#and now they’re kissing in fields under shooting stars | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fandom-monium · 4 years

Note

i finished for the holidays and i just *chefs kiss* beautiful talented amazing sajkgdkj no words i love that romance wasnt even the main point 🥺💘 anyway i love how you write reader and i wondered between her and spencer who gets jealous???

Unrivaled

Summary: In which you seem pretty close with the new intern, and Spencer is not happy about it. (ft. one of my fave white bois) “Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

WC: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, Jealous!Spencer bc id like to see that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, the lightest implication of smut ever, points to yall who can guess who the intern is before reading the end or the tags 😉

—

Spencer is not jealous. He’s not.

Why would he be?

He has no reason to be jealous, Spencer chants to himself as he sits at his desk. Even from across the bullpen he still manages to hear your voice, and while normally it’s music to his ears, even better than Mozart, now it just feels like nails against a chalkboard. Grating his eardrums, making him wince.

Because you’re laughing. Not with Spencer though. Not at his obscure references or lame jokes.

With the new intern.

Why did Emily have to put you in charge of him? She could’ve chosen anyone on the team to have him shadow, but it had to be you! Not that you’re incapable or unqualified; you’re experienced, talented, and the best person he knows.

… Okay, he can see why she picked you.

Why do they even have interns? Unnecessary, really, when the BAU has you and him and he guesses the other teams too (it’s weird, he’s never actually interacted with them but whatever). Maybe it’s time to start making budget cuts. He’ll discuss this with Emily when he gets the chance. He’s got some influence, working at the BAU as long as he has.

But he’s not jealous.

Logically, jealousy (like an intern) is unnecessary. The green-eyed monster (like an intern) is ugly and contributes nothing productive, and if Spencer’s being honest, the world (like an intern) would be much better off without it.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he downs his coffee like a shot of whiskey, trying to quell the squirming beast in him. Despite 90% of it being sugar, it still tastes bitter. He sets his mug down with a thud, and it’s loud enough to make Luke, Garcia, and JJ turn their heads, exchanging concerned glances when he slumps back in his chair.

Spencer doesn’t care. The world’s ending; you’re apparently into younger guys, with neat dark hair and forearms that can probably snap someone’s neck, and he can’t do anything about it. What does it matter if his best friends catch him in a sour mood, right?

“Hey, Spence,” JJ's tone is soft as they slink over, Garcia and Luke leaning against the edge of his desk and JJ flanking the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer gazes past them, his eyes never leaving you. He deflates; your stance is relaxed, completely open as you nod at whatever Intern is saying, his hands gesturing spastically. It must be interesting, the way you listen with rapt attention and respond just as enthusiastic.

Spencer scoffs. Not like that’s anything special. You do the same for him. And the rest of the team.

...What the hell are you guys talking about?

“Well, you look like you’re about to throw your mug across the room. Or at an intern.”

Spencer blinks, finally breaking away from you long enough to eye the ceramic octopus. “That’s a good idea actually.”

“Don’t,” Garcia and JJ both shoot him a warning and he huffs, resting his chin in his hand. Garcia looks horrified, betrayed even while JJ has that expression on, the one she gives when she scolds Henry and Michael.

Whatever. It’s not like he’d ever sacrifice Mildred. Garcia entrusted her to him, after all.

Unless...?

No, he couldn’t… Maybe.

“You know, Reid, if you’re jealous—”

Spencer snaps his head to Garcia, eyes wide and darting to you like you have super-hearing, “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Not me.” He cringes, his voice octaves higher and cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Garcia snorts, “Okay, sure. But if you are jealous, I was going to say you have no reason to be. You wanna know why?” Spencer raises an eyebrow at her and she continues, “Sure the guy’s smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship at GWU, and he’s top of his class at the academy—”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

"And he’s one of the most good looking guys I've ever met—”

"How is that relevant—"

Luke frowns at her. "And have you met me?"

“My point is,” Garcia’s red lipstick curls into the most reassuring smile, “that you have nothing to worry about because (Your Name) loves you. A lot.”

Spencer perks up. “You really think so?”

“I know so. I see the way they look at you, and if that’s not love I don’t know what is," She shrugs, "And just because they’re talking doesn’t mean they’re into him.”

There's a collective nod of agreement and Spencer sags in relief. Of course they're right. He knows they are.

If you think about it, technically, he's got the advantage. You've known each other longer, bonded and shared experiences together good and bad, and you’re emotionally and even physically intimate with each other (something he's especially proud of, considering how long it takes you both to warm up to others).

And who knows? This is probably temporary! Whatever this is, the connection you seem to instantly make with Intern (faster than when you two had met, he realizes with a needle to his heart) is short-term at best. It'll peter out eventually, like most friendships do.

It’s sad, but a cruel fact of life.

(Is this selfish, wishful thinking? Nah.)

They’re right, there is no need to worry, Spencer thinks as a weight lifts off his chest, finally able to breathe. You love him and he loves you and eventually, everything will go back to normal.

There’s nothing to worry about.

—

The world’s ending.

“It’s really not.”

Yes, it is.

“Doc, come on.”

“Do not ‘Doc’ me,” Spencer grumbles, lifting his head from the comfort of his arms. He grimaces at Luke. “You didn’t see the way they looked at him. The way they talk about him.”

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since you’ve taken Intern under your wing, and he’s had enough. If Hell is real, this is it. For days, he’s tried to resume some form of normalcy, and he was never one to be bold but desperate times call for desperate measures as he asks you out for lunch or invites you out on dates, even stuff he wouldn’t normally do because they’re more your thing. Something, anything to get you away from Intern. But...

At work: “Hey Spence, I'm teaching Intern (menial task that a 4 year old could do). Would you like to help—”

During break: “I’m taking Intern out for lunch. He’s still new to town, and I thought he could use a tour—”

In bed: “Did you know Intern’s a huge fan of Star Wars—”

Snap, and there went his patience.

Intern this, Intern that.

Spencer could tolerate this at work. At least he’s saving lives, being productive, getting paid. But under his roof? In his bed?

That was the last straw.

Spencer's not one to wish ill on another, he's not like that. But if something happened to the guy, say, get injured in the field, perhaps from a "stray" bullet, he'd be intern-ally grateful. Heh.

"Hey, you good?"

Spencer sighs, swiping a hand over his face and turning back to Luke. "Yeah, why?"

Luke waves a hand at his face, eyebrow raised, "For a second there, you kind of had a scary look on your face."

"Did I? Weird."

"Right," Clearly unconvinced, Luke brushes it off, deciding to get to the root of the matter. "As I was saying, I still think you have nothing to worry about. Although, I do think it's a little weird that (Your Name) is talking about Intern as much as you say they are." He offers Spencer a little smile, his hand falling heavy on his shoulder. It's the most comforting touch he's had in two weeks. "I'm not one to talk, but I suggest you speak to them. I'd also be uncomfortable if my partner were talking up someone else."

Spencer blinks, squints at Luke, before gripping his hand and standing up. "Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

"You can stand to mention it more often," Luke shrugs, eyes crinkling with amusement as Spencer lets go and heads for the door.

"Noted."

—

Spencer nearly goes feral when he finds you.

Of course you're with him.

He searched the floor like a bloodhound, discovering you've been on your feet almost the entire day, running around the office, up and down the elevators, finishing your work and helping around. You must be exhausted. It's because of this he tracks you to your favorite break room, mostly quiet save for the buzzing drip of the old coffeemaker. He knows you need to be alone sometimes, recharge those social batteries.

So when he bursts into the room like he would hunting an unsub, eyes quickly scanning the immediate space, he expects nothing less but you. What he did not anticipate was to find you, just as soft and pretty as ever under the fluorescent lighting, leaning against the counter and sipping daintily at your favorite mug.

With Intern standing a little too close to his liking.

“Hey, Spencer,” You chirp as you lower your coffee mug, lips glossy from your drink. Spencer's quick to shake his stupor―he can’t afford to be distracted, but it’s difficult when you’re beaming at him, clearly excited. You nod at the home-wrecker, “Me and Intern here were just talking about demonology and he’s got this interesting theory on werewolves―" Lycanthropy? Are you fucking kidding him right now?

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the guy any more.

"CanItalktoyou?" It comes out rushed as Spencer gasps between breaths, leaving no room to second guess himself.

"Sure," You blink at his urgent tone.

For a second, you watch him expectantly, and Spencer's gaze darts between you and Intern. "Alone?"

"Oh! Okay. Be gone," You wave Intern off, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, Spencer sees red. Or green in this case.

Intern doesn't resist, but the noise Spencer releases is animalistic because the guy can’t seem to read the room, questioning you as you gently shove him towards the door. "What about the thing―"

"We'll talk about that later."

"But you still need to show me how to―"

"Don't worry, Intern. Just wait for me, I'll show you once the adults are done talking."

"You know at some point you're gonna have to call me by my name."

"Nah. If we get to call Luke a newbie, we get to call you Intern. Also I do not know how to say your first name."

"You could just call me St―"

Enough of this. Spencer closes the last stretch of distance, batting your hand away from Intern’s shoulders as he kicks him out himself, slamming the door in his face. Spencer turns on his heel to face you, caging you both. “You―” He pants, chest heaving for air.

“Me?”

“You-him-we―”

You’re unfazed, simply nodding at him and his odd behavior. If anything, you’re enjoying this as your lips twitch in a poor attempt to withhold your amusement, trying to cover it with a slurp of your cup. Then again, it’s not everyday you get to see Spencer, face flushed from exertion, speechless as he gasps for breath.

(At least not at work… In the break room specifically.)

It takes a minute as Spencer swallows a few times, but his heart’s erratic and it’s not just from running through the entire building. When he’s got enough air, he blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Your brow shoots up. “What?”

“Did I forget something important? Upset you in some way?”

“No? I don’t think so?” You frown at him, your answers more like questions.

It only spurs him on, and though his tone is frantic and his eyes just as wild as his hair, you’re more intrigued than frightened. Definitely confused.

“Okay, but you know I love you, right?”

“Yes and I love you too but Spence, what’s this about?" Setting down your mug, you look at him like he's grown another head.

Spencer sighs, "I just… you…" He frowns, glancing between you, the floor, and the empty space between you.

Spencer Reid is a man of words. Many, many words, according to all his friends and his coworkers. Mainly knowledge―he's never been great with feelings―but as you gaze at him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, he wants to melt into the floor. There's not a hint of annoyance on your features, your eyes warm and inviting.

He's so in love with you.

Then like scripture the words come, natural without much stuttering or hesitancy. He recounts the last two weeks. The internship so far, the times you've left Spencer behind for him, the times you just talked about him, like the guy (practically a stranger) is your new best friend. Usually, pretty people make him tongue-tied and you do―god, you do―but at the same time only you make it so easy. Talking, expressing without fear of―

"Pfft―"

―Judgement. Pausing mid-sentence, Spencer gawks as your nose twitches and your blink rate increases. You purse your lips, a hand slapped over your mouth as it threatens to break out into a grin.

"Are you-are you laughing right now?" When he just poured his feelings out to you?

That does it. You keel over, peels of laughter coming like a tsunami, crashing into him and Spencer loves your laugh but not when it's at him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," you wheeze, gripping your stomach. Spencer pouts. There's even tears in your eyes. "But you're telling me this is all because you're jealous?"

He stutters, "Well-I-no-It’s just…" He wants to say ‘you're mine’, but as your eyes crinkle he knows there’s no need.

"That's kinda hot."

"Wha-really?" Wide-eyed, Spencer squeaks as you step closer to him, backing him into the door. His hands come up to his chest in a kitten-like manner yet at the same time protective―you'd never hurt him and you both know that―but you admit your initial reaction was poor when he laid his feelings bare.

“Ahhhh Babe, you know there’s no one else for me but you.” Spencer blushes and you chuckle, taking his hands in yours. He let's you. “Also, as adorable as Intern is, one, I think I’d be able to tell if he was hitting on me, and two, he’s not really my type.”

Spencer swallows, “And what exactly is your type?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Looking him up and down, you step closer, enough that your breath puffs against his chin. You smell like cheap coffee. “Tall, handsome doctors with messy, brown hair―” You lightly tug at one of his stray curls and he bites back a smile.

“―and a cute nose―” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, bringing him down to peck the tip of his nose. It scrunches as Spencer breaks out into giggles.

“―Who can recite classic literature. Who can bake like he belongs on The Great British Baking Show but can’t cook for shi―”

“Okay! Thank you, I get it,” Spencer says, almost completely relaxed now.

“Good,” You nod with finality. “And for your information, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous."

He raises an eyebrow. "So you just abandoned me and talked about another guy for the hell of it?"

Spencer's tone is casual, joking even but you know better. There's underlying bitterness and hurt and your heart squeezes because you did that. "No, of course not. There is a reason behind all that.“

“What could possibly excuse you going above and beyond your job as a mentor―”

“I was trying to set you guys up.”

Spencer deadpans. “Set me up? With him?” Oh god, he knows you’re weird, but he’s never considered you to be outright insane (is it weird he still loves you?).

As if reading his thoughts, you roll your eyes, “Spencer, how many friends do you have outside the team?”

“Not a lot.” No hesitation, but he accepted the fact a long time ago.

“Yeah and that’s okay. But if you’d talk to Intern, you’ll find you two have a lot in common. I know he’s younger than us, but he’s a good kid, real smart,” You give him a meaningful look and shrug, “Not like IQ 187 smart but he could definitely hold a conversation with you.”

Spencer murmurs, pulling you in so you're chest to chest, “This entire time, you were really trying to make us friends?”

You nod, your expression a mix of giddiness and hope that makes whatever feelings he felt before, the confusion and―yes, fine―the jealousy, dissolve like sugar in water. Spencer sinks into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your soap. Of course you had good intentions. Of course you wanted to do something nice for him.

Fuck, he loves you.

“So… we good?”

Spencer huffs, “I hope you realize how much I suffered the past few weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then yes, we’re good,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

“And?”

His brow furrows and he pulls back, meeting your eyes. “And what?”

“Will you try to be friends?” You look at him expectantly.

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, a definitive no on his tongue, but then you’re giving him puppy-dog eyes and before he realizes it, “Okay.”

Wait, no. That is not what he meant to say.

“Yeah!” You throw your arms around him, and Spencer can’t stop you, grunting as you basically swing him around like a rag doll. But he finds he doesn’t care when you set him back down because you’re happy, happy for him, grinning ear to ear as you babble, “I can already tell you two are gonna be the best of friends! You guys have so much to talk about, all that nerdy stuff. Maybe even debate! And we could play chess and―”

There’s a knock and you both turn, a voice muffled by the door, “Hey, guys? I don’t want to interrupt in case you’re boning, but you didn’t exactly tell me where to wait for you? God, I hope you guys aren’t boning. Please tell me you’re not boning right now.”

You groan, “No Intern, we’re not boning! Right-uh-go ahead and meet me back at the office, I’ll be right with you.” You turn back to Spencer, sending him an apologetic look. “I will see you later, okay? And since you’ve been such a patient and understanding partner,” You plant him one last kiss before patting his cheek, and his eyes widen as your voice lowers in the way you know drives him crazy, your eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll make it up to once we get home. Bye, love you!”

Before Spencer can fully register your words, you're out the door, cackling as you leave him to compose himself, his face beet red from running the possibilities. By the time he emerges from the break room, you’re long gone.

“Hi, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer almost snarls, cursing under his breath. Just when he thought the day was getting better. He turns back.

Intern stands tall, relaxed and shoulders back, black tie loose and cheap white-collar button up slightly wrinkled. No doubt from working hard and following your instructions throughout the day. Spencer respects the work ethic at least. Meanwhile, the younger man eyes him, and he’s certain it’s not from intimidation but with curiosity.

Spencer doesn’t linger on that. He’s used to it, not being intimidating to others.

He continues, “It’s nice to finally talk to you, one on one I mean. I’m a fan of your work. Seven degrees, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says curtly. Recalling the earlier conversation with you, he stamps down his irritation and tries to extend an olive branch. “How did you know?”

“It’s the internet, sir,” Intern raises an eyebrow, offering an innocent smile.

“Right,” Spencer returns it with an awkward one of his own, “Hey, sorry for... literally kicking you out before. That was completely unprofessional.”

Intern waves him off, “No, it’s cool. I totally get it. I’m flattered, by the way.”

Spencer frowns. “Flattered?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you find out your superior’s jealous of you.”

Spencer blinks, and it takes all his experience as a profiler to mask his embarrassment. “You heard that.”

“The FBI’s got thin walls,” Intern shrugs and steps towards him. “Although I have to say, Agent (Your Last Name) is wrong about one thing.” Stopping short in front of him, for the first time Spencer is close enough to note the moles dotting his face. “They can’t tell that I’m flirting with them.”

He starts down the hall after you, and Spencer’s eyes trail after him as his brow furrows, until realization slams into him and his jaw drops. “Wait, you...”

“Oh and since (Your Last Name) wants us to be friends, I think we could be on a first-name basis,” He pauses to look back at Spencer, watching with a crooked smile as the older man sputters.

“So, you can call me Stiles, sir.”

Then once again, Spencer is left behind, frozen in the hallway as he processes what just happened.

And the next time he finds you and Special Agent Stilinski in the same room, whether it’s crowded or not, Spencer does not hesitate to cling to your side, putting as much distance between the intern and you as he can. Spencer’s grateful you don’t question it.

There may not be anyone else for you, but that doesn’t mean no one will try.

―

AN: ahhhhh thanks anon!! There was a similar request then i saw this tiktok (and listened to this tiktok the entire time) and i combined them. Id also like to emphasize that my version of reader is neutral across the board, race, gender, etc.

Yes, i have a type. No, i will not be taking criticism.

Been hella overwhelmed with classes and work so here’s my way of destressing. Also suggest checking those tiktoks if you wanna understand me :))) also you mean to tell me i have to write the threesome myself?? Bs tbh 😔

watched 15x4 and i was so sad when Spencer addressed Luke as his coworker like no bitch hes your new bro stfu

and i have no doubt that stiles and spencer would be one of the best crossover duos given the chance

#spencer reid x reader #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #mgg fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg x y/n #matthew gray gubler x oc #matthew gray gubler imagine #mgg fic #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader

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damn-stark · 4 years

Text

Are you still mad?

Jean Kirstein x reader

Requested by anon “HEY🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ can i request a jean x reader where they have an argument but jean doesnt take her seriously cuz he thinks shes ‘cute wen shes mad’ and he’s Attractive wen hes angry so... he busts out the ‘u wanna kiss me so bad’ line and then Hate Sex😁 TY💓”

A/N- Let me just say, I’m still new to this okay! Like this type of writing, practice makes better, so please be patient and nice :) I love you all, thank you for reading!!

Warning- NSFW (smut), rough and angry sex, fluff, and well just that, enjoy :), long hair jean because that man sexy

———-

“Hey, hey, hey, hey.”

He was delusional to think that you’d forget what he was doing on the field. He’s acting like he’s done nothing, acting like he doesn’t know you're angry at him. He always tries to play it off like you aren’t, or like it’s something that will just pass in a matter of seconds, like your anger will disappear out of thin air and that only pisses you off more.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Jean calls out to you again, this time grabbing your arm and pulling you into a lonely alleyway. “Talk to me.”

