You can’t help but laugh as you take in your husband’s appearance. A larger version of your son’s football jersey sits loosely on his frame. Matching purple eye black runs under his eyes. You can’t bring yourself to complain though because he looks good. “Isn’t this a little much for peewee football?” you ask him jokingly, running your finger just under the line on his cheek.
“Absolutely not,” he responds before planting a wet kiss to the top of your forehead. “Mark and Jeno are wearing the same thing,” he tells you with a proud smile on his face.
You roll your eyes at his antics. “I’m sure their wives are thrilled about that,” you joke, reaching out to straighten the chains that hang around his neck. “Did you get all dressed up for me or for Melissa?” you ask with a quirk of an eyebrow.
Donghyuck groans at the mention of the team mom of his son’s football team. The woman really needs to learn to keep her hands to herself. She may be single but he sure as hell is not. “Only you baby,” he says, wrapping his hand around your wrist to halt your movements.
You look up at him again and he smirks back down at you. Without wasting a second, his lips are on yours, working fervently against your mouth. Just as you grant his tongue access, there’s a small shout of “Mom!” from across the hallway and you separate.
“We’ll continue this later,” you tell him, side stepping around the bed to head to your son’s room. Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to give your ass a little smack when you do so. You roll your eyes and give him the finger over your shoulder.
Thirty minutes later, everyone is situated in the car. Your son chatters happily about how excited he is, while your husband listens and nods from the driver’s seat. His hand is lazily thrown over the console, loosely holding your own.
Donghyuck has barely put the car in park at the complex when your son grabs his bag and practically sprints out of the car. You both watch as he approaches the field, joining his team to put on his gear and warm up. A small contented sigh leaves your mouth. You lean back against the headrest and close your eyes.
You’re only granted a few moments of peace before your husband disturbs you. His hand slips from its place on the console to your upper thigh, where he gives it a quick squeeze. Your eyes shoot open. “Hyuck…” you warn.
“‘...’m not doing anything,” he mumbles, eyes zeroed in on the plush skin underneath his hand.
A scoff escapes you at his statement. You don’t get a chance to shoot back a smart remark, because his other hand reaches out and pulls your face towards him. Before you know it, his lips are crashing against yours. His mouth moves roughly against your own and you can feel your own desire increasing by the second. You reach up, placing your hands on either side of his face and pulling him closer.
Your little moment is quickly interrupted by a knock on the driver’s side window. When Donghyuck turns his head, you catch a glimpse of Mark with his hands in his pockets and a disgruntled look on his face. Unsurprisingly, his outfit matches your husband’s to a tee. Hyuck rolls down the window.
“You guys are nasty little voyeurs, man. We’re at a children’s football game,” Mark calls out to you both. “Game starts in 15 minutes,” he continues, looking down at his watch. “And you might want to fix that,” he says, gesturing to the eye black that mirror’s Donghyuck’s, before turning around and walking back to his wife.
Sure enough, when your husband turns back to you, the purple has smudged further down his cheek. “Sorry,” you giggle to him, while reaching out to fix it as best as you can.
One of his hands reaches down to rest on your thigh again. “Our son is going to sleep pretty well after this game, right?” he asks you.
“Probably, why?” you ask as you lean back to observe your work.
Donghyuck leans down and presses his lips to your ear before whispering, “I want to give him a sibling.” You smack his chest as hard as you can and he leans back, howling in laughter.
“Great,” you tell him with a deadpan expression. “Now I’m going to be wet walking into my son’s football game.”
His Adam’s apple bobs in response. “Mmm maybe I should keep it up. Would probably keep Melissa away,” he teases.
You smack him again. “Stop talking about another woman when you just said you wanted to put a baby in me.”
Donghyuck simply smirks in response before turning off the car and unbuckling his seatbelt. He whips his head toward you, taking you by surprise. “Last to the field has to do the dishes tonight,” he says, before sprinting out of the car the same way his son had. You shake your head before running after him.
Namjoon looks at you with certainty in his gaze, so sure and so brave. But there is a tremble in his hands on your waist -that’s still yet to fill out with your child, yours, isn’t that crazy- that reminds you that he’s just a boy.
Just a boy still, like you’re just a girl.
