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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

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~ MLB Curious Gazes ~

prompt: four different situations where people have run into or hung out with MLB!H - told from their perspective.

word: 6k +

warnings: language, mentions of sexual content

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The Doctor’s Office

Aubrey couldn’t believe her eyes as she sat in her uncomfortable, too small chair in the empty waiting room at the OBGYN office in the early hours of the morning.

She was sitting alone with her baby boy sitting in his carrier on the floor - it was his nine month checkup and it was taking forever to be seen.

The woman was sitting, scrolling on her phone when out of her peripheral she saw an extremely - like extremely handsome man step into the area with a carrier.

Aubrey was a married woman but holy shit this guy was hot- without even trying is the thing.

He had on a New York Yankees Nike hoodie and a pair of Nike athletic shorts with some calf length Blake Nike socks and trainers.

In the carrier was a fresh little baby, couldn’t be older than three months who was bundled up with a sunflower headband on.

The man was multitasking with a curly haired toddler on his other hip as he finds a seat a little bit down from Aubrey on the opposite side.

His wife was standing up at the check-in and of course it made sense that she was absolutely beautiful as well even though Aubrey could relate to how tired she looked.

The woman still had a small bit of her pregnancy bump left signifying that the baby was indeed very very new to the world.

She keeps glancing over at the man, he looks so familiar but she would remember if she had even met someone that handsome.

Then the context clues hit her, his hoodie, his toddler son was also in a little Yankees hoodie that matched his fathers and Aubrey googled quickly.

Her eyes flitted throughout the recent articles.

Styles’ Alleged $65 Million Dollar Bonus

Hot Head Harry Styles - how he managed to start three bench clearing brawls in one game!

Breaking Records and Bats - Styles manages to break his own record in the same season followed by breaking a bat in celebration

Holy shit.

She could help but watch them - this was much more interesting than reading a magazine.

Aubrey didn’t follow baseball but Harry had turned celebrity status and was this well known cocky dickhead to the media - women and men loved and drooled over him for his looks and his skills.

Right now, he sat down with his two babies - the boy looked exactly like Harry, it was quite unbelievable from the curly locks to mossy green eyes that was copy and paste.

Harry was currently tucking an applesauce pouch between his lips and guiding the boy's small hands to hold it for himself.

“Good job, ,” He murmurs in the dead quiet waiting room as he tucks him further into the crook of his arm.

Harry looks up to his wife who joins them, she is a bit in awe when Aubrey sees him palm a bit at her bloated belly and whisper, “Y’look gorgeous today, mama.”

Aubrey couldn’t help but frown, she wished her husband did that.

YN sits down, leaning her head on his shoulder - Aubrey didn’t know her but she seems tired - of course she was a new mother.

The silence is broken when a nurse comes out and with an apologetic face says, “I’m sorry, we are running really behind today. It might be another thirty minutes,” before shutting the door again.

Harry kisses his wife’s forehead before wrapping his unoccupied arm around her shoulder, a flashing gold band on his ring finger.

Aubrey zones off for a little when her son wakes up, rocking the carrier a few times before he settles again.

She’s brought back to the couple when she hears a sniffle comes from Harry’s wife and his face turned towards hers, hand rubbing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Mama, she’s so healthy. There’s nothin’ to worry about, did a perfect job growing her in y’belly. I know these check-ups make you anxious but nothin’ is gonna be wrong,” He soothes, a near whisper because of how quiet the room is and he didn’t want to disrupt.

“I just don’t know if she’s been getting enough milk, it’s so hard to tell,” YN replies sadly, like she’s disappointed in herself.

“Y’kidding me? She’s our chunkiest baby - look at those little rolls. She’s on y’tits more than any of the boys including me,” He jokes softly, obviously trying to make her feel better.

It seems to work a little bit because she lets out a light giggle with a roll of her eyes, “No one is on them more than you.”

Harry shrugs unashamed before replying seriously, “Everything will be okay. She’s perfect and healthy.”

The curly haired little boy gets a bit squirmy with the wait after he finished his pouch, asking to be set down which his father does.

Harry is watching him carefully, his nervous but still adventurous little two and a half year old, as he toddles around the waiting room.

When he spots Aubrey and her carrier, he wanders over looking up her with wide curious eyes, he points at her son and squeaks, “Baby?”

Ever the diligent father, Harry is up and next to his son, Aubrey is a bit starstruck if she’s honest when he talks to her.

“M’sorry, he’s a curious little one,” Harry smiles at her, going to pick Ezra back up to guide him away from bothering her.

Aubrey waves her hand though, lifting the visor to show the sleeping baby, “Yeah, he’s a baby. That’s Dominic.”

The boy gazes at the baby before lisping, “Bry!”

Aubrey isn’t sure what he means but his father clarifies, “You’re right, Dominic is a baby just like your little sister Briar.”

“Okay,” Ezra shrugs and goes back to his mom to inform him of what he just discovered before crawling up and cuddling into her chest.

Harry nods, “Thanks for indulging him.”

“No pro-problem,” She stutters like an idiot and Harry smiles a bit like he knows but doesn’t say anything else before going back to his family.

A few minutes later when a high-pitched cry resounds through the room, Harry is carefully cradling his daughter who Aubrey notes looks nothing like him but like her mother even though her features were still so little.

“Shush, darlin’,” Harry coos with a soft drawl, leaning in to kiss at the newborn’s button nose.

Briar roots at her father’s chest, smacking her plump lips, and squeaking in frustration when she doesn’t find a nipple. It makes Harry chuckle before he glances at his wife and his smile falters a bit, “Sweetheart, did y’bring a bottle?”

Aubrey watches his wife shake her head, she is facing away from her so she can’t see her expression but gauging Harry’s it seems that she may be upset, “No, I completely forgot. I didn’t bring my nursing blanket either - I’m going to have to go the bathroom. M’being such a bad mom.”

The observer feels a pang in her chest, she can definitely relate to not always feeling like she is a good mother because of little mistakes she makes like forgetting diapers, buying the wrong formula, forgetting to bring a pacifier.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice is firm, “Y’not going to talk like that when s’the farthest thing from the truth. S’okay, we have four babies, we’re both goin’ t’forget things sometimes, okay? Here, let me help you.”

Aubrey wishes she had a husband who was as empowering, supportive of his wife.

He hands the whimpering baby over to his wife, he’s then tugging off his hoodie. Aubrey tries but fails to divert her eyes when his shirt rides up revealing a glimpse of his taut abdomen and a light dusting of hair leading into his shorts, obscene tattoos covering his hipbones .

Harry maneuvers the hoodie over his wife’s shoulder, helping her tug down her loose shirt and nursing bra, and guiding his newborn to his wife’s breast until she latches and starts suckling hungrily.

“There y’go mama,” He whispers encouragingly before tugging Ezra back onto his lap to rock him a bit as he’s getting whiny - ready for a nap soon and not liking being in an unfamiliar place for too long.

Aubrey is buckling Dominic into his carseat when she spots the other family exiting the office.

Harry’s wife looks much more relaxed, a smile on her face, and her arm tucked around her husband’s narrow hip, they’re parked close to each other, and Aubrey climbs into her small sedan - blasting the aircon.

She watches the parents strapp their kids into a massive, tinted and brand new cadillac escalade that was no doubt over a hundred thousand dollar car but who could expect them to be driving around a mid-level minivan?

After the kids are secured and they close the doors, Harry presses his wife up against it with his arm resting over her shoulder against the window. He is whispering to her, their mouths close before he ducks down to connect their lips.

His hand comes back to her deflating baby bump like he did in the doctor’s office, hand massaging the skin with adoration that was visible even to Aubrey as she sat in her car watching them.

Later on in the week, as she sits on her couch, a video pops up on her timeline. It’s a sports report she was about to skip until the name caught her attention.

The sports reporter stated, “Harry Styles was fined an alleged sixty thousand dollars at last night’s game after getting into a verbal altercation when the second base man purposely tripped him.”

It flashes to the man she just saw in the doctor’s office in a form-fitting Yankee’s blue and white striped uniform with a helmet on as he ran at an impressive speed from first to second, stumbling when the baseman put out his foot.

Harry recovers quickly enough to touch the base to be considered safe.

After that though, he’s pushing himself up and brushing off the dirt, then he’s charging towards the man who fucked up the play.

He has no fear as he gets in the man’s face, veins on his neck standing out as he shouts. They don’t play the audio but you could tell Harry was cussing this man up and down.

It flashed back to the reporter speaking to another, “Nearly every team in the league reports that Styles is an absolute nightmare to play against from his skill to his downright arrogant and cocky attitude. He’s not someone I’d find myself wanting to hang around.”

“I agree with you there, Tucker. He has a right to be proud with all of his broken records and achievements but being a bit humble would do this man so good. I feel sorry for his wife and kids. He probably just spends all day bragging about himself.”

Aubrey clicks off the video, if only everyone in the world just saw the Harry Styles she saw just a few days ago - well they’d all change their minds on what kind of person he is. Especially what kind of husband and father.

The Charity Event

It was a charity event at Madison Square Garden in Time Square.

It was for all Major League Baseball teams who had qualified for the playoffs and of course, The New York Yankees were there.

There were tables filling the whole stadium, extravagant in white linen tablecloths, multiple bars, and it was black tie dress code.

It was a private event and it was not open to the public but after the dinner there would be awards given out and that would be broadcasted.

Nicole was there with her husband, Trent, the left outfielder with an average batting score. He wasn’t the most popular on the team by far - well everyone got outshined by Styles.

She couldn’t help but be a little bitter that Harry had gotten a $60 million dollar bonus (the biggest bonus ever gifted but also the Yankees were not taking any chances at losing their star and their ultimate money-maker). Trent got a measly bonus of $100,000 which was nothing in baseball terms.

The wives and girlfriends of the Yankees players did not like YN one bit. It really wasn’t fair because she was always lovely, kind, and friendly. It didn’t matter because they were all spurred on by jealousy of what she had.

Nicole couldn’t help by gaze at Harry as they sat at the same circle table towards the podium where the awards would be presented after dinner. He was in a sharp all black suit with a small team logo pin of the lapel.

She couldn’t deny how stunning YN looked in an absolutely stunning dress. It was a one-shoulder with sparkling black stripes against a tan background, it fit like a glove and accentuated her stunning legs with a high slit. ***

It blew Nicole’s basic black Gucci dress out of the water which made her even more infuriated at the woman. She knew she was being irrational and if she hated her so much, why couldn’t see stop staring at the couple?

Nicole could get away with it by looking past them at other tables but to be quite honest, the two were much too wrapped up in each other to be aware of any of their surroundings or people watching them.

Trent was off bullshitting with all the other players while the Styles’ sat at the table and Harry waited for people to approach him - like the cocky asshole that he was. He would give them a minute of his time before becoming visibly bored and returning his attention back to his wife.

As the appetizers arrived, Trent finally sat down with a grunt, giving his wife literally no attention as he dug into the salad like a slob.

Across the table, Harry looked down at his plate, picked out all the tomatoes and stabbed them with his fork. He then brought his hand over to his wife who giggled and let him feed her the three little tomatoes for his salad.

“Don’t like tomatoes, Styles?” Henry, third-baseman, jokes as he watches him feed his wife without any shame.

“I love ‘em, m’missus just really like the little grape ones,” Harry shrugs casually - like that didn’t just sound like the most whipped thing that he could say.

Trent probably couldn’t even guess Nicole’s favorite color - let alone know something so minuscule like YN like the little tomatoes that come on house salads.

Throughout the whole dinner, it was quite disgusting how infatuated these two were with each other - Harry had at least one hand on her body at one time - her thigh, shoulder, even cupping her neck in a way that was almost too intimate for the setting.

At one point, Harry notices that YN is a bit quiet - sipping on her glass of water and he pulls back from the conversation, murmuring, “Y’alright, mama?”

Nicole bites her lip hard at the cute pet name, feeling even more dislike towards YN - why couldn’t she have had someone like Harry?

“D’you think the babies are okay? Ezra’s been so anxious lately,” YN replies quietly, there were no phones allowed at the event and had to be left at home or at the door.

Harry kisses her temple, “Y’know Ezzie is good with m’mum, doesn’t get as anxious as he used to at sleepovers. Y’know East and Cash are probably on a sugar high.”

YN nods, agreeing and Harry jumps right back into the conversation but she notices that he keeps looking over at his wife to check on her.

Trent accidentally knocks her elbow hard and just grunts out a bland, “Sorry.”

The topic changed to traveling for games. Ellie, another wife of a player who was nice to YN were chatting about how stressful it is.

“I know, loading all three boys up is rough when we do decide to travel to games with H,” YN says to Ellie, a small smile on her face.

“Ugh, I know. Lily and Parker are the worst flyers! They usually end up throwing up or not being able to nap at all,” Ellie groans about her two little ones she has back at home.

YN let’s out a laugh that just irked Nicole to not end.

“It's going to be even harder when we have more kids,” YN laments like she’s bothered.

“Oh? More kids?” Ellie squeaks with excitement, clapping her hands together.

Nicole reaches a breaking point, jumping into the chat,“Really? More kids? Don’t you think you should focus on the ones you have? Or do you think because your husband makes an unfair amount of money, you can just have as many as you want? Hire nannies and act like you take care of them?”

Before YN frowns, about to respond when Harry interjects with a booming, displeased voice, “First off, why don’t y’mind your own fuckin’ business. My wife and I can ‘ave any many kids as we want, last time I checked.”

He continues with tense posture, all of his previous calmness disappears, “Second off, don’t take it out on my wife tha’ your husband got a shit bonus, we all know tha’ why y’pissy. And don’t act like y’dont have a nanny for your one kid while we don’t nor ever will have one.”

Nicole sneers, “You’re a cocky bastard.”

Harry smiles in faux charm, “Of course I am, dear. I’ve got a fucking beautiful wife, three healthy babies, the most records broken in history, and the fattest bank account in this room.”

“Alright, alright,” Trent interrupts and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he doesn’t defend his wife. Instead he shoots Harry an apologetic look for his wife’s behaviors.

Harry just scoffs at the couple, rudely rolling his eyes, and tugging his wife in for a kiss that’s a bit too intense but he can’t help himself, smiles against her lips when his wife pinches his thigh playfully.

He says (not quietly at all), “All these women are jealous of you, hm? S’cause you’re so beautiful and such a fuckin’ catch.”

Nicole feel a sharp pang in her chest at the indirect comment - fucking asshole.

Deep down, Nicole is unfavorably realizing that somehow YN has it all - a loving husband, who is seemingly head over heels four her, three well-behaved children, and everything she could ever want - sitting on Harry’s $600 million dollar net worth, on top of being gorgeous.

She didn’t have that. Trent and her were on the rocks constantly, has definitely cheated on her, their kid is a literal nightmare, and they’re both so reckless with money they have no savings.

It made her jealous to see Harry whispering in YN ear to make her giggle- lips brushing her ear, his hand splayed across her bumcheek while they waited for drinks at the bar, she even hears them murmur ‘I love yous’ at least twice.

Then the lights dim, spotlight on a podium in the front of the room, an older man in a crisp navy suit taking the stage.

“It is an honor for me to announce ‘Player of the Year.’ The decision by the board of Major League Baseball wasn’t a hard one. The statistics and records broke continuously by the man has led us to only one option.”

Everyone watches all the other players in room deflate a bit because they realize the award is going to Harry yet again.

“He is again breaking a record tonight, he is the first player to earn this achievement four years in a row. The duality of this man when it comes to pitching a curveball or hitting a homer is truly remarkable.”

It makes all the players even more irritated than they already are when they look over at Harry who’s sitting back, manspreading, hand on the back of his wife’s neck gently, and a cocky, unbothered grin.

Like this award wasn’t the biggest accomplishment he could earn.

One of the players from an opposing team at a different table mutters to one of his teammates, “Fucking arrogant asshole. The only thing this award does is feed his gigantic ego.”

“Such a douchebag,” The other agrees, jealousy tinges his voice.

“I’ve most likely made it obvious who the the recipient is this year. The New York Yankees pitcher with the most strikeouts to date and top-scoring hitter - Mr. Harry Styles!”

The crowd erupts in applause, whistles, and a standing ovation because despite his unsavory demeanor - no one could deny he was a legend.

Before he gets up, Nicole watches as he cups his wife’s cheek - locking her lips in a kiss before she has to give him a playful shove when he tries to slip some tongue.

When Harry gets up to the stage, he shakes the hand of the announcer and takes the award from him, setting it on the podium.

“Fourth year in a row has a nice ring to it,” Harry gives the crowd a dazzling white smile that have his dimples digging into his cheek.

The crowd whistles and coos.

Nicole notices YN getting teary-eyed as she watches her husband accept the award.

“I want t’thank a few people tonight. I want t’thank m’wife and the mama of my babies - YN. She’s supported me from when I was in college with no other career path but baseball, unsure of if I’d fail or not, she stuck through it.”

She can sense everyone’s eyes dart over to YN who is still staring up at her husband - who is giving her a gleaming smile right back.

“We’ve been through some really hard obstacles in our first years as a couple but she’s the reason for all this - the fact that she always believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

The audience is respectful, quiet as he publicly tells a story of his deep love for his wife.

“I want t’thank m’three babies. Easton, Cash, and Ezra. They inspire me to be a better better man and a good role model - even though I think y’all agree they won’t be if they watch too much how I play when I’m out in the field.”

The crowd erupts in laughter at Harry poking fun at his own antics that he’s most famous for. He goes on to thank the team, coaches, Nike, everyone on the professional side of career.

When he’s done, everyone stands back up to congratulate him, patting him on the back as he returns to his seat.

Nicole watches as Harry sits back down, chuckling as he swipes a tear off his wife’s cheek, “Why y’crying, mama?”

“I’m just so proud of you. Everything you do for me and our babies. The best husband, best daddy. My heart is just full,” She murmurs, clearly not meant for others to hear but Nicole was eavesdropping.

Harry’s eyes darken with something Nicole can’t identify but does notice his hand creeping a bit further up her thigh.

He leans into whisper something into her ear before she sees his lightly nip at her lobe before pulling back to join into the conversation.

After the lights come back up, Trent abandons her to go shoot the shit with other guys.

When she trails off to the bathroom, down a long hallway from the main area - she hears a rustling from behind a door labeled with a plaque that says ‘executive meeting room’.

Nicole pauses confused, all these offices and other rooms were strictly off limits during events obviously. She was confused to hear someone in a room that was not supposed to be in use.

Then she realizes it’s not just someone - it’s two people.

“S’good, sweetheart. Give it t’me so good.”

And she knows right then and there all she needs to know about who’s in that conference room and what they were doing.

“Be quiet, you’re being too loud,” YN scolds back, the walls were clearly thin because she could hear the exchange.

“Make y’cunt not feel like heaven then,” He remarks back, his voice slower and more soft than it would be in front of people.

God, Trent and her haven’t slept together in ages - let alone has spontaneous hookups or dirty talk like that ever.

When they all end up back at the table before the closing speech for the night, Nicole spots a nicely sized mark under Harry’s jaw that he’s wearing with pride.

YN had her lipstick wiped off and was much more clingy as the night rolled on which Harry seemed to thrive on.

As she and Trent are on their way home, Nicole speaks into their silence, “I don’t think our relationship is working.”

Not after she saw love and happiness at that event table tonight - she wanted that kind of love not settling for some cheating asshole.

The Little League Game

It was a cool autumn evening, it was an important game - if you could call it that for the little league team that Kayla had her son on.

The goal was to determine which team would move onto the playoffs, even though most of this was all in good fun because it was for eight-year-olds and it wasn’t serious.

Kayla couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t spend some of the time curiously gazing at the New York Yankees player who would come to watch his son play.

He wasn’t at every game due to his schedule but it seemed like he came to whatever ones he could with his wife and other three kids.

They had taken the bench on the bleachers right below her so she had an up close and personal view of the family when they’ve never sat this close before.

As the kids warmed up, Harry had his youngest son who looked to be about four sit next to him, squished between his dad and mom happily.

Their middle son was next to his mom on the other side, looking to be about six, and he was wriggling impatiently in his seat - eager to join the other kids in the jungle gym.

The baby girl who looked about a year and a half old didn’t look anything like her brothers - it was obvious that she was a spitting image of her mother (who was stunning).

She was curled up in her mom’s lap, asleep with her face squished against her mother’s chest - a pacifier suckling fiercely between her puffy lips.

“Mama, please,” The curly haired boy begs with greedy puppy dog eyes as he keeps glancing back to look at the other kids.

“You stay right where daddy and I can see you, yes?” YN murmurs, brushing back his unruly curls that where getting long, “And what are our rules?”

“Stay where you can see, don’t talk to strangers, and be nice to others,” He recites perfectly, Kayla was a bit blown away by his manners.

She watches baseball. It was hard to believe their children were so mild mannered when their father was the exact opposite - at least on the field.

Harry was rustling in the diaper bag for something as his son looked at him with wide, concerned eyes, “My baby, daddy.”

“I know, Ezzie. M’lookin’ f’your baby,” His father replies softly, the polar extreme of his normal brash, crude language that had a nasty tone like he couldn’t bother giving people the time of day.

“Daddy, please,” The youngest whines, his little hand grasping at his father’s tattooed wrist as he gets to his knees to help his dad look.

“Left inner pocket,” YN murmurs offhandedly as she makes sure Cash gets to the playground safely with his friends.

“Say ‘thanks mama’,” Harry coos to his son as he manages to tug out the baby doll and hand it to the awaiting little boy.

“Thanks mama,” He replies instantly with a gapped smile as he nuzzles right back into his father’s side as if he can’t get close enough.

“How are you feeling, Ezra?” His mother leans over to ask, keeping the baby close to her chest.

“M’happy, mama,” Ezra replies simply before starting to babble to himself as he plays with the babydoll.

Kayla watches Harry and YN swap a fond look at their son but she couldn’t help but wonder why they asked him that? He seemed fine so why did they feel the need to do that?

The game is going okay, Harry stands up to cheer and whistle when Easton hits a two-base hit but YN smacks his thigh and motions to their sleeping baby.

He looks at her sheepishly before sitting back down, kissing her cheek in apology, and peeking down into the fleece blanket to watch his daughter sleep for a moment.

Then it seems like Easton starts to lose momentum after he pitches two home-runs, his face pinched in disappointment as the other team scores but Harry is attempting to keep him motivated with encouraging shouts.

Easton struggles from then on, he strikes out for his final three turns, doesn’t catch two pop-ups, and his pitches start to get a little shaky. It’s obvious in his facial expression he’s getting upset because he’s breathing heavier like he’s trying not to cry.

Kayla feels a sense of dread for the little boy, his father who’s the best baseball player in modern day history is watching his son not do well during an important game.

Because of what she knows of him from his temper and attitude on the field - she worries that he’s one of those father’s who will hound their kid for doing poorly.

“Oh, c’mon East,” Harry murmurs softly when his son stumbles over a ground ball before another kid picks it up and throws it in - their son smacking his glove down against the ground in frustration.

“He’s getting himself worked up,” YN notes as she watches her oldest kick his cleats in the dirt with a quivering bottom lip.

“I know,” Harry replies to his wife, “Wish he wouldn’t, he’s gettin’ upset out there, I can tell.”

“Sad?” Ezra squeaks, clambering onto his father’s lap and stating, “Hold me, daddy.”

Harry obliges easily, gathering up his small son before his attention is directed back onto the game - it was down to the last few minutes and unfortunately Easton pitched a ball that resulted in a home run for the other team.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, running a hand through his messy locks before he’s setting Ezra back down on the bleachers, “I’m going to go talk to him. Do you want to meet back home?”

YN nods, leaning down to tuck the baby into the double stroller before buckling Ezra in as well, “I’m going to go get Cash and head out. Why don’t you take him out for some ice cream? I love you.”

“I love you too, mama,” He replies, kissing her softly before kissing both of his kids foreheads and stepping down the bleachers - ignoring all the adults who are staring at him with a starstruck expression as he heads to the dugout.

It cleared out fast, nobody sticking around after the loss that ended with them not continuing on to the championship, and Easton was sat on the bench - he was stoic and there was a hard, angry expression on his face that reminded Kayla of what she saw Harry look like when he played.

As she gathers up her son and makes sure he’s got all of his equipment, Kayla stands and chats to a few of the moms before she’s heading to her car - which happened to be parked next to a sleek Masserati crossover, who would let their muddy kid go in there? Rich people, she guesses.***

Kayla pops the trunk to her van with her key as they get closer, she notices that Harry also has his up and Easton is sitting on the tailgate with his eyes looking down at the pavement. She tries not to appear as nosey or eavesdropping as she tucks her items into the back.

