BUT WHEN HE SAID IT WE ALL GOT A TINGLE, NO? oh well. silly little brain.

Word count: 1,531

God, you were tired. Finally a calm day on the bridge- no engine repairs needed, no hostile encounters, no pointless orders from Starfleet- and yet it felt like the longest day since your shore leave on a planet with twenty hours of sun. Your nose was red and sore from patting at it with your sleeve, and you had a headache like what you imagined being struck by an ice pick would feel like.

“All in order, cap-” you paused, face contorting into the classic pre-sneeze expression. Oh, go away, go away, go away! Miraculously, it did. “-tain,” you finished, rubbing the side of your finger against your nose. He turned around and raised an eyebrow at you. “Lieutenant, it seems like you’ve still got a bit of that cold left. Didn’t Bones order you to take three days off? As long as I can still count, it’s only been two days.” Spock, who was walking past, nodded. “You can indeed still count, captain.” You sighed.

“Sir, with all due respect, a little almost-sneeze isn’t anything to worry about. I believe I’m perfectly able to perform my duties,” you lied.

He put one hand on his hip while the other pinched his forehead, and sighed right back at you. “Y/N, we don’t know how this cold- this virus, works. You heard what Bones said, it’s not like the old common Earth cold. You got hit the worst out of the landing party.” He may be a walking bullshit detector, but his reasoning was a void attempt to you.

You saw your duties as more important than anything, which he normally had incredible respect for, but you’d already lost out on two days. Two days, just kicking around your quarters and sneaking around your deck trying to find something to do. Somehow, every time, Bones or an ensign found you and had to bring you back. Mimicking him, you placed your hands on your hips and shifted your weight to one foot. You were starting to feel a bit light-headed, but you weren’t sure if it was because of the cold or him.

“Come on, Y/N.”

You looked down. His insisting this was really starting to make you nervous- not just because of the prospect of missing out on work. You were so fond of him that surely the rate of your heart and the anxious sweating would just make him more firm in his decision that you were unfit to work! Thinking about him made your headache worse than it already was, too. “Captain, please. I’m alright.” Your nose twitched another sneeze away.

“No more arguing, lieutenant. You’re off for the rest of today and tomorrow. That’s an order. Go.”

“Sir, please-”

“Go to your quarters or I’ll pick you up and carry you there.”

You froze. Your face flushed at the thought, and the pressure you’d been adding to your one leg became too much, causing a little stumble. Jim grabbed onto your arms quickly, steadying you. You started to explain about the pressure, but he shook his head. “Spock, you’ve got the bridge. Come on, Y/N. Let’s get you outta here,” he said before sweeping you off your feet into a bridal carry.

Captain Kirk, Captain James T. Kirk, was carrying you back to your own goddamn quarters. You pressed the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his neck against your face to cover your blush- What was his deal! “Captain, if you’re that concerned about my health, perhaps you wouldn’t want to be, well, this close to me? Please, put me down.” He looked down at you, brows furrowed. “It’s not a cold transmitted by contact, Lieutenant,” you sighed a little at him using your official title while carrying you like this. “Doctor McCoy explained that to you already. You’re tired, you almost collapsed on the Bridge, you need to get some sleep and rest. I won’t say it again.”

“But-” He softly stroked your shoulder with his thumb, and it shut you up immediately.

“That’s all I gotta do to quiet you down?” It had clicked for him just a few seconds prior that you weren’t acting strangely just because you were sick. He smiled down at you- something you’d usually expect to be snarky from anyone else after the last comment, but not from him. You knew your face must be redder than your shirt by now, and without thinking, you pressed into his chest to try to hide it. You felt his next chuckle more than you heard it.

You stayed like that for a few moments more until he made it to your door, inside, and to your bed, where he put you down gently. You sat up immediately, and he smiled again.

“Give it up, Lieutenant. I wouldn’t want to have to confine you to your quarters.” You frowned. “Captain, nothing is more important to me than my work. I’ve just got a headache and a tickly nose, at least clear me for tomorrow!” Your head pounded at the effort of raising your voice and you cringed in pain. Jim frowned now too, reaching out and then sitting down beside you. He thought for a moment, while you looked down with your hands in your lap.

“You know, Lieut- Y/N, you know, you’d be no good at your tasks right now anyway.” You laughed quietly. “Gee, thanks, Cap.” You watched as his hand found its way into your lap and between your clammy ones, fingers lacing with yours. He was looking at you, but your own eyes were glued to your lap. His next words were spoken so softly, you could hardly believe this was the same man who’d yelled at you earlier to take a rest.

“That didn’t quite come out how I meant. I meant, you’re an incredible officer who does incredible work here, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to dampen that record because you don’t know how to relax when you need to.”

“This isn’t relaxing,” you sighed. His other hand reached up to cup your cheek, turning your face so you’d look at him. And you did- oh, how you did. How lovely it was to look at him up close, to look so deeply into his eyes you thought you’d never be able to escape. You always tried to avoid eye contact with him, and contact in general- which had always proved difficult. He was always asking you to join the landing party, and then dinner after, and a game in the rec room, and a gym session- you always tagged along, feeling like a pity case and wondering why he’d have you there. It had never once occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way about you as you did him.

“I know. Maybe I could help that?” His eyes flickered to your lips for a moment, then back up. You looked down, leaning into his hand on your cheek and finally beginning to grasp the one in your lap rather than just letting it be there. “Maybe,” you said, barely above a whisper. He closed in, slowly at first, then quickly- he kissed you sweetly, and to say you melted inside would be an understatement. You moved one hand to touch the edge of his jaw ever so gently and felt him smile. He pulled away from you a bit, but stayed close, resting his forehead against yours.

“You sure you won’t catch this cold, Jim?” You smiled, and kept your eyes closed. You felt his breath against your cheek as he chuckled before responding: “So now we’re on a first name basis, I see?” You sat up abruptly, the brain fog hadn’t allowed you to interpret that as a joke. “If we aren’t sir, my sincerest apologies, I just-”

He gently grabbed your shoulders and kissed you again. Shorter this time, but not exactly a peck. You blinked at him, and he grinned.

“I was teasing.”

“Ah. Of course. Maybe I really do need some rest.” His eyes suddenly lit up, almost in a comical lightbulb-moment way. “Why don’t I stay with you a bit longer? You know, make sure you actually stay put and all.” You smiled and looked at the floor once again, but not before picking up on a slight blush from him. He truly was a sweetheart. You nodded, humming. “That would be nice, I think. What about the bridge though?”

“Spock will have it under control for as long as needed,” he responded while laying the two of you down. You wrapped an arm around his waist and cuddled into his shoulder, despite still thinking it’s completely inappropriate for you to do this with the captain- but he doesn’t seem concerned at all. Your tiredness had caught up with you once you finally allowed yourself to relax- you let out a loud yawn, and couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore. “Try to sleep now, Y/N. I’ll be here.”

“Thanks, Jim,” you mumbled as you started to drift off. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head, and you could feel him smiling again before your mind finally went quiet.

#star trek #star trek x reader #star trek imagine #captain kirk #captain kirk x reader #captain kirk imagine #jim kirk #james t kirk #kirk x reader

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lemon-boy-stan · 4 years ago

Text

truth or dare - stan uris

stanley uris x virgin!reader. warnings: oral (fem recieving), swearing, sexual refrences. sixteen plus!!!

It started when Richie spoke the uncomfortable question that day in the Clubhouse.

It was a sunny day, a Thursday, and you and the rest of the Losers had gone there to hang out after jumping into the Quarry.

“Y/N! It’s your turn! Truth, or dare?”

“Um, truth?”

“What?! Lame!”

“I already picked ‘dare’ five times in a row, Trashmotuh,” you crossed your arms.

“Whatever. OK. Y/N!”

“That’s my name.”

“Ever been eaten out before?”

“What?”

Richie snickered. Stanley, beside you, looked down at the floorboards, something washed over his face – confusion?

“You can’t answer a question with a question, Y/N,” Beverly threw a piece of crumpled paper at Richie but missed.

“Um, no, I guess. Why? What, what does that mean?”

Even Eddie looked amused.

“Nothing,” Stan spoke loudly. “It means nothing.”

“Whatever you say, Stan the Man. Oh my god! Look at how fucking hard he -” Richie pointed to Stan and Eddie slapped his arm down before you could see what he was pointing at and he scowled.

“Shut up, Richie,” your best friend didn’t let him finish. “Or I swear I’ll give you a black eye.”

“Who would w – win?” Bill laughed, not bothering to hold him back.

“Stan, probably,” Eddie squeaked.

“Wanna bet?”

“Five bucks,” spoke Ben.

“You’re on.” The fact that even Mike and Eddie knew what Richie was talking about made you want to shove your face into a pillow in embarrasment.

Stanley didn’t seem fussed that you didn’t know, in fact, you thought, it amused him.

Or at least, he was smiling at it.

The smirk which grew on his face made your heart beat a thousand times faster.

“Wait, I’m still confused,” Beverly covered her mouth. “What does it mean?”

“It means nothing,” Stan repeated.

“Stan’s just jealous because he wants to be the first one who -”

“Shut UP, Richie!” Stanley’s face was red.

“Yeah, shut up, it’s getting kind of disgusting.”

Richie backed down – for now.

“You’re making her uncomfortable,” Beverly covered your ears. “Stop it.”

“I can still hear, y’know,” she laughed and removed her hands. “Well,” you got up. “I have to go.” You didn’t, you were just embarassed. “See you tomorrow. Bye, Mike.”

“I’m coming with you. Y’know, to -”

“To f -”

“Keep you safe.”

You rolled your eyes but Stan got up.

“Bye.” Mike crossed his arms and glared at Richie as Bev called after you miserably.

“Aww, N/N! No! Stan! Guys!”

“They always do this. Always.” Spoke Ben. “I swear, like, every time.” Bill nodded.

They watched as you ignored them, climbing up the ladder, not bothering to check if Stanley was following you – he was, and he ran up just as you were about to shut the door on him.

“Mind if I stay over?”

Yes. I do mind, go home, Stanley, and let me wallow in self pity.

You shrugged.

“Well, my parents aren’t gonna be back any time soon, so I guess not.”

“I can’t believe it’s seven already.”

“Yeah. So, what do you wanna do?” You weren’t really that enthusiastic.

He shrugged.

“Anyone ever tell you how pretty you were?”

“What?”

“Let me tell you,” he whispered. “You, Y/N L/N, are prettier,” he spoke the words like a spell. “Than any girl I’ve ever met before,” he made you blush and you didn’t know why. He stepped closer. “Wanna know why?”

“Sure.” Was all you could manage.

He chuckled softly.

“You’re intelligent,” he paused, lowering his hand. “Funny,” lower. “Creative,” so close it was touching, but you didn’t mind. “Unique,” even closer now. “And so. Fucking. Wet.”

Your body jerked at the sudden touch of his hand against your tights.

“Stan!”

“Yes, babygirl?”

You threw your head back. He’d never, ever callen you… that… before.

“Please…” you struggled to get the words out. “Keep going.”

“All you had to say. Just… jump.”

“What?”

“Jump. Go on. Jump.”

“Like…”

“Exactly like that.”

Legs wrapped around his waist, he carried you to your bed, hand stroking your pussy.

“Stan,” he placed you down.

“Yeah?”

“Take them off, take my clothes off,”

“Whatever you say, babygirl.”

You threw your head back once again.

“Like it when I call you that?”

You nodded.

“Always knew you were sub.”

“Mmph.”

“This,” he murmured, mouth open at your entrance. “Is what ‘giving head’ is.”

“What -” and then you gasped, clutched the sheets with your fists. “Oh. Stan. Oh!” He didn’t reply, just kept going. Your legs felt like jelly, you wanted to close your eyes…

“You can close your eyes, babygirl,”

So you did, letting out soft moans as he ate you, crying out his name as his tongue dove in and out.

Your legs shook even more, you clutched the curls atop his head.

“Stan, I’m gonna,”

“Beg for it.”

“Please, please, let me cum, please.”

“Such a good girl.”

The words made your stomach twist.

“Please, Stan.”

He shook his head and you wanted to cry as he went on and on and on.

“Please, Stan!”

“No can do.”

He went back in.

“Please. I can’t -”

“I swear if you cum right now, Y/N -”

“Stan!”

You were on the climax of your orgasm.

“Ah-uh.”

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck. Stan! Oh, fuck, Stan,” and it was just his mouth. “Stan, I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it.”

And then you came, moaning his name like a prayer, collapsing on the bed.

He wasn’t even tired.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Stan, that was so hot, I -”

“No,” he shook his head. “You’re so hot.”

You blushed at the corny joke.

“Fuck, I wanna do this all the time,”

“Well, we can, but not all the time,”

“How? What?”

“Well, be my girlfriend?”

“Of course, Stan,” you breathed and he smirked.

“I still can’t believe you’re a virgin…”

“Shut up!”

MASTERLIST - requests are always open!

#stanley uris x reader smut #stanley uris smut #stanley uris x reader #andy bean #andy bean x reader smut #andy bean x reader #wyatt oleff x reader smut #wyatt oleff x reader #wyatt oleff imagine #stanley uris smut imagine #stanley uris imagine

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thewatermelloncat · 4 years ago

Text

Blankets

Deleted Scene

Summary: A Five sickfic I wrote inspired by @too-many-umbrellas post here and the notes from it, because people have amazing ideas and this story barely scratches the surface.

Author’s Note: I might do a whole story with all the siblings causing chaos like in the original post eventually.

I also have a bonus story which I will post up later on tomorrow that I’ll link onto this one. (Edit: Linked up top)

Warnings: Swearing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The weather report said it would be sunny – it lied. Thunder crashes outside as Five staggers back into the living room, the booming sound reflecting his frustration. He looks exhausted as he makes his way back to the couch where he had been seated a minute earlier.

“It’s really kicking your arse isn’t it?” Luther observes.

Five nods minutely, closing his eyes and sniffling miserably into his sleeve.

Taking pity on him Luther tosses him the box of tissues from the coffee table. Surprisingly Five manages to catch it before taking a few and blowing his nose as he sits back onto the couch.

“How far did you go this time?” Klaus asks from up on one of the barstools.

“Upstairs and round the corner a bit” Five tells him, sounding weak and raspy.

