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infictionalwonderland · 1 year

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pairing: jj x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol & drugs, drunk reader, drunk jj, drunk everyone, sum floof, lots of suggestive content.. 😁, groping, PDA, CHAOSSs

Its was John B’s birthday.

Amazing, right? That’s what JJ Maybank had thought anyway—he’d been planning the birthday party of his best friend, with the help of his girlfriend, for a few days now and today was finally the day where everything came together. All the Pogues had done up the Chateau—cheap silver Christmas tinsel hung loosely from the wooden ceilings, wrapped (messily or otherwise) presents stacked in pyramid form on the coffee table. Blue, silver and purple balloons were scattered around, a tacky blue ‘happy birthday’ banner slapped against one of the walls. And alcohol, upon alcohol upon alcohol was lined up neatly in the small open plan kitchen.

The party had long since started up—the birthday boy himself having arrived about an hour and half ago with a giddy Sarah in tow (she had the initial task of keeping him distracted) and with a brief emotional moment for John, sop, the party had begun.

Chaos.

You’d all migrated outdoors now—taking some things from inside with you on your way; Pope had climbed up the tree, all on his own (you had a proud mom moment) and with the ukulele he’d nicked from Kie, he was playing shitty tunes while randomly shouting at the air.

John B lay in his hammock, a shitfaced grin at his lips and a purple cowboy hat hanging from his head, a day of the dead dead design etched onto his face with Sarah’s eyeliner. A bottle of half done Vodka encased in one of his hands. JJ was sat down on the long grass, back against the tree, he was wearing the Christmas tinsel from indoors around his neck and had tied another in a bow around his waist—he’d taken to crafting (or attempting to craft) little grass rings and bracelets from the grass he plucked off the ground and two beers rested in between his parted legs, the front of his lengthy blonde hair tugged into a tiny ponytail with a clear rubber band.

You girls, on the other hand, were all dancing your drunken hearts away—Rude boy by Rihanna was currently blaring from the speaker Kie had smartly brought with her and the free of you were living your absolute best life’s.

“I like the way you touch me there—“

All three of you sang out loudly, and Kiara grinned suddenly with beautiful mischief before she put soft hands to your bare waist and tugged you back fully against her body, hands caressing you up and down to empathise the point of the song—you giggled along with her actions, throwing your head back into her shoulder with feigned euphoria and gliding her hands across you body as you grinded back on her.

“I like the way you pull my hair—“

Sarah didn’t seem to plan on missing out of the fun, eagerly strutting you both and sliding in behind Kiara, leaving said girl sandwiched between you two. You were all giggling and to do as the song said—Kie parted you hair into quick pigtails before tugging on them jokingly: you titled you head back to look at her with a dopey grin, pressing back on her and sensually swaying your hips.

“Babe, if I don't feel it I ain't faking, no, no I like when you tell me kiss you here—“

Simultaneously, with the sung lyrics, you and Sarah turned your heads to face Kie and smacked loud kisses to her soft skin, leaving lip stains on both of her cheeks—you caught the blondes eyes over her shoulder as she bit onto her bottom lip with a mockingly lustful expression which made you cackle.

“I like when you tell me, ‘move it there’—“

With the lyrics, you turned yourself around so you were chest to chest with Kiara and you slid yourself down her body, moving your hips sensually to the music and running your hands down her body as she leant her head back on Sarah, grinding against the blonde while messing with your hair.

“So giddy up, time to giddy up You say you're a rude boy—“

As you shimmied back up gracefully, you winked at your best friend and toyed with a pretty curl for turning so your back was against her again—the three of you drunkenly singing along to the song.

When you all finally stopped dancing shortly after that, out of breath as you all laughed over seemingly nothing, your eyes finally landed back on the three boys—finding them all staring at you three already. John B was half hidden by the hammock, looking ready to hide his gaze at anytime, Pope was gaping with an evidently loose grip on the instrument in hand and your boyfriend simply stared at you, enamoured.

“I think we broke them.” Sarah loudly whispered.

The three of you launched into laughter but Kiara’s laughing paused as she took note of Pope’s grip on her ukulele.

“Pope you break that damn ukulele, I swear.” Kie immediately exclaimed with intoxicated obnoxiousness as she took into a weak sprint towards the tree, startling the boy so bad he did drop the ukulele and Kiara exclaimed in pure terror, barely managing to catch it in time.

“My baby.” She whispered, terrified, as she cradled her instrument.

You and Sarah happily entangled hands, skipping around in a circle briefly with soft giggles before towards your boyfriends, hands swinging back and forth as she muttered something about capybaras you didn’t catch.

“Hi.” JJ whispered, looking up at you like you were some goddess.

“Hi my beautiful boy.” You popped your lips together—lipgloss smacking sensually, drunk off your fucking tits, you were.

The glazed shine of love in his eyes immediately doubled, a sheepish heat to his sun kissed as yiu plopped yourself down next to him happily on the grass.

“Hey.” He whispered, again, dumbly.

You grinned at him in return, looking every bit of angel that he thought you were and as he continued to watch you with sprinkles of nothing but deviation in clear blue eyes, you positioned yourself away from the tree to lie down in the soft, green grass.

JJ allowed a drunken gasp to slip from his lips at your beauty in that moment—skin glowing magically under the shining moonlight, eyes crinkled in the corners from your wide toothed grin, hair like a makeshift halo amongst the long grass, shirt riding up slightly and revealing even more of your heavenly soft skin.

He didn’t waste a second, moving the beer away from him (save the alcohol, always) before literally leaping on top of you. Legs either side of your body, arms either side of your head and shark tooth necklace dangling just above your perfect face.

“M’ pretty girl.” JJ breathed out, smearing kisses all over your cheeks, forehead, nose and you erupted into little giggles of infectious laughter underneath him. “The prettiest girl. ‘Love you so much, baby. Never gonna stop, promise. Ever.”

“Woah.” You gasped, intoxicated and giddy. “You like my dancing that much?”

JJ pouted, a disappointed grumbled moving from his frowning lips and he pinched the plush skin of your thigh gently—soothing it over immediately as you yelped out.

“Relax, Jesus, people these days.” You pouted. “I love you—J, never gon’ stop either. You’re mine now, no backing out.”

“I would never.” He frowned sternly.

You gazed up at him wordlessly, love glinting in your colourful irises and he practically melted from his place above you, smushing himself so close to you his shark tooth necklace fell softly in your cleavage—a feeling that made you giggle.

When JJ caught your wandering gaze saunter over to his beer, he grinned knowingly. The blonde took his bottle of beer with a fond sigh and you smiled up at him innocently—rolling his eyes, he pulled down your bottom lip expectantly and you made an obedient ‘o’ shape which had him humming in approval before he put his beer to your lips, soothing his hands through your hair as you drunk.

“Alcoholic.” He named, narrowing his eyes teasingly as he moved the drink away from you again.

“Pothead.”

The both of you giggled, heads cloudy and lost in thoughts of only each other as the night air cooled sun kissed skin and sounds of Work Out by J.Cole played absently in the background.

“It’s my birthday!” John B suddenly jolted up from his place in the hammock and shouted out.

“Go shawty it’s your birthday—“

“We gon’ party like it’s your birthday—“

“We gon’ sip Bacardi like it’s your birthday—“

“And you know we don’t give a fuck it’s not your birthday!”

“It is my birthday though.” You barely heard John B softly mutter as JJ suddenly captured your lips with his own in a searing kiss, his hands wrapped around your thighs and dug into the meaty flesh, the kiss tasted of beer, weed and your strawberry lipgloss and it was beyond perfect. You hummed into it, fingers tangling into her blond floppy hair, quietly whining in disappointment as he pulled away—your bottom lip between his teeth before he let go.

He squeezed onto your thighs again, moving to slot one of his legs in between them—the cold of his rings made you gasp slightly, a sound that had him grinning.

“You know. .when it’s your birthday, imma throw you your own little party,” JJ whispered it like a scared secret, his scent, eager yet loving touches and rough voice swallowing you whole. “But—but it’s not gonna be a shitty little bash, nah, baby, it’s gonna be all you could want. Birthday of your dreams, for you, my dream girl.”

“Dream girl, huh?”

“Dreamiest.” He hummed drunkenly, peppering sloppy kisses to your cheek before digging his face in the crook of your neck and softly inhaling your scent. “Got an early present for you, dream girl.”

You giggled softly, full of drunk aloofness, as he learned over you and his hair (scented with your coconut shampoo) fell partly into your face.

“Here.” The beautiful face of your boyfriend was once again inches apart from your own and you smiled in content. At your grin, his own appeared and suddenly small grass rings were being thrusted into your face—they were done kinda tackily, small specks of white flowers from the warm green grass poking through uneven strands carefully wrapped together without any true skill. To you they were perfection, and what made them even more perfect was your boyfriends grinning face, sun kissed skin slightly flushed.

“For me?”

As you attempted to reach for one, he caught your wrist softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your palm—humming at the smell of you and the softness to your skin. He carefully put one of the rings (the one with the most flowers) onto your ring finger, shyly peeking up at you for your reaction but you were beaming so heard small dimples erupted and he quickly continued on, now grinning himself.

“I—I know it’s not like, the best, but eventually imma get a pretty, dream ring for my prettiest, dreamiest girl.”

“J.” You called, softly, and he looked up through his lashes, heart pumping aggressively in his chest. “Love you, so much.”

A grin spread across his cheeks in an instant as he leaned down to connect your lips, feeling the slightly itchy feel of the grass ring brushing against his skin as your fingers combed from his hair, his smile stretched wider. His dream girl was truly the dream.

#jj maybank #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #jj x reader #outerbanks smut #outerbanks #obx #outerbanks imagine #outerbanks x reader #jj x you #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n

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doggybeeb · 2 years

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Living With Karen - Blog #1: Jaifei Scammed Me

The Backstory

Tick tock.

Oh, you, incessant little gear. Quiet down! Her hand whipped the ceramic red ladybug alarm clock onto the floor, resulting in a large CRASH! She thought she was in the midst of a much-needed moment of silence until she heard her child Bræydon, wail and scream just as he did whenever she would order him her favorite "Heath Mint Pistachio" ice cream. Karen knew that peppermint oil was going to add shine and definition to her son's growing teeth. She thought he needed to indulge in it so that no one in his class could even attempt to consider that he could be associated with Heather Smith; a pink elastic rubber band and braces-wearing redhead who always stood out to Karen whenever she would drop her son off at school. Karen did not like Heather for a few reasons: 1) Heather's hairstyle was not on par with the Christian Bible, especially with the violet-dyed strands in her hair. 2) Heather loved to chew gum and talk back to the teacher. There was no way that Karen would ever let Bræydon be friends with such an unsophisticated excuse of a schoolgirl.