But at this moment - with the roaring screams of the fans muted by distance, the sun painting the planes of his face with oranges and yellows, and him standing in front of you, choosing you — you are in love and that’s enough to conquer the world.
such a sad love (deep in your eyes) + the uprising, please!
such a sad love (deep in your eyes)
“You’ve got noone to blame but yourself, you know.” He gives her a smile shedoesn’t seem to appreciate at all. He smiles wider. “If youhadn’t gone and fallen in love with the kid-”
“You are notabout to blame me for my own imprisonment, are you?”
John’salways liked Jemma. She’s got moxie.Even wrist-deep in a corpse, surrounded by Hydra agents, her whiteknight a continent away, she’s still giving him lip.
Flowersis in the corner, watching the exchange like a hawk, but that’sjust her style. This whole Hydra thing’s thrown her for a loop—herand the rest of the planet, John included—andshe’s taking her time getting the lay of the land, making sureshe’s got it rightthis time around. He might as well make sure she realizes exactlywho’s in charge around here.
Hesteps closer to Jemma, really looms.“I am,” he says nicely. “I ordered a highly coveted honeypotspecialist to seduce you and you’re the genius who let herself fallfor it.”
Pinkrises in those pretty little cheeks. It’s cute. John gets whatGrant sees in her.
Hereaches into the corpse, wraps his fist around one of the tumorsRaina’s GH-325 knockoff caused. He twists. Connective tissues tear,icy juices flow over his knuckles, that familiar squelching soundthat can only be soft flesh fills the stillness of the lab. He lifts thebloody mass. Jemma’s eyes stay fixed on his face.
“Andnow you’re gonna fix thisbefore yournew favorite TV program getscanceled.” He drops thetumor back into the open chest cavity. Jemma jumps back but doesn’tentirely avoid the splatter. The red is stark against her white labcoat, but where it caught her blouse it blends in real nice with thosepretty little flowers.
Notthat she notices. Her jump was instinctive, her focusis on the TV set he’s had set up in here for her. Cheap littleblack and white thing still gives a good picture.
John hisses indisappointment while he wipes off his hands. “Lookslike you’re running out of time,” he says. The feed from Grant’seye is showing Bruce Banner leaning in uncomfortably close, squintingat the damn thing. Looks like Phil’s desperate enough to mend hisbridges with the Avengers, it’s only a matter of time before theyget the eye out of Grant’s skull. And John’s not about to letthat happen.
“Howdo I even know you’ll hold to your end of the bargain?” Jemmaasks. She’s trying to sound all cool and collected but there’sthat little tremor, the one that says I’m an emotional little woman afraid of watching my lover die. “Grant’smade it clear he won’t return to Hydra, no matter the threat youhold over him, not now it’s out of the shadows.”
Johnturns his back on the footage. “And that doesn’t strike you as alittle hypocritical? He was more than happy to do our dirty work whenno one was the wiser but now he’s gotta be honestabout it-”
“Don’ttry to turn this around,” Jemma snaps. “You’re the onebalancing his life against my good behavior.”
Johnlets himself smile again, nice and slow. “That’s right. I am. Andhe’s the ungrateful little prick who turned his back on Hydra,abandoned me in my hour of need, abandoned you.So I’m itching to give the order, princess, make no mistake aboutthat. If it comes down to it, if it looks like they’re really gonnaget the damn thing out? I hope you’ve got your black dress allpicked out.”
Sheswallows.
“Unlessyou give me my miracle drug first. For that, I’ll forgive andforget.”
Ittakes her a few beats to compose herself. Tears shimmer in those doeeyes of hers, her throat works, and all the while Raina watches fromthe shadows, calculating. Always calculating. That’s what Johnlikes about her.
“That’sstill not proof,” Jemma manages.
“No.It’s not.” She’s not looking at him so he tips her chin up,lets her see his honesty. “But you’ve known me long enough now toknow I’m not lying about wanting him dead. Your choices are forsure he dies or maybe he dies. You really gonna tell me you’ll takethe done deal over the chance? Because if you’d rather, I can blowhim right now.” He lets her go to reach for his phone.
Shecatches his arm, her eyes back on the screen. “No! No. I’ll doit. Just- just don’t hurt him anymore. Please.”
Hepats her cheek, kisses her hair while he steps past her. “That’smy girl.” She squirms under the attention, disgusted by him. That’shalf the fun though. “Get it done,” he orders as he steps outinto the hall. Time limit orno, he’s sure she’ll manage. After all, he’s already got a teamon the way to Sheffield to see about picking up her parents, just in case he needs some new incentive.