“Why didn’t you just jump back?”

“Gee, Klaus. I wish I thought of that” Five’s voice drips in sarcasm before he covers a few hollow coughs behind his fist, wincing slightly afterward.

“How’s your throat?” Five’s pained expression doesn’t pass Luther by.

His seemingly younger brother only shakes his head, both not answering and answering his question at the same time.

“How many times has it been today that you poofed off somewhere?” Klaus chuckles slightly as he spins on the chair, his feet lazily dragging behind him in the air.

“Lost count.”

“Well there was when you got sent to the kitchen. Oh-ho and the one where you teleported into Diego’s room just as he was about to leave for work. That was so funny, scared the living daylights outta him” – Klaus laughs, ticking them off on his fingers before Five cuts him off.

“Klaus, stop… It-it really doesn’t matter” Five sighs pulling the blanket from on the couch around his shoulders and tucking his legs up to his chest, resting his head on his knees. He knew his brother was only having fun but it wasn’t helping his headache any.

Klaus pauses his listing while his brother speaks but decides to scrap his list entirely seeing the pointed look Luther gives him. Pursing his lips, he swings his legs forward propelling himself off the chair then makes his way to sit next to Five.

“This has really got you down hasn’t it, old man?” Klaus teases him.

“I’m fine” Five’s voice already muted and now muffled by his knees, does him no favours in proving his point.

“No, wrong letter” Klaus says, wrapping an arm over his brother and pulling him into his side. “It’s said ‘Five’ not ‘fine.’”

Five immediately pulls out of Klaus’ grip, fixing him with a look which would have been a lot more threatening if he didn’t look like he was half asleep.

“Come on!” Klaus whines. “That was clever.”

Five only just has time to roll his eyes before his turns away into his elbow, “Kihh'tschh!!!” and in a flash of blue he’s gone.

Klaus blinks in bewilderment at the now lonely blanket in a heap on the couch before he immediately turns to Luther. “Bet he went” – his voice is cut off by Five’s unimpressed tone sounding from behind the wall near the doorway.

“Klaus if you’re placing bets, I swear” – Five’s raised voice cuts off, leaving them in silence for a few seconds. “Huh’Tschh!”

Suddenly there is a crackle of energy and a faint blue spark that casts rays of light on the doorframe.

“Fuck!” Five’s curse sounds muffled through the floor boards, having been teleported further away up to the third floor.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The first few times Five had spontaneously teleported he’d come back looking annoyed, now as he re-enters the living room, he seems completely over it. If anything, he’s glad that neither of his siblings make a joke out of it. Sure, he might find it funny later but not now, exhausted from the long trek down various flights of stairs.

“Come here” Luther interrupts Five’s beeline for the couch, gesturing for him to come over to him.

Five bites back a huff of frustration but obliges, only because he can’t be bothered arguing. Slowly he comes to stand in front of Luther who reaches out a hand to place of his forehead.

None of them need anymore clarification to know that Luther’s hum of disapproval means that Five’s fever is going up. “You dizzy at all?” it wouldn’t surprise Luther if he was with all the teleporting he is doing.

Five shakes his head, one of the few things he is grateful for. “Just tired” he sighs as he sinks back into the couch next to Klaus, who wraps the blanket back over his shoulders.

“You hungry?” Luther asks. “Think we’ve still got leftovers in the fridge.”

Five shakes his head.

“Get some sleep then, yeah?”

Five’s hum of content as he goes to snuggle back into the couch quickly turns into a groan of frustration as he pushes himself back up, rubbing his hand against his nose. “Please God, no” he begs, closing his eyes tightly trying to will the itch away. He just got back for fuck’s sake. But there’s nothing he can do and his chest inhales involuntarily. “Ktt'schh!!” and in a poof of blue sparks he’s gone again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As the last of the blue sparks fade into nothing, the steady sound of footsteps echo from around the corner.

“Is Five here? I swear I just heard him” Allison says as she stops in the doorway to the room.

“Sneezed and poofed away” Klaus tells her.

“Where did he go?”

“Dunno” Klaus admits quietly, seeming confused that they haven’t heard Five cursing from somewhere by now.

Allison seems confused as well as she looks around the edge of the upper floors from the base of the staircase, “Five?”

At the lack of response to his sister’s calling, Luther pushes himself out of his chair and walks forward to join her. “Five!” his deeper voice carries further, echoing around the foyer.

“He can’t have gone far, can he?” Klaus asks worriedly, coming to join them.

“Doubt it” Luther shakes his head, “it is been draining him.”

“Do you think he could have passed out?” Allison’s question is answered nonverbally as they all share worried looks before splitting off in different directions.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The raindrops Five blinks out of his eyes may as well be tears from the amount of resentment he currently feels. Except crying is a waste of time, and it would be pointless to cry over an ability he can’t change. So instead he draws in a deep breath beginning to trudge through the puddles on the footpath, already drenched by the rain.

He’d tried to jump back when he first landed but only succeed in turning the air around him blue, too weak to teleport again. He’d given up after his third try and surrendered to the cold walk home.

There aren’t many people around to judge why a boy is wondering around the street without an umbrella, only a few who run along sheltered by their coats above their heads, ducking under overhangs. He makes it to the next street down before he draws in a breath and ducks into his elbow, “hah’kshhhuu!”

He wishes that it could have teleported him back to the academy, but it only manages to fizzle out blue sparks like a battery dying.

His teeth chatter as he crosses his arms with a shiver, and he forces himself to think of something positive. At least he knows where he is and he’s not too far from the Academy. Still, he wishes his uniform had a hood or he had teleported with the blanket that had been wrapped around him, either way he would have had something to shelter him from the rain.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Diego’s brow knits in confusion as he walks through the foyer seeing no one around. He’d left them all in the lounge before he left for work, and he’d thought they’d still be there. At least Five who was supposed to spend the day crashed on the couch.

Seeing nothing but a blanket he shrugs before heading for the stairs up to his room. Suddenly he turns around at the sound of hurried footsteps behind him, running up the stairs from the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” he asks Allison as she looks around frantically.

“We lost Five?” she says, barely sparing him a glance as she moves back into the lounge to have another look around.

“What do you mean you lost him?”

“He sneezed and disappeared!” Klaus calls out from the railing of the second level.

“Have you tried his room?”

“He’s not there!” Luther’s voice echoes from a place where Diego can’t see him before he steps into view behind the railing on the third floor. “I hate to jump to conclusions, but you don’t think he” – he doesn’t need to finish his sentence to get his point across.

A few seconds of silence fall over the siblings as they contemplate whether accidental time travel is even on the cards for him.

Allison is the first person to shake her head. “I doubt it, he wouldn’t have enough energy” she speaks assuredly, but part of her doesn’t know whether it’s denial.

“Is there anywhere you haven’t checked?” Diego asks immediately, not feeling that it’s necessary to dwell on it.

Klaus’ sarcastic comment about how there are over 60 rooms to look around in dies in his throat at the sound of the front door handle turning.

“Oh my God, Five!” Allison all but squeaks as she rushes forward to her brother shutting the door behind him, drenched with rain.

As soon as she’s next to him her hands are all over him, brushing his hair out of his face, checking for fever on his cheeks, then pulling off his soaked blazer after noticing how violently he shivers.

“Where’d you go?” she asks as Klaus steps forward with the blanket in his hands, having raced down the stairs and into the lounge.

“Half a block down the street” Five stutters through shivers before his breath hitches and he raises a hand to his mouth in preparation for a sneeze.

Klaus, having almost touched the blanket to his brother’s shoulders, yelps and jumps back using the blanket as a shield, not wanting to touch him and be hurtled through time and space.

Allison having a completely different reaction, quickly reaches forward placing a hand on his shoulder, hoping that he won’t have the strength to teleport the both of them.

“Heh’tshh!” Five pivots slightly away from her and she feels static run up her arm.

Shaking it out she steps back from Five as he turns back to them.

“I can’t – uhm” he swallows seeming distracted with his eyes unfocused. “I can’t – Ah’Tchhhh - teleport, anymore” he finishes sniffling into his elbow.

Deeming that it is safe to come near him again, Klaus gives him the blanket and the tips of his cold, red fingers turn white as he grips onto it like a lifeline.

“Shower, go” Allison instructs, her voice demanding yet compassionate.

Five nods, and Allison keeps her eyes on him as he walks through the group of his siblings and up the stairs. “Not too hot, all right?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Five doesn’t mean to announce his presence back in the lounge by coughing loudly into his elbow, that’s what Klaus would do for attention, but completely against his own character. Either way it couldn’t be helped.

He tries his best to ignore his siblings’ looks of sympathy, particularly Luther’s, as he makes his way to the couch dressed in a pair of Allison’s trackpants and a hoodie. It’s weird to see a guy that big with a face that looks like a kicked puppy. Then again, it’s weird for anyone to see Five out of his standard uniform, let alone with his hands bunched up in the sleeves.

Fighting back the want to shiver, Five sinks into the couch and makes to lie down before Allison stops him.

“Hold up Five” she says, stepping closer to him with a thermometer in hand.

“Do I really have to?” he mumbles, not really seeing the point. He’s had a fever all day and doubts that it would have gone anywhere.

“I just want to check.”

“I just want to sleep.”

“And you can after this” Allison promises him.

“I’m fine” Five groans. “I’m just tired.”

“That would be a lot more convincing if you could speak clearer” Diego jabs at him over the stuffy quality of his voice.

“You’re one to talk” Five bites back, immediately realising his mistake even before Diego falls into silence. That was too mean, even for his standards. “I’m sorry Diego. I-I don’t mean that” he sniffles congestedly into his sleeve, adjusting his position on the couch out of awkwardness. “Just feel horrible.”

“You’re all right, bud” Diego murmurs affectionately, shaking off the last of his hurt expression.

Allison breaks the last of the tension waving the thermometer in the air. “I’m about to start making aeroplane noises.”

“You will not” Five staggers out a response, taking the thermometer out of her hand before she has a chance to shove it in his mouth for him.

As Five goes to slip the thermometer under his tongue Klaus takes his chance at making an aeroplane noise, but quickly cuts off when Five glares at him. Though he can only look so threatening with a pale face, pink nose and cheeks, and a stick of glass protruding from his lips. Still Klaus feels sorry for him and picks up the blanket from the couch and wraps it around him as a peace offering.

His peace offering seems to be overly effective as Five leans into him, resting his head on his shoulder. After taking a second to get over the shock of Five wanting physical contact, Klaus wraps his arm that had slightly flailed in the air around his brother’s shoulders.

Before anyone can make a comment about Five and Klaus showing affection to each other, the front door opens and footsteps head towards the lounge.

Even before they can see her, they hear Vanya’s voice starting to ramble something about one of her violin students, and stopping at the store. When she comes into view, she greets them and they respond in various ways. Klaus feeling Five move underneath his arm, raising a tired hand in a small wave.

“How’re you feeling, Five?” she asks him, her expression falling into sympathy that could rival Luther.

The question doesn’t really need to be answered given how Five has surrendered to physical contact in order to remain upright. He can’t really answer her either with a thermometer in his mouth. So, he tiredly blinks at her, figuring that she will understand.

“We’re not doing too great” Luther answers for him anyway.

“Had a little adventure out in the rain, didn’t we?” Klaus adds squeezing Five closer into his side, making him shift uncomfortably. Whether it was because of the increased contact or the fact that his siblings are speaking about him as if he is a child, Klaus doesn’t have the brains to question it.

“Ah-ha, the glitching” Vanya chuckles lightly as she turns around to place her violin case on the bar.

Diego hops up from his chair and goes over to help her unload the snacks and things that she got from the store, explaining the events in more detail.

At the same time Allison moves back in front of Five to collect the thermometer from him.

After handing it over to her Five releases a few coughs that he had been holding back into his elbow, leaning away from Klaus. In the midst of that activity he misses Allison reading out the verdict and he’s not interested enough to get her to repeat it. Figuring it can’t be too bad or she would have placed her hand back to his forehead or gone back to study the measurement again.

“You can go to sleep now Five” Allison withholds her promise, smiling sadly down at him.

He sighs deeply as he shifts against Klaus who moves so his brother can rest his head on his lap. As they get settled, Allison turns and walks toward the bar to wash the thermometer in the sink. With her back to them she hears Five sniffle slightly before sneezing softly causing Klaus to yelp dramatically.

“’m not going anywhere” she hears Five mumble to him tiredly.

“The blue flash says different!” he accuses.

“We’ll he didn’t go anywhere, did he?” Luther points out so Five doesn’t have to.

“If even if he could go somewhere, there’s no way he could take you with him” Allison tells Klaus as she reaches the sink and turns on the tap.

Her reasoning doesn’t seem to settle Klaus and she looks up from the running water to catch Vanya’s eye, shaking her head and rolling her eyes playfully.

Vanya returns the look, switching up the rolling eyes for a smile before she turns back to the group. “Five, I got some NyQuil from the store if you want any.”

“I don’t think we’ll need it” Klaus says, his voice much quieter than a few seconds ago. Adjusting the blanket over the shoulders of the boy who rests his head on his legs, already asleep.

#tua #The Umbrella Academy #umbrella academy fanfiction #five hargreeves #the boy #sickfic #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #sneeze

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

Text

agony quiets to pain

Words: 2.1k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay Tags: AU - Pre-Canon, AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Tenderness, Burns Warnings: burns, aftermath of hospitalization, implied abuse/neglect, self-depreciation

Ao3 link in source!

Gerry aches. Which is a step up from total agony at least, but still, not pleasant. And then of course there’s the bandages, still covering nearly every inch of his body and hiding the mess that lies beneath.

(Permanent scarring, the doctor had said with a plastered-on expression of sympathy. We’re very sorry. There’s nothing we can do.)

It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He always is, isn’t he?

And to top it all off, he’s lost the book—the Leitner he’d been sent to fetch. He fully expects to step out of the hospital doors to see cool blue eyes staring back at him, hard with disappointment despite the benign expression on her face and accompanied by a casual, “Let’s go home now, Gerard,” that he would recognize for the threat it is.

Instead, he sees a man, thin and tired-looking, sat atop the short wall outside the hospital doors with a lit cigarette held between two fingers and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck to chase away the late December chill. And Gerry realizes that the nurse never said exactly who he was being released to. The relief that overcomes him is dizzying, and he barely registers the nurse handing him his discharge papers before disappearing back into the hospital.

