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goodeapple · 7 months

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be nice to your neighbors.

i have a million and two wip's in my Ysilla folder and somehow, i have to add one more.

i am an exhausting person. love y'all lots!

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Aemond is a simp & Ysilla is a plant nerd. Awkward flirting. Fluff. No smut :(

word count : 2,500+

It’s so fucking early. What self-respecting tattoo shop is open at 7AM on a Sunday? On God’s day? Aegon hasn’t stepped foot in a church since he was thirteen which explains the hours, but why the fuck is Aemond here and not him?

Aemond wasn’t exactly planning on going to church today, but maybe if he had the option, his ass would be in a pew next to his mother right now instead of perfecting a sketch for an appointment that isn’t even until next week. His Americano is lukewarm, steam long blown away by the small oscillating fan tucked up on a high shelf. A row of overstuffed books, on everything from Classic Americana design to Valyrian legends he wants to detail on paper, fill up the rest of the ledge. The next one down houses a line of knick knacks he could never force himself to part with- a tiny tacky snowglobe from Harrenhal, his grandfather’s Hand of the King pin from when he was in the courts, 8-tracks from his mum’s rebellious punk phase before she went to college, and at the end, a framed photo of him and his siblings the day they opened the shop. Three identical terrified grins are spread over their faces, nervous anticipation bleeding through the black-and-white snapshot. Little pieces of his life in his little corner of the world, where he gets to do what he loves.

And the most important little worm to him sleeps the day away in her glass vivarium by the door. Vhagar lounges under her UV bulb, baking on a large smooth stone after inhaling her breakfast. His little crocodile without the teeth. The soft garden green bearded dragon with her yellow belly has been his constant companion since he rescued her from a Oldtown pet shop when he was a pre-teen. He hid her under his bed for a full seven months before his mum found her one day when she was searching for missing socks. It was an impressive feat, one even she had to acknowledge after blowing her fucking top.

Aemond darkens the curve of the kraken tentacle he’s sketching, a piece for a client coming all the way from the Iron Isles. The little suction cups still need more depth and he hasn’t even begun to flesh out the texture of the skin yet when the bell hanging above the shop door tinkles, signifying an end to his blissful solitude.

“Hello? Helaena, you here?”

Aemond drops his pencil, shoving off from his desk, grumbling as he goes. There’s still a hint of sleep in his eye and he rubs it away as he walks up the hall to the lobby.

“We don’t take walk-in’s on the weekends and we don’t have any appointments scheduled ‘till 9. So, are you sight-seeing or are you just overly punctual?” He doesn’t mean to sound like a dick, it just comes second nature.

The back of the head that greets him as he blinks open his eye is a pretty one, thick brunette curls pinned up with gold butterfly clips. The girl abandons the magazine she’d been leafing through, turning at the sound of his voice. The wide-eyed look that’s spread over her face emphasizes plum-shaded irises, framed by palm leaf eyes. There’s a pair of beauty marks peppered on the dawn of her cheekbone. A rosy mocha mouth is pouted before it curves up into a charming bend of itself.

“I’m sorry, I'm not here to get any work done. I was just coming in to give something to Helaena.” The woman shimmies the large gift bag held tight in her fist as proof. “I’m a friend.”

Aemond shrugs off his disappointment. “Oh, my bad.” She’d be a gorgeous canvas. The golden brown of her skin would take color like a fucking champ. Black would be even better. Really make the contrast pop. The smooth peak of her shoulders from underneath the oversized cream cardigan she wears is a tantalizing taste of something he wants to indulge in. “She’s not here yet.”

Her expression collapses and Aemond regrets causing such a look to dim her face. “Oh damn, she told me she’d be in at this time.”

Aemond thinks maybe he should call his big sister, considering he hasn’t received her standard “i’ll be there in 10, I PROMISE 10 MINUTES AEMMY!!” text today, when the girl’s face blooms into one of recognition.

“You’re Aemond, right?”

“Uh, yeah- yes, yes I am.” He coughs, straightening up a bit, manners braided into every core memory he possesses. His mom is, in Aegon’s terms, a “tightass”, but damn him if he doesn’t know how to treat a woman.

“I always see you coming in and out of here, and well, you and Hel and Aegon all look alike, so I put two and two together and made four that you’re the missing piece of Three Headed Dragon.” She gestures to the air, implying she’s speaking about the name of the shop. The gold chains layered around her neck, some with pendants and some without, jingle with her movement. Aemond likes the softness of the sound. “And when she came in for a succulent recommendation a few months back, I asked about you and she told me your name, and… yeahhh. I just didn’t want you to think I was some weirdo who’s been waiting for the perfect moment to get you alone.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t think that.” Aemond looks very serious, even knitting his brows in a thick, no-nonsense line, but he has to bite his lip to keep from snickering, which she notices.

She breathes out a laugh, dipping her head in surrender. She turns to the entrance, and Aemond is worried she might leave. He doesn’t mind her company, which is a miracle considering the hour.

“Hey-”

“Is this your’s?” She points to the hyperrealistic direwolf stencil he’d cranked out last year during an artist’s block that he couldn’t shake for the life of him. The piece is gruesome, wicked lines and keen edges that intimidate even him, and he drew the damn thing.

“Uh, yeah. Good guess.” The black frames adorning the gallery wall are a mixture of his and Aegon’s work, all in varying shades of grays and blacks. His brother’s signature new school style is easily distinguishable to Aemond, but he admits some of their earlier sketches are more uniform than not.

“You do beautiful work.”

Aemond’s eyebrows raise and he lets the compliment warm him.

“I appreciate that. Many wouldn’t call that beautiful, but I think it has a certain magnetism to it.” He looks the woman over, using the excuse of actually searching for ink so that he can appreciate her willowy arms and the peek of shapely legs through the dash in her skirt. “Do you have any?” Aemond gestures to the wall, before gesturing to her. She shakes her head no, freeing an errant curl that falls over her forehead. Aemond picks at his joggers to keep his fingers from doing something stupid.

“Oh no. I’m not the biggest fan of needles. Self-admittedly, I can also be a bit of a flake, so permanent artwork on my body kind of gives me hives.” She shivers and Aemond thinks her modesty is adorable.

“That’s a shame.”

Mystery woman snaps her fingers, spinning on her toes to pin him with a look, and Aemond basks in the scent of jasmine and sea salt that wafts his way.

“If I change my mind, I know who to go to.” She blinks suddenly, her pointed hand gliding behind her to rub at the back of neck in a bashful way. “That is, if you’d ever want to. Or, if you’re like, accepting clients.”

“For you? I think I could make an exception.” Aemond leans into the counter, settling to her level. The way the flush of her cheeks drips into the creamy sweep of her chest makes him hungry. She drops her hand, edging forward on timid toes.

“Well, aren’t you sweet.”

He doesn’t really know how to reply to that. He can feel the tips of his ears heat up, and when she tucks her lock of hair back in place, Aemond wishes he would’ve done it for her. He can see a thin line of dark walnut bracing the white of her eyes with how close he is, so close now he can smell the cinnamon on her breath from the condensating chai latte she holds in her other hand.

“Aemond!” The back door slams and his sister’s voice floats up the hall.

“Fuckin’ A, I’m sorry I’m late. I hit construction traffic and I had to get gas or I would’ve been pushing my Volksy here, and then I needed a coffee, believe me.” A white-blonde head of super short hair is unleashed when his sister yanks off her crocheted bucket hat, and she gasps as she catches sight of the shop’s first patron of the day.

“Good morning, muffin, I was trying to get here as fast as I could!” Helaena is a tornado of violets, lavenders, and magentas, purple her chosen color of the day as she spins into the room, tucking her backpack into the lockable cabinet by Aemond’s knees.

The girl’s smile is a thing of beauty and even if it’s for Helaena, Aemond will keep it for himself.

“Good morning, Hel. No worries, your brother’s been keeping me company.”

Helaena spares him a look, sending a delicately sharp elbow right into his ribs.

“Has he? It must be your lucky day- he usually scares off the customers that aren’t on the schedule.”

Aemond throws a sturdy blunt elbow into her shoulder and revels in the wince that she tries to hide.

“Mmmm, not scared off yet. But if you would’ve given us a few more minutes, who knows?” A wink is sent his way, showing she means it in all good fun. Aemond fires a smile back at her, curling his lip up in a smirk he knows carries some weight to it. She swallows- he can see the jump in her throat, before she damn near flings her reason for coming in onto the counter.

“Here! She came in yesterday towards closing time, a special delivery just for you.”

Hel snatches it with greedy hands, unknotting the twine laced through the handles so she can stick her whole face into the bag.

“Oh my word, it’s beautiful!” Helaena exclaims, wonderment turning her tone soft and breathy. Aemond can’t stunt his curiosity, knocking his sister’s head out of his way to peer into the gift bag.

“It looks moldy.”

Mystery woman looks mildly offended by his assessment, but it’s his sister that thwacks him in the chest.

“Shut up! You and Aegon practically drowned my cactus when I went on holiday last summer; what do you know about plants? It’s stunning and wonderful and all mine!” Helaena pulls out the plant with careful hands, gathering up the trailing vines like she’s lassoing a rope.

Hel oooo’s and ahhh’s , rubbing the silver spotted leaves between her fingers, smelling the somewhat heart-shaped sprouts for any lingering fragrance. Aemond’s surprised she doesn’t pop one in her mouth and give it a taste.

“A cactus?”

Aemond shrugs, happy to have the woman’s attention back on him, even if it is at his expense. “It looked thirsty.”

The giggle she gifts him makes his 5AM alarm worth it.

Helaena claps her hands together twice, calling attention to her like she’s a nursery school teacher. “Tell me about it- what’s its name and how do I keep it alive?”

“It’s a Scindapsus pictus, but satin Pothos or silver Philodendron is easier to remember. Even though it’s not technically a Pothos or a Philodendron, it’s in the Araceae family, which can be confusing, y’know? It’s naturally from the Hills of Andalos but it can also be found from Tyrosh all the way to Pinkmaiden.”

The siblings blink at her, both enjoying how she waxes on about something obviously interesting to her, even though it sounds like Dothraki to them. The brunette takes notice of the silence, tapering off her anecdotes while wearing a quiet, bemused grin.

“Anyways,” she twists the ring around her pinky in circles of nervous energy, “lots of light, water her like once a week, and she should thrive.”

“She’s perfect! Oh thank you for picking her out for me, darling. I’ll take such good care of her. ” Helaena has a way of hugging you with her words. It fills you with the warm and fuzzies, and the girl looks filled to the brim with them. She sighs though, shouldering the strap of her bag into place.

“I gotta get back to the shop- my early lunch break can’t go past 7:20, or Miss Olenna will be pissed if I’m not there to let her windowshop the roses.”

Helaena flutters around the counter, gushing promises of midday coffee dates and takeaway dinners before sweeping up the other girl in a rocking embrace.

The woman beams, happiness a good look on her, before pecking his sister’s cheek in parting. She pushes open the shop door, ducking out before catching it right before it closes. Her head ducks back in, and the same stubborn curl from before has come loose again, twisting around the corner of her eye.

“It was nice meeting you, Aemond.”

“Likewise…” Did he not catch her name once the entire time? Fuck him and his so-called manners.

Her smile is so bright, it burns itself behind his eyelids. “Ysilla.”

“Likewise, Ysilla.” Aemond rolls her name off of his tongue, discovering he quite likes the taste of her. A gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl.

She bids him a little wave of her hand before shutting the door softly. She looks both ways before darting across the roadway and into roots., an aptly named nursery that bursts at the brick with vegetation and flowers.

Aemond turns on his sister with alarming agility.

“Alright, share with the class. Who was that?”

“That’s Ysilla, Aem. Duh. She runs the plant shop across the street.”

He resists the urge to flick her in the forehead. His trainers are new and he doesn’t want her size seven foot print scuffing them up.

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Well you would, if you ever bothered to come out of your room and meet our neighbors. She’s been in charge for about a year and a half now. Mr. Forel is an old flame of her grandma’s, or something like that, and she needed a job when he was thinking of retiring. So, perfect timing, I guess.” Hel fluffs the leaves, turning the plant pot this way and that, trying to decide which angle is most appealing. She carts it around the shop, holding it up to the spaces she’s thinking of occupying it with.

“What are you two, besties?” Aemond is so not jealous. Nah, never. Nope. No way, no how.

Helaena pauses, looking thoughtful before resuming her decorating.

“I’m kind of trying to be, but she goes to class after she’s done at the shop and if she’s not doing that, she has three brothers she helps take care of when her mum is working. So I stop off when I can and chat with her so we can catch up.”

Helaena cheers as she steps off the footstool she keeps around for high reaching access, admiring the vines cascading from the partition wall that divides the waiting room from her piercing studio.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” His sister is obviously speaking about the plant.

Aemond stares through the window across the street, the tan stucco building a bright bustle of life next to the high brow boutique to its left and Hot Pie’s bakery to its right. The numerous hanging pots from the ledge above the doorway would 100% split his skull if he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking. Big glass windows are crowded by giant emerald fronds and stalks of leafy sprouts. The flower pots mirroring each side of the doorway are starting to wilt with the season, but the vibrant highlights of color splash a last breath of life against the stone.

If Aemond squints, he can catch a dark head of curls bouncing behind the register.

Maybe a plant wouldn’t be a bad addition to his shelves.

“Without a doubt.”

ps: i have another modern!au in the works of these two little fuckers, which is much longer, much angstier, and much more fun to read. should be out very very soon ;))

#hotd #aemond targaryen #ysilla targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #modern hotd #modern aemond targaryen #my writing

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cinamun · 1 year

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Listen, Cin, these are for you 💐🌹🌻 because you be out here doing a thing. You hear me? Lol. It's the fact that I had to literally sleep on it before I came back and picked up where Hope & her vortex had me fucked up at... Lol.

*cracks knuckles* Let's unpack, shall we...

I will try my damnest to keep this short & sweet:

Indya wasn't wrong. I repeat, Indya wasn't wrong.

There I said it. Lol. But in all seriousness, could she have said "close your mouth" rather than "shut the fuck up," of course...But there was nothing wrong with what she said nor how she said it. (and that little grab Indya did was harmless). Hope didn't just run to lil Stacy's house (her friends name is escaping me right now, my bad Cin), she decided to hop on a train & just so happen to land in San My...scared shitless because she had no idea where she was. Let's not forget that. That's not a calm & gentle conversation to have. Indya is not one of Hope's little friends, she's her mother. And regardless of how embarrassed She may be of her parents "toxicity," she will not disrespect her in her 4.9gb house.

There's so much more that I could say but I will just leave with this:

One thing Darren & Indya have always done is showed up for their children. They love the shit outta them kids & each other. That in itself is growth. Look at where they came from, hell. They show up and show out for their kids...aht aht! let's not breeze past "The Spring Fling" chapter so quickly...or the talk Indya had with Hope about sex...or the one when she was advising hope to explore more things she likes rather than boys. Or hell, even the talk Darren had with Elliot (at the Spring Fling).

I believe we tend to forget sometimes that healing is literally a process, that growth isn't overnight, and it's a rollercoaster to say the least. A couple therapy sessions with the good Doc isn't going to "make everything go away." But these two are putting in the work, daily. And it most definitely shows. Hell, right before Hope ran away after the Bad Boys II scene Indya literally had an aha moment about them not continuing to do things as they've always done them (when it comes to Hope & boys). Now I won't say how I feel about the Bad Boy II-esque scene because we'll really be here all day. But I will say, Jayce ass do look 30. A healthy ass beard...that fully connects...at 18. Nah champ! You're not fooling me.🤣 (as a matter of fact, Hope lemme take home boy off your hands you need to be in them books anyway) Lol.

With all that being said, I don't believe this is going to damage Hope & Indya's relationship. Because in the midst of Indya going off on her she was reassuring her. Indya literally told her something along the lines of how she could never be a failure to them. She also took accountability for the decisions Hope makes by saying something along the lines of "It makes us a failure when our daughter chooses the streets."

The Drake's (as we all are) are a work in progress. Leaning to navigate this shit all while learning to rid themselves of the weight that was not theirs to carry in the first place.

My mind was running fifty-leven miles a minute, so I hope I made sense. 🤣

Thank you for telling stories that allow us all to have this type of discourse. This shit gets heavy at time but honestly that's the beauty of it. You take us on a wild ride, make us a-kee-kee, and cry all in the matter of minutes.

...so much for me keeping this short & sweet. Lol. Now gon' head and get you another serving of pie. You deserve! 🖤

CHAEEEEEEEEE!!!! Its the face journey I just went on...

and the way I had to get up and walk away at "Indya ain't one of Hope's little friends"...

THE SPRING FLING! THE LOCKER ROOM TALK! THE SEX TALK! THE FULLY CONNECTED BEARD!

CHAE!!! Why am I emotional? This is it, this the one. THANK YOU SO MUCH LOVE! I will happily take these flowers.

Such a thoughtful and insightful breakdown of current events AND the associated nuance.

#story stuff #Chae is a real one #*shakes tambourine yet again

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lesmislettersdaily · 1 year

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A Merry End To Mirth

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 3: In The Year 1817; Chapter 9: A Merry End To Mirth

When the young girls were left alone, they leaned two by two on the window-sills, chatting, craning out their heads, and talking from one window to the other.

They saw the young men emerge from the Café Bombarda arm in arm. The latter turned round, made signs to them, smiled, and disappeared in that dusty Sunday throng which makes a weekly invasion into the Champs-Élysées.

“Don’t be long!” cried Fantine.

“What are they going to bring us?” said Zéphine.

“It will certainly be something pretty,” said Dahlia.

“For my part,” said Favourite, “I want it to be of gold.”

Their attention was soon distracted by the movements on the shore of the lake, which they could see through the branches of the large trees, and which diverted them greatly.

It was the hour for the departure of the mail-coaches and diligences. Nearly all the stage-coaches for the south and west passed through the Champs-Élysées. The majority followed the quay and went through the Passy Barrier. From moment to moment, some huge vehicle, painted yellow and black, heavily loaded, noisily harnessed, rendered shapeless by trunks, tarpaulins, and valises, full of heads which immediately disappeared, rushed through the crowd with all the sparks of a forge, with dust for smoke, and an air of fury, grinding the pavements, changing all the paving-stones into steels. This uproar delighted the young girls. Favourite exclaimed:—

“What a row! One would say that it was a pile of chains flying away.”

It chanced that one of these vehicles, which they could only see with difficulty through the thick elms, halted for a moment, then set out again at a gallop. This surprised Fantine.

“That’s odd!” said she. “I thought the diligence never stopped.”

Favourite shrugged her shoulders.

“This Fantine is surprising. I am coming to take a look at her out of curiosity. She is dazzled by the simplest things. Suppose a case: I am a traveller; I say to the diligence, ‘I will go on in advance; you shall pick me up on the quay as you pass.’ The diligence passes, sees me, halts, and takes me. That is done every day. You do not know life, my dear.”

In this manner a certain time elapsed. All at once Favourite made a movement, like a person who is just waking up.

“Well,” said she, “and the surprise?”

“Yes, by the way,” joined in Dahlia, “the famous surprise?”

“They are a very long time about it!” said Fantine.

As Fantine concluded this sigh, the waiter who had served them at dinner entered. He held in his hand something which resembled a letter.

“What is that?” demanded Favourite.

The waiter replied:—

“It is a paper that those gentlemen left for these ladies.”

“Why did you not bring it at once?”

“Because,” said the waiter, “the gentlemen ordered me not to deliver it to the ladies for an hour.”

Favourite snatched the paper from the waiter’s hand. It was, in fact, a letter.

“Stop!” said she; “there is no address; but this is what is written on it—”

“THIS IS THE SURPRISE.”

She tore the letter open hastily, opened it, and read [she knew how to read]:—

“OUR BELOVED:—

“You must know that we have parents. Parents—you do not know much about such things. They are called fathers and mothers by the civil code, which is puerile and honest. Now, these parents groan, these old folks implore us, these good men and these good women call us prodigal sons; they desire our return, and offer to kill calves for us. Being virtuous, we obey them. At the hour when you read this, five fiery horses will be bearing us to our papas and mammas. We are pulling up our stakes, as Bossuet says. We are going; we are gone. We flee in the arms of Laffitte and on the wings of Caillard. The Toulouse diligence tears us from the abyss, and the abyss is you, O our little beauties! We return to society, to duty, to respectability, at full trot, at the rate of three leagues an hour. It is necessary for the good of the country that we should be, like the rest of the world, prefects, fathers of families, rural police, and councillors of state. Venerate us. We are sacrificing ourselves. Mourn for us in haste, and replace us with speed. If this letter lacerates you, do the same by it. Adieu.

“For the space of nearly two years we have made you happy. We bear you no grudge for that.

“Signed:

BLACHEVELLE.

FAMUEIL.

LISTOLIER.

FÉLIX THOLOMYÈS.

“Postscriptum. The dinner is paid for.”

The four young women looked at each other.

Favourite was the first to break the silence.

“Well!” she exclaimed, “it’s a very pretty farce, all the same.”

“It is very droll,” said Zéphine.

“That must have been Blachevelle’s idea,” resumed Favourite. “It makes me in love with him. No sooner is he gone than he is loved. This is an adventure, indeed.”

“No,” said Dahlia; “it was one of Tholomyès’ ideas. That is evident.

“In that case,” retorted Favourite, “death to Blachevelle, and long live Tholomyès!”

“Long live Tholomyès!” exclaimed Dahlia and Zéphine.

And they burst out laughing.

Fantine laughed with the rest.

An hour later, when she had returned to her room, she wept. It was her first love affair, as we have said; she had given herself to this Tholomyès as to a husband, and the poor girl had a child.

#les mis #les mis letters #volume 1: fantine #book 3: in the year 1817 #chapter 9

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sweaterkittensahoy · 1 year

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Got reminded of when I worked at the comic shop way back when, so here's a story:

I was the only female employee at the shop. It wasn't on purpose given where I lived at the time and the time I was there, but it was, in general, considered an anomaly. There were people who were a bit shocked (or worse) to see a femme* behind the counter.

A few different stories that I recall with fondness:

The ladies who read comics including Tarot: Witch of the Black Rose and Witchblade and were CERTAIN I'd love them, too because they DID love them but had no female comic fans to talk to about them, so they'd recommend them with a deep intensity that I have never forgotten. I had zero interest. Mostly naked "empowered" female protags have never been my bag, but I always replied with something along the line of "I read a few issues, but not my bag. But I've talked to several women who love it," and that always made them happy. And the truth was, I HAD talked to several female regulars who loved it. I just didn't. (Although, shout-out to Tarot: WotBR for writing the greatest line of dialogue ever: "You have to get out of here! Your vagina is haunted!!")

The car salesman (hand to god) who LOVED Tony Stark and even had the special-cut goatee to prove it. Let me tell you, that fucker pulled it off like a champ. He also had his suits tailored and was just a very sweet, funny guy. Like, in the midst of the Civil War comics event, he and I had a sincere conversation about signing the accords (he was on Tony's side) versus not signing (I was on Cap's side), and in the end, we agreed that Mark Millar was not a great writer and that the event as a whole was a mess, but The Bendis one-shot where Tony talks to Steve's corpse is a fucking heartbreaker. He also picked up a couple of comics I recommended that he said, "I'm not sure it's my thing, but I like you," and they got added to his pull list the moment he finished the trades.

Every single woman who came in with a well-meaning boyfriend who loudly announced to me, "SHE AGREED TO TRY COMICS!"

Me: Cool. What are we starting with?

Guy: A MAJOR EVENT THAT ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT STAND UP ON ITS OWN WITHOUT READING A YEARS WORTH OF THREE DIFFERENT BOOKS.

Me: Oh, absolutely fucking not. Go to the back of the shop while I talk with her.

Guy: "...What? But she--"

Me: "Name me everything you need to read to understand EVENT."

Guy: HERE IS THE LIST.

Me: BACK OF THE SHOP.

He'd go to the back of the shop. I'd approach the friend/girlfriend/wife. "Hey, I'm Gayle. I'm sure he said it was an event you could pick up and understand, but he's blinded by his love for it. Tell me, what do you usually read? Sci-fi? Fantasy? Got a superhero you like from cartoons?"

She'd respond with details, and I'd narrow it down. "Oh, okay, so you're up for a group book and find the overall idea of the Green Lanterns interesting. This is "Recharge." It's the restart of the Green Lantern Corps as a whole. Very easy to jump in on, and if you have questions, you can ask that guy you know or check wikipedia."

"Oh, okay, you like fantasy and fairy tales. "Fables" is really popular for that. It's all the public domain fairy tales hiding in modern-day New York."

"Standalone stories you can just read as they are? Here's the original graphic novel section. They're all one and done. Or maybe two and done. The point is, they're very contained stories."