You pull your arm away and try to walk away and join the rest of your friends, but he grabs you again and pulls you in front of him.

“I have nothing to talk to you about.” You seeth while you avert your gaze.

Jean rests his hand on the wall by your head and his eyes slowly roam your face and he expression that was deeply painted on it. “You’re angry.”

You scoff and push him away. “Yeah because you were reckless today, you didn’t listen and you almost died.”

Jean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t try to argue which is a surprise in itself. Instead he’s the one who desculates the situation. “You know that it’s not like that, I just try my best to help our friends, to save them and you.”

“Yes, I understand, but it doesn’t mean you have to be reckless about it, Jean.” You counter with no sign of calming down. You’ve only argued about this with him so many times and it still didn’t go through his big head. “I don’t know why you don’t understand that.”

“There's nothing to understand.” Instead of leaving you alone, Jean smirks and grabs your chin to tilt your head to face him. That of course pisses you off more. “You know, you’re cute when you’re mad.”

Your eyes widen and you feel your anger boil over, any other time a comment like the one he made now would make your heart flutter, and make you smile, you would completely melt, but this time the words felt almost toxic.

Yet you couldn’t get enough of him.

But instead of giving him the satisfaction to let him see what he caused you, you push him back again and express your anger. “Don’t say that, you’re not listening to me.” You finally meet his gaze and fight not to just give in to him. “Jean, you’re—”

“And you’re not listening to me,” he cuts you off, this time beginning to lose his temper along with you, “it’s nothing to be angry about, because it’s not a big deal, it’s what we do. I’ve told you so many times already, but you don’t listen. Just for once do it, or what are you going to admit you like me?”

Your jaw drops as you gasp, continuing to look into his eyes that had instantly dropped his anger. “You just ruined everything.” For one last time you try to walk off in your heated anger, but Jean is quick and grabs you to spin you and pull you close to his chest, showing his cocky smirk that made your knees weak.

He proceeds to lean loser and tilt his head slightly to the side, continuing with his ridiculous comments in a much softer voice. “You want to kiss me so bad, huh?”

You try to gasp out loud, but nothing audible escapes your lips, you’re instead left watching him with a stunned expression, left watching as his eyes travel down to your lips and he proceeds to lean in and kiss you. That moment causing you to stop breathing and just close your eyes, moving your hands to wrap them around his arms to try and push him away, but not necessarily doing that, instead pulling himcloser and kissing him back slowly at first, still dumbfounded of what had just happened; of what you’ve been wanting to happen for months now, but didn’t have the right confidence boost to do it.

Your actions make Jean smile however and find the chance to push you back to the wall. Beginning to deepen the kiss that finally caused a spark that pulled you from your stupor and realize what you were doing. Albeit not stopping said action and instead sliding your hands up to feel his muscles before you stopped and wrapped one hand around his neck, while the other you dug in his hair, pulling it slightly as he gently bit your bottom lip before he pulled away and gave you both a chance to catch your breath.

When you look up to catch your breath, you swear you see stars in the darkened clouds, your lips twitch into a smile, but before you could fully express the happiness you felt, Jean's voice pulls your attention to him and it erases your smile. “Are you still angry?”

Your eyebrows furrow and you scoff. Why would he ask that?

You don’t say anything and instead just close the small gap between the both of you by pulling him into an open mouth kiss that was packed with much more passion and heat. Jean pulls away again, but this time to press a kiss on the corner of your lips and then leave a trail of wet kisses all the way down to your neck, where he begins to gently suck at your sweet spot, making you grip onto his hair a little tighter and notcing that it wasn’t as soft, but still a little sweaty from your travel. You didn’t let it bother you however and instead you focus on the growing sensation and the growing heat he was causing, expressing a soft moan that made Jean snicker and travel back up to your mouth. Moving one hand down to your thigh and pulling your leg to wrap it around his waist.

He leans in to kiss you again, but hesitates as he meets your gaze to shoot you a breathless and smug smile, continuing to press himself closer to you and move his hand down your body in an attempt to pull the shirt over your head, but stopping as you finally spoke out. “Don’t, this has to be quick, or else they’re going to catch us.”

“Fine,” Jean groans, moving his hands from your shirt and moving his fingers to unbutton your pants, struggling for a moment and cursing as his desperation didn’t let him think clearly. You had to help him unbutton them, sliding your leg off him and pulling your pants down your ankles.

“Not so hard,” you quip, hiding your smirk and moving your own fingers to unbutton his pants, moving to press a kiss on his lips and slowly sliding your tongue over his bottom lip. Unlike him, successfully doing what he failed to do.

You would’ve bragged about it, but instead you let him kiss you, let him swing your leg over his waist again and let his tongue explore the inside of your mouth. Feeling him smile as he heard your whimpers in the back of your throat as he did so.

You wanted his hands to explore your body and his lips to touch every square inch, but you had to remember that you weren’t in any room, you were still in fact outside with limited time and no space. Plus you were still upset at him and his reckless behavior. You would only let him do so much and instead let him dream of what he could do, even if you wanted him to get away with a lot and be with you all night.

Maybe some other time.

For now you enjoyed your heated moment, feeling your want heighten as you felt his hard needing bulge rub against your wet, needing and heavenly spot still covered by the fabric of your underwear.

Jean groans in your mouth at the slight contact and pulls away from your mouth to put his hands on your hips, looking down at what forbid him from fully feeling you before drifting his eyes up to meet yours, letting you see his blown out pupils reflect the light of the moon as it stood directly over your heads. He heaved just like you were and leaned in to kiss you again, but stops and his breath stutters as you roll your hip on his erection, letting out a soft moan and arching your back as he rolls his hips seconds after. Something that made him smile before he looked down and saw your underwear was soaked.

“Tsk, look at you.” He murmurs against your lips, sliding his slim fingers down to your waist and dragging them down slowly to hook his finger on the waistband of your underwear, slowly pulling it down before he pulls down his own. “I thought you were angry at me, pretty baby.”

Your eyes flicker down, but before you could get a glimpse of what he hid, he put his knuckle under your chin and tilted your head up and shook his head. “Tsk, this is quick, remember.” His fingers dig into your hips to lift you a bit and line his tip with your entrance, pushing you down and slowly easing every delicious and thick inch of himself into your wet and throbbing pussy. Moaning into your mouth as you clench around his member.

You tug his hair that was beginning to grow out and your eyes shut at the feeling of him achingly staying in place. “Jean,” you moan softly, panting heavily and dropping your gaze to meet his; only noticing his eyes were shut before he rests his forehead in the crook of your neck, staying painfully still inside you. You would’ve let him any other time, but right now you really needed him. “Jean, please.”

“Just,” Jean interjects softly, “please.”

“Jean. Please I need you, please.” You purr by his ear, feeling him lift his head and seeing as he pulled away to meet your pleading gaze, showing you a new emotion in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A sort of fire, an anger that he had only shown for a couple seconds.

“Fine,” he growls, not waiting a single moment before he rips away and slams back into you, causing you to scream out and arch your back until your chest hit his, shutting your eyes so hard that you swear you could see stars dance around in the darkness of your closed eyelids.

Jean is quick to slap his hand over your mouth to shut up your loud moans that could attract any curious person, as he continued to pound you into the wall, leaving no space for kindness, or sweet kisses, just brutally thrusting into you and instantly finding that divine spot that made tears prickle at the corner of your eyes.

Every inch of him felt heavenly, like you couldn’t get enough, it made you think through your daze of why you hadn’t done this before, even if all the desire to do so was always there, but only shut off by each other’s pride. He always teased you, like you with him, there was always shared glances and close calls, but it never came to this, what you were doing in the dark in this lonely abandoned alleyway.

You would’ve thought this was crazy any other day, but now you couldn’t think of anything else, didn’t want anything else but feel his cock easily slide in and out of your warm and wet pussy. Hearing his moans that he tried to hold back as to not let any noise, beside skin slapping against skin be heard echoing down the alleyway. He tried he really did, you could see it by the way he bit his lip, and or tried to kiss you, but the euphoria he felt didn’t let him do much but just whisper sweet nothings and your name into your ear, just holding back from what he really wanted to express.

You hug him tight and clenched harder around him as you felt you were beginning to reach your climax, and felt him close to reaching his.

“I-I, shit,” Jean groans by your ear, moving his hand from your mouth and slowing his pace into softer, yet quick thrusts, “I lo—”

“Do-don't you dare sa-sa-say it.” You wheeze before expressing a throaty moan, “Jean.”

Jean digs his nails into your hips and moves one hand to slap it on the wall by the side of your head, turning his thrusts harder again and ripping apart everything inside you.

He moves his head and presses a kiss on your lips, wanting to deepen it, but stopping and resting his forehead on yours before he came inside you without warning, stalling there and panting out your name.

He wanted to stop, but he continued; this time just rolling his hips into you in a slow and sweet pace that finally sent you over the edge. Making your toes curl and arch your back to then whimper out his name since nothing else, but a soft gasp left your mouth.

The sensation of your climax was euphoric, mind-numbing and blinding, your heart felt as if it was going to explode out. Tears rolled down your cheeks and your chest heaved up down, you loosened your grip on his hair and pull away to rest your back on the wall, still feeling the explosive feeling radiating inside you and feeling nothing. Hearing nothing but your heart and Jeans breathing until he broke the silence with a stupid question. “Are you still mad at me.”

You open your eyes and blink to look at him, tilting your head, and rolling your eyes as you pushed him off you. In that instant, feeling an instant regret as you felt empty now, felt each other’s warm cum slide down your leg.

Jean was quick to come to your aid, pulling a rag from inside his jacket that looked surprisingly clean. “Here, let me.”

“No,” you call out, grabbing the rag from his hand and cleaning yourself. “I’ve got it. Thank you.”

“Really,” Jean presses, “are you still mad?”

Your eyes flicker up to him for a brief moment before you pull your underwear and pants on, buttoning it in silence and watching as he mirrors your actions until you both stand fully dressed in the same alley way in waiting silence. You sigh and shake your head, “no, I just,” you pause and zip your jacket, shrugging before answering quietly. Ignoring the throbbing that was still going on in between your legs. “I just worry about you, Jean, okay? That’s why I get mad, I can’t express my worry for you any other way. I’m sorry.”

Jean smiles softly and tilts your head up with his knuckle so he could meet your gaze. “I knew that, I just wanted you to admit it.”

You scoff and push his arm away. “You just—”

Jean grabs your hand to pull you back to him. “Wait,” he presses a soft kiss on your lips and whispers out what he had intended to say. “Thank you for worrying about me, I worry about you too, believe it or not.” He grins and presses another kiss on your lips, “I lo—”

“Jean! Y/N!”

You both look to the end of the alleyway to see Connie and Sasha, both carrying goofy grins on their lips and food in their hands.

“Where have you two been? We’ve been looking for you!” Sasha reveals, making Jean grow pink.

“Oh you know,” you smirk, seeing Jean's face burn at the thought that you were going to reveal what you had been doing. “Fighting.”

“Well,” Connie rolls out, “that’s not surprising.”

They both hurry to join the both of you and you throw Jean his rag, seeing him from the corner of your eyes have a hard time putting it away.

“Anyway, we got food, let’s go!” Sasha exclaims happily, taking your hand and pulling you along with her. Leaving behind Jean and a smiling Connie who knew too much for his own good.

#attack on titan #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan imagines #jean kirstein #aot jean #jean kirstein fanfiction #jean kirstein imagines #jean kirstein imagine #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein smut #jean kirstein x reader smut #smut #aot #aot imagines #aot imagine #aot smut #attack on Titan smut #connie springer #sasha braus

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swaps55 · 3 years

Text

Mnemonic

This is an AU version of a standalone scene from Cantata that I rewrote with kissing. Because there was a lot of UST and I am weak.

Ao3

14 June 2180, Hades Gamma, Farinata System, SSV Myeongnyang

For a biotic, the armor never really comes off. What they carry under their skin is like a live wire, a current always in need of grounding.

Standing face-to-face with half a dozen L2 biotics holding the chairman of the Parliament Subcommittee for Transhuman Studies hostage on the MSV Ontario makes it a lot easier for Kaidan to see how much he takes for granted having a safe place to do it. And knowing how.

Reparations for the L2 side effects are a pipe dream. But a pipe dream Colin Daggett and his people needed to cling to, whatever the cost. And it had almost cost them everything.

Shepard doesn’t say much as they arrange for the survivors to be transferred to the Madrid’s brig and the engineering crew arrives to secure the Ontario for the trip to Arcturus. He says even less on the way through the airlock back to the ‘Yang, and the rest of the squad take their lead from him.

When they’re back on board the ship he disappears, sucking the air out of the room with him. They kit down without him.

“You’re an L2, aren’t you?” Pendergrass asks as she shoves her arms through the sleeves of her uniform, armor plating in a heap at her feet.

Beaudoin jabs her with an elbow.

“Yeah,” Kaidan murmurs, fingers tracing the amp port on the back of his neck when he removes the protection plate. He flexes his fingers, gravity well jumping into his touch. As he reaches for his chest plate to store it in his gear locker, an electric shock passes through him.

When 23:00 rolls around, Kaidan shows up in the mess as usual, figuring he’ll keep it simple tonight and just make some pasta. Shepard is there waiting, as usual, picking at a spot on the table while Kaidan pulls out a pot and finds a container of pasta. The entire time the water boils Shepard doesn’t say a word, stubbornly lost in thought.

Kaidan tells himself he’s not going to do more than olive oil and garlic – it’s been too long of a day for effort – but by the time he gets it to the table there’s parmesan cheese, parsley, and even a little red pepper in the mix.

“You going to tell me what’s up, or do I get to guess?” Kaidan asks when he sits down across from him and hands off a fork. He spent too much energy on going above and beyond with the red pepper to bother with a second bowl. They’ll just have to share.

Shepard looks up, almost in surprise. “Just thinking.”

“You’ve been thinking ever since you got Chairman Burns through the airlock. Maybe you should think out loud.”

The gravity well churns as Shepard stirs eddies in it, in tune with the twirl of his fork in the pasta bowl. “Everything that happened on that ship hinged on what Daggett did with his pistol.”

His toying intensifies, until blue energy shimmers around his knuckles. This one’s been chewing at him. A snap of electricity skips between his finger and the fork, and he drops it with an annoyed mutter. He looks up.

“You pulled the gun out of his hands,” he says.

And Shepard had put a bullet between his eyes. The fight had gone out of the rest pretty quickly.

“He wasn’t going to put it down,” Kaidan says. “We all knew it.”

“No. He wasn’t. And if you hadn’t been there, that standoff turns into a clusterfuck where everyone dies.”

A soft smile tugs at Kaidan’s lips. “Guess it’s a good thing I was there.”

Shepard picks up the fork again, staring at it with an unfocused gaze before he stabs it back in the bowl and twirls more pasta.

“I couldn’t have done what you did. I can’t refine a field like that. I was prepared to shoot everyone in that room. But you pulled the gun right out of his hands.”

Only because Shepard had given him the chance. Whether Shepard had done it with purpose or actually hesitated is a question he hasn’t been in a hurry to examine too closely.

“We work together, remember? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Shepard huffs. “Yeah. We have.”

“But you’re just gonna get bent out of shape about not being able to do everything yourself, anyway.”

“Have you met me?” Shepard says with a helpless shrug.

“Yeah, I’ve had the pleasure,” Kaidan says with a chuckle. He pushes his chair back. “Come on, then.”

Shepard casts him a suspicious look. “Come where?”

“To the gym.”

“Alenko—”

“Come on.” He nods towards the elevator and starts walking, smirking a little when Shepard’s chair scrapes against the floor and his feet hit the deckplates.

“You’re just dying to give me a taste of my own medicine, aren’t you,” Shepard grouches when they board the lift.

“Oh, definitely.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Apparently not when it comes to taking people’s pistols out of their hands.”

Shepard chuckles, though he tries to choke off a smile by looking down at his feet. When they get to the gym Kaidan digs a canteen out of his locker and sets it down on one of the sparring mats.

“I’m guessing that your training didn’t include a lot of control drills,” he says.

Shepard shakes his head. “Tulak wasn’t big on control. Overwhelming tidal force tends to be the krogan approach.”

“You don’t say.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Alenko.”

Kaidan grins and points to the canteen. “Start simple. Just lift it off the ground.”

Shepard rolls his eyes, but taps into the gravity well, corona enveloping him in a shroud of snapping blue tendrils. The hairs on Kaidan’s arms stand on end.

It’s so rare he gets to just watch Shepard work. All unrestrained power, from the loose, angry snarl of his corona to the sweeping mnemonics, make him seem larger than life. When he swipes the canteen off the floor he does it with his entire arm. The canteen leaps into the air, nearly hitting the ceiling before Shepard wrangles it. He only holds it still for half a second before sending it skidding to the other side of the gym.

“Hm,” Kaidan says.

Shepard gives him a withering look before marching off to fetch the wayward canteen. “It’s small. I don’t do well with small.”

“Not sure the size trips you up as much as you think it does,” Kaidan muses. “That mnemonic of yours applies some pretty impressive force automatically, so you’re already playing catch up if you’re trying to control the speed or direction.”

“See, I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or giving me shit.”

“Both.”

“Har.”

Shepard resets the canteen and comes back to Kaidan to try it again, standing close but not so close their fields intersect. Kaidan watches through three variations that all end almost the same way, too much force being applied to the canteen, making it nearly impossible for Shepard to control where it goes, or where it doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter that he’s not accomplishing what it intends. The way the gravity well cants under his touch, the way his corona lights him ablaze like a flickering star, the way it caresses every nerve in Kaidan’s body like a swash of silk is mesmerizing. Kaidan swallows before trying to speak.

“Good news is, if we ever need someone to punt a suspicious canteen into space, I know who to call.”

Shepard rolls his eyes. “And if you’re not around to yank pistols out of terrorist hands?”

“Well, first, I will be around. But second, as for the pistol, yanking it towards you isn’t so different from kicking it away from you.” He cracks a grin. “In your case you just need to be prepared to duck.”

“Have I mentioned that separating the pistol from the person holding it wouldn’t end well for anyone?” Shepard says. “If you were to go hold that canteen in your palm and ask me to do what I just did, you wouldn’t like me very much.”

I doubt that.

“One problem at a time,” Kaidan says. “Let’s work on controlling the canteen by itself, then we’ll add clutter.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“You need a new mnemonic. You’re fighting yourself by adding force and trying to take it away at the same time.”

“I’m sensing a metaphor.”

Kaidan smirks. “Think that says more about you than it does me.” Before Shepard can protest he raises an arm. “Watch me. You don’t have to use my mnemonic, but I want you to see something different so you can visualize it.”

Shepard folds his arms across his chest, but does what Kaidan asks. A nervous thrill runs through him at the undivided attention.

Kaidan waves a wrist, a hard-learned, hard-fought mnemonic that now feels as natural as breathing. Dark energy rushes through him, responsive and willing, as his fingers flex and settle a field over the canteen. Very little mass-shifting needed to pick up a light-weight canteen, which makes it tricky to keep from doing exactly what Shepard did – send it spinning out of control. But Kaidan has spent years perfecting his ability to do exactly this, so the canteen rises off the floor until it reaches eye level. Kaidan closes his fist and holds it still, floating almost motionless in mid-air.

