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exhausted Because a cast that pretty (and messed up) demands porn. I mean, honestly.
- Requests and responses go in the comments to this post. Obviously.
- A request should contain both a pairing (or threesome/moresome/whatever) and a kink/prompt.
- One request per comment.
- Anon is a-okay, but not required if you don't feel like it.
- Reciprocity is awesome, so trying to fill at least one prompt per request you make is heartily encouraged.
- Minimum length of fic is 100 words, and the maximum is as long as you damn well want it to be.
- Multiple responses are yay!
- While this is a kink meme, non-kink and gen requests are welcome too.
- THIS IS IMPORTANT: DO NOT HARSH ON ANYONE ELSE'S GLEE, OKAY? All pairings and kinks are okay, even if you personally disapprove/don't like it. Bashing and wank is totally uncool, and I don't particularly want to have to deal with it. So let's all just play nice.
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November 13 2009, 19:19:06 UTC 2 years ago Edited: November 13 2009, 19:21:00 UTC
November 13 2009, 19:56:18 UTC 2 years ago
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Anonymous
November 13 2009, 20:00:48 UTC 2 years ago
November 19 2009, 09:21:02 UTC 2 years ago
Takes place right after the S1 finale. Borderline dub-con?
They rode back to the station in silence, punctuated by Jane slurping on the orange he'd appropriated from somewhere. Lisbon missed his chatter, his little observations about this, that, and the other thing. She wished he'd say something, but he hadn't spoken a single word since he'd aimed that shotgun at Hardy and blown him away like a pheasant.She had no idea how to break his silence. Wasn't sure if she should. The image of him, dropping the gun like it was hot, was seared in her mind.
Jane...had picked up a gun, and saved her life. He hated guns. But he'd done that, for her. It was preposterous. Which was Jane, all over.
They walked into the CBI office to nods and smiles all around, tempered with sadness. They'd found the girl and lost Red John, all in the same evening. The tone of the place was bittersweet. Jane made a beeline for his couch and lay down, arms crossed over his chest. Still wordless. Unnatural.
Okay, this was enough. "Rigsby, give me your tie," Lisbon said.
"My...what?" he asked, mystified.
"Don't ask, just do."
"Okay, boss." He handed it to her.
"Jane, my office. Now."
Ignoring the uneasy glances from the team, she practically yanked Jane into her office and locked the door behind him. She twisted the handle on the blinds, making the room as private as it was possible to be in such a public building.
Finally, a word from him. "Lisbon?"
She stiff-armed him down onto the sofa and decided that his talking was overrated. "Shut up, Jane," she said fiercely. "Just...shut up."
"But--"
And that's when she straddled his lap, wrapped Rigsby's tie around his head, and gagged him with it, stuffing the knot into his mouth.
"Shut up for once and just be, Jane." She yanked his jacket down his back until it effectively immobilized his arms. He started to struggle, eyes wide with sudden alarm, and she said, "Don't make me handcuff you too."
That stilled him. She cradled his face and kissed his cheeks and his suddenly-closed eyes, and felt him go hard beneath her. She rocked against him, and he responded, moaning helplessly into Rigsby's tie as she held his head against her shoulder. He smelled like the orange he'd eaten on the way in, and tasted of sweat and stress and desperation on her lips.
Too many clothes. They were wearing too many clothes, both of them were. She slid off him and peeled out of her slacks and panties, then fumbled at his button and zipper and boxers until he was bare and exposed and staring. He made an interrogative sound, and she straddled him again. "Shut. Up."
He dropped his head to her shoulder in surrender, and she slipped him inside herself like they were both coming home. She tilted her hips, sending him deeper, and whispered in his ear as she lifted, then settled, over and over. "You...have people...who care about you. Don't ever...forget it. Maybe you...want to die. But that...would shatter...the rest of us. So. Don't."
He was close, and she put a finger under his chin and made him look at her. "Don't die." She dropped down, and squeezed her inner muscles, and he came apart under her. His eyes closed, and tears escaped from his lids, but he was still obediently silent. She pressed his face against her shoulder, and he sat there and breathed.
Gradually, he relaxed. "Good," she murmured. "Just be, Jane. Just be in the moment. I know it's not okay for you, and it'll probably never be okay again. I know, okay? But you should lean on us when you have to."
