#and east…oh east. this is just a random Tuesday for him. it’s the last time she’ll see the face of her friend and he doesn’t even know it. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeypiehotchner · 4 years

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delicate -- Hotch x Reader one-shot

Here’s that one-shot I’ve been holding for a while! Named her delicate after Taylor Swift’s song, purely because of the whole “dive bar on the east side/where you at?” imagery. I listened to the Spotify Singles (acoustic) version of the song while writing this, if you wanna listen while you read! Enjoy!! xx.

Summary: Hotch doesn’t go to bars very often. Until he meets you at one.

Warnings: age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-25), mentioning of being safe at a bar (so alluding to date rape drugs), harassment from one drunk dickhead

Hotch Masterlist

Hotch doesn’t go to bars.

When he’s not on a case, working on paperwork for a case, or caring for his son, he’s normally asleep.

Not at a bar.

But some nights, the memories are too much. Some nights, the cases take a toll on him — especially the children that never made it back home to their parents.

He doesn’t know why he’s in a bar. The only time he comes is when the team goes out and wants to drag him with. It’s normally Dave who manages to get him to agree to a beer or two.

But Aaron is alone this time.

You, on the other hand, know exactly why you’re in a bar.

You’re bored, you’ve just finished your masters degree, you need a drink and some time to yourself to people-watch.

It’s fun, really. Observing people while they’re drunk. You usually have one drink and switch over to water, wanting to remember the things you see while also staying safe.

But occasionally— or, well, more than occasionally by the sheer unfortunate fact of you being a woman alone in a bar, you get the typical man sliding into the seat next to you before he’s even all the way through his rehearsed, “Is this seat taken?”

You never answer. There is no point in trying because their ass already hits the chair before you can say, “Yes, it’s taken, by my foot, now move before I kick it up your ass.”

You never say that, not often. Sometimes the guys can be pretty big assholes, but the bartender, Vanessa, knows you well, so she usually threatens security before you get yourself in trouble.

Unfortunately, tonight looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.

The bar is packed for a reason you aren’t privy too until you see (and hear) the random band start a new song. Great. Performance.

Still, you snag the last seat at the bar, waving to the bartender when she sees you. You barely get the seat warm before she’s sliding your usual in front of you.

“It’s on the house tonight,” she yells.

“What?” You shake your head. “No the fuck it’s not.”

She leans closer so she doesn’t have to yell as loud. “You are my saving grace in this sea of assholes, so yes it is. We can fight about it later.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. You dip your hands underneath the bar to switch your diamond ring from your right to left hand.

Tonight, you’re married.

You got this ring when your last relationship ended so badly. It was a long time coming, and once you were finally able to see the other side, you went out and bought yourself an engagement ring. Just for you. A promise to yourself to start loving yourself harder, and going out with dickheads less.

So far, it’s been wonderful. You’re loving being alone. It was exhausting going on so many first dates, trying to love someone else instead of letting yourself heal.

It’s been two years of singleness for you now, and you’ve loved almost every day.

The “wedding” ring usually makes most of the guys turn the other way. A few that are oblivious will try talking to you, but once they glance at your hand, they excuse themselves.

It’s hysterical, if you’re honest.

But some, unfortunately, don’t give a damn.

Like the guy who has just squeezed his way into the seat next to you.

You roll your eyes and prepare yourself for the shallow conversations because, for some ungodly reason, the band decided now was a good time for a break.

“You come here often?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nope.”

“It’s a pretty good place,” the guy says, waving down the other bartender, his name is Nick. “You should come here more often.”

“Should I, now?”

“Yeah,” the guy grins. “You’ll see me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.

“Wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Can I buy you another drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Why, do you work here?”

“Look, I’m just trying to be nice.” Ah, there it is. The “nice guy” line.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you. I’m not interested.”

“Ooh,” he feigns hurt, holding an open hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

You shrug. “You’ll get over it.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

“You sure you don’t wanna dance?”

“I’m married,” you say easily, picking your glass up with your left hand to show off your ring. You don’t drink from your glass because you made the mistake of looking away for only a moment, so now you’re paranoid that he might’ve slipped something in it.

The guy looks around, then back to you. “I don’t see a husband.” Oh, he sounds so smug. Like he’s pulled one over on you. Moron.

“He’s on a work trip.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“You don’t want to get on his bad side, dude.”

“Oh really? What’s he do for a living?”

“He works for the FBI.” The lie slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and you almost laugh.

It’s something you’ve pulled from the countless guys that have said they work for the FBI, but have no badge to show for it. It’s always cracked you up. You’re aware there’s an FBI office around here, but you doubt a greasy, blackout drunk works for them. Let alone more than five greasy, blackout drunks in one night.

“The FBI, huh?” The guy says, just taking it in stride. “What’s his name?”

Right as you’re about to make one up until Vanessa can get back over here to threaten security, two arms slip around your waist.

You’re ready to throw caution to the wind along with your fists, but the owner of the arms says, “Just go with it, I’m Aaron.”

You turn your head to see a very handsome older man peering down at you, a smile on his lips that you can’t help but mirror. Something about his face has your gut screaming that you can trust him, so you play along.

“Honey! I thought you were in Texas!” You throw your arms around his neck for good measure, and also for a moment to casually get a good whiff of his cologne. Goddamn. You’ll gladly be his fake-wife. Any day. Forever.

“I was,” Aaron says, squeezing you before letting you go. He moves to stand next to you, his arm around your waist in a protective manner. “We landed early, wanted to surprise you.” He kisses your knuckles to keep up the act, and then settles his eyes on the man who was bothering you.

“You must be the husband,” the guy mutters bitterly. “You really work for the FBI?”

Oh, fuck, you think. This guy just doesn’t give up. A few future scenarios flash before your eyes, but the one most alarming is a fight erupting, which isn’t all that far-fetched. You’d never be able to come back if you caused something like that.

But before you can stumble through some excuse, Aaron is pulling out a badge. An actual badge.

“Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. I’m the unit chief of the BAU,” he says easily, holding his badge out for as long as it takes the guy to inspect it. You have no clue what BAU stands for, but you’re just thanking whatever Gods might be real that this is happening.

The idiot is scowling by the time Aaron puts his badge away. He leaves without a word.

Your jaw nearly drops as you watch the guy go, and literally leave the bar. You had hopes that he’d leave you alone, but leaving the bar entirely is even better.

Aaron’s arm slips from around your waist as he moves to take the now empty seat next to you. All the while you’re gawking at him like you’re in some fever dream.

When he catches your eyes, he says, “What?”

“Am I dreaming?” You blurt. “Do you really work for the FBI?”

He chuckles and pulls out his badge again, holding it out to you where you can read it. And sure as shit, he’s an actual FBI agent. What the fuck.

You look up as he pulls his badge away. “Did you hear me tell the guy my husband worked for the FBI?”

Aaron shakes his head. “That was pure luck. By the way,” he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Aaron.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand, smiling at the fact that Aaron wanted to go through the official pleasantries and that you got to feel how soft his hand is again. “Thank you for that. I thought he’d never leave.”

“No worries. And it’s best he did, I really didn’t feel like arresting anyone tonight.”

“Arresting him? For what?”

“Well for starters, harassment. But since that usually doesn’t hold up very well, I’d have to say it was for his cocaine addiction.”

Your eyes widen. “He was doing coke?”

“Well, not out in the open, of course, but there were traces of it on his nose and his eyes had that look to them. Addicts are easy to spot when you run into them enough.”

Who the hell is this guy?

“Oh, and forgive me, what’s your husband’s name?” Aaron gestures down at your left hand. “I might know him, but I can’t say that I recognize you.”

“Oh,” you move the ring back to your right hand, much to Aaron’s surprise. “I’m not married. I only put it on the left hand to try to avoid assholes like that.”

“I see,” Aaron nods, and if you’re not mistaken, he almost looks pleased.

Vanessa returns to get Aaron’s drink, and then gives you a look.

You want to scream, yes, I’m well aware he is dangerously attractive and that he’s talking to me but don’t you dare say a word to embarrass me.

Instead, you say, “Can you make me another?”

She nods in understanding and pours out your drink, setting off to make a second after sliding Aaron his beer.

“So,” you turn your body and prop your head in your palm. “What’s got an FBI agent in a bar on a Tuesday night?”

He takes a long swig of his beer before answering. “What’s the real story behind that ring on your hand?”

“Answer for an answer,” you sing, smiling at Vanessa when she brings you your drink. She leaves without a word, raising her eyebrows at you.

“The cases can be rough,” Aaron says vaguely, bringing your attention back to him. “You?”

“Got it as a promise to myself to never date another prick ever again,” you chuckle, gazing down at the ring. “It’s worked its magic, so far.”

“So far?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

He smiles through his next swig of beer.

+++

It becomes a routine, you and Aaron sharing a drink at the bar.

To your surprise, he has the same views as you about alcohol. It’s fun to have one drink, but getting wasted and blacking out isn’t.

It’s refreshing, if you’re honest. Everyone your age wants to get absolutely shitfaced every time they go out, and that’s just never been for you.

It helps that Aaron is older. Well— You’re not sure if it helps or not. Because he is significantly older, the farthest you two have gone is sharing a drink at the bar. He usually leaves first, needing to get home to his son, to do more case work, or there was one time when he actually got a call about a case mid-drink. He was gone for two weeks after that.

But he always comes back, and he always finds you here, at this bar.

You mostly come every night to keep Vanessa company for an hour or two. To give yourself a break from the chaos of reality and to give her a familiar face in the sea of drunken customers.

Every night that Aaron isn’t here, Vanessa asks you where he is. Like you would know (you only do if he tells you of a possible up and coming case). Like you have his number (you don’t). Like you care (you don’t want to admit that you do).

“No Daddy tonight?” Vanessa teases, sliding you your drink.

“If you don’t stop calling him Daddy, I swear to God.”

“Oh, don’t swear to Him. He doesn’t need to get involved.”

You send a glare her way, but you’re holding back a laugh.

“Is he still on a case?” She asks, trying to be serious again.

You shrug. “Who knows. They can last pretty long. He was gone two weeks for the last one.”

“Keeping track, are we?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you two are killing me here, sharing drinks and not saying how you feel. It’s torture to watch you every week, you know.”

“He’s like...twenty years older than me. Or something.”

“And?” She scoffs. “Age is but a number. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. It’s fine.”

You shrug. “He probably just sees me as a friend. He would’ve given me his number or something by now, right?”

“I dunno, men are weird. But he’s older, he’s probably scared to make a move, scared he’ll make you uncomfortable.”

You shrug again. You appreciate her trying to show you the possibilities, the logical reasons for why the two of you haven’t gone any further from the bar, but you aren’t sure what to believe. Plus, it’s been a week since you’ve seen him. The last time you two shared a drink, he didn’t say anything about a case.

So, he’s either on a case again, or has stopped coming.

The latter thought has you debating getting shitfaced wasted for the first time in years. Being blackout drunk would probably hurt you less than if it’s true that he’s just suddenly ditched you.

But what stops you is when Vanessa runs back over, eyes wide. “Just spotted your hottie.”

Oh, now he’s my hottie? “What?” You inwardly scold yourself for sounding a little too giddy at the prospect of him being here.

But if he’s here, why isn’t he sitting next to you?

Vanessa answers that one for you. “At a table in the back. He’s with friends I think.”

Friends? Never mind then on sharing a drink with him. “Oh, cool.”

Vanessa looks like she wants to say something, but is called away to another customer.

You don’t want to butt in with Aaron’s time with friends, so you stay at the bar, facing forward, nursing your one drink. Your mind conjures a plan in two seconds flat: finish your drink, head out for the night and discreetly look in Aaron’s direction, hopefully catch his eye, but if not, just go home and...shower and go to sleep.

Because if he wants to see you, he will. If he doesn’t, then he won’t.

Good plan.

Or at least, it is, until Aaron is sliding up beside you.

Your heart launches itself into your throat. You don’t say anything because you have no idea what to say. You were too busy assuming he’d rather be with his friends (which is...fine because it’s not like the two of you are...dating) to notice him walking up.

He says something for you, though. “Hey.”

Well, he might as well have stayed silent. What are you supposed to do with that?

“Hey,” you return casually, then offer a small smile. “Thought you’d be gone longer.” You operate on the assumption that he was on a case.

And he was. “This one actually worked in our favor.” He leans his elbows onto the bar, and naturally your eyes follow the movement. He’s not in a stuffy suit like the last few times, but he’s still in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Arms. You’re a complete sucker for arms, and he’s practically teasing you like this.

“That’s good,” you comment, taking a sip from your drink. “Here to celebrate?”

“Yeah, we are.”

Nick brings Aaron his beer, thankfully, because you know Vanessa would’ve made some not-so-vague comment about Aaron being up here -- and maybe let an “accidental” Daddy comment slip.

To your surprise, Aaron sits down.

Your eyebrows furrow. “I thought you’re here with friends?”

Aaron looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Just my team, yeah. I imagine they’re tired of me, though.”

You doubt that’s the case, but you know that if you say that, he’ll just brush it off.

“Not even gonna introduce me?” You tease instead, but you honestly want to smack yourself. You need to get a better hold on your word vomit. Inviting yourself is insanely rude.

Aaron’s eyebrows raise slightly, clearly not expecting you to say that — or to even want to be introduced to his team. “They’re a lot,” he says. “They’ll make a big deal out of this.”

“This?” You question, gesturing shortly between the two of you. “What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?” He asks carefully, averting his eyes shyly.

“Well,” you exhale dramatically, swirling your drink. “I think when you’ve shared a drink with a woman more than...twenty times, it should at least be considered dating.” You cut your eyes in his direction, your chest swelling as you see a grin breaking out on his face.

“I think I’m a bad date,” he says, confusing you. He chuckles, adding, “You don’t even have my number!”

“I’ll get it at the end of tonight,” you say, touching his arm gently for reassurance. “Come on, I think the back of my head is burning from how hard they’re staring.”

He looks through the corner of his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry in advance for them.”

“No need to apologize,” you shrug. “Friends can be the worst. Vanessa has already started asking questions about you.” You nod toward the bartender that is feigning interest in clearing a space behind the bar.

“I figured,” Aaron murmurs. “Okay.” He slides off the stool, grabbing his beer in one hand, and holding his other one out to you.

Your heart jumps harshly when you take his hand. It’s warm and soft and secure, everything you want and need. You grab your drink in your free hand, giving Aaron’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

As soon as you and Aaron approach the table, the older gentleman is punching the one with tattoos. “Pay up.”

Aaron witnesses the cash exchange and stares at them tiredly. “Seriously, guys?”

Meanwhile, you’re holding back a giggle.

“Well, hello,” the woman with the colorful fashion sense says. “Introduce us!”

Aaron looks ready to pretend like he doesn’t know any of them, so you step up and say, “He told me you guys would be like this.”

That gets him laughing, and he finally says, “Y/N, this is Penelope, Emily, JJ, Spencer, Derek, and Dave.” Each person nods, waves, or smiles when their name is called.

“I’ll try to remember,” you joke. “But no promises.”

You squeeze Aaron’s hand in yours, trying to get him to loosen up. He does, barely, so when he tugs on your hand, silently asking you to step closer to him so his arm can fit around your waist, you oblige.

“What was the bet about?” You ask, nodding toward the men who exchanged cash a bit ago. It was Dave and Derek if you’re remembering names correctly.

“Rossi thought Hotch was going to bring you back over here, but I didn’t agree,” Derek says, nudging Dave’s arm. “I didn’t think you’d go for him.”

“Well, that’d be embarrassing if I went for someone else, considering we’re dating,” you chuckle, leaning your head back to look up at Aaron.

“Dating? So it’s official?” Emily asks, looking a little more excited than you thought any of them would.

“I think it was official the first time we met,” you snicker. “He pretended to be my husband so some dickhead would leave me alone.”

Aaron’s arm tightens around your waist at the memory.

“Okay,” Penelope grabs her drink, then moves over next to you, linking your arm with hers. “Hotch, we’re stealing her. We need details.”

Aaron doesn’t look like he wants to let go at all, but you press a kiss to his cheek. “Told you it’d be fine,” you whisper to him.

He surprises you by pressing a kiss on your lips. Midway through, your brain reminds you that this is technically your first kiss with him. And it’s in front of his friends. Swoon.

After so many dates with guys who were ashamed to be showing any sort of affection toward a woman, it’s nice to find a man who doesn’t care who sees his affection.

What can you say? After dating so many boys, it’s nice to finally find a man.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch x reader #hotch x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch fluff #fluff #cm #delicate songfic #because i can't NOT think of taylor swift when i write

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unrequitedloveletter · 3 years

Text

Certainly- Kaz Brekker

The reader is a bit of an astrology and astronomy alike geek for this, which I hope y’all don’t mind! Also, in this case, phones exist so lets pretend that phones exist in Ketterdam, making it a bit of a modern au, I guess!

Also, this’ll probably be a bit ooc for Kaz

Fic type- angsty fluff

Warnings- blood, mentions of death, and the reader is sick (nothing specific, I just kind of took random symptoms and made up a word for the sickness)

You were determined to see the stars before you went, and as you grew sicker, none of the crows knew when that would be, so, after a little convincing, the crows had gotten Colm to let you spend a couple of months at his farm in Novyi Zem, where the stars were the clearest at night, not burdened by light pollution or the screams of lively cities.

It was the seven of you crammed into a basement, sharing beds, but none of them cared, and you were just glad to be with the people you called family. You were happy that they were with you, that Kaz was willing to wheel you everywhere when you got too weak to stand, that Jesper still made jokes, even despite watching you deteriorate. You were grateful for Inejs smile, Wylans music, Ninas impeccable tastes and Matthias and his big arms that could lift you and put you down without issue.

The six of them had started taking shifts taking you outside. Nina took you outside Sunday nights, Matthias Mondays, Wylan Tuesdays, Jesper Thursdays, Inej Fridays and Kaz Saturdays. Wednesdays you rested up; ate when it was time to eat, used the bathroom when you needed, took a shower if it were the appropriate time, but other than that, you slept.

It was Kaz’s day to wheel you out, and you’d had a particularly rough day that day. Inej went with him, promising not to intrude on the time that you would spend together. She’d do backflips and run across the roof of the farm if you asked her to, but she’d not interrupt otherwise.

“I love the stars,” you whispered, leaning back in your wheelchair and tightening the hold of the blanket over your lap. “Thank you both. For doing this.”

“Don’t you worry, love,” Kaz murmured. “Just keep your eyes on the stars, okay?”

“We’re happy to do this,” Inej added. “All of us are. Really.” It was like both of them could sense it as well as you could. You had a feeling that the night would end terribly, just like the morning had begun.

You’d woken up only to need to rush to the toilet immediately, blood coming up your throat like bile, staining your skin and leaving your bottom lip red as a cherry.

Kaz had been at your side in a minute, Nina and Wylan right behind him. Wylan kept your hair away from the sides of your face, Nina slowed your heartrate and Kaz wet a cloth with cold water to get your body temp down.

Kaz had forced himself to stay in the moment, to not let his thoughts stray to the urge to sleep in the same bed as you to make sure that nothing happened while you slept--to be there in case something did--but to stay on the sun as it set and the faraway sound of Wylan playing his flute with the window open so that you’d be able to hear it.

Once you’d gotten settled under a tree, Inej ran off, making her way inside and up to the barns roof, where she sat, keeping a watch from a distance as Kaz let you rest your head against his shoulder, gloved hand interlaced with yours.

“I love you, Brekker,” you murmured. “Please don’t forget that. Ever.”

“I won’t,” he whispered. “You’re gonna stay around and get better until we can spar again, and you can beat my ass even though I’ve my cane as a weapon.”

“You know full well I can’t promise that,” you wished that you could. You desperately wished. “I’m going to die young, Kaz. I’m not gonna get to eighteen, much less eighty.” Kaz hated you for that.

He hated you because everything that you said somehow managed to be right. It was like you had a sixth sense for that kind of thing, and while, on missions, it proved useful, in that scenario, it just proved annoying.

“You’re gonna make it to eighteen if it kills me,” he informed you. “I’ll take you around the globe if I need to, just to make sure you end up okay. I will not live a life without you in it, Y/N.”

“You’re sweet,” you murmured. “Incredibly sweet.”

“Only to you, L/N.” That was the last bit of conversation for a long while as the sun set and the stars came out.

“Did you know that the moon isn’t circular?” You pointed lazily to it, bright and beautiful amongst the even brighter stars. “According to scientests, it’s actually shaped like a lemon!” Kaz didn’t fight his smile.

Of course you’d be spouting off the little factoids you knew about space. You loved it, how vast and crazy it all seemed.

“And that the clouds at the center of the Milky Way smell like raspberries and rum?” Kaz snorted.

“Okay, now, theres no way that ones true!”

“Oh,” you leaned up, booping his nose without a care in the world. “But it is! It’s in a study somewhere, I think! Look it up!” He laughed, pulling you closer to him as you rambled.

Inej had started doing running flips across the roof, spinning and dancing and no doubt laughing as she did. Kaz knew it was an elaborate effort to get you to smile, and it seemed to work as she moved; a delightful silhouette amongst a star filled sky.

“I love you, Kaz Brekker,” you whispered. “You don’t need to say it back, but I really, truly do love you with every bone that exists in my body.”

“I love you too,” he said it without hesitation. “And I’ll love you until we’re old and grey, I swear it.”

“Don’t hold me to that promise,” you murmured. “You know how bad this is. Stop thinking that I’ll make it into the new year. I probably wont.”

“You will if it kills me, Y/N,” he gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I’ll drain the bank dry if I have to, I swear to Ghezen.”

You didn’t say anything after, too exhausted to even think about starting an argument with him, simply not wanting to.

But then, an hour later, Kaz felt fear trickle into his stomach like it hadn’t ever in his life.

“And then theres Supernova. It’s like a star that’s dying having it’s last celebration. Like when we get a really big win, or when we get away with what we intended to get away with, and we all get shitfaced before we collapse onto our beds and sleep for the night? A supernova is a dying stars explosion. It’s the last celebration that the star has before it dies out.” you’d been rambling.

“Tonight is my... tonight is my...” Kaz had called for Nina right then and there, screaming her name while he felt you go slack against him.

“Zenik!” He screamed, not caring at all if he were to wake up Jespers father. “Zenik, call in that fucking favor with the bloody Ravkan prince!” Matthias came barreling out after her, phone in hand, already speaking to someone as Nina began working, steadying your heart and trying her hardest to keep you alive.

Kaz had to force himself to walk away from it all, pushing his feet away after giving your shoulders one last squeeze and walking far out into the field.

Once he was sure he was out of earshot, he couldn’t stop himself. Tears flooded his eyes and he found himself glaring at the sky, wanting to scream, wanting to shout, wishing that there was someone around that he could gut like a fish.

“Saints,” he murmured through gritted teeth. “Sankt Ilya, Sankt Adrik, Sankta Alina of The Fold, I know I am a terrible person, but Y/N is not. They’re good, they smile, they laugh, they’re kind to others when those people probably don’t deserve their kindness. I know I’m damned, I know that you probably strongly dislike me, but they’re different.” He’d never asked the Saints for anything before, and he never would again.

“Please, just, let them live. Let them get the life that they deserve. I’ll do my best to make them happy, but you have to let me,” he wiped the tears from his eyes as they came. “They deserve the life that you’re so willing to take away, and all I ask is that you don’t take it.” He heard the sounds of the ambulance car and raced back to you, gripping your hand as they helped you onto a stretcher and out of the field, through the house and out the entrance.

I won’t lose them, he told himself. A world without them is one that’s unbearable.

O N E Y E A R L A T E R

You laughed as Nina chased you through the halls of the Little Palace, running quickly through the endless corridors, your laughter carrying through them as you kept yourself in front of Nina.

Nikolai had kept you in the Os Altan palace since that night, where Inej laughed and danced and did her flips, whilst Wylan played the piano and Kaz sat beside you, listening to your ramblings without a care in the world.

“You seem delighted,” Nikolai noticed as you stopped in front of his office. “I’ve never seen you walk without that Brekker boy at your side, much less run while Zenik is on your tail!” You shrugged, laughing as Ninas front crashed into your back.

“This is the best I’ve felt in a year,” you murmured. “I figured I’d see if Nina was up to chase me around this morning, and I haven’t stopped running since!” You peered in through the open office door, looking for that familliar mop of dark brown hair.

Nina wrapped her arms around you and gave you a gentle squeeze. “He’ll be here any minute,” she murmured. “He and the boys are just finishing up a job for Nik in East Ravka, but Matthias told me the second that they’d left!”

“Trust me. Y/N,” Nikolais smooth voice murmured. “I put them on one of my fastest boats. I knew how long it’d take them to get from here to east Ravka and back, and I promised him he’d be here when you finally awoke.”

“Hows it feel, anyway?” Zoya appeared at his side. “Eighteen, I mean.” You shrugged.

“I miss Kaz,” you murmured bluntly. “I hate that I have to tell him that he was right, but I still miss him.”

Nikolai took Zoyas hand, pulling her close as you and Nina watched, smiles on your faces.

“Young love,” Zoya teased. “Zenik, let go of them so that they can turn around.” Nina obeyed, letting you go and moving to lean against the doorway with Nikolai and Zoya.

You turned, and smiled when your gazes met. “You were right, Brekker,” you murmured, walking toward him as he held out your gift to you. “I’m better now, and the second that you’re ready to spar, I’m gonna beat your ass, even though you’ve your cane as a weapon.” He grabbed your pinky with his the moment you were within distance.

“How’d the heist go?” You murmured once the two of you had walked out of earshot.

“Good,” Kaz let himself be close to you as you two moved, squeezing your pinky as you slowed your steps. “Plan went off without a hitch, for three idiots and a mastermind with a limp. I brought you this from it,” he held the gift out to you again, and you took it in your free hand, examining it.

“I had to ask permission for that,” he murmured. “I had to get the Ravkan kings seal of approval to steal that for you.” You laughed, looking it over.

It was a journal. Black and leather bound, pages crisp and untouched. A pen was tucked into the cover.

“I promise, we’ll go home soon,” you responded. “I miss Ketterdam. I could go for some waffles.”

“Don’t they have waffles here?” Kaz questioned.

“Not Ketterdam waffles, love. Ketterdam waffles are unlike any pathetic waffle from here! Doused in syrup and whip cream--” You let out a satisfied sigh. “So good it’s almost surreal!” Kaz smirked.

“Waffle date when you’re well enough to return home then?”

“Certainly.”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #platonic inej ghafa x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #waffles

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musette22 · 3 years

Text

Drunk in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: A week or so ago, I saw this post. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a ficlet, a little Evanstan AU. It’s a bit late maybe, since Christmas has already been and gone, but it’s still technically the holidays so just indulge me? :p

Also, I hit 3k followers this week, so this is also a sort of thank you to all you amazing, wonderful, beautiful people for getting me here. Love you all as much as I love these boys as much as they love each other 💘 Hope you enjoy!

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It’s 3 p.m. on 17 December, and Chris is a little bit drunk. Maybe even a lotta bit.

In his defense, he is currently in Boston for a bachelor party and they did just do a tour of the Samuel Adams Brewery. It’s not like he makes a habit of daytime drinking. Not this much, anyway.

Chris stumbles out of the bar that’s attached to the brewery, surrounded by a dozen or so old school friends, all of whom are in a similar state of inebriation, when they pass the gift shop and a familiar image catches his eye. Chris stops in his tracks. On closer inspection, what he saw turns out to be a photo, displayed in a stand outside the shop, of a park in Concord near where Chris grew up.

No, not a photo.

A postcard.

He plucks the card from the stand, swaying on his feet a little as he peers at it. In the image, the park is covered in snow, much like it would be right now, and stamped across it in a red, gothic font are the words ‘Happy Holidays’.

Instantly, Chris is hit by a wave of nostalgia. No doubt the feeling is heightened by the alcohol – he always tends to get a little sentimental when he’s drunk – but it’s not just that. It’s also the fact that Chris and his friends have been reminiscing about the good old days all afternoon as well as the sudden, depressing realization that despite all he’s achieved in the past decade or so, his happiest memories are probably those of childhood Christmases spent in Concord.

These days, Chris lives in on the West Coast. He’s kind of a superstar now, after all, and superstars live in LA – everybody knows that. Chris doesn’t usually let himself dwell too much on how lonely he is there, or how he misses the comforting accents and the real winters of the East Coast. Tonight, though, whether because of the booze in his system or the ghosts of Christmas past, he allows himself to feel the stab of homesickness.

