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scarletttries · 1 year

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Roman Roy x Age-Gap! Reader Headcanons:

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Reader

Word Count: 2k (warning: mention of Logany child abuse)

Author’s Note: Oh Roman Roy, you're really making me fall in love with your sad little face and your slightly softening heart this season. Thank you for this request, please enjoy these thoughts about Roman Roy with a younger, but still very much legal adult, reader. Also please fill my inbox with Kendall and Roman requests because I am thinking about little else! 😊

Update! Part two here 😀

- Roman Roy has always felt simultaneously like he's never really grown up, and that he was never allowed to be a child. Growing up as the youngest son of Logan Roy he wasn't allowed the chance to make the silly mistakes of childhood folly. Logan had been through that before and frankly he needed Roman to be a serious adult from the moment he could comprehend his father's disapproving glare. Naturally this was an impossible ask of a small, sensitive boy, and led to blows to back of the head when tears threatened to stain the silk shirt he'd been so uncomfortably forced into for another endless press event where he stood like a prop, just desperate not to get in any more trouble or let his dad down worse than he already had.

- As Roman entered adulthood he began to be left out of all the rooms where serious people met and talked about things he could never quite get right; he's wasn't self-interested enough, he didn't have those killer instincts, he couldn't rid his head of the thoughts of how many people would be affected by the company's every move. As Logan and Kendall started to tire of his quippy comments, relegating him to waiting outside for busy work, he could feel himself struggling to meet the thresholds of adulthood that Ken seemed to have carried with him for as long as Roman could remember. This dichotomy of boy and man left Roman feeling like he was never quite comfortable with his age, unsure what lense to see that number through. And then he met you.

- Getting a job at Waystar may have left you feeling a little morally uncomfortable, but you reminded yourself that ten years experience there and you'd be able to get any job in any industry you like, while also being able to pay for your own place. So you pushed that feeling down each day as you entered that office full of rich old white men. Given you'd actually had to earn your place there, rather than just knowing someone, it wasn't long until your work ethic, intelligence and ingenuity had you climbing the corporate ladder in your department and getting you noticed by some of the much higher-ups. Naturally they tried to just take credit for your work, but when the day came that Logan actually asked for an explanation of a report you'd produced, Frank had no choice but to put you in a room with the big boss face-to-face.

- You'd heard nothing but bad things about Logan Roy and as he stared at you in pure contempt while you answered his questions, wondering why his time was being wasted with this young thing from the bullpen, it took all your resolve to hold your nerve, giving short answers and trying not to give him anything to hold over you. Every so often you'd let your eyes flick over his shoulder to the man standing behind him, ten years older than you but pulling at the sleeves of his shirt like a little kid as he watched you face the interrogation, outwardly seeming far more nervous about the situation than you did. After fifteen minutes of watching you hold your head high and speak so confidently about your work, Roman was staring at you unashamedly in a mix of awe, intrigue and disbelief. Despite the age gap you seemed to have all the facets of a self-assured adult that he felt he'd never quite unlocked, while exuding the joyful exuberance of youth he'd never been allowed. He needed to know more about you, so when Logan shouted at Gerri to 'throw you in a dress and bring to this week's investor mixers' he could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the sheer hope and possibility of the answers you might hold.

- You weren't thrilled to spend your evenings surrounded by colleagues, stood to attention in case anyone needed a question answering, but you didn't hate the full railing of designer evening wear that had been sent to your apartment for the occasion. You found yourself trying to blend into the shadows of a corner, unsure of your place in this room and this crowd, wondering if any of the food on display was actually for eating, or if that would be seen as a massive faux pas. Luckily Roman had been keeping an interested eye on you all evening; who you'd spoken to, what you'd been dressed in, the frankly adorable face you'd pulled when Frank handed you a Whiskey twice your age and you took a very unwilling sip, feigning appreciation before slinking away to stick your tongue out at the burning taste. And finally he built up the nerve to approach you now that you were alone, trying to approach casually by picking up a grape from the ornate platter beside you, only to take a bite, realise it was plastic and having to hand it mortified to a waiter that had watched the whole thing from your side. He could feel the blood burning in his cheeks as he watched you try and stifle a laugh, both mortified that you already knew he was a fool and pleased that he'd been able to bring a smile to your face this evening.

"Yeah yeah fuck you." He laughed as he stopped just in front of you, all the words he'd planned to share failing him now that he was close enough to see the beauty in your sincere smile as you shook your head,

"Really I should thank you, now I'm one step closer to figuring out what's actually edible here." You replied with a warmth that almost made Roman recoil, so used to the icy chill he usually received from those around him.

"Well certainly not that whiskey." He nodded to the short crystal glass you'd been trying to put down since Frank handed it to you, tone sarcastic but without the cutting edge he was usually one to deliver. "Why is that the one thing these old fucks actually like to be their own age?" As you laughed again Roman felt a little victorious, he had set himself a pretty low bar but he was confident he was going to be the highlight of your evening.

- As you spent the next week being dragged to different events, you'd always find Roman slinking to your side before the night was through, as if you'd always been old friends, just counting down the hours of everyone else's company. You'd counter his one-liners and then ask him where he'd rather be on a Friday night and make him realise he didn't really know any other kind of night. So when you'd list off your weekend plans, and hobbies and interests, and tell him stories about your friends that had his hyena laugh echoing across the otherwise solemn room, he'd start to realise just how much he was missing out on, and how much he wanted to explore that with you as his guide.

- It stopped being enough, just finding you on odd evenings. Roman would start finding your desk at Waystar, pretending to just be wandering through a junior office coincidentally. He'd glance at his wrist, ignoring the fact he'd forgotten to put on a watch this morning, and comment that as 'technically kind of your boss' he needed to make sure his best employees were actually taking a lunch break, and also were you hungry? Sometimes during the day he'd just melt onto the floor beside your desk, chatting about nothing as you tried your best to type and pay him the attention he so desperately craved. He'd start having all of his meetings in the rooms on your floor so he could wave at you as he walked past the huge glass windows keeping your team contained, an apt metaphor for the walls up inside him he was worried you'd never cross.

- Poor insecure Roman, he'd really try and force himself to ask you out, but ultimately he'd be so afraid of the potential backlash of rejection, that it would be up to you to finally ask if he wanted to grab a drink after work, one Friday when he'd been particularly clingy. You'd take him to a fun, casual bar and watch his eye's light up at people playing darts or ordering fried food and generally the nice, relaxed atmosphere where he didn't feel he had to be the smartest person in the room. Occasionally a friend of yours would walk in a wave and ask how you were doing, and you'd introduce Roman as your friend with no shame or regret and he'd say something funny and get the same rush of pride at making you laugh that he did the first time, and he'd feel like maybe the more time he spent getting to know you, the better he could see himself, still young at heart but not the kid he once was. His lost childhood and misspent youth given a second chance as you offered to see him again next weekend.

- Once you open the affectionate floodgates Roman would be the clingiest koala you can imagine. He'd rarely be as direct as holding your hand, especially not in public, conscious of looking just like his father with a younger woman on his arm. But in the privacy of your little apartment, the one Roman fell in love with the moment he saw it, he'd take a slightly threadbare throw and toss it over the both of you as he all but crumbled into your lap when he wanted to talk about something he thought would make you run. Opening up about his father's wrath and his warped view of himself, glancing up periodically to check you hadn't ran away and left him behind, finding softness in your eyes instead of disappointment and sinking even more deeply into you.

- Roman would think you are an absolute fucking genius for everything you've done for yourself. Worked hard to be the best at your job? Genius. Manage your own bills and do your own laundry? Genius. Carry a water bottle around and make him drink some when he has a headache and somehow he feels better than he has in years? Genius.

- Roman would follow you to hell and back, but you'll have to forcibly remove him from your apartment when you want to go outside. He's never been somewhere that actually felt like home, every soft furnishing and mismatched bowl making him want to haunt your halls forever. If you ever make him a home cooked meal, he'll act like it's not a big deal, but honestly he's crying inside that anyone would go through the effort for him, and that he was the person they chose to be around. Cut to him going thrifting with you to buy five new dishes for you to cook in next time, plus anything else you like.

- Occasionally you'll successfully get him outside for a hike, or a walk, or even a day at a museum or arcade; and Roman will go full toddler on you. Pointing at everything excitedly, running around and shrieking, making sure he was your undivided attention and dragging you by the hand to look at everything. By the time you're home you're ready to collapse, only to notice Roman surreptitiously placing a little souvenir somewhere on your shelf, sneakily bought from a gift shop while you were in the bathroom, before pretending he has no idea how it got there.

- Roman is so enraptured by the incredible, rounded human-being that you are, that eventually some of your self-belief would start to rub off on him, making him feel more sure of himself than he ever has before. Thinking less about the approval of others (except you, he still desperately wants that), feeling confident in his ideas, and no longer feeling like he's stuck in Peter Pan mode - despite falling for someone ten years his junior, Roman would finally feel like he was becoming the man he was always supposed to be, thanks to you.

Let me know if you want a part two of this!

#writing #fanfiction #one shot #requests #roman roy angst #roman roy fluff #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #roman roy #succession imagine #succession hbo #succession #succession headcanons #roman roy headcanons #succession roman

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gingiesworld · 8 months

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Buddy angst with happy ending.. Taylor or Gerri

Be My First

Gerri Fields x GN! Reader

Warning: Angst but a happy ending.

18+ MINORS DNI

Y/N had lost everyone they had ever loved in one fell swoop, even being took in by Kate and Danny when they were still in high school after having no other family in the state. So they had had a friend in Gerri as they recovered from the car accident. They became Gerri's test audience to her music which they loved the sound of her voice. They found it soothing and they would never get tired of hearing her sing. Pretty much soon enough falling for the girl.

Even during the last summer they had spent there, they had a job and decided to help with some of the repairs around the Field's residence even though they were afraid to step foot into their old home.

They were there for them all when Danny passed away that summer too. Although Kate tried to stop Y/N from donating anything of their earnings to help towards funeral costs, they never backed down.

But the moment they heard about the fight between Lily and Gerri and how this guy, David was the cause of Gerri's heartbreak. They went straight to him, anger coursing through their veins as they approached him on the basketball court with Lily.

"Hey!" They called out to the two. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You lead on my friend and she thinks she has a chance with you and you." They turned to Lily. "You're supposed to be her best friend and you screw her over just like that."

"It never meant to happen." Lily started as David put his hand up to stop her from talking.

"It's none of your business kid." He told them as they scoffed. "What and who I do is none of your business."

"It becomes my business when it is someone I care about." They told him with a swing of their fist, connecting with David's jaw. Before Lily coupd stop it, he tackled them to the ground and punched them as hard as he could. Y/N soon managed to get out of his hold and kneed him in the crown jewels, sending him rolling on his front as he groaned in pain.

"What the fuck!" Lily yelled as she got on her knees to comfort David.

"Gerri needs you Lily." Y/N told her softly. "Not me. She needs her best friend." With that they left the court. Lily knew they were right in Gerri needing her, especially with the loss of her father.

That was the moment Y/N decided they should move out of the Field's residence and move back home. Although they remained there for them all, but not so much more for Gerri.

But the moment she had found out what they had done, she soon made her way to their home. Banging on their door.

"Y/N! I know you're in there!" She yelled as she continued to bang on the door. Y/N groaned as they got up from the sofa, stretching as they made their way to the door to open it to an angry Gerri.

"Hello." They greeted her as she stepped inside.

"Don't hello me." She told them sternly. "Why would you interfere in my relationships? Hell, why did you beat up David?"

"Lily told you?" They questioned as Gerri chuckled dryly.

"Of course she did. She told me at my dad's funeral, which you weren't even at!" She poked their chest as they sighed.

"I was there." They told her. "I paid my respects to your family and well, you were busy with Lily and I didn't want to interrupt the two of you."

"You could have still came to me." She told them as they shook their head with a soft smile.

"You need your best friend more than you need me." They started to fix the comforter on the sofa and move the pillow to the cupboard.

"I need you too Y/N." Gerri told them as her shoulders deflated. "I guess I was too hung up on the deal I made with Lily and then the two of us fighting over David that I never realised that what I needed was right in front of me."

"What was the deal?" Y/N asked her as they moved to the kitchen.

"To lose our virginity before college." She told them as she followed them. Taking the bottle of water from their grasp.

"You shouldn't just throw that away with someone who couldn't care about your feelings." They told her with a tender gaze. "Your first time should be special. Memorable even and with someone who would do anything to make the experience as comfortable, safe and loving as it happens. Someone who loves you with every fibre of their being." Gerri listened as they spoke, the butterflies in her stomach going wild as she gazed into their eyes.

"Then be my first." She whispered as Y/N looked at her, shocked by her bold words. "I want you to be my first. Hell, you should be the one to kiss me and speak sweet nothings to me everyday. You should be the one who has me. Mind, body and soul."

"I will be your first." They told her as they stepped closer, caressing her cheek as she looked up at them. "But not right now. Not this week because I want to do this right. I want to take you out on dates. Support you at your shows. Shower you with love, affection and gifts. You deserve to be treated as such because you are amazing Gerri and I would be the luckiest person alive to have you by my side through everything."

And with that, she sealed the new chapter with a kiss, loving and passionate as she sighed at the contact. Her whole being was electrified and well aware of Y/N's hands that had now moved to her hips. Squeezing and caressing as the kiss deepened as she wrapped her arms around their neck, keeping their body as close as she could. Her mind was full with every thought that was Y/N. Her every fibre craved their touch. Her heart belonged to them and she never realised soon enough, but she was ready for a lifetime of love and safety in the arms of her person.

#gerri fields x reader #gerri fields fanfiction #gerri fields #very good girls fanfiction #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth chase olsen

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blasphemous-lies-and-deceit · 30 days

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From the touches ask game: 31. Hugging while straddling the partner. Gerry/anyone please!

Lucky you, I had this idea cooked already, just needed the time to write it.

"Jon," Gerry breathed quietly. He really didn't want to wake his Archivist, since it seemed like his nightmares were over and he was sleeping peacefully, but he could hear Basira or Melanie moving around in the other room, and he needed to get up. Unfortunately, the only way for him and Jon to both fit on the cot was for Jon to to sleep on top of him, which meant he couldn't get up unless Jon did. And Jon seemed rather resistant to the idea.

"Jon," Gerry said again, louder. "I need to get up."

"No," Jon grumbled under his breath, hitching his limbs in closer and hanging on tightly. "No. Stay."

"We can't stay in bed forever." Despite himself, Gerry was smiling, threading his fingers through Jon's coarse hair. He privately loved the mixture of silver and black, the length and slight curl to it, the way it felt against the bare skin of his chest. It felt so real, even when it was so hard to believe sometimes, that he could be so close to Jon, could touch him and hold him and give him comfort and whatever else he needed. "You gotta let me up at some point, you know."

"No, I don't," Jon countered stubbornly, raising his head to peer at Gerry with one unnaturally green eye, bright with mischief. "As your Archivist, I insist you stay right here. Where you belong."

As tempting as that was- as much as a rather large part of him was more than okay with following Jon's command- Gerry resolutely sat up, the slight weight of Jon not nearly enough to weigh him down. Jon made a disgruntled noise and shifted with him, arranging his legs around his hips while still pressed to his front. His arms cinched tight around his middle, fingers trailing possessively along his tattooed spine. "Clingy," Gerry chided, wrapping his arms around Jon's back and daring to press his lips to the top of his head.

"You're worth clinging to," Jon agreed, burying his face in the crook of his neck. His voice was sleep-rough and honest, and Gerry swallowed down a rush of emotion. After everything that had happened, after all the pain and loss they had suffered through, being the one that Jon could cling to felt like a gift he wasn't supposed to have. But he wouldn't give it up, not for anything. Not for the whole world.

The close intimacy of their positions was making his blood warm and thoughts wander, and his hips shifted involuntarily. "Jon, do you..." he trailed off, and Jon pulled back slightly, considering before he shook his head.

