#does this beat the uber pool joke?
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Spare Keys
Summary: What do you do when you fuck before the first date? You skip all the other regular relationship steps right after, just to catch up.
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: Suggestive Language / Author Thinks She’s Funny
A/N: I exist to entertain myself, and only myself. Part One. Part Two.
You wake to the sound of Sam’s voice—how’d he get here? Squatting beside you, he’s speaking into the receiver of his phone, smiling softly at you.
“There’s my girl, good morning sunshine.” His hand is on your face, brushing the hair back from your eyes. You falter underneath him, letting your eyes close as he strokes your face. “Someone forgot their alarm this morning, huh?”
Your alarm? Oh fuck.
Your eyes open wide, blinking quickly as you take in the sight before you fully. Sam’s beside your bed, watching you, holding your spare key in hand with his phone. When had you given him your spare? Behind him, your alarm clock is sitting quietly, the digital face reading 8:33, a full half hour after you were supposed to be up. Double fuck.
You sit up, brushing off his hand as you throw the covers off of yourself. You’ve got a meeting this morning. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Yeah, ninth floor. Bring her coffee with you.” Sam hangs up the phone, sliding it into his pocket before taking a closer look at you. You’re rubbing your eyes, trying to organize yourself.
It’s 8:30. You’ve got a meeting in forty five minutes. A meeting you cannot be late for. In a gravely morning voice, you tell Sam as much.
“You guys do meetings?” He raises a brow, moving to the side as you scramble off your bed, wondering briefly if you have enough clean underwear as you make for the bathroom.
“It’s for Ja’Marr’s hip. Treatment plan.” You call over your shoulder, tugging your sleep shirt over your head.
“I thought the medical team did that stuff?” He’s trailing after you, flicking on the light as he walks into the bathroom behind you.
“Yeah, but now his workouts have to change, his warmups and cool downs.”
Stepping out of your underwear you reach for your toothbrush, finding yourself disappointed when you look in the mirror. Your hair is a disaster. You’ll have to shower.
Before you can reach the faucet, Sam is turning it on for you, waving you back to the sink. “I’ve got this, you do that.”
“Where are y’all at?” The sound of your front door shutting echoes through the apartment, followed by the sound of Joe moving through your living room. You watch in the mirror as Sam leans out the bathroom door, waving his arm.
Looking over your shoulder, you watch as Sam moves along the wall behind you to make room for Joe in the small space. The moment the blond appears, you blush. He walks in whistling, eyes wide when he sees you. “Good morning.”
“She look this good when you woke her up?” He leans against the door frame, brow raised as he questions Sam.
“Better. Wearing your shirt.” He points to the crumpled garment on the floor. You blush deeper, turning back to the mirror.
“And you made it all the way to the bathroom in one piece?” Joe raises his brows higher, smirking at your reflection.
“She’s got a meeting.”
“They do meetings?”
Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you wipe a hand across your mouth and move towards the shower. Later, if you can remember, you’ll explain your job title to them, in full. For now, Sam’s got you covered.
“Something about Ja’Marrs hip.” He says, holding the curtain open for you as you step into the water. “What’s next, baby?”
“Clothes. My water bottle.” You squint underneath the stream of water, second guessing yourself as you speak. “My ipad. I’m not sure if I charged it.”
“I’m on iPad duty. Joey, you got clothes?”
“On it.”
Water rushing over your head, you shut your eyes, sighing with a shaking sense of relief as you listen to them shuffle out of the bathroom. Moments later, as you rinse your face, relief turns into laughter. Joe can’t decide on underwear.
“I’ve got a thong and then, regular I guess!” He’s screaming from your bedroom, and the thought of him standing in front of your dresser trying to decide makes you giggle.
“Thong!” You and Sam both answer, his deep voice drowning out the watery sound of your own.
“Sick. What about a bra?”
Shutting off the water, you reach beyond the curtain for a towel, trying to decide for yourself. It’s a meeting, so a regular bra is probably better for the top you had in mind, but you’re hitting the gym after.
Towel wrapped securely around your chest, you lean into the short hall that divides your bedroom from the living space. Before you can even part your lips to answer, Sam slips into view, pecking at your lips as he walks by with your iPad in hand.
“Regular!” You squeal against him, caught off guard by the rush around you.
Trapped in the buzz of them moving through your space, you stand motionless in the doorway. On your left, you can hear Joe opening and closing drawers, humming at what he finds in each one. To your right, you can hear the fridge opening in your kitchen, followed by loud cursing from Sam.
“Your Brittas empty!”
“Leggings?”
“It’s a meeting!” Sam yells from your kitchen, scoffing as he turns on your kitchen sink.
“So pants?”
“Obviously!”
“Everything looks like leggings!”
“Check my closet!” You interject, heart pounding in your chest as the chaos mounts on both sides of you.
“Jesus!” The sound of stuff falling echoes from your room. There goes that shitty rack. You wince at the sound, wishing you’d remembered to put in that maintenance request the last time it had fallen on you, trapping you under a pile of hangers and tangled clothes.
“Sorry!”
“Don’t worry about him. Let's worry about you, what’s next?” Sam is in front of you again, taking the towel you’ve been clinging to. “It’s 8:50.”
“Fuck, um, hair. Hair and makeup.” You turn to catch yourself in the mirror. Hair, definitely.
“I’m gonna need a brush. You gotta hairdryer?”
You nod, turning your back to him as you rummage through the cluttered countertop until you finally find what you need. You pass him the brush first, fingers grazing him as you hand it over your shoulder. The hairdryer follows, handed back by the barrel.
Without instruction, Sam takes over the room, taking control off your mind as he starts at the root of your head. His hands are firm, and shockingly sure. He’s watching you in the mirror, working off some kind of muscle memory as he dries you off, section by section.
Minutes later, when you’re leaning into the mirror for your eyeliner, and Sam is twisting the brush through the ends of your hair to get a loose curl—what had he said, something about a sister—Joe’s reflection appears behind Sam’s. He’s holding a pair of khakis and a bright pink shirt.
“Are you dressing your mini me? What are those?” Sam raises his brows, hands stopped as he turns to get a better look at what Joe has picked out.
“It’s the pink isn’t it? I second guessed myself. I’ll be back.” Joe shakes his head, shuffling back out of view.
A moment later he returns, this time holding a black quarter zip, looking proud of himself. “I was thinking black shoes?”
“Much better.” Sam nods in approval, and pulls the brush through your hair a final time before shutting off the hairdryer. Can every morning be this easy?
“Perfect. I’ve got these for you.” Joe moves into the room, your outfit draped over his arm as he clutches your thong in one hand and your bra in the other.
“I’m gonna get her water then, if you’ve got this?” Sam drags a hand across your back as he steps away, nodding with approval when Joe gives him a thumbs up.
Moving to the side as Sam exits the bathroom, Joe holds out your thong, smirking. “For you, milady.”
You blush, looking at the floor as you take it from him. Feeling his eyes on you as you pull it up, you blush deeper, cheeks bright pink when you reach for your bra next.
“Fuck, I cannot wait to get those off you later.” Joe groans, sounding strained as he holds out your khakis. “You really wore my shirt to bed?”
Of course, you think. Could hardly bring yourself to take it off after they brought you home from the bar in it, Sam handing back your beer soaked shirt as he kissed you goodnight.
“Sorry, for spilling on you in there.” He’d said as he watched you take off the dirty shirt in the front seat of Joe’s car. “You did look really good in Guinness, though.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Joe had answered for you, eyes locked on your chest as you changed into one of his spare workout tees.
“Every night this week.” You answer him with a smug face, tugging the pants over your ass before putting out a hand for your zip up.
By the time you pop your head out of the collar a long minute later, he’s half hard and swallowing slowly when you catch his eye.
“Black shoes, you said?” Reaching up on your tiptoes, you brush your lips across his, trying not to smirk at him when your hand shifts over the front of his shorts. Was he that big in your hand the last time? The first time?
“I put them by your purse.” His voice is tight. Striking you swiftly on the ass, he shifts from your path to let you out of the room before him. With a shrill giggle, you run into the hall, beyond his reach as he begins to pull his hand back a second time.
Bounding into the kitchen, you run almost head on into Sam’s chest. Wrapping his arms around your middle, he catches you mid stride, preventing the collision.
“Ready?” One hand holding you by the arm, he lifts the other to your chin, tilting your face to his, catching the spark in your eye. “What’d I miss?”
“I—we—are gonna fuck her stupid after this meeting of hers.”
“So much for taking it slow, then.” Sam laughs over your head, hugging you to his chest. This is slow? They’re organized like a Nascar pit crew. And they’d fucked you before the first date. Was that a date? You’re sleeping in Joe’s shirt–this is not slow.
“It's 9:07 now.” Sam’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He glances at his watch, smirking when he looks up. Behind you, Joe is standing with his chest pressed against your back, heat pouring from between his legs. “You think you can live, what, an hour and a half without her?”
Grunting, Joe lets out a sound that's neither a yes or a no. Nuzzling his nose against your ear, you feel him breathing on your neck, the spot quickly covered by his mouth as he nips at you. This isn’t slow, but fuck that feels good.
“I’m supposed to be there by now!” You squeal, shivering between the two of them. It’s not that important, is it?
Joe groans against you, finally coughing slightly as he picks his head up behind you. “Hour and a half.”
“Hour and a half.” Sam parrots him, grinning at the two of you. “Let’s get going.”
Gently, he guides you both to the door, checking over your belongings as he ushers the two of you into the hall. He’s got your iPad and your purse, Joe’s on water bottle and key duty. All you’ve got to do is hold Joe’s hand and look pretty, Sam says to you, a glint in his eye. There's an innuendo in his words, but you’re out of time to dwell on it for now.
Later, on the walk into the training facilities, you’ll spend the spare minute going over it in your mind, blushing inappropriately by the time you step into the conference room. For now, you do as he says, letting Joe wrap his large hand over yours as he locks up the door to your apartment, using your keys instead of the spare you’d seen earlier. The spare.
You look to Sam in front of you, wondering where he’s put it. You watch him closely as he presses the button for the elevator, left hand shifting inside the pocket of his shorts.
“You want this back on your lanyard?” The gold key dangles from his ring finger as he pulls his hand free.
He’s not looking at you, rather over you, at Joe.
Joe squeezes your hand. “Nah, you keep it.” He had it? “I’ll make a copy of it later, if that's okay with you, baby.”
The memory floods your mind when you look up at him. “You gotta spare? Make it easier for me to help get you out of here in the mornings.” Sam’s hand is out, gesturing to the keyring in your hand.
You don’t give out keys, as a rule. It keeps things tidy. But he’s looming over you, seeming so earnest. It’s like you make the sales pitch for him. They’ve been coming to get you for work in the mornings for nearly a week, carrying your bags to the car, holding your hand in the elevator. It would make it easier, if you didn’t have to buzz one or both of them in each time. What a great idea.
“Yes.” You say, eyes lost in his as you lean against the door, mesmerized.
“Sure.” You say now to Joe, the word sounding so easy on your tongue. “Makes things easier.”
A/N: Part four is here.
#i think I'm funny#i think I'm very funny#does this beat the uber pool joke?#no but i peaked with that#chattahoochiecoochie writes#joe burrow#sam hubbard#joe burrow x reader#sam hubbard x reader#joe burrow and sam hubbard#bengals#joe burrow fic#nfl fic
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As She’s Walking Away
I haven’t been active much lately. Between my job and some health issues this summer was a lot and I haven’t written anything in a month or so. This is just a wee blurb, no smut but kinda angsty, just to see if I still had anything in me.
Calum thanked the bartender and lifted the bottle to his lips. He normally didn't drink American light beer, tasted like watered down piss, but it was dollar domestic night and he wasn't trying to get wasted to start the night. He'd finished his meetings earlier than expected today, and his friends wanted to meet up at Marguerite's. It was a decent enough place. Once a dingy Tex-Mex restaurant the owners gutted the interior and turned it into a pool hall. They took most of the kitchen out except a tiny space to make and press sandwiches. It was usually crawling with people, but Calum beat the crowd in, hoping to have a moment to relax before the night got started.
Outside on the terrace to his left he could see a handsome older gentleman setting up a chair, a guitar case at his feet. Javier played every weekend and the flamenco music was Calum's favorite thing about coming here. He grinned as he spotted two women lingering at separate tables watching Javi tune his guitar. Calum knew the guitarist had a way with the ladies, but he also knew from personal experience groupies could be a pain in the ass. Calum shook his head at the thought of the early tours. Intoxicated by the female attention, Calum racked up a body count, allowing him to indulge in every adolescent porn fantasy he and his friends could think of.
Between the booze, women and the grind of tour life, he'd almost flamed out. He'd found his first great love, which after two years broke his own heart when he cheated again, and she refused to give him another second chance. Since then he'd had a few relationships, nothing too serious. While most of his friends settled in relationships, a couple even had kids, he was satisfied being a single man and dog dad. He made a mental note to go to Petco tomorrow and get Duke some chicken stick treats he loved.
They propped the terrace door open with a fan, allowing the opening notes of Javier's first set to float throughout the bar as a few more people started coming in, claiming their spots at the pool tables. Calum sent out a group text telling everyone to hurry if they wanted dibs on a good table. He finished his beer and ordered another. He could smell toasted bread from the kitchen mingling with the night blooming jasmine as he listened to Javier switch to a slower song. People were steadily trickling in, but the room was still less than half full. He decided against ordering food and texted his friends again when she sat down across the bar from him.
Her silver bangles caught the light refracting off the cheesy disco ball hanging over the bar and slid across the polished wood of the bar, catching his eye. He looked up, catching sight of her as she carefully dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand. She swiped a pattern on her phone and Calum watched as the brightness of her phone lit up her face. The glow giving her skin a silver blue tint as she pursed her lips and typed out a message.
She was jiggling in her seat, annoyance or anger, possibly both radiating outwards from her reaching Calum sitting six feet away. He rolled his lips back, fighting a smile as he watched her read and reply to each message. She's cute when she's mad, he thought. His eyes taking in her large dark eyes and full lips. She wore silver hoops on her ears and left side of her nose as well as having a labret piercing peeking out under her bottom lip. He couldn't tell if her hair was short or just pulled back from this angle as she slouched over her phone. He felt like an intruder observing a private moment even though they were in public surrounded by people, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
He racked his brain for an excuse to go up and say hello. He had enough alcohol to cloud his thinking, but not enough to lower his inhibitions so his shyness would fade. Women usually hit on him, if he was honest. When he had to chat someone up he usually led with a terrible joke, but given the way she was aggressively stabbing at her phone with her finger and muttering furiously Calum thought that approach would go nowhere. She looked up and caught him staring. Calum felt like she knocked the wind out of him when their eyes met. She looked away quickly and then stole a second glance before her attention returned to her phone.
Calum thought he saw the faintest smile before her gaze dropped back to the screen. His heart fluttered. He had to make a move. The only problem was his heart couldn't find the words he needed to say. She wiped away a tear and closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell as she took several deep breaths. Calum wanted to get up, see if she was ok and maybe comfort her if he could.
His mind was clouded with doubt, afraid he'd look like another opportunistic jackass circling around her like a vulture. Some men were already lurking, hoping alcohol and sadness might lower her standards to look their way. Calum clenched his fist at the thought. He might not know her name, but she was definitely too good for the guy who just tried to give her an overpriced wilted rose he bought with his drink.
The bartender ran him off and switched out her drink. Calum saw a genuine smile of gratitude before her eyes flickered over to him once again. He dropped his eyes, feeling his cheeks burning. He had to say something now, or he'd look like a total loser. He received a text saying his friends would be there in ten minutes, and he knew he had to make a move before those idiots showed up. Calum took a deep breath and stood up.
