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apollyonsdarksecrets · 9 months

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You can call me, Sir.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Warning: 18+ Only MDNI SMUT. Language, BDSM, Dom Aaron, emotionally detached reader, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive father figure, age gap (reader 25 Aaron 40) doesn’t line up with a specific time line, use of Y/n because story is set in 3rd person for the first half then switches POV, last name for reader is Smith,

Specific chapter warnings : Failed CPS case, implied abuse with belt, clothes shopping (I tried my best to be as body neutral as possible), sugar daddy Arron, sales lady is rude towards reader, Things are getting spicy, first rules, use of pet names, reader is described as having hair long enough to sweep over one shoulder, trying on clothes, Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: The amount of love that has been shown for this story so far has absolutely filled my heart! I’m sorry this chapter took a minute to come out, I got married last week sooooo 😍 that slowed the process down a little. Haha 💜

*~*~*~*~*~*

9 years ago

The worst part was the way her nose stung, like a million tiny needles stabbing her all at once. But she had to breath through it, because only selfish, weak, incompetent people cried. So she forced her thoughts solely on the older woman who sat across from her, her grey hair loose around her shoulders, and the bright pink blazer she wore with matching skirt. ‘I think name is Deloris?’

Not what you would have thought when you heard the term ‘CPS worker’. She smiles at the young teen as if she was Y/n’s best friend and there isn’t a care in the world as her fountain pen taps against her yellow notepad. “You’re mother must have been a lovely woman.”

A muscle in Y/n’s jaw twitches, but she manages to return Deloris’ smile briefly. “She was.”

“So is that really the reason you have been skipping school?” Her green eyes were full of mock sympathy, and Y/n can only assume how many of these ‘troubled teen cases’ she has had to work.

“Yes ma’am.” It was the 8th anniversary of Y/n’s mother’s death. Today. She can hear her father in the other room, moving about the kitchen, pretending to not be listening through the thin walls. Y/n squeezes the pillow in her lap tighter to her churning stomach, already anticipating how the rest of the night will go.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know losing a loved one can be hard, but that doesn’t mean we can go about making things hard for the ones we still have.” Deloris tilts her head, her lips in a slightly pout as she regards Y/n, who only bites her cheek to keep quiet. She drops her chin to her chest, fanning shame with a small nod, placating the woman. “Good. I’m going to go talk with your father now, I hope you understand the severity of the situation you’ve almost caused. I expect to hear you are in school tomorrow.”

Deloris doesn’t take long in the kitchen with Y/n’s father, her pitchy laughter grating on Y/n’s ears. Her father escorts the worker to the door, his hair is combed, beard neat and he’s dressed still in his work clothes. A fitted grey collard shirt and jeans. His usual Forman outfit. At one point in Y/n’s life she can remember thinking her dad had been very handsome, but that had all been before the drinking.

“Have a good evening Miss. Deloris.” Her fathers southern accent is always laid on heavy whenever he is trying to impress someone, or to get his way. And for most of his life it worked well. Y/n wonders sometimes if that is how he had charmed her mother.

As the pine door shut, Y/n closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath before the storm. When she opens her eyes again, she’s staring at the brown tweed couch across from her, out of the corner of her eye she can see her father’s still form in the archway of the living room.

The sound of leather hissing through his denim belt loops makes her stomach drop, her breath quicken in her already tight chest. “Gone an got me in trouble huh?” He folds the worn leather over in his hands, snapping it together watching as she jumps in her seat. Her gaze remains focused on the spot Miss. Deloris had occupied, the old springs and cushioning holding her shape. “You ain’t learned trouble girl.”

Present Day

It’s almost unbearable how cold it is outside, the dark clouds over head threatened to snow on the busy sidewalk as you shove your hands as far into your jacket as they will go. Aaron is pressed against your side, his arm wrapped around your back, directing you through the crowd and to the front of a large store.

Chic’s End

Your nose scrunches slightly at the different mannequins in the brightly lit windows who’s clothing is on the higher end of fashion. Pieces you’d never find in your own wardrobe. Aaron guides you towards the door but you stop abruptly shaking your head. “Hotch, aren’t there places a little less… fancy?” Your tone gives away your discomfort as you scan the nearly empty store.

Aaron sighs, stepping around you so he can look you in the eye. “Rule number one: call me Aaron when it’s just the two of us, Hotch is too formal. Now I’m sure there are, but you deserve to be a little spoiled…” He pauses, his phone vibrating in his pocket making him frown. “Now go inside, let me check this and I’ll be right in.” As he fishes for his phone he pulls open the door for you, letting you walk in with a small head rush.

‘Our first rule?’

You take the moment you have some to look around the store front, a few customers are mingling about the rows of clothing, associates putting away inventory or helping their guests. A brunette is standing at the register, her hair sprayed and pinned into a tight bun atop her head. She glances at you, her nose turned up at your simple outfit, without a word of welcome she goes back to her work.

The door is opening a moment later, a small bell going off as Aaron steps in, the icy breeze trying to follow. “Sorry, David was checking in.” His voice reaches the woman at the counter, grabbing her attention. She watches as he shrugs out of his winter jacket, her gaze fixing on the flash of jewelry on his wrist with a smile.

“Is he okay?” You ask, handing Aaron your own jacket as he hangs them on a coatrack.

“Oh yes, he’s-.”

“Good afternoon, is there anything I can help you with?” You turn, the same woman from before now standing in front of you. She’s wearing a form fitting black dress, the apparent dress code for the establishment, a silver name tag pinned to her collar reading ‘Denise.’ Gone is her dismissive attitudes from before, her blue eyes staring intently at Aaron with a sly smile.

You feel something in your chest squirm, making you take a step in front of Aaron as you pull your best smile into place. “Oh thank you, but we are just-.”

A warm hands is suddenly on your shoulder, pulling you into Aaron’s side. “We’re looking for some work attire; blouses, pants, skirts and such. Along with more casual wear.” He squeezes your shoulder as you slide him a disgruntled look.

Denise regards you with a tight lipped smile, nodding her head slightly. “Of course. Right this way.” She turns on her heel, an extra sway in her her step that makes you roll your eyes as you pull out of Aaron’s grip following her. He follows behind a few paces, regarding you with masked amusement.

She takes you to the back of the store, pointing out the sections of racks you’ll need and where on the walls you can find work appropriate pants and skirts. Denise turns to Aaron once again, stepping to close for comfort as she stares openly at his suit. “You know, we have the latest in Brioni’s suit jackets that I think would complement you rather well, Mr…” She brushes her hand against his arm and your eyes widen.

“No thank you. I’ll let you know if we need any further assistance.” Aaron comes to stand beside you, his expression hard to read as he places a hand on your lower back. Denise’s eyes narrow slightly, her smile faltering before she pulls her emotions back.

“Please do.” She saunters of, throwing one last look over her shoulder.

You laugh unbelievably, “Jesus… she was a bit forward.” You turn toward the rack beside you, picking up the first shirt your eyes land on. It’s a simple white blouse with navy blue pinstripes, the neckline is a little low for your taste but otherwise it’s very pretty. You pick up the tag and instantly drop it, your mouth falling open.

“What?” Aaron asks, sliding the clothes along the pole, looking through the selection.

“This! These clothes are way to over priced.” You turn the tag towards him, and he squints at the small numbers. ‘75.56’. He frowns slightly and you think he’s about to agree with you, call this whole ridiculous thing off until he shrugs.

“That’s not so bad.” He grins at the incredulous look you level him, showing perfect teeth. “Darling you’ll come to realize the value that comes with certain things. Soon enough you’ll see the value in yourself as well.” He chucks you under the chin softly and you think that’s it.

You’re going to explode.

Everything it too much.

“Hotch, I can’t just let you waste that kind of money on me. You don’t know what you will need it for later, bills, or -.”

Aaron steps into your space again, bending down until he’s eye level with you and you clam up. His eyes are dark, burning with an intensity that has your shoulders slumping slightly. When he speaks his voice is quiet but direct, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “What did I say our first rule was?”

You stammer, your grip tightening on the fabric still in your hands. “You said… to call you Aaron.”

“Correct. So that’s one. Now, when I say I am doing something for you, buying you something, getting you something; do not doubt me. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t. Do I make myself clear?”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry and tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. “Good girl. Now if you really find calling me Aaron to difficult, you can always call me sir.” You suddenly look like a fire had been lit underneath you, your face flushing a new shade of red he’d yet to see before. You turn away from him, trying to hide your emotions and aggressively shuffle through the clothes before you.

Aaron straightens with a satisfied smile.

*~*~*~*~*~*

An hour in and there is a mount pile of clothing in the cart in front of you. Everything you’ve selected draped over one side and everything Aaron selected on the other. You had found a discount rack, the red tags a twisted mess by now, but the 15% off sign did little to quell the guilt eating you.

“Okay… this is more clothes than I think Garcia even owns. I think we should-.” You’re talking absently, glancing up only to find Aaron is walking in the opposite direction of the checkout. “Oh for the love of all things holy.” You quickly follow, pulling the cart behind you as the hangers rattle together. He stops in front of a display of eloquent evening gowns and you follow his stare to the forefront of the display. A deep emerald green satin dress takes your breath away, with a sweetheart neckline and a slit that goes half way up the mannequins thigh. You peak around the back in awe, it plunges well down to the lower back, a sheer material with beautiful rhinestones occupying the negative space.

Aaron watches as you pick up the bottom of the dress, rubbing the buttery material between your fingers. “I would love to see you in it.”

You shake your head, though your focus remains on the dress. “There’s no reason to, when would I ever wear this? Besides we’ve been here for nearly an hour, if we don’t leave soon I’m sure Denise is going to jump your bones.”

Aaron chuckles at that with a shrug. “You might not be wrong, she’s been lurking around the corner ever since I took my jacket off and she caught sight of my watch.” You glance down at his wrist as he shows you a golden Rolex. You hum in understanding, putting the two together. A handsome, stylish man, with a nice suit and a watch that coasts a couple of grand. She sees dollar signs. “Go ask her for a fitting room.”

Glancing around you notice she’s no more than ten feet away, pretending to be busy with an already neatly arranged display of sweaters. You walk over, hands clasped behind your back. “Excuse me?”

She doesn’t bother to look up, her head tilted as if in contemplation as she stares at the stack in front of her. “Yes?”

Your jaw clenches slightly, but you smile regardless. “I’d like to try that green dress on, where are your dressing rooms?” That finally catches her attention, she looks around you to the dress your talking about and then to the cart beside Aaron, the red tags turned her way. With a bemused smile she finally looks you in the eye.

“Sorry, that dress isn’t on sale, dear. Maybe come back some other time.” Her high voice carries farther than she thinks, reaching Aaron who’s eyebrows raised in surprise before furrowing as anger bubbles in his chest.

Before you can say anything he is by your side, startling you both. “She didn’t ask you if it was on sale. She asked if you had a fitting room.” Denise pales, his voice is harsh and edged making her shift on her feet as she begins to stammer

“Well I… it was just-.”

“Just what? It’s a simple question, this is a clothing store so you must have fitting rooms. She would like one opened.” Denise can no longer keep eye contact, her gaze flickering from his face and away again. “Now.” The command in his voice makes her move, her mouth agape and she’s pointing indirectly over her shoulder. She turns, quickly walking away and you’re left to stunned to react. Aaron’s hand finds your back again, pushing you forward, his other hand on the end of the cart.

The dressing area is three beiges booths with deep red curtains for doors. A large mirror takes up one wall that is lit up like Time Square during Christmas, and there are mirrors in the booths as well. “You said the green dress?” You nod, giving her your size and she’s running off again, her head down and face red. Aaron takes a seat in one of the mahogany chairs, folding his arms across his chest. He’s watching Denise leave with that same look he gives every unsub as they are being hauled off to their final destination.

“Um… thank you, for… for that.” You speak up, breaking the silence waiting on Denise to return.

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his black shoe tapping the polished floor. “You don’t typically show when you’re upset or irritated, I had to step in. I also couldn’t stand by and let you be berated like that.”

This time it’s you who crosses their arms, glowering at him. “I wasn’t showing I was upset, so what she was being rude? It didn’t affect me.”

His lips pull into a sarcastic smile, head shaking. “Sweetheart, I’ve been working with you for three years, nearly four. When you get upset over something, even if it is trivial, you dig your nails into your palms. Most likely because you would rather focus on that then what’s stewing in your mind and your chest.” You blink at him, awareness washing over you as you shake out your hands, crescent indents marking your flesh.

Before you can snip at him Denise is back, placing the dress in one of the rooms and leaving without a word. Aaron raises an eyebrow and you huff, turning and walking into the booth before snatching the curtain closed. You take a moment to breath, your annoyance merging on anger as you begin to undress.

You have to force yourself to remember this is all apart of the contract, this is all small steps to whatever greater end goal he has. You can’t fully trust he’s doing this out of the kindness of his heart, no one is like that. Working a career where you catch murderers and kidnappers and rapists has shown you such. The thought lingers at the back of your mind that maybe he’s pushing you to break and go to therapy where they will force your leave. It wouldn’t happen, you’ve come to far to let anyone treat you that way.

You step out of your pants, bending down to pick them up when you notice movement in the mirror. You look up, making eye contact with Aaron from where he sits and you go still. The only thing that moves is your heart as it suddenly jumps into double time.

Aaron’s eyes slowly rake over your body, the hunger in his eyes evident even from where you stand and you can feel your body respond. Heat rushes through your veins, leaving you lightheaded. He shifts in his seat, your eyes dropping to where he tugs at his pants legs, a noticeable bulge in his lap that makes your guts clench. From anxiety? Want? Curiosity? You aren’t sure. You quickly look away, his smile turning wolfish as you straighten and spin around, giving him a full peak at the matching black bra and panties your wearing before yanking the curtain fully closed.

All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, your fingers suddenly tingling and your lungs working for air. Shakily, checking the curtain again and again you strip out of your bra, and pull the dress over your head. The satin is soft and cool, the green leaving your skin glowing in the light. It hugs your body in ways you wouldn’t of imagined and you… like it. It screams seduction, fun, and someone you’re not but someone you once might have wanted to be…

The only issue is you can’t zip it yourself. You struggle for a few minutes, contouring your body this way or that, but you can’t get the zipper more than half way up your back.

Reluctantly you pull the curtain aside just enough to peak your head out, your eyes instantly finding Aaron’s. He raises an eyebrow, his hands clasped together in his lap and you are more than aware of why. “I need her help.” Your voice is floaty and you clear your throat. “I can’t zip it up.”

“I’ll help you.” He stands, crossing the small distance in three long strides, quicker than you can reject his help.

“Wait- no, I’m-.” But he is pulling the curtain away from the other side and you curse the interior designer with a flourish of silent profanities. In the small space he seems larger than life, all broad chest and long limbs. He steps closer and you back up, an all to familiar dance you two have rehearsed before.

He holds his hand out, a gesture of reassurance but he is still looking at you like a starved man. “Spin around, pretty girl.” Your legs feel suddenly numb, like you’d never used them before in your life as you continue to stare. “It’s okay.” He whispers, taking another half step forward.

“It’s fine, it fits well enough without it zipped I’m sure it’ll fit great when it is.” You fight to keep your body lose and face expressionless, trying to mask the feelings bubbling in your guts. Aaron doesn’t say anything, only continues to stare you down, gaze never wavering. “Really.”

“Turn around.” You don’t want to listen, but the timber of his voice makes your body ache in a way that catches you more by surprise than anything else has these past 24 hours. Cautiously you lay your hand in his, letting his pull you in before spinning you around so you’re facing the mirror. He sweeps your hair over your shoulder, his fingers grazing across the naked skin pulling gooseflesh to the surface.

You stand as still as possible, hardly breathing as he gently slides the zipper up. His palms spread across your ribs, warm through the thin fabric. “What do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful dress.” You whisper quietly, trying not to back down from his stare.

“You make it beautiful.”

“You’re only saying that.” He pulls you closer, your back hitting his chest, your body molding to his. A gasp disappears on your lips, his hips pressing into you lower back his erection prominent making you shiver.

“I can promise you I’m not.” His hand slips to your stomach, splaying across your abdomen, and a small noise hitches in your throat. He tilts his head down, pressing a tinder kiss to the crown of your head and all you can focus on is where he’s touching you and where he isn’t, but where you want him to. Your panties are suddenly slick feeling as you shift against him, his erection digging further into your ass.

“Aaron…” You try to warn, and he watches the way your eyes flutter, the shields you’ve so desperately and carefully constructed cracking under the weight of his stare. Some logical part of your brain, buried beneath the mush of your thoughts, is screaming and begging to run away. But how long had it been since you’d felt that fire in the pit of your stomach, curling your toes and making your thighs pinch together?

You’re about to open your mouth, say something, anything at all, when he is suddenly pulling away. “Come out here so I can get a better look at you.” Aaron steps behind the curtain leaving you to your spiraling thoughts and an ache you’d never imagine. Your face is flushed, eyes wide and pupils blown out over the color of your irises. It’s hard to keep the air in your lungs from rushing out in soft pants.

All you can think is that if this is how you react to a few simple words and actions, you’re screwed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The next half hour is spent paying for your clothing, a bill Aaron wouldn’t allow you to see, then moving the bags from the car to your hotel room. You stare at them now, laid out on your bed with furrowed eyebrows and your thumbnail caught between your teeth. How would you get these in your bag and on the plane with as little notice as possible?

“Maybe we can go get you another duffle bag tomorrow.” Aaron answers as if he could read your thoughts, and if you didn’t know better you would say he did.

“It’s okay.. Thank you for the clothing.” You manage, giving him a tight smile as you glance to where he is standing at the foot of the bed.

