#seven red runs is in my suggested??? did i typo it at some point? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney · 3 years

Text

The Couple Next Door IX (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part Eight Here

A/N: Surprise! I’m briefly back from a year-long Hiatus and I have one chapter for TCND, one for ATU AND a George Harrison one-shot I’m just gonna drop and then probably disappear again for another few months. I’m also finding it even more difficult to write for Roger seeing as I’ve kinda been listening to nothing but The Beatles for the last fifteen months and I really only hear Queen at work, so that’s gotta change. But I am very sorry about the LONG wait. I really do appreciate you guys, and I think you’ve all waited quite long enough to find out what happens next...

Summary: Roger and Y/N spend the morning taking care of Bobby; they talk a little more about the future and come to the conclusion they both want the same thing.

(Let your imagination run free, bc this can be either Canon or Borhap!Roger)

WARNINGS: Swearing is probably a given at this point, self-doubt, mentions/ suggestions of sex (advise you to avoid if you’re under 18), and I usually revise when I’m stoned so there’s probably some typos in here too, sorry.

Rated T for Teen-- (I feel like a video game rating smh)

Bobby was crying again.

Granted, it was about seven in the morning, and he did sleep for the rest of the night.

Roger was the last of the both of you to wake up; not because of the crying-- he didn't even hear the crying-- but he was wrapped up in the blankets with you, and you were trying to remove yourself from his grasp.

"Don't leave," Roger grumbled as he pulled you tightly against his chest, eyes remaining closed as you whispered back to him.

"But I have to go. Baby's cryin'."

Roger loosened his grip on you, much to his dismay, and you slipped from his embrace, leaving him cold, and alone.

"Come back, Baby..." He really hoped his gravelly plea would entice you to return from the nursery after tending to Bobby, and although you were probably against having sex in your friends' bed, he figured there was no harm in testing the waters.

"That's not how that works when you have a baby, Rog. The day starts now."

Roger groaned in protest, but as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, he revealed to himself that you were no longer in the room, and the baby's cries settled when he heard your voice float down the hall from the nursery room.

Roger, as much as he didn't want to, tossed the comforter off of his body, and after rising to his feet and combing his fingers through his hair, he shuffled out of the bedroom and made a beeline to the stairs.

He was glad he was familiar with John's kitchen; because he was certain you had no idea where anything was, meaning he would be the one preparing breakfast that morning, and the one following it, most likely.

Fuck it, he would (try to) cook you up seven different meals a day if you asked him.

Anything for you.

He put the kettle on, and moved to the pantry in search for John's teabags, yawning lightly as he pulled the door open.

Nothing in the pantry really stuck out to him as being a good breakfast that morning, so Roger ended up migrating to the fridge after retrieving the tea, where his eyes fell on the carton of eggs on the bottom shelf.

He settled on making French Toast for breakfast seeing as he, according to you, made the best French Toast in England.

So he got to work whipping up some eggs and pulling four slices of bread from the bread box on the counter-- but not before he got one of Bobby's bottles out for you, warmed it, and placed it on the kitchen table.

Roger was frying the French Toast in no time, and he hummed gently as he busied himself with focusing on the now whistling kettle, and when the right time to flip the toast would be.

"... I thought you were still in bed," your words were sudden, and it made Roger jump a little. But when he realized it was only you, Bobby in your arms, his mouth contorted into a dopey smile.

"Nah," Roger turned the pan's burner down a little, and after he flipped the French Toast, he set his spatula on the counter, turning to face you.

"I was gonna let you sleep in, since you were so reluctant on waking up," you explained with a yawn. "But here you are awake, and making breakfast before me."

"Well it wouldn't be fair then, would it? Me sleeping in while you've all this work to do?"

"I don't know, would it?"

"I really don't think so, Dove."

He felt pride swell in his chest when pink dusted your cheeks at the sound of your new nickname, and he took this chance to swoon you further by pulling you in gently by the elbows, and he enveloped both you and Bobby in his embrace.

"Beautiful..." Roger's voice was barely a whisper as he touched his lips to your jawline, and you responded with a soft exhale.

"Even when you've just woken up," Roger mumbled against the skin of your neck, lips curling into a smile, "you are the prettiest goddamned thing I've ever laid eyes on."

"Mmm, down, boy," you purred back jokingly, taking a small step back. "Baby still needs to eat."

"Well yours is coming right up," he teased, "and Bobby's is already at the table." Roger pointed to the bottle on the other side of the room before tapping your rear. "Take a seat, and I'll bring your food over."

You didn't have to be told twice. You took a seat at the table, and although Bobby was growing a little agitated, it was short lived when you put the bottle of milk in his possession.

Roger, not five minutes after you sat down, joined you at the table with your French Toast and your mug of tea, made just the way you liked it, of course.

"'S the right tea, yeah?"

You took a quick look at the label hanging from the mug.

"Yep." Your eyes squinted after letting the label fall where the string tied to it would let it. "Y'know, you've been making my tea right for months, you don't have to check to make sure you're right."

"You know I'm always gonna make sure it's to your liking."

"And I love you for it."

"Hopefully for other things too. I'm not just good at being your barista."

"Oh, don't you worry. I'm not overlooking your other good traits," you smiled as you brought your mug to your lips and having the first sip of tea of the day.

As Roger sat down next to you with his own plate of food and mug of tea, he decided to wait on Bobby to finish so he could eat with you.

So, naturally, he took the time to evaluate again what kind of situation he was in.

There was nothing like watching you care for Bobby. Roger had known you for years, and not once in his life did he ever think he would be sitting next to you at breakfast while feeding a baby, whether or not the child was his own, or yours.

The whole scene looked too good to be true, though like the previous night, Roger just drank in the sight of you putting all your love and care into a child at breakfast with him.

How did you think you weren't cut out for being a mother?

This was in your nature.

The domesticity of the situation made Roger a little emotional. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to experiencing a breakfast with a family he'd built, and he spent every passing second filling his mind and heart with the beautiful sight before him.

"Y/n, you would make a wonderful mother." Roger's words left his mouth faster than his brain could register what he'd said.

You looked to Roger from Bobby, cheeks and tips of your ears darkening, and Roger was talking again before he could realize it and catch himself.

"Any man would be so damn lucky to have you. I honestly can't believe you stick around me still."

Your face was feeling real hot, now. Roger's head was still lagging behind his words, and clearly, he wasn't done talking.

"You could be out building a beautiful family right now, but instead you're babysitting with your best friend who you also occasionally sleep with. I just... I don't understand."

It took you a second to respond, but Roger didn't blame you. Honestly, he didn't even know what he would have said if he were asked the same question.

"... Well, I love you, Roger."

Your words were simple, and Roger knew your statement was nothing but platonic, but that didn't stop his heart from pounding against his ribcage.

You'd said those exact three words to him minutes earlier, but the context of the conversations contrasted their meanings.

"But we promised each other at the beginning of all of this that we'd be fine giving up pursuing family life if that means living with one another..."

"... You sound unsure, now."

The atmosphere felt heavy, and it was almost as if Bobby had known making noise wasn't in his best interest. He decided to finish eating at the right time.

"... It's not that I'm unsure. It's just..."

Roger waited patiently for you to answer, but you had noticed Bobby finished his milk, and you took the bottle from him.

You burped him, and placed a pacifier you pulled from your pocket in Bobby's mouth. You must have gotten it from upstairs before you came down.

"Let me," Roger offered his arms out for the baby, and you let him take Bobby. You'd stood up and moved to the sink to wash the bottle.

Meanwhile, Roger, who'd also gotten to his feet, was slowly walking around the kitchen. He was praising Bobby for finishing all his breakfast, insisting he was so proud of him, his smile wide and gaze adoring as he evaluated the child in his arms.

"It's just that. There. The way you're behaving with him," you turn to face Roger, finger pointed at him. "The way you're treating him as your own."

Roger's mouth opened and closed a few times, but after shutting his jaw for the third time, he decided the best thing to do in this situation would be to keep quiet.

"You'd make the most wonderful father, Roger. The way you behave with Bobby, god, the way you behaved with Raymond the other day," you sounded frustrated, and all Roger could do was watch you pace the kitchen, his sheepish face now a deep red.

"It's just that I would want the father of my kids to be just like you. I wouldn't settle for anything less."

Roger opened his mouth again to speak. He felt like his chest was on fire. Your thoughts were becoming painstakingly parallel to his, Roger had noticed. He couldn't get any words out before you started speaking again.

"Like you said last night, this job is giving us a chance to experience what it'd be like to have a family... and maybe I'm upset I did throw the chance to have all of that away."

You looked like you were on the verge of tears, and all Roger could do was watch you and listen to what you had to say.

"Roger, I hope you know you will always have a special place in my heart. You're my family, you have been for the last five years of my life, and there's no doubt about it. But being able to have a child..."

Your hands ghosted over the robe's fabric covering your definitely unpregnant belly. "... I think I want to have children."

"... Y/n I hope you know I feel exactly the same way."

And then everything was clear.

Roger understood where his band was coming from.

Getting married to you would solve all your problems.

He knew what the both of you were thinking in this new moment of silence, but there was absolutely no way Roger was going to fall to one knee and propose to you right now when he wasn't even romantically involved with you.

And he just felt it would be very inappropriate if he took this moment to spontaneously ask you on a romantic date with the intentions of courting you.