“Sweetheart, s’okay. Y’did so so good tonight,” Harry assures his pouty son, he squats down to start to untie his son’s nike cleats but continues to make eye contact with him.

“No, I didn’t, Daddy!” Easton whines, tears finally starting to bubble over the surface as he begins to sob with a shuddering chest, “I gave up home runs and then I missed ground balls!”

“Whoa, bubby,” Harry simpers after he tugs off the shoes and throws them carelessly into the back before standing up, “Y’did amazing, are you kiddin’? You did three innings of strikeouts, hit two of y’own homeruns. Y’played like a professional, way better than daddy.”

Kayla’s heart aches a bit when she sees Harry sit down next to him before hugging him harshly into his side, thumbing at the tears that are running down his son’s sweaty cheeks with soft reassurances.

“Daddy, are you mad I didn’t win?” Easton asks shakily, keeping his head buried into his father’s side and his small hand clutching into the fabric of his hoodie.

Harry chuckles lowly, “Daddy would never be mad at you f’anythin’, definitely not a baseball game. Remember what mama and I said? If at any point y’want to stop playin’, just let us know and we can find something else, yeah? Just like how Ezzie does art classes.”

Easton seems to calm down after a few moments of Harry rocking him and reassuring him of what an amazing son he is.

As Kayla drove away that night, her perspective on the all-star baseball player definitely changed. It was refreshing to see someone to not hold their child to an unreasonable expectation just like she thought Harry would.

The Campfire

Austin was the shortstop on the baseball team, he’d brought along his girlfriend, Chelsea, to the frat party to celebrate another win.

Everyone was in whispers that Harry was bringing his new girlfriend but nobody knew who she actually was because it was just a rumor.

It was surprising because Harry wasn’t a relationship kind-of man. He wasn’t into hookups much - always said he needed to focus on baseball.

Many of his teammates were envious of how many girls were constantly coming up to Harry at parties to flirt and try to get a dance in but he had always rejected them.

Harry had never showed interest in any of these girls at the parties, never seen him disappear upstairs with one or really entertain a conversation over a beer like they’d expect.

Chelsea pokes his shoulder and nods towards the entrance when Harry walks in with his arm around YN’s shoulder.

Most were in a little shock because they seemed like such an unlikely couple - YN had written some scathing articles about him and it was no secret he hadn’t been a fan of her.

“Holy shit, Harry’s dating YN?” Chelsea whispers to Austin as the group of party-goers cheer and whistle at the allstars appearance.

“Guess so,” Austin replies with a shrug, tugging Chelsea into the kitchen for a drink.

Later on that night, there’s a bonfire on one side of the backyard and a volleyball net on the other where a group was gathering to play.

Austin and Chelsea are on the opposing team of Harry and YN - she can’t help but watch them with curiosity because of what a surprise it is that they’re dating.

Even Austin has been watching because Harry’s acting in a way that he’s never seen throughout his time on the team with him.

Harry is just all over YN which was confusing how he went from not being remotely interested in the college girls to being a lovestruck puppy.

When she throws the ball up to serve, Harry reaches over and pinches her bum which makes her squeak and accidentally drop the ball which has him cackling as she glares at him.

As they change positions, he crowds up behind her, and massages her hips, leaning down to murmuring something in her ear.

She blushes wildly before smacking him off which has him laughing hard and kissing the back of her head before taking his position.

After Harry jumps and spikes the ball hard, earning them the winning point, YN turns around and wraps her arms around him to hug him tightly.

Harry wraps his arms around her shoulders, returning the hug before pulling back to kiss her lips in a soft peck.

Chelsea elbows Austin, “Who’s that and what did they do with Harry?”

Austin shakes his head, “I really don’t fucking know.”

The group migrates over to the fire as they might become cooler and the stars are high up in the sky, the fire flickering orange and yellow crackles of sparks.

Harry plops into a chair, pulling YN right onto his lap, and she wriggles until she’s comfortable. Chelsea notices him tap her thigh as if telling her to cut it out, too much motion right on his crotch.

Jake, one of his teammates, says in a teasing tone, “YN, I’m surprised to see you around these parts . I clearly remember a strongly worded article about how stupid frat parties are.”

YN takes it in stride, smiling as she replies, “And this party just proves my point.”

The group laughs easily, they enjoy YN’s sharp wit and comebacks as they get to know her. Austin can’t help but to notice how quiet Harry is.

Normally, he’s the life of the party, loud and making his presence known to everyone but not tonight. He has his chin propped on her shoulder and she’s cuddled back into his chest.

Austin can’t make out what Harry is saying but he’s constantly whispering in her ear and accentuating each time with a squeeze to her thighs.

“Are you guys official?” One of the teammates asked bluntly, a few beers deep by this point in the night.

Harry replies instantly, a possessive squeeze, “She’s mine and off the market, s’don’t even think about it.”

“Well I don’t think it matters because she’s turned down the whole baseball team by this point. I think everyone tried to ask her out at least once,” Steve jokes as the others agree.

“Tha’s m’girl,” Harry murmurs to her before teasing his friends,“Who’d want to go out with any you? You’re all dickheads.”

Everyone continues to joke around, it’s nearing midnight and that’s right about when Harry gets in his prime - like the party just started.

But not tonight.

YN’s eyes start to flutter shut as everyone banters and drinks around the fire, obviously not used to these late night parties.

“I better get this one t’bed,” Harry states after a few minutes, thumbing at YN’s cheekbone as she tries to stay awake.

“I’m okay,” She mumbles weakly, head still heavy against his shoulder.

“You’re coming back though, right?” Kyle asks expectantly, brows furrowed.

Harry shakes his head, “Nah, m’in for the night when she is.”

All the players look at him with a bit of a dumbfounded look, Steve shooting out, “Who knew you’d be so pussy whipped, Styles?”

Chelsea’s eyebrows raise at the crude comment, waiting with bated breath as Harry’s jaw clenches as it seems like he’s biting his tongue.

“Goodnight,” Harry says in a tone Austin has never heard before - agitated and almost…offended.

When Austin and Chelsea are sneaking up to his room for a late night hook-up, she overhears Harry and YN in his bedroom.

At first, she thinks they’re in an actual argument but as she listens to them - it’s not the kind of arguement she thought it was.

“You’re always the little spoon,” YN groans from behind the closed door.

Harry squawks, affronted before huffing back at her, “S’my favorite, please spoon me, darling?”

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” YN giggles as Chelsea assumes they move into a position where Harry’s the little spoon.

“Mm, I like feelin’ y’tits against my back, s’nice,” Harry hums with a boyish tone.

Chelsea doesn’t even realize she’s smiling until Austin drags her from her stupor.

All she knew was that Harry Styles really really fancied that school reporter.

-=-=-=-=-=-

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 3 years

Text

Dancing with Our Hands Tied (Part One)

Series: Undercover Hotch fic/series™

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 4,607 | Rated: T | Warnings: swearing

Tropes: bedsharing, fake married, mutual pining, undercover

Chapter Summary: Hotch offers you an assignment -- pretend to be married to him to draw out an unsub targeting couples at a resort. and you accept because it wasn’t like you were in love with him...right?

A/N: the undercover hotch fic is here! keep an eye out for part 2 :)

“How long would we be there?” you lean against the back of your chair, ignoring the thrumming of your blood in your pulse, the heat rising in your cheeks, as you maintain the façade of nonchalance needed for this op to go smoothly.

“It will be just over six weeks,” he replies, sliding over the folder, “we would be fully immersed – new identities, new jobs, no contact with anyone, except with the team at scheduled check-ins.” You nodded, lips pursed, as you looked over the paperwork – a man targeting couples – couples that looked eerily similar to you and Hotch – down to the age difference everything — it was disconcerting, you snuck a glance at Hotch — in many ways, “this is new for us, but the local police have been circling this for months, and the last couple they sent in nearly got found out so—”

“So you thought it would be better to send us in, so we can profile up close and personal, huh?” you ignored the nagging thought of how the unsub would not only be the only thing that would be up close and personal—

No. Boss. He was your boss.

“I know you just started just barely a year ago—” Hotch started, and your eyes flickered up from the work, finding his brow wrinkled, “and you’ve made impressive strides since you’ve been here,” a stripe of heat burned at your neck, resisting the urge to break his earnest gaze, “you have nothing to prove to me or the team—”

You raise an eyebrow, flipping the paperwork shut, “When do we start, Hotch?”

He suppresses a chuckle, and you ignore how your heart thumps happily – stupidly – in your chest at the small smile he gives, “In a week.”

You slide the folder back, lips curling into a grin, “That’s just enough time for you to pick out a ring for me,” and he raises his eyebrows, a hint of a smile on his lips, “and usually I’m not one for a wedding ring, but for appearances’ sake, my alter ego is not cheap.”

Ghost of a laugh in his voice, he asks, “You already have a personality?”

You grin, “I work fast, Hotch, try to keep up,”

“I’ll try, but it’s too bad,” he pushed his chair out, slipping past you before throwing the remark over his shoulder, “I just got to liking your old one.”

~~~

“Let’s get started,” Hotch says as you walk in, and you slide into a seat between Emily and Reid, “Garcia?”

Garcia clicks, the screen displaying a beautiful “You two lucky lovebirds will be flying to White Mountain Retreat, a luxury retreat for couples on the rocks,” Garcia grins, as everyone chuckles. Emily and Reid raising their eyebrows, J.J. and Dave hiding their smiles, and Morgan giving a knowing look — while Hotch cleared his throat, and Garcia snaps back to attention, “Right, so our esteemed leader and our very own agent will posing as a newly wed couple who are having marital problems, as unfortunately, this resort has more problems that meets the eye — including three couples who stayed at this resort who wound up murdered.”

“Three couples? How did we just get this case?” Morgan asks, leaning back in his seat. “They just uncovered the last two couples’ bodies — same burial spot—” and Garcia pulls up a map, “only about a hundred miles from the resort,”

“And the first couple?” Emily asks.

“They were found on the grounds of the resort in the woods,” Garcia grimaces, switching to the image of the bodies, “the bodies were so mutilated that they thought at first they were mauled viciously by a bear, but after finding the other bodies, the medical examiner found it was the same unsub.”

“How long were the couples there?”

“All different times, weeks apart,” Garcia pulls up three dates ranging from six to eight weeks, “that’s why no one had put this together — they had all been there for a stop on a vacation, one of the couples was supposed to be on cruise right after the retreat and the other couple had a backpacking vacation together,”

“Couples with marriage problems spending several weeks together with no one else? That’ll solve any problem.” Rossi shakes his head, as the others chuckle.

“Projecting from your own marriages, Rossi?” Reid asks, and Rossi raises an eyebrow, and he moves on, “but this explains why no one missed them. The couples’ all came from different areas in the U.S. disappeared after checking out of their retreat, and by the time anyone knew they were missing, the trail went cold for several days if not weeks.”

“Any other connections you can spot besides the couples’ age difference, races, and the retreat?”

“The dumping sight for one,” Emily remarks, “Hundred miles must mean it’s a comfort zone for him and look at where it is — a secluded corner of the trail that isn’t even mapped — the unsub probably from or grew up in the area,”

“Look at the brutalization of the male victim—” J.J. flips to the image of one of the male victims, “his face and lower extremities are beaten in, but his other half? Not a scratch, even covered up,”

“He feels guilty,” Emily adds, “he beats the man until he’s not recognizable — it shows a sense of rage — almost like he’s taking away their identity,”

“And their manhood,” Hotch adds, “the one thing we do know for sure that he must hunt for his victims at the retreat — he could be staff, a vendor, anyone who frequents or has access to the retreat.”

“Where do the couples stay?”

Garcia pulls up more images of the resort — including the rooms — a plush bed outfitted with beautifully white satin sheets and a deep maroon bed scarf. The view was stunning out the glass doors, which lead to an outdoor balcony complete with a sitting area, “In fully decked out rooms,”

“There’s no television, no entertainment—”

“Nothing to distract you but your tumultuous relationship,” Rossi furrows his brow, “that must go well.”

“Having flashbacks, Rossi?” Morgan grins, as Rossi shakes his head, rubbing his temples.

“Far too many,”

“We will be arriving on our own, flying commercial, while the rest of you take the jet there,” he turns to Garcia, “Garcia, you too, you’ll be flying out to make sure we can keep in contact with you,”

“Sir,” she nods.

“The rest of you — Morgan and J.J. coordinate with law enforcement and work the crime scenes. Dave and Prentiss, the bodies and victimology. Reid, you’ll be helping local P.D. put together a geographical profile,” and he spares you a glance, “We have to be packed and out of here in an hour.”

~~~

“Are you going to be alright there?” Morgan leaned against your desk, arms crossed – watching as you double checked your bags at your desk, knelt down to make sure you had everything (though you knew no matter how many times you checked, you would end up forgetting something).

“What do you mean?” you frown, as you check again to make sure you didn’t forget your towel for the twelfth time, “I’ve been undercover before, Morgan.”

“I know, but now with Hotch,” he’s leaning against the table, “yout know that I know, sweetheart,”

You furrow your brow, “I tell Garcia something in the strictest of confidences—”

“She can’t hide a thing and you know that, don’t blame her,” but still you’re pouting, before sighing and letting your shoulders sag, “my feelings are not going to play into this. This is an undercover operation, I’ve been on these before — this is nothing different.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You’re going on a couples’ retreat with a man who you have feelings for,” you purse your lips, flinching at his words, “how do you think that’s gonna go?”

“Fine, because nothing is going to happen,” you reply curtly, before pausing, “Derek, I know you’re looking out for me, but I—” you glance at Hotch’s closed office door, “I’ve had these feelings for a while, I know how to handle myself. And I think I’m finally over it.”

“And you don’t think this trip will bring anything back?” and you waver, but he only claps his hand to your shoulder, “I don’t want to stand in the way of anything you want to do, but I just...I don’t want to see you hurt, alright?”

“I know,” and he squeezes your shoulder, “now let me finish packing without you hovering over me.”

“You know you’ll miss this when you don’t see me for six weeks,” he replies, grinning, as he walks over to the conference room.

And you shake your head, pausing as you check your things one more time — toothbrush, check; towel, check; shampoo, check—

“You ready?” a voice says behind you, and you glance to find Aaron standing in a short sleeve polo and khaki shorts — your basic white guy vacation outfit — but even so, your heart squeezed at the sight of his casual look. You really were in deep, weren’t you?

“Just about,” you smile, watching him head to the conference room to debrief, bags in hand — and you wished there was a way to uncheck something — your feelings for your boss, uncheck.

But — you get to your feet, grabbing your bag, sparing one last look at your desk before sighing — there wasn’t.

~~~

“Uncomfortable?” Hotch asks when you shift in your seat for what you were sure was the twentieth time, but this time it was after you had returned from the bathroom. And you sigh, settling back into your seat.

“Is it possible to be comfortable in one of these seats?” and he chuckles, watching you squirm, catching his eye, your cheeks burning, glancing at the empty seat to your left — you were lucky enough to have your section to yourself, “do you want me to take the empty seat?”

“It’s fine,” he replies, handing you a hot coffee.

“Oh,” you blink.

“Cart went by right when you went into the bathroom,” he says, as you take the coffee, your fingers brushing his. You settle back into your seat, your thigh touching his as you did, “I think that’s how you take it,”

And you sip it, blinking — perfect, “Thanks,”

And he nods, as your heart warms.

Maybe it wasn’t just the seat.

You sneak a glance at him, looking over the paperwork for the operation, his fingers ghosting over the fake wedding band. The F.B.I. pulled no punches — it was the real deal. A simple silver band, not dissimilar to the one he and Haley wore — the one he had still worn after her death.

Your lips purse, “Still not used to it?” and your fingers find yours as well — a silver band that matched his set with a simple diamond (lesser than your alter ego wanted, but you were on a budget).

It didn’t take long for you to learn about Haley — not with the rumors around the F.B.I. all swirling around this unit. It was almost a month in when you first realized — when Hotch had brought his son, Jack, to the office to pick something up. And you noted the wedding ring on his finger, the absence of a wife, and you remembered hearing the rumors — an F.B.I. agent who lost his wife to a serial killer. And it clicked.

But you had never asked.

And he shakes his head, his brow wrinkled, “No,” he admits, before his hand falls away, glancing at yours for a moment, lingering, before his gaze finds the files again, the moment broken. He turns on the overhead air vent to drown out your conversations, “Have you read up on our background for the case?”

“Of course,” a newly wed couple — Thomas and— you grimace at the name they chose for you, “did whoever chose that name for me a sadist?”

“Well, I don’t know if I would call Erin a sadist—”

And you snort, “Never mind,” you catch him biting back a smile, and you press the tip of your pen to your lips, “I’ll just have to get used to it,”

“If you want, I can call you something else,” Hotch tilts his head, “and you probably should start calling me Aaron at the very least,”

“Right, Aaron,” his name felt unnatural on your lips — intimate even. It was easy to call him Hotch, it made it easier to keep him at arm's length, it made it easier to keep that professional boundary — the one that kept you from hoping, the one that made it easier to pretend you felt nothing for him.

Oh, when did this begin?

Was it when he took you under his wing, and saw the potential in you that you hadn’t? Was it when he pushed you to be better, to do better? Was it when he comforted you after a hard case, a reassuring hand on your shoulder and soft words that brought ease to your mind? Was it the smiles you started to share when Morgan teased Reid or when Prentiss and Morgan bickered? Was it things like the coffee — the one that still warmed your hands — little things you have picked up on about each other?

“Besides the fact we are newly wed and having problems, they gave us free range over our background,” his voice is low, leaning closer so other passengers wouldn’t overhear, “We should work out what our problems are to get our stories straight. One of the activities listed on the retreat’s itinerary is group therapy,”

“There’s a therapist on payroll at this place?”

“Counselor,” Hotch corrected you, “we checked him out — credentials are fishy, but no criminal record or complaints that we could find,”

“Well, therapy will be a good opportunity to know the other couples who are staying there — the more we know, maybe if he doesn’t take the bait with us, we’ll know who his next choice will be,” you peer over the pamphlet — “as for our problems, well our age difference probably could cause some friction — my parents don’t approve, people look at us weird because of how we look as a couple,” you shrug, before glancing at him, “your turn,”

And he purses his lips, “We’re both closed off,”

“Speak for yourself, I’m an open book,” and he raises an eyebrow, “What? I am.”

“When did you last date someone?” and you gape at him, stammering, noting the flicker of satisfaction.

“Is that really appropriate to ask as my superior?”

“No, but it’s perfectly appropriate as your husband,” you scoff, snatching the list from his hands, as he opens his mouth for a retort.

“What’s yours is mine, right?” you reply, scanning the list — “I’m just curious what other activities this place is passing off as therapeutic,” swimming, cooking, yoga, nature walk, couples’ massage, meditation — and then your eye snags on one listed, “Trust exercises?”

“We’re not here to criticize their practices,” but you can hear the half hearted sigh in his voice.

“Well, we’re not doing that activity,” you flip through again, “wow, this place even outsources — museum, private hiking trips, kayaking and canoeing — with all of these vendors connected to this place, any one of them could be where the unsub works,”

“We should get a list of the activities that each of the couples did — see if there’s any overlap,” and then he takes the pamphlet from your hands, tucking it away,“you should get some sleep — we only have a few hours before we land,”

And you raise an eyebrow, looking at the time — 12:30 AM — “and you’ve evolved beyond sleep?”

“I’ll sleep, I—”

“Don’t keep yourself awake — you need your beauty sleep,” and you glance at him — but did he though? “unless you want to look tired and get a bunch of looks and winks when we say we’re newlyweds,”

And he cringes, turning off the vent, and pulling the thin fleece blanket over him, “You’re not comfortable in that seat, but you can sleep in it?”

You curl up, yawning, “I can sleep just about anywhere now,” before adding, “but this is no jet.”

And you don’t catch him smiling at you as you shut your eyes — no, it wasn’t.

~~~

The overhead announcements make you stir — a yawn pulling at your lips, as you blink the sleep from your eyes, you realize you’re not resting on your seat anymore — no, you’re resting on something much more firm — Hotch’s shoulder. And the gentle pressure atop your head was his own, leaned on top of yours.

Fuck.

You flinch away, making him stir, as you watch in horror, checking your chin and his jacket to make sure you didn’t accidentally drool on your supervisor’s shoulder—

But you didn’t — but he’s awake now, unknowing or unfazed by your previous position, “We’ve arrived?”

You peer at the screen in front of you, signaling that you were close to the landing strip, “Just about to,”

And he’s rubbing his eyes, “Sleep well?”

Your head snaps to his, before he blinks — oh, he didn’t know — and blood rushes to your cheeks, “I did, thanks,” And he nods, adjusting his neck and shoulders, and you hide a smile, “shoulder hurting?”

“Yeah,” he furrows his brow, “I must have slept wrong,”

Or made an extremely good pillow, “Looks like you’re getting old,” And he glares at you as you laugh, lips curled in a grin.

“Or I’m just comfortable to sleep on,” and your grin drops, blood rushing to your cheeks, but he pays it no mind, an almost smile on his lips as he busies himself with looking over the paperwork once more, “the retreat isn’t too far from the airport. It shouldn’t take us more than an hour to get there.”

Your cheeks still burning, you frown, arms crossed as the pilot announces that the plane is beginning its descent, “An hour, huh,” you stretch in your seat, glancing at the window,— an hour until you two would be married— pretending to be married, you corrected yourself —- sneaking another look at Hotch, a distinction with a very big difference. You only sigh, shutting your eyes, just as the announcements end, “I can’t wait to sleep.”

~~~

Or maybe you could.

You blinked at the single bed in the middle of the room, arms crossed, the two of you paused in the doorway of your suite — the room was large and lavish, but minimalist — a beautiful soft white bedspread, set with a deep emerald comforter, and fluffed pillows resting against the headrest. Two bamboo bedside tables were on either end, and there were two doors opposite of them, that you assumed were a closet and a bathroom respectively. There was a sitting area near the double glass doors that led to a balcony — a couch with an armchair with a small bookshelf nestled in the corner.

But — your eyes fell back to the bed — that wasn’t what mattered.

“You okay?” Hotch raised an eyebrow at you, tilting his head, unfazed by the single bed, and your cheeks were burning — of course you would be sharing a bed — you were pretending to be married.

“I didn’t realize—” you point lamely to the bed, and he’s nodding.

“I can take the couch—”

“No, no,” you wave him off, “it’s fine — we’re adults,” although in this moment, you certainly didn’t feel like one, “it’s not a big deal.”

Simple — and Hotch is unpacking his bag that was already brought up to your room, as your eyes graze over him, his back to you — you just wouldn’t sleep for the next six weeks.

~~~

You try to stay still — you really do.

But you’re shifting under these soft sheets, far too close to kicking off the sheets all together, but — you glance at Hotch’s unmoving form — you know better. Your eyes burn in time with your body aching, but still, it would be too kind for you to be able to sleep. You nearly groan, turning on your back, blinking up at the ceiling.

You hoped you would be able to sleep, but of course you could never be so lucky. And you squeeze your eyes shut when you feel Hotch shift beside you.

But you often weren’t, were you?

You were lucky — in a lot of respects.

You had gotten your dream job — a placement with the Behavior Analysis Unit — one that had been coveted by many a colleague — humble and pretentious alike. It took time for you to grow to be on par with the rest of the team — there are only so many things they can teach you in the Academy — but experience is the best teacher. And your first month with the BAU proved that.

It was hell.

But what else was catching serial killers going to be?

But the team had guided through it all — hell and brimstone alike — and after a few months, you felt like you had settled into a place of your own, a spot that you had carved for yourself in the team.

And yet — you swallowed thickly in the darkness, attempting to force the sandman to do your bidding, before feeling Hotch shift again beside you, breath caught in your throat — there was another place you wanted to be.

Even if you didn’t want to admit it.

When was it that you first met him in his office? The first brush of his fingers against yours and you couldn’t help but note the cut of his jaw, the steady confidence of his demeanor, the softness of his smile when you asked about his son—

Or was it the ease with how he led — every difficult decision made with thought, every hard choice that was his to bear, and every life that depended on him that he carried upon his back. There really was a way in which he carried himself?

Maybe it was the looks you exchanged Reid made a remark or the local P.D. made a questionable choice, the way you would always get each other’s drink right, and the way he always seemed to know when you needed something.

You were doomed from the start.

Admiration had merged into affection — and now you would say you were seeing double, but the two were one and the same — undeniably merged.

And you didn’t know what to do.

But now you were lying awake in a bed beside him, and you wondered not only would every night be like this — but was Morgan right?

Could you handle this?

You squeezed your eyes shut — you wanted to, and you thought you could. But one day of being awake in the same bed with him was enough to make you question — everything.