"No, not now. Perhaps later." He shifted back even further, out of Gerry's lap, before he abruptly stopped, staring at his chest. "Ah. Your...Gerry, your tattoo is missing."

"...what?" Gerry asked blankly after failing to process what the fuck Jon had just said. Jon reached out and rested his cool fingers over his heart, and when he glanced down, Gerry could see no familiar ink on the only patch of skin that was free of burns. "What the fuck?"

"Hmm." Jon's eyes glowed, but whatever he was Seeing seemed to only confuse him more, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Its...it is something that the Eye initiated, but I don't quite...understand why."

"What about how?" Gerry demanded, raising both hands to check them. The tattoos there were unchanged, as faded and familiar as always. The eye over his heart was the oldest of the bunch, but that really didn't explain how it had just up and vanished.

"The Eye influenced your decision to get them," Jon explained slowly, lost in thought. "It gave them, and took them away. For..." he abruptly pulled back, face turning red before he ducked his head, pulling at his shirt. He yanked the neckline out and stared down at his own chest, eyes growing very wide. "Oh. It's. It's here."

"Excuse me?" Gerry lurched forward and caught the sides of Jon's shirt, quickly pulling it over his head before he could react. Jon yelped and tried to cover himself, but Gerry caught his wrists and held them away from his body, staring incredulously at the familiar ink that now decorated Jon's chest. "You stole my tattoo?"

"I-technically the Eye did," Jon protested. "I-I didn't have any hand in this, I promise you!"

The sudden alarmed desperation in his voice snapped Gerry out of his surprise. Shit. Jon probably thought he was angry, and his rough treatment wasn't helping. He quickly let go, pulling away from Jon before he could do anything else to him. "Fuck, no, Jon, I-I'm sorry. I believe you, I'm not mad at you, I swear. I'm so sorry."

Jon sighed and shook his head, shifting to close the distance between them. Gerry took the hint and wrapped his arms around him again, much gentler. "I understand," Jon whispered against his chest. "It is a...a shock."

"It's not your fault," Gerry insisted. "I'm sorry I freaked out at you. You didn't deserve that." Jon sighed and slumped even further into him, and Gerry wondered how badly he needed to hear that. "So why'd the Eye give you my tattoo?"

"Because we're connected," Jon admitted, muffled against his skin. "Because you're my Assistant, and I'm your Archivist. We're meant to be together, and this-" his hand rose to rest over his heart, over the eye that had once been Gerry's. "This is the physical representation of our bond. Tied together by the Eye."

"Fuck," Gerry whispered past the lump in his throat. He should feel upset, he should feel robbed and violated, they should resent the Eye for forcing such an obvious declaration onto their bodies when they could barely say it outloud. It should feel like another horrible thing in the long list of horrible things done to them, another sign of hopelessness against the awful forces corrupting their lives.

But it really didn't feel like that to him.

It felt...right.

"Glad it's you, at least," he managed to get out. That was really the least he could say, the barest amount of words that could encompass all that he felt. Jon chuckled brokenly, a noise both painful and affectionate. God, he was his, it was written right on his skin, he was Jon's and Jon was his, Archivist and Assistant and more, so much more. Gerry screwed his eyes closed, clutching Jon close.

If the Eye wanted them together, then they would be.

#jongerry #the magnus archives #gerry keay #jonathan sims #rebelwriting

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starrypawz · 5 months

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So first fic of the year which would've been the last fic of the year if it hadn't proven hard to wrangle.

Smut under the cut AO3

Nemo is in his lap as they often are, comfortably nestled into him on the sofa. There’s something on the tv neither of them are really paying attention to as they play at some facade of normalcy as they do as countless other young couples in flats across London would be doing this moment after a long day.

But then is it really a facade? They are a young couple in a flat in London who have come home after a long day when you get down to it.

(It’s just that the nature of what made it a long day involved the various kind of bullshit that come along with chasing down cursed books)

And Nemo is quite content to stay in his lap, comfortably nestled into him on the sofa and trade the occasional soft, slow kiss. Stay there and be lulled by the soft, warm comfort that his presence often brings them as they sink into pleasant tiredness. (And preferably be lulled so much that in a few hours Gerry would have to carry them to bed)

But try as they might, apparently their body has other ideas and they can’t ignore the sensation that’s making them squirm in his lap. (How are they so wet already?)

Gerry chuckles,

“You ok there little ghost?” His voice is a soothing, sleepy mumble and Nemo’s response is to shift position until they’re straddled over his thigh.

“Oh,”

Gerry pulls Nemo into a long, lazy kiss and Nemo gives a whisper of a moan as they start to move against him. (And Nemo is very glad of the fact they’d both decided that jeans are highly overrated items of clothing they needed to be free of) And it’s not long before Nemo feels their mind starting to melt.

They both break for air both lightheaded after sharing soft kisses and equally soft moans. And Nemo can feel their mind has started to melt in all those wonderful ways. Gerry places a hand on Nemo’s back to keep them steady.

“You’re so… so fucking cute like this,” He cups their cheek with his other hand and Nemo hazily realises the flush on his face and his darkened eyes mean he’s well on the way to being just as horny as they are. “Is… Is this all you want?”

“Yes”

Nemo starts to move, takes a shaky grip on Gerry’s shirt as they slowly rut and he slowly kisses them again.

This is downright lazy and gentle (Even when Gerry bites their lip) but there’s a thread of desperation running through, that ever greedy part that always wants more and it’s never enough. It wouldn’t be hard for Nemo to give in, move faster, move harder, tease their tits, slip a hand between their thighs and take themself over the edge but also this feels good, so fucking good and as they’ve learned holding off makes the eventual reward all the sweeter.

(And also…. Nemo’s too tired to really want to do anything else, their arousal as strong as it is is sort of fuzzy around the edges with sleep)

Gerry slumps back slightly against the sofa when they break for air again and he lets out a barely audible “Oh fuck,” before he palms himself through his boxers. And Nemo chuckles amused as always by how easily Gerry gets horny.

They continue to slowly rut against his thigh, their brain further melts as everything other than the hedonistic pleasure they’re currently swimming in fades away. And they soon find themself a whimpering, shuddering mess as the sensation against their clit is somehow too much but not as much as the barrier of the soft fabric of their boxers keeps them from going over the edge.

“That it…” Gerry gives a breathy moan and Nemo watches with eyes half lidded as he teases his cock, “That’s a good little ghost,” he gives a strained chuckle, “Look what you’ve done to me,”

The praise sends another rush of arousal through them, strong enough to make them tense their thighs and for a brief moment Nemo feels they’re going to go over right there but somehow they don;t.

“That’s it… that’s it…” Gerry softly urges as he runs his thumb over the head of his cock and Nemo swallows at the sight of the precum he’s toying with and wishes for a long moment that they had his cock in their mouth, “You look so good fucking yourself like that…” He moans, his voice soft and low and strained “Yeah… use me however you want… I’m yours,”

Nemo bites down on their lip to as that greedy part of their brain runs with that ‘I’m yours’

Yeah you’re mine, all mine, use you however I want… forever (And I’m yours yours… yours)

They move faster now their whimpers and moans punctuated with Gerry’s soft urging and then they shut their eyes as they fall further into pleasure.

“Hey,” His voice is still gentle but firmer as Nemo finds a hand on their cheek as he gently demands, “Look at me,”

Nemo looks at him.

The light touch of his fingers is somehow enough to keep them from totally losing their grip on reality. They’ve been held here so long it aches, their body begging for release. It would be so easy to make a pleading request of “Make me cum, I don’t care how, do whatever you want to me just let me cum” but this ‘torture’ is pleasurable in it’s own way and part of them would stay in this limbo forever.

And then Gerry has both hands on their face as he kisses them, this time it’s deep and biting and as he pulls back-

Oh…

Oh fuck….

Fuck fuck fuck fuck…

Nemo pants and moans weakly as finally they go over and watches as Gerry cums untouched over his stomach. Nemo doesn’t stop, ruts frantically as they try to wrench everything they can out of this until it’s too much. They slump forward, boneless and Gerry manages to catch them.

“Easy… easy… I’ve got you…” He soothes, his voice strained as Nemo settles against him and nuzzles weakly into his shirt as they stay there shakin, panting and with their pulse in their ears.

And then after a long moment just as things start to feel like they’re not spinning quite so much Nemo hears a muffled

“Fuck,”

Followed by a breathless chuckle Nemo manages to answer as he gently brushes a lock of Nemo’s dark, curly hair from their face and presses a kiss to their forehead before he gently shifts Nemo until they’re across his lap.

And then Gerry gently brushes a hand against Nemo’s stomach,

“Gerry?”

“Let me touch you,” He mumbles into their neck.

Nemo gently guides his hand and shudders as he slips a hand into their boxers.

“You’re soaked…” He mouths at their neck, “But you did cum all over my thigh-”

Nemo goes to say something but it trails into a moan as he teases their clit. His touch is gentle but at this point it’s still so sensitive that it almost hurts but it feels so good in its own weird way. He chuckles into their neck, “Wouldn’t be hard to make you cum again,” He continues to tease, clever fingers gently playing with sensitive, slick flesh, “Just keep teasing your sensitive cock,” He pinches and Nemo whimpers.

Nemo whimpers. That would be good, so good, let him take them, let him slip his fingers in, stretch them just right as he fucks them-

Then.

Gerry yawns.

And Nemo yawns.

And then Gerry groans as reality sets in that there are forces stronger than their combined libidos.

“Bedtime?” Nemo ventures “Guess so,” Gerry mumbles as he gently moves to pick Nemo up, “Bathroom first-”

#tma nemo #gerry keay #gerry delano #attempts at smuttery #ghoststories

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mcufox123 · 3 years

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Table 5

Summary: You are a 5-star chef. What happens when two avengers enter your restaurant.

WandaxFemReader

AN: this is going to bea multichapter series.

Warning: Slow burn

I do not own any of the marvel characters.

Chapter 2. Chapter 3 Chapter4 Chapter5 Chapter6

Hiss. You heard as you dropped a piece of halibut into the frying pan. You had ten order fires for your famous white fish dish. You sauteed the veggies and spinach that went along with the dish. It was hot in the kitchen, but you kept your head down and just kept working. It was a busy Saturday night at the 5-star restaurant you worked at. the kitchen was on the floor so all its patrons could see you hard at work.

You loved your job. You threw everything you had into the prep work during the day and the excitement of 10 order fires at a time at night. You laid the plates out and set them up so all you had to do was place the fish on top. Your eyes never left your station to look at the patrons. With your rough hands that had suffered many burns and scars, you placed a dish on the table to be taken out when you looked up momentarily and was completely caught off guard.

You looked up to see one of the most beautiful women you had ever laid eyes on. Her reddish hair fell perfectly around her face which held the most beautiful emerald eyes. You watched as a tall man pulled out the chair for her as she went to sit down. Your trance was cut off by Bill asking if the dish was ready to be taken out. You nodded as you wiped your hands on your towel.

“Bill keep me updated on what table 5 orders.” You said giving him a stern look at turning to finish the other 9 halibuts on the stove. Every time you put another plate on the table your eyes went to her.

“You know we have two avengers in here tonight?” Bill asked as up put up another fish.

“We do?” you asked interest peaked, thoughts drifting from table 5 for a moment.

“Yeah, Vision and the Scarlett witch. Vision told the hostess that he was going to propose here tonight. They’re over at table 5.” You looked over and your stomach dropped. The women who you had stolen glances of was about to be engaged, not to mention she was one of the most powerful beings in the world.

You covered up your disappointment as you told Bill to keep you posted on their order. Ten minutes later he informed you that they ordered a fish and a steak.

“I’m going to run their platters; you keep an eye on the fish when I do.” You informed Gerry who was working at the station next to you. You plated the fish and waited for the steak. When both were ready you wiped your hands, brushed down your hair and made sure you looked somewhat presentable.

You grabbed the platters and made your way across the restaurant. The servers were eyeing you suspiciously. You never leave your station; the governor even came to dine at your restaurant and requested to see you and you turned him down choosing to continue to cook. The only other time you left your station was when your mom was in town and decided to eat at your restaurant. You set the meat in front of Vision eyeing him up. He looked like an alright guy. Then you turned and put the fish in front of the Scarlett Witch.

“I am Chef Y/N, welcome to Contento. I hope you enjoy your food and if you need anything I will be working right over there.” You said talking mostly to the women glancing at the man occasionally.

“Thank you, Chef Y/N.,” Vision said trying to get your eyes off his girlfriend. The beautiful women just kept smiling at you.

“Enjoy!” you said while backing away from the table. You made your way over to your station picking up where you left off with the fish you were cooking. You glanced up at table 5 when you put another dish up.

Vision was on one knee and the Scarlett Witch had her hand to her mouth. You could see him talking and you could see tears form in her eyes. You became extremely uncomfortable at that moment and seemed to hold your breath.

Vision stopped talking and you could see the woman shake her head no as he got up off the ground. Then an argument between the two seemed to start. Vision held his hand up before walking out of the restaurant as the woman sat back in her seat with her head in her hands.

She sat there for the rest of the night. She ordered the chocolate cake and a bottle of wine. All night while you were working you continued to glance at table 5 to see if she was there. Usually, you would tell the servers to kick people like that out but when your most trusted server asked if you wanted her out you shook your head no. You finished up for the night and cleaned up your station. Instead of doing your normal prep for the next day you decided to pour yourself a glass of wine. You watched as the woman continued to sit at table 5.

“Should I tell her to leave or just start wrapping up the night?” Bill asked you.

“Just start wrapping up, I’ll take care of her.” You assured him. You stood behind your station continuing to drink your glass of wine trying to figure out the woman who sat in your restaurant. The servers and staff finished up for the night and one by one waved at you as they left through the back door. You waved back and finally decided to make your way to table 5.

“You have officially been the customer to stay the longest at my restaurant.” You say walking over to table 5 with the bottle of your best wine and wine glass in hand. You take a seat across from her

“Oh, I am so sorry! I didn’t even realize. Wow where did everyone go?” she said looking around the restaurant now realizing it was empty.

“The restaurant officially closed an hour and a half ago and my staff just left about 10 minutes ago.” You informed her.

“Oh my gosh its midnight.” She said now finally looking at her phone then at the dishes on her table. “And I left a mess, I can clean this up just let me know where it goes.” She said while stacking glasses and trying to brush up the crumbs. You put your hands on tops of hers to stop her and feel warmth spread throughout your body. Your eyes meet and you gave her a little smile.

“It’s totally ok just leave it. You are more than welcome to stay; I saw what happened tonight. I just wanted to let you know that I will be over there cooking.” You said as you picked up your wine glass leaving the bottle behind.

“Would you mind if I came over there and watched?” she asked hesitantly. You glanced back and saw hopeful eyes.

“Not at all Scarlett Witch.” You saw her flinch at the name.

“Please, call me Wanda. Scarlett Witch is just for the media really.” You smile and nod. You pulled up a barstool where Bill usually stands on the other side of the station, while you grab some veggies to cut. You had decided to make your own dinner tonight instead of eating a bag of chips.

“What are you making?” she asks as she sits on the stool and watches you curiously.

“I’m not sure yet, but whatever it is it’ll be my dinner.” You said honestly.

“Come here.” She instructed you and you don’t know why but you listened. You made your way around the station and saw her stand up from her seat and pointed for you to sit. “You have been working all night, you let me stay way past close, and you gave me a $500 bottle of wine to drink. Get off your feet drink some wine and let me cook.” She informed as she made her way around to where you had been just seconds before.

“Thank you, not many people are willing to tell a head chef to chill.” You said to her. You watched her as she pulled her hair back and began to expertly cut the vegetables. “And you know your way with a knife, remind me not to cross you.” You chuckled.

“Well, I like to cook myself. I try to cook something new whenever I can. I started cooking when I was young with my family in Sokovia.” She said as her cutting slowed obviously lost in a memory.

“I can relate to that; I grew up in an Italian family. I started when I was old enough to hold a knife.” You said adding to the conversation.