Without conscious input from his brain, Chris finds himself buying the postcard. When the cashier asks him if he’ll be needing he stamp, too, he hesitates. “Yeah, why not,” he decides, on a whim. It’s a Christmas card, after all, and Christmas cards are supposed to be sent.

There’s just one slight issue with his plan, Chris realizes as soon as he puts the borrowed pen to the card.

He’ll need an address to send the card to.

Frowning, he taps the pen against the counter, thinking as hard as his beer-addled brain will allow him, but the only address he can think of off the top of his head is that of his childhood home, back in Concord. But… that would be weird, right? He has no idea who’s been living there, since his parents sold the house after the divorce. Then again, Chris tells himself, this could be his good Christmas deed. Sending a postcard to a total stranger just to wish them happy holidays, that’s totally in the Christmas spirit, isn’t it?

With a decisive nod of his head, Chris puts his pen to paper and starts to write. It’s just a few lines, because there’s only so much you can say to a total stranger, but when he signs off with his initials, he feels good about it. He asks the cashier for the nearest post box, which happens to be just outside the building, so he thanks the guy and heads outside.

Pulling his pea coat tighter around him against the glacial December air, Chris spares the card one last look, and drops into the post box. It feels significant, somehow.

He doesn’t get time to dwell on it though, because the moment his friends spot him, he’s immediately and enthusiastically subsumed back into the group and dragged on to the next boozy destination.

Three drinks on, Chris has forgotten all about the postcard.

***

On the morning of 18 December, Sebastian Stan opens his postbox to find a postcard with a photo of the park near his house on the front, and a hastily scribbled message on the back:

Hey,

I used to live in your house.

I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays,

C.E.

Even after re-reading the message three times, Sebastian is none the wiser as to who sent it.

It makes sense other people used to live in the house Sebastian’s been renting, but unsurprisingly, he has no clue who they were. It was only last year that he’d decided to relocate from New York to Concord, craving a change of pace and more peace and quiet than the Big Apple had been able to offer. He’d visited Concord on a research trip for his third novel the year before and had immediately taken a liking to it. So when, after asking his estate agent to put out some feelers in the area, the guy had found him this beautiful place to rent within a day, Sebastian had taken it as a sign.

It’s a big old house – more appropriate for a family than a man living alone, perhaps – but Sebastian can afford it, and it has a lived-in vibe that makes it feel intimate, somehow. Its location on the edge of a large park, peaceful apart from the joggers and young families that frequent it, suits his needs perfectly, too. Despite being a successful author, Sebastian prefers to keep himself to himself. He’s not one for ostentatious book tours or photoshoots, doesn’t believe in social media beyond its promotional potential, and he’s found that he blends in perfectly in this picturesque little town.

In addition to being a private person, however, Sebastian is an inherently curious one.

It’s why he became a writer in the first place, and it’s also why the random, slightly mysterious postcard instantly fascinates him. Someone who decides to send a Christmas card to the stranger living in their childhood home has got to be an interesting person, Sebastian figures.

Unable to resist the temptation, he finds the landlord’s number and presses call.

“The initials C.E.?”

“C.E., that’s right,” Sebastian repeats patiently. “I received a postcard from someone with those initials who said they used to live in this house and wished me Happy Holidays. I’d like to thank them for the card, maybe tell them they’re free to come by the house anytime, if that’s something they’d like.”

“Well,” the landlord says, clear hesitation in his tone. “I wouldn’t usually give out this kind of information, especially not about this particular person. But seeing as he approached you first, I guess it should be alright…”

Chris Evans.

Famous Hollywood actor Chris Evans used to live in Sebastian’s house. The house he’s renting. Whatever.

The point is, Chris Evans sent him a postcard. Sebastian would be lying if he said that knowledge didn’t make his heart beat a little faster. He isn’t one to get star-struck, normally, knowing full well the rich and famous are people just like anyone else, only with an added layer of expensive, sparkly veneer.

Chris Evans, though. Well, let’s just say Chris’s blue eyes, his dazzling smile, and his chest – god, that chest – had helped along Sebastian’s gay awakening considerably, all those years ago.

So even though he realizes what he’s about to do could be considered slightly unethical, the next number Sebastian dials is that of his agent. There’s no harm in asking if there’s any chance she could use her industry connections to pass on a message to Chris Evans, surely?

“Chris Evans?” his agent repeats blankly. “The British radio DJ or the actor?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Actor. Definitely the actor. Why would I want to send a message to a British radio DJ?”

“Why would you want to send a message to the actor?” she shoots back. “Apart from the obvious, of course.”

Touché.

Once he’s explained the situation to her, his agent hums thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll admit that’s pretty amazing,” she says. “As it happens, I know someone at CAA who owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sebastian thanks her warmly, and then he waits.

***

That afternoon, Chris gets a phone call from his agent.

“Thank you for the postcard,” she reads aloud. “If you're ever in the neighborhood, you’re welcome to stop by the house and have a look around, for old time’s sake. Happy Holidays, Sebastian Stan.”

“Sebastian Stan?” Chris asks, eyebrows shooting up. “The author?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’ve read one of his books, though, the one that’s shortlisted for the Pulitzer price, I think? He’s very good.”

His agent hums. “If you say so. Do you want me to pass a message back to him?”

Chris opens his mouth to say yes, then closes it again. “Actually,” he says, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, “I’m still in the area so I think I’ll just pay him a visit. Do you think you could you cancel my flight back to LA this afternoon?”

His agent grumbles at him for a bit but eventually concedes, though not before she’s made Chris promise he’ll be back in LA on Tuesday, for the Christmas special he’s due to appear in. Fun.

For a few moments after he’s ended the call, Chris stares out of the window of his hotel room. It’s snowing again, big flakes fluttering down from the sky, slowly turning the grey, slushy roads white again. He wonders if Pulitzer-finalist Sebastian Stan likes to make snow angels in the backyard too, like Chris used to do.

Putting his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Chris starts to put his things in his overnight bag, and calls an Uber.

It’s almost twilight, by the time the cab come to a stop in front of the house. Chris thanks the driver and steps out, booted feet sinking into the freshly fallen snow. It’s piling up quickly, he notices distantly.

It’s odd, being back here, after everything that’s happened since he moved away, so Chris gives himself a moment to just stand there, in the middle of the deserted street, taking in the sight of house he grew up in.

The house that holds countless memories, many of them good, some of them not so much. His first dog and his first kiss. Scraped knees and snowball fights. Raucous laughter and hissed arguments.

The house looks the same but different.

Chris walks up to the front door, snow crunching under his boots, and rings the doorbell.

***

Chris Evans is on Sebastian’s doorstep.

All blue-eyed, bearded, gloriously muscled, six-foot-something of him.

“Uh,” Chris says, blinking at him in something like surprise before his gaze sweeps up and down Sebastian’s body in a blatant once-over. “Sebastian Stan?”

“Oh wow, you actually came,” Sebastian blurts by way of reply.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought- ‘cause you said-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian interrupts. “I did say that. I just- I guess I wasn’t expecting you to really turn up – or not this soon, at least. But it’s no trouble at all, I live alone so it’s nice to have a visitor. Especially, y’know. You.” Forcing himself to stop talking, Sebastian runs a hand through his messy hair and wishes he’d worn something better suited to meeting one’s celebrity crush. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Let’s try that again. Hi, I’m Sebastian Stan.”

“Chris Evans.” Chris smiles back warmly as he shakes Sebastian’s extended hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Lovely,” Sebastian repeats, holding Chris’s gaze. There are tiny flecks of green mixed in with the blue of his eyes, and his lashes would put any Maybelline model to shame. It takes Sebastian longer than it should to remember to let go of Chris’s hand, but fortunately, Chris doesn’t seem to be in any rush either. Huh. Sebastian clears his throat. “Would you- would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to, if you’re putting out,” Chris replies. There’s a beat, and then he freezes, eyes widening in horror. “If I’m not putting you out – not- not if you’re- I wasn’t, I didn’t mean- oh my god, Chris, stop talking you meatball,” Chris groans covering his face with a large hand. His next words come out a little muffled. “I am so sorry. Just ignore me. I have a horrible hangover, I promise I’m not usually this much of a disaster.”

Sebastian laughs, equally charmed by Chris’s helpless chattering as he is by the blush coloring his cheeks, just visible above the line of Chris’s well-groomed beard.

“You’re fine, I’m not easily offended,” he assures him, stepping aside to let Chris into the hallway. “I can take a lot.”

Oh.

This time, it’s Sebastian’s turn to wince at his choice of words, but when he tentatively glances back at his visitor to see if he noticed, he stills. The look on Chris’s face instantly makes him forget all about feeling embarrassed.

Still standing by the door, melting snow forming puddles around his feet, Chris is watching him intently. There’s something curious in his gaze, something sharp and searching.

It makes Sebastian’s breath catch in his throat. He swallows, resisting the impulse to avert his gaze, play it off as a joke. Instead, he makes himself stare right back. Lets the tension build, lets it simmer and crackle as it stretches out between them, growing stronger with every second they spend looking at each other in heavy silence.

“That right?” Chris asks finally, his voice a low rumble that settles in Sebastian’s bones like smoldering embers. Chris takes a careful step forward, slowly, giving him every chance to back away.

Sebastian stays where he is.

“Mmm,” he hums, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly, experimentally, on the soft, plump flesh. When Chris’s eyes flick down to his mouth instantly, homing in on it like an eagle on its prey, Sebastian decides to take a chance.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian says huskily, stepping closer under Chris’s dark, watchful gaze. “Why don’t you give me a tour and show me which bedroom used to be yours-” he comes to a halt right in front of Chris, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “and maybe you’ll find out just how much I can take, hm?”

For a moment, Sebastian holds his breath, praying he read this thing right and didn’t accidentally sexually harass a virtual stranger – but then Chris growls and surges forward, and Sebastian knows his gamble is about to pay off.

Big time.

Merry Christmas to me, Sebastian thinks wildly, just before Chris claims his mouth in a searing kiss. After that, he stops thinking altogether.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

#evanstan #rpf #my fic #my writing #chris evans x sebastian stan #3k celebration

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broadstflyers · 3 years

Text

A/N: I am so excited to be starting my first ever series. This is inspired by Taylor Swift’s “Cardigan” because her music creates stories in my head that I must write down on (digital) paper. Please keep in mind this chapter is written in past tense, and the story probably won't be in present tense for at least another few chapters. Let me know what you think! If you want to be on the tag list for the next chapter, or drop any (constructive) feedback, you can take this survey here.

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: None

Summary: They say at fourteen you’re too young to know you’re in love. But what if you aren’t?

Navigation: chapter two

Grade: 9 Age: 14 --------------------------------- As sure as you are that spring comes after winter, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, and seconds turn into minutes, you know you are in love with Joel Farabee. Not the gushy “I want to hug you and kiss you and never let you go” love, the intense “I want to burst at the seams because I just want to scream it on the rooftops and tell you and it literally crushes my heart that I can’t” love.

Yeah, that love.

The problem?

You were only fourteen when you knew.

Yes, the grand old age of fourteen. The age you were supposed to be nervously texting multiple boys, wondering if you were going to be asked to the ninth grade dance and worrying about who your first kiss was going to be, or even the first person you were going to hold hands with.

It started on the first day of school, but the start of it all was less than romantic. You shuffled up the hallway with one of your best friends, your feet felt like lead.

“What’s wrong?” Luna whispered in your ear.

“I really hate math,” you huffed. It was the last period of the day, eighth period, and you had to spend it in what was probably going to be a room full of rambunctious athletes who would be itching to burst out of the room at the very sound of the bell. How did you know this? Because you had been stuck in a class like that ever since the beginning of middle school. It made for some laughs, yes, but for some reason a pessimistic attitude bitterly swarmed around you in dark circles. Also, math in general made you anxious, and it didn’t help that the last few years you had to fend for yourself because of your lack of friends in said class.

“Well, at least you’ll have me this year,” Luna attempted to reassure you and your looming anxiety.

“Yeah, but I wonder who’s going to be in our class this year,” you mumbled. Your stomach swarmed with butterflies, but you’d rather call them icky moths.

Luna opened her mouth to respond, but you reached the door frame before her. Before you could even make it through the entrance, you made eye contact with a group of rowdy boys sitting at a table directly in front of you. You stopped dead in your tracks. They paused in their shouting to turn and look at you and Luna, since you were only about seven or eight feet away.

You scanned their faces, and you recognized most of them. They were mostly hockey players that played for the local team that looked for a shot at the NTDP in just a few short years. It was Syracuse, hockey was a pretty big deal there. There was also the prospective varsity quarterback and his star wide-receiver, these labels given to them at just fourteen. Of course, more athletes. Suddenly, you locked eyes with this boy you strangely have never seen before. His hand was hovering in air over his friend’s head with what you could only assume is his friend’s pencil in a lame attempt to keep him from grabbing it.

He blinked a few times, and you might have blinked a few times, you honestly couldn’t remember.

You snapped out of your trance and looked over to the board that said, “Welcome class! Pick your seats for the first day!”

“Hey,” Luna nudged you and grabbed your arm, “let’s sit over there.”

She lead you to a table adjacent to the boys’ table, despite your unheard protests of being “too close” to them.

You took your seat huffing, and you pulled out your binder and got ready for class, something you wished the crazy boys would pick up on. Thankfully the bell rang, your teacher shut the door, and class began.

That’s the first time you saw him. Not very eventful, but hey, you two were awkward fourteen year olds just entering grade nine. Of course things were not going to be all fireworks and love at first sight.

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

A few classes went by, and the only disturbance that occurred was when the class was taking one of those horrible diagnostic tests. See, you really hated disturbances, interruptions, anything relating to that matter.

So when this dude named Joel (you learned his name when he was yelled at for playing rap music in the middle of class) started fooling around with his friend while you were trying to figure out why letters were in math now, you weren’t happy, to say the least.

And when he locked eyes with you and made a silly face, yours did not move in a rather unamused manner. You simply blinked and looked back down at your test.

You missed his face slightly fall, but it was short lived when the teacher yelled his name from across the room and made everyone jump ten feet. He was quiet after that.

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

It was a random Tuesday in late October.

You and Luna were chatting about your previous classes, until you both stopped in your tracks and you raised an eyebrow. Everyone in your class was standing up and congregating away from tables. You could hear the ominous music creeping over everyone’s heads.

“Oh no,” you whined to Luna.

She winced. “We’re being assigned seats, aren’t we?”

You nodded. You both stood in the sea of kids and awaited your fate.

“Alright, everyone,” your teacher said. “You guys have been extremely chatty lately.” She paused to side-eye Joel and his friends.

He opened his mouth to protest, but he quickly shut it when she frowned.

“So you leave me no choice, but I must assign seats,” she dramatically said as she unveiled the new seating chart on the board.

Everyone pushed and shoved to the front to see where their name lied in the cards of fate. You heard some soft celebrations and loud protests.

You nudged your way in and scanned up and down the board. Luna wasn’t at the same table, but she was sitting facing towards you at another table. Hopefully you and her would be able to make eye contact. You scanned until you see your name fall right next to someone who you would rather forget you treated so poorly. It was there in bright, bold red.

Joel Farabee.

“Aw man,” you and a voice said in unison. You looked up at your side to see that it’s him. Oh dear brother. Did you both just admit out loud that you don’t want to sit next to each other? You and him rolled your eyes at each other, huffing that you’ll be forced to be in each other’s presence.

And you knew he was thinking some sort of variation of what you were: how dare your teacher.

You trudged over to your seat and plopped down. He threw down his stuff and sat next to you. You could sense his extreme dislike for your rather serious demeanor. Hey, you could crack a smile.

Just not around him. And for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why. It’s almost like if you did, you knew you would never stop...

You both avoided eye contact, you played with your pencil as he yelled to one of his friends across the classroom about some stupid video game.

And that’s just how it was for weeks. You’d both come in, sit down, he’d scream to his friends, you’d fight shooting him a really dirty look.

Until one day, you accidentally did. Now, later when you told Luna, you swore up and down you didn’t mean to, and it was just the fact that seventh period gym was terrible (but when was it not). Okay, so maybe you were fed up with him yelling about whatever rap song came out, or whatever Instagram model popped up on his feed (that made you shutter).

But what you did wasn’t really admittedly the nicest.

“Joel, do you always have to yell so freaking loudly?” you snapped.

He feigned a stunned expression, or maybe he really meant it, who knows what goes on in that boy’s seemingly empty head.

“Do you have to be such a downer…like all the time? Kinda ruins the vibe bro.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks Joel, because the number one thing I care about is ruining your ‘vibe’,” you put that word in air quotes, “and not getting any work done in this class, bro.”

Now he rolled his eyes. “Look, you could benefit from loosening up a little, you know? You’re kind of just, not a fun person.”

A look of real hurt flashed across your face. One that he caught. “No,” you punctually state. Then you turn your seat so you completely have your back to him and you’re facing the board.

Meanwhile Luna and your table-mates watched the whole situation unfold. Okay, and maybe most of the class.

And when the bell rang and he called your name, you simply decided you didn’t hear it.

“He’s calling you,” Luna prodded.

You just shook your head as you continued down the hallway to the bus. On the bus, you had some thinking to do.

Did he really think of you as...boring? You usually didn’t let the immature words of boys get to you, but this, this really hurt.

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

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Luna insisted that evening while lying on your bedroom floor that same Friday evening.

“Yes he did, and he’s kind of right,” you begrudgingly conceded. “I haven’t been the nicest to him,” you sigh into your hands, “and maybe I should be.”

“Well, what’s stopping you?” Luna curiously asked.

“I, I don’t know.”

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

The following Monday, you winced and leaned into Luna as you approached the classroom. To say you were terrified is an understatement.

But you took a deep breath, held your head high, and locked your face into a neutral expression. You never let anyone get the best of you, and you weren’t going to let Joel out of all people be one of the first.

Luna offered a small sympathetic smile as she made her way to her seat.

Your heart beated out of your chest anticipating his arrival. Sure enough, you caught him out of the corner of your eye. He took his time and strutted around the room to talk to all the friends he had. He was obviously looking to avoid you, too.

Coward.

Eventually, he made his way to his seat. He cleared his throat, but you didn’t budge. Ever heard of being saved by the bell?

“I’m going to hand back everyone’s quizzes from last class,” your teacher announced. You audibly groaned. That quiz did not go well. Who puts diamonds and boxes and something called factoring in math?

Sure enough, she shoved a C- into your sweaty hands.

“Dang,” you whispered.

You glanced over at Joel’s paper. 100%.

Are you kidding me?

His prying eyes had the audacity to spot your C-, as if you didn’t pry on his paper seconds before.

“That’s rough,” he said, trying to make eye contact with you.

“I- um, yeah, it is,” you choked out with your eyes still glued on your paper.

His heart broke when he heard your wavering voice. He had to do something.

“Can I see it?” He quietly asked, when quiet usually isn’t typically his demeanor.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “Uh, sure?”

He took the paper and started drawing stars around the C- mark, very messily, may you add.

You went to take the paper back, but he moved it away from your grasp.

“One second,” he pleaded. He stuck his tongue out in concentration.

You tried to see how badly he was defacing your quiz, but the position of his arm prohibited you from peering over to see.

“Done,” he proudly said as he slid the paper back over to you.

Instead of a plain old C-, there was now...a C- with stars around it.

“Joel, this is very lovely and all, but why the stars around the C-?”

He smiled with his sickeningly sweet toothless grin, and your heart absolutely backflipped into oblivion.

“That’s not a C-,” he goofily joked, “that’s the moon, y/n,” he said through a smile. “See it?”

You looked up from your paper and looked at him in the eye. Your hands shook from adrenaline, your heart was fluttering, goodness, you didn’t know how you could feel any lighter.

That smile was going to be the death of you.

“Yeah, Joel,” you cracked a smile, “I do see it. Thank you,” you sincerely said.

Crack a smile.

You cracked a smile.

His heart skipped a beat. He knew instantly he was going to do whatever it took to keep that smile on your face for as long as possible. He didn’t care what he would have to do.

He smiled once more, and he turned to his buddies to shield his face from you. He didn’t want you to see how red it was turning. He proceeded to explain to them how perfect his stars were and how no one could top them. Something along the lines of “Bro, you have to see this one, it’s so perfect bro…” He also told them how he made you feel better while slapping his chest, for some reason, as in yeah, I made the mopiest girl in school smile. He sounded like he was priding himself on it.

His smile, the way he talked about you, those freaking stars. You’d let him draw those all over your arm instead any day.

At that age, you may not have known why there were letters in algebra, but you knew that the way he made you feel wasn't the same as you did with your two other crushes back in middle school. This just felt...absolutely weird.

But absolutely right.

And that’s the story of how at just fourteen years old, you knew you were absolutely screwed.

#joel farabee #joel farabee imagine #joel farabee x reader

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courage-a-word-of-justice · 4 years

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Deca-Dence 5

“…cannon won’t ignite in time!” The subbers spell cannon as “canon” later as well.

Off to the cliffside, where Kaburagi goes to die…

Deca-Dence 6

“Maybe someone intervened.” – I think Minato did, somehow.

This Death Dive reminds me of Wipeout.

Moriarty 3

I once made up a quote that goes, “When life detests you, fight back.” I think it’s also roughly along the lines of advice Albert needs.

I remembered an odd line from Macbeth: “Brother, he has killed me!” Seriously, Moriarty is scarier than some actual horror anime, I swear…Update: It’s actually “he has killed me, Mother!”, but same impact.

I had my hands over my mouth from the moment the fire began. That’s how intense this is.

This ED…doesn’t sound like an ED. It sounds like the OP for a different anime, like Joker Game or something. Also, having Saito Soma as Gentaro and Moriarty…is a bit unsettling because they have a lot of overlap but one’s basically the evil twin of the other.

Yashahime 4

“…was raised here…”

“…we can…”

I felt a heart twinge when I saw Towa tear up…man, it’s been years since I last dealt with Inuyasha properly.

“…nights where I can’t fall asleep.” – So…you’ll play it a lot then, Setsuna.

Oh, so Kirara is a nekomata? I never knew until now.

Kikyo!

According to the mythology, the kirin rules over the middle…so why is Kirinmaru the monster in the east?

Is “s***” unwarranted here? I didn’t have the volume on, so I don’t know…Going back, I think Moroha said “kuso”, but it’s still kinda weird to have a swear word in a mostly family-friendly series in a slot near Detective Conan. (Then again, Detective Conan is where I learnt “kuso” from…so my standards are probably not as up-to-scratch as they should be.)

Rin! People keep saying Rin is the mother of the girls and it’s basically the only conclusion that could be done, considering the relationship the two had…but it’s still kind of squick…(Says a person who has no problem with SGRS s2’s ending.)

Update: Someone on ANN said the teacher’s name (Osamu Kirin) being similar to Kirinmaru is sketchy and I agree.

Maou-jou 4

There’s no pun for Rocket Turtle…that’s kinda startling, actually.

I’m not going to translate the eyecatches anymore. Seems they were actually translated in the manga and someone just copies them over or something.

I’ve seen some characters use wa when they really aren’t that feminine. However, the voice Suwabe uses for the Sorceror leads me to believe this guy really is trying to be feminine, even if in just a vocal capacity.

…aw, no puns here too.

Oh no, the seal…!

…hmm? The Scissors Sorceror’s info is…we’re not allowed to look at it. That’s what the red text says.

…my brain exploded for a second when I suddenly heard jazz music. It’s a Detective Conan parody! *screams*

Iina! doesn’t really mean “Lucky!” It means more like “cool!” or “It’s good, isn’t it?”

I7 s2 5

I missed these boys!

I like the Kinako transition. It’s cute.

I don’t really like it when Tenn looks at the screen…it gives me 1st person cam vibes.

Why is Tsunashi being called “this”, anyway?

Oh yeah…mensore = youkoso = welcome.

Uh oh…is Yuki actually evil???

Riku (earth) vs. Tenn (heaven). Hmm.

I still can’t believe they don’t believe Gaku is the soba guy. It’s so obvious!

Chikuzen-ni.

Someone on staff ships Gaku and Tsumugi together…hmm…

Oh! So this is DESTINY, huh? I’ve probably heard it on Spotify before, but I don’t recognise it by sheer sound like I do HypMic. (Then again, the half-year off the airwaves probably really hurt I7, man…)

Akudama 4

Say what you will about how bad Funi translations can get…they’re definitely entertaining!

Geesh, Doctor gets all the sexy shots, but Brawler gets all the ab shots. Can I get a sexy Courier shot…?

“…she’s right.” – There’s a lot of dialogue here, so…uh, who’s “she” in this case?

What’s a “bro fro”?

Wow, Brawler, talk about being punched into next Tuesday…(partially joking)

Swindler’s face, LOL. (I know she’s an ordinary gal, but calling her “Swindler” is shorter to type.)

I remember reading around and people agree Swindler works at the Seal Centre.

The shark and bunny’s shirts say things like “Kanto/Kansai”, “earth, air/water” and “pollution/clean” during their montage.

“feminist” – Uh, ex-squeeze me?! Feminism does not equal “ladies first” or “going easy on ladies”. Update: I went and listenend to it and although one of my ears is mysteriously almost constantly plugged these days, I’m fairly sure Doctor did not say “feminist” (in katakana). Update 2: Then I listened to it again and…I’m not sure anymore.

LOL, Hoodlum hit the in-series camera. With his face.

Oh, vault = garage or storage. Right, how did I not know that?

Cat, nooooooooooooooooo! Don’t die!

HypMic 5

After the two “darker” divisions, it seems almost strange to not have a “dark” introduction about the seedy underbelly of alt. future Japan…

Oh, my gosh. That’s Ichijiku on the phone.

The studio has the word “drops” on it.

Lemme guess: Neither hand!...Yup.

The only spoiler I know for this ep. is it’s a Halloween episode, and “Ramuda ruins Halloween”. That quote is way too subjective to mean anything, though…

…hmm, Gentaro doesn’t say “shousei” in that sentence involving “this humble bard” (not that I heard, but one of my ears is mysteriously plugged after I stayed up late browsing Twitter on my phone – don’t tell anyone that, though! They’re not meant to know!). Gentaro is not a humble bard (although that would translate “shousei” quite correctly in the Shakespearean), he’s an author.

LOL, that “ding!”

Gentaro actually says “ghostbusters” in katakana, LOL.

I almost thought this Shinjuku man was Doppo…but no, this Aoyama Cemetery exists. It has nice cherry blossoms.

The “dun dun dun” soundtrack is great. It really sets the atmosphere.

Gentaro really is an idiots’ minder, just as I used to characterise him. (Then the FP and M manga and developments regarding Ramuda being evil changed my mind.)

I-Is this just gonna be an episode of FP being scared and Ramuda yelling? It’s fun for a bit, but when you’re stopping to analyse every few seconds, Ramuda’s voice is gonna get annoying eventually…

Kurosu seems to be a cross between Jyushi and Doppo.

This ep…makes FP look money-crazy. Dice is only money-crazy when he’s broke…because of course you would be…but the others aren’t.

That rock track that plays when FP hand out flyers is cool!

Are they…eating squid?...Welp, squid jerky. I’d say I’m correct.

Oh, so they’re all street photographers? Not just Tom?

I was wondering…how would the “tie to a different division” occur in episode 5, considering episode 6 is where the plot really kicks in? Turns out…they tie back to BB, which is not a thing I was expecting at all.

BB have a BB tablet…makes sense, because I think Hypster have iPhone cases for each division.

Oh, they’re planting the seeds of Ramuda’s ability here, so to speak. By knowing what Hypnosis Mics are capable of doing, you can see the building blocks of Rap Abilities as well.

Okonbanwa! The extra O is meant to make things formal, but only in front of nouns (sometimes it’s “go”, e.g. goshujin), so it’s Ramuda being overly formal to be cutesy and unconventional.

*lightbulb goes off in head* It makes sense that the group affiliated with illusions and randomness does the Halloween episode, actually.

…Yargh! Of course all these onee-sans are FP stans!...*lightly touches temple, as if to get rid of a headache* I should’ve known.

The new song is “Shibuya Ghost Night” by Tokyo Health Club, Yuki “T-Groove” Takahashi and Yuma Hara.

*stops video before the darn airhorn sounds* Thank goodness…hey, isn’t this quote from Magical Girl Spec-Ops Asuka…?