The entire car ride was filled with tension, his presence alone setting you on edge, all while he remained calm driving down the busy streets and helping you to your room.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He smiles at you, possibly more so from your compliance, his eyes like coffee. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

You bite your nail harder, looking back to the bags. “I’d like to just order my food to my room, I need to get this organized and finish my reports.” You expect him to argue but he only nods, coming around the bed and kissing the top of your head before he walks towards the door.

“I’ll check on you in a little while.” With that he leaves, and as the automatic lock slides into place you crumple. You sit heavily on the bed, running a hand through your hair like it might comb your thoughts back into place.

What are you doing?

What is he doing?

You groan in frustration, the feeling of not having control over what happens next beating on your bones and muscles. You haven’t relaxed since this began and you have a feeling you won’t for a long time to come.

*~*~*~*~*~*

If you would like to be tagged in the next parts please comment below and I will gladly add you! Thank you all for your support!

@kneelforloki @hmett20 @axionn @ncis0mrs0gibbs

#smut #apollyonsdarksecrets #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch smut #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminal minds aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds

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pinkykats-place · 1 year

Text

BakuDeku // Fics about Scars

AO3 Fanfic Recommendations

Disclaimers!

None of the stories linked on titles are mine.

Some contain mature content.

Read tags. Check Ratings.

Credit to @somegarbageisokay for the art.

Note: If you read any of these stories and like them please let the author know with a kudos and/or comment!

Perfectly Scarred Hands by Deadmen

Summary: The thing about relationships was that they involved romantic gestures. Like hand holding. And it wasn’t like Izuku was against hand holding, oh no. On the contrary. Izuku could feel the heat of Katsuki’s hands from a mile away, and he knew how sweet they smelled from his quirk, like caramel. So holding hands with Katsuki seemed like a dream come true.

It was his own hands that were the problem.

One Shot | UA Students

Rated - Teen & Up

Insecure by sister_elric

Summary: The two had been dating for almost a year now and became physical within the last three months. Or at least, Deku has become physical. Katsuki had managed to turn a few makeout sessions into frottage and has been able to stick his hand down Izuku’s pants and jack him off hurriedly a handful of times. However, anytime Midoriya went down on Bakugou and the blonde wanted to return the favor, Izuku always refused. At first, he just assumed that the other teen was nervous. But here they were a few months later and Bakugou can’t grasp what is going on.

One Shot | UA Students

Rated - Mature

See my body, soothe my mind by @amarisllis

Summary: At first, he sees the good things. All the praise and the positive reactions and the thirst tweets—Izuku blushes bright red at those. A lot of the comments about the article itself are good. But eventually, he stumbles onto… the rest.

Body positivity… @SI_Japan, you couldn’t use heroes that are… idk, *pretty*? Those scars are gnarly to look at. Not exactly the picture of healthy living----the Wonder Duo show some more skin than usual in a photo shoot. Izuku and Katsuki wrestle with the insecurity that follows.

One Shot | Pro Hero AU

Rated - Mature

Scars in the Mirror by artistiqally

Summary: It was nearing nightfall when Izuku stood in front of the mirror with one of Katsuki's old shirts on. With the sleeves rolled up, revealing his scarred biceps, it only reminded him of the difference between his husband's gorgeous broad shoulders and his own.

"Kacchan, are my scars...um, weird to you?"

One Shot | Pro Hero AU

Rated - Teen & Up

cause we're young and we're reckless, we'll take this way too far (it'll leave you breathless or with a nasty scar) by youreanovelidea

Summary: It’s not the first time he’s seen Izuku shirtless, but it is the first time he’s been this close. Crimson eyes trace the curve of Izuku’s spine, the firm planes of muscle decorated with freckles and faint bruises from training that day.

And then his gaze moves higher and his brow furrows in confusion.

— — —

Or, Izuku has a scar and Katsuki can't breathe.

{One Shot}

Rated - General Audiences

Kissing Your Scars by nursal1060

Summary: To celebrate their anniversary, Bakugou decides to order some lingerie to dress up for his alpha husband, but feels inadequate as an omega when he sees his body in the mirror.

Izuku is there to remind him that he loves Bakugou exactly as he is.

One Shot | OmegaVerse | Pro Hero au

Rated - Explicit

Tissue Damage by amarisllis

Summary: “Oi. Just cuz you’re a pro-hero doesn’t mean you get to keep me waiting, shithead.”

Izuku stutters, eyes widening as he hesitantly hands the man his clipboard. “I, uh… huh?”

Well done. But in his defense, he wasn’t expecting this guy to be so gruff. The man smirks at him, cocking his head in a clear gesture to follow him. “C’mon. This way. You booked a massage session, right? Ya’ got me for the next hour.”

----

Or: the one where Izuku learns a thing or two about letting your guard down

One Shot | Aged Up

Rated - Teen & Up

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couselorxgarcia · 2 years

Text

Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but [ GISELLE GARCIA ], a [ 46 ] year-old [ CIS FEMALE ] has lived in [ Williamsburg, Brooklyn ] for [ 12YRS ]. This is the city of dreams and [ SHE ] knows it, because they came to NYC to be a [ Corporate Lawyer ].. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like [ GINA TORRES ]. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it! [KIA, OLD, SHE/HER, EST, N/A]

BASIC

Full name: Giselle Aleja Garcia

Nicknames: GG (by family and extremely close friends)

Age: 46

Face Claim: Gina Torres

Birthdate: October 13th

Hometown: Queens NYC, NY

Height: 5ft10

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Marital Status: Single

Gender Identity: Cisgender female

Occupation: Lawyer (Partner at Beckett, Dooley & Garcia LLP)

Address: Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Brown

Full BIO under the cut

IC Information

PERSONALITY: Thoughtful, Arrogant, Cynical, Disciplined, Independent, Firm, Pragmatic

INTERESTS: Law, Travel, Theater, Literature

LIKES: art, whiskey, classic automobiles, Music (blues, jazz, salsa and all things Celia Cruz), exotic destinations, stage performance, trashy novels.

DISLIKES: rudeness, wasters of my very precious time, tardiness (see previous)

CURRENTLY LISTENING: Willow Weep for Me - Nina Simone

FAMILY MEMBERS: Giselle has two younger sisters in their late and mid 30s. The oldest of the two sisters has a daughter in her early 20s and a teenaged son. The youngest sister has a son under the age of ten.

FAMILY INFO: The middle Garcia sister is the family screw up who turned her life around, but still gets into trouble now and then. She was a pregnant teen and took a while to figure out what exactly she wanted to do with her life. Her daughter, Bianca, is very close with Giselle. The youngest Garcia sister is certainly the baby of the family and acts every bit of it. She is in a marriage of convenience.

BIO: When Alejandro Garcia moved his pregnant wife and himself to America, things were far from perfect, but his children would have every opportunity. He wanted his sons to be seen as important men in the world.

Giselle Aleja Garcia, the oldest of three daughters, was the product of two Afro-Cuban immigrant parents. She’d been extremely aware of her mother and father’s struggle for as long as she could remember. Even as a very small girl she knew it would be her job to make life better for her family. At first she walked with pride at the idea of saving her loved ones, but as she grew older and her father added to the pressure that she’d already put on herself, she began to feel some resentment toward her situation.

Trying to be the perfect son her father so desperately missed in his life proved to be an impossible challenge that Giselle never stopped working to achieve. She brought home perfect grades, worked in the local store to help bring in an income, and even eventually created her own little neighborhood business. Her father took her to baseball games and taught her to work on his car after she gave a convincing argument or two. Giselle wanted to fill that void her father made clear was left in his life, but she always fell just short. She had more time with her father than her sisters, and more influence over his decisions, but more was expected of her, but eventually the resentfulness settled deep down as she tried to accept and embrace the role she was given.

College went by quickly and she impressed even herself at her ability to manage the heavy Harvard pre law coursework along with clerking at one of the most prestigious law firms in Massachusetts. She graduated top of her class at Harvard Law School but still found being a Black woman whose second language was English, provided quite a few roadblocks on her road to the top, but it only pushed her to work harder.

Thanks to endless sleepless nights, an unwavering work ethic, giving up almost completely on a personal life, which meant two failed marriages, and a knowledge of corporate law like no other Giselle became the first female, first person of color and youngest partner at one of the biggest law firms based in NYC. This shone a bit more spotlight on her, more than she was used to. Suddenly her life became fodder for the press. Her failure of a personal life was picked at and torn apart. Which caused her to withdraw even further into her work. She was proud of her abilities and would tell anyone about her unblemished record, but that is where she wanted to draw the line.

#bio #about:giselle #about:me

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one-real-imonkey · 2 years

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Hey, you gave us the ages of the Commander Batch, could we get some HC's about them and their dynamics in your AU, seeing as you're expanding and saying more about the 124th and stuff?

Ooo yeah ok.

Cody:

Cody is the eldest, and he acts like it. He's the type to be big brother first, individual unique person second, so people who typically only see him with younger siblings thinks he's kind of boring, but his batch and people he gets close to know he's got a lot more going on. He'll always put his vod'ike first, batch or 212th, and it worried Alpha-17 a lot when he was a cadet because he was sure it would get Cody killed. He got his scar saving vode from a blow that would have killed them and 17 reamed him out for being so reckless with his own life, reminding him that there are more ways to help his vode than dying for them. He's a fantastic Dejarik player and cannot cook to save his life. He's also really good with younger clones, and older kids/teens, but terrible with younger kids. He can't sing, but he loves to sing, and it's the same with dancing, though he gets very few opportunities to do either.

Ponds:

Ponds is second oldest, which means he gets to act like the oldest with less of the responsibility. That being said he feels responsible for all his siblings and will drive himself to collapse to help them if they need it. He refused to let Cody take the burden of eldest alone, so he also gives off massive big brother vibes, which the 91st greatly value. He has a fantastic dry wit, though he also tells the worst dad-jokes, and a sweet tooth, though very few people know it and because he has a typically serious reputation, he can get away with some very stupid things because people won't believe he did them. Mace thinks it's hilarious. Ponds can cook, Mace taught him everything he knows, including his secret lineage pancake recipe.

Ponds doesn't die because I said so and also because Boba's story is different.

Wolffe:

Wolffe is the middle kid, so he was used to protecting his younger siblings, and teasing them, especially when Rex joined and he ended up with three to protect not two. That doesn't mean he's not also fiercely protective of his older siblings. He had to adapt quickly when he was given the 104th, because while he knew he'd be leading a battalion, it took time to get used to not being able to get advice from his ori'vode as frequently as he had. After the attack that decimated the 104th, he withdrew a lot, changed his armour to grey, and focused on helping Sinker and Boost, pushing his own problems aside, until he finally broke almost a month after the attack. His batch were there to help him up again. After the Malevolence, the 124th became search and rescue, which suited him far better, and he built up a stronger pack. He hates that sometimes he thinks he's closer to the pack than his batch, but that doesn't mean he won't always be there if they need him.

Bly:

Bly has youngest child energy but he’s actually second youngest. He gets teased maybe more than is fair, but he takes it in very good humour. He was closest to Ponds, because when Wolffe or Rex (especially Rex) needed a hand, he didn't want to be a bother, and Ponds was the one who caught on and helped out instead. He was always a bit of a hopeless romantic, and he managed to get ahold of several romance novels as a cadet which he treasured, something his brothers also teased him for. But he knows they appreciate it really. He's practical, but optimistic, and holds onto the hope that like in his books, things will get better, there will be a happy ending to the war and he and his vode will get a good future eventually. He took the name Bly from one of the characters in those books. He loves the colour yellow because the character of the same name said it stood for eternal hope and his vode don't know but he keeps a pressing of a yellow flower from his first real mission inside his armour as a reminder in the worst of times that there is always hope.

Fox:

Fox sometimes has youngest child energy, but he will also claim to be the oldest to people who don't know, and he's maybe the most protective of his batch, even if they didn't always realise. He kept a lot of his troubles to himself on Kamino, not wanting to be a bother, and often didn't need too much help keeping his grades up. He never wanted them to fuss over him and hated the idea that their grades would suffer they stopped to help him, he'd rather just miss a night's sleep and catch up himself. That's not to say he was always successful, they'd help him a lot, but he hated asking, and was always protective of them, even as the youngest. Once Rex came along he wasn't the baby of the batch anymore but that didn't stop his brothers seeing him that way. He'd absolutely pick fights with the trainers to keep them away from his batch, especially Rex. His batch never found out, but he always felt if they were going to be cut back to a squad of 5, it was better he be taken than any of them. He knows how they'd react if they found out.

Rex:

Rex gets brought in later. He’s two years younger. One of the trainers wanted to get rid of him but his scores were perfect so they put him into the command batch knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the CC’s and that the extra burden of a CT would put the CC’s in their place. They refused to let Rex fall behind, they’d stay up to get him up to date, and they stayed at the top. Rex graduated as one of the most skilled CT's, and many of the trainers by the end thought it wasn't right he wasn't going in as a Commander, though he was happy as a Captain, especially if it meant he got to stick with Cody for the first few months as he found his feet. He was a little shy and standoffish at first when he joined the batch because he felt like he was intruding and knew they'd put him there to get rid of him and drag them down, but they brought him out of his shell quickly and it wasn't long before it was like he'd always been there. As the baby of the batch he was very protected by his ori'vode, and always knew he could go to them, but when he was given the 501st he was happy to step out and prove himself.

They're fiercely protective of each other, though their methods vary and some are more obvious than others.

———

Thanks for the ask, my AU is growing and I'm happy to talk about it if people want to hear (and even if you don't I'll probably post anyway lmao).

Inbox always open. (-:

#star wars #my corrie guard au #expanded corrie guard au #commander cody #commander ponds #commander wolffe #commander bly #commander fox #captain rex #alpha 17 #anon ask #anon response #thanks anon

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rendevousz · 3 years

Text

reunited

req: i was wondering if i could request a natasha x teen daughter reader where the reader has really bad social anxiety please? maybe where the reader was in the red room with natasha but given to hydra once the red room was taken down and natasha has been looking for her ever since she left the red room. on a mission to take down a hydra base natasha finally finds reader, and it's super emotional for the both of them and they're just happy to have each other back. natasha knows about readers social anxiety from when she was younger and sees that it's only gotten worse now, so she's super sweet and understanding. she saves the reader from the base and comforts her the whole way home because she's scared of all of the new people also on the jet (the other avengers). the reader lives with natasha at the compound with everyone else and natasha is just great about her social anxiety and never pushes her out of her comfort zone and comforts her when she has panic attacks. sorry if that's a lot, but thank you so much! i love your fics sooo much, you're such an amazing writer!!! 💖💖💖

mother figure!nat x fem!teen!reader

summary: nat finally finds you after years of looking.

word count: 4083

notes: i didn't make them peers in the red room because then they'd have to be around the same ages but i made them meet at the red room. also i didn't know how to write about her having social anxiety so i hope you don't mind that i didn't 😓 hope you like this <33

"stop," madame b's authoritative voice commanded and all of you stopped dancing. all of your peers seemed to be struggling to stand still on their battered feet, some breathing heavily but who could blame them? you had all been instructed to dance for hours now. you had to dance until you couldn't anymore.

your head faced madame b but your eyes landed on your best friend, veronika, for a split second. she seemed in pain and you vowed to check on her after whatever announcement your supervisor had for you. you stood tall, clenching your jaw in order to not show that you were in pain or out of breath.

madame b's gaze flickered to you for a second, her lip lifting up on one side for a brief moment before her face hardened once again.

"i have someone special here today. she's here to observe your training and if necessary, teach what you girls lack. she has long graduated this academy, please welcome miss natasha romanova."

you jolted awake, panting hard at the memory that just played in your dreams. you looked around you, seeing the same cell wall you had been put in for the past three years. after the fall of the red room academy where you were from, another organisation came and swooped you in, not wanting to waste your skills. you were the only one they took, having heard much about your abilities and reputation in the red room.

the girls stood all around you and veronika, watching the two of you spar tirelessly after hours of endless ballet. natasha and madame b watched the match closely, eyes trained on your techniques and movements.

after natasha had introduced herself to all of you, madame b had instructed her supposedly two best students—you and veronika— to demonstrate a true spar between skilled assassins.

while you were reluctant to attack your best friend, she had other plans, one that included impressing her idol who stood mere metres away from her. you were shocked when she started attacking you. never had she obeyed a command against you so quick.

you had to put away your initial shock to start attacking back in order to not get hurt by the hands of your own best friend. the look in her eyes was different, almost animalistic. it wasn't like the one she had when you two were laid in your beds side to side at night, handcuffed to it while you talked about your deepest struggles being in the academy. it wasn't the same one she had when you reassured her that she was doing okay whenever she said she would never be as good as you were at this whole assassin thing. it wasn't the same innocently surprised one she had just moments ago when she was addressed as one of madame b's best students.

this wasn't your best friend. this was a girl blinded by her desire to impress. she wanted to show natasha that she was the better one out of you two. your heart broke when you saw her desperation. it was obvious in the way she fought you.

it wasn't long before you had her in a chokehold, the girl struggling to get your grip off of her. your face visibly faltered, eyes tearing up slightly when you heard her whimpers. natasha took notice of this.

your lips were quivering when you turned to madame b. a simple nod from your trainer had you whispering a strained 'i'm sorry, i love you' in her ear before you broke her neck. the girl fell limp in your arms, dropping down to the mat, dead. you panted heavily as you stepped away from her body.

"good. this is what i expect of all of you," madame b turns to your peers, the stone cold look back on her face. "one thing you need to perfect though, y/n, is your emotions. don't get emotional over things that don't matter. i saw your inner conflict. veronika would have no reluctancy to end you if you were the one in the chokehold. she was more mentally prepared to be a ruthless assassin. you're lucky you're more skilful than she is. she would have no hesitation to kill you, close companion or not."

you swallowed that lump in your throat, biting the insides of your cheeks to prevent crying right then and there. "you have a lot of potential, y/n. don't let your emotions ruin it. i have high hopes for you." she spoke once again, before dismissing everyone.

you left the room with a heavy heart, turning to look at veronika's body one last time before leaving quickly so you could break down where no one else could witness.

you rushed to the staircase where you and veronika would sneak away all the time when you were supposed to be having lunch. you two would always sit under those stairs, talk about anything and everything you could. your tears were now freely rolling down your face.