But you turn slowly to face him, and his face is barely illuminated in the moonlight filtering through the shades. His chest rose and fell with even breaths, but that’s not how you knew he was sleeping — his brow relaxed, not furrowed as it always was and his mouth parted slightly.

And you almost smile.

He’s beautiful, isn’t he?

He always, but — there was something about it — about seeing him like not many had seen him before. Sure, he had slept on planes at times, but not like this. You were only one of few who’d shared a bed with him— and your cheeks burned.

But not like that—

No, this trip would be professional, you told yourself as you shut your eyes, it would be business as usual, nothing more.

Nothing less.

~~~

You swear it had only been a minute since you had fallen asleep.

And yet you hear your name muttered softly in your ear, a hand on your shoulder shaking you, but you refuse to wake, brushing it away.

You had only just fallen asleep, as you attempted to bury your face in the cushion of your pillow — it and your blanket surely conspired to pry you back to sleep, as it pulled you back to unconsciousness.

But no such luck — as the blanket is torn away from you, and you snap awake, irritation hot on your tongue, as you finally realize who the subject of your wrath was—

Hotch stood, blanket in hand, an eyebrow raised and unimpressed, “Good morning,” he says dryly, as your mouth hangs open lamely, blinking — mind struggling to keep up with your reality.

He folded the blanket placing it back on the bed, as your eyes glanced over his outfit — similar to yesterday — a short-sleeve blue polo and shorts, his hair a little messier than he allowed at the BAU, and his bare arms crossed across his chest.

“Sorry, I—” you shake yourself from your stupor, sliding off the bed, “I had a hard time sleeping last night—”

And he frowns, tilting his head, “I don’t mind taking the couch—”

“It wasn’t that,” it was, “it was just nerves — but I’m fine,” you add, “just need a quick shower.” you turn to slip into the shower, but he calls after you, his arms crossed his chest, eyebrows raised in concern.

"I hope you know that you can do this," he tilts, and what was that look in his eyes — pride? "I wouldn't have recommended you otherwise,"

And your chest stirs, because he was genuine — Aaron Hotchner couldn't ever be less than — and you clear your throat, lips quirking, "it wasn't just because I fit the profile?"

And he almost sighs, but a smile pulls at the corners of his lips, "Well it didn't hurt,"

You gape at him, "Shut up," as you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear him laugh.

And when you realized you’d do anything to hear it again — you rested your head against the bathroom door, cheeks warm — you knew you were fucked.

~~~

"Should we hold hands?" You ask, after you're finished getting dressed, only adjusting your outfit, and he’s tying his shoes, a quizzical glance over his shoulder, “I mean how should we play this,” you turn from the mirror, grabbing your purse, “I don't know exactly how couples who are separating act like, I—” and you cut yourself off, the words caught on the utterly too big foot in your mouth, as you glance over at Hotch, mortified, “I didn’t mean—”

He only shakes his head, “I know,” he says softly, glancing away, his gaze falling to the floor, “every marriage is different — but if we're here, we are trying to work it out," and he holds out his hand, "so we should."

And you want to apologize, you want to ask him if it hurt to wear a ring on his finger again, ask if he was okay — but you didn't, you couldn't. So instead, you take his hand.

There were so many things you didn't know about Aaron Hotchner — as your fingers intertwined with his, his calloused fingers in yours — but now you knew how his hand felt in yours.

And that you didn't want to let go.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagines #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines

890 notes · View notes

ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

You Light The Spark In My Bonfire Heart

Kyle Rayner x Batbro One-Shot

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I HAVEN'T HAD ANY WIFI ALL DAY BUT NOW I DO AND this is my new obsession and pair and you can tear it from my cold dead hands. Enjoy! -Thorne

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

Kyle had an easy morning routine: get up, eat breakfast, brush teeth, workout, shower, drink protein shake, and draw. It was simple and effective, and helped him maintain a sense of normalcy that he didn’t always have when he was up in space. He typically started out with sketching small things, mostly faces and limbs from memory, the occasional suit redesign, then he’d get into the bigger works, drawing comic panels and the commissions he had. And while Kyle loved to be up in space, to be a Green Lantern, drawing felt like coming home to him, like it was the natural state. That being said, he didn’t love being interrupted when he was in the middle of something important—it was bad for the groove.

***

As the second round of knocking sounded on his door, Kyle grunted and stood from his desk, padding through the hallway to his front door; he flicked the lock and pulled open the door, surprise etching across his face when he saw the eldest Wayne leaning against the door frame—rather cockily, Kyle added, because the soldier’s arm was propped on the frame, the other stuck in the side-pocket of his dark tactical bomber jacket.

“Good morning, Kyle,” he greeted with a smirk. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The Lantern blinked, shaking his head. “Uh, no, you’re not, (Y/N).” he looked at him. “What are you doing here?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Had some business to take care of for my dad, and since I was in the area, I figured I’d drop by and see if you wanted to get some lunch with me.”

Kyle took a moment to lean out the doorway slightly, looking down the stretched hallway. “How’d you know where I live?”

“Please, a magician never reveals his secrets,” he deflected coolly, gazing at Kyle. “What do you say? Wanna get some lunch? I know a really good sports bar that serves great food.”

He looked back at (Y/N) and smiled. “Yeah. Let me go get dressed.”

The soldier merely winked in return and with fumbling hands, Kyle managed to shut the door before his cheeks burst into flames, hurrying back to his bedroom to pull together an outfit that would impress the man.

***

Kyle almost dropped to his knees when he saw the car parked outside his apartment building, and (Y/N) knew it too, because he chirped, “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

He nodded dumbly. “Is this a McLaren 720S?”

“Mhm.” He opened the doors and slid into the driver’s seat, looking through the passenger door. “Coming?”

“Am I ever,” Kyle breathed, climbing into the seat, immediately running his hands along the dashboard and seat. “I’m in love.”

“Wait till you hear her purr,” (Y/N) said, closing the doors, and pushing the ignition. The sports car roared to life and he grinned at the way Kyle’s face melted. “Yeah, she’s a beauty.” He put the car in drive and looked through the side mirror, then pulled out onto the street.

“Is this one of your dad’s cars?”

“Nah, I bought this for myself a couple months ago.” He pulled the sunglasses from his t-shirt and put them on. “This and an Audi TT.”

Kyle huffed a laugh. “Jesus, you billionaires live it up, don’t you?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Hey, I live life in the fast lane. Might as well drive in it too.” He pushed a button on the touch screen and music filtered through the speakers, and Kyle’s face pinched in confusion. “What?”

“This isn’t—James Blunt isn’t the music I figured you’d play.”

“What’d you think I’d be listening too? Rock?” he chuckled, turning the volume down a bit. “Don’t get me wrong, I listen to all kinds of rock music, but I figured you’d want something easy rather than head-bang your brains out rock.” (Y/N) stopped at a red light and glanced over. “You can look through the artists on my phone if you want.”

Kyle shook his head, relaxing into the seat as the melody flowed through him. “No, I like this artist.” The soldier merely smiled in return, pressing the gas pedal again, and Kyle suddenly remembered something. “Speaking of artist, I saw the canvas in your bedroom the other day. Do you draw?”

(Y/N) hummed. “Not like you. It’s more of a pastime than a lifestyle.”

“You’re good at it. You’re painting your family in their suits. Details and designs included.” The artist regarded him with impression. “That takes skill.”

“I’d like to think I just have a steady hand and a lot of patience for stressful tasks.” (Y/N) turned the wheel, coming up behind a line of cars. “It’s an easy way for me to relax and mentally run through past events.”

“Like what?” Kyle questioned curiously.

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed, but not in a loathing way, more of a thoughtful one. “Missions, conversations, things I could’ve done differently, things I will do differently.” He shrugged again. “Painting for me is just a time when I think about everything and nothing.”

“Well, you’re great at it, (Y/N).”

He snorted. “It’s just a bunch of paintings of my family and friends and military shit.”

Kyle blinked and leaned over. “Wait, is that painting in the den—”

“The one of the F-18 Super Hornet?”

“Yeah. You painted that?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yep. I got Hal Jordan to take me up in one a few years ago and decided to commemorate the trip.”

“Wow,” the Lantern breathed. “I stared at that canvas for at least an hour the first time I saw it. I was just so blown away by how amazing it was.” He chuckled and shook his head. “And to find out, you drew it and not some world-famous painter.”

“Hey, I could be world famous if I wanted.” (Y/N) shot back, turning onto a less busy backstreet. “I just choose to retain my talents for family and friends.”

“Because of your job?”

“That too.” He agreed. “My squad and I take careful precautions to avoid our faces being seen during any missions for the safety of our families.” His face turned as solemn as his voice. “We do what we do to make the world safer. To keep our families and friends safe. It’s imperative that we’re not seen.”

Kyle cocked a brow. “But you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?”

“I am,” he nodded. “But I’m not as…out as the rest of my siblings. You’d be able to recognize them from press photos, but me not so much.” (Y/N) pulled into a parking spot outside the bar. “People only recognize me when they see the name on the credit cards. And I prefer to keep it that way.” A goofy smile crossed his lips. “The high life isn’t for me.”

“Says the man that drives a 710 horsepower sports car.” Kyle shot back with a grin of his own and (Y/N) stuck his tongue out as he turned the car off and opened the doors.

“Okay, I’m not actively in the high life but that doesn’t mean I don’t like luxury.” He closed the car doors and opened the front door to the bar for Kyle. “After you.”

“Thank you.” He replied, and walked inside, only stopping to turn and ask, “Do you want to sit at the bar or a table?”

(Y/N) tipped his head to the side. “I’m down with both, but I like the bar more.”

“Bar it is,” Kyle said and slid into one of the chairs, (Y/N) the other, and an older man wandered over.

“Well, I’ll be damned, is that (Y/N) Wayne I see?”

He turned, expression morphing into joy as he reached out and shook the older man’s hand. “Jack, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you son. How’ve you been?”

“Ah, you know me, sir. Nothin’ changing but the weather.”

Jack snorted. “And the desert where you dig sand outta your ass.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Damn straight.” He looked at Kyle. “Kyle, I’d like you to meet Jack Dagher. He’s an old CO of mine.”

Kyle shook the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“It’s all mine,” Jack replied. “It’s been a while since (Y/N) brought anybody here.”

At that, Kyle turned to the soldier who was busy looking anywhere but his face. “Is that so?”

“Oh yeah. Sonovabitch doesn’t bring his dates here unless he really likes ‘em.”

(Y/N) coughed, glaring at the man. “Alright, we get it. Aren’t you supposed to be taking orders?”

Jack gave him a smug look in return. “What can I get you boys to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer,” Kyle said, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“No shit, kid. What kind?”

(Y/N) snickered as Kyle flushed. “Uh, a Heineken.”

Jack sighed. “And he had such potential. (Y/N)?”

“Gimme a strawberry daiquiri then water after.”

“Still ordering fruity drinks, huh?”

“Hey, they get you drunk faster than horse piss does, you old fart.” He shot back and the old man chuckled.

“Touché.” He slapped the bar. “I’ll bring those to you with an order of chili fries.”

“Thanks Jack,” (Y/N) smiled, watching the man walk off before turning to Kyle who was watching one of the baseball games. “You like sports?”

He tipped his head side to side. “I don’t not like them. I was never a sporty kid in school, but I like watching them.” He looked at the solider. “What were you like in school? Jock or prep?”

“Probably a bit of both,” he answered. “I played sports and had the highest grades.” Shrugging, he added, “And being a Wayne boosted me into the top tier of schools, so, there’s that. To be honest, I think all of us Wayne kids were and are a mixture of every stereotypical category.”

“I can see that,” Kyle laughed. “Especially with Jason and Dick.”

“Shit, I was talking about Timmy.” (Y/N) said. “That kid’s a grade A nerd.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

The two of them laughed and a woman placed their drinks in front of them, both giving their thanks as they took sips.

“Can I ask you something, (Y/N)?”

“My muscles are one hundred percent real. Especially my abs. Which you’re allowed to feel on in envy if you want.”

Kyle snorted into his beer, wiping his mouth. “No!” a few more chuckles passed his lips as he wiped the bar. “Are you…you know…?”

“A Leo?” (Y/N) offered with a smile, but his eyes told Kyle he knew exactly what the Lantern was asking, and he said, “I like the liquor, but I don’t care what label it has on it.”

The other man smiled. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“But if you want the technical term, I am pansexual.” He regarded Kyle a moment. “You?”

“Bisexual.”

His lips pulled in an impressed fashion. “Pretty fly for a bi guy.”

Kyle gaped at him for a moment, then shoved (Y/N) in the side as he buried his face in his arms and laughed. “You’re so stupid.”

“Ah thank you,” he grinned. “I get it from my old man.”

“You,” he cut himself off with a cackle. “do not get that from him.”

“Look, you know the big man in the suit. You don’t know the complete goober we live with,” (Y/N) chuckled, smiling at the waitress who placed menus in front of them; he picked his up and flipped through it.

“What do you recommend?”

“Hmm…anything with bacon on it.” He showed the menu. “If you like salads, get the steak and blue cheese one, it’s fantastic. Or if you’re more into tacos, they’ve got these awesome shrimp carnitas with chili peppers.”

Kyle’s brows furrowed as he looked the menu over. “What are you gonna get?”

“My usual. Tomahawk steak with garlic butter and mashed potatoes.” (Y/N) groaned and rested his head back. “I haven’t had a good steak in months, and I can just taste it already.”

“So, you’re a meat and potatoes kind of man?”

He grinned, keeping his eyes closed. “Unlike the cup noodle and Hawaiian roll man beside me.”

“Ouch. Hit me where it hurts.”

“C’mon Kyle, hit me with your best shot.”

“Better watch it, (Y/N),” he grinned. “You might be the next notch in my pencil case.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

***

“Holy crap,” Kyle breathed, hands resting lightly on his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

(Y/N) moaned. “Stick a fork in me. I’m done.”

“Done?” their waitress laughed. “You haven’t even finished your desserts yet!”

“Oh God, don’t make me,” the Lantern whined. “I’ll explode.” He looked over. “(Y/N), take one for the team.”

“Pass,” he replied. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds just looking at the rest of the cheesecake.”

The woman laughed. “I’ll wrap the leftovers for you boys.” She wandered off, leaving them alone, and a blaring ringtone filled the space between.

(Y/N) jumped a little, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Do you mind if I get this really quick?”

Kyle shook his head. “Go ahead.”

He slid his thumb along the bottom and rested the phone on the bar. “This is Wayne.”

Captain! Finally. I’ve been texting you all afternoon.

“I know,” he snorted. “I’ve been ignoring it.”

Yeah well, the longer you ignore me the slower it takes for the radar dish to get replaced.

“What are you talking about?” (Y/N) asked. “I thought you’d procured one.”

I did. Then the buyer told me I wasn’t registered for official military hardware.

He frowned. “That’s odd. You did contact Thomas, right?”

Yeah. Beady eyed looking motherfucker who serves on the George Washington, right?

“That’s him.” (Y/N) hummed. “Tell you what, I’ll call him later this evening and get it all sorted out, yeah?”

Sounds good. Hey, did you take that guy out yet? Your little brother won’t stop texting me about some twinkie you’re into.”

(Y/N) froze as he felt Kyle’s eyes drilling into the side of his head and he stuttered, “Uh, Nadeen, now’s not the best time.”

What do you mean best—oh…ohhhhhh. I, uh, I gotta go, Captain.

“Yep. Bye.” He locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, refusing to meet Kyle’s eyes. “So…you catch the baseball game?”

“Which one of your brother’s thinks I’m a twink?” Kyle asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. It’s Jason, isn’t it?” he grunted in his throat, deadpanning, “I can’t believe my best friend thinks I’m a twink.”

“It’s Dick, actually.” (Y/N) grinned, turning to face him and he reached over, pinching Kyle’s cheek. “It’s just ‘cause you’re so cute and perky.”

The Lantern merely glared at him, griping, “I’m not as strong as you, put I can punch pretty hard.”

“Ooo, those are fighting words,” he shot back with a smirk, letting Kyle go. “Careful, I’m ticklish.”

“I feel like I’m talking to Hal.”

(Y/N) whined, all but collapsing onto Kyle who started snickering. “I’ve just been murdered.” He buried his face in Kyle’s shoulder. “Can’t believe I was just compared to Highball. The world must be coming to an end.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby. You’re not dying.”

“I am!” he turned his head, gazing at Kyle. “You’ll have to carry me to safety.”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I did not say that.”

“You did, but in more words.”

“Alright, now I’m talking to Guy.”

“THAT’S SO MUCH WORSE!”

***

He leaned against the door frame as Kyle unlocked his front door and pushed it open, turning to look at him. “I had a lot of fun today, (Y/N).” he murmured. “Thanks.”

Winking, he replied, “I’m glad you did. I’d like to do it again soon if you want.”

Kyle nodded. “I’d like that.”

They stared at each other for a few moments and (Y/N) smiled, patting the door frame. “Well, I’d better be heading out. Have to get home in time for dinner.” He paused, giving the man a warm look. “Thanks for having lunch with me, Kyle.”

He’d not gotten two feet from the door when Kyle’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Wait.” He turned and the Lantern leaned forward, pressing his lips to (Y/N)’s cheek. “Be careful on your way back.”

“I will,” he murmured, watching Kyle wave and disappear into his apartment, the door shutting behind him.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

First Date

Summary: The reader accidentally sends an angry email off to a co-worker but winds up with a date instead...

Pairing: Landscaper!Dean x reader

Square: First Date

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, fluff

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo . Enjoy!

_______

You yawned as you trotted out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand down to your home office. You plopped down in your chair and got on your computer, checking your email with a tired hum. You saw an email from the facilities manager and sighed.

“Oh come on,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m work from home now, jackass. Refund my parking pass. That was like five hundred bucks.”

You growled and typed out an angry email in response, getting so fed up when you finished you knocked your coffee all over your computer.

“Shit!” you said, grabbing some tissues and moping it up.

You saw a sent message appear on screen and you shook your head.

“No. No. No, I didn’t send that. Recall, recall,” you said, shoving the tissues aside. It’d already been opened though and the recall failed, your jaw dropping. “No! I just moved into this house! I can’t afford to get fired.”

You grabbed your phone and decided to bite the bullet, trying to dial the guy when you got an email back.

As highlighted in my original message below, your refund will show up next month along with all other refunds to staff now working from home.

You hit reply and started writing an apology, praying he didn’t report you to HR.

I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I wrote it to express my frustrations and had no intentions of ever sending it. I’m deeply embarrassed, Mr. Winchester, and apologize once again.

You bit your bottom lip and waited a minute, getting a response back.

Thank you for your apology, Ms. Y/L/N. Seeing as today is my last day and it was a mistake, I see no reason to pursue this further.

“Ah, thank you, thank you,” you said. “Now let’s deal with this coffee.”

Two Weeks Later

“So what’s the damage?” you asked. The man in the flannel and baseball cap wrote up a tally on his clipboard before looking back at the house and yard again.

“Normally, for total lawn maintenance, that includes your weeding, trimming, spring and fall clean up, etc. for a lawn this large, you’re looking at around eighty a week,” he said. “But we’re trying to break into this neighborhood so let’s call it fifty a week. We get ten yards around here, we’ll knock it down to forty. How’s that sound?”

“Fifty for everything?” you asked. “Including the snow removal?”

“We’ll negotiate a separate contract for that but I’d call that about 350 for that season,” he said. “So. We have a deal?”

“For fifty bucks, you got a deal,” you said, shaking his hand.

“Perfect. I will have a contract written up and sent over to you this evening,” he said. He dug around into his back pocket and pulled out a business card.

“Super Natural Lawn Services,” you said. “Winchester.”

“Hm?” he said, writing something down on his clipboard.

“Name sounds familiar is all,” you said.

“Used to be in charge of managing the grounds at a local place until they decided to have their staff work from home. Ms. Y/L/N,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh my…” you said, Dean chuckling. “I am so-”

“I like running my own business a lot better,” he said. “Besides, you apologized. We’re all good. We’ll get that contract straightened out and I’ll get a team over Friday morning to start on your landscape design.”

“I really am sorry, Mr. Winchester. I-”

“Y/N. It’s good. I promise. I’ll see you around, okay?”

You nodded and he headed back to his car, giving you a wave as he drove off.

Two Weeks Later

“Hey, Dean?” you called from your front porch. He poked his head up from where he was head first in a notebook, staring at the dirt edge around your house. “You want a drink? It’s really hot out.”

“I’m okay,” he said, sweating pouring off of him.

“You want to come into the air conditioning for a minute?” you asked. He was about to say no when he took off his hat and his hair was soaked with sweat. “Come on.”

“Alright. Just for a minute,” he said. He hopped up onto the porch and stepped into your foyer, letting out a sigh. “Okay, that’s nice.”

“You like lemonade?”

“Sure,” he said. He took off his boots and followed you to your kitchen, taking a seat at the table when you waved him down. You brought over a large glass, Dean gulping it down. “Do you have a minute? Now that your lawn is in good shape, I have a few ideas for landscaping near the house if I could pick your brain.”

“Sure,” you said. He flipped open his notebook and showed you a drawing, your eyes wide. “You drew that? It’s great.”

“Do you like that kind of style? It’s minimal upkeep but it’s not barren out there this way,” he said.

“I love it. How much does that cost?” you asked.

“It’s part of your weekly bill. I have a few other ideas in here you can take a look at and tell me which you like best,” he said. You flipped through the notebook with him, still liking the first one the most. “Alright. We’ll get that going for you then.”

“My neighbor was asking about you the other day. I gave her your name,” you said.

“Fingers crossed we get a bit more business around here then,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for the drink, Y/N.”

One Month Later

You hummed as you sat on your front porch with your morning coffee, watching Dean across the street and walk around a yard with his team. They’d already done your yard for the week and you knew Dean was up to about six or so houses in the development. With a big stretch you glanced over to your car and saw something on the windshield. You got up and walked over, plucking off a note.

Found a problem with one of your plants. Rabbits were eating it. I’ll replace it later today.

You looked across the street just as he looked over. You gave a wave and he returned it before you headed back inside.

Four hours later you were getting home from the store to find another note stuck up against your front door.

Plant should be all good now. Enjoy your weekend.

“Hey,” you heard behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Sorry.”

“Hi, Dean,” you said. “S’alright. I got your note.”

“It was a simple fix,” he said. “I actually am looking for my work gloves. I either left them at your place or the Jones’ but I didn’t find them over there.”

“Are they black?” you asked.

“Yeah. You find them?” he asked.

“Maybe they’re near my new plant,” you said, nodding your head. He looked over and they were on the grass beside it.

“Ah. That’s what I get for taking calls while working,” he said. He grabbed them and started to leave, pausing at the driveway. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“You single?”

“Why?”

“Cause if you’re dating someone, I don’t think my odds of getting a date will go very far,” he said as he spun around. You smiled and leaned against the porch post. “Single?”

“Why would you want to date me? I was very rude to you once.”

“You were pissed about throwing money away for no good reason. Trust me, I got plenty of emails that day. You’re the only one that apologized. Plus you may have once told the grumpy guy in the cafeteria to go do a job that makes him happy.”

“You knew who I was when I emailed you, didn’t you.”

“Yeah. I looked you up at work. You were nice back then. You always offer my crew cold water if you’re home. I just like you,” he said.

“Pick me up at seven,” you said as you spun around. “You decide what we’re doing.”

“Alright,” he said. “I wouldn’t advise a dress and heels.”

“Now I’m intrigued. I’ll see you later then, Dean.”

“Yes you will, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” said Dean when you opened your front door just before seven. You laughed when he held out a packet of flower seeds. “They’ll go great in a planter on the porch.”

“Thanks,” you said. You put the packet inside and locked up, following him to his car. “So what are we doing?”

“I figured we could do something and grab a bite after if that’s okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. “Were you thinking of a movie?”

“Hopefully it’s more fun than a movie,” he said. “Trust me.”

“Okay, that is the most fun I’ve ever had on a first date,” you said, Dean chuckling as you both turned in your helmets. “I did not even know there was go-karting in this town. Like really nice go-karting too.”

“We could come back sometime,” he said. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

“Same,” you said.

“Well follow me then,” he said, walking past his car in the parking lot and headed for the street. He took your hand and you walked across over to a diner, Dean walking the two of you inside and to a booth by the corner.

Twelve minutes later you had a double bacon cheeseburger with jalapenos in front of you along with a basket of fries and onion rings. You dug in, Dean smiling to himself as he enjoyed his own burger.

“Too much?” you said.

“Save room for dessert. They have out of this world sundaes,” he said.

“If it’s as good as this burger, I’m sold,” you said. “So what made you want to have a landscaping business?”