*I was using female pronouns and identifying as a woman at the time and as femme as I am now as an enby (femby)

#comics #i miss that job sometimes #but also i don't have to talk to assholes #and unfortunately we had our share

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haylanmakesstuff · 2 years

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Day 9-11

This entire week was spent at one of my favorite places in the whole wide universe; Bighorn National Forest, and the surrounding area. I had company for the first time, as I picked up my co-director, co-pilot, leaver of crumbs, breaker of noise curfews, bestie Ashton. We soodled about Sheridan, Wyo, eating things and looking at old items for sale for either very little or very much.

We headed up the mountain; the Big Horns are a sister range to the Rocky Mountains, just to the east over the Big Horn Basin. They abruptly and steeply rise, “Fusing heaven to earth,” as Michael Punke put it in The Reverent. Switch backing up these mountains, you gain a beautiful view and lose phone service. It was going to be a good week!

I worked here two summers for the US Forest Service as an interpreter and fell in love with not only the forest and mountains, but the state as a whole. I told Ashton that we would pass the short but very steep hike called Steamboat Point; each year this is the very first hike I would do when I would arrive, as so much was still under snow. She lost her mind and decided to hike it – I was happy to watch from afar and read a book in the cool Wyo breeze.

Like the true champ she is, she conquered it and was back at the parking area in about 1/3 the time it would take me to get up the rock. Go Ashton! If you look real close on the above picture, you’ll see little Ashton on the steep trail up.

We tucked into our campsite, had a nice fire, and enjoyed the Wyo night that’s colder than the Texas winter. On Day 11 we set out to hike Bucking Mule Falls. I was nervous about hiking this distance; though it’s a fraction of what I used to hike many years ago, this would be the longest hike I have done in about 5 years, and definitely over harder terrain. At 5.5 miles, I did much better than I thought. It really made me reflect that perhaps I was experiencing chronic fatigue and pain from hEDS and Fibromyalgia far longer than I thought I was. I wondered if the cooler summers spent in Hawaii, Wyoming, and Oregon working as an outdoor educator softened the blow and lengthened my abilities. I’m definitely feeling stronger in the dryer, cooler weather.

This hike is one of my favorites of all time, and I’m so shocked and beyond glad to say I completed it. I am saving the picture of the falls because my next post will be a short story I wrote about my first experience on this hike. I hope to have it published one day, but for now, it will be on here for you to enjoy.

Rewarding ourselves, we ended the day with Big Mikes Pies up at Bear Lodge. The next day was a rest day, so we toured one of the interpretive sites where I used to work; Shell Falls. The staff and interns there this year seem to be the kind I hope I can work with one day. Here we earned our Junior Ranger Badge.

I dedicate this Badge to who else other than the Ghost with the most, Ashton. Thank you for not only supporting my fundraiser when you already spent so much on a plane ticket to come play with me, but for being so compassionate and understanding. I have so much fun doing nothing with you, but we can fill our time crafting, trying on elaborate dresses from decades past, or scaring teenagers in a grassy field on a mountain top floating in the middle of the sea. I grew up and for a long time I thought my time of making friends, especially wonderfully close friends, was over, then you walked into the picture, and I rearranged my heart for you and hope you never, ever leave. Thank you, simply, for you.

A hui hou,

Haylan

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feitania · 2 years

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Psssst eris pls tell me your headcanons for the tr boys (of your choice) alcohol tolerance hehe

as long as they aren't such leightweights as you they'll be fine

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: alcohol (abuse), slightly suggestive content

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘: Inui, Hanma, Yuzuha, Hinata, Mitsuya, Souya, Draken, Sanzu, Takeomi, Shinichiro, Mikey, Izana

𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘: don't drink kids! Also my alcohol tolerance is broken so if you think I try making it sound like they all want to actively kill each othery, I don't. If you can handle more than Inui hit me up we need to prove someone your immortality

The one with the highest tolerance is Inui. You could give this man a bottle of your strongest rum and he would still flawlessly walk home in his heels like the runaway model he is. He needs at least two different types of liquor to feel something, he's so dead inside not even tequila can faze him. Only absinth makes him fuzzy and dopey, super clingy and a little bit horny. When you want to have a drinking night out or a club date with him you can safely assume he will be the one carrying you home, holding your hair back and tucking you in gently before getting you a bottle of water and some ibuprofen for the next day.

Sanzu and Takeomi are monsters. The older Akashi brother is the nightmare of every bar and liquor store, drinking until morning and still demanding more. They kick him out after they hit 4 am and thatam just stands up, walks to the nearest convenience store and gets more beer. The funny thing is, when you pick him up Takeomi is still able to hold a normal conversation and even starts reading a book when you two get into bed. He might feel a little sick looking at the small letters but he has to keep face. Sanzu on the other hand never tried drinks other than gin or high class shit like that. He can drink a whole bottle of bombay sapphire and is still sober. Sanzu also doesn't get a hangover. If you want him to melt into you and moan about life you need at least two bottles of whatever and soda to make the effect stronger. But when he's drunk he is ready to slow dance with you on the empty street and talk about his past. Dude gets super emotional. He proposed to you twice. Twice because he only ever got drunk two times.

Next in line is Hanma who, I assume, started drinking at the age of 12 or something. This boy asks you if you want to share some cheap sangria with him and the next thing you know is that you're at a rave holding a random girls hand, wearing a shirt that isn't yours and downing some weird looking drink while Hanma cheers for you to ex the whiskey bottle he stole for you. You can only remember bits and pieces when he drags you out to party but luckily hanma doesn't and will probably never have enough money to even get close to being drunk so he can always tell you what awkward things you have said and done.

Yuzuha holds her alcohol like a champ. This woman can out-drink most of the boys and still win in a fight, what a woman. Doesn't mean she doesn't get tipsy. When she has a bottle of wine and 5 or 6 shots of hard liquor intus Yuzuha turns into a soft romantic. Hugging you from behind, planting kisses all over your face and whispering sweet love confessions into your ears. Sadly, she gets sober again rather fast and sweet Yuzuha time is over. The rest of the night she's off to search for her brother.

Hinata comes right after. She's a strong drinker, always hot on Inui's heels and sometimes even holding her alcohol better than Yuzuha. The only down is that, once she's drunk she is drunk drunk. You have to forcefully drag her home so she doesn't start a fight or tries drinking herself into a coma. She also doesn't really sober up and talks to you in bed hile you try to sleep. Hinata gets super motivated until her stomach says hello and then you have to hold your girlfriends hair out of her face while she kisses the cold floor.

Mitsuya, Souya and Draken can all hold their level up relatively okay but a few shots and they are down bad. Like, they are good with wine and beer but after some whiskey you can just leave them to be because standing up straight won't work. While Mitsuya gets unusual aggressive before passing out in your arms and using you as a body pillow, Draken gets horny. It's not like he can seduce you with how he slurs every word and walks into walls and street lamps but he tries anyway. Talking all about how he will make this night unforgettable for you and running into his front door a second after. Souya just gets sad. Babyboy needs you to take him home and reassure that you still love him. He talks a lot when he's drunk but doesn't get a hangover or even a stomach ache. He just needs some sleep and a lot of water and then he's fine again. Just don't let his brother get him to start drinking cocktails. He downs 3 because they taste so good and ends up forgetting everything. Where he lives, his name, if you're really his s/o or not...

The sano brothers are. The worst. Shinichiro can have three glasses of wine and falls from his chair at the forth. Wakasa and the others always have to carry him home and you have to hide your alcohol from him because this man doesn't want to acknowledge that he is so, so bad at holding his alcohol level. Izana is a bit better at handling his shit but he gets the worst hangover and you have to stay with him the whole time to baby him. He gets soft and touch starved after a simple mojito and falls asleep standing after a light sparkling wine. Mikey, with all love, isn't allowed to drink at all becaude the risk is higj that he starts accusing you of stalking him because he doesn't recognize you anymore. He doesn't even want to sleep in your bed and repeats every sentence he says. And that after 3 beers.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #draken #sano siblings #mitsuya takashi #yuzuha x reader #yuzuha shiba #hinata x reader #hinata tachibana #draken x reader #mitsuya x reader #sanzu akashi #akashi takeomi x reader #sanzu x reader #inui seishu #inui x reader #hanma shuji

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seraphinitegames · 2 years

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The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 14/Jan/2022

The schedule got a bit off this week, as Nai's little one was quite ill (he's fine now, pulling through it like a champ!), so I've pushed back the social media days to next week so as she could be with him. Apologies for the lack of Instagram and asks. Things will be back to normal next week though!

But that did mean I had a super full week myself with that extra time to blast through all the editing I wanted to do! As well as finish off the extra Chapter 10 scenes (of which I also added some more, lol! I need to stop working on Chapter 10 just so as I stop thinking of things to add to it!) The new scenes totalled about 12,000 words extra, so quite a bit of stuff.

I did realise mid-week that I forgot to save some of the work I'd done the day before, which was a bit gutting. Luckily, it wasn't too much, but it was still stuff I was really happy with. But I re-did it and am pushing forward—making sure I'm much more careful about saving properly before closing! :D

Next week, I will be sending Chapter 8 over to SpunkyCat for editing, finishing the social media days, and getting a start on Chapter 11!

Chapter 11 is one I've been eager for for aggges! :D Chapter 11 is actually split into 3 completely separate versions (I know, you're all shocked at that by now, hehe! ;D). I've labelled them Chapter 11V, Chapter 11T, and Chapter11B, so you can probably take a good guess at who pops up in the first two separate versions!

They also vary because this scene is focused more on the LI and the MC, which means different scenes in those already separate versions for all of those.

It's a lot, but I have a really good plan, so I'm hoping it'll speed through really smoothly!

But it's gonna be awesome because it means you could do a replay still romancing F but get fresh content with these three different chapters! This was really important to me for Book Three.

So yeah, an exciting week next week!

Hope you all have a wonderful weekend! We'll be offline as usual, so I'll talk to you all soon ! <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #interactive fiction #progress report #book three #update

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joshjacksons · 3 years

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Joshua Jackson interview with "Mr Porter" (2021)

Minutes before Mr Joshua Jackson joins me in a booth for a Friday afternoon drink at a vibey hotel bar in Santa Monica, he’s confronted by his past. Or rather, a woman in her early twenties who is binge-watching Dawson’s Creek, the teen show about a close-knit group of high-school friends coming of age in a sleepy American town, which made Jackson incredibly famous between 1998 and 2003. The series, which also made household names of Ms Michelle Williams and Ms Katie Holmes, went off air 18 years ago, but is now streaming on Netflix, to the bemusement of Jackson, who played lovable rogue Pacey Witter. “This girl was like, ‘Are you...?’ And I’m like, ‘Yes, I am. He got old. I’m sorry to break it to you,’” he says, before ordering an iced tea and a charcuterie board to tide him over until dinner time. “It always surprises me when young people say they’ve just got into Dawson’s Creek. I’m like, ‘Is it a costume drama to you? Do you feel like you’re watching a historical documentary?’”

The idea of a Friends-style reunion episode or a Sex And The City revival feels equally far-fetched to Canadian-born Jackson, now 43 and wearing it well in a pale green linen shirt and tailored linen trousers by Oliver Spencer that complement his fading brown hair and Cali-tanned skin.

“I don’t know why you’d want to [bring it back],” he says. “Nobody needs to know what those characters are doing in middle age. We left them in a nice place. Nobody needs to see that Pacey’s back hurts. I don’t think we need that update.”

And Jackson doesn’t need Dawson’s Creek. From Mr JJ Abrams’ sci-fi series Fringe (2008-2013) to the Golden Globe award-winning The Affair (2014-2019), from Ms Ava DuVernay’s ground-breaking true-crime drama When They See Us (2019) to the recent Ms Reese Witherspoon and Ms Kerry Washington-produced Little Fires Everywhere (2020), he has commanded the small screen – with a collection of dynamic and diverse work – ever since.

His latest role as Mr Christopher Duntsch, the Texas surgeon convicted of gross malpractice when 33 of his patients were left seriously injured after he operated on them and two of them died, in chilling Peacock crime drama Dr Death, is only stepping his career up another gear.

“I’ve never played anyone irredeemable before,” says Jackson, who is joined in the eight-part series (based on the 2018 Wondery podcast of the same name) by Messrs Christian Slater and Alec Baldwin. “He is charming, gregarious and has a high-level intellect, but he’s also a misogynist, probably a sociopath, certainly a narcissist and a complete incompetent who is incapable of seeing himself.”

If Duntsch is terrifying, then Jackson’s portrayal is even more so. The artist formerly known as Pacey is virtually unrecognisable (thanks to prosthetics) in the opening scene, but the real challenge for Jackson was allowing himself to view someone who is so “spectacularly evil” as a human being in order to walk in his shoes. “It’s a more damning portrayal of the man to make him into a human being, rather than just make him the bad guy,” he says. “He really believes he’s the hero, he’s the genius and that he’s the victim, so once I got past my own judgment, all the other things fell into place.”

Jackson might have his pick of stellar roles – and challenges – now, but it has not happened by accident. Take it from someone who has been in the business since landing his first job aged 14 in Disney��s live-action movie series The Mighty Ducks, opposite Brat Pack alumnus Mr Emilio Estevez.

“You try to make it look like it happens accidentally,” he says, “but there is no way to do this and not be ambitious. I’d say I’m extremely ambitious because I’ve been doing this cutthroat job for nearly 30 years. I’m in the pay-off phase of my career now. One of the benefits of surviving for as long as I have is you get to learn from your own mistakes.”

Such as? “I wouldn’t say, ‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ because it all becomes bricks in a path, but [after Dawson’s Creek] I was not choosy enough about the things I was doing. You get stuck. You start trying to perform the performance you think people are hoping to see you do. I was so used to working all the time that I just worked all the time. There was definitely a conscious moment in my mid-twenties when I realised I wasn’t really enjoying the work that I was doing. My manager at the time just said, ‘Take a breath. You’re burnt out.’”

The turning point came in 2005, when Jackson was offered a role in the two-hander Mr David Mamet play A Life In The Theatre, opposite Sir Patrick Stewart. “God bless him, Patrick could have made my life miserable because I had no idea what I was doing, ” he says. “I hadn’t been on stage since I was a kid and now I was in the West End in over my head. But it reminded me that I actually enjoyed being an actor, that it’s not about the red carpet or travelling around the world. What I really enjoy is working on good material with good people.”

It’s no surprise Jackson’s time on Dawson’s Creek led to a career crisis. From the ages of 19 to 24, he lived with his fellow cast mates in Wilmington, North Carolina, filming day in, day out, in an arrangement he likens to college. “You get to the end and they’re like, ‘Here’s your degree. Go live now. You’re an adult. Go out into the world,’” he says.

But most graduates don’t have to deal with global fame. “It’s transitory. You’re only ever cool for a moment and then you become much less cool. I was always pretty dubious about flatterers,” he says, recalling a time he was stung in London in the mid-2000s. “I went on a date in Hyde Park with a woman whose name I will not use – she was socialite-famous – and she was acting completely bizarre, looking over her shoulder the whole time. I came to find out that she had hired a photographer to follow us through the park and gave a whole story to the tabloids about how I was going to meet her family.”

It was his growing fortune, rather than fame, that caused Jackson the most anxiety. “Suddenly, at 19 years old, I was making more in a week than most of my friends’ parents would make in a year,” he says. “It was lovely to have the money, but it was that feeling of nobody is worth that kind of money. You feel like a fraud and it took me a long time to forgive myself for not being the thing that I was perceived as.”

Born in Vancouver, but raised in Topanga, California, until he was eight (before moving back to Vancouver following his parents’ divorce), Jackson bought his childhood home in 2001 and lives in it today with his wife, British Queen & Slim actor Ms Jodie Turner-Smith, and their 15-month-old daughter.

“My father unfortunately was not a good father or a husband and exited the scene, but that house in Topanga was where everything felt simple, so it was a very healing thing for me to do,” he says. Fast-forward to 2021 and his baby daughter now sleeps in her father’s childhood bedroom. “There was a mural of a dragon on the wall in that room that I couldn’t believe was still there, years later. The owner [who sold him the house] said, ‘I knew it meant a lot to somebody and that they were going to come back for it some day.’”

Becoming a first-time parent during a pandemic sounds stressful, but it afforded Jackson months at home with his wife and child that his normal work schedule wouldn’t have allowed.

“I now recognise how perverse the way that we have set up our society is,” he says. “There is not a father I know who works a regular job who didn’t go back to the office a week later. It’s robbing that man of the opportunity to bond with his child and spend time with his partner.”

Despite his obvious career ambitions, fatherhood has changed Jackson’s priorities in “every possible way”, he says. “It’s 100 per cent changed how I approach my work and my life. That has been made so clear to me in this past year. For me to feel good about what I’m doing day to day, my family has to be the central focus.

“There are plenty of things left for me to do, but now the thing that gets me excited is experiencing the world through my daughter’s eyes. I can’t wait to take her scuba diving. I can’t wait to take her skiing. I can’t wait to read a great book with her. I’m not worried at all she’ll be a wallflower. She’s been a character from the word go.”

Jackson met Turner-Smith, 34, two days after his 40th birthday. He had been single since his 10-year relationship with German actress Ms Diane Kruger ended in 2016. “I was not looking to fall in love again or meet the mother of my child, but life has other plans for you,” he says.

The couple met at a party. Turner-Smith was wearing the same The Future Is Female Ejaculation T-shirt Ms Tessa Thompson’s character, Detroit, wears in the 2018 film Sorry To Bother You. “That’s what I used to break the ice. I shouted, ‘Detroit!’ across the room. Not the smoothest thing I’ve ever done, but it worked. We were pretty much inseparable from the word go. It was a whirlwind romance and I can tell my daughter I literally saw her mother across a room and thought, ‘I have to be next to this woman.’”

A self-confessed “useless” shopper, Jackson gives his wife full credit for his current wardrobe. He is jewellery-free, apart from a wedding band and a gold signet “JJ” ring on his little finger (a present from his wife), and discovered tailored sweatsuits (by Stampd and Reigning Champ) in the pandemic.

“Jodie has influence in the way that a wonderful wife encourages you, through love, to dress well. She was like, ‘We’re going to throw away all the sweatpants from your past and I’m going to get you some that actually make you look like an adult male and you will still feel comfortable around the house,’ and I’m like, ‘What an amazing idea!’ Who knew you could get sweatsuits that actually look good on your body?”

Jackson’s style has evolved, he says, “from slovenly teen to it’s-nice-when-your-clothes-actually-fit-you”. The penny dropped after he auditioned for his former co-star Estevez, who was directing the 2006 Mr Robert Kennedy biopic Bobby. He said to me, ‘You only got this job because I know you. You came in here to play a very well-put together 1960s political operative and you’re wearing jeans and a hoodie.’

“I had to grow up a little bit. We are very much raised in Canada to never, ever show off, so it took me a while to recognise it’s OK to look good when you go out.”

Still, when you’ve grown up in front of the camera, “every pimple literally documented”, and lived (very successfully) to tell the tale, you can probably be forgiven for the odd fashion faux pas.

“I wore a silk Ascot to an event once in Paris and I still have nightmares about it,” he says. “I looked like Fred from Scooby Doo, but you live and learn.”

#joshua jackson #interviews #jodie turner smith #dawson's creek #dr death #fringe #emilio estevez #mr porter #patrick stewart #michelle williams #katie holmes

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geesecannotlove · 3 years

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I'm back at it again with children of pro heros, it's just a bunch of poorly put together concepts that I am uncertain how to actually string together in a story line. I did a poll or two on twitter that changed some stuff and I haven't gone back and edited the first half yet whoopsie.

. . .

Pro Hero KiriBaku as parents but they're at the peek of their careers so they're young and stupid

. . .

"Sweet pea, make sure you load the dishwasher this morning." Eijirou hummed as he found his place next to his child on their broken down couch.

"Sure dad." They sighed, eyes still glued to the book in their hands.

"Hey." Katsuki grunted from where he was still pulling on his shoes, "Look at your dad when he's fucking talking to you."

"Katsuki." Eijirou scolded.

"Tch."

Their child closed the book their finger still stuck between the pages. Crimsion eyes that mirrored Katsuki's own stared blankly.

"I was just-" they started.

"I don't want to hear it. Do the damn dishes, I'm going to start the fucking car Ei." Katsuki snarled, slamming the front door of their cozy little home.

"He's just stressed sweet pea." Eijirou whispered running a hand through their caramel brown locks. A muddy combination of Katsuki's own and their mother.

"Dad, does papa love me?" Their candy coloured eyes welled up with tears unable to tear away from the slammed door.

"Of course he does. Oh love, your papa loves you more than anything."

Eijirou shut the door behind him softly. The ticking clock waiting for no one. Villians still ravishing and civilians in need. But his eyes were wet and his shoulders sagged.

"What the fuck happened Ei?" Katsuki hissed in the bubble of their car.

"They don't think," A flood gate of tears had opened then, "They don't think you love them Katsuki."

"What?" Katsuki's voice cracked and his brows scrunched tight, "Of course I do."

. . .

"Papa?" Their voice crackling over the line, "Papa can you hear me?"

"Give me a second champ." His gruff voice echoed back, a series of thuds following it, "Okay. Hello?"

"Hi papa." The choaked out, a nasty sob still caught in their throat.

"What's going on?" Katsuki sighed, sleep still clinging to his speech.

"My, um." His child breathed deeply, "My date left me on the side of the road. I don't have my wallet to call a cab."

"They did fucking what?" Katsuki's near scream awoke the slumbering man beside him.

"Kats? What's going on?" Eijirou grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. Taking in the image of his blurry husband slamming around their room.

"I'm going to fucking kill Kaminari and his asshole kid." Katsuki snarled.

"Papa, no no no. It wasn't Uncle Denki's kid. They were just a cover." Fat tears running down their child's face, "Fuck, papa I lied and I'm sorry."

"Fuck." Katsuki hissed throwing the phone at his calmer half, "Fucking deal with this Ei, be in the car in five."

He threw his phone and stumbled from the room before Eijirou had the chance to fully understand what was happening. His rumbling voice attempting to sooth his precious child while pulling on a sweater.

"Lying, Eijirou." Katsuki slammed his fist against the wheel, his hands crackling in the dark, "They fucking lied to us."

"Katsuki you can't yell at them when we get there. They're scared."

"I'm fucking scared Eijirou, that's my baby." Katsuki choaked out, eyes never leaving the road but an orange glow cast over his features, showing of the flushed frustration and beginnings of tears.

"I know Katsuki. It's going to be okay. We'll get through this together."

. . .

"Okay kids," a faceless woman smiled at the crowd of her young students, "Today we will be making mother's day cards."

"I don't have a momma." The little voice of the Bakugo child called from the back of the room.

"Then imagine what you think your momma looks like." The teacher smiled with a sickeningly sweet expression.

"Dad?" Their little voice called again in the passenger seat of Eijirou's sleek business car once the day had final come to an end.

"What's up bud?" He hummed, glancing over only slightly to take in the heartbroken expression his child wore.

"I don't have a mom." They started slowly.

"No you don't baby, is that a problem? You can always talk to Auntie Mina if you need anything your Papa and I don't know a lot about." Eijirou laughed anxiously.

"I know." They whispered, "Please don't be mad dad."

"Oh sweet heart, why would I be mad?" Eijirou pulled their car into the driveway, eyes trained on the young child he and Bakugo had raised together from the very beginning.

"It's mother's day." They supplied as they handed over the crumpled drawing from class. A cartoon like drawing of Bakugo and Camie stared back at Eijirou and suddenly his chest felt hallow and his cheeks burned with the stale smile he offered.

"Ah. I'm not mad champ."

"Please don't cry dad." Their voice wet with tears mimicking the ones in Kirishima's cherry eyes.

"I'm not. Promise. Go ahead and run in. Tell papa I'll be right there." Eijirou whispered his grip still firm on the paper his child had given him.

It was silly to be so worked up Eijirou chanted to himself. They didn't know better, and their teacher didn't understand. Their little home held one picture of Bakugo and Camie. One that made Eijirou's bones ache. Camie stood with her hand rested over a barely there bump. Katsuki and Eijirou's wedding rings already secure and friendship supposedly the line drawn in the sand between the two blonds. But Eijirou had done the math like a wave washing away the mark. Their precious child had been Katsuki's one and only lapse of loyalty.

"Eijirou." Katsuki was yanking the door open, eyes lost and afraid, "Ei I'm so sorry."

"What?" Eijirou croaked suddenly painfully aware of the tears that tracked down his face and the soiled drawing in his lap.

"I love you." Katsuki whispered with hands too tentative to be his own. The skin jumping with the desire to blast away the pain on his lover's face. It was an old wound, but it stung from time to time. And no amount of nitroglycerin could blow it away. Katsuki had learned it the hard way.

. . .

"Quirkless." Eijirou repeated the doctor, his grip pulling his only child flush to his chest.

"Yes Mr. Bakugo." The woman said with a small smile, "Quite rare these days."

"Dad?"

"Yes sweetie?" Kirishima whispered.

"Does that mean no booms like papa?" They hummed back, big crimsion eyes so unassuming and innocent.