“That mnemonic is so damned subtle,” Shepard says with an appreciative shake of his head. A flush builds at the back of Kaidan’s neck.

“Easier for me that way.”

Shepard grunts and unfolds his arms. “I was never good at levitation.”

“Because your mnemonics always apply force.”

“Need force to yank that pistol.”

“Sure, but if you want to control it, you need to learn how to hold it still.”

“I’m not good at still.”

“I know,” Kaidan says, lips curving into a smile. “So come here and let me show you.”

Shepard strays a step closer into Kaidan’s biotic field. The blend of auras creates a low keen through his nerves, familiar but always striking. The canteen wavers before falling to the ground.

“Sorry,” Shepard mumbles, but doesn’t back away.

“It’s fine,” Kaidan says, lifting the canteen again with another float of his palm.

Their eyes lock for a moment before Shepard clears his throat and looks down at Kaidan’s hand.

“You put everything in your wrist.”

“Yeah,” he manages. “You do it all with your arms.”

“Yeah.”

“So maybe, if you’re looking for finesse, try to create a mnemonic that’s a little, uh, smaller.”

“With my wrist.”

“Right. Um, I’ll show you. Here.” He steps in front of Shepard, angling his body to align their right arms. He takes Shepard’s right hand guides it to his wrist, tingle running down his spine when his fingers close around it. Shepard glances at him with soft eyes that stop the breath in his throat, but doesn’t object.

“Hands-on teacher?”

“Best way to learn,” Kaidan replies, gaze flicking to Shepard’s mouth before going back to the canteen. “Just follow my lead. Don’t act on the canteen. Concentrate on what my arm does. Visualize it.”

“Sure,” Shepard murmurs.

Kaidan reaches into the gravity well, his own corona unfurling, a steady candle to Shepard’s flaring torch. Goosebumps rise on Shepard’s arm, a subtle reminder that he’s human after all, one Kaidan is almost never close enough to witness.

He takes a deep breath and flexes his wrist, Shepard’s fingers loose and feather-light against his skin. A crackle of dark energy passes between them before he snares the canteen and turns his wrist palm-up to lift it off the floor, Shepard close enough his breath washes over Kaidan’s cheek. The canteen wavers but Kaidan keeps it afloat for several seconds, the mingle of auras, ripple of kinetic energy and closeness of Shepard enough to make him dizzy.

He lets it go with a clatter and puts space between them.

“Does that help?” he asks, trying not to sound breathless.

“Yeah. It does.” Shepard’s gaze stays on him, still and steady. “Might take a while to hard-wire my brain for something in the wrist.”

“Doesn’t have to be that. It could be something else. But you associate those big movements with force. Take that away, you might have more luck with leaving velocity out of the initial execution, so you can add it how you need it. Have more control over it.”

Shepard’s mouth crooks in a half-smile. “Sure I’m not a lost cause when it comes to control?”

“I’m sure.”

Shepard breaks his gaze and focuses on the canteen, brow furrowed in concentration. Twice he catches himself using his arm, then nearly wrenches his wrist trying to restrict the movement.

“It’s so ingrained,” he says with a shake of his head.

“That’s why they work,” Kaidan says with a smile. “Here.” He steps close once again, positions reversed with his hand on Shepard’s wrist this time. “Let me help.”

“Fuck, your hands are cold,” Shepard says with a laugh.

Hastily, he loosens his grip. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Shepard says with a grin. “Go on.”

Gently, Kaidan closes his fingers again. Shepard trains his eyes on the canteen, though they dart to Kaidan ever so briefly.

Shepard’s corona is so bright, so fierce, it’s a wonder he can wrangle it at all. Kaidan breathes in deep, letting his own kindle, the snick and crackle as they blend together forming a resonant hum that hovers just under his skin.

When Shepard’s arm moves, Kaidan tightens his grip, keeping the motion small. Instead of his usual languid, fluid posture, Shepard’s arm is stiff and resistant against him. The canteen spins in a circle but stays on the ground.

“Breathe, Shepard,” Kaidan says softly. “Just let it happen.”

Shepard inhales deep, like someone trying to relearn how. This time they move together, Kaidan picking up the slack when Shepard falters, until the canteen hovers briefly in the air. It’s more under Kaidan’s control than Shepard’s, but it’s a start, and that’s what matters.

They gutter out and the canteen falls, but Kaidan doesn’t let go and doesn’t step away, not yet, not quite yet, not while the remnants of kinetic energy are still sharp in the air and he has to remind himself to breathe, too.

“How do you do that?” Shepard murmurs. “You worked around me, without…taking over. How do you do that?”

Their eyes lock for just a moment. God Kaidan could get lost there if he’s not careful. “Practice. Years of it.”

Let go.

He means to. He means to. In his head he loosens his hold on Shepard’s wrist, drops his hand away and puts space between them. That’s what he tells himself to do. That’s what he intends to do.

But while he does loosen his grip, instead of fall away, Kaidan’s fingertips brush Shepard’s knuckles, the pad of his thumb running along the round muscle of his palm.

It’s an accident. Just an accident. So many of their touches are, but rather than move or pull away, rather than let it be just another one of those excusable, explainable slips, Shepard exhales, the breath fluttering out of him, then splays his fingers wider, as if making room for Kaidan’s to slot between them.

Let go, let go.

But instead he explores the open space Shepard has left for him, fingertips light, hesitant, ghosting Shepard’s skin as he finds where they fit, hovering, hoping, but never daring to rest. Never giving up the ruse.

It’s an accident. It doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does.

Shepard stays still as a stone save for the rise and fall of his chest. They’re close enough now their cheeks almost touch, though whether Kaidan moves or Shepard does to close that gap he can’t say.

The next time Kaidan’s fingers trespass through that open space, Shepard closes his around them and traps them there.

Kaidan’s breath hitches.

The gravity well sighs as Shepard calls to it, glow of dark energy limming their hands, accompanied by a soundless hum that strums every nerve in Kaidan’s body before settling in his groin. Without thinking his other hand comes to rest on Shepard’s hip, needing something, anything, to hold onto.

A soft sound stirs in Shepard’s throat. Kaidan’s hand doesn’t stay on that hip for long, because Shepard seeks those fingers out, too, lacing them together. Kaidan folds both arms until Shepard is surrounded by them. There’s no imagining any space between them now – their cheeks rest against each other, Kaidan tightening his hold until Shepard is snug against his chest.

Shepard turns his head, but after briefly meeting each other’s gaze, his eyes drift down to Kaidan’s mouth.

Kaidan can still let go. There’s still a way out. Chalk it up to adrenaline, nerves leftover from the standoff on the Ontario. They can walk it off, laugh, pretend it never happened, continue on like they always have.

But he doesn’t let go, and then the millimeters between Shepard’s lips and Kaidan’s no longer exist and the window is gone.

Shepard’s mouth is warm, soft, lips tinged with the salt of his sweat. They start out slow, cautious, neither of them daring to think about it too hard, but that’s not a problem for long, because soon there’s no room to think about anything at all.

Nothing else matters but this.

Slow and cautious becomes deep and headlong, Kaidan pushing his tongue between Shepard’s teeth, Shepard sighing into his mouth and taking him in. His fingers tighten around Kaidan’s, the glow of dark energy rippling out from their joined hands until it swallows them whole. Kaidan gasps at the sensation.

Shepard kisses him harder.

God.

Kaidan wants to spin him around, throw his arms around his neck and meet him head on, give in to everything, all of it, but he can’t bear the thought of turning loose of that hand.

They part when they run out of air, both straining to catch their breath, fingers still entwined, Shepard still firmly ensconced in Kaidan’s arms as his corona fades.

Shepard rests his cheek against Kaidan’s, ensconcing himself a little further.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Shepard’s fingers flex within his, twining and retwining, never letting go.

“You…don’t seem surprised.”

Kaidan closes his eyes, breathing him in, a star he’s somehow pulled down out of the heavens and trapped right here in his arms. “No. Felt it…for a long time now.”

“Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

Their coronas may have faded, but the mingle of their biotic fields is a constant, soothing whisper under Kaidan’s skin. A small, contented sound slips from Shepard’s throat.

“Why didn’t I see it?”

Kaidan huffs. “To be fair, I don’t think either of us are very good at this kind of thing.”

Shepard tightens his grip on Kaidan’s fingers and pulls them to his chest. The race of Shepard’s heart thrums under their joined hands. If Kaidan had any illusions about letting him go, they’re gone now.

“I think I’d like to learn,” Shepard says.

Kaidan’s stomach flips. “Me too.”

They stay still, Kaidan content to hold him, Shepard content to be held, until their lips find each other once more. Kissing Shepard is easy, effortless, like it’s something they were meant to do, a safe place for the live current running under their skin to go to ground.

Shepard, against all evidence to the contrary, is…safe.

Shepard gazes at him when they part, and butterflies cut loose in Kaidan’s stomach.

“You’re very good at that,” Shepard murmurs.

“We’re very good at a lot of things.”

“Yeah. We are.” He draws Kaidan’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Kaidan admits. “What do you want?”

“You.”

A shiver runs down Kaidan’s spine, the euphoria of that one, single word enough to make him lightheaded. So simple. So complicated. They’ll have choices to make, all of them with compromises and consequences. But that’s something for tomorrow. Right now there is only the truth.

“I want that, too.”

Shepard releases Kaidan’s hand to turn until they’re face to face, then runs his fingers through the hairs growing over Kaidan’s right temple. All the while those glittering eyes search Kaidan’s face, as though reconciling all the things he knows with the things he’s learning for the first time.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across his face, pure, open, and full of possibility. “Taste of my own medicine, huh?”

“Well…” Kaidan shrugs helplessly, and Shepard’s grin only gets deeper.

“Seems like I should have let you teach me a few things a long time ago.”

Kaidan flexes his fingers, a curl of dark energy igniting in his palm that draws out goosebumps along Shepard’s arm. “All in the wrist.”

Shepard laughs. It’s like music. “You and me.”

“I like that,” Kaidan murmurs, before kissing him again. “I like that a lot.”

#mshenko #kaidan alenko #mass effect #my fic #UST with biotics #in case anyone is wondering #the number of first kisses I have written for Sam and Kaidan #is currently sitting at 7 #and that's just the first kisses i have WRITTEN #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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madswonders · 3 years

Text

A Lesson In Romance #10: Thoughts

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Implied anxiety, Mentions of canon-typical violence

Word Count: 2.5k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they're paired together on a case.

A/N: I know that the BAU's conference room has big-ass glass windows but just imagine that the blinds are closed for the entirety of this chapter aha. Also this chapter is a doozy... like 1k words longer than usual, so enjoy!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

---------

As Peter Gizzi once described the phenomena of love, "About you there is nothing I wouldn’t want to know / With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler."

In high school, your reputation always preceded you. The cynic that never had a boyfriend, much less a drunken one-night stand; a prude who waited over ten dates to have her first kiss; or the "ice queen" who kept her emotions locked up and threw away the key.

If they saw you now, you wondered if they would laugh at how you've changed; because these days, you looked like you were keeping the best secret in the world, one that threatened to burst from your lips every time you smiled.

What you didn’t know, is that you didn't need to be a profiler to see it. From the bubbling laughter and whispered conversations, to the not-so-secret longing glances. You and Spencer disappeared into your own world when you were together, and everybody knew it.

And for the first few weeks, that was enough. You found it easier than usual to ignore the thoughts that lurked in the back of your mind. That is, until you couldn't.

"... I want you and Spencer to work on the geographic profile." Hotch had announced, and you remembered the feeling of your blood running cold.

There were two reasons for this. First was the fact that this case linked twenty homicides across three years to a single unsub. If there was any case that required the two nerdiest members of the BAU to team up, this was it.

Unfortunately, that fact was closely followed by an overwhelming fear — and you wanted to preface this by saying that you were usually a woman of logic and science — but, somehow, you couldn't shake the thought that something bad was going to happen to you and Spencer, and you weren't ready for it.

Leaning against the cool conference room wall, you tapped your toes in an impatient rhythm against the carpeted floor. You were trying to recite what you learned from your PhD; that your mind was jumping to conclusions and that it was normal to be nervous. It was normal to feel this way. You were normal.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, jolting you out of your mantra.

You realised your boyfriend had been talking to you for awhile now, but clearly, you weren't listening. You shook your head apologetically.

"Sorry, I was just thinking. Could you say that again?"

"I was just saying, you can start by pinning the names and locations of the victims, and I'll put up the crime scene photos... but are you sure you're okay?" He asked again, this time shooting you those puppy dog eyes that made you weak.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Let's get to work." You said firmly, grabbing the box of push pins. You felt his gaze linger on you for a second, before he began picking up his own stack of pictures.

The first hour sped by quickly as you and Spencer listed out all of the unsub’s possible motives and next victims. At the half hour mark, Hotch dropped in to check on your progress, bringing takeaway coffee and leaving with a rare smile.

At the second hour, the rest of the team returned with some new leads, and unfortunately, new bodies, but nothing that helped solidify the profile any further than what you already had.

At the fifth hour, there was no denying it. The team had hit a wall. While the rest of them were back in the field investigating more leads, you sipped on your second cup of coffee while staring at the evidence board. Spencer paced the room behind you.

"The messy dump sites. The carvings onto the victims' chests. One points to the unsub being disorganised and inexperienced, but the other is a clear, almost narcissistic ritual." The doctor thought aloud.

"Usually that means the unsub is trying to make a statement, but he killed his first ten victims before the police found out, then killed another seven and three right under their noses before going dormant. If he wanted to make a statement, why wouldn't he tip off the police or media sooner?" He grumbled.

"Are we sure it's not a taunt to the local police’s competency? Many of his first victims were found in secluded areas with limited police support." You pointed out, tapping the edge of your cup in thought.

"No, the victimology and locations are too wide spread. A taunt would present a clearer message." He said.

You turned around suddenly, causing him to halt in his steps. "Here's something completely off the wall — but what if the unsub was trying to achieve a specific pattern with his kills?" You said, gesturing with your cup.

Tap, tap-tap, tap, you created the rhythm with your finger.

"That would explain why he isn't acting like a narcissist. Maybe he's suffering a mental condition that compels him to complete a certain pattern, and subsequently, ritual with his kills. Could be rhythmical, musical, numerical..." You explained.

"Numerical. That's it!" Spencer squeaked, rushing to the board with a marker. "I thought these numbers seemed familiar earlier, that's because they make up prime numbers!"

He backed away from the board to reveal what he wrote. The numbers 2, 3, 5, 7, and 11. A lightbulb turned on in your head.

"2, 3 and 5 make up the first ten kills. 7 is the next, which he managed to complete perfectly, but something happened to the unsub at 11." Spencer voiced your thoughts.

"He might have been incarcerated, or injured. But we can't rule out the possibility that he might have moved out of town and resumed the pattern elsewhere. So either we can expect 8 more victims here, or the unsub has already moved onto the next number: 13." You quickly finished the train of thought.

"Love, you're a genius!" Spencer rushed over to pick you up by the waist, twirling you as you laughed in relief. But the relief turned to surprise when he kissed you deeply.

God, he was good at this. Even when your feet touched the ground, it felt like you were seeing stars. Though it was only when your lips parted that he had the decency to blush.

"Love?" You breathed.

Spencer's cheeks turned crimson in embarrassment, but he didn't back away. Instead, he leaned forward, bumping your foreheads together gently.

"I didn't know you had that in you, doctor." You teased.

"Well, my mother did school me in classic romance literature from a young age. Not to mention, I happen to be a genius at most things..." You could hear the smile in his voice, and you giggled.

The doctor pulled away then, an adoring smile still plastered across his face. "Are you fee—" He began, but his voice died in his throat as his gaze fixated on something behind you.

"Ooooh, am I interrupting something?" You turned around to see none other than Penelope smiling coyly from the doorway, and the two of you jumped apart.

"N-no, nothing!" Spencer blurted out.

"All fine and dandy here." You added on, blushing furiously.

The tech analyst smiled deviously. "Well, I thought I'd come and check on my two favourite lovebirds. Anything else from the case for me to chew on? Except whatever that was earlier." She teased.

"Actually, there is." You cleared your throat awkwardly, while the good doctor looked like he wanted to melt into the carpet.

"We need you to search up murders in neighbouring cities that match the mutilation by our unsub, then cross-reference the time frame with any new residents. We suspect he might be trying to complete a pattern, and that he may have done it somewhere other than here." You said.

"On it, future-Mrs-Genius. I will get back to you so fast that you won't even have time to get down and dirty." She half-yelled that last bit, heels clicking as she walked back to her office. Before you could even formulate a response, she was gone.

You felt your boyfriend wrap his arms around you from the back. "Now, where were we?" He whispered.

You giggled, leaning back into the doctor's chest while he rocked your bodies side to side. "Are you feeling better now?" He asked.

"Next time someone says it's not as intense in here as it is out there, I'm going to give them a stern talking to." You joked.

"You know what I mean, love." Spencer reiterated gently, the pet name falling from his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world. "If you tell me about it, I can help you. You know I'm always here for you."

You sighed softly, blinking back tears that threatened to spill.

"It's something stupid. I-I'm fine."

He turned you around, brows furrowing in concern when a tear rolled down your cheek. "What's wrong?" He asked, wiping it away tenderly.

"I— I was worried about us working together." You admitted. "And it's not because I don't like working with you, but I just— I just couldn't—"

"Take a deep breath, love. Slowly." He held your shoulders as you breathed in and out, once, twice.

"I've been afraid this whole day — no, for awhile now — that something was going to happen to our relationship." You confessed shakily. "And it's not about our jobs — although I worry about that too — but I'm scared that one day you'll wake up and realise that I'm not worth the trouble."

You looked up at the ceiling, trying to stop the next wave of tears.

"A-and it's only gotten worse because I've never been so h-happy with another person before. Only you've made me feel this way, and I'm t-terrified that I'll lose what we have."

There was a brief silence as Spencer pulled you close to his chest, one hand stroking your hair carefully. You could hear his heart beating fast.

"Do you remember when the team tricked us into sharing a bed?" He whispered, a hint of a smile trickling into his voice. "I think about it every single time we're about to go into the field. Because you said you'd never leave me, and now, whenever we're out there, I know I'm not alone."

He breathed in deeply, your head gently rising and falling together with his chest.

"You've given me someone to come home to, love. What we have, you'll never lose it, okay?" He whispered.

"Baby, I—" Your voice halted. Crap.

"Wait. Baby?" Spencer repeated back to you, a teasing lilt in his voice. Your face flushed, and you unwinded your arms from your boyfriend to cover your face.

"Oh god, can we pretend that didn't just happen?"

"I have an eidetic memory." He pointed out. You let out a watery laugh, knowing when you had lost.

"Alright, alright. But I do have another ide—"

Then, the conference room phone rang. It was Emily. "Hey guys, Garcia managed to narrow down the unsub and we're 10 out, but we'll need some back-up."

"Be there in 15." You replied, while Spencer shot you an amused look, Luckily, he waited for the call to end before saying the next words.