“I get to be outside, do some hard work but some mental work too. We’re doing pretty good for our first year,” he said. “I didn’t like my old job very much.”

“It sounds like this one is working out for you.”

“It is. Probably would have taken me longer to ask you out if I hadn’t sort of known you already but I don’t mind,” he said, taking one of your fries.

“You flirt with all your customers or just me?”

“Just you,” he said. “How’s it working out so far?”

“Pretty good. Want to go catch the music fest downtown after our meal? Main act comes on at nine,” you said. “Unless you’re not into rock.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You and me are gonna get along just fine.”

_____

#spndeanbingo #dean x reader #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean x #dean x you #dean #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction

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gwen-ever · 3 years

Text

Until My Last Breath (Prologue)

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived... whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin's past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins' house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC

Rating: M

Warnings: none.

AO3 LINK: HERE

Note Number I: English is not my first language, I have a wonderful beta @lathalea <3 (i am so much greatful you can't even imagine) but maybe I will mess up few times.

Note Number II: The Story takes place during the quest but there is a whole backstory that starts since Thorin's childhood so there are going to be a lot of flashbacks. THEY ARE NOT IN A CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER so the whole back story could be guessed but will be explained later in the story.

Note Number III: I will mix up the book events and the movie events, fixing what where (from my point of view) some mistakes were made. I have decided to do so simply because there are some lacks of infos here and there and so many lost possibilities in some actionless time, as happened in Mirkwood and Laketown.

I am blood of your blood, and bone of your bone, stone of your stone

I gift you my body so it can fall instead of yours.

I give you my soul so it can wait for yours in the Great Halls.

I lend you my voice so it can order your commands

I present you my sword so it can slay the ones who wish to harm you.

No other dwarf will be mine, no other dwarf will own me,

no one will sleep next to me, no life will come out from the womb of mine.

No one I will serve over the crown, over the Seven Stars, over the Father of all fathers, over the King of all Kings.

I offer myself to you, until the end of times, until the mountains soar to the sky,

until all the blood dries, until the fires of Mahal’s forge blaze high.

Until my last breath, until my last glance, until my last blow,

until the last time my hands touch the rock our Father gave to us,

my life is yours and your wish is mine.

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

The house of Bilbo Baggins was more crowded than usual that evening, and the owner was more than a little disconcerted: not only had his peace of mind been disturbed, not only was his larder completely, utterly, depleted, but his kitchen, indeed his whole house, was overrun with dwarves! Thirteen dwarves! Plus a wizard he had met in the morning whom he barely knew and had marked the door with a rune, thanks to which his guests had recognised the Hobbit's dwelling. Truly, Bilbo Baggins did not know how to begin to drive them out, he had been trying since the first one (Dwalin, if he remembered correctly) had walked in through the round door, obviously without being heard by any of them.

Crockery, knives, pots and pans, everything had begun to fly from one side of the room to the other without ever stopping. He tried more than once to stop them, without ever succeeding! At that moment his Took blood was more useless than a fork when eating soup. In fact, his Baggins blood had gotten the better of him, leading him to accept the situation with no small amount of annoyance, including those black strokes on his yellow walls and the fragments of food scattered on the floor. Oh, not to mention his good wine, totally gone! It had taken him hours to sort out his pantry between days before and now all his food, all his tomatoes, all his wine, all his cheese, everything, gone, vanished, and it was not even the time for the spring solstice party yet!

And now, or in heaven's name, now Gandalf had even had the courage to tell him that he would have to get used to them! To all of them! To the twelve dwarves in his kitchen! And what on earth did the wizard mean by saying that he would have to put up with them forever!

Annoyed, he began to walk down the corridor arguing with Gandalf and putting his hands on his hips.

"I don't understand what they are doing in my house!" he shouted, raising his voice.

The wizard didn't reply, but a small voice behind him did and before he knew it his entire set of porcelains was in the air. His cutlery was being knocked over his table. Knife blades were being dulled by their rubbing against fork handles, and before he knew it, in time to the music, his entire kitchen set was flying through the air. Oh no, no no no, not that chair, no, not that plate, no not that other plate! No, stop, please!

His pleas were soaring through the air, as if they were leaves on a wind, as were his dishes. And Gandalf sat smoking his pipe on a chair with an amused smile while all this happened before his eyes. Bilbo ran to the kitchen to put an end to this madness, but as soon as he did so, he noticed to his surprise that all the things that had been flying over his head until just now were neatly stacked on top of each other on his kitchen table.

He blinked, several times adjusting his braces, unable to believe his eyes.

The dwarves seemed highly amused by his reaction, and began to laugh, until three knocks on the door brought silence and an icy air that he could feel all the way down to his hobbit ankles.

"He is here," Gandalf said.

From the doorway a short while later another dwarf entered and it didn't take him long to realise that he was different, very different from the others who had entered his home moments before. Every single beard turned to face the newcomer as he walked inside.

Bilbo didn't know who it was and he didn't even really care, no one would enter his house unannounced, no one.

But he couldn't admit that his blood ran cold in his veins as soon as that dwarf started talking to him and asking him all those strange questions. What did he mean by axe or sword? Did he really believe that a hobbit like him had ever picked up either weapon? Who did he think he was? He could not hide his confusion at the last statement of the so-called Thorin Oakenshield.

"He looks more of a grocer than a burglar," he joked.

It was all too absurd for Bilbo's poor hobbit ears, all so surreal! His life, monotonous and lonely until a few hours ago, was now changing, he could feel it in his bones, and he could not understand if it was a good thing or not: he had always dreamed of adventure when he was a young hobbit, but now it was different; the walls of his home were so comforting and safe, every object was a certainty for him. His life was there and he would never leave it, no sir!

Calmness, however, continued to reign for a long time, during which the largest of the dwarves, with a long red beard, went to his kitchen and with an almost surreal care began to prepare a soup. Thorin Oakenshield sat down at the head of the table and was soon joined by the oldest of the dwarves who had entered his house, Balin, and two of the youngest, the two brothers Fili and Kili.

They began to talk in low voices, in a calm and quiet tone, just like everyone else in his house. It seemed absurd, but at least he was able to sort out some of the leftovers that had been left behind in the kitchen back in his own larder and eavesdrop, even if he didn't want to (it was rude) on some of the conversations that various small groups of dwarves were having. The ties of kinship were quickly understood, as was the realisation that Thorin was not really just another dwarf. No more plate was flying, no more song was being sung, but not out of fear, out of respect.

He turned his head, watching the almost regal profile as he spoke to the bear who came into the house first, but he could not hear what they were talking about, the fact was that their faces were dark, and Dwalin's eyes moved insistently over him.

A short while later Bombur returned with the soup, handing it to Thorin, and in the blink of an eye the groups of dwarves in his house were grouped together again, sitting around the table. He wasn't invited, that's normal, there's a meeting in a house and the owner of that house isn't invited! Not that he cared, of course not, the apple he was putting in the basket in the kitchen was certainly more interesting.

But he couldn't help but listen.

"What news from the Ered Luin, did they all come?" asked the older dwarf.

"Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms," the voice of Thorin spoke, setting off a round of small laughs and joyful murmurs.

"And what do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?"

A long wait ensued in which Bilbo swore he could hear the heart of every single dwarf in the room beating wildly.

"They will not come,"

The dwarf's reply was sharp and decisive. Disconsolate murmurs rose from his dining room that only increased in volume and quantity when he spoke again. "They said this quest is ours and ours alone,"

They began to talk in low voices, in a calm and quiet tone, just like everyone else in his house. It seemed absurd, but at least he was able to sort out some of the leftovers that had been left behind in the kitchen back in his own larder and eavesdrop, even if he didn't want to (it was rude) on some of the conversations that various small groups in that group were having. The ties of kinship were quickly understood, as was the realisation that Thorin was not really just another dwarf. No more flying plates, no more singing songs, but not out of fear, out of respect.

A coughing noise, however, stopped the murmurs and caused Bilbo to turn to the table from behind the kitchen wall as well, distracting himself from his chores. Gandalf settled into the small chair and began to search the sleeve of his grey robe.

"This indeed, it is not entirely true," he explained as he slowly pulled a long wooden pipe from his sleeve. "There is someone else who has yet to arrive," the sorcerer explained, barely looking Thorin in the eye.

For all the pipe weed in the world, again?

The dwarf at the head of the table stopped sipping from his goblet of ale, giving him a sidelong glance but remained silent. Instead, the dwarf named Gloin spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. "This means yet another division of profit, all of which should have been agreed upon first." he muttered.

"Agreed, this matter should have been dealt with weeks ago," Dori pinned, pulling himself up.

Gandalf did not even look up at the elder dwarf, adjusting the tobacco in his pipe. "My decision was made after our meeting in the Ered Luin. And Master Gloin, I think that our member does not wish any of that gold in that Mountain."

"Who is it?" grunted Dwalin suspiciously, looking up at the wizard who lit his pipe with his fingertips.

Bofur chuckled under his big black mustache, puffing an avalanche of white smoke from the side of his mouth. "Another burglar?"

"A burglar for the burglar," Fili grinned at the back of the room.

"A burglar made for the burglar," Kili added and their banter invited the murmurs from just before. This time, however, they were louder, more confused, as was his hobbit head.

A torrent of questions flooded the room as they all asked questions of the wizard, who, bewildered, tried to answer; only Thorin's intervention put an end to the commotion created, shouting warnings in their native tongue. Then he turned to the sorcerer himself, glancing at him.

"The questions that have arisen around this table are fair," he began earnestly, "I have not been informed of any others, none of this was a part of the bargain, Gandalf."

Gandalf smiled with the side of his mouth taking a puff of his pipe. "I was told to find the fourteenth member of this company and so I did, the addition of a fifteenth should not be an unsolvable problem."

"As I said it wasn't in the agreements and last minute clauses at a time like this are not convenient, not at all," retorted the dwarf bringing silence again.

Bilbo looked at the dwarves, clouded by the smoke from the pipes and the warmth of the candles around the table. They looked at each other's hands or watched Thorin in silence, not uttering a breath.

Gandalf put down his pipe and crossed his arms on the table, moving slightly closer to the dwarf with long raven hair.

"I assure you that my choice was not taken lightly, and if I had thought it was right a few months ago I would have reported it to you back then. But it was not possible," Gandalf lowered the tone of his voice even further. "You must trust me on this."

"Is this person crucial to what we must accomplish?" he asked quietly, looking straight into his eyes.

The wizard murmured a small "yes" between his lips, nodding his head slightly as he continued to look the dwarf lord straight in the eye.

Thorin said nothing, watched the wizard for a few more seconds before letting himself go off the back of his chair and then he took a sip of ale from his mug again. The conversation had ended in a few simple sentences, yet Bilbo noticed how the wizard continued to look at Thorin insistently.

Gandalf brushed his gloves around his hands with his fingertips dropping his gaze downwards for a few seconds before turning his head back towards him.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow," he called to him in a manner far more cheerful than his face was capable of showing. "Let us have a little more light".

----/////----

A snort passed her lips.

She was dreadfully late, which she hated from the bottom of her heart; and she hated the fact that she was going to a strange house of a Hobbit whose identity she did not know, although after all those years she had become accustomed to being in the homes of strangers quite often. Perhaps the real reason for her stomach clenching was not whose house it was but who she was supposed to meet in that house and the reason why she was going to that house. Because when she would see them again, all of them , it would not be pleasant or easy.

Far from it.

She didn't even think it would ever happen, nor did he want it to happen again.

She slung her sack over her shoulder as she climbed up the little dirt road, passing funny grass-covered houses by the round door: if it had been daytime, a riot of colours would have accompanied her path and perhaps, for a few minutes, she would not have thought about the imminent meeting.

She would have stopped for a few brief moments on that bench next to the path and sat there for a short while, perhaps lighting her pipe or watching those very peaceful people go about their simple business. Watching them do simple, mechanical things, perhaps in another life she might even have stayed in such a place, in peace, with someone. But no, too many years had passed, she had seen too much, heard too much, and she would not be able to live like that, not there.

Suddenly, a faint pale light caught her attention: she approached it and, with a thump in her heart, recognised the rune that the sorcerer had traced so that they could all see it. She reached the garden and climbed the small steps that led to the round green door. She ran a hand over her leather bodice and gathered in her heart all the emotions she could possibly feel.

Hatred, fury, pain and anger, so much anger.

She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the voices she could hear through the door. Taking a deep breath to calm her already jangled nerves, she knocked, hearing a great commotion and excited voices from inside.

The door suddenly opened, and it was the sorcerer himself who filled her field of vision: he broke into a rather smug smile, proud to have been right for the umpteenth time.

He knew she would come at last.

She had met him only a few weeks before and he was exactly as the rumours said. Gandalf's every move was studied and planned and, who knows why, everything corresponded to the plan he had devised; how every cog in that mechanism worked was a great mystery. Yet for that, she could not but admire him.

So, after he had silently nodded his head, she entered the cosy, warm house that smelled of good food and wine and was lit by the soft light of candles; she followed him into a corridor and the smell of ashes and moss entered her nostrils, as well as that of processed tobacco and malt. In a few steps she found herself in front of a small room where, around a table, were crammed all the others who, as soon as they glimpsed their new guest, assumed the most surprised and astonished expressions she had ever seen. Their faces turned pale, their beards seemed to stretch to the floor, and none of them dared say a word. Only one of them stood up so fast that he knocked over the stool on which he was sitting, irate.

"What is she doing here?!"

The rumble of thunder rumbled through the room and like a thunderbolt it brought to light old hidden shadows, old whispered words, broken oaths.

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You're blood of my blood, bone of my bone, stone of my stone,

I embrace your body to let it protect me

I take your soul and forge for it a place next to me in the Great Halls

I take your voice which I will hear above all others

I take your sword and I present you my shield which will protect you from my enemies.

No other dwarf will be yours, no other dwarf you will serve,

no one will keep you company at night, no life will come out from you.

No one you will serve over me, over the Seven Stars, over the Father of all fathers, over the King of all Kings.

I offer myself to your hands until the start to the end, until the skies fall on the ground,

until all the bones crack, until the fires of Mahal’s forge blaze high.

Until my last breath, until my last glance, until my last blow,

until the last time my hands touch the rock our Father gave to us

my desires are yours, your pain is mine.

#thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #thorin fic #thorin fanfiction #the hobbit fan fiction #king under the mountain #quest of erebor #middle earth #middle earth fic

39 notes · View notes

spicyteez · 4 years

Text

Deal

Smut

Gang Boss (+ Sugar daddy) San x Fem Reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: There’s a lot. Idk, Sir kink, dirty talk, sensory deprivation, oral (m & f receiving), clit slapping, spanking, choking, multiple positions, dom! san (not too wild though), cum eating. I hope I didn’t miss anything

A/N: Hello lovelies! This is my first smut and I hope it isn’t trash. I’ve been quite sick recently so this might not be good at all, but I hope you like it nonetheless :) I tried to proofread it, but I am sorry for any mistakes.

Forty thousand dollars. That's how much debt your father left behind. By your calculations it would take years, maybe even decades to pay it back with your meager salary. Sure, owning your own bakery had always been a dream of yours, but business had been slowing down considerably. Letting out a sigh, you pushed the papers aside and moved to help a customer who had just entered.

“How may I help you? You put on a happy face despite hoping the man would leave quickly

“Miss y/n?” His deep voice echoed throughout the empty shop. You had to be honest, the man intimidated you a bit. Clad completely in black and quite tall, his penetrating gaze gave you an unsettling feeling.

“This is her.” You tried your best to keep your voice from shaking.

“There is someone who’d like to talk to you concerning your father’s debt.” The smile fell from your face and you frowned slightly.

“Who?”

“Come with me.” Shakily, you took off your apron and instructed your employees to close up for the day.

You followed the man out the door and towards a black car parked across from your store. This was crazy. Should you even trust this man? He could be leading you off to murder you for all you knew. Opening the door for you, the man allowed you to slide in before closing the door and moving to the driver’s seat.

“Don’t worry.” His eyes found yours in the rear view mirror. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Nodding your head in response, you tore your eyes away from his and looked out the window. It did you no good, however, as you realized that the windows were blacked out. You sat in the car for twenty minutes, wondering where the man could possibly be taking you. The car came to a stop and you took in your surroundings. An empty parking lot sat before you with crumbling and abandoned buildings littering the outskirts. He had taken you to the edge of town. Nothing resided here except for criminals and… gangs. Your door opened and you jumped in surprise. Looking up at the man, you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Come on,” His demanded gruffly. Quickly, you scrambled from the car and stood before him on shaky legs. “Follow me.” He lead you across the parking lot and down an old cement staircase towards a group of high rise buildings. Struggling to keep up with his long strides, you hopped over the shattered remnants of a revolving glass door. After maneuvering your way across the ground floor, you made your way up a rickety staircase guarded by two men. They gave the man a nod and he began his climb up the staircase. When you reached the top, you couldn’t help but gasp. While the rest of the building was in shambles, the second floor was in pristine condition. Intricate gold wallpaper adorned the walls and a grand chandelier hung from the ceiling. Rich mahogany lined the room and ran towards a door on the opposite end of the hall.

The man gestured for you to keep up as he made his way towards the door. Knocking on the frame, he stood back when someone cracked it open. He leaned forward and whispered something you couldn’t catch. The door swung open and you were lead into a grand room filled with immeasurable luxuries. You stared in awe at the grandeur of the room, almost missing how the man had knocked on another door directly to your left. He spoke to someone inside the room, gesturing to where you were standing.

“Good work, Mingi. Send her in.”

The man, Mingi, stood aside so you could enter the room. Your palms began to sweat and you wondered what exactly you were in for. Stepping into the room, you saw the man Mingi had just spoken to. He sat at a desk and seemed to be studying a piece of paper. A stripe of silver ran through his slicked back ebony hair, attracting your gaze. His aura was strong, something you couldn’t ignore. Undoubtedly, he was powerful. When he looked up you froze, trapped under the weight of his gaze. His eyes left yours to scan your body, stopping when he met your eyes once again. A slight smirk played across his lips and he leaned back in his seat.

“Y/n, I presume?”

You nodded slowly, “Yes.”

“Choi San,” He greeted you. “I heard you’re in a bit of a bind.” He tilted his head to the side and continued to look at you with his deep gaze.

“That would be correct.”

“You’ve come to the right place, Miss y/n. I can help you.”

“How so?” He certainly looked powerful and wealthy, but what was the catch?

“I knew your father.”

How could he? You started at him in shock. There was no way your father would associate with someone like this.

“I assure you I’m telling the truth.” Standing from his desk, he slowly paced the room. “My father thought of him as a great friend, although he often disapproved of his spending habits.” He cocked his eyebrow at you.

You tried to wrap your mind around it all. Maybe it was possible, your father had been a bit of a wildcard, hanging around strange places and spending exorbitant amounts of money.

“Now I’m prepared to offer you a deal. Your father was a kind man and I'd hate to see his family suffer because of his actions. I’ll grant you the money and in return you grant me favors.”

Clearing your throat, you found your voice. “What type of… favors?”

He looked up at you. “Sex.” Smirking at your sudden intake of breath, he continued. “We meet once a week and I pay you after each time. In five months, your debt will be paid and our deal will end.”

“So-so you want to be my sugar daddy?” This whole thing was a little ridiculous.

He chuckled. “Essentially, yes. I’ll give you a week to get me an answer.”

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Should you do this?

Sure, you had contemplated finding a sugar daddy a few times, but a gang boss? Should you really fuck a man who had so much power?

Checking the mail again, you weren’t surprised to find another notice from the bank. You had done all you could, but you were hundreds short of the payment due in less than a week. If you couldn’t come up with the money, you’d lose everything you had, including the bakery you’d worked so hard to start. Thinking the deal over for days, you had run through all the pros and cons several times. Maybe taking his deal was the only option.

Steeling your nerves, you made a decision. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. You reached for the paper with the number Mingi had given you. Typing in the number, you pressed talk and held your breath.

The line picked up and you felt your heart race. “Have you decided to accept?” A man’s voice spoke on the other end of the line.

“Yes.” You spoke as confidently as you could.

“Mr. Choi will send for you right away.”

You stepped into his office once again less than an hour later. San sat at the desk as usual, wearing his same black attire.

Without looking up, he spoke. “I hear you decided to take me up on my offer.”

“Yep.” Rocking on your heels, you looked around the office. “They said you had a contract for me to sign.”

“Have a seat.” Looking at you for the first time since you arrived, he gestured to a chair in front of him and set a piece of paper before it.

Sinking into the plush fabric of the chair, you took the chance to observe him up close. He was attractive. Really attractive. You noticed details you weren't able to catch upon your first meeting, such as his fine jewelry and a line of freckles trailing down his neck. If anything, his presence was even more intimidating the closer you got to him.

You took a moment to read over the paper, searching for anything unreasonable. Everything he had said was there, a five month agreement with the right amount stated. However, one line in particular caught you off guard. “Mr. Choi has the right to dictate the events of every meeting?” You looked at him for clarity.

“It means that I’m in charge, sweetheart.” The same smirk graced his lips.

“Really?” Folding your arms, you leaned back a little.

“There will be a safe word in place of course, but I call the shots.”

The idea sent a tingle down your spine. It had been a while since you had submitted to someone. Nodding your head, you thought it over for a moment. Hopefully this wouldn’t end badly. “Where do I sign?”

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Three days later was your first meeting. You anxiously adjusted your outfit as you waited for Mingi to come pick you up. It was only eight o'clock and you wondered just how long you'd be out. Your mind started racing, thinking about what he wanted to do to you. The thought of him touching you shouldn't have affected you as much as it did.

The doorbell rang and you jumped. Opening the door, you gave Mingi a nod. "Let's go."

Mingi noticed you fidgeting in your seat awkwardly as he drove you to your destination. "Are you nervous?"

You stopped moving and looked up at him in the mirror. "No. Okay, maybe."

"Just a warning, he likes it kinda...Rough." he trailed off at the end and a faint blush covered his cheeks, almost matching the color of his fiery hair. The sight made you laugh a little and calmed your nerves a bit.

"I actually think he's excited."

"Oh?"

The thought of him being excited for your meetings had your insides heating up and sent an ache through your core. What girl doesn't dream of being fucked by a powerful and mysterious man?

A few more minutes passed until Mingi led you into the building once again. This time however, instead of leading you to San's office, he took you further into the building until you stood before a set of french doors.

"This is the master's suite. Knock when you're ready." You gave him a nod and he walked away quickly.

Squaring your shoulders and taking a deep breath, you decided you were as ready as you would ever be and you knocked on the door.

“Come in.” His voice, although muffled by the doors, sent shivers down your spine. Slowly, you pushed open one of the doors.

Just as you had expected, the grandeur of the room was overwhelming. Everything from the massive bed with beautiful sheets and freshly fluffed pillows to the ornate chandelier hanging above the bed left you in awe.

“Like what you see?” San walked into the room carrying a bottle of wine. Contrasting the harsher clothing you had seen him wearing during previous visits, he wore only a simple t-shirt and a pair of sweats, both of which were still his classic black. He looked relaxed and at ease, the only thing indicating otherwise was the bulge in his pants. You felt a little overdressed in the tight dress you had picked out, but from the way he was eyeing you, it might have been a good decision.

“It’s beautiful.” You crane your head to take in the room once again.

He chuckled faintly and the sound was like music to your ears. “Come here.” It took you a second to process his request, still looking around the room, and he called out again in a sterner tone. “Here.” Rushing to stand by him, you moved quickly as to not make him unhappy. “Sit down.” You complied and sat on the bed, looking up into his intense gaze. “There will be a few rules I expect you to follow each time you come over, understand?” He cocked his eyebrow at you and waited for you to nod. “You will address me as 'sir' at all times. If you fail to refer to me as so, you will be punished.” Looking at you again, he waited for your confirmation. When you gave him a simple nod again, he shook his head. “Use your words.”

Gulping, you forced your tongue to move. “Yes S-sir.”

His signature smirk was back. “Good girl.”

Your breath hitched and you felt your core grow wet at the pet name. “Second rule.You come up with the safe word every night. You will tell me at the beginning of each of our sessions. If you ever feel uncomfortable, don’t hesitate to use the word and I’ll stop.”

“Yes Sir.”

“And finally. No staying over. Mingi or another driver will take you home every night.”

You agreed to his final rule and steadied yourself for what was to come.

“Alright. Let’s begin.”

He instructed you strip for him and lay on the bed as he walked to an adjacent room and searched around for a bit. Quickly, he returned with a box that he set down on the edge of the bed. As he took a second to scan your body, you noticed the way he bit his lip as he took in your bare form. “I’ll take things a little slow tonight, it wouldn’t be fair for me to jump right into it, would it?”

“No, sir.” He nodded in approval at your response.