This episode is very seasonal, but doesn’t really make sense outside of airing on Halloween. C’mon, couldn’t you have given us a Sasara appearance instead of having Ramuda yell down the house…? I knew the FP episode was going to be either lighthearted with a dark undercurrent, like the BB ep (considering we haven’t gotten to Ramuda dying yet), or full-on lighthearted, but…I somehow wonder if the staff had an empty spot labelled “Fling Posse episode” due to COVID and went, “Okay, it airs on Halloween this year, let’s make it Halloween-inspired”…or something. Also, I feel Gentaro got the short end of the stick here.

Update: As for yakuwarigo, Ramuda trends towards the feminine side, which is not something I noticed until my groupwork partner pointed it out to me. The message in this episode has a “yone”, which proves that point even further. “Dayo~n” is a variant of the gender-neutral “yo” ending. Meanwhile, I have game samples that prove Dice uses “ze” like BB/MTC, while Gentaro uses “yo” and desu/masu like Jakurai, so it was really Ramuda anyone wanted to pay attention to since his speech patterns are the most feminine-leaning, possibly due to his extensive hanging out with ladies. (I once read a Tofugu post on how non-binary people deal with language that said if you hang out with ladies a lot, you take on feminine yakuwarigo and if you hang out with guys a lot, you do the same in that direction, but I clearly remember Ramuda using “sa”, which is a slightly male-leaning ending.)

Taiso Samurai 4

There’s something in the background which stops me from listening to it and one of my ears is blocked, but I gotta find out what Tackey was saying about the NHK Cup (the joke, I mean). Update: So I think it’s ninja/nukihara/kekkou, but I may have heard that wrong due to my blocked ear…I should get someone to clean it out properly.

Here’s the YoI monologue about competitions again. <- (neutral on it) Also, NHK is in English letters/romaji in the term “NHK Cup”, but the “Cup” isn’t (it’s in kanji).

Sekigahara had a huge historical battle.

Huh? This episode’s called “Samurai Musume (daughter)”, so…where did “Battling Samurai” come from? That’s one of the previous episodes, right?

Selfies, before they were cool.

I was wondering if Leo actually calls Rei “Rachel” like he calls Jotaro “Joe”…and he does. I just haven’t paid much attention to the audio, that’s all.

The Battle of Chibi? Never heard of it until now, but the Battle of Red Cliffs is the same thing.

Leo Naruto runs…LOL.

If Rei was in 4th grade in 2002…are we going to see the characters in the present in the end? She would be 28 in 2020.

I guess I should’ve guessed from “hat trick”, but a Bergkamp trap is related to soccer.

There’s a random Japanese-sounding track in the background…didn’t expect that.

A cemetery…on the day after Halloween.

“Grandma’s place” = the bar…Ohhhhhhhhhh. I was wondering, didn’t the grandma and Rei live together? Then it all came together.

Jim Beeam (sic), LOL.

I wonder, are Tackey and Ayu dating like he asks?

Gotta love a man in a suit! *chef’s kiss*

Yashahime 5

Who’s this Tokotsu guy again…? Also, the “ja” in Jakotsumaru means “young”.

Oh, Myoga. It’s been a while.

Can there be 4 Perils when there’s only 3 of them…?

Well, it makes sense that a dog demon would have demon fleas…in a sense.

Why is “trying to swallow up this world and turn it into a degenerate age” (or whatever Kirinmaru’s aim is) so vague? You could say the present is already an age of mass degeneracy…

Maybe the Dream Butterfly took Moroha’s memories…?

Wait, why is Myoga only allowed to drink Moroha’s blood when she puts on the rouge?

So this is an arhat. Also, aren’t morals an Anglophone ideal imported into Japan and the rest of Asia? That’s what separates Towa from Setsuna.

Akudama 5

This drone definitely won’t come in handy at all…(sarcastic)

There’s an Evangelion feel to these “masks”…

That box is like Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs! It’s great!

I like how the kids jump to the potential fact (?) this is a Swindler trick.

You can see Courier’s bike in the background when the bunny says “…and I mean everything.”

*Knights of Sidonia music starts playing* Search! And! Destroy! *record scratch as music stops*

I think this little discussion between Courier and Swindler will go down in Akudama Drive history as one of my favourite moments because it’s the little conversations that count. Also…does Courier have a mechanical hand, or is that just me thinking weird things…? Is that a glove?

Ooh, scars. Sexy. (On the Executioner Master, at least.)…Now I get why the guy wears that mouth covering.

HypMic 6

Halfway through the season already…? Yikes, how time flies. By the way, my assignment’s come and gone so I don’t need to focus on it anymore.

Hmm? Why did the subbers put “Prime Minister” when Ichijiku merely says “yes”…?

Wait, 1st question: how does one sign up for a rap battle? I don’t think that’s ever been answered. 2nd question (well, not a question): Dice is paying attention to Otome now…

I’m fairly sure that red brick warehouse was just that…as in the Red Brick Warehouse in Yokohama, which was also featured in Bungou Stray Dogs. Update: Oh, it’s (partially) a shopping mall…? I didn’t know that until now.

See, I told you they’re (Tom, Iris and Rex) probably foreigners…

That one shot of Jakurai? *chef’s kiss* Beautiful. Give me a million of ‘em. (Okay, I’m kidding to some degree, but I can’t help staring at it. Jakurai’s just too pretty…)

“Tweet-like lyrics”? Eh? When was Twitter a collective pessimist?

Oh, that’s basically the scene from the drama track. Where the heck is Jakurai fishing though…? I always imagined it to be at a river or a pier, not some concrete complex. Update: According to a user on Twitter, the fishing place is called “Ichigaya Fishing Centre”. It is, as you would expect, found in Shinjuku. Apparently, even Osomatsu-san featured the place...which would explain why it looks vaguely familiar to me.

Wow, I can’t believe how upfront they’re being about Ramuda breaking up TDD.

Ramuda thought in his deep voice…I almost didn’t recognise it for a second. It doesn’t even sound like Shirai. It sounds more like…Hayami, in fact.

“F*** yeah!” - …and they’re still going with the F bomb. Keep being you, subbers, keep being you.

That shot of Saburo in a dimly-lit room almost looks like the SR card in ARB, except in that one he has his headphones on (and might be outside, to my memory).

Oh, so the round thing really is Ichiro’s ring. It’s got an “I” on it too, i.e. the Roman numeral for one.

*Ichiro explains what happened to TDD from his and Samatoki’s side* - I don’t think we’ve ever seen the story from Ichiro’s or Samatoki’s perspective enough to know either thought this (or this way).

“Jiro! Saburo! Let’s go!” - …and Tom’s just taking photos as they leave, LOL.

I didn’t expect the TsudaKen guy to be back again, really.

Well, if this Google route is to be believed, “Sadamezuka’s soul” only lasts about 30 minutes by car crossing from one point to the other, hence Jiro’s remark.

Googling “Toyotama” and “Toyotama Line” gets you…Ghost of Tsushima links…?

…hmm. I’m not listening to it on a hugely loud volume, so I can’t quite tell what the pun is, but I think the word for “monk” in this case is “bouzu”. Then what’s the word for “electric dynamo”…? Update: The pun, according to Takahisa Maeyama, is Erekiteruteru Bouzu.

That ticking thing was really effective in terms of the song…but sasuga HypMic. Things went ka-blammo again.

So we’re probably going to see BB’s first DRB round next ep…or Matenrou doing another takedown similar to ep. 3. Or both. Both is good. (Or it could be the FP/M side of things, much like we got the BB/MTC side of things here.)

...Uh, shouldn’t that be “dawn”? The anime’s generally been very good about this (aside from the obvious typo in the BB logo), but…welp, they’ve done it now.

Update: The LOVE you see Hifumi and Doppo near is this one.

Update 2: As for the yakuwarigo, it…turns out, to no one’s surprise, it stays oddly consistent across all media, although individual treatment of the characters can differ depending on the author.

HGPC 4

Ooh, is this Element of Light?

Fate/Stay PreCure! Here we come!

Moriarty 4

Why is the “to” capitalised? (Is that even capitalised?)

Quinine.

I kind of knew the grapefruit and the heart condition and/or quinine would be relevant somehow…and boy howdy, was I right! I just didn’t really know what it was going to do, that’s all.

I thought the ED didn’t match very well, but looking at the translated lyrics…now it kind of makes sense.

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

Older Now, But Not Done Hoping (2/3)

Killian Jones has lost his festive spirit. It’s been forcibly removed by corporate America and private developers and how much alcohol the customers at his bar drink every night. Although, he supposes, that means he’s making a profit, but that also feels a little Scrooge-esque and he doesn’t have time for visits from ghosts.

Because he’s suddenly got a whole schedule in front of him, written out and planned by his roommate. To reclaim their mutual and collective festivity. Together. Oh, and he’s in love with her. At Christmas. And all the time, really.

This is going to be great.

Rating: Teen Word Count: 9K and change. Lots of adjectives. Lots of New York. AN: Back again with more words and more pining and more New York at Christmas. Like. A lot of New York at Christmas. You really need an appointment with Santa at Macy’s in Herald Square. This is still for @xellewoods and still because of @cssecretsanta2k18. Merry Christmas Eve, internet!

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

He’s never actually been to hell, but Killian assumes if he were to ever visit, it would be very similar to standing in the middle of Times Square on a Saturday in December.

Three different tourists have already run into him. One with a particularly aggressive shopping bag.

There is a person taking pictures of...something half an inch in front of him. They’re also standing on his left toe. But Emma is also holding on tightly to his right hand, so Killian figures that evens it out.

Or something.

It’s a few days after they first decided to do this – recapturing their festivity and Emma has been nothing if not a complete force for Christmas goodness. There have been cookies baking almost constantly in their less-than-impressive oven all week, a constant scent of sugar hanging in the air that Killian is certain is going to, eventually, do some serious damage to his cholesterol levels, She keeps bringing the cookies into the bar.

The regulars have started making requests. There were some questions about some kind of chocolate wreath-shaped thing that had filling and Emma had spent the next two hours crouched over her phone doing research.

There’s been Christmas music playing on loop whenever he wakes up as well, the quiet hum of Michael Buble’s voice seemingly working its way into Killian’s subconscious, and the list of tourist traps they’re getting ready to traipse to this afternoon has been hanging on the refrigerator door since Tuesday.

And, honestly, from the outside looking in, this is not a bad thing. This is a very nice, very festive thing. But from the inside looking out, it’s also kind of a worrisome thing because Killian cannot remember the last time Emma looked up a recipe for anything, let alone some random international dessert, and he’d spent those same two hours casting meaningful glances Will’s direction.

He’d been no help at all.

Figured.

So Killian is only a little concerned that this is all some great, big coping device and a distraction and he knows the last place to broach that particular subject is the middle of Times Square with a tourist resting most of his weight on his left foot, but there’s this knot in the pit of his stomach that hasn’t gone away in days and maybe won’t ever go away and he’s not entirely sure what he would have done if something had happened to her.

Or what will happen if Robert whatever-his-last-name-is calls his phone again. He’s called six times in the last four days. His assistant has called ten times more. Killian is very seriously considering throwing his phone up Broadway at some point this afternoon.

Maybe he’s just eaten too many cookies.

Emma is also questionably good at baking, it seems.

That figures too.

“Hey,” Emma says, tugging lightly on his hand. Neither one of them are wearing gloves. “You want to walk while you ponder whatever serious thoughts you’re pondering right now?” “Who says I’m pondering anything? Serious or otherwise?” “Your thought face.” Killian chokes on air that doesn’t smell like garbage anymore, but does, somehow, smell kind of smoky and there’s something coming up from the vent on the other side of the block. The tourist in front of him does not appreciate whatever undignified sound he makes, glancing over his shoulder at him with a look that could probably melt snow into disgusting sidewalk slush.

“Oh my God,” Killian mumbles, and this is not the bright, festive outlook he promised Emma he’d bring when she handed him a mug of coffee that morning. “You are not part of this conversation. Just keep walking. Right across the street.” The tourist blinks. And does not walk.

Killian can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket.

“Do you know how to get to Rockefeller Center? The one with the ice skating rink, I mean.”

Killian glances around to make sure there aren’t any hidden cameras. There aren’t. Just the normal cameras and traffic cameras and, God, there are a lot of very obvious cameras in the middle of Times Square.

He supposes that’s a good thing. Security. Or something. And no one getting shot. God.

The tourist waits expectantly for an answer, ignoring the small crowd that is forming behind them because they all refuse to walk across 44th Street in a timely fashion.

“Wait, what?” Killian asks, brain not quite ready for the specifics of the question. He’s half positive he’s being Punk’d. He’s not sure Punk’d is a thing anymore.

“The Center with the ice skating,” the tourist repeats. He shifts the bags in his hands, knocking one with an I Love NY emblem against Killian’s calf. Emma is honestly doing a God awful job of not laughing, although he’s fairly certain she’s not laughing at the tourist.

Killian’s definitely the jerk in this situation.

“You’re going the right way up,” she answers, twisting against Killian’s side to block another plastic bag strike. Or maybe just move closer to him. He really hopes for the second one. His phone has stopped buzzing. “Five more blocks to 49th, but then you’ve got to head back East. Over towards 5th Ave.” “Which way is East?” Killian resists the urge to shout slightly dated comedy routines in a tourist’s face. He assumes that was not on the list of how to reclaim their festivity 101. He also assumes that was not the name for the day.

Emma would have come up with a better name.

“That way,” Emma says, nodding towards her right. “Two blocks over towards 5th Ave.” “Ah, technically three, right?” Killian asks. He winces when he realizes he’s joined the conversation, squeezing Emma’s hand slightly in apology.

“Seven minus five is two. That is like...the most basic math in the world.” “I’m not disagreeing with that, love. I’m just saying,” he waves his free arm towards Broadway. “That’s also a street. So that should be three blocks.” “It’s, like, three feet of space.” “Still counts as a street.” Emma shakes her head. The tourist looks very confused. People are moving around them now. There are so many honking cars. “No, no, no,” she chants, and this probably shouldn’t be enjoyable. It’s definitely not on the list. “That’s ridiculous.” “The street is right there, Swan. Look that guy almost got run over walking across it.” “Happy Holidays.” “I’m just saying,” Killian continues, almost entirely forgetting about the tourist and his bags and whatever desire he possesses to pay a ridiculous amount of money to go ice skating. “That’s a street and that should be included in a block.” “Nope.” “A block is a measure of street to street.” “That makes no sense,” Emma argues. She’s waving her other hand now too, strands of hair hitting against her cheeks and chin when she keeps shaking her head. Killian resists the urge to run his fingers through it.

That, however, would require him to let go of her hand, so…

“A city block is not a set measurement,” Killian says. “Think about 14th Street in between 6th and 7th Ave. It’s the longest block in the world.” “That is only because you think it is. Manhattan is a grid system.” Killian opens his mouth to object to that, or possibly quote some more stand-up routines, but Emma’s eyes narrow and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing too loudly. “Most of Manhattan is a grid system,” Emma amends, and he can’t help but smile. “City blocks should be consistent. And the minimal amount of space between 7th Avenue and Broadway right here should not count as a block. It’s, like, seriously a few feet.” “And also not part of the grid.” “What?” “Not part of the grid,” Killian repeats, smile widening.

He’s not sure when this started, exactly, the almost too obvious attempts to poke each other’s even more obvious buttons, but it may honestly have started the first time they met and argued about something he also can’t remember. It might have been hockey.

It’s an unspoken kind of game now, an easy rhythm to it that always seems to time up with his pulse and the slightly erratic way Emma makes his heart beat. It’s fun.

They may be scandalizing the tourist.

Emma scowls, trying to tug her hand out of his grip so she can cross her arms over her chest. He doesn’t let her move. “How do you figure?” “Broadway doesn’t run north and south,” Killian answers. “It goes sort of diagonal across the city. You can’t have diagonal on a grid.” His smile turns into a grin – wide and winning as soon as Emma huffs out a breath of frustration through her teeth. She twists her lips, jaw clenching and eyes narrowing and it probably isn’t supposed to be attractive, but Killian is mostly attracted to every single thing she does, so he’s not entirely surprised by it.

“Did I win?” Killian asks. “Three blocks?” “That is stupid.” “That’s not an answer, love.” “Literally the most stupid thing I have ever heard. Broadway shouldn’t count at all, then! In anything! It shouldn’t even be a street.” “It’s definitely a street. Look there are cars on it right now. I think this means I won and you just don’t want to admit it. What do I win?” “Shut up.” “Still not an answer,” he mutters, moving into her space with practiced ease and clicking his tongue in reproach when she swats at his chest. “Now, Swan, that’s hardly festive.” Emma sticks her tongue out.

The game, it seems, usually dissolves into something that some may consider flirting.

Killian doesn’t. Of course. Because he’s the world’s biggest idiot.

“You get nothing,” Emma says. “You lose. Good--”

“--Day, sir,” he finishes, the muscles in his face starting to ache from standing in the cold with a very confused tourist starting at them and smiling at Emma. “Was it on TV? Is that why that just happened?” “We should be monetizing your mind reading powers. I mean we’re in Times Square. Only seems right, huh?”

Killian chuckles, pressing a kiss to her hair and that’s been happening more in the last week, but he’s managed to rationalize it on the lingering hint of gunshots mixing in the air with the sugar and over-confident real estate developers.

Emma’s never actually told him to stop either.

“Is Willy Wonka a Christmas movie?” Killian asks, Emma shrugging in response. “That’s like...aren’t the kids supposed to represent the seven deadly sins or something?” “Were there seven kids?” “No, right? Charlie and Violet and Mike TV and the chocolate kid.” “The chocolate kid? Augustus?” Emma shrugs again. “I’m missing someone aren’t I? There’s one more kid.” “I’m not the one who watched it on TV recently enough to quote it,” Killian points out. “That can’t possibly be considered a Christmas movie. That’s not festive at all, it’s--”

“--You’re missing Veruca,” the tourist interrupts, and God Killian’s totally forgotten about the tourist. “Also agreed on the festiveness. I have no idea what the hell you were talking about with the blocks, but thanks for the directions. You both are incredibly cute.” He nods once, a tight smile and then he’s gone, a flash of bags and one side of his scarf hanging over his back.

Neither Emma nor Killian move.

A different tourist runs into them.

“I can’t believe we forgot Veruca,” Emma mumbles, barely audible over the rush of another push of pedestrians. “She’s the only one who gets a song.” “Not a Christmas song, though.” “That’s a very good point.” “I’m here to make those.” She hums, twisting again and, somehow, finding a few inches of a space she hadn’t been previously occupying which is why Killian can feel, with almost startling clarity, how quickly her body tenses when a car honks.

Emma’s breath catches, shoulders going tight and the arm that had been hanging at her side flies around Killian’s middle. She squeezes tightly, burying her head against his jacket and he’s only a little worried she’s going to cut her cheek on his zipper.

She doesn’t shake, still, but Killian can’t actually feel her inhale either and he’s not entirely sure what to do.

He swallows down the rather large wad of whatever that’s returned to the back of his throat, shifting his weight so he can work his own arm around her, tracing mindless patterns against her back and the ends of her hair.

At some point, some part of his mind decides to start mumbling words against her, quiet promises and guarantees he’s got no business making – it’s fine and nothing’s happening, love and I’m right here, Emma. She tightens her hold on his middle, almost the wrong side of painful, particularly when his phone starts to make that obnoxious buzzing sound again.

“Is your phone ringing?” Emma asks, not quite able to mask the sniffle when she inhales again.

Killian nods. “Incessantly it seems.” “Should you be acknowledging that?” “No.” “Is it Scarlet?” “No.” Emma leans back, an appraising look on her face. “Ok,” she says slowly. “I’m not...actually trying to pry, but apparently we’re doing this not telling each other stuff now and--” She grits her teeth when Killian’s eyes widen. “Damn, that’s not what I meant. I just…” “I know, Swan,” Killian promises. “And it wasn’t an intentional secret, more a biding my time secret until I figured out a way that it wouldn’t be an issue.” “And have you?” He shakes his head, disappointment slinking down his spine and threatening to freeze him to the spot. They could probably market that in Times Square, honestly. “No, nothing. And Scarlet said the pita people are a little annoyed with us now because Gold’s offering more money and threatening to get the city involved and--” “--Can he do that?” “I have no idea, which is part of my problem, honestly. But I’ve also got an actual business to run still and try to make money at so I haven’t been able to devote a ton of time to research.”

“Plus reclaiming your festivity,” Emma adds, voice dropping a hint in a way that is far too telling because they spend far too much time together and she’s definitely been using Christmas cookies as some kind of emotional buffer.

That tourist totally thought they were a couple.

God, Killian hates when Will is right. It’s so annoying.

“That’s something I was more than willing to dedicate several days to if I needed,” Killian says. He makes a face – a twist of eyebrows that always manages to get Emma’s lips to twitch slightly, the most delicious kind of festive themed torture.

“I think Scarlet would kill you. I already told him I’d bake him some kind of cookie loaf thing his mom used to make when he was a kid to make up for this.”

The ice at the base of Killian’s spine melts immediately, only to turn into fireworks and hope and so much goddamn want he can’t understand how it’s not just pouring out of every single one of his pores. Emma smiles. “You want some help? When you make it, I mean.” “I was thinking about doing it when we get home. Then he can eat it while he complains about how bad American football is tomorrow and wax poetic about the Premier League or whatever it is he watches.”

“The Netherlands National team.” “Is that weird?” “I think his mom went to Amsterdam once,” Killian reasons. “It’s definitely a family thing. What if we bake whatever cookie loaf whatever in wooden shoes. That’s festive, right?” “I think that may be a stereotype honestly.” He makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat – another attempt to get Emma to smile that may, honestly, be just flirting. He is, admittedly, still having a difficult time hearing her call the apartment they have shared for literal years as home.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to antagonize him on purpose,” Emma says, stabbing a finger into his jacket. They’ve finally started moving again, walking up 7th Ave with the throngs of tourists and flustered retail workers and Killian has absolutely no idea where their destination is.

“Would I do that?” “I think you are, currently.” “Nah,” Killian says, but it sounds exactly like the lie it is and he realizes where they’re heading. Towards that line wrapped around the corner of the block, shivering families and over-excited kids and Emma when her head falls against his shoulder.

“Damn,” she breathes. “I didn’t think this place got a line anymore. What year is it?” “It’s Saturday.” “Damn.” Killian hums in agreement because he can’t quite understand why anyone in their right mind would stand in line to get into the goddamn Hershey’s store. It’s a tiny space and it probably smells even more sugary than their apartment, the scent wafting onto the sidewalk every time someone opens up the door.

“How much do you think this door person gets an hour to direct this line?” Emma murmurs, not lifting her head up.

“Not nearly enough.” “Yeah, that’s true. Damn. Seriously. I know I just keep saying that, but David said Ruth wanted this one specific kind of hot chocolate.” “Oh, is that why we’re here?” Emma makes a noise that might be agreement or the growing sense of frustration at their inability to start the plan on the right foot. “It has to be Hershey’s?”

“So David claims.” “That is oddly specific.” “I’m just the messenger.” “It’s been appropriately delivered,” Killian says. He lets his cheek rest against the top of her hair, staring at the door to the Hershey store as it keeps swinging open and the, very likely underpaid, door attendant tries to explain why you can’t go in quite yet to every person who asks him. “What about M&M hot chocolate? That’s like…” “Close?” Emma suggests.

“Like 7th Avenue and Broadway on 44th Street.”

It gets the laugh he was hoping for and the smile he was only slightly determined to work out of her, a breath of fresh air and brightness that would rival every light in Times Square in several hours. He’s thinking in metaphors now.

“Yeah,” Emma agrees. “Exactly like that. Alright, well we’re oh-for-one. It can only get better from here, right?” “That’s definitely the spirit, love.”

She nods once, a quick smile and even quicker tug to the end of the scarf she’d totally forced him to wear that morning, before grabbing his hand again and tugging him towards the M&M store on the other side of the street.

It’s a bigger store than its Hershey counterpart – several floors and more space between shelves and while there are still plenty of people crammed inside, it’s not impossible to breathe as soon as they try to move. Emma doesn’t let go of Killian’s hand. Or the the other way around. He honestly could not care less, just lets her direct them forward and it takes half a second to realize she’s humming along with the Christmas music they’re playing.

And Killian’s laugh seems to almost fall out of him, quiet and a little surprised because, even after all these years, he’s a little surprised by how easy it is to remember how much he loves her. She keeps humming, head moving with the beat every now and then until the music shifts and stops and--

“God, what the hell is that?” Emma asks sharply as a painfully cheery voice announces it’s time for our hourly holiday giveaway over the PA system. “They give away something every hour?” “I don’t think they’re exactly lacking for funds here, Swan.” “You’re a miser.” “No, no, Scrooge never would have made Jacob Marley baked goods when he got home later.” “You are helping. You’re not making them and--wait, wait, I know the answer to that question!” He hadn’t heard the question. It clearly doesn’t matter though, because Emma is moving and Killian’s got no choice to follow her, twisting around displays and oversized versions of the M&Ms on the TV commercials and there’s a glint in her eyes that he hasn’t seen in forever as soon as they skid to a stop on the side of the cash registers.

“Hi,” she says brightly to a polo-wearing worker who only looks a little stunned by the enthusiasm in front of her. “I know the answer to your trivia, giveaway thing.” The theme of the day may actually be both Emma and Killian overwhelming strangers across Midtown Manhattan.

The girl’s eyes dart across Emma’s face, likely looking for signs of impending insanity because he can only imagine the kind of people who come into the M&M store shouting about things throughout December, but she doesn’t appear to find anything entirely wrong and her answering smile is only a little tremulous and customer service appropriate.

“You know what other Christmas song was referenced in Christmas (Baby please come home)? By Michael Bublé?” “Well, I mean all of them. The lyrics don’t change just because Bublé is or isn’t singing it. Better with him, but…” Emma shrugs and Killian genuinely isn’t sure whether to laugh or kiss her or possibly just shout that he’d very much like to spend the rest of his life scandalizing M&M store workers with Christmas knowledge for the rest of their lives. “Everything’s better with Bublé at Christmas, right?” Emma continues, and the worker nods slowly. “Anyway the answer is Deck the Halls.”

“That’s right,” the worker says. Her name is Aurora. It says so on the tag on her shirt.

“Yeah, I know.”

Killian ducks his head, moving it directly into Emma’s hair, which is either the greatest or worst idea he’s ever had, but he’s also having a difficult time staying upright while laughing so hard. Aurora looks even more stunned.

“Ok,” she says, more forced customer service voice as she leans back behind the register to grab a pre-filled bag of red and green M&Ms off the nearest shelf. “So, uh...congrats on your extensive holiday knowledge and opinions on Michael Bublé.” “Who doesn’t like Michael Bublé?” Emma counters. She takes the bag, a quiet noise because it’s obviously heavier than she expected. Killian is feeling more festive already. He didn’t know the answer to the trivia question. “Also, thanks. Do you guys sell hot chocolate? You know fancy hot chocolate? That could be easily passed off as hot chocolate made by Hershey?” “There’s a Hershey store on the other side of the--” “--We weren’t really big on waiting in the line,” Killian explains, Aurora’s eyebrows jumping when he joins the conversation.

“Ah, well, unfortunately no. Unless you’re looking for Dove chocolate hot chocolate.” Emma shakes her head. “M&M owns Dove chocolate too?” “Mars does. And, like, every gum brand you can think of. Although I’m pretty partial to Juicy Fruit. And Uncle Ben’s rice.” “Wow,” Emma muses, shifting the candy into the crook of her elbow. “That is...something huh? Corporate. That's the word I was looking for. It’s corporate.” Aurora looks incredibly confused. That’s fair. But Killian can hear the hint of something on the edge of Emma’s voice, a flash of disappointment that does not belong in this day or this month or this holiday and at some point he really will stop pressing kisses to her temple.

Probably when his stomach unclenches.

“C’mon, love,” he says, letting go of her hand so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders instead. “I bet there’s super fancy hot chocolate in Bryant Park.” That’s the next stop on her list. She smiles.

And they end up giving the M&Ms to the door man at the Hershey store – some kind of up yours to corporate America that probably doesn’t belong at Christmas either, but Phillip, his name is Phillip it says so on his name tag, mumbles something like oh my God, thank you, I never have enough time to eat on my 15 and promises not to brandish competitive merchandise. They tell him the bag was made by Aurora in the M&M store who really likes Juicy Fruit gum.

He beams at them.

It only takes a few minutes to get to Bryant Park, twisting their way between tourists and slow-moving cars in Times Square and both of them exhale sharply as soon as their feet land on the 6th Avenue. That, of course, only lasts as long as it takes to get across 6th Avenue and the sea of humanity waiting for them in Bryant Park is only a little intimidating.