"Let's go, baby." He wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, already strapping on your kevlar. "That's it. You're not driving."

"Aww!"

---------

After the major breakthrough in the case — all thanks to Nerd 1 and Nerd 2, as Derek fondly called the two of you — the case managed to wrap up neatly and the BAU found themselves in a rare position. Ready to end the work day, on time.

Not that anybody was packing up to leave just yet, although you wished they would, because Penelope had decided to start enthusiastically retelling how she found the BAU's resident lovebirds in the conference room, unable to keep their hands off each other.

"Last I heard, pet names aren't a crime — and how long were you standing there anyway?" You accused, blushing.

"Firstly, they are. Criminally cute, that is!" Penelope squealed, while the rest were in fits of laughter. "And secondly, you should never underestimate my awesome ninja abilities, because I heard everything that I needed to hear."

"Do I even want to know?" Spencers winced.

"I don't think you do, pretty boy." Derek laughed, clapping the genius on the back.

"Wait, wait, wait. Can we go back to how Spencer's pet name of choice is love?" Emily gasped in laughter.

"You've got to admit it's kind of cute, Emily." JJ smiled.

"Sure. If you're courting Mr. Darcy and attending cotillions."

"C'mon, Prentiss. All that means is that our boy's got style." Derek added to laughter, while Spencer whined in protest.

The door to Hotch's office opened suddenly, both him and Rossi stepping out with expressions of urgency on their faces.

“Sorry to break up the fun, kiddos. But there's been an update to the case.” Rossi announced, following right behind Hotch to the conference room.

The laughs were wiped off everybody's faces as you traded concerned looks. As you filed into the room, Hotch had already begun speaking.

“Another body was found half an hour ago. Same MO, same random victimology, and same kind of dumpsite. And the unsub just told us where to find his copycat.”

“Wait, we never profiled a second unsub.” Derek interjected.

"It doesn't makes sense — the first unsub is a control freak. He didn't like the idea of anybody messing with his sequence. Wouldn't he have done something if he knew somebody else was copying his pattern?" You asked.

"We profiled that he wouldn't be able to deviate from his pattern. What if he had to continue, even when somebody else was committing some of the crimes for him?" Spencer countered.

“Hold on, you said the unsub gave us a location?” Emily asked.

"And a time." Rossi voiced up. “8pm tonight at The Basil. The first unsub claims that's where the copycat finds his next targets."

"How do we know if we can trust him?" Derek asked.

"We don't. But he didn't display any telltale signs of doubt when he told us, and this is the only lead we have." Hotch's frown deepened. You had a feeling he didn't like the idea of this either, but the team didn't have a choice.

"Okay, if we're doing this, he can't know we're onto him," Emily thought aloud, "and we'll need precautions in case it's a trap. That means..."

"Undercover agents... and the bait." Hotch said with finality.

“And who did you have in mind for that?” You piped up, and everyone turned their eyes to you.

“You and Reid.” He stated the obvious.

“B-b-but, I’ve never gone—"

“You’ve more than proven your abilities in the field since you joined us, and having natural chemistry will make it less suspicious to the unsub.”

You opened your mouth, but no words fell from it. Hotch was right. Of course he was right.

As if hearing your thoughts, Spencer took your hand in his and squeezed, and you felt a little calmer already. “Ok, I’ll do it.” You said determinedly, while the doctor echoed your sentiment.

Hotch nodded, beginning to assign roles to the rest of the team while you squeezed your boyfriend's hand tighter, a new mantra forming in your head.

Everything is going to be okay. Everything will be okay.

----------

Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @mellowalieneggsknight @kenny-0909 || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

#mads fics #spencer reid x reader: a lesson in romance #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm fic #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid x reader hurt/comfort

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edasnest · 3 years

Note

Might you have any Raeda headcanons you'd be willing to share?

Oh shit I didn’t see that you sent this to me until now oh man.

But you better believe I’ve got some Raeda headcanons >:D

[Spoilers for Eda’s Requiem and Knock Knock Knockin on Hooty’s Door! Also a little bit of a character study regarding those eps lol]

Raine is constantly in awe of Eda. Eda’s desire to learn every kind of magic and buck tradition and societal norms sometimes leaves them breathless. When they were young, Raine always admired Eda for the clever pranks she’d pull using different kinds of magic despite being in the potions track. They also admired Eda’s boldness when it came to standing up for herself and her sister.

Eda found Raine to be interesting considering they were in the bard track despite their stage fright, but once Eda watched them perform and saw how they’d lose themself in the music was, no pun intended, magical. They had a fierce grip on Eda’s heart and she didn’t know why; she was fascinated by Raine and made it her goal to be best friends with this oddly shy bard (which she achieved pretty quickly).

After Eda’s curse caused her to unintentionally disable her dad, she was terrified of what it would mean if she was caught off guard like that again. So she started putting up walls. No stressful situations, no hard conversations, no sudden bright lights or loud sounds that she wasn’t the cause of. If she could be in control of her surroundings, she could control the Owl Beast. The elixir she’d discovered that could keep the curse’s side effects at bay helped maintain her sanity and her chill demeanor, but Raine was able to tell she was always slightly on edge. Raine knew about the curse; after Eda had transformed on the Grudgby field the first time everyone had been talking about it, but they didn’t know the extent of it. Everyone just said she’d turned into a monster and then fled; but what kind of monster?? But every time Raine tried to get more information about it, Eda would brush it off and change the subject. It broke their heart watching Eda brush off something that was clearly bothering her, and eventually it all came to a head. She was lying more and more often to Raine and they just couldn’t take it anymore. What happened to their best friend??? Why would she lie to them????? It was maddening and all the frustration and aching in their heart became too much. They needed to focus on something other than Eda. They weren’t nearly as bold as Eda, even after all these years, so they joined the Bard Coven in order to start teaching and building a career for themself. They’d happily welcome Eda back if she’d just tell them what was going on. But it never happened. Burying themself into their work and then, eventually, into the BAtTs helped keep the heartache at bay, but only sometimes.

Eda and Raine caught glimpses of each other as the years passed. They’d spot one another in the market or Raine would see a flash of unmistakable ginger hair dashing around a corner; sometimes they’d hear Eda yelling at some Coven guards and quietly hope she’d make her escape. Eda would occasionally see posters advertising a performance starring Raine; she’d either buy a ticket or sneak in just to listen to them play again. She could never stay for very long though because listening to them play made her heart hurt so much she’d be at risk of turning into the Owl Beast. Raine grabbed one of Eda’s wanted posters and keeps it hidden under some other paperwork in their desk, pulling it out sometimes and going over every detail of the artist’s rendition of her. One day, a new wanted poster came out - this one with a weird skull dog now part of the image and the bounty having increased significantly. Raine would always smirk whenever they saw the new version, although they were alarmed the first time they saw her drawn with all-grey hair. When had that happened? They weren’t that old yet, right??

The day Eda saved the BAtTs and figured out Raine’s secret was maybe the best day Raine had had in years. Their best friend was talking to them again, helping them with their plot. Raine didn’t bother pushing Eda about the last 20 years; their last conversation proved enough that Eda didn’t like it when people pried. But Eda had become not just older, but so much more kind and open. To a degree that sort of shocked Raine. When they asked Eda if she had nothing to lose and Eda took their hand, it was like they’d gone back in time. As if they were both 20 again and daydreaming about a world they’d create for themselves where covens weren’t there to shackle witches down and stage fright didn’t exist; where Eda’s curse never happened and they could stay there on that hill forever.

Eda of course was warring with her own emotions during all of this; she was under the impression that everyone in her life was leaving her again. And not because she was pushing them away this time, but of their own volition. She got her big sister back only for her to go back home to their parents after just a few weeks. She overheard King talk about leaving to find his dad and her apprentice - the first person to ever break down all of Eda’s defenses and show her how to love again - was constantly working on ways to go back to her own home. Eda would be left with Hooty and Owlbert and absolutely nobody else and that hurt so much more than she cared to admit. So when Raine showed up in the town square with their BAtT mask on, using their magic to turn some coven guards into bumbling fools, Eda was a little shell-shocked. The first person to leave her of their own volition was right there in front of her and needed help. So she helped them. And when she became invested in their plots to free wild witches, she felt like she was a teenager again, plotting out pranks with Raine in her secret shortcuts room at Hexside, blushing at every interaction they had because even after all this time, Raine was still Raine. Her Rainstorm. It was like she was starting over, like the last 20 years had faded away, except they hadn’t. Because Luz and King were competing in a race that she needed to be there for. Her past and her present were all different types of painful but finding Raine like this again gave her so much hope! Until she realized she wouldn’t see the end of that race, not if it meant stopping Belos. And she was ready for that, ready for the pain to just stop already, but Raine wouldn’t let her.

Losing Raine again was so much worse the second time. But what they said stayed with her and Eda needed to get back to King and Luz. So when she got back and discovered they’d lost, of course her first thought was to help them. Anything to take her mind off of what she’d just lost. And when King announced that he wasn’t leaving at all, he was legally changing his name? She was “stuck” with him forever? That was too much and she just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Someone wasn’t leaving her. In fact he was legally binding himself to her. No one was leaving, at least not any time soon. Eda definitely still cried more that night after King and Luz had gone to bed.

In the future, Eda and Raine agree to start from scratch: Eda explains the curse to them in detail, all the things she’s learned about it over the years and specifically with Luz and King and Hooty’s help. She explains that Lilith was the one that gave it to her to begin with and why (Raine is appalled like???? Raine specifically worked with Lilith in that last year before they had been made head of the Bard Coven?? And Lilith showed maybe irritation at best at the mention of Eda, so like?? What the fuck???). Eda also explains how she’s come to accept the curse as something that’s part of her and the history the Owl Beast has that she got a glimpse of which is super intriguing to Raine. Also Harpy Eda was a thing which was maybe the most surprising part of it all.

Raine in the meantime tells Eda about their time working their way up the ranks of the Bard Coven, how they met each of the BAtTs and recruited them, the façade they had to maintain to stay on track to become the head of the Bard Coven (something that greatly impressed Eda given Raine’s history with being an awkward actor).

Eda introduces Raine to Luz and King to which both of them start shooting rapidfire questions at them and overwhelm them pretty quickly. Eda has to shoo the two away before Raine just bursts out laughing, saying something about how they’re definitely Eda’s kids (all of them blush while Raine is laughing). Luz is just as fascinated with Raine’s Bard magic as Eda was when they first met and the similarities between the two are striking. Raine tells Eda as much later on and Eda begins gushing about what a great apprentice Luz is and everything she’s done during her time on the Boiling Isles.

They fall easily back into dating once they reconnect properly and everything’s calmed down a little - Raine will still be humming a piece they’re working on and suddenly grab Eda and begin dancing to the tune, Eda laughing the whole time and making their heart soar. Eda will still play with Raine’s earring when they’re cuddled up together just chatting. Raine will start asking Eda again for her opinion on musical pieces they’re working on and Eda will make suggestions along with some jokes or snide commentary. They both still love watching the clouds overhead on their hill, sometimes playing music, sometimes just holding hands.

Raine loves watching Eda interact with Luz and King. They love watching how easily Eda loves them and how much she’s changed since they first broke up. Once they’re alone together, in a moment total admiration for how far they’ve come, Raine tells Eda they love her. Eda immediately kisses them and starts crying, repeating Raine’s words back to them and mumbling about how she’ll never let Raine leave ever again.

A canon Non-binary love interest to a main character that uses They/Them pronouns??? In my kids cartoon???? It’s more likely than you think.

Anyways I fucking love Raine and I love how much Eda and Raine love each other and I can’t wait to see what ends up happening with Them™️

#180 degree head tilt (ask tag)#l-gionaire #toh headcanons #edalyn clawthorne #eda clawthorne #raine whispers #raeda #toh spoilers #hey what’s up it’s been five million years since I’ve posted any headcanons to this blog huh?#thank you l-egionaire for carrying the weight of the fandom on your back with your prompts

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tempestaurora · 3 years

Photo

in another time, a gladiator stucky au by @tempestaurora

image IDs under the cut

IMAGE ID:

FIRST IMAGE:

Sunlight dappled across the stone floor, casting cool, dancing shadows in the summer heat. Bucky yawned and stretched, flexing his toes into the sunspots and smiling from the warmth. He watched the newest boy to the school, a scrawny thing called Steve, stand alone in the courtyard.

He tipped his head to the side and called out, “New boy! Over here!”

Steve had straw blonde hair and eyes like the Aegean Sea. He seemed hesitant for a moment before heading over. When he arrived, he looked at Bucky like he might bite, but after sitting, he simply melted into the sunspot Bucky had found.

“You’re pretty small,” Bucky observed. “Your family sell you?”

“What? No, they didn’t.” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed; he seemed insulted by the mere notion. “Your family sell you?”

Bucky shrugged. “Indentured, actually,” he replied. “But they’re practically the same thing. Why are you here, then? You have dreams of being a gladiator?”

Steve scoffed. “No. I don’t. But it was either this or live on the streets.” He paused, twisting his fingers into his tunic. “My mater died, recently. She was all I had.”

Bucky stilled. “Oh,” he said. “Perhaps she is better off now; perhaps she is in the Land of Joy.”

Steve nodded, barely. “There are few places better than the underworld, these days.”

SECOND IMAGE:

ii.

Steve may have been small, but he was fast. He twisted and turned in combat, picked up the skills with ease, and learnt to use his size to his advantage. If he got hit, he was down, so Steve learned to avoid the punches thrown his way.

They trained year-round, through summer heat and winter snow, and soon they grew. Everything Steve learned about being small and fast was discarded when he hit his growth spurt at fourteen, suddenly taller than half his class and finally able to make the attacks, not simply dodge them. He watched Bucky often; the two of them nigh inseparable since his arrival at the school. Bucky was not a golden student, but he was a golden boy; his eyes were like Jupiter’s sky and his hair grew thick and dark in a shaggy mess.

There were few things Steve found himself caring about more than the only boy in all of Italia who knew him, inside and out.

[Beneath is a photo of the ruins of a temple of Saturn, backlit by the sun. It is ethereal and quiet-looking, with green fields interspersed with crumbled architecture.]

THIRD IMAGE:

iii.

They had climbed up onto the roof of the gymnasium to gaze at the sweep of stars painted high above their town.

“Do you think you’ll be up there one day?” Steve whispered in the dark.

“In the sky?”

“The stars,” Steve clarified. “All the great heroes are immortalised in the stars.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be a hero – there’s not a drop of godly blood in me. What about you?”

“I don’t want to be a hero,” Steve replied. “I just want to travel; to see all of Italia and beyond. Pompeii and Corinth – maybe even see the Oracle of Delphi, one day.”

Bucky smiled. “I’d like that. I don’t want to be fighting forever.”

“Come with me,” Steve said. “We could go anywhere. We could go everywhere.”

Bucky stared at Steve under the star-lit sky and smiled.

FOURTH IMAGE:

iv.

When they were eighteen, they moved to Rome. The Ludus Magnus gladiator school sat in spitting distance of the coliseum, and this was where they trained. They had long been learning their preferred style of combat – Steve, after shooting up and broadening, fought as a Thracian, with his broad-rimmed helmet, small rounded shield and curved sword. His only armour consisted of thigh-length grieves, while Bucky was granted a chest plate and greaves as a Dimachaerus, dual-wielding two swords.

They fought regularly in practice, but never in the ring drawn into the sand in front of an audience. There was a palpable fear Steve felt at making Bucky bleed. Some nights, he whispered prayers to whatever god might deign to listen – perhaps Mars, for war, or Venus, for love – and pleaded with them to never pit him against Bucky.

[On the right hand side is a close-up of a temple’s columns, with sunlight poking between.]

FIFTH IMAGE:

Bucky knew Steve was watching from beyond the Gate of Life as he stepped into the ring for his first gladiatorial combat in the arena. Steve had already won his earlier that day in front of roaring crowds and amused royalty in the Emperor’s box.

Now it was Bucky’s turn, and he twisted his swords in his fingers, facing down his opponent across the ring. Bucky knew their job was to fight – fight and possibly even die – but he also knew his job was to give them all a show.

And Bucky was nothing if not a showman.

In the end, blood stained the sand a vivid red, but Bucky strode towards the Gate of Life, triumphant.

SIXTH IMAGE:

vi.

There were always popular gladiators, and Steve didn’t know how to react, finding himself to be one of them. Women lined up outside the bathhouses he frequented; shared rumours that dipping their hairpins in his blood might bring them love, that his sweat would work as an aphrodisiac.

“I can see their point,” Bucky whispered one night, his mouth ravenous against Steve’s after a long day of training. Their bodies were always animalistic in these moments, whilst the school was empty and the others were out drinking the night away. They took everything they could get from each other; swallowed each sensation whole.

Steve never wanted these moments to end. He would throw all the glory and money away for more time with Bucky, for more nights like this.

SEVENTH IMAGE:

vii.

After amphitheatre fights, admirers and buyers alike would flock to the school where the gladiators lounged on cushions and benches, drinking wine and eating expensive foods. These were the nights Bucky enjoyed the most. No one was allowed to approach unless beckoned by a gladiator, and Bucky would often spend time toying with the admirers, allowing one or two over before sending them away again. Eventually, after the show, he’d slip away into the sleeping quarters or empty storage cupboard, and find Steve waiting there for him.

There was a miles-long list of things Bucky loved about Steve’s body, but number one on the list was how it fit against his own in the dark.

[Cut into the left side is a photo of the Coliseum in Rome.]

EIGHTH IMAGE:

viii.

A few days before the festival, culminating in three days of games at the coliseum, their master told Steve and Bucky that they were scheduled to fight.

“It’ll be fine,” they told each other in the dark. “The fights rarely end in death. We’re not fighting to kill. We’re fighting to entertain.”

“We’re performers,” Bucky would say. “We’re just there to give them a good time.”

“Don’t act like no one ever dies,” Steve would reply, each and every time. “Don’t act like we haven’t killed our opponents before.” Sometimes, friends would enter the ring with them and never leave it. Sometimes, the audience called for their deaths.

It was blood lust, through and through. The men caught hold of that first splash of red and couldn’t let it go; they had to see more, they had to see death in all its forms. The gladiator could’ve fought bravely, wonderfully, and they might still end up slumped in the sand afterwards.

“Soon,” they would say, “we’ll retire and leave this for good. Soon, we’ll travel the world, like we always planned.” They would whisper lies and truths to each other, desperately tangling them together until they couldn’t tell them apart.

NINTH IMAGE:

ix.

On the day of the fight, Steve stepped into the ring opposite Bucky and breathed in the cheering crowd; the hot, midday sun. They had kissed in the shadow of the underground corridors, and now faced each other, weapons raised, poised for battle.

It was bloody from the get-go; they were entertainers after all, and the audience was only entertained when they saw the streak of blood dampening the sand. They twisted and turned as if they were dancing, as if there was music playing and this was them, centre stage, having the time of their lives rather than anxiously hoping their blades wouldn’t cut too deep, that the bruises would soon heal.

And then Steve’s sword slashed too harshly at Bucky’s side and he faltered, hissing.

“Bucky—” Steve said, not moving in on the advantage, not moving at all.