You tried not to squirm under his scrutiny as he opened the box and pulled out three silk ties. So this is what he’s into. Placing the ties on the bed, he set the box on the floor and pulled his shirt over his head. Trying not to stare at the muscles in his back and chest, you scanned his lean body and had to admit that he was really well built. As he turned to face you again, you watched his movements as he approached you. “Can I touch you?” His eyes were softer when he looked at you, as if he was assuring you that you were in safe hands.

“Please sir.” It may have sounded a little desperate, but you were aching to be touched. Watching the way his arms flexed as he moved around the room and the way he carried himself had you clenching around air. You needed him in you.

Running his fingers up your calf, he relished in the way you squirmed beneath his hands. Admittedly, this had been a fantasy of his since the day you walked into his office, the need to have you under his fingertips and to do with you as he pleased grew stronger each time he thought of you. “What’s the safe word?”

You looked around the room and blurted out the first word that came to your mind. “V-velvet.”

“Velvet.” He purred. “Perfect.”

Fingers reaching your knees, he spread your legs apart and gazed at your exposed core. You noticed the shift in his eyes, the already dark irises swimming with something heady and lust filled. Taking a single finger, he slid it up your slit, collecting your wetness. “You’re so wet for me. I didn't even need to touch you.” A mewl escaped your throat before you could stop it, and you fought the blush staining your cheeks.

His eyes snapped to yours and your breath hitched. “Do that again.” This time he used brought two fingers to your soaked entrance, swirling over your sensitive clit before sliding inside you. You choked out a loud whimper and gasped as he began to curl his fingers upward. In no time, he hit a spot within you that had you seeing stars. He was eliciting long, drawn out moans from you as he continued and began to circle your clit with his thumb. Shaking and moaning, you bucked your hips up to meet his fingers. “That’s it. Get off on my fingers baby.” His words kindled a fire in your stomach and you quickly approached your high. “Cum for me. Cum on my fingers.” The words sent you over the edge and you threw your head back in a silent scream. He helped you to ride out your high, his fingers continuing to pump into you. Soon the pleasure turned unbearable and the sensation too uncomfortable. Your whines of pleasure turned to whines of overstimulation as he continued to push you past your limits. When the pain began to sink back into pleasure and as you felt another orgasm bubbling up, he pulled his fingers out and left you empty. You almost whined in frustration, missing the presence of his fingers immediately.

Wiping your release on his sweatpants, he walked around to where he had laid the silk ties. Picking up one, he walked to the top of the bed and took your wrist into his hand. Tying the silk securely, he attached one end to the bedframe and the other to your wrist. Once he had tested to make sure the bond was strong, he moved to the other side of the bed and did the same to your other wrist. Walking to the middle of the room, he dropped his sweatpants and boxers, freeing his hardened length. He was bigger than you had figured after agreeing to the arrangement, and the memory of fantasizing about his dick brought redness to your cheeks.

Running his hand from base to head, you gasped as he began to pump himself in his hand. Looking up at you with that same deep gaze, he made eye contact with you and you almost had to look away. Letting go of his cock, he moved towards you once more. Taking your chin in his hand, he kissed you harshly, letting his tongue invade your mouth and biting down hard on your lip as he pulled away. Struggling to catch your breath, you watched as he took the last silk strand and ordered you to lift your head. Tying the fabric behind your head, he was careful not to catch any of your hair in the knott. With your field of vision completely obstructed, you felt your senses launch into overdrive. You sensed him moving near you and you wanted nothing more than for him to reach out and touch you. Moments later, you felt the weight of his body settle on either side of yours on the bed. Without warning he rammed his cock into your abused slit and your body convulsed wildly at the sudden intrusion. You moaned wantonly, paying no heed to whoever could be listening. The way he hit so deep and filled you so good was the only thought on your mind as he thrusted into you over and over again.

You weren’t going to last long, and he knew it too. Leaning down to tickle your ear with his lips, he encouraged you along. Every nerve ending was on fire, his scent along with the brush of his hair on your skin driving you mad. Deep and sultry in your ear, the slight hitch in his voice was the only indicator of the pleasure he was experiencing. “I know you’re close baby. Let go.” His words had the same affect on you and you fell over the edge again, clenching around his cock and moaning wildly. A groan escaped San’s lips and you decided it was perhaps the prettiest sound you had ever heard.

As you came down from your high, you expected him to pull out and give you a moment to breathe. It would seem you were wrong from the way he continued to thrust into you, even faster if that was somehow possible. The feeling of overstimulation filled your senses again, heightened this time. You groaned at the sensation, needing him to stop, needing him to pull out.

Breathing heavily, you pleaded with him to stop. “Sir.. please. Please stop. I-I can’t.”

“You can take more, can’t you baby? Take everything I give you.” He growled into your neck, his fingers coming to rub at your sensitive bundle of nerves. Crying out, you felt the pain ease into pleasure and the knot snap as a solid thrust hit your sweet spot. You clenched around him again wildly, this time throwing him over the edge as well. Hot ropes of cum painted your walls as he bit into your shoulder. Whining at the pain, you clenched around him again, milking his cock and riding him through his orgasm.

When you both came down from your highs, panting heavily, he pulled out and the cold air hitting your pussy made you whimper. You felt sticky and gross and wanted someone to hold you as you came down from your post orgasm bliss. San gently untied your wrists, smoothing over where the silk had made indentations as you pulled against your bonds. He finished by slipping the makeshift blindfold from your eyes and the sight you were met with was not disappointing to say the least. His hair stuck to his forehead, damp from sweat and his chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. You wished you could stay there and watch him forever.

“You did well. Get cleaned up, Mingi will be ready to go in five minutes. You’ll have the money within the hour.”

He walked away from you, tossing you a towel and leaving you feeling empty.

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The next day you could hardly walk, a reminder of the good fucking you had recieved the night before. As you tried to sleep, you couldn't stop thinking about how it felt to be touched and the way his voice sounded. You'd be lying if you said you weren't looking forward to your next session.

As you limped into work that morning, you waved hello to your favorite employee, Jongho. He took in the poorly concealed bite mark on your shoulder and the way you waddled in and he began to smirk. "What's gotten into you? Or should I say who?"

“Jongho. Don’t,” You warned him. He laughed at your response, enjoying his ability to joke with you.

“Was he good though?” He asked you, an edge of seriousness creeping into his question.

Letting out a sigh, you answered honestly. “Was it good? It was heavenly.”

His face fell a little as you answered. You had always suspected he was harboring a little crush on you and you felt a little bad for talking about another guy.

Regaining his composure, he grinned mischievously. “Heavenly. Wow. Must’ve been really good.”

The next week you tried to play down your excitement when Mingi came to pick you up. Although he could tell there was something up.

“Damn. The dick is really that good?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at him, finding Mingi to be funnier each time you met him.

In no time you were on San’s bed, naked with him between your legs. His tongue worked at your slit, alternating between quick sucks to your clit and long licks probing at your entrance. Your fingers moved to his hair without thinking and you tugged at the dark strands. Immediately you knew you had done something wrong. Halting his actions completely, he looked up at you with stern eyes. “What did I say, baby?”

“No-no touching tonight.” Swallowing thickly, you watch him tilt his head to the side.

“Have you forgotten how to address me? Say it again.” You swallowed again, trying to form the words. He grew impatient, landing a light slap to your clit. You mewled at the stimulation, fingers digging into the sheets. “I’m sorry Sir. It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“It better not.” Diving back in, he continued with vigor, bringing you to the first of many orgasms that night.

Time passed quickly, falling into a routine of work along with the added nights of pleasure. Your bakery picked up a little and profits were slowly getting better.

If things were picking up at work, that was an understatement for how your nights with San went. You began to truly understand what Mingi meant when he said that San liked it “rough.” He was definitely into a lot of stuff, trying out a new kink almost every time you came over. From one extreme to the next, he loved pushing you to your limits. One night he would have you shaking from overstimulation, wracking your body with orgasm after orgasm. The next week he would have you begging for him to let you cum, taking you to the edge and pulling away for hours. Out of all the positions you’ve tried you had to admit classic missionary was your favorite. Feeling his body rest on yours as he pounded you into the mattress, looking into his dark eyes as he fucked you into oblivion, it felt so good. Sometimes he’d let you touch him and would allow you to wrap your arms around his solid shoulders or play with his hair. All of this was nothing you could admit to him of course, this was strictly a business arrangement.

One night, halfway into the third month of your meetings, you arrived at his place at the scheduled time. Mingi had warned you that San wasn’t in a very good mood, something about how a rival gang leader had really pissed him off. You were waiting patiently in his room when he slammed the door open, causing you to jump. Throwing off his shirt, he sat down against the headboard and beckoned you to him. “Safeword?” He asked. Clearly he was beyond frustrated, his jaw was clenched and his eyebrows furrowed deeply.

“Um.. Treasure.” You sat on the edge of the bed, ready for his command.

“Treasure. Sure.” He nodded his head. “You have two minutes to make me cum.” Looking you dead in the eyes, his tone left no room for argument.

The longer you had been with him, the more outspoken you had become, oftentimes loving the punishment. You decided to mess with him a bit. “How am I supposed to do that, Sir?” You gave him an incredulous look.

Scoffing, he shook his head and looked at you with fiery eyes. “I don’t know. Suck me off, use your pretty little hands. I’m sure you can come up with something in that head of yours.” His tone hit a little harder than he had probably intended it to but you shook it off, he was just stressed.

“Okay Sir.”

You decided to go slowly, just to spite him. Using your hands to stroke his length until he was hard. Continuing to stroke him, you licked from the base to his tip, swirling your tongue around his head. Taking him into your mouth, you began to suck lightly, giving him just enough pressure to drive him mad. His eyes remained trained on the clock above the bed, watching the seconds tick down and becoming increasingly frustrated. When he tried to push your head onto his length and make you deep throat him you denied his wishes, instead continuing to suck his tip lightly. After a second attempt to push you onto his length was blocked, he growled and flipped you over, forcing you onto all fours with your ass in the air. Without warning he slammed into you, slapping your ass and kneading your cheeks. He grunted into your ear, whispering words of anger. “You brat. Maybe this will teach you to behave. Bad girls don’t get rewards.” His hand wrapped around your throat, pressing down to constrict your air flow.

As he continued to slam into you, you felt a painful burn begin to take over. You weren’t wet enough to take him yet and you couldn’t possibly continue like this. It felt as if you were being ripped in half, the pain becoming too much to bear. As good as you could with his hand pushing down on your throat, you choked out your safeword. “T-trea- treasure.” He stilled immediately, pulling out and helping you to turn onto your back. You choked and brought your fingers to your neck, feeling hot tears run down your face.

“I’m so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you. I’m sorry.” He looked beyond concerned, scared that he would do such a thing to you. Leaning forward, he wiped your tears away, and almost pulled you into his arms until he thought better of it.

“San.” you gasped out, calling him by his real name for the first time. “You didn’t mean to. I’m okay.”

“I shouldn’t have...“ He whispered, still staring at you wide-eyed.

“Can I… can I stay?” You asked him, wanting to stay, hoping he would hold you after what had just happened.

The question brought him back into reality and he shook his head. “No. Take as long as you need and I’ll have Mingi get ready to take you home.”

He left you, walking out the door and leaving you naked on his bed. Tears fell from your eyes, your body shaking from sobs. You knew you weren’t supposed to fall for him, but here you were. Nothing could take away the pain of being rejected, the pain of being seen as just another meeting to be checked off his list. You had hoped that maybe he was beginning to feel the same way. But of course not, life hardly ever seemed to go in your favor.

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Your next few meetings were awkward to say the least. He was more cautious with you, always making sure he wasn’t being too rough with you. He still put his all into the sex, getting himself off but making sure you still felt just as good. You wanted to admit your feelings to him but you were too scared of the inevitable rejection. He was a gang leader for fucks sake and you were the owner of a dinky little bakery. He was definitely out of your league and the power he held intimidated you to say the least.

The last week of the agreement came and you were told to come a little later than usual. After getting a ride from Mingi, you tentatively knocked on San’s door. Tonight was quite possibly the last night you would ever see him and preparing yourself for that reality was hard.

“Come in.” You heard his familiar voice through the door.

Pushing the door open softly, you saw him sitting on the bed. He looked tired and worn down with several bruises all over his body. Your heart panged at the sight. “Come here.” Motioning for you to come over, he sat up straighter against the headboard, grunting in pain. Crawling across the bed, you sat in front of him and played with the hem of your shirt. “What happened to you sir?” Looking at him with concern in your eyes, you heard him chuckle lowly.

“Just a fight. Nothing to worry about baby girl.” Reaching forward, he took your hand and gently pulled you towards him, forcing you to straddle him.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to Sir.” Although you were looking forward to the sex, making sure he was comfortable was a bigger priority.

“It’s okay baby. I want to.” Running his fingers up your arms, he spoke quietly, a stark contrast to his usually authoritative tone. “I want you to ride me.”

Lifting his hips, he struggled to push his pants down his hips. “Let me help you, sir.” You helped him slide off his pants and boxers and quickly removed your clothes as well. Pulling off his shirt, you allowed your fingers to faintly trace the rises and dips of his muscles, stopping yourself so he wouldn’t reprimand you. Beginning to grind on him, you whimpered when he let out a long groan. When you told him were wet enough, he motioned for you to lift your hips and slide onto his length. You positioned yourself and slowly sunk down around him, crying out as his teeth sunk into your shoulder to muffle his moans like usual. Once you felt your body adjust, you began to move at the usual pace San set, feeling your legs tiring quickly.

“Wait,” He motioned for you to slow down, his hands halting your hips. “Slowly. I want to feel you.” He held your hips tight and guided you to slowly rock on him. You could feel every ridge of his cock as he slid out slightly and pushed back in. This felt different. He had never wanted to take it slow before and you couldn’t help but wonder why tonight was different. Instead of fucking, this felt a lot more like making love and your heart swelled at the thought.

As you continued to rock your hips, you felt him hit particularly deep and you both moaned in ecstasy. Throwing his head back, he choked out a breath. “Fuck- I love you.”

Halting your movements, you looked him deep in the eyes. “Really?”

“I do. So much.” Wrapping his arms around your body, he pulled your chest to his. His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, tenderly nipping at your lips. Pulling back, he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, taking in how beautiful you looked like this. His eyes were gentle and loving. “I should have told you sooner. I was too big of a fucking idiot to see how much you meant to me.”

Bucking his hips into yours again, his tip grazed a spot that had you gasping for breath. “Oh Sir.” Threading your fingers in his hair, you ran your hands through his dark locks like you’ve always loved to do. “I love you too.”

Continuing to buck his hips upwards, he helped guide your hips to better grind on his dick. His lips moved to your neck, pressing sweet kisses from your collarbones to your jaw. Wrapping his fingers around your breast, he gently tugged on your nipple, sucking in a breath when you whined.

“I love the sounds you make.” His voice was ragged and labored, you could tell he was close. “Shit- your voice is like music to my ears. Say my name baby. Not ‘Sir.’ My real name baby.”

“S-san.” You whimpered out, drunk on the way he whispered to you.

“Fuck.”

Bracing yourself on his chest, you moved your hips a little faster, feeling the familiar pressure building in your stomach.“No one else can take my cock like you do. No one else tastes as good as you do.” Moving your hips erratically, you moaned when he pressed his fingers to your clit, slowly rubbing circles into the nub. “Cum for me baby. Let me feel you cum on my cock.” With one last stroke of your hips and circle of his fingers, you felt yourself fall apart the same time he released his load deep within you. “I love you, I love you, I love-” He moaned out and you whimpered at his words, cutting him off by connecting your lips with his. You rode out your orgasms, stopping when the sensation became too much. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he looked at you with eyes full of adoration. “Please stay.”

All you ever wanted was to stay the night, for him to hold you and give you a sense of protection. “Of course, baby.” You smile down at him gently, whimpering when he lifted you off of his length.

Feeling your combined releases trickle down your legs, you watched as he ran his finger along your slit, moaning as he collected some of the weness. Bringing his finger to his mouth, he sucked it clean and hummed. “So sweet.” Cupping his face in your hands, you leaned forward to press a slow kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue and feeling his hands rest at your waist as he kissed you back. Allowing him to pull you down to the mattress with him, you broke away from his lips and helped him cover your bodies with the fine sheets. Tucking your head into his neck, he let you run your fingers through his hair, shutting his eyes at the comforting feeling. “Good night San.” You whispered, hearing him hum in response as he pulled you closer to him. Settling into his embrace, you felt him press one last kiss to your neck before you fell into a deep sleep.

#im just gonna post this and go hide #i want people to read this but at the same time im scared of people reading it kajdlkfj #ateez smut #san smut #my fic #ateez imagine #san imagine #ateez fan fiction

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ginazmemeoir · 3 years

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so i was inspired by @h00man-bean and here you go with a fic about Kaz and Inej as the Devil and the Reaper.

tagging @h00man-bean @mango-pickle @carmen-riddle @the-fault-in-our-inquilab @momo-all-the-way @gopikanyari @aadyeah @reddish-green-personality @weird-u @holding-infinity-and-a-book @dragonfairy1231 @totallyforgotyouwerehere @a-dragon-under-the-stars @taareginn

I crash into consciousness. The sound of gurgling water and rustling leaves greets me as I stand up. Strange. The last time I was alive, I had arthritis and was confined to a wheelchair. All Nina could do was slow mine and Inej’s death. I remember the last breath I drew, the last thought I had, the last time I saw Inej smile. And then nothing. Just an empty void, just – not being anymore.

I look at myself, flex my toes. It appears as if death has returned my old skin back to me, but it still doesn’t look like mine. This one is clear as if it was tended to by a Grisha tailor daily, as if the man who bore it had never worked a day. I am wearing the suit I stole from Pekka Rollins, decorated with a genuine gold pin showing a crow with a lion’s head in its claws. My cane lies beside me along with my hat. Either I am in a coma and am dying a slow, painful death as many of my enemies wished, or I have woken from a dream and nothing that I know happened, never really happened. I would rather prefer the first. Then, I see Inej.

She stands there in her captain’s uniform, the teal coat Sturmhond gave her, coupled with breeches and boots. I bet her knives are still tucked there. Her skin, still the same gleaming bronze, is now wrinkle free. Her eyes are kohl rimmed, and her ink black hair spill onto her shoulders. She looks at me with confusion, her eyes searching. “Kaz?” she asks. I move toward her, and then run. Funny how a good leg is almost as useful as a grisha crafted cane.

I clasp her hands in mine, her breath caressing me. “Inej,” I whisper “What are we doing here?”

“You’re both dead actually.” says a voice behind me. I turn around to see a Fjerdan merchant approaching us. He wears a blood red coat with gold lapels. His blonde hair is slicked back, and he walks with the cool confidence of someone who just cracked a deal. The only thing differentiating him from a Kerch businessman that I once looted is that he’s surrounded by floating rocks. Inej immediately kneels beside me, and nudges me. “Sorry but I have a bad leg. Also I don’t bow to animated turkeys.” I say as I go and retrieve my cane and hat. The Fjerdan chuckles and replies in heavily accented Kerch, “I suspect that bad leg excuse is of any use to now, Kaz Brekker. Also, please get up Inej, you look extremely out of place bowing to me in a teal coat.” Inej gets up reluctantly, and when she does, she has… tears in her eyes?

“Sankt Demyan of the Rime, thank you for protecting me.” She says, and hands him one of her knives. “Ah. How poetic.” He says, and pockets the knife. That is when I realize that we, in fact are dead. And Inej’s saints, are in fact, real. Great. There goes my ten thousand kruge. Thankfully the rest of the Crows aren’t here or I would have ended up as quite literally, a bankrupt soul.

“How many times have I told you Demyan to let me welcome the visitors? You’re hardly a gracious host, let alone a good gambler,” says a Shu woman, as she walks in behind Demyan, along with a Suli girl. The Suli girl was surrounded by floating rocks as well. She looked at Inej, and smiled at her. “And now, I would like those gold buttons of yours.” Says the Shu woman.

Inej hastened to remove her own lapel, a dragon and a fox, when the woman stops her. “I’m not talking to you Wraith, I’m talking to Demyan. We had bet that Kaz Brekker would kick him in the balls when he first arrived. I however had gone for a scathing insult. So seems like I won.” She says, and takes the gold buttons that Demyan removed (albeit while grumbling) in her slender hands. “Sankta Yeryin of the Mill, and Sankta Marya of the Rock, I- it’s an honour to meet you.” says Inej, and proceeds to bow more times than she has apologized when she was alive. I am shocked to see the way these so called “saints” milk Inej’s “devotion”. She was the closest thing to a saint that people actually had down in the mortal realm, and I would rather have kicked Demyan in the balls than let Inej bow again. But I restrain myself for the sake of my jaan.

Inej gives two more knives to the women, and stands beside me. She looks like a ridiculous schoolgirl, all giddy as if she had met her favourite aunts, and I catch myself falling in love with her all over again as a dead soul. Demyan soon interrupts my thoughts with that sinuous high-pitched voice, and asks, “I see you’re unusually quite today Dirtyhands. What’s the matter?” “I’m sorry, it’s just I’m wrapping my head around the concept of not existing physically anymore. Also I’ve heard you carry your belongings with you to the afterlife, so where’s all my gold?” I reply. Yeryin chuckles, her slit eyes crinkling while Marya looks at me in disbelief. Her voice, booming like a mountain echo, repeats what she, and countless others back in the mortal world, including my wife, thought each day, “Have you no honour Kaz Brekker?” I just shrug and adjust my hat.

“Anyways, ah, back to the topic at hand.” says Demyan, as he walks towards a tree. No wait, the tree. It could easily be as tall as a mountain. Five springs gush forth from its roots, and a heart is suspended from thorns right in front of a tear in it. The heart with the thorns I remember from the most epic heist of my career, involving legends and the Ravkan monarchy. The tree I do not. Inej asks, “Mind me, O great Saint of the Dead, but could you please acquaint us with our surroundings?” Wow. That’s a lot of vocabulary from a woman whose last sentence, in my memories, is complaining how the medicine she gave me smelled like rat fart. “Oh yup that’s Djel. Or rather his ash tree. Quite popular with my countryfolk.” he says cheerfully. “And we’re here in a mountain in the Sikurzoi, in a different plane of existence. For you, are dead.” he continues, with that ridiculous smile of his. Marya then steps forward, her voice slightly less enthusiastic, giving me the feel that this is all probably quite rehearsed for a while now. “You are a long way from home my loves. Kaz Brekker, you died a natural death. Inej Ghafa, you also died a natural death. Both of you were a hundred and thirteen years old, with Inej dying within a year of your death. The form you have now, is the form you chose to be remembered as.” she says. Yeryin huffs past us, her robes billowing, and hands the buttons over to Demyan, raising up her hand to his face and showing a symbol that quite contradicts with the Saint of Hospitality. “I should have expected such from you, you merchant scum.” she says. She then turns to directly address us and says, “Enough introductions though. The real reason you’ve been brought here is for another reason entirely. You see, the souls of the dead…”

I roll my eyes as the Sankta prepares for another lecture about how our “feeble human brains can’t comprehend the world.” I regret having married Inej in this moment in the afterlife though. Dirtyhands would’ve conned them by now and found a way back to the mortal realm. Kaz Brekker on the other hand, sits on the grass like a five-year old listening a story. Inej sits beside me, her coat now lying beside her in a heap and her hair fluttering open. How I wish I could’ve seen her in the open sea like that.

“…are usually brought to the other sides of the tree.” Yeryin says, waving her hands in an elegant motion to summon up a throne made out of the river pebbles and rocks, confirming that the trio were all, in fact, Fabrikators. “There, they are all assessed in context with their deeds on earth. Everything that they’ve gone through, and everything they’ve done is all taken into account by the Saint of The Book.” She then points to a woman, invisible until this point, sitting near the tree. She bends over a desk, poring over a giant ledger and surrounded by thick books. Her thick blonde hair covered her face, her glasses perched on her wide nose, and her fair, plump skin flushed. “The three of us then decide their fate in the afterlife. Those, who we decide are ‘good’, enjoy the fruits of paradise for a while and then return to the making at the heart of this world. Those, who we deem ‘bad’, are impaled on the thorn wood until they are purged of their sins. They then bathe in one of Djel’s springs, and return back to merzost.”

“Yeah but why are you telling us all of this? We get it, we’re dead, so which way are we going?” I ask the Saints. Inej elbows me once again, scolding me with her eyes. I shrug, and stand up with my cane. “Unless you have something else to tell us, I would like to take your leave. Saints.” I start to walk, when I find myself tripping over. I right myself with my cane just in time, and see that my hands and feet are bound by vines, Demyan’s hands raised up. These saints want a taste of Dirtyhands? Fine. I will show them Dirtyhands.