“If I just keep mumbling damn under my breath all day is that going to get super annoying and repetitive?” Emma asks.

Killian shakes his head. “Depends on your voice inflection. Throw in some accents too. It’ll sound like a new word every single time.” “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” “Did you not hear yourself say you wanted to go ice skating before?”

“Maybe we’re both secretly fantastic ice skaters and we’re just missing our potential. This is our moment. Carpe diem or whatever.” “You know usually people leave off the whatever part of carpe diem and I think the whole phrase really suffers because of it. Not nearly as inspiring.”

Emma scoffs, but there’s still a smile on her face and she pulls herself closer to him when he moves his eyebrows. “You think you’re very charming don’t you?” “Only around you.” It’s not actually an admission, but it kind of feels like one and Killian digs his teeth into the side of his tongue. To stay grounded. Or whatever. Emma, however, doesn’t seem troubled, just presses up on her toes and rests a freezing cold hand against his cheek.

“I’ll take it,” she says. “C’mon. We’ve got to rent skates.”

Skating, it turns out, is much more difficult than Killian expected to be. The rink itself isn’t particularly crowded, but ice, by its very nature, is particularly slippery and neither he nor Emma seem capable of finding their stride.

He hopes that isn’t a sign.

“Oh my God, no, you’re going too quickly,” Emma says, breathless and a little flushed. That may be a sign.

“Swan, we literally cannot be going any slower. We’re not even moving.” “Too quick.” Killian chuckles, but the sound turns into a groan when Emma’s skate skids underneath her, sending her crashing into his chest. “Oh shit, this was a mistake,” she moans. “Whose idea was this? This is not festive at all.” “Your idea, love.” “Idiot.” He’s back to laughing and the security guard with perfect skating form, who probably makes a bit more than either Phillip or Aurora, keeps glancing at them. Because they aren’t moving. And haven’t in some time.

“That’s incredibly untrue,” Killian says, leaning back slightly. It’s a mistake – they both shake and wobble, baited breath and wide eyes with only the fear of becoming some viral sensation keeping them upright.

There are a lot of phone in Bryant Park. And Christmas music. He’s fairly positive this same song has been playing on a loop for the last thirty-three and a half minutes.

“You’re an adrenaline junkie, aren’t you?” Killian presses, and the ice under him suddenly feels thinner. Metaphorically. Emma’s eyes flash, a warning there. He ignores it. “C’mon Jones, you’ll love it. It’s a famous roller coaster. On the Travel Channel all the time. Everyone has to go on it once in their life. Just ignore the negative effects the g-forces will have on your internal organs.” Emma’s nose twitches. “I never said that part. And if that was supposed to sound like my voice, it was absolutely atrocious.” “Eh, I’m working on the fly here,” Killian grins.

“Well the least you could do is quote me correctly. Don’t you actually remember what I said?” “Perfectly.” He doesn’t shout the word, although the security guard definitely looks up like he did. That may be because it’s the truest truth Killian has ever spoken. “You said you didn’t want to ride with some stranger if I wimped out. Mary Margaret and David were probably already making out in line.” “They totally were.” “Interrupting,” Killian mumbles, Emma sticking her tongue out in response. “Anyway, they were off being disgusting and you said I had to ride and--” He has to take a deep breath, the ice feeling like it’s melting a bit under him, but that may just be because Emma's fingers are warm when they lace through his.

“I told you that if you freaked, you could just hold onto me,” Emma finishes. “Because I wasn’t going anywhere and you made a joke about Isaac Newton.” That was timely.” “Yuh huh. Ok, we can go slightly faster on the ice if you absolutely do not let go.”

Killian nods, tugging Emma’s hand up to brush his lips over her knuckles. “One foot in front of the other.”

They push off.

And for, at least, sixteen full seconds Killian is certain this is going to work. They’re gliding and haven’t sustained any lasting injuries and Emma’s hand feels impossibly wonderful in his. It’s good. Great, even. Festive, for sure.

That is, of course, until an alarm blares somewhere and the kid pushing a wooden sled thing shaped like a tree to help him keep his balance totally loses his balance.

Emma yelps, Killian growling a wholly inappropriate curse with a now-crying kid in such close proximity. It’s less good then. Because then they’re a mess of limbs and Emma’s hair in his face and ice is incredibly painful when they’re both landing on top of it with a distinct lack of grace.

Neither one of them lets go of the other’s hand.

“Those g-forces were more aggressive than I expected,” Killian mutters once he gets some oxygen back into his lungs and a bit of feeling back into his right leg. The words are mostly pressed into Emma’s cheek though, half her body still draped over his and the laugh that flies out of her is questionably loud.

“That’s not even funny.” “You’re laughing!” “No, this is not laughter--” Emma’s body shakes when she cuts herself off, twisting in a way that is entirely unfair when they are still so decidedly in public, and Killian isn’t entirely prepared for the look on her face. It makes his heart thud erratically in his chest and his vision swims slightly, but that may just be because of the distinct lack of blood flow he’s getting to several different limbs at this point.

“Thank you,” Emma finishes. He doesn’t expect that.

“What?” “Thank you. For...well, for going along with this festive nonsense and I know Scarlet was pissed you weren’t going to be there later--” “--He can deal with it. It’s probably one of the last Saturdays he’ll have to be behind the bar anyway, so you know, relatively speaking.” “I really don’t think that’s true.” Killian arches an eyebrow. “No?” “No,” Emma says, and there’s no way to doubt the certainty in her voice. The same certainty that knew he’d enjoy the goddamn roller coaster and that they should definitely go on the roller coaster three more times while David and Mary Margaret did something disgustingly romantic on the other side of the park.

That may be the biggest sign of them all.

Killian wonders if that’s what they actually tripped over.

“No,” Emma says again, fingers drifting back to his chest and the zipper hanging underneath his scarf. He’s definitely not counting the number of times her fingers drift. Only a crazy person would do that. “This is--Christmas is supposed to be good, right?” “I’m fairly certain those are the rules, yes.” “Then this is going to be good and fine and--” “--Festive.”

She beams. And for another few seconds, not quite sixteen because nothing can ever be normal or consistent, Killian is positive he’s going to duck his head and kiss her. Right there on the goddamn ice in Bryant Park. He’s half an inch away from doing it, the glint in her eyes doing something specific to his cognizant reasoning and ability to breathe and Emma’s fingers are still toying with metal and fabric and, if put under oath and asked, he would guarantee she tilts her head up.

Towards him.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Exactly that. That’s--” “--I’m going to have to ask both of you to get off the ice.”

Emma’s eyes flutter shut, head dropping onto Killian’s shoulder and he’s probably going to limp for the rest of the afternoon. That may make the rest of the schedule difficult. Plus the whole kissing thing.

He ignores that part.

The security guards stares at them expectantly when neither one of them makes a move to stand up. “Now,” he says. “Unless you’d like to do some single-hand combat with the zamboni.”

Emma’s body shakes again and Killian isn’t sure what noise he makes, but it doesn’t sound human and kind of hurts his throat on the way out. “That’s definitely a new angle for the Greatest Story Ever Told,” he mumbles, nudging Emma up and they both slip and slide and glare at the security guard in equal measure.

The zamboni does not appear to be moving.

“Who does that make us, exactly?” she asks, arms flailing slightly to keep her balance. They could not be farther away from the opening in the boards. “Different variations of the Little Drummer Boy?” “Well you do know all the words to every Christmas song ever written, Swan.” He does it, only partially, to get that very specific flush on her face – but that partial amount may honestly be, like, ninety-seven and half percent and Killian barely hears the security guard clear his throat. “Not all of them,” Emma grumbles. “Just, you know. Some of them. A normal amount. People know these things. Maybe you’re the weird one.” “Yuh huh.” She sticks her tongue out again, glancing at the security guard. “In that one song. The guy from Tennessee. Do you know where he was heading?" “Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie,” the security guard responds. He doesn’t smile, not entirely, but his lips quirk just a bit and the zamboni is still on the other side of the ice. “That’s basic Christmas song knowledge, ma’am.”

Emma makes a sound that will probably echo in between Killian’s ears until New Year’s and possibly the rest of his life – joyful and festive and he hopes the smile on her face imprints itself on his brain because he can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t remember every single bit of that very particular smile.

Probably to continue to pine for his roommate.

And her knowledge of Christmas song lyrics. But mostly her. Just. In general.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Emma continues, working her way against Killian’s side as the security guard does his very best to usher them off the ice and away from the slowest-moving zamboni in the history of the world. “Thank you for proving my point. You’ve done a very good Christmas thing here.”

“It’s been my pleasure ma’am, but if we’re finished discussing slightly nostalgic holiday feelings, then I’m really going to have to ask you and your boyfriend to get off the ice. Killian’s eyes fall out of his head. Or, at least, they feel like they do. He imagines there’d be more yelling from the ever-growing crowd on the right side of the boards if they had.

As such, there’s no yelling, just a distinct lack of contradiction from either him or Emma and it’s not the first time someone has made that mistake. In fact, it’s a mistake that has become so common that it’s almost expected and his pulse nearly stays at a normal, human level when someone utters those words in that very specific order.

Almost.

So they don’t say anything, no correction or objection, just slightly awkward skating technique and quiet happy holidays under their breath when they avoid fighting the zamboni. And Emma’s still smiling when they hand their skates back, head tilted up towards Killian because it’s still early and there’s still plenty of city and--

“You want to get some food?”

She nods. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They don’t go in every store in the holiday market, but it’s pretty close, testing as many overpriced food in the name of festivity as they can. There’s a fairly serious debate over the Belgian fries and which sauces they should get and whether or not the cookies that they buy from the booth four away from Max Brenners are better than Ruth’s.

“I’m going to tell her you even considered this for one single, solitary second and she’s going to kick you out of the house,” Emma warns, Killian already shaking his head.

“Nope. She likes me way too much. I am Ruth’s favorite kid.” “You are not her kid.” “Tell that to Ruth.” “God, it’s so stupid when you’re right. You do this whole thing with your face and it’s--” She waves a frustrated hand a few inches away from his nose, yelping when he nips at her fingertips. “It’s genuinely the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” “We should have ordered garlic aioli for the fires.” “Ah, damn that sounds good.” “At some point you’re going to realize I know absolutely everything, love,” Killian laughs, slinging an arm around her shoulders to direct her back to the fries booth. The garlic aioli is worth it.

Although it doesn’t entirely go with the eggnog-flavored coffee.

“We should have waited,” Emma says, wandering up Fifth Avenue and the crowds around them only seem to be growing. “You know, like swimming.” Killian scoffs. “Wait thirty minutes post aioli to drink a festive beverage?” “I mean, that sounds kind of fancy, but something along those lines, yeah. Is it just me or is it getting even more crowded?” “It’s Saturday.” “You say that like it’s a reason.” “Is it not?” he asks, weaving his way through a very obvious tour group and his toes are going to be bruised from the beating they are currently taking. “This is really ruining my perception of eggnog completely, love. I think we’re going to have to chalk this up as a mistake and try again later.” “We’re going to spend a small fortune on food and beverage.” “Ah, well, what better way to declare bankruptcy?” “That’s the spirit, for sure.” He chuckles, tossing the cup out and reaching behind him for Emma. Something about the crowd and people’s inability to walk across the street in a timely fashion. “Are you worried I’m going to get lost?” Killian glances over his shoulder to find her smiling at her, a few flecks of what may be more snow because it’s starting to get cold again in her hair. He nods slowly. Or quickly. He’s not entirely sure. Everything seems to have lost its meaning outside of the moment and them and they’re the ones causing pedestrian issues now.

A horn honks at them when the light turns.

“Oh shit,” Killian breathes, tugging Emma against him with far more force than necessary and he hadn’t realized they were so close to Rockefeller Center already. “Do they realize it’s just a tree?” “Do we realize it’s just a tree?” “This is a very good question.” Emma laughs, twisting around him until she’s the one doing the tugging and it isn’t really all that hard to get closer. That’s probably another sign. They’re practically slamming into Killian at this point. That may bruise too.

“Well,” Emma says, dragging the word out. “It certainly is a tree, isn’t it?”

“With lights.” “And support wires.” “It’s a big tree. There are physics involved.”

Her nose does that thing again. It’s distracting. “Oh yeah? Tell me more about physics, please.” “Isaac Newton.” “What about him?” “Knew about physics,” Killian shrugs. “Right?” “You having to double check on that leads me to believe he probably didn’t.” “No, no, objects and motion and, you know, intrinsic force or something.” “You made that last one up,” Emma accuses, although it loses a bit of its bite when the smile on her face would probably rival the goddamn tree at night. When it’s lit up. It’s really more impressive then.

They seem to have messed up their Christmas tree timing.

God.

“Alright, here, I will prove it to you,” Killian says. It takes some finagling to get his phone out of his pocket, wincing when his shoulder makes a noise it absolutely shouldn’t and that only gets another laugh out of Emma. And he’s just about to google something, but this whole day has been absolutely absurd and maybe they’re wearing signs that suggest strangers should keep approaching them.

“Would you like me to take your picture?”

The woman in front of them is holding an I Love NY plastic bag. She’s probably from, like...Indiana or something.

“Oh no, no, that’s ok,” Emma promises, rushing over the words so quickly it’s impossible for them to sound anything except disingenuous and people from Indiana are, apparently, very confident.

The woman reaches out to grab Killian’s phone, promising it’s fine, I don’t mind at all and there’s something about her family waiting on line to get into FAO Schwartz too. Killian barely hears any of it, Emma’s arm finding its way around his middle and--

“Smile!”

They do. And Mrs. Indiana takes no less than twenty-seven pictures. “I’m sure I got a good one,” she says, handing Killian back his phone with a genuineness that the world could probably use more of.

He nods. “Thanks. C’mon, love, let’s see if we can guess the themes of some of these windows.”

They get stumped by Cavalli. And the robot theme at Tiffany’s. Although they do go into Tiffany’s which is a little unexpected and kind of nice, particularly when Emma’s breath catches just a bit at several different and decidedly sparkly things.

“I just don’t understand what robots have to do with jewelry,” she says, hours later and tucked into a dimly-lit bar on the Upper West Side that Yelp! promised had very good holiday drinks.

The eggnog tastes better without the lingering bit of aioli. And probably the rum too.

“It’s clearly above our pay grade, Swan.” “Someone had to approve that. Multiple someone’s!” “I’d imagine it was an entire committee,” Killian says. “Ads and sales and marketing. There were probably several graphs made.” “Power points too?” “Undoubtedly.” She laughs over the top of her own drink – something named after some dead poet because that’s this bar’s schtick and the whipped cream on top is threatening to brush against the tip of her nose. Maybe they should get some kind of schtick for their bar too.

Then maybe they can keep it.

“This sounds very in depth.” “Corporate America at its finest,” Killian mutters, a hint of bitterness that does not belong in a bar so clearly obsessed with death and Christmas. Emma blinks. “Sorry, sorry,” he continues. “That wasn’t--you know, one of the first memories I’ve got is walking up Fifth Ave with Liam and questioning every single window display. I was very impressed by Saks.” “Well they do that whole light thing on the side of the building. What kid wouldn’t love that?” He smiles. And takes a far-too-large drink. “That’s a good point.” “I didn’t know you and Liam used to do this,” Emma says, voice dropping slightly because it’s kind of depressing and he’s kind of depressing and he refuses to look at his phone. So he’s kind of immature too.

“That’s not your fault, Swan.”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m just…” She exhales, ruffling her own hair in the process and it may be the single most endearing thing he’s ever seen. “I wasn’t lying before. You can tell me stuff and things and whatever you want and I know talking about Liam is--”

The single most difficult thing in the world. She doesn’t actually say that, but she doesn’t have to and Killian keeps wondering what he’d say about a developer and him and he would have liked Emma so much.

God, he likes Emma so much.

He loves her a lot.

It’s getting more difficult not to tell her that.

“You know that was the first time I thought I could really actually decide to like you,” Emma says, an abrupt subject change that makes Killian wonder if he’s more drunk than he thought.

“What?” “I didn’t want you to come on that trip. To the amusement park, I mean. Elsa was supposed to come, but then stuff happened and she couldn’t and David suggested you and I was, God, I was so mad.” “If this is supposed to be a compliment, I’m afraid you’re missing the mark, Swan.” “No, no, I know I am, but...David said he’d asked you and then you were there and I knew we were going to have to ride everything together. I was so pissed about it. Ask Mary Margaret when we go home.” His heart may explode at that particular word. So he takes another drink. “Don’t think I won’t.” “I am counting on it. Because I was so mad, but then you were--” Emma shrugs, downing the rest of her drink and slamming it back on the table like she’s proving a point. “The roller coaster clicked on the chain and you grabbed my hand like death was imminent and it was…”

She sighs again. He’s not counting. He’s totally counting. What a creep.

“I don’t know,” Emma shrugs. “Human.” “Did you think I wasn’t?” “I’d considered alien cyborg for awhile, if I’m being totally honest.” “Brutally it seems.” Emma laughs, twisting her hair around her fingers. A tell. That he noticed a few minutes before they got on the roller coaster.

It feels like they’re about to get on again. Or, maybe, they’ve just never got off.

“This is a good story, I promise,” she says. “I just...we had fun that afternoon, right?” Killian nods. He needs more to drink. “And we’ve never really stopped and I just--it was like something clicked and I thought maybe we could get along and I wouldn’t be some horrible third wheel for Mary Margaret and David for the rest of my life and, well--” Another deep breath. He feels a bit like he’s suffocating. “I wouldn’t have wanted to reclaim my festivity with anyone else.”

It’s not romantic. Not really. It may even be decidedly unromantic.

Killian’s brain doesn’t care – because his brain is on overdrive and his heart is threatening to explode out his chest and he’s standing before he realizes he’s decided, pulling Emma off the stool in the corner and they nearly fall over five different times on their way back to the sidewalk.

“What are we doing?” Emma asks, a note of something in her voice when he hails a cab.

He doesn’t answer. At least not here. “Macy’s,” he says instead, nodding towards the driver and if this is all going to end, if he’s going to lose his bar and his livelihood and his festive spirit, then he’ll be damned if he does get some photographic evidence of how absolutely happy he is right now. In this moment. Without a tourist from Indiana ruining it.

None of the pictures she took were very clear.

Emma doesn’t ask any questions the entire drive downtown, but her eyes keep darting towards Killian and his clearly impatient left foot. He keeps tapping it. And they can’t actually get in front of the store – promising the driver two blocks away is fine , although he’s also a little worried about timing and store hours and they don’t quite run from 36th Street.

They jog. Briskly.

“It can’t possibly be good for me to be this out of breath, can it?” Emma asks, pressed against his side just a few feet past the doors.

“You’d still get your guy, Swan.” “And in this case is the guy Santa?” “You know, I bet if we combined our mind reading abilities in Times Square, we’d make an absolute fortune every day.” She hums, glancing around like whatever department they’ve stumbled into will have directions to Santa. “Where do you think he’s hiding the North Pole?”

“Only one way to find out, right?” Emma nods.

There’s more jogging and weaving through workers offering perfume samples and they’re definitely deep in Macy’s when the escalators start looking older. “Do you think they’re required to keep these?” Killian asks, glancing down at the rickety thing under them. “Like for history?” “New York City does love its history,” Emma says, and if he weren’t so determined to get their picture taken with goddamn Santa Claus he probably would have noticed the way her voice stuttered slightly over the words.

As it is, he’s far too busy gaping at the scene as soon as they step onto the eighth floor. There are snowflakes everywhere – hanging from the ceiling and displays, music pumping through what sounds like a dozen speakers and more than few workers dressed as elves. He hopes they make more than minimum wage.

Some joke about Bob Cratchit or something.

“Do you have an appointment?”

Killian stops dead in his tracks. Emma makes the world’s single most ridiculous noise. “What?” she balks. “An appointment to...see Santa? Are you serious?”

The elf nods. It’s nice to see nothing about this day has made any sense. “It’s uh...a new North Pole tradition this year!”

“Written by the North Pole PR department,” Emma grumbles. The elf nods again. “So there’s like...no chance of getting to see Santa without an appointment? Seriously, why is that a thing?”

The elf glances around – like she’s worried about being overheard and Killian has to press his face into Emma’s hair to stop from dissolving into hysterics. That’s totally why. “It’s crowd control,” she whispers. “You know we had families waiting hours and screaming and crying kids. So many crying kids. But then they’d get inside and they’d get stuck and--”

“--Stuck in the North Pole?” “There’s a pretty extensive display back there,” the elf explains, Emma humming in understanding. “But you’re kind of locked in. This is, you know, better. A little colder, but better.” “Practical,” Killian says.

“Yeah, exactly that.” The elf looks around again, mouth twisting when it appears she comes to some kind of decision. Her eyes narrow slightly, gaze turning appraising and maybe a bit wistful and Killian can’t understand that part, but then Emma squeezes his hand slightly. He hadn’t realized she was holding his hand. “Tell them that you had an appointment for 10:15,” she whispers, leaning over the podium so her hat almost falls off her head. “They’ll let you right in.” Killian blinks. And blinks again. The elf smiles. And Emma squeezes his hand. “C’mon, Jones,” she mutters. “We won’t get what we want for Christmas if we don’t go see Santa.”

The elf yells something as they walk by – barely audible over the classic Christmas carols all but blasting through the North Pole, but it sounds a hell of a lot like that’s really romantic and Killian wonders if anyone’s just gone into complete cardiac arrest in the North Pole.

Probably not.

And there’s not really a line because it’s almost 10:15 on a Saturday in New York and meeting Santa probably isn’t on anyone else’s must-do list, but they still have to wait outside a door and--

“Why Santa?” Emma asks, eyes still bright when she glances at him.

“Wasn’t on your list.” “Yuh huh.” Killian shrugs. “What’s the most ridiculous, cliché Christmas thing you can think of?” “Sending Christmas cards.” “Exactly,” he says, nodding in thanks when a different elf directs them towards a different themed room and Santa smiles at them as soon as they walk. “And,” Killian whispers against Emma’s hair, “you need pictures for that.”

She doesn’t quite gasp, but it may actually make her breath hitch and that very enjoyable flush is back on her cheeks. Santa is asking them questions, another elf directing them towards their designated seats on either side of him, but so much of Killian is tied up with Emma that disentangling that seems like a feat impossible.

So he does the only thing that absolutely, positively does not make sense. He pulls her onto his legs and wraps his arm around her waist and they banter with Santa Claus.

“I just want something good,” Emma answers when asked what she wants, and Killian doesn’t think before he drops a kiss to her shoulder blade.

Santa may wink. “I’ll see what I can do. And what about you, my boy?” Killian startles, Emma’s laughter ringing in his ears. She moved her own around his shoulder at some point. “What she said,” he mutters. “Something...something good.” Santa definitely winks.

And they make ridiculous faces at the camera – smiles and laughter and more tangled limbs that may represent something more because Emma Swan is so much a part of his life that Killian can’t imagine a life that is any different. He doesn’t want to. Not at Christmas.

Or ever.

He pays for the biggest photo package they have. It comes with keychains. And mobile downloads. And, several hours later, after copping some of his own alcohol stock from his own bar, with Emma curled up asleep against him on the couch, he changes his phone’s lock screen – an unposed photo that was probably against the rules to take and even more against the rules to use, but she’s smiling and he’s got his lips pressed against the back of her jacket.

He doesn’t realize she picked the same photo while he was behind the bar.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #secret santa fic #EVERYONE IS IN LOVE #EVENTUALLY THEY WILL ALSO REALIZE THAT

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bts-svt-mx · 6 years

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Maid for You (Ch. 1) Taehyung x Reader

Author: bts-svt-mx

Taehyung x Reader

Jungkook x Reader

Rating: Fluff, Angst, M, eventual smut if i get to it lol

Tags: Slow burn, Enemies to Lovers AU, Idol! Taehyung, Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x Reader, Hoseok, mentions of other members

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5(M), 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Description: Wanting to get out of your parents house and experience what the world had to offer is way more expensive than people tell you it will be. So when your glamorous “manager to the stars” cousin Hoseok hooks you up with a job as the live-in maid for a hillside, massive mansion, you feel as though life might actually be looking up. That is until the mansion’s absentee high profile celebrity owner surprises you by moving back in leaving you to wonder if this mansion is big enough for you and his huge ego.

The walls vibrated to the beat of the nation’s new favorite bop (a Drake song of course) practically shaking the pots hanging overhead in the kitchen you were currently mopping. Anyone who came through the front door right now would think the party of the century was happening inside this house at 2:00 on a Tuesday afternoon. When in reality, there hasn’t been a single visitor to this palace of a home since it was built. Save for the odd gardener or pool boy, and of course you, since you set up shop as the live-in maid a couple of months ago.

See, it wasn’t originally planned that you were the main caretaker of this Hollywood Hills-type mansion on the outskirts of the city. Your cousin was the one who pulled some strings and got this job for you. You had mentioned to your cousin Hoseok, the ever excited big-time celebrity manager and pride of the family, that you were thinking about moving to the city when he had come to visit your family in your small town about an hour or so into the countryside. You were supposed to be the bi-weekly maid that came to tidy up the humble abode while the celebrity owner of the house was in and out away on “business” trips for work. But eventually, once you realized you couldn’t find a place affordable enough to live on your own in the city, Hoseok took it upon himself to let you live in one of the many guest rooms on the West side of the mansion. That way, you could save up some money not having to pay rent, water, or electric. You even had your own living area and kitchen on your side of the house so you could make your own food and binge watch all of the shows and movies your little heart desired.

All you had to do was make sure the house didn’t fall apart or grow dusty while the actual owner of the house was away.

And that you did. Though it wasn’t as easy as you had originally thought it was going to be. There were a lot of rooms in this place and each one needed to always look spotless. You also had to take care of, feed, and play with the owner’s toy poodle Hodu (which was actually one of your favorite parts about this job), and among other random additional tasks, you had to make sure that the gardener, the pool boy, the florist and the rarely seen repairman were doing their jobs correctly. However, you didn’t keep yourself locked up in the mansion 24/7, you actually decided to take up some hobbies in town, like painting, yoga, and dancing. You had even made some good friends along the way.

What was odd though, was that over the several months you had been living here, the owner of the house never stopped by. Not even for a day. And you had never received any form of communication with him either. Hoseok wouldn’t even talk about him to you. The only reason you even knew it was a him was because Hoseok slipped up one day and almost even said his name. But sadly, Hoseok was contractually obligated to never speak about the clients he represented. They were too high profile you guess. Oh well.

For now you were happy acting as the pseudo-owner of the house while the real one was away livin’ it up in god knows what country.

Today was a boring day. All you had left scheduled was to deep clean the never used main kitchen and dust and vacuum the main living area of the East wing of the house. After that, you had a trip to the sauna (yes, the mansion had a sauna among other crazy amenities) calling your name before snuggling up with little Hodu catching up on the last few episodes of the new K-Drama you were watching.

The mansion had a great sound system. Made for entertaining hundreds of guests you assumed, but you only ever used it to make your cleaning a little more bearable. You could feel the music pumping through your chest. It was a shame no one ever had the pleasure of visiting this wondrous place.

You decided to practice some of your new moves you learned in your tango class with the swiffer mop you were holding as first chords of Despacito rang through the speakers. It was overplayed and old but for some reason, it still made you dance and sing along every time.

You were by no means a bad dancer, and to tell the truth, you could more than carry a tune, so you felt confident sliding across the clean floor belting and harmonizing the first couple of lines along with Justin Bieber’s smooth voice.

Just as the song transitioned to the first chorus you turn around in a grand spin with your newly learned Tango techniques. Sticking the landing with a proud smile, you turn back around with the mop and immediately, you jump back letting out a startled scream, almost falling on your face in the process at the person in front of you.

You’re greeted by an immaculately dressed, blonde figure sitting on top of the dark granite counter. His black leather shoes dangling off the sides hitting the white wood cabinets, more than likely leaving a mark after you just cleaned them.

One hand planted on the edge of the counter top, his other raises a remote control above his head and silences the music abruptly, a taunting smirk plastered on his face. Suddenly, it’s like you're incapable of moving even a single muscle. You’re utterly frozen in place.

You’d recognize that face anywhere. In fact, you still had posters of that same face covering the walls of your teenage room back at your parent’s house.

Hopping off the counter with a click of his freshly shined heels, he saunters his way towards you, expression completely un-readable.

“Not that I’m not enjoying the show... but may I ask,” Kim Taehyung, Grammy winning world famous pop star, looks you up and down as his features twist into something more stern, angry even. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

You were going to kill Hoseok.