A tiny nod. That was all the acquiescence she'd ever get out of him, she knew. She wanted to cry for him, but she really didn't need the inevitable psychoanalysis that would come with that. So, she controlled herself, with difficulty. Kissing the top of his head, she slid free to grab some tissues for both of them. Rigsby probably wouldn't want his tie back...
This wouldn't fix Jane. Nothing would. But maybe it would fix her.
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November 13 2009, 20:03:27 UTC 2 years ago
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November 13 2009, 22:18:23 UTC 2 years ago
November 14 2009, 10:43:05 UTC 2 years ago
Build and Break (Part 1)
**glances around nervously then abandons fic on doorstep and runs like hell**Rated FRAO, obviously. Minor spoilers for 'Red Bulls' 2.07.
***
“Rigsby, go inside and see if there’s anything in the shooter’s apartment that ties her to the kidnapping,” Lisbon’s voice carried above the commotion as the small crowd dispersed and Van Pelt was loaded into the ambulance.
Rigsby hesitated, but quickly complied with a muttered, “Yes, boss.”
Lisbon turned and instructed softly, “Cho, ride with Van Pelt and make sure she gets set up okay at the hospital. We’ll meet you back at the office.”
Cho nodded knowingly and watched his boss walk way, taking note of the concern underlying her words.
Rigsby appeared suddenly at his side and Cho mentally braced himself for the love-sick worry that he was no doubt about to be bombarded with. It was perfectly obvious that Rigsby was too involved, too close to handle the responsibility of looking out for a colleague right now. Cho knew Rigsby couldn’t help but make it personal, and that was why Lisbon had handed the task over to him. But he respected the man, and wasn’t exactly looking forward to trying to explain this logic to him.
Rigsby leaned toward him conspiratorially and whispered, “Hey, take care of her for me, will you?”
Caught between mild surprise at Rigsby’s lack of resistance to Lisbon’s directions and an overwhelming urge to roll his eyes at his over protectiveness, Cho opted for an expression of reassuring nonchalance.
“Sure, man,” he offered.
He took his responsibilities very seriously, especially those involving his teammates, and had every intention of following through. Loyalty was everything, and this, well, this would be easy enough as far as this job went. At least it wasn’t Jane he had to babysit.
Rigsby didn’t seem to find any solace in his carefully weighed words, but nodded appreciatively and was slowly moving back toward the building.
Cho sighed to himself and wandered over to the ambulance, pulling open the heavy metal doors and climbing into the back. It was an awkward fit, but he managed to slam the doors closed and slide down to the center of the small cushioned bench to Van Pelt’s left.
She glanced at him, but said nothing.
He looked her over carefully, taking stock of the IV in her arm, the oxygen mask at her neck, the cheap utilitarian blue blanket, the strap resting loosely across her waist. It could be worse.
She was still pale and shaky, probably freezing, too.
He knew the feeling. Adrenaline could be staggering, and Cho had experienced his share of close calls. The vest had served him well in the past, but it always stung like hell to take a round to the chest. Still, a few broken ribs were considerably better than the life threatening gunshot wounds that would have resulted otherwise.
She looked upset, and he figured the remaining adrenaline pulsing through her veins and shaking her limbs wasn’t helping the matter. Of course, Cho had his own ways of dealing with the aftermath of an adrenaline rush and considerably more experience.
The bus jerked forward and Van Pelt cringed.
He suddenly felt a little over protective himself and reached out a hand to still the stretcher, irritated with the driver and even more irritated that he was unable to see the man in order to glare at him. A cold hand landed on top of his and he glanced down at it.
“My leg’s still twitching,” she noted, clearly displeased with her inability to control the physiological response of her body. Her red hair was spread over the head rest beneath her, and shifted slightly every time her body shook.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s disturbing.”
She grinned briefly and dropped her hand away, tucking her arm back across her chest. “I wish I could keep still,” she admitted slowly, shallow breaths punctuating her words.
He understood. The incessant movement was painful with broken ribs. He’d told her earlier that the adrenaline would wear off eventually, but he knew all too well how long that would take.
The bus hit a bump in the road and she gasped, clenching her eyes shut. She didn’t seem to be improving at all, and Cho found this troubling.