He looked up and saw she was wiping away tears, but this time with a smile on her face. She was telling another woman who was scrolling on Calum's dream girl's phone while listening and nodding to the story. He stopped and watched them talking, feeling a sense of panic rising in his chest. Should he interrupt the conversation? Should he linger and hope for an opening? He couldn't let this moment pass. He had to talk to this woman. He wanted to know her name, if she had an accent, what perfume does she wear, anything and everything she wanted to tell him.
His feet moved on their own before his brain could stop him. He'd just rounded the corner of the bar when he heard a voice say, "Let's go." He watched her grab her purse and her friend grabbed her hand so they wouldn't get separated in the crowd. Calum felt like everything moved in slow motion as his mystery woman looked up at the last second. Her eyes went wide with surprise as she saw him coming towards her. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything she was pulled into the crush of people surrounding the bar. The crowd closed in and Calum lost sight of her.
Thinking quickly, he handed the bartender a $20 to cover his $5 tab and elbowed his way to the door. He saw the top of her head heading towards the exit. He apologized to several people as he pushed past them, only to be caught just before he reached the door.
"Calum, what's the hurry, we just got here?" Luke shouted, throwing his long lanky body at Calum wrapping him up in a hug.
"Luke, I love you but let me go," Calum pushed away and Luke immediately let go. His friends stood in shock as Calum shot out into the parking lot just in time to see her get into an Uber and shut the door. His heart was pounding in his ears, but his throat was dry, his feet heavy and stuck in place. He was too late.
@sexgodashton @sublimehood @notinthesameguey @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @rebelwith0utacause @maluminspace @mermaidcashton @malumsmermaid
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56. Part 6
I can’t believe I have to go to this address, I am not even sure he is there or not but I am not texting him either but I will try it the way my mother says, it actually works at times so we shall see “I will take care of Reign don’t worry about her, we are going to get the pool out for you” Reign is playing with that gigantic bear Marquis got her, she is trying to climb it anyways “say bye to mommy Reign” poking my lips out “remember what I said, just stop letting your emotions get the better of you too, you are not backing down to him and obeying him. You are making him think you are thinking of his feelings. Watch when you see him but be good. Don’t get angry at females, they are not you” smiling at my mom “I feel like I am going on a school trip” I laughed as I hugged her “well sometimes we need help on our own faults, I mean I can get give out advice and I can’t even fix my own life but anyways, don’t worry about Reign” nodding my head, my Uber is here “see which hoe I got to beat” my mom snorted laughing “what are you like, just be careful out there” I have tied my hair in a top knot, I am ready to fight if I need “you look beautiful my baby” stepping outside “thank you” I chuckled, also I need to not forget I am pregnant, I keep missing that memo but I am just wearing a simple white vest and some jeans with heels on, I ain’t wearing no damn bra either. I think I look good to be honest. Opening the door to my Uber “Robyn Willis” he said “yes it is” getting into the car, I am going to Hollywood, I will be seeing all of the bougie people there. You know what I will act disgusted and see if he likes it but it’s Maurice, he will not see a fault in it. He will just not pay attention to that at all, that is just him all over. Placing my mini Gucci bag on my lap, sometimes I think maybe Maurice is right, but I have morals, this designer gear doesn’t phase me but they look good, so I am not like that. My stubborn ass is going to have me left outside this home, I bet he isn’t even there, and I am just going to look like one of the extra bitches to party with.
“This is the place” the Uber car pulled up “I can’t take you any further” that is just great “thank you” opening the car door as I slid out “have fun” he said but I am not here to party “thanks” closing the car door, pulling my jeans up a little. These jeans I bought when I was pregnant with Reign but they are a little lose on me but yet fit so right on me, does this mean I have to buzz myself in and then look crazy as fuck when they tell me to fuck off. They are having a party in there; you can hear the music in there blaring out. I guess here we go, pressing the buzzing and stepped back crossing my arms across my chest. I am already contemplating on going now and getting an Uber, I don’t want this shit. The double gates opened randomly, kind of scared me out of nowhere the gate opening. Seeing a white Bentley, I am sure Maurice has a white Bentley but I can’t be too sure if that is his though as they all have that kind of car in the land of rich and famous, I still don’t know if to walk in or wait here. The car drove up but then slowed down as the window rolled down, staring at the car “you came” it’s Maurice, of course it is him. He poked his head out “I was just going to pick up something, I will drive back around you want to get in or walk down?” his voice so husky, he cleared his throat “I will walk, thanks” I walked off.
They are really having a party here, I just kind of met Kyrie Irving, I mean it’s just a basketball player, but it was fun to see him come out with some girl, but Maurice is parking his car. I am staring at these girls and they are staring at me, how did he even change his clothes as I watched Maurice walk over to me. I guess he has his ways, he just buys brand new clothes, he doesn’t care “see you soon bro” watching Maurice dap Kyrie, oh look at that. Him knowing Kyrie, I am not shocked at all “wow, who are you?” looking behind me, seeing this boy. He looks like a boy to me, he is short too “you here for the party?” raising an eyebrow “oh, oh, oh. Big M I ain’t see that is yours” he moved “you’re dumb, come” Maurice walked ahead of me into the home, this is beautiful. Like breathtakingly beautiful, these are the homes I would stare at, dream homes. The homes I never thought I would see in person. I mean my home in New York is beautiful but Cali homes, the heat, the beauty of it all. Oh, this home has the bikini clad girls, ok I see how it is. Where is he even taking me “you want something to drink?” he asked, shaking my head before saying it “no thank you” it’s interesting to see a party like this.
Stood right next to Maurice at the bar outside the yard, I mean this place is like a pool party club. I am like stuck to Maurice’ hip just staring, I am sure I am being talked about to one of the girls in the water, they all stick together “bro” oh Quincy is beautiful in person, he placed his hands on Maurice’ shoulders “what’s up?” did I select the wrong nigga, I am joking I love Maurice too much “introduce us then!” he pointed at me “oh yeah” Maurice turned around “this is Quincy, Quincy this is Robyn. My fiancé” he said I am his fiancé still “hey, welcome to the party. I have never seen you before, ever. I ain’t been looking hard enough” Quincy hit Maurice’ arm before he held his hand out to me “you want to party, do anything or need anything let me know. I am around, she is beautiful Big M” he hit Maurice’ chest “shut up Nigga” Maurice sipped his drink, he is drinking “I will be back out, come” he walked off, Quincy winked at me and I am not going to lie but it made me blush. He winked at me, wow. Walking behind Maurice, maybe I could have easily come into these parties because the reaction I be getting, I missed out.
I feel like I have been walking for way too long, this home is huge “come in” Maurice said, walking by him as I walked into this room filled with books “is this like a library? I bet nobody reads?” looking around, it looks beautiful “you know it, it’s like the only place that is quiet and away from the rest” watching him close the door “you know the home well” I mean he does clearly “I guess, I have been here. The times where I, you know. Was high, I would come here to escape and feel myself just slipping away, I would fall asleep here but here we are, I forgot to say. I needed my medication but it’s ok” watching him drinking “shit” I said, his medication “it’s ok” he said, the room fell silent and I just want to hug him. I do love him, and I just “I just-” Maurice and I both spoke but then stopped, we both just laughed “ladies first” he gestured “I just wanted to say I am sorry, what I said to you at the house was uncalled for, I regretted it as soon as it left my mouth. I am sorry, you are a great dad to Reign, she missed you in the morning. She knew you wasn’t around, I regret what I said because that day alone kills me, I am so sorry for what I said to you” I do mean that, it was horrible what I said “out of everything that was said and happened, I didn’t want to hear that from your mouth, it did hurt me a lot. Like everything else that was said, I didn’t care for the stuck up part but that, it just pushed it. But you came here, I didn’t think you would because of how angry you were. I just don’t like thinking I did that; it was such a dark time in my life to let you go and Reign. It just takes me back, but I love you and I know you are sorry; I am too. I just want the best for us, I am sorry” I did really hurt him with that comment “as soon as I said it, I regretted it. I let my emotions get the better of me, I have been everywhere with them at the moment. I love you too and I have missed you so much Maurice, I just want us to talk. Like sit down, these heels are hurting” Maurice let out an oh laughing “yeah, we can sit” thank god cause my feet are hurting.
I feel bad I didn’t bring his medication either “did you enjoy your sleep here?” I mean he must have, it is a nice place “not really, I have passed this lifestyle of parties. They kept me awake, annoying so no I didn’t enjoy it. I couldn’t go to my hotel, that shit is booked up but then I didn’t want to start booking things in the Hilton hotel either, shit gets around, so this was the safest place. I just wish Quincy weren’t here” least I know he didn’t have a good time, let me stop “I do feel really bad about what I said Maurice, I didn’t really sleep at all. It just replayed in my mind what I said, it was horrible. I acted out, I just feel like I had this love from them, and you didn’t like it and you just wasn’t happy. That annoyed me, I didn’t think I just argued which I was ready for one when I got in the car” Maurice nodded his head “I knew you were, that is why I said it. I bought up the issue of it because you weren’t happy, and I wanted to get it over with. But the issue is there, I don’t agree with that. You cousin or whatever, he doesn’t know me at all, but he was giving me orders about you. These people barely know you and I felt like you just took their side when I had to deal with being threatened in a way. That is not my style, I mean as you say I am a pussy. You laughed at me pretty much, equally as they did when they said what they said to me” squinting at Maurice confused “who threatened you?” I didn’t catch that “Leo? I don’t know he just said she is our people now, had his gun there. His demeanour was off, you think I am a pussy or whatever but I would kill for you or my daughter but some battles is not worth it” smiling as I put my head down “I don’t think you’re a pussy Maurice at all, I just find you funny how you are. You were way out of your usual dealings, but I didn’t know that he did that to you or said that, it was wrong. I would never want that on you, I know I should say you should have told me but at that moment I probably wouldn’t have listened to you. I didn’t know” I feel bad now, I never knew that happened “I was frustrated and also you were, I am sorry for disrespecting your moms’ home, I didn’t mean it like that at all. I was stupid so I am sorry, I like the home because it feels like home” I am still stuck on the fact they threatened Maurice, that is wrong I would be livid too actually.
I need to take on what my mom said “look, I understand what you are saying. And I get why you were saying what you were saying. I understand you were bought up the way you were, and I appreciate that you made the effort to try for me, that really does make me happy. You make me happy; you do make me so happy. But I do want to know my real family still, and I don’t care for Leo. My grandparents and my uncles, along with my aunties. I don’t want that to affect us because what we have is bigger than that, but I want to know you also support me, your word means a lot to me. The argument we had was avoidable but my emotions and then your emotions, we clashed, and it was handled badly. I would like you to tell me how we can overcome this?” I hope I worded this right, I am just trying to not sound like I am telling him what I will do “I never said don’t see them” he said “but then you said you ain’t taking my daughter, or me because you’re pregnant. Is that going to cause an issue” I said, I want to know will that be an issue “I was annoyed at you barking at me so I said that I said they can visit us. I didn’t stop anything; I am not disallowing you to see them. I have done a lot of thinking and me, I won’t go there again. That is not me, but if you want to go there and visit, then you can. But if they ever come to see us then I would open my door, it’s not like I am a bad person. I just don’t have the time to be overlooking everything. You right I don’t know what charities we give too or what happens, I am not hateful of the poor. Just I wouldn’t end up in those situations, but I tried” nodding my head slowly “you did try, you know what Maurice. I would like to make you more in touch with the other side of life. I don’t mean gang members, but just people you give too. You know?” Maurice chuckled “well I suppose, as long as they don’t have guns. I don’t play that shit, but I just think we both were ready for an argument and we didn’t take onboard how we felt about things” Maurice has been thinking “I know you are nice Maurice, I have seen you be kind. I want you to be mindful of your environment, that side of my family as I can see don’t have much money at all. So, when they offer something, like food. It’s a lot to them, you didn’t want it fine, but you were in a way rude as you kept away too, I felt awkward and thinking, I get it. You haven’t had that but it’s a learning curb and I should help you learn; I just feel awfully bad about what I said” it keeps replaying in my mind so much.
Watching Maurice place his glass down “it’s one of my regrets, even though things are ok now. I think even on my death bed, I will think to that moment. I would have missed a lot, but I don’t want you to feel bad. And I reacted how I thought was best, you telling me it looked bad. I am sorry on that; I don’t know what else to say but sorry for that. Just a lot of emotions, it’s a lot too. I have a lot going on too, also you are pregnant again and soon to be married into my family and that alone is probably scary for you, there is a lot happening and then we argued” nodding my head “it is a lot, I just hated that you was here and then I stalked his page, there is girls here so my mind was racing” Maurice laughed “go on” he said “and I just thought a lot” Maurice shook his head laughing “bullshit, I ain’t ever going to love again, I could never replace you. They do not phase me at all, but I figured you would be on it, I ain’t got anything to hide at all. They are here still; I just minded my business. They stayed away from me, you’re way more beautiful then them Robyn. They are nothing compared to you” he is making me blush now “whatever” I mumbled “does that mean I can hug you now?” Maurice said “nobody stopped you from doing that anyways, it was you still putting barriers up” getting up from the couch “I didn’t know what to expect that is why” Maurice hugged me, he groaned out “I had a terrible day, I was literally going to get some painkillers, I am in pain because I left my medication there, I swear Cali be trying to kill me” it feels so good to be back in his arms “am I allowed back or is Terry angry?” he said in ear “my mother is not angry, she was just saying she isn’t shocked by your bougie ways, and that we need to keep our arguments private, I want you home. I want you in bed with me again, I feel worse now because of your medication too, Cali is really not a place for you is it?” moving back from the hug “climate is no good for me, pain triggers me to want drugs. I was high as shit Robyn, I ain’t know the difference like I do now, because I am clean” I will probably push Maurice to an early grave.
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#gurlgroup4evah vacation headcanons, please.
it’s ten years after rebecca’s open mic and she’s Freaking Out
while taking serious stock of her life, she’s realized she’s drifted almost completely apart from her gurls: valencia hasn’t been out to visit in over two years, paula’s phone is constantly in her hands so rebecca never feels truly alone with her, and heather has become completely settled in her married life. like in bed by 10, weekends are for sleeping off the workweek settled.
so rebecca decides the solution to this is to plan them all a vacation. she’s been paid to write a few jingles, rebetzel’s is as stable and profitable as it’ll ever be, and she does some grant writing for the west covina fine arts association on the side. she has the money to splurge.
the hardest thing, really, will be convincing paula to take the week off work
the second hardest thing will be convincing valencia
by some miracle, she gets all her eggs in a row and the gurls find themselves at cape cod
“we live on the coast,” paula points out. “why’d we travel all this way just to visit another one?” “because we don’t live on this one,” rebecca says, forcibly cheery and unwilling to admit that part of the reason she’d chosen this destination had been getting paula as far away from the office as possible
“wasn’t super far for me,” valencia says. “speaking of, first hint that this is gonna be weird, and i’m calling my wife to come get me.”
and it’s a little stilted and tense like that for the first couple hours. they have a passive-aggressive showdown over who gets which bed in their conjoined rooms and valencia hounds rebecca about whether she actually checked the bed bug website valencia sent her because the hotel does seem a little shabby
so yeah, maybe rebecca takes some time to cry in the bathroom when heather announces she going down to the pool, grabs a book, and leaves before anyone can protest while paula sets up her laptop on a table and starts going through emails
but that evening everyone shows up for the dinner reservations rebecca made, so that feels like a small victory
when valencia immediately starts scrutinizing the cutlery after they’re seated, heather snorts
“what?” valencia asks. “if they’re the kind of place that doesn’t properly clean their utensils—” the group finishes with her: “who knows what the rest of the kitchen looks like.”
heather grins and punches valencia lightly in the arm. “comforting that some things never really change.”
and just like that, all of them unclench
valencia orders them a bottle of wine, and rebecca picks out appetizers for them to try
they spend the evening sampling food off each other’s plates and getting a bit too rowdy for the waitstaff’s tastes
on the uber ride back to the hotel, heather starts drunkenly shout-singing her favorite song of rebecca’s out the window, pausing in the middle of several lines to goad the rest of them into joining her
when they get to their room, valencia produces the thirtieth anniversary edition of fancy fairy funhouse seemingly from nowhere — paula squeals. actually squeals.
they play until heather falls asleep, slumped over on the ground, at which point a debate about moving her ensues
“she’ll be weirded out that we touched her while she was sleeping,” rebecca argues. “buuut, if we don’t move her she’ll spend the rest of the trip bitching about her back,” is valencia’s counterpoint
“guys, i can totally move myself,” heather grumbles from the ground…and then doesn’t move
they’re all a little groggy from the late night in the morning, so they decide to start the day at the pool
surprising everyone, valencia gets into the water instead of picking out a seat in which to sunbathe
“i’m sporty,” she says sharply, responding to everyone’s funny look. then, seeing the expression on rebecca’s face, “don’t you da—!”
rebecca takes a running start at the pool and cannonballs in
the two of them then spend the better part of an hour showing off the tricks they know how to do and shooting annoyed looks at the children using the shallow end of the pool
at some point, paula pulls all kinds of snacks out of her enormous beach bag, and rebecca and valencia take a break
heather, however, is fully absorbed in whatever she’s reading
“ground control to heather,” rebecca says, throwing an almond at her. when heather flips her off, she adds “whatcha working on over there?”