Bucky straightened, removing his hand from his side, darkly red. “What are you doing?” Bucky asked, before raising his swords once more. “Fight me.”

“Bucky—”

“Fight me,” Bucky hissed, slamming his swords forward. Steve barely had time to raise his shield. He couldn’t stop staring at the thick blood leaking from Bucky’s ribs.

“No—”

“Steve—”

“No.”

Steve stepped back, feet almost at the ring’s edge. He dropped his shield, his sword to the sand. He held his arms out, palms towards Bucky, and said, “I won’t fight you, Bucky. Not ever again.”

So Bucky took the win, and the crowds jeered at Steve, and the Emperor held his thumb outstretched, unamused by the champion’s surrender.

“You won’t fight me,” Bucky spat, “but you’ll make me kill you instead?”

[Cut into the right hand side is an edited shot of the movie Gladiator; two gladiators rush towards each other to battle, with the crowds filling the stands. Much of the image is in shadow, with streaks of sunlight pouring down from the left side.]

TENTH IMAGE:

The sand was hot beneath Bucky’s feet; no lazy afternoon shadows in the centre of the amphitheatre. In front of him, Steve knelt facing away, his head tipped low to bare the spot at the top of his spine, all smooth skin tanned and unblemished.

The crowds roared around them and Bucky lifted his sword, pressing the tip at the base of Steve’s neck.

Steve flinched and said, just barely loud enough for Bucky to hear: “Perhaps I’ll go to Elysium… I hear there are few places better to be than the underworld, these days.”

But Bucky knew Steve would not go to Elysium. He was a warrior, but he was not dying righteously, not for fighting well. He was dying for surrendering, for caring about Bucky more than himself.

And Bucky—well he cared for Steve more than himself, too. They were the same that way. They always had been.

So Bucky stepped back, lowering his sword in his hand. He looked up to the Emperor, shadowed in his private box, and shook his head.

“I won’t kill you, Steve,” he said, and Steve looked around in surprise, like it was really all that out of character. He held out a hand and pulled Steve to his feet, ignoring the roaring of the crowd, the anger that came from mercy.

“They’ll come for us,” Steve said, eyes wary. “They’ll kill us both.”

With one hand, Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek, thumb against his cheekbone, and with the other, he lifted the sword and twisted it. “Let them try,” he said. “But we have plans to travel the world. We’ve got no time for dying, Steve.”

And in the summer heat, they ran for the Gate of Life.

ELEVENTH IMAGE:

[A close up of two marble statues kissing.]

[END OF IMAGE ID]

#stucky #marvel #mcu #steve rogers #bucky barnes #gladiator #long post #talk #this is explicitly for the anon who suggested a gladiator au #also yes it did feel ridiculous writing about ancient rome and then using the names steve and bucky #but what are u gonna do

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

inspired by a song from ‘the ballad of songbirds and snakes’ (I highly recommend the book!!)

(lyrics modified slightly to fit the story, and no copyright infringement intended!!)

wc: 2.4k ~ haknyeon x gender neutral!reader ~ nobility!au (ish) ~ triggers: blood, death (nothing graphic) ~ the boyz masterlist

prequels: don’t be silly | shattered

for @thepixelelf :)

[ birds in the heavens ] Lying on a field filled with smoke and ash, you drag in a long breath.

So this is what it’s come to.

You cough, pain shooting through your chest as the metallic tang of blood fills your mouth. Just a few years ago, you never would have imagined this – a battlefield death, so far from home, a fall from grace…

No, not grace. Not you. He was grace. He was everything beautiful in this war-torn world, sunlight on the grass, stars in the sky, flowers in the meadow beyond the village, blue and red and pink and white woven in a wreath that you placed on his head with trembling fingers and a smile only he could put on your face.

Where was grace but in the curve of his lips and the scrunch of his eyes as he laughed? Where was grace but in the rough brush of his fingers to your smooth skin, worlds apart united for brief, beautiful moments in the touch of your hands together? There was a time when you thought you were grace, fine clothes and elegant dances and lilted words, but he was grace, truly, sunbeams personified, tanned hands rough from work deftly twisting grass together into a makeshift ring that fit perfectly on your fourth finger, a crude proposal in the eyes of anyone in your circle but so beautiful in your eyes, accompanied by a voice of sugar and honey, birdsong whispering between the blades of shifting grass, promises of a future where the warmth of his touch would never leave your skin.

What was the song he sang? Something about valleys and trains, roses and violets and red and blue…

A memory of his voice washes through your mind, a taste of honey sweet against the bitter ash coating your tongue.

Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

He used to say that he’d wait to hear the train whistle during the months he knew you’d be there. He said it took everything in him not to run to the station and blow both of your covers, he wanted to see you so much.

What wouldn’t you give to see him now?

Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by,

So I can see my true love go by.

A smile stains your trembling lips. Where the first verse was his, this one was yours. Only you could speak of mansions and true love and not be entirely joking – you used to promise him you’d build yourselves a house someday, a house where you could live together in secret peace, away from the prying eyes of your family and their spies.

Go write me a letter, send it by mail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Capital jail, love, to the capital jail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

A sob racks your body, ash settling in your throat and mixing with the blood bubbling on your tongue. How were you two to know that the third verse he sang so teasingly, eyes squinting with laughter as he swore to you with honey-sweet seriousness that he’d love you to the end, would become truth? That he’d be imprisoned in that very jail and later killed, with you sent to the battlefield to die? You couldn’t even send letters, like in the song.

There’s a fourth verse to the song, a verse you’d sing together, but the sun burns overhead and seals your lips shut. Its rays sear into your eyes, scorching your heart with the guilt, the knowledge that you have no right to sing or even remember the verse, and it hurts, but you can’t look away. Won’t look away. It’s the sun, what he was, pure warmth and light made whole into one human being whom you were lucky enough to love – how could you let that go?

How could you let him go?

Tears spring into your eyes. They fall slowly, cutting tracks through the grime on your face. One hand struggles to rise, to wipe them away, but you can’t. You can’t. The tears… they’re him. What you have left of him. Tears, tears only, and the dried grass tied around your finger…

Your face burns under the sun. It’s bright, so bright, just like him.

You were so bright, love. The hand that tried to wipe the tears now aches to reach up to the sky, fingers enclosing around a ray of light in a futile effort to bring it to your lips, to kiss him one last time before the darkness blurring your vision takes you completely. Bright as the sun. I could never close my eyes to you.

Even if it burned.

An image appears in the sun, his face contorted in pain and agony as they dragged him to the center of the square. Two guards held you back as you screamed. Four more stood in front of him, guns raised.

The sun blazed that day, just like his eyes as they stared into yours with all the conviction of a man who knew he had done nothing wrong, the bravery of a boy who had been taught to love and only love.

Even when the one he loved could do nothing to save him.

The same sun flares overhead, witness to your love, witness to his death, and now, soon, a witness to yours. It shines unflinchingly, fierce, unforgiving – you couldn’t save him. You couldn’t.

I couldn’t. A sob rips through your bleeding body. Pain tears into every wound in your skin, but it can’t compare to the ache in your chest, the knowledge of a death you couldn’t prevent. I’m sorry. I couldn’t.

I failed.

The sun feels colder now, warm rays chilled under your confession of failure. It hurts to stare, to keep your eyes open even as cold fire sears anger into your wounds, but it’s penance. Punishment. Just like when they stripped your title and shoved you into war, a nameless foot soldier to be buried under a heap of other nameless bodies, retribution for loving a boy they believed to be beneath your station.

Beneath my station. If you could, you’d snort. If only they could see that the farmer boy they scorned to death was so much more than all of them. Than all of you.

Sunlight personified, sparkling in a blue sky without a cloud.

You blink. There are clouds now, of gray smoke from firing guns stained red from the screaming bodies falling all around you. But the sun cuts through it all to shine on you, cold, unforgiving in the knowledge that you failed to protect the boy who loved you to the end, even as bullets ripped into his body the way they now have ripped into yours.

I failed.

I’m sorry.

I failed.

Blood trickles down your face. Your eyes remain open, focused on the sun. They burn, but it’s nothing compared to the punishment you deserve for not keeping him alive the way you promised yourself you would.

I couldn’t. Another sob wracks your bloodied chest. Everything hurts. I couldn’t.

But then –

A face you never thought you’d see again leans over your ruined body, bright, visible, even as darkness further coats your eyes.

The sunlight grows a little warmer.

Haknyeon?

You couldn’t, love. A hand reaches out, caresses your bloody cheek with a softness of touch that almost makes you close your eyes. You couldn’t. And that’s okay.

Tears fill your eyes afresh. No, it isn’t, you try to argue with the vision that can’t be real but that feels so real, so frighteningly warm in this one moment. I couldn’t save you. You should’ve lived.

You couldn’t, Haknyeon repeats, eyes sparkling. He looks so healthy, so whole – no bullets in his chest, no blood running down his face. Your heart aches. It’s okay. Please believe me, love. It’s okay.

The softness in his voice makes you want to believe it, makes you want to fall into his honeyed words that flow, smooth, through your ears, soothing the pain throbbing all over your body. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, you try to argue through cracked and bloody lips that cannot speak. Don’t give it to me. I don’t deserve it.

His touch feels so real against your skin. It’s a good thing I’m not here to forgive you, then, he laughs, for there was never anything to forgive.

Blood bursts from your lips as ash tickles your nose and you cough again, this time curling into his phantom touch. Then why are you here, if not to condemn me?

A question remains in the air, unsung, unsaid, but heavy as the clouds of smoke settling on the field.

Surely you can’t still love me?

He shines, warm, light, brighter than the sun overhead. You hear the answer to your question in his next words even if he doesn’t say it and it hurts, hurts so much – you don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve any of the love he still holds for you –

Close your eyes, love, Haknyeon whispers. Close your eyes. I’ll take the pain away.

Panic rises in your chest. You can’t. You can’t close your eyes, can’t lose sight of him or the burning sun, penance for your crime, the last sight of your lover that you will take as your soul slips away – you can’t let this gift go, this last vision – it’s all you have left of him besides the tears and the grass ring wrapped around your finger –

Close your eyes, love. His smile trembles, but his palm remains steady against your cheek. Close your eyes, and I promise you will still see me.

You blink unsteadily against the black spots dotting his face and the sunlight. Truly?

Truly.

The sun dances between the spots in your vision. To close your eyes and lose sight of the sky and of him, or to keep them open and take the image of him, smiling to your grave?

But it hurts so much to keep them open. Burns. And he said he’d still be there even if you closed your eyes against the burn, against the sun…

Maybe you will still feel his warmth, even if you give in to the darkness.

Slowly, slowly, your eyes flutter shut. Black washes across your vision and you almost panic – you can’t see him, he said you’d see him but you can’t and now you don’t have the energy to open your eyes once more – but then warmth settles on your forehead and, oh –

It’s him. His lips, kissing your grimy, bloody skin. And you can still see him, see his smile as he comes closer to cup your cheek with his hand once more, his palm warmer than the sun ever was.

It’s okay, Haknyeon whispers, words ghosting across your skin. I’ll take the pain away. Remember our song?

It hurts so much to breathe a few words from your lips, but for him, you manage. Yes, I do.

Sing with me.

And somehow, you know that if he were granted a last request at the end of his life, it would have been this. For you to sing with him one more time.

Who are you to deny him the last wish he never had?

Your lips begin to move, ever so slightly.

Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

His song buoys you on, lifting words from your throat even as the pain begins to blur, to fade, taking your voice with it.

Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by,

So I can see my true love go by.

You falter at the next verse, unshed tears choking your words, but he continues, fingers still stroking your cheek as his song filters through your ears, soft, sweet.

Go write me a letter, send it by mail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Capital jail, love, to the capital jail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Bitter grief wells in your throat, mixing with the blood. If you couldn’t sing the last verse, there’s no way you can do the fourth. You can’t. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to sing the verse that you always sang together, soft under the sun in a meadow of flowers, holding each other close as you whispered the words into each other’s ears. You don’t deserve to say those words to him, I love you, because even when he loved you to the end, your love wasn’t enough to keep him alive.

Come, love. A hand takes yours, toys with the dried grass tied around your finger. Sing with me. Please.

I don’t deserve it.

Yes, you do. He kisses your forehead again, soft as a flower petal against your skin. You still love me, and I still love you. Nothing has changed.

But –

Nothing has changed, he murmurs. Nothing has changed.

Tears no longer spill from your eyes, but if you had the energy, you’d let them fall. Okay, you whisper. Okay.

Thank you.

You struggle to move your lips as the pain fades, disappearing into the touch of his skin against yours. But his voice stays strong, warm, golden as the sunlight still washing over your skin.

Roses are red, love, he sings. Violets are blue. Birds in the heavens know I love you.

A last trembling smile spreads small across your face, lyrics lingering on your lips.

Know I love you, oh, know I love you…

His arms wrap warm around your shoulders, warmer than sunlight, and the last words whisper soft into your ear as the world finally slips away.

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 well wish for the couple they deserve it)

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danurso-impact · 4 years

Text

Proper treatment

*after exploring a domain*

Aether: hey, are you okay?

Amber: *looking down with a frown and bandaging his arm* me? Of course! *forces a smile* Why wouldn't I be okay?

Aether: you know that's not true, right? You've been frowning the whole day, and it only got worse after the domain.

Amber: . . . *looks down again, and keeps bandaging his arm* it's nothing big really, no need to get worried.

Aether: If it's bothering you then i do have to worry. Come on, you know you can tell me anything.

Amber: *stops bandaging* why. . .do you still bring me along?

Aether: what?

Amber: why do you still bring me to these missions?

Aether: because i like having you around, and you're the best archer i know, so of course i-

Amber: are you an idiot!?

Aether: *shocked* wha-?

Amber: *tearing up* just look at yourself! You're full of bruises and cuts!

Aether: that wasn't your fault, i was careless and-

Amber: of course it was! I'm your partner! I'm supposed to protect your back! But i'm so weak that i can't do anything! Even the weakest hilichurls barely flinch when I shoot them!

Aether: *sighs* so that's the problem.

Amber: *crying* if mister zhongli wasn't around that ruin guard would've killed you. I don't wanna lose anyone else because of my weakness, especially someone so important to me like you!

Aether: you're not weak amber, you really aren't-

Amber: Of course I am! I can barely hit four digits even with critical hits! Baron bunny barely fazes any enemy, and even my ultimate is ignored by anything I try to hit! A lot of people make fun of me because I'm so weak, and I tried to ignore that, but they're right! I'm the weakest of the knights and a failure as an archer!

Aether: amber-

Amber: *wiping her tears* Please just ask fischl or ganyu to take my place, I don't wanna be the reason you get hurt anymore.

Aether: *inhales* . . . . . . *exhales and gets up*

Amber: Traveler. . .?

Aether: I'll be right back. *leaves*

Amber: o-okay. . .

*One month later, at jean's office*

Amber: Did the search parties get lucky?

Jean: *sighs* I'm afraid not, we already searched every corner of mondstadt but there's still no clue about the traveler's whereabouts.

Zhongli: I contacted the Liyue qixing and asked for help in the case, but there's no sign of him on Liyue as well.

Amber: *grits her teeth in frustration*

Lisa: oh my, just where in the world is he.

Kaeya: i bet we're gonna find him sooner or later.

Diluc: That if the fatui didn't find him first.

Amber: *flinches*

Jean: that. . .unfortunately, is a possibility.

Diluc: I know, that's why I already started making preparations to go to Snezhnaya to search for him.

Jean: *eyes wide* a-are you sure about this sir?

Diluc: he put himself on the line to help us many times, i'm just trying to repay the favor.

Amber: Can I go with you sir?

Diluc: i'm sorry, but i don't think you are ready for something like that.

Amber: I know that! More than anyone I know that I'm not ready for something like that, but I don't care, I have to find him! No matter the cost!

Zhongli: it would be wise to calm down, we cannot make any decisions in such an agitated state.

Amber: We don't have time! We need to act now or else we won't find him!

Zhongli: i understand how you are feeling, i'm just asking you to try and calm down a little bit.

Amber: I can't! The only way i would calm down was if he walked into this room right no-

Aether: *kicks door open*

Everyone: *gasps, with eyes wide* Traveler!?

Aether: *with dark bags under his eyes, a few burnt marks on his clothes, hair loose and completely messy, visible mud on his boots and a lot of bruises around his body* hey. . .

Lisa: oh dear, what happened to you?

Aether: RNG, that's what fucking happened. *walks directly towards amber and puts down a backpack* and this is yours. *opens the backpack, showing a large amount of items*

Amber: w-what's all this?

Aether: a buttload of freedom books and arrowheads for your talents, and good amount of dvalin sighs also for your talents. A ton of agnius agates, fire seeds and lamp grass for your ascensions, some extra constelations and an unholy amount of purple EXP books and mora. There's also a full plus twenty witch of flames set with a pyro goblet and a CRIT damage hat, the substats aren't stellar but they're better than most i got for the others. I wished i could've got you a five star bow but like i said many times before, RNG is a bitch, so the best i could get was a refinement five and level ninety prototype bow.

Amber: *speechless* . . .what. . .what's all that for? You disappeared for a whole month just to farm these for me?

Aether: you got sad because you couldn't help me on the field, and that only happened because I neglected you, even though you're my partner and have been helping me since day one. This is both an apology and a fix to that.

Amber: i. . .don't know what to say. . .

Aether: don't say anything, just put those on and if anyone says shit about you again, shoot them in the head, If you don't feel like it just tell me and i'll shoot them myself. You're strong and amazing, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. *pulls her by the waist, giving her a long deep kiss*

Amber: *blushes, but melts into the kiss*

Aether: Now if you excuse me, i'm dirty, my whole body hurts and i feel like i'm gonna pass out at any second, so i'll take a bath and a day long nap.

Amber: *red, and with steam coming out of her head* o-okay.

Aether: Love you, See you tomorrow. *leaves*

Diluc: well, i guess this solves the situation.

Lisa: My, My, how romantic of him.

Zhongli: young love truly is a beautiful thing.

Jean: It does look like something straight out of a novel.

Kaeya: looks like our little rookie has our favorite hero wrapped around her finger.

Amber: *with a massive blush* Please stop. . .i don't deserve all of this.

Aether: *from outside the window* YES YOU FUCKING DO!!!

Amber: *covering her face* i don't deserve him!!!

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years

Text

Drawings on Ice (Part Two) | Charlie Gillespie

A/N: Part two to the Hockey Player! Charlie x Artist!Reader au! Hope you like it! :) You can read part one HERE

Pairing: Hockey Player!Charlie Gillespie x Artist!Reader

Warnings: a fight, mentions of blood, curse words

Words: 3,948

There hasn’t been a day you didn’t spend together. You go to every single one of his hockey practices and games, after which you head to the café for some coffee -- or in Charlie’s case, hot chocolate. He joins you and Andrea on your study dates, mostly to just annoy you by poking you with his pencil, begging you to go somewhere else. On nights where he doesn’t have practice and you’re not in the library to study, the two of you spend time in either one of your dorms to watch movies or tv-shows, cuddled up on the bed.