“These are so cute,” you mutter, lifting another one of the pictures off the table. The wedding is finally settling down a bit, a few people out on the dance floor while others talk amongst themselves at the tables. The rest of your tablemates have scattered around the room, leaving only you and Jeno.
Your boyfriend has his arm wrapped around the back of your chair, gazing down at the picture in your hands. “Mhm,” he hums, “should save that to a Pinterest board for our wedding.”
He says it so casually you almost choke on air. “Our wedding? You want to marry me?” you question. Now, you and Jeno have been dating for quite some time now. But not enough to truly, seriously talk about marriage. Nothing more than a few casual conversations about what the future could hold. Yet he says those words like you’re already engaged.
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “You do want to get married, right?” He seems a little tentative now. Like he’s worried that he scared you off.
You’re quick to ease the tension. “Of course I want to get married. I just didn’t think you’d bring it up so nonchalantly like that.”
He smiles back at you with that crinkle in his eyes you love so much. Removing his hand from the back of your chair, he reaches out to grab the picture from you. He looks down at it with admiration. “I can already think of the pictures we could use,” he admits. “Like that one of you sleeping in the laundry basket. That one is cute.”
You giggle at his statement. “Okay,” you concede. “But only if we get to include the one where you are blowing bubbles with that weird pinwheel hat on.”
He sets the picture down, ruffling your hair a bit. “I think someone has had one too many of these,” he teases, pushing your champagne glass further away from you. You roll your eyes at him.
Jeno goes to say something once again, but is interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He turns around to see your little cousin, her eyes pointed bashfully toward the floor and rocking on her heels. “Hello Aria,” he says, provoking her to actually look at him. “Whatcha need?”
She looks at you hesitantly before looking back toward your boyfriend. “Can you…dance with me, Jeno?” she whispers. The question has you realizing that the song has now switched to something slower, a few couples adorning the dance floor. How cute, you think to yourself.
“Of course,” he responds, grinning down at the girl. Before she knows it, Jeno is scooping her up, carrying her to the dance floor. You can hear her giggles fade as they reach the other side of the room.
Taking a breath, you look back toward the table, grabbing your champagne glass and another picture. Your moment of peace doesn’t last long though, because someone plops down in the seat next to you less than a minute later. When you look up, you spot your grandmother. “It’s a shame you didn’t participate in the bouquet toss. I was hoping you two would be next,” she taunts, looking pointedly at you.
You set the items down, opting to run your hands over your face in embarrassment. “Ah, grandma!” you complain. “You know we don’t believe in superstitious stuff like that. We’ll get there in our own time.”
She nods in understanding, but still smirks. Leaning closer to you, she begins to whisper. “You two would make me some beautiful grandbabies.”
Now you’re really blushing. Thoughts of having a mini Jeno running around your grandmother’s house flash through your mind. You try your best to push them away. “Seriously, amma?” you exclaim, though there’s no malice in your voice.
She points across the room. You follow her movements to find Jeno with a bright smile on his face, Aria twirling around in his arms. He reaches down to brush a strand of hair out of her face. You can’t help but gaze longingly at the scene, wishing that it was a daughter of your own. Your grandmother calls your name once more and you turn back to look at her. “If the next wedding I attend isn’t yours, that boy is getting a serious talk from me,” she says smugly. Without another word, she scoots back in her chair, walking back toward her own table.
You steal a glance at the bride and groom’s table. They’re lightly making conversation, her head resting against his shoulder. His arm is wrapped around her shoulder with his hand hanging down to brush comforting strokes down her arm. Maybe that could be you and Jeno sometime soon.
Startled out of your thoughts once again, you see your boyfriend plop down next to you. Your cousin is nowhere to be found, likely back with her parents once again. “What were you and your grandma talking about?” he asks.
“Just about how she thinks you and I should be the next ones to be married. Said that we would make beautiful grandbabies.” you say, repeating her words with your own smirk.
It’s Jeno’s turn to blush, looking down at the floor. “We would,” he admits with a shy smile.
The warmth of your apartment is a welcomed sensation as you set the grocery bags down in the entryway. You can hear faint clanging from the kitchen, probably Jaemin fixing a late lunch for the both of you. There’s a song playing in the background and you recognize it as one of your favorites.