“studying, actually. I’m thinking about going back to school.”
the group then proceeds to stall her studying until lunch while they ask her about the schools she’s applying for and what she’s planning on studying and when she decided to go back and why
and after lunch, they decide to celebrate her inevitable return to student-dom by hitting a couple well-reviewed independent bookstores in the area
when they step out of the third one, rebecca tugs paula back a bit. “i got you something.”
and paula puts her hand on her heart. “aw, i got you something too.”
in her bag, rebecca finds a ‘365 quotes to help you beat writer’s block’ calendar. every page simply has the advice ‘write, dumbass’ – in paula’s, time management for dummies
“cute,” paula says, at the same time rebecca holds up her calendar and says “useful”
heather selflessly buys a couple board games for them to try, so they spend the rest of the night in the hotel, ordering food and learning the new games
the next day, rebecca has them scheduled for a walking tour of some of the historical sites, but—naturally—they get separated from their group
valencia takes up the mantle of tour guide, insisting they make their way along one of the paths like planned and stopping to read all the plaques out loud
“why’d we pay anyone money to do this when we have valencia?” paula asks
and so they make a sort of game of it, ubering around to different sites and listening intently as valencia makes up a history for the place
and for most of the rest of the week, they just go to the beach or sit by the pool and read and chat and play their board games
but on the evening of the last day, rebecca says “guys, i have a confession to make. i didn’t just bring you here because i wanted to hang out with you—though i missed you a lot and that was most of it. but i have big news…i finished a musical. It’s, uh, it’s about my life”
so of course they make her go down to the lobby area where there’s a piano and play them some of it—they recognize the opening song
“i can’t believe you waited this long to tell us!” paula chastises her. and heather says, “i can’t believe you mustered up enough patience to wait this long to tell us”
and they all look over at valencia to see tears streaming down her face.
“you didn’t like it?” rebecca asks, joking but sincerely worried
“god, no, it’s not that. i just…i’ve been feeling so far away from you guys, and listening to that. it reminded me of what it felt like, what it still feels like, to have you in my life. i love you guys!”
and of course they all start crying then
they leave the week together with renewed promises to be better about staying in touch
and, in fact, by the time rebecca’s back at rebetzel’s on monday morning, there’s already a string of messages from valencia and paula and heather
rebecca doesn’t feel quite so freaked out anymore
sleepover weekend
#gurlgroup4evah#crazy ex girlfriend#quarterfromcanon#replies#sleepover weekend#long post#this was an Ordeal#but i had a lot of feels writing it#definitely a good prompt
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the language of flowers, pt i.
note: sooo, this is the first part of a little mini-series about florist!shawn because i’m v soft for boys in flower shops. big love to @harrytalkingatnormalspeed for all the inspo and @lostinshawnslight & @crown2heavy for proofreading help. <3 hope you enjoy!
word count: 2.6k
yellow daffodils — to new beginnings.
The storm comes out of nowhere ---- a biting sort of rain that sends Toronto scattering. And Y/N is caught in the thick of it, her only protection a black — and entirely too small — tote zipped tight to protect what's inside. The click of her heels are lost in the downpour, but it isn’t hard to work out what they sound like moving so fast against the pavement.
Clickclick, clickclick, clickclick.
Even without hearing it, the rhythm starts to drown out the rain, an increasing reminder of how frantic her search for cover is starting to get. It’s what she deserves, she thinks, for idling so long on a side of town she doesn’t know well. Even if it was to let off steam after a difficult meeting, instinct ( and some notably dark clouds ) had told her to get home ages ago.
But, Y/N, as stubborn as ever, had ignored every warning in favor of cups of her favorite tea and as many cookies as she could fit on her plate. A decision that had done wonders at the time — she can’t say she wouldn’t do it again — but ultimately landed her here: stuck hoping by some miracle she’ll find a place to stay dry.
After a few more blocks, she’s still coming up empty, getting more dejected—and soaked through— as she goes. But, when she rounds what feels like the millionth corner, there it is: the beacon of hope she’s been waiting for.
Its sign is impossible to read with all the water coming down, but it’s not hard to tell that it’s a flower shop. Despite it being long past business hours, every light's clicked on, illuminating rows of yellow, pink, white in a soft glow. And though she can’t see anyone from where she is, there’s something inviting about the scene as is and she’s closing the distance just as thunder cracks overhead.
Ducking inside, Y/N is filled with so much relief, it shakes her shoulders. A bell above the door announces her presence before she has a chance to and though she knows that she ought to at least say hello, she’s more focused on her heavy clothes and how uncomfortable they are, sticking to her like this. Her free hand reaches for the end of her blazer and she gives it a squeeze, sighing at the water that drips out of her fingers.
It’ll take a miracle to wash this well enough that it doesn’t come out ruined. And when she doesn’t have a ton of business attire to begin with, she can’t help but frown — as if this day needed to get any worse.
She takes a moment to shake out the rest of her clothing, unwittingly leaving a puddle around her feet as she fusses at the soaked fabric. And she ends up so wrapped up in it, she doesn’t notice she has company until he speaks, a honey-like voice drawing her out of her thoughts. “Hey, are you alright..?"
Immediately, Y/N’s jolting up, flustered as she tries to get her bearings. “Oh — hi!” Between his sudden appearance and well…everything else about him, he’s caught her completely off guard. Once she’s done orienting herself, she takes in the green apron tied around his waist and the name tag that’s endearingly crooked on his black t-shirt. She can’t read it from this spot across the room, but the distance doesn't mask much else about him. He's at least six feet, shoulders broad and waist tapered, and his hazel eyes watch her through a mess of brown curls that fall past his forehead. There's a gentleness to him, driven home by a smile that makes her heart skip a beat.
Maybe today isn't so bad after all.
“Hi,” he echoes, chuckling at how affected she seems to be. He hadn’t seen her around before — he's made a habit of meeting the people who work on this block — so he’s definitely intrigued, watching her and the puddle around her with his eyebrows knitted. “Running from the rain?"
She’s present enough to answer him this time, nodding as her face turns with a sheepish smile. “That obvious, hm?” There’s something about him that makes her nervous, and she can’t help the fidget that starts to settle in. It has her shifting on her feet, weight bearing left, then right, then left again; she’s mid-movement back to the right when she notices the water that’s pooled around her. Her shoulders lift in a gasp."Oh, no, -- I didn't realize I was making a mess, I'm so sorry----" She goes from flustered to frantic fast, whipping around to find something to clean up with. Not the best first impression, certainly, but she’s trying to make up for it.
“No, no worries — we like water here.” He doesn’t need to explain any more than that, but he wants to —- his head nods towards the flowers nearby. It takes a second to process that they are part of the we, but when it does, she giggles and the sound makes his cheeks flush. She's cute, he notes, briefly, fleetingly, before fishing a towel out from underneath the counter and circling it in long strides. But, instead of mopping up like she's expecting, he holds it out to her, smile widening. “There you go.”
The sight almost makes her swoon --- he’s stunning up close --- but Y/N steadies herself by eyeing his name tag instead. Shawn. She tries the syllable on her tongue when she thanks him for the towel and smiles at how it hits —- she likes it. It fits him.
“You’re very welcome,” Shawn returns in a hum, eyes flashing with something kind, “—- wouldn’t want you to get a cold.” He glances past her through the store’s front window, frowning as he does. It’s coming down hard, the winds picking up, and it’s tough to think that she’d been stuck in that, even if it had only been a couple minutes. And though he likes to get home early when he can manage it, this is something he’ll stick around for ---- his eyes dance back to her face. “If you don’t have anywhere else to be,” he starts again, shrugging a shoulder, “you can stay as long as you’d like. Wouldn't mind the company."
He leaves the offer between them with a turn on his heel, gesturing towards the back as he goes. "Just have a couple things left to handle, so settle in wherever it looks comfy." He flashes Y/N one last smile before heading back the way he came, her eyes following him the entire time.
Worry about imposing rises anew, but Y/N's quick to press it down. This is one time she thinks it might be fair to if it means staying out of a storm this bad.
Plus, how could she turn down an offer so sweet?
////
It takes a couple hours for the storm to calm enough for her to leave. And when Y/N finally ducks into an Uber, it's to Shawn waving her off, the glow from the store surrounding him. The image of it sticks with her the entire way home, and she’s still beaming when she pads into her bedroom, peels off her mostly-dry clothes, and sinks into bed.
To say she’s curious about him is an understatement. Even after hours of talking about each other’s lives and flipping through their favorite songs to keep entertained, there’s so much she still wants to learn, wants to know.
It lands her back at his shop the next day, a tea for herself in one hand and a box of neatly wrapped cookies in the other. It’s early enough this time that there are other people in the shop ---- a mix of customers and co-workers ---- and Shawn stands a head above them all, making it easy for Y/N to spot him as she moves inside.
The bell above the door draws the attention of everyone in the room; but he’s the only one to stay locked in, eyes wide with immediate recognition. Her nerves are back full force, but she doesn’t look away — instead, she waves him over with the hand occupied by her tea.
He shrinks the distance with a smile.
“Y/N!,” he chirps the moment he’s close enough. “When I said you were welcome back any time, I didn't think it'd be so soon.” He’s only teasing, eyes full of mischief as he watches her.
"Well, I wanted to repay you for your kindness yesterday!” She holds the box out in an open palm, balancing it carefully to avoid jostling what’s inside. “They’re cookies, from my favorite cafe — crazy good."
His expression lights up at the gift, and when he scoops it out of her hands, it’s with rosy pink cheeks and a lopsided smile. "Oh, I’ve heard of this place! Can’t wait to try them ---- thanks." He's already itching to get into the box, fingers nudging at the lid's lining. But, with customers still filtering through the aisles, he'll have to wait --- he settles for keeping the box close to his chest.
Silence lays between them then, more endearing than awkward while the world moves on around them. They watch each other thoughtfully, searching for answers to questions they’re too nervous to ask.
Is it weird if I want to see you again?
Is it just me?
Do I even have a chance?
The questions get louder, but never make it out; and the silence only breaks when Y/N clears her throat, head dipping to hide a shy smile. “I, uh, have to head back to work but .. it was nice seeing you again! I really do appreciate last night.”
Shawn tries his best not to look too disappointed, tipping his head with a soft smile. “Anytime, hm? You’re always welcome back, like I said —- rain or shine. I might even give you a discount if you’re lucky.”
She’s already mid-turn when he says it, but Y/N stills fast, laughing giddily over her shoulder. “Hopefully I am!” There’s one last wave and then she’s gone, her perfume all he can smell in the room full of flowers.
////
She doesn’t need the arrangements.
In fact, she hadn’t needed any of them: not the ones the week before or the ones two weeks before that. But she had wanted to see him, so that’s as good a reason as any.
When she enters today, he’s alone, bent over the counter and a tidy stack of papers; and when he hears that bell ring, he looks up with a smile already tugging at his mouth’s corners. “Back again, eh?”
He says that every time she comes —— an inside joke if you will —— and as if on cue, Y/N rolls her eyes, snorting as she waves him off. “I don’t think that’s any way to say hi to your number one customer, Mr. Mendes.”
A playful tension sets in like clockwork after so many weeks of it. She’s moving into the rows of flowers with focus and intent and he’s got his chin in his palm, eyes tracking her every move. He never knows when she’ll show up, but it’s always a nice surprise.
Most customers are distracting, disruptive even, making a mess of the shop and the atmosphere he’s crafted in it. But, Y/N is different. She fits just right, brings more calm than chaos: and he loves times like this, when they’re alone and he can focus on her and helping her.
Though, there isn’t much he does for her anymore. She knows where to go, what she wants, and usually makes a beeline for it the moment she’s in the door.
Like now; as she moves into the far corner of the room and reaches for a familiar flower, prompting a chuckle from him; he should’ve known. “You get those a lot - the daffodils. Got someone you’re giving them to?" He's only half-joking with that question, a genuine curiosity lurking beneath the surface.
She shrugs without turning, inspecting the flowers nearby as though she’s actually considering them. “No, they’re just my favorite — it’s nice having some in my apartment. Brightens things up.”
His face is unreadable for a second, almost as though he's processing; then, there’s only tenderness, tangible in the way his fingers twitch to reach out for her. But he doesn’t act on it, not until she’s padded up to the register with the yellow daffodils in tow. Then, he hums, a hand stretched out palm-up to accept the credit card she's already fishing out. "Yeah?," he offers once he gets it, "I bet it looks really pretty." Shawn gets her rung up without looking --- taking a little off the price like always --- but he takes his time returning the card. His fingers idle over the register's touch screen, picking options at a snail's pace to give him a chance to stall.
For what, he can't exactly say, but he knows it's coming ---- that long-awaited question. It's overdue by now, and he'll accept whatever form it comes in, if it means getting there at all. He sucks in a deep breath. "Hey," he starts finally, his hold on her card and attention tightening, "Don’t worry about picking these up anymore, hm?” Immediately, Y/N looks confused, and he can’t blame her ---- this is sudden, perplexing, and he'll only save face if he explains.
So, he does.
“I mean.. I don't mind that you come all the way out here for them, but...I could bring them to you instead...?” There's a pause here; pregnant, poignant, and paired with a hopeful smile. “Maybe...this Friday? At 8?"
It takes her a moment to register that he’s asked her out, a couple more to start reacting; but when she does, Y/N's all wide eyes and a million butterflies, and she nods so fast, she’s nearly dizzy. “Oh--- yeah, I mean -- absolutely! I'd love that...!"
The excitement on her face is reassuring and adorable all at once and Shawn tips his head back in a laugh. He’s already giddy off this, off her, and they haven’t even done anything yet. A good sign, if he's ever known one. "Awesome -- mind if I see your phone?" His fingers do nimble work putting his number in, and she can’t help but watch them, noting nicks and scars that pique her interest. But, her thoughts settle there only briefly before he's handing her things back and reaching, instead, for the flowers.
Wrapping them doesn't take long at all; but, it gives them a couple more minutes together, which they fill, appreciatively, with busy chatter. Shawn talks about places they could go --- shows he knows of, bars he frequents. And Y/N's all ears, at least as much as she can be, being so dazed. The time goes by too quickly and, when he's done and she's got the flowers slotted between her arms, they linger, smiles playing at both of their lips.
"So..." Y/N speaks up this time, tipping her head to watch him as she rocks on her heels. "See you Friday?" It's more greeting than confirmation ---- a cheeky little way to say goodbye ---- and Shawn catches on easily, the corners of his mouth turned up as he nods.
"Friday."