The conversation continued to flow as she began to throw them in a sauce pan. She searched your station for her next ingredients. Usually no one was allowed to go through your station, but you were curious to see what she was making.

“So, I know it is absolutely none of my business but are you ok?” you asked full of concern. You saw her freeze her search on a momentary pause before she continued to look pretending as if she didn’t hear you. You decided to keep talking.

“I was almost engaged once. I have been in this industry since I was 15. I have thrown everything I have into becoming the best. Two years ago, I started dating this girl. We dated for a year even moved in together. She tried to rush everything, like she was trying to prove something to herself. So, when she proposed I had to decline. Instead, I moved out and opened this restaurant. Hurting people is hard but sometimes it’s for the best.” You said trying your best to comfort her.

She seemed very concentrated on the chicken she was now expertly filleting. “We weren’t in love love. He’s my best friend and we do everything together, but I was never attracted to him. When he asked me out, I said yes and now it’s been two years. All because I was scared, I would lose him if I didn’t. Now I ruined everything.” She said turning from you to put the chicken in the pan.

It was quiet for a minute before you heard a sniffle. She turned around wiping her eyes and trying to pull it together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to unload all of this after crashing your night. I should probably just leave you be.” She said while wiping her hands on the towel and turning to leave your station.

“Hey its ok, you’re ok. I enjoy your company.” You said while reaching out for her hand. She turned and looked at you curiously.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she said looking in your eyes for any trace of insincerity.

“I, I, I don’t know, but I feel like, like you can be good to me. That maybe you’re the one who can teach me something. What that is I have no idea, but I want to know. And I want to do the same for you.” You said knowing that you probably sound like a mad idiot to this strange woman who you have only known for an hour.

She continued searching your face. “Your strange and bold. I like that.” She said while squeezing her hand before going back behind your station.

You sat back down and continued to watch the woman who piqued your interest continue to cook.

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #vision #marvel #Avengers #The Avengers

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theskywaslookingback · 3 years

Text

[AO3] - [read the rest of the series here]

Martin has the TV set to a low murmur, letting Bake Off reruns play in the background as he combs his fingers through Gerry’s hair. It’s warm in the flat, the summer worming its way in through the cracks of the place and turning everything hot and tight. The fan is louder than the TV, oscillating back and forth between the two bodies slumped on the sofa and the one on the chair.

Jon grumbles as the movement rustles his papers, his glasses low on his nose and gaze intent on the paper he’s reading.

“You know,” Gerry says from his comfortable position on Martin’s lap, “if you didn’t assign so much work, you wouldn’t have so much to grade.”

Martin pinches Gerry’s ear in admonishment as Jon makes a noise of protest from his comfortable perch on the arm chair. Gerry yelps and then laughs, swatting at Martin’s hand.

“I’m just saying, you do this to yourself.”

“Hush,” Martin says, tugging gently on a lock of black hair, “It’s too hot to deal with you.”

Gerry hums, picking his head up enough to wink at Jon who just sighs in reply. Gerry settles back in and Martin resumes his petting. It’s nice, despite the heat, one of the very few days they have to spend together. Jon had offered to help out with a summer class at the university that had been overbooked and Gerry had recently been promoted to manager at the bar he’d been working for, which was all phenomenal and Martin was so proud of them both, but it left them all with shockingly little time together.

Martin’s thumb strokes down Gerry’s neck, rubbing over an old tattoo of an eye, pressing down slightly at the pupil. Gerry huffs a breath into his lap and turns just enough to look at him. “Hi,” Martin says.

“Hey.” Comes the soft reply, warm and fond.

Martin would very much like to kiss him, but that would require a level of flexibility he’s never possessed, so he settles for bringing his own hand up to his palm and kissing the center of it before setting it back down lightly over Gerry’s mouth. He can feel the smile tugging at Gerry’s lips before his palm is being kissed in return and Martin brings it back up to his mouth. “Tea?” He asks after finishing the ritual.

“Christ,” Jon says, letting his papers and pen fall onto the small table at his side. The pen jumps at the small shock and rolls off onto the floor. “Please? If I don’t take a break I may actually start pulling my hair out.”

“Well we wouldn’t want that.” Martin says.

“Mmm, I don’t know.” Gerry says, tapping his finger to his chin as if in indecision, “Bald can be sexy. I seem to recall a time when you shaved your head and it didn’t look that bad.”

“Oh?” Delight suffuses through Martin like honeyed sunshine, “Now that’s something I would have loved to have seen.”

Gerry’s face lights up and he sits bolt upright. “Wait here a second,” he says before hopping off the couch and bounding toward the bedroom. There’s a loud crack, like the door has banged off a wall, and then the sound of things hitting the floor in a hurry.

Martin looks over at Jon, bewildered, but Jon just gives a helpless shrug, looking just as lost as he feels. He’s about to get up and go see just what the hell Gerry is doing when he comes tearing back into the room, clutching something in his hands.

“Look!” He crows, clearly pleased with himself, and hands out a book to Martin.

It’s not very large, about the size of a standard journal, and bound in worn, brown leather. The front of it is scuffed, the top corner bent inward like it’d been stepped on or stuffed somewhere and left like that for a long time, forgotten. “What is-“

From the chair he hears Jon say, “Is that-“

But Gerry drowns them both out with his plea of, “Open it!”

So Martin does.

Inside the front cover is a mess of pen drawings and doodles. A stylized eye, a moth, an anarchy symbol, a middle finger, half of them overlapping and the lines blurring. There’s a burst of black in the top right, a dark blot like a burst pen. In the center of the mess are big blocky letters, all caps.

PROPERTY OF GERRY KEAY

Below that, in a much smaller font that Martin can only decipher from years of recognition and practice.

and Jon Sims.

Martin looks up at Gerry who just grins and flops back down on the couch next to him, pressing hard up against his side like he’s eager to watch. Martin flips to the next page.

There’s a polaroid taped to the center, two young boys staring up at him with twin grins of mischief and joy. The boy on the left has chestnut brown hair cropped short. His mouth and hands look sticky and stained a bright red, the likely cause of which being the ice lolly stick still clutched in his right hand. The boy on the right is much smaller, with unruly black hair and red stains on his button down shirt and a matching red mouth. At the bottom someone had written in a tight, cursive script ‘Gerard and Jonathan, August 1999.’ Someone had drawn an ice cream van on the bottom of the page. At the top, in Gerry’s capital letter font, were the words PARTNERS IN CRIME.

The following pages are similar, photos taped onto the pages, sometimes overlapping each other. Some were clearly taken by Jon’s grandmother - the two of them dressed in suits for some function, the two of them sitting at a table and studying, the two of them asleep in the backyard. Others were clearly taken by the two themselves - Gerry smoking a cigarette and flipping off the camera, Jon holding a bottle of beer, Jon reaching for the camera and looking angry, Gerry riding a skateboard, Gerry on the ground with his skateboard upside down next to him. Some of them held commentary - WE LOOKED LIKE TWATS we were eleven!, Gerry has never once landed a kick flip HEY!!!!, we stayed up waiting for the meteor shower, BEST MATES FOR LIFE. Even more held doodles - ocean waves crashing against a rock, a pair of doves, zig zag mazes and tic tac toe, a lit cigarette and a bottle of beer.

“Ah-ha!” Gerry exclaims when Martin is more than halfway through the book, jamming his finger down at the picture taped there.

Martin jumps and looks at him.

“I knew it was in here,” Gerry says smugly.

By this point it looked as if Gerry had already started dying his hair black and growing it long, almost past his shoulders. His eyes were rimmed in black eyeliner and he had at least two piercings that Martin knew hadn’t come with parental permission. Next to him was Jon, hair buzzed down to his scalp and scowling impressively at the camera, wearing a too large leather jacket and a t-shirt for a band Martin had never heard of.

“Oh!” Martin says, grinning, “It looks so good!” He looks up to gauge Jon’s reaction, maybe even tease him a bit, but the words die quickly in his throat.

Jon’s looking right at Gerry, his face a mass of emotions that Martin is at a loss to try and describe. His eyes look wet.

“Jon?” Martin asks, concern tugging away his amusement and leaving it raw.

Gerry’s head snaps up, his own smile rapidly disappearing in the weight of Jon’s gaze.

There’s a long moment where none of them say anything and the room is stifling from the heat and tension. Martin looks between the two of them, trying to piece together what on earth could possibly be wrong, but he’s coming up short on pieces to work with.

It seems like forever before Jon finally says, “You kept it?” The tone of his voice is raw and brittle.

Martin very gently closes the book and sets in down on the coffee table.

Gerry’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, confused noises eeking out like the squeaking of a rusted hinge. He seems almost as lost as Martin is. Finally his words take shape and land on, “Yes? Yeah, of course I did. Why wouldn’t I have?”

Jon’s eyes flicker away, to the oscillating fan and then to the TV kindly asking if they were still watching. He picks at a loose thread on the chair, fingers working anxiously. “I thought…after your mother- after you left- I thought that…”

Gerry’s eyebrows pull together, his lips tipping down into a frown. “What? Did you think I’d thrown it away?”

Jon shrugs, first one shoulder and then the other, like the collapse of a building. “Just kind of...assumed.” His hands were wringing together now, picking at the skin gently and scratching at his wrist. “After the...after the funeral we weren’t really talking, and then you were just...gone. Thought maybe…” Jon shrugs again, this time lower, hunching himself down smaller, “maybe you didn’t want to remember.”

Oh, Martin thought distantly. Gerry’s mother, Mary, had died when he was only 16, apparently by suicide. It had been a sudden, violent thing that had sent Gerry’s childhood spiraling in a direction he couldn’t control. Less than a week from the time his mother had died, Gerry had been uprooted from the home in Bournemouth he’d always lived in and made to move in with a distant relative named Gertrude up in London. He’d barely had time to process any of it, let alone let Jon know what was happening. It was over ten years before they’d seen each other again, and the gap had always been a sore spot for both Jon and Gerry.

Gerry makes a choked noise and crosses the room in quick strides to kneel in front of the chair. He gathers Jon’s hands in his own, cradling them together. “No,” he says, so softly Martin can barely hear him, “Not you.” He brings their hands up so he can kiss the backs of Jon’s hands, brush his lips over the knuckles. “I never wanted to forget you.”

Jon’s breath hitches.

Martin watches Gerry hold Jon’s hands to his face and mumble something that he can’t make out. Jon’s fingers twitch in response and he huffs out a breath. After a moment he gets up and goes into the kitchen to make them all some tea, flicking the switch on the electric kettle and rummaging through the pantry to find the container of lemongrass tea that he knows Jon likes and the mint tea that Gerry prefers. It doesn’t take long, but he likes the ritual of it anyway. He gathers their two mugs in one hand, and his own mug of a spicy black tea in the other and heads back into the sitting room.

Jon has moved over to the couch, tucked under Gerry’s arm with the book in his lap.

Martin smiles and sets their tea down.

When Jon looks up, Martin bends down and kisses his forehead and then grins wider when Jon’s nose and forehead scrunch up.

“Okay?” Martin asks.

Jon waves at him dismissively but makes a grab for his shirt when Martin turns like he’s going to take the chair. “Yes,” he says, exasperated, “come here, please.”

Gerry squishes himself into the corner and pulls Jon closer to make room, so Martin sighs and fits himself in next to them on the sofa. It’s a cramped fit, but ultimately worth it for the way Jon relaxes against him, flipping absently through the book of memories on his lap.

“Gerry had a point, at least.” Martin says.

“Hm?”

“You looked good with a shaved head,” Martin says too lightly, “might be a good summer to try it again.”

Jon’s protests are drowned out by Gerry’s instant and joyous peal of laughter.

Jon says something about ‘nothing being sacred’, the tips of his ears burning, while Martin tries to hide his grin in his cup of tea. He almost succeeds.

#fic #my fic #visible world #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerard keay #jongerrymartin #((here I’ve been writing for like three hours))#((you can have it))#((edit: just realized this was missing a whole ass paragraph??))#((also added a keep reading since apparently no one will reblog anything anymore))

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smugzayn · 3 years

Text

I’m Sorry

You broke up with Harry four weeks ago, so why are you crying outside his front gates now? And why does he let you come in?

ONE.

It feels all numb at this point. You write the short text, press the blue arrow and watch the instant read notification appear below. There’s six unanswered blue bubbles of text, and they all say the same thing, “Call me. I’m sorry,” and they all are marked as read.

“Leave Harry alone, babes.” Your friend plucks your phone from your fingers and plops it screen down on your lap. The Uber is small and with your shoulders pressed flesh against hers, you should’ve known she would’ve been peeking at your desperation.

She pats your thigh consolingly and you lay your head on her shoulder.

“He’ll call when he’s ready. Promise.”

You sigh, forcing yourself not to flip over your phone to torture yourself once more with the blank screen. “It’s been four weeks.”

“You broke his heart,” she mutters.

She had never understood your decision to end it with Harry. She saw too much of the good - the sneaking away to dark corners, and flirty banter, and the way you both stared when the other one wasn’t looking. She was there the giddy morning after you had moved in, and the surprise birthday party he threw for your cat, and had walked in on one too many early afternoon bedroom sessions that resulted in tousled hair, flushed cheeks, and canceled plans.

You and Harry were both private people, so your spats that turned into sleeping in different rooms were demons all to yourself. The empty bed on nights he promised to leave the studio early, and last-minute flights to wherever, and then the late to that family supper, or dinner party, and date night that started at just ten minutes turned into long texts of apologies, and empty promises, and the realisation that it wasn’t meant to be.

“His heart never belonged to me,” there was a bitterness that you tried to erase from your voice. “It belongs to his music, and his fans, and his own - his own passions. And that’s fine because that’s what he wants, but it’s not…” You swallowed the last of what was left in your flask from the party. The burn down your throat helped distract from the ways your eyes were beginning to warm with tears. You cleared your throat. “It’s not what I want.”

TWO.

You were the further stop, so you rode the last bit of the Uber on your own. You’re not sure at what point you decided that you weren’t going home, but now you were standing at the front gates of Harry’s London home and pleading with Gerald, his security, to let you in.

“Gerry, it’s me,” you beg earnestly into the intercom system as you stare into the camera. “Please, I just want to talk to Harry. That’s all.”

“Sorry,” he responds gruffly, and you slouch down on the ground outside the gates. Four weeks ago you would have laughed if someone told you this is where you’d be. You weren’t happy then, but you were with Harry, at least. Four weeks ago you would’ve been cuddled up against his hard body in his warm bed and his arms would be wrapped tight around your stomach to pull you into him. You wouldn’t be sleeping, and you might even be crying because you knew it was over then. At least you were with Harry.

You wipe away hot, angry tears that sting down your face. You can’t figure out if you’re more angry at him or yourself. Him for loving his career more than you and you for being too selfish to not let him.

With a creak, that gates behind you slip open and you roll onto your back. Harry’s deep, sleep-filled voice comes over the intercom.

“Come in. Hurry up,” he grumbles and you wipe away your tears, and clean up your hair, and the smudged makeup under your eyes as you walk the short path up his drive.

He’s standing in the doorway, and it’s clear he’s just been woken up and he’s mad, or frustrated, or hurt. It’s hard to tell with him. Harry’s so expressive, so it always feels like you’re seeing every complex, nuanced emotion on his face.

“Why did you come here?” he waits until you’re standing on the steps below him, his deep voice no more than a hard whisper in the air.

You shrug your shoulders, examining the tightness in his eyes, and the hunched weight sagging his shoulders, and the defensive, wide stance of his feet. “I needed to see you. You wouldn’t answer my texts.”

Harry swipes a tired hand over his face.

“I’m calling you a cab -”

“No,” you protest, stepping towards him and putting a hand out to stop him as he reaches for his mobile. “Please. I just - I need to talk to you.”

The moment feels so big and scary that you feel ill. You don’t know what he wants to hear, or needs to hear, or what you even want from this moment. You can’t get back together with him because neither of you would be happy, so what exactly are you doing here? Do you tell him you're sorry? That you wish it was different? That you don’t want to - can’t be the one who makes him unhappy.