"Listen, Y/n," Roger finally built up enough courage to break the silence. Bobby cut him off with a short cry, and Roger immediately started swaying the baby in his arms. Sure enough, Bobby's agitation ceased, and Roger could continue, keeping the movement going.

"Just because we're living together without families now doesn't mean we won't be able to have families, say, five to ten years down the road."

At this point, although it was necessary, Roger didn't really want to mention the discomfort he felt when imagining you falling for someone who wasn't him.

Your eyes were big and sad, lip pouted as you considered Roger's words. "... are you sure?"

The idea of you and him having to move out of the condo Roger risked the both of your love lives for didn't sit well with him.

You'd be gone making sweet love to some lucky asshole who probably didn't deserve to be in your presence, while Roger goes on a bender, gets ahold of some weed and coke, and sleeps with enough girls to distract him from realizing he'd thrown the best thing in his life away-- you.

He didn't want you to think he thought you were selfish. The last thing he needed right now was to feel guilty for making you feel guilty.

So he just nodded. "No house isn't forever anyways." When you didn't respond to his little joke, he sighed.

"Y/n, we're still so young. You don't have to commit yourself to anything like that just yet. Enjoy being able to go out drinking with me every weekend, and sleeping in on our days off. Your chance to start a family will come when the time is right."

You let out a shaky breath. Roger was actually a little surprised with how well you were keeping yourself together.

But his actions put the both of you here, and to see that this conversation nearly reduced you to tears had Roger drowning in guilt, even without the help of mentioning any of his inner conflict to you.

"I just hope you're right." Your voice was broken and your fingers were tangled stressfully in your hair.

"Hey," Roger's voice had gone soft again, his rocking slowing to a halt, and you looked up to find him with an open arm, awaiting your touch.

You slowly unravelled your fingers from your hair, and you gave into the hug not moments later. Roger pulled you to his chest tightly, his free arm occupied by the baby.

"Y'know... I made you French Toast to start the day off good." When you didn't say anything in response, Roger pulled away from you just enough to look you in the face.

He was giving you that same look he did at the Garrison's again; that unreadable gaze he'd achieved with those big blue eyes that seemingly bored holes into your very soul.

His free hand slipped up from your back to your neck, and he leaned in to just touch his lips to the corner of your mouth.

So close, yet so far away.

It wasn't before long that he pulled away from you, but Roger just couldn't keep his eyes off you.

"You come sit down and enjoy your French Toast, Dove. I've got Bobby."

"But--"

"Please?"

Roger knew he'd convinced you as soon as he said that magic word. Though you took a moment to look from the bundle in his arms to the breakfast you really were dying to dig into, you eventually sighed out a gentle "thank you," before taking your seat again at the table.

He came around and kissed the top of your head. "Enjoy, Honey." Roger took a seat next to you, Bobby still in his one arm, and the both of you ate your French Toast in relative silence for the first few seconds.

"... God, you really do make good French Toast, Blondie." Roger was smiling now. At least you were talking again.

"I only improved my cooking skills for you, y'know," he admitted with a mouthful of his food, though he didn't sound ashamed of it.

"And thank God for that. Cooking every other night sure beats cooking every night."

"You can say that again," Roger mumbled before shoving the last of his breakfast into his mouth. You still slowly ate away at your meal, and Roger was making funny faces at Bobby in between taking sips of his tea.

The telephone in the living room started ringing, and you stood up to go get it, but Roger immediately dropped his fork and grabbed your wrist.

"Nuh-uh. I just finished eating. You still have a little bit to go. Take Bobby and I'll get it." You scooped the baby up without another word, smiling when he opened his eyes.

"Can you at least bring back his rattle from his play pen?"

"Can do, Princess," he called over his shoulder as he approached the phone.

"H'lo?"

"Roger?"

"Oh, hey, John!" Roger tucked the phone's handset under his chin, carrying the telephone in his left hand so he could get Bobby's rattle.

"Isn't it a little early to be up?" Roger glanced at the clock, which read that it was quarter after seven.

"Biological clocks. Just wanting to checking in. Is Bobby okay? Has he been any trouble?"

"No, of course not! He's doing fine, John." Roger tucked the rattle in his back pocket when he found it, and returned to the writing desk where the phone was meant to stay.

That was something he loved about you. You always bought him pyjamas with pockets. The concept was cool, and being able to use them was even cooler.

"Y/n's got him in the kitchen right now," he explained, taking the handset again with his now free hand. "We're all just finishing up breakfast, actually."

"Oh good. How is she?" John paused for a second, his voice dropping a little lower. "... How are you guys?"

Roger made sure his voice was a little quiet, as well. "John, this may have been your guys' best idea ever. I don't know why I was against this in the beginning."

"Really?! What's happened already?!" John, everyone would have guessed to be one to avoid certain kinds of gossip, though when it came to Roger's business with you, he liked checking up on that.

"I told her about all that family stuff."

"And?"

"And, well..." Roger set the phone back onto the desk and scratched the back of his neck. "... She may or may not be having the same problem," he mumbled.

"So... so you both want a family?" John tried clarifying.

"Yes."

"Then why are you two not together?!" Roger slipped away around the corner into the main hall with just the receiver so he was a little further away from the kitchen. He didn't want you hearing their conversation, or John through the receiver.

"Well I'm not asking her here!"

"Then where? And when?"

Roger knew John was just getting excited, and his questions honestly had Roger brainstorming every possibility when it came to asking you.

"... I don't know, yet," Roger said after a while of thinking. "But soon. God, it needs to be soon." He didn't quite know why he was pressuring himself to ask you sooner than later.

Maybe it was because he was scared someone much better and more deserving of you (or alternatively, a selfish prick) was going to waltz in and steal you from him just before he had you for sure.

"Do you need any help with that part? I can get Fred and Bri--"

"No no no, it's okay, John." Roger leaned up against the wall of the hallway, fingers tapping the handset absentmindedly with his eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

"You guys have already done enough, really. I... I think I'm good on my own from here."

"Well, I'm glad," John expressed to Roger. "It's not every day you need to help Roger Taylor get with a girl, y'know."

"This is different, and you know it."

"I just like to tease," John defended, and Roger could even hear a smile evident in his words.

"Anyways, Veronica and I will be home tomorrow around noon. Y/n's got our number. You two take care."

"Of course, you too," Roger was making his way back to the writing desk.

"Thanks. Oh, and Roger?" John added quickly.

"Hm?"

"If you two end up doing anything, for God's sake, please wash the sheets."

As John was speaking, you'd walked into the living room with Bobby in your arms. "We're gonna go and have some play time, now! Yes we are!"

Roger was too panicked by your presence to even realize you weren't paying any attention to the phone call, and he hoped to God you didn't hear a single thing John had said. "Yeah-yes! Laundry. Will do."

He nodded his head once, though John couldn't see him, and after saying their good byes, Roger hung up the phone.

He turned to where you were in the living room. You were looking in the play pen for something, and Roger suddenly remembered the rattle in his back pocket.

He pulled it out hurriedly and held it out to you. "Shit! I'm so sorry about that--"

"Don't swear, Roger," you took the rattle, a smile on your lips you both knew you were trying to frown away. "There's a baby here."

"What? He doesn't know what that word means."

"Well, the more you keep saying it, the more of a chance he has at that being his first word, and I do not need the Deacon Family hunting us down for teaching their kid swears." You looked from Roger down to Bobby, shaking the rattle gently and grinning when Bobby squealed happily and reached out for the toy.

You took a seat on the couch, and played around with Bobby while Roger went back to the kitchen to do the dishes.

From 7:30 AM to about 2:30, all that really happened was play-time and lunch, something Roger prepared. You offered to do the dishes, but Roger wouldn't allow it. He just suggested you put Bobby up for his nap. He'd fallen asleep in your arms during play-time, like he did with Roger the night before.

The both of you thought it was crazy Bobby would just fall asleep rather than cry, but honestly, neither of you were complaining. Quiet baby for the win!

Roger just finished putting the last plate on the drying rack on the counter as he listened above for your footsteps leaving Bobby's room. He dried his hands off with the dishtowel hanging over his shoulder after turning off the faucet.

From behind, Roger felt a pair of arms slowly circle his body, and he smiled warmly at the feeling of you pressed against his back.

"He asleep?"

"Mhm."

Roger's smile only widened as you inched your palms up his chest. He turned in your arms and pressed his hands against your hips, inching you closer as he leaned back against the kitchen sink.

"Well, what do we do, now?" Roger asked. He sounded like he was up to no good. With the sultry look in his eyes and the way the smile on his lips looked like he was repressing a naughty suggestion, he knew you knew he already had something on his mind.

"Well, I mean," your hands slipped up into Roger's long hair, fingers tangling themselves between the strands. "Anything, really."

You knew what game Roger was playing, and you loved how cute he was, thinking he was going to have you on your knees for him.

His eyes shamelessly raked over the top half of your body, and he squeezed his hands, still at your hips.

"What'll you be doing with your free time, Roger?" You took one more step closer to him, and he pulled you the rest of the way to him so your groin was flush with his.

"I'm looking right at her."

He was already strained against his jeans, and you just offered a smile, fingers tightening their grip in Roger's hair.

"Mmm... I kinda like the sound of that," you admitted lowly, half of a smile on your lips. You shifted your hips from side to side, and Roger tried to pull you even closer.