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November 13 2009, 22:56:05 UTC 2 years ago
Jane and Cho are dancing around an almost-relationship (I could so buy Cho as doing friends with benefits.) and Jane can't/won't have sex with him, but keeps flirting and pretending that he's just being "friendly". Somehow it comes to a point where they have to talk it out. Bonus for hurt/comfort, triple bonus and a whole internet (think of all the TUBES!) for hurt/comfort immediately before/during/right after sex.
November 13 2009, 23:37:42 UTC 2 years ago
Prison Fic!
I want prison fic. Nasty, cruel, evil MEAN prison fic with Jane. And torture. Lots of torture. Hurt comfort optional, torture is not.Anonymous
November 14 2009, 19:39:07 UTC 2 years ago
2nded!
I mean, after Jane went through prison (alright, county lockup) last week without so much as a scratch, I kinda want to see him get taught a lesson and sustain serious hurt in that kind of scenario.Anonymous
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November 18 2009, 08:11:39 UTC 2 years ago
Lie with me a while (1/3ish)
Blood is a curious liquid. It explores like a cat, trailing its way into places you’ll never get clean, Teresa (she is Teresa here, if nowhere else) mused.Jane pulled at his bonds (he is Jane here still, and always will be), testing them. Teresa had pinned him to the bed like a butterfly in a shadow box, broad leather cuffs on each limb, steel chains from the hardware store tied tightly to the sturdy wooden bed frame. There was very little give, and Jane smiled peacefully, relaxing into crumpled white sheets.
His smile was the first thing she noticed about him, in the beginning. It was the lovely lies in it that made her curious. Jane made them look so happy.
Teresa reached over to the bedside table, grateful for Jane’s blindfold. She didn’t like him looking at her. He was so bright in the lamp light, and it was the alluring light of temptation. If he were to look at her she would be gone, ice melting into warm honey from the smile in his eyes. Here, his smile slowly lost its mad edge, softening enough to be called human.
The knife was in her hand and, as always, she didn’t know if she could to this. She hovered over him, not touching, just watching. His smile was serene.
He opened his mouth to speak, and she ran the knife down the centre of his chest, a thin red line that barely drew blood. Jane twitched and then lay still. Teresa released the breath she was holding.
Platitudes, such as the first time is always the hardest, are true. Now that she could see the blood, it tugged at her, at something instinctual. The next cut will be easier, she thought to herself. She held her breath again, somehow convinced that that small control of herself would make a difference.
This time she slips the knife through the thin skin of his belly, over the vulnerable viscera. Jane tried to rise up, and push into the knife. Teresa sat across his thighs and pinned his shoulder to the bed. He sighed.
She laid the knife on the white sheets, the blood on it staining them in smeared patches of red. The sheets were new. They always were.
Teresa leaned in, hand hovering over the newest cut. It bled sluggishly, the first out pouring of blood slowing already. She dropped her hand to rest lightly on it. Jane shuddered under her touch, tugging again on the bonds holding him still.
She stroked the bleeding wound, stiff fingers dipping into the shallow valley. The blood rushed out in the wake of her touch. Teresa ran her palm across it, smearing it over Jane’s stomach so that he could feel it. It would dry there, tacky and then flaking.
“Lisbon,” Jane murmured.
She flinched at the sound of her name.
He moved under her, encouraging her. “More?” he asked contentedly, head rolling to the side to rest in the cool sheets. His breathing was calm and slow. Teresa knows that if she were to take his pulse, it would be as slow as if he were asleep.
Teresa nodded, not caring that he couldn’t see her. She doesn’t like to talk, not while they do this. Jane had tried, at first, but had stopped when she asked him to.
The knife had cooled while she was distracted. It feels refreshing against her palm. Teresa smiled bleakly at Jane. She traced the blade across his body, light touches that scraped rather than cut. His hip bones jut out too much and she accidently opens the skin there.
Jane hummed softly, and she did the same to his other side. Tiny droplets of blood leaked from the scratches, and she wiped at them with her thumbs. Jane smiled quietly. Teresa drank the smile in, savoring it.