Though a lot of people started thinking you are a couple, you hadn’t talked about that with Charlie yet. Even after him telling you about that reputation of his, you still wanted to be cautious. Your heart has been broken many times, you didn’t think it could handle another. Especially with a guy like Charlie. “Hey, Gorgeous,” Charlie greets flirtily when you arrive at the ice rink to watch him practice. You’ve got your sketchpad clutched to your chest, ready to work on some of the Hockey Team’s drawings. “Hi, Char,” you say back, unable to withhold a giggle at his pet name for you. He’s been calling you Gorgeous since the day after you went to the coffee house for the first time after the game. “Don’t you have to go and listen to what your coach is saying?” you ask, noticing the other’s gathering to listen to the coach’s instruction. He glances back at the team, then turns back to you with that charming, flirty smile of his you’ve come to love. “Nah, I’d rather say hello to a beautiful girl than listen to the coach blab about strategies that don’t work.” You roll your eyes at his obvious flirty behavior. Lately, though, he’s only ever flirting with you. You haven’t seen him talk to many other girls except you and Andrea, and between the two of you, he only ever flirts with you. Mostly because Sam will kill him if he does flirt with Andrea. “Hey, will you stay until after practice? I wanna show you something!” Charlie is always excited about everything, but this time, it tops all the others. His eyes are sparkling with hope and excitement, the hazel color turning more gold than brown, and his mouth is curled up into the brightest, widest smile you’d ever seen. “Yeah, of course!” you reply, trying to match his excitement. “Gillespie, get your ass over here!” Coach yells at him, which Charlie rolls his eyes at, making you chuckle. His gloved hand takes yours, basically ripping it off your sketchpad, and kisses your knuckles before giving you a wink and then skating off to join the team. All the boys welcome him back with a teasing uproar of cheers and wolf whistles. You chuckle, rolling your eyes amusedly, and then make your way to the bleachers where you continue working on your drawings, glancing up every now and then to watch Charlie on the ice. There was something about the way he skated around. So elegant. So peaceful. Charlie really is in his element on the ice. It’s the most adorable and attractive version of Charlie you know of. It’s the side of him you love the most since it’s the side you draw him in the most. Practice is over sooner than you thought it would and it only takes Charlie about fifteen minutes to come out of the dressing rooms, showered and ready to go. “Are you ready?” he asks, taking your hand to help you up from your seat. “I have no clue where we’re going, but yeah?” you reply as he leads you out of the rink, still holding your hand while your other clutches your sketchpad. He takes you across campus, going way faster than your feet can take. Your giggles fleet through the night sky, making some heads turn of students on their way to a party or their dorms. He takes you into the astrology building, through hallways and corridors until you reach the auditorium. He lets go of your hand and pushes the heavy doors open. You’re amazed those doors aren’t locked, but you’ve learned to just roll with whatever Charlie’s doing. The sight you’re met with right now is a breathtaking one. Blankets and pillows on the floor, food spread all around it, a guitar on the side, fairy lights scattered all around to illuminate the dark room, and, most importantly, a breathtaking view on the night sky. You scuffle inside, giving your eyes the time and pleasure to take it all in as Charlie stands back, watching you with an endeared, tender smile on his face. Once you feel you’ve seen everything, you turn around to Charlie. “Wha--? Charlie?” He laughs at your surprised and confused face before walking up to you and taking your hand again, now leading you towards the pile of blankets and pillows. “I’m buddies with the astrology professor, he gave me the keys and Andrea and her friends helped me put all of this in here,” he explains as the two of you sit down. With your mouth a little ajar, you look up to the beautiful stars above you. Charlie’s hand comes into your peripheral as he’s pointing up to show you something. “That’s the Big Dipper up there, right above us,” he informs you. “And that one over there,” he moves his hand slightly, “is Sirius, it’s considered to be the most beautiful star, but I beg to differ.” You look at him, finding him already looking at you with that flirty smile on his face again. “Oh, shut up.” You slap him on the chest playfully, unable to hide your smile or the blush that’s creeping up on your cheeks. Charlie definitely notices, but doesn’t say anything. Just knowing he has that effect on you, is enough for him. “So,” he opens the basket and takes out a bottle of white wine. “Andi told me you liked white wine, so… I told her she could buy a bottle she thinks you’d like and I paid her.” You chuckle at his explanation and nod your head. “I do love a good white wine.” He pours some of the goddess liquid into two glasses, and hands one to you. “You really are a charmer, Gillespie,” you say as you clink your glasses together, looking in each other’s eyes. “Is it working yet?” he asks while you take a sip. You let out a small moan at how good this wine is before looking up at Charlie again, a little confused at what he’s hinting at. “Is what working?” He chuckles nervously, twirling his wine around and staring at the whirlpool it’s creating. “What?” you chuckle, trying to capture his eyes. He finally looks up at you, his eyes sparkling with joy and hope, his mouth curling up into the most tender smile you’d ever seen. “What, Charlie?” you try again, getting a little insecure. “I thought it’d be pretty obvious right now that I’m insanely in love with you?” he blurts out with a nervous quiver in his tone. You’re taken aback by this answer. You knew he kind of liked you and his flirty behavior has increased over the days, but you thought that was it. A crush and a bit of harmless flirting. Nothing quite as serious as being in love. “Oh…” you manage to bring out. “Charlie, I--” he shakes his head, shutting you up. “No, I get it, Y/N. It’s fine. You don’t want to date someone with a reputation like mine. I get it…” You exhale slowly and place your glass of wine on the floor before grabbing Charlie’s hands in yours. He looks up at this, unsure of what’s happening. “It’s not you, Charlie.... I don’t care about the reputation you have because I get to see who you really are… And I like you, but I’m trying to be cautious with who I’m dating. My heart’s been broken many times before, and before you say ‘I’m not going to break your heart’, I know. You’re probably not, but… I just…” You heave in a deep breath, trying to think of something. “Just give me some time, okay?” You place a hand on his cheek and rub your thumb against the soft skin as it wrinkles into that beautiful, charming smile again. “Yeah, okay,” he replies, placing his hand on yours on his cheek. “We still… We still get to hang out though, right?” he queries carefully. You chuckle at this, retreating your hand, and nodding. “Phew! And you’re still coming to the game tomorrow?” “Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t want to miss it,” you reply and grab a grape from the basket. “Good, because I’m going to need my lucky charm when we play against St. Mary’s.” You shoot him a questioning look, tilting your head slightly. “They’re our biggest rivals. They’ve won against every other university, including us last season. We really have to beat them tomorrow.” You nod your head understandingly. “I’ll wear my best cheerleading outfit,” you say jokingly. Though, judging from Charlie’s eyes nearly popping out of his eye sockets, you know he’s not opposed to that idea. “I don’t have a cheerleading outfit, Char,” you tell him, just to be sure. His face falters, clearly disappointed. “You’d look hot in that though,” he mutters under his breath, but you heard him, loud and clear. With an amused smile plastered on your face, you shake your head at him. Even after his confession from earlier, nothing has changed between the two of you. And for now, that’s all you need.

Dressed in black skinny jeans, Charlie’s Canada sweater he left in your dorm one night, and a beanie over your ears, you go to the ice rink. Andrea has already taken a seat in the bleachers, so you go up and join her. “How was your date last night?” she asks immediately without missing a beat. “It wasn’t a date. But it was really fun. Thank you, by the way. The wine was divine.” She chuckles and taps your thigh twice. “You’re most welcome,” she says. “Oh, look! Here come the boys!” she points to the ice where the team skates onto the field, ready to kick St. Mary’s ass. You lock eyes with Charlie as he gets into position. His lips turn up into a somewhat relieved smile, like he was scared she wouldn’t turn up after his confession last night. You offer him a wave and then a thumbs-up, shooting some encouragement his way. The first half goes really well. Charlie and Sam score most of the goals, but by half-time, they’re tied with St. Mary since their right and left wings are amazing players too. The coach calls the team to gather as you and Andrea make your way down to say hi afterwards. “St. Mary’s left wing has a weak knee,” you tell Charlie when he’s skated up to you, taking his helmet off and shaking his hair out. “Hello to you too,” he chuckles, placing one gloved hand over yours as they clutch the rink. “Sorry, hi! I saw their number 12 buckle a little when you accidentally hit his knee. I think you could use that to your advantage.” You’d never paid this much attention to a game, but knowing the team has to win against St. Mary, you figured you could use your observation skills to your advantage to find one for them. “Look who’s paying attention,” he smirks at you, which you amusedly roll your eyes at. “Thanks,” he adds when the ref blows his whistle to signal the start of the second half. “Good luck, Char,” you say and lean in to plant a kiss on his cheek. His eyes widen slightly at the sudden display of affection, unable to hide his cheeks reddening. You can’t help but smile as he skates off, ready for the second half. “You can’t tell me you’re not in love with him, Peaches,” Andrea says as she snakes an arm around your shoulders whilst you both walk back to your seats. “I am not in love with Charlie, Andi,” you reassure her, but you’re not even so sure anymore yourself. You’ve caught yourself thinking about Charlie on more occasions than one, dreamt of kissing him, wished you could just spend more time with him. You knew you were slowly, but surely falling for him. Even after many attempts of occupying yourself with other thoughts. Nothing really seemed to work. But you were still going to deny it. To Charlie. To Andrea. But mostly, to yourself. You were so preoccupied by talking to Andrea, you didn’t even notice what was happening behind you as you were getting back to your seat. “Yo, Gillespie,” St. Mary’s number 12 captures his attention, “Isn’t that new love of yours the weirdo artist kid that draws everyone they see like a stalker?.” Charlie’s jaw clenched as his hands balled up into fists. Sam intervenes before his buddy can take as much as a step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not worth it, man. Let’s just finish this game, okay?” Sam suggests. Charlie nods his head, calming down slightly as he starts making his way to his spot on the ice, only for number 12 to add some fuel to the fire. “What’s wrong, Gillespie? You’re not even going to defend them?” Charlie halts, trying his hardest to refrain himself. “So, you agree with me that they’re a fucking creepy stalker?” Charlie’s hands are back into fists, gripping harshly onto his hockey stick. “I can’t wait until after the game, so I can--” before number 12 finishes his sentence, Charlie drops his helmet and harshly tugs his gloves off before hitting the guy in his knee with his stick, making him tumble over onto the ice. He sits down on top of him, lashing out at the boy underneath. The ref whistles again while Charlie’s teammates try to get him off number 12, to no avail. Number 12 then takes over and rolls the both of them over, Charlie underneath him now, and punches him in the face a few times. You watch the spectacle from half-way to your seat, staring at the boys on the ice in pure shock and horror. You’re frozen in place, unsure about what to do. Though Charlie looks extremely hot, yet it looks so horrible. Why is it when boys fight, does it look so horrible, yet, feel so right? Soon enough, the boys are pulled apart by their coaches. There are blood splatters everywhere. On the ice, on the boys’ clothes and faces. Even on some of their teammates. The two are taken off the ice, another one filling in for them. Upon seeing this, you run down to where Charlie and his coach are, worry filling up your entire body. “Charlie!” you yell, but he doesn’t even look up. Sam comes up to you and tells you they’re thinking about taking him to the hospital. “Fuck,” you mutter. “Thanks, Sam.” You rush over to the bench where a doctor is taking care of Charlie’s wounds. “Charlie,” you whisper when you reach him. Another one of his teammates makes room for you to sit, which you do with a thankful smile towards them. “Is he gonna be okay?” you ask the doctor. “We’re gonna take him to the hospital for some check-ups, mainly to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion. But other than that, he’s fine.” You exhale slowly, then turn to Charlie again, grabbing his cold, bloody hand. “Hey, what happened?” you ask softly. He relaxes again upon hearing your melodic voice filled to the brim with worry. “Char, talk to me…” He looks up at you now. His right eye is punched shut and turning blue, his lip cut open and blood running from his nose. “He was saying things about you, Y/N. I couldn’t not do anything. He just made me so fucking angry,” he growls, tearing his eyes away from you again. You place your other hand onto the one you’re holding, trying your hardest to warm it up a little and to comfort him. He was defending you from God-knows-what awful things that number 12 was saying about you. He defended you in your absence. And looked so hot while doing it. “Alright, let’s go, Gillespie,” the coach says and hands him his shoes. You let go of his hand, so he can exchange his skates for his shoes, and look up at the coach. “What hospital are you taking him to?” you ask him. “Horizon’s,” the older man replies, and then helps Charlie up his feet since his leg has been brutally attacked by the number 12 too. “Come on,” he mutters. You get up too, and watch as Charlie limps by his coach's side. You turn and rush to Andrea again, only then realizing there were tears running down your face. She wipes them away with her thumbs, and looks into your eyes intensely. “Go! You can take my car.” She hands you her keys, kisses you on the cheek, and lets you go. You run to Andrea’s car and drive a little past the speed limit to get to the hospital as fast as possible. You know what you’re doing isn’t very safe, but you need to get to Charlie. You need to see him and make sure he’s okay. “I’m looking for Charlie Gillespie, he’s been brought in a little while ago?” you breathlessly ask the woman behind the front desk. You’re still panting from running from the car to the building. Your heart is going ten miles an hour, but it’s been doing that since the moment the fight broke out. “He’s gonna be in room 403, they’re still doing some tests, but you can wait for him there. It’s up to the fourth floor, you can take the elevator down the hall, there.” You nod at the woman, offering her the most thankful smile you can muster before making your way to the fourth floor. Your feet are getting sore from all the running, but you try your hardest to ignore it. There’s no stopping now. You have to be at Charlie’s side. Room 403 is empty, except for a wardrobe, a nightstand and a single armchair. He’s not here yet. You take a seat on the armchair for a few seconds, but then get back up and start pacing the room. Your nerves don’t allow you to sit still. You comb your fingers through your hair, muttering curses to the hospital staff to hurry their stupid tests. Something must be wrong with Charlie. There’s no other reason why they’d take so long. Not that you have a lot of experiences with hospitals except for maybe seeing a relative die in one, but never ever something like this. “Hey, Y/N, right?” a voice makes you snap out of your train of thoughts. It’s Charlie’s coach, carrying some of Charlie’s clothes in his hands. “Uhm, yeah, hi.” He offers you a smile as he walks in and places the clothes on the armchair. “They’re finished with the tests, he’s gonna be here in a few,” he informs you. “I’m gonna get something from the cafeteria, do you want anything?” You jam your nervous hands into the pockets of your jeans. “Oh, no, thank you,” you say and shoot him a stiff smile. He nods curtly before moving out of the room and leaving you alone again. This time, though, it doesn’t last too long. Within a minute, two nurses wheel him into the room on a hospital bed. You quickly move out of the way. He looks so fragile and broken on that hospital bed with all his wounds and bruises, and his eyes drooping from tiredness. “There you go, mister Gillespie,” the young man says as he puts the brakes on the bed, to make sure he doesn’t roll away again. “Ring if you need anything.” The other turns to you and says, “All tests went well. He has a slight concussion and some broken ribs, but he’ll be fine. Just make sure not to talk too loudly because that’ll give him a headache.” “Okay, thanks,” you give the two nurses a smile and let them walk out before you move to Charlie’s bedside. He looks at you from underneath his lashes, noticing how nervous you are, and reaches for your hand. “Hey,” he croaks out. “How are you feeling?” you ask. Your voice croaky from the tears you’re holding in. “I’m okay,” he answers, “Please, tell me that asshole looks worse than me.” He chuckles, then whinces at the pain his laughter causes to his ribs. “I’ve got no clue. I didn’t really look at that dude, I was too worried about you.” He smiles at you tenderly and brings your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “Charlie, I--” you start, but cut yourself off, not knowing how to say what you want to say. “Hey, come here,” he scoots over clumsily, giving you some space on the bed. You debate the option, but after looking into his pleading eyes -- or pleading eye since one is pretty much just punched shut -- you get on the bed, one leg dangling off. “What was he saying about me that made you so mad?” you ask, not at all what you wanted to, but you’re going with it for now. “He called you a fucking creep and a stalker because he somehow found out you draw the people you see?” Your heart skips a beat. He defended you for the one thing you were bullied about in high school. “I just… I know how much you hated that when it happened to you in high school, and because, you know, I’m in love with you and I don’t ever want you to feel that way again…” You smile a little at his second reason whilst butterflies well up in your stomach. “Charlie…” you start, making him turn his head at you. “Remember when I asked you for some time?” He nods his head slowly and carefully. “That was yesterday, so yes, I remember. I only have a slight concussion, babe.” You grab his hand in yours, rubbing circles on the back of his hand as you bite your lip nervously. “I don’t think I need any more time…” you carefully look up at him to see his surprised, and hopeful reaction. His eyes are sparkling again. Much like the stars you were watching last night. “So, does that mean I can finally kiss you?” he tries. One corner of his mouth curls up, and when you nod, the other follows. “Fucking finally!” he exclaims before gingerly grabbing your face with the hand you’re not holding and bringing you closer to him to press his lips to yours in a long-awaited, passionate kiss. One that ends too quickly with a hiss from him. “That hurts doesn’t it?” you ask worriedly. “Only the normal amount,” he shrugs and kisses you again before you can say anything else. “The normal amount is no pain, babe,” you mumble against his lips. Charlie doesn’t listen though, and instead, deepens the kiss even more. He’s been waiting for this to happen for weeks. Weeks of constant flirting and taking you on stargazing dates or coffee dates or pointing at you whenever he made a goal. Weeks of pining for the most beautiful artist he’s ever met in his life. And now, he’s finally kissing you. Finally.

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#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #jatp #jatp fic #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie au #charlie gillespie fic #charlie gillespie x reader #artist!reader #luke patterson #reggie jatp #jeremy shada #alex jatp #owen patrick joyner #owen joyner #julie molina #madison reyes #jatp fandom #fantoms

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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

Text

Star Wars: Gentler, Harder

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: He waits for Poe to twist around before continuing. “You were kind of being one, weren’t you? Teasing Rey like that.”

Finn’s got a mischievous look on his face, one Poe hasn’t seen on him before, and for all that Poe knows he’s not supposed to be moving he feels his stomach flip like he’s just entered a spiral dive.

Rey’s voice is far too close on his other side, sounding livelier than she has since he’s met her. “Does that mean we have to tickle him now?”

Wordcount: 2.6k

A/N: @ticklesofcolor event fill for @ticklishnonsense! Prompts were a combination of “Poe really loves getting tickled and has to ask for it” and “Finn gets taught how to tickle someone” - I am looking at those CR prompts, believe me, but I thought it would be fun to try something new too :)

---

“Well, aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes!”

Poe’s still not over the way Finn beams every time he sees him - he startles a little, probably on just enough symoxin to dull the rest of his senses along with the nerves, and breaks into a smile so brilliant against his dark skin that it’s hard not to squint. “Poe!”

He sounds like he’s still excited about having actual names to call. Poe tries not to think about it too hard.

Rey, curled up on the other side of the medical bed in, does her best impression of not looking expectantly at him. Poe grins and holds out a nutrition bar that she snatches and squirrels away somewhere in her dangling wraps faster than he can follow. “Good day?”