You rolled your hips against Roger again, and the cheekiness in his face fell with a look of long-awaited relief, and his head dropped to your shoulder.

One of his hands moved up to grab you by the back of your neck, and when he lifted his head to look at you again, his second hand dragged upwards from your hip to squeeze your waist.

Roger lifted the hand by your neck, and combed your hair back with his fingers. His eyes fell onto yours for a brief moment, and you could have sworn there was something he tried to tell you there.

You just couldn't read him.

But he didn't care. He pulled you in close again, and his lips were on yours.

You'd kissed Roger before. Not in public, but definitely in the bedroom. And they weren't very scarce. Honestly, if Roger's lips weren't somewhere else on your body, they'd be on yours.

But why was this feeling different from all the other times he'd kissed you?

He was being a lot less forceful and needy than he usually was.

His grip wasn't tight on you, and it wasn't like he was crushing you against him as if indicating he needed more of you, now.

He was holding you rather, and the hand at your waist circled around to press against your lower back. The hand on your neck shifted a little forward so Roger could gently slide the pad of his thumb down the column of your throat.

The both of you were holding your breath, and Roger was the first to pull away. The both of you sucked in some air, and before you could even draw in a full breath, Roger's lips were on yours again.

He pushed towards you, guiding you backwards until your back was flat against the refrigerator. His warm hands grabbed for yours and he pinned them above your head by your wrists.

Okay. This, was something you were used to. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for when Roger's hands loosened their grip on your wrists, and he was lacing his fingers between your own.

Your hands felt very small in Roger's. How had he never noticed that before? What else had he neglected to realize about you?

In that moment, he felt you pull away to breathe, and he looked down at you worriedly, fingers frozen, yet still laced with yours.

"I- uh... I-I'm sorry--"

"No no, don't be. It's okay," your response was very rushed, but you didn't skip a word.

There was about a minute of silence, your hot breaths mingling in the space between your lips, though your gazes were locked with one another, and you couldn't look away.

"Did-uh... did you want me to... to stop?" His question was gentle, almost sincere-sounding, but he still made no effort to move from his place.

"No. God, no." And as soon as you'd answered, Roger closed the space between the both of you again, his fingers unwound from yours to grab you by the jaw, and you just held his waist, pushing your body as close to him as he would let you.

He shifted around a little, and moved his leg between yours. You could feel his mouth bend into a smirk against yours, and he began to apply pressure to the apex of your legs with his knee.

Before long, as much as you wanted to resist it, you fell to Roger's submission, and as you waited for him to grab your waist and put you wherever, he hesitated for a second, and dropped his hands from yours.

You opened your eyes again to find Roger, face red, and staring at your chest. Not in an ogling way, but more of a method to avoid looking you in the eye.

He could tell you were looking at him, and he shifted his gaze to you. He itched at his hands awkwardly, mouth opening and closing as he tried to explain himself.

You just waited. You gave him time to think, and he had an answer for you sooner than either of you would have thought.

"I just... I wanna try something else. I don’t want to control you like I do every night."

It wasn't much of an explanation, but a good beginning to a demonstration.

"Will you come to bed with me, Y/n?" His offer was gentle, yet confident, despite offering a hand out hesitantly.

When you dropped your hand into his, all of the tension in Roger's being relaxed, and he quietly led you up the stairs, past the nursery, and into John and Veronica's room.

Before you could say anything he gently explained that he'd do laundry later, and then he pulled you in for another kiss he'd been waiting to give you since the last one.

Roger pulled you closer to him, hands cupping your face as his lips began to desperately chase after yours. You kissed Roger back with just as much vigor, but then he slowed the movements of his mouth, and guided you backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Roger helped lower you down onto the bed, and he leaned over you, dipping down to kiss your lips again. He knelt between your legs, and pulled them up around his waist so he could lean in even closer.

You felt his hands squeeze your hips, and he pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth. You hummed lowly, your eyelashes kissing your cheeks as Roger pulled away ever so slightly-- just enough to pull his shirt off of him, and close the distance between your bodies again.

You tangled your hands into his hair, and he hummed in approval before pulling back just once more.

"I'm sure that's hardly fair..."

"What?"

"This," Roger tugged gently at the hem of your shirt.

"Why's yours still on?"

"... I never said it had to be."

Roger exhaled, and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head after you raised your arms to help him out a little.

He placed the palm of his hand over the smooth skin of your belly as he stared at your bare torso. And before long, he dipping down to kiss you again.

You reciprocated his actions, wrapping your arms around his neck and tightening your legs around his hips, to which he rocked himself against your core, and then---

Bam!

The headboard hit the wall, and Bobby woke up.

"Nooo..." you squeezed your eyes shut as the baby's cries began to reverberate down the hallway.

"Fuck!" Roger groaned, eyebrows knitted together helplessly as he climbed off of you. You both knew it was Roger who technically woke the baby up, and it was just silently agreed on that he went to put him back down.

"Dammit to hell, those separated headboards."

Roger opened the nursery door, and made his way to the crib in the corner of the room. Bobby's cheeks were wet with tears, and Roger's heart sank. "'M sorry, little guy. C'mere. Come see uncle Roger."

He picked the baby up and rocked him back and forth, though it wasn't exactly doing much, so Roger took a seat in the rocking chair on the opposite side of the room, swaying the both of them with a push of his feet.

Bobby's cries settled, and Roger felt proud of himself. Sure, he wanted to get back to what he was doing before, but instead he took his time in making sure Bobby was comfortable and not in need of anything before he drifted off to sleep again.

Bobby played around with Roger's fingers a few moments after his agitation ceased, and he couldn't believe how large his hands were in comparison to Bobby's. He was once that size.

A little while later Roger set Bobby down in his crib, and the infant was out. The drummer smiled at his accomplishment. He didn't even need your help.

With that, he left the room without a sound.

He stepped into John and Veronica's room, and closed the door quietly behind him. He was in the middle of turning on his heel when he stopped dead in his tracks.

You'd taken some of the pillows off the bed and wedged them between the wall and the headboard to keep the bed from making noise.

You were also splayed out on the bed in a lot less clothing than he remembered you in when he left.

With a teasing beckon from your finger, Roger knew three things were for certain.

1. You were the smartest woman he knew.

2. You were the most gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

3. He, the Roger Taylor, had fallen madly, and helplessly in love with you.

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

A/A/N: Again, you’ve all been waiting long enough for the next chapter, so here you are. i hope you all enjoy, and if my response is great with this one, I’ll see if I can spit out another one soon <3

PERMENANT TAG LIST

@culturefiendtrashqueen

@rogermeddow

FIC TAGLIST

@luvborhap

@amy-brooklyn99

@scarsout

@kimmietea

@ohtheseboysilove

@demo-wise

@suavishowell

@bohemianahoy

@pippin248

@maisielou

@hardyshoe

@queenlover05

@imjustboredso

@juliarvra

(Leave me a message if you wanna be added to either of my taglists)

#queen #queen fanfiction #rami malek #rami malek x reader #joe mazello #joe mazzelo x reader #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #freddie mercury #John Deacon #john deacon x reader #Brian May #brian may x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader

168 notes · View notes

bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

The other end of the spectrum

I don’t think I’ve written for any av besides Tyson, but don’t worry, he’s in this fic, I just kinda had to. But this was requested like a decade ago (no exaggeration there since you know I’ve had my account for about a year), and I still have three (maybe ?) more to work through. That being said, though, because I suck, Teach me something 3 is probably going to be dropping v soon since that is almost done.

Again, ignore typos (or point them out be like ummm excuse me)

I hope you like it! -------------------------

Should you be skating with your AirPods in? It wasn’t something that you had ever tried before, but it might be worth a shot now, right? But they were expensive, what if they flew out of your ears during your Biellmann spin, or while you’re trying to land your triple axel and ended up breaking on impact when they hit the ice? What if they fell out and someone skated over them? You could argue that whoever did that would have to buy you new ones, but you really weren’t that type of person to do something like that. Maybe, you could just try with something slow and see how they felt?

If only the rink weren’t open to everyone right now. Then you could lose yourself in the music of your routine like you did every time you were on the ice alone. You couldn’t make everyone get off the ice, either. Free skate was just that: free. There were parents with their children teaching them how to skate, some teenagers messing around on the ice, laughing, and making fun of how they look with their shorts and skates since it was the middle of the summer. None of them seemed to realize beforehand that the rink would still be cold since it was, you know, ice. One guy seemed to catch your interest: the only one skating around with a puck and a hockey stick. Hockey players and figure skaters were the exact opposite of the skating spectrum; you were all about delicacy and grace, hockey players were brash, crude, and rough. You were even on the ‘rougher’ side of a figure skater, and that only meant that you swore a little too much and didn’t really have an indoor voice. And yet, you were still infinitely more elegant than any hockey player you had ever encountered.

Whatever. You had managed to be on one end of the ice while it seemed like everyone else besides hockey boy was on the other. If you started your routine or even just practiced some of the elements of the routine that you knew you needed to work on, maybe that would get him to go to the other end. Sure, it wasn’t completely fair, but, hey, it’s worked before.