“Jon?” Gerry says, his voice cracking a bit around the words (though he tells himself it’s just from the lingering effects of the book, filling his lungs with smoke).

Jon looks up. When his eyes land on Gerry, he quickly snubs his cigarette out on the wall next to him, stands, and takes quick steps toward Gerry. He looks, for a moment, like he’s going to wrap Gerry in a hug before thinking better of it and simply fluttering his hands aimlessly in the air for a moment before dropping them back to his sides. Gerry’s disappointed and grateful in equal measure; given that his skin is still raw and sensitive, he doesn’t think a hug would feel pleasant. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t ache for one anyway.

“Are you okay?” Jon says, then shakes his head before the words have even finished leaving his mouth. “Right, no, of- of course you’re not. What I mean is.” Jon pauses, as if considering, before saying softly, “Are you all right?”

It’s the same question, technically. But Gerry knows it’s not. And so he decides to answer honestly.

“Not really.” Gerry rubs his left thumb over one of the tattoos on his right knuckles, the motion a habit born of nerves and anxieties. The skin there is smooth and unblemished. Funny, that. “All this, and I didn’t even get the book.”

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. There’s a sadness there that Gerry doesn’t want to look too closely at. Mostly because it’ll look too much like pity, and he doesn’t think he can handle that right now.

A sharp wind cuts through Gerry’s clothes, making him shiver and then wince as the sensation sends pain skittering across his skin. The unhappy expression on Jon’s face is erased in an instant, replaced by concern and determination. “Here, let’s- let’s go home, and we can figure everything else out after that. Okay?”

Figure it out. As if Mary Keay could be placated so easily. Still, Gerry nods, and he follows Jon to his car, twinges of agony pulsing up his legs with each step that he tries to hide. Given Jon’s grim expression as he helps Gerry into the car the best he can without touching Gerry’s skin too much, he doesn’t quite succeed.

The car used to be Jon’s grandmother’s, out of style by a decade or so with roll-up windows and a lingering cigarette smell that no amount of air fresheners seem to eliminate. Gerry leans his head back against the seat and breathes it in. It’s not something you’d bottle up and sell as perfume, but compared to the sterile antiseptic smell of A&E, it’s heavenly. Jon starts the car, looks over at Gerry once like he’s making sure he’s still there, and begins to drive. His hands shake ever so slightly on the steering wheel. Gerry pretends not to notice.

Gerry isn’t surprised when Jon takes them to his flat. Of course he isn’t, Jon’s the one who picked him up, so logically they’d go back to his place. Still, Gerry can’t help the rush of dizzying relief that sweeps through him when they arrive, like he’d still expected to be faced with rusty red brick and a weathered wooden sign that seemed to laugh at him with every creak of its hinges.

“Thank you,” Gerry says. He doesn’t bother to hide the way the tightness in his throat chokes off the words.

Jon’s quiet for a moment. Gerry can almost hear it—echoes of a conversation oft-repeated, useless and fantastical and irritating only because Gerry knows that Jon is right. I wish you wouldn’t go back, Jon would say. And Gerry would say, I know. And sometimes it would continue, if Jon were feeling particularly incensed at the moment. Sometimes it wouldn’t. Gerry almost hates that more, if only because of the expression that would come across Jon’s face, something profoundly sad and weary and, underneath it all, hurt.

It’s almost enough to convince him.

Almost.

“Yeah,” Jon says, his hands tightening on the wheel for a moment before going slack. He removes the key and fiddles with it absently. “You know I…” Jon trails off, worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then says abruptly, “Well. No use just sitting here, I suppose.”

It’s clipped, a bit brusque. Rude, if Gerry didn’t know better. But he does, and so his mouth settles into a small smile as he follows Jon into his flat, despite the burning, chafing sensation on his skin as his bandages shift as he walks.

God, he feels like shit.

As soon as they’re inside, Jon insists that Gerry sits on the couch, and Gerry goes without complaint, his aching body screaming in relief as he sinks down onto the cushions and finally takes weight off the soles of his feet, which did not come out of the experience unscathed. There’s clattering from the kitchen, a few muttered curses, and before too long Jon’s in front of him with a glass of water with a straw in it and a bowl of what looks like hastily reheated curry. He hesitates a moment before saying, “Can you… hold things?”

Gerry flexes his fingers experimentally. His hands got the best of it, given the myriad of tattoos across the joints of his fingers. Still, the entirety of his palm and the pads of his fingers are red and inflamed, and though they’re no longer bandaged, the needles of pain that shoot through him at the motion draw a small gasp from his lips despite his best efforts to keep it contained. Jon’s forehead sets into a firm line at that, like he’s considering something, before nodding once. “Right.”

He sets the dishes on the floor, disappears back into the kitchen for a moment, and reemerges carrying one of the wooden chairs from his kitchen table. He looks a bit winded when he sets it down in front of Gerry, which might be amusing in any other circumstance, but Gerry’s too busy wondering what the hell he’s doing.

Then, Jon retrieves the dishes, sits in the chair, and holds the glass of water in front of him stiffly. And Gerry realizes, all at once, what’s happening.

“Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘ah’?” Gerry says, because joking about it is preferable to protesting or staring at Jon in shock or—god forbid—getting flustered.

Jon seems to appreciate it because the tension in his arms dissipates ever so slightly, and he says primly, “If you’d prefer. Though I really don’t see how that will aid in the process.”

“Prick,” Gerry says, not without fondness. And it’s only a little awkward when he leans forward and, while Jon holds the glass, drinks. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until that moment, and he should probably be a bit embarrassed by how quickly he empties the glass, but he can’t quite bring himself to care when he sees the little pleased expression on Jon’s face. The affection that accompanies it, however slight, is enough to squeeze at Gerry’s chest until he finds it hard to breathe, and he clears his throat slightly to relieve the pressure.

The curry comes next, and it’s significantly more awkward to have Jon spoon-feeding him chicken and red bell peppers with careful precision so as to avoid any spillage. But Jon talks during it, which helps. It’s mundane things, like the case Jon’s currently working on at the Institute and what he had for lunch that day and the grocery list he’s compiling for the weekend. He transitions after a bit into a discussion of a documentary he watched recently about the origins of humanity, and Gerry gets to sit back and listen to Jon grow increasingly more passionate about bonobos and homo erectus and the unique structure of Neanderthal bones.

It’s nice, to learn about things like this. To learn from Jon. He spent his childhood chasing after cursed books, his mother giving him half-hearted studies in between that she deemed sufficient enough to be considered homeschooling. He’s just lucky he knows basic maths, honestly. But he knows a lot about books. Even if they’re mostly just the spooky kind.

So Jon talks, and Gerry listens. And he tries so very hard not to label the warm feeling in his chest as love, but, well. It’s hard not to fall in love with Jonathan Sims. And he doesn’t particularly want to try to stop it.

Soon the bowl is empty, and Jon holds it awkwardly against his chest for a moment before setting it aside on the floor. He’d stopped in the middle of a discussion about Stone Age tools, and Gerry wants so badly to ask him to continue. But there’s a weariness in him now, the food and water having chased away the gnawing hunger in his stomach and the dryness of his throat and leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion.

So he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, Jon breaks the silence between them, his words stuttering and jagged, like he hasn’t quite figured out how to smooth them into shape. “I. I don’t really know. Uh. What else can I- can I do? To help. To make things easier.” He pauses, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, before looking at Gerry with a fragile expression and saying, “I’m sorry, Gerry. I- I should have been there. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“No,” Gerry says firmly. The thought of Jon being like him—wrapped up like a mummy, all agony and raw skin and cracked lines across his body that promise to leave him blotchy and scarred forever—makes him nauseous. Better that it’s him. He can handle it. He always has before. “It’s not your fault. And I don’t want you to blame yourself, okay? I know how you get, so don’t. There’s nothing you could have done.”

Gerry can see the protest written all over Jon’s face, in the way he purses his lips and fixes his eyes firmly at a spot over Gerry’s shoulder. But all Jon says is, “That doesn’t make it better. So please—tell me what I can do.”

There’s a kind of desperation in Jon’s eyes at that, a need to categorize a problem and find the best course of action in order to resolve it. His hands are curled into fists on his lap; Gerry wants so badly to take them in his own, to uncurl Jon’s fingers and thread them with his and squeeze until all the tension’s bled out of Jon’s body. Instead, he says, voice heavy with exhaustion, “I think I’d just like to go to bed. It’s been a long few days.”

Jon lets out a small, humorless laugh at that. “I suppose it has.”

Gerry doesn’t protest when Jon offers him his bed, just offers quiet thanks before making his way relatively painlessly to the bedroom. He considers trying to remove his clothes, then thinks better of it and gingerly climbs onto the bed with them still on.

It’s uncomfortable in every way possible. Gerry falls asleep all the same, the soft sleep well Jon had given him before disappearing back into the living room lingering in his mind until he drifts off into a restless slumber, his dreams filled with burning flesh and a fear he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite shake.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tmagerryweek2021 #jongerry #jonathan sims #gerry keay #my fic #my writing #prompt 2: burn #now that i've done two of these my brain is like 'do the rest! do the rest!' that's the devil talking lol

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charliedawn · 4 years ago

Text

Imagine being a corrector (someone there to erase mistakes) and witness Iron Man's progress throughout his life to judge him on his final moment.

" And how many people will die from this impressive weapon ?"

You asked and Tony smiled widely at your question, as if he had impatiently expected it.

" Hundreds ! With only one big boom, all of America's enemies will be annihilated !"

Stop smiling, you dirtbag. You are selling this as if it was a party cake. You're going to sell a weapon of massive destruction to the US army that will exterminate hundreds of people in a few seconds with it and you can still look at me dead in the eyes with this repulsive self-absorbed smile..You thought and sighed before looking at the paper in your hand where was written in bold letters.

TONY STARK : SAVE/ERASE?

You looked at him and his stupid smile again, wondering if you should erase his existence. It was your job after all, to erase everything and everyone that may be nocive for the world, or that may end up being a problem..Mistakes could happen of course, but taking a life was always hard, no matter how you looked at it. Now, Tony Stark..He was a difficult case. He was an idiot, there was no doubt in your head about that..but, he also had potential..If given the right opportunity, he could even be great. You decided to take a step back and looked at his file. You could give him a bit of time..You had loads of time to watch him and his every move. You wanted a change. And would spare his life, for now. You stepped back into the shadows and disappeared as Tony Stark entered a nearby black car.

A few years later :

Why ?

Why did you save that idiot ? You ask yourself while watching him snap his fingers. Your wide eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. You had given this man so many choices and chances..All that for that. What a disappointment..! You sigh before walking towards the now floating soul of Tony Stark, still in his eye-catching red super suit. Typical. He finally notices you and eyes you up and down with an eyebrow raised.

" I thought angels would look a little bit more..feathery ? And less like one of my ex-associates.."

Oh boy..Here it is, the introduction part.

" Hello, Mr Stark. I am Y/N, your corrector, my job consists in making sure that your life hasn't been wasted or meaningless.."

He smiles proudly before answering in a pompous voice that daddy's rich boys usually took when asked the question.

" I didn't waste any of it ! That's for sure !"

You frown before writing something on the file, moron..He was a complete moron. But, you still had a job to do. You force yourself to stay polite and look back at the record in your hands.

" So, Mr Stark.."

" Please, call me Tony."

You ark an eyebrow, but don't linger on the subject and only look at the file in your hands even though you already knew what was written on it. You had to pretend, if only to make him realize how lying wouldn't help him.

" I see here that you don't believe in any particular religion..So, you will have the privilege to choose which god will supervise your transfer to the afterlife..Your judge, if you will ?"

He seems to think for a moment before having an idea and looking back at you with a wide grin.

" I know ! Can I try to go to the Valhalla ?"

You ark an eyebrow again at his surprising answer, but then remember that Thor was a friend of his during his life. He surely wanted to see a familiar face during the trial. Understandable. Maybe he wasn't such an idiot after all ?

You nod understandingly before looking back at the file again.

" As it is procedure, I will ask you a few questions and you'll have to answer them as truthfully as possible, alright ?"

Tony agrees and you start with the first one on the list.

" Okay..So, did you ever experience love in your life ? Did you care about anyone, more than yourself that is ?"

He snorts at that last part before replying sarcastically.

" Nope. Never more than myself. Because I've been raised to look after number 1..However, I would say that Pepper and my girl will always be my first priorities.."

You nod before adding.

" And your father ?"

The question catches him off guard, but he quickly composes himself and seems to hesitate before replying.

" My father and I had a..a very complicated relationship..I admit having hated him for a long time, but now ? I only feel pity.."

You raise an eyebrow at his answer, knowing that he had also admired his father in his youth and felt a certain regret as to not have been able to save him and his mother..But you don't comment on that and only go to the next question.

" Do you think you died a better person than you were at the beginning of your life ?"

He smirks confidently at that question before answering ironically.

" Let me see..I've gone from weapon smuggler to superhero..So, yes. I think I changed. Greatly."

You bite you lip in order not to brutally state him the facts that he's killed more innocents as a superhero than as a weapon smuggler.

" Fine. And finally, are you satisfied with the life you've lived and do you think you deserve to go to the great beyond ?"

He laughs, as if it was some sort of joke and shakes his head before looking up at you.

" I saved the world, isn't that good enough ?"

This is the last straw. You close your book with force, which makes him jump a little as you look at him with your nose scrunched in obvious anger and eyebrows furrowed in clear disappointment.

" You, Tony Stark, are the most selfish blind stupidest man I've ever met ! You really think that all of this is funny ?! Are you really satisfied with the life you've lived or do you really have no idea of the chaos and misery you've created around you ?!"

His mouth is agape in astonishment at your sudden outburst and you decide to show him. You flick your fingers and you both find yourselves in front of a burning city that Tony recognizes as New York..the night when the chitauris attacked.

" I..I don't understand..Why show me this ?"

He asks as his eyes linger on the fire ans the people crying and screaming for help. You smile sadly at his own unawareness..

" Because, Tony, the damage you caused didn't stop when you stopped the bad guy. People died before, during, and after you've fought the bad guy. It takes time to rebuild a city, and human ressources that you seem to have overlooked because, what ? You've send them some money ?!"