Chapter 2 -->

#Taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #celebrity! taehyung #idol! taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung reader #taehyun x y/n #taehyung smut #taehyung fic #taehyung one shot #taehyung #kim taehyung #hoseok #hoseok fic #ft hoseok

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jadewritings · 6 years

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You’re More Than That Part 10

Author's Note: Okay guys, I need your help. I ended it there because I wanted yalls opinion. Should I switch it to Dean or keep it at Sam????? Very hard decision here!!!! (P.S. I realize this is so late lmao but)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x reader (???)

Word count: 1 , 466

Warnings: Hard Decisions, fluff?, idk let me know

Summary: An ex of yours drives you away. But, in doing so, you’ve stumbled upon something much more dangerous. You must decide whether to be on the streets and on the run or with the most dangerous of them all.

That morning, you woke up to an empty bed. It felt lonely without Sam there. But it also left you to think about previous nights. Last night was incredible. You and Sam had only kissed before and now, you'd gone all the way with him. Your fingers slide over your lips, remembering the way he kissed you. It was extraordinary how he made you feel. And you realized, you were falling in love with him and you couldn’t believe it.

You remember him kidnapping you, almost ending your life -twice- and then protecting you from Crowley. Him trying to kick you out then you choosing to stay and protect him. Them going to war with another mob. Memories invaded your mind.

You needed to find Sam to see if things escalated while you slept.

When you run out of the door, you run smack into Sam.

“Running away?” he asked sarcastically.

You replied with a smile, “It’s called ‘to be smitten’ because emotions hit you and knock you off balance.” you realized he hadn’t kissed you yet. Wasn’t he supposed to do that? Were you not a ‘thing’ yet?

You could have kissed him yourself. Men didn’t always have to be the ones who made the first move. Or you could have pretended not to care at all and go about your day but, instead, you hugged him. You brought him in close, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder, running your fingers through the back of his hair.

He didn’t hug back, like he was too stunned. You released him, afraid you’d done something wrong but the smile on his face told differently, “What was that for?”

You looked down at the ground, “I-I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

His hand came up to your chin, lifting it so your eyes met his, “Don’t be. I just wasn’t expecting a hug. I liked it, you’re a good hugger. I do have to leave again, sweetheart.”

You were saddened at the thought, “Where are you going?” you asked.

“I have some business to take care of.”

“Is this business with you and Crowley?”

“Y/N, I like you a lot, but I’m only going to say this once. If you don’t want to be involved in what my family does, don’t ask questions. Once you’re involved, there’s no way out.” Sam scowled.

You sighed, “Sam, I’m already involved. And maybe I don’t want out. Maybe I want to be part of the family.”

Sam’s frustration melted a bit, “Is that what you really want?”

You nodded firmly, “I want to be with you. I want to stay with you. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” You blushed a little, you didn’t realize that those would be the words to shoot from your mouth.

Sam grinned for a second but then turned serious, “Well, let's talk about this when I get back, maybe over dinner.”

“Does this mean you want to take me out on a date again?”

“I wouldn’t call it a date. Just two people eating.”

You scowled, frustrated. Why does he deny the attraction? One minute he’s hot, the next he’s cold.

“If you want to take me out you’ll have to call it a date.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Fine.”

And then he left. You huffed onto the bed. You didn’t know what to do now. You could follow Sam, see what he’s up to. You could follow John and see what’s going on. But, at last, you decided on just getting something to eat rather than stick your nose where it didn’t belong.

When you entered the kitchen, you saw Dena sitting and eating a sandwich.

“Hey, shortcake. Ya hungry?”

“You have no idea. It’s been a crazy morning and I just realized I haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“I hear that. I needed to replenish myself. How about I make you a sandwich?”

“Oh, thanks, but you don’t have to, I can make my own.”

“Please, allow me. If it weren’t for you, my brother might be dead.” He stood from his seat and grabbed the bread, “What kind of sandwich do you like?”

You thought for a moment, “I think I’m in the mood for a grilled cheese.”

Dean smiled, “You’re in luck! I make the best east of Mississippi.”

You gasped in fake surprise, “What’s your secret?”

“I make sure the cheese is melted perfectly.” He laughed.

“Isn’t that what everyone does?”

“Yeah, I guess. Actually, I think mine are the only ones I’ve ever had. So, nothing to compare it to but they’re still good.”

You take a bite of the sandwich and it’s remarkably delicious.

“You know, I wouldn’t expect anyone here to owe me anything. I just did what anyone else would’ve done.”

“Trust me, shortcake. What you did proved your loyalty to us. Even Cas was impressed, and that’s saying a lot.”

You’d forgotten about Castiel. “Castiel?”

“Yeah. Maybe he won't be such a jerk to you anymore. But don’t worry, you’ve got the Winchester family’s protection now. Even Pops was impressed with you.”

You were deep in thought, “You guys are all really close aren’t you?”

“You know what they say, blood’s thicker than water.”

“So that’s true for your family?”

“Absolutely.”

“I guess that makes sense with all your family’s been through.” you smiled.

Dean’s eyes widened, “What did Sam tell you? Did he tell you the business?”

You glared at Dean, “ No, but Sam just got shot. And you all act like it’s just another Tuesday. So I’m gonna take a really wild guess and say it’s the norm for your family.”

Dean’s eyes dropped, that statement seemed to sadden him, “Yeah, unfortunately, it’s not too out of the ordinary. But we’re gonna take care of Crowley.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s family business, which we don’t discuss.”

Jeez, no one was willing to give you an inch huh?

“Well, can you tell me more about yourself?”

“You wanna hear about me?” Dean scoffed, “Yeah, I don’t buy it.”

“I do..” you drifted off. What’s the point? Even though you may have earned their respect they still didn’t trust you. Sam has been on and off but Dean was always an open book. Didn’t hurt that he was sexy too. Dean ripped you from your thoughts.

“Why? So you can find out more about Sam?” he looked hurt.

“No. I want to know more about you. I said nothing about Sam in that statement.”

Dean's eyes lightened and he smirked, “Okay, first, you have to tell me something you like about me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, you could go the seduction route, but that might hurt Sam, or you could go easy, more of a deeper level of flattering. You decided the latter.

“Your personality.”

“Ugh, that’s what girls say about ugly guys!” he pouted.

“You’re definitely not ugly, ya dummy. I meant you have a great sense of humor. Girls love that stuff!”

“Like I’m an actor or something? Like, I’m entertaining?”

“Yea, kinda. You just don’t take things too seriously. You’re fun to be around.” you replied.

“I can be serious, ya know. Just like Sam.”

You shook your head vigorously, “Don’t change. Serious is boring. I like you just the way you are.”

“Okay, I’ll take that as a compliment. You passed the test.”

“Ooo, yay! What’s my prize?” you giggled.

Dean thought for a moment, “You can ask me some personal questions now.”

“Do you enjoy what you do?” was the first question on your mind.

“What, you mean the family business? It’s okay. I get to spend time with the family and I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

“You’re always so honest with me. Thank you. It’s so refreshing.”

“There’s no reason to lie. Especially when I’m attracted to you.” and at his comment the blood rushes to your cheeks. You knew if it came down to it, it would be a tough choice to choose between the brothers.

“But what about you? Do you find yourself attracted to me?” Dean asked.

If you told him what you really thought, you’d might end up having some naughty nights with the man. Sam was always running off while Dean always looked after you.

“So? What do you say? You think we can move it up a level past ‘friends’?” he asked, impatiently.

•Part 11•

Other Peeps:

@mrswhozeewhatsis @handgns @pale-butterfly @xi-i-i-whatsyouremergency @fandomoniumflurry @bunnybaby121115 @catastrsophie

Forever Tag List:

@everynnox @moonstonemystyk @sis-tafics @katnharper @ackleholic96 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @darknightfrombeyond @mysaintsasinner @is-this-you-manning-up-sammy @nerdysandwichqueen @the-random-fictionaut @carlylynnmikaelsonscamander @faegal04 @sdavid09 @carryonmycobaltangel @blacktithe7 @ronnie248-blog

#supernatural #spn fandom #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fandom #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #spn au #castiel #supernatural au #castiel novak #crowley

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kotas-dump · 6 years

Text

A flower blooms

You’d always been a bit scared of orcs. Not because of what people said but after that horrible locker incident in junior high you’d always been a bit..scared of orcs and small spaces in general. Who even shoved kids in lockers anymore? Let alone a girl?

It made you shy, reserved really. You drifted toward Gothic and punk fashion, shaving your head into a mohawk and stretching your lobes. Then you hit a growth spurt and shot up to a height that rivaled most guys and the bullies left you alone. Occasionally teasing with words or cruel tricks but nothing like what it used to be.

You were working in the flower and home garden section of a small boutique. Where you’re gothic hippie vibes really flourished and fit in. Here you didn’t see many orcs this side of town at all let alone ones in the garden/flower area. It’s why you liked it really. Nothing but you and the somber silence of the fragrant blooms and saplings. It was serene, calm and wide open.

So when he walked in you had to keep yourself from hiding. He wondered around for a long time, looking at this and that until he came up with an armful of potted saplings seeming to choose them at random. You’d never seen an orc without tusks before. Ringing him up you stare at one of the plants, glancing up at him.

“Is there a problem?” He asks. His voice is deep but soft, unsure.

“N-no it’s just.. uh. This plant does better in the shade. I.. It helps if you plant it next to a wall facing the east or west... “ Laughing nervously you place it back into the tray with the others and quickly ring him up.

His brows raise, the corners of his lips turning down. “I didn’t know that. Thank you.” His nostrils flare and he’s starting at you.

Sucking in your lower lip you fidget with your fingers for a moment. “You’re total is $35.73 sir.”

Blinking he laughs, smiling and exposing his filed tusks. “Right. Helps if I pay.”

Chuckling you smile and nod. “Just a little I mean we wouldn’t go bankrupt but it does help if our customers pay.”

He gives you the money and you hand him his receipt. He was actually really nice and despite your first reaction... you wanted him to come back. So you break out the big guns. Going ‘above and beyond’ in customer service. “Did you need help out to your car?”

“That would be very helpful actually.” He pauses, the tips of his ears twitching. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

A flush of heat rushes to your cheeks and you smile. “Can I be honest about something?” You ask, looking down and picking up one of the trays of saplings.

His yellow eyes glance to you, a skeptical look in his eyes as he leads the way out. “I’d prefer it yes.”

Shaking your head you look ahead, avoiding his gaze. “You looked like you didn’t know what you were doing. And I don’t mean to assume you don’t it’s just.. If you need help? Don’t be scared to ask. I’m here about 6 days out of the week so..” You trail off as he opens the back door of a police suv and places his tray of plants in the back seat. Glancing between you and the car he gives you a sheepish smile and holds his hands out for the tray of plants.

Snapping back to reality you hand them back. “Are you... You’re that orc cop? Nickolas Jakoby right? The one who stopped those crazy cult people? You were all over the news a month or two ago. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. Oh my gosh I feel so stupid for being scared of you before.” You scoff and your eyes go wide. STUPID blabbering mouth! Now you sounded like you were a huge racist idiot. “I shouldn’t have said that last thing. I- I didn’t mean it like that. “

His expression falls and he gently takes the plants from you and sets them in the car, closing the door. “It’s alright. I’m used to it.”

“No!” You blurt covering your mouth. “No.” You repeated softer, kicking at a rock on the sidewalk. “I just... How about uh..” Tina always offered a date when customers were unhappy and that worked for her. You knew he had to be a good guy, he was cop as an orc for crying out loud.” Can I buy you some coffee sometime? As an apology? I can offer my endless knowledge of flowers and plants if you’d like.. It’s just...It’s a long story. One better told over a cup of coffee?”

You pick at the dirt beneath your nails and look down at the cracked concrete of the sidewalk. Why would he go for a date with you? It was such a stupid idea to think you could sell a date as forgiveness. “I’m sorry. I’ll just- I’ll just go now. Sorry again. I hope you have a good day. Stay safe.” You turn to leave and you hear him open his car door.

“Wait.” Turning Jakoby glances back to you. “I’m free next Tuesday. I mean if you wanted to do the coffee thing?”

A sigh of relief leaves you and you turn back around, a smile on your face. “Yeah! I get off around 2 so uh... meet me here?” You point behind you and then down the street. “There’s a coffee place down the street we could just walk to it? They have these baked puff pastries with rose jam made from the roses here and they’re so good I could eat like ten of them if they let me.. but you didn’t really need to know that.” Blushing you laugh. Stealing a glance up you hope he’s not annoyed or mad but he’s just staring at you with this hard to place expression.

Slowly, as if he’s distracted he nods. “2 is good. Great even. I’ll see you then.” Without a goodbye he climbs into the car and starts it up.

You wave bye as he pulls out, watching him drive down the street before you realize you’re being creepy and hurry back into the shop. Waiting for you by the door, leaning casually on a shelf with a shit-eating grin is Mama Tina the owner of the store. She’s a tall and gorgeous elven woman with pin straight black hair and killer fashion sense. “W-what?” You stammer, looking around.

“Ohhh nothing. Nothing at all sweet pea. Why don’t you make sure all the flowers are watered and you can go ahead and head out for the day. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She stands up but that smile never leaves her face.

“Really? Okay, yeah. You got it!” She rarely let you leave early. Must be your lucky day. You take your time watering the flowers but as soon as you’re done you gather up your things and take off like a bat outa hell.

The weekend crawls by and before you know it it’s tuesday. You’d made sure to bring a change of clothes and quickly changed into a nice black sundress with small white daisies on it. Donning a straw boater hat with a thick black ribbon and skull pin. Stuffing your work clothes into your backpack you stand outside and wait. Rocking back and forth on your gladiator sandal heels as you stare at the ground.

You stopped rocking back and forth and check your watch, sighing when you realized ten minutes had passed. You’d been stood up enough times to know when to stop waiting. You should have known better but it kind of... hurt. Taking a deep breath you raise your chin. So what if he didn’t want to come? You could still go get coffee and a pastry.

Walking down to the coffee shop you order and take a seat by the window in the corner. It’s your favorite thing and a rare treat but the coffee taste bitter and the pastry is to sweet. Your thoughts begin to wonder, carrying on the conversation you would have had.

The door chime rings out as someone walks in, walking around and glancing every which way. Glancing at your watch you stand up with a huff. 3 o’clock. It was probably time for you to get going anyways.

“There you are!” A familiar voice says. He looks a bit flustered and there’s dirt on his pants at the knee. “I’m sorry. I was in the garden and I lost track of time. I used my sirens to get here, we’re not supposed to do that, but you weren’t outside. So I went inside and they’d said you left. So I ran down here and...“

You stare at him for a long moment, a sad smile pulling at your lips. “Oh. That’s alright... I was just leaving actually.” Pointing to the door behind him you glance over to the barista. “Here.. um.” You dig in your purse, handing him a ten dollar bill. “I keep my promises.��

His eyes leave you and glance behind you to the place you were sitting. Seeing the plate with the pastry with two bites missing and your still full cup of coffee. The foam flat on the top of the cup. “But you didn’t even eat...” He mutters more to himself than to you. He pulls out his wallet and turns to the barista. “Let me buy yours-”

Shrugging you place the bill on the counter for the barista before turning to him. “I already paid half and hour ago.” You laugh dryly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it.” The turn of his own words on him. His ears twitch and his lips turn down into a frown.

“I didn’t mean to be late. I didn’t want to be.” Nick explains as you turn toward the door.

You push open the door and stop, turning to glance back at him. “If you need help with the plants you should swing back by the shop. Mama Tina loves return customers so you’re bound to get something for free.” With that you leave, heading down the sidewalk.

Nick sighs and turns back to the counter to order. Not surprised when the barista places the change on the counter instead of in his outstretched hand.

“You were better off not coming ya know that?” The barista’s southern accent is rich and strong. “She wouldn’t have had to waste her hard earned money on a man like you. Standing her up like that. You should be ashamed. She’s a good woman. Hard working, nice, kindest soul I know not to mention she’s got curves for days. Obviously to much for a man like you huh?” The barista tsk’s and shifts her weight to one foot, making Nick’s coffee.

“I didnt’- it wasn’t-” Nick begins.

“Ah yeah yeah yeah. You men all got your excuses. You got one chance to make an impression. And yours?” Her eyes flick up and down the orc. “Ain’t a good one. Heaven only knows if apologizing would help you. Girl’s been stood up so many times it ain’t even funny. If she was into me I woulda snatched her right up like my momma’s homemade cookies on Christmas. Treat her right too, like she deserves.” Plastering on a fake smile she hands him his coffee. “Have a nice day now.”

Taking his coffee with pursed lips the orc nods and heads out, scratching his head.

---

A few days pass and you’re tending to the succulents when a customer walks in. You look up to greet them and see Nick. Immediately you duck behind a bunch of potted ferns. You wave Tina over and she practically squeals in delight.

“Oh you’re backkkk? What a surprise! It really is! You wait right there and i’ll go get her.” Mama Tina ignores your panicked expression and grabs your arm, pulling you out from behind the foliage. “Viola! Here she is~!”

Standing there awkwardly with your eyes fixed on the ground you bite your lip. Tina jabs her elbow into your arm with a smile and you wince, rubbing your arm. “What can I help you with today sir?”

Tina saunters off, watching from behind a shelf of pots.

The orc shifts, clearing his throat. “I wanted to make it up to you. Apologize and uh.. Well, Take you out for dinner. Any place you want. You can choose.”

The elf behind the shelf sequels and quickly looks like she’s shifting the stock of pots but you both know she’s not.

Sighing you look away from Tina and back to the floor your eyes go. “It’s alright Nick. Really. Nothing to make up. Besides.. I uh. Can’t really afford to go out to eat.”

“I’ll pay. Don’t worry about that honey~! “ Tina chimes. Dismissing your excuse.

Shaking your head you let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah... figured you’d do that...” You gripe. Looking up you meet his eyes only for a fleeting moment and you notice he’s smiling. “Is it...a date?” You ask, eyes darting around his face for a moment as you try to read if he’s trying to pull a prank on you. That’s happened before.

For a moment he’s flustered, stuttering. “W-would you like it to be? A date that is?”

Going silent for a moment you chew on your lip. “Are you going to stand me up again? O-or be late?” You voice is small, a whisper.

Nick shakes his head almost violently. “No. Why would I do that?” He’s smiling again, tight-lipped like he’s not sure if he should smile or not.

Once more your eyes scan his face and you hold his eye-contact for a moment before looking to Tina. Her bright eyes darting away as she shifts the pots and scoots them across the shelf. “I don’t know.” You say slowly. “I could be weird or... just to shy but I prefer to say i’m a..”Pause for dramatic affect. “wall flower. Get it? Since I work here..?”

His deep chuckle lifts the tense air in the shop and you smile. “I get it. Wall flower. There’s flowers on the walls.” He points to the floral wall paper and you blink. That...wasn’t it at all.

Snorting you bust into laughter, holding a hand over your mouth. “Well I don’t eat meat so I hope you don’t like steak houses.” You look up at him.

His smile is wide, happy. “No.” He shakes his head.” I don’t eat cow flesh.”

Canting your head to the side you give him a confused look. “Cow flesh? That’s a new one. I like it.” Giggling you tuck your hair behind your ear. “There’s a new chinese place that has crazy good tofu a few blocks down. We could go there?”

Tina scoffs, stepping out from behind the shelf and waving her hand in the air like someone just farted. “That’s not good enough. I know someone who runs a few of the restaurants up where I live. I’ll get you two up with a reservation for tonight for...8pm? Sound good?” She looks to Jakoby and he nods, a bit confused as to how she just hijacked the planning.Clasping her hands together the elf smiles. “Lovely! Alright well I do believe this is yours.” Plucking the small cactus from the shelf she grabs Nick’s hands and places the pot in his hand before turning him around and pushing him toward the door despite his stuttered words.

Leaning forward she opens the door, whispering in his ear. “You stand her up and i’ll make sure no garden shop in a thirty mile radius will sell to you. Do you understand?”

You see Nick swallow, nodding stiffly before being pushed out the door. Tina locks the door and spins on her stiletto heel. Uh-oh. You didn’t have a good feeling about this. “...Why did you lock the door?”

The elf flicks her hair behind her shoulder with a sigh. “Because, my dear little sweet pea. You have to make him regret wasting that hour of your life. What you do after that moment is up to you but i’m not letting you go on that date without you feeling absolutely b.e.a.utiful.”

---

The time approaches faster than you thought as you’re carted to every store in elftown. You must have tried on a hundred dresses before settling on a black dress that hugged your waist and flowed down to your ankles. Two thigh-high slits ran up the side and exposed your sparkling black tights and small strapy heels.

Tina had paired it with a black floral lace shrug that belled out at the sleeves giving the dress a witchy-gothic feel. She tied a choker around your neck, slapped a nice black felt hat on your head and took a long look at you. After plucking out a thick dark denim blue colored belt and fastening it into place around your waist she nodded. She had been fawning over you since you left the shop but now she was done. Letting out a slow exhale she turned you around to face the full length mirror.

Your make up had been done and with your hair was down and styled you looked... beautiful. Staring in amazement you blinked. “I look so pretty...” Amazement fills your voice and she wipes at a tear in her eye.

“I do such marvelous work.” Glancing at her phone she gasps, pulling you away from the mirror and out of her house towards the car. After the short drive she practically kicks you out of the car after handing you her bank card. “I expect that back tomorrow morning understand? Good. Have fun sweet pea~!” Waving a manicured hand the driver takes off and you head into the restaurant.

You can’t help but feel out of place here but you’re trying not to look lost, telling the staff you’re waiting for your date. There was still 10 minutes until 8pm when Nick walked in. Blinking you had to take a double take. He was wearing a suit and a vest, you hardly recognized him. He looked amazing. Like he belonged here. You stare, jaw almost dropping as your heart beats against your ribs like a caged fairy. He looked like a modern day prince from a fairy tale.

He looks around and you see his eyes scanning the faces looking for you, his nostrils flaring as he even tries to smell you out. Raising your hand you wave, attracting his attention. He pushes past an elf couple chitchatting away and over to you. You can feel his eyes scan you as he walks up and he stares for a moment.

“You look-...Wow. You look... beautiful.” There’s awe in his voice and his eyes lock with yours. Suddenly there’s a small collection of bright flowers in your face. ”For you.” His yellow eyes look down, lips pressed together.

Blushing you smile and bite your lip but manage to take the flowers and hold them close “Thank you. I was going to say the same to you.” Pausing you laugh. “Not that you’re beautiful. Handsome I suppose would be better fitting?”

The both of you sit down and it’s a little awkward at first but the food comes out and you start to eat and open up. You start talking about your own gardens and from there it snowballs. Before you know it you’re both laughing about the fairy who pulled up all his potato plants and caused him to be late to the coffee shop. Ultimately though when the food is gone you both feel to out of place to linger and he offers to take you home which you reluctantly agree to on one condition.

“Can you put on the siren?” You ask, eyes big as you give him a puppy dog eye look.

Nick blinks, confused by the look. “We’re not supposed to do that.”

Winking you smile. “We’re NOT going to do it right?”

His mouth opens making an ‘oh’ face and he opens the door for you. “I suppose..this one time it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yes! I’ve never ridden in a cop car before. I’ve always wanted to do that. Not like..in the back were the criminals are but like. Oh what’s it called... shadow a cop? I grew up to fast though. Never got the chance until now.” You pull the seat belt around, clicking it into place before taking in the multitude of stuff on the dashboard. “Woah.”

Jakoby climbs into the drivers seat and shuts the door, buckling up and starting the car. He pulls out and points to a pair of switches. “This one is the lights and that one is the siren.”

A wide grin spreads across your face and you’re practically buzzing with excitement. “ You won’t arrest me if I do will you?”

“Maybe.” He teases, his deadpan delivery having you hesitate. “No no. Go ahead.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you slapped me in cuffs.” As the words leave your lips you realize how dirty it sounds and he turns slowly to look at you, one brow raised with surprise. Panicking you flip the switches as your face flushes red. The siren isn’t nearly as loud as you hoped it to be and you’re left in an awkward silence.

Turning his attention back to the open highway his fingers tap the steering wheel. “D-Did you have a good time?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah actually I did. D-did you?” Turning to him you take the moment he’s focused on the road to take him in again. Taking in the pattern of dotted color on his face and how it turns upward from his lips like a huge smile.

“Yeah of course. I didn’t know there were so many different types of lettuce.” He remarks. Laughing you shake your head. “The salad is what impressed you? Not the fancy frou frou dinner but the appetizer?”

“Why? Is- Is that weird?” He asks, glancing at you for a moment before turning back to the road.

Smiling you shake your head no. “Not at all Nick. Not at all.” Looking down at your lap you swirl your pointer fingers around each other. “If you’d like I could help you plant some flowers that drive away fairies?” Your attempt at setting up a second date is thwarted by the orcs own curiosity.

Nick looks at you for a long moment and you look up to make sure the road is clear. “There’s flowers that fairies don’t like?”

“Of course. But really you got to worry about the bugs. Some pesticides are bad for you. Actually i’m not sure if they’d be bad for orcs. They can be bad for humans. Plus you’ll need more flowers in your garden if you want bees to do the pollinating. Since we’re in a pretty urban area it’s hard to get them to find the plants and if they don’t then you don’t get vegetables and that’s just a bunch of hard work for nothing... I’m rambling again. Sorry.”

Waving his hand he shakes his head. “No no. I like it. You have a nice voice. Very soothing.”

That familiar heat crawls up your neck and you blush. “I don’t think anyone’s ever complimented my voice before. Thank you.” You feel his eyes on you but you’re to embarrassed to look up.

He turns the lights and sirens off as he drives up to the checkpoint. “Where do you live?”

“Oh just a few blocks south of the shop. You can just drop me off by the corner. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” Brushing your hair behind your ear you look out the car window, watching the city roll by.

“It’s alright. I’d feel better dropping you off at your home.” Nick says.

Smiling you give him your address before trying again at the second date, third date? idea. If he brushed you off then he brushed you off.. but at least you could say you tried. “Would you like help? With the flowers I mean. I could show you were to plant them and help you with your garden if you’d like?”

“You’d do that?” He asks, eyes flicking over to you for a moment.

Nodding you turn and catch his fleeting look, the small flicking twitches of his ears. “Of course. I think it would be nice to spend more time with you...” Trailing off you think over your next words.

“But?” He prompts, eyes fixed on the road.

“No but. I just... I feel comfortable around you. You put me at ease I guess? It sounds silly out loud. I used to be bullied by an orc back in school. Made me terrified of them and small spaces too. Walk-in closets kind of freak me out." Laughing you look down at the flowers in your lap and touch the colorful blooms. “I’ve gotten my hopes up before and I get hurt a lot by trusting the wrong people. I can’t say you’re different, i’m a terrible judge of character really... But i’d like to think you are. Different than the others I mean.” Looking up you lock eyes and there’s a spark, a flutter of your heart as it skips a beat.

The light turns green but his eyes are fixated on you. A car behind you honks and he startles, grunting and stepping on the gas. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me..”

You giggle, looking at your feet. “Well...there’s more where that came from. Stick with me Nick. I’ll compliment you till i’m blue in the face.” Pausing you both look at each other and bust into laughter.

#I never finished this and idk if i ever will so i'm publishing it to clear up my drafts #nick jakoby #fluff #pardon the errors it's not edited #orc

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rachelannc · 5 years

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“Woke up this morning with the weirdest case of the butterflies,” I wrote that Tuesday morning on my phone.

Just the day before, I got a call from a band my 13-year-old self had always loved.

“It’s almost surreal to think I will be embarking on just a short run of a California West Coast tour with a band I’ve always loved,” I wrote. “I’ll get to see what it’s really like to be traveling on a cramped van. I will room in the weirdest hotels and smell the funkiest bars and sweat. Oh, the romanticism of it all gets to me… but the #LolaRachel in me is just dreading the thought of it all.”

I continued, “But hasn’t the road always called to me? I guess I’ll find out.”

With a sigh and a bit of nerves, I wrote, “S**t. What have I done? 😂”

You get what you ask for, I guess.

I had just gotten back from a spontaneous weekend’s getaway to Las Vegas with a friend and caught a slight cold waking up in that hotel room Sunday morning.

“Watch, you’re the reason you get the band sick,” my brother joked to me.

“OH MY GOD. THAT WOULD BE MY WORST NIGHTMARE!” I anxiously replied.