"hey," you heard a voice say and you quickly wiped your tears away. you looked up and saw that it was none other than natasha. "miss romanova," you breathed out, scrambling to get up before she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, the woman seating herself next to you on the floor, under the staircase.

"that must've been hard for you," she spoke after a few seconds of silence. "i remember my first time killing an actual person in training. they had me shoot targets and i consistently got the bullseye every time. then they switched out the targets to an actual person and i had a hard time doing that. i can't imagine how it must've been for you. i heard you and veronika were quite the inseparable duo."

you didn't move to show that you were shattered over the current events but the millions of tears silently streaming down your face said otherwise. natasha turned to you, reaching to wipe your tears away before gently caressing your cheek.

"you're a strong one, y/n. you remind me of myself when i was still in training. i can see myself in you." she told you truthfully. she had no idea why but she felt a strong connection towards you. she felt that you and her had so much in common. she had a strange inclination to protect you even though she knew damn well you were capable of doing so yourself.

since then, she always dropped by to help train all of you but you and her developed a relationship so strong that she even told you of her plans to get you out of that hellhole. at that point, it had been a few months since she'd turned good but she kept coming to the academy for your sake. she felt a sense of responsibility over you, like a mother would over her daughter.

she would with the other girls too if they had shown at least a bit of humanity but it seemed that the red room had ruined them beyond fixing. despite being the best student of the academy, you still weren't inhumane like the rest. you would hesitate to hurt others, only doing so when threatened and even that, you still weren't as heartless or cruel.

madame b would always berate you over this but natasha would pick up the pieces every single time. you loved her. she was the best thing in your life after veronika and your heart broke when the red room fell and you were taken away. away from the mother you never had.

you awoke with a jolt again. it was the second night in a row you were reliving your past memories. you touched your face and you felt the tears on it, wiping them with your sleeve as you sat up in your cold, uncomfortable bed in your cell. you sighed, bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them.

you couldn't help but think of nat again. what could've happened if she managed to get you out before you were taken away? could you have a nice life with her? would you never have to hide under the stairs to have emotional exchanges with the woman? would you finally have been able to be who you were, not influenced by the evil around you?

you never knew what it was like having a mother but you imagined it was what nat had been towards you during the times you spent together at the academy. you two were more mother and daughter rather than trainer and student.

all of a sudden, alarms blared through the building and red warning lights flickered in your cell. you stood up, peeking through the small glass of your cell door to see guards rushing through the hallways in a frenzy.

you assumed that the facility was under attack and no one was coming to save you. you didn't even try, walking back to your bed to return to your position of hugging your knees tightly to your chest.

you could hear the chaos outside but opted not to pay attention to it. it didn't involve you and if no one was coming to save you from whatever was attacking the place—not that anyone in that place would, you were merely an asset to them—you wouldn't bother worrying about whether you were going to live by the end of the night.

a loud bang interrupted your thoughts and you looked up to see your cell door had been forcefully thrown open by a large man in stripes, holding a circular shield. you immediately stood up, getting ready to attack him when he spoke.

"i'm not here to hurt you." he said, holding out a hand as if to tell you to stop whatever you were about to do. "we're here to save you. you can finally leave this place now." he says gently. you frown at him, still in a stance ready to attack him.

"cap, is there someone in this room?" a familiar voice spoke and your head immediately turned to the door, where the owner of the voice stood, mouth dropping open at the sight of you. your face softened and a tiny gasp left your lips at the sight of her.

"y/n...is that you?" she breathed out, walking towards you and not stopping when she saw that you weren't alarmed or anything. "nat.." you choked out, tears starting to form. how crazy was it that you had been having flashbacks of her for the past two nights and suddenly she was here to come save you?

"y/n!" she exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. you knees buckled but she held onto you tightly, sniffling as she caressed your head gently. you buried your face in her shoulder as you took in the familiar feeling of being in her arms once again.

more tears started to form in your eyes now. never had you thought you were actually going to see her again. you lost the hope of seeing her again two years ago. but here she was, standing in your cell and hugging you like there would be no tomorrow.

your hugging session was cut short when steve sheepishly spoke up. "sorry to uh, interrupt this reunion but more guards are coming, i think it's best if we leave now." he picked up his shield, leading the three of you out of the facility safely and back to their quinjet. the whole time, nat held onto your hand tightly, as if letting go would lead to another few years of being apart once again.

once you reached the quinjet, nat led you to the seats in the back where you two would have more privacy. the team watched the two of you in confusion before turning back to steve for an explanation as he was the one who was partnered with nat for this mission. all the captain could tell them was that you two knew each other way before this and that all of them would have to wait for an explanation from nat herself if they wanted to know what was going on.

when you reached the compound, nat led you to her room where she lent you her clothes and let you shower before tucking you into her bed. when she was sure you were comfortably asleep, she left the room quietly to go grab a glass of water only to find the whole team sat in the common room instead of back in their own rooms.

she looked at them, confused. "guys, it's like almost the crack ass of dawn and we just got back from a mission, why aren't you asleep? or were you debriefing? in the common room? did i miss it?"

"no, you know debriefings for late night missions are the next morning. we were waiting for you actually," steve spoke on behalf of the whole team. "me? for what?"

"nat, c'mon, don't act stupid. you know what we're talking about," clint makes an unimpressed face at his best friend. nat sighs, taking a seat next to him and the team look at her expectantly. she cleared her throat, preparing for a whole story time.

"you know how i was from the red room?" she asked them and they all nodded, urging her to continue her story. "well, after i graduated, i was asked to come help train the younger ones in the programme. during that time, i met this girl. she reminded me a lot of my younger self and she didn't seem completely brainwashed to the point where she lacked emotions. i grew close to her and after i met clint and joined SHIELD, i vowed to get her out of there because she went through a lot in that hellhole and i could tell she didn't want to do any of the things that the other girls were fine doing.

"she had a good heart and i didn't want it to be wasted. she was the best in the academy and i knew they had big plans for her. but i didn't want her to be programmed to kill. she was much more than that. so i made this whole plan for her escape. i kept going back to the academy to come see her and share my plan with her. clint, you always asked me where i kept disappearing to when we first started becoming friends. it was her. the people there didn't know i was already under SHIELD at that time—nobody did—so it was safe for me to keep visiting and keep planning an escape for her.

"but three years ago, the red room fell. i rushed over because i thought i could finally leave with her without anyone knowing. but apparently she'd been taken away. she was the only one of the girls who was taken. by who, i didn't know at that time. but i knew it was because of her skills and abilities. if the red room had big plans for her, i knew other organisations must've already heard of her too.

"i never stopped looking for her. i don't know why i never thought of HYDRA. but it doesn't matter anymore. i finally found her and i'm never letting her go. i hope you guys don't mind that she lives here now. if not, i'll move out and find somewhere for us."

the team seemed surprised that nat told them her story. they were very much expecting her to, well, not tell them because this seemed like a very personal story.

"no, no, of course she can stay. i'll even set up another room for her." tony says and nat nods gratefully. "what's her name?" wanda asks.

"y/n," nat tells her, smiling at the thought of you as she stands up. "alright, i have to go back to her. see you guys in the morning. maybe you'll get to see her then."

she bids them goodnight, leaving after grabbing a glass of water for you in case you woke up in the middle of the night, in need of it. she wasn't wrong because when she got back to her room, you were up, hugging your knees as you cried.

"hey, hey, hey, what's wrong, sugar?" she quickly puts the glass of water on the bedside table, sitting on the bed and pulling you close to her. you look up at her all teary-eyed and she feels her heart break.

"i–i thought i lost you again," you croaked out, burying your face in her shoulder. "oh, sugar, you'll never lose me ever again. i'll never let that happen. you're safe here with me. now sleep, i'll be here when you wake up." she stroked your hair gently, laying down next to you on the bed before you two fell into a blissful slumber in each other's arms.

true to her words, she was right next to you when you woke up the next time. she seemed wide awake and you felt bad because she probably had been up hours before but didn't leave you because you were scared.

"how'd you sleep, sugar?" she asked as you sat up, stretching. "the best i have in years. thanks to you, nat." you smiled at her, still not believing all of this is real. that you're finally reunited with the woman you thought of as your mother.

"do you want to meet my friends? they're dying to meet you," she tells you and you bite your lips nervously. "do you think they'll like me?"

"are you crazy? of course they will. and if they don't, i'll make them." she threatens playfully and you laugh, missing how protective of you she is. you smile, agreeing to her suggestions to meet her friends after you got ready for the day.

"hi, sweetie, you're y/n?" a man with fancy silk pyjamas greeted as you entered the common room with natasha. you nodded timidly, scooting closer to natasha. it was weird for natasha to see you this nervous. after all, you were the best student of your batch in the red room. but she understood that years with no actual social interaction does that to people.

"i hope you'll like staying here, i already have your room setting up as of right now. when you move in, you can tell me if you don't like anything and i'll change it for you. oh, i forgot, i'm tony," he extends a hand towards you and with an encouraging nod from nat, you hesitantly shake his hand. he smiles at you before telling you both he has projects to finish down in his lab and to tell him if you needed anything.

"hey, nat, not gonna introduce your friend to us?" you heard a voice from behind you and you two turned around to see two men and a woman. you recognised both men—one of them was the one who broke into your cell last night and the other one you had seen him a lot from pictures nat would show you during your secret meetings in your red room days. he was her best friend. you didn't know the woman but the kind smile on her face was enough to reassure you that these people weren't bad.

"y/n, meet clint, the idiot who i call best friend," she points to the shorter man. the name nat called him must've offended him because the face he made was hilarious that you let out a little giggle. nat smiles at this before proceeding to introduce the other two.

"this one's steve, he's an old man stuck in a young body—literally— so if he says things you don't understand, just smile and nod." you nod at nat and steve gives her an incredulous look, as if not believing the audacity she had to introduce him like that.

"this one's wanda, she's the least annoying person in this whole place and she can cook whatever you want so i think you two will get along really well." wanda smiles at you and you return it shyly. you smile at the other two before nat drags you away, telling them she still had others to introduce you to.

when you entered the kitchen, you saw a man reading a newspaper on the kitchen island while another man, whose skin was red, stood beside him. they seemed to be discussing something very intelligent because you didn't understand a single word they spoke.

"bruce, vision, i want you to meet someone." they turned their attentions towards you and nat and you immediately felt like hiding once again. "oh hello, steve told us you brought back someone from the mission. is this her? hello, i'm bruce," the man sitting down introduced himself.

"wait, is this the bruce?" you asked nat, smirking teasingly at her and she smacks you gently on the shoulder. the man seemed flustered at what you're insinuating, scratching his neck awkwardly.

"bruce, vision, this is y/n, i've known her for a long time and i finally found her after years so i hope you two won't mind that she'll be staying here from now on," nat tells them. the two of them didn't come on the mission last night so they were the only two who didn't actually see you until today.

"it's nice to meet you, y/n. i'm vision, i hope you'll enjoy your stay here." the man with the red skin greets formally and you turn to nat with a confused expression. "he's an android, he does things a bit weird here so don't mind him." she whispers to you and you nod understandingly.

"it's nice to meet you two, i hope we'll be good friends." you say awkwardly, hoping to get this whole introduction thing over with. how many people do you have left to meet?

speaking of the devil—or should you say, devils—, two annoying voices rang through the kitchen, interrupting the peacefulness that it was before they came in.

"i'm just saying that if you hadn't eaten my last bag of chips last week, i wouldn't have taken your cookies last night. it's all about fair play, man."

"and i keep telling you that it wasn't me! i don't even like those stupid salty ass chips from that brand,"

"stop lying, i saw you eating that brand the other day! just admit you stole my chips and go,"

"guys, are you really having another one of your stupid arguments now?" nat cuts them off and they immediately turned to you, finally noticing all of you.

"oh hey! y/n, right? it's nice to meet you, i'm sam. if you wanna survive in this place, you better hide your snacks because if you don't, this winter warrior here will snatch 'em all before you can even stash them in the cupboards. don't ever trust this guy here when it comes to your snacks. you heard what happened to mine," the man fakes a cry and you held back a laugh at his long introduction. you only wanted a name to match the face but he gave you much more. you didn't mind though, he seemed like a fun person.

"hi, doll, i'm bucky. don't listen to eagle right here, i do not steal snacks. i simply let people have a taste of their own medicine. you steal my snacks, wilson, i steal 'em back. you think i don't know you stole my oreos too last month? that's why i stole your damn chips last week,"

"so you did steal them!"

"so what if i did?! you stole my oreos first!"

"oh my god, guys, you're really embarrassing me in front of y/n. these are really the people i was excited to introduce her to," nat face-palmed and you couldn't help but laugh. "don't worry nat, these people seem amazing. i can't wait to get to know them better." you assured her and she smiles, pulling you close to her. "buckle up, sugar, because living with the avengers is gonna be a wild ride."

you were excited for what was about to come. it seemed like everything was finally falling into place. you finally got nat back and you didn't have to worry about losing her again because you had a feeling these people weren't going to let that happen.

taglist <3

@amourtentiaa @rqmanoff @abitofeverythinggg @andreasworlsboring101 @cay-writes-fan-fiction514 @teenwonder @sevenmorningstars @fleurlovesbucky @marauvdersfate @bestillmystuckyheart

#marvel x teen!reader #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #bruce banner x teen!reader #bucky barnes x teen!reader #clint barton x teen!reader #sam wilson x teen!reader #steve rogers x teen!reader #tony stark x teen!reader #mcu x teen!reader #mcu x reader #avenger!reader #wanda maximoff x teen!reader

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mellpenscorner · 3 years

Text

My Long and Totally Unsolicited Shang-Chi/A:tLA Headcanon

Ok, so Katy is a young millennial who strikes me as a little bit of a nerd anyway, right? She would have 1000% grown up watching Avatar and LOVED it. She also strikes me as the type of person who wouldn’t have given two hoots about it being a “kids’ show“ and would have kept rewatching it all through her teens (as everyone should). So when she meets Shaun and finds out that he’s never seen it, she’s scandalized and makes plans to binge it with him over their fall break. They’ve known each other for like, a couple months at this point.

Shangqi had been willing to watch whatever this American cartoon was because Katy seemed to like it, but from the first time he hears Zuko say “I have to restore my honor,“ Shangqi is hooked. Katy had their marathon planned out so they could watch the series in a week, but Shaun just keeps asking to watch the next episode, and they manage to do it in three days. Katy’s psyched that he loves the show as much as she does, but there’s also something different about how he’s taking it in. He’s not just watching a cool story; he’s invested, and Katy’s not exactly sure how to deal with that. He hangs on Iroh’s every word and follows Zuko’s arc like his life depends on it.

Katy hasn’t seen Shaun show much of any emotion yet, so now she panics when they’re watching the season two finale and she looks over to see pure devastation in his face. The episode closes on Zuko’s betrayal and Aang’s injury, and Shaun hangs his head like his best friend just died. Katy leaps up from her place on the couch next to him and puts in the next DVD, quickly assuring him that it gets better, but she's still just as confused when he ends up crying almost every other episode for the whole third season.

They finish the show, and Shaun loves it. It becomes his favorite series of all time, to the point that it kind of weirds Katy out, but she gets used to it. Years later, a few months after they get back from their multi-dimensional monster-killing vacation, Katy crashes on her couch and queues up her favorite comfort show, and the realizations hit her like a brick to the face:

Fifteen-year-old Shangqi had been away from home barely a year when he watched this for the first time.

He had seen a kid the same age as him struggling to prove himself to his father by hunting someone down.

He had watched Zuko’s determination fizzle out into uncertainty when he realized he couldn’t go back home.

Shangqi had seen Zuko make the wrong choices, but had also seen that he still had a life to live and choices to make after that.

He had heard echoes of his mother in Iroh’s love and wisdom, and had seen Zuko taken back by someone he loved after an unspeakable betrayal.

And finally, Shangqi had seen Zuko reject his father’s plan and build his own legacy.

When Katy sees Shaun later that afternoon, she hugs him extra tight and asks if he wants to watch Avatar. As always, he says yes.

TL;DR: Shaun/Shangqi is Prince Fire Lord Zuko and the emotions HIT.

#MCU #Marvel #shang chi and the ten rings #shang chi #avatar #avatar: the last airbender #atla #btw shaun and katy totally went as zuko and toph on halloween #at least twice #shaun #katy #shaun x katy #they are now #otp #textpostsbymellpen #convoswithmoystarushka

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hi, Eve

Rose here from yesterday, thank you very much for the Birthday message, I wasn't expecting you to read it let alone reply but I was looking for Coops kids Birthday fluff specifically. It doesn't matter if you don't have time however as I don't want to be a bother.

Hello Rose, and happy (belated) 20th birthday! Sorry for the wait--I really wanted to get this one right to celebrate such an important number. I hope your day was absolutely fantastic! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Stella is an OC

Combined with asks for Sirius lightly making fun of Remus' accent and Remus yelling at a game show (@nazar4114)

“Medusa!” Stella shouted with all the force in her thirteen-year-old lungs. Remus leaned forward on the couch. “Medusa!”

The front door opened with a creak. “I’m h—”

“Yes!” they cheered in unison as Nicole answered correctly. Remus turned and gave Stella a double high-five, feeling his heart squeeze at the vivid joy on her round face. “Good guess.”

“I knew she was gonna get it,” Stella said with a pump of her fist as she turned back to the show and folded her legs underneath her.