Dusting a bit of snow off your jacket, you begin to shed your outerwear and shoes. Warmth finally begins to seep back into your bones. Once all your items are tucked back in their proper place in the coat closet, you grab the bags and make your way to the kitchen.
Jaemin must hear you approach because he looks over his shoulder from his spot at the stove and beams at you. “How was the store?” he asks softly as you drop the groceries on the counter.
“Good,” you mumble, making your way towards him. He continues to stir whatever he’s cooking as you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his back. “Too cold though,” you say, though it’s barely audible through the material of his shirt.
“Mm,” he hums, “good thing I’m here to warm you up now.” You smile into his back. One of his hands comes down to rest on top of yours, which lay lightly on his stomach. He makes small, comforting strokes up and down your arm.
After a few moments of bliss, you lift your head to rest on top of his shoulder. “Whatcha making?” you whisper against his ear.
His own head comes down to lean against yours. “Just some soup. Figured it's fitting for the weather.” With that statement, you both gaze out the window, where the snow continues to flit towards the ground. You hum in agreement.
There’s a beat of silence as the song playing on his phone ends. The beginning of “I Think They Call This Love” by Elliot James Reay rings out and you gasp. “I love this song!”
“I know,” Jaemin responds as he reaches over to lower the heat on the burner. Turning in your grasp, he leans down to peck a kiss on your forehead. “Dance with me?” he questions once he pulls away.
In that moment, you can’t help but fall a little more in love with him. Giggling softly, you grab his hand and pull him out into the open area of the kitchen. His arms wrap around your waist and you lean to put yours around his neck, before beginning to sway to the beat.
Jaemin has a gentle smile resting on his face, his gaze fixed lovingly on your eyes. The warmth of his hands is comforting on your hips and your heart rate picks up just a bit. He hums along softly to the chorus. You close your eyes and hum along too. Part of you wishes you could stop time and just live in this moment forever.
But as all things do, the song comes to an end. As the last few notes ring out, he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. Pulling away, he rests his forehead against your own. “I love you,” he mumbles, breath tickling the tip of your nose.
“I love you too,” you whisper back. Your eyes are closed, but you can sense the smile on his face. Silence fills the air as the music stops. Another one of your favorite songs fills the air seconds later. “This is a really good playlist,” you say, opening your eyes to look up at him.
“I’d hope so,” he responds. “It’s named after you.”
hii sorry to bother you. i just wanted to request, if possible, a jaemin timestamp where he loves it when his girlfriend scratches his back? it started when he had an itch, and consistently goes to her now. ty, i rlly love your work <3
10:51 PM
na jaemin x reader
warnings: reader is called girlfriend, fluffy as hell
a/n: hi anon! never worry about bothering me, i'm practically begging for asks :)
“Baby?” you hear Jaemin mumble before an arm is thrown over your waist. Turning away from your phone, you twist in his hold. Tiredness fills his eyes, his lips set into that pout you’ve come to know so well.
“What’s wrong Jaem?” you ask. “I thought you were asleep.” You reach out to brush a stray hair out of his face.
He pouts more, if that’s even possible. “Can’t sleep,” he mumbles, twisting his face into the pillow in embarrassment. It’s quite endearing, if you’re being honest.
“I’m sorry,” you say, inching closer to him on the bed, offering a bit of comfort. “Is there anything I can do?” You know he has to be up early for work tomorrow and you don’t want him to lose his much needed rest.
The second you voice the question, he’s turning back toward you with a twinkle in his eye. “Can you scratch my back?”
He looks so much like a puppy at that moment. His hair tousled from the pillow, eyes wide and looking straight at you. From that moment, you know you’re doomed. “You have an itch once and my title goes from girlfriend to professional back scratcher,” you tease with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “Roll over and take your shirt off,” you tell him.
Jaemin chooses to ignore your little jab and poke fun at your other statement instead. “I like it when you’re bossy,” he states, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. You simply sigh in response to his innuendo. He takes it as a sign to actually follow your directions.
In the meantime, you can’t help but admire your boyfriend’s physique. The muscles in his back ripple as he lifts the shirt over his head and adjusts himself once again on the bed. Before you can even start your task, he’s mocking you once again. “I can feel you staring.”