Tony brawls his hands into fists, his knuckles turning white and suddenly turns towards you with determination in his eyes.

" I think I did okay !"

He argues, but you only snort mockingly.

" Okay ? OKAY ?! You died, you moron ! You died before you've had the chance to truly do good..The money you've accumulated during all those years ? You were going to give it all to the families of all those who died during all those attacks. You were going to have a child ! You were going to be a wonderful father ! And you gave it all away..The money will now be used by the Shield to create more weapons and destruction ! Your daughter will never grow up to be a hero, because you will not be here to inspire her..And Pepper will be forced to raise her all on her own ! You selfish bastard !"

You yell, not noticing how you get carried away, while pointing an accusative finger at him.

" You could have lived your life ! Happily Ever After ! But no, instead you had to die, leaving a child and your wife behind ! How does that sound, genius ? Does it sound like you did "okay" ?! Now, tell me, before I send you either back to Earth or up there. Tell me why I should let you live ? After you messed up the last chance I gave to you ?"

His breath hitches at your words and he looks at his hands, as if considering what he had done before looking up at you with, what you can only describe as, a feeling of loss.

" I did what I did to save my friends. As far as I know, I didn't waste my life, I saved lives. Those lives were as important as mine, who would I be if I hadn't saved them ?"

You roll your eyes at his hero speech before looking at your datapad. You were only a small gear in the mechanism of Earth's afterlife. You were supposed to bring souls to their final destination..However, there were always tricky situations, like Mr Tony Spark. He had been good, there was no doubt about that, but he had also been awful..Damn awful judging by his long list of infractions and lives sacrificed..You sigh before looking up at him in silent contemplation, wondering what you should do with this one..? Suddenly, an idea pops up in your mind and you smile before advancing towards him and extending your hand.

" How about you come and work for me as a way to get your redemption and reunite with your wife and child ? My work may be tedious, but you'll soon come to find that it had its perks..Of course, you'll still have to get the approval of god you chose..but I don't think he'll deny it. A few years as a corrector, and you'll be able to go to the other side, how does that sound ?"

He looks at your extended hand, and then at you before asking something that you had not thought about.

" Please, could you bring me to Asgard ? Just to say goodbye to an old friend ?"

You sigh loudly, of course he would want to see Thor..He would surely ask the god to save him, try to make him pass without any setbacks. But, who were you to deny a soul its last wish ? You flick your fingers and appear at Asgard. Obviously, you couldn't bring him to a place that didn't exist anymore and not right after his death, this is why you had decided to appear just before its destruction..When Loki was in charge..However, unlike what you had previously thought, Tony doesn't seem lost and walks towards the royal hall with alarming confidence. You tag along and soon find yourself in the throne room with Odin (aka Loki) staring at you with a hint of surprise, but still remaining in character.

" What are you doing here, mortals ?!"

He booms and you sigh, another brilliant idea, as always..Loki would surely report you to the High Council and it would be finished of your career. You try to say something, maybe something to keep you both from being shifted into nothingness..But Tony steps towards him and, to the greatest astonishment of Loki and you, embraces him.

" You've done good, son..You've done good.."

Suddenly, as if the both of them had had a silent conversation, Loki wraps his arms around Tony and starts crying against his shoulder.

" I can feel it..You're gone, aren't you ?"

He asks with grief in his voice and you are too shocked to answer..even Loki, the god of Mischief, the bad god as some would call him, was crying for this mere human..You didn't understand why ? Why would he tear up over his death ? A mortal that he hates..The notion was incomprehensible for you and Loki seems to notice and straightens up to look at you.

" I assume he chose Thor as a judge ? Unfortunately, my brother is out of Asgard at the moment.."

Before he could continue, Tony shakes his head negatively before looking back at you with a slight smile.

" No. I've chosen you, reindeer game."

Loki's eyes widen significantly and he repeats, visibly as dumbfounded as you are.

" M..Me ? But..But why ?"

You couldn't have asked it better, why did he choose him ?! Out of everyone else ?! You grab Tony and put on a wide fake smile for Loki.

" I'm sorry, but I must discuss with him for a moment. We'll be back soon, I promise."

You then proceed to drag Tony out of the throne room and, as soon as you are sure to be out of reach, lose your smile to look angrily at Tony.

" Are you mad ?! You could have chosen Thor and go on your merry way to Valhalla, Paradise or whatever..But nooooo, you had to choose the god that despises you the most !"

Tony doesn't seem that worried and only shrugs with a confident smile.

" I know..Loki is the first one to be chosen, ever. He wasn't the one that was supposed to be king, he always got left behind and never got any chance to prove that he could be better..Maybe, for once, he could be my first choice ?"

You open your eyes wide and want to face-palm yourself so hard..Damn heroes and their moral codes !

" It's not about his redemption ! It's about yours !"

He nods, keeping his wide smug smile and replies nonchalantly.

" I know..This is why I chose him. If even him can forgive me, then I'll know that I definitely deserve to go to..whatever is best after.."

You gape at his answer, but finally sigh in defeat. You couldn't make him reconsider, you know that..He was the most stubborn man that you had ever worked with..You drag him back inside and look up at Loki defiantly and warn him, to his utter astonishment.

" Okay, I know now that I can't change my client's mind..But, I can assure you that if you try to sabotage his only chance to go to the great beyond, I'll personally take care of your case when the time comes..Understood ?!"

Loki's eyes glance at Tony then at you, all malice out of his eyes as he nods in agreement.

" I may not be fond of the Avengers, but I know better than to mess with you people..You are not merely humans and even though we were on opposite sides, I still value the life of the human beside you, as a warrior and the worthy opponent that he is.."

" Aww..Love you too, Reindeer !"

You glare at Tony to shut him up as he only smiles smugly at you. Damn Stark..You extend your hand towards the king, aware of the procedure, he takes your arm and looks directly in your eyes.

" Do you promise to be impartial and to not speak of this trial to any living beings as long as you will inhabit the land of the living ?"

" I promise."

He answers solemnly and takes back his appearance, as he was supposed to judge as Loki, not Odin. He then looks at the coin that had appeared in his hand, either he would give it back to you with heads, and Tony's soul would be saved..or tails, and his soul would be lost forever. You take a big breath before beginning the trial.

" We will start with the beginning. Tony Stark is a selfish egocentric man who did spent most of his life searching for recognition, money and fame.."

Loki and Tony both open their eyes wide, not expecting you to be so hard from the start.

" Hum..Aren't you supposed to be my lawyer ? You're supposed to be on my side, remember ?"

Tony asks, a hint of worry in his voice, but you narrow your eyes at him and respond in all seriousness.

" I am not your lawyer, Mr Stark. I'm a corrector. I am supposed to tell the truth and not hide anything from the judge..Now, is any of the things I just said wrong ?"

He gulps loudly and lets out a defeated sigh, looking at the floor and shaking his head.

" No. You're right.."

Your expression softens, at least he had the decency to admit it..

" However, he has proven on multiple occasions that he was a particularly good man that inspired many that will do good in the future. And, became a very good father figure for Peter Parker that will accomplish great things in the future..I have seen a lot of men change in my career, for better or for worse..But none of them were as impressive as the one of Tony Stark that came from being only an average man to a hero that will inspire millions in the future.."

Tony's eyes widen as you start showing holograms of moments of his life in the air, showing every moment of his life to Loki. The god looks and listens attentively as he plays with the coin in his hand, toying with Tony's soul. However, he seems to take it seriously and looks at each moment with great interest. You are more than happy to answer every question he asks and add.

" I must confess that Tony Stark was and is an incredible man that devoted his life to helping others..even if sometimes he was lost or misguided..He always had the best intentions at heart..You, of all people, should know what the fear of failure feels like.."

You try to appeal to his own history for him to feel pity for Tony, but the god of Mischief knows when someone is trying to play with his feelings and only asks with a small tremor in his voice that sounds like a reproach.

" However, Tony never had any beliefs. His only god is money and that he spent on very trivial things..Plus, he had the audacity to think himself a god, Zeus above his friends that he also considered above anyone else..Why should he get to spend his life in bliss when all he ever did was to mock anyone around him and have very big illusions of grandeur !"

You bite your lower lip, you couldn't say that what he was saying is wrong..However..

" However, he never used his money for destruction, he always had the greater good in mind when using it. He also made sure that Peter Parker don't focus on money to accomplish his goals.."

Loki only laughs before searching for one of his memories and projecting it for everyone to see..It was the man. The man that had helped him build his first suit and that had died, even though Tony had promised to save him..

" You tell me about his accomplishments..but what about his failures ? He sacrificed that man. He made a promise and broke it. How are you going to justify that ?"

You clench your jaw in obvious frustration, knowing that Loki was provoking you. Even if he had no grudge against Tony, he still had the ego the size of the Empire State building and more..He wouldn't let go so easily. You glance at Tony that is looking at the short movie of his life with tears in his eyes..He had surely forgotten about him, or he hadn't ? You couldn't tell..

" That man tried to save Tony..It is not his fault if he died while doing so. He saved many like him afterwards and never asked for anything in return..He always thought that the security of his friends and family was above everything else."

Loki stands up at your reply in disagreement and grits his teeths before reaching for another memory.

" Are you sure about that ?"

You frown at his question before you see the moment he had invented Ultron..

" He created that knowledge monster and, even with the green man's warnings, didn't listen to what was safest..Now, do you think he really always had the purest intentions at heart ?"

He is one tough cookie, you'd give him that..You search in Tony's memories to get the vision he had when Wanda manipulated his mind and show his worse nightmare, the Avengers all dead.

" This, this is his worst nightmare. You have to admit that it is proof of the value of his comrades to his eyes..like Asgardians, he fought side by side with his friends and would have died for them..as he did."

However, Loki doesn't back down and finally yells in frustration.

" HE HELPED MY BROTHER TO PLOT MY DEMISE !"

You ark and eyebrow at that before replying, your arms crossed.

" Well..I don't see how's that of any relevance to him being a bad man.."

Flabbergasted by your words, he stares at you with tears in his eyes before sitting back down, visibly shocked at your answer. But, you know that he is thinking about it..You smile and look up at him to announce.

" This is why, I ask you to welcome Tony Stark to the great beyond, or at least let him work his way there !"

At your words, his eyes flash at you with a certain interest.

" Go on.."

Your smile widens. You know that Loki would not let Tony enter if he hadn't been trained before.

" Make him a corrector. Allow him to correct his mistakes and apologize to all those he wronged.."

Loki seems to consider it for a moment and, finally nods.

" I'll allow it, however, I'll also accept him in Valhalla directly.."

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his sudden act of mercy..but you quickly understand when he adds with a small smirk.

"..If Tony accepts to kneel in front of me."

You close your eyes, knowing already the reaction of Tony that doesn't waste any time voicing his disagreement.

" Dream on, goat head !"

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose and turning towards Tony that still had his mouth wide open, ready to protest. You want to intervene, but Loki does it for you as he suddenly stands up again and grits his teeths at Tony before ordering.

" Kneel ! Or you can say goodbye to your soul !"

You open your eyes wide in fear as he starts crackling the coin in his palm. You turn towards Tony that feels as if he was being crushed himself. You then look back at Loki before yelling at him.

" The trial is not over, your Highness ! You have no right..!"

He glares murderously at you before cutting you short by laughing maniacally.

" That's where you're wrong ! I have every right !"

You look between the two men with panic seizing your whole being before sighing and getting out a lasso. You use it to grab Loki's arm and yank him on the floor, letting go of the coin by the same occasion that starts rolling before stooping just in front of you. You take it in your hand and Loki looks up at you with his jaw clenched and eyes red with fury. However, you don't let yourself be intimidated and take him by the collar to drag him back to his throne.

" You'll regret this.."

He whispers in your ear and you only laugh at his threat before tying him up to the throne.

" There are many things that I fear in this world..But, prince Loki, you aren't one of them.."

You can feel him tense at your words, but still put back the coin in his hand with a small smile.

" Now..I know that my existence is a mistake and that your huge ego can't handle the fact that a mere woman is keeping you still..But, there is no reason for you to deny Tony his afterlife. You said it yourself, he was a worthy opponent and never wielded, even once. He is prideful, a recognition seeker and a liar..But he is also the Iron Man, the man of steel who defeated far more powerful beings than you..I didn't tell you how he died, but I think I should.."

You suddenly turn around and extend your arms to show two things..One is the day Tony died, and the other..when Loki did.

He looks at the images with wide eyes and, even after seeing it over and over, can't believe it..He had died. And Tony had avenged him. He almost laughs at his choice of word: avenge. He looks up at Tony with a new-found respect and Tony doesn't shy away from his gaze that he meets with determination. Loki then glances at the coin in his hand before throwing it at you..it lands on tails and you smile widely at Loki that nods in affirmation.

" I'll allow it..I'll allow him to enter by the doors of Valhalla to the other side. However, as agreed, Tony Stark will have to serve as a corrector for as long as it takes for him to understand the true repercussions of his mistakes, it means until I allow him to pass..Are we clear ?"

He looks down at you intently and you nod vehemently, happy to have saved his soul. Tony himself can't seem to believe it and looks shocked as he looks at you. You can't help but smile widely at him and he reciprocates. You then turn towards Loki and, to his surprise, bow down to him.

" Thank you, your Highness."

He then coughs loudly, making your head shoot up and realize that he was still..well, attached. You blush widely before clapping your hands and the magical lasso loosens to get back around your waist. Loki stares intensely at you and you feel cold sweat rolling down your back. You swiftly turn around to grab Tony and get out of the throne room, too afraid that he would ask for your name and report you to the High Council..When you're far enough, Tony suddenly takes you in his arms and twirls you around to your surprise.

" We did it ! I'll be able to see my wife and kid again ! Thank you so much !"

You can't help but giggle as he spins you around and when he finally puts you down, he frowns, his brain working full on as he seems to realize something.

" You helped me and were so angry at the fact that I had wasted my time..even though you now seem so happy that I made it..Who are you, really ?"

You let out a small sad smile as you look back at him with your eyes filled with tears. You should have known he would guess it eventually..

" I love you 3000.."

You finally mutter and his eyes widen as he understands and his own eyes prickle with tears as he gently runs his hand against your cheek.