The AirPods were going to stay in, you decide, praying that nothing happens to the small expensive things in your ear. You start your routine, drowning out the sounds of the other skaters and letting the music fill your head. You close your eyes, not fully doing each element as you imagine a crowd around you. Competitions used to terrify you; the idea of a bunch of people holding their breath every time you did any sort of jump to let out a gasp if you fell or faltered, people averting their eyes if you had any sort of wardrobe malfunction that wouldn’t necessarily hurt your ability to skate, but would definitely hurt your ability to earn points from the judges, the overall sense of being watched was enough to almost make you quit the sport altogether. Now, it’s just natural, not being able to skate unless you know someone was watching you.

And someone was. Hockey boy, of all people, had stopped what he was doing with his stick and puck, standing against the boards, mesmerized by your fluid movements. He could tell that you weren’t doing everything to completion, but there was something about the way you seemed to take control of the ice that he couldn’t help but just stare at you. Your eyes were closed, it looked like you were muttering to yourself. Your hair was in a bun perched messily on top of your head, random strands framing your face seemingly perfectly. Who were you?

You decide to practice your camel spin; something that you were struggling with was making sure your leg was parallel, so might as well try now. You knew how it felt when it was right, you just had to actually get it right. Your music hits the place in your routine where you start to gear up for it, looking around you and seeing that you have open ice, you go for it. You do the move going right into it without problem. You can feel your leg just out of place as you speed up into the camel spin, not quite there. The music surrounds you in your AirPods, until one of them goes flying out. You stop your spin, trying to orient yourself and figure out where the small white ear piece went on the ice.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, scanning the ice to see if you can find it. If someone skates over it, you were going to throw a fit. Not at them, of course, because it was your own damn fault for wearing them in the first place, but a fit nonetheless.

“I think this is yours?” a deep voice comes from behind you. You spin around to see the hockey player standing in front of you, AirPod in hand. He almost looks nervous to be standing in front of you.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” you say, taking it from him and putting it back in. The music fills your ears again, only to realize that his mouth was moving. “Sorry?” you say, pausing the music so you can hear him.

“Oh, uh, I was just saying that what you just did looked really good.” His eyes dart between you and the ice, shifting his weight between his skates as he runs his hands through his hair. There was no way a hockey player could be this nervous in front of you. While you weren’t frail, you weren’t exactly made of pure muscle. People could tell you did some dainty sport just by looking at you.

“Um, thanks. It wasn’t right, though,” you admit, looking at your phone to try to get back to where that move came in the music.

“What do you mean?”

Was he actually interested? He could have skated away already if he weren’t and you were about to start talking to someone else to get rid of him, nor were you going to try to be rude to him. “My leg is supposed to be parallel to the ice when it’s in the air, and it wasn’t. For some reason, I’m struggling getting it up.”

You look at each other, both blushing at the unintentionally sexual thing you had just said, “I’m willing to ignore how bad that sounded if you are.” Neither of you can help your laughter, but wow, he had a really nice laugh.

“Can I help you in any way?” he offers, putting his stick down against the boards.

“Uh, just watch me I guess? See if it looks like my leg is parallel or not?” you suggest. He nods, backing up to give you space after you hand him your phone with your music playing. You go on with the move, knowing that it didn’t feel right. “I have done this element hundreds of times, and yet in this rountine, I can’t get my leg parallel.”

“I mean, it looked parallel,” he says, skating back to you. You scrunch your face, obviously frustrated. Maybe you didn’t know how it felt when it was parallel? Or maybe you had stretched differently? No, you knew exactly how it felt. Maybe he didn’t know what parallel was. “I could help in any way you need me to, I just don’t know what I would do,” he spits out, his voice shaking again. Was he really nervous to be around you? Since when was a figure skater more confident than a hockey player?

“No, it’s fine, but thanks. I see my coach tomorrow, so I’ll have her check it out,” you shrug, bothered by the fact that you can’t get a simple move.

You start to skate away, muttering a goodbye when hockey boy speaks up, “Wait! Are you going?”

“I was going to. I’ve kind of been here all day working on my routine, so I was going to go grab food.”

“Maybe you’d like some company,” he asks, shuffling his weight between each skate, looking down at the ice. He brings his eyes up to meet yours, a smile on his face as his face turns red in anticipation of your answer.

“I don’t know if I should be going out with someone who hasn’t even told me his name,” you say, watching his face go from horror to relief.

“I’m Nate.”

“Well, Nate, where do you want to go?”

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

Nate walked up to the Pepsi Center, feeling weird that he wasn’t in a suit and carrying a cup of coffee, but a bouquet of flowers, dressed in a normal t-shirt and jeans and also using the same entrance as everyone else.

“Do you even like figure skating?” Ryan asks, him and Tyson trailing behind Nate as they struggle to keep up with Nate’s anxiously fast-paced walking.

“I think he likes his girl more,” Tyson says. “Hey, man. Slow down.”

Nate didn’t know why he was so nervous. It wasn’t over seeing you; you had been dating for nearly four months now. He might be more nervous about seeing you perform in general. You weren’t nervous about the competition and for some reason, it made him nervous; sympathy nerves? Were those a thing?

“She’s going to be fine, you know that, right? You said you’ve watched her practice this routine like a million times or something?” Tyson asks, hoping that it’ll calm him down. Nate didn’t even get this nervous when they were about to play a game. They were about to play game seven of a playoff game last season and Nate was the calmest guy in the room.

“I know, I know. She’s just been struggling with that camel spin since the day we met and her coach said that she was doing it fine and I said that she was doing fine but she didn’t think she was doing fine, and-” he rambles as the boys try to find their way to their seats.

“Dude. You’re not the one performing. Calm down,” Ryan says.

“I just want her to do well,” he says, shaking his leg, driving Ryan crazy. Tyson didn’t care much, but he just couldn’t figure out why his teammate was this nervous.

“She’s going to be fine,” Tyson reassures him, hoping that that was enough.

Nate’s leg kept shaking the entire time. They watched routine after routine: men’s short, pairs, ice dance, no one he knew since it was a United States competition and he had no idea who even came to these things. The only reason he remembered figure skating existed at this point was because of you.

You were waiting your turn to perform, running through your routine in the back area they had set up for the skaters to warm up, practice, stretch, calm down, do whatever they needed to do without pulling a Tonya Harding. Your coach was watching you intently, not nagging you enough to stress you out, but enough that you were fighting the urge to roll your eyes at the trivial things she was telling you. You already knew what you needed to do, and at this point, so close to you stepping on the ice, nothing in your routine was going to change unless someone hit you with a bat.

It’s your turn, all the nerves you thought you would be feeling melting away. “You’ve got this,” your coach says before pretty much shoving you on the ice.

You hear your name called over the speakers, waiting for the judges to give them the alright for the music to start and your routine to begin.

“Yeah, Y/N!” you hear three voices call, trying to be in unison, but just off enough that you could make out one of the voices: Nate. You didn’t even know he was coming. You can’t help but smile, a real genuine smile, unlike the practically forced one you normally had on when you were performing.

The music starts, you going through your routine like it was second nature. Knowing Nate was there made the routine feel so easy; every move you did felt right, the crowd seemed to be on their feet, not that you even paid much attention to them. You had no idea where Nate even was in the stands, not bothering to look for him until your routine was done. You wave to the crowd, everyone cheering, you hearing your coach screaming from the side. You find Nate, Ryan, and Tyson, excited to see them after the competition was over.

“That was amazing kid! You looked like you went to a whole other place while you were on the ice!” your coach boasts. You forgot you were even actually skating a competition for a moment there, “That might be a winning routine right there.”

You hadn’t even thought about winning, you just needed a high enough score to be invited to the next competition. It was the road to nationals, the road to the national team for the next world championships. But winning? That would be amazing, and definitely help your case for the national team.

You and your coach sit down, waiting for your score. You scan the audience, trying to orient yourself and find the boys again. Ryan looked like he was there because he had to be, which was fine; he didn’t really strike you as the type to want to go to a figure skating competition. Tyson seemed like he was enjoying himself, for the most part, maybe he actually liked the routines. But then there was Nate. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you, even when you were just sitting down, pretending to listen to your coach ramble on about the next competition. You couldn’t believe he would come and surprise you like this. Or that he would not only make two of his teammates come, but also make them yell your name like they were teenage girls about to see their favorite boyband.

The score was in, you were just waiting for the judges to announce it. This was the part you hated the most: the waiting. You were one of the last skaters, so whatever place this put you in was probably going to be your standing, maybe one place lower. Your score was in: five points higher than the next. “Holy shit!” you say, your coach hugging you as you sit there shocked.

“That’s first place! That’s first fucking place!” Nate starts screaming, Tyson and Ryan trying to get him to calm his excitement down, especially since there were children around. He couldn’t help it; his girlfriend probably just secured first place at the competition, especially after he watched her struggling with the routine in the days leading up to it.

The next few skaters go, coming close to your score, but none of them really able to break it. There was one more skater, a girl who’s made the national team for the last four years in a row. If you came in second to her, you wouldn’t be that mad about it.

She does her routine, you watching on the TV in the back while you know your phone was blowing up with texts from Nate. He knew that you wouldn’t look at it until the end of the competition, but that didn’t stop him from sending texting you about his excitement anyway.

‘You were amazing’

‘I’m so proud of you!’

‘We’re going out after to celebrate’

‘But if you can’t tonight then we will tomorrow after the game’

The other skater finished the routine, she looked a little shaky in Nate’s opinion, but then again, what did he know. He was just so proud of you. “So after this, if Y/N can, do you guys want to come with us for a little celebration?” he askes Ryan and Tyson.