“Gonna,” a familiar deep voice mimicked from the doorway. Paper bags rustled before footsteps stopped behind the couch; Remus tilted his chin up without sparing a glance, and Sirius pressed a laugh-laced kiss to his cheek before dropping one on Stella’s head as well. “You sound too much like your dad.”

“Love you, too,” Remus said wryly.

“I’ll take ‘Myths and Moths’ for 400, please.” Nicole’s voice snapped his attention back to the screen, and Stella narrowed her eyes.

“Daily Double!” the automated voice announced. Stella gasped; Remus bit his lower lip. “This mythical shield was wielded by Athena, and is sometimes said to be made of goat skin.”

“Aegis,” Stella whispered, then raised her voice. “It’s the Aegis, Nicole. You know this.”

“We know you do,” Remus said, scooting forward. “You just guessed whose head is on it.”

Nicole’s buzzer went off with two seconds to spare. “What is the Aegis?”

“Hell yeah!” Stella whooped.

Remus turned to her and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse you.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you two going to do this the whole afternoon?” Sirius asked from the kitchen, obviously amused. “We might need to get the neighbors some noise-cancelling headphones.”

Stella blew a dark lock of hair out of her eyes as she flopped her head back. “It’s almost final Jeopardy, papa. We have, like, ten minutes.”

Sirius blinked at her, then shook his head. “I swear you two share genes.”

“Ope, you caught me,” Remus said over the noise of the commercial break. “When I was 20 and had literally never left Wisconsin, I went and had a secret kid in Maine who looks terribly like you just so that someone would watch Jeopardy reruns with me thirteen years later. Oops.”

“It’s the truth,” Stella said with great gravity. “I remember.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered, though he couldn’t keep a smile down. He had never been able to hide around Stella, not once in the three years since they had adopted her. It was one of the things Remus loved most about him. “By the way, nobody under the age of fourteen is allowed in the kitchen for the next…hour. Ish.”

Stella squirmed around until she could rest her arms on the back of the couch. “What if I get thirsty?”

“I’m sure you can invoke birthday privileges and ask your dad to get something for you.”

“Birthday privileges?” Remus scoffed. “Nobody in this house has a birthday today. Yours was last month, and mine’s in March.”

“It’s my birthday,” Stella said.

“What? No, it’s not.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Your birthday is in June.”

“It’s today.”

“Or maybe July?”

“It’s today, in December, when there’s snow,” she insisted, throwing herself back against the pillows. “Come on, dad, that’s not funny anymore.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Is somebody too old to find their poor old dad amusing now? Can you go back to being twelve so somebody will laugh at my jokes again? I know, I know, we're super lame compared to all your friends’ parents—”

“So lame,” Sirius agreed from the kitchen.

“—but I like to think we get one more year of pre-teen cuteness before the teen angst takes over.”

Stella sat up again with a groan. Looking at her, Remus saw a mix of himself and Sirius that had always baffled him, considering they had adopted her comparatively late in her life; beneath it was something uniquely Stella. Maybe it was her double-jointed elbows, or the board-straightness of her hair next to their curls, but there was no mistaking that she was her own person through and through. He loved that about her. “I’m not going to be a terrible teenager.”

Sirius poked his head around the edge of the kitchen—his nose was adorned with a smudge of flour. “Can I record that for future use?”

“Non.”

“Ooo, using the French,” Remus hissed. “That transformation is already beginning.”

“It’s not like you were bad teenagers, right?” She settled upside-down on the couch with her flamingo-patterned socks high in the air.

“I almost convinced Grandma to let me dye my hair blue, but otherwise I was pretty good.”

“I was terrible,” Sirius laughed. “I didn’t talk to anybody for a solid three years.”

Stella frowned. “How? I think I’d die if I did that.”

“He’s stubborn,” Remus stage-whispered.

“I heard that.”

Stella suppressed her laughter as best she could, but she was about as good at hiding her emotions around them as Sirius was. She didn’t really giggle—the amount her voice had deepened over the past three years always gave Remus whiplash—but her laugh had the same cadence as it did the first day they heard it. While Stella had been quiet at first, it only took love and time to bring her out of her shell. Within a year she settled into their lives like she was always meant to be there.

A thoughtful look crossed her face. “This is my last year before high school.”

“Does it feel different?”

“Not really.” She paused, then shrugged. “And a little. I don’t feel older. It just feels like there’s stuff I won’t get to do anymore.”

“And a lot more you will get to do.” Sirius left his dishtowel on the counter before joining them on Stella’s other side. “You can drive soon, you’ll get a longer curfew, you get more freedom…”

“I guess.”

“What are you going to miss?” Remus asked as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. It was a basic Lions FAN jersey; he was fairly sure she bought it to be ironic. That, and she only wore one of theirs if she was upset with the other, or if one needed a boost at a game.

“I dunno.” A few beats of silence passed. “My classmates. My team. It feels like everything’s going to turn upside down.”

“You can still keep in touch with your friends, and I bet your team won’t be too different,” Sirius said quietly. “Even if it does, that doesn’t mean you have to give all of them up. People change in different ways. They come and go on their own time.”

“There’s going to be a lot of upside-downs over the next couple years, kid.” Remus offered her a smile. “But you’re going to be just fine.”

“You two sound like such dads right now.”

“This might shock you, but that’s because we are.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up and she lolled her head to the side to look at Sirius. “Is the cake done?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“Will you watch final Jeopardy with us?”

“What’s the category?”

“US Presidents.”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, but nodded. She grinned and turned herself upright to snuggle against his arm. “You just enjoy watching me lose.”

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

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Sirius called from the kitchen.

“On three,” Remus said, raising his phone camera. “One, two, three!”

“Happy birthday to you,” over a dozen voices sang. They were off-tempo and so out of key the composer was probably spinning in his grave, but Stella’s clear joy didn’t waver for a millisecond even as her cheeks reddened. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Stella, happy birthday to you!”

Finn, of course, dragged out the last note. So did Leo, Logan, Kasey, James, Lily, and Talker in varying degrees of awful harmony attempts. It was terrible, and beautiful. “Make a wish,” Sirius said softly as he set the cake down and stepped back. His eyes were the brightest quicksilver Remus had seen in many moons.

Stella closed her eyes, took a breath, and blew as hard as she could—the entire room erupted into cheers when all the candles went out. She was laughing and blushing at the same time when Remus turned the lights back on, though the humor won out in the end and she helped pass plates of cake to her many aunts and uncles. Like every year prior, Regulus managed to smear a bit of frosting on her chin, only to immediately deny it with great offense when she noticed. It was becoming a bit of a tradition—one that Remus never grew tired of.

I know what I would wish for, Remus thought as he looked around the table at their patchwork family. Celeste, Dumo, and his own parents had no doubt spoiled their first grandchild with ‘cusp of adulthood’ gifts, and Natalie and Lily would certainly steal her away after cake for some girl time. Finn and Logan would remain the fun uncles while Leo and Regulus kept their thrones as the cool uncles; Stella would interrogate Jules on the intricacies of high school for at least an hour before they destroyed everyone in a snowball fight. The world they built together had a place for everyone.

I would wish for this. This, for us, forever. It wasn’t a bad eternity to imagine.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #coops kid #stella #lions #regulus black #my fic #fanfic #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #birthday party

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issaxcharlie · 4 years

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We say we're friends, we play pretend (1/2)

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem reader

Summary: Charlie and Y/N were best friends and a couple as teens, after their breakup they meet again 4 years later on the bootcamp of JATP and have to work together. Will something else happen or they are just friends?

Charlie must have imagined something like this could happen. Since Kenny discovered her 5 years ago, she has been a really close friend to the director, participating in some way or another in almost all his projects.

In front of him after years, Y/N Y/L, his childhood best friend and ex-girlfriend. The young actor is not going to admit that he saw every single one of her projects or how moved he was by her in each one of them, many times even thinking of maybe sending her a little message saying the incredible job she did.

But he never found the courage.

It’s weird to remember how he spent most of his life next to the woman, now one of the top youth artists with multiple musicals and movies on her hits list. They always had a strong bond, every single day together. Sleepovers, music classes, dancing classes, homework, parties, movie nights, hockey, illness days, pretty much everything. At the age of 15 they began a very sweet and innocent relationship that ended at 18 when Y/N moved to New York to work in her first leading role.

The break up was on good terms but painful, so painful that both preferred to lose contact completely than to have the other from time to time opening the wound again and again.

And there she was. As beautifil as ever, speaking happily with Kenny while Madison and Owen jump up and down, Jeremy smiles and Charlie looks like he wants to throw up.

“Y/N Y/L, my golden star. She is the official composer of the soundtrack, and she will be supporting you throughout the album process as well as helping Paul and me in other creative aspects, I know she is the same age as some of you but she has a lot of experience in this and all the necessary preparation so don't hesitate to get all the knowledge you can out of her."

Everyone introduces themselves until the guitarist is the only one left, luckily for him, he’s in voice rest these two weeks so he literally cannot speak.

They both look nervous but the moment their eyes meet their complicity comes out and both smile slightly.

“He’s Charlie, he is in voice rest but we are fans of yours. We cried yesterday watching your last musical, it was just brilliant." Owen lets out hardly breathing, Y/N turns with a smile to see the Canadian boy who wants to kill his friend and then commit suicide.

“Thank you! This is going to be such an interesting experience.” The singer murmurs as she winks at Charlie.

2 hours later they had both been avoiding each other, Y/N writing in a corner while the band and Kenny discuss costumes with Soyon, in which at least half an hour has been wasted trying to understand what Charlie is trying to say with the few words he writes with an apple pencil on his ipad in his horrible handwritting.

Y/N gets frustrated and goes to where they are, approaching behind Charlie's shoulder to see the iPad. She quickly identifies the two words, one so crossed out that it looks like a doodle, but years copying each other's homework pays off.

"He's trying to say that if Luke isn't going to wear bandanas, at least consider wearing beanies." The young woman says as she leans on the shoulder of who was her first love.

Charlie freezes at their proximity, blushing a little at the feeling of being close after so long. Luckily his castmates don't realize it because all their attention is on her.

“You are just good for everything huh? Even deciphering hieroglyphs." Owen comments, smiling at her and winking exaggeratedly to make her laugh.

Charlie can't help but feel insecure with the situation. It could be a friendly thing but If Owen really tries to flirt with her, he doesn't know how he would react. Is sad enough not having her in his life anymore, having her as his best friend's girlfriend would just be too painful.

Now, he knows he’s exaggerating, and a lot. But he has to do something about it. Better safe than sorry.

He stretches his neck to meet the eyes of his ex-girlfriend, who is now only inches away. She quickly gets flustered, but hides it pretty well. The problem is that he knows every gesture perfectly and sees through her mask.

“Wh- What, Gillespie?” She manages to say, Charlie can’t help a smile seeing the way she still reacts towards him.

When you know a person completely, every facet, every gesture, every peculiarity, speaking without words is as natural as breathing. And they had both forgotten how amazing it feels to have someone in your life who is this compatible and magnetic.

They start a conversation, she answers to who secretly still believes as her person while he continues making gestures and mimics that no one else understands, writing a word from time to time to make the talk flow better.

"I know. Hey, it's not my fault! So you excuse yourself with the ‘can't talk’ thing huh? how convenient. Yeah, Ok, I will. I said I will!" Her words are the only thing that they manage to get out of the conversation that the secret ex-couple is having, since no matter how much attention they pay to him, they have no idea how Y/N manages to decipher it.

"I have no idea what's going on but I'll take it as a miracle, I was just going to suggest ignoring Charlie these 2 weeks." Jeremy jokes, everyone nods their heads.

“I mean, it’s still a good option.” Madison replies.

The 14 days go by quickly, and with the former couple spending time together daily, rehearsing Charlie's guitar solos together, with Y/N translating his horrible scribbles, or sometimes simply being close to each other enjoying the company, absentmindedly placing their hand on the other's leg or their forehead on their shoulder for a few seconds during the breaks.

Basically the whole team has noticed the flirtatious smiles and the looks, but Charlie was the weakest rival of both and the one who could release some information about it, and without being able to speak they basically ran out of an informant, since the young singer didn’t let go a word about her unexpected chemistry with the guitarist except the typical ‘we are just good friends’.

But without a doubt the energies began to multiply on Monday when Charlie arrived with the green light to be able to speak and start singing in rehearsals. Madison couldn't attend the first few hours because she was at school, so Y/N was going to cover her so the boys could practice.

“The first on the list is Finally Free, the place where we are going to record it only gave us two weeks from now so it will have to be one of the priorities. For the first rehearsal just vibe with the song and we’ll discover where to go from there. Oh, and good luck keeping up with my golden star, you’ll need it."

Y/N starts the first verse on the keyboard, and gets up to sing the chorus in the center, trying to ignore Charlie and looking up at Jeremy. She hadn’t heard him sing for a couple of years, but the same butterflies appear in her stomach and she knows that she will melt if she looks into his eyes.

Unfortunately for her, Kenny doesn't have the same plan, and just before the second verse ends he tells her to walk over to Charlie, who immediately smiles and sings the pre-chorus with much more enthusiasm. The energy they radiate floods the place, both getting closer and closer. By the time the bridge arrives, their foreheads are practically against each other, their lips only an inch apart, and with a confidence and comfort while singing to each other that makes all those who suspected that there was something between them now practically sure.

Luckily there are only Jeremy, Kenny, Owen and Paul in the room, who decide to play a game of divide and conquer now that the snitch part of the equation can speak.

“Y/N, can you come with me for a moment? I have a new idea for ‘Wow’ and a fresh pair of eyes is just what I need.” Paul says, sacrificing himself for the greater good.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll be right back.” The singer takes the opportunity to leave this staring game with Charlie and quickly walks away from the guitarist, who winks at her in a flirting way in response.

The moment they walk out the door, everyone turns to see Charlie, who has no idea what they're up to.

“What?”

"After what just happened you just can't keep pretending nothing's happening. Man, that was more intense than the whole Troyella moments during all three movies." Kenny pretends to be offended for a second and then nods.

"I have never seen anything like this in all my years of career."

“Yeah dude it was electric.” Owen replies, smirking.

“She’s my person.” Charlie mumbles.

If he’s being honest with himself, deep down he always knew she was the only one for him. But that realization was freaking scary. What's next if the only person for you has already turned the page? gave up without a fight? what's left?

"What?" The three ask in unison, and Charles begins to sing like a bird.

“We grew up together and then we lost the way. Like in those romantic movies where just everyone knows they belong together except the childhood best friends and then they end up ruining their lives by being in denial.”

“From what I saw getting back on track shouldn't be too difficult, Charlie. I assure you that whatever you feel she feels it too. Her eyes don’t lie." Jeremy tries to reason with him.

“Leave your teen problems behind. You are old enough to decide what you want and find a way to make it work. But you have to stop pretending that nothing is happening first." Owen scolds his friend.

“Do you love her?” Jer asks.

“That answer is always going to be yes, I just could never stop loving her even If I tried. And I did.” He really did. The surprise he got when the second he had her close to him his heart began to beat like crazy and all he wanted was to hug her and fix everything. It was as if when seeing her eyes time hadn’t passed, as if only the day before they’d been goofing around together. That bond is so big that he doesn’t believe it’s possible to break.

“Then do something about it, bro! Go get your girl back!” Jeremy advises while Kenny smiles.

“Yeah man, it’s ‘Now or never’ like her song, and I guess ours too now? Since she wrote it for Sunset Curve? Well, anyway, it’s like our song says.” Owen exclaims excitedly.

“Ohhh, musical inspiration, let me try. ‘Get up, get out, relight that spark’.” Jeremy sings to Charlie.

“Jer, you are a genius. If you think about it wake up is actually a pretty good soundtrack song for this situation. ‘It's not what you lost, It's what you'll gain raising your voice in the rain’.”

They both keep singing the song until they reach the bridge, Charlie tries to look frustrated but a slight smile escapes his face.

They are right, he still hasn't lost this fight.

👻PART 2 RIGHT HERE

#jatp fanfic #jatp imagine #jatp fanfiction #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie one shot #jatp luke #luke patterson fic #luke patterson x reader

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kcrabb88 · 3 years

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Queer Movies/Books/TV Shows for Pride Month!

Happy Pride everyone!! For your viewing/reading pleasure I have made a (non-exhaustive) list of queer media that I have enjoyed!

Movies/Documentaries

Pride (2014): An old tried and true favorite, which meets at the intersection of queer and workers’ rights. A group of queer activists support the 1985 miners’ strike in Wales (complete with a sing-through of Bread and Roses + Power in a Union)

Portrait of a Lady on Fire: On an isolated island in Brittany at the end of the eighteenth century, a female painter is obliged to paint a wedding portrait of a young woman (or, two young lesbians fall in love by the sea, and you cry)

God’s Own Country: Young farmer Johnny Saxby numbs his daily frustrations with binge drinking and casual sex, until the arrival of a Romanian migrant worker for lambing season ignites an intense relationship that sets Johnny on a new path (Seriously this movie is GREAT and doesn’t get enough love, watch it! It’s rough but ends happily)

The Half of It: When smart but cash-strapped teen Ellie Chu agrees to write a love letter for a jock, she doesn't expect to become his friend - or fall for his crush (as in she falls for his crush who is another girl. This movie was so good, and really friendship focused!)

Saving Face: A Chinese-American lesbian and her traditionalist mother are reluctant to go public with secret loves that clash against cultural expectations (this is an oldie and a goodie, with a happy ending!)

Moonlight: A young African-American man grapples with his identity and sexuality while experiencing the everyday struggles of childhood, adolescence, and burgeoning adulthood (featuring gay men of color!)