"Yeah baby, no booms." Kirishima sighed, brushing light brown locks from their round little face.

"Then I'll be like uncle Deku!" They cheered, tiny hands clapping and a grin.

"Come on sweet pea, let's go tell papa." Kirishima hummed, trying to avoid the conversation his child was clearly too young to grasp. To explain a secret such as Midoriya would be to destroy hero society when given to a mouth that hardly stays quiet.

The Bakugo child propped up on Eijirou's hip as they strolled through the lobby to DynaRiots up and coming agency. A pointed smile and childish waves directed at everyone who came close enough to the pair. Tiny feet slapping across the floor once they were set down. An excited grin as they dove into the arms of a waiting Katsuki. Strong arms spinning them through the air and a sloppy kiss placed on their forehead beneath caramel bangs brushed back by scared hands.

"Papa papa!" They cheered, "I got no boom booms, cause I'm like Uncle Deku!"

"What?" Katsuki barked out a startled laugh, vermilion eyes darting to Eijirou's own.

"The doctor confirmed my thoughts Kats." Eijirou sighed, a defeated smile over his features.

"I can't wait to tell Uncle Deku and auntie Raka." They continued to celebrate on their papa's lap. A care free smile on their rosy cheeks.

"I love you kid." Katsuki sighed, eyes watery as he hugged their child once more.

"Papa, your beard." They whined, little arms shoving.

"Well, you and Dad better be off then." Katsuki relented, "I'll call Deku and his family for dinner tonight okay champ?"

"Okay papa!"

Eijirou leaned over his husband to share a breif kiss, their hands lingering and gazes full of so many unsaid things.

"She should know too." Eijirou whispered, "Just, wait for me. Okay?"

"Okay." Katsuki agreed easily, placing another kiss on his Husband's jaw and shooing the duo away with a playful rumble of a laugh and snarl.

Shaking hands racing for the phone stored in his desk. His breath uneven and his eyes pinched shut as his emergency contact number two rang an idle sound by his ear.

"Izuku?" Katsuki's voice crackled over the line, distorted and timid.

"Kacchan, are you okay? Where are you, I can be there immediately." Midoriya's rambling tone filled the silences and rekindled the frustration that lived in Katsuki.

"Fuck you Deku I'm fine." Katsuki snapped.

"Oh. Okay." Izuku laughed in that loud way that dominated the room he was in, "What're you calling for?"

"They're Quirkless. And they think that means they're like you." Katsuki grumbled, am odd feeling swelling in his chest, "I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean Kacchan?" Izuku hummed, but with the edge to his voice, Katsuki they both knew why that falling feeling was eating away at Katsuki's heart.

"I'm sorry Deku. For being such an ass. I'm going to get it right this time." Katsuki whispered.

"I know you will Kacchan. I'm not mad at you." Izuku said back, his voice pitching in a way Katsuki knew his cheeks had given way to happy dimples.

"Come to dinner?"

"Course."

. . .

"I'm going to be a hero!" They smiled brightly clinging to Eijirou's leg warm brown hair exploding outward.

"Yeah you will bud." Katsuki smiled at their kid, ruffling their hair before pecking his husband on the cheek, "Are you sure you don't want me to come with?"

"Nah we got it, don't we sweetie?" Kirishima was running a gentle hand through their unruly locks.

"Yeah yeah yeah, dad let's go." They whined growing impatient, "Uncle Denki will beat us there."

"He wasn't even on time to his own wedding." Katsuki snorted, a hand in thick gloves once again messing up the strands Eijirou had corrected.

"Papa stop it." They whined, little fists swinging around to push their father away.

"Yeah papa." Eijirou scolded with a playful frown.

"Alright alright. I'm off to work then. See you for dinner." Katsuki laughed his lips once again finding Eijirou's.

"Gross." They groaned, little fingers lacing with Eijirou's own huge hands, "Dad we gotta go."

"Okay sweet pea, get buckled in the car, okay?"

"Yes!" They clapped, dashing the short distance to their waiting car, "Bye bye papa."

"Bye bye." Katsuki mumbled, glaved hands finding his Husband's, "What are we supposed to tell them?"

"We just support them Kats." Eijirou hummed, leaning up to peck at Katsuki's jaw, "Now get going before you're late and I get an earful."

The park was small and hidden away and the twisting roads of their neighborhood. A little park bench beneath a tree a playground not far. The gentle breeze charged with energy and Eijirou and his child approached Denki and his own. A little face with purple hair that rippled with sparks as they bounced excitedly words falling from their lips.

"Uncle Eiji!" They all but screamed, rubber gloved hands wrapping partially around Eijirou's legs. His skin hardening only slightly against the sporadic spark that sizzled out into the open.

"Hey." Eijirou smiled, "Got your quirk huh? Just like your daddy!"

"Yeah yeah yeah!" Golden eyes darting over to the Bakugo child, "Did you get the boom booms like your papa?"

"Nope! I'm gonna be like Uncle Deku!" They rambled back, a proud smile on rosy cheeks.

. . .

"I want to join the hockey team." Their loud voice booming as soon as they'd kicked open the door.

"What?" Katsuki asked his hands fiddling to turn up the volume of his aids, his first day off cut short. The book in his lap forgotten.

"The hockey team papa. They're holding try outs next week."

"We can talk with your dad tonight then champ." Katsuki grumbled, his hands rubbing at tired red eyes.

. . .

"Camie?" Katsuki grumbled into the phone thrown into the center of the table. The crackled sound of movement echoed through their little kitchen.

Eijirou stood stiffly at the counter, packing a lunch for their kid's field trip tomorrow. Big hands dwarfing the little tupperware.

"Katsuki?" Her purring voice echoed over the line.

"And Eijirou." Kirishima spat out faster than he meant to, his tone sharp and his breath too heavy.

"Shame. What do you need Kats?" Her voice made Eijirou's stomach clench and his heart feel like it was stopping all together It felt like heart break everytime the conversation dragged on longer than necessary.

"Well Ei and I were worried about our baby so Ei took them to the doctor. And we just wanted you to know they're Quirkless." Katsuki breathed out quickly, guilt pulling his muscles taught.

"Well at least they don't have mine. Sure that would be a bitter pill to swallow wouldn't it Ei?" Camie snickered into the line.

"Fuck off." Katsuki snapped, dangerous fingers already ending the call before Eijirou could collect his thoughts.

"Papa? Dad?" Little feet pattered into the kitchen, red eyes tired and confused.

"Oh sorry dear, did we wake you up?" Eijirou cooed, stiff muscles melting away as he scooped them up into his arms.

"Couldn't sleep. Sing me a song Dad?"

"Course champ, come on." Eijirou hummed, his eyes pointedly avoiding Katsuki's own pleading hues as they left the kitchen.

The gravely sound of Eijirou's version of a lullaby drifting through their halls. Katsuki sat on the floor outside the bedroom, waiting for Eijirou. His head tilted back and his chest tight when the singing stopped and loud snores replaced it. Katsuki's socked feet tip toed into the room where Eijirou and their child had squeezed together on their small bed.

"Eijirou, can I lay with you?" Katsuki whispered, hating the nervous tint his voice had taken in the still darkness around them.

An echoing snore his only response from his exhausted husband.

"You can always lay with us Papa." A sleepy voice came after the loud sound.

If he cried it was once the room feel into the static of twin breaths. His front pressed as close to Eijirou as he could, arm thrown across his waist and rubbing his child's back softly.

. . .

"I want them home by 9." Eijirou said sweetly, a practiced smile showing off pointed teeth. A plain faced boy staring back eyes wide and face tinted.

"Yes sir, Red Riot sir." The boy choaked out.

"Good. And Mr. Bakugo is fine. Have fun you two." Eijirou laughed

"Dad, tell Papa I love him." They smiled back, fingers intertwined with the boy from school before they were disappearimg into his parents' car.

Katsuki stormed into the house. Short fuse long sense burned up and eyes still smudged with black paint around his eyes.

"You let them go on a date?" Katsuki bellowed face flushed and eyes hopeless.

"They're 15 Kats." Eijirou hummed, "Besides he was wearing a Red Riot jacket."

"It's worse when you say they went out with one of your groupies Red." Katsuki grumbled, arms crossed.

Eijirou's expression gave way to a bubbling laughter. His eyes scrunched up and shoulders shaking.

"God Katsuki, don't say that."

"It's the fucking truth!"

. . .

They stood with a volleyball tucked beneath the crook of their arm. Short caramel hair pushed back with a plastic white headband and red eyes sparkling and a playful smile on their lips.

"Dad you wanna play with us?" The scar that danced across their lips pulled as they talked, a consequence of simply existing as the child of top pro heros.

The boy from her class smiling neverously, gangly fingers toying at the brace that encased his elbow.

"Hey sweet pea, hanging out with your friend?" Kirishima winked at the duo as he fixed his loose bun of ruby red hair.

"Getting ready to practice serves but we could play doubles instead of you and Papa wanted to." They smiled with all their teeth in more of a challenging smirk.

"I don't want to interrupt your time together champ." Kirishima smiled warmly his gears shrugged off and loose in his hands.

"Its not a problem right bro?" The young bakugo cackled, bumping their hip into the other.

"Of course not Mr Red Riot sir, it would be an honor to practice with you and Mr Dynamite." The boy started to ramble, his pale features flushed with embarrassment.

"Just Eijirou is fine around the house kid." Kirishima's booming laugher filled the air, "I'll go get your papa."

"Thanks Dad!"

Eijirou came back with red hair tied in a tight tail at the top of his head, showing off the black undercut he'd added to his brand fairly recently. Tan skin straining beneath a tight bapck tank top and taco patterned athletic shorts clung to his thighs. The hulking figure of Dynamite in lounge clothes close behind, blond hair pushed back in the same way as his child's.

"Papa, you've still got paint on your face." The scolded lightly, the hand that wasn't holding the volleyball proped against their side perched Itself on their hip.

"Won't stop me from kicking you and your dad's groupie's ass." Bakugo snarled.

"Papa."

"Katsuki." The other Bakugo's scolded, while the school house friend hid his blushing face in his hands.

"I'm sorry Mr. Dynamite sir, but I'm the team captain of the middle school team." The shy boy from before had melted away once the youngest Bakugo had bumped the ball to him.

"Try me fucker." Katsuki laughed, his ego stoked by the boy's insistence on calling him by his hero name.

"He's the best at school." The Bakugo child cheered knees bent and ready to jump spike the ball over the net erected in the Bakugo household front lawn.

"I'm the best at everything twerps."

. . .

That's the end of the first lil bit. With the help of twitter pals I've given the children all names. :) I hope you enjoyed

#bnha fanfiction #bnha fandom #kaminari denki #uraraka ochako #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #jirou kyoka #kamijirou #kiribaku #bakushima #bakugo x kirishima #pro hero au #mha angst #mha au #mha headcanons #bnha angst #bnha

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honeymoonjin · 3 years

Text

pairing: jimin x yoongi || genre: smut - nsfw 18+ word count: 6.7k warnings: dom!jimin, sub!yoongi, exhibitionism, BDSM, sub!jk feature very briefly, masochism, pain play, impact play, spanking, orgasm control/denial, untouched orgasm, frotting (i hope that’s right, i had to google it), crying during sex but in a fun liberating way u feel me, praise, mean-mugging, pet names

summary: jimin is used to keeping his professional bdsm life and his domestic married life separate, but when his husband yoongi comes in after a hard day at work, he wants to blur those lines.

A/N: i wrote this for the lovely and talented @joonsbean so thank her for inspiring me to actually write something, also this is unedited bc i just sat down for 6 hours to write this and i am not willing to stare at it a moment longer

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After a particularly resonant flick of the whip, Jimin eyes the way Jungkook's calves tense, left foot tapping the floor in an uneven stutter. He's starting to really feel it now.

He absentmindedly reaches his hand out to smooth the reddened flesh of Jungkook's ass, gently cooing at him quiet enough that his rapt audience won't hear. While the eager submissive was the biggest masochist of the regulars, and he was likely miles away from safewording, as a friend Jimin knew the long-haired boy had three hours of lectures the next day. He'd probably relish the sore ass and take it like a champ, but Jimin was soft on him, so he knew it was time to wrap it up.

Tilting his chin towards the dark, almost purplish streak just above Jungkook's thigh, he raises his voice to address the onlookers. "As you can see, when there's only one fall, like with a whip or a switch, the impact feels a lot sharper and concentrated. The thinner it is, that effect is only amplified. For that reason, I really recommend against switches and whips as a first-timer or if you're testing it out." Jimin can't help but beam at the way every person in the crowd listens to his spiel with clear enthusiasm. He got off on this kind of spotlight in a different way to the usual exhibitionism. Sharing his passion never failed to cheer him up. "Even though floggers can look more intense, as we saw when we were starting out, the impact is more distributed, more of a thud than a sting. Now," he breaks off, giving Jungkook's tender ass a final playful swat, making the boy jump, knuckles white as they clench the back of the chair he's bent over, "let's give our little prince a big round of applause for being so helpful for us today."

Jungkook positively keens at the cheers and wolf whistles that erupt from the crowd of at least thirty, his back arching and face buried between his meaty upper arms to hide the blush. Jimin gently massages the heated skin one last time, whispering instructions to head off to the side where his usual dom, Namjoon, was no doubt waiting.

The two had been playing for almost a year now, but Namjoon was still hesitant to venture into the heavier sadism that Jungkook sometimes needed, and the three of them had found a happy medium where Jungkook helped Jimin out with demonstrations, and Jimin indulged Jungkook's occasional desire for more intense pain play. As a thank you, Namjoon even helped Jimin out with his taxes just the month before, and Jimin quite often allowed them to reserve their favourite play rooms out of courtesy. A mutually beneficial arrangement, and it certainly came in handy to have Namjoon deal with aftercare while Jimin still had his demonstration to wind up.

Swinging the chair that Jungkook was previously bent over, Jimin takes a seat facing the audience and quirks a brow. "Alrighty, before we wrap up and I set you back into the wild, any questions?"

This line always had very different responses. Once, on a basic self-bondage informational session, there were so many single kinksters interested that there ended up being almost an hour of questioning, followed by an impromptu tutorial of safe handcuff use. More commonly, Jimin fielded a few confirming questions about what he'd shown, or something related but not overly relevant to the main topic at hand. More often than not, though, he'd find a string of people awkwardly hovering around him after the crowd had dissipated, too nervous to ask their question in front of the others.

This time, however, a single hand is thrust into the air, coming from the rough back third of the gathering.

"Yes?" Jimin calls out, squinting past the few stage lights and into the darkened crowd. He can't quite make out the face, but as soon as the rumbly voice begins to speak, he doesn't need the visual to recognise it.

"I was just wondering," his husband calls out, "could I speak to you in private?"

Jimin is so startled to hear Yoongi that for a moment he freezes on stage, totally silent. Never once had his husband of four years step a single foot into the dungeon Jimin worked at. Not intolerant of the kink world, Yoongi was simply paranoid about being recognised - a renowned human rights lawyer showing up to a BDSM dungeon dressed in leathers was a tabloid field day waiting to happen - and was happy for Jimin to continue working there whenever he wished.

Now, though, that unspoken rule that had kept these two worlds of Jimin's separate had shattered with a single question, and he felt cold shock drip down his spine.

"Uh," he begins eloquently, blinking himself out of it and plastering a collected smile on again, "of course! I'll be right with you once the show ends."

Jimin closes the session in a daze, answering a few questions about physical aftercare and the best materials and brands for impact play equipment on autopilot. It feels like an eternity passing in a single second, and before he's even processed it, the audience have moved on, and his husband is placing a gentle kiss of greeting on his temple, the same way he would when he'd get home from work in the evenings.

Mere minutes after he'd been in his usual dominant persona, Jimin feels himself melting like candy floss in Yoongi's arms, wrapping around him in their usual casual intimacy. "How are you here?" Jimin asks softly, snaking his arms under Yoongi's slate grey suit jacket, feeling the warmth radiate from his body, even through the expensive cotton shirt. "You're still dressed for work, baby."

Yoongi tenses slightly, gazing around the room. A few people are still milling around in small groups, chatting, but this close to the stage, him and Jimin are out of earshot. Still, he speaks lowly, dipping into the Daegu drawl that only makes an appearance when he's too stressed to think clearly. "I took a sick day. Or, I suppose, sick afternoon," he corrects, brows pinched together. "Had to get out. Can we- Is there a place we can have some privacy, please?"

Wide-eyed, Jimin jumps up out of Yoongi's embrace. "Oh, definitely, sorry!" He tamps down his rising concern by hooking his arm around Yoongi's, locking their fingers tightly as he leads his husband out of the auditorium and down a hall.

Being a matinee opening, the dungeon isn't too packed. Jimin prefers working the day shifts, likes that everything feels a little more personal and open. Nights, especially themed ones, get so busy that the gear and rooms have to be booked sometimes weeks in advance. Jimin does his fair share of DMing (they need all the help they can get) but doesn't like to run any scenes himself in the relative chaos.

But at 2pm on a Tuesday, it's easy enough to slip into one of the private rooms, switching the sign to occupied. There's no lock on the door for safety purposes, but nobody will dare enter while it's taken.

Yoongi steps in, eying the room with surprise. It's a relatively open space, with the walls lined with bookcases on one end, and a large wooden desk with some filing cabinets on the other. The desk itself has a comfortable-looking desk chair, and the opposite side has a single leather armchair like something from a therapist's office.

Although there is a wide window, it's covered with blinds, and Jimin knows from experience that it opens directly onto a brick wall for privacy. Instead, the room is lit from above with ceiling lights that are adjustable by a dimmer. Jimin leaves it bright.

Yoongi slowly makes his way to the black leather armchair, sitting down on it and leaning forward to inspect the desk. Absurdly large, it is mostly uncovered except for a diary with some unreadable scrawls on it, an ancient laptop that doesn't turn on, and a ruler. "Is this your office?" Yoongi asks incredulously.

Jimin cackles before he can help himself, moving forward to perch on the edge of the desk in front of Yoongi. "Does it look like I'd get anything done here? It's a play room, baby."

"Play room?" his husband replies dully, but Jimin doesn't miss the way his eyes are zoned in on Jimin's body, the intimidating leather jacket fixed with a tightly buckled belt around his waist, the skintight black jeans that barely contained his thighs, and perfectly glossed black dress shoes, his calling card amongst the typical stomping boots or knife-thin stilettos that most other doms wore. He always got dressed at the dungeon, leaving the house in unassuming sweatpants and a hoodie, so he gets no little satisfaction in relishing his husband's first reaction to the getup.

"That's right," he confirms with a smirk, crossing his legs. "We have five of them at the moment, though the sixth one is almost ready for use. This one is for your typical CEO or professor roleplays, we have a medical one, an interrogation one," Jimin rattles them off on his fingers, watching the way Yoongi's eyes bug out at each addition, "just a basic bedroom one for the vanilla stuff, one that actually looks like a dungeon, and the new one is gonna be an outdoor one."

"Outdoor?" Yoongi asks with a unsteady voice, before shaking his head to clear the thoughts. "Anyway, here is fine, I just- I had to get away from work, Minnie, and I... I was thinking..."

Jimin frowns in sympathy, leaning forward to stroke the back of Yoongi's hand. "I can leave early, I don't have anything else booked today, I was mostly planning on sticking to the social lounge-"

"I don't wanna go home," Yoongi slips in hurriedly, flipping his hand on the arm of the chair to link their fingers together tightly, though his eyes don't leave Jimin's for a second. "I know that you like to keep this job and our own love life separate, and I'm not going to force you, but- I came here because I want to submit to you."

Jimin's eyes widen, his breath catching in his chest. A switch at heart, Jimin had always found it a nice balance to indulge his dominant side here at work, and return home for Yoongi to take care of him, and it had always worked well. Even before they were serious, right in the early days of fucking like rabbits and pretending they weren't entirely smitten, Yoongi had always easily taken that more dominant role, though most of their sex to this day was far less kinky than the kind of demonstrations Jimin ran here. What Yoongi was asking wasn't just to be pampered and taken care of, but to be taken control of. And Jimin couldn't deny the ball of heat that was quickly building inside of him at that thought.

"Baby," he sighs, forcing himself to keep professionalism in mind, "I can't- We can't do anything here without you filling out some paperwork. The list of kinks and limits at the least. Not just as an employee, but as your husband, I gotta keep you safe."

"I know," Yoongi insists, and he frees his hand from Jimin's grip just long enough to plunge a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a tightly folded piece of paper, handing it to Jimin.

Oddly enough, the folds are worn, not crisp, and as Jimin unfolds it, the text - printed in 12 point Times New Roman, because of course Yoongi would type it up with perfect formatting - has lost the freshly-printed gloss.

"I've been working up the courage to come here for months, Jimin-ah," Yoongi explains in a shy but determined voice. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to feel pressured at all either way, but please know that this is something that I've researched, and that I'm serious about." His solemn expression turns slightly cheeky, almost impish. "You literally make a living domming people, Minnie. I've been fantasising about it long before I even realised I wanted it."

A thrill of arousal runs through Jimin, straight between his legs, and he tightens his thighs, taking a settling breath. "Oh, baby," he coos, eyes dropping to read Yoongi's well-documented and organised list of kinks and limits, scanning over some surprising - and not-so-surprising - tidbits, "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

The air rushes out of Yoongi's lungs as he unconsciously scoots forward in the chair, leaning in. "Do we- Do we just start now, or do you need to go get some-" he breaks off, blushing violently, "some equipment?"

Jimin breaks into a broad smile, eyes crinkling as he steps forward, steps close, ringed fingers slipping into Yoongi's hair on either side, tipping his husband's face up as his chin rests on Jimin's lower abdomen. "Oh, my big boy wants to play with some toys, huh?" Jimin can feel when Yoongi swallows hard, his eyes not glossy with subspace, instead keen and sharp with pointed desire. "Don't worry, baby, this room isn't as empty as you think."

When he steps away, dropping all contact, Yoongi slumps like a puppet with cut strings, catching himself before he slips off the chair, instead lying back against it, chest heaving beneath the starch white of his dress shirt.

Jimin makes his way first to the bookshelves, looking back over his shoulder to catch Yoongi's reaction as he finds a notch in the framing and pulls, revealing that they aren't real shelves at all, simply disguised cabinets that swing open to reveal the hidden delights inside. The three closest to the desk are filled with clothes of all sizes, office-wear spanning pencil skirts to neckties to blazers, a few frumpy pieces that remind Jimin of dorky professors, even some school uniforms, cut far shorter than regulation.

With a grin, Jimin pulls at a pleated plaid skirt, smirking at Yoongi. "In the mood for dress-up, baby? Show off those pretty legs of yours."

Yoongi, still with some wits about him, narrows his eyes with a mock scowl, his disapproval clear.

Jimin sighs out wistfully, but lets it go. "Another time, maybe." Ignoring Yoongi's light scoff, he nudges the doors shut with his foot one at a time and moves to the last one, where the facade of stacked books hides a series of hooks nailed into the back wall.

Jimin doesn't need to even face Yoongi to know he's squirming in his chair - the squeaking leather gives it away. Strung up are floggers, whips, switches, and neatly coiled bundles of rope, catalogued by length. His husband had expressed interest in both impact play and bondage, several different types of both, and so it's no surprise that the sight of those fantasies had Yoongi breathing heavily. He leaves that cupboard open.

"There are so many things we could play with in here, baby," Jimin assures, patting the folded piece of paper that he'd slipped into his own pocket, "and your list was pretty extensive, so before we get started, any particular preference?"

Yoongi swallows again, hair slightly rucked up from Jimin's hands. Jimin can't wait to see it totally mussed up, see his husband in ruins, see him love it. With wary eyes on Jimin as he moves behind the desk towards the filing cabinets, Yoongi nods. "The- what you were doing with that guy on stage. I- I want that."

Jimin blinks, turning his back to his husband to mask his surprise, fingers hooking the edge of the top drawer of one of the cabinets, each one labelled alphabetically. "Is that so? We did a lot on that stage, baby, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

Yoongi is silent for a moment, his breathing the only sound as Jimin carefully slides the drawer open, revealing neatly sectioned rows of anal plugs. He grins. A for Anal, B for Bondage, C for Chastity. The designers really took their job seriously, and he could appreciate the humour in it.

He lets Yoongi take his time, knowing that saying something is often the hardest part. Instead, he notes the location of the drawer marked P, and turns back to his husband.

Looking incredibly small, tucked up on the intentionally oversized armchair, Yoongi clears his throat, making shy eye contact. "The paddles," he says in a high tone, like he's unsure he's even using the correct word, "I want you to- to hit me with them like you did him."

"You want me to spank that pretty little ass of yours?" Jimin confirms, loving the way his husband goes bright pink.

"Y-yeah," he replies breathily, dropping his gaze. "Will you?"

Despite the raging fire inside him, Jimin's heart leaps fondly, so in love with his husband and all his endearing mannerisms. "Of course, baby. But let's start slow, hm? Gotta make your first time special, don't we?"