I see Kaz’s demeanour change. He slips into the familiar garb of Dirtyhands, his eyes cold as flint, lips slightly pursed, standing like the King of the Barrel. I get into a fighting stance, my heavy coat no longer obstructing me. I feel the presence of my remaining knives, regretting handing over the rest. I respect my Saints, but nobody, and I repeat nobody, touches my husband and escapes alive.

Marya stands immovable, her eyes gazing at something in the distance. Yeryin clasps her hands, and states, “You came here at our wish Kaz Brekker. You leave with our wish as well. No need to reach for your knives Wraith they won’t serve you here.” I feel a tug inside me, as if someone is yanking on my leash. Before I know, I am pulled back, my breath knocked out of me, and I crash into a wooden chair. Kaz suffers a similar fate beside me, and I can see his anger barely in check. “Why are you doing this to us?” I ask Marya. She glances at me, her eyes tearful, and replies, “Because we’re tired Inej Ghafa. Because you’re now, the new gods of death.”

Great. We’re the subject of a cruel joke by the Saints and are being tortured for our sins. “We don’t want anything to do with you or your jobs. Just release us and march us over to the thorn wood, I’m ready to answer for my crimes.” “Oh you silly girl, we won’t kill our scapegoats, will we? Isn’t that right my fellow sisters?” Demyan says in his ridiculously cheerful manner. That smile takes me back to the West Stave, Heleen bartering over me with the slavers, her sinuous smile each time I resisted her. I eventually did track my slavers, although only Kaz knows of their fate, for he was the one who insisted on having them. Demyan then comes over to us, and the Saint of Death’s face becomes morose. He kneels in front of us, as if pleading with us, and says, “You see, we’re linked directly with humans and grisha. Death. Hospitality. Pathfinder. Our roles were fundamental to the balance of the world, to the smooth passage of souls and justice in the afterlife. However, seeing the Starless One return back to merzost, seeing Juris merge with the Dragonqueen, has made us realize that we thought impossible, was actually just – improbable. You would certainly know about that, wouldn’t you Dirtyhands?” Demyan glances at Kaz, his eyes moist, while Kaz looks at him unflinchingly. Weren’t the Saints destined to perform their duties? Then why are they looking for scapegoats? Demyan comes back to me, his tone rushed as he blurted out his plan. “We long to be free Inej Ghafa. We too long to return back from where we came. We too long to feel.” Yeryin and Marya then float over to us. “A Saint that dispenses justice, must have suffered injustice to be accurate in his judgements. He should be immovable, yet sensitive to the souls he receives. Kaz Brekker, you have shown us the resilience and fury of a Saint.” Yeryin says. Marya then glances at me, and begins, “Jaan, you’re one of my own people, and so I hold a special place for you. The Saint that is the Reaper, who brings over the souls of the dead, must kill without remorse. Must feel for each soul with all of her heart. She must be indiscriminate in her search.” “And you Inej Ghafa have shown us that heart.” Demyan finishes, clasping my hand. “The part is yours, should you keep it. However, remember, you must take it up with free will, for handling the deceased is a far more tedious and draining task than it sounds.”

I look back at Kaz. His eyes are focussed on the ground, his brain coming up with another wild scheme. I look at the Saints with disbelief. All this time, as I, as millions, prayed to them, honouring their martyrdoms with festivals and prayers, the Saints just longed to be human. Kaz finally speaks after what feels like an eternity. “I have a question. Are the Saints willing to answer that?” “But of course. That is the least we can do for you.” says Yeryin.

“You might’ve come across two souls in your eternal career. Jordie, and Pekka Rollins. What fate awaited them?” I ask hesitantly. I am both excited and afraid of the answer the saints hold for me. Marya looks at the Saint of the Book. She rises, and comes towards us, a small register in her hands. She hands it to Marya, and returns back, giving me a not-so subtle side look. Marya searches for the names I asked, clears her throat, and begins. “Pekka Rollins, the leader of the Dimes, a gang in the streets of Ketterdam, was impaled on the thorn wood. He was purged of all his sins, and then chose to return back to merzost. As for Jordie, your brother, he did not choose to stay for long.” I look back at Marya. “His soul… was tormented. Even though he was healed with the waters of Djel, even though we helped his soul discover his unknown gift as a Grisha Tidemaker, he kept searching this garden for you. In the end, he chose to take a single bite of Djel’s fruit, and returned back to merzost, finally at peace.”

Jordie’s fate stuns me into silence. Pekka Rollins snatched our life on Earth, but even in the gardens of paradise my brother kept searching for me. My vision blurs, my brother’s destiny opening a well of sadness in me, his peaceful return to merzost the only respite offered to him. This was the place where Jordie’s soul searched for me. Where he waited and waited for me, until he dissolved back into the heart of the world. And this is where I would choose to stay for eternity, the only place that holds my brother’s peace. I look at Marya, and nod.

Beside me, Inej grasps my hand, and smiles. She then looks down at Demyan, and says, “We will take up the mantel of your duties, O Revered Saints.” I roll my eyes. It’s as if Sturmhond’s vocabulary worms it’s way into Inej’s brain each time she talks to her saints.

The saints all look at each other, then smile and open their arms. “Our powers, are then yours, Wraith and Dirtyhands.” Golden rays, the colour of sundried wheat and barley emit from Yeryin. Ink black waves surge from Demyan while a shower of dirt erupts from Marya. The three slowly disappear, probably to a much better place. The knives Inej gave to them clatter on the ground.

Inej picks up her coat, dusts it off, and shrugs it on. She picks up her knives, touching them to her forehead, and wipes them on her sleeve. “So what do we now?” she asks me. “Well we’re here for eternity, alone, at least till you go off to bring our souls. Let’s have some fun.” I say and suggestively smirk. The Saint of the Book widens her eyes in horror as she looks at us. “Oh keep it in your pants, you perv.” I say, as I give a big shout and run towards the gentle slope along the riverbank, Inej’s soft padded boots following me, as we both tumble into each other and hurtle to the earth.

#soc #six of crows #kaz #inej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #dirtyhands #the wraith #wraith #leigh bardugo #kanej fic #story time #vasu #sankt demyan of the rime #sankta yeryin of the mill #sankta marya of the rock #grishaverse

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Text

Discredit Pt. 2: More Recommended Reviews For A.Z. Fell’s

Alright, folks. Some notes first:

1. You all rock. I’m sending out 20k+ virtual hugs for all the notes I NEVER expected to get on this nonsense.

2. This is probably the final section, just because I’m not sure I can adequately follow up part one and it might be foolish to attempt it here. Let alone twice. But for now, here we go.

3. Kudos to the anon who reminded me of Aziraphale’s cash-only policy <3

4. Nicole Y’s review is based off an actual comment I read years ago, but heaven only knows where online it was. I’ve got the memory of a goldfish.

5. Trigger warning for the use of a queer slur in this. It’s the same review as above, number 5 if you want to avoid it.

6. There’s a text-only version of just the reviews at the end, after all the images. I’ll upload that to my Sparse Clutter collection on AO3 in a bit.

Bonus 7. People thinking this is a real shop deserve all the good things in this world.

That’s all I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! 👍

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

I’m a simple guy who likes simple jokes. If there’s a whoopee cushion I plant it. I will call you up to ask if your refrigerator is running and then tell you to go catch it. (Actually that one died out so thoroughly it’s actually capable of a comeback now!). Yes, I’m a dad and yes, I have a t-shirt that says Dad Jokes? I Think You Mean Rad Jokes! which I wear un-ironically every Saturday. All of which is just to say that my wife was well prepared for my stupidity when I walked into Fell’s.

I? I was not.

You see the bibles when you walk in? The ones to the left? Let them be. Don’t even look at them. Definitely don’t pick out the fanciest one you can find and absolutely don’t walk up to the owner with it held in your pudgy little fingers, grinning like a loon, cheerfully asking whether this should be in the fiction section. Just don’t. Mark my words you’ll regret it. Though your wife won’t. She’ll get a great old laugh out of it all.

In conclusion: it’s quite possible that mama did raise a fool and he just got his ass verbally whooped by a guy in a bowtie.

***

Shout-out to Mr. Fell for being the only decent bloke in this city. I’ve popped in and out of his store for years—including before I started transitioning. So he knew my dead name, dead look, whole shebang and I was definitely nervous to play the ‘You know me, but this is what’s changed and are you gonna throw a fit about it?’ game.

You know what he said? “Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”

That’s it. He just went straight into dragging his partner for not giving him roses. So hey, Mom? Next time you’re snooping through my social media why don’t you explain to all these nice people why the 50+yo book seller accepts me in ways you won’t. Don’t go telling me age is an excuse or that you’re ‘Stuck in your ways.’ I’ve watched Fell dress in the same damn clothes since I was ten!!

Yeah. Sorry. Rant over. Fell’s a gem. That’s my take. Rose out.

***

Anyone else in the shop when that guy started yelling about buying pornography? And then got escorted into the back room for some ‘private conversation’? Well done, Mr. Fell! Didn’t know you had it in you.

***

Alright alright alright alright I am TOTALLY calm about this.

Went into A.Z. Fell’s last Thursday. Not because I knew anything about the place. Just because I’ve been hitting up every bookshop within a twenty-mile radius, asking if they’re hosting any book signings. Long story short I self-published my novel Blight last month—which you can get for a mere £5 here but I swear this isn’t a promotional thing I’m just BROKE—and have been looking for networking opportunities, tips, stuff like that. So the owner listened politely as I explained all this. Then said he didn’t do anything of that sort, which didn’t surprise me given the shop’s vibe.

But then? Then??? He offered to let me do a signing there??????

As said. Totally calm about this. This man either plans to kidnap me or is actually giving me my first shot at an audience outside my blog. AKA totally worth the risk.

Tuesday the 9th. 7:00pm. Just in case anyone’s interested ;)

***

holy sweet baby jesus i was tripping balls last week you tryin’ to tell me that kING KONG SIZED FANGED FUCK SNAKE IS REAL

***

Witnessed the most perfect exchange the other day:

Grumpy Dude With No Manners: “You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with over the phone?”

Mr. Fell’s Partner Who Knows Damn Well Only Two of Them Work There But Clearly Doesn’t Like This Guy’s Tone: “Did this man give you his name?”

Grumpy Dude: “Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”

Me: “....”

My girlfriend: “....”

This Poor Sweet Startled Kid On Our Left: “?!?!?!?”

Fell’s Partner In The Drollest Voice I’ve Ever Heard: “None of us have wings. Out!”

***

This shop gets full stars simply because every time I walk in they’re playing Queen.

I mean, I’ve walked in once, but once is enough when you’ve got Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasting full volume.

***

Okay, I’m still kind of shaken up but I needed to write this out somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any.

I spilled my latte on a book. Just tripped on thin air, popped the lid, and chucked a venti’s worth of coffee all over a very expensive looking text. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but it happened and I just started bawling on the spot. Full on sobs because this semester has been absolute hell, I ruined this guy’s antique, there’s no way I can pay for it, I can’t even sneak away because I’m drawing the whole store’s attention...just all the things all at once. I really was straight up panicking and was seconds away from pulling out my inhaler. I couldn’t breathe.

And then Mr. Fell showed up.

Jesus it’s embarrassing to admit but I think I hit him once or twice. On the arms I mean, because he was trying to touch me and I figured, I don’t know, it was a restraint or something. He was going to call the police and hold me until they got there. But then he managed to start rubbing my back and I lost it like I hadn’t already been bawling my eyes out in this shop. Ever cry into a perfect stranger’s chest? I have! But if Mr. Fell seemed to mind he definitely didn’t show it. Just kept holding me while I probably ruined his shirt and then took me into the back and made me a new coffee in this cute little angel mug. He let me stay there while I called my sister and waited for her to arrive.

She’s a good twenty minutes outside of Soho, so we talked for a while. It’s not like Mr. Fell could fix my shit roommate or bio classes, but I guess just talking about it all really helped. I was a lot calmer by the time my sis arrived and Mr. Fell insisted I come back any time I wanted—for browsing or more coffee.

Of course, sis offered to pay for the book herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so surprised in my life. “Certainly not!” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, no one should pay for their mistakes. It’s what makes you all so wonderfully human.”

So yeah. Thanks, Mr. Fell.

***

This little shop must have started a book club for kids! Lately I’ve seen the same group of children hanging out at Fell’s. Three boys and a girl. They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but who isn’t at that age? So wonderful seeing literature passed down to the next generation. Even if some of it is rather questionable looking...

***

It’s an honest crime that more of you aren’t talking about what a wonderful bookstore this is.

I’m a book lover at heart and Fell’s always makes me feel like I’m coming home. I just arrived somewhere safe and familiar after a particularly harrowing day. I’ve slipped under the covers of my bed after dinner and a bubble bath. It’s something like that, but with an element of surprise too. One of the reasons why I adore private and used shops over chain stores is that little touch of chaos. You walk in and sure, there are general sections to browse, but everything is just a little bit disorganized from people leafing through books and then putting them back somewhere else. There’s no real record keeping, you’ve just gotta head to one particular corner and hope for the best. It’s not the sort of place you go to if you want something specific because the chances of them having it are slim—that’s just how the universe works—and even if they did no employee knows where it is anymore.

But if you wander the shelves for a while, crouch down low to get a look at everything on the bottom shelf, pay attention to the books that don’t have easy to read titles or any summaries to speak of... you just might find something you didn’t know you were looking for. That’s Fell’s: the comfort of the familiar and the excitement of the unknown.

*** A lot of people might assume that these stories are embellished or outright made up, but as a bookseller myself going on twenty years I believe every single one of them.

That being said, I accidentally moved a rug and found chalk sigils that look like they belong in a cult. Make of that what you will.

***

There’s a special place in hell for 21st century shop owners that only take cash. Who carries cash anymore? Not me! I haven’t bothered with that nonsense in years! You can get a card reader for 15 pounds on Amazon. Or you know what? Be stingy and pay 7 for the little attachment on your phone. This place is nuts if it thinks it’s going to survive much longer on a cash-only policy, especially with some books that look like they’re worth hundreds or thousands of pounds! Yeah, yeah, just let me pull out this giant wad of bills for you. I’ll carry them around a crime-laden city because there’s no ATM near you either.

I mean jesus, you’d think this guy didn’t want to sell anything.

***

I walked in. There was a man screaming at a fern while another threatened him with an umbrella. I walked out.

5 stars do recommend.

***

I once walked in on the same (?) guy yelling at a book for daring to fall on the owner’s head. I think that’s just a Thing over there.

***

Like a lot of people here I didn’t actually go to Fell’s for any books (flat tire, Angel Recovery taking forever) and ended up staying three hours (not because of Angel). No, I wandered towards the back and found this ancient CRT set propped on a table of books, the kind that my Dad used to watch Twilight Zone on. This lanky guy had a marathon of Gilmore Girls going... though how he was managing that with a broken antenna and no DVR, I really don’t know. But yeah. He told me to pull up a chair and I did. Guy gave me popcorn.

I wish I’d paid a little more attention to his name. Charlie? Curley? I really can’t remember, but thanks for the enjoyable afternoon, man.

***

I BOUGHT A BOOK HERE

Not sure how though. Just kinda happened. First edition of Just William. Frankly I didn’t even want the thing, but the owner basically shoved me out the door with it when I took two seconds to look at the spine. Odd that he was so willing to part with this one.

Update: ... hold up. I didn’t buy a book because I never actually paid the guy. ‘Basically shoved me out the door’ was literal. Do I go back??

***

This page has really gone feral the last couple of months so I’m just gonna bite the bullet and say it:

Anyone notice that Fell’s snake and Fell’s partner are never in the same room together?

***

I really don’t like the implications of this…

***

This is precisely why the Internet has turned into a cesspool. You all should be ashamed of some of the stuff you’re writing here. Can’t two men just be friends anymore? Two real life men? These guys aren’t some characters for you to ‘ship’ or whatever. Quit making outrageous assumptions about their sexualities and use this website for what it’s actually for: reviewing the bookshop. Honestly I’m so sick of this sort of this shit.

***

Dude. They run a queer-focused shop together with a flat on the second floor. Fell calls the guy ‘Dear’ and he’s always calling him ‘Angel.’ People have literally seen them kissing. If you want I can give you the number of my physician. He might be able to help you pull your head out of your ass.

***

What the hell is your problem? I’m literally just reminding people to stop making assumptions. It’s gross and insulting. These guys check their Yelp page. You really think they’re gonna be okay with this stuff?

Also: I’m not the five-year-old relying on insults, so.

***

Making an account purely to set the record straight: I’m the hot twink in question and I married that angel. Peace

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #good omens fic #guess who spent 48 hours doing nothing but writing and formatting #can I get a wahoo

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maine-writes · 3 years

Text

Vonvon's Space Adventure, Part 3

Another resplendent scene of Beach City. The azure waves crashed upon the golden sand, darkening it to an earthy hue. Steven and Connie eagery awaited the crystalline vessel descending from the atmosphere. Its ivory body glimmered in the sun, its strking eyes looking ever onward toward the horizon. To them at least, their darling child's weekend went without a hitch. But little did they know of the horrors that transpired on a distant world.

It began on a Saturday.

"So, where are we going again?" Vonvon asked.

Shortly after waking up from a rather restless night, Vonvon was brought aboard White Diamond's ship; a massive, crystalline upper torso. All they were told was that the Diamonds had prepared a "game" of sorts. After all, children enjoy games, at least that was what Spinel told the Diamonds.

White Diamond sat in her command chair, supervising her bridge crew. The central viewscreen above was focused on a strange alien world. White clouds swirled around the northern hemisphere, a vast ocean covered a majority of the planet, which had only three major landmasses.

"Vonvon." said the Diamond, directing their attention to the planet. "This was Exoplanet D-23, one of Blue's. Despite initial findings, she deemed the planet unfit for full colonization."

"So what happened to it?"

"She decided to use it as an educational facility. Gems under her supervision were sent here for training." She continued. "This was once a place where Sapphires would go to learn proper etiquette and learn how to decipher their visions. If I remember correctly, the Sapphire you are familiar with spent some time here herself."

When the ship landed, Vonvon looked out an idyllic, tropical landscape. To their surprise, the seas were relatively shallow, no deeper than several meters. There were extremely deep pools, however, which were noticably darker as their depths descended deep into the limestone below. Strewn all across the landscape were sandbars and the occasional solid landmasses, with crystalline trees sprouting out from them. The combination of the warm sun and salty breeze refreshed Vonvon's little body.

They then looked to the distance, spotting great spires on the horizon. These were once the courts of Blue Diamond, where countless Gems would congregate and speak on matters and events from across the great dominions of Homeworld. These were places of culture and refinement.

"What do the Gems there do now?" Vonvon inquired.

"Whatever they desire, dear." Said the Diamond. "Blue still occasionally holds court here, mostly to hear about what they've experienced."

The child wondered if they were going to meet with these Gems. But it seemed as if the Diamonds had another idea.

White led Vonvon to a massive, dome-shaped construct that stood on crystalline pillars in the water. Inside, they were greeted by a crew of Gems and the other two Diamonds.

"Welcome to a Gem warfare command center." Yellow Diamond said, visibly excited for the day's activity.

"Command center?" Vonvon wondered.

"According to our studies on what sort of games human child enjoy," Yellow explained, "We've decided on allowing you an opportunity to command a small army for war games. Blue, White, and I will be commanding our own forces, while you try to take our command centers."

The Diamonds led the child to their small, human-sized command chair in the center of the room. It was elevated over a crew of diligently working Gems, who were making their final preparations and communications checks.

"Are the Gems okay with this?" Vonvon sheepishly asked.

"As you know, with the beginning of Era 3, Gems are free to pursue whatever lifestyles they desired." Blue Diamond assured them. "Some, however, didn't know what to do with themselves and so we organized a number of activities for them."

"Does Papa know about these sort of games?"

"W-Well, no." White Diamond said. "Your mother suggested that we not tell him of her idea."

Vonvon wasn't at all surprised that their mother suggested that militaristic Gems take part in these war games. But they did wonder if she took part in any herself. The more they thought about it, they began to wonder about the large rolls of paper that Connie kept hidden in the broom closet that somewhat resembled battle plans.

Vonvon was given an hour to prepare their forces as the Diamonds left for their command centers. The game seemed easy enough, command units to capture bases, and only after capturing all their bases can forces move on the command center. Units included artillery, cavalry, armored, infantry, logistical support, and air support.

As the Diamonds left, Vonvon excitedly waved them good-bye, joined by Spinel. But as soon as the doors closed, the child's demeanor instantly changed.

"Alright, Spinel show me what we have to work with."

Outside of the command center, Vonvon's grand army awaited. As soon as they saw the child, the thunderous echo of hundreds of Gems standing at attention and giving the child the old Homeworld salute filled the air.

"Good morning, General!" Said hundreds of voices.

Vonvon donned a pair of violently outlandish and dramatically pink visors, as pointy as they were outrageous, as they took a deep breath.

"Smell that, Spinel?" They said as they popped a lollipop in their mouth. "Smells like a good day for war."

Little did the Diamonds know, Connie had trained her child for this day. Fire Emblem, Advance Wars, Chess, Risk, Monopoly, years of playing strategy games and dealing with Connie's competitiveness were about to pay off.

"I wonder what Vonvon did all weekend." Steven said as he and his wife watched White Diamond's ship descend from the upper atmosphere.

As the door at the front of giant crystal torso opened up, the pair were greeted by Vonvon and White Diamond, the former decorated in military medals, flashy regalia, and a flowing, dramatic cape.

"Mama! Papa!" Vonvon laughed as they ran to their parents.

Steven was relieved everything seemed to have gone well, but wondered about Vonvon's strange outfit.

"Had a fun weekend?" He asked, looking up to White Diamond.

"Oh, absolutely!" She assured him as Yellow and Blue Diamond emerged from the ship. "They're a regular chip off the old Gem!"

"They remind me of myself when I was newly emerged." Yellow Diamond added, wiping an emotional tear from her eye.

"Huh?" Steven asked. "What did you guys do all weekend?"

"Pretty sure they just played games, hun." Connie quickly interjected.

"Like Battleship?"

"Sure."

While Steven was distracted with an excited little Vonvon, who was babbling what sounded like nonsense, Blue Diamond caught Connie's attention.

"They caused a little damage in their first battle." She whispered to Connie. "So our usual game will have to be postponed until the repairs are finished."

"What game?" Steven inquired, curious as to what the two were talking about.

"Chess." Connie said.

"Chess? I didn't know Blue played chess."

"You child is surprisingly sharp." Blue said, consciously failing to mention the sea of carnage they left on the distant world. "How was the colony?"

"W-Well..." Steven began as a distant, orange dot appeared in the distance.

Slowly, the dot came closer, changing into a large, humanoid shape.

"Steven!" Jasper yelled as she approached. "I formally request that you expla-!"

Vonvon noticed both Steven and Connie sigh while the Diamonds looked on in both confusion. They then had an idea.

"Jasper Facet-9 Cut-1T4!" They barked.

The big, buff Quartz stiffened up, straightened her back, and crossed her arms in salute.

"What is the meaning of this insubordination?!" They continued.

"I-It is not insubordination!" Jasper explained. "As Steven's bodyguard, I only wanted to do my duty and prove that I am as capable as Connie!"

"Elaborate."

"I simply request an explanation for what Connie can do for Steven that I cannot."

"Oh, that's a good question." Vonvon innocently noted. "You are a big, strong Gem. Mama can swordfight, but I don't think she can crush rocks with a headbutt."

Everyone, including the Diamonds, looked to Steven and Connie, waiting for an explanation. They could feel everyone's gaze piercing their souls, unblinking, unwavering.

"I'll handle this." Garnet announced, appearing without explanation. As she whispered something to Jasper, the big, orange Gem glanced over at Steven and Connie, then down to Vonvon.

"That's disgusting!" She screamed.

"It's what humans do." Garnet shrugged. "Rose did it."

Jasper struggled to process the information she was given. She then approached Connie.

"You survived what Pink Diamond could not." She said, deflated. "You truly are more capable than me."

Fortunately, Vonvon and the Diamonds weren't curious enough to ask Garnet about what she told Jasper. But more importantly, Jasper wasn't going to bother Steven or Connie again.

@artsycooky13

#im excited for advance wars #imagine General Vonvon #steven universe #vonvon #wonder what Garnet told her

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strangerays · 3 years

Text

Nothing in Particular Update #1

Hello, hello!! It’s been a really long time since I’ve written an update for this story! (this is a real update btw, forget the “first” one I had) To be honest, I haven’t been able to work on this story as much as I would like, being busy with classes and... well just life in general. (what I mean by this is that Shadow and Bone was released on Netflix) But! I do have some excerpts I wanted to put out there as well as some overall changes to the story.