“Fine,” Harry allows, slipping into the warm light of his home and you follow him. “But I’ve nothing to say.”

You have a lot to say, you think, if you can just find the courage to say it. It bubbles in your stomach, and burns in a rush up your throat as Harry sits on his stairs and pulls his heavy, fiery eyes up towards you. As your mouth begins to water, you realise those aren’t words gushing up your throat at all. It’s something much worse.

You grab a nearby vase, dump the flowers and water onto the floor in front of you, and promptly empty every drink you had that night.

THREE.

You feel childish as you sit neglected on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket, and with a crazy mess of morning hair atop your head. Harry’s rolled up the sleeves on his button-up and is glowering at his mobile from where he’s leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He’s angry and he’s not spoken a word since you woke up to find him standing there unhappily.

Your head is aching, your tongue feels fat in your dry mouth, and you feel like a tit. You’ve fucked up.

“I’m sorry,” you broach cautiously. “I’m not sure why I came here. I should’ve gone home, or to a friend’s, but...I didn’t. I’m so sorry, Harry-”

He cuts you off. “Did you think this would help?”

You feel a lump build in your throat. “What do you - I’m not sure what you mean.”

His neck is red against his collar and there’s a tight furrow between his brows as he glares at you. “You call and I don’t answer. You text and I don’t respond. You show up and harass my security until I let you in.” He holds a hand up to stop you from interrupting. “You told me you wanted to be done. You broke up with me, and I’m trying…”

Harry pauses, then coughs dryly and runs a hand through his hair.

“And I’ve accepted that, but I can’t do that if you keep showing up - on my phone and now at my flat.”

“Can’t do what?”

Something flashes behind his eyes then - pain or anger, you can’t really tell.

His voice is hard and flat when he finally speaks. “I can’t get over you.” He turns to open the refrigerator, and then hands you a bottle of water. Your fingers don’t brush, he doesn’t look at you, and he returns to his distance across the room before he turns back towards you.

You don’t know what to say. You could argue, but he’s heard all that you want to say. You don’t want to argue with him, anyways. You want to comfort him, thank him, and tell him your sorry it couldn't be different.

“How can I make it up to you?” you ask and he pulls out his mobile as he shoots you a scowl. “No. Not for breaking up,” you amend quickly. “How can I make it up to you? For this?” You motion to the shirt you have on, Harry’s shirt, and the duvet, and the aspirin, the water, the tarnished vase put away somewhere, and the half-eaten peanut butter crackers sitting in the bowl on the table in front of you. A piece of you breaks as you think about Harry making those for you late at night, knowing how much you crave those after a night of drinking.

He continues to busy himself in his mobile, though, and ignores you. It’s like he’s in another room, or house, or country, and not ten feet away from you on the other side of a counter.

“I can clean your house, or make you a cake, buy you a new vase, perhaps?” you offer kiddingly, unsure of what to do or say. You think getting any reaction right now would be better than this, but then Harry speaks and it feels like a weight has fallen on your chest.

“You can’t do this. I can’t do this,” Harry rubs at his jaw as he takes five strides to the front door and swings it open. “I can’t do this with you.”

You stand up, bunching the duvet onto the sofa behind you. “Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“I know,” he interrupts, and your steps towards the door are slow and heavy. “I know. I’m trying to figure this out without you. Figuring out how to sleep, and work, and live without you. And I don’t know how to do it without you, but I can’t do it with you either. And definitely not like this.”

“Harry, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know - I wouldn’t have ever -” You trail off, unsure of what to say, and unsure of what made you come here in the first place. “I’m just - I’m sorry.”

Harry looks like he wants to pull you into him, he even leans forward slightly as if his body wants it, too. But his eyelids fall heavily, and the moment passes and you pass too, slipping out the front door.

“I’ll go,” you promise, and you wonder if that means forever this time.

Harry reaches out, his fingers trailing softly along your jaw, and your eyes flutter close with tenderness, familiarity, and need. Then his hand falls limply by his side and you turn away before you hear the light click of the door slipping shut.

[masterlist]

#harry styles #harry styles writing #one direction #fic #reader #harry styles x you #pov #harry styles imagine #imagine #you pov #harry styles x y/n #y/n #fiction #fanfiction #angst #harry styles angst

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

Text

What We’re Given and What We Make

@aspecarchivesweek Day Two: Family, also for @dheiress, who prompted Jon/Gerry/Martin waking up!

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay/Martin Blackwood

Martin wakes to Gerry’s soft touches, his fingers mapping constellations from the freckles on his arm. “Mm. Morning, love. Jon already up?”

“Actually, I think you’re on top of him.”

“Ah, alright.”

The sunlight is filtering through the window Jon forgot to close and it’s been letting in a cool breeze all night; it’s probably why Jon’s currently burrowed mostly underneath him, an almost imperceptible bump in the covers. Martin loves the fresh scent that floods the apartment but Jon’s bound to be grumpy about it, waking up with a stuffy nose and an irritated throat. He’ll blame it on one of them; Jon enjoys dodging responsibility for these small, inconsequential things. And they always let him.

Gerry meets his eyes with a knowing look, stopping his ministrations to reach up and give Martin a dry peck on the forehead. “Sleep well?”

“Reckon so.” He reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Gerry’s ear, smiling at the demure look it earns him. He’s so lovely in the morning light, clothes rumpled and the remnants of eyeliner smeared across his cheek. Jon likes to help him take it off in the evening, smooths a towel across his face like Gerry’s made of porcelain and liable to break. The intimacy of the motions and the tender care behind them makes Martin want to put pen to paper.

When he first met Gerry he expected someone much, much different, the image from Jon’s starstruck tales paint a certain type of picture, you see. Someone arrogant and dashing, a hero from some gritty drama. But he’s shy, quiet and almost unassuming. Jon drags him over from the bar, practically vibrating in excitement and where he should feel jealousy at their interlocked hands he instead feels a sense of belonging, like the man’s hands are made for holding and the other’s waiting for Martin to take.

“This is Jared Keay, Martin-”

“Ger-ard,” the man stresses, throwing a fondly exasperated look Jon’s way before meeting Martin’s eyes. “You can call me Gerry, though.”

Gerry. There’s a friendly cadence to it, warm and kind. Martin likes the way it rolls off his tongue, likes to whisper it to himself when the man dozes on his chest, soft and unguarded only when he’s alone with them. It had taken them quite some time to break his shell and see past the deflective humor and occasional posturing. Breaking down his walls was a task Martin took to with relish- he’d done it with Jon, and he’d do it again. Gerry was worth it.

And Gerry’s not one to ruminate, he doesn’t like to dwell on the memories of times with his mother or at the Institute where Jon currently slaves away. But Martin knows he hasn’t quite shaken them off, he can read it in the way he considers his words, when he hesitates at certain touches. Martin can relate; he still hears the phantom echoes of his mother’s voice, her criticisms that followed his every move. When it gets to be too much Jon assures him of his importance, of his worth outside of being useful, and now he has Gerry to do that too. These days, Martin’s starting to think he deserves such devotion.

He hopes Gerry’s starting to think the same.

He remembers when he first opened the bookstore, when Gerry helped him set up shelving and plan the layout. Gerry’s telling one of his stories, one Martin’s heard a thousand times and will gladly hear a thousand more. He passes Martin a hammer and for a brief moment their hands touch; an electric pulse shoots up his spine and he knows Gerry feels it too, judging by his own shiver. They were getting close; Gerry spent many nights at their flat slowly opening up and feeling comfortable in his skin. Martin’s been waiting for this moment but Gerry didn’t expect it; he withdrew from them until he could put a name to something he’d never quite felt before.

And so two became three.

“You know, I didn’t think this would ever happen to me,” Gerry confesses one night, while the two of them lie in bed, Jon puttering away in his study. “Didn’t think I was built for it. But then Jon came along and you, and- I don’t know. It just feels right.”

“Because it is,” Martin replies, running a hand down Gerry’s back, rucking his shirt up just a bit. He’s so sure of the truth behind his words because he’s watched it happen. He’s watched Jon’s admiration give way to something deeper, Gerry’s easy acceptance of his boundaries. He’s felt the way his own body reacts to Gerry’s presence, how his smile lights up any room. They don’t make each other whole, but they make each other happier. And isn’t that the point, to be loved for one’s self and not what one can give? “We’re all built for love, one way or another. We just have different ways of expressing it.”

Gerry and Jon are born storytellers, their banter and chemistry off the charts, and Martin could listen to them for hours not saying a word. In years past he would’ve felt jealous but now he feels only adoration at their closeness and how relaxed they are with each other. He admires the ease with which they spin worlds for Martin to get lost in.

But late at night Martin speaks in rhythms that could put their words to shame, reading an odyssey in a line of tattoos on skin just to see the blush on Gerry’s face. His I love you is a prayer, devotion enough in every syllable to make Jon weep. These are the nights where they forget the outside world exists- they have only each other, their bed, their hands, and Martin’s words.

He enjoys this power, but uses it sparingly. After all, his partners can’t always be putty in his hands.

So Jon works, Gerry plans and Martin dreams of a time when the three of them can be happy and content for all days, when the lines of stress fade from Jon’s face and the touch of a hand brings only the echoes of love and not pain. When Gerry’s touches are no longer hesitant but bold and purposeful. He thinks that day’s coming.

But for now he laughs when Jon groans to life underneath him, takes the blame when he inevitably complains in a nasally tone about the open window. And when Gerry shoots him that secret little smile, he’s reminded that this is enough, that he’s enough.

He finally has a home, and a family to fill it.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28715103

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #aspecarchives #martin blackwood #gerard keay #gerry keay #jonathan sims #jongerrymartin #with mostly a focus on gerrymartin #demisexual gerard keay #asexual jonathan sims #gerrymartin #jonmartin #jongerry

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pitviperofdoom · 3 years

Text

Obviously I can’t get through one fandom event without bringing Jongerry into it.

Aspec Archives Week Prompt: Confusion

(AO3)

Jon caught him in a kiss as they passed in the hallway, and these days that always meant trouble. Once upon a time, in the distant past of around last month, he’d been bashful about it. They both had—Gerry especially, after Jon had sat him down to explain a few things about his preferences. But that was last month, and that hurdle was well behind him. Now the question wasn’t finding the nerve to start; it was finding a reason to stop.

On a lazy Sunday morning like this, those reasons were few and far between.

They wound up on the couch, because it was closer, and that was the direction Jon had been heading, and Gerry was happy to let himself be steered. Kissing Jon was like that, now that they were both past being shy. Even with his mouth occupied, he never failed to let Gerry know exactly what he wanted and where he wanted him.

The backs of Jon’s knees hit the couch. Gerry broke the kiss for a moment, just to enjoy looming over him a bit. He liked this view of Jon—this close, staring nearly straight down while Jon tilted his head back and met his eyes.

Then he reached up, tugged Gerry back down, and kissed him again.

The noise Gerry made came out like it had been punched out of him, and he had to draw back just to catch his breath.

Jon’s hand was on his jaw, carefully tilting it so Gerry would look at him, which really wasn’t helping with—whatever was going on. His eyes were dark and serious, scrutinizing Gerry’s face as if inspecting him for an injury. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Gerry said, more hoarsely than he meant to. “Mm. I’m good.”

“You’re sure?” Jon pressed, frowning deeply enough to form a crease between his eyebrows. Gerry kissed it before he could think better of it. “Ah—”

“How about you?” Gerry asked, even as a small but very loud part of him screamed to kiss him again, to hold him close and never stop.

“Like I said,” Jon replied, his voice raspy but warm. “This part I like.”

Gerry grinned and let himself be pulled down to the couch cushions.

Jon wound up mostly under him, propped halfway up against pillows and armrest with Gerry hovering over him, tugged down by Jon’s hand at the back of his head. He kissed Gerry the way he always did, so gentle and unhurried, but with just enough insistence to make his heart race with an unfamiliar thrill.

Felt a bit dangerous, sometimes. And while Gerry was no stranger to it, it was different now, when he finally had something he wasn’t willing to risk.

Lots of things were different, with Jon. But different could be good, different could be new and exciting before it settled into a comfort, like hands in his hair sliding down to the back of his neck, like the teasing warmth of his mouth, like arms around him holding him close—

Then Jon turned his head, fingers digging firmly into the back of Gerry’s neck, and mouthed at the corner of his jaw with just a hint of gentle teeth. In an instant, Gerry went hot with want. His body moved before his brain caught up, canting his hips forward into Jon’s.

Beneath him, Jon startled and pulled back, and Gerry belatedly realized what he’d just done.

“Shit—” He shoved himself off of Jon, face heating—not desire this time, just mortification. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine—”

“I didn’t forget, I just—that’s never happened before—”

“Gerry I’m serious, it’s fine.”

“—and I don’t know where the fuck that came from,” Gerry went on, mouth running with nervous, frantic energy.

Jon was sitting up, pushing his hair back out of his face. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” His eyes flickered vaguely downward.

There wasn’t much he could do about that particular situation, so Gerry sat back and drew his knees up to his chest, breathing deep to slow his racing heart. All traces of warm excitement were gone, replaced by hot, prickling shame.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Jon scooted closer and carefully took his hand. “It’s alright,” he said. “I mean it. No harm done—look, can you just sit properly? You look horribly uncomfortable.”

“Better me than you.”

“What do you mean by—oh, for God’s sake.” Jon sighed, infinitely patient and—fond? Maybe? “Gerry, I’m asexual, not a prude. I’m not going to faint at the sight of a clothed erection.”

Gerry choked on an unexpected laugh, then slid his feet down to sit in a more comfortable position, Mercifully, he was already softening.

“I’m—” He bit down on another apology.

Jon hadn’t let go of his hand yet. “If it makes you feel better, that’s probably the fastest anyone’s gotten off when I asked.” Gerry stared at him wordlessly. “I mean—don’t look at me like that, I meant literally—physically gotten off of me when—oh, you know what I mean!”

“Right, right.” Abruptly, the words sank in, and he went stiff with alarm. “Wait. Jon, does that mean—have other people…?”

“What—? Oh!” Jon’s eyes widened. “No. God, no—I’m sorry, that came out wrong. No one’s ever—right. What I meant was that, of the very few times I’ve been in this situation before, the other person was usually… I mean, they stopped when I asked, but I had to ask, and sometimes I got the feeling that they were… sort of reluctant? It made things extremely awkward, more often than not.”

“This isn’t awkward?” Gerry asked dryly.

“In comparison? Hardly at all.” Jon squeezed his hand. “And even if it were, I’ve had my share of awkwardness.”

Gerry squeezed back, finally starting to settle. “That so.”

“I’m going to regret telling you this, but my first kiss was an absolute disaster,” Jon informed him. “I went for the cheek, he went for the mouth.”

“Yikes,” Gerry said with a wince.

“Oh, but I haven’t told you the worst part,” Jon went on. “I turned my head away, and he went for the side of my neck—no, stop laughing—he latched on like he was a bloody vampire—”

He couldn’t help it. Gerry dissolved into laughter, ducking his head and muffling it behind his fist. At some point he looked up again to find that Jon had scooted closer in his distraction. He liked when Jon got sneaky.

But did he like it the right way, was the question.

“Alright?” Jon asked, tentatively brushing their shoulders together.

“Guess so,” he replied, with another long breath. “Better, at least. Could be loads worse.”

Jon was running the pad of his thumb over each of Gerry’s knuckles now, in slow, back-and-forth swipes. “You don’t sound very sure of that,” he said after a moment.

“Maybe not.” Gerry sat back, leaning his head on the back of the sofa. Jon continued to play with his hand, tracing the outline of each tattoo. It felt—nice. Not the dangerous sort of nice that he’d just now managed to dodge. Just comfortable. Fond. (Loving.)

“If you—” Jon began. He hesitated, pressing Gerry’s hand between his palms. “I’m not the best at this. But if it’s really bothering you, then I need you to know that you don’t—you don’t have to feel guilty about this, it’s not like you can—I don’t know, make yourself stop feeling… whatever it is you feel.” He paused again. “Anymore than I could make myself feel it at all.”