Yoongi laughs, then, full of air and barely audible, his lips lilting in a small smile that still shows his teeth.

Jimin tilts his head to the side. "What?"

With a tiny head shake, Yoongi contains his grin. "I just really wanna kiss you right now."

Jimin is moving before he's even finished speaking, his hip barely missing the corner of the desk in his haste to join his husband, knees straddling his lap without hesitation, holding those soft cheeks in both hands as he presses his lips firmly against Yoongi's, eyes fluttering shut.

Their parting kiss before Yoongi left for work this morning feels too long ago, and for a moment their new arrangement is forgotten as they fall into their usual motions, years of marriage making every inch of Yoongi's lips feel familiar, the bump of their noses and brush of eyelashes like home even in such a different environment.

With no rush, Jimin lets himself indulge in it, burying one hand in Yoongi's hair, carding through the choppy black locks that are no longer gelled back. His other hand slides down Yoongi's jaw, neck, and chest, tugging at the knot of his tie to loosen it. He makes no effort to be gentle, and his husband just groans into Jimin's mouth at the rough treatment.

It's all too easy to shift into his dom space, a practiced scale of gradually increasing intensity. It begins with the tie, but soon enough Jimin punctuates their ongoing kiss with hard sucks and quick nips of teeth, Yoongi tipping his chin up to drown in it more. Testing the waters, Jimin rocks his hips once against Yoongi's taut crotch and yanks once on a fistful of hair, baring the pale expanse of Yoongi's neck.

The debauched lawyer bucks beneath him, hands flying to grip tightly at Jimin's waist. His long, beautiful fingers and wide palm have always made Jimin feel weak at the knees, and feeling them grasp at him not in command but in desperation feels addictive.

"You like that?" he breathes, voice low enough to almost growl, and Yoongi shivers as he nods his affirmation. "Good," Jimin praises, and dives down, teeth grazing down the sensitive skin of Yoongi's throat, skimming until he feels the throb of his pulse point. Yoongi can't risk marks at work, certainly not in court, but it's a Friday, and Jimin is feeling more possessive than usual. He nips lightly but laps at the skin thoroughly, knowing the best he can get away with is a reddened bite mark which would fade over the weekend. The hickies were best saved for other areas, he knew.

Yoongi is panting like a horse now, air punched through his nostrils as he bites down hard on his own swollen lip. Jimin knows the effect he has on his subs, and grins against the glistening wet skin of Yoongi's neck at the hardness that has grown between his legs. "Wuh-want more, Minnie," he gasps out, "need more."

Jimin hums, making sure Yoongi can feel the vibrations in the hollow of his throat, sliding up to press kisses to that hyper-sensitive place just behind Yoongi's ear that always made him tremble.

It doesn't disappoint, Yoongi letting out a shaky breath as his arms wrap around Jimin's waist, trying to bring him closer.

Jimin doesn't let him, though, pulling back to sit on his haunches, running a thumb down Yoongi's reddened lower lip to watch the way it springs back into place. Yoongi sits still, eyes cloudy as he lets his dom for the night play with him. The thought pleases Jimin; that Yoongi truly was wanting this, truly was willing to give up control to him.

He spares a glance down between his own thighs, where the cool grey of Yoongi's slacks makes no attempt at hiding his bulging erection. Pouting in sympathy, Jimin reaches out with a single finger to trace the outline, watching the muscles in his husband's thighs tense as he fights to stay still. "So hard already, baby," Jimin drawls, "do you think that pretty little cock of yours can wait its turn while I spank you, hm? Can it be patient for me?"

Yoongi flushes, whining Jimin's name under his breath. "Yes," he admits, huffing out a reluctant sigh.

"Yes what?"

Yoongi grimaces at Jimin, but the dom just raises an expectant brow. "Yes, my- my pretty little cock can be patient for you," Yoongi murmurs in the quietest voice he can manage, cheeks red hot.

"That's my boy," Jimin beams, rewarding his husband by popping the button and pulling down the zip on the fly of Yoongi's slacks, releasing some of the pressure. Yoongi groans, deep in his throat, but his relief is quickly thwarted once Jimin stands up off him.

Making his way back to the filing cabinets, Jimin quickly slides open the one labeled P. Splayed out neatly lie five different paddles. Three are plastic, one a basic rounded shape, another that same shape only with several small holes drilled through for a sharper impact, and a final one a rectangular shape. The next one is hard wood, heavy, Jimin recalls, and the one tucked at the back is a softly upholstered pleather one for beginners. Then there's the ruler, of course, though that's a little cheesy for the current mood.

He assesses the five inside at his leisure, knowing every moment of anticipation will feel like an eternity to his husband, and finally makes a choice. He slides the cabinet drawer closed.

Yoongi makes a wounded, cut-off noise in his throat, but Jimin sends him a firm gaze.

"I'll give you what you want, baby," Jimin assures, wetting his lips, "but first I want to feel you myself. Pants and underwear off, jacket off, I want you bent over my desk."

Yoongi sucks in a sudden breath, but stands up on wobbly legs and slips off his blazer. It's probably too expensive to be dumping it on the chair behind him, but Yoongi clearly isn't worried about that as he kicks off his shoes and pants too, only hesitating once his fingers are hooked on the elastic waistband of his underwear.

"Off," Jimin demands harshly, "I won't ask again."

This time Yoongi obeys without delay, and Jimin takes great pleasure in watching the way his husband's cock leaps up once it's freed, pretty and pink and wetter than he'd ever seen it before. Though Yoongi always tended to top, his cock was smaller - more slender, at least - than Jimin's, but he loved it, loved that a hasty three fingers was enough prep on those times that they just couldn't wait to devour each other.

Now, though, with mussed hair and wrinkled shirt, naked from the waist down bar a pair of black ankle socks, Jimin's husband looked positively adorable in the most erotic way, and Jimin wanted nothing more than to make him wait, make him work to cum.

When Yoongi folds himself over the desk, side-on to Jimin to make use of the length of the surface, his hands awkwardly hover on either side of him, keeping himself slightly upright still. The back of his shirt is just long enough to cover the tops of his cheeks, and the sight of his rounded ass and dripping cock peeking through is enough to make Jimin actively restrain himself, taking a moment to breathe and appreciate this opportunity.

He steps forward, planting a hand between Yoongi's shoulder blades and presses, slow enough that Yoongi has time to move his face to the side to avoid banging his chin, but firm enough that there's no resisting. Yoongi goes willingly, however, his back arching as the table is just lower than his hips. Like this, no fabric obstructs Jimin's view, and he hums, pleased. "Good boy."

Yoongi trembles, his legs tight together and knees shaking just slightly. He's nervous at the vulnerable position, but no less aroused for it.

With the tip of his shoe, Jimin guides Yoongi's legs apart, until his socked feet are wider than his hips, until he needs to lean his weight onto the desktop to keep stable.

"That's it," Jimin praises, "my perfect little slut. So obedient."

Yoongi's right knee buckles at the exact moment that he hears the pet name, and Jimin grins. The piece of paper in his pocket had a long list of suggestions for names he was okay being called, and the dom couldn't resist picking out his favourite. The perfect mix of praise and degradation, it flowed so well on his tongue; the smooth, melodic sounds punctuated by the sharp hit of the t. Slut. Jimin muffles a groan, pressing on his own straining erection.

Unable to help himself, he reaches out, both hands grabbing at the plush ass cheeks in front of him, spreading them to watch the way Yoongi clenches at the sudden exposure. This must be what he looks like when they play together, Jimin thinks. He wonders if Yoongi is enjoying the change in pace just as much as he is.

"I'm going to start you off with just my hands, baby," he introduces, running a palm under the hem of his shirt and up Yoongi's spine to watch the way he shivers. "I'm sure you're well aware of the traffic light system, hm? Tell me what the colours mean."

Yoongi shifts, fingers curling uselessly against the tabletop as his eyes remain squeezed shut. "Red means stop, yellow means slow down, green means go," he recites, the exact phrasing off the dungeon's website, and Jimin bends down to press a single soft kiss on the top of Yoongi's ass as a reward, making him twitch violently. "Fuck, Jimin-ah," he sighs, arching his back even more.

Jimin grins. "Good. I'm adding another colour, just for you," he explains. "Gold. Can you guess what gold means?"

Yoongi swallows, shifts his weight, and shakes his head.

Jimin digs his fingers into the flesh of Yoongi's ass, watching them pillow in roughly. "Gold means more. Gold means harder. Okay?"

Yoongi nods quickly, hair even more tangled with every movement.

"Good boy," Jimin croons, and without further comment his left hand rises and comes down in a single strike.

Yoongi seizes up for a second at the shock of it, but there's no power behind the hit, and his brain realises a moment later that no pain follows the loud noise. He huffs in need and pushes his hips back, silently asking for more. "Gold, g-gold," he mutters offbeat, already panting.

Jimin hums in pleasure, and swats his right cheek this time, feeling a sting bloom across his palm. Still not nearly the hardest he can go, it's clearly not enough for Yoongi, as he remains stoic, waiting for more.

The next time, Jimin lets his hand really catch the air on the way down, but he doesn't stop at one hit, raining down three in quick succession on the same spot. Yoongi breathes through the first impact, freezes in surprise at the second one, and an unbidden moan falls out of his mouth at the third.

"Mm, that's better, isn't it?" Jimin muses rhetorically, soothing the slightly pinked patch of skin with his warmed hand. "Just need a bit more pain to let go."

"Please," Yoongi breathes, "jus' keep going."

"Bossy," Jimin teases, "I'm meant to be giving you orders, baby. If you don't quit it, I might not give you what you want at all."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, ple-please hit me again," Yoongi begs mindlessly, and Jimin can't help but indulge him, his husband sounding so pretty when he whines.

When he returns to spanking again, it's in earnest. Instead of pausing to check in each time, he relies on his husband's telling cues to moderate it, as well as the sweet pleas of gold, gold every time Jimin spent too long between swats.

Much like the rest of him, Yoongi's ass blooms candied pink, and with every strike, Jimin can't help but venture further, wanting to colour him in all over. The spanks that fall on Yoongi's upper thighs make him restless, squirming and moaning wordlessly. The ones that land on the fatty portion of his ass have him sighing happily, crooked smile slicked in drool against the wood of the desk.

The two of them slip into an unspoken rhythm for a while, alternating these hits on either side, of varying number and intensity, until Yoongi has almost fallen into a trance of sorts, mouth hanging open slackly as a whine or moan or whimper is falling out of his mouth with every single thwack.

Jimin's arm begins to tire, and just as he pauses to shake out the joints, Yoongi pants a, "wait, wait," making him pause.

It takes a moment for Yoongi to catch his breath, but Jimin waits patiently, scanning his ass and thighs for any sign of something that could be causing undue comfort, but he comes up short. With a weak, slurred voice, Yoongi lets out a sob. "I wanna use the paddle, Minnie, I wanna feel it," he pleads, "I've h-had enough of the spanking."

Jimin furrows his brows in concern, massaging out the sore tissue as Yoongi goes lax beneath him. "If you've had enough, baby, we should stop. I don't wanna push you."

Yoongi actually tears up, biting hard on his lip as he shakes his head. "Please, Minnie, just a few times, I just need it to be- to be heavy. I don't know, but I need it. Gold, please gold."

"Okay," Jimin is agreeing softly, squatting down to press reassuring kisses against the hot flesh, feeling his own palm stinging. He leaves only to slide open the drawer of paddles, selecting the wooden one. He knew from subspace himself that sometimes those base, thoughtless needs stemmed from something deeper, from an emotional need tangled up daily life. Once, in the early days of doing demonstrations at the dungeon, Jimin had gotten stage fright and done such a poor job of a fingering tutorial that the sweet sub he was working on didn't even cum. He'd come home to Yoongi bawling in humiliation, and his husband had lain him down on their bed and made him cum so many times that he couldn't even think, couldn't move a single limb. Now, Jimin had no doubt that the need to feel a heavy impact had something to do with the reason Yoongi had taken an uncharacteristic sick day.

Talking about it wouldn't help, would only break the escapism of the scene, so Jimin just runs the face of the wooden paddle over Yoongi's sore ass, letting him grow accustomed to the feel and texture. "Just two hits," Jimin declares, "one on each cheek. No more. Focus on them, baby. Eyes closed, just feel them."

He waits until Yoongi settles, spreading his legs wider with wiggling toes, and catching his breath, one hand pressed over his teary eyes.

Jimin swings the paddle backwards, not up, and lets it impact on Yoongi's left cheek first, a wet, strangled moan leaving his husband's mouth at the thuddy feel. The wooden paddle didn't hurt like spanking or a lighter paddle. It was about the weighty feel of it hitting your skin, a light hit so as not to cause bruising.

A line of tension disappears between Yoongi's clothed shoulders, the sweaty fabric clinging to his back. He's calmed down, fully, waiting patiently for the second strike. The second Jimin rains that final hit, he drops the paddle onto the carpeted floor, exhausted himself, and moves around to the side of the desk, bending awkwardly over it to press his mouth to Yoongi's, who makes a muffled sound of surprise before responding in turn.

Jimin's hand is curled around the nape of his husband's neck, keeping him close as tears mingle with spit, their kiss salty and desperate.

He feels a vibration between them before he hears anything, has to focus hard to hear Yoongi as he chants over and over like a prayer, thanking Jimin.

He slows the kiss after a sweet eternity, letting their heartbeats return to normal. Jimin's own eyes sting, love and concern a potent combination, but as the adrenaline settles back to normal, Yoongi calms down too, and seems to come back to himself.

He pulls away to let out a tired breath, laughing voicelessly. "Fuck," Yoongi curses with eyes still closed in bliss. "I get it now."

Jimin beams, a chuckle leaving his own lips as he sees the peace on his husband's face. After a moment, though, a frown appears as Yoongi furrows his brows. "What is it?"

"My dick hurts," Yoongi whines, managing to get his elbows under him to lift his chest from the table, head in his hands.

Jimin startles, standing bolt upright as he rushes down to look for any injury. "Oh shit, did I hit it?"

The laugh returns, bubbling out of Yoongi as he turns himself with great effort onto his back, chest still rising and falling dramatically. "No, Jimin-ah, don't worry," he assures, wincing when his ass-cheeks meet the unforgiving surface of the desk. "But if I don't cum soon, I think it's gonna explode."

Jimin's mouth falls open, relief and disbelief flooding his veins equally as he's faced with Yoongi's cock, so flushed with blood it's almost purple in places. "I- Okay, do you- do you want me to get you off, or do you want to keep playing?"

Yoongi looks at him like he's insane. "I mean... Preferably both, Minnie."

After the moment of scare, it takes surprisingly little time before that thrum of arousal is dialed up again, and Jimin smirks, running his hands up and down Yoongi's inner thighs to watch the way he naturally and obediently parts them for him.

"Do you know what I realised, baby?" Jimin coos, stubbornly avoiding the weeping cock in front of him. Yoongi mutters a weak response. "I realised that so far I've been doing all the work so far, haven't I? That isn't really fair, wouldn't you agree?"

Wary, Yoongi pauses and nods, the blur of tears long since replaced by the haze of arousal, of subspace beginning to creep in once more.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Jimin drawls, flattening a hand heavy on the soft flesh just above Yoongi's cock, making the man moan and wriggle to escape the pressure. "So I think, if you want to get off, you should put a little work in yourself. Make some effort, baby."

Yoongi takes a few heaving breaths, before slowly, so carefully, lowering his hand down to wrap around the base of his cock, immediately groaning at the touch. He's leaked so much precum that it takes a single shaky stroke to coat the sensitive skin, and a relieved smile spreads over his face at the thought that he's finally going to get off.

But where's the fun in that?

"Don't you think you're being a little selfish?" Jimin spits stiffly, and flicks once at the very tip of Yoongi's dick.

His husband practically howls, curling up with a depraved cry. "Wha-at?" he sobs, hand trembling as it hovers on his thigh, fighting his desire. "What do you want, Minnie?"

"How sweet of you to ask," Jimin praises in a sugar-sweet voice, reaching down to unzip his own jeans. "Those hands are big enough to fit the both of us, aren't they?"

Blearily, Yoongi looks down as Jimin slips his aching cock out from his pants, fitting himself between Yoongi's spread legs so that their bobbing lengths bump together.

Even that contact is enough to make Yoongi hiss, but he's desperate and so he nods quickly, fingers trembling as they grab Jimin's cock, pinning them together in his grip. He pauses, panting as he stares up at Jimin for permission.

Jimin smiles placidly, bending forward to press a single chaste kiss to his husband's lips. "I don't want you cumming before I do, okay?" he asks sweetly, though the threat is thinly veiled.

Using the strength of his abdomen to lift his upper half off the desk, Yoongi stabilises himself with an elbow while his other hand jerks the two of them off together, thumb running over the sensitive heads, paying extra attention to Jimin's.

"That's it," Jimin groans, biting hard on his tongue. Truth be told, it was hard enough for him to hold back, feeling threads of an orgasm already knitting together in his stomach. But he's not willing to let go of the pretty sight of Yoongi just yet, so debauched and far gone as he shivers with every stroke, torn between making Jimin cum and preventing his own climax.

After mere minutes, Yoongi has collapsed back onto the desk, ankles curled around Jimin's back to hold him close, hand shaking violently.

"Please," he begs occasionally, but the moment his hand slows down to give himself a break, Jimin pinches his inner thigh in warning. They both knew marks there were allowed.

It's not until Yoongi is quite literally biting down on his own knuckles to hold back an orgasm that Jimin can't keep himself from cumming anymore.

Greedily, he runs his hands over Yoongi's sides, skimming the shirt up to put his chest on display, flicking at the delicate pink nipples. Jimin cums so hard he almost buckles forward onto Yoongi, spurting white all over Yoongi's hand and cock.

He holds himself up shakily, spouting praises to Yoongi as the wave of pleasure rushes through him, making his toes tingle and his fingers curl, scratches down Yoongi's chest and stomach.

"Oh, god, I'm gonna- Mi-Minnie, can I cum, oh fuh-fuck, no!"

One last liberty taken in his time as Yoongi's dom, Jimin pulls himself away, pinning Yoongi's wrists to the table and watching as his cock, dripping white, bobs desperately in the air, seeking friction.

Yoongi babbles pleas and curses, hips jerking, but it only takes Jimin leaning down, blowing a single thin stream of cool air over Yoongi's cock for Yoongi's thighs to tense. He cums, untouched, shuddering and seizing on the table as Jimin takes mercy and wraps his hand around him to stroke him through it.

"Look at you," Jimin croons in wonder, watching cum spill between his fingers, the two of them mixed together indistinguishably. "Baby, you look perfect like this. Please tell me you want to do that again."

Yoongi makes a strangled, guttural noise as he goes limp on the table, legs dangling off the edge. "Fuck, not right away, you demon," he protests grumpily, "now come kiss me again."

With a fond beam, heart so full with love and post-orgasm endorphins that he can barely handle it, Jimin tugs him up by his forearms and joins their mouths together, Yoongi's one dry hand tangling in his hair as he smiles into the kiss.

It takes only a few moments, however, for the sticky reality to sink in, and soon enough Yoongi is parting, letting his forehead rest against Jimin's. "I don't suppose there are any wet wipes in here?" he ventures.

Jimin chuckles, leaning back. "Cleaning materials in the desk drawers," he divulges.

With crazy sex hair and wide eyes, Yoongi makes quite the picture. "Fuck, I love this place. Let's try the interrogation one next time, yeah?"

#bts smut #bts fic #jimin smut #yoongi smut #yoonmin #yoonmin smut #yoonmin fic #jimin fic #yoongi fic #dom jimin #sub yoongi

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aewhore · 3 years

Text

Sour candy kisses~ Nick Jackson x reader (NSFW)

You and Hangman are childhood best friends and you talk/text every day and your boyfriend Nick thought he was okay with it but his jealous side does come out to play slightly however you put his mind to rest and assure him nothing is going on in the only way you know how. (Sexy time ensues)

Hanging out backstage at AEW dynamite was always the highlight of your weeks, seeing your coworkers who became friends and your friends who became family made your Wednesdays just a little brighter. You were sitting in the EVP dressing room, joking and chatting with Matt and your boyfriend of 3 years, Nick. You loved having some downtime with Matt and Nick when you all weren’t running around booking the shows. You sat on the large comfy couch in the dressing room when your phone went off. Your brows furrow slightly at the unexpected interference.

Hangy:

Hey Y/N! You free?

You can’t help but smile at your phone when you see a text from your favourite lone cowboy Adam Page. You and Adam had been best friends for what felt like your entire life, You had met on the first day back in preschool and You were both the only wrestling fans in your school so you stuck to each other like glue. Your fingers raced across your phone screen as you replied.

Y/N:

Oh hell yeah I am! Meet ya in the café in 5!

You locked your phone and slipped it into your hoodie pocket before beginning to stand from the couch, shimmying out of Nick’s arms. “Hey, where ya going?” Nick pips up, You rolled your eyes at Nick’s protest at the loss of your body heat. “I’m going to meet up with Adam in the cafeteria, do you want me to bring you back anything?” You turn towards Nick in time to catch his face sour slightly. “Oh ok, nope I’m good” The bitterness towards Adam seeped into Nick’s voice. You shoot him a glare before you shake your head and leave. Not even wanting to justify his harshness towards the lone cowboy. “tell him we say hi” You hear Matt yell as the door closes behind you. As you walk from the EVP dressing room to the cafeteria you can’t help but grin at seeing your best friend. You don’t make it to the cafeteria when you hear Adam call out your name. You twist around to see Adam jogging towards you with a fast-food bag and two drink cups which you can only assume are milkshakes. “Took you long enough, come on let’s go find a table, I got something real funny to show you”

Fast forward an hour and you and Adam are still in the cafeteria, empty food containers stuffed back in the fast-food bag as you and Adam huddle around his phone to watch what felt like the 200th funny dog video he showed you today. “Look, look the dog is in the driver’s seat of the truck, why is he there? He can’t drive!” Adam could barely get a sentence out because you were both wheezing so hard. “Man, where do you find this stuff? This is the greatest thing ever!” Ever since Adam was kicked out of the elite, you were thankful whenever you got to see him be carefree and laugh like he used to. You pulled your phone out and nearly gasped at the time, Dynamite would be over at any moment so you had been in the cafeteria for nearly an hour. You see a text notification pop up from Nick.

Pretty Nicki:

Me and Matt gonna go with good brothers to grab a bite to eat, I’ll meet you back at the hotel. xx

Your brows furrow slightly at the bluntness of Nick’s message. Normally if he goes for food after dynamite, he brings you but you dismiss those thoughts and reassure yourself that it isn’t that deep. You reply to him, telling him you’ll get a ride with Adam and that you’ll see him back at the hotel later on. “Is everything okay?” You hadn’t noticed Adam stopped laughing and was looking very concerned at the suddenly sad look in your eyes. “Oh nothing, Nick is just going to get food with Matt and the good brothers.” You explained as you tucked your phone back into your jeans. “Without you?” Adam inquires, You’re slightly confused at Adam’s question. “I mean yeah, we don’t have to do everything together.” You turn to look him in the eye. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it, just a question. Do you need a ride back to the hotel then?” Adam was quick to change the subject away from Nick. “Oh yeah, do you mind? I hate to spring this on you” You felt guilty but Adam’s quick response helped put you to rest. “Y/N don’t be like that, you know you ain’t a bother to me. Go grab your stuff and I’ll meet you by the truck out front” You smile at Adam before grabbing the rubbish in front of you and standing to go throw it away on your way to get your things from the locker room.

There was a comfortable silence between you and Adam as he drove you both back to the hotel. One of Adam’s many country music playlists was softly playing in the background. As you rounded the corner into the Hotel car park you take your phone out to check if Nick text you back and he had read the message. You’re pulled from your thoughts by Adam cutting off the engine and hopping out of the truck. You follow suit and round the back to the bed of the truck to grab your bags when you see Adam handing them to you. “Oh thanks, hangy” you take the bags from him and he leads the way towards the hotel lobby. “Anytime darling, do you need to check-in?” He asks when you fall into step with him. “Oh No, Nick checked in earlier so I already have the key.” You pull your key card out of your purse and wave it towards him. “I see, I ain’t that organised so I gotta check-in, Talk to ya later then.” You and Adam stop in the centre of the lobby to bid your goodnight’s. “Alright, Adam I’ll text ya tomorrow morning.” You pull him into a hug and you give him a tight squeeze before releasing him so you could start walking towards the elevator towards the back of the lobby.