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November 14 2009, 01:19:20 UTC 2 years ago
Anonymous
September 13 2010, 21:03:17 UTC 1 year ago
Chicken-Egg Debate And Other Insignificant Things [J/R] (1/2)
Warnings/Stuff: Language, Jane/Rigsby, dialogue-heavy, implied drug use, possibly OOCness---
THURSDAY:
"You think he's mindfuckin' with ya?"
Rikard Nurmi, Finnish-American bank teller and Wayne Rigsby's roommate, was sprawled along the three-seater with a bookmarked paperback on his stomach, temporarily forgotten.
"He always is."
Rigsby slouched sulkily (many things amused Nurmi, and sulky slouching was one of them) and stared at the TV but wasn't really watching it. It was "Chicken Run"; it was up to the part where the chickens set up their own disco. Neither Nurmi nor Rigsby have ever been to a disco (willingly), but both had been at a farm -- it smelt funny.
"But you definitely have a thing for 'im." Leave it to Portland-born bank-teller to be blunt as a knitting needle -- safe enough for children, but it could still kill you. (It wasn't that great an analogy, but Nurmi-- ohshutit.)
"Yeaaaaaaaaah."
"... Why don't ya jus' tell 'im? It's not like it'll be the end of the world or anythin' if ya do?"
"It's not--"
"'Not that simple'? Oh, fuckin' *please*, Tucker." (Middle name -- Rikard Tomi Nurmi's on a rant.)
Rigsby groaned, leaned back in his chair and steeled himself.
---
FRIDAY:
"'e's got nothin' against gays, 'as 'e? Biseckshuls? Anythin' like tha'?" The beer-slurring did nothing good for Nurmi's speech patterns.
"Not as-- far as I know." Rigsby paused, alcohol surging. "Nah, he 'asn't. Everyone pretty muh knows that my whole family's biseckshul."
"*Everyone*?"
"In my-- team."
"Ahh."
"... I think he suspec's, though."
"'e mus' do."
"I'm still no' tellin' 'im."
"Godssake..."
"Shut it, you tree-humper." Random, granted, but he did do that once. While they were drunk. In their teens. And, okay, maybe Nurmi smoked something funny, too.
"And you're a bastardchild." True. "We're even." False,
---
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November 14 2009, 03:06:09 UTC 2 years ago
Anonymous
November 14 2009, 03:19:58 UTC 2 years ago
November 14 2009, 03:50:45 UTC 2 years ago
November 20 2009, 00:50:39 UTC 2 years ago
Lisbon/Jane, Possession
Jane shuts the door while Lisbon stands with arms crossed, waiting. And when he turns to her he's even smiling a little: defiant, mocking, something like a dare. But he doesn't touch her, doesn't come to her; he's following the rules with his body at least, challenging her with his deliberate passivity.It's unfair, she thinks, how beautiful he is, and how he uses it. The thought keeps her voice flat, harsh. "Get on your knees."
"Yes, ma'am." Instant, eager obedience.
He's still smiling, looking up at her expectantly as she steps towards him. This is still a game to him, playacting, like everything else. Not real yet. She waits.
He can't. "Tell me how to please you, Ma'am," he says. Pleading and prompting. "I want to please you..."
She doesn't give him any warning, doesn't touch him first, doesn't smile back, doesn't speak, just slaps him across the face, as hard as she can. The crack of her palm against his cheek and his indrawn breath are loud in the silence.
"You don't get to tell me what to do," she snaps, holding his jaw, forcing his chin up so she can watch the mark of her hand bloom on his face.
"Yes, Ma'am," he whispers, his smile gone now, eyes wide, lips parted (so pretty). "I'm sorry, Ma'am." He's there now, and she's there with him, he is hers, and in his great shuddering sigh she can hear both their relief.
"I have to punish you for that," she says softly, and his eyes drop shut. "Look at me. Do you understand why you need to be punished?"
"Yes," he breathes, then hurriedly, "Yes, Ma'am. Please punish me...please hurt me...I deserve it...I need you to..."
He always needs it, craves it, and they both know why. A wave of tenderness washes over her, surprising her. It always does surprise her, the way he puts himself into her hands, into her power. Only like this, only here does she ever get to glimpse this part of him. The Jane that hurts, that wants to be broken open.
She smiles.
"Get up," she says.