“Something tells me this celebration should be just the two of you,” Tyson says.

“Yeah, I really don’t want to be involved in whatever it is you guys are going to do,” Ryan adds.

“You guys don’t have to be gross,” Nate says.

The score came in for the last skater: Y/N had a score 0.04 points higher than her.

You came in first place. You couldn’t believe it. Your coach practically lifted you off the ground, you were speechless, Nate was losing his shit in the stands. You couldn’t wait until after the medal ceremony for you to go see Nate.

After you get your medal, congratulate the other skaters, and finally gather your things, the only thing on your mind was finding Nate, knowing that he had already waited for so long. “Nate!” you squeal when you see him, tossing your bag to Tyson, causing him to accidentally fall into Ryan as Nate picks you up off the ground, arms wrapped around you as he kisses you.

“Get a room,” Ryan mutters playful under his breath as you two pull away blushing. “I’m joking,” he says, throwing his hands up in protest, “only get one if you both want to.”

You can’t help but laugh as Tyson tries to hit him with your bag. “God, Y/N, I thought hockey bags were heavy, what do you have in here?” He asks, handing it off to Nate.

“Costumes, skates, tights, warm-up clothes, headphones, makeup, hair stuff,” you start to list off, Nate throwing his arm around you as the four of your start to walk, “I think I have a mirror in there, some books.”

“Books?” Nate asks.

“What? We have a lot of free time,” you shrug. “But I’m curious: did you bring those flowers for one of your boys?” you tease him.

“Yeah, they’re for Ryan for not pouting the entire time,” he jokes, sending Tyson into a fit of laughter while Ryan punches him in the arm. Nate hands you the bouquet filled with sunflowers and roses, your favorite flowers. “These, I hope obviously, are for you.”

“I love them,” you beam, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek. “You had mentioned going out tonight? Are you two coming, too?”

“Nope, we’re going home,” Ryan says, jingling his keys in your face.

“I was hoping to get a ride with you?” Nate asks, “Ryan drove the three of us here.”

“Sure, where to?”

“His house,” Ryan says, Tyson smacking him in the chest. “What! They could order food and be in private that is a perfectly reasonable suggestion!” Tyson pulls him away before he can say anything else, Ryan defending him while Tyson just tells him to quit while he’s behind since he has no chance of getting ahead.

“Interesting choice of teammates to bring,” you tell him as his free hand intertwines in yours.

He shrugs, walking with you to his car, “They were the only ones who I could convince to come.”

“What did you have to promise them?”

“I may or may not have to tie their skates for a few games,” he says, throwing your bag in the back seat as the two of you climb into your car.

“You did that for me?” you say, pretending to swoon to make him laugh.

“I think we’ve established that I would do almost anything for you.”

“Great, because I need to go rob a bank real quick,” you joke, getting another laugh out of him as you pull away from Pepsi Center and head towards his place.

In the middle of his laugh, you hear him let out, “I love you.” His eyes go wide with shock, surprised he just let that slip. He had planned on telling you how he felt soon, but not like this. Not on some night in your car on your way home from a competition.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him starting to freak out over what he just said. That was the first time you had heard him say it, but you knew he meant it. “You do?” you ask anyway, not bothering to hide the smile on your face.

“Well, uh, yeah,” he says, trying to calm himself down. Great. Now he was more nervous than he was before you did the routine. “You don’t have to say it back, I don’t know where you stand and I definitely don’t want you to think that I’m pressuring you into saying it or anything,” he starts to ramble.

“Oh, be quiet jitters,” you say, cutting him off before he takes it back altogether, “I love you, too.”

#nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon imagines #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #avalanche #avalanche imagine #ryan graves #tyson jost #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines

179 notes · View notes

prairiedust · 4 years

Text

Gimme Shelter livewatch under the cut.... I was on my phone when I wrote it so apologies for the typos

“Patchwork Community Center: Care Given to All” with a huge, lurid heart. Hmmm.... patchwork having two meanings here.....

Pastor (?) has 2 Timothy 2:22 tattooed on his arm! “Flee the evil desires of youth and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.” (NIV) Are we looking at growth and found family in this episode?!?

Oh that’s the alleyway!

Hitting mythology themes— Connor is an Anglicized version of an Irish name— Conchobar mac Nessa is maybe the most famous bearer of the name, from Irish mythology— he’s the king who lusted after Deirdre and had her locked up until she came of age, which is probably neither here nor there as far as this poor Connor is concerned...

That thing has a big lurid heart on his overalls better run lol— Oh shit it’s an evil Teddy Ruxpin!!!! Thanks Davy Perez!!!!

That’s the thing animal control uses to manage aggressive animals??? Is this saying something about the Patchwork people?

And that’s it for the cold open.

——

The uh, the mcfuckin what, the Camelot Palace Casino? Is this a tour of the legends of Ireland and Britain all of a sudden? What’s with hitting this theme so hard so fast?

Uh-oh the whole Highway to Heaven reference has me side-eyeing Dean’s suggestion for Cas snd Jack to leave the bunker... Dabb even “spoiled” that line in a tweet lol... in that show the cop and the angel got their (vague) assignments from the big guy.......

Oh SHIT “we’re standing in what I call ‘the trap zone’” Perez is coming for my whole life with this episode!!!! And they’re doing highkey “season one totally-normal Winchester investigation questions script” I love it!!!!

“Slasher flick” Oh we’re revisiting Mint Condition. This is fine.

AND TOMBSTONE THIS IS NOT FINE DAVY! We’re running the good times backwards what did I say about this being the flipside of Last Holiday!

H2H again but this time it’s sus... plus I’m with Zack, I totally want the cozy murder spinoff I imagined Adam and Michael doing plz

Oh the Cas and Jack dynamic here is so sweet.

Pastor just leaving his door open like there’s no such thing as a thief bless his heart. They must be torn up about Connor but Pastor was the last one to talk to him so he’s sus I don’t make the rules.

Oh no Red’s a THIEF!!! Who ever would have guessed. Okay I did NOT expect that jumpscare because of the way Connor’s murder primed me, that was masterfully done.

That’s vaguely an Ohio Star quilt square on the sign behind her except um I forget what that tilted square in the center turns it into? It’s chiming with something... I’ll have to look that up later.

“Divide and conquer” no never split up in a slasher movie that’s how you get murders use the buddy system!

Gonna stop a sec because I just realized that Zack is two-faced. The British dandy was an act. The killer is wearing a Cinderella mask. Ok I’m gonna make a prediction that Zack is actually the killer, a la the demon in Repo Man...

Okay there was definitely a beat after Dean said “Glad soneone’s taking charge” [ofHell] and the focus shifted to Sam. Hm.

“We’ve got to set her up for her own death” so meta, these writers are gonna shred us.

I love being shown how much Castiel has changed throughe Jack not understanding the Kool-Aid reference. And the cats line lol. That’s both amazing and poignant.

That’s a log cabin pattern in the cafeteria. Home. Makes me think back on other quilts we’ve seen this season and if “weaving” is the right metaphor for writing lol. I mean, the action of “patching” is synonymous with “mending” or even healing, but patchwork is also a craft with a long, long history in America (idk if quiltmaking is called patchwork everywhere) of taking a few often mismatched fabrics and cutting and sewing into something beautiful. There are generally two kinds of quilt tops— patterns, like we’ve seen so far in this season, which are carefully planned and involve precise measurements, and “crazy quilts” which also require skill but are often more freeform and piecemeal. But both aspire to be beautiful. That’s an interesting way to conceptualize a serial text... as both creating and mending....

That prayer was sweet and not at all what I was expecting.

I get the finger-cutting for Valerie (stealing=sticky fingers) but not for Connor? Tenuous connection still betw lying and writing? It’s evocative of Se7en but the killer seems to have the same MO for all the killings (I attended CSI for a while.)

Snow White is making me uneasy. Oh she’s the preacher’s daughter... we’ve seen that in early days, too.... oh.... oh....

It’s not the AV guy despite having seen all the AV equipment around Valerie. That’s too easy.

“A saint is a sinner who keeps trying-“ no scroll back, the important part was “we all have to take care of each other.” That’s a theme in the series.

She’s all in pink....

dean and amara on the same wavelength about food lol

Ha ha inversion of “oh you’re a fan of religion? name all seven gods then.”

Castiel’s testimony just wrecked me.

“Members serve the gift of food” hmmm the signs in this episode are tip-top

Gonna just watch for a while.

Oh crap “each is a finger” oh it’s about the sins of the father— No Cas no, you’ve fallen for the misdirection!

Oh okay good, Chuck’s not done snuffing worlds. That had me REALLY WORKED UP ha ha because Amara has no reason to lie right?

That was a really good conversation.... and implying that Former Death bent the truth...

Oh fuck I’m gonna cry “I wanted younto see that your mother was just a person” YES! DISMANTLE THIS MYTHOLOGY AMARA!!! Name it!

THE MYTH THAT YOU’D HELD ON TO FOR SO LONG did they just— THEY DID

rigging the game— ftfoh with the casino metaphors already we know the house always wins except when it doesn’t

Lying, lying, lying,

Do we even know Snow White’s name yet? And why was Connor a liar? Because I think we can make a guess at this point.... ah ha ha her name is sylvia— “forest spirit” she’s Mrs Butters— and she’s after hypocrites— but the killing isn’t supernatural, just churchy?