Meg & Dia just kicked off their two-week HappySad reunion tour — their first tour as a band together in eight years — with an all-new album and leg of shows that would take them throughout the West Coast and a few dates on the East ’til the end of September.

The forever-lingering fan girl in me was so stoked (but nervous as hell I’d be sharing rooms and traveling with them on the road, being intimate as ever — just me, Meg, Dia, Carlo and new drummer Grant spending hours on end together). The 13-year-old in me was still freaking out and dreaming up all these different scenarios in my head.

The night before I was messaging the band, “Any travel tips or things to be wary of to pack?” They told me to pack lightly, bring some water, some comfy clothes for the long drives and a water bottle to stay hydrated.

That Wednesday morning I got the call from Carlo. He picked me up on our way to Dia’s house to meet the girls and head on over to their San Diego show later that night at SOMA. Check-in and load-in would be around 4pm, so we spent the afternoon driving, picking up some merch, grabbing some In-N-Out and Starbucks wearing funky paper hats, as Dia helped me prep the merch table.

As we unpacked the boxes and hung stuff up onto the metal cage, Dia, in a moment of “band safety” (or “sisterly advice”) told me to look out for anyone who may be “creepy” or dangerous, and to feel free to call on anyone who’s numbers I have. It was a bit of a sisterly-talk, which was actually very nice and comforting, especially myself being a young twenty-something female who has had her fair share of “creeps” come up to me!

The whole day through, my little sick-self who didn’t want to sabotage this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity tried to hold back my voice and coughs in the car, which also stifled any chance of me trying to talk (ha 😂). I kept my mouth shut and coughs back, drank my water and silently hung up the merch. I grabbed a beer from the green room upstairs, walked around the parking lot, wandered around the green rooms as I saw Dia doing her stretches and vocal warmups as Carlo and Grant roamed around and Meg took a walk to Target (to which she thought up her story to introduce “Nineteen Stars”).

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” I said as I circled the same room five times.

Meg replied, “Welcome to tour!”

Settling into San Diego

San Diego’s run of tour was the band’s first date of their California shows. They had one day off prior to kicking off tour over the weekend, to which Meg joked, “I didn’t even know what to do with myself!” Dia mentioned how nice it felt to just lounge, eat, read a book and sleep in her own bed.

My favorite part of doing merch? Having friends and familiar faces come up during the shows and say hello, and even one random fan saying, “I follow you and your guitar stuff on Instagram!” What a surprise.

To be honest, I low-key had a hunch that people from online were going to approach me at the merch table. But to prepare myself, I told myself, “This is about Meg & Dia. Not me! I’m only here to help them out and I’m not going to make this about me. But if people come up, that’s cool!”

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One of my favorite things about this tour? Seeing old friends and familiar faces come up to the shows who love @meganddiamusic too! 🐨 #meganddia #happysadtour #somasandiego #sandiego #throwback #dayone #merchgirl #throwback #towednesdaynight

A post shared by Rachel Ann Cauilan (@rachelcansea) on Sep 22, 2019 at 2:07am PDT

As I’ve been anticipating their tour since the summer, I was kind of in a weird, out-of-body headspace and disbelief of where I was, what was happening… I was just going with the motions. So when I rolled up to their soundcheck, I remember having a moment where I was like, “Wait a second. This is their first new set of songs in over eight years. I can’t wait to hear how they sound live!”

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San Diego was definitely a more intimate night, with fans listening intently and giving the band their respect and dues. Dia even had a moment where she cried during “Dear Heart,” to which Meg stopped and adoringly gave Dia a hug. Since I was with them the entire day, I was like, “Awww…” But also, I knew how completely normal this was for Dia to get emotional while singing (I guess that just goes to show how much I’ve followed them over the years, lol).

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Curfew for that night was 11pm which gave us enough time to pack up at the end of the night, settle the merch and drive back to sleep in our own beds in Los Angeles. It was hitting 1am and I remember sleepily hearing Underoath and Sleeping With Sirens playing in the van as Dia “the speed demon” drove the van back to LA by 2am in no time.

Los Angeles and the Troubadour

“We here Rachael!” Meg texted me just before 2pm to alert that they had arrived and picked me up on the way to load-in at the Troubadour for the show that night.

I technically didn’t need to arrive to the venue until 6pm to set-up merch, but I figured, I don’t even have my car (my stuff got stolen just a week prior), and I don’t get to tour everyday, so might as well come early and spend the day hanging around to get the “full experience.”

I have to say, one of the most admirable and eye-opening things I’ve seen on this tour was seeing how the girls operate. Since my sick-self was trying to heal ASAP, I opted to stay quiet and just absorb and learn as much as I could just from witnessing and observing the process of tour throughout…

As Dia, Meg, Carlo, Grant and I loaded into the back of the Troubadour, we unpacked all the gear to set up on the stage. Soundcheck was at 4pm and as the band prepped their gear, I mozied my way on over to unpack the merch boxes and start setting up some merch (to which we basically all sold-out the night before and I had to wait on 6-8 boxes of merch to arrive at the venue later that night). I wandered around, took some photos and watched the band soundcheck.

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Listening to their soundcheck and getting that rare look into how they rehearse and prepare, I feel like I was able to hear much more than their live performance set. A fuller sound and an intimate, rare look where they’re conversing with each their and the sound guy to get things sounding good… And just to hear these songs every night and see how their vibes, moods and energies change?! Wow, what an opportunity.

Since we had so much time to kill before the show, we decided to walk around and grab some food. We grubbed at Guisado’s (was my first real meal with the band)! We walked past Salt & Straw, to which we all gushed how good it was and I couldn’t help but grab myself a scoop (even if I might be lactose lol). Dia was particularly quiet/er at the meal, to which I felt she was — ha, getting so “deep in my own head” (cue “Koala”).

This chill moment and time may have been one of my favorite parts and moments shared with the band, just because I was getting into the hang of and settling into tour and doing merch, and also loosening up a little around them (ha)!

That night was a big night, though. All of their music friends, industry friends and Dia’s actor friends were swinging by. Was a big night for new daddy Mike Kaminsky, who pretty much first opened myself up to getting to know the band better in my college days. Khalif helped lug some boxes in for us and unpack the last-minute merch that arrived for us. That merch corner became a bit chaotic and we threw the merch out like flies!

It’s nice to share conversations with fans who have grown up listening to them, eager to buy merch and support a little band who has been through it and getting back on it. A memorable conversation came from Dia’s personal acting friend who raves about just how talented Dia is and she doesn’t even know it (maybe sounds familiar?) — how she gets down on herself so much but we all know how incredibly talented she is, and how much of a storyteller she is when she carries through song. (Oof! Was such a sweet moment I decided to record a mini video message from him to send to Dia, to which the audio unfortunately cut out, but appreciated anyway.)

Joya and I were starting to get into a good system of organization. I placed my geeky “:) or :(?” tip jar on the table to which people actually generously wanted to support.

A friend came by to the merch table and visited me after every set, saying, “I don’t really know these bands and only came because you posted about it, but they’re pretty cool.” He charmingly/awkwardly said hi and even told Meg and Dia themselves he came out just because of me. (Dia joked to me the next morning, “I think he was only awkward because of you, ’cause I was talking to him outside and he seemed chill…”) to which Joya joked as well. Huh, I don’t know what it is I do, I promise!

I enjoyed their set from above. Dante Basco bought me a drink as I fangirled to “Cardigan Weather” with AJ Rafael. As that night ended and I sweatily packed all of the merch and boxes back into the van, my roommate came as I gave her an extra ticket a fan had “gifted to me” (lol), I said bye to the band as we munched on their special Donut Friend “Nutmeg & Chia” donuts someone bought for us, and I hitched a ride.

“7 hour drive to San Fran venue tmrw! Load in at 4! We will leave at 8 am tmrw!” Dia texted the group, to which I replied with a “!!” because it was well past 1am and I had way too much adrenaline from the show and knew I was not sleeping. Ha! I could not wait to head up to San Francisco to see all my family and friends as I’ve been anticipating that show for a while. I slept at 4am that morning, packed my luggage for the weekend and got up just in time for the band to pick me up at 8am and deliver the van some salmon lox bagels for breakfast. Yum!

The slow drawls and hometown reunion in San Francisco

That drive. That slow morning. My lack of sleep and tired self still holding back my coughs. Was I even awake? Were we all even awake? What am I doing here? Wait, I’m seeing my family tonight? Shoot, I can’t believe they’re all coming!

“Do you have any more people you want to add to the list?” Dia asked.

I gave her a few more names of my friends (definitely all high school) who wanted to come out.

“Wow, I’m so tired and I’m so excited my family and friends are coming out, but I physically can’t show my excitement!” I frustratingly said in my head, as my mind was running a million different directions that day.

This was probably the day I got the most in my own head (to which Meg comfortingly added on the road, “I get like that sometimes too and sometimes I need to remind myself — I hold my body and just breathe for 30 minutes to get back in touch with myself”).

As the night approached, my mom walked over from work in the city to visit me at the venue, and I showed her the merch table, the venue, my clothes and luggage… ha! I introduced her to Carlo and Dia as they did their soundcheck. Showtime wasn’t going to be until 11pm that night (wowzers!) as we all tried to stay awake until then. (Friday nights in SF with a live DJ to follow afterward. “Are we dancing tonight?!” we joked.) Joya and I proceeded to walk around, as I wanted to get some “fresh air” outside of the venue and just “walk and talk it out,” as we both had some nerves that day (haha). I went outside to visit my brother and other Meg & Dia boardies who were anticipating the show and asking, “Wow how’s merch life Rachel?!” Nick even joked to me, “Y’all are a heavy crew,” saying anyone would be intimidated to approach, Meg, Dia, Joya and me at the table. 😂 (“But I’m the nicest person!” I explained.)

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What a night. As Meg and Dia did their meet-and-greets with fans after the show, signing merch and sharing conversations, they waited until every last fan. It was soon to be 1:30am and we had to get OUT! I proceeded to help pack up the merch into the van, as Meg and Dia themselves helped in the process.

I have to say… It was absolutely admirable to see them sucking it up, picking up the boxes and racking them on top of each other with no complaints or hesitancy. As pros who have been doing this since they were teens, it was absolutely humbling to see them just get up and do the dirty work. Dia talking and checking in with venue managers, as managers would go, “You guys don’t have a manager?” Meg would go and settle merch at the end of the night. They upkept inventory and as we got into the van to drive to the hotel that night, Dia drove the big a** van 30 minutes to the hotel on probably pure tour/performance exhaustion, and miraculously fit into the tiniest of parking spaces, as we checked into the hotel at 3am and all lacking sleep as we just drove up and played LA the night before and somehow managed to make it here… Meg, Dia, Joya and I shared the room and we took our showers and slept like babies.

“Let’s request a late check-out,” Dia said, as we all slept soundly. “That’s the latest Meg ever slept in!” as the early bird she was.

Strolling basketball games and man-hunting with the Framptons

Carlo had flown out that night/morning at 4am to make it to baby Leon’s birthday (absolutely the most adorable kid, I have to say!). It was then just the five of us that day, while Meg and Dia would play a short acoustic set. We had a nice weekend’s day on the road to just enjoy the summer sun and “chill.”

We went back to the amazing Souvla, one of my favorite restaurants in Hayes Valley. Wandered around and window-shopped. I bought an egg-crown-children’s-book plush stuffed toy thingy with the saying, “What would you do with an idea?” Dia bought a watermelon plush as well (lol). I’m not sure why, but my buying that whimsical crown egg was probably the one thing that made me smile the most on tour! It felt like a truly normal moment for me and just made me so happy (I forever have a little tour souvenir with a message that is so dear to my heart).

We arrived to the ISA TV charity basketball game mid-afternoon, as the entire Asian-American community in LA seemed to be there too.

“4000+ people?!” I said in amazement, as the girls were to play a halftime show in front of all these fans.

We set up merch, had some food, checked into our rooms and hung out. Dia tried to manhunt for Meg, as Khalif pointed out to Dia that someone was asking, “Who’s the girl in the yoga pants?” referring to me. Ha! We all shared glances and little, “Hmm..” judging if these were our “types.” 😂 (Ha, I have to say. It’s so refreshing to just have girl talk and feel like I have sisters on the road! As I’ve always been surrounded by boys and my brothers, I love having this kind of silly sister talk where I can openly talk about these boy situations, ha!)

These girls are incredibly responsible on tour, and for good reason. Meg shared some horror tour stories in the past while on the road — how Leslie got stranded at a gas station when they were on their way to a hotel at 2am in the morning — and I’m sure they’ve already had their days and wild nights on tour. As they’re back as a band together on the road after eight years, it’s kind of cool to get an insider look from these “sisters I never had,” seeing how calm the road can be, how incredibly “normal” yet abnormal tour life can be, despite all other assumptions about tour life. (I’m glad I had a completely comfortable time on tour, and wasn’t as uncomfortable as I had initially expected!)

In hindsight

It was a few days that had gone by so fast. And as the band headed straight to an airport when we arrived back in LA, I bid them adieu. And, I kind of missed it already…

It felt so good to be back home, to rest and properly heal up… but, with them on the road felt like a nice break and I could see how this could be life. (Definitely not something to do every day for your life, because at some point you could lose touch of reality and home, ha!) but… throughout it all, it was a lovely experience and time. And what a crazy way to cap off my journey with this little small-town band, from a girl at 13 who saw two girls who look like me playing rock music on the MySpace front page, to eventually growing an uncanny relation to them… I owe a lot to them for finding my voice, my self, my writing and my music throughout my adolescence since 13… and 13 years later, to be joining them on the road just to help. What an honor.

Some “after tour” stories may be entertaining, but I’ll save that for another time… But, when you post an at-home selfie with an actively writing caption, and forget you’re now Facebook friends with someone you’ve listened to for so long, and they see and “like” that said photo… That’s almost a little embarrassing! But it’s also a little comforting at the same time…

“I see you,” it says.

What a concept I thought would’ve never been true.

Follow Meg & Dia on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Spotify.

And view their videos from San Diego (here), Los Angeles (here) and San Francisco (here). (Did you get that? Ha!)

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#tourdiaries pt. 2 A couple photos I took on the road with @meganddiamusic during their West Coast California #happysadtour reunion this past week. What an honor it has been to join them day in and day out on tour! I learned so much and have come to admire and respect the work the Framptons put into pulling a tour together all on their own — from driving a van all themselves, dealing with venue managers all themselves, getting the band together on time, all themselves, and cruise control — ha! Seeing how seasoned pros do it with such a humility has been so lovely. It was a lot to absorb for little ole me tagging along a band who has amounted to so much for me. But that was fun. Thank you @diaframpton @megframpton @thecza @omfgrant @joyacamaisa for the hospitality! Til next time. #meganddia #happysad #tbt #throwback #aboutlastweek #westcoast #california #californiatour #travel #traveldiaries #photography #livemusic #concert #rachelannc

A post shared by Rachel Ann Cauilan (@rachelcansea) on Sep 26, 2019 at 2:34pm PDT

My Life as a Roadie with Meg & Dia on the California ‘Happysad’ Tour "Woke up this morning with the weirdest case of the butterflies," I wrote that Tuesday morning on my phone.

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everythingislegalinsantafe · 7 years

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Ups & Downs (Part 2)

a/n: i was gonna finish this tomorrow but i said fuck it and wrote it all tonight! there will be a next part so u dont have to worry ;) also if u wanna be tagged just tell me

tags: @bethbat @professionalfangirl3000 @imreallyfredweasley @onelastfic @coramoon025 @daddysprettypagan @im-fandom-trash @hello-fanfiction-goodbye-grades @desperatepenguin722 @justcallmecinammon

word count: 3,502 words (jfc)

PART ONE! PART TWO PART THREE

Your life has been great ever since you got fired. Which was an odd sentence to say but still very true.

After you got fired that day, you immediately vented your feelings out by writing them all down. This is what you went to college for after all, you were a major literature and writing. And writing always made you feel better.

After a couple hours later and a lot of typing, you got an email. You saved your document and leaned back to stretch. As you went to open the email, you recognized the address as Mr. Hamilton’s.

Dear (Y/N),

I know this may seem unprofessional but with the current circumstances of your job I do believe this is appropriate and necessary. I am truly sorry about what happened in the office and Miss Maria Reynolds told me the reasons why Laf and Jefferson had let you go, which is quite preposterous.

You raised your eyebrows. You didn’t know Mr. Hamilton and Maria were close.

I am very good friends with Lafayette and it seems very unlike him to fire someone without any good reason. And although Jefferson and I do not get along, even he isn’t that big of an asshole to do something like this, excuse my language.

You giggled at this.

The reason why I emailed you was because you are truly an amazing person, not just as a secretary, and I am checking to see if you are alright. I enjoyed the talks we had in my office and I will deeply miss them. I hope to receive a reply soon!

Sincerely,

Alexander Hamilton

You smiled sadly as this. Sometimes you would get in trouble because you and Mr. Hamilton would stay in his office and just talk about the most random things. Although most of the time, it was just one of you ranting about something to the other, but you are still going to miss that and him.

You were about to simply type back a “Thank you, I am fine” but instead you opened up your document you were working on and copied and pasted it to send it to him. You added a little note at the bottom thanking him for his concern and saying that you also will miss him.

With that you shut your laptop, the events of the day finally catching up to you leaving you drained of energy. You looked at the clock to see it read 12:48 AM and you laughed.

Only Mr. Hamilton would send an email at this hour, you thought sleepily as you yawned.

With that you dragged yourself to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

You didn’t know that sending Mr. Hamilton (you now call him Alex) your paper about how you felt about That Day would change your life. After reading it, Alex sent it to his sister-in-law who was the CEO at a big newspaper company. She absolutely loved and asked you to become a writer at her company.

Seven months later you climbed to the top and became a head writer in The Schuyler Times. You couldn’t be more proud of yourself and you wouldn’t trade your job for the world.

You became very good friends with Angelica Schuyler, the woman who hired you, and you became a well known writer across the east coast.

You never missed your old job, but you would miss a couple of the friends you made while working their. Every once in a while you would meet up with Maria and Alex to see how they were doing, but they were the only ones you kept in touch from your old work.

One day, you were writing an article about a local robbery that happened last night when you got a text from Alex.

mr. nonstop: (2:03 PM)

omg u would not believe what i found out

mr. nonstop: (2:03 PM)

(Y/N) answer it’s so important there’s so much drama

mr. nonstop: (2:03 PM)

it’s such juicy gossip

mr. nonstop: (2:03 PM)

PLS answer i must tell you

you: (2:04 PM)

what alex im working i get off at 3

mr. nonstop: (2:04 PM)

OH PERFECT can you meet me at the coffee shop by my building at 330? i believe this will be better if i told you in person :D

Your eyebrows raised at this. It didn’t sound bad, but you knew it had something to do with you, and you can’t resist talking about drama. You texted back “sure” and went back to work.

Time flew by and you hauled a cab to meet Alex at the normal coffee shop you both went to talk shit about people.

You checked your watch and saw it was 5 til 3:30, but you already spotted Alex gulping down his coffee at your normal table while shaking his leg vigorously as his eyes roamed around the café.

The gossip must be very good today, you thought.

His eyes widened when he saw you and grinned mischievously as he waved you over.

“Ok, here’s your frappuccino!” He handed you your drink as you sat down. “Now let’s get to the good stuff.”

You took a sip of your drink and waited for him to start.

“So obviously a couple months ago you got ‘let go’,” He said as he put sarcastic quotations around “let go”.

You rolled your eyes and nodded.

“So since you got fired, Lafayette and Jefferson needed a new secretary, right?” He said with a smirk.

You put down your drink at this, you totally didn’t think about how your old bosses would need a new vict-assistant to hire.

“They hired this one guy but fired him the next week, then they hired this girl who was there for a month then quit, after they they hired a girl who they, no joke, fired the next day,” Alex went on.

Your eyes widened as Alex kept talking about how many secretaries Mr. Lafayette and Mr. Jefferson have gone through.

“…So in total for the past seven months they have gone through twelve secretaries, (Y/N). Twelve!” Alex laughed as he slammed his coffee down. “I feel so bad for the one working right now, I swear they cry whenever Laf barely talks to them sternly.”

You chuckled with Alex but you still couldn’t believe it.

Twelve assistants? Nobody is that picky about assistants.

“But that’s not the juicy part!” Alex suddenly stopped laughing.

“It’s not? Because that sounds pret-ty good to me.” You said as you stirred your whipped cream with your straw.

Alex scooted closer to you, “I found the real reason why you got fired.”

You snapped your eyes up to his, “The what?”

Alex chuckled sinisterly and leaned back against his chair, “They didn’t fire you because you were distracted,”

He leaned closer and whispered into your ear, “They fired you because you were distracting.”

You moved your head away from his and looked at him to see if he was really saying what he you think he was saying.

Alex nodded his head and took a sip of coffee, “Oh yes, (Y/N), they were distracted by you.”

You jaw dropped as he confirmed what you thought he was saying.

“There’s no way!” You gasped. “Who told you this?”

Alex then told you how he eavesdropped-

“Overheard!” Alex would object.

How he eavesdropped on a conversation between Jefferson and Lafayette.

“Apparently they couldn’t handle wanting to jump your bones every time they called you into their office, so they had to fire you. Lafayette kept saying you were ”*une belle fleur” and Jefferson said you were “a sight for sore eyes.”

You laughed hard as he did (very bad) impressions of the two of them and he started cackling with you. Afterwards, you wiped the tears from your eyes, but then you remembered what Alex said.

“So, is that all you came to tell me?” You asked Alex.

He shook his head, “I think you should stop by the office and say hi to a couple friends. I’m sure a couple people missed you, some more than others.” He winked and with that he was off, waving goodbye and yelling he hopes to see you soon. That night he texted you to come “stop by” the office next Tuesday.

You left him on read.

The next week came soon enough and you texted Angelica that you’re taking the day off.

you: (7:17 AM)

hey angie im not gonna be at work today i have some…stuff to take care of

angie: (7: 21 AM)

make sure you make them regret firing you ;)

You froze and re-read the text again.

Of course Alex would tell her, you thought. He can’t keep his big mouth shut.

You dressed nice today, not because you wanted to impress people. Oh no, you’re a well-known writer! You can dress whenever you want because you can!

You were walking into your former building when you heard someone behind you call your name.

“Hey (Y/N), dressed to impress a certain pair a people, huh?” Alex asked teasingly as he fell into step with you.

You blushed and grumbled, “Shut it, Hamilton. I can dress nice if I want to dress nice.”

Alex held his hands up in defense and went to press the both button 10 and 11 of the elevators.

Nice to see they’re still working, you thought sarcastically.

As the elevator neared the 11th floor, you quickly became nervous. You started fidgeting with your hands and straightening your shirt more times than you could count.

You felt Alex put a hand on your shoulder, “Hey, you don’t have to do this you don’t want to. I’m sorry if you felt pressured to do this.”

You shook your head a took a deep breath, “No it’s fine, Alex. I think it’s best if I do this. Plus, I really wanna see that new secretary they have.”

Both of you laughed and the elevator dinged that you finally arrived at the Alex’s floor.

Alex walked out while you held the door to keep it from closing. You looked around to see that nothing had changed which made you smile.

You looked at Alex, “Is Jefferson or Lafayette in today?”

“That’s why I wanted you to come in specifically today,” He smiled. “Both of them are here.”

Your eyes widened while Alex smirked.

He’s really enjoying this, isn’t he?

“Alright I’ve gotta go, (Y/N). I have a meeting with Washington.” He said with a wave.

You waved goodbye to Alex and told him you would meet up with him soon.

It only took a few seconds to get to the next floor. The elevator dinged again and you took a deep breath and stepped out. You walked around, trying to find someone you recognized when you saw Maria.

“Maria!”

Her head snapped up from the paperwork she was working up and a bright grin appeared on her face.

You both met each other halfway with a big hug.

“Oh my gosh, (Y/N)! Look at you dressed all fancy and competing in the big leagues!” She said as she stepped back from you hug. “God I missed you!”

You both caught up with each other and she led you around the room until you reached your old cubicle. You saw a woman typing frantically on the computer while talking on the phone to someone and being surrounded by enormous piles of paper. You grimaced as you were reminded of your days being stuck in the same position as her.

“Yeah that’s their new secretary,” Maria whispered into your ear. “Have you heard she’s their-”

“Twelfth one? Yeah I’ve heard.” You interrupted.

You both walked away and passed by both Mr. Jefferson’s and Mr. Lafayette’s office and saw both were empty. Maria noticed your confused expression and quickly explained they were having a meeting with Washington downstairs. The same meeting Alex is in. The same floor Alex is on.

“Y'know Maria? I’m gonna go say hi to Al- Mr. Hamilton and I’ll be on my way. It was so nice seeing you again.” You smiled as you gave her another hug.

You decided to take the stairs down to see Alex since he was only a floor away. On your way down the stairs you texted him asking if he was done with the meeting since you didn’t want to wait for him.

you: (9:01 AM)

are u done with ur meeting?

mr. nonstop: (9:01 AM)

yeah just finished! im in my office come stop by

mr. nonstop: (9:02 AM)

u might hear me talking to people in my office but just come on in it’s fine ;)

You didn’t know why he added the winky face, but you shrugged it off. As you neared his office, you couldn’t help but feel something was off, but you kept moving forward. You opened the door to see Alex and Jefferson yelling at each other while Lafayette tried to calm them down. Alex was the only one to notice you walk in as the other two men’s back were facing the door.

“(Y/N)!” Alex exclaimed as he jumped from behind his desk to give you a hug. “I didn’t know you were stopping by today! What a nice surprise!”

As he hugged you he whispered to play along and you huffed and rolled your eyes.

You pulled out of the hug, “Hey Alex! I was just passing by and I couldn’t miss a chance to see you.”

Alex gave you a wink to signal that you’re doing great.

“Oh Lafayette! Jefferson!” He turned to the two men who were gaping at the two of you. “You remember (Y/N), right?”

Your two former bosses gulped and nodded, still unable to form any words.

“How have you guys been?” You asked sweetly with a big smile.

The two just stared until Jefferson nudged Lafayette.

“U-um…we’ve been f-fine, (Y/N). How about you? Do you have a new job?”

You were about to answer when Alex beat you to it.

“Well actually they work for my sister-in-law! They are one of the head writers at The Schuyler Times and one of the biggest names on the east coast!” He said proudly.

Both men looked even more shocked than before.

“W-wow (Y/N), that’s great!” Jefferson finally spoke.

You smiled, “Well I better be on my way! I’m a very busy person and I just wanted to stop by and say hi to Alex!”

Alex went up and hugged you again, but this time he kissed your cheek.

“Make sure to text me when you get home!” He said as you walked out.

You nodded and walked out of his office, finally relaxing your shoulders. You were about to get in the elevator when a pair of hands grabbed you and shoved you into an empty room. You squealed and saw that Mr. Jefferson had been the one to grab you.

“How long have you and Hamilton been dating?” Jefferson asked you.

Your eyes widened at his bluntness. You peeked over his shoulder and saw Mr. Lafayette staring at you with crossed arms.

“I-well we aren’t…uh…dating.” You stammered.

Mr. Jefferson took a step back from you.

“Then what was with all the hugging?” He asked.

“And him kissing your cheek and to text him when you got home?” You heard Mr. Lafayette spit out as he walked over to the both of you.

You blushed, “I have no idea,” You started backing into a corner. “Alex and I are friends, but he usually is never affectionate like that…”

Mr. Jefferson put his hands on either side of your head against the wall, trapping you.

“Oh so you call him Alex now?” He growled his name.

You furrowed your eyebrows and look straight into his eyes, “Whoever I’m friends with and I date is none of your concern! Of either one of your concerns!” You yell as you look over to Mr. Lafayette and push Mr. Jefferson away. “From what I remember you were the ones that fired me! So I shouldn’t even have to be speaking with the two of you!”

You started walking towards the door but you felt a gentle hand grabs yours.

“Oui, we’re sorry (Y/N). We just…” You heard Lafayette say.

You turned around and motioned for him to continued.

He looked over at Mr. Jefferson for some kind of reassurance and looked back at you, “We let you go because we…like you too much, ma chérie.”

You gasped. You know that Alex told you the same thing, but actually hearing it from them makes it completely different.

“We couldn’t take the way how flawless you looked everyday. With your gorgeous eyes and hair. We couldn’t take how intelligent you are and-”

Lafayette was interrupted when you gasped again, but this time it was because you felt Mr. Jefferson wrap his arms from behind you.

“We couldn’t take the way your hips would move when you walk or how your eyes sparkled. We especially couldn’t take it whenever the word ‘Sir’ came out of your pretty little mouth.”