“That’s the problem, though,” Gerry admitted. “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I just shouldn’t!” Frustration welled up in him, and he tugged his hand out of Jon’s grasp without thinking. “I never have before, but now I am and I don’t know why. I’ve lived my whole life without giving people a second glance, and it never crossed my mind because I just—I never had the space for it. Good thing, too; dunno what I would’ve done if I had to deal with that on top of everything else.”

“Right,” Jon said softly.

“And then I met you,” Gerry went on. “And we had that talk. And I thought, fuck, there’s a word for it, it’s just a thing and it’s fine, it’s not just me being—being not right. There’s a reason why I’ve never given anyone a second glance, not even you. At least—not at first.” His voice trailed off, words running dry. “I dunno. It’s just been different recently. I look at you and… and I think about things I never have before.”

“Me?” Jon stared at him incredulously. “You feel that way about me?”

“I know you don’t like that,” Gerry answered, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

Jon gave a quick shake of his head, though whether it was denial or just to clear his head, Gerry couldn’t tell. “No, that’s not—I just mean, why? Why on earth would you—me, of all people?”

“Because you’re hot, apparently. Can we not argue about that while I’m having a crisis?”

Jon shrank a little, looking ashamed. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Surprised me too, to be honest.” Gerry looked away. “Feels like—more like greed than lust, sometimes. Like the more I get of you, the more I want.”

At that, Jon sat up straight, and Gerry realized how that must have sounded.

“I’m not gonna ask you for any more,” he said quickly, cutting off whatever Jon was about to say. “We had that talk, and I listened, alright, and it’s been—it’s been good. Really good. I don’t need anything more, especially if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Jon assured him.

“Oh.” He deflated a bit. “Good, then.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jon asked.

“I’ve about spilled my guts already, but sure, maybe there’s a bit of spleen I missed,” Gerry said wearily.

“It’s a bit personal, but… have you ever been close to anyone before?” Jon asked. “Emotionally close? Friendships, anything like that?”

“No…? No.” Gerry shook his head. “Never had the chance. I don’t have that kind of life. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well… I mean, far be it from me to impose a label on you,” Jon said cautiously. “But from the way you describe it… it’s possible you might be demisexual?’

Gerry frowned. Another new word. Demi usually meant half or partial. “What’s that one mean? I only want it sometimes?”

“Sort of.” Jon had grabbed his phone off the side table and was scrolling through it. “It’s on the spectrum of asexuality. To my understanding, it’s when you only experience attraction when you’ve formed an emotional connection with someone.”

“That’s a thing?” Gerry leaned over his shoulder to see the screen. “Don’t tell me there’s an app for this.”

Jon laughed. “No, but there is a wiki—here it is. Demisexual. Have a look.”

Gerry took his phone and read through the definition, frowning in thought.

It certainly sounded like what the past month had been like. And it explained a few things—he’d been alone his whole life until Jon, and even with Jon he hadn’t wanted him at first sight. It had taken time. It had grown into it—as far as he could tell, it was still growing, still changing.

“Say you’re right,” he said at last, looking up from the phone screen to Jon’s face. “Say this is me. Where does that leave us?”

Jon shrugged. “Same place as usual, I hope,” he answered. “If… this doesn’t change anything for you?”

“Should it?”

“Maybe.” Jon shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’ve just found that it helps to have a word. Makes things simpler if you can at least name them.”

With a sigh, Gerry passed his phone back. “Would’ve been even simpler if I could just be like you, not feel this shit at all.”

Jon put the phone down. Then, turning so that he was fully facing Gerry, he took his face between his hands.

“You are,” he said, as his dark, serious eyes bored into Gerry’s. “You’re just a step to the left, that’s all. But you are like me.”

It was enough to rob him of speech for the better part of a minute. When he found his voice again, he leaned forward until his forehead was on Jon’s chest.

“See, you say things like that and then turn around and wonder why I think you’re attractive.”

Jon spluttered, even as his arms wrapped around Gerry’s shoulders and pulled him back down. They didn’t kiss again, just lay squashed together on the couch with Gerry sprawled on top, enjoying the warmth and closeness without feeling like he was scratching an itch that would never settle.

“Thanks,” he said, after the silence stretched long enough to circle back around to comfortable again.

“Whatever for?”

“Dunno.” Gerry pressed his face into the soft fabric of Jon’s shirt. “Glad you’re here. Glad you’re you.”

Jon gave a noncommittal hum, like he wasn’t sure whether to agree or how to answer. His fingers combed softly through Gerry’s hair, and after a moment Gerry let himself lean into the touch, Jon’s quiet amusement.

He was no stranger to wanting things, but—all he needed was this, right here.

It was more than he ever would have dared to hope for.

#AspecArchives #the magnus archives #jongerry #jonathan sims #gerard keay #tma fic #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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beauvibaby · 4 years

Text

little family - t.seguin

a/n: the inspo for this was me having a very bad week at work haha

Nearly two month old Laila was finally started to calm down as she laid on your chest, Chase, your two your old was grumpily playing with his toys, claiming he wasn’t speaking to you because you were “mean” to him. His version of mean was you putting him in time out for coloring on the wall. You couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh as Chase stood walking over to you, “mommy?” He spoke sweetly, you hummed in response, carefully sitting up, trying not to wake Laila. “Snack?” He asked, giving you those big eyes, he looked so much like Tyler in that moment, brown eyes staring at you with happiness swimming in them. You let out a soft chuckle, “yeah, honey, you can have a snack.” You mumbled, carefully standing up, cradling his sister to your chest. She stirred, soon beginning to wail as you rushed to give your son his snack, settling for some goldfish crackers as it wasn’t too long until Tyler would be home and you’d be making dinner. “No!” Chase shouted, you looked down at him with raised eyebrows as you started rocking Laila. “No!” He shouted again, throwing the open packet on the ground, “Chase, pick those up right now.” You demanded, glancing at Laila who was turning red and you knew she was about to spit up. Right as you went to move her, she spit up all over the floor, it landing by Chase who started crying at the sudden appearance of it. He went to run off because he knew he was in trouble for throwing his food but his foot caught the spit up and he slipped, landing on his butt with a thud and the screams doubled.

At the sudden screaming the dogs came running over, finally choosing to check if everything was ok. “Marshall!” You gasped when he started licking up the food, “no, no, Gerry!” You snapped, visually gagging when he liked up Laila’s spit up. You scooped Chase up, grimacing as his foot covered in spit up wiped all over your shirt, Laila was still whining, desperately searching for her pacifier. “Chase, you’re fine bud.” You hated that you had to pick which child to comfort, but he was not really crying from the fall, more for attention. You set him down, watching as he wrapped himself around your leg, clinging to you, repeatedly shouting mommy, only breaking your heart further as you lugged him along on your leg, gasping in relief when you found the pacifier, popping it in Laila’s mouth. She finally calmed down, still squirming but the crying had stopped, Chase was still dramatically sobbing, your head shot over to the door when you heard it opening. “Oh thank god.” You whispered, barely hearing yourself over the crying boy. “Look, daddy’s home!” You cheered down to your son, “no, mommy!” He shrieked like you had just told him he was getting a punishment. Tyler raised his eyebrows at the sight in front of him, “hey, buddy.” He kneeled, holding his arms out for his son, who only gripped you tighter. “Tyler, can you just take her please?” You mumbled, giving him a silently begging look. “Yeah.” He sighed, pushing away the heartache of his son not even wanting to say hello, but he knew it wasn’t personal, after all Chase was in the middle of a temper tantrum. “Hi, my little-oh god, stinky princess.” Tyler mumbled taking Laila, grimacing as you both suddenly smelt her soiled diaper. You smirked, “she’s just saying how much she loves you.” You gave him a quick peck before squatting down to your sons eye level as Tyler whisked off with Laila, cooing to her about how much he missed her today.

“Look at me.” You demanded softly, placing a hand on your sons back, he looked up at you with a huge pout and tear stained face, you reached out and cupped his chubby little cheeks. You pushed your insecurities aside from letting him cry for so long, it was part of having two little kids, but it didn’t make you hurt any less. “We don’t throw food, and we don’t color on walls.” You spoke soft, but stern, he nodded still in your hold. “Are you sorry?” You asked, removing your hands, he nearly knocked you over, “I sorry.” He mumbled hugging you tightly. You smiled at his actions, kissing the top of his curly mop of hair. “You know, I think it would make daddy very happy if you went over there and gave him an even bigger hug and a kiss. He missed you today.” You spoke sweetly, Chase looked up at you with a grin, running off towards where Tyler was with Laila, Tyler was on his way back, Laila only covered in a diaper. “That was a huge blowout.” He laughed, letting out an over dramatic groan when Chase ran into his legs, you took Laila back from him, watching with a quivering lip as Chase was lifted happily up into Tyler’s arms. You watched your son wrap his arms around Tyler’s neck tightly, hugging him before leaning back and giving him a cute little kiss. Tyler enjoyed every second, it was no secret Chase was a mommas boy. “Did you have a good day?” He asked his son, but glanced over to you, doing a double take when he saw the tears pooling in your eyes. He went to speak but you shook your head, “I’m gonna go get her some clothes.” You whispered, walking past him before Chase could see you begin to cry.

You slipped Laila into a simple onesie, constantly wiping your tears as you admired the little girl before you, you loved your kids, with every ounce of your body, and always would. You’d do anything for them, and everything for them, and with that being said, you did, and you were tired. So damn tired, and you didn’t blame Tyler at all, because when he was home he was just as hands on as you were, he was never one of those dads you had to ask twice to do something, he just did it. It was hard still, most days were good, but Laila was an easy crier, so different from how Chase was as a baby, and today was a bad day, you’d been up since before Tyler had even left, Chase coming in to your room not feeling good, Laila waking early and eating in clusters all day, Chase being on his worse behavior. It just got to you today, and it made you feel worse that it got to you. It shouldn’t, you’re their mother, you shouldn’t feel so burdened, you wanted them, you prayed for them your whole life and they were here and they were perfect. A knock on the door made your head shoot up, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, Laila laying beside you, peacefully looking around. You saw Tyler standing in the doorway, arms crossed as he looked at you softly well Chase ran over to you, he had a note in his hand and skillfully climbed into your lap, he put the note down and gave you his pouty lips, not the sad ones but the ones he made when he wanted a kiss, you smiled tearfully and gave him a kiss, your heart bursting with love as he wiped the tears off your cheeks before running back over to Tyler silently. He gave you a smile as he usher Chase out, shuttling the door as they left. You opened the note, sniffling as you read Tyler’s slightly sloppy handwriting,

“don’t come downstairs until we get you!”

You rolled your eyes, not hesitating to oblige, you placed the note into the drawer of your nightstand, carefully moving to lay beside your sweet little girl. “Hi.” You whispered, grabbing her little fist when she looked at you, gurgling softly, “we’re really lucky you know, you’re daddy’s great, and your brother is gonna protect you so much when you’re bigger.” You laughed softly to yourself as you thought about the future, “don’t worry, I’ll make sure they let the good guys get to you.” You teased softly, smiling as your emotions leveled out a little, sometimes you just need a good cry. You grinned down at her blank expression, lightly tickling her stomach, her lips cracked up a little and you gasped, stopping your movements, did she just smile? You did it again, and she smiled, a real toothless smile and you cheered jumping to your feet. You wanted Tyler to see it, but you didn’t want to ruin whatever little plan he had Chase all excited about, so you pulled out your phone and FaceTimed him, he answered, holding the phone extremely close to his face, not letting you see anything. “Yes?” He sang, “she’s smiling!” You shrieked, pointing the camera to her, you did your earlier actions, her face lighting up again. “Oh my god!” He grinned, his eyes lighting up, “that’s my baby girl!” He cheered, speaking to her through the phone, she continued smiling, and you knew instantly, she would be a smiley baby now. “When can I come down?” You asked with a laugh, turning the phone back towards you, he quirked a brow. “Let me confirm with my assistant.” He joked, pausing the video you laughed, scooping Laila up as you heard two sets of footsteps running up the stairs. Really it was more of Tyler’s and Chase lightly padding before him, you hung up the phone, slipping it back into your pocket.

The bedroom door opened and your two boys smiled at you, “mommy!” Chase ran over to you, Tyler follows slowly behind him, holding his hands out for Laila, he took her but not before pressing a short but sweet kiss to your lips. “I love you.” He whispered, laughing when Chase started pulling your hand, “I love you.” You repeated to him before allowing your son to pull you along. “What did you two do?” You teased, Chase kept his eyes focused on the stairs, something he was getting better at walking down. “Patience.” Tyler scolded, walking right behind you. He laughed under his breath when you glared jokingly at him. “Oh my goodness,” you gasped, looking down at Chase who was looking at the living room proudly, they cleaned up the toys, and laid out pillows and blankets all over the floor, against the couch. Of course, yours and Chase’s favorite Disney movie was set up on the screen, Moana. You lifted your son up into your arms, he giggled as you smothered him in kisses. “Mommy, stop!” He shrieked, pushing at your face, his face turning bright red from laughter. “Alright, alright, I have to cook dinner.” You mumbled, stopping long enough for Chase to catch his breath. “Oh no you don’t, we’re having a junk night.” Tyler laughed, wrapping his free arm around you, “I ordered Chinese.” He mumbled, you sighed in relief. “Thank god.” You whispered leaning into his hold slightly. “Aw, honey.” You cooed to Laila, it was time for her to eat and she was letting you know as she went from peaceful to wailing in about half a second. You lowered Chase down and he happily cuddled himself up into the pile of blankets looking at you and Tyler cheesily. “By the time she’s done dinner will be here.” Tyler sighed, handing her over, “thank you.” You responded, he shook his head, looking over when the doorbell rang and the dogs hopped up. “Don’t thank me.” He laughed, pushing you off to the living room as he went to get the food, you sat in the chair, propping her and your arm up on a pillow as Chase paid no mind to you feeding her, he was used to it, never even asked any questions about it, which surely surprised you and Tyler.

Dinner has since come and gone, the credits to Moana playing on the screen as Chase slept on the floor in front of you, Laila was sleeping on Tyler’s chest, you had your head on the part of his chest she wasn’t taking up. “Y/N?” Tyler whispered, fingers running up your arm as spoke, “yeah?” You lifted your head, hearing the concern in his voice. “Are you okay? Really? I know it’s hard, baby, and I wish I was here more.” He spoke softly, you smiled softly, he was searching your eyes for anything, he needed an answer, he needed to know what he could do to help you. “Ty,” you mumbled, placing a hand on his face, his beard slightly tickling the palm of your hand. “It was just one bad day, you know I’d tell you if it was anything more.” You assured him, he was so attentive, he never wanted to make you feel like you had to do it all, you were equal partners in this life. “You’re a great mom, you know that?” He questioned, looking at you expectantly. “I know, and you’re a great dad, now can we please get them to bed, I just need to shower and sleep.” You teased softly, carefully standing to your feet, he laughed but agreed, following your actions, somehow you picked Chase up, carrying him up to his room, placing a kiss to his forehead once you set him down. “Goodnight sweet boy.” You whispered, tucking his blanket up over him, quietly shutting the door and walking down the hall to where Tyler was in your room, placing Laila down in her bassinet. “Come here.” You mumbled, standing in the middle of the room, he walked over to you, smiling down at your childlike expression. “I,” you paused, kissing him, “love,” another one, “you.” One long kiss, and he pulled away a little surprised, but grinning like someone just told him it was Christmas. “I love you too, so much.” He sighed, kissing your forehead softly, “hopefully they’re better tomorrow, but how about that shower?” He teased, hands sliding lower down your back. “No funny business, we don’t need another one yet.” You chastised, he put his hands up in surrender, but smirking when you walked away with a little extra sway in your hips. “Hurry up before I change my mind!” “What? No-I’m coming.” He tripped over his pants as he kicked them off following you, he laughed along with you when you were stood in the bathroom watching him with a grin. When he stepped into the shower with you, truly being nothing but sweet, showering you with kisses and whispers of sweet nothings, you knew that you would go through a hundred bad days if it meant you still had a great night like this with your little family.

