Fic: The Girl In My Journal (Heather Morris/Naya Rivera RPF)
NOTE: Potential official-Brittana on Tuesday? God help me.
Title: The Girl In My Journal
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Heather Morris/Naya Rivera
Spoilers: none
Summary: Heather's been looking for her fairy tale.
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
“Shit, seriously,” Heather whispers, rolling over into the curvature of Naya’s side, burying her face into the warm junction of neck and pillow.
“What is it?”
“Ugh. You’ll hate me.”
Naya perks up, turning so that Heather’s blonde hair sticks to her wet lips. “What?”
“It’s just…fuck,” the sharp line of Naya’s hip hits the soft flat of Heather’s thigh and it’s so good, so good, it’s the very thing Heather’s trying to talk about. “It’s like you just fucking ripped out a page from my13-year-old-self journal and…” she sighs, moving back a little to kiss under Naya’s chin.
“And?”
Heather can hear the shit-eating grin on Naya’s face, “And you thought, ‘Well, fuck, let’s be that; think I’ll be exactly that, exactly what I wrote down.’”
It’s not easy, never has been, to be this open with someone; not Taylor, nor mom, nor Ashley.
“What did you write?” Naya turns to her side, sheets rustling in the grey, early morning light. She’s sweating, because the heating is on full blast and has been all through the night; because Heather hates winter and Naya does everything to make Heather happy.
She can tell it’s cold outside. The windows are wet and clouded and the rain taps against the sill in quiet patterns. “Tell me.”
“Stuff.”
“Stuff,” Naya smiles, moving her thumb over the flushed skin of Heather’s neck. She wants to kiss her there. So she does. Sweetly. Slowly. “Tell me.” She moves to Heather’s ear, careful to push her hair over her shoulder so it doesn’t hit Heather in the face, “Tell me.”
The breath-to-skin contact makes them both tense.
“Neruda-esque shit. Didn’t make much sense."
"I remember you reading some."
"Yeah. Anyway. I was small.”
“You mean, young?”
“Yeah. And small. Small heart, small mind…you know,” Heather shrugs vaguely.
Sometimes, not often, but more times than she cares to count, Naya finds herself struck by Heather’s depth. She’s poetic and sensitive and it’s a side to her Naya hopes, selfishly, remains hidden from the rest of the world.
She watches the big, concrete wall of defence rise in the blues of Heather’s eyes, and breathes lightly, pressing her nose to the corner of Heather’s mouth. “And how your hair lifts up,” Naya recites reverently, insisting kisses against Heather’s lips, “and how your mouth smiles, light as the water.”
She feels Heather melt beneath her, hot and terrified, “And like this I need you,” she presses just under Heather’s ribs, coaxing a smile, “like this I love you. So tell me.”
Heather swallows. “I guess…ugh. I guess I…I mean, I always wanted the fairytale, you know? All the bullshit.”
“Bullshit.”
“The prince, the happy ending. True love.”
“You think it’s a lie?”
“No. I don’t know. I wanted to be found, and not have to search.”
“Do you feel lost? Like you haven’t been found yet?” Naya says seriously, her heart trembling as Heather contemplates her.
“Um. Not-no. Not any more. What I’m trying to say…I wanted all that stuff, I wanted the boy, it was the right thing to want to have. I wanted it because it was supposed to make me happy. As I got older…”
Naya nods, takes fragile locks of blonde hair and twirls them around her fingers, sweeps the ends along Heather’s jaw, then touches the same places with her hands.
“I kept a journal. The ‘boy’ turned to ‘person’ and the fairytale thing turned into me wanting someone who I could fight with and cry with and love through it all.”
“I don’t think that sounds unreasonable.”
Heather rolls her eyes. “Sorry. I’m being a dickhead.”
When Naya says nothing, Heather leans up and licks at her bottom lip, “It’s you. I wasn’t looking and you were there,” she mouths the words against the faint outlines of a dimple, pokes her tongue there and kisses the high apple of Naya’s cheek. By the time she’s done, Naya’s beaming at her and also looking like she might possibly cry.