You whimpered at this, you didn’t know how much more you could take.

“Ma chérie,” Lafayette asked. “Would you be willing for us to make it up to you? You can come over to our house tonight and have dinner.”

“W-well uh Mr. Lafa-” You started to stammer.

“Mon amour, just call me Laf.”

You blushed at the new nickname. You were used to “ma chérie”, but this was new.

You felt Mr. Jefferson kiss down your neck, “And you can call me Thomas, darling.”

You shuddered at his administrations and nodded.

“How 'bout this, darling? You doll yourself up and come over to our place around 8. Then we can treat you to dinner,” Mr. Je-Thomas said. “And then at the end of the night we can make everything up to you.” He whispered.

This time you shuddered and whimpered, already ready for what may come.

Laf pulled you out of Thomas’s grasp to pull you into his.

“Here’s our address, ma chréie,” Laf gave you both his and Thomas’s number along with the address. “We’ll be waiting, mon amour.”

The three of you then walked out of the room, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. But Alex caught your eye when the elevator doors were closing and winked at you.

This was quite a turn of events for you.

When you got home, it took a while for you to comprehend that you’re going on a date. With two men. Who were your former bosses.

When 5 o'clock rolled around, you changed into your favorite “night out” outfit, which made you look sexy but still very classy.

You had to control your breathing as your GPS told you that you were nearing their house.

It’s ok (Y/N), you told yourself. You look hot and you’ll do fine. They’ve seen you at your worst, you’ll be fine.

As you pulled up to park, your mouth dropped. Their house was huge!

It’s not even a house! More like a mansion! You said to yourself.

You shakily made your way up the stair and rung the doorbell. You nervously fiddled with your outfit until the door opened and your jaw dropped.

You know how usually when you see men in suits it usually makes them hotter? It wasn’t true for you since you see men in suits all the time. But behind the door you saw Thomas and Laf in completely normal and comfortable clothing which somehow made then ten times hotter.

“(Y/N)! You look amazing as always, darling.” Thomas said as he and Lafayette led you in.

You looked around at the grand room and couldn’t help but gawk at it. You were stopped when you smelt something amazing coming from what you assumed to be the kitchen!

“I made pasta for us, ma chérie.” Lafayette told you. “It’s simple but I think you will like it.”

You grinned and nodded at him, unable to contain your excitement for the night.

After dinner all three of you decided to watch a movie. The three of you might have had a bit too much wine since you all ended up cuddling on the couch. You were enjoying the movie until you felt a hand wrap around your thigh. You looked and saw that Thomas was watching the movie as if he had done nothing different, so you shrugged and focused your attention back on the screen. A couple minutes later, however, another hand wrapped your other thigh.

You blushed and knew this was no mistake, but you weren’t going to say no to them. This is was you signed up for.

During the movie, both hands started creeping up your thighs until they reached just under your core.

You were already very needy from before, but this was driving you insane. You needed one of them to do something.

“Ma chérie, shall we continue this in the bedroom.” Laf whispered in your ear.

–

* une belle fleur = a beautiful flower

#lafayette #lafayette x reader #hamilton #hamilton the musical #hamilton imagine #ups & downs #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson x reader #writings

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theavproject-blog · 5 years

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A Wife’s Surprise: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying And Pervert My Wife

That day started like any other Tuesday. It was 11am, I just had my 3rd cup of coffee, sitting at my desk running scripts to see if there were any oddities in the system logs that belong to my clients. I was a bit surprised to find my wife coming through the front door. She was normally at work at this time. Allow me to give some background on us. My wife and I have been married for 2 years. We had been dating for 5 years before that. Our relationship was a LDR one for quite some time. We were trying to decide who would be the one to move, but after a long time of debate and traveling back and forth we both decided to move to an “in-between place” from where we’re both originally from. I’m European and 35 years old, while my wife is South East Asian and just turned 30. I stand about 6 foot and built like a boxer, while she’s only 5’5”, and has an amazing body. Her A-cup breasts made her deliciously plump ass stand out even more. Her friends always joked she as a ‘black girls’ butt’. I work as a mobile PenTester, she’s a medical specialist. She comes from a very religious background, whereas I… Let’s just say I was quite the pervert compared to her. Specifically, I’m big into exhibitionism, and she was a virgin before we met. People always say “opposites attract”, but we were so opposite sometimes, no one could understand what we saw in each other. Truth is, I love how grounded she is, and she loves how adventurous I am. After we were married, however, I made it a personal mission to make my wife as sexually perverted as I am. Most people think that getting their wife to try anal might be a huge step. For me, anal comes after she had gotten use to role playing. Our favorite role-play was always her being some random prostitute, and I, a John, looking to use her body for money. After a year and a half, and about a dozen visits to a swingers club to just “enjoy drinks and see what others do”, my wife finally felt confident and comfortable enough for us to finally have sex at the swingers club, but only with each other. She really enjoyed it. So much in fact, we found ourselves at the club at least once a month. I thought I was making good progress. I was breaking her out of her shell. I could be open about all my fantasies with her, and she could be with me. But I didn’t realize what I had awaken in her until that Tuesday she came home out of no where. That all my progress had made her seek out things I had only mentioned in the heat of passion. Before I got a chance to stand up to greet her, she came over and sat on my lap. Dropping her bag on the floor, kissing me, asking me if I was busy. I wasn’t too busy and didn’t really need to take calls then. She smiled, jumping up and grabbing her bag. “I’ve got a surprise for you” she said with a slightly mischievous tone. “Oh? And what would that be?” I smirked. Saying nothing, she pulled something out of her bag. Holding it behind her, she told me to close my eyes. As I did I felt her come up to me and kiss me passionately then pull her mouth away slowly. Telling me to keep my eyes close, I felt her slowly walk behind my chair. “Put your hands together behind your chair” she instructed me. I didn’t expect that, but I knew she was up to something naughty so I did as she asked. Suddenly I felt her putting something furry around my wrists, and with ‘zzztttt’ sound, I opened my eyes realizing she put handcuffs on me. As she came back around and smiled. “Well what sort of surprise is this then” I asked. She said nothing as she got down on her knees in front of me and started unzipping my pants. As she pulled my limp cock out, I moaned in lustful anticipation. Feeling her warm mouth engulf my cock made the rest of my body surrender and go limp. She always loved getting me hard with her mouth. Within 30 seconds she had me fully erect. As I looked into her eyes, I moaned out and swearing. My cock may only be 7 1/2” in length, but the 5 1/2” girth made me thick enough that she couldn’t wrap her hand around it completely. And while my wife may have a small mouth, she learned how to deep throat every inch me. As she grabbed the base of my cock, she place her tongue against the back of the head. She slowly started pulling her hand up along my shaft, milking me, letting my precum ooze out onto her tongue. As she got half way up my shaft, she wrapped her beautiful lips around my head and started to suck the rest out. The only response I could give was to throw my head back and yell “ah! Baby! Fuck!” As she took her mouth off my cock, she stood up and let me watch her reach up under her dress and slowly take her panties off. With a seductive smile, she brought the crotch of her panties up to my face to let me see how wet they were. “Mmmm, do you like knowing a big cock in my hands and mouth make me so wet?” she asked in her seductive moaning voice. I just nodded my head and stuck my tongue out to get a taste of her juice stain. She told me to open my mouth nice and wide, and I did as I was told. Without a word she pushed the crotch of her panties into my mouth, then pushed the rest of her panties into my mouth, effectively gagging me. My wife has never restrained or gagged me before, so this was becoming exciting. Then she went back to her purse and pulled out a small USB stick. “This is the surprise” she exclaimed. Turning my chair around to face my screen and putting the USB stick into the computer. I was not prepared for what she had in store.

“You know I love you, hun. So I listen to things you tell me.” she told me as she was opening the USB on my computer. “Do you remember how hard you came the last time we were at the club? And what made you cum so hard?” I really had to think for a moment, then she helped remind me. We were at the club about three weeks ago. We had been having sex for a while on one of the couches. She was riding on top of me, and I noticed a couple in front of us. The woman stroking a man’s cock, as he fingered her pussy. I knew they were getting off watching us. So I made my wife lean up against me, and I grabbed her ass cheeks and spread them wide apart so they could get a good view. I knew how good it must look for them. Seeing her lips grip tightly on my cock as her asshole would wink from time to time. “Ohhh baby are you showing me off again?” she asked lustfully in my ear. “Of course” I whispered. “Mmmm what do you think I am, some porn girl, huh?” Her question made me moan. “Aaahhhh fuck, baby you know you’ve got a body made for porn” I said feeling myself get closer as we continued our dirty talk. “Yeah?” she moaned. “You like thinking of me fucking on camera? Getting paid to be fucked? Having other people jerk off to it?” I couldn’t contain myself, and just started slamming my cock up inside her body as I shot my cum up into the back of her pussy. As I came, her walls contracted with her orgasm, milking my cock for every drop. It was hot. As she doubled clicked on a file, I saw it was a video. “You remember how hot it was. So last weekend, I decided to have a surprise made for you.” As she went to my side, the video started playing, and to my shock, my wife was saying hello to the person behind the camera. She sat on the bed fully clothed, and the logo of a porn company watermarked in the bottom corner.

She was being interviewed. She of course gave the camera man a fake name, telling a bit about herself. He asked her why she decided to do her first porn, I was shocked yet turned on by her answer. “Well, my husband always tells me that I’ve got a body for porn, so I thought it would be fun to give it a try.” she said with a giggle. “Oh so you’re married?” the cameraman asked. “So does your husband know you’re doing this?” She laughed “Yes, I’m happily married. He doesn’t know I’m doing this yet, but he will.” I couldn’t believe how honest she was. The cameraman continued his interview. “So is he also Asian?” “No no no. He’s a white guy.” She told him in such a corrective tone. “Ah ok. So when was the last time you had sex?” He asked. “Well, about 3 days ago” she answered him. “And that was with your husband?” She laughed “Of course it was with my husband!” The cameraman laughed in return. “Well I was just checking. How many guys have you had sex with outside of your husband then?” “Just him” she said proudly. “Wait, you’ve never had sex with anyone other than your husband?” he asked kinda shocked. “Nope, just him. I lost my virginity to him” she explained. “Wow!” The cameraman was genuinely shocked. “So this will be the first time you’ve ever had a different cock?” the cameraman asked. She laughed nervously “I guess it is.” “Are you nervous?” he asked. “Of course! A little bit excited but really nervous too!” she exclaimed with a nervous laugh. “Well you don’t have to be nervous, we want you to have a good time, ok?” he told her to reassure her. I couldn’t believe it. This was the woman who, when we started dating, was telling me how sacred the martial bed is. Now here she was on camera for a porn site, telling someone how “nervous and excited” she is about getting fucked by a complete stranger for the first time. As I watched my wife kept stroking my cock. When I looked at her she’d just push my head to keep me watching the screen. As the cameraman kept asking her questions, she stood up, still stroking my hard cock, whispering in my ear. “The fact that your cock is still hard tells me you like the surprise, you know that?” She kept stroking me, breathing into my ear as I continued to watch her on screen. She was now taking her clothes off, showing her delicious body. As she finally took her bra off and exposed her tits, the cameraman came up close to get a good shot of how her nipples were already hard. Telling her how nice her breasts were. As she unbuttoned her shorts, he told her to turn around to take them off. As she did so, she slid her panties down with her shorts, exposing her luscious ass. Bending over, showing the camera here rear pussy. She stood up and turned back around, one hand on her hip, biting her bottom lip as she smiled. “Wow” the cameraman started again “your husband is right, you do have a body made for porn.” She laughed out loud telling him ‘Thank you’. I couldn’t help but moan right then. It wasn’t just because my wife was stroking my cock, but watching triggered something primal in me I never felt before. She whispered in my ear again “See. You’re right. You like knowing other people think your wife is made for porn too don’t you?” I moaned and nodded. In the back of my mind, I know I was suppose to be angry, hurt, jealous, or maybe all three at the same time. But I wasn’t. I actually felt proud. It turned me on so much to hear someone compliment my wife’s naked body.

The cameraman told her to lay on the bed and spread her legs. As she did so, she instinctively started playing with her pussy. I could see she was already a little wet, but also quite nervous as she did so, looking off to the side from time to time. “The guy that was gonna fuck me.. Umm.. Well, I forget his name. Anyways, he was standing off to the side jerking off watching me. So I was nervous, obviously.” she whispered as she wiped up some of my precum with her fingers and licked it off. “Mmmm, you’re really enjoying this huh?” I just hummed that I was through the panty-gag she put in my mouth. Suddenly a naked guy, tall and built like a swimmer, walked over to the side of the bed. His veiny white cock already rock hard. He grabbed her legs and pulled her over to his side of the bed. I could see the nervousness on her face. Then suddenly, as he started rubbing the bare head of his cock against her pussy lips, her face went from nervous to ‘curious anticipation’. “I don’t know what happened, but the moment his cock touched my pussy lips, I stopped being nervous and got really excited.” she continued telling me as she jerked my cock “It was like, at first I was wondering if it was wrong, you know? That I was about to let some stranger have what should only belong to my husband” as she said this she started jerking my cock faster “but the moment I felt his cock touch my pussy that thought vanished and it was like my body took over, telling me this is what I should be doing”. As I watched him start pushing his cock into her pussy, she moaned out in pleasure, and I almost came. But my wife let go of my cock, giggling in my ear “nooo nooo nooo, you have to watch everything before you’re allowed to come.” As I was coming down off my edge, my wife grabbed my cock once again and continued to slowly stroke it. I looked back at the screen. The actor was going slow and steady, pumping maybe 3/4s of his cock in and out of her pussy. He was thick enough to be making her lips stretch around his shaft. My wife may have a small pussy, but it stretches and grips so nicely. “I have to admit, he may have been a little bit longer than you, but he wasn’t as thick as your delicious cock, baby” she whispered in my ear. To be honest, the thought of whether he was bigger than me never crossed my mind. All I knew was my wife looked amazing getting fucked on that bed. I was happy he had ‘big dick’, because at least she’d be able to enjoy herself. As she played with her tits looking down at his hips thrusting against her, she reached down with one hand and started playing with her clit. “Mmmm fuck me deeper” she moaned out. Fuck, she was going to cum already. He turned his hips slightly and start thrusting his cock balls deep inside her. As his meat slid in and out, you could hear the splashing sounds of her juices, and the see his balls swinging low and slapping between her ass cheeks with every thrust. She moaned out loud as she arched her back and hips. She was cumming all over his cock. As I started to moan out, my wife let go of my cock to make sure I wouldn’t cum yet. “That’s just the first orgasm I had of many if you want me to be honest” she told me in her lustful tone. All I could think of then, is how I have been in his position before. When she cums like that I normally make her suck and lick her juices off of my cock. And before I could finish my own thought, I watched as my wife sat up on the bed and immediately started licking and sucking on his cock. I taught her so well. She played with his balls, sucking wildly on his shaft like she hadn’t had a dick in her mouth in months. I couldn’t blame her. It would be a shame if she didn’t taste the cock that just made her cum so good. As I noticed the wet stain on the bed my wife started stroking my cock again, and then I watch on screen as she started deepthroating his dick. Taking his cock down her throat til his balls were right against her chin, hold it, then take it back to just the head. “You taught me so well, you know that?” she whispered in my ear. It took us months of practice before she could finally deepthroat me like that. Now here she was taking this guys cock balls deep into her throat like it was nothing. I know by now I should have been trying to stop watching, but I couldn’t. You couldn’t tell me it was wrong. I always would tease her how her body and sexual talents told me she was ‘made for sex’. But actually seeing how talented and hot she is one camera was the hottest thing I had ever seen up to that point.

As she pulled her mouth off his cock with a smile the video transitioned to a side shot of my wife on her knees getting fucked doggy style by this guy. She whispered in my ear “He asked me to stop because I almost made him cum, that’s why my smile was so big, hun.” It’s too bad, because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could take this delicious torture. As the video continued, I understood why they used him. His thin swimmers physique made his cock stand out more. His abs flexed as he pumped my wifes’ pussy, balls slapping her clit as he bucked his hips. I’m a pretty healthy and well built guy myself, don’t get me wrong. If him and I got into a fight, I’d snap him in half. I didn’t see this guy as ‘superior to me’ or anything like that. But he was young and built like a model, and that just made me feel proud knowing she is so attractive and seductive that she could get such guys horny and wanting to fuck her. Hearing my wife moan on video made my attention go back to her reactions. She was gripping the sheets, twisting them in her fists, burying her face into the bed as she moaned out in agonizing pleasure. Her back remained in a deep arch, forcing her ass up in the air, ensuring she remained fully exposed to take every inch of that cock. She turned her head and started looking directly into the camera. I swear I could see her eyes light up right then, and she started grinding her teeth again wincing in pleasure. I think she forgot for a moment she was being filmed. Then the cameraman stood up and started moving the camera to get a POV shot from behind. My wife was stroking my cock at a steady pace now, breathing heavy into my ear, telling me the nasty details that were in her mind at the time. As we both saw the shot from the actors point of view, I heard her slightly gasp in excitement right into my ear. “Wow, ok. I haven’t seen this video yet either, baby” she said. “I mean, holy shit, I look so fucking hot bent over like that. How come you never told me my pussy looks so good getting fucked from behind like that?” I obviously have but couldn’t answer her right now. As the camera continued to film, I could hear my wife moaning out, starting to cum on this guys cock once again as he kept slowly sliding his cock in-n-out of her beautifully messy hole. You could clearly see her pussy cream smearing all over his shaft, slowly oozing out the sides of her gripping pussy lips. I heard the cameraman comment “fuck dude, she is creaming all over your cock.” and the actor spoke simply in a low voice, “fuck yeah.” I know from personal experience you can’t really say much in that kind of moment. Her scent becomes too intoxicating when she cums. You can’t really think logically. All you know is you want to keep pleasuring her. My wife continued to make me edge throughout the video. Seeing her fuck and cum in different positions. Constantly teasing me with whispers in my ear of how she enjoyed it, how ‘we should try this’. In one scene where she laid on her side, one leg up and the actor thrusting his cock inside her, the cameraman asked her if she was enjoying herself. She nodded into the camera and turned her attention back to the big cock fucking her pussy. Suddenly my wife paused the video and told me that she almost came when the cameraman asked her this next question. Before she hit play, she turned back to me and whispered in my ear once again “but I did cum hard when I thought about the question he asked after this question.” As she hit play on the video and continued jerking me off, I heard the cameraman ask her “So do you think your husband is gonna jerk off to this video?” I could see her expression slighty change from agonizing pleasure to naughty surprise as she nodded yes. Suddenly he asked his second question. “Do you like knowing other people are gonna be jerking off to this video?” She didn’t respond with a verbal answer, instead after a few seconds she reached down and started rubbing her clit furiously as she started cum all over this guys cock again. Looking up at him as her legs started to shake. As I watched her reaction on the screen, my wife grabbed the base of my cock tightly, and said “You did that to me, you know? Perverting me and taking me to that swingers club so often. I use to be such a good girl. Now look at what I’m doing. This is suppose to be a punishment but you’re such a pervert, you’re enjoying it.” She let go of my cock so I could calm down, she knew her words were gonna make me cum.

She continued to tease me and cause me to edge. Letting go of my cock, refusing to let me cum, forcing me to watch her get fucked and cum over and over again. Whispering nasty things in my ears every time she did this. Reminding me what a ‘pervert I am for enjoying this’ and asking if I ‘planned on her ever going this far’. This was becoming torture in the most wonderful way for me. The only thing I didn’t like about all of this, was that I couldn’t fuck her myself right now. As much as I enjoyed seeing her like this, every fiber of my body was only wanting to fuck her myself now. Sexually remind her that, even though I enjoy what she’s doing, why she married me. Finally after an hour the video transitioned to a scene I was looking forward to.

She laid on her back with her hands on her lower thighs, close to her ass cheeks, pulling her legs back so that her pussy was raised upward. The guy had his cock positioned so that his head was between her pussy lips, just poking into her wet entrance. He kept one leg up so you could see her face unobscured between her legs. As he slowly pushed his cock down into her pussy, her lips and tiny slit stretched around his girth. Inch after slow inch of his veinded length disappeared inside her. She took in a slow deep breath as her expression became one of torturous lust, feeling the thickness of his delicious dick eagerly and deliberately forcing her inner walls to spread around it. He stopped and slowly pulled back, letting the camera get a shot off just how tight his balls were raised against the back of his cock. As my wife continued stroking my cock, my own balls raised against me as well, then she whispered in my ear “Since he..” she paused “.. shit I still can’t remember his name” she laughed then continued “since he made me cum so much, and since you always tell me I should never waste cum, when they asked where I would like him to shoot his cum..” she stroked my cock faster “...I told them they should just make it a creampie scene.” I moaned as she let go of my cock, we both looked down and saw it twitching, but the lack of her touch made me calm down before I could cum. “Mmm, you excited to watch me get cum in my pussy” she moaned in my ear as I heard her smear my precum onto her pussy with her freehand. My balls were starting to ache from this lack of orgasm as she whispered in my ear again with her sexy whining voice “Baby, you know when I cum so much I NEED cum in my pussy. I know you understand.” Of course I understood because I taught her that.

As I watched again in erogenous anticipation, I saw my wife’s face start to wince and wrinkle up as her aching pussy continued to be fucked. She whined and whimpered as her eyes stayed focused on his cock pounding in and out of her slightly red and sore looking pussy. I could tell this was going to be a powerful orgasm for her. “I was so close but the head of his cock was just so close to hitting the back of my pussy but it wasn’t, so I couldn’t cum, it was torture baby” she told me as she continued to stroke my cock. The details of everything I saw and heard flooded my mind. How her face looked like she was about to cry out in pain but knowing she just wanted to cum but couldn’t. How her pussy lips gripped tightly on his thick veiny shaft as it pumped in-n-out of her with a beautiful friction. Seeing how her asshole would wink when her pussy walls contracted, a sign of her being even closer to cumming. Her whining and whimpering grew louder. She was starting to mumble something as her breathing grew more shallow and rapid. She looked up at him into his eyes, still whimpering and trying to mumble something to him. After about 30 seconds of her trying to communicate her pre-orgasmic agony to him, she looked back down at his cock and what it was doing to her aching pussy. Her mumbling and whimpering got even louder and more erratic. She started to randomly cry out as the tension of her oncoming orgasm grew beyond what she could bare. Her only release was to dig her nails into her own legs as she screamed. As he started moaning and pounding his cock harder and faster into her slippery pussy hole, she was finally able to communicate a single word. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Over and over again, she screamed it out between her whimpers and gasps for air.

As her body forcefully spasmed, my wife let out a scream I could only describe as a mix between a primal scream of pain and pleasure, and the cry of a helpless and vulnerable woman lost in an intoxication of fear and excitement. She was having the most powerful orgasm she had ever had. Looking like she was about to cry, lustfully screaming in orgasmic agony. Holding her legs back still, her eyes stayed focused on her cumming pussy, his powerful cock still thrusting inside her. Her asshole was winking nonstop as her pussy muscles contracted uncontrollably. Her delicious cum cream running steadily out the bottom of her pussy, his pumping cock causing it to gush out from time to time. Her body convulsed at random and her screams started to match up with her convulsions. Suddenly the actor gave out a loud primitive roar as he stabbed his cock hard and deep into her mid-orgasming pussy. She screamed from the violent penetration and her face instantly changed from wrinkled and wincing in orgasmic pain to her eyes bulging out and mouth wide open screaming out in shock. As he continued to grunt, holding his cock where he had planted it inside her, she looked up at him into his eyes for a few seconds moaning into his face after every gasp for air, never changing her expression, until finally she looked back down at his cock, still stabbed deep into her still convulsing pussy. When he pulled just a few of his inches out of her and that’s when I saw what caused her sudden change in expression. His cock continued to violently twitch and pulsate as he shot rope after thick sticky rope of his cum deep into her pussy. As his grunts and moans grew quite, her gasps and moans continued unchanged, and I noticed how her body still jerked at random, how her asshole still winked while his cock continued to pulsate and throb, flooding the inside her pussy. She finally spoke “oh my god” she breathed shallowly “it’s so much cum” she said in a shaky moan. He held his cock inside her, every few seconds still twitching, showing that she getting every last drop inside her still cumming pussy.

My wife.

My sweet, precious wife.

The woman who, two years ago, demanded we wait to have sex til we were married.

Had now been corrupted...by me. She was now so perverted by me, that she had one of the most powerful orgasms of her life.. and it had been given to her by a complete stranger.. a guy who’s name she couldn’t even remember..

But that wasn’t enough... She had to show just how much I really corrupted her.

So she let this stranger drown the inside of her pussy in his cum. And it wasn’t just a little bit. No no no. After he stabbed his cock into her, he had to have had stayed there, buried balls deep inside her pussy, for a full 10 seconds before he pulled it out a little to show how aggressively his cock was painting the inside of her pussy walls with his cum.

And she didn’t stop him. She just kept cumming.

All of it recorded. For a porn site, no less. And what did she have to say about it to me? As I watched the scene, she moaned in my ear “When he first slammed his cock inside me, I thought he might have penetrated my cervix. It hurt, but I was cumming so hard I wasn’t going to tell him to pull out. But when I felt his cock start to twitch inside me, and his cum gushing into me...” she started playing with her pussy as she spoke, jerking me off “I just couldn’t stop cumming after that. Sorry baby but it was too hot not to let me continue cumming in me. Fuck, it was so hot.” “It was so fucking hot”.. My thoughts exactly.

I taught her so well. My mind and cock couldn’t take it anymore. With a herculean cry muffled by my wife’s panties I started to cum as she continued to stroke my cock. The first thick rope of cum shot out so hard it almost hurt. As my wife saw me cumming, she continued to stroke me, laughing, telling me what a ‘good boy I am’ encouraging me to cum every last drop as I continued to shoot thick globs of my own sticky cum onto my chest and stomach. Some even got onto my face. As I looked back at the video shaking, I shot out the last bit I thought I could manage. My wife started wiping up some of my cum, licking it, telling me she was amazed by how much I had cum. Shaking in my orgasmic high, all I could do was stare at the screen. The cameraman told her to stretch her pussy lips. She struggled to breathe, she had an exhuasted post-orgasm face. Her mouth hung open in shock at what just happened, but her eyes looks drozy. Her hands were shaking and weak as she reached down toward her pussy, sliding her fingers along the actors length, and finally tried to pull her pussy lips apart. As she did, he finally pulled his spent and drained cock out of her. My wife’s tight little pussy was now a gaping wide mess. Her asshole winked again, as thick globbed stream of his milky white cum slowly came out of her, oozing down her asshole before dripping onto the bedsheets. I felt my cock twitch violently and shoot a few more ropes of cum at the sight of it. This caught my wife by surprised as it hit the back of her head, and she laughed. I think she told me that I had managed to shoot some of my cum onto the floor behind me, but my mind was in such a thick fog of exhausted lust, I’m not sure anymore. I was snapped back to reality as she took her panties out of my mouth and proceeded to kiss me. Her mouth was so delicious, I could taste some of my own fluid on her tongue. She put herself over my lap, wiping up some of my cum and rubbing on my cock. She asked if I really liked what I just saw. In my state of drunken lust, I told her it was amazing. She continued, “Well, they actually released this video two days ago online.” I just smiled. I know I probably should have acted surprised, but instead I replied “well, a performance like that should be shared.” She giggled and kissed me passionately. “Well, since then I have gotten quite a few e-mails and texts from other places asking for me to perform. It’s really good money, but I’ll only do it if you’re okay with it.” I just smiled and told her she could under one condition. Any time she does a creampie scene, she has to come straight home afterwards and let me fill her up with my cum. She gave me a the naughtiest smile, and proceeded to take my still-hard cum-covered cock and slide it into her dripping wet pussy. As she started to ride me, she whispered in my ear “Well I guess I’m gonna look forward to two loads every time, huh?” Our sex life just got a lot more interesting.