Slotting your key into the key card reader, you were happy to see that tiny green light flash allowing you into the room. You see the lights in the room are already on indicating that Nick has returned to the room before you. “Hey, baby I’m back” You give out a soft shout as you dump your bags and jacket on the floor beside Nick's luggage. You enter the room to see Nick sitting on the bed on his phone with his back towards you. Before you can say anything he stands and swiftly walks into the bathroom nearly slamming the door after him. “Jeez someone has an attitude all of a sudden.” You roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s attitude before you walk back to open your luggage to grab your nighties to get ready for bed. After you’ve changed Nick exits the bathroom, in his usual bed attire a pair of old basketball shorts and a black tank top. He stops to plug in his phone as you walk around him to enter the bathroom, leaving the door open behind you. “How was the dinner with the good bro’s?” You ask before beginning to brush your teeth. “Oh, you know the usual, Doc messing around, Anderson hyping him up and Matt being an idiot. Normal stuff.” You laugh at the understatements in Nick’s recollection of the night out. You spit out and rinse your mouth out before leaving the bathroom and walking to your side of the bed to plug in your phone and prepare for sleep.

“So how was your dinner date with Adam?” Nick pipes up as he sits with his back against the bed’s headboard lazily flicking through the channels on the TV. You eye him up before responding “Nick we’ve been over this, Adam is my best friend and that’s it.” He turns his full attention towards you before speaking again. “Oh really, is that why you were cuddling in the middle of the cafeteria?” You could tell he was getting irritated but so were you. “We were not cuddling in the cafeteria, Jesus Christ It’s like you don’t trust me at all sometimes.” You were tired and annoyed at having to defend your friendship to Nick. “I do trust you Y/N, I just don’t trust him” You roll your eyes at his lame excuse. “What’re you rolling your eyes for? It's the truth, I don’t trust him!” It took everything in you not to laugh at that. “Come on Nick it shouldn’t matter if you trust Adam or not if you trust me! You’re just being mean to him because you’re jealous!”

Nick let out a shocked breath before smiling. “I am not jealous of that idiot” You ignored his petty attempts to get you to defend Adam. you saw through his mind games. “I think you are” You’re getting giddy now, you’re under the younger Jackson brother’s skin. “Am not” He childishly quips back. “Oh you’re so jealous of my big strong cowboy” You stoked the flames in Nick’s eyes as you sat facing him on your knees. “Why would I be jealous of that bumbling drunk?” You were still smiling at Nick as he glared daggers back at you. “Hmm, that’s a good question why would you be jealous of that tall, muscular southern boy who was one half still the longest-reigning tag champs in AEW history, with golden hair and-” You’re inputted from your mocking when Nick grabs your knees to pull you towards him before you fall back so you’re now on your back with Nick towering over you. Your hips trapped under his with your legs spread to either side of his waist. He’s replying most of his body weight on his forearms which frame your head. His face mere inches from your own. “Are you done?” He leans down to growl into your ear.

You grin to yourself knowing you’ve won. You let out a small shaky breath before nodding into his shoulder. “Good, now as I was saying, I could never and will never be jealous of that dumbass cowboy because he could never make you feel the things I do.” He has your hips locked against the mattress and you can’t help but try to grind up against him. He smirks at your attempt at more friction. “I know what you want baby girl, but I ain’t gonna give it to you” You whine at this unfair denial of your pleasure. “Why not?” you demanded to know. “I need to hear you say it” You were confused at Nick’s request. “Hear me say what?” Nick raises himself so that he’s looming over you, his icy Atlantic ocean blue eyes staring into your own. “I need to hear you say that I am far better than that idiot in every single way, I have a better body than him, I’m a better tag wrestler than he could ever dream of being, I got the greatest damn hot tag in the business and I have far superior hair than him.” Seeing Nick’s arrogant in bed was intoxicating, he had never gotten like this with you before but now you knew you would be pushing his buttons more often. “Baby Do I have to? I mean I bet I could call up Adam and he’d give me whatever I wanted” You were being bratty but you loved it. “Oh baby girl don’t lie to yourself like that, he could never give you what I give you, he could never make you feel as good as I do.”

The passion in Nick’s eyes took your breath away. Nick shifted his weight onto one forearm as he moved his other hand down to roam the side of your ribs and to ghost your breast, arching your back towards his hand did nothing as he’d move before you could get the touch you carved “Nick I need you, I need you to make me feel good” You wanted Nick so bad at this point. “Hmm, I think I need some more convincing. Beg me for it.” Nick’s arrogant smirk was driving you crazy. “Please Nick, please you know you’re the only one that can make me feel this good” Nick was trailing kisses along your jawline as you pleaded with him. “How could I possibly turn away my needy little slut? I’m gonna make you feel so good you forget how to say your own name.” small moans and whimpers were escaping your lips as Nick nipped and sucked your neck slowly making his way down your body. “You’re wearing too many clothes, off, now” Nick demands as he stands up to tower over you as he strips himself. You rush to strip as quick as you can, throwing your clothes aimlessly off the bed.

You lay back on the bed on your bed as Nick stands naked between your spread legs. Nick’s hands roam your thighs before bends down to lay open mouth kisses along your inner thigh travelling from your left knee up to your crotch purposefully skipping your pussy as he travels back up your right leg leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake. Your attempt to buck your hips towards Nick is stopped by one of Nick’s muscular arms resting on your pelvis keeping you pressed against the mattress. Nick’s teasing streak continues as he delivers a long swipe of his tongue to your pussy just stopping before your clit. Before You can whine at his negligence of your clit he pulls back slightly only to spit on you before he begins to give gentle kitten licks to your clit, causing your moans to slowly build in volume. He gives more general attention to your pussy before he suddenly latches onto your clit causing you to scream his name. The onslaught of a rhythm he builds, long swipes of his tongue on your pussy before teasing your hole that was clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled before he focused his attention onto you pulsing clit, has the coil in your pelvis tightening by the second. You didn’t care if the entire hotel knew you were screaming Nick’s name at this point. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as the coil in your pelvis snaps and you cum onto Nick’s face. You don’t get rest as Nick continues to tongue fuck you through your orgasm. Once you’ve slightly caught your breath you look down to Nick still kneeling between your thighs with a sly smile on his face, before you can ask his plans you feel one of his calloused, long fingers tease your quivering hole. Your head falls back against the mattress as you feel his finger plunge onto you. He shallowly thrusts his finger in and out of you. You can feel him brush against your G spot and you are begging him for more before you even think about it. He grants your wish by sliding a second finger into you. You feel him resume his pace, thrusting his two fingers into you, the pressure against your g spot building and building. You felt him slip a third finger into you and your hand moves down to grab onto his head as the feeling of fullness makes your head spin. With the pace of Nick’s fingers being thrust into you, You can feel your second orgasm approaching. Suddenly he leans down and begins to suck on your clit and your vision goes completely white as your second orgasm of the night hits you.

He continues to thrust into you through your orgasm before he slides his fingers out of you. You whine at the loss. He climbs back up your body before he settles above you. He raises the fingers that were in you to his lips before they disappear into his mouth as he licks off your cum from his fingers. You moan at the sight of him licking your essence off his fingers before he takes them out and he lowers himself onto you to capture your mouth in a breathtakingly passionate kiss. Feeling his body weight pressing you into the mattress with his arms around you and his lips locked onto your own provided you with a level of comfort that only he could give you. Your hands rise from your sides to tangle in his long luxurious hair. You feel his hard erection against your inner thigh and you raise your hips slightly off the bed to grind against it. You hear a groan from Nick as his hand settles on your neck, holding your face in place as he moves back slightly to stare into your eyes. You feel Nick move his other hand down to his dick as he holds the shaft of it to tease you by sliding through your folds before he begins to slowly slip the tip into your hole. You can feel yourself trying to tighten around Nick, you feel the need to have Nick inside of you build and build.

Before you can beg, Nick grants your wish by thrusting into you. From the get-go, he sets a mind-numbing pace. Fucking you so hard and deeply that you feel like he’s fucking the breath out of your lungs. Nick moves both of his hands underneath your thighs to pin your knees up to your chest in an agonisingly good position. The coil in your pelvis was tightening with every thrust Nick delivers to you. Your moans were mixing with Nicks and you can feel his thrusts start to stutter as his own orgasm was fast approaching. You feel one of Nick’s hands move around your thigh so he could rub tight quick circles onto your clit. The sudden spike of pleasure causing your third orgasm of the night to hit you out of nowhere. Your pelvic muscles tighten and pulse around Nick causing his thrusts to stutter, he thrusts into you a few more times before he paints your walls with his cum. He releases your thighs before he collapses on top of you causing your break out into a smile. You raise your hands to rub his back and comb through his hair. He raises his head slightly to gaze into your eyes. “Did I make you feel good princess?” Nick smiles as you both break into giggles. “Oh yeah Nick, You made me feel real good” You lay gentle kisses on Nick’s face. You loved having Nick in your arms like this, his head nuzzled into your neck. You can feel the gentle smile on his face as he gives your neck lazy kisses. “I love you Nicki” You mumble “I love you too baby.” You hear Nick grumble into your neck as you feel yourself lull into sleep.

#Nick Jackson #nick jackson imagine #nick jackson fanfiction #nick jackson smut #AEW #aew imagines #aew fanficiton #aew smut #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #the young bucks #pls be kind #wrestling #being the elite

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p-artsypants · 3 years

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P-Artsypants Fic Masterpost!

This information is always available on my blog.

Find most, if not more, of these fics on:

Fanfiction.net | Archive of Our Own | Wattpad

(~AU’s, *Finished, ❤️Author’s Favorites)

Kingdom Hearts

~❤️Rage Awakened AO3 | FF.net- Ten years ago, Terra, Aqua, and Ventus lost their fellow apprentice, Sora, in Deep Jungle. Now, they are to return with two new students, Riku and Kairi, to lock the heart of the world. All the while, something watches from the trees. Feral!Sora AU

My Kingdom for a Heart AO3 | FF.Net - The curse of being one of the Princesses of heart, is that there’s always someone out to get you. As Xemnas looked failure in the face, he reached out in a last ditch effort and destroyed Kairi’s heart. Now her friends must travel the worlds again. Sora, to find a way to recover Kairi’s heart, and Riku, to make amends to those he has wronged. All the while, the darkness grows. [Unfinished, on permanent hiatus]

Miraculous Ladybug

One Shots

*❤️Amalgam- When an young man is rejected for being ‘incompatible’ he turns into the akuma ‘Amalgam’ able to fuse two people together. And later Adrien and Marinette would debate if it was lucky or unlucky that they got hit. (Also Available in Russian)

*Sing We All Noel- After receiving the worst Christmas present ever from his father, Chat Noir finds himself out on the streets with nowhere to go on Christmas Eve. Thankfully, Ladybug finds him and brings him home.

*Speechless- In a world where everyone has a soulmark, the first words their soulmate will say to them, Marinette is born without one. But Adrien Agreste has two. Curious, considering he’s mute.

*❤️Tunnels of Love- The night started out with an accidental kiss from Adrien Agreste, and ended with her bleeding in the Catacombs of Paris. Ladybug, the wielder of the miraculous of good luck. Yeah right. (Some blood)

*The Reveal That Wasn’t- First Parts My ending to kittybug’s Tumblr Prompt

*What A Mess We’re In- Ladybug has a lot on her mind, and when Chat Noir bugs her enough, she tells him she’s going to confess to her Crush, Adrien Agreste. Chat’s reaction is not what she’s expecting.

*Oblivi-oh no! - A retelling of Oblivio, except Ladybug is the only one to lose her memory. How will Chat deal?

*Bad Day (3 chapters) - Marinette was Ladybug! This was Adrien’s luckiest day ever! Except it wasn’t, because all his good luck was used up in one go. Turns out this might be the worst day of his life.

*One Win, So Many Losses- Marinette was forced to break up with Adrien. It had been a low blow from Gabriel, to be sure. But she was Ladybug. She’d find a solution…right? An alternate ending to Chat Blanc, where Adrien doesn’t Cataclysm the akuma.

*❤️Five Minutes- Gabriel has had enough of all these girls fighting over Adrien. He decides it’s high time Adrien picks one, and arranges the perfect opportunity for him to do so. Each candidate has five minutes to present why they’d be a good girlfriend. Marinette decides to take this opportunity to shoot her shot.

~*Panache- Every eligible maiden was invited to the Prince’s ball. That included Marinette, scullery maid in her own household. But her stepsisters destroyed her dress, and she can’t go to the ball in rags. Or can she? (Cinderella!AU)

*Perfect, No Matter What-In which Gabriel sets the bar even lower for himself, a reveal happens because of pain medication, and the new guardian actually goes to Chloé for advice.

*Crushed- Stuck under a collapsed building together, Chat Noir and Marinette have a heart to heart.

*Lovelace- Convinced that he's unlovable, Adrien is quickly thrown for a loop when Marinette confesses her love for him out of the blue. An akumatization and reveal later, he changes his mind about being unlovable.

Long Fics

*❤️Longest Night- (FF.net | Ao3) - The day started out sucky to begin with. Her crush ousted to the class and Adrien. Lila taking pride in exacting her revenge. But by the time patrol was over, a young man was dead, and Ladybug’s identity was at risk. Lila was the least of her concerns. Good thing Adrien was taking it all like a champ. (Rated M for scenes of torture)

*❤️Nine Lives- (FF.net) When Adrien Agreste is scheduled to go to a Military School in Germany, Chat Noir must make a critical decision. Does he give up his Miraculous? Or does he give up his life as Adrien? I’ll save you the trouble of guessing, he gives up being Adrien.

*Tender Words- When Marinette finally gets the guts to confess her feelings for Adrien, some things go so wrong, and other things go so right.

*Integrity- Overwhelmed with her responsibilities, guilt, and drama, Marinette has an emotional breakdown in front of everyone, and even hands over her earrings in a moment of weakness. Only for a few seconds, but the damage was done. Adrien’s pretty quick on the uptake like that.

~Much Obliged- Everyone deals with grief differently. Some take to drinking, others devote themselves to charity. Adrien Agreste? Well, he became a cowboy. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a witch, one of very few in the world. She knows what it’s like to be doubted, and assumed delusional. Maybe that’s why they got along so well. Or maybe it’s just because they both like big hats. AU where everything is the same, except instead of superheroes, Adrien is a Cowboy and Marinette is a witch. (Unfinished) (Based on a AU by @bugaboo-n-bananoir)

*I’ll Handle This- “I’ll solve all your problems,” Plagg had said. “You just have to agree to it.” A fixed relationship with his father, Lila to stop bothering him, and Ladybug to fall in love with him? Who wouldn’t agree to that? Except Plagg was the God of Destruction and Chaos and had a more…hands-on approach. Adrien just wants his body back. (Body swap fic)

The Ghost of Smokey Joe- Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

How To Train Your Dragon

One Shots

The Vikings Have Their Tea (FF.Net | AO3)

Arranged Marriage- Takes place at the beginning of HTTYD

❤️Breathe- Survival of the fittest

~Childhood Friends- At the Sandbox

❤️Easy Fix- In which Hiccup has a bad day

~Fashion Designer- Astrid needs a fill in

❤️Frozen- In Which Astrid takes a Dip and things get frisky (Rated M)

❤️Headache- In Which Hiccup hits his head….really hard

❤️Heir- In Which Hiccup is Picked (Longer version by FateCharms)

Illness- In Which Stoick is a dad

~Illusionist- Trick gone wrong

~In the Walls- In which there’s a poop ghost

~Knocking On The Wrong Door (2) - A chance encounter

❤️Messages- Astrid is Frustrated with Hiccup’s obliviousness

~To Mirkwood- Hiccup is not a dwarf

~Monster Falls- Hiccup and Astrid take a dip

❤️Mute- In which there’s a quiet stranger

~Music Video (ImgHS)- He didn’t expect it

❤️Operation: Lovebirds- In Which the gang makes a plan, and Hiccup gets Drunk

~Over- Too many nightmares

~Partners in Crime- A normal day at work

~Pirate- Astrid is the greatest treasure

~Prince- He doesn’t want to be a broken King

❤️Sorting Things Out- In Which Astrid gets her ducks in a row

~The Dragon and The Dame- Beauty and the Beast Au

The Pit- In Which Hiccup is rescued

Hide and Seek- Part 1

Lost and Found- Part 2

Long fics:

*❤️Infernal Responsibility- Being the son of the chief takes brains, courage, and a lot of patience. But at his father’s the request for marriage, Hiccup decides he has had enough. When he seeks out a life of ease, he runs into more than what he bargained for.

*❤️Roses and Lilies- “Astrid, you and I both know you’re much tougher than I am. You’re more brave, and a better fighter…but just for a little while…could we pretend that I’m the one protecting you?” “Oh gods yes!” (Also Available in Spanish!)

*~What the Water Gave Me- The sea is a wild and dangerous thing, something that cannot be foretold or predicted. Hiccup discovered this many years ago, in human naiveté. Yet, what was meant as a sacrifice became a new life, one like no one could comprehend. He now finds himself once more in the unknowing hands of those that sentenced him to death. He only prays things will be different this time. Merman!AU

*Parasite- Soulsnatcher Dragons are rare but deadly. But, As Hiccup finds out, it’s the eggs you have to watch out for.

*~320 State Street- Gobber’s Goods. A Hardware Store that was rumored to have everything you needed. She thought she only needed a job. Turns out, she needed a lot more than that. (A Modern AU no one asked for)

*~❤️The North Tower- When Finn Hofferson died, Astrid inherited his castle in Wales…and a whole lot more. Something sinister lurks in the North Tower.

*~❤️Boy Toy- AO3 - At the age of 21, Princess Astrid lawfully has to pick a husband. But when the perfect groom is nowhere to be found, she requests the toymaker to create one for her. It’s safe to say that everyone in the kingdom is a little concerned. (Pinocchio!AU I guess?)

No, You Go First- AO3 - The Chief of Berk was a headstrong viking, stubborn and full of pride, and willing to do whatever it takes to keep his village safe. But for a moment, he puts that aside, and listens to his son. In which Hiccup convinces his dad not to make him go through Dragon Training, and the subsequent changes that follow.

*In Due Time- AO3 - As another illness sweeps through Berk, Gothi needs another ingredient for her medicine…one that doesn’t exist anymore. Fortunately, she kept that old spell book around for such an occasion. Big Hiccup is sent to five years into the past, and his younger self sent to take his place in the future. But it’s only a few days, what could go wrong?

Trollhunters: Tales from Arcadia

❤️Arcadia or Bust- In Which Arcadia welcomes back it’s underground citizens.

Teen Titans

Oneshots:

~Big Brother- Don’t turn out the light (Horror)

Dear Jason- Bruce Writes a letter

Just Drawing- Bruce thinks about Robin

The Prisoner- Starfire is Guilty

Of Mustard and Three Foot Purple Tongues- A collection of Oneshots and Drabbles

Long Fics (*Finished):

*~❤️Carol of the Bells- High in the dark Bell Tower of Notre Dame, there lives a mysterious bell ringer. Legend tells of the angel who fell from the sky, and the curse she bares. There are few who know her true identity though; her master, the priest, and the acrobat that performs on the streets below. Based loosely on ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ RobxStar and slight BBxRae

*No Escape- Three years ago, Starfire escaped an Alien race called the Gordanians, to arrive on Earth. They’re back, and ready to put Starfire back where she belongs, behind reinforced Titanium bars. Robin’s not about to let her go…if only he hadn’t got captured first. How does it feel to be the alien, Robin?

*Now you Know My Pain- When the new Villain, Gender Bender, comes to down, the Titans find themselves in an odd situation. They’ve been turned into the opposite gender against their will! Now in order to change back, they must learn to understand the gender they’ve turned into. Rated T for obvious reasons. A great read if you’ve ever wondered why girls or guys do [blank].

*Paint it Black- Robin disappeared three months ago. Now, Jump City’s crime rate is mysteriously being taken care of by a normal, albeit strange, teenage boy who goes by the name Black. As the Titans befriend this lunatic, they begin to see a relation between him and their missing leader. Will they be able to find Robin, or will Black turn them all insane as himself? Actually, contains NO OC.

*Saving Grace- “When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to walk upright or speak coherent sentences and all you’ll see is my mask and my voice repeating in your head…Weak. Richard Grayson, I am not tough, I am everything that you fear.” Happy Ending! Smudge of RobStar. NO Slash!

Other Fandoms

Final Fantasy XV

❤️Requiem for Pitioss-“O King. The god’s have heard your cries. Know that we weep with you. The Oracle’s calling has not yet been fulfilled. But…Lunafreya as you know her cannot return the way she was.” Noctis looked up, hopeful. “But she can return!” Canon divergence from Chapter 9. Happy ending. Some spoilers.

Final Fantasy X

I Do…I Guess? - “I would…like to ask you something.” “Shoot.” “Well…if it’s not too much…I’d like to ask you…to marry me.” Knowing what’s to come during her pilgrimage, Yuna asks Tidus to marry her, strictly for convenience and having an official next of kin, of course. Starts after Luca and how this decision would affect the rest of the story.

Beauty and the Beast

*❤️Behold the Beast- A Oneshot alternate ending to the Animated Film

Cinderella

*❤️Midnight- “When the clock strikes twelve, the spell will be broken,” the fairy godmother had warned. A retelling of the story, when Cinderella doesn’t escape the ball in time. Oneshot

*So This is Love- What if Jaq and Gus hadn’t made it in time to help Cinderella? A new twist on the ending of the classic Fairytale, and what lies beyond the story. She still gets her happy ending and her Prince, and her step family gets their just deserts.

Sleeping Beauty

*❤️A Love Song Back To Me- Maleficent saw the loophole that stared her in the face. Prince Phillip would break the curse in time, for sure. After all, he was betrothed to Aurora. So in an effort for her evil plan to stay in action, Maleficent takes care of the young prince herself. Phillip never imagined having to live off the land like the birds above. Alternate twist on the classic Disney tale.

Escaflowne

Down Feathers- Hitomi’s depressed. She’s been away from Van too long, he comes back to visit her…but what if something went wrong with the transfer? (Not finished. Never will be finished. Mwahaha) Circa 2012

*Angel’s Wounds- Fanelia’s been victorious in their most recent battle with Basrum. Unfortunately, someone is wounded and just seeks solace in his love that lives so far away. Post Anime.

Momma Look Sharp- With the war between Fanelia and Basrum finally coming to a close, the kingdom is celebrating. The young king, however, is suffering from an experience unlike any he had before. Van finally seeks solace in his wife.

#fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #ml #kingdom hearts #Final Fantasy X #final fantasy xv #sleeping beauty #cinderella #beauty and the beast #Escaflowne #httyd #how to train your dragon #trollhunters #Teen Titans

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ollie-ollie-oxenfreee · 3 years

Text

then came the morning (aka: the post - canon cuddle fic)

The work in progress is finally done! I’ve been chipping away at it for the past couple weeks now, and it’s gone through many drafts / iterations, but I think I’m finally happy with it. :)

Title from an album by the Lone Bellow.

The first time the two of them “shared a bed” was about as awkward as one might imagine. The initiating circumstances were hardly any better.

The heating apparatus in their quarters had given out a week or so back in a spectacular fit of dust - laden wheezing. The engineering crew called in to inspect it informed them that it couldn’t be fixed until they could pick up the right parts at the nearest trading post (which was naturally thousands of klicks away on the ragged edge of nowhere). With the ambient heat from the nearby engine room seeping through the wall, the conditions were deemed “unpleasant but survivable.” They were issued two extra threadbare blankets and told in tersely formal military - speak to deal with it.

And they’d dealt with it really well for a while! They grit their teeth and carried on like a couple of champs: Harrow, having been thoroughly warned against using her magic too frequently, layering on spare cloaks and sweaters until she almost disappeared under a mountain of black fabric; Gideon curling up close to the engine room wall and wincing when the cold sent spiteful twinges shooting through her still-very-busted knee.

But then one night their grand flagship of the revolution chugged through a particularly empty sprawl of space and began to slow down. The heat from the engine room guttered like a candle flame. Frost spiderwebbed across the thin plex of their window. Harrow’s breath showed in thin wisps of vapor as she huffed, glaring down at the pages of her book like she wanted to reprimand the cold for daring to interrupt her studies.

Gideon had half a mind to encourage her to try (that glare could stop a full - fledged Lyctor in their tracks, who knew what other horrifying powers it possessed?), but thought better of it when she saw the genuine exhaustion in the other girl’s eyes.

“You doing alright over there, my vulturine vicar?” she asked. “I know it takes some time to absorb all that good bone knowledge, but you haven’t turned a page in like half an hour.”

The thunderous look on Harrow’s face darkened further as she set her book aside with an exasperated thump. “This is ridiculous. I studied in the depths of Drearburh for years without any issue, and yet here I am struggling to focus like a novice. It isn’t even that cold.” She bit her lip as a shiver ran through her at the words.

“Evidence seems to suggest otherwise, o mistress of melancholy. Do you want me to go ask that guy in the supply room for another blanket? He still owes me for his son’s fencing lesson.”

Supply room guy didn’t really owe her anything, but she knew that mentioning it would make Harrow feel better. If she could believe that the nice things Gideon did for her were actually for Totally Self - Serving, Debt - Settling reasons, she could accept them without feeling guilty.

(Guilt had haunted Harrow more than ever upon returning to her own body, making it hard to breathe on good days and leaving her shaking with sobs on bad ones.