Taglist: @thathockeygirl @literarycharleton

#imagine #imagines #tyler seguin #tyler seguin imagine #tyler seguin imagines #tyler seguin fluff #nhl dallas stars #nhl wiriting #dallas stars imagine

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beholdme · 3 years

Text

WIP Day!

@starrypaws tagged me <3

Tagging @big-urchin-energy @aghostchoir @platanosandprejudice @mag-118 @solarianvoidthearoace and @nofashinpunk if you're interested!

Snippet from my new JGM au where Gerry is a witch and Jon and Martin work in the Institute that revolves around strange magic and even stranger people.

This scene is from when Gerry and Martin meet for the first time.

The first time Martin ever sees Gerry, it's through the age mottled windows of Memoria, and they're standing at the counter talking to an exhausted-looking woman. Gerry gently hands her a large, hardcover book, covers one of her hands with one of theirs, and Martin watches as all the tension slowly drains out of her.

He's heard of the Morden bookstore where the proprietor can always suggest just the right book, of course, but Martin has always been convinced it was just an overblown rumour.

Still, he can't deny the sudden and complete ease that had overtaken the woman, and the mental image remains with him over the next weeks.

What he would give for a bit of ease.

The next time Martin walks past the store, it's almost midnight and he's supposed to be looking for something for his mother, but he's caught by the soft warm lights of the bookstore, still open despite the late hour.

They're there, the person with their long black hair and eclectic collection of piercings, hands decorated with rings and black polish. They look up at Martin as he lingers before the big windows, and their eyes meet for the first time.

Their eyes are an unusual shade of bright, light green, and Martin can see them clearly, even through the hazy window panes and across the space between them.

Martin feels seen, as if those eyes are gently resting on his soul, instead of his tired, haggard face.

Gerry tilts their head as if inviting him inside, but Martin feels a spike of anxiety rush through him and he takes off, down the street and towards his errand, desperately trying to put the beautiful bookseller out of his jumbled mind.

Those green eyes start to appear in his dreams.

Most of Martin's dreams are less than fun, full of anxiety and fear, but these are soft. Every time one comes, he wakes feeling settled and energetic, ready to face the day.

They start to feel like a lure, guiding Martin's steps back to the bookstore again and again.

He resists going inside, convinced he won't find anything in there he couldn't find at the library. There's no such thing as magic, no miracle booksellers that can hand him just the right tome to bring him some kind of comfort or fulfilment in life, especially not when life is dull and frustrating and dragging, when the weight of his existence pulls down on him every second of every day.

Martin still finds himself in front of the store day after day on his way to work and then again on the long slog of a commute home, and each time it gets a little harder to resist.

"You could come in, you know," comes a warm, smokey voice from behind him.

Martin jumps, turning to find the bookseller there behind him. They're even taller up close, almost six inches taller than Martin's height of 5 foot 7, and they're wearing bold, dark make-up today, green eyes made more piercing by the carefully applied black eyeliner.

He feels his face heat, caught out. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, looking away before the sight of them renders Martin speechless.

"I… I don't really need any books." He offers lamely.

"Memoria isn't about need," they respond, subtly shifting further into his personal space. "It's about the freedom to want something."

Unlike most people, who tend to leave Martin flustered and vulnerable when they press too close, their presence is far more welcome, their aura comforting and steadying.

"I don't know what I want," Martin admits, shivering in the cold autumn air.

"Tea?" They offer, stepping up into the doorway and holding the door cracked open.

Martin almost says yes, Martin burns to say yes, but instead he shakes his head, pushing back inexplicable tears as he turns and rushes away, away from hope and freedom and towards the unchanging monotony of his everyday life, just work, and mom, and bills, repeat.

And repeat.

Hope is dangerous. Martin can't afford it.

It's an unexpected rainstorm that finally sweeps him in, the sky opening up in a deluge at just the right moment that the bookstore is the closest open place, and Martin is totally unprepared to deal with it in any other way than to throw himself inside, shutting the door behind him as quickly as possible.

He breathes in a big sigh of relief to be out of the rain, before remembering his previous encounter with the bookseller and burning with shame. He almost throws himself back out into the rain, but they appear behind the counter at the very moment, and Martin doesn't want to compound his terrible behavior by repeating it.

"Good evening," they say politely. "Bit damp out there, isn't it?"

Martin laughs awkwardly, stepping further into the store. It's warm, the air dry and comforting against his damp skin. "Yeah, feels like it came out of nowhere though."

He catches sight of a large clock on the wall, and blinks when he realises that it's past 11pm.

"Oh, I, ah, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise it was so late, you must be closed."

"Must I? Is there some law that says I have to be closed when a cute boy needs shelter from the elements?" They offer a warm, flirtatious smile, leaning on the counter casually.

Martin blushes from the roots of his hair and all the way down to his toes, burning at the completely unexpected compliment. Not only is he decidedly not cute, at the best of times, being recently drenched and looking half drowned certainly wouldn't help the situation.

"I, um…" he takes a deep breath, "Well, as long as I'm not keeping you?"

"Don't worry, I'm not particularly fond of the rain myself. Stay as long as you like." They gesture at the stacks, shelves stuffed full of books in every shape, size and type imaginable. "Looking for anything in particular?"

Martin shakes his head. "I actually work in a library."

"Really? What kind?"

"Well, it's an academic library in a research institution, so it's not like they have many fiction books laying around, but I keep myself entertained."

"I bet you do. You're a bit of the independent sort, aren't you?" They step out from behind the counter, casually (carefully) moving towards him.

Martin's eyes widen. "I live with my mother," he blurts out, starting to tremble slightly from nerves and his wet clothes.

Their eyebrows raise questioningly. "In my experience, mothers are far more work than any 'independence'. That's just my bias speaking though."

"I'm Martin," he blurts out, wanting to talk about anything other than his mother, though he had brought her up. "Martin Blackwood, that is."

They offer a wide smirk, lip piercing flashing in the warm lighting. They offer a hand. "I'm Gerry Delano."

Martin shakes their hand firmly, and finds their grip confident without any aggression. Gerry takes the opportunity to take another step into his personal space. This close up and in an enclosed environment, Martin can smell them, a mix of old paper and black ink, combined with the sweet floral of jasmine. It takes him aback, the contrast is so wild and unexpected.

Martin sways towards them, making no move to step away or extract himself, at ease and not willing to risk breaking the little bubble he's found himself in, even if it is with a handsome stranger.

#the magnus archives fanfic #tma #martin blackwood #gerry keay #witch au #in memoria

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solarianvoidthearoace · 3 years

Text

Excerpt #2 from my JonGerry WiP

CN/TW for this one: loaded flirting, teasing and squabbling, implication of homophobia, implication of transphobia, very brief discussion of boundaries around sex (as in: hard no, won't happen), misunderstanding around the flirting

Jon actually dozed off at one point, his head pillowed on Gerry’s shoulder and body curled towards them. Delicately manoeuvring Jon’s glasses off his nose, Gerry pressed a kiss to his forehead,

“I love you.” A sleepy smile tugged at Jon’s lips,

“Love you too.” Putting the glasses away onto the nearby side table, Gerry themself snuggled closer until he was curled around Jon protectively. Just like back then. Not because Jon couldn’t take care of himself, no. But because Gerry always had been taller and more scary looking. And in the privacy of their youth bedrooms, it had simply been because it felt right.

It was dark out, when the both of them woke up again. Tangled together and still pressed close with Jon’s wide ankle skirt acting as sort of a blanket. After the initial surprise, Jon’s expression turned soft. Gentle and fond as he trailed his fingers down Gerry’s face. Blinking sleepily, Gerry hummed,

“Depending on how late it is, you up for pizza?” Instead of answering, Jon decided to first pepper Gerry’s cheeks with kisses. They were giggling under him, before he relented and sat up,

“Sounds good to me. But maybe we should turn on some lights before anything else.” Gerry poked him in the ribs,

“Good point. Let me up?” Jon simply flopped down against the armrest opposite to the one Gerry had been resting against, drawing his legs in and sitting sort of sidesaddle on the cushion there. Standing up, they handed him his glasses, before crossing the room to reach the light switches.

“Any preference about that pizza?” While Jon made himself more comfortable, still with his legs next to him on the sofa, he also grabbed his phone, checking the time.

“You still like pepperoni salami?”, he turned to look at Gerry over the back of the couch. Nodding, they returned to the couch but paused behind the backrest, slinging his crossed arms over the top of it and leaning in towards Jon,

“Sure, as if I could ever lose my taste for hot.” His gentle attempt to cup Jon’s chin was met with a playful snarl.

“Well, hot tempered, apparently”, they conceded, pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s hair instead. Shooting Gerry a look, Jon rolled his eyes, turning away and putting the order into his phone,

“Big one and we share?”

Over dinner, they talked about Gerry’s art. Past shows and exhibits his works had been a part of, how he always stood in as one of Gertrude’s assistants to participate without being questioned.

“So there you have it, finally you know all there is to know about both of my jobs”, they nudged Jon’s shoulder. Due to Gerry really talking about his art most of the time through dinner, Jon had eaten probably two slices more than them. Not that he minded, except for Jon trying to snatch the last slice as well.

“Ey!”, they gasped in offence as he immediately bit off the tip,

“You prick!” Jon just grinned, sticking the tip of his tongue out,

“What are your gonna do about it?” Gerry’s expression darkened, glaring at him as they leaned closer, right up into Jon’s personal space. He had the presence of mind to hold the pizza slice away from them, as Gerry growled at him,

“I’ll do something about it alright.” The next moment, Jon blinked in surprise. Gerry’s lips were on his, he could even feel them smiling into the kiss before he sunk against him. As soon as he pulled back, Gerry gave a triumphant “ha!”. Only then did Jon notice he had been robbed of the pizza which they now finished off before he could even grab for it.

“You’re an ass”, he tried for stern, he really did. But with Gerry’s self-satisfied and dopey proud expression, Jon didn’t stand a chance against his laughter bubbling up. Wiping their fingers on a napkin, Gerry grinned down at Jon,

“You love me”, he made sure his hands were grease-free before they offered a hug. Instead, Jon just put a hand to their chest and gave him a shove,

“Yea, I have had better taste”, his fond expression betraying the quip. Gerry let their arms drop, positioning one on the backrest of the couch,

“Careful, four-eyes”, he had leaned in, teasing glint in his affectionate look. Jon played along, snorting and crossing his arms,

“Or what?” On cue, Gerry straightened up to his full height, putting his weight forward and gradually caging Jon in. When he actually did slide back on the sitting cushions, Gerry paused, a questioning expression crossing their face. At Jon’s silent eye-roll and minute head-tilt, he grinned. Using his height to tower over Jon, they even put out his other arm, bracing their hand against the armrest behind Jon. He was fully caged in between Gerry and the couch. Jon visibly enjoying their banter had Gerry smirk down at him,

“Take a guess, doll.” Another amused snort, before Jon huffed and tried staring him down. As that didn’t work, he raised a brow,

“You want a kiss or something to let me go?”, nudging Gerry’s arm with his. Raising a brow in return, Gerry made a show of contemplating it,

“Well… “or something” does sound rather interesting, actually. What are you offering?” Their smirk turned into a grin halfway through.

Jon shook his head,

“God, I hate you”, before stretching up to kiss them. Relaxing their arms just a bit, Gerry still blocked Jon from standing up with his body while the two of them kissed.

“Sure you do”, he gave a quick peck to Jon’s cheek. Sighing, Jon looked around himself,

“You’re gonna let me go or what?”, he didn’t really sound happy to ask,

“I really don’t want to take the underground any later into the night than I have to.” He sighed, deflating a little and looking down at his skirt. Gerry felt their own shoulders sag at that, shifting his weight they sat up. Still close to Jon, they shifted until he sat next to him, letting their arm slide down onto his shoulders,

“Then don’t?” His shrug sort of worked to pull Jon in against their side again,

“It’s late, the weather is probably shit anyway…”, they turned to look at him again.

“I don’t want you ending up in an unsafe subway situation. You don’t have to leave just -“, Jon interrupted him.

Jon’s expression had darkened, not in the playful way from before but honestly threatening, which also carried in his voice,

“Gerry…” They slowly withdrew his arm, affected by Jon’s tone. Nonetheless they kept close, his shoulder still touching Jon’s. Trying to comfort him against whatever this sudden shift was, Gerry kept their tone gentle,

„Just offering, Jon.“ With grumble, Jon turned away, pushing them back in the same move. Finally getting up from the cushion, Jon wrapped his arms around himself, trying to mask it as crossing them.

„Just…“, he pushed his glasses up and rubbed at his eyes with both hands, resignation settling into his shoulders,

„Stop the aggressive flirting for a moment, please.“ He turned back to Gerry, the defensive bristling long gone. Gerry stared, the sudden uncertainty in their expression was laced with worry. His shoulders sagged as they deflated with the tentative hesitance suddenly washing over him.

Clearing his throat, Jon regarded him with a deeply exhausted look, making him look even older than what the grey-white strands of hair accounted for,

„You know just as well as I that you won’t get me into bed.“ Despite chewing on his bottom lip, his face was set, signalling every way he could that this wasn’t up for debate.

As soon as the shock released them, Gerry gave a half-hearted shrug, feeling awkward all of a sudden,

„Not my intention. I would never try talking you into sex, jeez. I just …“, unsure how or if to continue, he wrapped his arms around themself. With a deep sigh, they looked up at Jon again,

„I would love if you stayed the night and slept over. Is all.“ Trying for a friendly smile fell short anyway.

Hesitantly reaching out a hand, which ended up just hanging in the air between them, Gerry shook his head,

„I’m sorry if it sounded like…“, their hand dropped back to his side,

„I’m sorry.“ Jon blinked, taking in their pleading expression and overall non-threatening, suddenly timid posture. Jon’s voice sounded foreign, somewhat husky, even to his own ears,

„Of course.“ He shook his head, stepping back towards the couch, towards Gerry,

„I’m sorry.“ Offering Gerry his hands, he gave a weak smile,

„You’re right and I overreacted on a false assumption. I just… met some bad apples over the years…“ When Gerry’s face fell anew, this time with worry on his behalf, Jon huffed, retracting one hand to wave the thought away. With a questioning look, he stepped even closer to them, until he could hug him to his stomach.

„Of course I know you would never pressure me. I promise you, I logically know that“, he pressed a kiss to the top of Gerry’s head.

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constantlytiredghost · 4 years

Text

5 Times Martin picked up Gerry and 1 Time Gerry picked up Martin

Gerry always had been taller than Jon. Ignoring that one time when Jon was thirteen and hit a growth spurt that made him exactly one inch taller than Gerry for like a month, Gerry might have had a small crisis during that time but that was beside the point. Fact was that as a general rule, Gerry was taller than Jon. Stronger too, for that matter.

So it just happened that Gerry was the one who picked up Jon and carried him around and that was fine. Gerry loved carrying Jon around. Jon was small and light and bony and holding him was like picking up a particularly stubborn kitten, eager to pretend it didn’t want affection only to melt into it after a moment.

This also meant that Gerry was absolutely not and in no way prepared to get picked up himself like ever. How should he? The last time it happened was when his dad had been alive so somewhere before he had turned eight and that had been a while ago. His mother well… and Gertrude, Agnes and Emma weren’t really the type for it. Maybe Agnes but she had never tried. Jon had tried, mostly out of spite but he had only managed to topple them both over.

And now there was Martin.

From a logical standpoint, Gerry had been aware that Martin would most likely be able to pick him. He was tall, even taller than Gerry and there was a strength in him that he usually hid behind shy smiles and gentle gestures but was apparent in the way he simply lifted up one of the heavy creates in the library completely unbothered by its weight.

So on a rational level, Gerry knew but that didn’t make him any more prepared for when it happened.