" You're..?"

You nod and take a step back to smile at him through your tears.

" It was nice to meet you, dad."

He tries to hold back his tears before taking you in his arms.

" You've grown so much..How..How are you here ? You're not dead, are you ?!"

He asks worriedly, looking at you as if for the first time and you chuckle at his fatherly concern.

" No, Dad..I became a corrector because I wanted to meet you..Some are humans. I asked uncle Thor to make me one."

He nods, and then remembers that you have access to all of his memories..For the first time today, Tony Stark feels a pang of guilt in his chest.

" You must have felt ashamed of your old man, huh ?"

He asks and you smile kindly at him before answering him truthfully.

" I must admit that multiple times, I asked myself if it was good for the rest of humanity to let you live..that I wasn't being selfish in wanting to save you, but, at the end, I knew that you would become a great man..And, you did."

He smiles proudly at you before kissing your forehead lovingly.

" I'm sorry for not being there, sweetheart..I really am."

You shake your head and wipe your tears before answering him with a hopeful smile.

" It's okay..At least, I'll be able to spend time with you, until your final departure at least.."

He smiles at you, understanding now why you wanted him to become a corrector so bad and takes you in his arms again.

" That's my daughter. Scheming plans to spend time with the old man..Stark material, I tell you."

You can't help but snort at his comment while tightening your grip on him and finally closing your eyes in contempt.

" I love you 3000, dad.."

You feel his lips etch into a smile against your skin as he answers back.

" I love you 3000 too, kiddo.."

#fandoms #marvel #tony stark #iron man #loki laufeyson #the avengers

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miserablesme · 3 years ago

Text

The Les Miserables Changelog Part 8: 1997 Broadway 10th Anniversary

Hello, everyone! This is the latest edition in my attempt to chronicle all of the musical and lyrical changes which the show Les Miserables has undergone over the years. After a few consecutive editions focused on regional choices, we're finally back to official libretto distinctions. Specifically, this edition covers a substantial rewrite that occured in 1997.

To fully understand the circumstances in which this rewrite took place, it is useful to look at some background information. The original Broadway production of Les Miserables was definitely not its most popular production from an audience perspective. The cast tended to be judged as inferior to touring and international productions. Moreover, cast members often stayed in Broadway productions for very long time periods, leading many to question the show's freshness.

Consequently, there was a large-scale firing to the point that, in January 1997, every principal cast member was let go except for Christopher Innvar (Javert). For the next month and a half, the third national tour cast would perform on Broadway.

March 12, 1997 marked exactly ten years since the original Broadway production opened. To mark this occasion (and perhaps to direct attention away from the questionable ethics of essentially firing an entire workforce on short notice), a new cast would officially take over from the third national tour cast on this day. Not only this, but the show which this new cast would perform was freshened significantly (an update that would also be applied to all existing and new replica productions worldwide soon afterwards). The blocking was adjusted to give off more energy, the lighting was digitized and made more complex, the sound effects were made more realistic, the sets and costumes were refurbished and in some cases changed... and the libretto received many edits. Let's get into what actually was changed...

Oh, and as a side note, not all of the changes were made simultaneously. Most were, but a few small edits (mostly musical cuts) were made later in 1997. I suspect that, in acknowledgement of Cameron Mackintosh's reservations prior to the original London productions as well as a warning of what would come in a few years' time, those cuts may have been made in order to reduce overtime costs to crew members. That is only a theory of mine, however; please take it with a grain of salt.

Anyway, let's get our analysis started!

1997 Update #1

The first libretto change (in a sense) occurs during "Lovely Ladies". Granted, this is a change that had already been applied unofficially in the Broadway and West End productions; however, I'm not sure if it was ever used in the US Tour previously. Originally this was the lyrical sequence:

(SAILORS - simultaneously with prostitutes’ lines)

Lovely lady, fastest on the street

Wasn’t there three minutes

She was back up on her feet

Lovely lady, what you waiting for

Doesn’t take a lot of savvy just to be a whore

Come on lady, what’s a lady for?

(PROSTITUTES - simultaneously with sailors’ lines)

Lovely ladies, lovely little girls

Lovely ladies, lovely little ladies

Lovely girlies, lovely little girls

We are lovely, lovely girls

Lovely ladies, what’s a lady for?

The sequence was finally officially replaced with the following exchange (that was more or less invented for the 1992 UK tour):

(PROSTITUTE)

God I’m weary, sick enough to drop

Belly burns like fire

Will the bleeding ever stop?

(PIMP)

Cheer up dearie, show a happy face

Plenty more like you, dear

If you can’t keep up the pace

(PROSTITUTE)

Only joking, dearie knows her place

Interestingly, this officially version uses "Will the bleeding ever stop" as the West End and Broadway production previously did (as opposed to the 1992 "Will the bleeding never stop"); however, it also uses "you, dear" from the 1992 edit, as opposed to "you here" as had been used in the West End and Broadway productions. However, many individuals continued to sing "you here" for many years to come.

In "Fantine's Arrest", Bamatabois originally declares:

You've got some nerve, you little whore

You've got some gall!

The 1992 UK tour introduced the following variation, which had also been used in the West End production prior to this edit:

You've got some sauce, you ugly slut

You've got some gall!

The 1997 libretto combined these two versions into the following line:

You've got some nerve, you ugly slut

You've got some gall!

However, the original "Little whore" was maintained in the libretto as an alternate lyric. I do like how "little whore" actually rhymes with the preceding line ("I won't pay more"), though "ugly slut" does carry more threat. The West End production went with "ugly slut" after this libretto change, while other productions stuck to "little whore" for the time being.

Note that the rest of "Fantine's Arrest" plays out the same as it had since 1986, and did not include any of the other 1992 UK tour variations.

Right off the bat, "The Runaway Cart" is different in this version. The scene now begins with a sound effect of a horse's neigh, a nice little touch that brings one far more in the moment than one might otherwise be (particularly since modern audiences likely wouldn't immediately envision a horse when hearing about a crash). Moreover, the original yell of "Look out! It's a runaway cart!" has been eliminated in favor of more improvised remarks.

The townspeople's remarks mostly are consistent with the 1992 UK tour edit, with one exception. This is how the UK tour lyrics (which were also used in the West End production) went:

Look at that

Stay away

You’ll be crushed by the cart

Don’t approach

Don’t go near

It’ll fall on you too

Oh my god, who is that?

It’s Monsieur Fauchelevent

He is caught by the wheel

Oh the pitiful man

There is nothing to do

The version used on Broadway and in the US tour in the mid-90s was as follows:

Look at that

Stay away

You’ll be crushed by the cart

Don’t approach

Don’t go near

At the risk of your life

Oh my god, who is that?

It’s Monsieur Fauchelevent

He is caught by the wheel

Oh the pitiful man

There is nothing to do

The 1997 libretto cemented the scene as follows:

Look at that

Stay away

You’ll be crushed by the cart

Don’t approach

Don’t go near

It’s that load, it'll fall

Oh my god, who is that?

It’s Monsieur Fauchelevent

He is caught by the wheel

Oh the pitiful man

There is nothing to do

I really like how much clearer in meaning the changed line is, although a part of me still has a soft spot for the rhyme scheme of the UK tour.

The crowd's response to Valjean's plea for help has been changed. Since 1987, this is how it went:

Don't go near him, Monsieur Mayor

The load is as heavy as hell

The old man is a goner for sure

It will kill you as well

The 1997 libretto edited the penultimate line:

Don't go near him, Monsieur Mayor

The load is as heavy as hell

If you touch it the whole thing will fall

It will kill you as well

I suppose the revised lyric makes it clearer what exactly the danger is. On the flip side, though, the line "It will kill you as well" feels a bit less natural. Originally it meant "it will kill you as well as the other man who will be killed"; a fairly natural progression. Now, though, it essentially means "it will kill you as well as falling". This does make sense, but it doesn't really sound like a phrasing any real person would actually use.

The rest of the cart crash scene plays out as it did in the original version (not the UK tour version).

"Who Am I?" starts out differently right off the bat. These are the original opening lyrics:

He thinks that man is me

He knew him at a glance

The 1997 libretto uses these lyrics instead:

He thought that man was me

Without a second glance

The revised lyrics make ever-so-slightly more sense, since "knew him at a glance" implies a degree of correctness that obviously is false in this context. Having said that, I do slightly prefer the present tense of the original, since the fact that this false belief is continuous is integral to Valjean's dilemma. The revised lyrics give it a sense of the past that isn't really appropriate to the context.

Soon afterwards, a small lyrical edit makes the implications of the dilemma itself quite a bit different. Originally, after reflecting on the future employment of his works, Valjean repeated the same lyrics he sung earlier:

If I speak, I am condemned

If I stay silent, I am damned

The 1997 libretto tweaked the remark a bit:

If I speak, they are condemned

If I stay silent, I am damned

Only two short words are changed, yet the substance of his worry is completely different! Originally, Valjean's reservations are based primarily on how he would be viewed if he failed to provide his workers with the employment they need. Now, however, he is much more selfless, and is actually worried directly by their well-being. Much more appropriate given that Valjean is supposed to be such a redeemed man!

The West End production had once given Valjean the "You know where to find me!" line after "Who Am I?" and the Australian tour had given him the line "You will find me at the hospital St. John!" However, these were not official libretto remarks, and at least since 1987 he officially remained silent after his high note. This changed in the 1997 libretto, in which an optional line based heavily on the Australian tour one follows the number: "You will find me at the hospital!"

For the next five years, American productions generally would generally the line while, ironically given the production history, the West End show would not.

Since 1986 or so, the "Confrontation" number began with a bar of instrumentals, before Javert began his "Valjean, at last..." line. No more; the 1997 libretto has him begin singing acapella. Only during the second syllable of "Valjean" do the instrumentals start.

The next edit can be heard during the preamble to "Master of the House". A few lines are adjusted among the inn customers. Originally this is how the scene went:

Landlord over here

Where's the bloody man?

One more for the road

One more slug of gin

Just one more

Or my old man is gonna do me in!

The 1997 libretto made it as follows:

Where's the wretched man?

Landlord over here

One more for the road

One more slug of gin

Just one more

Or my old man is gonna do me in!

I suppose the change from "bloody" to "wretched" was probably intended to make the show more accessible to non-British audience, since "bloody" does not seem to be a word frequently used in America or other countries. (Weirdly though, Thenardier keeps his "always pissed as newts" line from earlier; one would expect the word to be replaced with "drunk" or something along those lines!)

The change in order of the first two lines in the excerpt I quoted strikes me as odd. The original sequence of lines allows "man" and "gin" to form of a sort of off-rhyme, something lost with the 1997 order of lines. Did the writers decide that the off-rhyme was so awkward that it would sound better if they just didn't try at all? Who knows...

What is probably this libretto's most significant change in the entire musical happens right before the "Waltz of Treachery". While the original Barbican run had a rather extensive Well Scene, since the West End transfer the "Waltz of Treachery" just began with Valjean and Cosette's humming duet to the tune of "Castle on a Cloud". A short but lovely little scene was added between Valjean and Cosette in the 1997 libretto:

(VALJEAN)

Hush now, do not be afraid of me

Don't cry, show me where you live

Tell me my child, what is your name

(INSTRUMENTALS)

(COSETTE)

I'm called Cosette

(VALJEAN)

(*spoken*) Cosette...

The usual humming duet immediately follows. This scene gives some much-appreciated context to the "Waltz of Treachery", and to Valjean and Cosette's relationship as a whole. Honestly it feels a little incomplete to me nowadays when I listen to the audio of pre-1997 performances of the show. Valjean actually meeting Cosette seems like such an important detail to include! John Caird agreed with me evidently. To quote page 143 of 1990's The Complete Book of Les Miserables:

"If ever there is an amended English version of the show he would like to reinstate the Cosette-Valjean meeting. 'It was beautifully written - one of the most moving scenes in the show,' he says. 'It was taken out for technical reasons, but the well scene was moving and could have stayed.'"

It's heartwarming to see that Caird got his wish. I do wonder what exactly those technical reasons were, and whether or not the revised staging may explain why it could finally be reinstated.

On the flipside, there is a noticeable cut after the "Waltz of Treachery". After Valjean's "There's a castle just waiting for you", the 1987 libretto has about sixteen seconds of instrumentals to the tune of the number, followed by a reprise of Valjean and Cosette's humming duet. This is in turn followed by about eighteen more seconds of instrumentals, which transition into the "Look Down" number.

The 1997 libretto removes the reprise of the humming duet. Now, after "There's a castle just waiting for you", the eighteen latter seconds of instrumentals immediately play, and "Look Down" begins right afterwards. Although this leads to a more energetic change of scenery, I must say that the Thenardier's inn segment of the show feels a bit unresolved without the closing recollection of "Castle on a Cloud".

After Gavroche's opening lyrics to "Look Down", there was originally a musical sequence which played and then was repeated twice before the argument between the beggar woman and the prostitute. However, the 1997 libretto reduced this part so that it is only repeated once.

The same number soon takes a cue from the original pre-Broadway script. After the exchange between the beggar woman and the prostitute, this was the original exchange (which was still being used in the West End production at the time). Each line is a solo, with the latter one being sung by a male and the other three by females:

When's it gonna end?

When're we gonna live?

Something's gotta happen, dearie

Something's gotta give

However, the Broadway production had changed it to an ensemble piece:

When's it gonna end?

When're we gonna live?

Something's gotta happen now or

Something's gotta give

The 1997 libretto brought it back to solo lines, once again with women singing the first three lines and a man singing the last:

When's it gonna end?

When're we gonna live?

Something's gotta happen now

Something's gotta give

I've already noted in the past that I like the scene better as an ensemble piece. Oh well... It also slightly bugs me that the amount of syllables so much less naturally given that the third line loses a syllable. As we'll get into in later editions of this blog, a lot of producers apparently agreed with me, because a lot of productions slightly edited the exchange!

A more subtle difference is audible later in "Look Down". Previously, the line "Something for a crust of bread in Holy Jesus' name" was sung by the ensemble along with the rest of the "See our children fed..." segment. However, the 1997 libretto changed it into a solo line sung by a single beggar woman (despite the rest of the segment remaining an ensemble piece).