The sound of her child's wail growing ever so loudly brought her back from her thoughts. Her eyes shot straight to dented alarm clock as its hands read her the time: 4:05 PM. She opened her phone and realized she had spent all morning on TikTok. Speaking of TikTok, she then remembered that she was expecting a delivery of exciting gadgets that would make her life easier to manage. She first encountered these gadgets, merely a week ago, after she viewed a TikTok of a woman attempting multiple times to grab her boyfriend's umbrella so that she could be shielded by the wisp bullets of rain. The woman decides that she has had enough of her boyfriend's antics so she pushes him into the grass and pulls out a purple umbrella hat. Karen had never seen anything like that before in her life. Being mesmerized by the woman's umbrella hat, Karen started to have vivid dreams about meeting the inventor of such a stylish and tactile product. That's when she noticed and clicked on one of the only tagged hashtags in the video's caption: #jiafeiproducts.

After viewing a few dozen videos, Karen found an eCommerce website link to Wish.com, which had these inventive gadgets for sale. She saw that all these gadgets were posted under the same username, @JaifeiProducts. By clicking on the username, Karen then saw the profile and inventor of the gadgets that she was enamored with, that being Jiafei, Owner of JiafeiProducts LLC. Right then and there, Karen knew that this was the perfect opportunity to start her new niche mom blog, Living with Karen, in which she talks about her perilous adventures in parenting a 7-year-old boy in an ever-growing society. Karen felt good about the impact that this could have on her blog. Maybe this will be my big shot? Maybe I'll become famous?! Her blushed cheeks widened with glee at the mere thought of reaching mega-stardom.

Ding dong!

That must be my delivery! Here is my chance at fame! Karen shook her head to regain focus on this very pivotal moment in her life. With a fluttering sigh and optimistic grimace, Karen reached for her cheetah print spectacles, which sat neatly on her mahogany desk workstation, and fixed them onto her face. She parted her pin-straight fried hair to her left, emphasizing her iconic and signature look, Karen's swoop. She was ready to seize the day and possibly change her life for the better. Never mind the shrieks and wallows of her incessant silver statue, this was it! This was her chance, right here and right now, finally at last!

She ran towards the front door, swung it open, grabbed the white USPS parcel package, and struck the door shut. Tearing the package apart, she lifted and unveiled the contents within the box: a 350ml clear glass bottle filled to the brim with an invigorating and clarifying essential oil blend of lavender, sage, and peppermint oil; a yellow-colored rubber gripper with a round suction tip that attaches to the handle of a door; a gag-like facial accessory that claims to cancel noise; a cheetah-print umbrella hat; a small grinder for making carrot purée; and lastly, a personalized rubber chew toy with her son's name engraved on it.

She called her son's name to her room to show him what she had bought for him. Bræydon's face looked rugged and pudgy as his eyelids and cheeks stood red and inflamed. He had a puzzled look on his face as if he was trying to decipher and recognize the things his mother had just bought him. "Mama, what is this?" his voice soft and sprightly as the scattered ray of the sun glistened over onto his skin. "Oh sweetie, these are my gifts for you! You see this?" she said in a song-sweet chatter whilst pointing to the essential oil bottle, "This is for you and me! You put this oil on your skin and then you smell it, and your problems go poof!".

About a year ago, Bræydon was having some behavioral issues at school; he had trouble focusing, could never stop moving or fidgeting, was falling behind compared to the other children in his class, was very picky about the clothes he wore, had frequent meltdowns, and was very sensitive to changes in his environment. Karen insisted that he needed more discipline and taught better manners, but the school suggested sending him to see a psychiatrist, or what Karen liked to call, a person that wastes their time and money on an idiotic bullshit degree. To prove that there could be nothing wrong with her son, she complied with the school's suggestion and had Bræydon visit a child psychiatrist. To Karen's dismay, the doctors officially diagnosed Bræydon with autism and ADHD, suggesting that they put him on stimulant medication or those placebo sugar pills. Karen knew that ADHD was overdiagnosed in young children and that autism was most likely a side effect from federal-funded vaccinations or just letting the spirit of the devil into the deep caverns of your mind. Karen knew the doctors wanted her money but she believed wholeheartedly that Bræydon was just fine and normal. Besides, her son's behavioral issues could be easily solved with the smell of essential oils, for instance, the relaxing warm smell of lavender can dull the fussiest of babies to flutter its eye shut without a lullaby necessary. The spiritual properties of sage would help sanctify her son's brain and body by ridding him of any problematic behavior or illness while also deterring the devil from tricking him into a life of deviance. The sharp and cooling aroma of peppermint would cure Bræydon's hyperactivity and frequent public outbursts which Karen found ridiculous and embarrassing, as she felt that her kid was telling everybody how bad of a mother she was. Karen was nowhere near a bad mother, after all, she's the one who gives her son food on the table, a roof over his head, and not to mention all that money she has spent on his private school education, which could easily go to her spray tans or pedicures. She reminded herself of how extremely thoughtful she was and thought about how lucky her son must be to have such a kind and generous mother. She already made it up in her mind that she was not the problem whatsoever; it was more so that Bræydon was an ungrateful, spoiled, and mischievous brat! Karen hoped that the essential oils and the new noise-canceling gag could foster some silence in her household as her son loved to cry about nothing good, especially now that he was in 1st grade.

Another thing that annoyed Karen was that Bræydon had a habit of walking around the house with his eyes glued to his iPad. As much as Karen knew that taking the iPad would solve this issue instantly, she also knew that taking her son's iPad would cause him to freak out and have a temper tantrum. The last time she took his iPad away, Karen and Bræydon were eating pancakes and applesauce. The next thing she knew, her frilly pretty-penny white dress was covered in syrup and goopy sauce. She tried to wash it in the dryer but to no avail, the stains had already set in and her favorite dress was ruined. To counteract any possible outbursts, Karen decided to give Jiafei's products a try. She installed the bright yellow door stopper on the handle of her front door as Bræydon loved to pace around that area. She hoped that this product would prevent Bræydon from receiving any head injuries. She could not fathom the thought of her child becoming mentally deformed.

She knew her son extremely well and was more than willing to cater to his needs, for instance, his favorite food was carrots, especially in a soft purée. Karen used to happily enjoy the long process of making carrot purée for her son: cutting up long carrot roots, steaming them, waiting for the carrots to cool off, putting them in a zip lock bag, and mushing them with a rolling pin. However, as the summer turned into fall, Karen became extremely busy with work and scrolling on TikTok that this long process became a burden by the second week of school. Although when she is in a good mood, Karen will happily make carrot purée for her son on the weekends but mostly every weekday, Bræydon would cry, throwing a temper tantrum about not liking the texture of his carrots. In the desire for continuous moments of silence, Karen would resort to raising her voice at him and ordering him to go into his room to fix his childish and impolite behavior. As time goes on, she finds herself replenishing a cheap bottle of sweet tobacco and oak-flavored Merlot every one or two nights a week. She always woke up before the crack of crescent dawn grouchy, bones aching, breath faint and shallow but she didn't seem to mind as she could get all the sleep she needed when her time came to an end.

Another issue that her son had was the tendency to bite his nails. Karen would feel her stomach churn and thoughts race when she saw the mere glimpse of her son's fingernails. His fingernails usually were brittle and dull, pointy and jagged, and misshaped and unkempt. Karen did not why her son could be so careless about his appearance. Bræydon did not know either. He could not fully understand the reason why he bit his nails excessively, particularly due to his juvenility. He knew for certain that he could not help himself and that nail-biting made him feel less worrisome about the world. He was very happy to see that his mother bought him a toy that he could nibble on freely. He found it cool that it had his name on it, even though the "æ" was separated. Although he did not mind this flaw, he knew he had bigger things to worry about, like making friends with the other school children. Bræydon instinctively bit his nails in front of his mother, even though he was holding his brand-new chew toy in his other hand. He dropped everything on the floor to poke his fingers in his ears after hearing a sharp and harrowing howl from his mother. He could tell he had made a terrible mistake as he saw the horrid look on her face. As a result, she made him walk a typical 10-minute car ride to school alone. By the time he made it to the school, he was late to class by an hour and a half and had to endure mean-spirited comments about his sweaty appearance from his peers. He was going to forget all that happened that day when he would get home as he had planned to pretend to be the faintest of shadows at the start of unbearable gleaming July afternoon, under the covers of his grey comforter. This was until his best friend Heather said that he had smelled like dookie, and not to get close to her that day because he had a bad case of cooties.

At the end of the school day with a head hung low, Bræydon opened the right backseat door to his mother's brand-new crimson 2022 Nissan Altima. He was convinced that he had lost his only friend because he was calming himself down by taking a nibble on his fingernails. "Oh my god! What is that smell?!" Karen shrieked. Bræydon covered his eyes with his hands as he felt all the emotions throughout the day resurface into a wail.

"Why are you crying?! I didn't even say anything!" Karen exclaimed. He felt as if he was going to tell her everything right then and there, but he could not get his mouth to move.

"Do not ignore me! If you do not tell me why you're crying, you'll go to bed without eating!". The sharpness in her tone startled Bræydon. He didn't eat lunch that day, so he knew it was in his best interest to tell his mom the truth.

--------

The Blog

Hi, I'm Karen, and welcome to my first entry on my new mom blog, Living with Karen! I am so thankful to have this platform in which I can share my stories and give advice on parenting. I am a mom to a rambunctious 7-year-old boy named Bræydon. I am currently struggling with my son's recent behavior as he thinks he can talk back to me. He never stops fidgeting, never stops talking, and is highly overdramatic. I just do not understand why he cannot settle down and take some breaths like how mommy does. I am a very hard-working woman and I honestly do not get paid enough for my position at my job, yet you don't hear me complaining, know do you? If I'm being candid, my workplace would not be as successful if it wasn't for me.

Anyways, last year, the doctors told me that my precious son, Bræydon, has ADHD and autism. Frankly, I give psychiatrists very little piece of mind. They think that just because they spent time and money pursuing a stupid career, they can say they know my child and throw whatever label they want onto him. I think they just want my money. My son is perfectly normal and the reason why he is acting up is because of school, especially this girl named Heather. Don't even get me started on Heather, I would be so embarrassed to walk into school with buck teeth, ginger hair, and braces with pink rubber bands, talk about flashy much, especially for a 7-year-old girl. She's going to grow up to be a sluttish whore, just throwing all of herself at any man she can find. How disgusting! Her parents ought to be ashamed of themselves, for letting that concubine walk around and try to seduce my precious son, Bræydon. How dare they!