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canaryatlaw · 7 years

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Well, today was pretty good, if not terribly thrilling it was a good combination of relaxing and productive. Slept in which was lovely, and woke up at approximately 12:17 pm. Had some breakfast and hung out for a little while, then finalized my list and prepared for my trek to target. I needed to get gas bottle refills for my sodastream, so I had to go across town to target instead of just going to the grocery store right around the block from me, and while I'm there I might as well do my grocery shopping. It's a fine balance of catching buses at the right time to get there, there's like no one convenient way to get there, it has to be a combination of a few. It's basically southeast of me, and I have to find a way south and a way east. It's further south, so I normally end up taking a bus south and walking east, which isn't bad (it's about the same as my trek to the train for school). Of course it's absolutely gorgeous out today and I took my light jacket off and was just in a t shirt walking there and it was so glorious, I can't believe this is January when a few weeks ago it was below 20. I'm sure it won't last, but it's nice while it happen. So of course absolutely everyone is out and about today. Get to target, get my sodastream refills and then go to the grocery section. I had to stop myself from looking at the clothing because I literally have an overflowing dresser because I have SO much damn clothing it's really a problem, lol. They did have super cute pajama pants though. So I went through my list, which was mostly like, breakfast shit, instant meal shit, snack shit, and ice cream. That was basically it lol. I have what I need to make some big meals at some point, I just haven't really had a chance to make them yet, but I did pick up some more pasta and that sauce that goes really amazing with chicken and is super easy to make, so that should be good. And I basically just needed snacks for study fuel purposes, so those I got. One of my things of blueberries spilled off the check out belt while I was bagging, so I lost that haha but I said it was ok I still had one left and didn't really need the other. Whenever I bring my grocery cart thing with me and start filling it up at the checkout the person working it almost always comments like "wow, that thing is huge" because it fits a shit ton of groceries in it and it's super helpful haha, another good target purchase. On the way back managed to catch buses both ways, and when I got home I put everything away and then dove into my reading. I started with the reading for my nonprofit class since that's the first one of the week, but after like half an hour (and like 10 pages) I was quickly losing interest because it's just sooooo dry, like its like "ten effective strategies to managing the board of your nonprofit" like okay that's great but it's not particularly knowledge I need in my life right now...? And it's not like we're gonna get cold called on it because it's not that kind of class or reading really, so I started just skimming the paragraphs and headers for another like 15 minutes until I was through. I moved to trial ad next, but it turns out there wasn't any reading (it just said to review last week's reading, probably because it was like 200 pages) so I just had to do the problems we were assigned. So for this week I got assigned as the witness for one problem and the cross for another. The witness one is pretty basic, it's a contract case about a car purchase, not too much for me to have to know there. The one I'm crossing is a bit more complicated, mostly because it's under the header of "refreshing recollection" (which is when your witness can't remember their shit on the stand and you have to get something to remind them) but then for cross was like "oh assume he changed his statement, cross him on it" which brings things into impeachment territory and like, I know the mechanics of it from mock trial but that's kind of heading into a whole new world of stuff that I'm not all that certain in, lol. I'm sure it'll be fine, I'm not particularly worried, but it'll be interesting at least. Done with that I moved on to crim pro, figuring if I finish my reading today I can work on my larc assignment tomorrow (and not just because I really dread doing larc and want to put it off as long as possible) since I know I'll need more time for it, and I'm not sure how much I'll be able to get done on it during the week because my only real free day is Wednesday and I do have some other things to do then as well. Crim pro was fine, reading about case screening on a prosecutors level, judicial level, and grand jury level. The grand jury stuff was interesting, came with a lot of statistics of just how much grand juries indict, and how if a prosecutor doesn't want them to indict they almost never will, but prosecutors can use it as an excuse to not pursue a case they want to drop (think: Michael Brown and other situations where grand juries inexplicably failed to bring charges: it wasn't the grand jury's fault). So that was intriguing. I finished by 7:45, which was perfect because I wanted to be done by 8. I then worked on making some muffins, I was looking through a few similar recipes, basically all blueberry oatmeal muffins made with Greek yogurt, so I tried a new one today that was similar to the ones I made last week but didn't include any banana (I don't normally keep banana around anyway). They were the ones with the least amount of sugar, in fact they just use honey, so they didn't come out very sweet but they were still good. I was bad and didn't read the full blog post though that said not to use paper liners for them because they're low fat and will stick to the liners, but oh well I'll just have to peel them off. When I finished with those I turned on the last two episodes of a series of unfortunate events which I didn't find terribly entertaining, sadly, episodes 3-6 were definitely the best ones. The story just kind of went blah for me and the ending felt rather unsatisfactory just because it wasn't very certain by any means. Like I get it, they're not gonna have a happy ending, that's kind of the point of the whole thing, but it just felt like a very random place to close the series, or the season at least. I guess we'll see if it gets more episodes from here, I'd probably be willing to watch them. Somewhere along the line my roommate came home, and after those finished I had nothing left to watch so I let her pick and we wound up watching some episodes of the last season of the office, most of which I couldn't recall watching before. They were quite funny, I really did enjoy them. It was a good show in its time for sure, I wish we still had more comedies like it on tv instead of shit like the Big Bang theory that's just obnoxious. While watching we discussed different things, mostly the women's March and how sad we were that we didn't get to go. I don't know in all honestly if it would've been the best decision for me to go, I think I would feel awkward with some of it for certain reasons, but it at least made me sad to see it being all awesome and not being able to be there. 250,000 people showed up here in Chi, which is pretty amazing given that Thursday they were expecting like 50,000 (and that was up from like 25,000 on Tuesday). So we clearly had a good turn out. I love my city and how we all stick together so much, even if the government fails us we'll hold you accountable. I keep thinking back to how last year when I was walking home the police were arresting some people in a park, and across the street there was a very noticeable group of people standing there and very clearly watching, several with their phones on recording. To me, the message was very clear: we're watching, and if you don't hold yourselves accountable we will. And I feel like that goes for a lot of stuff in this city and I just love it. I was also talking with some people on Twitter about going to the heroes vs villains fan fest in Chicago at the end of March, which happens to fall on my birthday, and I think it would be super awesome to go, I just have to figure out a cosplay and obtain one, which is probably gonna end up being from some internet source since I have neither the time nor skills to make one myself lol. So we'll see what happens there. Oh, and the other thing was my 711 license came in the mail today, so I can officially start stepping up in court this week which is both awesome and completely terrifying, but I'm choosing to be excited about it (for now, anyway, things may change in the moments before it happens). But yeah, that was about it for me today. Church in the morning, hopefully service then nursery so I actually get to be in the service, it's been wayyyyyy too long and I miss hearing my pastor speak. Okay, sleep now being that I have to wake up in less than 7 hours. Goodnight my loves. Sleep tight.

#daily journal #January 2017

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sudsybear · 7 years

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I just got here

That toolbox was the best gift I ever received (well, Bart did give me a 2-speed reversible cordless drill for Christmas a couple of years later. That was pretty cool, too. But it wasn’t completely original.) That toolbox was the key for me to meet people when I was away at school. Hammer, pliers, wrenches, jewelers’ screwdrivers, with Ross’ inspiration, he and Dad prepared me well. There are times in the dorm when you need a hammer, or pliers, or an adjustable wrench. Thanks to Ross, I had them. I used his gift idea several times over the years. On my urging, my brother-in-law took one with him when he left for college. I gave one to my babysitter when she graduated high school. I even gave one to my sister-in-law as a wedding gift. That one was fun – I labeled everything – what a screwdriver is really used for, and creative ideas for bedroom bungee cord use.

I’d like to say that’s what helped get me together with who would eventually be my husband. But in fact, Bart and I met because he needed a button sewn back on. (Well, he tells the button story. I maintain that the first time we met, we had a squirt gun fight that ended badly. He and his buddies gave up on the squirt guns and brought out the trash cans full of water. I was on the wrong end of gravity. I never knew how I met David or Ross, either.) My mother was old-fashioned enough to send me off to school with a sewing kit. With sewing kit and toolbox, I was the woman to see if you needed to repair something. Had I been more entrepreneurial, I could have rented out the tools for $5/hour or some such. I could have sold quarters to make money. My roommate thought it quite amazing that I purchased quarters ($10 rolls) at the bank for the washing machines.

I left for the UofR the 27th of August, a Tuesday. We packed up the Volvo on Monday, and early Tuesday morning Mom and Dad and I drove up I-71, across the Thruway, and delivered me to the dorm. We unpacked the car that afternoon. Dad helped carry my things up to the room, but wouldn’t stay to watch me unpack. “We’ll go back to the motel,” he said. I choked back tears and started unpacking. I was terrified and already homesick. I wanted Ross, I wanted my own bedroom – other than camp, which was some five years previous, I never shared a room with anyone who wasn’t family. I wanted everything familiar. Mom and Dad stopped by later and we got dinner together. They dropped me back off at the dorm, and stayed overnight in a motel. Once I was back in my room for the night, I called Ross from the dial phone in the hall, to let him know I was in and gave him my new phone number. I missed him already.

Mom and Dad stopped by in the morning to say goodbye. They had to make the ten-hour drive back to Cincinnati. Mommer was still in the hospital, and they had plane tickets for a trip to see my brother Tom out in Oregon. I stood on the steps of the Student Union and watched my parents turn and walk back toward their car. It was a beautiful hot August day. The sun was bright in the sky, warmth radiated off the brick of the building, and the slight breeze was delightful relief. The sky was blindingly blue with white puffy clouds drifting over the tops of the campus buildings. I wanted to scream, “NO! DON’T GO! I’M NOT READY! TAKE ME HOME!” Instead I blinked back the tears, bit my lower lip, inhaled a deep breath through my nose, and, determined not to cry, turned and jerked open the glass door to the building and stepped inside. I needed to stand in line. I paused for a moment while my eyes adjusted from the bright outside to the dark interior. I discovered it was a short line, as the majority of the student body had not yet arrived. It was still freshman orientation week. I stood to have my photo taken and got my student ID which let me into my dorm, and got me my meals, and let me pay for junk food at the student run candy counter. Just like high school, but a ten-hour drive or a six-hour airplane adventure away from home and I didn’t know a soul.

Over the next fifteen (twenty?) years, I revisited that moment again and again. I wondered, what if I had screamed, “NO!” and gone back home with Mom and Dad? What if I hadn’t stayed? What if I hadn’t been so damned determined to be brave? Would Ross and I have gotten married? Would we have lasted beyond Thanksgiving that year? Would we have had children? Would I have attended Ross’ funeral, and stood at his gravesite with his family and friends, many of whom I never had the opportunity to know?

Instead, I live with the decisions I made, and the actions I took. I made new friends and I had fun. I lost my temper. I had my heart broken. I cried tears of loneliness, tears of grief, tears of fear. I got drunk. I made love. I broke more hearts. I learned to be alone. I made a life. I lost my balance more than once.

* * *

Our dorm was a ten story high rise, four six-person suites and two sets of double rooms per floor. I was on the sixth floor, “special interest” housing. The Inter-Class Living Center was decidedly not a freshman single-sex ghetto as so many of my friends from home were getting into. Instead, I lived on a co-ed floor, two male suites, two female suites, one set of male doubles, one set of female doubles. Thirty-two of us, sixteen freshmen, the rest were upperclassmen – sophomores to Seniors. It really was a great arrangement. Since the floor was co-ed and housed more experienced students, it never got too trashed, or rather when it did get trashed, people tended to clean up sooner than if it had been a true freshman ghetto. Also, because it was special-interest housing, we were required to have meetings once/month to plan and execute activities for our dorm and ourselves. That meant the floor residents really got to know each other pretty well.

Roz and I roomed together during orientation. She and I hit it off, and decided to stick together for the year. We sought out Mike, the floor president, to confirm we weren’t committing some terrible crime against housing. He laughed at our concern, and gave his blessing. We switched our room assignments (swapped the name tags on the doors) and unpacked our gear. So much for all that worry over the summer about who my roommate would be. Vivyan (with the thick accent whose apartment was in the flight pattern of Kennedy airport) and Cindy attended earlier summer orientations and were in for a surprise when they arrived over the weekend.

In our end-double with bunk beds, Roz liked the novelty of the top bunk. I really didn’t care. As a child I’d had my brothers’ old bunk beds and switched beds every few months. Sometimes the top bed, sometimes the lower bunk, sometimes I pulled them apart and used them as twins. After that decision, there we were, a short-haired mousy WASP brunette from the conservative Midwest, who billed herself as “the ultimate girl next door” in her housing application, sharing a room with a seemingly worldly Jewish blue-eyed blonde from Yonkers. I was suburban public high school, with Friday night football games and cheerleaders. She was East Coast private prep school with swim teams and water polo. What was I getting myself into?

Orientation was Wednesday-Friday, and classes wouldn’t start until the following Wednesday, September 4th. I had orientation events to contend with…How to choose and register for classes, tours of campus, how to navigate the shuttle bus system, awkward getting-to-know-you social occasions. I already got my student ID, but still needed to rent a post office box, and I couldn’t miss a chaperoned bus tour of the local shopping district.

One orientation activity was to take a busload of new students to the local “hip” shopping district, and send us on a scavenger hunt of sorts. They gave prizes for the best, or most unique, item purchased for under $5. The prize was $15 cash. I purchased a bunch of random things – a couple of bagels from a bagel shop, a few office supplies (pencils and the like) and once back at the dorms, decided to build, “The Bagel Bike.” I started in on the project, other folks wandered in to kibitz, and ultimately, that bagel bike won us money for pizza. I was “in”.

Orientation was over and it was Labor Day weekend. My friends at home were heading downtown to River Fest for the holiday. I’d gone with them in years previous, and while the crowds terrified me, I enjoyed the camaraderie. I would miss it this year.

Roz was inspired to personalize our room, and hoped to paint footprints on our dorm room walls. I said, “Sure, why not?” We found someone from the suite next door to take us out to the home improvement center to buy spray paint. Then back at the dorm, Roz traced her foot, we made a pattern, and together we got high on spray paint fumes while we painted primary color footprints on the walls and ceiling. Hadn’t I just done this? We even put a hopscotch board on the ceiling with black electrical tape, and glued a penny in the 8 square.

Ross called in the middle of our painting session and I had to cut him short. “Roz and I are working on a project, can I call you later?” Oh that felt awkward. I missed him terribly, but caught up in the moment, I didn’t have time for him. This was going to be harder than we thought.

“Yea, I guess. Glad you’re having fun.”

A cheap plastic rolling Roman shade covered our windows. Dusty and gross it didn’t block out the morning sun nearly well enough (we were both late sleepers), and we wanted to cover it. But we still wanted the footprint pattern so as to have continuity. It was a problem to be solved.

The suite adjacent to ours was called 6124’s. That was either the phone extension, or the official number of the suite in case of emergency, or both. It housed Mike, Rentz (aka Stephen Paul), J.G., Chris, Ken and Tony. Their common room was the “family room” of the floor. They had the bar, built in some year prior to my arrival, the television, and the open all night policy. It was the gathering place.

Stephen Paul, a junior optics major, was one of the fortunate few to have a car on campus. He drove a Land Yacht – an early ‘80s Mercury Marquis four-door, fully loaded. An only child from Watervliet, NY, (outside of Albany) his parents lived on Easy Street. Really. They petitioned to get the street name changed, and won, so their official postal address was 1 Easy Street. On Tuesday afternoon before classes started, he drove a group of us to the local mall to get out of the dorm, shop and stock up on supplies. While in the mall, I considered the footprints on our dorm room walls and asked, “Does anybody know where I can get felt?”

That started it. Stephen Paul, Chris, and Roz paused, stared at me, and laughed uproariously, guffawed even. I was clueless – I’m looking for the crafts store, what’s so funny? Sigh. The first of many quotes Stephen Paul kept in his private journal. I wonder if Ross might have laughed? I doubt it, he was accustomed to my blind blunders. He might have teased me a little – maybe jesting an intimate reply, “I know exactly where you can get felt.” I might have understood my gaffe and chewed ‘tardidly. But the guffaws threw me. I blushed and absent-mindedly chewed my tongue when someone finally stopped laughing enough to point out my unintentional double entendre.

We got back from our shopping trip (stacks of colored felt procured without further incident) and I had a message to call home. I called, and Mom informed me that Mommer passed away the day before, on Monday, the Labor Day holiday. Mom and Dad had flown out to Oregon, said hello to Tom, got the call from the hospital, boarded a plane and flew back home.

Ross had been with me when I last saw Mommer in the hospital. Now I was alone. Away from family, familiar friends, and no way to get home for the funeral service. I sat on the floor of the phone alcove and wished so much for Ross’ comforting presence. I called him at home and shared the sad news. He had been so patient with me and seemed to genuinely not mind going to visit her. In Rochester, I had no opportunity to grieve, classes were starting and my world started to spin.

* * *

Classes started Wednesday morning. I stopped at the post office in the afternoon, and found my first mail. It was from Ross.

Postmarked SEP 3’85

Cincinnati, OH

Sept. 1, 1985

Deer Soozin,

This is a tardid letter becuz this is a tardid terminal that I g0t al0ng time ag0 at W00ster that is from ab0ut 1969 and it sucks.

Encl0sed is X

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Encl0sed is the c0mplete st0ry on w0mbats.

Als0 s0me cart00ns….

And I th0ughT that y0u might want y0ur asprin case…..and s0me tapes!

M0MX says hell0. S0 d0es SK0T

I cann0t believe h0w much n0ise this thing makes.

Enough teletypewriter tardidness….

I felt strange going out with Steve last night because I sort of wanted to go dancing, but then again Steve is not exactly the person to go “cruising” with. Also, I’m not really ready yet. I would much prefer (obviously) to be doing something with you. And I don’t quite know how you feel about me seeing other people, etc… I know what you’ve said, sort of. I wish you would give me some guidance here. I mean I would like to go out + stuff, but I’m really not sure what you’re thinking on the subject is…. Is this confusing to you? Do you care what I think about your going out?

Whatever

I am not good at writing interesting letters like yours, sorry.

Watching Greg, Victor, Christopher, Adrian, Groteke, and Mojdehi get high the other night was not exactly an ideal way to spend Friday night. I need a FRIEND. Hard to find sometimes.

Don’t call yourself a bitch. Everybody does stuff like that. I know you are a very sensitive caring person and that I do the same kind of stuff to you. I also know you had one hell of a lot on your mind about going to school, etc. So please don’t call yourself a bitch because you may convince me one day.

I miss you a lot, but right now I can’t even remember what you’re like! Do you know what I mean? Our telephone conversation today did not sound like Susan Savage to me.

Query: Is there anyone you’ve found worth being romantically interested in? I would like to know as soon as (if) there is, even if it may not lead to anything, because it is much easier to deal with if I know something is starting, rather than, “There’s this guy I really like a lot…and we’ve been spending a lot of time together…” type deals.

Does this sound really possessive? I’m sorry. I can’t write “Light” letters. These are the things on my mind.

I need a companion.

You know, I really have no idea what you’ve been doing at school? Sort of a departure from this summer when we-both-knew-what-the-other-was-doing-at-every-waking-minute type attitude was more easily accomplished.

I am very anxious to:

start school

make friends

Get the PINTO fixed

Come see you. Here are the flight times:

Cin – Roch. (Friday) Roch – Cin (Sunday)

3:15 6:40 7:00 p.m. ?

I’ll probably just stay until Sunday – but we’ll see.

Very Sorry to hear about your grandma. I’ll go over tonight to see if there’s anything I can do for your parents.

Your pill Asprin case is enclosed. Sorry, we don’t have enough Asprin to fill it up!

Well, I’m going to finish this letter so I can send it.

I love you and I’ll talk to you soon!

Love,

Ross

Did I have anyone in particular that I was interested in? No. Were there several guys who were interested in me? Probably – but I was at school for all of what, a week? Ross knew I didn’t have to work hard to get attention. The male: female ratio was something like 2:1. Do the math!

I left my aspirin case? Hmmmph. I developed a habit with David and kept it ever since. I leave things behind when we part, my wallet usually, sometimes a sweatshirt or my shoes. When being dropped off at home, I said goodnight, got out of the car and climbed the stairs into the house without a second thought. The next day or several days later, or whenever I needed it, I called David, or he called me, or he stopped by to deliver my forgotten item, or I stopped by his house to retrieve the item. It got to be a joke after a while. I kissed David goodnight, and he said, “Got your wallet?” And I’d dig under the front passenger seat or get it out of the glove compartment. I’m sure a psychiatrist has an explanation for that behavior – fear of abandonment or not wanting to let go, or needing to return to the person. It couldn’t be as simple as forgetfulness. Just like David and Mark, I can’t tell you how many times Ross drove by the house to drop off my wallet, or sweater, or whatever that I had left in the car. I needed to leave something with Ross. I couldn’t leave my wallet, so I left a small plastic aspirin case that held twelve white pills. I wonder what else I left with him?

Long before Ross and I spent our wonderful summer together, I chose the University of Rochester not for the academics (as my GPA can attest) but for the male:female ratio, presence of a Greek sorority / fraternity system (of which I was never a part – those of us on the floor took a perverse pride in razzing anyone who might choose to pledge a Greek house), presence of ROTC, a ten-hour drive from home, and finally, when I visited campus the previous fall, I noted that the women on campus all seemed to need to lose ten pounds or more. Not the best reasons to choose a college, eh? But I was having fun making bagel bikes, painting footprints, getting in squirt gun fights and getting felt. With peers surrounding me twenty-four hours a day, I was a social butterfly.

* * *

I brought more than a few childhood mementos with me to school. Of course I brought a photo of Ross, a Polaroid of him being Dum. Some favorite Bloom County comic strips, a drawing of Milo and Opus that Mark made, and a funny postcard from my brother Jack of an obese woman peeing on the beach. I kept photos of friends – Valli, Julie and Erin and David (a rare one of David without his beard) and arranged it all on the corkboard at the back of the desk. On the desktop I put my mini-stereo with tiny removable speakers (the tape player recorded, supposedly to record lectures and listen to them again) new technology at the time. Having no stereo, much less a turntable, I brought no records, only a few tapes I had been brave enough to purchase; Pink Floyd, Simon & Garfunkle’s Greatest Hits, James Taylor, and The Who, Face Dances. Ross recorded a couple of Joe Jackson and some Go-Go’s, and would soon send me a few others.

On the shelf above the desk, I arranged the select few stuffed animals I brought, a favorite teddy bear, a stuffed dog my grandfather gave me, and the Opuses that were gifts from Ross and his Mom. Included in my mini-menagerie was a treasured stuffed beaver puppet my parents bought for me at the Appalachian Festival when I was a little girl, maybe I was ten or even as old as twelve. It was handmade and expensive at the time, so a special treat. My goal at the time was to collect a Noah’s ark full of stuffed animals, one of every species (dog, cat, bear, camel, hedgehog, fish, beaver, llama, etc). My father finally agreed to buy the puppet on the premise that MIT has the beaver on their school crest. “Nature’s Engineer” is what Dad (an MIT alumnus) told me.

In the lounge of 6124’s, a half-dozen floor-mates, mostly male, huddled together watching television, conversing around the noise of whatever was broadcast. No one remembers the exact topic now, but relevant to the conversation at hand, and at an appropriate time, I said, “Oh, I have a beaver!” and promptly trotted off to my room to retrieve this puppet. Well, you can just imagine…six guys first started laughing that I said out loud, “I have a beaver.” They were further inspired when I actually produced “Nature’s Engineer.” They did unspeakably rude things to/with my treasured puppet and it really got waaaay out of hand. Just imagine five males between the ages of 18 and 22, and what they can do with a beaver puppet and a broken off hockey stick they called a “Fuck Stick.” I got frustrated that no one noticed how hurt I was, and went back to my room upset. In retrospect, they still believe the incident was very funny. But at the time, I really hadn’t wanted unspeakably rude things done to my treasured transitional object. They did eventually apologize, and I begrudgingly accepted their humility.

I still have that puppet. For a long time I kept it in a basket with other childhood plush toys in my son’s room. One day when he was about three, he pawed through the basket and for whatever reason grew afraid of it (he’s a smart kid!), so today it sits in a basket in our bedroom. That beaver will never be a child's toy again!

* * *

I always listened to the music of the men of my life. In the late 70s and early 80s I visited my eldest brother Jack at college. His roommates played the Knack and Devo. Impressionable as I was, I thought those bands were cool. David and Christopher listened to Pink Floyd. In the evenings we lay on the floor of Christopher’s room above the garage and put on album after album. Dark side of the moon, Wish you were here, The Wall. In a more jovial daylight mood, they quizzed me, making a game to see how quickly I could recognize the album and track. The Who and Queen were staples in my high school. Heck, they were probably staples in most high schools for that time frame, the early 1980s.

But driving around the city late at night, David tuned the radio to the local college station that picked up an NPR jazz show. I dozed as he drove through the night, comfortable in the passenger seat, enjoying the soothing strains that emanated from the speakers on the dash. I didn’t mind that he drove just to feel the speed and force as he took curvy roads too fast through the hills around Cincinnati. Finally, he returned me home, turned off the radio, we kissed and he shooed me inside. I forgot my wallet under the seat or in the glove box and called him later to retrieve it.

Then later, when I drove the Pinto with Mark riding shotgun, I had two tapes for the cassette deck, Face Dances and Wish you were here. David and Christopher had given me a gift. I actually enjoyed a little Floyd, and Mark was impressed with my selection. Although Mark was angrier and listened to noisier punk bands, he reminded me that The Pretenders were a particular favorite of his and Scott’s. I’d forgotten. No wonder I enjoyed Bart’s music collection when we met.

But Ross had the biggest selection by far. I became accustomed to asking, “Can you play the one that goes dum-dum-dum da-da-da?” and he pulled it out and put it on the player. My own personal DJ. When we were pen-pals, long before we ever started dating, his letters were full of musical references of the day; U2, Squeeze, Psychedelic Furs, Rush, Kinks. Then later, after we were inseparable, I discovered his true passions, Joe Jackson, Pat Metheny, Chaka Khan, Phil Collins and Genesis, and a private admiration for Neil Diamond. I was sworn to secrecy for that last one. What twenty-year old male in 1985 was willing to go public with his admiration of Neil Diamond??

That’s probably why I gravitated to Mike’s room with Stephen Paul and Chris. Like Ross, Mike was an album accumulator and the conversation that afternoon was music. Mike was enthralled with the latest band he discovered that summer, Marillion, and we were being educated. The topic eventually turned to Genesis, Pink Floyd and the Who. Well, thank you David and Ross. I knew these bands. I knew the albums, I knew the lyrics, I knew the esoteric information of which only male adolescents are otherwise aware. Thanks to my buddies in high school, I was able to not only participate in that conversation, but “enlighten” those around me. It made an impression on them I guess…Chris remembers it all these years later. (Correction – he remembers not the actual conversation about music, but rather a conversation he and Mike and Stephen Paul had later in the dining hall. He reports that all were impressed with how I had held my own in their conversation.)

What I find funny, is that while I was competent in several genres, including espousing the virtues of Joe Jackson and Pat Metheny. I was completely ignorant of Bruce Springsteen or Elton John. Evidently there is a distinction between Who fans and Springsteen fans. The two definitely did not mix. Not often anyway, and certainly not in collegiate male album collections in the mid-80s. I know the stereo wars later on got very loud. “Born in the USA” versus “Won’t get fooled again” or “Born to Run” versus “Substitute” or “My Generation”. It got vicious. One of the guys in the triple upstairs was a fan of Olivia Newton-John and cranked her “Physical” album over and over very loudly. The musical mix could be disconcerting at times.

As I look back at it, that whole musical mix, I recognize that I married yet another album accumulator who still plays DJ on occasion. I also realize that it’s long past time for me to claim more music for my own. I always borrowed the sounds of others. I need to pick and choose and play my own music. But try as I might, I still cling to the music of others. I bought some John Denver, reminiscent of my father’s favorites. He taught himself to play Denver’s hits on the guitar when I was young and he was in his 30s. The music is soothing, a comfort from my childhood. Likewise are the story songs of Jim Croce and Harry Chapin, both men wooing audiences with their sad stories accompanied by guitar. Coincidentally, (or not) all three performers died untimely accidental deaths at the prime of their careers.

* * *

As soon as the students moved in and all the parents were gone, a construction crew closed off the driveway along the dorms. They would build a new parking lot – reconfigure the drive, add more parking spaces. The contractors arrived early, 7 or 8 in the morning. Sometimes their noise woke me up, so I dragged myself out of bed and watched from our window. The machinery was fascinating and I found it peaceful and relaxing to watch them work. First they tore up the old roadway, shovels cracking the asphalt and filling dump trucks with load after load. Other machines pulled out the curbstones and stacked them for re-use. I was amazed to learn that in Rochester and Western New York, curbs are made of granite. I don’t know where it was quarried, but new curbs were delivered in 4-6 foot lengths and backhoes excavated about six feet down in order to place the slabs. Where I grew up, curbs are built up out of wooden forms, and poured concrete or asphalt. I’m not at home anymore, am I?=ce��

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