This edit was made to account for a change in staging. Prior to 1997, Marius and Enjolras stood on the ground, and the beggars began surrounding them while singing the ensemble piece. It made since for the entire thing to be a group effort. However, since 1997, Marius and Enjolras instead stand on the second level of the set, where they sing their lines to the beggars down below. The beggar woman with the "Something for a crust of bread" line walks by them on the set's second level, explaining why she along sings the line now.

As a side note, the 1987 Australian tour had previously made this exact same lyrical change. This makes me wonder if that production made a similar staging change earlier.

In "The Robbery", after Thenardier's "No mistakes, my dears!" there is originally a bar of instrumentals before Mme. Thenardier starts singing. Post-1997, she starts singing immediately after Thenardier finishes singing his line.

A change in the music was made to "The Robbery" alongside a staging change later in the number. Prior to 1997, Thenardier's con job was staged with him standing with a cane and hiding his right leg, making him look like he was missing a leg. This strikes me as an odd holdover from the pre-Broadway lyrics, in which the actual substance of his plea reflects his missing leg. However, the 1997 staging made it so that he is sitting down while turning the crank on a music box. The instrumentals to this part of the musical were simplified and made more synthetic in order to sound as though they were coming from the music box. I am not a fan of this change at all; it's far too self-aware for me to take the scene remotely seriously.

A change to "Red and Black" that was already widely used before this point was solidified into the show. Instead of opening with the first chords of the number, it now officially opens now with the sting that was introduced in the 1992 UK tour and which was later adapted into Broadway, the third national tour, and most international productions. For many years post-1997, it can be heard in every replica production.

To quote myself from part five of this blog:

"If I’m not mistaken, this musical addition was placed in to account for a change in staging. Originally the number began with the barricade set sliding off-stage, revealing the ABC cafe set behind it. However, around the time of this tour the blocking was adjusted. Now, the turntable instead revolved at the beginning of this number, revealing the ABC cafe set on the other end of the turntable and allowing the barricade set to double as the walls of the cafe. I believe the opening sting was added to allow time for this slightly more elaborate staging."

An extremely subtle difference occurs later during "Red and Black". Originally, Enjolras sings:

The color of the world

Is changing day by day

However, since 1997 he instead sings:

The colors of the world

Are changing day by day

This is a tiny change, to the point that it took me probably a few dozen listens of both pre-1997 and post-1997 audios to pick up on the distinction. Small as it may be, though, it's a very welcome edit. Given that the song revolves around more than one color (to the point that both colors are literally in the title), I honestly find it baffling that the lyric was ever written in the singular, let alone that it managed to hold onto that version for over a decade!

"Lamarque is Dead" is edited so that its lyrics are now consistent with the 1992 UK tour ones, as well as West End performances after that tour. Originally the lyrics were as follows:

On his funeral day they will honor his name

It’s a rallying cry that will reach every ear

In the death of Lamarque we will kindle the flame

They will see that the day of salvation is near

The time is here…

However, the 1997 libretto made them into what the West End and UK tour productions were already using:

On his funeral day they will honor his name

With the light of rebellion ablaze in their eyes

From their candles of grief we will kindle our flame

On the tomb of Lamarque shall our barricades rise

The time is here…

I generally prefer the revised lyrics, as I've discussed in earlier editions of this blog.

"The Attack on Rue Plumet" contains a couple of edits. Originally, Thenardier sings to Brujon:

You shut your mouth

Give me your hand

Post-1997, he instead sings:

You shut your mouth

You'll get what's yours

This edit was another that was partially made for the sake of a staging stage. In the original blocking, Thenardier and the gang are trying to climb over Valjean's gate, and Brujon would literally be using his hand to help Thenardier out. However, the 1997 staging changes things so that the gang is trying to pick the lock. This is much less of a group effort for obvious reasons.

Additionally, the new lyric has slightly more threatening undertones, given its implications of either positive or negative outcomes depending on how helpful Brujon actually is.

Later in the number, after Eponine's scream, Thenardier's reaction takes some cues from the original libretto. Pre-Broadway, these were the lyrics (which were still used in the West End at the time):

Make for the sewers, don't wait around

Leave her to me, go underground

You wait my girl, you'll rue this night

I'll make you scream, you'll scream alright!

Post-1987, this was the sequence instead:

You wait my girl, you'll rue this night

I'll make you scream, you'll scream alright!

Leave her to me, don't wait around

Make for the sewers, go underground

The 1997 edit essentially combined elements of those two versions:

Make for the sewers, go underground

Leave her to me, don't wait around

You wait my girl, you'll rue this night

I'll make you scream, you'll scream alright!

So the lines remain in the post-1987 form, but they are ordered in their pre-1987 form. I've already mentioned that I prefer the 1987 ordering of things, though the 1997 version isn't bad either.

Compared to the first act, the second one has much fewer changes. The first one comes not until the "First Attack" sequence. Before 1997, this was the students' response to their first victory:

(LESGLES)

See how they run away

(GRANTAIRE)

By God, we've won the day

The 1997 libretto changed it to the following:

(LESGLES)

See how they turn and run

(GRANTAIRE)

And so the war was won

I admit I prefer the original lyrics to this one. Grantaire's revised lyrics lack the incredulous spirit of the earlier ones, and the almost narrator-esque out-of-the-moment quality to his post-1997 lyrics is grating.

Later, prior to "Drink with Me", Enjolras speech is slightly changed. Originally he declares:

We must be ready for the fight

For the final fight

Let no one sleep tonight

The 1997 libretto makes his words as follows:

We must be ready for the fight

For tomorrow's fight

Let no one sleep tonight

Although "the final fight" has a climactic air that "tomorrow's fight" lacks, I suppose it is more realistic that Enjolras would have no way of knowing whether there will be more to come after the next battle.

Grantaire's lyrics in "Drink with Me" are edited a bit. Since 1987, this was what he sung:

Will the world remember you when you fall?

Can it be your death means nothing at all?

Is your life just one more lie?

The 1997 libretto edited it into the following:

Will the world remember you when you fall?

Can it be your life means nothing at all?

Will your death be one more lie?

Not terrible, but in my opinion the previous lyrics were far more effective. It makes much more sense to me for one's life to be described as a lie than one's death. The original lyric implies that the students' deaths are for nothing, and that their lives are meaningless. I suppose that is still the message of the revised lyrics, but they strike me as a bit obtuse for my taste.

That's it for the edits in this part (unless you count the official addition of the "You raised my child in love" and "I'll lead you to salvation" variation in the epilogue, which had already been used worldwide for a few years anyway).

But this did not mark the end of the chapter of the Les Mis saga. As I've mentioned earlier, a few edits were made in later months of 1997. So let's look at:

1997 Update #2

The first variation that can be heard in this version occurs during "Lovely Ladies". The "God, i'm weary..." sequence is originally sung in exactly the same tune as the rest of "Lovely Ladies". However, this edit changed it into a slightly different variation of the tune. In my opinion this is a definite improvement. As I mentioned in a previous edition of this blog, while thematically the sick prostitute scene is more fitting than the scene it replaced, it can potentially feel awkward when it's the sole part of the song in its tune not to feature the phrase "lovely ladies". Putting it in a different tune makes its out-of-place vibe feel intentional. In a way, its slightly different sound cements the idea that the prostitute is sick and is not functioning in the same way she ordinarily would.

The first of a few cuts occurs before "Eponine's Errand". Originally, it begins with a few seconds of instrumentals before Eponine starts singing. However, starting with this edit, Eponine begins singing acapella. Not until her first verse is finished do any instrumentals come in. I slightly prefer the version with instrumentals, but it still works alright.

The next cut happens during the opening barricade scene to the second act. Originally, Lesgles' "They will do what is right" is followed by a few seconds of instrumentals before Marius sings his "Hey little boy..." line. However, this edit removed those instrumentals, meaning Marius starts right after Lesgles stops singing. Truth be told I've always found that scene boring, so I can't say I object to cutting it down by a few seconds!

The last cut occurs after "Dawn of Anguish" and before Gavroche's death scene. The "Drink with Me" reprise after the former number originally is followed by an instrumental reprise of the chorus of "Castle on a Cloud". This is then followed by the closing notes to "Drink with Me". However, this edit makes it so that the reprise ends quickly, going right to the ending notes of "Drink with Me" without any "Castle on a Cloud" chords. I definitely prefer the original; it feels so much more emotional and reflective. I've been told it also holds some context to the original book of Les Miserables, though I don't know much more given that I have not yet read the book.

That just about sums this part up! If I missed anything feel free to let me know, as my goal is to create a changelog as thorough and complete as possible. I plan on making more parts in the near future covering all the changes that have been made in the show up until this day (discounting concerts). Any feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated.

As a side note, both for this project and my own enjoyment, I want as complete a collection of Les Miserables audios as possible. I already have most of what’s commonly circulated, but if you have any audios or videos you know are rare, I’d love it if you DMed me!

Until the turntable puts me at the forefront again, good-bye…

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celosiaa · 4 years ago

Note

This is my first time sending a message but I just wanted to day that I absolutley love you're writing and read it frequently! I had an idea for a fic or ficlet: Jon has amnesia and cannot remember the archival gang including Martin although he feels a strong connection between each other. I was thinking it would be set after they save the world or after they have come out of Salesa's home maybe due to Jon being detached from the eye for too long. Obviously you dont have to do this but I just think that you are an amazingly talented writer nonetheless.

@malevon FINALLY I’VE DONE THE WRITE!! Knocking out two prompts in one with this. I’ve set this one in Salesa’s house. Bit angsty but that’s the name of the game baby

CW panic

The pair of them, the quiet, and two steaming cups of tea. It’s all Martin could ever hope to ask for.

And it’s terribly, horrifyingly wrong.

A small, persistent part of him wants so desperately to have some hope, some shred of optimism left that maybe, just maybe, the wisp of a man leaning into his chest may be able to rest. To heal. To find a way to exist here, without the Eye—without the evil that has been holding him together for so long. Surely, there must be something—god knows Martin has been scratching at every wall, tearing through as much of this place as he can in search of something, anything, that could let Jon stay here in comfort.

A moment, just a moment. It’s all he asks.

But this morning, it had taken Jon entirely too long to recognize him.

Martin.

His Martin.

Even thinking about it now sends that same shiver up his spine, as it had when Jon—for the first time—turned to him with eyes entirely empty. Flat and lifeless, aberrant green faded back into rich brown, and still—still, a nothingness behind it all. He was not Martin to him then, no—he had been a stranger. A stranger to the man he loves, and the only person in all the ruined world who loves him in return.

“Jon,” he calls softly, for what feels like the hundredth time that day. “You with me, love?”

“Mmm,” comes the dim response, throat cracking against the dryness, against the tea he had been unable to drink.

Not good.

“Hey, open your eyes for me—can you look at me?”

“Mmm.”

“Look at me, Jon.”

A gentle shaking of his shoulder, fingers running though his hair—all serve to bring him around again, back to whatever level of awareness he’s capable of at the moment. Even as he does so, Martin prays to find a fever as he presses a kiss to Jon’s forehead; anything that would give him a sign that he’s just ill, that he can fix it, that he can find a way to make him well.

Please let him be well.

“I’m—where?” he mutters, tensing bodily as wide eyes take in every inch of his surroundings, still so unfamiliar to him even after several days in this place.

“With me, love. Look at me,” Martin begs, heart pounding in his chest as Jon turns to him—shaking, panicked—moving his gaze over Martin’s form—

Empty. Unknown.

Oh god oh god

“It’s me, Jon. You’re safe, you’re here with me.”

Martin tries desperately to smile, to keep the tremor out of his voice, to stay calm. Hoping against hope that Jon just had a nightmare, was disoriented, was—

Anything but this.

“Wh-who—I-I don’t—”

“Martin—it’s Martin, love.”

Please please please

Wanting nothing more than to reach for him, to set the comforting warmth of his hand against Jon’s eternally-freezing skin, he knows he should not—not with the way his breath is picking up speed. Shattered—so shattered is Martin’s heart, he feels his own body begin to tremble with the anxious thought that this is it, that he is no longer loved, nor even recognized—

If the Lonely were able to reach this place, he is certain he would sink back into the fog.

“Take a breath with me, Jon,” he pleads, wringing his own hands together to keep from touching him. “You’re—you’re safe here, I promise. You’re safe.”

Jon moves away from him as much as possible in his state, eyes locked, a frightened animal who would certainly run, if only he could stand.

“Wh-who—” he asks, so lost and dizzy and confused that Martin is forced to reach for him before he tips off the side of the sofa.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pulling him upright as gently as he can, silently begging whoever may be in charge that Jon won’t be set back by his touch—

It appears his prayer is received—as Jon goes limp and falls into his chest.

“Oh oh oh, Jon,” he whispers in grief, pulling Jon downwards to rest his head against the pillows, recover, come back to him.

Please wake up please wake up

Please remember

So small, so terribly small does he look that Martin finds himself bracing against the sudden welling of tears. Had he always been this paper-thin? Such a wisp of a man, it’s a wonder Martin can’t see right through him.

Never coming back, he’s never coming back, you’ve stayed too long and it’s all your fault, selfish selfish selfish—

“M’tin?”

The spiral that threatened to overtake him begins to fade in the dawning light of Jon’s voice—rasping and painful as it may be—he’s looking at him, really looking this time. Perhaps it’s not too late, perhaps he—

“Do you—do you know who I am, darling?” he asks shakily, unable to stop himself from running a hand through Jon’s locks, praying that it will bring them both comfort.

“You’re—Martin, you’re Martin,” he slurs vaguely, eyes fluttering closed intermittently in exhaustion.

“Good, that’s good, Jon,” Martin breaths in relief, the tightness in his chest unraveling just a bit at the fact that this was progress, that all was not lost—that he could still get Jon out of here, if he had to carry him.

“I-I don’t—I don’t—”

Immediately his chest clenches again, tight enough to be painful, to make his heart skip for just a moment.

No no please no

“You don’t what, love?” he asks as softly as his voice will go.

“I don’t—I can’t—remember. Who. Th-this,” he stammers, looking down at their joined hands. “I’m—I’m so sorry.”

The bottom has dropped out of Martin’s world—surely he’s falling through the empty air.

“But—my name, you—you remembered my name. Martin.”