Oh shit SHE IS A DEAN MIRROR IF SHE STABS JACK I’LL FLIP A DAMN TABLE

....

prairiedust.exe has encountered an error and must be restarted

....

Okay so “Dad” steps in and stops Sylvia’s attack on Jack...

Why is that Zack? What????

“I’ve been lying to you” oh here we go

Oh it would be death #3, remember what Dabb said about threes a long time ago, two attempts that are unsuccessful and one that satisfies the parameters— but no he’s a jack :((((

I have to stop watching for a while.

Okay I finished it. Holy cats do I have some Thoughts about this episode.

What I loved: Revisiting Dean’s anger, BUT the parental mirror here (in retrospect, at least for me) was a John mirror-- all the mothers (exc for Rowena) in this episode are dead. And Pastor Joe didn’t apparently embrace his wife’s faith until she had died, and then his vision was radically different than his wife’s was-- much like John’s reasons for becoming a hunter were vastly different from Mary’s... but much like “patching” this subtext was possibly even more “healing” than having John back in the 300th ep... This was... looking at a child’s anger when they’re in the middle of their own family mythology. Am I implying that Dean’s anger is immaturity? Eh, it’s... unripeness. I have an old meta in my drafts about the heroine’s journey and why Mary’s story conformed to it while feeling totally unfulfilling in her actual character arc and I’m so glad I sat down and examined that rather than finish it. I have a lot I want to say about Cas’ testimony too, but that has to sit a while. ALSO also, Cas has already thrown away his shot by making the Empty deal, right?....

LANGUAGE! Cas saying “I found myself lost” is a bonkers sentence, right? It’s like when people say someone “turned up missing”-- AND it does not have the same meaning as “I realized I was lost”-- you get a double whammy of the connotation “to search for.” I loved loved loved how language was such a big deal in Last Holiday and then again here, I need to rewatch while paying closer attention to Sylvia and things she says... but these two were sister episodes in so many ways, that when I said there was a “lack of narrative mirrors” in Last Holiday, that’s only because the lens for that kind of reading is Gimme Shelter. That is not the first time spn has played with a “coin” or paired structure-- I think the first time I noticed it was Fan Fiction/Ask Jeeves but I was a transfer student from another fandom at the time lol. But of course, we get a huge truth bomb at the end of the episode, and again that splashy cymbal all over lying...

What I got wrong-- Zack wasn’t the killer but he’s fishy as hell-- he stole Sylvia! Is this part of Rowena’s “people generally end up where they deserve to be” except she’s built in an express lane? “Do you need a driver” is that his actual job now? Taking unripe souls to Hell Orientation? What’s up with him being there... the other shoe did not drop. So there is a third episode out there somewhere where this might get wrapped up? The conversation between Dean and Cas can easily be something that happens offscreen, and I don’t think that it would be the first time we miss an “important” conversation, especially since we know roughly what will be said and how it will wrap up-- it’s an “open text” of a sort. Maybe a fanfiction gap lol, I can’t wait for the codas.

Also, the fingers thing being Sylvia’s father’s favorite analogy is where she got her MO, something that I definitely didn’t see, although it fits right in with her father’s slightly pithy character. I think it’s interesting again how we’re playing with threes and fours. Three fingers got cut off but it was apparent that Valerie (valorious one) wouldn’t die until finger #4.... Jack really seems to be our last hope.

#the folklore of supernatural #the mythology of supernatural #mary winchester #davy perez #the second timothy of supernatural #gimme shelter #season 15 #my mom gave me the family baby name book when i was about eleven and so i had an obsession with names #all of my characters in all of my stories had Important Symbolic Names LOL #it amused my father who told me I needed to read herman melville #and there's a little bit of my own family mythos.#now i harangue my own kid to write and stuff ha ha ha except instead of a baby name book i gave him watership down #same effect #more rabbit fighting

5 notes · View notes

zzizzigom · 6 years

Note

Hi! Can i request fluff kihyun where he's your coworker and he keeps teasing you but actually he has a huge crush on you but just dont know how to say it? Thank you sooo much and have a nice day!

so i wrote this and then realized it wasn’t exactly what the request was asking for…I hope you still enjoy it though and I’m so sorry it took literally forever to be posted. honestly, wouldn’t surprise me if this anon forgot about it ;;;

anyway, I apologize for any typos I missed while editing

Characters: Kihyun x female!readerGenre: fluffLength: ~1.8k

Kihyun smirks at you from behind as you push up onto your tiptoes. Your hand is stretched as far up as you can reach, and still your fingertips barely touch the roll of paper towels. He hears you release an almost silent groan in frustration as you give up and drop back down to your normal height. Your hand flops down to your side before you reach back up to rake a hand through the hairs that escaped your ponytail. Spinning on your heel you let out a startled shout when you see Kihyun leaning against the doorway.

“Jesus! A little heads up that you’re there would be nice.”

“And miss out on the entertainment?”

Your eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I think you know, pipsqueak.” He winks and has to hold back his cackle at your insulted expression and bright red blush. He’s always so fascinated in your reactions. His eyes following every little nuance in your expressions. Since you’ve started here only a few months ago, the two of you have gotten pretty close. You’ve told him before he’s the only reason you can get through a shift and he agrees wholeheartedly.

Kihyun grins as your lip curls into a soft snarl.

“Fine, if you’re sooo much taller than me, then why don’t you get the towels?”

He smirks, expression smug. “I will.”

You step aside and make a mocking, grand gesture with your arms towards the shelves. Kihyun snickers and steps forward. He looks up, assessing how high the desired item actually is, then with a huff of breath he reaches up. He feels the scratchy texture of the paper towels but he lacks the height to actually grab onto it.

As he falls back to his feet, the chime of your laughter fills the room. The sound makes the corners of his mouth twitch but he holds back to give you a faux glare.

“Looks like you’re on the pipsqueak level right here with me.” Shaking your head, you start towards the door. “Let’s just get Hyungwon to do it. He could use a break from the floor; last I saw he was ready to strangle table 15.”

Kihyun watches you exit the storage room, his smile finally erupting. In all honesty, Kihyun knew he couldn’t reach the paper towels. But he also knew you’d laugh at his failed attempt and the sound of your laugh is enough to get him through the dinner shift.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. Kihyun peeks over at you from where he’s entering a guest’s order.

“You okay?”

“I can’t remember if he wanted diet or regular and I’ve already had to check back in twice and make them wait so he’s getting pissy.”

“Mix both and hope it tastes like whichever one he wants.”

You snort but then push the cup under the diet tab. “Whatever, it’s already been a weird day so I’m going with my gut feeling.”

Kihyun finishes inputting the order and then moves to nudge you aside with his hip. “I’m caught up so you go do what you need to do. I’ll drop the soda off.”

“What if it’s wrong though?”

“Then you’re a shitty server,” Kihyun winks at you.

You swat his arm but then give him a grateful look. “Thank you.”

Kihyun shrugs and sticks a straw into the soda. As he walks through the server station he nods towards the pick up window. “I’ll drop this for you too.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Absolutely nothing.” With a wide grin, Kihyun picks up the plate and then maneuvers back onto the floor.

He’d never admit it, but he loves the twinkle in your eyes when you give him that relieved look. He likes seeing the stress leave your shoulders when you’re no longer rushing to please these ungrateful guests.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” Your voice is whispered as you duck down to hide behind the divider. Kihyun is walking past you but pauses.

“What’s up?”

“He’s here.”

Kihyun frowns. “Who?”

You give him an incredulous look. “Him!”

You point out to the floor and Kihyun looks up to see a new regular standing by the host stand. He’s finishing up a phone call, his stance relaxed with a hand in the pocket of his business suit. The customer laughs at something then says his goodbye before hanging up. Kihyun watches as he spins to face the host with a dashing smile. Vaguely he hears, “Is Y/N working today? Can I sit in her section?”

Kihyun snorts, a weird feeling in the pit of his gut. “Well get ready cause you just got a new one top.”

Your eyes widen and a blush forms on your cheeks. Kihyun tries not to purse his lips in distaste.

“Go get ‘em tiger.” Kihyun says, his voice a little too curt, a little too flat.

You catch onto it, your eyes peeking up at him but before you see his expression he’s gone. You push it aside, remembering that you have a new customer and stand up straight. Making sure your uniform and apron are clean, you paste on a smile and head out to the floor.

Kihyun leans against the host desk with a scowl on his face. Jennie, the hostess, laughs under her breath.

“You’re so obvious.”

“Shut it.”

Jennie laughs and looks over her shoulder to where you’re talking to your guest. Your hip is leaning against the table and you’re laughing at something he’s said. Looking back to Kihyun, Jennie rolls her eyes. “His name is Choi Seunghyun, he’s some type of museum curator or something. Really successful, really rich, and really handsome. A good catch.”

“I don’t need to know this,” Kihyun mutters.

Jennie shrugs. “Just thought you’d what to know your rival in love.”

Kihyun’s attention snaps to Jennie and the girl giggles teasingly. Kihyun gives her a pointed look. “You, my dear, see more than you need to.”

“It’s my special talent,” Jennie winks. Just then someone enters the restaurant and she puts on her welcoming smile as Kihyun pushes off the host stand and gets back to work.

About half an hour later, the guest finally leaves. You join Kihyun up at the host stand to grab an extra menu for a table. He’s smiling at you suggestively and you pause your movements to give him a frown. “You look creepy.”