The first time it happened was in the kitchen. Martin had been cooking and Gerry was mainly lurking around, trying to snatch some smaller pieces whenever Martin wasn’t looking.

“Gerry, stop that.” Martin chided, swatting halfheartedly at Gerry’s fingers with the wooden spatula. Gerry stuck out his tongue in response.

“What if I don’t?” he asked with a grin. Martin gave him a look of consideration before stepping closer looming over Gerry. He wrapped his arms around Gerry’s middle and effortlessly lifted him up. Gerry barely had the time to process before he got deposited on the kitchen counter.

“Stay there,” Martin said, tapping lightly against the side of Gerry’s thigh. “Or I’ll have to ban you from the kitchen. Gerry only nodded dumbfounded, unable to form any words.

“Good.” Martin said, pecking Gerry on the nose before he returned to making cookies.

Jon in the meantime looked up from reading his book at the kitchen table to give Gerry an amused but knowing look.

The next time it happened actually had a more practical reason, namely a giant gash in Gerry’s left leg. He had managed to stumble into the library and turn human just before crashing, startling both Jon and Martin.

“Heeey.” he greeted them with a wry smirk, that was half trying to hide his pain and half trying to reassure them that he was okay.

They were both at his side in a heartbeat.

“That looks bad.” Martin said after accessing the damage with a frown and Gerry only shrugged.

“Can you walk?” Jon asked with furrowed brows.

“Sure, just give me a second.” Gerry muttered, bracing himself for the pain that was about to come.

“Yeah, no,” Martin said, already shoving his arms under Gerry to pick him up. “don’t think you should put any weight on that.”

Gerry only made a soft surprised sound when the ground vanished underneath him. He still hadn’t got used to the prospect of being carried.

“I’m fine.”, he protested but there was no heat behind it.

“Sure,” Martin said. “But I’m still not letting you walk.”

“I-, You-, Ugh-” Gerry only huffed before he let himself relax into Martins hold, his head flopping against Martin’s shoulder as Martin brought him to the kitchen to patch him up.

The third occasion was even more of a shock than the first two had been. Martin picking him up while he was human was surprising but at least something that could’ve been expected. That Martin was able to lift up his beast form was both surprising and very unexpected.

He was laying in what was essentially their living room, head resting on his paws and eyes closed while he took up as much space as possible. Jon had long since given up on moving him and simply used him as a footrest. Martin on the other hadn’t reached that point yet.

He nudged Gerry’s side lightly. “Ger” he sighed. “Come on, can’t you just move a bit instead of blocking everything?” Martin asked.

Gerry opened a few of his eyes, slowly blinking at Martin before closing them again with a huff. He probably could move, but he really wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Oh, you know what. Fine.” Martin muttered, but instead of giving up like Gerry assumed would, he wriggled his arms underneath Gerry.

“Up you go.” Gerry managed to let out a confused whine when Martin heaved him up, all of his eyes were suddenly wide open. His beast form was even bigger than his usual form, so he just couldn’t comprehend how this had happened. The fact that his way of thinking turned more simple during his transformation didn’t help either.

He turned his head to stare at Jon who had started laughing loudly.

“I’ve never seen a beast looking so confused.” he snickered.

“Well, there’s a first for everything.” Martin huffed, letting Gerry down a foot next to where he had been originally. “And you don’t give me that look, you could’ve moved yourself.”

Gerry huffed in response, but after a moment when Martin had settled down, he padded over squeezing in between them to lay himself half over Martin and his head into Jon’s lap. “Oh so now you want cuddles?” Martin asked amused, but Jon’s hand was already buried in Gerry’s fur scratching along his scalp. Martin sighed. “Don’t encourage him.” he said, but his own hands already had found their own way into the dark fur. The fourth barely registered at first due to the fact that Gerry was half asleep. Since he was young, he had the habit of sleeping in the weirdest places. Not because he didn’t like beds or because book stacks were overly comfortable, but simply because sometimes the nearest halfway flat surface was enough.

Since Jon couldn’t exactly carry him to bed and wasn’t always able to wake him up, it meant that occasionally Gerry did sleep then and there right through the night only to wake up with horrible cricks in his neck and a lot of regrets.

This time he didn’t.

This time two arms wrapped around him and picked him up, jostling him back into well not exactly consciousness but at least more awake, which didn’t mean that Gerry was able to be coherent anyway. So “ngh?” was the only response he could make, his fluttering lightly, blinking up at Martin. A low chuckle was the reply before Martin actually answered. “Shhhh,” he said softly. “just keep sleeping. I’m just bringing you to bed.”

Gerry hummed and let his eyes fall shut again.

He could feel being placed on the mattress and how Jon wriggled closer to press a kiss to his cheek, by the time Martin pressed against his back, arms wrapped around him he was already back asleep a smile on his face.

The fifth time had Gerry pressed against a bookshelf, Martin’s lips hot again his neck. His hands tight around Gerry’s hips keeping him in place. Gerry couldn’t remember the last time someone had been able to pin him so easily and he certainly wasn’t complaining.

Neither was he complaining when Martin’s hands wandered lower, wrapping around his thighs lifting him up.

Gerry’s legs instantly wrapped around Martin’s hips and his grip around Martin’s neck tightened. He could feel Martin’s smile against his neck before teeth scraped along his skin teasingly. Not a bite but hinting at one.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing there?”

Gerry looked over to Jon who had interrupted them and was now giving them an unamused look.

“What do you think we’re doing?” Gerry asked a bit breathless.

“Not. In. Front. Of. My. Books.”

“Jon, there are books everywhere.” Gerry whined making Martin laugh while Jon just shot him another unamused look.

“Don't worry, Jon. We’ll leave.” Martin chuckled, stepping back from the shelf, Gerry still wrapped around him.

“We do?” Gerry asked.

“Well you don't have much of a choice do you?” Martin returned.

Gerry hummed in agreement and maybe he didn’t mind not having a choice. The first time Gerry picked up Martin was after he returned after he had been gone for about a week. He found both Jon and Martin in the kitchen, a kettle sitting on the stove presumably tea stepping in it. Martin already shot him a glance and he pressed a finger to his lip as he sneaked up on Jon before grabbing him to pick him up and whirl him around, resulting in an affronted squeak. Gerry laughed and pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.

“I’m back.” he chuckled.

“I can see that.” Jon huffed and swatted him lightly against his arm, but the smile on his face showed clearly that he was just as happy that he was back as Gerry was himself. “Now let me down.”

“Fine, fine.” Gerry relented and set Jon back on the floor.

“Welcome back.” Martin said amused now that Gerry clearly wasn’t trying to be quiet anymore.

“Yeah, it’s good to be back.” Gerry said with a crooked grin before stepping closer to Martin, wrapping his arms around him to lift him just like he had Jon. Martin made a startled sound that was frankly adorable and it made Gerry chuckle.

“Geez, Gerry, let me down. I’m too heavy for that.” Martin protested but Gerry only laughed.

“You’re most definitely not.” he disagreed, spinning on the spot to prove a point.

Martin sighed but relaxed a bit.

“Don’t complain if you hurt your back.” he mumbled.

“Would be totally worth it.” Gerry said, grinning up at Martin.

“Wanna let me down anyway?” Martin asked.

Gerry hummed and gave Martin a considering look.

“Only if I get a kiss.”

Martin snorted. “Sure.”

“Perfect.” Gerry said with a grin, lowering Martin on the floor before he leaned up to steal a kiss.

“You seem very happy.” Jon pointed out from behind them, holding out two cups of tea for them.

“I am,” Gerry said with a smile.

“You two just make me very happy.”

“You’re a sap.” Jon pointed out, pushing on his tiptoes to press a kiss against Gerry’s jaw.

“You love me anyway.”

“We do.” Martin agreed.

@everythingisstardust

#nat writes #jgm #gerrymartin #magical library au #tma #martin blackwood #gerard keay #jonathan sims

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divagonzo · 3 years

Text

Knackered

A/N: Praying this the start of the writer’s block crumbling away...

While I didn’t know about any Secret Santa exchanges (and being low on spoons) I did get some mild inspiration to write tonight. This goes out to everyone flying solo tonight at home, missing friends and family in the middle of all this madness and mayhem.

May your new year be better than the last one.

Note: This was partially inspired by my getting completely pissed Christmas night and posting an AMA and getting nothing. So tonight I’m sober and listening to Rand purring while asleep in my arms, while I wrote this up.

Rated PG-15/15/M for alcohol consumption to excess, consequences of drinking way too much, and some citrus notes at the end. 98% ace safe.

Demarcation line for 2021 damnit!

Hermione was sitting at home, in her favorite chair by the fire, completely pissed.

Harry was at work and so was Ron. Ginny was off at Holyhead for the New Year's Day match against Puddlemere. Luna was off... somewhere doing Merlin knows what and her parents were in Ibiza on Holiday and patently didn't invite her along. Their relationship was hardly there anymore. She felt that painfully with every day she didn’t hear from them.

Hermione gave Kreacher the night off and bade him a good night. She went to her beaded bag, which was beyond time for replacing yet she found she couldn't do an hour without it within reach, and pulled out a large brown paper sack containing two bottles she had picked up from Gerry's Wines and Spirits after work. She's popped in, taking in the selection of items and knowing exactly what she wanted tonight for her pity party of one she wanted to have. What kind of world was it that she was celebrating the turn of the new year, a new Millenia, the way some were saying, and all of her friend and family weren't present in her life, whether for work or for holiday. So instead, she'd have a pity party, indulge in more than some wee libations, and fall asleep by the fire tonight since she wouldn't see Ron until Sunday morning.

She wouldn’t see Harry or Ginny until late tomorrow night, if not Sunday morning either. She'd stood in the store, trying to decide on the spirit of her father's tastes - Balvenie, single malt, the older the better, or the tastes of her Mum - Rum, lightly aged, the darker the better. Then again it wasn't like she was going to pop back up to see Aberforth and get a bottle of his Firewhiskey, not after the incident earlier in term and Ginny spouting off on things that shouldn't have been said in front of first years. She had enough for both and settled on that, knowing that she could take the other as a gift to the parents if she didn't indulge in them herself. Once Kreacher was off for the night, she plated some cheese and pickles and other finger foods and stood at the counter in the kitchen trying to decide on which. She settled on the Scotch her father loved drinking - Balvenie - and she opened the top of the bottle she'd chosen and took a sniff. Compared to her father's tastes, this one smelled a delight, with the color of Ron's hair with the evening sun drifting through it, reminding her of a particularly lovely evening at the Burrow out beyond the pond where he'd made love to her before they fell asleep under the stars. "Accio glass," she thought and a small heavy glass hit her hand easily. four ice cubes tinkled on the sides of the glass before she poured a full measure - two fingers, if she recalled, and took her plate and drink with her back to her chair by the fireplace.

"I better lock up before I start in on this," she muttered to no one, not even Crookshanks, and pointed her wand at the fire, locking the fireplace for the night. Even then locked was subjective, since Ron and Ginny and Harry could easily bypass the fireplace with the wards in place. Bill saw to that, strengthening the enchantments on Grimmauld Place when Harry moved in permanently the previous Summer. It was Harry’s residence but he also allowed Ron and Ginny in since he was also the Secret Keeper. Sure she had a book, and her small and less than filling meal, and would miss her best friends on this cold night in London. But she had to let them live their lives on their terms, not on hers. She'd promised herself that once Ron and Harry made the Aurors and Ginny signed off on her contract - that she would keep quiet on the nights she would be home alone, by herself, no friends to speak of to have any sort of company. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, savoring how smooth the beverage was on her lips. Then she reached for the little bit of prosciutto and brie and took a bite, then another drink before setting it down to read by the fire. It wasn't like Ron didn't know how she felt about his work, or how he stretched himself too thin sometimes, working full time with the Aurors and then so many extra hours with George. While the Aurors have him the notoriety and professional satisfaction he needed and craved, George was where he made his money, with his ideas and creativity. He had a real knack for coming up with an idea, one that George could run with, and make something of it, then refining it to sell it for profit. Just the few ideas of his that made it to production were enough to pay for their upcoming vacation to Athens, even if it was in the off-season but their first real vacation as a couple, for the two of them, and no finding parents or enormous stress behind finding them.

She picked up the glass and found it empty. "Accio Balvenie," she said aloud and waited, seeing it eventually settle down on the table in front of her. She poured another measure of the caramel brown distilled liquor, enjoying the taste enough to not mind the other effects, of which she wanted to enjoy, like quieting the anxiety in her head of Ron coming back to her.

Harry wasn't so much of a worry, given that Ron was there too. They had a sibling kind of love, one involving the occasional row and some days of not talking to one another, but deep down there was the respect and love forged in fire between them. One short conversation with Ginny was all it took to make things right for them, especially after burying the past actions that affected and harmed so much.

She'd been given a third chance and by God! She was going to not throw it away.

The plate forgotten, Hermione poured another measure. She hadn't been this inebriated since that night in Australia, where she had a meltdown to rival anything she'd had in her youth, and gotten pissed on brandy from a local store, hiding in the bathroom drinking heavily until she passed out. Ron eventually returned to find her, sobbing into a stinking toilet. Ron pulled her from the toilet seat, crying her eyes out and smelling of used brandy. He tidied her up, gave her a few glasses of water, tucked her into bed in his arms and let her sleep for almost twenty four hours.

It was the first time she'd truly felt alive after all the shite they'd gone through the previous year, including magically altering her parents memories to erase her from their existence. It was only earlier that night, before she ran out of their rented house on the Gold coast, apparating to the location nearest to the wizarding hotel they were staying in, and then spent half the night walking the streets, drinking brandy until the wee hours of the morning until she stumbled into their shared room, waking Ron from his fitful slumber, and promptly retching up everything she'd eaten in the past year.

Through all of the tears, the rage, the anguish, Ron was there, cleaning up her mess, tending her tenderly, and listening to everything and letting her vent her spleen of everything in her soul.

"Why couldn't he be home tonight when I need him?"

She picked up the bottle and poured one more, knowing that she would have a repeat of that night on the Gold Coast if she had more than that. She was a lightweight compared to Ron and Ginny, for sure, as long as it wasn't a particular kind of elf-made wine. Firewhiskey they could drink like a grouper and suffer no ill effects but a glass of elf made wine and they were having her reaction after too much brandy.

"Damn it, who schedules a raid on New Year's Evening? What bloody criminal is so mental to be out committing crimes worth catching tonight? I need Ron home, in bed with me."

She had a sniff and finished the liquor in her glass, looking forlornly at the fireplace. "I need him home to quiet the noise in my head. It's too loud in there."

Crookshanks came strolling in, purring loudly, having chased something earlier upstairs. He wasn’t Ron but he would certainly do for now.

"Ready for a quiet nap in my lap?"

Sure enough, the territorial bundle of furr jumped in her lap and started kneading her legs, turning circles before purring as he fell asleep.

"At least I can comfort someone," She said to herself before falling asleep, the book in her hands forgotten in her inebriated slumber.

*******************

Hermione stirred, hearing a noise from the kitchen. She checked her watch, seeing it was past one am, and heard it again. "Kreacher must be back," she said to herself before hearing what sounded like a glass breaking and a "oh shite," erupting.

Crookshanks jumped down when she wobbled up onto her shaky legs, pulling the black walnut wand from her hidden holster on her arm. While she was far from sober, the magic she felt growing inside along with the bone deep terror of someone in the house with her was enough to focus her mind on the coming task - seeing who was breaking things in their kitchen.

She stumbled slightly along the wall, using it to support herself up while holding the wand in her right, keeping a nasty curse at the front of her mind. Auror Jones taught her a few things she hadn't sussed out that would be just a hair under the line of being illegal curses.

A light at the bottom of the stairs lit up someone in the kitchen, bent over the cooling cabinet. She took two steps and heard the step creak. "Shite," she said aloud, bringing her wand up.

And felt it soaring from her hands, landing in the outstretch hand of the person at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hermione?"