With that, Y/N shuffles out, heart fluttering as she cradles the flowers close. And when her silhouette disappears past the window, Shawn breathes freely for the first time, relaxing against the counter with his own heart pounding. That went well ---- really welll ---- and he's still figuring out whether he's more relieved or ecstatic about it. Glancing over the still shop, he decides it's the latter and thumbs pensively at his bottom lip.
He’s going to need more daffodils.
#shawn mendes fanfic#shawn mendes imagine#shawn mendes fic#shawn mendes blurb#shawn mendes imagines#shawn mendes x reader#shawn mendes fan fiction#shawn mendes fiction#tlof tag.#so excited for this!
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Mamihlapinatapai
This follows my Untitled: “Last Gasp” Inspired piece from last year, so it’s set in mid March-ish 2018. It also fills the “Mutual Pining” square on my CM Bingo card.
WC: Almost 1,900
Notes: Taylor and Jaime are two of McKinley’s bandmates. They will appear in an earlier set fic that I haven’t finished yet 😏
Mamihlapinatapai is a Yagan (of the Nyungar people) word which means, “the wordless, yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start.”
—–
“Congrats, guys!” McKinley exclaimed, raising her glass. “The Dream Team is back together and Barnes has retreated to her office to lick her wounds. All is as it should be.”
“Cheers!” everyone toasted, laughing against their professional judgement.
JJ slid into the seat next to McKinley.
“It feels great to come back home,” Emily sighed, soaking in the sunset view from Rossi’s back yard.
McKinley sipped her Scotch, tapping the table suddenly when something occurred to her.
“Spencer, how ever will you tell your students you’ll no longer be teaching full-time?” Her hand flew to her heart. “Your fan club will be absolutely devastated, poor things,” she smirked, sounding anything but sympathetic.
Spencer almost choked on his wine. “Oh God, no,” he started, but just then Garcia joined them at the table.
“What’s this about fan club stuff? Are you planning costumes for a convention?” she asked.
Spencer buried his face in his hands and grumbled something that sounded like ‘piece of meat.’
McKinley stole a bit of Penelope’s Mai-tai before continuing. “No cons, Penny, unless you think dozens of shrieking harpies only there to drool over the male lead qualifies as a ‘convention.’”
Emily leaned around JJ. “Well, that piqued my interest. Go on.”
Spencer moaned, his voice muffled behind his palms.
“Nearly one hundred people came to his lecture this week,” McKinley stated. “They’ve become very popular…with the ladies.”
“Wow! Spence, that’s great,” JJ congratulated him, though she had a mischievous gleam in her eye.
“Yeah, Boy Wonder,” Penelope chimed in. “Why the bashfulness?” She’d had a few drinks and was a bit slow on the uptake.
McKinley rolled her eyes. “Penny, bubeleh, most of them weren’t there to learn,” she emphasized, staring pointedly at Spencer.
Penelope started to cotton on. “Oh,” she grinned. “You’re saying that they-”
“Got it baaad, got it baaad, got it baaad. They’re hot for teacher. Ow!”
Emily wolf-whistled as JJ stretched over the table to ruffle Spencer’s hair.
He finally reemerged, his face beet-red, though he appeared annoyed rather than angry.
“Ley, tell us more about these fangirls,” Garcia demanded, bouncing in anticipation. “Give us the deets.”
McKinley glanced at Spencer, who shrugged, apparently resigned to the good-natured ribbing.
“Do y’all remember The Bimbettes from Beauty and the Beast?” she asked, “and the “I Love You Eyelid Girl” from Raiders of the Lost Ark?”
Penelope giggled into her drink. “That bad, huh?”
“Ugh, worse,” groaned McKinley, now buzzed and losing her filter. “Both of those things cranked up to eleven.”
She rested her elbows on the table, imitating everything the students had done. “They weren’ listenin’ to a thang he said. They twirled their hair, got all doe-eyed and constantly ‘Ooohed’ and ‘Aaahed.’ Talk about flirtin’ up a storm. I swear a few of ‘em drooled.”
“You don’t say,” Emily snickered.
“It was disgusting. Those girls made such asses of themselves. I felt bad for ‘em really.”
“Uh-huh,” JJ chuckled, sounding unconvinced.
“No, honestly! They just would not back down. They stalked us through the hallway. I was worried they were gonna eat ‘im alive!” McKinley cried as she fluffed Spencer’s hair. “I had to keep Skindiana Jones here safe.”
“I uh, I don’t recall them stalking us,” Spencer interjected, “and I still don’t understand why women always-”
“Spence, read. the book. we gave you!”
“Seriously! This has happened on so. many. cases.”
“Yeah! Remember Lila Archer?”
McKinley whipped her head around. “Wait, what? Lila Archer the actress?”
“Yeah,” replied JJ. “Lila was a stalking victim 12 years ago. Spence stayed at her house. She pulled him into her pool and they made out.”
“Oh, she’s very pretty. I imagine that must’ve been quite something!”
“Don’t forget all the working ladies who hit on him,” Emily added.
“And the bartender who flirted with him,” slurred Penny.
Spencer shook his head. “Women go for guys like Morgan or Alvez, not me.”
McKinley frowned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that right there is false modesty. It’s not though, and that makes me sad.”
“I’m weird.”
“Weird should be a compliment,” McKinley countered.
“I ramble a lot-”
“Some find it endearing.”
“-about things nobody’s interested in.”
“I’m interested…”
But Spencer wasn’t paying attention.
“My hair’s too long…”
“It suits you, Spencer.”
“I dress like an eighty-year-old man.”
McKinley scrunched her face in amusement. “Yeah, like I said the other day, I’m fairly certain the whole tenured professor look is their kink. Face it, Pretty Boy: yer eye candy.”
Spencer grimaced and hoisted himself up from his chair.
“No, don’t go!” McKinley pleaded, loosely grabbing his forearms. “We’ll stop now, right guys?”
“Of course.”
“Sure.”
“Fine, I’ll zip my perfect, rosy lips.”
Spencer eyed them warily before lowering himself back down. As he drained his glass, McKinley resumed her elbows-on-table pose, feigning innocence.
“I do have one question for you though, Doctor.”
He arched an eyebrow. “What might that be?”
McKinley fiddled with his tie, unknotting it. “I’m worried about my grade in your class. T-t-t-teacher, can you see me after school?”
Spencer sputtered, blushing furiously, then jerked his tie out of her hand and stormed off as dignified as possible.
“I think of all the education that I missed,” she called after him, gesturing for the others to join her. They chorused, “But then my homework was never quite like this!”
They all dissolved into fits of laughter, although McKinley’s quickly dissipated.
“Shit, he’s my ride home. That’s gonna be awkward.”
Emily cleared her throat. “So, how long have you been in love with Reid?”
“I – what?” McKinley squeaked. “I’m not in love with Spencer! What gave you that idea?”
“That show you put on just now. Plus, I saw you two on my porch the other day. I have security cameras…with audio,” Emily admitted.
“Anyway, you’ve looked at each other differently for a while now. You act differently towards each other too. Maybe bringing up the lecture is your subconscious telling you that you two have evolved beyond friendship.”
McKinley shook her head. “Emily, we haven’t known each other long enough for that.”
“Granted, five months is fast,” said Tara, who’d slid into the table unnoticed, “but you’ve spent a lot of his sabbatical and regular time outside work together. Simply put? The quality of your and his friendship could well outweigh the length.”
“And the way you talked about those students?” JJ added. “You called them shrieking harpies and you sounded ready to rip them apart. I mean, I believe that they drooled over Spence, but you laid it on kind of thick. Was it all about keeping him safe, or was it also you telling them to back off?”
That had McKinley stumped. She remembered silently mocking the girls’ behavior, and how she smugly whispered, “It’s never gonna happen,” effectively saying Spencer was out of their league. What stood out the most was how she stared them down as she linked arms with him, deriving satisfaction from their…jealousy?
“Did I deliberately taunt them?” McKinley wondered to herself.
She recalled a sensation of hackles raising. There was no polite way to word it.
“I was marking my territory.”
McKinley had a sudden desire to take a shower.
Her feelings had undoubtedly shifted, but she had no frame of reference for them. And that frightened her.
She switched tactics. “Don’t forget that I’m aroace, guys. I don’t experience romantic or sexual attraction.”
Garcia popped up from her phone, where she’d been hunting down the ‘perfect first date venue.’ “You talk a lot about how sexy and pretty guys are, though. I’ve caught you staring at many a tuchus. What’s that about?” she winked.
McKinley cut eyes at her. “I’m asexual, Penny, not blind. I admired the Venus de Milo too, but I didn’t wanna hump it either.”
“Y’know, I used to identify as bi,” Penelope replied. “I was in my late twenties before I knew that I’m pan. It’s only for you to say but, it might be worth considering demi identities.”
That struck a chord with McKinley. It would require a lot of unpacking her emotions, but it was definitely worth considering.
…
Spencer stole glimpses at McKinley as he drove her home. She was drumming a beat on the armrest. He chuckled; she always did that while deep in thought.
Stopping at a light pulled her from her reverie. “Thank you for driving me home,” she said rather meekly.
“You’re welcome. Never take Uber or Lyft.” He coughed nervously. “You know, because it’s not the safest mode of transportation. Half of our cases start that way,” he joked.
McKinley grinned. “You’re an absolute prince for doing this, especially since I’m a rotten friend.”
Spencer’s jaw dropped. “No, you’re not! Is this about the lecture? Because it’s nothing the team hasn’t teased me about before.”
“Yeah, but I shoulda known they’d take the piss,” she whined, kicking her legs grumpily, “and I went too far with the song. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I forgive you,” he assured her as he stepped on the gas. “Although, I’d like to point out that I’ve never once brought up the men who hit on you at bars.”
“True,” McKinley breathed, playing with a loose thread on her blouse. “But that seems to have died down at O’Keeffe’s recently.”
Spencer pressed his lips together, eyes fixed on the road. She eyed him suspiciously.
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” she prodded him.
“Think fast.”
“It’s probably the team’s presence. Most of the regulars know who we are.”
Fortunately, she accepted his suggestion. “Yeah, that’s feasible.”
“Truth is I shoved my credentials in their faces once or twice,”he confessed silently.
“When that doesn’t work, I step between you and them while flashing my revolver, but I’m not owning up to any of that.”
Spencer parked in Taylor and Jaime’s driveway and walked McKinley to her tiny house in the backyard. Boogie bolted out to greet them, tail wagging vigorously.
At her door, she twisted around for a final goodnight, surprised to find Spencer standing so near. He raised his hand and combed his fingers through her hair.
“Cherry blossom,” he explained, showing the pale pink flower in his hand. Spencer reached up again, brushing hair out of her eyes, lingering this time.
McKinley found herself tilting her head into his hand.
“Please don’t stop playing with my hair. Is this what he feels when I play with his? Am I blushing? Is he blushing? What’s that look he’s giving me? Affection? Is that how I look at him? I wish he’d say something. I should say something, but I can’t speak. My heart’s pounding. What’s wrong with me? I never have trouble talking to Spencer. How can someone make me flustered and relaxed at the same time?”
Spencer moved even closer. “Ley, I was wondering -”
“Bork!”
They sprang apart, the spell broken, to see Boogie dancing impatiently. He jumped, placing his paws on Spencer’s thighs.
“Hey buddy, I’m not ignoring you,” he promised as he scratched the dog’s ears.
Satisfied, Boogie pushed open the door and stared expectantly at McKinley.
Spencer retreated down the stairs. “I should be going. Good night, Ley,” he said, the slightest note of disappointment in his voice.
“Night, Spencer. Text me when you get home?”
“Always,” he smiled up at her, stepping backwards towards the fence and through the gate.
—–
@illegalcerebral @dreatine @cynbx @cmbingo
Everyone else let me know if you’d like to be tagged in the future!
#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x oc#cmbingo19
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TRR or ILB for the mc thing? (or both LOL)
i WILL do both but seriously ty all so much for these asks i had a rough day and this has calmed me down significantly shskshs
trr/trh mc: maya abernathy
how tall are they?
maya is really tall! she’s 5′11″ which is about an inch shorter than i imagine her husband to be but he’s a king so what does he have to worry about?
how do they tend to dress?
maya has always had a very classy style, even before she was queen of cordonia. she loves bright colours and floral patterns, and really adores light and breezy things. she does miss the functionality of jeans now that she’s a royal, but she makes do with some very classy pantsuits even though pixelberry are cowards and won’t give them to me.
do they like how they look?
yes! maya’s grandma always made sure that she got her self-worth from her actions and the way she treated people as opposed to how she looks, and maya is really proud of herself and doesn’t really care all that much about what other people think of her!
are they an only child or do they have any siblings?
maya’s an only child! i hate to think that her parents or family just don’t care enough to come to her wedding, so my headcanon for her is that her parents died in a car crash when she was young, and so she was cared for by her only surviving relative, her grandmother, until her death in maya’s first year of college. since she doesn’t have any living family that’s why no one was there like seriously what the fuck pixelberry
are they a morning person or night owl?
morning person! maya’s friends always joked that she had the soul of an 80 year old woman but she really does go to bed pretty early all the time and she likes to wake up to the sun! she loves sunshine and she loves hearing birds singing in the morning, which is her favourite part about being at duchy valtoria!
are they a cat person or a dog person?
maya’s a dog person! she likes cats, and she loved the last cat her grandmother had very much, but she’s always liked dogs a lot more by sheer virtue of being an outdoorsy kid who loves to be playing and getting muddy in the back yard, which was much easier to do with a dog than a cat.
got any favourite foods?
LOVES rogan josh and barbecue. anything spicy or smokey your home girl got it covered, but her favourite dessert is cheesecake!
how about favourite drinks?
maya loves traditional lemonade! she had a lemon tree in her back garden growing up, and her grandma taught her how to make lemonade from the fresh lemons. she also grew up drinking tea with her gran, but she isn’t really one for caffeine in general and much prefers hot chocolate since she has a sweet tooth.
what are their favourite movies/tv shows?
maya LOVES period dramas. laps that shit up. stans the jennifer ehle and colin firth pride and prejudice adaptation, could rewatch anna karenina time and time again and actually really liked the great gatsby movie, plus she tends to like shakespeare movies with kenneth branagh, or recordings of stage productions from the globe theatre which she has yet to visit, but as queen of cordonia she wants to see her favourite play (othello) put on there!
do they have any hidden talents?
maya is a really good singer! it’s only been busted out at karaoke, but she’s also an excellent mathematician and can do really complex equations in her head, which scares... pretty much all of her friends.
do they believe in love at first sight?
maya is a romantic at heart, and her grandma used to tell her stories about how she and her husband fell in love at first sight, so she’d like to believe it was true! it’s part of the reason that she decided to go to cordonia in the first place, because of the connection she felt with the then-prince.
who is their love interest?
,,,, hajime which is a renamed prince liam i know i’m sorry we don’t deserve rights that’s true but you don’t understand. the association with the name ‘liam’ is my gay cousin who came out after both me and his older brother came out, left to sweden and now lives in berlin djing gay leather clubs, doing drag and posting on his Very Public Facebook Page asking for recommendations for the best gay bdsm clubs in berlin so i really can’t unmarry that image and i had to change his name i just had to i couldn’t do it. anyway maya and hajime are very happy together
what are they afraid of?
maya isn’t afraid of water or the ocean, but she is afraid of sharks and jellyfish. she prefers to swim in fresh water or pools, but there was a period where she was terrified of crocodiles and alligators as well despite not living anywhere near crocodiles or alligators.
what are their guilty pleasures?
carrie underwood singalongs and those 80′s aerobics videos.... maxwell bought her a pair of legwarmers for her birthday because of it and she cherishes them
what was their dream job as a kid? is it still their dream?
maya wanted to be a vet when she was little, but when she got older she realized she was too squeamish for it ahskshs. it’s not really her dream anymore, but she’s happy with where she is in life!
have they ever broken a bone?
no, she was a very careful child!
have they ever been in trouble with the law?
not really no! she’s been involved in a few marches/protests that met skirmishes with law enforcement, but she’s never been arrested or charged with anything, except for like. the trouble in cordonia i guess.