“I saw you~”

Your frown deepens in confusion. “What?”

“Putting on the googly eyes for Mr. Museum Curator.”

Your cheeks flare up in a blush as you roll your eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sure? You looked really smitten to me.”

Whacking him in the arm with the menu, your face is completely red now. “Shut up. You’re so annoying sometimes.”

Before Kihyun can say anything else, you’re walking back to your table.

A little later, a rush comes in, making work the only thing Kihyun can focus on. It isn’t until the tail end of dinner that you remind him of it.

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” you say as you dump more ice into ice well. You pause for the sound of crashing against the metal. “Well, I mean, maybe a little bit subconsciously, he is really sweet and handsome. But he’s not who I’m interested in…”

Kihyun pauses, your word ringing in his ears. “But there is someone you’re interested in?”

His chest tightens at his question. He’s still in the middle of bracing himself for the answer when you nod.

Your voice is small as you say, “Y-yeah…”

Resuming, stacking things onto the tray. “That’s nice,” he mutters as he walks onto the floor. When he comes back you’re running the card for a table. “Does he know?”

“Nope. Haven’t told him yet. He thinks I like someone else.”

Kihyun quirks a brow. “Maybe you should tell him so he doesn’t give up.”

You slide the customer’s receipt into the check presenter and nod as you nibble on your bottom lip. “I think…I think I’m gonna tell him tonight. He’s gonna take me out after work for drinks. You wanna meet him?”

Not really, Kihyun says. “Sure, if I catch you two before I leave I’ll stop and say hi.”

You stand there staring blankly at the presenter in your hands for a moment. Suddenly you take a deep breath, “Sounds good.” You give him a smile before heading out to your tables.

Closing goes by smoothly and soon, Kihyun is in the restroom unbuttoning his uniform shirt to switch into a sweatshirt. When he steps out into the now practically empty restaurant, he sighs and does a final check to make sure everything’s done. After double checking that he’s clocked out, Kihyun heads out the back door.

In the back parking lot he sees you leaning against a bike rack. Your puffy jacket almost devours you as you scuff your foot against the pavement. On one particularly hard scuff, your floral print slide flings off and stumbles at Kihyun’s feet.

He leans down and picks it up before making his way to where you’re sitting. He hands you the sandal and you grin at him in thanks. Dropping it to the ground you slide it back on.

“So, where is he?”

“He’s here already.”

Kihyun looks around the parking lot but finds it empty except for the manager’s car. Before Kihyun can question you, you intertwine your arm with his. “So, where should we go? I’m dying for a beer, honestly. My table seven- are you listening?”

Honestly, he stopped listening as soon as you touched him. You weren’t interested in the museum curator, you were interested in him???

Glancing at you, he finds your face now full of worry and slight embarrassment. Giving a sheepish smile, you begin to pull away but Kihyun catches your hand and keeps your arm in place.

“I’ve never had a girl ask herself out for me.”

You snort. “Well, I’ve never asked myself out for a guy before. I wasn’t sure it would work.”

Kihyun grinned. Suddenly he frowns. “Wow, so you’re just going to flirt with other men in front of me like that?”

Giving a shrug, you start to pull Kihyun through the parking lot. “Like I said Seunghyun’s handsome and really nice.”

“I’m handsome.”

“But apparently not really nice,” you tease.

Kihyun makes a face at you and you laugh. At the sound of of your laughter, Kihyun’s face lights up and his eyes turn gentle as he reaches forward to blush loose strands of hair from your face. “Only kind of nice.”

You blush a little. “Nah, you’re the actual sweetest.”

Embarrassed by the sudden softness, you tug him again to get him moving faster. “Now come on, we’re off tomorrow, and we have a date to plan.”

“Oh do we now?”

“If not, I could stop by the museum Seunghyun works at. I know he’d be happy to see me.”

Kihyun glares. “Don’t you dare. We’re spending the whole day together.”

“Oh are we now?”

“Yes, yes we are.”

#monsta x #monsta x scenarios #monsta x imagines #kihyun #yoo kihyun #kpop scenarios

85 notes · View notes

jonsa-creatives · 7 years

Note

Prompt! Jon & Sansa have married for political reasons. After the war, Sansa starts to become frustrated with Jon bc he won't do the do with her even tho he'll hold her in his arms & cuddle, etc. So one night she confronts him & tells him she'll take a lover if he won't make their marriage true. Jon gets protective of her & growly & telling her she's his & only his and starts touching her & they make love in the dirtiest best way possible. Basically Dom!Jon restraining himself until he can't

Hi Anon!

I am liking all the dom!Jon prompts coming our way and I can’t say I’m not tempted! But well, here I am filling another dom!Jon prompt we all love so much LOL so I hope you like this one Anon!

Unbeta’d so pardon the mistakes and typos if any!

Rated E for explicit.

Mood music inspired by Bad Things by Machine Gun Kelly ft Camila Cabello

~ Mod Elle

My Undoing

The wedding was all a blur as Sansa was in a daze for the most part. There wasn’t even a kiss between the both of them as Jon cloaked her with his white as snow fur cloak, one that he had commissioned for their nuptials. Next thing she knew, they were both seated side by side, watching their guests eat and drink merrily as the food and wine kept coming.

Sansa could only manage a few bites and took a few sips of the wine that was so generously gifted by King Tyrion from Kings Landing. She liked how it tasted and she understood why kings and queens drank so much. Perhaps a little more would numb her to what was coming next.

As if they read her mind, loud chants of ‘bedding!’ rose within the halls and had reached a level so deafening that Sansa wanted to run away and hide. Her tears flowed freely and Sansa wiped them away hastily, hoping no one noticed.

“No. There will be no bedding ceremony, my lords. Thank you for joining us and we hoped that you enjoyed the food and wine. Now, if you don’t mind, I think Lady Stark would like to retire for the night. I am sure she is tired,” Jon spoke and addressed for the loud chanting to stop. Sansa was relieved and smiled at her new husband as he held out his hand to her. He had become a stranger to her now, after his return from the war. Battle weary, scarred and no longer a bastard, this Jon was very much a stranger to her. He even spoke differently now. Sansa wasn’t quite sure she was entirely comfortable with it.

“Thank you. I was getting quite tired. I suppose I will see you.. soon?” Sansa thanked him as she stood up to leave. Jon nodded and turned his attention to the lords who were getting increasingly rowdy. Perhaps it was time for all to retire for the night. Jon had barely any energy nor the patience to spare in dealing with drunken lords eager to paw at his new bride.

Sansa settled in underneath the furs and clutched tightly at the waist of her smallclothes. She was a bundle of nerves as memories of her previous wedding night with Ramsay flashed in her mind.

No, Jon would never do that. He isn’t Ramsay.

The doors creaked opened and Sansa sat up, ready to greet Jon when he entered, smoothing her hair to make sure every strand was in place. she may look every bit a wife but she could not deny she still wasn’t ready for it. To be bedded by her cousin, now turned husband. The new Lord of Winterfell.

It was a marriage alliance suggested by Tyrion when news of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s secret marriage was made public throughout the seven kingdoms and how the baby boy that was born out of that marriage came down to Jon. He wasn’t a bastard after all.

Despite his new status, Jon had refused to rule as a Targaryen, constantly reminding Tyrion that he would always be a Northener, inside and out. Though the Northern lords weren’t too happy to receive him as such. The only way to appease them was a promise. A promise that they will no longer be subjected to Southern subjugation.

“There is a way.”

“And what would that be? The North would never have me near their kingdom,” Jon sighed as he sat with Tyrion and his small council. How he yearned to return home. Life in the South was not suited for him.

“The North won’t revolt if you were tied to house Stark. If Sansa was that link,” Tyrion suggested as he took a big gulp of wine from his half filled goblet. Jon stared at him and turned to Varys, who nodded in approval.

“Sansa? She will never have me! We were siblings-”

“Ah yes, but now you’re not are you? You weren’t even close, last I heard when Sansa once talked about her family while she was here at Kings Landing,” Tyrion continued as he pointed to Jon as if making a point.

“Well, cousin marriages are accepted and very common, my Lord. It would take some getting used to-”

“I can’t do that with Sansa! I can’t do it to her! After all she has been through, I just can’t,” Jon shook his head in adamant refusal.

“Well then, in that case, prepare for another civil war. After what D@enarys had accomplished since the Battle of the Dark Winter, they seek reparations for all that damage, all that hurt. My Lord. It is your choice, still. Marry Sansa or fight another useless senseless war. And this time, whose side will you be on?” Varys spoke and Jon winced as the truth of his words stung him. He was right.

“Send a raven. I’ll return to Winterfell in a fortnight.”

Tyrion smiled as he held up his goblet to Jon. “Send me an invitation, Jon Snow. Or is it Jon Targaryen?”

Jon smiled as he entered and saw an attentive Sansa sitting on their marital bed. She looked exquisite and every bit a princess, with her long copper locks falling softly down her shoulders and her silky robe that covered the smallclothes he was expected to tear off her. Jon turned away as he removed his cloak and doublet, undressing for bed. Tonight was going give him little rest and sleep, even though he was exhausted enough from earlier that day.