“Martin, I…”

Don’t say it don’t say it please don’t say it

“Do I…do I love you?”

God no no no

His eyes—so earnest, honest—already filling with tears. Over a stranger. Over him.

“Yes, Jon,” Martin gasps, trying and failing to choke back sobs of his own. “Yes, y-you…I. I love you. So very much.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in return, tears slipping down his worn cheeks. “M’so sorry, I can’t—”

“It’s alright. Just…you’re safe. You’re safe here with me, I promise. I promise.”

Aching to reach for him, to wipe every tear—Martin knows he cannot. Cannot touch him, not anymore. After so many days spent in each other’s company, he’s gotten to know Jon’s mind very well; has been made painfully aware of the devastating impact of years worth of trauma, body and soul. No one was allowed in. Not even Martin, sometimes—and now that trust they had only just begun to build is gone gone gone, and Jon is left only with a name.

“Martin,” he murmurs, eyes still transfixed on his face. “I…know you. Your face.”

“Pity you can’t be rid of that.”

He laughs wetly—a tired joke far better than facing the bitter truth of this moment.

“How did…how did we meet?” Jon whispers, sending electricity shooting all through him as he touches his arm, oh so lightly, barely there.

Enough to bring Martin back to the present.

“You’ll…you’ll remember when we get out of here,” he assures, voice hardening into something like a fragile promise. “Right? You’ll remember. We can—we can go now—”

“Tell me.”

Said with no bite, no trace of compulsion.

An honest desire to know.

He’ll remember if you tell him, you can stay here, you’ll find a way, you’ll find it you’ll find it—

“We…worked together,” he begins, allowing just a ghost of smile to color his face. “With—with Tim and Sasha. Do you remember them?”

The names—their names must mean something to him, for Jon’s face falls at the mention, a short gasp belying a forgotten grief resurfaced.

“I…Sasha. Oh…Tim. Why—”

He cuts off rather suddenly, voice breaking as he takes a gasping inhale, clutching at his chest as if it might fall apart.

“Martin,” he sobs, bringing his other hand to clasp over his mouth. “W-why does it—it hurt so much? I-I-I can’t—can’t remember—what h-happened to them?”

“Hush, Jon—”

“It hurts—”

“I know, darling, I know, I’m so sorry—”

Arms outstretched, Martin silently begs for Jon to reach back—and so he does, clinging onto Martin like he’s the only solid thing in this world, the only shred of a person that he has left. Perhaps he is.

“Martin,” he gasps against his shoulder, desperate. “W-what happened? Wh-where—why—”

“Hush, hush now,” he murmurs into Jon’s hair, rocking him as he trembles in his arms. “I’m here. You’re here with me. Try to just focus on that, alright?”

“Martin—”

“You’re safe, and I’m here.”

And I’m going to fix this.

Whatever it takes.

He grits his teeth and holds him close.

#cw panic #I hope this is half decent #my writing

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jeonsjiddies · 4 years ago

Text

how not to | kth

Summary- Taehyung takes Tannie to the vet and develops a crush on the vet, and proceeds to tell a few white lies to see her again word count- 1.6k pairing- taehyung x reader genre- fluff Warnings- none? a/n: loosely based on How Not To by Dan + Shay, for my beautiful @sugarly-laysa ; another one in third person, idk lol

The first time Taehyung saw her, he almost dropped Yeontan, who was the whole reason he’d walked into the vet in the first place. Yeontan had been lying around Taehyung’s apartment, just whining pathetically and refusing to eat or drink. Taehyung had panicked and scooped the small dog into his arms, dashing towards the closest vet. He threw the doors open and anxiously talked to the receptionist, while gingerly stroking Yeontan’s fur to soothe his beloved dog-son.

“Don’t worry Mr. Kim, the doctor will be right out.” the woman smiled reassuringly but Taehyung couldn’t stop pacing around the small lobby.

Then, she walked out of the swinging doors and time stopped. Taehyung swore that the colors around the room dulled in comparison to the way she shined. Light seemed to follow her, like she was an angel and the air around her was her halo. Yeontan wiggled in Taehyung’s loose grip, snapping him back to reality. He tightened his arms around the pup and walked up to the doctor.

“Hello, Mr. Kim! My name is Y/N. Please follow me and I’ll take a look at Yeontan here.” she flashed him the most enchanting smile he’d ever seen.

Momentarily speechless, Taehyung just nodded and quietly followed the unfairly gorgeous veterinarian to an examination room and placed Yeontan on the table, stroking his fur to relax him.

“So, Mr. Kim, what seems to be the problem?” Y/N asked, putting gloves on and gently patting Yeontan’s head.

“He won’t eat or drink and he’s acting very lethargic.” Taehyung explained, “I’m very worried. Tannie’s usually full of energy and always ready for a snack.”

She nodded, furrowing her eyebrows together and gently pushed on Yeontan’s stomach, feeling around for abnormalities. Yeontan let out small whimpers, but didn’t yelp or snip at her. He was the perfect gentleman and Taehyung was a little proud of that. Y/N looked over Yeontan for a bit, doing a few tests and looking in his mouth, checking his temperature, making sure she didn’t miss anything that could be troubling the poor little guy.

“I’d say he ate something he shouldn’t have. I’ll prescribe him some mild pain relief and you can just keep a good eye on him, and come back if anything gets worse, okay?” Y/N instructed him, and Taehyung nodded obediently, his eyes glued to her every movement.

He just couldn’t find it in himself to look away. She handed him the script and pet Yeontan one more time, leaning down to speak to him specifically.

“I hope you feel better, buddy.” she cooed sympathetically.

Yeontan, though he still looked rough, gave her a couple of kisses and leaned into her touch, which she smiled at before scratching behind his ears then standing up.

“Thank you so much, Y/N . Really.” Taehyung bowed a bit, looking up at her and when her eyes met his, he felt shivers run up his spine, which only intensified when she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Kim.” she smiled.

“Taehyung. Or Tae. Please.” he returned her smile.

“Tae.” she corrected, his name rolling off her lips like dripping honey.

Instead of responding, Tae sent her another smile before exiting. His heart was thrumming in his chest as he carried Yeontan back to his car, immediately going to fill the prescription for him to clear up his tummy issues as soon as possible.

A week and a half later, Yeontan was back to normal, but Taehyung was not. He could not get Y/N out of his head, every time he closed his eyes he could see the way her eyes sparkled, the way her lips curled up in that sweet smile… he didn’t know how not to think about her. He needed to see her again.

Biting his lip, he glanced at Yeontan and debated his plan. It wasn’t exactly ethical to lie and say that something was wrong with Yeontan when he was fine, but he had no other method of seeing Y/N, seeing as how his social media stalking had come up empty handed. Taehyung scooped Yeontan up in his arms and brought him up to his face.

“Listen buddy. I know you’ve faked sick before so I would stay home… think you can do it again so we can visit that pretty doctor?” Taehyung grinned, “I’ll give you a treat!”

Yeontan wagged his tail and barked excitedly upon hearing one of his favorite words, and Taehyung took that as an agreement and set off for the vet. Entering the building, he felt nervous. He hoped she wouldn’t notice his true intentions for coming in and embarrass him.

“Hello, Mr. Kim.” the receptionist greeted, “Back again?”

“Yes, Tannie seems to not be feeling well again…” he trailed off, avoiding eye contact.

Yeontan, on queue, let out a pitiful whimper.

“I’ve got you checked in, Y/N will be right out to get you.” the receptionist smiled sympathetically.

Taehyung stroked Tannie’s fur in a silent thank you as he waited for the beautiful doctor, and when she finally stepped out, Taehyung felt the air leave his lungs. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Maybe more.

“Hello Tae, Tannie. Come on back.” she smiled.

Taehyung followed her and set Yeontan on the exam table, shooting the Pomeranian a look, and mouthing “treat” which caused Yeontan to let out another pathetic whimper. Y/N’s gaze snapped to the small dog and she cooed softly in sympathy, doing another checkup. Several minutes went by and Taehyung was getting more nervous, pulling on the collar of his shirt and working up a light sweat.

“I can’t see anything wrong with him… when did this start?” Y/N asked.

“Last night.” Taehyung lied.

“Hm… let me do a few more tests but I think he might just have another tummy ache. He should be fine.” Y/N smiled encouragingly.

Taehyung nodded, watching as she worked on Yeontan, who was an amazingly good sport. He was getting so many treats. Soon, they were on their way, bidding the doctor a goodbye and going home, where Taehyung rewarded Yeontan with treats and bites from his own dinner.

Two months later, Taehyung was embarrassed to admit he still brought Yeontan in under false pretenses sometimes. He didn’t do it often, less than a handful of times really, but he still felt awful that he couldn’t just gain the courage to ask Y/N out. She was just so beautiful he couldn’t find it in himself to put himself out there.

He walked into the vet's office, and the receptionist wasn’t stationed at her desk. Taehyung frowned in confusion, looking around. He waited a few minutes then decided to go searching for someone. He quietly turned the corner to the examination room, and heard voices coming from it. He peered in without being seen, and he saw Y/N facing someone with a light blush gracing her cheeks.

“I wonder if he’ll show up this week…” Y/N giggled.

“Who?” he heard the voice of the receptionist ask.

“The hot guy with the Pomeranian who comes in like every other week, Taehyung. I haven’t seen him in a few days and I think I’m going through withdrawals.” Y/N joked, placing her arm across her forehead dramatically.

“Oh right!” the receptionist laughed.

“The things I would do to that man…” Y/N trailed off with a smirk.

The receptionist seemed to choke on something while she laughed and Taehyung felt his chest swell up with pride. She liked him. She liked him! He tried to sneak away unheard but Yeontan decided it was the perfect opportunity to start disobeying his dad, and he let out an excited bark and jumped from Taehyung’s arms, running up to Y/N and wagging his tail, jumping up on her legs to beg for pets.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide as she stared at Taehyung, who stood sheepishly in the doorway after being caught eavesdropping. Both their faces were bright red with embarrassment and the receptionist took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed, while Y/N picked Tannie up and began stroking his fur, avoiding eye contact with Taehyung.

“I, uh… am sorry if you heard anything um… unprofessional…” she coughed.

“Sorry I kind of creeped on your conversation. I waited in the lobby but when no one came I got concerned.” Taehyung explained, then his demeanor changed, taking on a playful one as a smirk graced his lips. “Hot guy with the Pomeranian, huh?”

“Oh god you heard that.” she whined, using her free hand to cover her face.

Taehyung let out a chuckle, stepping closer to her. Her eyes shot up to meet his, and he smiled, biting his lower lip in nervousness.

“I’ll take it as a compliment… if you agree to have dinner with me tonight. Say 6? After you close.” he spoke, his voice coming out more even and sure than he thought it would.

“I’d like that.” she smiled up at him, “But does that mean you’re going to stop pretending Yeontan is sick?”

“You knew?!” Taehyung gasped.

“Tae… Tannie is a great actor, but you’re a terrible liar.” she giggled.

Taehyung hid his face in his hands and laughed, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.

“I didn’t want you to stop coming.” she shrugged.

Taehyung smiled at that, and the doorbell chimed, signaling a new customer, so Taehyung decided it was time for him to leave. He took Yeontan from her arms and placed a chaste kiss to her cheek. Her eyes widened but she smiled at him.

“See you tonight?” she asked.

“See you tonight. Maybe we can talk about all those things you’d do to me…” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a playful smirk on his lips.

“Oh god. Get out.” Y/N laughed, shoving his back to propel him forward.

Taehyung laughed, letting her push him out into the lobby, and spent the remainder of the day thinking about all the possibilities that awaited the two of them. As usual, he couldn’t stop thinking about the beautiful doctor with the heart of gold, he just didn’t know how not to.

#kim taehyung #taehyung #v #bts v #bts #bts fluff #v fluff #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung fluff #tae fluff #yeontan #tannie

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rae-gar-targaryen · 4 years ago

Text

oneirataxia, but make it comedy | marcus pike x reader

A/N: Part of the Sleepover Weekend. Oh, shit, did I ever get carried away. “Write a blurb,” they said, “it’ll be fun,” they said. “You won’t write 3.3k words of a fake-dating Marcus Pike fic. Surely not. Surely the fuck I will. Buckle up, babe. I hope this is what you were looking for!

Pairing: Marcus Pike (The Mentalist) x fem!Reader

Warnings: Romance is its own warning.

Word Count: 3.2k of fake dating tropes, bad jokes, Marcus getting a lil sassy (he gets it from his mom, apparently), and coffee abuse.

Summary: Marcus invites you home for the holidays; but there’s a bit of a string attached to the invite. Based on the prompt: “Your mum hates me.” “She doesn’t hate you…she just doesn’t like you.”

NOT MY GIF

You were absolutely going to kill Marcus Pike.

Okay, not kill. Maybe maim?

As you met his mother’s eyeline over the rim of her tea mug you could have sworn she sneered at you a little.

So, no. Most definitely kill. Marcus was number one on the list. And his mom? Number two.

Let’s back up a little here--

You and Marcus were both agents at the Bureau together. You were part of the Art Squad, and have partnered with Marcus on missions a time or two. Honestly, you thought he was kinda cute. He had a sweet vibe to round out his killer intensity when he was in the field. And once you started talking to him, he had a kind of puppydog energy you found so darn endearing. But in your sporadic interactions with Marcus, it never felt like he was being his fullest, true self. Like he was holding back a bit.

Still, you didn’t press. Pike’s business was Pike’s business.

Beyond him bringing you coffees a few times at team meetings, your interactions were limited. And he brought coffee for other people sometimes, too, so you tried not to read much into it and to damper your little crush.

It wasn’t until the two of you were partnered to go undercover together at a gala that you think Marcus really, truly saw you. You two had made an excellent team-- posing as a husband and wife undercover to sniff out some art thieves.

Marcus, in his pressed suit, had looked every inch of just dashing. You tried not to let yourself get too carried away in your daydream. Your dress was uncomfortable, and rode up a bit, if you were honest. You hoped Marcus didn’t notice.

But he told you you looked nice, ever the gentleman. And you were so busy looking for your mark that you didn’t notice how often Marcus was really looking at you.

After the gala, Marcus approached you more.

The idle, “Hey, how was your weekend” became, “Have you heard the new Black Keys album?”