Anyways, I am getting sidetracked, teehee! I was scrolling onto a TikTok rabbit hole about two weeks ago when I saw this amazing video of an umbrella hat. Yes, you heard right! I honestly was astonished and led to the brink of tears due to this wonderful invention. It boggles my mind how stylish and tactile it is at the same time, how crazy, who would have thought? I noticed there was only one hashtag on the video (#jaifeiproducts). Could this be where this wonderful umbrella hat came from? I thought to myself. I clicked on the hashtag and saw numerous videos about a variety of products. Eventually, through enough digging, I found a link to the official Jaifei Products website. I was so happy that I could give my precious son, Bræydon, these wonderful products! I bought a plentiful number of gizmos and gadgets. An essential oil blend of peppermint, sage, and lavender to cure my son's behavioral issues. A door stopper so my precious son, Bræydon, can wander around the house with his iPad without his head getting bashed into. A noise-canceling gag for my son so that I can sniff my essential oils in peace and quiet. God knows us mothers need some silence here and then. A cheetah print umbrella hat because my son takes up the entire umbrella, which reminds me, I need to put him on a diet. A grinder for making carrot purée, my son's favorite. I swear he is so unbearable if I don't spend an hour or two cutting, steaming, and mashing carrots into a purée. Maybe I won't need to chop the whole carrot into little pieces anymore? Finally, I got my son a personalized rubber chew toy with his name engraved on it because I am such a great and thoughtful mother. Maybe this time he won't bite his nails, it's such a disgusting look and habit!

Not to stir any fire into the pot, but what I am about to say next is taking me a lot of courage and bravery. My blood is boiling as I inform you that Jiafei Products is a total scam! First, my son's behavioral issues did not improve; in fact, he has been more antsy and talkative than ever. He cried at school which is so embarrassing! Jiafei probably did not use organic non-GMO oil because she wants to cut down on costs. It is totally understandable why a small business would do something like this, but when it affects my child, it is inhumane. Secondly, the door stopper did work as intended. My son has not had his head bashed into, thank the Lord! However, I have come home with a wide-open door, infested with flies and mosquitoes. Jiafei should have warned me that these things are a safety risk for front doors! This is proof of her lying when she says that all her products are made for universal use. DO NOT USE THESE ON YOUR FRONT DOORS! Thirdly, the noise-canceling gag was a total sham. Yes, I could not hear my son as well, but the fact is, that I could still hear him talk. Why can I still hear my son if this product is labeled as noise-canceling? It's yet another lie by Jiafei. The carrot grinder was way too small. You still have to cut the entire carrot into tiny pieces. What's the point in having a carrot grinder if it doesn't grind carrots for you? Hard pass for me. Fourth, the cheetah print umbrella hat did not flatter my skin tone whatsoever, and don't even get me started on how flat my hair got! It was tragic.

Finally, Jiafei misspelled my precious son, Bræydon's name. I had his name engraved into the chew toy so that the kids at his school wouldn't get confused and (god forbid) steal my precious son, Bræydon's, product. Turns out, he "accidentally lost" the chew toy I got him! He admitted that he showed it to his whore of a friend Heather, and I bet you every bone in my body that she stole it from my precious son, Bræydon! When I tell you I was appalled, I was appalled! It's all Jaifei's fault because stupid Heather couldn't read Bræydon's name. I am going to write a scathing Yelp review and issue a complaint to the Better Business Bureau. Jiafei is a liar and harms children in this fragile cultural climate. I hope that I live to see the day that Jiafei Products gets a cease-and-desist letter! Anyways, thank you so much for reading, I hope Jaifei can hold herself accountable, delete herself from the Internet, and give me my full refund. Please reblog!

---

The Emails

"You got Mail!"

The robotic voice echoed throughout the desk workstation. She glanced her eyes onto her HP laptop and noticed a red flashing icon on her screen. It appears that Karen has received an email. Karen scurried the pointer mouse onto Microsoft Outlook and opened the email. She felt her pulse lie flat like a venomous cobra, lying in wait for its prey. The sender was Jiafei Products and it read:

---

"Dear Karen,

I am extremely disheartened to hear that you were unsatisfied with my products. The reason why your son's name was misspelled on the personalized chew toy was that I could not figure out to program my engraver to ink 'æ', therefore I had to substitute it with 'ae'. I know this may not be much, but I feel inclined to make this settlement right. I will be giving you 50% off on your next order and free shipping. As a small team, Jaifei Products works long and odd-hour shifts to ensure that our customers are happy and satisfied with their products.

Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you to make this situation right.

My sincerest apologies,

Jaifei

CEO and Founder of Jaifei Products LLC".

----

Karen was outright flabbergasted that Jaifei did not think about giving her a full refund. She took a whiff of her essential oils before responding, feeling the anguish seep over her like a boiling kettle. She composed an email ripping Jaifei a new one whilst demanding she receives full compensation back in a timely manner. After she huffed and puffed for 5 minutes, she got another email from Jiafei.

----

"Dear Karen,

I am afraid that we are unable to process a full refund of $19.67 currently, as we must allocate our funds efficiently. Again, I am extremely disheartened and distraught that you were deeply unsatisfied with my products. I hope this does not cast too much of an inconvenience on your end. Thank you so much for your time and patience, valued customer.

Please have a nice day,

Jaifei

CEO and Founder of Jiafei Products LLC".

---- "You got Mail!"

--- "Dear Karen,

My sincerest apologies,

Jaifei

CEO and Founder of Jaifei Products LLC".

----

"Dear Karen,

Please have a nice day,

Jaifei

CEO and Founder of Jiafei Products LLC".

----

THE EPILOGUE

Tick tock.

She could feel the tears swell up and trickle down beneath her eyes. She knew she had been defeated. She knew that she was never going to see that money back. She knew that she had wasted her time. She tried to make sense of this calamity, but it was in fact a part of her. She had known this sunken feeling all too well. That part of her she most dreaded. That part of her she hated with passion like the devil. Her vices were getting to her.

How was she supposed to love, when she couldn't love herself entirely?

Right then and there, she downed another glass of her favorite Merlot, before collapsing her head into her forearms, which had been secured by her desk workstation. She, now wistful, was pulled out of her thoughts for one last time to the incessant sound of her broken-down ladybug clock. Without a thought in her pretty little mind, Karen whipped the clock in full force with her hands. She broke down into a pathetic sob as the clock had hit the floor, torn into two, and her son wallowed and wailed on cue.

#short story #writeblr #writing karen #jaifei #tiktok #original writing #creative writing #fiction #jaifeiproducts #writing #karen

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barker11wind · 2 years

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Bvlgari Replica Watch

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pleasantlyinsincere · 2 years

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Older, long-ish article about and with quotes from Mal’s diary and manuscript. Maybe gives a small impression of what to expect.

First published in The Sunday Times Magazine, 20 March 2005

By Mark Edmonds

Exclusive: WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM THEIR FRIEND

One man devoted himself to running the daily lives of The Beatles. So why do his diaries, seen here for the first time, strike a sad note?

HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE The Beatles were his life. He was their mate, driver, skivvy - even co-musician. Mal Evan's diaries, seen here for the first time, reveal the everyday secrets of pop's greatest band.

Mal Evans began the 1960's as a Post Office engineer in Liverpool. By the end of the decade, he'd appeared in three out of the five Beatles films and was an occasional musician on their albums. It was Mal playing the organ on Rubber Soul, Mal who sounded the alarm clock in A Day in The Life. On Abbey Road, it was Mal, not Maxwell, who banged the silver hammer.

Part of the Beatles' small but exceptionally protective inner sanctum, Mal was one of just two witnesses at Paul McCartney's first wedding. Among the hundreds of claimants to the threadbare title "fifth Beatle", he was arguably the most deserving. Wherever the Beatles went, Mal would never be far behind.

In the 10 years he spent as their road manager, Mal was blessed with a greater insight than most into the group's spectacular rise, their domination of pop in the middle years, and their painful implosion in a welter of recriminations. Throughout the decade, he kept a series of diaries and wrote an unpublished autobiography; all of this had remained unseen, part of an archive that went missing when Mal himself died in bizarre circumstances in 1976.

For many years, an ever-growing number of Beatles historians have regarded the Mal Evans archive at the Holy Grail. Last year, rumors surfaces that it had turned up in a suitcase in a Sydney street market (not true) and that it contained outtakes of unreleased Beatle songs (ditto).The reality is rather more prosaic: 10 years after Mal's death, Yoko Ono was told about a trunk full of his effects that had been found by a temp clearing out files in the basement of a New York publisher; she arranged for them to be shipped back to his family in London. Among those effects were his diaries, which his widow, Lily, kept for years in an attic at her home.

Together with the photographs on these pages, most of them taken by Mal himself, they amount to a fascinating collection: the unwitting historic recollections of a Forrest Gump of a man, who by sheer good fortune ended up in the right place at the right time.

The story, inevitably, begins in Liverpool. A keen rock'n'roll fan, Mal would while away what he called his "extended lunchtimes" at the Cavern Club before putting in a brief appearance at the Post Office and then heading off to his house in Hillside Road, Mossley Hill.

In 1961 he had married a local girl, Lily, whom he had met at a funfair at New Brighton. Their first child, Gary, was born in the same year. Mal's life was settled, mundane and ordinary; nobody could have predicted that the bizarre twists and turns of his life in the next 15 years would lead to his premature and avoidable death at the hands of the police in California.

At the Cavern, Mal was soon noticed by the Beatles, who had a lunchtime residency at the club. George Harrison felt that Mal, at 6ft 3in, would make an ideal bouncer. He was also of an exceptionally gentle disposition, and Harrison was canny enough to realize that this too would be useful in the years ahead.

In the first few pages of his 1963 Post Office Engineering Union-issue diary, which includes information about Ohm's law and Post Office pay rates, he reflects upon his good fortune. Looking back on the previous year, he writes: "1962 a wonderful year... Could I wish for more beautiful wife, Gary, house, car... guess I was born with a silver canteen of cutlery in my mouth. Wanted a part time job for a long time - now bouncing... Lost tooth in 1962."