+ three other random facts about them!
it is my greatest heacanon that maya used the money she inherited from her grandma to get through college with a degree in communications, and before she was waitress-ing she’d been working pretty long-term for a business in PR but her boss was paying her unfair wages and refused to negotiate so she just quit and was looking for another job, so having justin/anton assigned as her PR ‘team’ was a grievous insult to her ahskshs. another fact is before the royal heir i already decided that maya and hajime have three kids: hollis (after maya’s dad), charlainne “charlie” (after her mum) and oliver, in that order, and the third fact is that her favourite colour is green!
ilb mc: leon vance
how tall are they?
leon is 6′5″ which makes him the tallest of the ilb gang, even taller than parker who is still so in awe that someone managed to be bigger than him
how do they tend to dress?
leon is a frat boy jock with the countenance of a golden retriever. he has an extensive snapback collection, but for the most part his outfit is pretty easy just jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, lots of hoodies, some shorts and those big low-cut singlets etc etc
do they like how they look?
yeah lmao... the one downside is that sometimes people think he’s straight which he’s not about but like. self-confidence is sexy and i don’t fear god so none of my ocs do too. if someone talks shit about him leon will just beat them up ahskshsjsls
are they an only child or do they have any siblings?
leon has elliot ofc, and i hc that his dad re-married and has two young daughters with his second wife, but leon doesn’t know them because he and his dad have virtually no relationship at all.
are they a morning person or night owl?
night owl! leon thinks the stillness of the night is really calming and he’s pretty energetic, but he’s also an early riser. he prefers nights but he also doesn’t sleep in very often since he likes to go for a run before the sun comes up while it’s still nice and cool, plus he usually gets to watch the sun rise on the way back!
are they a cat person or a dog person?
dog.... big, big fluffy dogs. it’s not really surprising when he’s basically just three golden retrievers and one kinda angry chihuahua in a human-shaped trenchcoat but tom gets a lot of no-context pictures of dogs all hours of the night.
got any favourite foods?
leon loves cajun wedges. he thinks there’s an art to making them and he’ll stand by that, but he’s also a bit of a pizza snob and he splurges on wood-fired pizza for him and elliot on uber eats nights whenever he can, although he can’t really do that in pine springs.
how about favourite drinks?
leon vance is the MASTER of keg stands and he’s learned to love shitty bears, but he tends to like dark lagers the best, and besides that he’s a big fan of peach drinks from the chinese grocer down the road from his apartment near campus.
what are their favourite movies/tv shows?
leon loooooves animated movies and elliot is a bit old for him to use as an excuse to go see them, but his favourites are mulan, brave and the quest for camelot which is pretty obscure but garrett was his first love... in terms of tv shows he really likes comedies and watches a lot of comedy specials on netflix too but he’ll also watch pretty much anything with steven yeun in it because he has.... a crush
do they have any hidden talents?
not many people get it initially but leon can actually draw really well! most people think he’s just kind of a meatheaded jock, but his degree is in software engineering and he wants to get into making video games, which is something he decided to do because he loved playing games so much with elliot and he wanted to make something for his brother! he cleans up on rhythm games, and he also plays the piano and the guitar and can sing! he’s very talented!
do they believe in love at first sight?
not really? he wants to believe in romantic things like that, and he definitely believes in attraction at first sight, but he’s a little cynical about the idea of being able to love somebody just from a glance.
who is their love interest?
tom! he & tom are really happy together and one of their favourite things to do is make pancakes on sunday mornings for elliot, and then tom will read his book while sitting on leon’s back while he does pushups. domestic co-existence ahskshs.
what are they afraid of?
leon has always been too bold for his own good, but he’s really not a fan of thunder or lightning and he gets really freaked out during storms.
what are their guilty pleasures?
loves playing roblox with the lads, also he was a gay kid growing up in the 2000′s, a bitch read homestuck and warrior cats and given the opportunity he WILL conduct full-scale discourses about it. yes this is me projecting. no i do not have the decency to be ashamed about it anyway stan vriska
what was their dream job as a kid? is it still their dream?
initially, leon wanted to be an astronaut, but only so he could meet aliens. as he grew up he realized he didn’t really want to get involved in that field, especially since with his sports career he kind of looked like he had a set path anyway.
have they ever broken a bone?
he’s broken his nose a couple of times and his toe twice, but other than that he’s been very careful because he kind of needs his bones in order to like... do sport.... which is what his scholarship is for.
have they ever been in trouble with the law?
his frat has had noise control turn up a couple of times and once he got picked up for speeding home with medication for elliot’s cough because he was worried but other than that he’s squeaky clean aside from antagonizing chief kelly in pine springs ahsklshsjsh
+ three other random facts about them!
he’s quarterback on his university’s team and looking at prospects of an nfl draft, but he’s also a competitive swimmer and has competed in the junior olympics where he has a silver and a gold medal individually and a gold team medal. second fact is that he’d most like to travel to australia because he likes the accents, and the third is that his favourite animals are bears so he felt personally attacked by the bear lake monster attacking him and his friends
ask me about my choices mcs!
#sol.txt#answered#ilb#it lives beneath#the royal romance#trr#mc: maya abernathy#mc: leon vance#ty for the ask!#long post#maxunwell
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also on ao3
If Lara Jean really, truly is being honest with herself, she enjoys being part of a squad. Content making has been only Kitty and her for so long, starting when they were barely more than teenagers, that Lara Jean never managed to make long-lasting friendships. She was always envious of those Youtube squads, despite the nasty rumours going around about some of them, especially in moment when she was feeling lonely.
She couldn’t live in the mansion with them all, and not just because Gabe eats her cookie dough raw every time he’s around, but she’s come to really love having a tight group of friends. People who help her and support her, people who believe in what she does to the point of promoting her content to their followers too.
Which, of course, means drama comes slapping her in the face when she least expects it.
Peter drags her along to a party, because he claims nobody will believe they’re actually dating if they never show themselves together outside of the vlog house. As far as arguments go, it’s a fairly weak one but Lara Jean is feeling adventurous, and Chris and Lucas promised they would be there too. If anything else, she can beg them to bring her home while Peter is busy partying somewhere else.
He shows up at her house with his flashy car, not the family van he usually drives, so Lara Jean’s suspicions switch on immediately. She waits until they’re on the main before she asks, “She’ll be there tonight, right?”
She doesn’t have to clarify who she is – they’ve kept her name unsaid for months now, but people keep mentioning her in the comments, comparing her to Lara Jean, commenting on how much more relaxed everyone, and especially Chris, is now that she’s gone. She’s like a ghost following them all around the mansion, her presence known but ignored until tonight.
Peter sighs, loudly. “Yeah, she will.”
Lara Jean looks at the car she’s sitting in, at Peter’s hair combed back, at her own outfit. She should have seen this coming, and yet she can’t stop the knot from forming inside her stomach as realisation dawns on her. “Are you trying to make her jealous?”
“What?! How? What? No!” A pregnant pause. “A little?”
He cringes as he says it, which is way cuter than it ought to be. She wants to be upset at him for so very obviously using her like that, but then again. Their entire relationship is based on using each other to get something out of their couple.
“Not jealous in a ‘fight to get me back’ way,” he clarifies. “More ‘look what you gave up on and how much better off I am without you,’ if that makes sense?”
“Are you?” she asks. “Happier?”
“I mean, I get fresh cookies every day so…” His sentence finishes in a bark of laughter when she punches his shoulder as hard as she can. He rubs it with one hand, the other still on the wheel. “Yeah, I am. I loved her but she was… We weren’t good for each other. It wasn’t healthy.”
“Good on you to admit it.”
“Only admitting it after she cheated on me and blamed me for it, so not sure how good it is but you know…” He sighs. “At least Chris isn’t so cranky all the time anymore.”
Lara Jean knows deflection when she hears it, so she takes the bait and starts talking about Chris’ latest videos and how well received her collab with Gabe was. Their conversation gets a little less tense from there, and they even have fun brainstorming ideas for the vlog by the time Peter parks in front of a mansion even bigger than his.
The party is already in full swing, but Peter stops her in the entrance hall, pulling on her hand for her to turn toward him.
“No baking tonight,” he tells her as he reaches for the crunchie holding her hair up into a ponytail. “I like you better with your hair down anyway.”
“Well if you like me better with my hair down…”
“Damn, Covey! Only a few weeks with us and you’re already so full of snark. Definitely not a good influence on you.”
She pokes her tongue out at him, and Peter chuckles even as he runs his fingers through her hair to tame it and make it pretty. He’s so much closer than she’s used to – close enough for her to admire the gold speckles in his eyes and the light freckles on his nose. She wonders how many people get to be so intimate with him, instead of just looking at him through the lens of a camera.
“There. Perfect.”
She doesn’t wonder why her heart beats faster.
“Peter?” she asks, just when he’s taking her hand again, ready to pull her toward the party. He pauses and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. “No PDA rule tonight.”
He grins, and pulls on her hand.
This isn’t so different from any other party she’s attended with Peter. Gabe has already set a beer pong table and is convincing a pair of girls to play against Chris and him. Lucas is flirting with a white boy on the couch. John Ambrose has half a dozen girls around him, giggling at everything he says.
Lara Jean naturally gravitates toward Chris once Peter has disappeared to get them some drinks. Chris hugs her in greeting, before she starts throwing the ping pong ball and catching it with one hand.
“The Wicked Bitch of the West is here,” she says with a nod to the other side of the room. “Hide your man.”
Lara Jean tries not to be too obvious about it when she walks around the table to sit on a couch’s armrest, which gives her a good view of both the game and Gen. She stands in a corner talking to a brunette, all sparkly dress and perfect hair. Lara Jean can’t help but notice her face looks very different in person, though, a tell that she uses a little too much Facetune on her pictures. But then again, which Instagram mode doesn’t?
Gen must feel her stare, for she turns her head and stares right back at Lara Jean, just in time to see Peter sliding next to her. He bumps Lara Jean’s shoulder with an easy grin before he hands her a red solo cup.
“Missed me?”
“Terribly,” she replies with a grin of her own. He was right earlier; she definitely got more sarcastic from spending time with the squad.
She takes a sip of her beer, only to immediately spit it back in the cup with a grimace of disgust. “That beer is stale!”
“Oh no, that’s mine,” he corrects before switching their cups. “It’s kombucha.”
“Why?!”
“It’s good for digestion. And I’m your ride tonight, remember?”
The admission that he’s not drinking takes her by surprise and, let’s be honest, charms her a little. They’ve all been drinking into torpor at least once a week since she joined the squad, either at the vlog house or a local bar. But they would always Uber to the bar and forth, so nobody had to drink. For him to go dry means more than Lara Jean would have believe at first.
“You could at least get something tasty,” she points out.
“Didn’t we establish I have bad taste?” he jokes back.
She wrinkles her nose at him, just to make him laugh. Peter has a great laugh; she loves to hear it, to see the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. It’s such a good look on him.
“Vlog house’s gonna be busy,” Chris announces as she joins them on the couch. She points to Lucas, still heavily flirting with the white guy from before, his hand high on the guy’s thigh. Then to Gabe, deep in conversation with one of the beer pong girls. Then John Ambrose, still surrounded by a small army of girls. Chris makes a face. “Can I crash at yours, LJ?”
“Guest room is yours,” she replies easily.
“What if I want to crash at your place?” Peter pouts, adding puppy eyes for emphasis.
She knows that in all logic he would be sleeping in her bed. They’ve been dating long enough that everyone believes they’re intimate, which makes sense. She’s been watching his older videos, and he and Gen never were shy about the physical aspect of their relationship.
Still, she runs her tongue before she can think better of it. “You can have the couch.”
Peter and Chris offer her equally baffled looks, albeit for very different reasons. Chris whistles under her breath, as if to react to some massive drama just about to happen. If only she knew that, no, it’s just Lara Jean who messed up without meaning to.
“You still made about yesterday?” Peter asks, innocent enough.
Bless his heart for giving her an out, though, bringing back the prank that turned bad yesterday, when he’d tried to scare John Ambrose. John has slipped and fell down the swimming pool, his head missing the edge by only a few inches. Lara Jean’s shriek had been so deafening it had scared them all even more, and then she’d lectured Peter for five minutes straight. Even Gabe had looked guilty after that.
“Depends,” she replies, before she nods toward one girl across the room. “Find me a slice of that pizza and I’ll reconsider.”
His grin is a little dopey as he shoves his solo cup in her hand to stand up. It’s a good thing only Chris sees that happen, because the guys would never let him live it down.
(He was hugging her from behind last week, one arm against her collarbones, as she was standing at the kitchen island to check her emails on her laptop. Whispering nonsense in her ear just to distract her and to make her laugh. She knew at least one of the guys was filming somewhere, and that they might be caught on camera.
But she didn’t expect Gabe to barge into the kitchen, camera in hand, and to open the fridge to grab something. He held a can next to Peter’s head, already chuckling at his own joke.
“Pete, hey, Pete! What’s the difference between you and that can of cream?” Peter only replied with a deadpan stare. “None, cause y’all so WHIPPED!”
And then Gabe ran for his life. Peter whispered a simple “Be right back,” in Lara Jean’s ear, before dashing after his best friend. Ten seconds were all he needed before Gabe’s scream of horror filled the house.)
She follows him with her eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen in search of a fresh, untouched slice of pizza, and so she doesn’t miss how Gen corners him the moment he’s left alone. He’s got one pizza box opened, paper plate in hand, and he looks like a deer in the highlights when he sees his ex by his side.
“You should do something,” Chris comments.
“Nah, he’s fine.”
She trusts him, and not just because of the contract. From the way he was talking in the car, he needs to confront Gen one more time, to do this for himself.
Lucas plops on the couch next to them just when Gen engages Peter in a tense and awkward conversation, and Lara Jean’s attention is redirected toward her friend. It’s not as if she can hear anything that is said from across the room anyway.
“Abandoned pretty boy so soon?” Chris teases him.
Lucas shrugs, before he grabs the solo cup from Lara Jean’s hand. “Turns out he has a boyfriend. Disappointing.” He takes a sniff of his newly-acquired drink and makes a face. “That smells nasty.”
“It’s kombucha,” Lara Jean says. “Fermented tea.”
“Sounds as nasty as it smells,” Lucas replies, still looking down the cup.
“I’ll give you $500 to drink all of it,” Chris chimes in, getting her camera out of the pocket of her hoodie. It’s exactly why she fits in perfectly with the squad, despite being the only girl before Lara Jean arrived. She has the same sick mentality about it.
And truth is – Lara Jean is starting to develop a bit of that mentality too. “Come on, do it,” she goads him with a sweet smile.
He makes a face and sniffs the drink again. “I really need the money,” he comments.
“Lara Jean!” Her head immediately turns at the sound of her name, if only to find Peter standing in front of her. No pizza but a frazzled look on his features. “Let’s get out of there.”
Lucas is looking at them above the rim of the solo cup, half-hopefully about being saved from the situation. Lara Jean is barely aware of Chris teasing him as she stands up and walks toward Peter.
He wraps a solid arm around her waist, pulling her right against his chest. And then he’s kissing her. Hard and fast, too quick for her to react or even think about enjoying it. It’s over before it even started, and then he’s pulling on her hand and dragging her toward the exit.
She follows without question, all too aware of the way he purposely doesn’t look back. Or doesn’t say anything, the silence between them tense and awkward as he drives away from the house and down the empty streets of LA.
She has no idea where they are going, but soon the streets around them are a little less rich suburbia, a little more hipsterish mess, until he parks next to what appears to be an old dinner.
It’s empty – too late for a coffee date, too early for a post-party refuel – and Peter chooses the booth just next to the vintage jukebox. She slides next to him instead of opposite him, and nods at the old machine with a nudge to his shoulder.
“Seven What’s New, Pussycat and one It’s Not Unusual?” she asks innocently.