“Really?”
“Yeah. You were the person in my journal.”
Title: The Girl In My Journal
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Heather Morris/Naya Rivera
Spoilers: none
Summary: Heather's been looking for her fairy tale.
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
“Shit, seriously,” Heather whispers, rolling over into the curvature of Naya’s side, burying her face into the warm junction of neck and pillow.
“What is it?”
“Ugh. You’ll hate me.”
Naya perks up, turning so that Heather’s blonde hair sticks to her wet lips. “What?”
“It’s just…fuck,” the sharp line of Naya’s hip hits the soft flat of Heather’s thigh and it’s so good, so good, it’s the very thing Heather’s trying to talk about. “It’s like you just fucking ripped out a page from my13-year-old-self journal and…” she sighs, moving back a little to kiss under Naya’s chin.
“And?”
Heather can hear the shit-eating grin on Naya’s face, “And you thought, ‘Well, fuck, let’s be that; think I’ll be exactly that, exactly what I wrote down.’”
It’s not easy, never has been, to be this open with someone; not Taylor, nor mom, nor Ashley.
“What did you write?” Naya turns to her side, sheets rustling in the grey, early morning light. She’s sweating, because the heating is on full blast and has been all through the night; because Heather hates winter and Naya does everything to make Heather happy.
She can tell it’s cold outside. The windows are wet and clouded and the rain taps against the sill in quiet patterns. “Tell me.”
“Stuff.”
“Stuff,” Naya smiles, moving her thumb over the flushed skin of Heather’s neck. She wants to kiss her there. So she does. Sweetly. Slowly. “Tell me.” She moves to Heather’s ear, careful to push her hair over her shoulder so it doesn’t hit Heather in the face, “Tell me.”
The breath-to-skin contact makes them both tense.
“Neruda-esque shit. Didn’t make much sense."
"I remember you reading some."
"Yeah. Anyway. I was small.”
“You mean, young?”
“Yeah. And small. Small heart, small mind…you know,” Heather shrugs vaguely.
Sometimes, not often, but more times than she cares to count, Naya finds herself struck by Heather’s depth. She’s poetic and sensitive and it’s a side to her Naya hopes, selfishly, remains hidden from the rest of the world.
She watches the big, concrete wall of defence rise in the blues of Heather’s eyes, and breathes lightly, pressing her nose to the corner of Heather’s mouth. “And how your hair lifts up,” Naya recites reverently, insisting kisses against Heather’s lips, “and how your mouth smiles, light as the water.”
She feels Heather melt beneath her, hot and terrified, “And like this I need you,” she presses just under Heather’s ribs, coaxing a smile, “like this I love you. So tell me.”
Heather swallows. “I guess…ugh. I guess I…I mean, I always wanted the fairytale, you know? All the bullshit.”
“Bullshit.”
“The prince, the happy ending. True love.”
“You think it’s a lie?”
“No. I don’t know. I wanted to be found, and not have to search.”
“Do you feel lost? Like you haven’t been found yet?” Naya says seriously, her heart trembling as Heather contemplates her.
“Um. Not-no. Not any more. What I’m trying to say…I wanted all that stuff, I wanted the boy, it was the right thing to want to have. I wanted it because it was supposed to make me happy. As I got older…”
Naya nods, takes fragile locks of blonde hair and twirls them around her fingers, sweeps the ends along Heather’s jaw, then touches the same places with her hands.
“I kept a journal. The ‘boy’ turned to ‘person’ and the fairytale thing turned into me wanting someone who I could fight with and cry with and love through it all.”
“I don’t think that sounds unreasonable.”
Heather rolls her eyes. “Sorry. I’m being a dickhead.”
When Naya says nothing, Heather leans up and licks at her bottom lip, “It’s you. I wasn’t looking and you were there,” she mouths the words against the faint outlines of a dimple, pokes her tongue there and kisses the high apple of Naya’s cheek. By the time she’s done, Naya’s beaming at her and also looking like she might possibly cry.
“Really?”
“Yeah. You were the person in my journal.”