Before I start: here’s the actual link to the story synopsis/characters!

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-): @wannabeauthorzofija @a-completely-normal-girl @baguettethebooklover @corkytheguar @writeherewaiting @raenawrites

STORY CHANGES/IDEAS:

First off: I had to rewrite 30,000 words and basically turn it into 10,000. The first draft was icky, but I turned it into something I really enjoy! This is a sign that writing is always worth it!!

I added in a couple of characters! I was starting to feel like the story might not have been balanced enough. Luckily, the muse struck me and I created Mars and Theo! Mars is a lovely (and enigmatic) older woman that Ray meets at a bird sanctuary and Theo is a new friend of Lonan’s.

There wasn’t much action in the beginning of the story, so I wrote a confrontation between Jude’s friends and another person that Ray spies on. This is how she meets Jude, and I am in lovvve.

The timeline for the entire story might be a little bit longer than I intended! I went into this project thinking it might only take place over a month, but in order for Ray’s mental health journey to be realistic, I’m going to shoot for an entire school year (around six-seven months). Honestly, I’m just happy I get to write a Halloween scene. As for the word count total HAHA I have no clue what that will look like.

I think Lonan will be a bit of a back-burner character! At first, I was a little wary of this decision since he’s my favorite, but I think it would be very exciting to have Ray hype him up before he ever appears in the story. That way, the reader sort of starts to think about him in one way, yet he might be completely different when he finally shows up...??

Chapter titles are one of my favorite things about this story. Also! I am a huge fan of short chapters! They move the story right along.

I prefer to write slower and use other projects to balance out this one when I get a little tired of it. Over the last month or so, I’ve gotten really into short story writing again! This has been really helpful in working on my specificity and pretty prose. Even though the short stories don’t contribute to Nothing in Particular, I’ve been taking a lot of what I’m learning and applying it!

EXCERPTS (UNDER THE CUT)

CHAPTER ONE: THE SPY

During the summer between my sophomore and junior year, Lonan Herrings packed me into his Dad’s repainted Chevrolet, left his name sharp on his mother’s tongue, and drove to New York City at six in the morning. For the first time since we’d become friends, jealousy weighed our silence. He buzzed across the highway, even though we knew his mother had no intention of finding us.

“Which animal would I be,” he asked, “if I left tomorrow and lived in the forest?”

“Why would you want to do that?” I smiled even though I knew he was probably serious.

His shoulders squared and he looked out his window. Two men in the next car shouted at each other, their windows down. Something about a mortgage. “You would come with me, of course.” He turned to me. “Which animal gets along best with a doe?”

I shut my eyes to snap the cold. It might have been the fact that, most times, his gentle voice pulled ragged words from his throat, as if he had just stepped out of the rain after standing in it for hours. It might have been the way he cupped the rim of a camera with humble demure. I was never afraid to tell him anything in the patience that bled from him. His eyes were milky blue and he wore an olive jacket covered in pins that kept strangers interested. Since he seemed like he felt out of place most times, I never did. We were a grade apart; our friendship bloomed late. So long as I had a friend at all, I didn’t care how we’d met.

“You would be a blue jay,” I decided. For only a second, I’d been worried that I offended him, until his mouth curved to one side and he laughed softly, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed. His head hovered over the steering wheel. A patch of freckles absently creeped over the bridge of his nose like winter weeds.

This first chapter is a flashback to exactly a year before the second chapter takes place! After an argument with his mom, Lonan drives out of state with Ray. I plan for it to be all we see of Lonan (in the present) up until the halfway point of the story.

CHAPTER TWO: I WAS QUIET

I was a firm believer that the best art was created when the artist was alone, angry, or depressed.

After Lonan secured his train ticket to New York, I was surprised to find that I became none of these things. We buried a time capsule, painted his walls cerulean, and drove two-hundred miles without a word to anyone. Some of my most colorful memories were unplanned in the beginning.

Katherine Herrings’ bakery loitered over the coast of town, sheltered in pitch crags and shallow tide pools congested with cigarettes. I often ate lunch on the deck on my break. She was the only person I knew who – after everything her nephew had said – didn’t make him the first topic of our conversations.

An indie rock song that I recognized buzzed from a radio below me. I pulled my tablet screen down and pushed my chair out so the plastic legs kicked up and scratched the backs of my legs. Slowly, I peered between my ankles, through the patio boards, and into the boat lodge below. Pumpkin-red hair plastered to my forehead in the heat that clung to the late days of September. Waves bubbled and crashed, peanut oil dripped from hot dog buns, and muffled gossip chirped like a family of cicadas. I bit my tongue at the bitter smoke that warped the wind.

Jude laughed then, and her shoulders tipped, haughty. Waves hissed in her silence as the lights in the kitchen behind Katherine flickered. Her mouth opened slightly at the ring of dishes and laughter that danced with each other inside. A moment passed before she took a wide step back.

Together, her accomplices waltzed after her as she ran down the pavement, flecking sand until the night’s blue air gulped their outlines. Katherine beat a towel against the patio leg, then she slid and locked the door. Frogs jeered in the silence that pervaded the sea.

I whispered the name back to myself so I wouldn’t forget it. Jude Ahuja. I took a sip of ginger ale, and she buzzed on my lips.

The story cuts to Ray’s senior year of high school. Summer has just ended, Lonan has left for college, and her camera is broken. Jude is a bit like a character out of a film to her, and she wishes she could know more about her after witnessing a loud argument with Katherine Herrings, Lonan’s aunt.

CHAPTER THREE: PEOPLE-WATCHING

Early into our friendship, I’d learned this patience. The first time he brought me to Sugarfell, he told me that all of the paths led back to the same place. As long as you played the game, you were guaranteed a prize. He didn’t speak much, but I knew he wasn’t a very good liar.

Less than an hour passed when I was met with silence. I crept up and down the same path four times. Each step sent a shock through my legs to my chest. The sun hadn’t risen to the highest point in the sky, still glimmering through tree branches in golden fractals, pulling on static darkness.

“Are you crying?” he asked.

I shook my head fast. “No.” My voice barely reached a whisper. It was a lot deeper than normal.

He puckered his lips as though I had offended him. “But you were about to.”

“You said that all the paths lead back to one another.” I stood up from the jagged stump and shuffled through the leaves until the tips of our shoes were inches apart. “I knew you’d come back. And you did.”

When I turned back, sore curiosity teased the emerald in Lonan’s eyes.

“Do you ever people-watch?” he asked softly.

This chapter is another really short chapter that I’m ultimately not sure I’m going to keep! I sort of included it by accident while Ray was riding her bike to the forest, but I ended up really liking it as a bridge into the next scene. Hopefully, I find I way to make it fit!!

CHAPTER FOUR: SUGAR-COATED

Years with Lonan had prepared me for being alone. If you spend any long amount of time with someone, you’ll become a thief to their behaviors. Lonan observed too much. If I stared long enough, trees began to replace all of the people we’d ever seen. Oaks with roots that serpentined the ground like children splashing in the bay, pines with needles like spindly old hands, maples with hollows like watchful eyes.

I did remember, but I couldn’t then. Blood gushed too close to his eyelid and dripped down his cheek like tears. There was a grace period in my life – likely when I was a newborn – when I couldn’t picture what my blood would look like on the light side of my skin.

And this is where I’ll leave off on the excerpts for now! I’ve been really focused on taking my time and setting things up before the next chapter, which is going to have lots more action in it. Things are going to start picking up again, so I’m really excited for that!

Thanks for reading if you made it this far :)

#nothing in particular and everything #my writing #writing updates #I was so so so #SOOOO #nervous about this one bros #I'm having a difficult time deciding what to share and what not to share #but I think I did an okay job #anyways #excited for the next scene I'll be writing #UPWARDS AND ONWARDS #<3

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sambergscott · 4 years

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never seen you this happy, never seen you so peaceful

mac’s first birthday fic in honour of the birthday girl @fourdrinkamy 😘

She can’t believe she has a one year old, that it’s been a full 365 (and a half) days since she pushed Mac out surrounded by Scully’s fart candles and firefighters and Captain Holt dancing to Push It.

Obviously she is aware that a year has passed. She has finished a planner, started a new one, celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, watched her husband agonise over more and more grey hairs, completed maternity leave, returned to work, received a commendation for her work during the blackout and gradually fit back into her old clothes. Mac is no longer a not-so-tiny newborn and is instead a walking, talking, fully fledged member of their family. And yet it’s all happened so fast.

She’s spent two months of the last twelve planning this day; consulting Charles on food, Rosa on decorations (with a strict no balloon arch policy) and inviting every Santiago, Peralta and detective in the Ninety-Ninth Precinct to their apartment to celebrate Mac’s big day.

And he’s sleeping through it all.

She wouldn’t normally complain because she’s blessed to have a baby at all (there was a case involving a guy in the Colombian cartel and six stressful months where she didn’t think this was going to happen for them) and is especially blessed to have a baby that sleeps (her friends at Mommy & Me class are inconceivably jealous), but a first birthday is a big deal and she’d quite like him to be awake to enjoy it. Even if it’s only for 10 minutes just to get some pictures.

She thinks screw it and decides to wake him up. It’s a strategy that has worked out alright for her in the past, Mac’s very existence, and the wonderful life she is living now, owed to that fateful day where she showed up at Jake’s door with her screw light and breezy monologue.

She dodges Mason and Matthew running around like madmen, smiles politely at Holt and Kevin and rescues her Le Creuset pot from Hitchcock and Scully en route to the nursery. It’s a small room at the back of their apartment, formerly a guest room for whenever her parents came to stay, and if they have more kids in the future they’ll definitely have to move somewhere bigger, but for now it’s perfect. They went for a jungle theme with a mural (painted by Terry) on one wall, a giraffe twice the size of Mac and forest green cushions on her hand-me-down rocking chair from her parents. There’s a bookshelf overflowing with books, a couple of framed family pictures, including one from the hospital on the day he was born, and the simple Ikea crib that took them a full day to assemble.

She approaches said crib, Mac sleeping soundly inside it and leans down to stroke his father’s unruly curls. He shifts in his sleep, makes a noise of discontent and opens his big, beautiful eyes.

So much like Jake, she thinks for the millionth time.

“Hey, birthday boy,” she murmurs quietly. “Your whole family is here to see you, you know.”

He makes another discontented grumble as if to say “and you woke me up just to tell me that?”, closing his eyes again.

“Oh no, no, no.” She lifts him out his crib and bounces him in her arms. “Time to wake up, Mr Mac.”

She can hear the party in full swing in the other room, the muffled sound of Shake it Off coming through the speakers. It’s Jake and Mac’s favourite song and she genuinely has about 15 different videos of them dancing to it saved in her phone. She knows how excited Jake was to dance to it with him at the party and, as if on cue, he pops his head around the nursery door.

He immediately narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Holding our son,” she responds, feigning innocence. “What are you doing?”

“Saw you on the baby monitor app, thought I’d come investigate.”

Investigate. Like she’s some criminal.

He has this theory. A completely baseless, more-insane-than-flat-earthers theory, that she likes to wake Mac up before he’s ready.

And OK, yes, maybe she has woken him up once or twice to go to the stationary store that had a sale on.

And, fine, sometimes after a long shift at work she gets a little impatient and prematurely wakes him up from his nap.

And she did just wake him up so he could come and enjoy his birthday party, but it’s a special circumstance and it’s not like she does it everyday.

(Except for weekdays which obviously don’t count because she likes to have him ready nice and early so she gets a bit of one-on-one time before she has to leave him with a ‘sitter all day).

(Weekends don’t count either because they’re her days off and she has a lot of baby snuggles to fit into a limited time).

“I’ll have you know that he was awake when I came in.” She sniffs defiantly.

“Of course he was,” he says, walking into the nursery with this smug look on his face that is simultaneously the most annoying and hottest thing she’s ever seen.

“You should let him sleep, Ames. There’s nothing wrong with him sleeping in. He’s just like his dad and I turned out alright, didn’t I?”

She glances at an unknown stain on his shirt.

“OK, maybe don’t answer that,” he adds in retrospect. “The point is that he’s a sleepy baby. The doctor said it’s totally normal and she could give us the numbers of a hundred other parents who would kill to have babies who sleep as much as Mac. We should consider ourselves lucky.”

“We are lucky,” she smiles softly at the little guy in her arms. “The luckiest. I just...”

“Miss him,” Jake answers for her, crouching next to the armchair and joining her in admiring their sleeping baby. “I get it, babe. We made an awesome kid. I miss him when he’s asleep too.”

She pouts. “I planned this amazing party for him and he’s slept through the whole thing.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then hesitates. She can practically see his brain whirring. It’s a familiar look, one he gets when he’s about to solve a case or say something super romantic. “This is happening,” he decides. And then he pokes one of their son’s adorable chubby cheeks.

Mac reluctantly opens one eye and upon seeing mom and dad, immediately opens the other. He grins at them and even after a year of cute moments just like it, it has still not got old.

“You just woke him up!” Amy gasps, offended. “How come you’re allowed to and I’m not?”

“Maybe I did it for you, Ames. You gave birth to him while managing a freaking citywide emergency, I’m pretty sure I can wake him up just this once to enjoy the birthday party you so brilliantly planned.”

“You’re the best,” she replies, kissing his cheek and hearing a click as Jake captures the moment.

“Birthday selfie!” He exclaims, grinning at her with the exact same smile as their son.

They rejoin the party and Amy holds him as everyone sings Happy Birthday and Jake helps him blow out his birthday candles (and later reveals that he wished for another Die Hard sequel and a brother or sister for Mac) and when Amy puts the finishing touches to His First Year scrapbook: Twelve Months, One Baby, she is certain that the last year has been the best one ever.

And they still have a lifetime more ahead of them.

#my writing #jake x amy #b99 fic

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virtchandmoir · 4 years

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TESSA VIRTUE ON LIFE IN A NEW ARENA + HER MAC MAKER LIPSTICK

One of the most decorated Olympic figure skaters of all time chats with Beautygeeks about adjusting to a less structured life, finding a new "safe space," and navigating her beauty journey.

April 28, 2020

Tessa Virtue is one of only two best-ever ice-dancing athletes on the planet. Scott Moir, her on-ice partner of 22 years, is the other one. Together the duo shattered multiple world records and racked up an unprecedented number of awards, national and world championships, and five Olympic medals, including gold in 2010 and again in 2018, after which ESPN called Tessa one of the most famous female athletes in the world. Since retiring from competition, Tessa's been busy with a number of projects and contracts with brands including Mattel, Nivea Canada, Colgate, Sick Kids Hospital, Adidas and more. Last month, she celebrated the launch of her first lipstick with MAC Cosmetics, which gave us an excuse to have a good chat about how her life has changed since stepping away from the ice...

BEAUTYGEEKS Makeup and skincare must have started early for you; you've been skating since you were quite small. (Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir became ice-dancing partners in 1997, when she was seven and he was nine.) TESSA I remember having conversations at a really young age with coaches and advisors, trying to figure out what was age-appropriate for a Latin-style program and how we do makeup and costuming and everything that works for 10-year-olds. One of my coaches, Rebecca Babb, used to do my makeup for competitions. That was always something that I really looked forward to. I think there was an awareness early on about how I presented myself in the skating world, simply because it's judged and it's such an aesthetic sport. It's part of the entire package of telling a story. As I evolved and grew as both an athlete and a performer, I really came to enjoy and appreciate that element of it because it's really what sets figure skating apart from most, especially winter, sports. That balance between art and athleticism – and part of that was the costuming, the hair, the makeup, the ability to take the ice and get into character, and make someone feel something. The makeup routine became part of my mental preparation, too – meditative. I would get into the zone as I was applying makeup, and also have fun expressing myself in different ways.

Tessa Virtue in Barbie form; at Toys R Us

BG Now that you're into another life chapter, what's your beauty routine? TESSA You know, it's funny, I'm at both extremes, and I used to say this about my wardrobe. I was fully athletic wear or black tie. There was very little in between. Friends would ask me to go for coffee and I would rock a power suit or something because I just didn't have that sort of casual in-between mode. Maybe that's part of being an athlete: you compartmentalize and you're a bit of an extremist. And now with makeup, I'm either working with some of Canada's best glam teams or I'm wearing nothing as I travel or do my own. Mascara, blush and lipstick is sort of my go-to every day. Stepping away from skating and having fun in the beauty industry and in fashion world in a different way has been really liberating because I've tried to take some risks, explore different looks and aesthetics. I think like most of us, when I'm doing my own makeup, I'm so tempted do the same routine. Picking up tips and tricks from others along the way has been really great. I've also learned that the getting-ready process is actually the most fun part of any event.

BG When you're sitting down for hair and makeup, do you have photos to say "let's try this" or do you consult with your team? Has the process changed now that you're in a different arena? TESSA Often I'm getting ready to do something work related. In some way I'm always focusing on what my task is and what I have to offer in the upcoming event, strategizing on how I can maximize that for whoever has hired me or whatever I'm representing, whatever charity I'm trying to help. I use that time to talk with my team about that. So when I sit down in the chair, I completely put my trust in the people around me. I've worked so closely with those artists, and I've realized that they become your family; they're some of my closest friends. I value their expertise. And I think there's fun for them with that too, because they're empowered to try anything and everything.

BG Those are good friends to have. And your time with them is so intimate. TESSA I feel so lucky. Sometimes we're on set and there'll be a hundred people who all have an agenda of their own, who all have someone to answer to and are all trying to accomplish something in their own right. It's nice to have the security of a glam team or a stylist or someone to come back to – that's your safe place, where you can sort of recharge, get energy and then put yourself out there again. There's a vulnerability that comes with stepping into a spotlight, so to speak. I think that's taken on greater meaning as I put myself in different work positions too.

BG So in some respects, members of your beauty team are touchstones as well. TESSA Exactly, yes exactly.

BG I love that. Let's hit skincare: has yours evolved since leaving the ice or was it particularly involved beforehand? TESSA I realize now just what harsh conditions I put my skin under when I was training. And that was partly because of the cold and the dry arenas, but also the sweat and, in my case at least at competition, having to sweat with makeup on. I'm still conscious of hydrating, but I find less and less need for that. Although I suppose I'm on airplanes and traveling quite a bit, so that sort of replaced the arena. I've always been of the less-is-more mindset when it comes to skincare. That's thanks to my mom. She always told me to touch my face as little as possible. So I'm pretty simple with micellar water and moisturizer. I make sure that I get all my makeup off at night so my skin can breathe, and if I'm traveling, I don't really put anything on my face.

BG It's also a good thing that your skin was at its peak when you were training and performing – you had so much natural hyaluronic acid, collagen and resilience because you were so young. You're still really young. (Tessa turns 31 in May.) TESSA Well, thank you. But you know, there's also stress, hormonal changes and everything that goes along with competing and performing. That's not easy. Sometimes when you're battling stress, hormones, not feeling confident, and then to continue to put yourself out there... But yes, thank you. I do feel pretty fortunate. I know a lot comes down to genes, so I can thank my parents for that.

BG How important is sleep to you? Do you need a specific number of hours? TESSA I'm still stuck in that athlete mindset of needing eight hours a night, at least. What I miss are those mandatory naps that were part of our daily disciplined routine! I'm probably sleeping much less now because I'm on the go – and every day is different. That more than anything has contributed to a sense of, depending on the day, either unease or complete liberation. There was a time when I was training that I could have told you that eight years from now, on March 1st at 2:30 PM, this is what I'll be doing. That sense of structure is so incredibly important as an athlete. And now every day is different, and I'm really trying to embrace that. I think it makes it a little bit harder. Things like sleep, fitness, easy nutrition – it's harder to find a routine in that realm. But I do feel pretty lucky that every time I leave the house I get to do something I love to do.

BG You've had 22 years of an incredibly goal-oriented lifestyle. How have things changed for you now that that goal has been not only met, but surpassed? TESSA That was a hard transition. But I found it was harder to go from being a competitive athlete to a performer. I was so focused for decades, saw everything through the lens of "how can this make me a champion?" Whether that was a meal, an event, a sponsor, a friend – everything was filtered through this very simple mandate of "how can I be my best?" and "will this assist or prohibit me from becoming my best?" That was a singular focus, and then suddenly I was thrust into this place where I was wearing a hundred different hats, and I felt like maybe I wasn't doing anything all that well. At the same time, that support network – the sports psychologists, the trainers, the therapists, everything, this whole safety net that we had built – on February 21st, 2018 was gone. And I felt so alone. At a time when everyone expected me to feel a certain way, I just really struggled. There's an inherent low that comes after any kind of high. Whether it's a competition, a wedding, a degree, any monumental occasion is often followed by a bit of a crash, and so I just had to live that at a time when everyone thought I was living out this fairytale. It was an interesting thing to reconcile. You started the question with something about goals. I think that's been a saving grace for me: I've set new goals. If you give me a task, I can figure out a way to work towards it. That's when I feel confident and competent and more settled.

BG So you can recognize yourself again in that particular mini structure. TESSA Exactly, yes.

BG I can't imagine the change. I mean it's 900% more complex than transitioning from working in an office for several years to going freelance, for instance. TESSA I think a transition of any kind is difficult. I was feeling a little bit ostracized, so on my own for a little bit. And then I realized that no, everyone is going through that in some capacity. I mean even Kaylee [MAC's PR director in Canada] coming back from having a baby and getting back to work, like any kind of life transition, takes its toll and, and it's all relative. Right? So don't diminish that change for yourself, that would've been huge.

BG You mentioned it's harder to slot regular fitness into your schedule these days, but do you manage any kind of routine somehow? TESSA I don't have a routine, which is kind of strange, but also necessary at the moment and I'm learning to exercise when I can, because I do need that dopamine hit. I need to sweat, I need to move my body. But I'm also learning to be kind to myself. So if that means taking a day or two off, or having an extended period of time when I'm focusing my energy elsewhere, I try to be gentle and not get too caught up in that. And when I'm working out, it's so interesting. There was a very specific cycling class I did last year and I felt – I'm pretty sure I wrote a note in my phone about the feeling – a tangible weight being lifted off my shoulders. I realized I'm just doing this for me. I'm not trying to be a better ice dancer, I'm not trying to do this so that I can represent Canada. This isn't functional. It's really just so that I feel good, and suddenly I felt a hundred pounds lighter because that mindset had shifted. And I think right now as I explore boxing and spar classes and spinning and peloton and yoga, I'm just trying to figure out what makes my body feel good in the moment, and take the pressure out of needing to do something. Instead it feels like it's a privilege to be able to work out.

BG It sounds like you're having an adventure there, too. TESSA Yeah, I am and I think that's just the nature of my lifestyle at the moment when I'm traveling so much. And also I have to admit that I'm still not in that place where I just go to a hotel gym and motivate myself. For someone whose job for two decades was to work out, I would wander around quite aimlessly. So it's been fun to explore different avenues and try new things that I wouldn't have been able to do when everything needed to be, as I say, so functional.

BG Do you actually have any more leisure time than you did before? Because it sounds like you're incredibly busy. TESSA I'm trying to build that into my schedule now and I think I'm doing that somewhat successfully. But the difference is that being an athlete and having downtime, I mean that's part of the job, that recovery and it was also part of our job to sort of block out the rest of the world and really insulate ourselves in this bubble. And I was very cognizant at the time that there would be no other opportunity, so I really had to do that. But now, I'm planning on getting my MBA starting next Fall, and I know I won't be able to isolate myself fully and immerse myself into that world because that's just not life. People rely on you, people depend on you. You have to carry on. And yet as an athlete, it's quite a selfish pursuit and endeavour. That's been the biggest change as far as downtime. I'm trying to work it in now – self-care is just such a buzz phrase. But we're also in the midst of this busy culture where everyone is busy and that seems like a status thing, or it seems like somehow we're more important if we're busy. I think I got wrapped up in that a little bit and ended up wanting to work, work, work, feeling like it was a kind of validation. Now instead I'm trying to focus more on the things that matter to me work-wise, and also fit in time to be fully present with friends and family. I haven't really had the tendency to do that over the years; they've had to accommodate me so much.

tessa virtue's mac maker lipstick

BG Let's talk about your new MAC lipstick. How did you decide on the shade? TESSA Well, I started with a mood board, unsurprisingly, and just kind of curated this aesthetic, which ended up being actually really beautiful. Just a bunch of different kind of pink tones and shades that I was drawn to. I have to be totally honest: there are three or four lipsticks that have been on my rotation for many, many years and they're all MAC shades. There's Syrup and Mehr, Soar and Brave, and they're all sort of in that shade family.