It was one of those fun little things they had in common.)

From the way Harrow’s shoulders stiffened, though, it seemed that Gideon Nav’s patented Guilt Workaround wasn’t going to be as effective as usual. She shook her head - a stiff little gesture that made her earrings rattle - then sighed.

“No. Thank you, though, it’s kind of you to offer.”

The thank you was sincere, and that was admittedly pretty nice, but all the sincerity in the world wouldn’t change the fact that Harrow was still very obviously shivering. She looked miserable beneath her usual mask of face paint and stoicism. The dark red bead of blood-sweat trailing down her temple indicated that she'd probably tried using some kind of homeostasis theorem, but it wasn't working well enough.

There had to be a solution to this problem somewhere. Harrow's stubborn pride meant that she wouldn't accept help outright - she would sooner set her books on fire than admit what she thought of as a weakness - but if Gideon could play it just right, maybe she wouldn't have to. It would need to be done carefully - too sappy and she'd be uncomfortable, too straightforward and she'd balk. Casual, Gideon decided. Nice and casual was the way to go. It would just be a matter of execution.

"Soooo," she said at length, leaning back against the wall all cool and easy. (She folded her arms up behind her head as an afterthought, appreciating the way it made her still-atrophied-but-getting-there muscles stand out through the thin fabric of her shirt. Confidence boosts were going to be scarce and sorely needed in the conversation to come - she’d take them where she could get them.)

Naturally, Harrow did not appreciate the change in tack or the cool-and-easy-ness. She did, however, manage to muster up a look so steeped in wary disapproval that it cut through her earlier frustration like a hot knife through bone marrow. “So.”

“You sure about that blanket? Because really, it would only take me a second -”

“I’m sure. Thank you.”

“Then, um, did you want to borrow mine?”

Harrow blinked. “You need yours.”

“Yeah, I know! I meant that we could maybe - share. Pool our resources.” She patted the edge of her bunk gamely, then instantly regretted it when Harrow’s eyes narrowed even further.

“You want us to sleep together?”

"No? I mean, technically, but no. In the literal way. Not the other way.” Well maybe the other way sometime if you wanted to but that’s a whole other weird conversation that we probably shouldn't touch with a ten foot pole or we might explode.

"How exactly would that work?" The caution was still heavy in Harrow's voice, but some of the disapproval had ebbed away.

"I mean. We'd probably need to use my bed, since my sheets aren't covered in gross bone gobbets, but you could bring your blankets over and layer 'em over mine and then we'd have twice the blankets! And, you know, body heat. Which has its perks." Even Gideon's cool-and- easy-ness faltered at that, but she bravely soldiered on. "The point is, we'd both be warm."

"And it won't - make things weird?"

"Nope! Not weird. All perfectly chill, my shivering scion."

Harrow paused for a moment, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'll get ready for bed," she said at last, clipped and decisive. "And I'll think about it."

"Take your time. I'll be here."

Moments later, after the shivering scion had swept grandly out of the room, Gideon's Thinking Brain crashed unceremoniously into her Talking Brain. Things were not, in fact, going to be perfectly chill. There were going to be some logistical problems with this arrangement. Big logistical problems.

Big logistical problems namely revolving around the mutually exclusive facts that the midnight monarch was not especially comfortable with touch, and Gideon Nav, space - bee slayer and resurrected badass, was a sleep cuddler.

Or, well, she was in theory. She didn’t have much (any) “real world” experience to go on, but she’d woken up many, many times back on the Ninth with a bundle of blankets wrapped up in her arms or nestled close to her chest. The habit had never really embarrassed her back then - she actually kind of liked it. She felt warmer and less lonely when she had something to hold, even in the frigid emptiness of her cell.

But that was back then. Things were different in the here - and - now. Harrow was in the here - and - now, and Gideon would never forgive herself if she ruined things with Harrow right when their relationship was on the upswing. They were actually talking, slowly figuring out how to work together again. The furious, tearful intensity between them in the wake of their reunion had calmed and warmed into something almost like real friendship.

After all that had happened - everything that had gone wrong over the past year and a half - they’d found a fragile sort of peace. There was no way in Hell she was going to ruin that peace now.

So while Harrow swished about getting ready for bed, Gideon leveled with herself and laid down some ground rules. Don’t make this weird, Nav. Make sure she’s comfortable, give her her space, and don’t think about cuddling with her.

...even though it would probably be warmer, and she has shitty necro circulation and essentially no body mass so she needs all the warmth she can get, and she gets that kinda soft peaceful look on her face when - no, fuck, see? You’re doing it already. Even if she did like you like that, which she absolutely doesn’t because she’s got a good old-fashioned frostbite girl back home, that’s not what you’re here for. You’re her cav. Her sworn sword. You’re here to do your job and make sure she doesn’t get her thumbs bitten off again. That’s it.

“You’re staring.”

Harrow’s voice cut sharp as a bone shard through Gideon’s nervous thought - spiral. Having apparently completed her grim evening rituals, she’d settled lightly on the far edge of the to - be - shared bed, countless dark layers poofing out around her like the feathers of a posturing crow. Her face was flecked with dots of gray from scrubbing off her paint, and her short hair stuck up in messy licks of black fluff despite her increasingly irritated attempts to smooth it flat.

It shouldn’t have been endearing. It really, really shouldn’t have.

It was.

Gideon was so screwed.

“Shit,” she muttered, scrubbing a hand over her face to ground herself. She glanced over to meet Harrow’s eyes (and wow, was that a mistake, they were as mesmerizing a swirl of black and gold as ever), then forced a smile like she wasn’t screaming internally. “Sorry. Zoned out a little. You good to go?”

The wryly exasperated glint in Harrow’s eyes made them glow even brighter in the dim light. “Yes, I’m ‘good to go,’ thank you. Are you, though? You look … troubled.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Think nice, normal thoughts. Don’t let her know. She cannot know.

“I’m always good, my chthonic countess,” she lied, smooth as could be, throwing in a roguish wink for good measure. That was distractingly stupid enough, it was bound to work.

Harrow frowned. “Why are you blinking like that?”

The roguish wink apparently had not worked.

“No reason! Just dust. In my eye. Lots of very rude dust landing right in my eye. Anyway. How are we doing this?”

A flicker of genuine, anxious concern ghosted over Harrow’s face as her frown deepened.

“Gideon,” she began, in that slow, reluctant way of hers that heralded Incoming Indignity. “I know that you were the one to suggest this, but I want to impress upon you that if you aren’t - certain about it, there is another possible solution.”

She cast around the room for a moment and reached for a massive, dusty tome at the top of a nearby stack, flipping determinedly through the pages. “I've had the idea for some time, but I only just managed to convince our commanding officer that I could use theorems 'responsibly' without their constant supervision, so I haven't been able to test it until now. Small - scale thanergetic fission reactions produce sparks of flame that, if handled extremely carefully, could give off enough heat - "

“Wait.” Gideon held up a hand, her own anxious brain jolting back online at the word flame. “Wait, wait, wait. Harrow. Seriously? The concern is sweet, don’t get me wrong, but your other solution is death - fire?”

“I said that it was a possibility,” she snapped back, that old brittle defensiveness calcifying over the vulnerability in her voice. Her posture straightened with a great rustling of robes: shoulders back, chin high, eyes gleaming with disdainful pride as the bones scattered about their room twitched to life. Looking for all the world like she had when they were ten - twelve - fourteen - sixteen, bitter and vicious and spoiling for a fight.

She seemed to realize it right when Gideon did. Her eyes widened, then closed. The bowstring tension in her shoulders slowly ebbed away as her half - formed constructs clattered to the floor. “Sorry,” she said at last, her voice a threadbare murmur. “I’m sorry. That was - uncalled for.”

“It’s a reflex. I get it.” And she did - she’d done the same thing countless times, had a hand on her sword and a barbed insult on her tongue without even thinking about it.

Another one of those fucked up things they had in common.

An uneasy silence settled between them, broken only by the rumbling hum of the engines, the thud of footsteps in the hall.

“I meant it, you know,” Harrow said, after a long moment. “About other options. It was a half - baked and immature attempt, but I wanted to give you an out if you were uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I know, my sepulchral sage. I appreciate it. Half - baked immaturity and all.” She bumped her shoulder gently against Harrow’s, then flopped back on the bunk to stare up at the low ceiling. “Are we, like, committing to honesty hour tonight? How deep into feelings do you want to get?”

“As deep as is comfortable.”

“That’s what she said.”

“It’s a reasonable thing for her to say.”

Another hush fell over them, marginally more comfortable than the last, as Gideon worried her lip between her teeth and counted the cracks in the ceiling above her. There were nine of them in total. Go fucking figure.

A bony finger poked her in the side after a few cycles of counting. “Were you going to elaborate, or was that all just a set - up for one of your charming jokes?”

“I can’t believe it took you eighteen years to finally admit that they’re charming, but no, that’s not why I said it. I’ll lay bare my tender squishy heart for you, penumbral lady. Because you asked so nicely.”

Because I think you might already have it.

No avoiding it now. Might as well bite the bullet and dive in.

“I was on board with the cuddle thing from the beginning, but I felt like you wouldn’t be, and I panicked. You probably already knew that because you’re way more creepily observant than you have any right to be, but there it is. Out in the open.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could just run away and hide from the other girl’s piercing gaze. “I just don’t want to fuck things up with you, Harrow. I feel like we’ve got a kind of good thing going now. You haven’t called me a useless halfwit in forever, and I haven’t called you a heinous bitch in forever, and I haven’t wanted to. That’s unheard of for us. I don’t want it to go away.”

Her voice cracked, and the most damning words burst forth like flowers through concrete: “I don’t want to give you a reason to shut me out again.”

The memories of those nine months flashed in fragmented mosaic through her mind - the slick stone walls of the well, the freezing churn of the water, the burn in her muscles as she desperately thrashed up toward the surface and reached for someone who didn’t even know she was there. The gut - wrenching loneliness that defined her entire fucking life coalescing in that pit of brackish darkness. The chant rattling on loop in her mind as the water pulled her under: Harrow, what happened, what did you do, why the fuck did you leave me here, I had a purpose, I threw myself on that goddamned rail for a reason, was that not enough for you?

Was I not enough for you?

A cool, fine - boned hand laced with hers and squeezed, just once. The memories blurred.

“Gideon,” the voice that had haunted her all that time said. “You know - you have to know that isn’t why I did it.”

“Why did you, then?”

A tiny hitch of breath. A soft, almost incredulous laugh. Then:

“Because I loved you.”

The words hung heavy in the frozen air.

“You - what?”

“I loved you.” She said it so simply. Like it was something she’d come to terms with long ago. “I loved you beyond reason, and for once in my life I wanted to do right by you and keep you safe as you did me. The motivation doesn’t justify a moment of it, I won’t pretend it does, and I can’t even begin to erase the hurt it caused you. But I need you to understand that it was never because of something you did wrong. You are good, darling. Good to the core. You always have been.”

Bright spots bloomed before Gideon’s eyes as her reeling mind fought to catch up. Three thoughts sprang unbidden to the forefront:

Mmf.

And: Darling?

And:

“Loved. You said ‘loved.’ Why the past tense?”

She sat there, staring blankly up at the ceiling, half - expecting a don’t be presumptuous, Griddle or something even remotely normal, at least. What she got instead was another laugh, halting and shaky and suddenly deeply bitter. The hand in hers went rigid and drew away.

“I came to my senses. I remembered the countless awful things I’ve done. Saw myself for the leech that I am. I’ve taken and taken and taken from you, over and over again, torn away at your life like a scavenger, I can’t steal anything more - “

“Who said anything about stealing?”

For the first time since the grand awkward commencement of honesty hour Gideon felt a genuine smile bloom across her face. “Come on, Nonagesimus, give me some credit. You honestly think I would have stuck around this long if I didn’t know what I was giving you? If I wasn’t getting something out of it too?”

“What could you possibly be getting out of it?”

“You. I like you. Like, a lot. More than I ever thought I would. And I know the brain weasels are going to start yammering about how that’s impossible, and you don't deserve it, and we've still got a mountain of baggage left to work through, but I’ve thought about it a lot and I really mean it. Having you with me has made this whole shitty thing infinitely less shitty."

With a surge of sudden bravery and dizzy emotion, she reached out to take Harrow's hand again and, giving her ample time to pull away, pressed a feather - light kiss to the back. “If you want me here too, sunshine - as your cav or your friend or something else - then I'm not going anywhere."

Harrow closed her eyes, took a deep shuddering breath, and - smiled. A real one, slow and hesitantly sweet, lighting up her careworn face. "I need to think about it - we both should think about it. But I do want you here, in whatever way you want to be."

"Yeah? Cool."

"Cool."

Silence settled upon them for the third time that night, but this time it was different. It was soft and tentative, fragile and new, like budding grave - flowers reaching for the sun. First flowers, the both of them, clawing up out of the grit and finding a way to bloom.

"Should we go to sleep now?" Harrow asked at last, her rasping voice low and quiet. "It's getting late."

"We probably should. Cam and Pal are gonna kill us if we're not up by 6:00 tomorrow. Are you still up for this, though? Like, the whole 'two girls, chilling in a military bunk, zero feet apart 'cause they're freezing and also maybe like each other' thing?"

"Yes. On one condition."

"Anything."

"This might be difficult for you."

"Seriously, Harrow, just tell me. Name it and it's done."

"No sex jokes."

She heaved a sigh, mock - exasperated and so stupidly fond. "As you wish, my dearest darling death omen. As you wish."

It took a while to get comfortable - with Harrow's knobby elbows jabbing Gideon in the stomach, Gideon's clunky knee brace getting tangled in the sheets, the blankets collectively giving up and puddling on the floor at least ten times - but eventually, like everything else, they made it work. They fumbled through the sleep - cuddling confession with an admirable lack of panic on both sides, culminating in a firm agreement that they would let each other know the moment they were at all uncomfortable and an "I trust you" from Harrow so pure in its sincerity that it would be ringing through Gideon's mind for at least a myriad.

Harrow was the first to fall asleep, curled up tight in a cocoon of black fabric, the dark crown of her head just barely brushing the sunburst scar on Gideon's chest. Her shallow breaths fell into an even, steady rhythm, interspersed with whistling snores that Gideon was definitely going to tease her about when her heart was less of a melted puddle of goo.

The minutes slipped by warm and slow as drops of honey as her own eyes grew heavier, fluttering closed. She gave her necromancer - her Lyctor - her beautiful baneful bone empress one last sleepy smile, and drifted off.

(When Camilla went to shake her sparring partner awake the next morning, she found the two of them still sound asleep, wrapped up in each other's arms and looking more peaceful than she'd ever seen them. She huffed a laugh, muttered "finally," and let them be.)

#the locked tomb #tlt #locked tomb trilogy #griddlehark #angst and fluff and love confessions oh my!#the girls are trying to do right by each other and it's a bit of struggle but they're figuring it out

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wheresmynaya · 3 years

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Lost in the Lights Ch.16|Brittana

A/N - Better late than never, am I right? 😅 Sorry for the delay, it has been a struggle to write but thanks for being patient and not spamming me with demands for an update. I must be a glutton for punishment though because I've decided that this final chapter will have two parts now. Here's part one. Enjoy!

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

Despite the pristine shape Brittany keeps herself in, she breathes heavily in the crisp December air. Her lungs feel like they’re growing icicles and she’s struggling to keep her hands from going numb in the frigid temperature. There’s no doubt her nose is as red as Rudolph’s by now and she can barely feel her lips as she calls out play after play, but she persists.

She always persists.

Afterall, this is the last football practice of her high school career.

It’s an important milestone for her but the couple of hours Coach Beiste added to practice makes it a little harder to enjoy – especially now that the sun sets earlier and the temperature drops faster. But Brittany figures high school football practices are a walk in the park compared to college level, so she goes through the motions as per usual and soaks in the moment while it lasts.

At the sound of Coach Beiste’s whistle, everyone gets set for another play and Brittany readies herself for the snap.

When the ball is hiked, Brittany takes it into her hands and tries to drop back so she can fire downfield. The Titan defense is too aggressive for her new O-Line though and soon the pocket she’s in begins to collapse. Defensive players are coming at her from all angles so she has to duck and dodge. It’s a mad scramble to avoid a sack but there’s nothing more to do than to throw the ball away for an incompletion.

When the play is called dead, there’s some shoving amongst her frustrated linemen but she wedges herself in between the guys, forcing them apart with a firm push. The tension has been growing since last night’s practice, but they can’t fall apart now. There’s too much at stake.

“It’s alright, guys! We’re almost there!” Brittany tries to encourage her team although she’s starting to sense the discouragement, “Keep pushing! We’ll get this.”

“Jackson! Ridley! You have got to step it up,” Coach drills for the tenth time, “Pierce was this close to a sack. You have to offer more protection than that or we’re getting our butts handed to us tomorrow night.”

The replacements for Azimio and Karofsky nod diligently. The two eagerly accepted the challenge when Coach Beiste called upon them to step up after dismissing Azimio and Karofsky. The only problem is that they mostly practiced on defense so protecting the quarterback is new terrain for them.

“This isn’t Carmel’s first rodeo, folks. They’re the defending champs for how many years now? We have to do better than this. I know we can, we wouldn’t have a record like ours if we couldn’t,” Coach continues.

And it’s true. From where the Titans were as a team in the beginning of the season to now is a drastic improvement. Hell, they’re playing better than they ever have! The loss of Azimio and Karofsky was only a minor setback, but the team has faced adversity before and they can do it again.

Besides, they’re better off without them.

“Carmel’s time at the top is over,” Brittany adds as she looks around at her team, “Right, Titans?”

The team starts to hype themselves up again as they cheer on Brittany’s words and the quarterback smiles proudly at the response.

“Alright, let’s run it again and this time hold the line longer than half a second,” Coach instructs, “We know Pierces has wheels, but she shouldn’t have to scramble. Line up!”

The Titans all gravitate back to the line of scrimmage at the Coach’s command and begin again.

With only two practices on offense under the replacements’ belt and the big game just a mere 24 hours away, all Brittany can do now is have faith that they’ll be able to iron out most of the kinks and everything will work out just fine.

It has to.

It’s a restless night’s sleep for Brittany before the big game, but that’s nothing new. She always gets the jitters on game day, but there’s something else that looms over her and she can’t quite decided if it’s good or bad. It lingers throughout her morning run and usual routine of getting ready for the school day. It’s there as she texts Santana good morning and it’s even there when she joins her mom and Pete for breakfast downstairs.

“Nice shirt, Petey!” Brittany compliments before pressing a kiss to the top of her brother’s head.

Pete puffs out his chest and does a cute little flex to show off his custom-made Pierce Power t-shirt in WMHS colors. Brittany starts to mimic him and soon the two are having a flex-off at the kitchen counter.

Whitney can only laugh at the pair as she plates up their banana pancakes. That odd feeling still lingers as they all settle down to eat, but it’s kind of comforting above anything else.

With her car keys in hand, Brittany’s just about to head out the door when she catches a glimmer from the corner of her eye. The morning sun trickles in through the tiny opening left in the living room curtains and falls on a silver picture frame on the fireplace mantle. In the frame is a picture of a young Brittany wearing a football jersey that’s two sizes too big and she’s giving the camera a toothy grin as she holds a football that’s two sizes too big for her tiny hands.

But behind her, supporting the ball in her tiny hands so she doesn’t drop it is her dad and he looks just as proud as he always did to be there to support her. It’s one of Brittany’s favorite pictures of them – the first time she was introduced to football. It wouldn’t be for a couple more years that she’d actually take to the field, but in that picture is where her interest begin.

It wasn’t forced upon her. It wasn’t her dad trying to live vicariously through her. It was just a moment between a father and daughter. A moment that shaped her and encouraged her to be this great athlete, but above all – a great person. If it wasn’t for him, maybe she would’ve never touched a football?

Brittany starts to get a little choked up because he should be here. He should be in those stands tonight cheering louder than anyone else there just like he has done all of her life. He should be with her, looking just as proud as he does in that picture.

She starts to feel that familiar pain in her chest, the slow building anger, because it isn’t fair. Of all the great dads in the world, why did it have to be hers? But then she remembers something her mom told her once after having one of her nightmares.

“He’ll always be with you, Britt. He’s in every pretty sunset and sunrise. He’s there for every game and every one of your touchdowns. You might not be able to see him anymore or hear him, but he’s there. You’ll feel it.”

It’s not until that moment that Brittany begins to realize what that feeling that’s lingered around her all morning might be. It’s the first time she’s really felt it in a long time and she quietly wishes he’d visit more often.

At that, she gives the picture one last smile before heading out the door.

When she arrives to WMHS’ student parking lot, Brittany finds that she has beaten Santana to school for a second morning in a row. She chuckles as she remembers the garbled nonsense Santana had sent in reply to Brittany’s Good Morning text and decides to head inside and wait for Santana by their lockers instead. The girl has been known to show up with just a few minutes left to spare before first bell and Brittany needs a little more time than that to get ready for class.

On the walk to her locker, Brittany is greeted by several students and faculty wishing her luck tonight. She smiles and thanks them like she has grown accustomed to doing over the past few months, although sometimes she still can’t believe they all treat her like some type of celebrity.

She spots some of her teammates in the hall dressed similarly to her in their blue jeans and Game Day jerseys. The only thing Brittany’s missing is her letterman jacket but she can thank the Puck Heads for that.

“Sup Pierce!” Puck calls out before he and Finn bump knuckles with her, “Ready for tonight?”

“Totally,” Brittany responds confidently, “You?”

“Hell yeah!” Puck answers, “Can’t wait to saw right through those guys.”

“Seriously! Wish we got to have the school day off or something,” Finn says, “Like a Titans Skip Day?”

“Dude, genius idea!” Puck replies, “No way I’ll be able to concentrate on stuff today.”

Brittany knows the feeling but she doesn’t say that, “I know, that would be so awesome but no skipping. Coach checks if we’re all in class.”

“Damn,” Finn and Puck grumble in unison.

Brittany only laughs as she continues her walk, “Would be cool though. I’ll catch you later.”

When she gets to her locker, Brittany starts pulling out the books she doesn’t need yet from her book bag in exchange for the ones she’ll need for her first class. She’s trying her hardest to remember what she needs for class, but with the entire school going on and on about this game tonight it’s difficult to focus on much else.

That Titans Skip Day starts to sound really good as she finishes up stuffing her book bag. She only wishes it were a real thing as JBI rounds the corner with his mic and cameraman in tow.

“Good morning, Brittany!” JBI says cheerfully, “Do you have time for a quick interview?”

Brittany’s brows rise, “You’re asking first?”

JBI’s cheerfulness falters slightly, “New policy.”

Brittany looks around the hall for Santana but she still isn’t around so she figures she can throw JBI a bone. It’ll probably be the last interview she’ll have to do anyway and since he asked nicely, she might as well do it.

“Alright then. Shoot.”

“Awesome!” JBI then looks to the camera guy and gestures for him to start filming.

Brittany straightens up and tries to prepare herself for whatever questions might be thrown her way. Surprisingly though, the first three are pretty easy for her to answer. In fact, it starts off as a relatively legit interview void of gossipy comments.

Key words though: starts off.

“What about the loss of Karofsky and Azimio?” JBI questions, “With the change being made just two days out from the big game, are there any regrets?”

Brittany takes a moment before answering, “I’m not going to question the decision my Coach made, so no I don’t have any regrets. I don’t really consider it a loss, it was more of gain. Taking their place are two players who have been on our defense’s practice squad and they’re super excited to show everyone what they’ve got.”

JBI doesn’t seem satisfied with her diplomatic answer and presses further, “How prepared can someone possibly be with only two days of practice? Doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“Well, you can thank Karofsky and Azimio for that,” Brittany replies too quickly, “They were the ones that decided not to carry themselves like they should. Would it have been nice to get a little more practice in with the new guys? Sure, but they were the ones who let this team down, who let me down.”

“So it was a personal matter that got them kicked off the team?” JBI presses.

Brittany grits her teeth, “If you want to know their story then go ask them for the details.”

JBI backs off with a sigh, “Okay. So with a couple key players out of the way, do you have any concerns about the outcome of tonight’s game?”

“No. We’re going out there to win tonight,” Brittany says confidently, “We’re a resilient bunch of talented players, we can overcome just about anything if we continue to work as a team. Jackson and Ridley should be given more credit because they’re doing fantastic given the short notice.”

“Hopefully that’ll reflect in tonight’s game,” JBI changes gears once he realizes Brittany isn’t going to fall into his trap, “There's also a rumor going around that the entire hockey team has been required to attend the game tonight. Can you confirm this?”

“Is that considered a rumor?” Brittany questions. JBI nods eagerly but Brittany just shrugs, “Well yeah, Coach Beiste found out that they haven’t actually attended a Titans game ever so she figured this would be the best way for them to get over their…feelings towards me and the team. A lot of their aggression comes from ignorance so hopefully tonight we can change that. It's important that we all support each other, we all play for the same school so when we succeed we all do.”