She wraps her hand around his throat and drags him to his feet. Maintains the hold long enough so that he feels, knows that even his breath is hers now, his life. He doesn't even try to gasp for air; he never does. Just stills under her hand, his gaze gone distant, expression slack. A man at peace.
She lets him go and covers his mouth with hers, breathing her own breath into him like she is saving him, claiming him, bringing him back. It takes a moment for him to return to her, return the kiss. When he does she pulls away a fraction; he follows, seeking her lips blindly, and she denies him until he waits again, mouth open to her, receptive. Then she kisses him again, catching his lower lip between her teeth. He makes a little noise in his throat, a keening moan.
"Give me your hands," she says against his mouth.
He presents them, wrists together. She cuffs him with the efficiency of long practice; he drops his gaze to watch.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, and she laughs.
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he says, little-boy-meek, and bows his head as she leads him to the bedroom.
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November 14 2009, 07:56:10 UTC 2 years ago
OT3 There are few things that Cho is shocked by and uncomfortable with (or at least that's what he'd have you believe) Rigsby and Van Pelt manage to do both. Repressed cuteness w/Cho bottoming to both.
2. Rigsby(or Jane)/Cho
Cho secretly has a thing for men who are larger or stronger than himself. (strength doesn't necessarily mean physically, though if it's mental, the pressure exerted should be pretty strong.)
(why yes I'm greedy. Now to check out the other prompts. muahaha.)
March 12 2011, 22:55:25 UTC 1 year ago
I think I'll write it
Cho/Jane is always necessary
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November 14 2009, 08:42:44 UTC 2 years ago
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May 15 2010, 20:26:59 UTC 2 years ago
Why is there so little action here?Anonymous
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November 14 2009, 19:47:13 UTC 2 years ago
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November 15 2009, 01:55:39 UTC 2 years ago
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November 15 2009, 02:02:47 UTC 2 years ago
Psychic Jane
Make Jane into a real psychic. Perhaps he drugs himself so that he isn't affected by it, maybe he thinks that he's insane, maybe it's a result of his break down after his wife and daughter were murdered. I don't care, I want to see him as a real psychic, but one that's in denial. Throw in any pairing (I am really easy to please in this fandom) and you'll make my day.Anonymous
November 16 2009, 03:26:31 UTC 2 years ago
Re: Psychic Jane
Yes, yes, PLEASE!Anonymous
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November 16 2009, 06:17:39 UTC 2 years ago
December 6 2009, 03:53:05 UTC 2 years ago
1/3
Here ya go, OP. Hope it suits :)----
The kiss is clumsy at first, nearly off-target, and is more like a lip car-wreck than a proper kiss. Cho tenses, more from the surprise of it than anything.
"Dude."
Jane blushes, grinning like a loon, and pulls back to chuckle lazily.
"Sorry," he mumbles, eyes half-closed. "I...think I'm a little drunk."
It's a lie; he's a lot drunk. Somehow, a nice normal night of poker at Cho's place had turned into a drinking game. Somewhere into the fourth or fifth round of beers, the rules had become, "When there's a pair on the flop, take a shot; when there's an even card on the turn, do half the beer; when there's an odd or face card on the river, kill it." It really only made sense to people who were already drinking, and since Jane was stacking the deck, they all got blitzed pretty quickly.
Rigsby had passed out on the couch; Cho had been busy steering Jane to the guest bedroom—wobbling a bit himself—when Jane's legs went a little rubbery, throwing them both off balance. They'd fallen against the wall of the hallway, Jane crashing into him at a weird angle before suddenly pressing their lips together.
Jane's still more or less pinning Cho to the wall.
"It just seemed like the thing to do," he says airily, as if that's an explanation. He looks at Cho with a glassy gaze, and his eyes cross for just a millisecond before losing focus.
Cho stifles a laugh at Jane being a little out of control of himself. He pushes Jane off of him and says, "Okay. Guest bedroom's right here."
Jane smiles, eyes totally closed now, and lets Cho guide him to the bed. He falls to the mattress, taking Cho along with an easy tug, because Cho's covering well, but doesn't exactly have total mastery over his equilibrium either. Jane rolls over, pinning Cho beneath him. He looks down at Cho, smiling like the cat who caught the canary.