“Jon.. I could.. If you wanted to..” Sansa softly spoke, fingers in her hair twisting her locks nervously. It made her look even more beautiful than she already was. There was something about a shy and sweet Sansa that made his loins stir. Jon couldn’t deny that it wasn’t the first time he felt that way about Sansa. He had always felt that way about her, ever since they reunited at Castle Black years ago. Jon had those feelings deeply suppressed, in light of how inappropriate and forbidden it was, feeling that way about his half sister. Now, there was no reason for him to feel any inhibition - she was his to take. Perhaps, those feelings weren’t suppressed after all.

“No, Sansa. I won’t do that to you. Not tonight, not ever. Not unless you want me to. Whenever you’re ready.”

A deep sigh that came from her indicated her relief and Jon’s heart sank a little. But perhaps it could work, nobody needed to know and the North would remain peaceful and faithful to Lady Sansa. No civil war looming on the horizon. That was perhaps, enough for this marriage between them.

The days had come and gone and it was almost the last few months of winter, as Sansa and him maintained a calm yet playful friendship. He had grown to love her, as a wife, much to his dismay and the nights became more and more agonizing to him as he yearned so much to touch her, as a husband would. There was nothing to stop him, with Sansa only inches away, her shapely form laying next to him on the bed they shared for almost a year now. Tonight was just going to be another night he would take himself in his own hand, dreaming of Sansa bouncing on his hard cock, moaning his name.

“Jon?”

“Yes, Sansa?”

“It’s been a year that we’re married. Do you think the other lords are wondering why we don’t have heirs yet?” Sansa asked innocently as she sat at her vanity and brushed her hair. It was hypnotic to watch her, how he wished he could run his fingers through her soft red hair.

“Is that what you worry about often? That the lords think about how often we bed?” Jon smiled as he wiped a warm wet washcloth over his face and chest.

“No but if I were them, I would wonder, I suppose. Someone once told me that bedding was all that men ever think about,” Sansa giggled as she turned to Jon. They were no longer shy around each other, whether half naked or in their smallclothes. It was good progress, as Jon took notice.

“Is that what you assume I think about?”

“Well, don’t you? Especially now that you’re not getting… anything from me.”

Jon placed his washcloth down and walked towards Sansa. He knelt down and looked into her pale blue eyes that he often lost himself in.

“Sansa, listen to me. What we have, is enough. I don’t think of taking you like any common man would. I know… what he did to you and I do not want you to be reminded of that in anyway. No matter how long it takes, how you feel about me, I will never force you to do anything you don’t wish to.”

Sansa stopped brushing her hair and looked down. She wasn’t about to shed any tears, not anymore, for what Ramsay did to her. She was damaged and did not feel in any way a proper high born wife should be.

“Perhaps, you could find someone to do it on my behalf.. since you can’t even bear to touch me..”

Jon stood up and stared at Sansa, his ears burning at what he had just heard. Sansa watched him and as their eyes met, Jon suddenly felt overcome with a burning desire to sweep her in his arms and kiss her till dawn broke.

“Sansa, why would you say that? Do you want me to bed another?”

“Perhaps, since we don’t even touch each other. I know it’s hard for you to-”

“Is that what you want? Do you also wish to bed another man other than me?”

Sansa’s hand flew to her mouth when she realised how the conversation had angered him.”No, Jon! I would never-”

“Then stop saying such things. It won’t happen, it will never. You are my wife. You are mine as I am yours.”

Sansa looked up at him with her eyes shiny with tears. “Am I? Are you mine, truly?”

“Aye, I am.” Jon nodded as both their eyes locked onto each other’s once more. The familiar stirring deep within his loins greeted him again, this time more forceful and he felt himself growing hard. There was no denying how much he wanted to take her, to mark her as his. And his only. Jon’s gaze drifted to her soft pink lips and it took him every ounce of restraint, not to grab her by the hair and kiss her, as he watched her tongue flick across her lower lip. Sansa broke their eye contact and looked down, albeit briefly as she shyly returned his gaze.

“Show me, Jon. I want to know.”

It only took him a second before he pressed his lips against hers and parted them in a desperate search for her tongue. She tasted of berries and lemon and it only made her more delicious. His tongue brushed against her teeth as it tangled in a frantic dance with hers. Gods, how he loved kissing Sansa. It was better than he had imagined.

Jon opened his eyes as Sansa pulled away from him. She giggled at what had transpired between them and Jon could only smile back. He was desperate to have her on his mouth again.

“Will you have me then, my Lady?”

Sansa’s nod was all he needed to sweep her into his arms and throwing her on the bed. Sansa gasped but continued her girlish giggles at how peculiar he was behaving as a husband. Surely, no husband would act like this, like a ravenous animal in heat. Sansa was only half right, if she knew how hungry Jon was for her.

“Take this off,” Jon ordered as he tugged at the chemise she had on. It was thin and almost sheer but the way it clung to her curves was teasing him a little too much. Sansa nodded shyly as she meekly wriggled out of it. But it took too long for Jon and he wasn’t sure what came over him, as he pulled and ripped the fabric into two. Bare breasts with light pink teats greeted him and Jon devoured them, biting into her flesh as Sansa threw her head back at the new found pleasurable sensation.

“Uhh.. Jon..” her moaning his name was all he had ever dreamt about the past year they had been married. As Jon’s teeth scraped against her soft bare skin, Sansa writhed as he made her way down between her thighs. His hands roamed all over until they settled firmly on the curve of her buttocks, kneading the firm yet soft flesh as his pinky teasingly brushed against her puckered hole. A deep gasp from Sansa told him, this was all new to her and it made his heart swell knowing he was still her first in a way.

“Jon.. no.. what are you doing..”

“Shh.. I promise you will feel good, Sansa. I only want to make you feel good. Will you let me? I will never hurt you, I promise.”

Jon smiled as he watched Sansa who was watching him, kissing her belly and the inside of her thighs and as he reached her sex, Jon stared straight into her eyes as he clamped his hungry mouth over her folds. Sansa jumped and shut her eyes, overcome with the fire of lust that had taken over her body, giving Jon full control to do whatever he wanted. It made him even harder than he thought possible, at how sweet and delicious she tasted.

Jon hummed against her warm wet flesh as he sucked and nibbled on her luscious folds. Sansa cried out in ecstasy as his tongue snaked in, darting in and out of her inner walls, teasing her into yielding to him completely.

The pressure that grew from deep within her only grew the more Jon licked and sucked at her flesh. Her peak reached higher and higher as she clawed at his curls and it wasn’t until he pressed the flat of his tongue against her small nub that something exploded within her. It was mind-blowing and never in her life she dreamt of feeling that in her, ever.

“Ahhh! Jon.. oh gods! Jon!”

Sansa panted as she came down from her climax, her first one. Jon peppered her body with kisses as he crept up on top of her. For the first time, Sansa was in love - as she looked into the grey eyes that hungered for her, the lips that uttered her name so lovingly. She was his, completely - mind, body and soul.

“I will make you mine, Sansa. I will mark you so everyone can see how much you belong to me.”

Sansa nodded as Jon kissed her neck and winced as he nibbled hard on her skin. “Spread your legs open for me, sweet girl. I need you.”

She couldn’t see it but she certainly felt the stiffness that poked at her entrance. It felt large enough for Sansa to be nervous at its intrusion but she was well prepared, judging from how wet and slick she had become. Her body was ready and willing. Jon paused and turned his attention to Sansa, watching her reaction as he readied himself to enter.

“Sansa, you’re mine. Always remember that,” Jon whispered as his painfully hard cock pierced through her wet folds and found himself wrapped tightly within her inner walls. Sansa and Jon groaned in unison as both of them savoured the spine tingling sensation. Sansa felt full yet hungry for him and she never knew how bedding could feel this way. Sansa moaned wantonly as Jon started to move, rocking his cock in and out of her. It took all he had in him not to spill in her too soon but the way she moaned his name and how intoxicating her scent was, Jon found himself thrusting deep and hard into her, in chasing after his own peak.

“Ohhh! Jon… uhhh..I’m yours… always..”

Jon’s hand grasped her neck and pressed down gently, as he whispered into her ears. “I won’t let any man touch you, let alone look at you… You’re mine, Sansa. Mine.. mine.”

Sansa held onto his hand on her neck and shut her eyes as her peak washed over her once more, this time deeper and lasting longer than just a few seconds. Sansa’s body went limp as she felt as if she had died and went to heaven. It was almost like a little death as Jon’s cock pistoned in and out of her, pushing faster and deeper at every jab. “I love you, Jon..”

The three words that Sansa softly whispered into his ears were all that caused him to come undone. Jon howled as he finally let go and spilled into her hungry quim, as rope after rope of his seed shot deep in her, mingling with her juices. Sansa moaned along with him as she felt the warm fluid pool deep inside her inner walls. Jon heaved and panted for air as he stayed on top of Sansa, too weak to move. He had given her his all, if only she knew how weak she would make him.

She was his soft spot, his one weakness. He had no real fear and he had seen the worst and faced the worst in his life. He had scars and healed broken bones to prove it. That was, until now. If he had only one thing to be afraid of, Sansa would be it. She would be his undoing, that much he knew.

“I love you, Sansa. Always.”

Okay, okay I know this wasn’t very dom!Jon but I got carried away! Sorry Anon, Jon can’t quite help himself in turning into a soft romantic when it comes to his precious Sansa! I hope you still like it lol..

Thanks for the prompt!

#jonsa #jon x sansa #smut fic #anon prompts #dom jon x sub sansa #a little bit #jonsa fic

305 notes · View notes