“And if you don't win?” JBI presses, “The last time the Titans competed against Carmel the score was 23 – 7; you guys were demolished. It would be pretty embarrassing now with the Puck Heads there because you’re not losing in front of just one rival, you're doing it in front of two.”

Brittany feels her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t thought about that before and she finds herself struggling to come up with a quick, diplomatic response.

“Why the hell would you say something like that?”

Brittany turns to the familiar voice and finds Santana walking up with this scowl on her face. The crowds of students quickly get out of her way as she saunters over to the pair. JBI looks like he’s a deer caught in the headlights and Santana thrives on it as the scowl turns devilish.

“What’s the matter with you, huh?” Santana snaps and gives him a little shove out of the way since he was blocking her locker.

“What?” JBI asks innocently. Brittany swears she sees him shiver.

“How about a good luck tonight or you’ve done an amazing job with the team this season?” Santana prompts with faux-excitement before the scowl returns, “God, the shit you spout. No wonder you’re always in a dumpster.”

Brittany stifles a laugh while Santana just shakes her head at him.

“I – I’m not always in a dumpster,” JBI counters but Santana only waves him off as she glances at Brittany. There’s just a hint of a smile there, but it’s enough for the quarterback to find her confidence again.

“Well to answer your question, JBI,” Brittany replies, “If we don’t come out on top tonight, at least we played at all. Right? Have you competed in any Championship games lately? Has anyone at this school besides the Cheerios competed in a Championship?”

JBI’s shoulders sink a little while Santana smiles proudly.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Brittany adds.

“And on that note,” Santana says to him, “Kindly fuck off.”

Once JBI and his friend shuffle away, Santana’s demeanor softens just a little more.

“Sorry I missed you in the parking lot,” Santana apologizes, “I couldn’t find my keys this morning and Quinn was meant to drop off your – “

Santana’s sentence is cut off by Brittany stealing a quick kiss while they’re shielded by their locker doors being open. Santana’s lips are still a little cold from her being outside but it doesn’t last once she has Brittany’s on her. It’s soft and sweet and for a second they forget they’re even at school.

“Mornin’,” Brittany says once she pulls away wearing her infamous mega-watt smile, “How are you?”

Santana blinks at the casual tone and lets out a chuckle, “I’m good now. How are you?”

Brittany looks down the hall where JBI is now trying to interview Puck and Finn. She shakes her head at that and laughs, “Well...it’s a typical day at William McKinley.”

“There’s always something,” Santana chuckles as she starts rummaging through her locker, “How are you feeling about today?”

“I feel good,” Brittany nods, “I feel ready. A bit nervous because there’s a lot riding on this game…”

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” Santana assures her with a smile, “You’re the best of the best. Both on the field and off.”

Brittany feels her cheeks pink at the compliment.

“I for one can’t wait to see you play,” Santana adds before sending her a smirk, “I’ve never seen someone look so good in that uniform.”

“Okay,” Brittany blushes, “Stop while you’re ahead or else I might make you miss first bell.”

Santana giggles seductively just as a group of freshman girls walk by them.

“Good luck tonight, Brittany!” One girl says, “You’re an inspiration to us all.”

Brittany gives them an awkward but polite smile, “Thank you.”

They all chatter amongst themselves excitedly as they move on down the hall. Santana looks at them then back to Brittany as a smirk forms.

“I see your fan club is very active today,” She teases.

Brittany rolls her eyes, “They’re excited. It’s the first Championship game for a lot of people here, they’re bound to be a little…enthusiastic. Plus there’s the whole first female QB thing that no one will forget so yeah, they’re active today.”

“Just remember who your real number one fan is,” Santana flirts with a tug to the hem of Brittany’s jersey.

“Who’s that?”

Santana tugs a little harder causing Brittany to come closer as she quirks her brow.

“Right,” Brittany smirks, “I might need more reminding later.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhmm,” Brittany hums, “I might need help warming up too.”

“I bet you do,” Santana teases as she leans in for a quick kiss, “Luckily, I’m good at doing both.”

“God,” Someone scoffs, “Get a room.”

Santana scowls at the interruption but as she and Brittany pull away they find Quinn standing there smirking. One hand is on her hip while a coat protector dangles from the other.

“I see why you couldn’t wait two more minutes,” Quinn mentions with a chuckle, “Had to go and scar everyone with whatever’s going on here.”

Santana rolls her eyes playfully, “Please, our lips barely even grazed.”

Brittany chuckles at that.

“Besides,” Santana continues, “It was either wait on your ass for who knows how long or see my wonderful, amazing girlfriend. It was a pretty easy decision to make.”

“Yeah yeah,” Quinn jokes as she hands Brittany the hanger, “This is for you, Britt.”

Brittany looks a little confused as she takes it but then she gets a peek of crimson red fabric from the opening of the bag and realizes what it is.

“Hey, it’s my jacket!” Brittany exclaims.

“I rushed the order,” Quinn shrugs as Santana helps Brittany unzip the bag.

“Thank you so much,” Brittany wastes no time putting it on over her jersey. She was never one to walk around in her letterman jacket all the time, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her feel a little more complete now.

“Looking good,” Santana winks before adjusting Brittany’s collar.

Brittany blushes before turning back to Quinn, “I really appreciate this, Quinn. Let me know what I owe you so I can pay you back.”

Quinn waves her off, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” Brittany asks, “A rush order like this couldn’t have been cheap.”

“It’s fine, really,” Quinn assures her, “Just kill it tonight.”

Brittany only grins, “I can do that.”

And the Titans do kill it…at first.

They hit the ground running and were able to score touchdowns on their first two drives, making the score 14 – 0 within the first five minutes of the game! The quick lead really got the crowd going in favor of the Titans – Brittany was sure she could hear her mom and Pete cheering her on all the way from the stands. Even the Puck Heads looked somewhat interested in the game. She and the team used all that energy and gave each play their all and then some.

For most of the first quarter, the Titans were crushing Carmel on offense and their star quarterback, Jesse St. James, was not happy about that. The guy practically threw a temper tantrum anytime the Titans scored, it was so sad. It’s a surprise the refs hadn’t called any penalties, but with a rivalry like there’s everyone was ready for the tension.

Whenever the Camels would score, the Titans were all too happy to respond with a touchdown of their own. With the amount of touchdown passes Brittany was throwing, she was nearing a record-breaking game and they were still only in the first half.

It was a shoot out up until the ball was picked off of Mike midway in the second quarter which changed the tides in favor of the Camels.

With that small advantage, it was like new life was breathed into Carmel. From then on, it felt like Brittany and the Titans were playing catch up, just hoping to maintain their 14 point lead that the Camels were quickly closing in on.

Unfortunately on the Titans’ next drive, they’re unable to make it into the endzone. The Camels use that to their advantage once again and do what the Titans couldn’t: score.

That brings it to 35 – 28 with the Titans still in the lead but only by a single touchdown.

“Not today, sweetheart!” A Carmel defender taunts in Brittany’s direction after her pass was swatted down. The player jogs alongside her and flexes, “Maybe if you had guns like these you could get through me!”

Brittany does her best to ignore him, but he’s been running his mouth all night and she’s starting to reach her boiling point. She can’t lose her cool though, not tonight, so she just keeps her eyes forward in hopes that he’ll lose interest.

After another failed drive for the Titans offense, Brittany makes her way to the sidelines with her helmet in her hand. She’s given a water bottle and takes a quick drink before wiping the sweat from her face with a towel. Although she’s starting to get a little frustrated, Brittany keeps those feelings to herself as she reaches for the Titans playbook.

“There’s got to be something we haven’t tried,” Brittany mutters to herself as she flips through.

She’s looking for something that Carmel wouldn’t expect from them, something that’ll give the Titans that edge that’s been missing so far. Though it’s still early in the game, it feels like Carmel is starting to play one step ahead of them and Brittany wants to find a way to stop that before it’s too late.

As she flips through the plays, constantly tucking the fallen strands of hair from her ponytail behind her ears, Brittany continues to look for that special play when she hears someone call out to her. Turning to the voice, she finds Santana leaning on the railing behind her.

“Want me to fix that for you?” She asks with a small smirk.

It takes a second for Brittany to realize that she’s talking about her messy ponytail before she’s jogging over to close the distance between them.

Santana’s decked out even more so than usual in school spirited accessories and her Cheerios uniform is as vibrant as ever, but what catches Brittany’s eye is the #12 drawn on Santana’s cheek in red and black marker. She swears that wasn’t there when she saw Santana before the game and it makes her heart melt.

Brittany knows many people have taken a liking to her, to the point where they wear her number to show support but it hits differently when Santana does it – especially since not many people know about them being a couple yet.

“You’re wearing my number,” Brittany points out as she turns her back so that Santana can reach her ponytail. She keeps her eyes trained on the field, hoping their defense doesn’t let Carmel score.

“I am,” Santana says as her fingers delicately pull the hair tie from Brittany’s hair and starts to comb through the strands, “You don’t know how many girls on the squad wanted to wear yours, I couldn’t have that.”

Brittany laughs, “Well I am pretty inspirational.”

“I guess,” Santana teases before getting to work on the braid, “How’s it going out there? It looks like you guys are losing steam. Not getting tired, are you?”

Brittany scoffs playfully, “We’re just getting started but I can see what you mean. Their offense isn’t making it easy for us. They’ve definitely watched film.”

Santana hums again as Brittany gets lost in thought to the feeling of Santana’s fingertips gently scratching at her scalp. She’s been so focused on the game and moving around that she hasn’t noticed how cold it is out. A December winter in Ohio is very different from the ones she’s used to in Florida, but she keeps her hands hidden in her hand warmer.

“We have to score once more before the half, but I think Carmel is starting to pick up on our routes,” Brittany says, “I have to do something different. It can’t be a sneak because I don’t think they’ll let me get away with it for a second time. I can’t risk getting picked off again either because that’s even worse, but what? What won’t they expect?”

“Well,” Santana sighs as her hands move further down Brittany’s hair, “I can’t say I know what most of that means but you got this. If anyone can make something happen, it’s you. It’s still early, maybe you’ll wear them out?”

“Or maybe they’ll just get stronger?” Brittany mumbles her worries.

“You can’t think like that,” Santana tells her as she finishes up and nudges Brittany around, “You’ve turned this team around and gotten them this far. You’re going all the way, babe, I can feel it. Besides, you guys are in way better shape than them; at least, I know you’re definitely in better shape. I can guarantee that one from personal experience.”

Brittany smiles back lovingly and almost laughs when Santana accompanies her compliment with a wink. She’s not used to being the one that needs the pep talk, but she’s glad Santana’s there to offer her one anyway. She didn’t realize how much she needed the reassurance.

It makes those three little words start to float up, but she pushes them away for now. She needs her focus to be on the game.

“Thank you,” Brittany says, “It really means a lot.”

Santana only shrugs although she looks just as smitten.

“And thanks for this too,” Brittany says as she glides over her newly braided hair, “Didn’t know you could French braid.”

“It’s one of my many talents,” Santana jokes, “Also one less thing you have to worry about. I’m sure you’ll figure out the football thing too. Maybe you could have one of the guys throw it to you instead or something? Carmel would never expect that.”

Brittany’s eyes light up, “Oh my God, you’re right.”

“What?”

Brittany gets to thinking out loud, “I’ve got Finn and even Sam. They both have pretty good arms. If I hand it off to one of them instead, I could totally slip through and get open.”

“Wait, seriously?” Santana chuckles disbelievingly “You’re really gonna try that?”

“Duh. It’s a good idea,” Brittany grins confidently, “God, I could just kiss you right n – ”

“Offense! To the field!” Coach yells out, “Where’s Pierce?”

“Shit. I gotta go,” Brittany says before quickly pulling on her helmet and giving Santana a wink, “Wish me luck!”

Santana only waves her pompoms in return as she watches Brittany jog off.

Back out on the field, Brittany gets her guys ready for the first snap. She’s going to try and get them into better field advantage because no way she’s going to attempt to run for 40 yards. She can’t risk getting tackled and potentially injuring herself so that’s where Puckerman comes in handy.

“East 32,” Brittany calls out to her sides; a running play, “East 32!”

She tracks the defense’s movements, keeping her eyes on the linebacker that’s been giving her a hard time all quarter. Thankfully Jackson and Ridley have been doing a great job of protecting her thus far, but all it takes is one wrong move to change that.

“Down!” She says and readies herself for the snap, “HUT!”

The ball is thrust into her hands and she’s quick to get a good hold of it before she’s passing it off to Puck. Brittany hits him square in the chest with it and he automatically wraps the ball in his arms, making this impenetrable cage, before he’s crashing into defenders. Brittany throws a block in order to offer a little more protection, but Puck is only able to go a few yards before he’s brought down.

It’s a clean hit, but someone on the Camels makes a snarky comment and the next thing Brittany’s knows is that Puck’s getting in their face. Matt tries his best to pull him away, but another one of Carmel’s guys shoves at Matt so now everyone’s starting to get scrappy.

“Back off! Get back!” Brittany yells at her guys as the refs start to push players apart, “Come on, guys! Back off!”

With the two teams having years and years of rivalry history under their belts, Brittany was prepared for the emotions to show. She figured it would’ve happened a lot sooner, but she’s grateful that it didn’t. She needs her guys focused on the game, not getting wrapped up in a fight.

“Come on, Puck,” Brittany coaxes as she gets her hand on the Running Back, “Don’t let them get into your head. You’re better than this.”

“That asshole keeps talking shit!” Puck snaps, “I’m getting sick of it.”

“Then shut him up with a play,” She warns him, “You getting caught up in a fight doesn’t help your team. It won’t mean anything if you’re ejected, will it?”

Puck quiets down, “No.”

“Okay, stay focused then,” Brittany says then pats him on the shoulder before gathering her guys for another play.

On their next play, she hands the ball off to Puck again and this time he’s able to break free of his defenders and gets a crucial first down. Now that they’re within good range to try Santana’s idea, Brittany has to call a time out to tell her team about it.

When she does, they all look at her like she’s crazy…at first.

“I like it,” Mike nods, “I think it’ll work. It’s kind of crazy, but they wouldn’t expect it. Plus they’ve been favoring the left so far too, it’ll be good to switch it up.”

“Exactly,” Brittany smirks and looks to the time remaining before half time, “We’re just shy of the two minute mark so if we can get another touchdown in and go for a two point conversion, I think we’ll feel a lot more comfortable in our lead.”

A lot of the guys like the sound of that.

“I’ll take the snap,” Finn offers, “Or hand off? Whatever you want to do, Cap.”

Brittany smiles apologetically, “Actually I was planning on using Sam for this one.”

Sam straightens up at the mention of his name, “Me?”

“Didn’t you want to try out for QB or something?” Brittany replies, “I could use someone with your agility. No offense, Hudson.”

Sam looks over to Finn, everyone does, but surprisingly Finn just nods proudly.

“Whatever it takes to win,” Finn says and gives Sam a pat on the shoulder, “Kill it, dude.”

Sam perks up, “Okay, what do I need to do?”

Brittany goes on to explain what she’s thinking despite Coach Beiste in her ear telling her to do something different. With all do respect to her, Brittany sees an opportunity to shake things up and she can’t play it safe with the play Coach wants her to run instead. She knows that there are recruiters in the crowd watching her and the other players and she’s got to stand out if she wants that scholarship.

She gives one glance over to the sidelines where Santana and the Cheerios anxiously await the next play. They’re all ruffling their pompoms as if they were beating drums but Santana’s hands don’t move quite as fast as everyone else’s, she’s too concerned about the game. Brittany gives her an encouraging nod though before turning back to focus.

When the ball is snapped, Sam grabs for the ball but it’s not a smooth hand off. Thankfully, he’s able to secure it in time to drop back and find Brittany crossing over the line of scrimmage. He hangs in the pocket for as long as he can so that Brittany can get into position but what she doesn’t anticipate is the Carmel Cornerback closing in on her.

It’s a jump ball and Brittany leaps into the air to catch it but as she tries to, the Cornerback makes a high tackle. Brittany’s helmet nearly flies off as she’s brought down hard on her elbow. As soon as she makes contact with the turf, she knows she’s going to get an earful from Coach Beiste.

The ref calls it an incomplete pass, but it could’ve easily been picked off by that defender if they weren’t careful which would’ve been even worse.

“Try again next time, Princess!” The Cornerback laughs in her face before the other defenders join him in celebrating.

She’s slow to get up while Jackson and Ridley rush over to push the defenders away from her. The refs are already calling out the penalty against Carmel for that high hit and giving the Titans a first down, but Brittany can’t enjoy it – her elbow’s bothering her even more as she tries to loosen it up.

“Get over here, Pierce!” Coach yells, “Hudson, you’re in!”

Finn looks warily between the two before getting his helmet on and into the game. Brittany does her best to put on a brave face but as she makes it to the sidelines and the trainer starts to fuss over her, she knows she’s messed up.

“What the hell were you thinking out there?” Coach demands, “You know who you’re playing against? You’re lucky they didn’t break your arm!”

“I’m sorry, Coach, I thought we could catch them off guard,” Brittany replies.

Coach Beiste just shakes her head and looks to the trainer, “How is it?”

“Just some bruising,” The trainer responds, “She’ll be fine.”

Brittany grits her teeth as the trainer wraps an ice pack around her elbow. The cold stings but not as much as Coach Beiste’s disappointment.

Coach hardens her stare, “Hudson will close out the half. You just…go sit over there and keep icing that elbow.”

“Yes Coach,” Brittany replies before making her way over to the bench.

She feels this annoying sting in the corner of her eyes and a little in her throat, but she swallows it back. She was the one who made the decision, she has to pay for the consequences. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less though.

Brittany drops the ice pack to examine her elbow for herself, noticing the redness but she can’t tell if its from the pack or the hit. All she can do is count her lucky ducks that it’s only bruising and not something worse.

“Hey B!” Santana calls out to her again from the other side of the fence. There’s this concerned look on her face as she asks, “You okay?”

Brittany turns and gives her a weak smile and a thumbs up. That doesn’t seem to satisfy Santana though and soon the Co-Captain is making her way around the fence to Brittany’s side.

“You know you can’t keep coming over here, Santana,” Brittany says as her girlfriend starts to look her over, “Coach Beiste is already super pissed at me for that play. I don’t need her pissed about you too.”

“Please,” Santana waves off, “You saw what happened the last time someone tried keeping me away from you while you were hurt?”

“Actually no,” Brittany smirks, “My eyes were closed.”

Santana gives her a look, “Well it wasn’t pretty.”

“I’m kind of surprised you didn’t try running onto the field that time,” Brittany jokes lightly.

“It didn’t look too bad,” Santana teases as she touches Brittany’s elbow.

“Ouch,” Brittany whines and Santana quickly withdraws her hand.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

When Brittany starts to grin, Santana swats her knee.

“Not funny,” Santana chastises before reaching for Brittany’s abandoned ice pack, “You need to keep this on there. It’ll reduce the swelling.”

“I know,” Brittany sighs, “It’s just cold, Doc.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

Brittany gives her a look and Santana gives it right back.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Santana tells her as she gently touches Brittany’s elbow, “Looks sore.”

“A little,” Brittany says softly, “But you know what would make me feel a lot better?”

“What?”

“A sweet lady kiss.”

Santana quirks her brow and tries not to laugh, “A what?”

“You heard me,” Brittany says and taps her lips, “Right here.”

Santana chuckles but she doesn’t make a move as she lowers her eyes to Brittany’s elbow, “You really should be more careful and rest this.”

Brittany’s smile falters at the way Santana evaded the request, “That’s what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t want to over think the topic change, but she can’t help but think of it as just that. They had been going so well for so long, Brittany didn’t think she’d have to experience Santana’s hesitance again.

Santana sighs, “I mean you should – ”

“I know what you meant,” Brittany answers, “Finn’s in for now but I’m finishing the game, Santana. I’ll rest it later. I’m not sitting out any longer than I need to.”

“But Britt – “

“Why don’t you want to kiss me?”

Santana freezes, her words quickly dying upon hearing Brittany’s question. Of all the progress they’ve made together, she didn’t think she’d see Santana back peddling once again.

“I – that’s not it,” Santana stammers as her eyes drift to the stands, “There’s just a lot of important people here – scouts and my parents and reporters – and a lot of cameras too.”

Brittany swallows back the lump in her throat and tries to shake off the hurt because that’s the excuse she wants to give? Brittany shakes her head, “Sure yeah. I get it. Appearances are important and what not.”

“Wait Britt,” Santana tries with a hand on Brittany’s knee, “That’s not it at all. I mean it is, but not…I’m not hiding this time, I promise.”

Brittany bites her bottom lip, trying to keep that sinking feeling away. She wants to believe her, but they’ve been out together in public before, even kissed, so what’s different about this time? If anything, Santana should care even less about the audience now after everything they’ve been through.

“I’m trying not feel hurt right now,” Brittany mumbles and it’s barely loud enough for Santana to hear.

“Baby,” Santana sighs in a tone that Brittany isn’t used to. It makes her feel soft and warm. Santana looks up at Brittany with her eyes pretty brown eyes, “I don’t mean to hurt you. I just don’t want what happened to me to happen to you too.”

Brittany frowns at that, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want them taking your moment from you,” Santana says, “I don’t want you to get overlooked because the focus is on us sharing a scandalous kiss or however they try to spin it. I rather the focus to be on you and the team and your inevitable win.”

Brittany stays quiet and Santana sighs.

“Maybe I’m being a little over protective here after what happened with me and Dani or dramatic or whatever but I know how this town works,” Santana adds solemnly, “They’ll take your moment like they took mine and I don’t want that for you. You’ve worked too hard for this, Britt.”

Brittany can’t find it in her to feel as hurt as before now that Santana’s explained her reasoning. She just stares back adoringly, “I think things are different this time around.”

“Are they? Just look over there,” Santana gestures to the fence where JBI and his camera friend are filming. Alongside him is another reporter from a sleezy Lima gossip magazine, “Fucking vultures. They already think they’re getting a good show.”

“But we aren’t doing anything?”

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll make something up.”

Santana flips them off and Brittany’s quick to put her hand down.

“What are you doing?” Brittany chastises, “You just said – “

“If you flip them off they can’t use the pictures,” Santana says, “I saw Kristen Stewart do it.”

Brittany frowns at her logic but doesn’t challenge it.

“Look, there are eyes and ears everywhere waiting for you to put on a show,” Santana tells her, “Let it be the right kind of show, okay? This is your night.”

Brittany begins to smile as lets Santana’s words sink in. Her heart begs Brittany to say those three little words that keep coming up, but her head speaks first.

“Yeah, okay. Tonight’s my night.”

“Exactly,” Santana replies then teases in a lighter tone, “You and I can make a scene later, once you win this thing.”

Brittany chuckles at that, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Santana tenderly squeezes Brittany’s knee as halftime is called, “I have to go put on a show of my own now. I’ll see you after.”

This time Brittany’s the one left watching as Santana jogs off to join her squad.

“We’ve got them right where we want them and you’re blowing it by not playing smart!” Coach yells at the squad in the locker room. Some of the players begin to show signs of exhaustion, but Coach’s booming voice grabs their attention, “Don’t give your lead away! You’re a better team than them. We know it, they know it so let’s play like it.”

Brittany nods to Coach’s words before she’s being rounded on.

“And you,” Coach shakes her head, “You have one of the best arms out there, kid. You’ve got scouts all over the country with their eye on you. Do you really want to blow all of that by being cocky?”

Brittany stiffens. She didn’t think that’s what she was being by taking a chance, but she knows better than to argue with her coach.

“You’ve got good instincts but think about your team,” Coach Beiste warns, “If you want to do some trick play like that, run it by me first and I’ll give you the okay on whether or not it should actually happen.”

“Yes Coach,” Brittany answers.

“As for the rest of you,” Beiste takes in a deep breath before cracking a proud smile, “As frustrating it is sometimes to watch you all play, you’re doing one hell of a job out there. We expected Carmel to bring the heat but we love playing with fire, don’t we?”

The Titans start to get rowdy at that and Coach’s smile widens.

“Keep at it and we will come out of this on top,” Beiste says, “Play hard, play smart, but most importantly have fun. This is your night, Titans, this is the legacy you’re leaving behind. Make it a good one!”

Brittany feels her chest swell with pride as she nods along to Beiste’s words.

“Alright, we’ve got a little time left so coaches talk to your groups,” Beiste motions for the secondary coaches over while she turns to Brittany, “And you, come talk to me about this trick play you tried pulling. Maybe I can help you iron out the kinks.”

Brittany’s eyes widen but she doesn’t question it and quickly gets to the drawing board.

After the Cheerios’ halftime performance, the Titans come out with guns blazing. Coach Beiste’s locker room speech had the entire team revved up once again. They were more determined than ever to finish out the game on top. Whatever it took, the Titans would do it just so that they could secure the Championship title.