With this, Mal sets the tone. We soon find he is more the Pooter than the Pepys. As The Beatles' road manager - and trusted implicitly by all four - he is presented with an "access all areas" ticket to one of the best parties of the century. Yet somehow he never quite realizes it.

The year 1963 is crucial for The Beatles, ergo for Mal. At the start of the year it is becoming clear that working with them, particular on tour, is a more engaging diversion for him than family life in Mossley Hill. The band, now managed by Brian Epstein, are beginning to realize their potential. Mal drives them to London for one of their early BBC appearances (see panel [end of the article]), and later they make the most of the capital.

January 21, 1963: "Lads went shopping. Paul and George bought slacks. George a shirt in Regent St. This was before the Sat Club recording and we lost them for a while. Back to Lower Regent Studios for recording talent spot. Met Patsy Ann Noble, Rog Whittaker, Gary Marshall, a really good show. Also on the bill was a Birkenhead singer. At about 8.15 the boys went to Brian's room in the Mayfair for a Daily Mail interview. I parked the gear and joined them later... We left London at about 10 o'clock, stopping at 'Fortes' on M1 for large dinner - bought by the Beatles - and so homeward bound. Met a lot of fog... suddenly after leaving M1 short time windscreen cracked with a terrible bang. Had to break hole in windscreen to see... Stopped for tea at transport cafe... and arrived home at about five o'clock. I was up at 7.45 but lads laid in till about five that night. Lucky devils. They were on that night at the Cavern as fresh as ever with no after effects. The Beatles certainly have gone up in my estimation. They are all great blokes with a sense of humor and giving one the feeling they are a real team."

For much of the early 1960's, touring became Mal's life. Against the wishes of Lily, left at home with Gary, Mal gave up his job at the Post Office in order to be at the Beatles' beck and call full time, clocking up industrial levels of mileage driving from Liverpool to London. He was also expected to attend to almost every personal whim. John Lennon, who had a predilection for enigmatic silences, would punctuate these with murmured requests such as "socks, Mal" - at which point Mal would scoot off to Marks and Spencer to fetch six pairs in navy cotton.

By the spring of that year, Beatlemania was under way, Mal and Neil Aspinall, another old friend from Liverpool, accompanied the Beatles on all of their tours, making up what was an astonishing pared-down entourage. Aspinall still runs the Beatles' Apple organization.

The Beatle' first European tour began in Paris in January 1964. The ever-loyal Mal was on hand, this time accompanied by Lily and their young son. Mal writes about a "big punch-up" with photographers in Paris. In the manuscript of his unpublished book he recalls that this was "the only fight I got involved in on behalf of the Beatles" - although he was terrified when he and the band were nearly beaten up by Ferdinand Marcos's thugs in Manilla in 1966.

To mark the news in 1964 that the Beatles had reached number 1 in the US for the first time, Mal writes that Epstein threw a party at the hotel. Some journalists then hired prostitutes to provide a lesbian show for the Beatles in the room next to Epstein's. "It was a little unnerving to have these ladies performing before our eyes with each othe in one room, with Brian and more staid members of the press in the adjoining living room. I guess celebrations caters to everybody's different tastes."

With Beatlemania in full swing, Mal seems strangely oblivious: there is no sense in any of the diaries that he is working for the most famous, most successful pop stars of the time. But odd, intimate little moments are recorded:

March 18, 1964: "Had plastic cups in top pocket - milk poured in by George. John says after sarnies, 'Mal, you are my favorite animal.'"

****

After two further exhausting years on the road, the Beatles were ready to give up touring: the whole tiresome process had ceased to be of interest to the group. The Beatles, and Mal, for that matter, were just worn out.

But now there was a larger role for Mal as a studio "fixer": as the music became more complicated, he was dealing with an increasingly outlandish inventory of instruments and equipment, and he sometimes contributed as a musician. More than any other year so far, 1967 presented Mal and the Beatles with undremt-of possibilities: it was the year of satin tunics, Carnaby Street and Sgt. Pepper; the band was its creative, cohesive peak. On a more mundane level, Paul found himself without a housekeeper at his house at St. John's Wood - so Mal moved in with him. Mal writes of this time fondly, but complains of Paul's dog, Martha, fouling the beds.

Within a few months, Mal had moved his family - his second child, Julie, had been born in 1966 - from Liverpool to Sunbury-on-Thames, about equidistant from Paul's house and the homes of the other three in the Surrey stockbroker belt - another indication of how he'd let the band take over his life. Mal was also beginning to enjoy some of the more illicit aspects of the mid-1960s rock'n'roll lifestyle.

January 1, 1967: "Well, diary - hope it will be a great 1967. Have not slept... Friday night's recording session and journey to Liverpool. Late afternoon went over to the McCartney's in Wirral, and had dinner with them. Paul and Jane [Asher, McCartney's then girlfriend] had traveled up for the New Year - also Martha. Fan belt broke."

January 19 and 20, 1967: "Ended up smashed in the Bag O' Nails with Paul and Neil. quite a number of people attached themselves, oh that it would happen to me - freak out time baby for Mal.

"Eventually I spewed but this is because of an omlette I reckon. I was just nowhere, floating around. Slept till 5pm. Flowers arrived for George for his anniversary tomorrow. Made up yesterday with new number I'm counting on it and ringing alarm [he is referring to A Day in The Life, Sgt. Pepper's closing opus]. So George came back to flat for tea tonight, that is before we went home. He was in bedroom reading International Times, I was asleep on bed, very bad mannered. Left for home with Neil driving.. On M6, starter jammed. 10/- to free it. Hertz van still no comfort... I spent some time in the rest room."

Mal's diary describes the recording of the Sgt. Pepper album in some detail, referring to the song "Fixing a Hole" as "where the rain comes in". But there were soon signs that he is beginning to feel a little hard done by.

The rest of 1967 was as busy for Mal as it was for the Beatles: the overblown, complicated Sgt. Pepper was time-consuming. As soon as it was was completed, Mal flew with Paul to LA to see Jane Asher who was touring with the Old Vic company. The three took a trip to the Rockies and returned to LA by private jet. Mal took up the story: "We left Denver in Frank Sinatra's Lear Jet, which he very kindly loaned us. A beautiful job with dark black leather upholstery and, to our delight, a well stocked bar."

When they arrived, they went to Michelle and John Phillip's [of the Mamas and the Papas] house and Brian Wilson [of the Beach Boys] came round. Mal writes of joining in on guitar for a rendition of On Top of Old Smokey with Paul and Wilson. Mal, however, was not impressed by Wilson's avant-guarde tendencies; at the time he was putting together the Smile album. "Brian then put a dampener on the spontaneity of the whole affair by walking in with a tray of water-filled glasses, trying to arrange it into some sort of session." Mal wasn't keen on glass harmonicas - he would have preferred Elvis.

When they returned in April 1967, the Beatles began work on what was to become the ill-fated Magical Mystery Tour project. The band, with Paul taking an increasingly dominant role, was showing signs of stress. Mal wrote "I would get requests from the four of them to do six different things at one time and it was always a case of relying on instinct and experience in awarding priorities. They used to be right sods for the first few days until they realized that everything was going smoothly and they could get into the routine of recording...Then I would find time between numerous cups of tea and salad sandwiches and baked beans on toast to listen to the recording in the control room."

Once they'd completed the recording, Mal, Neil and their families were whisked off to Greece by the Beatles at George Harrison's expense. They spent a month under sunny skies on a wooden yacht in the Aegean. But their return. however, darker clouds were forming on the horizon. Before the summer was out, Epstein was dead after an overdose. Without his guiding hand, the Beatles plunged into the chaotic Magical Mystery Tour project. As ever, Mal was a crucial element, organizing the coach tour that formed the centerpiece of the film, recruiting actors and extras, then flying to Nice with Paul to film the Fool on the Hill sequence.

According to Mal, this trip, as did many, took place on an impulse; without luggage or papers. Paul sailed through immigration with no passport, but they were refused entry to the hotel restaurant because they didn't look the part. They headed off to a nightclub. "We had dinner in my room... The only money we had between us had been spent on clothes, on the understanding that money was to be forwarded from England by the Beatles office. After the first round of drinks... we arranged with the manager for us to get credit."

The next day, Mal and Paul returned to the club. "We took advantage of our credit standing, as money had still not arrived from England. News about Paul's visit to the club the previous night had spread, and the place was jammed. Now Paul, being a generous sort of person, had built up quite a bar bill, when the real manager of the club arrived demanding that we pay immediately. On explaining who Paul was and what happened, he answered, "You either pay the bill, or I call the police!" It certainly looked like we were getting thrown in jail. It was ironical, sitting in a club with a millionaire, unable to pay the bill." Eventually the hotel manager agreed to cover the money.

Paul and Mal returned to London, where Paul was to edit the film. But it was panned by the critics when televised that Christmas.

****

The year 1968 saw the genesis of Apple, the groups tour to Rishikesh in the Himalayas at the invitation of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi - and increasing tensions.

By the time the band arrives in India, Mal is already there, having carried out a recce a few days earlier. Ringo demands a doctor as soon as he gets off the plane. From Mal's memoir from February: "'Mal, my arm is killing me, please take me to a doctor right away.' So off we go looking for one, our driver leaving [sic] us to a dead end in the middle of a field, soon to be filled with press cars as they blindly follow us; so we explain to them that it's only Ringo's innoculation giving him trouble. When we arrived at the hospital, I tried to get immediate treatment for him, to be told curtly by the Indian doctor, 'He is not a special case and will have to wait his turn', so off we go to pay a private doctor ten rupees for the priviledge of hearing him say it will be all right."

The Beatles, accompanied by an entourage that included Mia Farrow, Donovan and the Beach Boy, Mike Love, write half a dozen songs in India, most of which are to end up on the White Album they release later that year. Mal's diary comments favorably on the sense of Karma that seemed to have settled on them. "It is hard to believe that a week has already passed. I suppose the peace of mind and the serenity one achieves through meditation makes the time fly." He even enjoyed the food, unlike Ringo, who famously turned up with a case of baked beans.

But the tranquility does not last, "Suddenly... excitement.. Ringo wants to leave... Maureen can't stand the flies any longer." Mal himself spent a month in India, before returning to London to help the others with the White Album sessions.

Later in the year, Mal travels to New York with George. They go to visit Bob Dylan and the Band, who are rehearsing at Big Pink, the Band's upstate retreat.