Next the MAC chemists took my inspiration and did their thing. They came back with about three different testers and from there we made some tweaks and some adjustments. But it was pretty clear from the moment I saw this particular one, which I affectionately nicknamed Tutu, that it's exactly what I wanted in a lipstick. I'm not lying when I say that I've worn it every single day since. It's been a struggle because people ask me what shade it is and I've not been able to tell them! It was important for me to have it be an everyday lipstick, one that works for a coffee run and also for an event, and a shade everyone can wear. That's very MAC too, to be inclusive and welcoming and accessible to as many people as possible. I wanted it to be hydrating, as well, so we chose a satin finish for extra comfort as opposed to matte.

BG Where did the inspiration for the packaging itself come from? TESSA I had instantly thought pale pink – it's my favourite colour – and polka dots. And I'm hesitant to even say this because it seems like an incredibly egotistical thing, but I kind of loved that the polka dots were reminiscent of medals. It just came about really, really, really organically. And it just felt right as soon as I saw the final draft.

BG Good move – if there hadn't been a nod to gold medals, I bet we'd all want to know why not. Do you think you might get involved in more beauty collaborations in the future? TESSA I don't know. I feel, so fortunate. This is something that I never thought that I would have the chance to explore and I'm been able to really dive in and learn about the company and the industry in a different way. And that's been really refreshing. I think what MAC has done, with both the Canadian Originals campaign and with this MAC Makers, has been really inspiring. It's getting back to the roots of an originally Canadian brand and our values that we can all be proud of. It's such a privilege and a joy to participate.

Tessa Virtue's MAC Maker Lipstick is a limited edition; find it at maccosmetics.com.

—beautygeeks

#tessa #off ice #ambassadorship #mac cosmetics #interview: beautygeeks #the polka dots

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babieyangyang10 · 4 years

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violent ends (chapter 4)

(chapter 4)

series masterlist

genre: hunger games!au

pairing: huang renjun x oc, na jaemin x oc

warnings: mentions of prostitution, language, violent deaths, fighting, angst, fluff, + possible nsfw.

previous | next

"So, each of the districts get their own floors. Since you're from two, you get the second floor." Doyoung explains as we step out of the elevator.

As we walk into the apartment, I stare in awe at the glamorous quarters. There are many giant glass columns and a random display of silver trees and rocks.

"Here is the living room and your rooms are over here. How about you freshen up for dinner?" suggests Doyoung.

In my room, I am met by a bed with a silky, soft comforter. I make my way into the spacious bathroom and hop into the shower. Inside, there was a panel with hundreds of buttons that regulated water temperature, pressure, and even provided massaging sponges.

After finishing, a heater dried my hair and body completely. I pressed another button and a box began sending electrical currents through my scalp, instantly untangling my hair.

Returning the bedroom in comfortable clothes, I see a strange-looking remote on the bed-side table. Intrigued, I begin pressing random buttons. As a result, the window showcasing the lights and building of the Capitol changes into different sceneries.

First, there was a city street filled with cheerful families walking together. After pressing a different button, a dry and deserted desert appeared on the screen.

Switching it once again, a scene showing several mountains peaking through behind a forest of trees. I felt a pulling-feeling in my chest. My throat also feeling slightly choked-up.

During the holidays, every year Taeyong would take me into the mountains of our district. He would pretend to be my knight in shining armor, while I was the princess in distress. He'd never tell anyone, but sometimes it was even the other way around.

It's also where he taught me how to hunt and find my own food. How to determine between what is the good food and what is the not so very good food.

It was the only time I remember us ever truly being kids. Not soldiers, just a thirteen and seven year old exploring the big, exciting world together.

Then everything went to shit after Taeyong went to the games. That year, the Gamemakers had chosen a forest for the terrain. However, it was filled with dangerous wild dogs, wolves, and spiders. The spiders had enhanced speed and were extremely venomous. However, the wild dogs were capable of changing their form and copying the voices of the tributes.

Because of this, the entire Career pack was slaughtered alive. Taeyong was the only one who managed to escape. Wounded and without supplies, a twelve year old boy from District 11 named Dong Sicheng had found and formed a alliance with him. Sicheng had shared all of his supplies and even nursed him back to health.

On the last day, they were approached by the last remaining tribute. Taeyong, spotted him and fired an arrow straight into his heart. As he turned around to check on Sicheng, he was met with the boy clutching a harpoon, longed deep in his chest.

Dong Sicheng slowly died in Taeyong's arms.

After the cannon went off, the Captitol announced over the speakers that Lee Taeyong of District 2 was the winner of the 64th Hunger Games.

No longer did he take me to the mountains. Honestly, we never did anything together. Since then, the closest I ever got to be to him was the one time when the rest of my family stood by him during his stop in District 2 during his press tour.

I've always wondered how he felt. Wondered if he blames himself for what happened. However, I never wanted to intrude. It's not like I ever got the opportunity to ask him, anyways.

However, since I'm going in the games soon. I hope to eventually work up the courage to sit down and have a real talk with him. The real Taeyong, not the victor or mentor he acts like in front of everyone else.

I opened the door to see Doyoung, Renjun, and Taeyong sitting at the dining room table.

Once I sat down in the acid-green chair, Taeyong began talking, "The plan for tomorrow is the same for the both of you. You go to group training. Spend time practicing something your weakest at. Swing a mace. Throw a spear. Tie a decent knot. It doesn't really matter, just save showing off for the private session with the Gamemakers. Are we clear?"

Renjun and I both nod our heads at him.

"Well, have the two of you gotten to know any of the other tributes yet?" pries an interested Doyoung.

"I haven't. Although, Athena seems to be checking out the competition, already." Renjun answers, nonchalantly.

"Wonderful!" Doyoung innocently chimed, "It's never too early to start considering possible alliances. Are you going to ask anyone to join the two of you?"

"Oh, we're not-" Renjun and I said at the same time. We're laughing as if he's said the funniest joke in the world.

"We've always maintained our own completely different strategies. Renjun prefers to be the predator. There's no doubt in my mind that if he does want to work with others, it'll end up being an alliance with the other Careers. " Renjun just silently nods in agreement.

"And what about you?" asked Doyoung.

"Let's just say I prefer not to walk around with a huge target on my head. I want to team up with someone well-liked, so we can get resources through sponsors." I explained.

"Like Na Jaemin?" sneers Renjun.

"You know people have been calling him the Prince of Panem. He's made quite the impression, already." Doyoung chimes, "And he's not the only one. People have been raving about you, Athena. They've even started calling you, the Golden Girl."

"That's good." Taeyong quietly adds to the conversion, "If you keep this up you'll get lots of sponsors."

Doyoung suddenly blurts, "In fact, most people think Jaemin and you would make a good couple."

At this remark, Taeyong drops his knife loudly on the table, while Renjun chokes on his drink. My mouth begins opening and closing like a fish, struggling to come up with a reply.

"We're done for tonight. You two should go to bed now." Taeyong orders, not hiding his agitation.

Quickly, we all return to our rooms. I crash on my bed and stare up at ceiling.

Jaemin and I as a couple?

Where did they even dream up that possibility from? I mean, we only had one barely two-minute conversation. People really do amaze me sometimes.

My thoughts are broken by a barely-there knock at my door. I groan and force myself off the bed.

I roll my eyes, before opening the door and saying, "Renjun, would you kindly please fuck off?"

However, the person standing there was definitely not Renjun. I tilt my chin up to see no other than Lee Taeyong, towering over me.

"Oh, sorry." I frown, embarrassed.

"Can I come in?" He politely asks me.

I step to the side and allow him inside. Once he's fully in, I closed the door behind him.

"Finally decided to talk to me, huh?"

He just stays silent, just letting me say whatever I please.

"You know, I thought you'd at least be happy for me. I mean, you of all people should know that this is the best thing that could ever happen to me." The emotions I've been holding in for the past 10 years are finally coming to the surface.

Taeyong looks at me with pity, "Athena, there are some things you don't know. Things that the school or our parents never taught us."

"What are you even talking about?" I pressure.

"After the games, you couldn't see me for a reason." He took a heavy breath, "Sometimes, if a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for money. It’s not just me either, the same thing happened to Finnick Odair a year later."

"What do you mean, 'buy'?" I swallow.

"For sex."

It’s quiet.

"I was given no choice. He said that he would kill both of our parents and even you if I didn't obey." His eyes begin tearing up, "Athena, you don't know how much I wanted to come see you and teach you things."

"Taeyong." I whimper.

I felt sick to my stomach. How could they do that to him? He was just a thirteen year old kid. Even worse, how could I let myself hate and be jealous of him, when all along he was the reason I was still even living?

"I know I'm a horrible brother, but please listen to me when I say the Capitol uses everyone, including you. You have been taught that this, the games, are normal and something to be proud of. You haven't even seen how horrible it is for the lower districts. They can barely make it through one day without starving. They have basically nothing, while the Capitol is feeding off them."

Anger rises up in me. I look around at all the expensive things in the room. Think about the large amount of fancy food I've consumed while in the Capitol. I'm furious, because I've been lied to and tricked. Furious for Taeyong and all the others the Capitol has taken advantage of.

I jump into my brothers arms and completely break down. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said Taeyong. It was stupid. I'm stupid."

"It's okay. You didn’t know." He shushes, while holding me.

“Listen to me. If you-“ he corrects himself, “When you win this thing, I’m not going to let him do anything to you, okay?”

“Taeyong, can I tell you something? I’ve just never got the chance to.” I ask.

He nods.

“What happened to Sicheng wasn’t your fault. You understand that, right?”

He painfully looks down at the floor, before slowly nodding.

“I’m serious, Taeyong. It’s not your fault.”

By the time he looks up, I am able to clearly see him. Underneath the years of pain, hidden away was a vulnerable boy. The tears come falling down his cheeks.

We spend the rest of the night talking about our past, telling stories. Both laughing and crying together.

My brother and I.

#nct au #nct smut #nct imagines #nct #nct dream #nct dream smut #jaemin #jeno #renjun #haechan #taeyong #doyoung

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esabri · 4 years

Text

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cilliansaccent · 4 years

Text

The Peaky Designer - Cillian Fanfic, Chapter 18

Hello, welcome back. Below is the next instalment of my fanfiction!

Leave a like or a comment if you liked it, or if I can do anything better! Please, it would mean the world and to understand if anyone is enjoying my writing. Also, sharing/reblogging would be even better.

PLEASE READ:

I will not be including Cillian’s family as it’s kinda weird since he has children lmao. Just a mention of his parents and a previous lover.

I will indicate in a chapter if there is smut in the beginning and before the actual scene!!

I will add trigger warnings if there is any!!

There is a variety of levels of swearing during a chapter, I will not hold back, everyone swears.

The timestamp for the Fic is now 2016 and onwards!!

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Background: Gabrijela Babic is a Croatian girl from Sydney, Australia. She is born in the year 1991 on the 24th of December. She studies a Fashion degree in a University with a major in Game Design as well. Her teacher in the fashion designer class managed to nail an Internship on the set of Peaky Blinders with the shows very own Costume Designer, Allison McCosh. There, she travels to London for under a year to learn how to be one, working alongside the actors as well the man she admires, Cillian Murphy. But, her platonic feelings for the man begins to grow into something more, and she wonders whether she should pursue them or let him go for fear of her strict parents and her three older brothers…

Characters:

Swantje Paulina as Gabrijela Babic (swalina on Instagram)

Cillian Murphy

Word Count: 2,918

!!Warnings!!: Intense smut at the end of the chapter!

Date: Februrary 2017

Chapter Name: Surprise!

Brief Chapter Outline: Gabrijela finds it hard to be without Cillian before she falls ill and gets some very unexpected news... and a very unexpected guest at her gig...

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It was a very odd feeling waking up each day without the man she loved beside her.

Gabrijela had a lot of restless nights despite talking to him almost every single night. Her heart was breaking and she missed his gentle kisses every morning.

She still had not told her parents about her time with Cillian, she was not ready to tell them that she was dating an older man. She knew a hundred per cent her father would freak the fuck out and would do anything in his power to break them apart.

She wasn't going to lose Cillian just because of her father's old-style views.

But with her missing Cillian and the fears of her family's views, she was happy to be home once more. She had missed Sydney a lot and the warm weather, a little more predictable.

Though, Gabrijela did not miss the annoying bitch Lucia who hounded her private messages and her many calls. It seemed that with the rest of her friendship group they had also ignored her as bigger issues had risen up and none of them was taking Lucia's shit.

Gabrijela continued on with her life and as some weeks went by, she began to feel sick. Her body felt sore, especially her breasts and she had also missed her period. The period bit didn't bother her too much, she often missed it when she was off her pill.

Yet, when she felt nauseous and felt like throwing up around her most favourite food... She knew something was wrong. Her mother wanted to come with her to the doctor but Gabrijela was sure she would be fine.

So her mother stopped pestering and off Gabrijela went.

Once inside the office, she made a light talk with the lady doctor until it was time to tell her about her symptoms.

"Hm, have you been sexually active lately?" She asked.

It was now seven days into February, "About a month ago, I was." She murmured.

The doctor sat back and pulled something out of the caddy behind her. It was a pee cup.

"Take a wee in this and come back. We will test whether you are pregnant or not." The doctor said.

The word pregnant clang through her brain and she paled, "I can't be." She whispered.

"Just, go do it okay? And then we can talk after." She said gently and Gabbie stood to go pee in a cup.

She returned, still shaken up. She was careful with taking her pill, she was so careful.

The doctor popped in the stick, gave it a few minutes. Then checked the stick, "Well, it seems you are pregnant."

"No," Gabrijela whispered taking the stick, "Oh god no I can't be. I was careful!"

"Not all the time pills can work." The doctor watched Gabrijela, "What would you like to do?"

She sat back as she held the stick, how the fuck was she going to tell Cillian? Her parents? Fuck that. But...

"I want to talk to my boyfriend first. See how he feels... about it. May I keep this?" She looked up.

"Of course. Here pop it into this bag." She handed her a small waste bag and she popped it in. "If you need anything, come in anytime. Whatever your decision, I'm here also."

Gabrijela smiled and tucked the bag into her handbag as she left. As she headed to the station, got on the train she just... floated away. She wasn't sure how she was going to tell anyone about this.

She was panicking within herself and put on a fake smile when her mother asked her how she was.

"Perfectly fine. Probably just ate something weird and making me all queasy." Gabrijela replied. "I gotta go shower and get ready for my gig tonight." She kissed her mother's cheek and hurried upstairs.

She tried to call up Cillian as well, knowing he would still be awake at this time. But no use. It didn't even call. So she went to have a shower, tied her hair up in a high ponytail with two strands of her hair fall down her temples.

She pulled on a black lacy bodysuit with a short miniskirt. She finished it off with a pair of white converse shoes, the necklace Cillian gave her and simple gold studs.

By the time she was ready, she was off with her guitar in an Uber into the city. There she chatted with her group of friends who were already there. They drank a little bit, Gabbie going only for one glass of wine.

Then it was time to play. Tonight's theme was rock, power rock and a little bit of metal. Their first song was from Beast in Black, From Hell with Love. The pub was pumping with the hard beat, but it got people hyped as they danced before the stage. Elijah was their main singer and he had a very powerful voice, especially when it came to rock music.

Gabbie loved the songs from Beast in Black. It got her going especially when it came to her exercise.

Their next song was Die by the Blade, Born Again and Sweet True Lies. Benjamin then sang Kiss of the Cobra King by Powerwolf and then various other rock music.

Then it was Gabbie's turn. Everyone loved her the most and she felt so at ease, especially after today. She sang I Am the Fire by Halestorm, White Flag by Bishop Briggs and to end their time on stage, Faster by Within Temptation.

As she finished the song off with an encore for the last minute of the song, her eyes fell on someone particular in the crowd.

Eased back in a table a chair on the raised level in the back, a tall glass of Guinness in hand... was Cillian.

Wait. What the hell? Was she seeing this right? As the crowd cheered and took photos as they bowed and set their instruments down, Gabrijela slowly walked down the stage to the man who stood from his chair.

He was dressed in his classic skinny black jeans and a blue almost black buttoned down-shirt with faint checkered design, the sleeves were rolled up.

"Oh my god," She felt tears sting her eyes as she was overcome with emotion and flung herself into his arms.

Cillian laughed and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her and spun her, "Darling, my beautiful, beautiful darling." He whispered.

"Cillian! Cilly!" She laughed some more, pulling back to look into his eyes. "It's really you!"

He grinned, "It is really me, darling. Oh god, it is good to see you again." He cupped her face, his accent washing over her, cleansing her soul. He leaned in and kissed her deeply and she melted into his body.

She linked her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with equal passion. Cillian's arms moved around her waist and held her tight against his body.

They continued to kiss until someone cleared their throat behind them, Gabrijela pulled back to see her bandmates all watching the pair. Elijah had a raised brow and a cheeky smile, "Wow, okay. I'm gonna be honest here but I seriously did not think you really mean Cillian Murphy. I thought you were pulling my arm."

"Of course you dummies wouldn't believe her, she didn't show you her other photos," Maya smirked.

Gabbie blushed as she kept her arm around Cillian's waist, "Shut up! Ugh!" She laughed, gazing up at Cillian with so much love in her eyes.

"Nice to finally meet you, man," Elijah held out his hand and Cillian shook it along with the rest of them. "Come on, sit on our table."

"Alright." Cillian nodded and grabbed his beer as they headed to a large booth that fit them all.

Gabrijela was still aghast at the sight of Cillian. He was here. With her. Right now. "How?" She asked her lover.

"How what?" He sipped his beer and set the glass down.

"You being here?" She gripped his hand under the table, her other hand pushing back his hair which had grown out longer now.

"By... a plane?" He smiled, a cheeky glint in those beautiful eyes.

"Smartass." She shook her head. "But really. I've been trying to call you like the past three days."

"Well, I was getting ready before the flight and I spent those two days in the air," Cillian said, his hand cupped her cheek, gazing longingly into her eyes. "Take it as an early Valentines present."

She giggled, V-Day was next week, "Cheeky bastard." She whispered and leaned in as they began to kiss again.

"Excuse me!" Maya made a face, "Not in front of us. Keep that in the bedroom." Maya shook her head. "But anyway, I gotta go care for the bar. Also." Maya turned back to the pair, "Bring him to the wedding next Saturday. We'll fit him on a table." She said and headed off.

Cillian raised a brow, "Wedding?"

"Yep! Maya is getting married. The one I told you about." She pecked his lips. Elijah gagged.

"Ah yeah. That's right." He nodded as he sat back, Gabrijela close to his side.

"Oh, so you've been talking to him about us? I hope only good things, right?" Karsyn looked at Cillian with his smirk.

"Of course. Only good things." Cillian nodded and felt Gabbie squeeze his thigh under the table. He felt himself harden from the touch.

"I want to mention how good you guys played." Cillian praised, "Crowd was crazy."

"Thanks, all help and gratitude to Maya and Ben. They deal with the marketing and we get new fans every couple of weeks. The bar is always packed from Monday to Sunday even if we don't play during the week." Elijah replied as he took a swig of his beer.

"Awesome. I'll definitely be here tomorrow night as well, and Sunday." Cillian felt Gabrijela's hand move higher on his thigh. He tried not to shift too much.

"Sweet. Might bring extra people cause of who you are." Elijah teased.

"Yeah, yeah." Cillian rolled his eyes before the boys launched into a debate on music.

Gabrijela couldn't stop staring at her love, she had missed his freckles, his sharp jaw, his eyes... God his lips too. Everything about him. So she kissed his cheek and headed to the bar to see Maya.

"Hey," She said to her.

"Hiya girlie. How's it goin'?" She asked as she prepared a mocktail for her.

"Good! So good. I can't believe he is really here. I never expected that." She looked over to find Cillian glance at her and wink.

"Girl, I- fuck you two are so in love! Makes me giddy." Maya grinned as she handed her the glass. "But I can also see you want to do more than just kiss him."

Gab blushed, "Yeah. And I wanted to see if you can vouch for me tonight, I'm gonna tell my mum and dad I'm going to stay with you tonight cause you are closer and I'm too tired."

"Hell yeah I can, don't you worry. You go get that man." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Shut up." She stuck her tongue out at her, "Take my guitar will ya." She said and headed back to the booth.

By the time it was midnight Gabrijela wanted to go already. So Cillian stood and they said their goodbyes to the group and headed out. It was a warm summer's night.

"So, how you getting home?" Cillian asked as they stood off to the side.

"With you." Gabrijela turned to him, placing her hands on his chest.

"With me? Your parents cool with that?" He asked as his hands rested on her hips.

"Totally, they think I'm going back with Maya." She pressed her lips to his, "Now, Cillian. Make up the time we've been apart."

He let out a growl that made heat explode between her legs as he called over a cab.

They got in and it wasn't long they were at the hotel positioned on Darling Harbour. In they went and up the elevator.

Cillian had her against the wall beside the door to his room, their kiss feverish. She gripped his shirt, unbuttoning it.

"Baby," She muttered as his lips went to her neck. She found his key in the back pocket of his jeans as she tried to unlock the door. It swung open and she broke away from him and stepped back inside.

"Come, Cillian. Have what is yours." She bit her bottom lip and he came at her, shucking off his shirt and threw it aside as he pulled her back in for another hot kiss.

Her bag dropped as she turned, his lips along her neck before he bent her over the bed. "No waiting to undress. I need you." He let out a groan as he unbuckled his pants then lifted up her skirt, unbuttoned the buttons of her bodysuit. She was wearing no panties.

All the fucking better.

His cock was hard and he was already leaking pre-cum, then in one swift movement, he was deep inside her warm sex. He let out a heavy groan, her own voice matching his in a way.

"Oh fuck." She gripped the sheets, head tilted back with her mouth wide open. "Fuck me Cillian! Fuck me!"

"Gladly." He said and began to move his hips. Her walls were tight around him, sucking him in with each drag as she clenched. She felt absolutely heavenly, he had wet dreams of her and woke up at night having to jack himself off with visions of her luscious body he was so drunk over.

He was hard and fast, the sound of skin to skin filled the air. The desperation of their bodies was the fuel to his pounding into her.

Cillian gripped her shoulder with one hand, gritting his teeth as he stared down at where they connected. "Shit! Gabrijela!" He gasped, head tilted back now.

"Cillian! Don't stop baby. Don't stop!" She begged, being thrown forward by his powerful thrusts. But she wanted to see him badly, this wasn't enough. "I want to be on my back, I want to see you, baby." She let out a half cry half grunt.

Cillian pulled out as she turned, she quickly pulled off her clothing but not her skirt when he crawled back on top of her and was back between her legs, resuming his rough fucking.

Gabbie gripped his shoulders, holding his gaze. His expression was what stuck to her in her lewd dreams, the deep frown of pure concentration and pleasure as he took what he owed.

He knew exactly what he was doing, he was very familiar with her body and what she liked. He leaned in and claimed her lips, swallowing up her moans as his arms slid under her to hold her shoulders. He was already close.

Gabrijela could feel herself getting to that edge, it would be huge. Nothing like a cock she loved inside her rather than her own fingers or her toys.

Cillian was so much better. She was seriously addicted to him.

"Cillian! Oh, baby." She moaned as his head was tucked into her neck. "I'm gonna cum baby. Oh, Cilly!" She kept her legs around his waist, her body warming up and the pressure between her legs grew more and more.

His soft grunts became louder against her ear, his voice doing that familiar crack she so loved from him before fireworks exploded between them.

She let out a loud, blissful cry of his name as she tipped over the edge, his curses followed with her name as well came after her and she felt his warmth spread through her abdomen and up to her heart.

He thrusted till they were done, a light coat of sweat covered them both. He held himself up with his hands on either side of her head, panting softly as he stared at her. "I love you," He gasped.

"I love you too, baby." She smiled, running her hands up and down his sides, his jaw then down his arms. "Oh fuck, I love you." She pulled him down as his body lightly rested on hers and they kissed for god knows how long.

He rolled off her but he kept her close even as she discarded her skirt. She laid on her side and stared at him, her smile warm and gentle. "My love," she muttered.

"My love," he replied, his hand running slow lines down her back.

"It was so hard to sleep without you at my side." She said softly, touching his jaw.

"Same. I didn't like how quiet the house was. Without you, it was so cold." He pressed his forehead to hers.

"Now you are here, though. I can't believe it still." She pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

His smile matched hers, "Neither can I. You are in my arms, back with me."

She giggled and snuggled close, they only had a light sheet across their waist, it was warm in the room. "My cilly." She sighed in happiness.

He held her, still touching her slowly. He didn't expect her to fall asleep so fast but she needed it. Tonight was big and he was also exhausted from the flight.

His eyelids felt heavy and he was soon fast asleep. He was beyond happy to have Gabbie back with him, so, so happy.

#cillian murphy #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic

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