You roll your eyes for real this time. “Oh so I can’t admire my own boyfriend now?” He just hums in response as you begin to run your fingers over his back. Your nails scratch slightly against his skin and goosebumps begin to spread.
He lets out a little breathy sigh. “Thank you baby. I needed this.” You hum now, too immersed in your work to really respond. Your fingers continue to draw shapes along his back and his breathing starts to settle.
Minutes later, you pull your hand away, expecting a protest. When no sound meets your ears, you sit up to look at your boyfriend. He’s peacefully asleep, mouth parted slightly. The air from his breath fans over his face, blowing a few stray strands of hair around. You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight Jaem,” you whisper, settling yourself back onto the bed.
popkin16 asked me about the Devil You Know series and I just started rambling. Like, a long ramble.
It all started with the Sweet Charity Auction in 2009 (late 2008?) when Saldemonium won the bidding on me. She gave me a few prompts including a request for a dark AU where John keeps Rodney as a pet and one for young!Rodney in drag. So I kind of combined them in my head, and the very first scene that came to mind was the harem scene late in Make the Devil Feel Surprise. Of course when I finally got there, John's misogyny prevented me from putting Rodney in actual drag. But after I started messing with the whole idea, that year's SGA Big Bang started up and I asked Sal if she'd mind waiting past the deadline for a longer fic. She didn't. :)
The plot...well, plots are hard for me. The overall arc of the series is actually the progression of John and Rodney's relationship, but there needed to be more than that if I was actually going to write Big Bang length stories. So I came up with the idea that Rodney was going to have to make a choice between saving John or not. And this is actually really problematical because I have issues with "and then he fell in love with his abuser," and this is pretty much a textbook case. I did my best to make Rodney Not a Very Nice Person from the get go, so at least he's not a total victim. In a way, it would have been kind of awesome for Rodney to make sure John didn't survive the coup but, no, that wasn't going to happen.
There's a vague spoiler here--not much of one, just where the third novella is headed, which is really kind of obvious, I think. Also, since I can't do nesting cut tags, there's also a tiny future timestamp ficlet that's got a major character death in it. I'll leave some space or something.
Once I'd written the first one, I realized that the failed coup could easily lead to the State worrying about John and his cult of personality being too powerful, particularly without Elizabeth to balance him some. At that point, I had the overall plot arc of the whole series--John and Rodney's relationship taking place and changing against the backdrop of the State forcing John into a corner so he had no choice but to secede.
That the third and probably (because who knows, I might write more than that) final novella will complete that process isn't really much of a spoiler. It'll be the most complicated and probably the longest one because there's a lot of stuff to work out. I have it partially plotted out and I'm still poking at it and trying to fit bits and pieces in. I also really do want to get out of John and Rodney's POV every once in a while so I'm hoping to do some shorter pieces, including at least a couple from Ronon's POV because he sees and notices more than a lot of people think he does.
So that's pretty much it, although I could probably ramble even further. :)
As for a timestamp...God, I wish I knew where the one I wrote a couple years ago was because while the gist of it is the same as what I'm writing here, it was better. It's essentially the epilogue to the entire series. I'm not sure if I'll actually put it at the end of the last major story or not because it's so many years after the series. If I do it'll be expanded
Anyway, this is at least 15-20 years after the start of the series and contains a major character death.
So it's about 15, maybe as many as 20, years later. John's been horribly injured; he'll never walk again and he's going to need to be on some kind of medical support for the rest of his life. Everyone's there around his bedside in the infirmary with Rodney's standing at the foot of his bed. Rodney's silent while John and Keller and some of the other medical staff argue about how much time John has and how much of a life he can have like this.
Finally John looks at Rodney and says, "do it, boy. You promised."
John hasn't called Rodney "boy" for at least a decade, either in public or in private and Rodney knows what it means and knows that it's as close as John can come to expressing how he feels.
He stares into John's eyes for a long moment and then says the only thing he can say. "Yes, Sir. I did."
And then Rodney pulls his gun out and shoots John clean in the chest--a perfect shot just like John taught him to do all those years ago. He looks at the body for another moment, then turns on his heel and walks out, his eyes dry.
And no one says anything or stops him.
There's no announcement or declaration or vote or anything, but the next morning, when Rodney steps out of their quarters, John's bodyguards are standing outside the door and Namin's waiting with them.
The guards salute, Namin says, "good morning, Commander" and Rodney just nods and walks toward John's office.