Carol: An aspiring photographer develops an intimate relationship with an older woman in 1950s New York (everyone’s seen this I think, but I couldn’t not have it here)

Milk: The story of Harvey Milk and his struggles as an American gay activist who fought for gay rights and became California's first openly gay elected official (the speech at the end of this made me cry. Warning, of course, for death, if you don’t know about Harvey Milk)

Pride (Hulu Documentary): A six-part documentary series chronicling the fight for LGBTQ civil rights in America (they go by decade from the 50s-2000s, and there is a lot of great trans inclusion in this)

Paris is Burning (Documentary): A 1990s documentary about the African American and Latinx ballroom scene. Available on Youtube!

A New York Christmas Wedding: As her Christmas Eve wedding draws near, Jennifer is visited by an angel and shown what could have been if she hadn't denied her true feelings for her childhood best friend (this movie is SO CUTE. It’s really only nominally a Christmas movie and easily watched anytime. Features an interracial sapphic couple!)

TV Shows

Love, Victor: Victor is a new student at Creekwood High School on his own journey of self-discovery, facing challenges at home, adjusting to a new city, and struggling with his sexual orientation (this is a spin-off of Love, Simon, and it’s very sweet and well done! Featuring a young gay man of color)

Sex Education: A teenage boy with a sex therapist mother teams up with a high school classmate to set up an underground sex therapy clinic at school (this has multiple queer characters, including a featured young Black gay man and also in season 2 there is a side ace character!)

Black Sails: I mean, do I even need to put a summary here? If you follow me you know that Black Sails is full of queer pirates, just queers everywhere.

Gentleman Jack: A dramatization of the life of LGBTQ+ trailblazer, voracious learner and cryptic diarist Anne Lister, who returns to Halifax, West Yorkshire in 1832, determined to transform the fate of her faded ancestral home Shibden Hall (Period drama lesbians!!! A title sequence that will make you gay just by watching!)

Tales of the City (2019): A middle-aged Mary Ann returns to San Francisco and reunites with the eccentric friends she left behind. "Tales of the City" focuses primarily on the people who live in a boardinghouse turned apartment complex owned by Anna Madrigal at 28 Barbary Lane, all of whom quickly become part of what Maupin coined a "logical family". It's no longer a secret that Mrs. Madrigal is transgender. Instead, she is haunted by something from her past that has long been too painful to share (this is based on a book series and it’s got lots of great inter-generational queer relationships!)

The Haunting of Bly Manor: After an au pair’s tragic death, Henry hires a young American nanny to care for his orphaned niece and nephew who reside at Bly Manor with the chef Owen, groundskeeper Jamie and housekeeper, Mrs. Grose (sweet, tender, wonderful lesbians. A bittersweet ending but this show is so so wonderful)

Sense8: A group of people around the world are suddenly linked mentally, and must find a way to survive being hunted by those who see them as a threat to the world's order (queers just EVERYWHERE in this show, of all kinds)

Books

Loveless by Alice Oseman: Georgia has never been in love, never kissed anyone, never even had a crush – but as a fanfic-obsessed romantic she’s sure she’ll find her person one day. This wise, warm and witty story of identity and self-acceptance sees Alice Oseman on towering form as Georgia and her friends discover that true love isn’t limited to romance (don’t be turned off by this title, it’s tongue-in-cheek. This is a book about an aroace college girl discovering herself and centers the importance and power of platonic relationships! I have it on my TBR and have heard great things)

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters: Reese almost had it all: a loving relationship with Amy, an apartment in New York City, a job she didn't hate. She had scraped together what previous generations of trans women could only dream of: a life of mundane, bourgeois comforts. The only thing missing was a child. But then her girlfriend, Amy, detransitioned and became Ames, and everything fell apart. Now Reese is caught in a self-destructive pattern: avoiding her loneliness by sleeping with married men.Ames isn't happy either. He thought detransitioning to live as a man would make life easier, but that decision cost him his relationship with Reese—and losing her meant losing his only family. Even though their romance is over, he longs to find a way back to her. When Ames's boss and lover, Katrina, reveals that she's pregnant with his baby—and that she's not sure whether she wants to keep it—Ames wonders if this is the chance he's been waiting for. Could the three of them form some kind of unconventional family—and raise the baby together?This provocative debut is about what happens at the emotional, messy, vulnerable corners of womanhood that platitudes and good intentions can't reach. Torrey Peters brilliantly and fearlessly navigates the most dangerous taboos around gender, sex, and relationships, gifting us a thrillingly original, witty, and deeply moving novel (again, don’t be thrown off by the title, it too, is tongue-in-cheek. This book was GREAT, and written by a trans women with a queer-and especially trans--audience in mind)

A Tip for the Hangman by Allison Epstein: A gay Christopher Marlowe, at Cambridge and trying to become England’s best new playwright, finds himself wrapped up in royal espionage schemes while also falling in love (this book is by a Twitter friend of mine, and it is a wonderful historical thriller with a gay man at the center).

Creatures of Will and Temper by Molly Tanzer: a very very queer remix of The Picture of Dorian Gray (which was already quite queer), featuring amazing female characters, a gay Basil, and a much happier ending than the original.

Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston: The gay prince of England and the bisexual, biracial first son of the president fall in love (think an AU of 2016 where a woman becomes president). Featuring a fantastic discovery of bisexuality, ruminations on grief, and just a truly astonishing book. One of my favorites!

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston: For cynical twenty-three-year-old August, moving to New York City is supposed to prove her right: that things like magic and cinematic love stories don’t exist, and the only smart way to go through life is alone. She can’t imagine how waiting tables at a 24-hour pancake diner and moving in with too many weird roommates could possibly change that. And there’s certainly no chance of her subway commute being anything more than a daily trudge through boredom and electrical failures. But then, there’s this gorgeous girl on the train (This is Casey McQuiston’s brand new novel featuring time-travel, queer women, and I absolutely cannot WAIT to read it)

The Heiress by Molly Greely: Set in the Pride and Prejudice universe, this takes on Anne de Bourg (Lady Catherine’s daughter), and makes her queer!

Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters: Nan King, an oyster girl, is captivated by the music hall phenomenon Kitty Butler, a male impersonator extraordinaire treading the boards in Canterbury. Through a friend at the box office, Nan manages to visit all her shows and finally meet her heroine. Soon after, she becomes Kitty's dresser and the two head for the bright lights of Leicester Square where they begin a glittering career as music-hall stars in an all-singing and dancing double act. At the same time, behind closed doors, they admit their attraction to each other and their affair begins (Sarah Waters is the queen of historical lesbians. All of her books are good, and they’re all gay! The Paying Guests is another great one)

(On a side note re: queer books, there are MANY, these are just ones I’ve read more recently. Also there are a lot of indie/self-published writers doing great work writing queer books, so definitely support your local indie authors!)

#I am inevitably forgetting things!!!#These are just ones that came to mind #Long post #Pride

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liam-93-productions · 3 years

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This weekend it’s the UK’s biggest event on the entertainment calendar, with the 74th EE British Academy of Film and Television Awards taking place at the Albert Hall with guests and nominees attending virtually for the first time, thanks to Covid-19. And while the awards promise to be as exciting as possible in these unprecedented times, on Sunday night we will also be treated to another exciting world-first in the form of Liam Payne being beamed into houses up and down the country while performing for the opening of the ceremony.

Yup, if you’ve ever fancied the former One Direction crooner serenading you at the end of your bed, on Sunday you can make your dreams a reality – or augmented reality – as Liam has joined forces with the EE network to create a 3D avatar hologram of himself that can be beamed through the app ‘The Round’ (available on any mobile device) as he performs at the Albert Hall. Super fans can also get to experience the avatar in their homes, or on-the-go, ahead of the performance, if they tune in via the app at 6.45pm, 15 minutes before the hologram joins real Liam on stage to perform.

GLAMOUR caught up with Liam to discuss this sci-fi sounding excitement as well as hear how the past year has treated him. In a wide-ranging chat with the ever-charming Liam, we covered all things from the struggles of lockdown and coping with his mental health to his former bandmates, burgeoning acting career, new music (...).

Is the fact that you're performing at the BAFTAs a sign that your acting career is on the rise?

I've done a lot of auditions, a lot of tapes. The thing about acting somebody told me, it’s very much like: are you right for the part and is the part right for you? I think it takes a lot of talent, luck and judgment going into acting to actually get into a job. I mean, hat's off to anybody who does it because it's a long process. I seem to get through to like the final five or final three people for every role and then not quite get it. Which is frustrating but, you know, that’s how it goes. I've had a fair few auditions and I was lucky enough to get into the final five again for one audition that I got to meet Steven Spielberg [a couple of years ago] on my 25th birthday which was quite amazing. But it's been fairly slow through the pandemic obviously.

And what about music? Have you been writing anything, or even been in the studio?

I'm going to the studio later on today actually, to record something for the first time in a while. Which is quite weird to be traveling back into London to go into work. I've been doing some stuff from home as well, which has been quite interesting. Zoom sessions don't really work out all that well, it's very difficult. I'm sure a lot of musicians will agree. So, it's been kind of hard to work properly during this half of the pandemic. The other first half of the pandemic, I just did these live shows, which was really amazing to play live and do them online, which was kind of strange... It's been difficult in terms of the creative process for me.

The past year has been challenging for absolutely everyone, no matter their circumstances. How has it affected you on a personal and a professional level?

In the first half of it, I was so busy that I didn't really notice it as much, except for having to do a lot of stuff myself without crew and learning to do hair and makeup was kind of a weird experience. But then this second half, I stopped working and I had a full, proper month off [and that was] really hard. And it was all a bit dark for me for a little bit and I'm sure many people experienced it. Just not being able to go anywhere, not be able to do anything. It really, really hit home. And I just found myself sat in the same place day in, day out. And I was like, okay, I really do not know what to do with myself.

You’ve bravely spoken about struggling with your mental health in the past, and you say now that you did go into a bit of a dark place recently, how have you coped with that?

I think it's an ongoing experience. For me, learning to relax has always been quite a hard thing to do because I feel like if I'm not moving forward, then I must be going backwards. And I think that's something that I've always struggled with. So, in a way it's kind of a blessing in disguise, as this has all kind of taught me to relax a little bit more. And to not be so worried about that, like the world is not going to fall over if I don't do something today. So, it's been nice in that respect. But I think for a lot of people it's difficult, and I definitely took for granted how much I miss my family. I'm used to being away from home, I'm used to being abroad and not seeing very much of them. But I'd always see them at a show or at something once a year. And then now that that's all been taken away, it's been a lot to not see my family and realise how much they actually ground me.

So, what have you found helpful or supportive during the past year? Have you turned to anything to get you through these dark times?

Friends that are there for you... [talking to] one of my managers that I'm quite close with. I think a lot of guys struggle to talk about what the hell is going on a lot of the time. And for me and him, actually we're quite heart on our sleeves sort of people, so we talk a lot about different things. But I think if I didn't have that, someone to share that with, I think I would have struggled a hell of a lot more.

Like a mental health mate?

I mean, we literally talk about everything. We're probably too honest with each other! But I think it's important that everybody has that person. I'll be honest, at the start of this, drinking definitely became a lot more of a thing because there just didn't seem to be any boundaries. I wouldn't say I drank too much, I'd say I drank too often. Just through the boredom, I guess. A lot of people were going through that though I think - there was so many funny, great memes about it I saw friends of mine put up. But it can be quite dark at times. I think the only thing that's really helped me through that is just learning to work out again and learning to put boundaries in for myself in terms of what food I'm eating. As a pop star, I think you're always quite weight conscious. My job has always been about having to work out, doing underwear modelling and all that sort of thing, it makes you quite body conscious at times. It was nice to be able to just sit and eat pizza and chocolate, I really enjoyed that. But getting myself back into the habit of working out and then having a cheat day put in place, so that there was more boundaries in line, I think has definitely helped me.

I'm quite fortunate that I don't put a stack of weight on, although I have gone up rather a lot in size over this time. But I think it was more about routine for me than anything. And I always say, having a small victory before you get into bed at night time. Or life just gets depressing. Whether that small victory is making sure you've spoken to a family member, you've worked out, or whether you did learn to do something today, just something small. There's one task that you literally can't be arsed with, you should get done just on the day, so that you feel good about yourself when you get into bed.

That's so important. So, do you almost have a checklist before you go to bed?

I think as long as I make the gym and I've done that bit and I've taken care of my needs, just cooked some nice food. That's mainly it for me, really. And then I feel good about it. (...)

(...)

Moving on to social media, you've obviously got such a massively positive fan base, but how do you cope with the negative side of social media and the impact that can have on your mental health?

I struggled with it for a long time. I argued with people. I was aggressive on their points trying to fight my own side. And I think for some people you are talking to a brick wall, you will not win and there's no point trying. And also, the more you talk about it, the worse it gets. So, I just shut up and put up a lot of the time. I think it's the Queen that says, "never complain or never explain." And that's something I think myself I do live by because it's just like, with some people it gets worse having the argument and trying to explain yourself. But all of it, it's like five minutes of your life for somebody who doesn't know you, it's just a bit pointless.

You have so much intense public scrutiny on you all the time, how do you navigate keeping something back for yourself, and how have you managed to maintain that sense of privacy over the years?

I think this has been one of my biggest struggles this whole time. Because, I'm very much a heart on the sleeve sort of person. I didn't actually realize this for a long time, but I often give a little bit too much away…But it's definitely a difficult one to flick the two people apart. So that you're on stage, you're a certain type of person, and at home you're a certain type of person. That's always something I've really struggled with.

And you've been famous since the age of 16. How did you manage growing up in that sort of public glare?

Never did! [laughs] My friend was [recently] talking about how he’s got a teenage son that he was really struggling with at the moment. And I was thinking, "oh my God, imagine how much people would have struggled having five teenagers, rowdy boys in a band. It must've been terrible, there's no getting through to them!" And for a while, it probably was. I think we all go through that awkward teen phase where you're finding yourself. And most of us, we get to get away with it. And they're funny family photos for later on; here was your emo phase or whatever you went through! And for us, we never got away with being awkward or annoying at points. It was kind of out there for everyone to see; the awful haircuts and we’re talking terrible clothes, it was all out there.

What has your career taught you about the idea of success and the idea of failure?

I think it's taught me lots about how you would measure success. I came from a family that weren't very well off. We didn't have a lot. My dad was in debt actually when I started. So, success for me always meant a monetary thing to start off with. But then as I got older, I realized I don't really buy all that much. I don't really spend a hell of a lot of money. So, it can't be about a money sort of thing. And it's more now become more about happiness and experiences. And the one thing I always say about my job, no matter what, and everybody gets annoyed at their job sometimes, it is what it is. But for me, at least I get to put a smile on someone's face.

Yes, you do! And what has it taught you about failure?

That's a really good question. It’s taught me I think that perseverance will always prevail in that sense. Because it doesn't always go exactly to plan. We were really lucky when we came up, we absolutely skyrocketed. And then, it's been hard to follow that ever since. But you know, measuring a failure as well. What is a failure? And people will look at this and, for us sometimes getting a 100,000,000 streams isn't quite what we aim for, but it's still 100,000,000 streams….you have to kind of get a hold of yourself. Everything is about perspective at the end of the day, isn't it? That was something I struggled with for a long time, because of how well it went [for the band.]

So you had such high expectations for everything?

Yeah. And it's like, time to give that a break really. And Louis from my band has always been quite great to sit with me and talk with me about stuff. And if I'm feeling a certain way. We've been quite good with each other, actually in that respect and helping each other out, which has been nice.

And finally, if you could sit down with the Liam who was starting out in One Direction in 2010, what advice would you have for him?

I think just have more fun and relax a little bit. I think I was a very serious child, one of those man-childs, I was a man in a child's body pretty early on. And I think I would have avoided that stage, to be honest with you. To enter One Direction as that difficult, because it just meant that I got completely a different job to everybody else.

You were the grown up one?

That was it. And it was boring. I should have just larked around and thrown plates out the window and stuff!

More rock and roll?

Well, I mean at the start, and then later on a bit less rock and roll [laughing.]

Well, thank you so much, Liam. And we look forward to seeing your performance on Sunday at the BAFTAs.

I'll see you wherever you want me in your house, I guess.

Liam Payne is performing an exclusive EE BAFTA AR real-time music performance, ahead of his 5G-powered opening show at the 2021 EE BAFTA Film Awards. Download ‘The Round’ app to enjoy the live AR experience through your mobile phone, wherever you are, this Sunday 11th April 2021 at 18:45pm BST.

#liam payne #liam's interviews #glamour uk #ee baftas #07.04.2021

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.

But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.

——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.

|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

———

No one told her the questions would start to blur together.

That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.

Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.

Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.

Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.

So, she’s alone.

Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.

And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.

Except—

Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.

Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.

Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?

She nearly falls out of her chair.

That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.

Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”

The reporter grimaces.

“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”

Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.

Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.

Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.

“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.

Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.

Her smile shifts.

And the cameras flash again.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.

She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.

David—something.

He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.

Emma hates statistics.

She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.

First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.

“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.

And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.

“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.

Who does not need telling more than once.

Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.

“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”

Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”

“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.

“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.

“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.

Still.

Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.

Someone, more like.

Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.

“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”

He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.

“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”

The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.

“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.

It’s the alcohol’s fault.

Or sports. Like, in general.

“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”

“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”

“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.

Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”

Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”

Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.

And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.

It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”

Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.

And they become—

Baseball people.

Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.

Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.

And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.

“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”

She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.

Neither thing happens.

The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.

David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.

“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”

Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.

And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.

Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.

“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.

He nods.

And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.

She dances when she wins, though.

It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.

Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.

Press is a vast understatement.

Crash, more like.

A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.

She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.

It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.

She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.

Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.

Killian hates capitalism, too.

Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.

Emma laughs.

Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.

“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.

“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”

Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.

“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.

A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.

It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.

Killian. Not Kristoff.

Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”

Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”

Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—

Turns out she’s pretty good at it.

Goddamn fantastic, actually.

At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.

People took pictures.

And then she cried. Like a giant sap.

“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.

“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.

“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.

Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.

“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.

“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.

Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.

“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”

Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”

Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

It’s got his last number on it, at least.

“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”

Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.

And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.

“Holy shit, this is hard.”

Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.

“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”

“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.

Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.

“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.

Sort of is a vast understatement.

“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.

She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.

“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.

“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.

He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.

“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.

Plus, ten more after that.

Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.

Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.

She gets better. He gets better.

They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.

There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.

She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.

Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.

“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.

“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.

In an athletic sort of way.

“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.

One of his knees cracks.

“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”

“Naturally.”

“You’re using that voice.”

Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.

“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.

Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.

“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”

“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.

They postpone the Olympics.

It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.

People write stories about it.

It doesn’t help.

Until—

Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.

He kisses her.

Does the tongue thing.

Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.

“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.

“Good.”

He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.

It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.

Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—

Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.

Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.

Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.

She can’t stop watching him.

Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.

Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.

Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”

“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.

God, that’s romantic.

Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It’s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.

“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”

There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.

“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.

Killian nearly snarls.

Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.

Even on the other side of the world.

They post the times.

She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.

“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.

The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.

“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.

Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.

Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.

In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.

The video’s playing away.

“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.

Emma’s smile stretches.

“Let’s go,” she repeats.

It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.

Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.

Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.

It’s wonderfully cyclical.

As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.

They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.

“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.

She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.

And better than Emma could have ever imagined.

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

That’s for the best, probably.

“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”

Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.

Because they’re a sports power couple, now.

Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.

Emma frames it.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #hook heel #this is also apparently my 50th work on ao3 #which is just patently nuts #so if you guys have been clicking and reading all these words know that i am a little in love with you

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css1992 · 3 years

Text

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

Warnings: 18+, explicit, references to past non-con/rape (not between main pairing, not explicit), daddy kink, Peter in lingerie, references to gaslighting and abusive relationship (not between main pairing, not explicit). The warnings are for the story as whole, not for this chapter specifically. I’ll add more in the future, if needed.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X / Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

“He can’t do this!” Ned slammed his hands down on the counter between them, as Peter took a swig of the cheap wine he bought with the last ten bucks he had in his wallet. “He isn’t even in all of the videos, at least half of the money is rightfully yours!” He kept going, stating the obvious, but Peter just sighed and shrugged.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Ned, I’m just relaying what he told me: he’s not gonna give me anything. It’s his channel, his equipment, the money from the subscriptions goes straight to his bank account, so it’s his. It’s all his. His words, by the way.” He took another swig of wine straight from the bottle. He had been drinking from a small glass Ned offered him – he wasn’t a pirate – but it soon proved to be too small to quench his pain, so. Yeah. Pirate style it was.

“You have to sue his ass, Peter, he can’t get away with this,” MJ intervened. She was sitting next to him on a stool by the kitchen counter, so he turned to look at her with a deep frown on his face.

“Did you not hear me saying I just spent my last ten dollars on this bottle of wine? I have, like, twenty four cents left in my pocket. And that’s it. I can’t hire a lawyer, I can’t even feed myself right now!” He raised his voice a little, but quickly got himself back under control and apologized. His friends were not to blame for his predicament – they did try to warn him Beck was bad news, he didn’t want to listen. “And you know what? I don’t give a fuck. He can choke on all of it if he wants, the videos, the money, the subscribers, I don’t fucking care.” It wasn’t true, of course. Well, partially. He really didn’t care about the money, videos, subscribers, etc, but he cared about Beck. He would have given everything else up if it meant he could keep him.

Which was stupid of him, of course. But he certainly wasn’t winning any awards for being a great decision maker.

“It’s still not fair. I mean, I knew that guy was sleazy, but you’d think he’d have the decency to at least give you something, you know? You’ve been together for three years, he’s been making money off your ass for almost as long. How could he just fucking kick you out and not give you a single dime? After all the money you’ve made for him? It’s fucking sick, that guy is fucking psychopath if you ask me.” MJ’s face was turning red from anger, which made Peter smile a little. It felt good to know he was loved by someone, even if he hadn’t been the best friend to them for the past few years.

The thought made him close his eyes for a second, guilt creeping over him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d called either of them – maybe on Ned’s birthday, almost two months earlier. They used to be inseparable, the three of them; the three musketeers, as corny and lame as it sounded. For years, those two were the only family he knew, but when Beck came into his life, everything changed.

Stupid fucking Beck.

Peter used to think of him as his own personal super-hero – it did feel like he had come to save him, after all. They met when he was seventeen, he had been living in foster homes for almost seven years by then, after Ben and May passed away. At the time, he was with his fifth family, and there were so many children in that house, so many of them came and went, that their foster parents didn’t really keep tabs most of the time. It was easy to sneak out, and Peter did, often.

He met Beck on one of his night walks – and their first meeting should have raised all kinds of red flags, but for whatever reason, it didn’t. Beck slowed the car next to him, rolled down the window and asked how much Peter charged for a blowjob. Just like that. The teen gasped at first, but when he looked around for a moment, he realized he wasn’t in the most family friendly neighborhood. There were, in fact, some men and women around him who definitely looked like they were there for that, but Peter was in sweats, for crying out loud, and he definitely looked his age – or even younger than that.

His wide eyes must have given him away, because the older man quickly apologized and showed him a charming, white smile. He made up some excuse about mistaking him for someone else and the boy said it was ok. He was going to keep walking when Beck asked what his name was. Then how old he was. Then where he was going, where he ha come from.

Looking back, Peter knew he should have run. He should have left, because there was no excuse for an adult man like him to keep asking a teenager so many questions right after he basically offered him money to suck his dick. But that Peter, that 17-year-old boy, was still a bit too naive. To have such a handsome man showing interest in him – his kind, blue eyes smiling at him, warm and safe – was inebriating. He actually looked at him. And cared. At least Peter thought he did at the time. And he was so lonely back then, even that little bit of attention meant the world to him.

He should have run, but he stayed. Should have run, but got in his car. Should have run, but ended up giving him a clumsy hand job in the backseat, after just a few sweet promises whispered in his eager ears. Beck was so good with words, he could have convinced Peter to jump off a bridge that very same night if he wanted.

They exchanged phone numbers. For weeks, they texted and called each other, until they could meet again. By then, he was smitten. At twenty, he could see how innocent he had been, how trusting and open he was with a complete stranger. A 32 year-old stranger, at that. Ned and MJ, his only friends from school, warned him that it wasn’t okay. That it was weird for a man his age to be interested in a teenage boy, but Peter said they were wrong. He said he wasn’t just a regular kid, he had been through stuff they could only imagine. He was mature and experienced, and Beck could see that, which was why he liked him.

Looking back now, it was embarrassing how wrong he was. Beck was an illusionist. Sad thing was everyone could see the trapdoor but him.

“So what are you gonna do now?” MJ asked, fishing another bottle of wine from under the counter and placing it in front of Peter, who almost cried in gratitude.

“You mean besides crying myself to sleep for the next few months?” He wasn’t really joking. The only reason he wasn’t crying right at that moment was because he had spent almost three hours bawling his eyes out on a park bench close to their – well, Beck’s – apartment, hoping against hope that Beck would reconsider and come after him. When it became clear it wasn’t going to happen, he headed to the only place he knew he could find refuge – even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Yeah, besides that, obviously.” She opened the wine bottle and before he could take it and drink straight from it, she poured three glasses and Peter sighed, defeated.

“I have no idea.” He answered, only slightly surprised that he actually meant it. He had absolutely no clue what to do. For three years, he hadn’t had to worry about money – or anything, really. Beck took care of everything and he just assumed it would always be like that. That he would always have him by his side to take care of him.

He rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Are you going to keep doing porn?” Ned asked, a worried expression on his face. Peter remembered he hated the idea when Beck first suggested it, as soon as he turned eighteen.

People are gonna lose it, Beck said. A pretty little twink and a hot daddy? We’re going to be a hit.

And they were. Their first videos blew up quickly, people were either disgusted by the thought of them together – because of the age gap – or completely enthralled. The haters helped them get more views, and Peter soon learned that there really was no such thing as bad publicity. Beck promoted their videos on twitter, where they accumulated thousands of followers. Peter remembered that, back then, many people sent him worried messages, saying he was too young, that Beck was a predator, that he was taking advantage of him.

In retrospect, they might have been right, after all.

He wasn’t too sure about doing porn when they first started, he knew once they released the first video, there was no going back, there was no way they could ever take it down – the internet was forever. Nothing was ever truly deleted. He wanted to be a dad someday, what if his children ever saw those videos in the future? What would have Ben and May thought? What about his parents?

None of this matters, honey, Beck assured him. These kids don’t even exist yet, don’t worry about them. And your relatives, well… They’re gone, sweetie. You can’t really disappoint them anymore.

So Peter did it. And he was terrified at first, he felt so exposed, people all over the world could see him in his most vulnerable moments, all of him, in every position Beck managed to put him in, in any outfit he thought the public might like, in any setting he thought might bring in more viewers, more subscribers, more money.

Soon, just the two of them weren’t enough. Their viewers wanted to see Peter with other people – other daddies – and Beck saw another opportunity to increase his profit. Peter was strongly against the idea at first, it felt too much like prostitution, which was where he wanted to draw the line, but, again, Beck sweet-talked him into it.

It’s nothing like prostitution, honey, he said. I’ll be there the whole time, I’ll be the one filming and directing, I’ll be the one paying the other actors, all the profits are ours. How is that anything like prostitution? It’s just like what we’ve been doing so far.

So not only there were a bunch of videos of him and Beck out there in the world, there were also lots of videos of him with other men, some of whom were old enough to be his actual dad. There was even one video in particular that he was specially embarrassed by – and sadly enough, that was the most viewed one so far. It was fucking humiliating.

At some point, Peter should have realized it became all about money for Beck – and maybe it had been like that all along, he just hadn’t noticed before. Over the last few months of their relationship, they never had sex just for fun, just for the hell of it. There were always cameras, and lights, and roles to play. Beck never said he loved him anymore. Barely touched him. Barely kissed him. He should have seen it coming. He had been too blind, or just… Didn’t want to see what was happening right before his eyes. He ignored all the signs. The voice in the back of his head telling him something was off.

But anyway, porn. Could he still do it?

“I don’t know,” he answered, finally. He looked at his best friends and sighed with a shrug. “To be honest, it was never something I enjoyed, and I don’t know if I could ever do it without him somehow involved, you know? I did it with him because I felt… Safe? I don’t want to get involved in the actual porn industry, I’ve heard some pretty fucked up stories.” Peter had heard horror stories about other boys in the industry, and even though his own story was no fairy tale, there was nothing so bad that it couldn’t get worse.

“How about Just4Fans?” MJ asked and both Peter and Ned turned to look at her in shock. “What? You guys were pretty popular, right? You won awards and shit, so there must be at least a few hundred people out there who would pay money to see some dirty pictures of you, maybe some short videos. That way you won’t need to go into professional porn and you wouldn’t need a partner, but you could still make decent money. And fast.”

Well, it actually made sense. It wasn’t like there weren’t hundreds of videos of him being fucked raw all over the internet, anyway. A few dirty pictures couldn’t hurt. And besides, it didn’t need to be forever, just until he figured something out.

“That’s… actually not a bad idea,” he conceded, drinking the last of the wine in his glass. MJ sympathetically filled it up again and he mumbled his thanks.

“What do you think he will do now?” Ned asked carefully, and Peter shrugged for what felt like the hundredth time. There was so much he didn’t know.

“Probably keep shooting videos with his new boy-toy.” He managed to say it with a steady voice, but his eyes burned. He still couldn’t believe how… replaceable Beck thought he was.

When he noticed them interacting online a few months earlier, before the boy was even eighteen, Peter was alarmed, but when he confronted the older man about it, he said he was crazy and seeing things, picking up fights for no reason. He always twisted things in a way that, somehow, Peter was the one apologizing to him in the end.

Months later, just weeks after the kid turned eighteen, there he was – homeless, penniless and lost – meanwhile the other guy was probably getting comfortable in his bed. If Peter didn’t hate the kid, he would pity him. In a few years, he would probably meet the same fate.

“Do you think he would take the videos down if you asked?” Ned asked, and Peter scoffed.

“Yeah, right, those videos will still make him a lot of money monthly, he’d never delete them.” And Peter would have to live with the fact that he would always be just one google search away from complete humiliation and exposure. If he ever tried to get a serious job, those videos would stand in the way. If he ever managed to meet somebody decent and good, those videos would be a testament to what sort of person he was in the past. Fuck, some of them were really fucked up.

“So… Should we create fake twitter accounts to trash talk his short dick or what?” MJ was already grabbing her phone and Peter laughed halfheartedly, shaking his head.

“He’s not worth it. Karma will take care of him, I’m sure.” He drank the last of his wine and whimpered sadly. “So… Can I crash with you guys for a few days? I promise I’m not gonna overstay my welcome! I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the Just4Fans thing works out.”

“Of course you can, nerd, stay as long as you need. We’ve got your back, c’mon.” MJ got up from her stool and gestured for him to do the same. “Do you mind taking the couch?” She asked as she headed to her bedroom in the tiny apartment.

“Not at all,” he answered with a sigh of relief, then went to grab his suitcase by the door. Three years together and that was all he had to show for it. A single suitcase with a few changes of clothes, after being kicked out of the house on a cold February night. His eyes burned but he took a deep breath, blinking them rapidly to avoid the tears.

“Then make yourself at home. Our casa es su casa.” MJ placed a pillow on the couch and handed him a thick, warm blanket.

“We’ll figure something out, okay?” Ned clasped him on the shoulder with a gentle smile on his face.

“Okay.” He sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his crushed chest.

He waited for his friends to go into their respective rooms, waited to hear their quiet snores, before he allowed the tears to run freely down his face, replaying everything Beck said to him when he kicked him out.

Before he knew it, he was a sobbing a little, so he buried his face in the pillow to muffle the noise, as he tried to convince himself that things were going to be okay, that he was going to be okay. But at that moment, that was hard to believe.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

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girlmeetsliv3 · 3 years

Text

Sandman II

Hyung Line X Reader

Genre: Mystery, Psychological Thriller, Horror

Rated: M

Word Count: 4.2K

Release Date: February 26, 2021 @ 5 p.m. (GMT-5)

“Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. So imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her disappeared, and all her social medias deleted. But perhaps most peculiar was the wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

Warning: Brief mention of death and suicide.

The first words out of Kim Seokjin's mouth when they reached the car, after having been escorted through the back entrance to avoid the press, were "I'm sorry." YN hadn't even known how to react before Seokjin launched into a full-blown ramble, "I'm so sorry about that YN. I just - I have been so worried. We've all been, and we thought you - but now you're here. They didn't even tell us even though we're listed and to just think about how alone you've been. How confused you must feel -"

YN placed her hands on top of his which rested on the shift gear, “It’s okay Jin. I understand.” She smiled at him tenderly before her sister’s words flashed through her mind, ‘Isn’t Seokjin the best?! He’s the only man you can truly rely on.’ Instantly YN took her hands off him, folding them on her lap. Now was not the time to dwell on those things. If Seokjin noticed the sudden shift in the air he didn’t comment on it, simply stating: “You’ve always been so understanding.” Before focusing on the road and turning the engine on, driving away. As they exited the parking lot, YN saw all the vans from the news outlets parked outside. Some she recognized, others she didn’t, but what she did notice was a large sign being held up by one of the reporters. It read: Sandman victim finally returns.

It was as much a shock to me as it was to everyone when Seokjin and I started dating. He wasn’t my type. I can’t say for sure what it was that drew us together - maybe loneliness - or maybe I just liked the way people stared in shock at the fact that someone like him was with someone like me. That didn’t matter though, Seokjin and the others were always there. They were whatever I needed them to be. They would do anything to make me happy, but I wasn’t the only one they treated as special.

When the car approached the front gate of Nagwon villas YN frowned, “Weren’t we going to the hospital?” The thought of being poked and prodded like a rag doll wasn’t a pleasing one, but she knew disappearing for three years and not remembering anything didn’t bode well. The only thing that could give a hint at what she’d endured, and why she’d forgotten, was her body. Seokjin shrugged, “I know you aren’t a big fan of doctors, so I asked Namjoon for a favor.” Namjoon? She wasn't sure she was ready to see Namjoon or any of them for that matter. She hadn't even thought about seeing Jin until he showed up. ‘He’s like something out of a fairy tale, isn’t he? A knight in shining armor.’ YN shook her head, don't think about her or you'll start crying like a child again. Everyone in her family had always called her a crybaby, teased her for not being able to hold her emotions in. Right now, though, she felt less like a newborn and more like an overflowed dam. About to break at any second.

“Are the others going to be there?” Is he going to be there?

“No, Hoseok is out of town. He should be coming back tomorrow though; I wasn’t sure if you wanted him to know you were back but it's all over the news.”

That wasn't who she was talking about and they both knew it. Still, if Seokjin was being ignorant then it was for a reason; so she went along with it. "Shouldn't it be Namjoon's dad?"

Seokjin glanced at her from the corner of his eye, “Namjoons a doctor now, babe. It’ll be him you’re seeing.” Perhaps still sensing her hesitance he continued, “Don’t worry his family has a private practice in their house for situations like this.”

“You’re all still friends?” She asked, looking outside the window at the passing houses. They passed several houses she recognized, having been inside a couple of them. Nagwon kids always threw the best parties; likely due to their houses being huge and the large amounts they could spend on booze. Her sister would always drag YN to one when she was stuck babysitting, at first she’d just sit around on her phone. Things became easier when they started hanging out with the guys though: there was always Hoseok to crack jokes, Namjoon to talk random things about, and Seokjin to offer whatever it was she needed. Yoongi was always there too, but they wouldn’t talk much just sit in silence.