November 28, 1968: "Up at 10.30 to Woodstock... To Bob [Dylan] for Thanksgiving. Meet Levon [Helm] of the band, he is drummer, plays great guitar. Around the table after turkey, cranberry sauce, etc... & also Pecan pie. Bob, George, Rich, Happy, Levon... around the guitars while many children play; Sarah [Dylan] great - turkey sandwich and beer. To Richard [Manuel] & Garth's [Hudson] home for farm sessions - home to bed."

At this point, Mal's 1968 diary comes to an end; it has been an action packed year with two hit singles and a sprawling double album - but the Beatles are no longer a cohesive unit.

In the midst of a miserably cold winter, the band and Mal set off for Twickenham studios, where they are to start work on the project that is to become Let It Be, a filmed record of the Beatles at work. Already there is discord, and in front of the cameras they begin to disintegrate; from Mal we also get the first murmurings of real discontent.

January 13, 1969: "Paul is really cutting down on the Apple staff members. I was elevated to office boy [Mal had briefly been made MD of Apple] and I feel very hurt and sad inside - only big boys don't cry. Why I should feel hurt and reason for writing this is ego... I thought I was different from other people in my relationship with the Beatles and being loved by them and treated so nice, I felt like one of the family. Seems I fetch and carry. I find it difficult to live on the £38 I take home each week and would love to be like their other friends who buy fantastic homes and have all the alterations done by them, and are still going to ask for a rise. I always tell myself - look, everybody wants to take from, be satisfied, try to give and you will receive. After all this time I have about £70 to my name, but was content and happy. Loving them as I do, nothing is too much trouble, because I want to serve them.

"Feel a bit better now - EGO?"

The Let it Be film is to feature the Beatles in what is to become their last public performance, on the rooftop of the Apple office in London's Saville Row. Squabbles put to one side, the band, accompanied by Billy Preston on keyboards, are clearly enjoying themselves. Mal is unusually perky too.

January 24, 1969: "Skiffling 'Maggie May'; Beatles really playing together. Atmosphere is lovely in the studio - everyone seems so much happier than of recent times."

January 27: "Today we had the engineer to look at the roof of No.3. 5lbs sq. in is all it will take weight wise. Needs scaffolding to make platform. Getting helicopter for shot of roof. Should get good shot of crowds in street, who knows, police might try to stop us. Asked Alistair [Taylor, Apple office manager] to get toasted sandwich machine."

January 29: "Show on the roof of Apple. Four policemen kept at bay for 40minutes while the show goes on."

With the Beatles in free fall, Mal busies himself with jobs for other Apple artists and fetching and carrying for individual Beatles. Throughout the 1960's he and Paul had an affinity, and in March 1969, Mall was one of just two witnesses at Paul's wedding to Linda Eastman in London. The same day, George Harrison's home is raided for drugs.

March 13: "Big drama, last night about 7:30pm Pattie rang the office from home for George to say '8or 10 policemen including Sergeant Pilcher had arrived with search warrants looking for cannabis'. George went home with Derek and lawyer, and was released on £200 bail each. "

Mal, meanwhile, has financial worries.

April 24: "Had to tell George - 'I'm broke'. Really miserable and down because i'm in the red, and the bills are coming in, poor old Lil suffers as i don't want to get a rise. Not really true don't want to ask for a rise, fellows are having a pretty tough time as it is."

The Beatles record their last album, Abbey Road, in the summer of that year. Mal's diaries note that four alternative titles were mooted before the band settled on a title that celebrated the home of EMI studios. "titles suggested: Four In The Bar; All Good Children Go To Heaven; Turn Ups; Inclinations." Mal helps with John's Instant Karma, but he is finding Paul distant.

The next year, 1970, sees the Beatles continuing with their solo projects. The band is no longer recording together.

January 27: "Seem to be losing Paul - really got the stick from him today."

February 4: "To bed at 4:30am to rise at 7:45 to help get the children dressed... Lil had a driving lesson at 8am, then driving test at 9am which she passed. Bed after a couple of hours. Feel a cold coming on again. Walk into office late afternoon to meet Ringo go to shake he says ' Give us a cuddle then' its worth a million pounds that is and feel really recharged. George & Steve bass & guitar. Nanette. Ringo Drums."

February 5: "Bed this morning late.Up at 1 to phone. Conversation with Paul, something like this: 'Malcolm Evans' 'Yeah Paul' 'I've got the EMI [Abbey Road studio] over this weekend - I would like you to pick up some gear from the house' 'great man, that's lovely. session at EMI?' 'Yes but I don't want any one there to make me tea, I have the family, wife and kids there.' "

Mal clearly took Paul's distance to heart. There was now no group to look after. Mal continued to work with John, Ringo and George on their solo efforts and with the small stable of Apple musicians he had helped to build up. But for him, the adventure was pretty much over. When the Beatles broke up, there was a very strong chance that he would to.

Mal remained an employee of Apple until 1974, when he moved to LA, ostensibly to work as a record producer. He left Lily and the children the same year, moving in with Fran Hughes, whom he had met at the Record Plant studios in Los Angeles. The split from Lily had depressed Mal, and it was clear that he continued to miss the family, long after he walked out on them. Neither his family, nor the Beatles, his second family, were now close. "The times I had with him were brilliant. He was an extraordinary person," says his son, Gary, "But from the moment he met the Beatles to the moment he died, he wanted to live two parallel lives. He would have lived six months in the States and six months here, if he'd been able to get away with it."

On the morning of January 5, 1976, exactly two years after Mal had walked out, Lily took a phone call from Neil Aspinall. He told her that Mal had been shot in LA. "I immediately thought he'd been shot in a bank," says Lily, "I had to wake up the kids and tell them. I didn't know he was so low. He must have been missing the kids, depressed."

Mal had been killed by an officer of the Los Angeles Police Department, who had been called to a disturbance at his home in LA after it had been reported that he had been brandishing a weapon, which may or may not have been an air rifle. Fran had called the police. Gary believes he was drinking heavily and may have been on cocaine at the time. "It was all part of the rock'n'roll, '70s lifestyle." Gary added that he thinks his father may have been behaving like that in the knowledge that even if he was unwilling to end his own life, the LA police would show no such hesitation.

George arranged for Mal's family to receive £5000 in his death; he had no pension and he had not kept up his life-assurance premiums. Lily and Gary have met Paul twice to discuss the ownership of some Beatles lyrics Mal had tidied up, which she wanted to sell. Paul appears to have reached generous out-of-court settlements with her. Over the years, the Mal Evans archive has dwindled as Lily has been forced to sell other parts of it piecemeal.

As she looks back on the 1960s, Lily regrets the amount of time Mal gave up for the Beatles, but has fond memories; she and the children adored the huge fireworks parties that Ringo organized at his homes in Weybridge and Ascot. For Gary, who was 14 when his father died, memories of the 1960s are bittersweet. "The Greek holiday was wonderful. there were good times interspersed among the 'Where is he's?'

"I'd go to school on the Monday, and the teacher would say, 'What did you do at the weekend?' I'd say, 'I went round to John Lennon's house'. I thought that was normal. Sometimes I found it all a bit much. I'd be picked up from school by my dad in John Lennon's psychedelic Rolls-Royce. He'd be wearing a cowboy hat, surrounded by kids. I'd think, 'I don't need this'."

Ultimately, Gary remains disappointed about the fact that the Beatles did not make proper provision for his father or his family. When Mal left, Lily had to return to work to pay the mortgage and keep the children going. "It was very tight," Gary recalls. "We were on free school meals. It's very galling when you look back at what my dad's imput into that band and we ended up like that." We asked Sir Paul McCartney to comment, but a spokesperson said he was "unavailable".

It's difficult to properly evaluate Mal's contribution to the Beatles, but for a long period he was regarded as indispensable. He was trusted, universally liked, and desperately loyal: his diaries give away no indiscretions, though he certainly would have been party to them. Even Lily acknowledges that, "he would have had a few flings." But none of that bothered her: she always seemed more concerned that he was "too nice for his own good" and that the band would treat him "like a dishcloth".

If he had followed her advise and remained a Post Office engineer in Mossley Hill, he would have missed out on Sgt. Pepper, the Beatles in India and his meetings with Elvis, his hero. And his passing, too, in the sprawling suburbs of Los Angeles, might also have turned out to be just a little less rock'n'roll.

****

EXCERTS FROM MAL'S DIARIES:

January 20, 1963: Mal drives the Beatles to London

Picked up George at about 10.45 then picked up John, Paul & Ringo... George bought me dinner at Whitchurch and took over the driving up to about 20 miles before the M1... My only wish was for better headlights on the van otherwise admirable to drive, and I could not have wished for better company. They [The Beatles] made me feel at home with them at once. After steady 70-75 miles down the M1, entered London via Finchley... The boys seemed to know their way and... took us to the door of EMI house. There we met Kenny Lynch, Jess Conrad & Carol Deene all nice people.

January 4, 1967: Recording Penny Lane

Traveled to London left about 11am. Lil's back acting up a little again. Recording "Penny Lane" but Paul and John still not satisfied so will do voices again tomorrow. Went to Bag O' Nails about 3.45 after session. Cyn, Terry and Stan. Jane came to studio in her car. Had fish and chips in studio. Joss sticks burning a plenty tonight, really do get to like the smell.

January 27, 1967: Sgt. Pepper

Started writing song with Paul upstairs in his room, he on piano. What can one say about today - ah yes! Four Tops concert at Albert Hall. Beatles get screams they get the clap. Off to Bag after gig. Did a lot more of "where the rain comes in". Hope people like it. Started Sergeant Pepper.

February 1, 1967:

"Sergeant Pepper" sounds good. Paul tells me that I will get royalties on the song - great news, now perhaps a new home.

February 2, 1967:

Recording voices on Captain [sic] Pepper. All six of us doing the chorus in the middle, worked until about midnight. Bag took Cynthia [Lennon]. Bed about 5.30pm after no sleep. Ugh! Cleaning lady Mrs. Turner. Cor!!! Had to go to doctor in 6 George Street. Bought Ringo some undies for his visit to the Doctor.

March 30, 1967:

Played cow bell on Ringo's number [With a Little Help From My Friends]. Paul asked after who played that great cow bell...

February 17, 1968: In India and recording The White Album

The press really tried kicking down the gates into the Ashram - the Indian people on the Ashram called me halfway through, but as soon as an Indian reporter told me "no bloody foreigner is going to stop me in my own country" I cooled it.

February 23, 1968:

The Beatles all met Maharishi on his cottage roof... off to the beach after lunch, well its not really the beach but the bank of the Ganges... Jane still not well although the other minor complaints have been 'faith healed', and Ringo had a dead rat in drawer.