“Yes,” she says, perfunctorily making room for him to sit. She and Finn are close, he knows, and they’re never far from one another if they can help it - they do have enough spare beds that their two newest recruits shouldn’t be sharing one, he’s checked - but she’s not much for cuddling, and over the past few days they’ve worked out an unspoken agreement that Poe gets to crawl in between the two of them whenever he comes by. “Finn’s doctor says he’s almost ready for the next round of surgery, but he still shouldn’t be moving around.”

Poe squirms into a sitting position against the uncomfortable starchiness of the singular medbay pillow and looks Finn over as the two of them attempt to quote jargon about vertebrae and internal splints at him. He does look well, bandages aside, but it looks like clapping his shoulder still isn’t a good idea- instead, he settles for smacking a kiss against the coarse corkscrew curls that are just starting to grow out of Finn’s military cut. It’s a good look on him.

Finn interrupts himself to laugh and punch Poe gently in the shoulder with his good arm. “What about you, pilot? Do anything crazy today?”

A metric ton of paperwork, mostly. “Wait, wait - Rey, what about you?”

She frowns at him, same as every time he’s asked. “I still don’t think there’s anything wrong with me that would keep me from doing mechanic work-”

Finn shifts behind him. Poe twists back to him and catches his wince just as he gets close enough to whisper loudly, “She’s only had two headaches, I’ve been watching her all day.”

“Finn! I’ve been watching you,” Rey insists, wide-eyed. “If they let me out, I can start getting supplies for us, and - Poe Dameron, stop looking at me like that-”

“Like what?” he asks, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“The-” She gestures tightly in the general direction of his face, which only makes him laugh harder.

“Okay, okay, I just-” He fishes another nutrition bar out of his jacket and breaks it into three, holding out a portion to either side. “We have enough supplies for you and Finn, Rey. It took me four days to recover from whatever Kylo Ren did to my head - not saying you can’t do it in less, but I know how it felt and you need rest. The General herself said so, and she knows more about the Force than anyone here.”

Rey stuffs the food into her cheek and sinks back into herself, rubbing a little self-consciously at the dark circles under her eyes, and it’s hard to stop himself from reaching out to her, unwelcome as it might be given that they’ve just met and he’s technically the reason she’s not waist-deep in machinery right now. He’d tell her about the little manifest of speeder parts and a run-down X-wing he’s been saving for her to look at when she’s well, but he’s a little afraid that it’ll make her even more restless. “I nearly escaped an enemy base by myself and no one will even let me check the hyperdrive strain on the Falcon, but people keep coming in here and asking Finn for - for intel, whatever that means.”

“First Order secrets,” Finn intones, and lets out a semi-hysterical laugh. Poe’s heart lurches. He’d do anything to keep these two protected, safe, but for the cause-

He can do his best to cheer them up, at least, even if he’s feeling a little wiped himself. “Well,” he says, flicking Rey’s knee playfully, “we all know which one of you went around calling himself a ‘big deal’ in the Resistance, so-”

“Poe Dameron,” Rey hisses, rocking forward and launching a flurry of insistent pokes at his belly, “I’ll - I’ll take the Force and - Poe?”

Poe is - he’s not that ticklish, or at least that’s what he tells himself, but prodding at his soft spots is mean and he’s already half-sunk in laughter as he instinctively scrambles away from her.

Finn makes a startled sound just to his right, and he realizes abruptly that someone’s going to get hurt if he doesn’t stop flailing around. “Rey - Rey, wahahait-”

She pulls her hand back, brow furrowed. “What was that?”

“Wait, are you ticklish?” Finn asks.

Every nerve in Poe’s body sings at actually hearing the word. Clearly, it’s been a while.

Rey looks even more confused. “Ticklish?”

“The laughing,” Finn clarifies. “It usually happens when you poke someone in a ticklish spot.”

“Oh.” Rey looks adorably contrite. “Sorry, Poe, I didn’t know you were - ticklish? There?”

Goosebumps prickle at the back of his neck - they just keep saying it - but there’s a sudden, disappointing clarity at the realization that they’re not actually going to keep tickling him if he doesn’t say anything. “Oh, uh, I don’t mind, really I-”

I like it, he finishes in his head, but the words catch, warm and embarrassed, in the back of his throat and he just coughs instead. He scoots gingerly back towards Rey and tries again. “Um. I’m used to it, it’s not like Jess hasn’t used it against me when she thinks I’m being a brat.”

“Well,” Finn says, and that’s not a tone Poe’s ever heard from him before.

He waits for Poe to twist around before continuing. “You were kind of being one, weren’t you? Teasing Rey like that.”

Rey’s voice is far too close on his other side, sounding livelier than she has since he’s met her. “Does that mean we have to tickle him now?”

He whips his head around just in time to see Rey pounce on him. She pins his legs neatly with hers, one wiry forearm bracing across his chest and the other pressed lightly over his mouth, and Poe abruptly feels trapped.

He should probably be more worried about that.

“You’re loud,” she tells him matter-of-factly, her sharp chin inches from his ear, “and if you don’t stay in once place you’re going to hurt Finn. Tap out if you want me to let you up.”

His fingers are twitching. He flattens them against the mattress.

She makes a satisfied sound and turns - he can’t see Finn past her, but it’s unlikely that he’s gone anywhere in the last thirty seconds, at least. “So now we just - poke him?”

“Kind of,” Finn says. “But Rey, you’ve gotta have a hand free-”

Rey’s hand flexes briefly over his mouth. “You do it, then.”

Finn sounds uncertain. “I can barely see his face from over here; it’ll be hard to tell if I’m doing it right.”

Brown eyes abruptly fill his field of vision as Rey looks back at him. Poe holds his breath, anticipating, as she presses her thumb to the corner of the silly, helpless smile working its way over his face and grins - a brief, childish thing he’s only seen her wear in the hangars.

“I’ll tell you, then.”

Poe squeaks.

Suddenly there are five little points of warmth on his right side, tickling mercilessly over the tender line just under his ribcage. The zinging sensation shoots over his chest, up under his collarbones, and-

He dissolves into gasping laughter, arching up into Rey’s arm before he can even think about laying still. “Oh,” he gets out, “oho - ohnohoho-”

Part of him expected that Finn wouldn’t really know how tickling worked, being in the First Order and all. That part of him is currently experiencing instant, severe regret as clever fingers work their way into the grooves between his lower ribs, forming into pincers and kneading just firmly enough to make him twist and squeal. “Ahaha - aaa! - no - eheeeh-”

He kicks free, for a moment, heels dragging frantically against the bed. Rey makes a frustrated noise and kicks back. “Finn, gentle,” she orders, “it’s too much for him.”

Poe’s somewhat offended by this unflattering evaluation of his abilities - at least, until Finn makes an affirming noise and the kneading lightens to a soft, barely-there fluttering of nails against his skin.

Then, he’s just desperate.

It’s. It’s not even enough to make him laugh, is the thing - he’s just wheezing out breathless, hiccupy giggles into Rey’s palm as Finn wanders his way up his ribcage, pausing occasionally to rub gentle circles when he stumbles across somewhere especially sensitive. It’s hell.

“Rey,” he tries, muffled, making the herculean attempt to unfist his hands and nudge her in the shoulder. “Rey.”

She looks down at him, questioning, and he gives her his most pleading look. He knows she can read his desperation clear as day, he knows-

She blinks. “Keep going,” she tells Finn, “I don’t think he’s sorry yet.”

Finn, bless his non-evil heart and inability to hear Poe whine in fruitless protest, laughs and pets the soft, trembling skin under Poe’s arm with one careful fingertip. “Really? C’mon, Poe, what’s it gonna take?”

This, apparently, because Poe is ready to say anything in the entire karking galaxy to get them to actually tickle him - the only thing worse, he thinks, would be if they stopped.

He whines again and squeezes his arms against his sides as tightly as he can, hoping beyond hope that it’ll make Finn take retaliatory measures. Rey just tsks and moves her hand away from his mouth, and he sighs in relief in the brief, blessed instant before she clamps down on his forearm and pulls his arm up.

Solves the audibility problem, at least. “Finn,” he pleads, wheezing between the snickers being forced out of shivering lungs, and wow, that’s not how his voice usually sounds. “Fihihihiiiiinn - Finn! Dohon’t - just - please, I can’t-”

Finn sounds amused. “Rey, you think he wants us to stop? Sounds pretty sorry to me.”

“No,” Poe says hastily, and promptly shuts his eyes before he can see their reaction to that. “Just - do it right, come on-”

There’s sudden, piercing doubt in Rey’s voice as she loosens her grip on him. “What do you mean - Finn, are we doing it wrong?”

He has to say something, but what-

And then.

He can’t see them, but - but he can feel, just for a moment-

The thing brushing up against the edges of his mind is instantly, quintessentially Rey - grit and stubbornness and a rusty, childish mischievousness all swirling, with the bitter concern of being wrong briefly at the forefront - it skims over his thoughts like sand over desert dunes, not graceful but gentle, nothing like Kylo Ren’s digging and bruising intrusion -

It. It kind of tickles.

He laughs, sudden and startled, and with Rey braced over him it’s impossible not to hear the pleased sound she makes in response. “Oh, I see.”

The Force, Poe realizes, is a kriffing snitch.

He cracks an eye open and fails entirely not to blush at the way Rey’s beaming triumphantly down at him. “Poe,” she commands. “Tell Finn what you want him to do.”

He sputters. “What? I thought that was your job. And you can’t use the Force, that’s not fair-”

She beams even wider. “There’s more than one way to make you sorry, Poe - come on, tell Finn which one you like better, tell him!”

“Wait, you used the Force?” Finn’s confusion only makes him blush harder. “Poe? You can tell us if you want us to stop, you know-”

“I don’t,” he blurts out, and immediately has to close his eyes again as every ounce of blood in his body rushes to his face. “I - I want - Rey, I can’t-”

“Say it,” she orders, and he wonders if that’s the Force echoing in his ears.

Well, if he’s going to be pressured into saying it, might as well be by the galaxy’s newest Jedi. “Can - can you t-tick-” Come on, Dameron, lo que no me mata- “-oh, kriff it, just tickle me harder, please, I can’t take it-”

He trails off, breathing hard, and Rey pats him twice on the cheek like a proud tía before slapping her hand back over his mouth. “I think he’s going to be a lot louder now. Finn?”

Ten fingers wriggle their way into his right armpit, and Poe yelps.

It’s not any more bearable than the fluttering and tracing, except that it is, and Poe can’t help but relax into the helpless laughter as Finn prods and pinches his way all the way down to his hip before working his way back up under his arm. He lingers at Poe’s ribs, kneading between two particular sensitive ribs and giggling as Poe tries to shove his mean, mean hands away with arms that have all the strength of a used bacta patch. “Eheheeeeh - ha, aaaaa - hahaha, nononoplease-”

“He says no,” Rey conveys over his head.

“No?” Finn says, teasing. He lightens his touch just enough to make Poe shriek in panicked frustration before going right back to kneading. “Aw, Poe, I thought you said this is what you wanted!”

Poe’s pretty sure there’s a solid four inches between the bed and his spine, with how desperately he’s arching his back and wriggling to escape the awful teasing, and as Rey wrestles him back down Finn’s fingers slip onto his belly.

He screams.

There’s a moment of complete, terrible stillness as Rey looks down at him with utter delight. “Finn!” she chirps. “Do that again!”

“Hm? Right here?”

Poe feels something warm and wriggly slide between him and Rey, up under his shirt where it’s come untucked with all the struggling, and promptly makes the executive decision to tap out before he ends up earning himself a ticket to the medbay with more psychic damage.

“Wait, he’s-”

“Rey, he wants-”

Finn and Rey both pause, Finn’s hand unmoving on his belly. Rey inches her hand off his mouth. “Poe?”

“Tapping out,” he wheezes. Rey gets halfway off him before jerking back to lean on his shoulders, fixing him with a mock-stern look that nearly has him breaking down into nervous giggles all over again. “I will get to fly the Falcon again, right?”

Poe tips his head back onto the bed, gulping down air. “I get the feeling I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to, but yes. General’s even got it listed under your name in the manifest, now.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh. I - I have a ship?”

“You’ve got a ship,” he confirms, and loses his breath all over again as she darts in for a fierce, joyful hug. It takes a bit of doing, but he manages to shove his way to enough of a sitting position to lean the both of them up against Finn, wrapping their arms together in a joyful tangle.

It feels right - like fighters flying in formation, like the spiraling balance of the Force the few times he’s been witness to it.

His cheeks are red and sore from laughter, but he can’t help smiling.

#ticklesofcolor2021 #tickling #star wars #jedistormpilot #poe dameron #sw finn #sw rey #chocfic #mmm that new fandom smell and the dreaded fear of mischaracterization let's do this

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backtothestart02 · 3 years

Text

Just Best Friends - 8/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoy!

This full chap is dedicated to the lovely Nora on twitter. Hope you enjoy this, girl!

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Chapter 8 -

The next afternoon when the clock hit 12 o’clock, Iris found herself drumming her fingers on her desk, debating what she was going to do during her lunch hour. Mason had gone out. Linda was eating her little home-packed lunch at her desk, but that wasn’t exactly an invitation for her to go over and attempt a chit-chat either. She could go visit her dad at CCPD or she could visit…

Pulling out her phone from her purse, she immediately texted the person most present on her mind. It was a few minutes before he responded back, not by texting back but by strolling through the front door of CCPN and heading straight for her desk.

“Hey, Iris!” he said cheerfully.

“Hey,” she said, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face.

“So, you wanted to do lunch?” he asked, hopefully.

She bit her bottom lip as she stood up to approach him.

“Actually, I was hoping for something else that hit a little closer to home.”

His brows furrowed. “Oh?”

She grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled him back outside, so they could be a little more private.

“STAR Labs,” she said, as soon as they were out of earshot of passersby.

Barry blinked. “You want me to…give you a tour?”

“No, no, no.” She shook her head, stifling a laugh. “I want to be there when you do your…. you know,” she lowered her voice. “Flash stuff.”

“Oh!” His eyes widened. “I see.”

She frowned. “Unless you don’t…want me there?”

“No, no, no!” he reassured. “It’s not that. Not that at all. I’ve dreamed of the day you’d be on the coms, helping me in the field.”

She got giddy hearing that spill from his mouth.

“’Kay, good.”

“It’s just…unexpected.” He cleared his throat. “But come on.” He held out his hand. “I’ll get you there in a Flash.” He winked.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her butterflies to get them under control. She gave Barry her hand, and within seconds they were inside STAR Labs with Cisco, Caitlin, and Dr. Wells staring at them.

“Hello, Barry…and, and Iris.” Cisco blinked, then turned to glare at Barry. “I didn’t know we were bringing in visitors.”

“Iris isn’t a visitor,” Barry declared. “Not anymore.” He spared a glance at her twinkling eyes. “She’s going to be part of team Flash.”

She practically bounced up onto her toes.

“When I can be,” she clarified. “I do have a job, obviously.”

“As a reporter,” Caitlin stated.

“Right, yes.”

But Barry saw right through Caitlin’s mask.

“She can be trusted, Cait. I wouldn’t bring her in here if she couldn’t.”

“Oh, does that mean Linda can’t be trusted?” Cisco asked, amused.

Iris, for one, was dumbfounded. What did Linda have to do with any of this? She turned to look at Barry.

“What is he talking about, Barry?”

“Nothing! Nothing. He’s talking about nothing.”

Before she could question him further, Dr. Wells wheeled himself towards her and held out his hand to shake hers. Reluctantly, she shook it.

“Hello, Ms. West. I’m happy you’ll be joining us. We were all waiting for the day Barry would finally let you in on his little secret.”

After shaking his hand, Iris looked over at Barry who was avoiding her gaze.

“Yes, so was I.”

“Cisco!” Barry declared, walking over to him. “Any crime activity? Anything that the Flash can help out with?”

“No, not at the-” An alarm suddenly went off. “Then again…”

Caitlin was closer, so she went over to the monitor to see what was the matter.

“Bank robbery on 5th and Oak. Better run, Ba-”

But he was gone before she could finish her sentence. Excitement running through Iris’ veins, she circled around the desk to see what Cisco and Caitlin were looking at.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Right there,” Caitlin said, pointing to a moving dot on the monitor.

“Oh, my God, this is so exciting.” She bounced again. “Get him, Barry.”

“Working on it, Iris,” Barry said back, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Cisco and Caitlin shared an amused look.

“There’s a microphone right there,” Cisco pointed out. “He can hear whatever you’re saying.”

“Oh.”

She felt chills race up her spine. Anything?

A million dirty phrases filtered through her mind, and she had to fight to squash each and every one of them. They were in the presence of others after all, and he was not her boyfriend.

“Got ‘em,” Barry said before she could think of anything else. “I’m just going to wait for the police to show up, and then I’ll be back.”

“A job well done. Nice work, Mr. Allen,” Dr. Wells said into his own pair of coms. Then he wheeled himself out of the room.

It was about 10 minutes before Barry returned, but it sent all their hair and papers flying when he did. He was smiling from ear to ear. His eyes were bright and happy. It was contagious, at least for Iris.

Cisco high-fived him on his way in.

“Nice job, Barry,” Caitlin said, and he smiled at her.

Iris was rounding the desk already, and she jumped into his arms, making him hug her tightly. Cisco and Caitlin shared another look but said nothing.

“That was amazing, Barry.” Slowly he set her down, but she still clung to his arms, and he held her close. “So, so cool. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Of course.” He could not stop smiling.

Eventually, he took a step back and changed his clothes in a flash. Before Iris knew it, his Flash suit was hanging up on display on the other side of the room, and Barry was back in the clothes he’d worn when they first arrived.

“Now you want to grab lunch?” he asked, hopeful. “I can flash us to Big Belly Burger, so it won’t take so long.”

Iris giggled infectiously.

“Okay. I mean, if you’re not needed here?”

Barry glanced over at Cisco.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Flash is off-duty…for now.”

“Great!” Barry said cheerfully. “Come on, let’s go.”

He held out his arm for her to loop hers through, which she did, and they practically skipped out of the cortex down the hall.

“Bring us back some food!” Cisco called out, and Caitlin leaned towards him.

“It’ll probably be a while.”

Cisco sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know…”

…

The next afternoon, just as Iris was shutting down her computer and turning to leave, she came face to face with Barry smiling ear to ear, a beautiful long stem rose between his fingers that displayed a vibrant reddish orange. As soon as her eyes met his, he extended it out to her. Gingerly, she took it and sniffed at its fragrance, feeling happiness rushing through her at the beautiful scent.

“For me?” she asked, tipping her head up after a moment.

He nodded. “For you.”

She stood up, everything inside of her urging her to tip her head up again, but this time so he could kiss her.

Her only problem was the thought likely hadn’t even occurred to him. He was just being a sweet friend. Because she had a boyfriend, and they had just really become friends again.

She pushed the thought aside and gave him a quirky smile instead.

“You know, it took guts for you to give me this.”

His brows furrowed.

“It did?”

“Uh-huh.” She closed the distance between them, and she swore she could hear him catch his breath. “I mean, after how I reacted to the last bunch.”

“Oh.” He chuckled nervously. “Right. Well, we’re good now, so I thought I’d give it another go.” He paused. “We are good, right?”

She rolled her eyes and bit her bottom lip, suppressing the flirtatious giggle that was demanding to get out.