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be? The best of friends.” There was no sarcasm or humor in his voice, he meant it. Maybe he truly didn’t care? Or three years was a long time to hold onto a grudge especially when the two at-fault for their problems disappeared from their lives. That’s probably why. With YN and her sister out of the way, things had gone back to normal for the men. Nonetheless, it felt like nothing between Seokjin and YN had changed, but that couldn't be true. It's been three years. That statement was difficult for her to wrap her head around, but it didn’t make it any less true. It had been three years and yet Seokjin acted like they hadn’t spent a single day apart. Her mind filled with questions and doubts, so much so she couldn’t help but ask.

“Did we hang out the night I disappeared?”

Seokjin took his hands off the wheel, she hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped, the look he gave her was a mixture of incredulity and hurt. “No, we didn’t. You told me you didn’t want to see me again.” His voice was tense, ears getting red the way they did whenever he was upset. “Don’t you remember?”

I did tell him that. She hadn't meant it of course, but YN tended to lash out when she felt cornered. Thinking back now, she remembered her cruel words how she had blamed Seokjin for something that was both their fault. The pain on his face and the desperation in his tone as he begged for her to forgive him, only for YN to kick him out and shut the door.

"I forgot. I'm sorry, Jin." She pressed her fingers into her palm, hoping the pain would take things off her mind.

“Hey.” Jin’s fingers gently gripped the bottom of her chin, “It’s okay. I forgive you, let’s just not talk about it again okay?” He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head.

YN breathed deeply before unlocking the door and getting out. The Kim's large beige mansion stared down at her - it was the first time she’d been there, and the nerves were eating her up. Namjoon will probably have a lot of questions too. She had barely managed to get through one of Officer Taehyung’s questions before having a panic attack, YN had no idea how she would brave against Namjoon. With nerves clouding her senses she failed to notice the black motorcycle parked on the curve, slightly obscured by the shrubs. Had she YN would have avoided walking into a trap.

"Heard you got your ass whooped by Min." Jungkook laughed, as he sat on the edge of Taehyung's desk. "Did he take you over his knee and make you count to ten?" At that, a couple of others nearby chuckled. Taehyung rolled his eyes, "If he hears you, he'll take you over his knee." Jungkook shoved him softly, though 'softly' in this case meant Taehyung almost fell off his chair. Deciding to ignore him this time, he focused once again on the small font on his computer. Several minutes passed before Jungkook spoke again, "Is this about YN? If you're looking through the case files you won't find anything useful. Trust me, everyone in this room has gone through it multiple times."

There was a reason there was press lined up outside, nothing sold quite like a morbid story. ‘Girl disappears from her bed in the middle of the night with no trace behind’ had a nice hook to it. Taehyung had already been in the academy when it happened, but he was still shocked - especially once he found out it had happened in his hometown. Nothing ever happened in this town, they called it paradise for a reason. Yet someone had broken into the YLN family home and stolen a girl straight from her bed, nothing left behind but a bit of wet sand.

“It doesn’t hurt to look again, plus now we might get somewhere that she’s back. Find out who did it.” Taehyung scrolled down and started looking at all the pictures, he’d have to swing by the evidence locker later to see what they still had left physically.

“I’m just surprised the sister didn’t do it, given everything -”

Taehyung spun around quickly in his chair, “Don’t say that. Minsuh loved that kid, she’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“Yeah well that’s not what I heard,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. “I know it isn’t good to speak ill of the dead, but Minsuh wasn’t as dignified as her name suggested.”

Taehyung turned away from the young cop, “Look you’re wasting my time and I have to focus on this case. YN’s going to come back tomorrow and we need to build a timeline, can’t do that without all the facts so just go away.”

Jungkook sighed, “Sorry man. I know the two of you were close,” Jungkook had seen how uncomfortable Taehyung had gotten when YN brought up him dating her sister. “But you know I’m not the only one that thinks so. Regardless, everyone knows it's not true now so there’s that.”

It doesn’t matter, Taehyung wanted to say, she died with everyone in this town thinking she was a murderer. Nothing will ever change that. Instead, he remained quiet, eyes focused on the computer screen. Gaze focused intensely on the pictures of YN’s bedroom as if they would wield together a logical story that would explain where she’d been this whole time.

Everyone in school had a crush on Namjoon. Smart Namjoon. Sweet Namjoon. Dimpled cheeks Namjoon. Girls and guys would swoon over him, talking about how they would love to feel his chest or sit on his thighs. They were all fools. Ah, yes, Kim Namjoon may look harmless but it's always the quiet ones you have to look out for.

It truly was a private practice, equipped with all sorts of equipment one might find in a typical emergency room. YN wondered why they would ever need something like that. Maybe high clientele? Though the closest things to celebrities that lived in this town were both Seokjin and Namjoon's families, then Jung's, and the Min's. Namjoon wasn't there when they first arrived but appeared quickly enough, the gentle smile on his face reminded YN of simpler times. "How are you?" It dawned on her then that was the first time she'd been asked the question. She'd been plagued by 'where were you?' 'how are you alive?' and 'I'm sorrys' since she'd woken up. No one ever thought to ask how she was.

“I’ve been better.” YN answered softly, afraid that if she spoke anymore, she would break down again. The men in the room seemed to read between the lines without her elaborating further. Seokjin squeezed her hand, “Well, I’ll give you two some privacy. I’ll be right outside if anything happens, okay?” Before YN could respond Jin once again kissed her forehead before walking away. Leaving her alone in the stark white room with Namjoon, who leaned against a medical bed. His left hand patting the space beside him, “Let’s talk YN.” She grimaced slightly. “You’re in a safe space YN. You know me I would never do anything to hurt you and Seokjin is right outside if you need him. We’re your family.”

Family. They had been a sort of family, the five of them: always hanging out, sharing stories, meals, and memories. It didn't matter that she was much younger or that the only reason she was tolerated was that Minsuh was dating Seokjin. They had always been kind, always been loving, always been there. Even when her actual family wasn't. They’re all I’ve got… at least until dad comes. Once she sat down the doctor offered a genuine smile, it reminded her of all the times the two would stay up late studying at the library. A warmth that eased away from the chill she'd had all day lead to the first genuine smile on her face, “Thanks Namjoon.”

“I told you to call me Joon remember?” His broad shoulder playfully brushed YN’s, before he began conducting his examinations.

“You know being clandestine isn’t your strong suit.” Kim Seokjin leaned against the black LeoVince Racer waiting for his friend to exit from the back of Namjoon's private practice. Min Yoongi looked like he hadn't slept for days and had the corners of his lips turned upward in a way that was half-way between a snarl and a smirk. "I'd beg to differ." Yoongi responded, approaching the man as he adjusted white medical papers into his jacket's hidden pockets.

Seokjin eyed them carefully, “If you’re caught with those you could face serious trouble.”

Yoongi laughed, “Who’s going to catch me? The sheriff?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes, empty threats and warnings weren’t going to change anything. “What do the papers say?” He tried to grab them, but Yoongi blocked his hand easily. Maneuvering Seokjin off his bike so he could get on it.

"Ask the doc or her. She doesn't keep secrets from you." Yoongi's eyes were cold and his voice lacked the playfulness present before. Seokjin knew better than to press his buttons any further, "Go before she sees you." Not that it mattered much, YN would be face to face with all of them soon - a reunion was inevitable. Nonetheless, Yoongi was a sore spot for her; the more Seokjin could delay their meeting the more things could go according to plan.

“So you’re officially a doctor?” YN asked as Namjoon finished up drawing the last of her blood. They'd done all types of x-rays, physical, and psychological examinations to check her well-being. No words had been shared between the two, but the silence was beginning to bother her.

“Well, yes and no. Still must finish my residency, but I have most of the hours done.” Namjoon replied nonchalantly.

Whenever the subject had come up before Namjoon had dreaded having to take over the family business, feeling it was a role he was being pushed into. Guess things have changed. “I thought you didn’t want to be a doctor.”

He shrugged in response, “I guess I finally understood why my dad loved it so much. Medicine, biology, psychology, chemistry are all things that are useful.”

“You became a doctor became because it was useful? That doesn’t make much sense.” YN chuckled as Namjoon placed a bandage on the inside of her arm. He chose not to reply immediately, instead, holding up a lollipop that was inside his pocket. She took it with little thought. “Little makes sense in life. Human beings are just inherent paradoxes.” Minsuh always said that. It was one of the things the two sisters never agreed on. Minsuh always argued that people could still technically be considered ‘good’ no matter what they did. YN disagreed. Can’t do bad things and still be a good person. Namjoon clapped his hands together, signaling they were done and proceeded to help YN off the bed.

“Thanks, Joon.” She shot him a smile which she hoped looked more sincere than it felt. Though tensions didn’t run as high with Namjoon as they did with the others, it didn’t mean it was smooth sailing. Namjoon, like always, understood exactly what she meant and didn’t push. “Of course, YN. Anything for you.” With the promise her results would be ready in a couple of days, he sent her back on her way.

When she exited Seokjin was waiting outside with a furrow on his brow. Now what? YN didn’t know where else to go from here, what else to do, it felt like she’d hit a roadblock. I could go back home. Was that place even home anymore? Without her family, furniture, memories – could she return, or would it be too painful? Was she even allowed to return? It had looked abandoned when she’d been inside, so certainly YN wasn’t trespassing.

“It’s okay YN. You can stay at mine until we figure something out. I wouldn’t want you out of my sight anyway, it’s dangerous.”

It didn’t sit right with her to rely on Seokjin so much – or be under the same roof as him – but she would be lying if she said it didn’t ease her anxiety. “You’ve already done so much. I couldn’t ask that of you.” Her hands were shaking as she said the words, but even if she wanted to say yes immediately. YN couldn’t be selfish.

“No, I haven’t. Trust me.”

Before YN could ask what he meant Seokjin took hold of her wrist gently pulling her to the car.

Jung Hoseok. Lovely Hoseok. Funny Hoseok. Sweet Hoseok. The boy whose smile lights up the sky and everyone just gravitates towards him. No one could ever dislike him. Mr. Popular always putting others before himself. Dear sweet Hobi is an angel sent from heaven, but he isn’t as innocent as he seems. People tend to forget Lucifer was god’s favorite before he fell from the sky.

“Honestly was it really necessary to put on this whole show?” Hoseok wiggled his wrists causing the handcuffs to jingle against the table. Taehyung’s face remained stoic as he proceeded to read from the file. “A bit strange isn’t that YLN YN returns when you just so happen to out of town, Mr. Jung.” His eyebrow arched highly, Hoseok would’ve laughed if not for the situation he was in. “No it isn’t. I take a family trip around this time every single year detective. I told this to the sheriff three years ago and I’ll repeat this now.” He leaned forward the mirth gone from his mouth, “I had nothing to do with what happened to YN. I wouldn’t hurt her or anyone else for that matter.” Hoseok sighed, leaning back on the uncomfortable chair. “Look officer, I know its procedure and the prime suspect is always the boyfriend, but it wasn’t me.”

Even if Taehyung doubted that with every fiber of his being, he had nothing else to go off on. Jung Hoseok’s alibis were airtight, had always been, not to mention it would be extremely out of character for him to harm a bug – much less orchestrate something to this degree. It had been reckless to ask for him to be picked up from the city, but today had been a long day and there were just too many coincidences for the investigator to ignore. “Very well Mr. Jung. You’re free to go but I suggest you don’t leave town on another family vacation any time soon.” He reached towards his belt, taking out the keys and uncuffing Hoseok. Taehyung was on a tight schedule anyway; it would only be a matter of time before the sheriff returned from his lunch break. Seeing his son’s best friend in handcuffs would only cause Taehyung to be even more reprimanded.

With the cuffs off him, Hoseok stood up, stretching his lithe limbs. "You used to call me Hyung remember? Back when you were desperate for Minsuh and you to be a thing." Taehyung recalled having felt the need to please her friends to get her to look twice at him. Where’s this coming from? Hoseok looked down at him with cold eyes, "You know we never blamed you for how you reacted to things ending Tae. Heartbreak can make a man go crazy after all." The tension in the room was palpable when suddenly a smile broke out on Hoseok's face. "Sorry, it was silly of me to bring that up. We were all kids after all." With that he walked away from the desk and opened the door, turning around just enough to wink at Taehyung before the door closed completely.

Hoseok felt his phone vibrate inside his pants and rolled his eyes, without even looking he knew who it was. Taking the phone out, he swiped right and immediately spoke. “Yah, you won’t believe what just fucking happened. Where are you anyway?”

“Sorry it isn’t much.” Seokjin apologized as he handed YN the pile of clothes. “Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for essentials.” YN shook her head, “Thanks, I don’t need much. My dad shouldn’t take too long in coming to get me anyway.” She placed the clothes on the banister in the bathroom, content to finally be able to shower and become clean. It had been a long day, some soap and water might not wash the pain away, but she could pretend it would. There was another thing weighing on her mind, a thought that would simply not go away. For as kind as Seokjin had always been with her, even he had his limits. This behavior felt a bit out of character with the person she knew – the one she remembered.

“Why are you doing all this Jin?”

The man in question froze as if stunned, "What do you mean?" His dark brows furrowed, his lips turning down into a grimace.

“Going to see me, Namjoon, letting me stay over. All of this,” she gestured to the bathroom which had been prepared with candles, bath bombs, and calming music. It’s out of character for you. Kim Seokjin had never really been the romantic type, caring yes, but not sentimental. “Is it out of guilt?” Is it out of pity? YN may not remember what happened the night she disappeared, but that summer would forever remain ingrained in her head. "Do you blame yourself for what happened?" Or are you doing this because you feel responsible? Which one was it? Maybe all of them combined?

Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, “Yes.” Without elaborating anymore, he walked out of the bathroom shutting the door behind him.

When YN walked out of the bathroom she felt much better. All of the day’s events had worn her thin and she was ready to head straight to bed, but not without seeking Seokjin out and confronting him. Yes? Yes, to what exactly? Everything? She hadn’t been able to find the house slippers she’d borrowed, so she traveled through the house and down the stairs barefoot. Barely making any sound. She could hear loud audio coming from the living room and voices on the other side where the library was. Though she could recognize Seokjin as one of the voices, her feet dragged her to the living room, nonetheless. Deeming it better to wait until he was done than interrupting what sounded like an important conversation.

The couch had been changed into a leather sectional angled towards the screen as had more of the décor. It looked less like a family home and more like a bachelor pad now if YN was honest. Seokjin the bachelor. He had always had someone attached to his side whether it be a dancer, cheerleader, private school girl, and eventually her sister. What about you? YN shook her head, wanting the thought to disappear as quickly as it had appeared. The television distracted her once she picked up on what was being said. It was a newsreel showing a bleached blonde with shiny hair and pouty lips holding a microphone. Behind him was YN’s home, or what used to be, in the dead of the night it looked eerie. After basic introductions the news anchor began speaking:

“Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. Imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her present disappeared, and all her social medias were deleted. Perhaps most peculiar was the only substantial evidence found by investigators was wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

“Try as they investigators could find nothing that could tell them what had happened to YN. Then a year later tragedy struck once more when on the anniversary of YN’s disappearance, YLN Minsuh – her older sister - took her and her mother’s life in a murder suicide. YN’s father who was present that night managed to survive. Many people took this to be an admission of guilt on the sister’s part, for the two had never had the best relationship. Though with no note, the case had no choice to remain open. Thankfully for a miracle would occur. Almost three years to the day, YN has returned to the exact spot of her disappearance. Residents and audiences nationally are overjoyed, and hope justice can now be served. Stay tuned as this tragic twisted tale continues to unfold. We’ll now switch back over to Bo for sports.”

A piercing wail left YN’s mouth as she collapsed to the floor. Immediately, she was scooped off the ground into a warm embrace. “Jin?” She cried, but when she met the eyes of her savior the round hazel she was expecting was instead met with sharp feline ones. "Yoongi?!"

Tag List:

@saxpam24

@cherriejams @electr1c-angel @uppiespuppy @illnevertrustmyselfagain

@dionysus-png @sugashaye @purpuravm

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heavyy12 · 3 years

Text

Colin and Tripp: Part 1

When Colin was in high school and vacationing at his parents’ summer home in the Hamptons, he ran into his parents’ best friend’s son, Tripp Larson. Tripp was over a decade older than Colin and someone he always admired. At fifteen, Tripp lost both parents in a plane crash. As the only child with little family left, the Laceys made sure he completed prep school without issue and attend Cornell like his late father.

Tripp came out as gay to the Laceys his freshman year at Cornell. Colin was just five at the time and his parents were dealing with their oldest daughter’s teen pregnancy. Although accepting of Tripp’s admission, the Laceys weren’t present as much as Tripp hoped during that difficult time.

During the summer going into Colin’s junior year of high school was one he’d always remember. At sixteen, his parents had just bought him a new Mercedes and allowed him to spend the summer at their house in the Hamptons, permitting he maintained a summer job. It was at the local country club where Colin was working as a caddy that he ran into Tripp Larson.

Tripp didn’t recognize the teen immediately because it had been four or five years since they last saw one another. The thirty-year-old Manhattan executive to his late father’s textile company was playing a round with friends from Cornell. Colin was immediately attracted to him. He was tall and had a thick, rugby look to him under his pale blue polo that hugged his pecs and biceps.

Colin had grown a lot in those past few years and stood about an inch shorter than Tripp at 6’2. He was playing lacrosse and rugby at the same prep school Tripp attended years ago and also had come to terms with being gay.

After bumping into each other at the clubhouse, Tripp asked Colin to join him on the deck after his game. The two caught up on just about everything. Toward the end of their conversation, Colin confided in Tripp that he was also gay and planning to tell his parents by the time he finished high school. Tripp was more than supportive and gave Colin his number in case he ever needed anyone to talk to.

Throughout the same summer, Colin had been fooling around with another caddy from the club. By August, the two were fucking each other in his parents’ Hamptons home almost daily… and everywhere else they could manage. The other caddy, Zane, was another prep school kid from Manhattan and the same age as Colin. The two parted ways at the end of August and kept in touch for a couple weeks after.