You started to feel like he really understood you-- and the agency must’ve thought so, too, because they partnered you more and more.

Sure, Marcus knew you. So it was honestly fucking baffling to you why he’d even ask this of you--

“You want me to what?” you asked Marcus, your tone taking a slightly interrogatory edge.

“Uh, come to my family’s house for the holiday? I know you were going to spend it alone anyway, so really, you don’t have to--” Marcus sputtered a bit, his invitation seemingly sweet on its surface. But you were no dummy, you knew what you’d heard.

“No, Pike. Don’t act like you’re doing me some huge favor. I fucking heard you--” you started.

“Then why’d you ask me to repeat myself?” God, he could be so smug at times. That sinful little smirk around his full lips making you want to smack said smirk right off of his handsome face.

“Pike, I’m not going to pretend to be your little girlfriend at some family holiday shindig just so you can convince your mommy you’re not a perpetual bachelor, or whatever asinine reason you have for this request,” you chided.

The nerve of this guy! And to think, you’d had an Alicia Sliverstone-sized crush on this sweet, good-looking Paul Rudd wannabe!

“Come on, it’s not like that,” he protested, trying to win you over to his (obviously terrible) idea.

“Then what’s it like?” You demanded.

“It’s, uh.. It’s complicated. I was just hoping you’d do this for me? Please? Partner?” He implored. You almost gave in. Those damn puppydog eyes slightly too endearing for their own good-- but, no, you have always been a stick-to-your-guns kinda girl. Marcus Pike’s failed, mid-2000s rom-com of an oddball request wasn’t gonna change anything. But still… you were curious.

“Nope. No way, Pike. If you can’t be honest with me, then why would I do something so obviously-insane for you? Don’t act like I’d be doing you the favor when it’s obvious it’s a favor to you… especially if you won’t even tell me why. We’re partners, we’re supposed to trust each other.” You were resolute.

Marcus looked like he was going to tell you. In that moment, maybe he would have… He opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, before shaking his head slightly and closing his mouth again. As if he’d thought better about trusting you. Fuckin’ insulting.

“Sorry, Ace. I can’t tell you that.”

And with that, you left the room. Screw Pike! Screw him screwing with your feelings. A favor. Honestly!

Two days later, Pike walked into your office with your coffee of choice in one hand, and an apologetic look on his face.

“Look, I’m sorry about the other day. You’re right, it was crazy… it was crazy,” the second time sounded more to himself than to you.

“Bring me caffeine, babe, and all is forgiven,” you chirped, trying to lighten the mood. But it was clear Pike was thinking about something deeply, churning it over in his mind, his ochre eyes swimming with the sea of his own indecision.

“Pike, don’t think too hard. It’s not good for you. I can smell the smoke coming from your ears,” you teased gently.

“Teresa,” he said softly.

“Excuse me?”

“Her name was Teresa. She was my fiance… briefly. It… ended badly. Embarrassingly. I’m not-- I haven’t really been the same since. But I fucked up,” Marcus rambled. You nodded, trying not to interrupt him so he could continue. “I dove in too fast, proposed too soon. She didn’t really want me.”

Your heart panged at his confession. You’d had no idea. Honestly, your status as newbie agent didn’t really afford you to the inner workings of Marcus Pike, and you didn’t want to incite gossip by asking around too much. Being an inquisitive agent because it’s our job isn’t much of a guise if your crush becomes too obvious. Poor Marcus.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Marcus. I really am,” you placed a hand on his shoulder. “No one deserves that. But, um, what does this have to do with you asking me to spend the holidays with you?”

Marcus sighed.

“I told my mom about Teresa. When we were together, anyway. She knows it ended badly. I couldn’t take her smothering. Her pitying glances. Her everything. So, when she asked me about coming home for Christmas, I said I couldn’t because I was spending it with my girlfriend. I panicked. She then insisted I bring said girlfriend to Christmas at their place,” Marcus rushed out. “The problem being, of course, said girlfriend is fictional. Imaginary. Just like some bogus forgerd painting,” he chuckled a bit at his own attempt at humor.

Of course, of everything Marcus had just said, you were most surprised to hear that he was, in fact, single. File that one away for later.

“And your first thought was to ask me to be your fake girlfriend? Pike, that’s a little Hollywood. And not in a good way,” you chided.

“I know,” he moaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “And now she won’t let it go. So please, please, kid. Have pity on me? Come be my girlfriend for a week at Christmas?” He gazed at you pleadingly. “And you were an obvious first choice. You’re a stunner in the field, and smart. I thought you could handle it.”

Damn those eyes. Damn that face. Damn Marcus Pike.

If you hadn’t been caffeinated and in a better mood than the other day, you probably would have said no. Regardless of your caffeinated status, you definitely SHOULD have said no. And yet, here you were, drinking your coffee like it’s your dumb bitch juice.

But still, you couldn’t resist teasing a little.

“Don’t try to flatter me, Pike, it won’t work. I know I’m a good agent. But here, now, I’m just imagining you whining to your mom.” You put on your best, piteous John Mulaney impression, “Can my giiiiirlfriend come?” you mocked.

Pike rolled his eyes at you.

“Fine,” he said, popping himself up from the edge of your desk where he’d been irresistibly leaning since entering your office. “Enjoy your Christmas alone with your cats. I’m sure the ugly sweater looks great with cat hair stuck to it.” He started to walk out the door.

What possessed you to do what you were about to do?

“Pike,” you hollered, stopping him in the doorway. He turned.

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll do it.”

You couldn’t put your finger on it. Maybe it was because you really did feel for him. Which you did. Maybe it’s because you didn’t want to be alone. Which you didn’t. But maybe it’s because you were still carrying a torch for Marcus Pike, and the idea of spending Christmas with him was too good to pass up. Even if his whole family was there. Oh, shit. You are so screwed.

He jumped up, wrapping his arms around you quickly.

“Great!” He intoned. “Because I already told my mom it was you.”

“I’m gonna let that one go for now, Pike,” although you were secretly imploding. “Because we need to set some ground rules.”

“Fine.”

So, here you find yourself, days later, standing in the threshold of the Pike family home, where Marcus’s mother had been smothering her son with kisses and coos, waxing poetic about how glad she was that her “baby is finally home!”

And then, like a demonic switch has been turned, she turns to you and greets you (if you want to call it that) nothing short of ice-fucking-cold and a chirp of, “So this is the tart you work with!” before turning on her heel and walking to the kitchen, hollering for Marcus to put his bags down and follow.

The rest of the week passed like that, Marcus’s mother flipping moods so fast it made your head spin like the little girl from “The Exorcist.” Ironic, really, since it was Marcus’s mother who was the damn demon.

“So, Jennifer, where is your family from again?” She’d been calling you “Jennifer” for the entire time. She knew damn well that wasn’t your name. You grinned and bore it, for the sake of her beautiful, idiot son sitting at the table at your side.

You mumbled your name, trying to politely correct her.

“Is that not what I said?”

Honestly. This woman was a piece of work.

“You know, Mrs. Pike, we could get to know each other a lot better if you started with the right name.” You were just trying to lighten the mood a little, but not able to resist a slight jab at this old goat of a woman.

“I’m sure I’ll learn your name, dear, if you stick around long enough for it to be important to remember,” she replied primly, sipping her tea. You wanted to knock the china cup out of her little rat hands.

UNBELIEVABLE, you thought. Here, you were suffering this horrid woman because at the behest of the ghost of Teresa Lisbon, the recipient of a punishment for a crime you’d done nothing to incite. Guilty by association was still guilty, though, apparently according to Marcus’s mother. If another woman had broken her son’s heart, she obviously felt entitled to regard you with suspicion and disdain.

Marcus was nothing short of apologetic in the peace and quiet of his bedroom, expressing profuse regret from his spot on the floor where he slept. Because of course he would be a perfect gentleman to you and allow you to sleep in his bed during this whole whatever-it-was. And if he was trying to be a gentleman, he was failing. That tight white t-shirt stretched across his fine, firm chest was just fucking rude.

“Marcus, it’s fine,” you insisted. “You have no control over her or her opinions. And I’ve seen and dealt with worse. Federal agent remember?”

As the week pressed on, you were able to temper the rudeness of Marcus’s mother with the intensity of your ever-growing feelings for Marcus. Seeing him at home, in his element, in relaxed clothing was doing something to you. And you weren’t quite ready to admit it. You spent quite a bit of time together, reading in front of the crackling fire in his family’s cozy living room. You played boardgames against his younger brother and his sister-in-law, teaming up to destroy the competition at Codenames.

You’d thought maybe, just maybe, Marcus was developing feelings for you, too, his touch lingering on your waist as he shuffles past you in the kitchen, sending you soft smiles over the pages of his books as you two read. But the more you thought about it, the more you were convinced that Marcus was just being nice and putting on a show for his family.

Until that old goat opened her mouth.

The family dinners were the worst. Marcus’s mother always seemed to sit across from you just so she could glare into you with that unyielding gaze of hers.

“Jennifer, a word?” She asked, as you got up to help clear the table.

Yeah. Where were we? Oh yeah, you were DEFINITELY gonna kill Marcus for talking you into this.

Marcus put the dishes he was carrying down, and squeezed your hand gently.

“It’ll be fine,” he whispers to you, before pressing a soft kiss to your temple, your brain instantly going dumb and numb at the contact, like you were listening to the people in the room from underwater. Nevertheless, you followed her into the kitchen, where you stood, alone, a marble-topped island counter the Switzerland between the two of you.

“Yes, Mrs. Pike?”

“I’m going to be frank with you, dear, I don’t like you,” she stated.

You’d had enough. The wrong name, the cold shoulder, the glares, the hmphs of disdain whenever you talked about the cool cases you were working on. You’d just had enough.

“No shit, Mrs. Pike? I just assumed you’d greeted all of your guests this way, and that’s why there were so many of them here. Because of your warm hospitality,” you snipped.

“Don’t get cute with me. I’m not about to applaud a relationship with my son if it’s just going to end badly.”

Now that gave you pause.

“That Teresa girl really did a number on him. So excuse me if I’m not going to sanction any old relationship. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. Not if you’re just going to break his heart. You’re just his co-worker and it should stay that way. Unless you’re serious, especially with the way he looks at you,” she stated firmly.

And you could honestly forgive her in that moment. Almost, anyway. “The way he looks at you” ringing in your ears. You had to say something-- and snark was getting you nowhere. So, you spoke from the heart-- before you could think about it too hard.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pike. I wasn’t around for any of that. I don’t know much. Only the little Marcus has told me. And I'm not keen on making him relive any of that, or cause him heartbreak,” you paused. “But I wouldn’t do that to him. Because I care about him. Deeply. I really do,” and you just kept going... “I know I’m probably not what you envisioned-- I’m too dedicated to my job, it’s not glamorous, I’m not some subservient little housewife. I’m brash, I’m annoying. All of these things are true. But the biggest truth? Your son means everything to me. And that I won’t apologize for.”

And with that, you left. To go find Marcus and give him a piece of your mind.

You marched upstairs to Marcus’s bedroom, where he was perched on the bed with a book in his lap. You fist your hand into his sweater before yanking him up and planting a firm kiss on his mouth. Marcus stilled in shock, before reciprocating, kissing you back, cupping his hands to your cheeks. You pulled away, heat pooled in you cheeks, blazing in embarrassment at what you’d just done.

Honestly, what the hell did you just do??

Marcus regards your silence by raising an eyebrow.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell was that?” Marcus asked.

You rushed the words out, knowing you’d retract and redact them from your brain if you waited too long.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m so sorry. Your mom just really got to me… she thinks I’m another… her,” you spared reference to Teresa’s name, mindful of Marcus’s melancholy that followed when she was mentioned. “But I’m not her. I love working with you, Marcus. And I’ve always had a thing for you, if I’m honest. Which I am. But it wasn’t until she really started pushing me that I realized… I care about you, Marcus. I want you, I really do. All of you, even the parts that hurt. I want you,” you professed.

Marcus stood there, shock etching his features, eyes widening and mouth starting to gape.

You bowed your head, blinking back furious tears as you stared hatefully at your shoes. Why would you do that? You thought. You’ve ruined everything, all because that old grackle dug at you too much. And now Marcus hates you.

Marcus’s hands were suddenly in your downcast eyesight, palms resting on your cheeks and urging your face and eyes upward to meet his gloriously shimmering midnight ones.

“I want you, too. God, you drive me crazy, you’re such a punk at work. But, fuck if I can’t stop thinking about you. You make me crazy. And I thought I was the only one. I’d go back to my apartment at the end of the day sad, because I knew you wouldn’t be there. My love is not really the overwhelming kind. Jesus, I just go home and drink rosé and watch ‘Remains of the Day,’” he implores. “But I mean it when I say I want you, too.”

And with that, he slides one hand from its resting place on your cheek to the back of your neck, scooping your face upward for a soft, slanting, warm kiss.

Needless to say, you were fine with Marcus relinquishing the spot on the floor in favor of lying next to you in bed for the remainder of the week.

Now, you held hands while going for brisk, winter-air walks around his neighborhood, despite his mother’s withering gaze. You were always touching, never far from the other’s hand or mind. Marcus’s brother teasing you good-naturedly about your interlocked fingers being “PDA.”

You head back to your lives and back to reality, but still on cloud nine. Sharing kisses before separating to one another’s respective offices at work. Spending weekends at one another’s apartments, making out against any and every surface you can find, your thigh slotting between his as you press together during every conceivable moment you can.

One of these nights finds you laughing about the inception of your relationship, when, inevitably, Marcus’s mother comes up in the conversation. You had spared him the gory details of your kitchen scene in favor of a simpler retelling.

“Honestly, Marcus, your mom hates me,” you implored. “She told me so.”

“She doesn’t hate you…,” Marcus trailed off, “She just doesn’t like you. I’m pretty sure that’s what she told you, if the grapevine was correct,” he smirked.

You slapped him on his chest. The nerve of this guy!

“But that’s okay. Because I like you enough for the both of us,” He said, smiling as he presses his lips to yours for a sugary sweet kiss.

#this was supposed to be a blurb #sleepover weekend #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike imagine #the mentalist fic #the mentalist imagine #marcus pike fic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #my writing #rachel writes #writing prompt

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