Peter snorts a laugh despite his lips pressed into a thin line, some of the tension in his shoulders disappearing at her reference. By the time the waitress shows up at their table to take their order, he’s almost back to his usual self again.
Lara Jean doesn’t mention the insta elephant in the room. If he wants to talk about it he will, but she will not force him into a conversation before he’s ready. Instead she decides on another topic altogether.
“Kitty wants to go to film school.”
It’s something she’s been discussing for a little while now. She jumped straight from high school into this job, but she’s yearning for more now, for something else and different. Lara Jean can’t really blame her – her sister is so talented and has so much potential for greatness – but she can’t help but be a little bit selfish about it.
“I can’t do the videos without her,” she admits. “I have never edited anything in my life.”
“You could be outsourcing.”
She shakes her head, an outright refusal. “I don’t trust anyone to do it beside her.”
“Because you haven’t worked with anyone else,” Peter points out. “Hire an intern and have Kitty teach them everything she knows. The exact way she edits your videos. So you start with the same skills, but a new point of view. Can’t be all that bad.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip. She’s never thought about it that way, but it doesn’t sound too bad. And Kitty would love to have someone to boss around, someone to brag to about her skills. And then Lara Jean would have a whole new person on her payroll, which is terrifying. She’s been pushing back getting an assistant for so long because she’s afraid of having someone who is not Kitty rely on her for a paycheck.
“What about once Kitty is done?”
“You, me, Chris, Lucas, Gabe, John,” Peter counts on his fingers. “That’s six Youtubers in our group who could do with some editing help. We’ll manage.”
She can’t help but grin, even before she spell out the underlying meaning behind his idea. “Am I officially part of the Kazinsquad?” she teases.
Peter’s gaze is too deep, too intense, when their eyes meet. It says things she doesn’t want to hear, to acknowledge. “You’re not getting rid of us so easily, Covey. Fake dating or not, you’re part of the family now. You’re here to stay.”
She looks down at her hands in her lap, so her hair will fall in front of her face and hide her blush. She didn’t expect him to be so candid about it, or herself to get so emotional over it. He talks about family like they’ve been friends forever, instead of only a few weeks. Like he will stick by her side even once the contract is over. She doesn’t quite know what to think of it.
Thankfully the waitress chooses that moment to come back with their orders, and Lara Jean distracts herself with her pile of pancakes long enough to forget about her own awkwardness.
Once she’s ready to face Peter again, his phone is lighting up like a Christmas tree when it lays on the table. He sighs, deep and loud, and flips the phone over to hide the screen.
“She’s blowing up my notifications.”
“I guess it wasn’t a clean goodbye then?” He only gives her A Look, with capital letters and a trademark. “You could block her.”
Peter’s laugh is humourless. “Yeah, I’m not doing that. It’s going to end in a five-minute rant in her Insta stories about how much of an asshole I am to her. Again. I’m done with this shit.”
Lara Jean offers him a tight-lipped smile, her hand finding his under the table. Their fingers link together as Peter raises both their hands above the table to lie there between them. The ring Margot gave her for her birthday shines softly in the neon lights of the dinner. Lara Jean makes up her mind faster than she would have expected of herself, given the circumstances.
“Open Instagram,” she tells him. When Peter only reacts with a confused look, she adds, “We’ll give her a taste of her own medicine.”
Which is petty and low, maybe, but Lara Jean is tired of it. Tired of Peter’s kicked puppy look and the hold Gen still has on him. Tired of this fake dating business working on everyone else but her, tired, and tired and tired.
So she snaps a picture of her own, of their hands, with Peter’s milkshake in the background. It takes a few flirters to make it look nice despite the aggressive lights, and then she posts it to her stories, no tag, no comments. Just the simplicity of an intimate moment caught on camera, a snapshot of a cute late-night date.
Peter is smiling now, finally catching up with her act. He raises his own phone to snap a selfie, the cutest thing ever – their shoulders pressed against each other as she kisses his cheek and he makes a proud-yet-amused face to the camera. It looks so incredibly realistic that it takes Lara Jean’s breath away, just a little.
That is, until she reads the caption he’s writing down. “‘Bae’? You’re such a dork!”
He blows a kiss her way, before bursting into laughter.
…
Peter becomes a fixture in her life soon enough.
Even if the contract only stipulates one vlog appearance per week, Lara Jean finds herself at the vlog house on most filming days, if only because it’s fun. She doesn’t always participate in the more elaborate jokes and pranks, but she likes to witness it all happen in front of her eyes. The difference between real life and what actually makes it to the vlog fascinates her more than she can put into words.
Any other day, she works on her own channel, testing and prepping recipes when she not actually filming, workshopping new ideas with Kitty, talking brand deals and sponsor agreements with Trina. It’s long, hard work, always has been. But she loves it, loves to spend most of her time in the kitchen to experiment on new recipes to make them perfect, to try stuff she finds on Pinterest, or just to improve some of her classics.
Peter has an habit of showing up to her house when she’s working now. He doesn’t really bother her in the kitchen – always first in line to taste anything, though – and for the most part he’s happy just chilling and editing in a corner, or napping in her living room. She’s gotten used to his mop of curly hair popping from the side of the sofa, or his long legs stretching in front of him when he sits on the kitchen floor. More than one time he ends up with flour in his hair, too busy working on his vlog to notice. Those make for amazing Insta stories.
It is one such day, Kitty sitting on the kitchen island to edit, Peter napping in another room, and Lara Jean practicing a mirror cake for a Halloween recipe. Those are far from her favourite, but they’re damn clickbaity and popular on the internet. Everything for the views, or something.
“I’m just saying, Gabe is totally down to take care of it when we go to Korea.”
It’s an old argument – Kitty has wanted a puppy since she was about six. Arguments against were fairly easy when they were still living in the family house, what with both dad and Margot allergic to dogs. But times has past and they have their own house now, in a whole different state. It’s getting harder and harder to find arguments against having a dog, to the point where Lara Jean doesn’t even know why she still fight her sister about it. Good habits, and all that.
“Gabe? Gabe Rivera? The guy who can’t even remember to feed himself most days? That Gabe?”
“You’re so mean!” Kitty grabs a chocolate chip and throws it at her, but Lara Jean dodges easily. “And okay, maybe not Gabe. But we can afford to put it in a puppy hotel now. I heard they have some great ones in Downtown LA. Come on, Lara Jean!”
Kitty gives her the face, with the teary eyes and pouty lip. It used to work as a child, and Kitty knows it. As a twenty-something girl, though, it has lost some of its childish charm and is not as effective as it used to be.
“What is she saying no to?” Peter asks as he slides his way into the kitchen.
His hair is all over the place and his eyes still heavy with sleep, which is a very powerful combo. Lara Jean’s heart does a weird flip-floppy thing, before it stops beating altogether as Peter comes behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and hide his face in her neck. She swears he presses a kiss against her skin there, but it might as well be her mind make things up – hard to know, when she’s forgotten how to breath.
“She doesn’t want me to get a puppy,” Kitty replies immediately, all awkwardness ignored in the face of getting what she wants. “Which isn’t fair at all!”
Peter looks at Kitty from above Lara Jean’s shoulder, refusing to let got of her. He’s warm and solid against her back, so she leans herself lean into him, just a little bit. Might as well take advantage of a human pillow while she can; she’s spent hours on her feet today, she deserves it.
“What kind of a dog?”
“A Japanese Akita!”
“It’s like, a big Shiba,” Lara Jean adds for clarity.
She doesn’t need to look at Peter to literally hear the wheels turning in his head. He doesn’t stand up straighter or anything, doesn’t even really show interest in that little fact but. She knows how he’s wired. She can even read the clickbait vlog title from there.
SURPRISING MY GIRLFRIEND’S SISTER WITH A SHIBA PUPPY!!
Two million views in the first week, and the very least. A bit more if he picks the right thumbnail or if Kitty starts crying. Which might actually happen, because she’s wanted a puppy for so long, has begged for it for most of her life. And, yes, her baby sister deserves something nice, a little companion to follow her everywhere and all adorably distract her from editing videos until 4am every night. She deserves the world, really.
Peter keeps trading questions and answers with Kitty, obviously to gather more information – would she like a girl puppy or a boy puppy, does she have an idea for a name, which cool tricks she would teach it. Kitty answers happily, glad that someone is actually interested in her puppy story for once.
She does have a weird look on her face when Lara Jean feeds Peter a big chocolate chip, though, and he hums happily before snuggling a little tighter against her. At least her cake is in the oven for half an hour, so he doesn’t distract her from delicate piping work or something of the like.
He does distract her a lot in general, though.
It’s another hour before he decides to go back to his own place – no doubt to look up Shiba breeders in California. Kitty follows him to the door and waves her goodbye at him while Lara Jean finishes cleaning up the kitchen.
When Kitty comes back, it’s with her phone in her hand, already dialing Margot. It’s the middle of the night in London, but who even cares when your name is Catherine Song-Covey.
“Kitty, what the hell?” comes Margot’s sleepy voice.
“Lara Jean’s fake boyfriend wants to be her real boyfriend.”
Suddenly, Margot is awake.
Suddenly, Lara Jean wants to die.
…
Of all the people in the house, John Ambrose is the one Lara Jean spends the less time with. Which might not be fair on him, since he’s always so nice and gentle in everything he does and say, since he’s welcomed her without second thought when she first joined the group, since he’s one of the best people she knows.
But every time she looks at him, she remembers Vidcon, and being drunk and kissing him just because. Lara Jean knows, on an intellectual level, that it’s okay. People kiss other people all the time at parties, and that’s the end of it. But it’s not who she is, and she feels uncomfortable with herself every time John Ambrose is around, the the point of almost avoiding him sometimes.
Which makes him coming to her in the vlog house’s kitchen all the more awkward.
“Hey, I’ve got something for you,” he tells her.
Chris is teaching her how to play Horizon: Zero Dawn today, and Lara Jean took a break to fix them twin bowls of ice cream, with extra chocolate sauce and whipped cream. She’s in the middle of adding sprinkles – god knows why they have that in the kitchen – and thus startles a little at John Ambrose’s surprise appearance.
She closes the tube of sprinkles and turns around, one hand rising to tug a strand of hair behind her ear. “Really?”
He hands out what appears to be a book at first look, but is so much more when she takes it between her hands. It’s an ancient notebook, with a hard cover and pages yellowed by time, so fragile-looking she’s careful when she opens it. Each page is a recipe written by hand in beautiful cursive letters, or cut from a book and taped to a page. From the illustrations alone, it looks at least from the 60s, if not older.
“I told my grandma about you. Her name is Stormy and she’s the most badass person I know. She loves to hear about the gang, and she wanted to know more about you so I showed her some of your videos. I didn’t even know she even cared about cooking before she gave that to me. She said you could put it to good use.”
“Oh my god, it’s amazing.”
Recipes upon recipes of things to put in jello, and old-timey cakes, questionable casseroles and salads. Better than anything she could find on Pinterest, or even Mary Berry’s recent cookbooks. That’s the real stuff, coming at her from a different time, where cooking was a woman’s duty first instead of a little pleasure in life.
A simple hot milk sponge cake catches her eye, and it’s enough to get her mind running. She’s already coming up with so many ideas, and decorated settings for her kitchen, and recipes to try. It’s overwhelming.
“Do you want to collab?” she asks John Ambrose before she can second-guess herself. “I’d really like to meet her, and maybe try a recipe together? We could even play dress up, it could be fun.”
John Ambrose’s mouth stays opened for a few seconds, caught off-guard by her proposition. But then he’s shaking his head a bit and smiling, a little laugh at the corner of his lips. “Sure, why not? Could be fun.”
“Thought we had something, Covey?”
She turns her head to find Peter at the kitchen’s entrance. His eyes are unreadable as they move from her to John Ambrose, to the book in her hands, to her face again. It’s not cold or closed-off, which would be easier to deal with. No, he’s putting on a front, but she can see he’s hurt. Jealous, even.
So she smiles at him, to reassure him. Placate him even, just a little. “We’ll always have fruitcake cookies.”
When he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes.
…
Christmas creeps up around the corner before Lara Jean is ready for it. It goes the same way every year – all three Song girls fly back to spend Christmas with dad, baking more cookies than they can eat and opening their gifts by the tree with hot cups of cocoa on the coffee table. Dad will try (and mostly fail) to cook some Korean meals their mother loved so much, and everyone will pretend not to be sad at the seat that has been empty for longer than not.
This year, though, something different happens. Not with the whole Christmas thing, no, that never changes. But once Lara Jean and Kitty are back to LA, Chris comes over and tells them to pack their things and be ready in an hour, tops. She won’t give them anymore details, so Lara Jean texts Lucas to spills the beans.
“Gabe’s parents own a cabin near Alta Sierra,” she reads out loud to Kitty. “We’re spending New Year’s Eve there.”
“Are you kidding?” Her sister turns around from her wardrobe, a handful of puppy in her hands – yes, a Christmas gift from Peter, surprise, surprise – and a look of wonder on her face. “I’ve always wanted a white New Year!”
“Well, pack warm sweaters, it’s going to be rustic,” Lara Jean comments as Lucas sends her a couple of pictures of said cabins. “And wool socks.”
“Are you going to be kissing Peter at midnight?”
“I want you ready in 20 minutes,” she goes on as she moves to her own bedroom.
Truth is, she doesn’t have that many warm clothes. LA doesn’t require that kind of a wardrobe, especially with the AC they have going on in the house. But Lara Jean manages to dig a few sweaters from the back of her wardrobe, as well as warm leggins she usually wears under dresses when she visits her family in Korean. She even finds a cute hat and matching mittens, and her Hufflepuff scarf from when they went to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.
Exactly one hour later, cars are honking in front of their house. Two of them, the gang split between the vehicles, with Chris behind a wheel and Peter behind the other. He jumps out of his van and helps them carry their bags and puppy supplies.
“I’ll go with Chris,” Lara Jean says, hoping her voice doesn’t shows that she’s still peeved by Kitty’s comment from earlier. If the look Peter gives her is anything to go by, she failed miserably. Not that she lets herself think about it too much, climbing inside the car while Kitty walks toward Peter’s van.
Lucas looks at her through the rearview mirror, one eyebrow raised, but doesn’t say anything. Neither does Chris, once she’s slammed the trunk closed and is back behind the wheel, now blasting a playlist through the speakers.
“Alta Sierra, here we come!”
It takes them four hours to drive to the cabin, and then some for everyone to unload, unpack and unwind. Chris won’t stop complaining about the crick in her neck from driving too long, so much so that she doesn’t even comment or complain at Lara Jean bunking with her in one of the many bedrooms.
Gabe starts a fire in the living room and convinces Kitty to help him make S’Mores, and soon they are all gathered there, sitting straight on the floor with sticky fingers and easy laughs. Everyone but Peter, Lara Jean can’t help but notice, who’s disappeared the moment he parks the car in front of the cabin.
Lucas must notice her look of confusion, because he nudges her with his elbow and nods for her to follow him. She does, silent until they lock themselves in a bedroom, sitting side by side on the bed. They don’t say anything, not for a very long while, but then she starts speaking and finds that she is unable to stop. She tells him about the contract and the fake relationship, about Gen and the party, about Peter’s lack of boundaries, his weird behaviour these past few weeks, and how confused this all is and how lost she feels.
“Wait, you guys have been faking it all this time?” Lucas asks, dumbfounded. When she only nods, looking down at her hand, he lets out a little laugh. “Yeah, no.”
She looks up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been in the gang for five years now, LJ. I’ve seen some shit happening, and Peter isn’t as good an actor as he thinks he is. Sometimes it’s better that he is behind the camera, actually. So let me tell you, this? This ain’t acting.”
“You can’t know that.” She bites on her bottom lip, before she adds, “If anything else, I’m the one pining like an idiot.”