By Halloween, Colin was preparing for holidays across the world with his family and applying to colleges. After a couple weeks of the stomach flu, Colin was concerned he could be pregnant. A test soon confirmed his concerns.

All four of Colin’s siblings were eight years or older than him and he wasn’t particularly close to any because of the age gap. He didn’t want to tell his parents, so he remembered having Tripp’s number from the summer. He reached out to Tripp, who suggested Colin take the train into Manhattan the following week, Colin’s seventeenth birthday, and he’d help him with an abortion.

Colin took the train the following weekend and met Tripp at his apartment in Chelsea. It was a palatial penthouse with four bedrooms and six bathrooms. Tripp greeted him and let him get settled in one of his guest bedrooms before ordering take out.

Tripp mentioned he made reservations Sunday for a special birthday brunch for Colin before his scheduled procedure the following day. The newly seventeen year old was beyond excited for his first drag brunch experience. On Saturday, Colin had the run of Tripp’s apartment while the older family friend dealt with a work issue.

After drag brunch on Sunday, Tripp took Colin to Central Park for a walk and ice cream. It was on their walk that Colin confided in Tripp that he was really excited to get pregnant someday when he was ready. Tripp made a mental note of the conversation after realizing Colin mentioned “getting pregnant” instead of “having kids”.

On Tuesday morning, Tripp accompanied Colin to the train station after his abortion the previous morning. The two hugged and Colin thanked him for everything before heading back to Connecticut. Tripp checked in with Colin daily for quite some time after and the teenager very much appreciated the support.

Colin was accepted to Cornell and started the following year. He decided to play lacrosse, like Tripp, and had an amazing freshman year. He came out to his parents the summer before he started and was accepted by his teammates and friends.

During his second year, Cornell was hosting alumni for their final game against Columbia. Tripp messaged Colin on Instagram to inform him he’d be at the game and wanted to see him during his visit. The two old family friends met up before the match and Tripp wished the young twenty-year-old good luck. He also couldn’t get over how mature Colin looked.

At twenty, Colin could easily pass as twenty-five. He stood 6’2 and weighed about 215 with muscular, hairy legs, tanned olive skin, and beautiful blue eyes. He had really grown up since the last time they saw each other on his seventeenth birthday.

Cornell ended up winning the game 5-4. Tripp and some of his buddies met the team and coaches in the locker room to congratulate them. Tripp made a point to find Colin in the process.

“Congrats, big guy!” Tripp said as he approached Colin while he changed.

“Thanks, man!” Colin said, going in for a hug with Tripp.

“Do you have some time to show me around the campus? Things sure have changed since I was here.” Tripp asked.

“Yeah, I don’t have anything planned until later-- let’s go!” Colin said excitedly.

The college student left his keys and other belongings in his locker and the pair headed on their tour. The truth was, Tripp was a major donor of Cornell and he had been there within the last three years. He wanted to spend some quality time with Colin and catch up.

Flirting was exchanged almost immediately into their walking tour of campus. Both men caught each other looking at one another numerous times throughout their campus excursion. At the library, Tripp mentioned his first sexual encounter with another boy being in the old stacks during his freshman semester exams.

“Damn, I wouldn’t mind trying that someday!” Colin joked.

As their two-hour tour ended and they approached Colin’s locker, Tripp suggested they meet up later for drinks.

“I’d really like that” Colin replied as be shut his locker after grabbing his things.

The two locked eyes in that moment and the younger man dropped his belongings and pushed the alumnus into the locker behind him and started making out.

“Have you ever done it in a locker room?” Colin asked, referencing Tripp’s comment about his library hook up during his heyday.

“I haven’t, but I’m willing to try.” Tripp grinned.

Colin lowered himself to his knees and swiftly undid Tripp’s belt and pulled down the older man’s chinos. He began blowing him for several minutes before Tripp pulled him upwards for a kiss and suggested he return the favor.

After a couple minutes, Colin pulled Tripp up for a kiss and then discreetly turned himself around, exposing his bare ass, and planted his forearms on the lockers. Without words being exchanged, Tripp used his own spit to lube his cock and gently inserted it into Colin’s willing hole.

Tripp picked up speed and the clapping of Colin’s ass cheeks intensified, as did the twenty-year-old’s groans. Nearing climax, Tripp pulled Colin back by his neck and made out with him ferociously while he deposited a big, warm load deep into the lacrosse player’s hole. After he pulled out and kissed Colin all over his back and neck, Tripp turned Colin around so he could finish him off by accepting the younger guy’s load in his mouth.

Neither man had an experience like that in their life. Although a nearly fifteen-year age gap, there was sexual chemistry like no other. Colin had another month of school and a European trip planned with friends, so the pair decided to reconvene in August at Tripp’s family’s home in the Hamptons before Colin began his junior year at Cornell.

When Colin returned from six weeks in Europe, he texted Tripp, “Hey man, when do you think we can meet up? Sooner rather than later, I hope ;)”

Colin drove to the Hamptons in the Mercedes his parents had bought him years earlier for his sixteenth birthday. When he arrived at Tripp’s, the newly thirty-five year old was tanning by the pool. Colin snuck up on Tripp as he lay on his back on an outdoor lounger.

“Getting your tan on?” Colin asked as he straddled Tripp over the lounger.

“I thought you might appreciate that.” He responded.

“I sure do!” Colin exclaimed taking off his shirt as he rubbed his ass against Tripp’s growing erection.

Colin pulled lube from the backpack he carried outside with him and within minutes of reuniting, Tripp was inside Colin. They fucked near the pool, on the lounger, against the bar, and on the pool steps for nearly an hour before retreating to the bathroom to freshen up.

“It looks like you ate well in Europe” Tripp joked as he poked Colin’s noticeably larger belly.

“Yeah, I’m not sure how I managed it, honestly!” Colin fidgeted as he embarrassingly grabbed a shirt. “There was so much walking and hiking over there!”

“I was just kidding, Colin.” Tripp replied, stopping the younger man from putting on his shirt. “I think it looks cute!”

The two spent almost an entire month together before Colin was expected to return to Cornell. During that time, Colin’s belly only grew larger.

In bed one morning as the pair cuddled, Colin suggested he might need a pregnancy test. The two discussed how he wasn’t having any of the symptoms he experienced when he was in high school and that the last person he hooked up with was Tripp. On their last day together, they drove to a drug store and got two tests.

“Well, babe, you were right.” Tripp said walking into the master suite with two positive pregnancy tests.

“I can’t believe it. I’m not even twenty-one and I’ve managed to get pregnant twice!” Colin exclaimed as he sat in disbelief at the foot of the bed.

“You must be one fertile lad.” Tripp joked.

They immediately started discussing their options. With the timing of their last hook up at the end of May, Colin was easily twelve weeks along. He had already gained nearly fifteen pounds. Tripp suggested he bring an OB/GYN to the house the following morning and Colin pushed back his return to Cornell by a couple days until they figured everything out.

“So I have some exciting news for you boys.” The OB/GYN said during Colin’s ultrasound atop Tripp’s bed. “You’re having twins.”

Colin and Tripp looked at each other in disbelief.

“I’d say you’re about thirteen weeks along, so that puts your due date around, uhh, February 20[sup]th[/sup].”

“Wow, well thank you, Dr. Houston.” Tripp said as the woman in her forties began packing up.

Colin and Tripp saw her out and the pair retreated to the back yard. It was a hot August afternoon and normally they’d be in the pool.

“So, what do you want to do?” Colin asked Tripp over some lemonade on the patio furniture.

“That’s up to you, babe.” Tripp replied. “You need to get back to school. You need to finish school.”

“I know, I know.” Colin said, “Honestly, this all feels right, though. Does it feel that way for you?” he asked Tripp.

“Very much so, Colin. We’ve only spent a month together but I can already see ourselves growing old together.”

Tripp stood up and pulled Colin up from his seat. The two embraced for quite some time and kissed before Tripp lifted up Colin’s shirt and gave his belly a rub.

“You’re going to make a fantastic parent.” Tripp suggested as he kissed Colin’s tanned and protruding belly.

“You will too, Tripp.”

As the pair continued to embrace, Tripp moved his hands into Colin’s pants and grabbed a cheek in each hand.

“I like the idea of you carrying my children. You’re going to look so beautiful growing our babies inside that fertile womb of yours.”

“I’m glad you’re excited, babe, because I’m kind of excited to see what’s in store for us.”

Colin packed up and left for Cornell the following morning. Tripp had a realtor looking for properties in Ithaca the same day. Within a week, Tripp purchased a townhouse near campus so he could split his time between Manhattan and visiting Colin.

Colin moved his things into the townhouse shortly after and began telling friends of his twin pregnancy. Colin turned twenty-one in early November and planned on returning to Connecticut for Thanksgiving with Tripp to break the news to his family.

The pair regretted not telling Colin’s family sooner, but they were still worried about their reaction with Tripp being the father and them being in a relationship. Their age gap was nearly fifteen years, after all.

As Colin packed for Connecticut, Tripp was organizing an elaborate dinner to soften the blow to his young, pregnant lover’s family. He planned on having a catered dinner at his family’s home near the Laceys the day before Thanksgiving. Colin called and broke the news to both his older sisters. Beth and Liza both knew Tripp very well and were beyond surprised of their situation; however they seemed supportive.

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

Tuesdays Hotchner Style

Waiting out the bag of saline hanging over his head, Hotch lays back on the bed and just enjoys this one second that he has to himself. Being a father is great, he loves every second of Jack’s curiosity and his attention to detail. He loves his team, even if he’s not sure he does well in how he shows that. However, between Jack's pre-teen temper and the team’s never-ending list of needs he rarely gets a moment to just breathe. No one asking to use his office or when dinner will be done. It’s almost nice.

Had he set out this morning to get hit by a car during his morning jog? No, but maybe that’s what he gets for entertaining the idea of taking some time off. He’s got a few bumps and scrapes but already knows his knee is going to give him hell for landing on it like he did. Not even the ice pack the nurse taped over it is doing a thing to squish the pain. He still needs to have his shoulder pulled back into the socket and his concussion assessed. In other words, he’s taking that time off but not like he’d planned.

They did give him a cherry popsicle and the nurse showed him how to lean against his pillow to keep the ice pack pressed against his head without having to hold it up. This place is better than most motels he’s stayed in. If the nice nurse says he needs to wait twenty more minutes for the saline bag to empty and she’s promising another popsicle then she’s won. Seems like a good deal to him. He was a lawyer, he’d know.

“Hey, sweetie.”

He blinks himself back to Earth. Peeling his eyes open and grunting, not having realized he’d managed to doze off. The nurse, the same one as before, steps into the little curtained-off area with a smile. “Sorry,” he slurs softly, motioning with his popsicle hand to where he’d managed to let some of it drip onto the white sheets.

She just smiles at him, “ honey, that’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She dismisses it with a wave and goes to her fluttering around him. The treatment he’s gotten used to since hobbling into here four hours ago. Replacing the ice pack at his knee she stops to frown at the purpling skin but it’s just bruised and swollen. Angry at its treatment. “How’s the arm?”

The concussion is probably worse than he’s led on if the current state of his consciousness is any proof. He’s just tired and this is like his version of a spa day. “Arm?” he asks, and he swallows thickly. Vaguely, he’s aware of his arms. The strange weight in his left hand where the IV is and the ice pack settled against his shoulder. It’s dislocated. It hurts.

“My arm,” he whispers, “I can… I can feel the fingers.”

She moves his hand, turning over his palm, and waiting for him to do as she silently asks and moves his fingers. He makes a fist, slowly closing each finger. She pats the back of his hand as she sits it back down, movements intact and coloration is alright. “I’m going to give you another sedative, some painkillers, alright? Then we’re going to get this shoulder back into the socket.”

Another? He… He can't remember the first.

“You’ve got some people asking for you out in the waiting room.”

He picks his head up, opening eyes he hadn’t realized had already slid shut again. “The team?” he mumbles.

She takes his popsicle out of his hand, it’s no good half-melted, and he’s falling asleep. “I don’t know about any team, darlin’, but there’s a whole crew.” She dispenses the drugs like promised and steps back. “Lemme think,” she’d seen them when she was stepping into the room. They’d asked for him but she can’t let all of them back here and she’d at least like to run the idea of them by Hotch first. “I used to smoke a lot of Virginia Slims in my day, there’s a fella out there that looks exactly like one. There’s two feisty brunettes. One about my age and the other looks like she eats bolts in her cornflakes.” She sighs, there’s more she’s certain. “There is a man out there who looks like he could have been sculpted by angels.”

He smiles at that, dopey and free. “Morgan,” he whispers, he knows it with a strong certainty. Who else could it be?

“Anyways,” she has moved away from her point. He’s probably ready to have that shoulder moved. “I can go get one of them if you’d like,” she offers. “It’ll be a painful but quick procedure. Still, most people like having someone.”

Someone.

He almost wonders if Garcia’s out there. She’s the end of the world sort. Even if she didn’t want to be back here she’d come with her flurry of colors and glitter. Hold his hand and make sure he got that other popsicle but no, no he won’t ask that of her. Can’t.

“I can always let them decide,” the nurse offers. “If that’s alright with you?”

He’s too tired, too disoriented to make the words work so he nods. She pats his hand one more time before moving back out the curtain. He can hear them talking, transforms their mumbling and their stiff silence to none of them wanting to come back here. Doesn’t hear Morgan and Emily fighting, neither wanting to be the one left out there. Both wanting to set their eyes on Hotch, to really make sure he’s okay.

His knee hurts, the drugs and the adrenaline are fading in and out and he’s tired. He turns his head back into his ice pack, rests the cut on his cheek against the plastic still cool from the water. Panted, short breathes leave his mouth and he wants nothing more than to sink into the bed. To disappear.

The curtain parts but he doesn’t hear it.

Dave steps in where the nurse directs, standing by the edge of the bed while she moves things where she needs them. He gets stuck, unable to move for a moment while he just looks at Hotch. The tears drying at the corners of his eyes and labored breathing, his agitated state.

“Aaron,” the nurse moves his good hand. Waking him without hesitation but still smiling when his tired eyes move slowly to concentration. To focus on her. “I brought you a friend.”

They’re back to the same old song and dance. Dave goes to the little space at the side of the bed, standing beside machines and things not currently in use. There nonetheless. Aaron looks up at him, sleepy eyes slowly blinking clarity back. “Hit by a car,” Dave mumbles. “Only you.”

Hotch smirks, “was running.”

Dave shakes his head, “again, who in his right mind?”

A doctor steps in, the little area of curtain overrun by white coats and stethoscopes.

Hotch gets nervous and looks hopelessly up at Dave. He’s scared. “Easy,” Dave takes his good hand. Making a quick understanding of his having been put on this side. “It’s just a little upset joint,” Dave assures him. “You’ve been stabbed and shot and blown up, you’ll be okay.” Hotch doesn’t look convinced but Dave doesn’t let go, he’s right there. Not going anywhere. “You’ll be okay, Aaron. I’m right here.”

It’s all medical nonsense from there on. The doctor introduces herself and the nurse nods her head, giving them the okay. Hotch is as drugged as he can be, relaxed under their touch so long as Dave isn’t more than a step away. He holds onto Dave so tightly he couldn’t get away if he wanted to. Part of him does, he’s not sure he wants to watch this. Hotch cries out when they pull on his arm, a sound that drowns out into a whimper. The sickening thunk of the joint sliding back into place. He tries to sit up, screams, and cries out as they check to make sure it’s gone where it needs to be. Their fingers digging into his skin. He cries out for Dave, to make them st0p.

“Easy,” Dave whispers. “Easy, easy.”

The doctors and the nurses leave as soon as their job is done, giving them nods as they go.

Dave brushes his thumb across Hotch’s forehead, frowning down at the tears. “Hang in there,” he whispers. “Behave a little longer and I’ll get you a milkshake, alright?”

His eyes peel back open at that, “promise?”

Dave shakes his head, “you’re a child, Aaron Hotchner, but yes, I promise I’ll get you a milkshake.”

“Hey-” both look to the curtain and after a second Emily’s head pops through. “Do we all get a milkshake?”

Dave rolls his eyes, “yes. Yes, sure.” They’re going to be the death of him. “Milkshakes for everyone, why not?”

The hard part is over.

He doesn't get another popsicle.

“Hey, Morgan?” Dave sticks his head out of the curtain and motions Morgan in. “We’re gonna need your help in here.”

Hotch groans, entirely too disoriented to completely stop himself from whining. He doesn’t want help, he just wants to go get a milkshake and go home. To his couch and his blankets and to clothes that don’t smell like blood and sweat. But there’s no winning, if he’s leaving he needs help. “Up on three,” Morgan encourages. He stops for a moment, makes sure his grip is good before bracing himself. One arm around Hotch’s back and the other bracing his front. “Ready when you are.” It’s more falling than walking but Morgan directs his fall straight into the wheelchair. “Easy Hotch,” but his head is a blur and he’s vaguely aware of Morgan gently lifting his legs up into the footrests.

“Damn,” Emily mumbles when Morgan pulls back the curtain and Dave pushes Hotch through. “Look like a Tim Burton doll.” Hotch grunts back at her. She tries to find a small silver lining, “but good, considering. Your hair is still pretty neatly styled and the road rash on your cheek makes you look distinguished.”

Hotch frowns but can’t turn his head to look at Dave so he just mumbles, “don’t think Emily has deserved her milkshake.”

“Hey!”

“Children,” Rossi interrupts before either can get any further. “Everyone is getting a milkshake, calm down.” He sighs, watching them fall in line alongside Hotch. “What flavors are we thinking?” Milkshakes and car wrecks… sounds like a regular old Tuesday to him.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #david rossi #derek morgan #emily prentiss

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