Ron stepped into the lights and she felt some relief wash over her followed by a moment of abject terror.

"It's me. Christmas night I read a chapter of Hogwarts, a History, to you when you had trouble falling asleep."

Hermione took a step and felt her legs giving out, falling firmly on her bum on a step. "Whoa, easy there." Ron was up the stairs in a flash, picking her up and bringing her downstairs to sit at the enormous dining table in the kitchen. "Why are you home? Was I asleep that long? Is it Sunday morning?" Ron sniffed. "You had alcohol, didn't you?"

She felt defensive a moment before that thought evaporated in her brain haze. "Yes I did. It's New Year's Eve and you were at work. I was all alone so I said I'd have a pity party." She looked him up and down. "Why are you home? And where is Harry?" "He's still at work, writing up some reports. I'm home because our mission ended early. We caught him almost immediately and I'm caught up on my work so Robards sent me home early, said that there were enough bailiffs and aurors on duty that he didn't need me tonight." He turned around and when he turned back he had a glass of water for her. “Drink up," he said softly. She did as he asked and felt a little better. "Do you want me to get a sobering potion from the cabinet? You know we keep them now for these occasions." "Yes, please," her voice was tiny compared to his. He laughed but did as she asked, handing her a vial of what looked like had been drug from the bottom of the Thames. "I hate this potion," she said aloud and chugged down the 45ml of potion, fighting the gagging reflex on the consistency of it. Slowly the fog lifted from her mind, negating all of the alcohol in her system. Ron knelt down in front of her, looking worried. "Drinking while home alone isn't a good idea, Hermione." "I know but I missed you terribly. I am being selfish, expecting you to be home when I want you here and not when you are here. It's foolish of me." "No it's not, but we can talk about it tomorrow after we've had some sleep. I'm knackered and I know you are too, just by looking at you." She stood hugging him tightly. "Quiet the storm in my mind before we fall asleep, please?" She looked up and saw him smile softly. "Promise me that you'll sleep 'til noon tomorrow if I do? I need the sleep too, ya know? And if you wake early, let me sleep in?"

The look of love on his face melted her. She’d do anything to see that smile she loved. He gave it to her willingly, without reservations, never holding back. That was part of why she loved him so much.

”I will. Promise.” Ron held her tight before she felt the magic surround them for the short apparition trip upstairs to their bedroom, for a fast and dirty session before she would sleep for hours - or at least let him sleep in. It was the absolutely least thing she could do for him coming home to her early.

#Dragon's Fic #HP fic #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #inspired by RL events #aka Dragon got pissed on firewhiskey last Friday night #and it's too far from @knightandbooks prompt in my inbox for cheerful drunk hermione #so have some maudlin Hermione and Crookshanks #98% Ace Safe #tw:#tw: alcohol consumption

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starrypawz · 2 years

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53 or 65 or the "75 random dialog prompts". For Nemo & Gerry :)

Sorry anon if you see this this is a very late fill

AO3

I went with “Of course you’re tired, you haven’t slept in two days.” 75 Random Dialogue Prompts

Smut under the cut, fun fact the plan for this was a 'I'll just write something simple to chill out after a hard work week' but my brain and my work schedule had other ideas so this took longer to write than planned

Nemo watches from the sofa as Gerry paints. Drawn to the way the long lilac skirt patterned with moons and stars flows as he subtly moves and not to mention the very nice view they have of his bare back as they've taken in now it shifts as he works and the way his dark hair which now falls just past his shoulder blades hangs loose over one shoulder.

Over time he’s taken over a corner of Nemo’s living room for when the mood strikes him to work on a bigger art piece.

Not that Nemo minds one bit.

They've found in the now increasingly rare moments they're apart how the sight of that corner with it's paint splattered drop cloth (Actually a cheap old bedsheet from a charity shop that at one point had likely been on the bed of someone’s grandmother with a penchant for rosebuds) and whatever he's bringing to life reminds them of him and more importantly be reminded of the fact he has to come back and that he will come back.

When he’s working like this Nemo curls up comfortably on the sofa, sometimes with a book, sometimes the tv is on low and Nemo’s half pays attention but sometimes they just watch like they are now.

Nemo shifts a little and yawns softly. Late nights are nothing new for either of them if anything they’re the norm but Nemo can feel sleep pulling at them and as tempting as it is they probably shouldn’t fall asleep on the sofa.

They could do what they’d done the night before, walk over, stand on their toes, kiss Gerry on his cheek, say goodnight and Gerry can say he'll join them later.

And he had, much later after a day of him being seemingly consumed with the need to paint like his life depended on it. He’d tried to quietly slip into bed so as not to disturb Nemo but they’d heard him anyway and had felt the bed dip slightly and more importantly felt the press of his body against their back as he settled down and pulled them in close.

Today has been much the same. Gerry running on frantic artistic energy and coffee (although Nemo had managed to get him to take a couple of breaks to actually eat)

Nemo slips off the sofa and crosses over to where Gerry works and slips their arms around his waist.

Gerry gives an affectionate (and tired) chuckle.

“Bed time?”

Nemo mumbles against his back, “I want you to come to bed with me,”

“I’m not,” Gerry pauses as he bites down on a yawn, “Quite done yet,”

“Please,” Nemo rocks slightly as they hold him tighter and he rocks with them paintbrush still in hand, Nemo’s hands wander to tease around his navel piercing and Gerry tenses in anticipation.

“Little ghost-” He breathes as their fingers brush against the sensitive skin and he's torn between chuckling at the way it tickles and moaning as his mind runs thoughts that being heat to his cheeks.

“Come to bed big bat, cuddle me,” He’s pretty sure he can hear Nemo pout and he chuckles affectionately.

“I just need to…” Gerry bites down on another yawn, looks at his canvas as he tries to remember exactly what he was doing, “I’m nearly done… I just need to finish this whilst I…”

He blinks and catches his lip as he feels Nemo tug at the ring in his navel. Sends a pleasant little jolt that runs up his spine then back down then another as Nemo mouths, lips soft against his back as they follow his spine. Sleepfog is clouding the edges of his mind but as always he feels his body respond to Nemo's touches.

Gerry rocks softly as Nemo holds him tightest and rocks with him as they continue mouthing at his back and playing with his piercing.

“You need to sleep,” Nemo sighs as they mumble into his back the vibration against his back is an oddly pleasant sensation.

“I’m not that tired,”

Gerry reaches for the now very cold cup of coffee that sits on the salvaged bedside dresser that had become a resting place for cups of coffee and various pieces of artistic paraphernalia. Like the dropcloth the fake pine finish has been splattered with paint.

He tenses at the last moment when he realises he’s not looking into a cold cup of coffee. Instead he’s lifted the other mug on the dresser, another cheap charity shop find of that odd pale almost minty green colour style of crockery that seemed to mostly inhabit church halls or otherwise liked to lurk in the back of cupboards in communal breakrooms, lying in wait behind novelty mugs of varying sizes and designs just waiting for the day someone is desperate enough to use it rather than being the poor sod to deal with the washing up.

Nemo feels him tense.

“You nearly drunk your paint water didn’t you?” Nemo sighs affectionately.

Gerry chuckles weakly, “And you still don’t believe me if you say it’s part of the process,”

“Nope,”

“I’m… not that tired” Gerry sighs, “Honestly, I’m fine-”

He tries to focus on the canvas in front of him, he’s close, so close this is almost finished. Several days of frantic artistic focus stemming from countless sketches to something more refined and now it’s on the canvas and it’s nearly done, paintbrush in hand and…

But Nemo’s against his back, their lips are soft against his skin and they’re playing with his navel piercing and maybe the last few days are starting to catch up with him and he’s about to admit out loud Nemo’s probably right and he is actually tired and then… and then…

Nemo bites.

Gerry bites down on his lip but a whisper of a whimper escapes as at the soft sting.

“Nemo!”

Nemo giggles against his back before he feels their tongue run over where they’ve just bitten.

“Come to bed,” Nemo huffs tugs on his navel piercing harder this time before they raise up on their toes and their hands wander upwards, “And don’t you dare say you’re not tired again, you are you’ve not really slept for a couple of days,”

The slight shift in tone from Nemo as they get firm with him sends and answering ripple down his spine (and apparently straight to his cock) and he shivers and tenses with anticipation as he leans into Nemo’s touch as their fingers seek out his nipples.

Ever since he’s piercings have healed, Nemo's been a complete menace.

(“Making up for lost time” As they’d put it)

(Not that he minds one bit)

Gerry shudders. He was already on the edge of too sensitive before making either the most questionable or the best decision in his life to get pierced and now Nemo just needs to give the slightest brush of their fingers against him and he’s almost gone.

“Nemo…” He almost whimpers as Nemo brushes their thumbs over his nipples and gently tug on his piercings.

“Come to bed?” Nemo asks again and tugs a little harder and Gerry moans softly,, “Please?”

Gerry manages to chuckle, “I thought you wanted me to cuddle?”

“I do,” Nemo huffs as they mouth at his back.

“You do?” Gerry smirks, “As it feels like you’re trying to get me hard, little ghost,”

He shudders as Nemo bites him again, harder.

“I mean I am trying to get you into bed,” Nemo sighs and then Gerry feels them grin against his back, “Are you getting turned on?”

“Maybe you should check?” Gerry chuckles.

Nemo lingers for a few moments, fingers ghosting the edge of his nipples before they start to work slowly down his chest. Fingers trace over the soft sensitive skin of his stomach, Gerry shudders, it tickles as always but mostly draws soft moans from Gerry as the touches mostly seem to go right to his cock and feels himself twitch against his boxers. Nemo’s fingers tug at his navel piercing and he answers with a breathy, low moan. Nemo lingers for a few moments before their fingers skim the waistband of his skirt.

He tenses in anticipation of Nemo’s hand disappearing down the front of his skirt. He shudders as Nemo’s fingers run over his hip bones then take a brief detour up his side. He squirms as Nemo brushes just under his ribs and Nemo chuckles before they work their way down before their fingers slip under his waistband but their hand is going… backwards?

And then

Gerry jolts

“Nemo!”

Nemo chuckles and squeezes his arse again and he chuckles back and Gerry leans back into their palm as they cup him gently.

“Can you blame me?” Nemo grins the soft cotton of his boxers under his fingers as they work their way to the front.

Gerry moans as Nemo squeezes him softly before they run their hand over the length of him and Gerry answers the pleased little purr from the back of Nemo’s throat with a shudder as Nemo mouths at his back. Gerry bites down on his lip, lets his head loll back as he gets lost for a few moments in the sensation of Nemo teasing him through his boxers, the slight friction of soft cotton against his cock as he feels himself harden more under their touch and the way that Nemo continues to mouth and nip at his back.

(Gerry has a feeling there’ll be marks there come the morning. He hopes there’lll be marks there come the morning)

He tenses his paint splattered hands, he doesn’t remember putting the brush down but apparently he’s done so at some point whilst Nemo’s been teasing him. Moans as he feels Nemo’s hand slip into his boxers, their (as always) slightly cool fingers brush against his heated skin and he twitches under their touch before Nemo’s fingers tease his head and he picks up a low, aroused moan from Nemo as their thumb runs over his slit and finds it already slick with precum and their fingers wrap around him and brush that spot just under the head that always makes him shudder.

“So…” Gerry manages with a strained chuckle, “Think I’m turned on?”

“Just a little,” Nemo chuckles as they continue to tease him as best as they can with one hand fingers wrapped around him as they jerk him off and squeeze.

And it’s enough to make Gerry’s head swim in a way that can’t be blamed on a lack of sleep as he rocks into Nemo’s hand as he bites down on his lip as one of his knees shakes in a way that both tells him how turned on he is and also threatens him with the age old ‘sit down before you fall down’

“Nemo…”

Nemo squeezes him harder in response with an aroused chuckle and then gives a squeak of surprise as Gerry grabs their wrist and gently but firmly pulls their hand away from his cock which his body protests.

Next thing Nemo registers is the way they are spun and lifted and he’s kissing them hard and biting and Nemo’s brain guesses they’re heading for the bedroom but instead he crosses over to the sofa and Nemo’s gently dropped and lands with a slight bounce.

“Bend over,” Gerry manages, as he strips out of the skirt, fabric hitting the floor with a soft thump and his boxers follow shortly after as he slightly awkwardly kicks them off his foot and Nemo takes in the sight of him naked, slightly paint splattered and very hard and Nemo swallows hard in response and tenses their thighs.

“Nemo,” His voice low and firm in a way that makes Nemo bite their lip even if his voice shakes a little as he speaks before they position themself over the arm of the sofa.

“Good…” He rasps slightly as he rucks up Nemo’s shirt. (Actually one of his) Runs a hand over Nemo’s back and takes a moment to cup one of their tits with his hand and Nemo squirms before he runs a hand over their stomach and palms between their legs and gives a low aroused noise as Nemo rocks into his palm. “So wet for me,”

Then he tugs Nemo’s underwear down and Nemo awkwardly kicks them off their ankle. Nemo shudders as his hands run over their arse before they slip between their thighs and spread their legs. Gerry drops to his knees and Nemo moans as they feel his tongue run against their folds and their nails dig into their hips just enough to feel.

“Gerry!” Nemo squirms.

Gerry gives a low, choked chuckle as he pauses, “You’re such a tart,”

Nemo despite everything giggles but it’s quickly replaced with a moan as they feel his tongue slip inside as they tease even more as they gently fuck them on theoir tounge and Nemo squirms as their fingers grasp at the sofa cushions before he stands again and Nemo feels him press the head of his cock against their entrance as their clit twitches.

“Ready?”

“Yes,”

Nemo moans low and deep as he slips in and he answers in kind as he bottoms out and pushes down on Nemo’s back to keep them in place with their head down and arse up as he begins to rock slowly and Nemo gives a muffled moan into the sofa.

“Head up,” He manages, less firm than he intends. Nemo whimpers as he hits deep as he reaches out to grab the short curly hair at the back of Nemo’s head and tugs their head up gently, “I… want to hear you,”

And hear them he does. Despite the growing fatigue gnawing at him he somehow manages to find something in him that gives him a good shot at fucking Nemo hard, fast and deep if slightly off kilter and Nemo is easily tipped over the edge into whimpering, moaning mess but not quite enough to cum again. Gerry’s hand shakes as he let’s their hair go and he runs a hand over their back and lets his nail just dig in enough to feel.

“Fuck…” Gerry pants his already erratic rhythm slightly thrown off as he nears the edge, “I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me then,” Nemo whimpers out not sure if it’s a plead or a demand, “Fill me up,”

Gerry grunts something in response that Nemo can’t quite make out. Somehow he’s able to shift things to rub at Nemo’s clit as he cums and Nemo whimpers under him and tenses around him again as Gerry gives a few weaker thrusts and it’s enough to send Nemo over the edge as they moan into a cushion they’ve somehow grabbed whilst being fucked.

Gerry pants as he comes down with a chuckle as he gently rubs at Nemo’s stomach, “Did you really say… fill me up?”

“Shut up,” Nemo teases back. Gerry braces himself against the arm of the sofa and gently pulls Nemo against his chest. Nemo perched on the sofa and somehow still seated on his cock. But neither of them are in the headspaces to work out the specifics of exactly how they pulled that off. More focused on the pleasant way their heads are swimming.

“Now…” Nemo shudders as Gerry lightly nips at their neck, “Are you finally going to come to bed and cuddle me,” And bites down on a giggle as he runs their fingers over his stomach then moans softly as they feel him push against their stomach slightly.

“As you wish little ghost,” Gerry mumbles against their neck before he carefully somehow manages to move Nemo off his cock and Nemo tenses up in a way that hopefully spares the sofa (In less impulsive moments one of them would’ve thrown a towel over the sofa) as he shakily stands and Nemo wraps their hands around the back of his neck.

“But first we need to clean up,” Gerry sighs affectionately as he prays his legs don’t give out before they reach the bathroom.

“Bathroom first,”

#tma nemo #gerry keay #gerry delano #attempts at smuttery #ghoststories

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