"Get offa me," Cho says. He thinks about struggling, maybe trying to get up and get in his own bed, but the room is spinning and Jane is heavier than he looks. He's also got that determined look in his eyes, the one that means he has a plan and won't relent until he's fully enacted it. This doesn't mean that Cho has to relax, however, and despite his beer-addled brain, he manages to keep his walls up and his body tense. Jane, of course, feels this, and chuckles.
"We're both really hammered, Kimball. We don't have time for this." His tone is easy, playfully impatient.
"I don't know what you mean," Cho replies. He thinks maybe if he doesn't squirm around too much, Jane will get distracted or just fall asleep. Worst case, he might have to listen to some drunken philosophizing, but that's nothing he hasn't weathered before.
"I'm not sleepy, and I'm extremely focused," Jane says confidently. "Well, as focused as I can be, bloodstream brimming with alcohol..." He seems to contemplate the ins and outs of this, and Cho can almost see Jane picturing a literal blood vessel with little anthropomorphic C2H5OH molecules dancing through his veins. Jane apparently is picturing this, and starts to snicker.
Cho really wishes he hadn't accepted Jane's challenge to drink a shot of Jack Daniels after Rigsby passed out. It's made Jane incredibly silly, and Cho's face is starting to feel a little numb, truth be told.
"I can't feel my face either!" Jane says while laughing uncontrollably. He rests his head on Cho's chest, body shaking with mirth. Cho's cock stirs in the midst of all the rubbing around, and Jane pretends surprise. "Hello," he says, as if he's greeting an acquaintance. "Now we're finally all here."
"We're- not," is all Cho can manage. The alcohol is interfering with his ability to hold on to a thought long enough to transmit it to his mouth. Wasn't he supposed to be leaving right about now?
"Oh but we are," Jane replies, suddenly serious and leaving no room for debate; the world slither comes to mind as Jane moves down his body and settles between his legs.
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November 16 2009, 06:22:58 UTC 2 years ago
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November 17 2009, 20:06:59 UTC 2 years ago
I might have to try writing this now...
Which is to say, seconded!
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November 17 2009, 02:13:17 UTC 2 years ago
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January 27 2010, 22:36:17 UTC 2 years ago
Filled 1/2 (Possibly a little silly)
“The irritating thing,” Jane said, as he watched Bosco watch the kettle boil, “is that it’s not even about the case for you.”“Oh?” Sam asked reluctantly, not turning away from the all important task of achieving coffee. His latest case was about to crack, and looked likely to turn into an all-nighter.
“No. It’s about dominance.”
That turned his head, and he stared wide eyed at a Patrick Jane who was sprawled against the counter to his left, suit and hair a little dishevelled at the end of a long day. He realised, abruptly, that his cheeks were warm. He was giving too much away.
Jane laughed, “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think you get a sadistic sexual thrill from keeping me off the case.” He paused for a beat. “Or have I misread you?”
Sam hurriedly spooned instant coffee granules into his mug.
“I’m working Jane. Go try and mind-read the team that get paid to put up with you.”
“Hmm. Well. Perhaps a small sexual thrill. Unexpected, but flattering, I assure you.”
He grabs the milk from the fridge and slams it down on the counter, harder than strictly necessary.
“What was your point?” He grits out. “Before you lost your mind in the gutter.”
“Mm. Oh. Well, I was just making an observation. If it’s not about the case for you, it doesn’t have to be about the case at all.”
“You’ve lost me.” He’s poured too much milk now. Damn.
“Your alpha male territoriality. I was about to suggest that we find another way to satisfy your need to see me submit to your authority.” Jane paused again. “Except now it all sounds terribly kinky, and I’m not sure how convincing I’d be in that particular arena.”
He froze whilst reaching for the sugar, momentarily incapable of comprehending what had just been said to him. He sputters a little, and then manages to find some words.
“Do you actually listen to the things that come out of your mouth?” He can hear his own voice rising, and is seriously contemplating launching the sugar pot at the idiot’s head.
Jane must read that thought accurately, because he backs up a few paces, smiling.
“In fairness, the things coming out of yours are much more interesting. I could probably pull it off, you know, in exchange for the case. It’s been a long time, but I’ve been told I look pretty on my knees.”
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