“Oh, believe me, I can. Because let me resume. You came up with the no PDA rule. You asked John to do something that was entirely Peter-and-you until now. You decided not to drive with him, and not to keep your little collabs exclusive and you very much aren’t the one mopping in a corner right now. So if anyone is pining like an idiot, it’s not you. It’s Kavinsky.”
She opens her mouth, but no word comes out at first. And then, “He’s really mopping in a corner?”
Lucas only nods.
…
She finds him in the hot tube, just outside the cabin. He is indeed mopping, like Lucas said, looking down with a frown and looking all around miserable. His head shoots up when she says a little ‘hey’ but he doesn’t reply, instead silently following her with his eyes as she makes her way around the hot tube to climb the few steps and sit on the edge.
The contrast of the cold of winter against her skin with the warmth of the water is a weird one, but it doesn’t compared to his heated eyes when they find hers across the water. He swallows, and she sighs. It is harder than she would have believe, for something so simple. Tell your fake boyfriend you like him. Tell him you’ve been stupid, your insecurities have been playing tricks on you, you’re so terrified of making it real. Tell him you don’t remember who you were before him, and you don’t want to go back to being this person. Tell him he matters so much, you can’t even put it into words.
When he still refuses to talk, she asks, “Now you’re ignoring me?”
“Oh I’m the one ignoring you?” he replies with a bitter smile and a snort of humourless laughter. “Funny.”
“Shouldn’t we be easing out of this relationship, since the contract is over anyway?”
Which, all things considered, is the worst thing to say. Peter knows it too, if the look he sends her, halfway between hurt and offended, is anything to go by. And then he’s laughing again, under his breath, and looking down again. Ignoring her. Dismissing her.
She has none of it. Because if those past few months taught her anything, it’s to be braver than she feels, to get out of her comfort zone, to push herself. So she shrugs off her coat, lets it falls on the ground, before she slips her legs inside the hot tube and softly falls in. Peter looks back at her, confused frown on his brows.
“What are you doing?”
“Coming in.”
“In your pyjamas,” he points out, glancing down at the Hello Kitty combo she’s wearing.
She shrugs a little, even as she moves closer to him until she can put her hands on his knees. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” she explains. He’s close enough that she can see the red high on his cheeks, can focus on the way he bites down on his bottom lip as his eyes travel down her body, to the light fabric now sticking to her skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, so low she’s afraid he might not hear it.
But he does, of course, leaning forward until his face is only a breath away from hers. “What for?”
“Being scared. Of this. Of us.” She looks away, can’t deal with the intensity of his gaze. “I’m not good at letting people in. It’s not easy for me.”
“You’re doing great so far,” he replies, his voice lighter already, almost smiling. “You suck, though. I’d bought so many snacks for the drive here, even those Japanese drinks you like so much and like, five different types of Pocky. Which means…”
“You like Asian snacks?”
He shakes his head with a chuckle, and splashes some water her way. “Why are you so dense, oh my god.”
She isn’t, of course. So she uses his knees to rise up a little, to lean closer to him. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting stupid lately,” she whispers.
“That’s alright,” he replies in an equally low voice.
And then he finally takes it all in, her body so close to his, her clothes like a second skin, the tension between them like an elastic ready to snap. He notices it all, his eyes darkening even as he offers her a smile, and a tiny shrug, even as he softens in front of her.
“The contract was only until Christmas,” she reminds him.
“I’m aware,” he replies.
His smile is taking over his entire face now, the meaning behind the statement obvious to the both of them – they no longer have to pretend anything. They’re doing this not because they have to, but because they want to. Nothing to bind them professionally, nobody to check in the fine print. Just two people, in front of each other, wearing their feelings on their sleeve.
Peter’s hand grab her thigh in the water as he grins at her, a simple “There’s no one like you, Covey,” on his lip as he hauls her up to sit in his lap. And then he’s kissing her. Or maybe she’s kissing her. Or maybe it doesn’t matter, when all she can focus on is the softness of his lips against hers, the warm of his tongue, the strength of his arms around her. He presses her against his chest, and she loses herself in their kiss, forgets about anything that isn’t Peter and Peter’s mouth and Peter’s love for her.
She breaks away when it becomes too much, only to swoon at the sight of him – lips swollen and eyes pitch black, his hair sticking in every direction, his cheeks burning. He’s so beautiful it takes her breath away, and she has to kiss him again. And again. And again, until he’s giggling against her lips and it makes it all messy.
“Hey, Covey,” he asks, forehead against hers, hand in her hair. “I’ve got a collab idea.”
She laughs, soft, fond. “Let’s make it a series of videos.”
“An ongoing partnership.”
“A second channel.”
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
She does.
#covinsky#covinsky ff#covinsky fanfic#to all the boys I've loved before#fanfic#ff: tatbilb#ff: do it for the views
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Non-Voltron au continued
YOU ASKED I DELIVERED
HERE IS MORE FROM THE BRIDGE LANGST (lmao idk how to link shit)
The phone rang over and over. A click. Voicemail again. “Uh, hey Lance, it’s Keith again. Are- are you okay? You never showed up to physics today… I’m kinda worried. Uh, text me. Call me. Anything to let me know you’re alive. Actually, I’m coming over. So, if you’re even hearing my voice right now, then get ready.” Keith hang up. He was more than kinda worried. Lance has tried to kill himself before. Sometimes, Keith didn’t know if the one bridge accident was a blessing or not. Having Lance as a friend, while mildly annoying, was better than Keith expected. Lance did his best to hide his problems, hiding behind jokes and horrible flirting attempts. It’s been a few months since the Bridge Accident, and Lance has only shown his true colors when he was alone. Keith just happened to find Lance a few times. Keith shuddered at the memory.
He had been walking home later than usual. He was cautious. This was the time the druggies and the gangs came out. He’d have to be careful. He glanced down an alley and stopped flat. “Lance?” Leaning against a wall, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was uncoordinated.
“Keith, wussup?” Lance stumbled over. He was obviously higher than an airplane.
“Lance, come on, I’m taking you home.”
“No, no, don’t do that, please Keith.” Lance stumbled and leaned against the wall again.
“Why not?” Keith had little patience for high people. They were slow and clumsy, and usually said stuff that made no sense.
“I kinda came here to escape them, ya know?”
“Lance,” Keith sighed and shook his head. “Fine, then come on.”
“Not back home.” It was a statement, but it also felt like a question.
“No, you’re coming to my place so that you don’t do something stupid.”
“’Ight.” Lance walked with Keith, steps dragging slightly, teetering on every step. Keith did his best to support Lance, but he was a lot taller than Keith, which presented a problem. Lance couldn’t walk straight, and he seemed to want to just fall over.
Finally, finally they made it to Keith’s small studio apartment. Keith helped Lance up the stairs, with a lot of Heys, That’s my foots, and Stop it, come ons. Lance was settling down on Keith’s couch, and Keith was getting some blankets from a closet.
“Why do they hate me?” Keith froze. Lance was looking down at his hands, limp on his lap.
“Lance?”
“Like, I didn’t even do anything, ya know? They just don’t really understand. They get it that I’m into dick, that was mostly fine. My gram hates it, but whatever. I just- why don’t they see mental health kids, like, people with depression, as people who need help? Since when was that a thing?”
Keith put down the blanket. “Well, sometimes people, especially older generations, don’t see depression as a real thing. They mislead themselves by telling people they’re just a little sad.”
“Don’t they, like, care, though? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do? Care?”
Keith sighed, getting the blanket. “I don’t know Lance. My dad left when I was a kid, and my mom was a drug addict. I don’t have much experience with real parents.” Keith brought the blanket over.
Lance sighed. “Keith, I didn’t do something wrong, did I?”
“No, you didn’t. Stop stressing it. Depression is very real, and they don’t seem to know that.”
“But- but they also just never has- have time for me, like? I might as well be invisible. Betcha they won’t notice I’m gone.” He laughed without humor at that.
“Give me your phone.”
“Wha- why?”
“I need to message Hunk, and I don’t have his number.” It was a lie. Keith felt spiteful. Lance’s parents should pay more attention to their kids, especially with all the sadness in that household.
“Ight, the password’s Shakira Shakira, with both s’s capitil- capitalized.”
“Go to bed,” Keith said, unfolding the blanket. “It’s late, and you’re high as hell.”
“So I’m low?”
“You know damn well what I mean, Lance.”
“Yeah, yeah, g’night, Keith.”
“Night Lance.” Keith turned towards Lance’s phone. He pulled up his mom’s number and punched it into his phone.
Keith Kogane: Hey, im keith, one of lances friends. I just wanted to let you know he was staying with me tonight.
Rosetta McClain: thank you. May I ask how you got this number?
Keith Kogane: Lance gave it too me. If you want, I can delete it
Rosetta McClain: no its fine. Thanks for looking after my boy
Keith Kogane: no problem
Rosetta didn’t answer after that. Keith wondered if she was just playing nice. Keith looked over at Lance. He had tears on his cheeks. Keith wondered if he even felt them.
“Lance?” Keith asked gently. “What’s wrong?”
“Why does everything hurt so much?” He whispered. “Why doesn’t she care? Why does he-” Lance’s voice broke. “Why doesn’t he give a rat’s ass? Do I- is this what I get? For being suicidal? For being a- a screw up?”
“Lance,” Keith said firmly, cupping Lance’s face between his hands. “You are not, I repeat, are not, a screw up.” Keith felt like someone was twisting his heart. “I don’t know why they don’t care, but look. You have Shiro, you have Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Coran. And you have me. We will always, always be there for you.”
Lance’s pink eyes stared up at Keith, full of sadness and hope. “Really?”
Keith nodded.
But that was back in November. About two months after he had stopped Lance at the bridge. Then, back in January, he had heard Lance, thinking no one was around, talking to himself. About his family. About his thoughts. About how he feared himself. About how the darkness of his room terrified him, the way he could go months with his mask on, about how he was never enough. Keith didn’t intervene that time.
It was March. Lance has been drawing back. Only Keith has noticed.
He was at Lance’s house. How did that happen? The family minivan wasn’t there; the McClain family had gone on a vacation to their grandparent’s house. Lance had college, so he didn’t go. Besides, he had said, I don’t particularly like my grandparents. Keith knocked on the door. Loudly. Keith checked his phone. 3:27 AM. Lance was hopefully asleep. But the bags that have been under his eyes for the past week said otherwise.
“Lance, come on, open up.” Keith would never admit how scared he was. “Lance, if you don’t open this door, I’ll open it and hunt you down.” Thirty seconds passed. Forty-five. A minute. “Fine. I’m coming in.” Keith opened the door and walked into the empty house.
“Lance?” He called, walking through the halls of the house. “Come on, Lance, I’m taking you to McDonald’s.”
No answer.
“Lance?” Fear crept into Keith’s voice. “Come on, I don’t want to breach your privacy like this.” He continued to walk around the house, checking everywhere.
Keith stopped at a closed door. The light was on. He knocked. “Lance? You in there?”
One second. Two. Four. Twelve.
“Lance?” No answer. Keith sighed. “Fine. I’m going to open the door now.” Keith slowly opened it, tentatively looking in.
Lance was on the floor, not moving. Some pill bottles were spilled around him. His forearms were a mess from new and old wounds. Blood was pooled on the brown bathroom tiles. A bloodied kitchen knife lay next to him.
“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.” Keith mumbled. “Lance, co- come on.” His breath hitched. He carefully picked his way through the mess. “You- you idiot.” He reached out to feel his pulse.
There was a weak fluttering beat. Momentary relief flew through Keith. He had to get him to a hospital. But in this city, would it just be faster to call an uber or an ambulance? Or just drive himself? Keith didn’t know. He had to stanch the bleeding. He looked around the small bathroom. He found two towels.
Lance’s arms looked worse when they were cleaned up. Long, deep cuts ran from wrist to elbow. He had lost so much blood. Keith taped the towels around his arms. He picked him up bridal style. Jesus, he was so pale. His usual tan skin was pale and clammy and cold. Keith carefully made his way to his red Honda Civic. Carefully buckling lance into the front seat, Keith took off, going as fast as legally possible.
The hospital’s lights glared down at him. He picked up Lance after unbuckling him. He walked as fast as he could. The secretary glance up when the doors opened, then did a double take. She called for a doctor to come and take him back. Keith sat in the waiting room. He pulled out his phone.
Keith Kogane: I have some bad news
Keith Kogane: Lance is in the hospital.
Keith Kogane: he cut himself up and took a bunch of pills
Keith Kogane: i rushed him to the er but he was really pale and cold
Keith Kogane: I don’t know what to do know besides just sit here
Shiro: Do you want me to come down?
Keith Kogane: if you want to
Shiro: I’ll be down in a bit
Keith Kogane: ok
Hunk Garrett: oh no! do you know if he’s going to be okay?
Keith Kogane: No they haven’t told me anything yet. I assume they’re going to flush his stomach, clean his cuts, and tr to get more blood into him.
Hunk Garrett: im coming down give me a sec
Pidge Holt: wait whats happening
Pidge Holt: oh fuck ok im coming down
Shiro: you cant drive
Pidge Holt: yeah I live close to the hospital be right there
END PART TWO
TO BE CONTINUED
#long#langst#lance mcclain#klance#part two#part 2#langst family notice me#notice me senpai#l a n g s t#seriously#not gonna lie#im super proud of this
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So,
I hadn't slept for three days.
Early Saturday morning I'd done a line of blow with Natalya after my shift at Tony's, and I'd hurtled through the rest of the weekend without a proper crash. I smoked joint after joint to try and calm down, returning repeatedly to sheets slimed by my weird sweats, and grappled with the darkness of my subconscious until I felt like I was going to scream at strangers. Now here I was at the Kootenay Lake Hospital on Monday evening, nodding my head to a nonexistent beat and looking for some relief. I knew my friend Lyra was working as a nurse on this unit, and I trusted her. She was one of my favourite people in Nelson.
“Can’t keep my hands to myself, think I’ll dust ‘em off off, put ‘em back on the shelf. In case my little baby girl is in need,” I whispered under my breath, the lyrics to “Feel It Still” by Portugal the Man.
“Am I coming out of left field?”
I had originally connected with Lyra through Brendan's son Dylan, who was the same age as her daughter Syren. The two of them pretended to hate one another because they couldn't admit they were in love, living as they were in the world of elementary school cooties. Syren was incredible with Tasha, though, inviting her to pool parties, giving her clothes she'd grown out of and acting as an honourary big sister. She was a very legit kid.
It was around this time that Lyra, Brendan, Maya’s mother Steph and I started coming together as the Breakfast Club. I was the crazy one, like Animal the drummer from the Muppets, while they were a trifecta of lead singers: the dread-locked hippie, the punk rock kid and the charismatic uber-dude. That was a lot of personality at one table. If we were voting, I always voted for Vienna Cafe. It sold a strange Austrian pasta I loved, plus it was in a bookstore.
"So you're not sleeping," Lyra said, swinging into my room wearing pitch black scrubs. They matched her eyeliner, and her Bambi-sized lashes. "Let me guess: you took something you shouldn't have?"
Lyra unleashed a smile on me. She was a veteran of the medical team at Shambhala, and impossible to scandalize, but that meant she couldn't be lied to either. I answered all her questions as she scribbled on a clipboard.
"Part of it is I'm going really dark places in my head. I've been feeling like I need to see some sort of therapist for a while now, just to talk about some of the stuff that's been coming up at work. It’s like I have PTSD."
She grimaced. "What kind of stuff?"
"I dunno, there's all these suicides, you know? And the overdose crisis. It just seems like everyone's playing along like nothing's wrong while people are getting plucked out of the population at random."
Lyra nodded. She knew better than anyone the number of bodies that were churning through her work-place. She'd told me a story about how two Slocan Valley hicks showed up at the ER with a dead teenage girl wrapped in a carpet, banging around in the back of their pick-up, because they were worried about the authorities snooping around their home. It was Christmas.
"Then Natalya's been telling me about this pedophile ring that's preying on young girls, like getting them hooked on drugs and coaxing them into prostitution. It makes me want to kill somebody."