July 9, 1968:

Oobledee [Ob La Di, Ob La Da] goes well and Eric Clapton plays [sic] a visit... Off to pub for toasted cheese sarnies, later Paul went to the pub with George, Neil and Pete for a pint. John and George guitars - Ringo drums for new version of 'Revolution'. Put up slide for kids and filmed Julie on it.

September 13, 1968:

Heard today that the police arrived at EMI to bust us after we had left. On further enquiries this did not appear to have happened - wouldn't matter anyway, what would they find?

March 12, 1969: Paul and Linda's Wedding

Paul and Linda got married this morning at Marylebone registry office, due to at 9.45 but Mike's train from Birmingham was delayed... When Peter Brown and myself passed the registry office at about 9.15 there were only a few photographers and ardent fans standing in the rain, but when we left at 11.30am or perhaps it was 11.15am we were mobbed by a crowd of about 1000. Heather [Linda's daughter] was carried out by a policeman and Ray of the hire car company... Back at home, they did a couple of TVs and then went to the local church to be "BLESSED". Off to the Ritz Piccadilly for a wedding lunch, where we were joined by Neil and Sue. Escargot for moi; TV interview in the Ritz and deliver Paul and Linda McCartney to home and feet up by the fire.

August 8, 1969 (Accompanied by drawing of Abbey Road album cover photo)

Up at 8.30am, arriving at 9.45am. Ringo first at 10.15 with the others arriving just after eleven. Policeman gets quite excited at a few people, and Ian missed the picture. George, (??) and I go to Regents Park Zoo and meditate in the sun. To Krishna temple for lunch and studio for 3pm. Yoko, John and Ringo went to Paul and Linda's for lunch. It was very nice.

#mal evans #the beatles #the bit about Ringo giving him a hug is my fav

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herrlindemann · 2 years

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Rammstein in Bravo - 20 May 1998

Sold out halls at all five concerts of their US tour! The single 'Du Hast' runs in German non-stop on US radio! Around 100,000 CDs of the album 'Sehnsucht' have been sold so far! There's no question: the American fans are really into the Berlin industrial rockers!

After their small club tour last summer, Rammstein now showed their complete fire show in America and delighted US fans from L.A. to New York. Since Scorpions, no other German band had managed to gain a foothold in America. More than 2,000 fans came to the performance at the 'Roxy' in New York, where Madonna recently presented her new CD 'Ray of Light' live. The rush for tickets was so great that hundreds had to stay outside the door without a ticket.

At 10:30 p.m., guitarists Richard and Paul, drummer Schneider, bassist Olli, keyboarder Flake and singer Till started the song 'Rammstein'. During the sensational 90-minute fire show, which the six contested in martial outfits, the US fans lost sight and hearing: Already at the opener, Till, who had made up his face chalk-white and dyed his hair silver, set fire to his coat. During 'Bestrafe Mich' Till lashed out with a whip, druring ‘Du riechst so gut’ he handled a burning giant bow and fired meter-long fire fountains across the stage with a flamethrower. Flake's interlude was also good: In 'Seemann' he sat in a rubber boat and had himself lifted across the audience. Or 'Bück Dich’, when Till approached Flake with clear poses. Such original interludes were a real sensation even for the spoiled New York audience. The US authorities didn't make it easy for the band: the Rammsteiners had to submit every single effect for approval in every city. Things were particularly meticulous in New York. "We had to wait until the fire engine was completely connected to the hydrant before showing the effects," explains Till. At their appearance in Chicago, Rammstein even had to forego using their effects on the orders of the fire marshal. Till: “The US authorities are totally hysterical, but the fans were thrilled. They really love our songs sung in German.”

Originally, Rammstein re-recorded the titles 'Du Hast' and 'Engel' in English as a concession for the US market. Till: "A mistake. The Americans want us in German.”

Rammstein are currently on tour in France and Spain before returning to Germany at Pentecost with open-air performances in Nürburgring and in Nuremberg. In September they fly back to America. Flake: “We will then start a multi-week tour across America and will set the whole continent on fire!”

#Rammstein #Till Lindemann #Flake Lorenz #Richard Kruspe #Paul Landers #Oliver Riedel #1998 #translation #*#*scans

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feegless · 2 years

Text

Sentence Starters from David Bowie (1967)

Some of these have been adapted. Feel free to adapt pronouns, language etc.

“It’s another empty day.”

“Mother cried and raved and yelled and fussed.”

“Was the real thing, not just lust.”

“Haven’t eaten well for days.”

“He gets his pocket money. He’s well fed.”

“Jack Frost took her hand and left me.”

“Jack frost ain’t so cool.”

“See the trees, like silver candy.”

“Feel my icy hand.”

“That’s the memory of a summer day.”

“There’s a rubber band that plays tunes out of tune.”

“I was so handsome and so strong.”

“I loved a girl while you played teatime tunes.”

“Won’t you play your haunting theme again to me?”

“The sun is warm but it’s a lonely afternoon.”

“We could play in lively parks throughout the land.”

“I hope you break your baton.”

“Just look through your window. Look who sits outside.”

“Give me your heart and I’ll love you ‘till Tuesday.”

“Who’s that hiding in the apple tree, clinging to a branch?”

“Don’t be afraid, it’s only me!”

“Let the wind blow through your hair.”

“I shall always watch you.”

“Well, I might stretch it ‘till Wednesday.”

“They don’t have the time to learn the ways of you.”

“There’s a special place in the rhubarb fields.”

“Go away, sir.”

“There’s lots more things to do.”

“It’s only five o’clock and we’re not tired yet. But we will be. Very shortly.”

“Someone made him cry.”

“You’ve had your chance and now the doors are closed.”

“I’ve formed my own society.

“So, who will buy a drink for me?”

“We don’t give a damn for what you’re saying

“We’re here to live our lives.”

“You don’t seem to hear me clear.”

“Let me explain my project, dear.”

“Show you how I’ll save the world.”

“Why do you look that way at me?”

“When I live my dream, I’ll take you with me.”

“Baby, I’ll slay a dragon for you.”

“I’ll forgive the things you told me and the empty person you left behind.”

“It’s a broken heart that dreams.”

“Wish and the storm will fade away.”

“Please be there to meet me.”

“Let me be the one to understand.”

“I’m content to let you pass me.”

“Let them know it’s just for now.”

“Tell them I’m the dreaming kind of guy.”

“Don’t forget your date with me.”

“Now your watching’s over.”

“Leave the parsley on the stalls.”

“Look at Arthur rave.”

“They want to see the croaking man.”

“You won’t be alone.”

“It’s a big illusion, but at least you’re in.”

“It’s this month’s pick.”

“This is what to do now that you’re here. Sit ‘round doing nothing altogether very fast.”

“She went and joined the army.”

“Survivors, there were none!”

“People say that when the moon is full and all the stars have gone to bed, you can see a ghost but that’s a lie because the naughty woman isn’t dead!”

“Oh no, don’t smile at her.”

“Her world is made of flashlights and films.”

“There’s a little churchyard just along the way.”

“Please, I couldn’t care.”

“Cor, it’s pouring down.”

“Her mother doesn’t know.”

“She thinks it’s down below with the rest of her toys.”

“I won’t tell, so keep your golden locket all safely hid away in your pocket.”

“Yes, you see me every day.”

“I’ve started digging holes my friend, and this one’s for you.”

“Flippin’ hard graft.”

#rp sentence starters #roleplay sentence starters #sentence meme #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #sentence starters rp #david bowie sentence starters

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Nineteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: another chapter where the girls are clowns and cassian worships nesta's every breath 🙄 i promise some variety is headed your way soon

***

Gwyn adamantly refuses to accept any gifts for her birthday, much to Emerie’s irritation and Nesta’s relief. No amount of love for her friends can make Nesta enjoy the turmoil of hunting for the perfect gift, and she happily shows up at Gwyn’s apartment that night with nothing save for an overnight bag.

Gwyn easily has the nicest home out of all three of the girls, and it makes Nesta feel oddly proud to have a financially stable friend. Nesta herself has been flacking on her legal consultant duties to Night Court Inc., choosing to make do with the money she’s already earned while focusing on school.

Once they’ve all changed into sleep clothes and are settled around the living room coffee table with a cupcake and a glass of wine each, Gwyn pulls out a brightly colored bracelet-making kit with a sheepish grin. “I found this while I was looking through my childhood things,” she says, opening the kit. “You guys aren’t too grown for it, are you?”

“Depends,” Emerie hums, leaning over to get a closer look. “Is it Rainbow Loom?”

She gets her answer when Gwyn dumps out bundles of multicolored string instead of rubber bands onto the table. Looking disappointed, Emerie plucks up a handful of string. “Fine, I guess I can make do.”

Nesta licks cream cheese frosting off her thumb. “How do you make them? The bracelets?”

She’s met with two dumbfounded stares. “Have you never been to a thirteen year old’s slumber party?” Gwyn says.

“...No?”

When Gwyn and Emerie keep staring, Nesta feels the need to add, “I’ve never been to a sleepover. This is my first.” She was never one to be invited to sleepovers or social gatherings; even when she made acquaintances in middle and high school, they were just that—acquaintances.

“That’s… actually kind of sad,” Emerie says. Gwyn elbows her hard, making her yelp.

“I never thought of it that way,” Nesta says, shrugging. Though maybe it’s because a lot of things about her childhood were sad; it isn’t like she kept count of it all.

“Well, you can learn how to make bracelets now,” Gwyn states, taking out a little plastic baggie and emptying it out onto the table. Small silver charms scatter everywhere. “Everyone gets three colors and one charm.”

Nesta leans forward, making out the different charms. She spies one in the shape of a book, and another in the shape of a dove, and one in the shape of a music note. She snatches up the eighth note before anyone else can. Gwyn takes the book for herself, and Emerie considers the selection of charms before picking a dagger-shaped one. They prepare their string next.

“Now, we can either braid them or knot them.” Gwyn demonstrates how to do it either way, Nesta watching closely before imitating her. She braids the strings of her bracelet as best she can, her cheeks turning red with frustration whenever she spies one of the other girls’ perfect knots. Her half-eaten cupcake is forgotten as she tries to get her bracelet to stay together.

At one point she just has to accept the shoddy work she’s done and tie the bracelet off. She checks to see if it fits on her wrist.

“Now everyone give their bracelet to the person on their left,” Gwyn declares.