Brittany felt a renewed sense of motivation as well. With Coach’s speech and Santana’s words keeping her focused on the game, she was unstoppable – even if her elbow was still a little tender. If Lima wanted a show, she was going to give them the best damn one they’d ever seen.

Apparently, Carmel had the same idea in mind.

Both teams played hard, both teams played smart, but only one could come out on top. The score had been tied at 49 – 49 for the most part and with just four minutes left in regulation – one of the teams needed to make a play or they’d head into overtime.

Brittany thrived on that kind of pressure. She loves the buzz of energy, the restlessness of the crowd, the determined looks on her teammates’ faces. This is what champions are made of, moments like this where she can really show all the doubters that she can hang with the best of them.

“Alright we’ll do bootleg right,” Brittany calls the play, “Let’s use up some of the clock. Once we score, we don’t want them to have any time to make a play. Okay? Get some yardage and get out of bounds.”

Her teammates nod before they all break to get into formation. Brittany takes her place too but first glances to the sidelines where she sees Santana cheering her on. Behind her is the entire hockey team and Brittany chuckles to herself when she sees they all look pretty invested in the game too.

“Down!” She calls out and her O-Line moves accordingly, “Down…HUT!”

The ball is snapped but the pocket never forms; Jackson and Ridley get overpowered almost instantly so Brittany has to scramble. She’s looking left, she’s looking right but no one’s open. She thinks about throwing it away, but with so little time left on the game clock, she can’t risk getting intercepted.

She has to tuck the ball in and run like hell.

Matt sees Brittany’s in trouble and tries to run along with her to offer some type of protection and with his help, Brittany’s able to cut the corner on her defender. She gets a few yards before she steps out of bounds.

As she slows herself down so she doesn’t collide into any of the photographers there, a Carmel defender gives her an unexpected shove. Brittany tries to soften her fall as she’s pushed into the bystanders she was trying so hard to avoid. She can hear the player trying to taunt her while the ref places the spot of the ball, but she doesn’t bite. Brittany’s teammates yell back at the Carmel defender who laid the late hit thought and question the ref’s lack of penalty.

“Yo Ref!” Matt calls out, “You awake or you’re just going to let them get away with that?”

“I’m saying!” Jackson adds, “How much they paying you?”

“Don’t guys,” Brittany says as she tries getting them to move on, “It’s alright. I’m good.”

Although Brittany agrees with them, the ref motions for the game to continue on. She can see Coach Beiste getting all red in the face at that, but Brittany can only get her guys into position once again.

With just minutes left on the clock, the Titans have to move fast and get out of bounds so they have the time to reset. If it gets to overtime then so be it, but Brittany would rather they wrap the game up now while they have the chance.

“Okay, let’s get in range first before we dazzle them,” Brittany says, “Blue 32 West. Okay? Blue 32 West.”

It’s a play action call so when the ball is snapped, Brittany fakes the hand off to Puck while Mike makes a run for the sideline. Along with Jackson, Puck offers more protection and secures the pocket long enough for Brittany to make a safe throw.

Mike brings it in virtually untouched and is able to get a few extra yards in before he’s tackled out of bounds. The clock stops but Brittany still pushes her team to hustle to their new line of scrimmage.

During the next quick huddle, Brittany tries to rally her guys. They’ve got to make a play now or at least get a new set of downs. They can’t turn the ball over at their current position, that would basically give the win to Carmel. They could try to get within field goal range and bring Kurt and special teams out for an extra 3 points?

But Brittany’s never liked doing the bare minimum to win a game.

What they need is something…unexpected.

“I want to try that trick play again,” Brittany mentions and everyone starts to disagree. She’s quick to quiet them down, “I know, I know. It didn’t work out too well the first time but that’s exactly why we should do it now. They won’t expect us to try it again. Coach worked it out with me during halftime, we just need to get to the 10 yard line.”

A few of the guys still look unsure though.

“Scared QBs don’t make plays,” Brittany tells them, “I’m not scared. Are you?”

There are mumbles of hell no and I ain’t scared.

“Okay then,” Brittany nods and holds out her fist, “Who’s with me?”

“I’m in,” Sam says as he puts his hand on top of hers.

Mike follows suit, “Me too.”

“Like I’ve always said…you’ve got balls, Pierce,” Puck chimes in, “I’m down.”

Everyone else joins and Brittany smiles at how they can all come together as one cohesive unit. They’ve grown so much since she first joined the team!

“Alright, let’s do this!” Brittany cheers.

The Titans run up to their new line of scrimmage with less than a minute left in the regulation, but before Brittany can call the next play, Carmel takes a time out.

Brittany straightens up as the ref blows his whistle to signal the time out.

“Figures,” Brittany sighs as she loosens her chin strap.

They had great momentum going for them, but Carmel’s time out throws them off a little. Everyone’s starting to get a little anxious with so little time left on the clock, but Brittany does her best to keep the Titans focused.

Meanwhile, the Camels look nervous as they glance at the Titans. It’s not too common that they have such a close game like this. They’ve been a well oiled machined for so long, stacking up wins for years but Brittany and the Titans have thrown them for a loop.

All Brittany can do is stare back determinedly.

“Look at them,” Puck jokes, “They’re scared as shit.”

“Should be,” Sam smirks, “They’re about to get their asses handed to them.”

At that, one defender – the one that laid the late hit on Brittany – looks over his shoulder at them and sneers.

“What the hell you looking at, Punk?” Puck challenges.

“Easy,” Brittany warns, “They’re just trying to throw you off. Let’s focus here. Everyone know their routes?”

She goes on to confirm that everyone knows what they’re meant to do for this next play. She feels confident about it this time, because she’s not going to let her team down twice in one night. It’s the last play of the game, the last play of her high school career. There’s no way she’s going to blow it.

“Okay this is it, guys,” Brittany tells her team, “This is what we’ve worked all season for, this moment right here. We know what to do, let’s show them. Let’s shut this game down already! Titans on me, Titans on three. One…two…three!”

Everyone puts their fists up and chants together, “Titans!”

The 30 second time out goes by quickly and soon everyone’s coming together again at the line of scrimmage. It looks like Carmel is going to blitz which would’ve stopped Brittany’s version of the trick play but not with Coach Beiste’s tweaks.

Still, Brittany stays focused. She can’t get too confident just yet. Anything can happen.

“Down!” She calls out before stomping her foot. Sam runs to her left while Puck stays in position on her right, “Hut…HUT!”

The ball is snapped and it’s kind of like a game of hot potato. First it’s in her hands then she smoothly hands it off to Puck. They split off in opposite directions while Puck keeps the ball tucked under his arm until he’s within reaching distance of Sam. The ball is then handed off for a third time as Sam makes a grab for it and quickly gets into a throwing stance.

The Camels are all sorts of confused and in that confusion, Brittany is able to slip through a gap in the defenders where Mike is drawing out his man. With all eyes mostly focused on Sam, Puck and Mike – no ones watching Brittany.

The quarterback runs as fast as she can for the endzone while Matt runs alongside her, offering protection from the Cornerback who is on her tail yet again. This time though, she’s too fast for him and when Sam launches the ball in her direction she’s wide open.

All she has to do now is make the catch.

For a moment, it feels like time stops and everyone goes quiet as the ball sails through the air in a perfect spiral. Brittany keeps her eye on it just like her dad taught her and runs like hell until she is positioned underneath of it.

But the ball is slightly over thrown so Brittany has to reach up high for it. At the last moment, she turns and jumps up, the tips of her cleats scrape the turf as she makes the catch. She hangs on for dear life as the final seconds tick away and game buzzer sounds. She does her best to secure the ball to her chest but the sudden change in momentum has her falling to the ground on her back.

But she lands with the ball still in her arms!

Her breath is caught in her throat but she quickly rolls to her side to find the nearest ref. She’s praying to anyone that’s listening that she has landed in bounds and in the endzone, because if not? That would’ve been the greatest play for nothing.

It’s the longest second in the world and she doesn’t begin to breathe again until she sees both of the ref’s arms shoot up.

“Touchdown!” The ref signals.

The crowd erupts in applause and soon Brittany’s being hoisted in the air by her teammates Santana’s got Coach Sylvester’s megaphone in hand, using it to cheer Brittany on. Even the Puck Heads are whooping and hollering for them but it’s hard for Brittany to hear any one thing. All she hears is the loud roar of the crowd, of her teammates, of the entire town of Lima celebrating the win.

On that cold December night, Brittany led the William McKinley High School Titans to their first Championship victory in over thirty years with a final score of 56 – 49.

A giant orange cooler of Gatorade is being dumped on Coach Beiste and Brittany’s being carried on the shoulders of her teammates while everyone cheers them on. The Titans were the underdogs and they put on a great show and came out on top.

Brittany’s nearly too stunned for words.

The guys eventually put her down in favor of celebrating with their friends and families and significant others who have begun to take to the field and Brittany finds a familiar sense of déjà vu as she watches on.

Just a few weeks ago, she was in this exact place – staring up at the stadium lights wishing that she could have what everyone else does. To love or be loved openly, to share this great moment with someone special just like everyone else. It’s hard not to feel envious because even though she’s surrounded by all of these people and she’s come so far, she’s still never felt so –

“Hey Pierce!”

Brittany’s heart skips a beat because she knows that voice. It’s one she didn’t expect to hear so close by but she turns anyway and finds Santana giving her this smug grin in the sea of people on the field.

It’s such a sense of relief and it gets even better because soon Santana’s jumping into her arms. Brittany surprises herself by how readily she catches her and hoists the girl up. Their smiles are big and bright and then Brittany’s being kissed so deeply and it just about takes her breath away again – so much so in fact that Brittany loses grip of her helmet and it falls forgotten at their feet.

It’s a kiss like that that makes it all worth it in the end. The battles they’ve faced on and off the field, together and on their own, it pales in comparison to this moment right here. Because in this moment, beneath the bright stadium lights, Brittany doesn’t feel so lost anymore.

In fact, she’s never felt so found.

When they pull away from each other seconds later, Brittany wears this pleased half-smirk and the look makes Santana let out a chuckle. Brittany’s head is swimming in the high of that kiss and the win and she’s still a little dazed but then a flash of a camera makes her quickly remember where they are and more importantly – who’s watching.

She lets down Santana gently as she takes a look around uneasily. Crowds have already started to gather as the two teams form lines to shake hands and congratulate each other, but in amongst the players and coaches and family and friends are the cameras. It makes Brittany feel suddenly protective as she pulls Santana a little closer to her, remembering Santana’s words from earlier.

“You know people are starting to stare, right?” Brittany mentions softly before looking to Santana, “Not that I’m complaining or anything, because I’ve always wanted to do that – especially with you and it was everything that I’ve ever dreamed of – but there are cameras pointed at us and you said earlier that...” Brittany loses track of her thoughts as she looks to the stands and sees Santana’s family alongside her own and her jaw just about drops, “Holy shit, Santana, your dad is over there and he does not look – “

“I love you,” Santana says all in one breath.

Brittany’s swivels back to Santana in an instant, “You…”

Did her ears deceive her? How hard did she fall on that last play? Oh my God, did she hit her head? Is she concussed now? Her lips move but no words come out. Maybe she really is concussed?

“Pierce!” Coach Beiste calls out to her.

Brittany’s lips part before she’s looking to her coach.

“I got someone I want to introduce you to,” Coach tells her as she gestures to a broad-shouldered man wearing an Ohio State cap.

Brittany nods, still just as speechless. She’s caught between her present and her future, but her feet don’t move. She wants to clarify what she heard Santana say. She wants to shout her response from the top stands of the bleachers but she’s so speechless.

“You should go,” Santana tells her, “You don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Brittany swallows hard and nods. She doesn’t want Santana to get the wrong idea, but so much is happening all at once and it’s like her voice has stopped working.

“I’ve got to go deal with something too,” Santana adds and looks towards the stands where Hector and Maribel await her, “I don’t think I can run forever so...”

Brittany frowns at her cryptic words and it adds to the list of things she wants to talk about, but Santana’s already saying her goodbyes.

As she turns to walk away, something kickstarts in Brittany and she reaches out to catch Santana by the hand.

“Wait,” Brittany stammers, thankful that she has suddenly found her voice again, “I – I’ll see you at Puck’s later, right?”

Santana glances at her dad and shrugs, “If I’m not grounded for the rest of my life.”

“Pierce!” Coach calls out to her again.

“Coming!” Brittany answers and looks apologetically back at Santana, “I’m sorry I – “

“It’s okay. Go,” Santana gives her hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go, “Great game, B. I always knew you could do it.”

Brittany can only return the weak smile before they’re being drawn to go their separate ways.

#its been forever and a day I know...#Lost in the Lights #Brittana #brittana fanfiction #QB!Britt

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years

Text

Standards of Performance, Chapter 8: Heartbreak and Lattes

From the Beginning, Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Only announcement for this week: I've started a new job, and my schedule is such that a weekly update is unlikely without the quality being verrrry questionable. Therefore, I've decided to move off a set schedule, but I PROMISE I will update at least twice a month. Thank you for your patience and understanding; I know a set schedule is preferable but I wanna make sure this doesn't go to shit. Also... apparently this isn’t showing up in the tags I use, which sucks - so reblogs help a lot if you’re able. I love you guys <3

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary: In which decisions are made and overturned and many cups of coffee are drunk.

Words: 2666

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

You were sulking.

Not enough to affect your work - you’d have to go through something much worse than heartbreak before you risked your internship. But your home life was beginning to resemble a timelapse straight out of an overdramatic teen movie wherein the protagonist’s crush asks someone else to prom. Your apartment was a pile of half-done laundry, takeout containers, and case files; your evenings filled with sad Spotify playlists and too much red wine.

And work? Not much better. Seeing him stride into the office every morning, filled with power and purpose and completely oblivious to the fact that he had shoved your heart into a metaphorical blender with a simple response to a seemingly innocuous question was really starting to wear you down. You had been so sure, that was the thing - so convinced by the team’s reaction to your story that it had all meant something. And maybe it had. But he had looked you in the face and told you it didn’t, so that was the answer that mattered.

So maybe sulking was the wrong word. ‘Spiraling’ was more accurate. A controlled spiral, mitigated only by the fact that 1. you had appearances and responsibilities to maintain and 2. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t actually the reason you showed up to work every morning, despite what it had seemed lately.

And it had seemed like that. You remembered getting the phone call that you had been accepted for an interview for the BAU internship, and the phone call that you made it to the final round, and finally the phone call that you had gotten the position - each more exciting than the last. You remembered meeting him, shaking his hand, completely oblivious to how much he was about to fuck up your life. Even when you first started to feel something for him, you convinced yourself it was nothing - a harmless crush wrought from your veneration and respect for one of the best in the field. Someone you admired. Someone you wanted to be one day. But then he’d made the unfortunate move of revealing bits and pieces of himself to you, exposing tiny slivers of humanity and emotion you were convinced didn’t exist, until you realized he was a person, an incredible one, and it wasn’t just admiration you felt anymore. It took all of a few months and a handful of genuine conversations until you were this far gone, and after he made it clear that your pining was one-sided, you knew you had to stop your fall there.

So you tried.

You kept your conversations strictly professional. Avoided driving with him or sitting next to him on flights whenever possible. Disallowed yourself lingering glances. But it was still too goddamn much. He was still too goddamn much.

The next case pushed you over the edge. It was bad (not just normal bad, BAU bad), and it was no one’s fault, not really. You got called in late, the evidence was shoddy at best, and when all was said and done, you caught the unsub, but only after he’d killed 4 women. The last one died moments before you arrived and apprehended the killer, and despite the delay of those few minutes being, again, no one’s fault, the team was at each other’s throats the whole trip home.

You were slouched in the corner of the plane trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Morgan and Reid were sniping viciously about something completely unrelated to the case, because despite everything they’d just endured, they would never outright blame each other for what went wrong. Hotch, deciding he’d heard enough, raised his head slightly and said quietly,

“They’re not always going to end the way we want. We did all we could.”

And you were just done. You couldn’t stand to be around this pillar of strength and compassion and resolve. You needed to hate him for rejecting you, and you couldn’t. So you marched over to his seat, and, steeling yourself, you said what you’d been wanting to say since he broke your heart:

“I need a day off.”

It had sounded more dramatic in your head.

“A day off?”

You nodded. Hotch gathered himself, seeming to realize that such a request wasn’t unheard of (though perhaps in his department it essentially was) and nodded.

“This case was difficult. I wish I could say exceptionally so. Get me your paperwork by tonight and take tomorrow off.”

You went back to your seat, relief overshadowed by disgust that it wasn’t, in fact, the 4 deaths you’d just been privy to that had broken you - it was the crush on your boss. You’d handled this case like a champ, in fact, because you were so absorbed in self-pity that you couldn’t feel anything else.

You needed to fucking recalibrate.

***

You were determined to make the next 24 hours the most self-indulgent, healing 24 hours you’d ever experienced. Quiet breakfast at a cafe? Planned. Self-improvement books? Downloaded. Vibrator? Fully charged.

No man was going to keep you from focusing on the internship you’d been gunning for for years. No man was worth that. You were going to cry, you were going to journal, you were going to masturbate, and you were going to get him out of your head.

You were going to march into the quaint little coffeeshop two blocks away that you’d Googled last night, you were going to order the cinnamon spice latte that an indie food blog had called “the epitome of fall,” and you were going to go for a nice, early morning walk.

Except you weren’t.

Because the next morning, when you turned to leave after grabbing your drink from the barista, you saw Hotch sitting at the table by the window. And Hotch saw you. And you weren’t equipped to handle this situation, because you were only 4 pages into your self-help book so far and honestly, the smile that lit up his face when you made eye contact would’ve broken you even if you’d read all the ‘how to move on’ manuals the literary world had ever produced.

So you obeyed his beckoning hand and sat down.

“Thought you’d be up to something much more exciting on your one day off.”

You smiled wryly. “This is exciting. I haven’t had coffee that wasn’t made out of an ancient breakroom pot or a hotel carafe in months.”

Hotch chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake by coming here. Breakroom coffee is going to be impossible to tolerate now.”

“That good, huh?”

“Better. Try it.”

His eyes on you, you took a sip of your latte, and swallowed the most delicious concoction you’ve ever tasted in your life.

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed,” Hotch confirmed, ignoring your vulgarity. “I’ve been coming here before work for years.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I impose on your hangout,” you laughed. “I haven’t tried many coffee shops around here, but I imagine this is hard to beat.”

“Not at all. But just know - this is my table.”

You grinned. “Understood.”

You still went on that walk. Still read that book. Still spent the day trying to think about anything else but the softness of that moment - you and Hotch sipping lattes, bathed in the light of the early morning sun.

But on Thursday, the next day, bright and early, you found yourself at that coffee shop again. This time, you took a seat at the table adjacent to his. He looked up and smiled.

“Glad you heeded my advice.”

You smiled back and gestured to the heaping pile of files in front of him. “Not like there’d be much room for me anyways.”

You finished your coffees in relative silence and left at the same time for the office.

Friday, you learned Hotch’s coffee order: flat white with an extra shot of espresso.

Saturday, you happened to arrive before he did, so you ordered his drink and set it on his table. Ten minutes passed and you thought he wasn’t going to show up, but he soon bustled in looking frantic. You waved him over, and he smiled when he saw the coffee waiting for him.

“Sorry, got stuck on a phone call,” he apologized. Like you were expecting him. Like this was something you guys did now.

You supposed it was.

Sunday, you got called for a case before you even made it to the coffee shop. You sat down in the conference room at 6 am, groggy as all hell. Hotch entered after you and handed you a mug, saying nothing before moving to address the team.

There was a small sticky note attached to the mug that read, “It’s no cinnamon spice latte, but it’s caffeine just the same.”

You fought to keep a grin from splitting your face, and ignored the team’s knowing smirks.

The case was in a small town in Colorado. The motel the team was staying in was less than ideal because of the location - bare bones, broken heaters, probably had the same bedsheets since its opening over 50 years ago. There was a small coffee pot in your room, and after you arrived Sunday evening, you walked down the street to the small convenience store and bought a bag of ground coffee.

When you handed him the cup Monday morning, he looked at it like it was salvation itself. Which, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it may well have been.

“Long night?” you asked, loading into the back of the SUV.

“Always,” he responded from the front seat. He took a sip of the coffee. “I don’t mean to offend, but this is terrible.”

You gasped in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that is genuine Folgers pre-ground gas station coffee.”

“It tastes like it was made in a toilet,” he grumbled. He took another sip and smirked at you in the rearview mirror.

You’d long stopped trying to get over him.

After the case in Colorado, the team was given a merciful break from the rapid-fire calls they’d been caught up in the last few months.

You and Hotch continued your pre-work ritual, showing up to the coffee shop earlier and earlier each day. For you, it was a conscious attempt to spend more time with him. He didn’t acknowledge the extra 20 minutes that had worked its way into the morning routine, but you could only hope his intentions were the same.

One particularly chilly fall day, you burst in the door 10 minutes later than your unofficial meeting time. Hotch shot you a patented raised eyebrow as you unwrapped your scarf and took your seat.

“Overslept?”

“No,” you retorted, “I was trying to make breakfast and my stove stopped working. Again. Maintenance can’t come fix it for two days.”

“Did you eat?” he asked.

“No, I was just gonna grab a muffin or something here.”

He nodded and went back to his laptop.

The next day, you sat down to a metal thermos on your table.

“What’s this?” you asked him.

“Oatmeal,” he responded without looking up. “You said your stove was broken.”

You opened the thermos to a puff of brown sugar-scented steam and the feeling that your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, afraid your voice would crack if you spoke any louder.

He looked over at you with an expression softer than you’d ever seen him wear. “You’re welcome.”

A week later, you’d miraculously worked your way through the backed-up deluge of paperwork from the last few cases, and after clicking through the morning’s emails, you slammed your laptop shut.

“We should go for a walk,” you said to Hotch, who somehow still had a stack of files in front of him that was threatening to surpass the table’s weight capacity.

“A walk?” Hotch asked, looking at the aforementioned files as if he were afraid they’d hear him considering the idea of a break.

“Yeah,” you responded. “Come on. It’s so pretty outside, and it’s gonna be too cold soon. Besides, we’re more caught up with work than we have been in months.”

“Speak for yourself,” he quipped, but he packed his briefcase just the same.

It really was beautiful outside. As soon as you stepped out the door, a gust of wind sent red and orange leaves skittering across the sidewalk at your feet. You wrapped your scarf tighter around your neck and motioned to the park across the street.

“Want to walk through the park?”

Hotch shrugged, a noncommittal ‘yes’, and followed you.

The park was sprawling, packed with massive trees in the midst of displaying their autumnal colors. Despite the early hour, there were joggers and dog-walkers populating the dirt path that meandered through. You strolled side by side, making idle chat about the weather and the holidays coming up, until you came to a bench set beside a pond in a small grove. Hotch took a seat and you followed his lead.

Reclining your head against the back of the bench, you exhaled. “This is the closest I’ve come to being out in nature in forever. I need to do this more often.”

Hotch murmured his agreement. “I’d apologize for the lack of free time, but I’m afraid it only gets worse.”

“When you officially join the team, you mean?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Assuming that’s something you’re interested in.”

“Of course I am,” you said, “but I didn’t think it was really up to me.”

“It’s not - I give the final recommendation.”

“Better start buying you more coffees then,” you teased, looking over at him.

“Unfortunately, as Unit Chief, I have a responsibility not to accept bribery.” He smiled back.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You studied his face - the stern curve of his brow, the carved structure of his jaw, the stress lines set in from decades of sleepless nights and unspeakable losses. Despite the increasing time you’d been spending in close proximity, you were mesmerized, as always, by the stormy intensity of his eyes meeting yours. You were close enough to smell his cologne, and you were reminded of the night in his apartment when he told you about his family. If you thought you’d fallen for him then, it was nothing compared to how you felt now, after starting each morning sitting beside him in the quiet peace of that downtown coffee shop.

“We should get going,” he murmured, not checking his watch, not shifting his gaze from yours. You nodded, not fully comprehending his words, feeling dazed at his nearness.

It was impossible to tell who made the first, imperceptible shift. All you knew is you scarcely had time to think before his hand was on your jaw, cradling the back of your head, bringing you to him. His mouth met yours and you closed your eyes instinctively, melting into his warm body beside you, fisting the front of his jacket in your hands.

You couldn’t remember ever having been kissed so decisively before. His fingers gripped into the base of your skull, his forehead nearly pressed against yours, and despite the chastity of your closed mouths, you whimpered into his. He stiffened at the sound and pulled back, still holding you, inches away.

You saw the shift in his eyes before he moved. It was as if he consciously closed some gate, walling himself off. His pupils, blown, started to retract to their normal size, frown returned, hand drew back. You watched, heart still racing, unable to speak as he turned to grab the briefcase sitting at his feet. Only then did he look back at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and if his low voice was meant to betray any hint of emotion, you didn’t hear it.

He stood, walked around the back of the bench towards the path, and paused.

“I’ll see you at the office.”

You were too shell-shocked to reply.

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