“Oh, yeah, we’re good.”

“Can I walk you home?”

Her heart flipped inside her chest. Then a thought occurred to her.

“Actually…” He frowned. “I mean, yes, of course.” He smiled, relieved.

“But?”

“No buts,” she assured. “I just had an idea that I thought I might pass by you.”

He took a step back so she could work her way around her desk, and they walked toward the exit.

“Shoot,” he said, as they passed through the doors.

“Well…” She looped her arm through his. “I was thinking…movie night.”

Barry’s eyes lit up, his insides unbelievably excited.

“That’s a great idea. Should we have it at Joe’s or-”

“How about my place,” she suggested. “Well, mine and Eddie’s,” she amended.

He frowned.

“Is that a good idea? I mean, with Eddie gone? Won’t he feel…”

She rolled her eyes.

“Eddie’s not coming back till tomorrow, and we’ve talked about entertaining guests in the past, so.”

“Wait, guests? As in plural?” Barry asked, his spirits plummeting.

“Yeah.” She bounced a little as they walked down the block. “I was thinking you could invite Cisco and Caitlin over, even Dr. Wells if he wants to come.”

“Oh, I see.”

He tried his best not to sound disappointed. After all, a whole night alone with just him and Iris was probably not a good idea. It was how she’d ended up cheating in the first place.

He wanted to avoid her giving in to temptation again.

Right?

She seemed to have caught onto his tone anyway though.

“Oh, you didn’t think…”

“No, no, of course not.” He forced a smile. “I’ll text them right away. I’m sure they’ll say yes. They’re always up for a movie. Well, except for Dr. Wells. He doesn’t seem to go anywhere besides STAR Labs and his house.” He frowned. “He seems to like it that way for some reason.”

“Oh, that’s alright. And hey, you and I can have a movie night just us next weekend. How does that sound? At my dad’s place that time, so we’re not overly bothersome to Eddie.”

She giggled profusely, but Barry knew her idea was for the best. Eddie would probably feel like a third wheel again and get mad again. Then again, maybe he should make sure Joe was home for that event, if they ended up going through with it. It would be good to have a third party…just in case.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

He pulled out his phone and texted Cisco, Caitlin, and Wells the idea. Within a couple minutes he got the expected responses. Yes from Cisco and Caitlin, and a ‘not this time’ from Dr. Wells.

“Wells says thanks but he can’t,” he told Iris.

“As you suspected.” She rolled her eyes. “And the other two?” she asked hopeful. “I reeeally want them to like me.”

Barry frowned and looked at her.

“They like you. Why would you think they don’t like you?”

She shrugged.

“It’s just a feeling I got, like they didn’t want me around or wished I wasn’t there, or something.”

“Nah, they’re just not used to anyone else being around. It’s been just the four of us for so long, and Joe of course. But I wouldn’t worry about it. Cisco will like you as soon as you say the word ‘snacks’ tonight, and Caitlin…well, admittedly she’s a harder nut to crack, but if Cisco likes you, so will she. I really wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Does that mean they said yes?” she asked, spinning on her feet slightly as she walked.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, they said yes.” He chuckled. She was so damn cute when she was excited.

“Awesome! So then, maybe you can flash us there? So we can get ready quicker? I want to be ready in ti-”

Before she could finish her sentence, they were there in front of her apartment door, and she had to fight to catch her breath.

“I will never get used to that.” She laughed.

“Sorry.” He blushed slightly. “Maybe I should have-”

“No, no, don’t apologize.” She pulled her key out of her purse. “I liked it.” She winked.

Barry felt his face get warm but followed her into the apartment. He’d never been there before, so he let his eyes trace the surroundings. The living room was a good size, and so was the kitchen. He decided not to think about the bedroom, given what likely went on there when Iris and Eddie were in the mood, but the place was nice. He could see why Iris said yes to living there when Eddie asked.

“It’s nice, your place.”

“Hmm?” She looked up at him after setting her purse down. “Oh, thanks. The décor left must to be desired when I first moved in, so all those homey touches are all me.”

Barry smiled when he looked at her.

“That’s very you.”

She laughed and tucked a curl behind her ear.

“I’m gonna go get changed, then we can get stuff arranged, find some snacks, pick the movie. Sound good?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Take your time.”

“Great.”

She turned then, looking back over her shoulder a few times to smile at him before opening the half-closed door to her bedroom and stepping inside. Barry could hear her digging through her drawers, searching for a comfortable yet cute outfit for when the others arrived. He heard the clothes land on the bed and whoosh of her shrugging out of her sweater. Then there was silence, and he knew she was really undressing. As in, taking her dress off, maybe switching into a more comfortable bra…

He shook himself out of the images that conjured up and walked across the room. He had to get her out of his head. No matter how much he wanted her to break up with Eddie and be with him, right now it just wasn’t on her agenda. He had to accept that and not…fantasize about her every waking second.

But, without her there before him, he struggled to find something to do. He tossed a pillow from one side of the couch to another and adjusted a folded blanket on one of the chairs before proceeding to pop his mouth and lick his lips. He just barely held back from starting to hum.

Breaking through his thoughts was Iris’ labored breathing that he couldn’t help but hear. Then came some huffing, a groan of frustration and an actual foot stomp. It concerned and amused him almost simultaneously.

He leaned his body in the direction of the door even though it was only open a crack and offered his help.

“Everything okay in there?”

The complaining noises ceased.

“Uh, yeah, I just…the zipper is stuck.”

A million scenarios suddenly poured out into his consciousness. He had to fight to breathe at the image of her half-dressed, her hair draped over her shoulder as she looked up at him with those deep brown eyes of hers and asked him to undress her.

Help unzip her rather.

He tried to squash the image, but he couldn’t. Despite himself he caved to the desire, convincing himself he was just being a good friend by even offering.

“Need any help?”

The silence that followed made him regret everything, but he walked toward the door anyway, pausing briefly to smooth down his shirt, and gingerly opened the door. She turned her head over her shoulder, just as he’d imagined she would, and he swallowed at the sight of her. He forced himself to squash every compliment in the book that was suddenly at the forefront of his mind.

After all, she was struggling.

“I mean, if you wouldn’t mind?” she asked pathetically.

He breathed a sigh of relief and approached her easily.

“No, of course not.”

Licking his lips, he came to a stop and moved her long locks over her left shoulder. He saw her visibly shiver as his fingertips brushed her bare skin and stilled.

“Is this weird?” she asked, just as he was about to ask her the logical question – if she was cold.

He shook himself free of the spell she always put him under when they were this close.

“Why would it be weird?” he asked, focusing intently on the state of the jeopardized zipper. “We’re just best friends,” he continued. “You’re with Eddie. I know that.”

“No, I know, but uh…you’re still in love with me, right?”

His breath was stolen from his again. Suddenly his fingers wouldn’t move.

How did she keep doing this to him?

“Right,” he forced himself to say. “But I don’t see how tha-”

“And I’m intensely attracted to you now, remember?”

He felt his pants starts to tighten. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

“Right.”

She took a tiny step forward, and his hands fell to his sides.

“You probably shouldn’t be touching me. Or…at least not skin to skin.”

She turned to face him, and the view from the front was even more devastating to the state of his heart. And pants.

“Got it.” A thought occurred to him. “But uh…how will you get your dress off then?”

That particular problem clearly hadn’t dawned on her. She sighed, and her shoulders slumped.

“I guess I’ll just wear it forever.”

A sudden grin turned into a chuckle, and Barry approached her again.

“I have an idea.”

“What?” Her nose scrunched up.

“I’ll use my super speed,” he said, warming to the idea immediately. “It’ll be really fast! Are those the clothes you want to wear?”

He gestured to what was spread out on the bed, and she turned to look before looking back at him.

“Well, yeah, bu-”

“It’s okay. It’ll be great! I did it with Caitlin once. She didn’t feel a thing. I didn’t see a thing. It was great!”

He was so excited now, Iris couldn’t help but feel some of his energy pour onto her. She also couldn’t deny the little green monster that was cropping up inside her.

“You did it with Caitlin?” she asked, hoping none of that green would spill out of her.

Barry didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah,” he said. “She got drunk, so I took her home. She needed help undressing, and-” He stopped suddenly, flushing a bright red. “Wow, this sounds way more inappropriate than it was.”

But Iris wasn’t listening. Barry and Caitlin were already making out in her head, their clothes falling to the wayside, and she couldn’t stand it. Barry’s worried tone was the only thing that freed her from the horrifying vision.

Her eyes widened, and she stepped forward.

“No, it’s okay. I get it. You were just being a good friend. It’s fine. Go ahead.” She nodded.

“Yeah?” he asked, hopeful.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

He took a breath, and gestured for her to turn back around, which she did with a smile. Then using his super speed, he successfully, freed and realigned the zipper, after which he undressed her and redressed her into the clothes she had laid out.

“There you go! All done.”

Iris peeked beneath her shirt and looked over at him.

“You changed my bra. I didn’t lay out a new one.”

He froze.

“I didn’t see anything, I swear!” He held his hands open in surrender.

Is he hyperventilating? She wondered.

“I just…I thought you might want something a little more comfortable for movie night.” He laughed nervously.

She smiled suddenly and placed her hand on his arm.

“It’s okay, Barry.”

“Yeah?”

She giggled.

“Yeah. Come on, let’s get everything set up.”

She tipped her head toward the doorway, and he followed her into the living room, breathing a sigh of relief after closing the bedroom door behind them.

…

As predicted, minus some brief awkwardness when Cisco and Caitlin arrived together, as soon as Iris displayed an array of snacks to Cisco on the countertop, Cisco dove in full force and gathered as much as he could put on the plates Iris had set out. His behavior made Caitlin actually laugh, and she smiled at Iris as she moved to grab her own plate.

“Thanks for inviting us, Iris. This was a great idea.”

She met Barry’s eyes at the compliment. He sent her a wink, which sent chills spreading through her body again.

“Thanks, Caitlin. I thought it would be fun.”

“Although, you know…” Barry started, a teasing lilt to his voice. “It was actually me that invited you both.”

Cisco rolled his eyes and plopped down in one of the comfy chairs.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin said sarcastically. “Thank you, Barry.”

She took the other chair and popped some popcorn into her mouth, while Barry grinned.

“You’re forgiven,” he said, and took a seat on the couch.

“So, what are we watching?” Cisco asked, pointing out the blank screen.

“Well…” Iris approached it. “I thought… - and I hope you don’t mind Caitlin, but uh… I grabbed Star Wars?” She held up A New Hope to show them all.

Cisco’s jaw dropped. He immediately looked at Barry.

“Did you put her up to this?”

Barry held up his hands in defense.

“I had nothing to do with it. I’m as surprised as you are.”

Caitlin laughed.

“What made you choose that one, Iris?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It’s technically the original.”

“It is the original,” Cisco deadpanned.

“It’s true.” Barry grabbed his snack plate.

Iris laughed.

“Barry’s always making references I don’t understand. I thought it’d be cool to see where it all comes from.”

“You know, Cisco is always making references too,” Caitlin pointed out. “I’ve always shot down his attempts to get me to watch though.”

“Yes. Yes, you have.” Cisco narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mi-” Iris started, worried.

“No, no, don’t even worry about it. It was inevitable.” Caitlin chuckled. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

Iris smiled, relieved.

“Great.”

She turned on the TV, pushed in the DVD, and pressed play, immediately plopping on the couch next to Barry, snuggling close and laying her head on his chest as the movie began. Caitlin took notice at first and looked over at Cisco, but he was already absorbed into the movie, so she abandoned her observations to watch the movie too.

As the movie continued, Barry unconsciously wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She started to eat off his plate about half an hour into the movie, and his jaw dropped when he reached for something himself and found all his snacks had been consumed and she’d been chewing the last one. His chest rumbled due to his quiet chuckle, and she looked up at him.

She mouthed ‘what’, and he shrugged slightly then glanced down at his empty plate before looking back up at her. She appeared to be embarrassed, so to hide that, she swung her legs down and snatched the plate out of his hand to go refill it in the kitchen with more snacks. He checked her out the whole way there, watching her hips sway of their own volition and the perfect round cheeks of her ass in those snug sweatpants. He shifted in his seat slightly when she turned around and headed back over to him.

“There,” she whispered, handing him the plate. “Happy?”

“Always,” he whispered back before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She was the first to grab some finger food from his plate. He just made sure to get a few in before he started watching the movie again.

With just half an hour left of the movie to go, Iris had shifted to practically on top of Barry with how tense she’d gotten as the action started to really pick up in the back half of the movie. Barry seemed completely unaware, his grip on her only tightening when he thought she might actually fall off of him. There was no chance of that though, not with her pressing herself so much into him and ducking her head into his sweater when she thought she couldn’t take what might happen next.

In the midst of it all, neither of them, and not Cisco or Caitlin either, heard the key in the lock turn again or a certain someone walk through the door before he spoke himself into existence and had Iris turning her head.

“Iris.”

“Eddie.”

Horror zipped through her until she talked herself down with the pep talk that what she was doing was completely innocent and fine. She untangled her hand from Barry’s and walked over to Eddie, placing a quick peck on his surprised lips.

“You’re home early.”

“An earlier flight came in, so I thought I’d take it.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips before turning on the charm. “Well, that’s great.” She rubbed her hand down his arm. “I’m so glad your home.”

He looked at her strangely.

“We’re having a movie night. I hope you don’t mind?” She bit her lip.

“No,” he said instantly. “No, of course not. You…you have fun.”

“You should join us!” she encouraged, but his immediate sigh told her that was not on the menu.

“Uh…I’m actually kind of tired. I was thinking a shower and then bed, if you don’t mind.”

She frowned but accepted it.

“Okay, yeah. You must be exhausted. I’m sure jet lag is setting in.”

“Right.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“You’ll come in later, yeah?”

“Of course.”

His smile was forced, even she could sense it.

“Enjoy your movie then.” He shifted his gaze to their guests. “Good seeing you all.” He waved before heading towards the bedroom with his suitcase in hand.

“You too!” they all sang out in a chorus before looking back at the TV screen.

Iris frowned, wondering if she should do something, but Barry calling out to her shifted her focus entirely.

“You okay?” he asked when she didn’t immediately move.

She shook off her girlfriend duties before climbing back onto the couch beside him.

“Yeah, totally. Let’s see how this thing ends.”

She smiled and looped her arm through his, tucking her legs under her again and focusing entirely on the movie and her guests until they all left.

…

With Eddie presumably asleep, Barry had flashed all the snacks away after Caitlin and Cisco left, thanking Iris for her hospitality on their way out. Caitlin admitted to still not understanding all the references to which Cisco just encouraged them to have another movie night to watch the next one. It made the girls laugh and Barry shrug helplessly when Cisco looked to him for support.

Barry lingered a little while, even after he had everything put away. It took him a while to say goodbye to Iris, mostly because he wasn’t sure how things would proceed with them now that Eddie was back. He didn’t say it, but Iris caught on with how he kept coming up with reasons to stay. She didn’t know how to reassure him that everything would be okay though, so eventually she just pointed out the time and how she should probably go and he took note of it, hugging her close before eventually leaving.

The apartment was silent once more. One by one, Iris turned off the lights, sighing to herself as she finally approached the bedroom. To her surprise, when she opened it, the light on Eddie’s side of the bed was on and he was propped up against his pillow, looking at his phone.

“You’re awake,” she said, coming to a stop.

He set his phone on the bedside table and looked up at her.

“I thought I’d wait up for you.”

She crossed the room to pull her pajamas out of a drawer.

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have taken so long,” she said by way of apology.

Eddie shook it off with ease.

“Don’t worry about it. You were having fun with your friends, and I said I was going to bed.”

“Maybe next time you’ll join us,” she suggested as she changed clothes, facing away from him.

“Maybe,” he said, watching her and trying not to wonder too hard why she was seeking privacy.

Once dressed, she walked over to the bed and pulled back the blanket on her side. She tucked herself in, but before she could think to lay down and get herself comfortable, Eddie broached the subject she’d hoped he’d forgotten about. At least for tonight.

“So, have you thought about us?”

She opted for confusion.

“What do you mean?”

He turned toward her.

“Well, I was gone for a week, Iris. And I didn’t call you or text at all during that time.”

“I know that.” She frowned. “I figured you wanted space.”

“I did,” he said, and her chest tightened. “But I also wanted to give you the time and space you needed to sort things out.”

She nodded, accepting that.

“So…” he continued. “Did you sort things out?”

“I made up with Barry,” she said.

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.” She forced a laugh.

“And your dad?” He tilted his head.

She sighed. “Not yet. One step at a time though, right?”

“Right.” He pursed his lips. “And us?”

“What about us?” She hedged cautiously.

“Are we good?” he asked. “Or do you think we should start going to therapy? Or break up?”

Her breath was stolen from her.

This was the moment.

She could end it all right here. She could tell him she’d cheated, that she’d realized she was in love with Barry, that she wanted to be with Barry. She could tell him she was so, so sorry, and that she’d understand completely if he never wanted to talk to or see her again.

Because she did want to be with Barry. And tonight she’d gotten confirmation that he was still in love with her. He’d probably take her in a heartbeat if she went to his door tonight.

Maybe. Maybe. If he wasn’t too wounded by how she’d rejected him time and time again. She deserved to be rejected by him if he felt like it, to have to fight for him the way he’d repeatedly fought for her, to be alone, with nobody for a while, because of how she’d crushed his fragile, beautiful heart.

She gulped.

“Iris?”

She fixed her eyes on Eddie’s and knew she wasn’t going to do it. Not tonight at any rate. She couldn’t face what was bound to be a blow up if she told Eddie everything. She couldn’t take the uncertainty of whether or not Barry would take her should she confess how she was feeling to him. She couldn’t break yet another heart with Eddie looking at her now, so vulnerable and so hopeful for what she had to say. She did still care about him, and she loved him. Even if from the way she’d felt when he walked in the door told her loud and clear that she was no longer in love with him.

So, she softened her features and cupped his face, taking the easy way out. For now.

“I think we’re okay, Eddie.”

He sighed in relief and wrapped his fingers around hers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “I think you were right about it being about Barry. Once we made things right, everything seemed to fall into place.” Literally. “I don’t think we need therapy either. I think moving forward we’ll be okay.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that. I was so worried.” He laughed a little nervously.

“No need to be.” She hesitated before saying, “I love you.”

A small smile spread across her lips, and she leaned forward, kissing just the corner of his lips before turning away and getting settled on her side of the bed. He frowned, somewhat surprised by her actions and the direction in which she was choosing to sleep.

“Good night, Eddie. I’m glad you’re home.”

He told himself it was nothing. That he was overthinking things.

He turned off his light and adjusted his pillow. He debated curling his body around hers, but something about that didn’t feel right suddenly. He turned the other way and got himself comfortable, as the thought that something wasn’t right continued to gnaw at him.

“Good night, Iris,” he lifted his head up to say. “I love you.”

She didn’t say anything in return, and he heard a gentle snore coming from her side of the bed a few seconds later.

He laid his head back down onto his pillow and pushed the nagging thought away.

It’s probably nothing.

But it nagged at him still.

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #just best friends #chapter 8

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