Nesta clutches her sloppily-made bracelet to her chest as Emerie responds, “What?”

“So we can wear each other’s bracelets,” Gwyn explains. “And carry around a part of each other all the time.”

“If I had known we were gonna be sentimental, I wouldn’t have picked the cute charm,” Emerie grumbles. Nesta agrees, but Gwyn just clicks her tongue and starts switching bracelets around. In the end, Nesta has Emerie’s dagger bracelet, Gwyn has Nesta’s music note bracelet, and Emerie has Gwyn’s book charm.

Nesta wiggles her bracelet on and turns her wrist over in the light. “That was fun,” she decides. “What happens next at a sleepover?”

“Next,” Gwyn says, “we exchange our most embarrassing secrets with each other, and then we do each other’s hair.”

Emerie shakes her head. “Okay, now I’m really too old for this. Anyone want to watch a movie?”

Gwyn nudges Emerie. “I’m the old one here, and it’s my birthday.” She raises her pert chin in a way that doesn’t look very grown up at all. “What I say goes.”

Emerie flicks up an eyebrow and stares in challenge, which Nesta interrupts by saying, rather exasperatedly, “I’ll go first, then.”

She digs around in her head for something embarrassing enough to be socially acceptable, only to realize that although a lot of embarrassing things have happened to her before, none of them are secrets. She finally settles on an admission. “When I was a kid, I had a thing for breaking and entering into rich people’s empty houses and hanging out in them. Does that count as a secret?”

Gwyn gapes, laughing in disbelief. “Are you going to leave it at that?”

“That actually sounds fun.” Emerie swirls her wine. “Why’d you stop?”

Nesta had almost forgotten. “I got caught.” She remembers the terror of being fourteen and fleeing past cherry blossom trees on her bare feet. “The owner’s family showed up early to vacation one year, and I never risked going back after that.” She shrugs. “Who’s next?”

Gwyn raises her hand excitedly. “I used to be a hardcore Gleek. Like, I had a closet full of Glee memorabilia.”

Nesta doesn’t quite know what to say. Emerie winces. “Maybe you should’ve kept that one a secret.”

“It was only one facet of my entire theatre kid personality. Should I tell you about the rest?”

Emerie raises her hands in surrender. “Please don’t. I’ll go next if it makes you stop.”

Gwyn laughs and Nesta perks up. “What’s your secret?” She hopes Emerie will finally admit to filling their shared Kindle account with lesbian spanking fiction.

But Emerie suddenly gets serious, clearing her throat and fingering the stem of her wine glass. “I might have the worst secret,” she says awkwardly. “I haven’t been honest with you guys.”

Nesta straightens, and Gwyn looks intrigued.

“In my defense,” Emerie says, “I never expected all of us to end up hanging out this much. Before Nesta and I became friends, all I did was show up to school to kick rich kids’ asses and make career connections.”

“Spit it out, Emerie,” Nesta tells her.

So she does. “I’ve been lying about my age.” Her cheeks turn red, either from alcohol or embarrassment, Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta furrows her brows. “You’re not twenty-four?”

Emerie shakes her head in guilt.

“How old are you, then?” Gwyn says.

Emerie mutters something too low for them to hear. When Gwyn tells her to repeat herself, she says, too loudly, “Twenty-eight.”

She’s met with silence, and then—

Gwyn starts cackling, nearly keeling over. Nesta can only stare in shock. “Why would you—?”

“Because school is a shark tank,” Emerie says. “Everyone else went there straight out of undergrad, and I had to work four jobs for four years just to afford tuition. Being old at Prythian means being poor.” She quietens, looking down at her brown hands twisted together. “And by the time we started to get close, it felt too weird to bring up. So… I’m sorry?” She looks up to see if Nesta is upset.

Nesta doesn’t know what to feel, but Gwyn seems to. “You called me old,” she accuses. “You’re nearly a grandma!”

“Were you going to lie about your age forever?” Nesta interjects.

“If I had known there was going to be a forever, I would have opened up a lot sooner,” Emerie defends.

Nesta drops her head onto the table and covers her ears with her arms. “This is so weird,” she says against the wood of the table, her voice muffled. “I can never look at you the same way ever again.”

“That’s fair,” Emerie says cautiously. “But are you really mad?” Nesta feels a hesitant hand touch her shoulder.

“I need time to process,” Nesta says from her cocoon. Suddenly she hears a hum and a click, and her cocoon gets even darker. Gwyn and Emerie make twin sounds of surprise.

Poking her head up, Nesta blinks to find total darkness in the apartment. The heater has stopped running, leaving behind a quiet stillness.

“Shit,” Gwyn curses, fumbling with her phone. The flashlight turns on, lighting up her face. “I swear I paid my electric bill.”

“I don’t think it’s just you,” Emerie says, getting up to look out the window. “Look, the whole street is out.”

By the time they gather some candles and light them, the apartment has dropped twenty degrees in temperature. Nesta shudders, wishing she’d brought some warm pants with her.

“Let me get us some blankets,” Gwyn says, running off to the linen closet. Emerie and Nesta huddle together on the couch while they wait.

“So you’re really not mad at me?” Emerie asks, hope in her voice.

“Not mad,” Nesta says. “But I think we all lost a little respect for you back there.”

Emerie smiles. “Just a little?”

Gwyn comes back then wearing a thick sweater and carrying a pile of comforters. “I got a text from the landlord,” she says, unceremoniously dropping the blankets onto the couch. “Ice took out the power lines in the whole neighborhood, and we’re not getting any electricity until morning.”

“But it’s negative temperatures outside,” Nesta protests. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“Not if we all cuddle.” Gwyn tries to beam at them, but the effort is futile. “I’m sorry, guys,” she sighs, plopping onto the couch beside Nesta. “This is a terrible birthday celebration.”

Nesta wraps an arm around Gwyn and tucks her into her side, soaking up her warmth as Emerie spreads a heavy comforter over all of their legs. “What are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong.”

The girls sit in silence for a few minutes until Emerie speaks up. “I wonder what Mr. Madani is doing right now.”

“What?” Nesta frowns.

“He’s probably all alone in his fancy heated cabin, unaware that you’re stuck in the cold dark.” Emerie suddenly smacks Nesta’s arm. “Hey. Why are we freezing our asses off here when you practically own that cabin?”

“I do not practically own that cabin,” Nesta splutters. “And this is Gwyn’s birthday. Why would I take you to Cassian’s place on her birthday?”

“Exactly!” Emerie says. “It’s Gwyn’s birthday, and she deserves better than this. Can’t your boyfriend be a little charitable and share his nice house with us?”

Nesta turns to Gwyn for help, but Gwyn just says carefully, “...Is it a big cabin?”

Emerie nods fiercely, pulling out her phone. “Eris has a picture of it from New Year’s on his Instagram. You wouldn’t believe how much money these Night Court execs make.”

Nesta makes pointed eyes at Gwyn. “You really want to spend your birthday with two strange men?” Cassian and Azriel aren’t exactly meek, nonthreatening men either—at least not at first glance. Considering the state Gwyn was in just some weeks ago, this doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.

Gwyn sounds wary but open-minded when she says, “You trust them, right? And it’s not like we’re going to let the guys join our sleepover. We’re just going to have a warm place to stay while we wait for my power to come back.”

When it’s phrased like that… Nesta purses her lips, thinking.

“Fine,” she finally decides. “Let’s go.”

***

Nesta strips off her jeans almost as soon as she enters the cabin. Much to Cassian’s pride and pleasure, this leaves her wearing only one of his old sweatshirts. Meanwhile, Gwyn and Emerie stand around awkwardly in the middle of the living area without knowing what to do next.

“Make yourselves at home.” Cassian grins at them. “Do you need anything? Food? Drinks?”

“Stop worrying,” Nesta groans. “We don’t need to be mothered.”

“I totally hear you,” he nods. “I’ll make cookies.” And maybe some hot drinks. It’s supposed to be a birthday party, after all.

Just then, Azriel appears at the top of the stairs in a dark hoodie and sweats. He’s halfway down the steps when he notices the living room full of girls and promptly turns around.

Cassian calls his name before he can escape. “Want to help me out in the kitchen?”

“No, thanks,” Az says over his shoulder, leaving Cassian alone to play host.

While Gwyn and Emerie admire the cabin (“There’s a gym down the hallway and a library upstairs,” Nesta points out to them), Cassian gathers baking ingredients in the kitchen. He rarely eats desserts or junk food, much less makes them, but surely he can manage a snack for the girls.

When he returns to the living room half an hour later with cookies and mugs of hot chocolate, the coffee table has been moved out of the way and replaced with a spread of blankets and pillows. The fire crackles hotly enough that Gwyn and Emerie have joined Nesta in discarding any extra clothing articles, and they all cheer from the couch when they spy the food.

“Goddamn,” Emerie whistles at the platter of cookies on Nesta’s lap. “Nesta told us you were a catch, Mr. Madani, but she didn’t tell us she got the full housewife package.”

“Shut up.” Nesta shoves a cookie into Emerie’s mouth and passes Gwyn some hot chocolate. Any toughness vanishes when she looks back at Cassian. “Thank you,” she mouths, and he answers by smoothing out her ponytail.

Satisfied with his work and feeling guilty for crashing the girls’ fun, he’s about to call it a night when he feels a tug at his pants. Nesta is looking up at him with eyes that ask him to stay. Cassian glances nervously to Gwyn and Emerie, who are arguing about what movie to watch from his extensive streaming collection, and glances back to Nesta. Are you sure? he asks her silently.

She nods, but it isn’t until Gwyn says, “Just sit down, you’re blocking the TV,” that he indeed sits his ass down on the floor by Nesta’s feet.

A short tug of war between Gwyn and Emerie results in Emerie getting the remote. She blows a hair triumphantly out of her face. “No Planet Earth documentary for you, then,” she says.

Gwyn sits back, grumbling, “You’d think I’d get treated better on my damn birthday.” Nesta adds, “I like documentaries.”

“You’ll like The Proposal even more,” Emerie refutes, scrolling through the TV.

The smell of melting chocolate chips must invade the rest of the cabin, because not long after the movie begins, Cassian catches Azriel sneaking downstairs. As subtle as a shadow, no one even notices him until he plucks up a cookie from the side table by Nesta.

She slides her eyes over to him without turning her head. “You look like a punk with your hood up,” she snorts. “What are you, fifteen?”

From the floor, Cassian withholds a sigh.