She snorted. "Somebody needs to teach them some manners. It's gross. But this isn't your job to deal with, right?"
"Everyone keeps saying that. But who's job is it? Right? Like who's actually doing something about it?"
Lyra scribbled something down, like she'd just figured something out, then stood up and crossed the room. She was Kiera Knightly, but more bad-ass. She was around Brendan's age, in her 40s, and strikingly beautiful even though she was dressed down. Ever since the first time she showed up in our living room with all her Italian hyper-eloquence and disarming sarcasm, I'd nursed a baby crush on her. She was strong, intelligent, and used to being admired. In a past life she'd used her looks as a currency, and I sensed the only reason she wasn't still sultry-strutting on some stage was she'd transitioned into Mom mode.
Part of being manic was being horny, and I couldn't help but do a thorough visual inventory of all her best qualities while I waited for her to speak. She was like sexual wasabi.
"The thing you have to remember, Will, is people love living here. Nelson is a beautiful place to raise kids. Because of your job you get to see some alarming stuff up-close, but that doesn't define us. You have to find a way to balance the good with the bad. Does that make sense?"
“When you say it, yeah.”
It was hard to tell if Lyra looked at me like a kid, since I was only a decade older than her son, or as a man. Either way, she was currently married to a friendly dude who kind of reminded me of Fozzy the Bear. Lately I'd been thrashing through Tinder world with abandon, crossing off Bucket List items like having sex in the caves of Ainsworth. I was trying to draw a line at adultery, even though I'd already crossed that one with Natalya. So many couples in the Kootenays were on a temporary break, or willfully polyamorous, or just amoral. I'd found a way to fit right into that grey space.
When in Rome.
“Ooo woo, I’m a rebel just for kicks now. I been feeling it since 1996 now,” Brendan sang in my brainspace, high-pitched like Freddy Mercury.
“Might be over now, but I feel it still.”
Lyra smiled like she understood the joke I was telling.
"I'm going to talk to the doctor, and chances are we'll give you a zopiclone or something like that to help you sleep. And you need to start watching what you're putting in your body, okay? There's only so long you can burn the candle at both ends. We don't want to see you back here."
I stood up, feeling relieved. “I just need something to help me sleep, that’s all. I’m a rebel just for kicks now.”
“What did you say?”
I shrugged. “It’s a song lyric. Portugal the Man.”
"Right. I love the song.”
I stood up and rolled my neck around a few times to knead the tension in my shoulders. I had so much power, like way more power than I even understood. I was so fucking lucky to be me.
“You know, I don’t want you to be worried because I’ve got this handled. I’m going to get myself sorted out here.”
She looked up from the prescription she was writing, and gave me a weak smile. I felt like I’d overstayed my welcome, like it was a stupid move to come to the hospital in the first place. What was wrong with me?
“I don’t doubt it. Be nice to yourself, okay?”
The Kootenay Goon
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Life Lately
Last Friday night, while I was on an Uber pool ride on the way home, odd but not entirely surprising feelings of pain and self-awareness flooded through me. I wanted to talk about it, tap the girl in the white party dress next to me on her shoulder, and ask if I could possibly be held accountable of ruining whatever fun she had that night with my tears. I wanted to suddenly blurt out, “Does it always feel like this? Like you’re being sawed in half, but your hands can’t find whoever it is who’s doing the sawing to make it stop?” just so the Uber driver could pull over, windshield a blur of raindrops, and tell me, “You’ll get over it one day.”
None of that happened, of course. In reality all I could ever do was close my eyes, breathe evenly, tell my friend through Facebook messages that the possibility of me crying when I get home is so strong I almost wish I never make it. So, he tells me to take care, I’ll be okay. Like it’s something so easy, so predetermined, not even the rain could predict otherwise. I tell him a stupid joke, as always, just to create the illusion I’m still the same old silly girl he met and not this stubborn, hollow girl he would have never bothered to be friends with. We stop talking for a few days after that night, because nobody wants a liability, right? I arrive at home, voice still coarse from all the coughing, and call my best friend with sobs no one wants to hear. I tell her how I feel like I died a little that night, how I’m already sitting on my bed and still feeling lost; that maybe I am physically present but my soul has been off ever since 2 months ago. That I am stupid, utterly in love, and I can’t find right buttons to push to turn it all off. It’s taking a lot from me without asking if I’m okay with it, and the truth is, I’m not.
Maybe it was in the way my counselor asked, “Do you want to get better?” and I had to think twice. Getting better meant letting go. I wasn’t sure I was capable of doing it, despite knowing I want to, need to. Maybe it was the sad look my friends give me as they held onto my shoulders to make sure I won’t fall apart in war; the same one I keep getting myself into. Winning was the only way out, and it was only then I figured that the enemy remains just as they are no matter how much you try to change them with love. Maybe it was the hope that resurrected from the dead only to be buried 6 ft. underground 2 days in, right before my eyes. Maybe it was the time I spent crying in the bathroom, alcohol still messing with my head, telling myself things will be better in the morning when they didn’t. Maybe it was knowing that when the buzzer sounds, my night was over, and it was probably the last time I will ever see you in all your glory. Still, I waited for you to look my way, mouth the words, “Wait for me,” like you always do; like I’m always the first person you look for in the crowd, and your heart skips a beat when I arrive, finally. I waited for you to turn around again and smile before disappearing into the door. Our little silent communication. You didn’t. I should have known by then that all my waiting was for naught.
I read this amazing piece last night, right when I couldn’t sleep. It was a beautiful story, and the last lines broke my heart only to revive it again. It read, “You met a person who awoke something in you. A fire ignited. The work is to be grateful. Grateful every day that someone crossed your path and left a mark on you.”
With that, I start to look back into every detail of the story. The first day, the middle, the last day. 22 months of knowing no other way and person to love. How I was so innocent when we met, and now I see the world differently ever since he came and left. Tried to remember the facial features I came to love, the beauty marks on him I could pinpoint even with my eyes closed. The sound of our laughter, the looks we gave each other. There were so many; from love to lust to hatred to fear to sadness to “Goddamn, you’re beautiful. If I could marry you tonight I would.” Tried to recall how easily he carried me in his arms or on his back, how people looked at us and thought we could give each other the moon and the stars just by the way we loved. All the movies I’ll never look at the same way again. The addicting rush it gave me whenever he came back, like no other girl could ever compare to the magic I gave off. The secrets we kept, the places we’ve been to for the first time, and the comfort of knowing we had each other. Believing nothing and no one could ever come between. The way I always hugged him when I see him, how my arms feel foreign now, even to me. How beautiful I saw it, him, us. How I still make excuses for his actions, knowing I understood him better than anyone else. How badly I tried so hard to keep everything in place even after, like trying to paint over the cracks on the wall during an aftershock. The hurt; too much of it to even be called just that. Everything that was hindering the self-growth I’ve been trying so hard to achieve. Decided that everything ends when it shouldn’t. I am the only person left in the dark theater, the credits stopped rolling hours ago, the popcorn has gone stale, the ticket an admit one, and the lights urging me to go. Show’s over. Pick up my coat, wipe my tear-stained cheeks, and walk home.
To learn how to breathe again; count to ten as I slowly remove my grip, finger by finger, and then finally--just let go.
I am free.
So maybe 2017 is still my year, like I’ve always said. Not in the way I wanted it to be, but it could be better. Today I am putting myself first, and before I could, I want to clear out the residue of hurt, anger, and sadness. To replace it with gratitude, that love has come and gone my way and taught me the good and the bad and the ugly. How it endures even earthly shortcomings, that loving too much is not a weakness. It’s strength, it’s real. Just like how things should be.
Thank you for stopping by. I am sorry we couldn’t bring it back from the dead.
You are free.
Always,
Marielle
#daily life blog posts#life lately#life update#mariellewritesalot#july 2017#daily musings#letting go
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MIKE - Black Soap (2018)
Here’s a fascinating rap record out of the NYC scene. Released at the same time as the ebulliently bilious DAYTONA, 19 year-old MIKE’s Black Soap is another 7-tracker that seems to function, similarly, as a concise aesthetic statement. Differently, though, because where DAYTONA is boiled down snare cracks, soul snaps, and coke raps, Black Soap is something entirely more lax and airy. Pusha has his hands on the bars, shaking them. MIKE sounds like he’s floating somewhere above the city.
The oneiric nature of the production is the primary attraction here. MIKE’s rapping is fine, apt even, but perhaps a bit anonymous. Which sort of works with what’s happening on the record, as his gruff, simplistic flows contrast and ground the music’s lo-fi Dilla dreams. There’s some MF Doom and Madlib in this, too, but when it’s all put together with MIKE’s vocal style and his sensibilities towards uber-minimal percussion and off-beat samples, it really does sound like something of itself, an accomplishment in contemporary rap.
“Ipari” is a fascinating introduction, a women speaking an African dialect for a solid couple minutes amidst tape hiss before the track becomes a minute (both in time and stature) banger, MIKE’s rap puffed up over a big keyboard phrase that sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a pool. Next up, “Like Mask” rides a piano loop and suppressed static belches, MIKE mumbling over it glass-eyed. There are clear track demarcations but still you feel as if the whole is an impressionistic blur, MIKE commenting almost wearily on his life while the music comments with expressive hues that mingle and bleed like watercolor.
That juxtaposition continues to pay dividends over the album’s swift course, be it the funk fugue coda that closes “Ministry,” the woozy chitter “Of Home,” the way “Time Ain’t Enough” inverts “Ipari” into another humble banger, or how the inscrutably titled “God Save the Queen” modulates a loop that reminds of Tinashe’s “Pretend” and then further re-purposes it until we’re focused on just MIKE’s slurred rap and synth raindrops falling off the rooftops. “Comfort a Joke” closes the record with warmth, MIKE mildly jubilant over horn stabs, snipped guitar licks, and hi-hat exhales. Through it all you’re grabbed by the way the music here both engages and confounds, inviting you in as it challenges you. It’s over soon and its form might be slight, but Black Soap brings something valuable with it: new vision.
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Waiting on God
I am not always a very patient person.
I was joking about this with my mom on the phone last night and she said “well your dad isn’t very patient and your nana wasn’t very patient so I guess you were always doomed, weren’t you?”
Ironically, on our first date, my now husband, Jeremy, took me to play pool after we went to Happy Hour. I was excited because I already liked him and I knew that I made it to “phase two” of the date, which was a good sign. I have never been good at pool, but somehow he made me feel comfortable and while I usually don’t enjoy doing things I’m not good at in public, I didn’t mind. We ended up having a great time, and surprisingly, Jeremy wasn’t beating me by a long shot. I took this to mean that he must be playing down for me, and I thought he was very patient while helping me with my shots. He later laughed about this in his speech at our wedding, because as it turns out, he is not that great at pool either, and is just as impatient as I am.
We say “patience is a virtue”, but how many of us actually embody patience? Our society and our culture has become so “on demand” that we often lack the resolve to be patient. After all, why do we need to be?
Why wait for the bus when we can take an Uber? Why cook an elaborate dinner when we can microwave a meal? Why buy something from a mom and pop store when we can get it quicker from Amazon?
I heard a story recently of someone trying to ship a birthday package, who ended up in a long snafu with USPS because the gift was from South Africa. When she was in line trying to check if it had arrived at her local post office, someone let her go ahead of them. She asked “are you sure?” and they replied “yes it’s fine, I like waiting in lines.”
How many of us like waiting in lines?
Sometimes, we are in such a hurry to get from A to B, or to accomplish A or B, that we miss what’s happening in the middle. We miss the cute little girl on the bus holding her stuffed animal that reminds us of how we want to be a parent. We miss the smell of the seasoning on the stove and chatting with our husband as we make a meal that brings us together and nourishes our bodies and our souls. We miss the intricate details of a thoughtful gift meant to show love, just to check something else off the list.
In this season of Advent, in our impatience, we often forget we aren’t just waiting for Christmas, we are waiting for Christ. Advent is perfectly timed and perfectly planned. Connected to winter and to the end of the year, it reminds us that spring and the year ahead are coming. As the leaves fall and the plants die, we also die to ourselves. We are left barren, cold, waiting for New Life. It is in this season that the cold can almost feel like a freeze. It can be tempting to think that this will last forever.
This has many parallels in my personal and my family life, as I wait to hear back about a new job, my husband waits for a job to be posted, my sister-in-law waits for healing from a long term illness, my brother-in-law waits for news on career, grad school, and where to live, my husband and I wait for him to move back to Seattle, and my whole family waits for acceptance of my nana’s passing last month.
Sometimes it’s almost easy to think that we are all in line for God. One of the worst lines is the DMV. It’s almost easy to picture angels at stations 1 through 18. Take a number and file in on the plastic chairs. Wait in the queue.
But that’s not how God works. Romans 8:28 reminds us “We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” The Message translates it as “ Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.”
I love the metaphor of a pregnant condition, especially in this time of Advent and in my decision with Jeremy to start trying for a child a year from now. In this pregnant condition, God has placed New Life in us. It is this New Life that he created from dust, that he nurtured in the depths of our being. As I wait for things in my life, I realize how trivial they are compared to Mary waiting to give birth to our Savior and am humbled at the story of her immaculate conception.
Mary and Joseph were faithful and trusted in God, and they also took actions to follow God’s plan. They submitted to God, they sacrificed their own desires, they journeyed to Bethlehem, and then they fled to Egypt to escape King Herod before moving back to Israel after Herod’s death. All of these instructions were given to Joseph by angels. This may be frustrating, because many of us want such clear instructions. However, not all of us have the opportunity to audibly hear God. Sometimes we are not sure what steps to take, but God makes them clear in time, and often through the smallest nudges or feelings in our heart. We are all on our own journey to Bethlehem. God is working in us and through us to bring about His will and do His Kingdom work.
If you are waiting this season, take heart. Rest in John 16:33: "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
Jesus has already overcome your struggle. God has a plan for you, whether you choose to see it or not. But it’s likely that God has already given you instructions. Don’t take that job. Find a counselor. Write thankful notes to those that have impacted your life. Reach out to two people for internal references for a job. Wait to follow up until Monday. Feeling impatient? Write a meditation on patience. Text your sister-in-law. Prioritize your health. Take the time you need to be at home. Stop trying to do everything at once.
These are things that I hear from God, nudges that I feel in my heart. Does that mean I have all the answers? No. Am I still waiting? Yes. Am I still unsure? Yes. Am I being faithful? Yes. Am I being patient? I’m trying.
I felt called, as an impatient person in an impatient world, to write a few suggestions for ways to be patient, or ways to wait out your impatience, if you would prefer to look at it that way:
1. Start a Gratitude Journal. Write 5 things every day that you are grateful for. In this way, even if you are waiting for something, you will be able to see all the gifts that God has already given you.
2. Find something that brings you joy, and pursue it with all your heart. Whether that’s yoga, running, writing, being creative, reading, going for walks, whatever it is, make sure you incorporate it. Often when we are waiting we think we have to do something to try and make the outcome happen - and while sometimes we do - if we take time to do something unrelated that gets us out of our head, we can often forget what we are so “busy” waiting for.
3. Meditate. Even if it doesn’t work. I say that because sometimes I literally cannot sit still. I try to think of snow - a clean, white slate. But often meditating and the need to surrender stirs up even more emotion in my heart. That is actually a good thing, because that is when I am able to acknowledge my feelings and if I have a breakdown, it is a comfortable space where I can surrender my deepest longings and my biggest prayers to God.
There are probably more, but since this is a list for impatient people, I will keep it short. I hope this list brings you hope this Advent season, and I hope you take the time to savor the period in which you are waiting for Christ. Soak in the mystery of the Birth and the Nativity Story, just as you soak in the gifts that God has already given to you. It is okay if those gifts are small or if they may be hard to recognize at first. It is not the size of the gifts that matters but the Lord’s love for you and his desire to use everything according to His purpose.
God Bless You.
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