Az shoots her a dark look, clearly not appreciating the attention brought to his presence. “Don’t be a little shit,” he warns in a low tone. He reaches for another cookie and Nesta bats his hand away. “Those aren’t for you,” she hisses.

“Can we please not—” Cassian tries.

Az glares and goes for the cookie again. Nesta smacks him back, which results in a slap fight that is only interrupted by Gwyn pleading, “Guys, we’re missing Sandra Bullock!”

Nesta pulls away, looking apologetic, and Az flushes pink. “Sorry,” he mutters. But he snatches up three cookies with a final look at Nesta and goes to sit in the armchair on the other side of the room.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie get cozy once more, quickly forgetting that Az is there. Emerie stretches her brown legs out across Gwyn’s lap like a cat. Nesta drapes her own leg over Cassian’s shoulder without warning. He turns around to meet her eyes, surprised, but she’s already intently focused on the movie. Smiling faintly to himself, he reaches up to brush her skin. It probably looks to everyone else like she owns him head to toe.

One thing Cassian quickly learns about the girls is that they simply can’t sit still. Even Nesta is more restless than usual, and she nearly kicks Cassian in the head more than once while readjusting herself on the couch. Emerie moves to sprawl on the rug. Gwyn sits upside down and watches with her head dangling off the seat.

As for Cassian, he loses all interest in the movie once Nesta joins him and Emerie on the floor, unable to contain her emotions from the couch. He glances between the movie and her face to find what’s making her so giddy, but it’s only the two main characters getting ready for a shower. He lifts a brow in amusement for no one to see, but settles back to watch her face in the glow of the dying fire. He’s waiting for her smile.

Because when Nesta really likes something, she’ll smile, and when she smiles… Everything scrunches up: her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.

On the TV, a naked Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock collide into each other, toppling to the floor. Nesta’s grin makes an appearance, and she slaps Cassian’s thigh in excitement, hard enough to hurt.

He hisses in a sharp breath, but doesn’t say anything or look away. He thinks he might have to kill anyone that refuses to protect the smile on her face right now, no matter who it is.

Once the scene changes, he walks two fingers up her leg to get her attention. “Nesta,” he whispers, unable to help himself.

She glances at him for half a second before looking back to the movie. “What?”

He opens his arms and gestures her closer. Come and let me hold you.

Nesta makes a face. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the girls.”

Cassian’s lips turn down. “You don’t mean that.”

She does. To prove her point, she crawls closer to Emerie and settles down next to her. Gwyn joins them on the floor, and they all huddle together.

When he catches Az staring at him with a hint of revulsion, Cassian coughs off the yearning and rejection and glares right back.

After the movie finishes, Emerie victoriously crushes an empty can of beer in her fist. Cassian has no idea where it came from. “More Sandra!” she demands.

It takes three more movies before Emerie is knocked out cold on the arrangement of blankets and pillows on the floor, Gwyn with her. Nesta eventually came back to Cassian and fell asleep with her arms wrapped around his waist, and Azriel passed out sometime after Miss Congeniality, curled up in the armchair with his fist propping up his head.

Now, Cassian carefully untangles Nesta from himself, nudging her towards Emerie instead. In her sleep, Nesta turns over to clutch the other woman’s arm and mumbles something unintelligible.

Cassian props a pillow gently beneath her head and picks up another one, throwing it harder than he needs to at Azriel’s face. “Get up,” he hisses.

Az jerks out of his sleep, looking around the dim room in confusion. Cursing lowly, he pushes himself out of his seat and scrubs a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Three.” Cassian pulls a comforter over Nesta and Emerie’s shoulders.

Az crouches and picks up the other side of the comforter, adjusting it over Gwyn’s body. Cassian thinks he might see a frown cross his face for half a second, but then Az is standing up and brushing off his clothes.

After turning off the TV, the guys head for their rooms. “I didn’t think three grown women could be so... much,” Az says as they climb up the stairs.

Cassian huffs a laugh. “We were like that when we were younger, too.”

“Yeah, but we were teenagers.”

They reach the hallway. “I don’t know about the others,” Cassian says thoughtfully, “but Nesta never got to be a normal kid.” She barely got to be a normal adult. And in a couple of short years, she’ll be working her ass off at some prestigious firm and won’t have time for simple things like sleepovers anymore.

Cassian selfishly hopes he can give Nesta all the normalcy he can before that happens.

***

a/n: i’m gonna do my best in future chapters to give cassian depth beyond just his relationship with nesta 🥴 but first, be on the lookout for a gwynriel bonus scene :)

tags: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad

#ncssianwrites #nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au

223 notes · View notes

mminttae · 3 years

Text

Clandestine | 02

-> Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x reader

-> Genre : tattoo!artist Jungkook, mafia! JJK,mafia au, bloody!missions, slight violence, got secrets they can't tell, angst, romance, Jungkook's part time job is flirting, sad (backstory), Y/N is strong!

-> Summary : who would have known that just doing a part time job at a night club would lead you to the tattoo artist Jeon Jungkook's messed up world. One letter related to the secret comes out of your mouth you'll be laying in Jungkook's arms but alive or not, that's not guaranteed...

-> Word Count : 4.286 K ( A/N: I’m increasing words )

-> T/W body language, killing, curse words and intimacy are included in the story (you may read if you're comfortable with these)

Part : 2

<< previous chap

.・゜-: ✧ :-playlist -: ✧ :-゜・．

Jungkook's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. Even if me saying that line didn't flatten him enough I knew the nickname did as it always have been doing. It was clearly visible that he didn't expect me to be this bold suddenly. But he being himself smirked after a couple of seconds as his hand snaked up to grab my wrist pulling me more closer "Sure princess.. Do you want to go to the trip now? " His tongue rolling over his bottom lip as his piercing doe eyes holding so many thoughts looked at my lips then to my eyes.

"I don't want to interrupt but the trip has to be postponed "Jimin interferes in the moment, his eyes narrowed and only looking at me as if scared that the younger guy would throw him out if he locked eyes with his. Making a 'tch' sound Jungkook raises his eyebrows at Jimin in a manner that reads he's asking why postpone. I yeet his hand which was holding my wrist and get off from the table clearing my throat while fixing the skirt and apron. Jungkook clearly disappointed for not being able to hear my answer gets up from the seat while putting the black leather jacket around his shoulders. Jimin and Taehyung following him gets up too grabbing their bags. Jungkook walked up to me while fixing his bangs with his index finger.

"Gotta go princess a client's waiting" Nodding I proceeded to walk away but I could hear Jungkook saying with a sad dramatic tone. "Atleast act that you don't want me to go". I'm afraid I won't be able to because I myself don't know what this client of yours gonna do if you don't go on time. Is the person waiting even a client or not? Knitting my eyebrows I look back only to meet with strangers taking up the seat. The three tall mesmerizing men with inks on their body not to be seen anywhere. I don't know what's going on in that foolish yet extremely clever brain of yours but...

Be careful Mr. Artbook..

End of YOUR POV

Mid summer yet the night breeze is able to run shivers down your spine. Not a single soul in sight.

10 at night maybe the shopkeepers closed down the shutters and went to bed. Not many shops here in this area to even begin with. The only workshop's bell which rings here is the Jeon's Tattoo corner which has been ringing from the morning today , seemed to have stopped in the evening but now making its sound again. "Argh I should really break down this bell "

With an annoyed expression the black haired guy opens the drawers searching for a fresh towel. The tall man who just entered the shop walked past the desk table, turning the door knob and allowing himself inside the cozy room. His loud footsteps on the wooden floor telling Jungkook that the guest has arrived.

"Where were you? I waited here for five minutes then went inside the nearby plant store to kill time"

Taking off the long coat the tall silver haired guy walks up to the chair positioned in the middle of the room beside the various tools. "Sorry hyung, Taehyung and Jimin wanted a new tattoo so went to hear out their designs"

Jungkook says, eyebrows knitted while he fishes out the stencil of the beautiful clematis he has drawn beforehand of the leader's arrival. Smiling to himself he walks up to the seated boss whose like a big brother to him, he puts the stencil aside. Taking out a black rubber band from his pocket he takes his hair and ties it up to a small ponytail before taking out a drawer full of tattoo needles and inks. "Heard that Yoongi started boxing classes with you"

The older male speaks as his lip corners slowly moves upwards. Jungkook giving out a laugh says, "Yea Yoongi hyung be moving like a turtle. "

The thought of his hyung boxing and whining that it's hard is enough to make the little one giggle. Taking out a small wooden stool with one hand as the other one was holding the tattoo gun, Jungkook sits himself beside the strong looking man who rolls up his shirt's sleeves revealing all the different type of arts and words of different languages tattooed on his arm.

"Need chewing gum?"

The younger one asks at the thought that it might hurt but the older one replies plainly that he's fine after all his skin had been coming in contact with this gun for a long time now. Jungkook nods before resting the needle on the free space on the top of the man's biceps before starting to draw on it, the awestrucking clematis. "Was thinking of getting a lip piercing but not being able to get it cuz of the adults in the house"

The man says while his dimples makes visits to his cheeks.

"The exact same reason why am postponing on getting an eyebrow piercing"

Jungkook replies as he carefully moves the tattoo gun sideways on the man's bicep.

"So when are you planning on telling your sister?"

He asks as the silver haired guy closes his eyes once realizing what Jungkook meant.

"When the time's right.. "

He replies, slowly opening his eyes his gaze meeting the ceiling.

"But first we need to pinpoint Mr. Choi's location"

Replying with a small and quiet yes Jungkook draws the details on the flower carefully.

"Seokjin has been checking the cctvs regularly and the only thing he found was the black hyundai stopping at a night club at exactly 7pm every Tuesday and Wednesday"

"What's the night club's name? "

Jungkook asks as he draws on the small leaves.

"Hell's night club"

With just the mention of the night club's name Jungkook's hand stops moving as his eyes widened. "Isn't that the club you often visit with the others? "

The silver haired man asks making Jungkook quietly nod his head. If the most feared mafia in the country slash his team's biggest rival had been going to the exact same club at the exact same time as his how come he never saw the familiar old man's face? He thought.

What kind of person does the man disguise him as that even Jimin who encountered him multiple times doesn't notice. "You should be careful and try to see your clients faces carefully and see if they match that old fart's face or not"

Jungkook humming a response continued on giving the clematis it's final touch. Finishing the tattoo he removes the gun making the silver haired man sit up straight and fix his shirt.

"You know what to do right?"

Jungkook asks referring to putting on Vaseline ointment on the tattoo and stuffs. The older guy nods while fetching his coat. "I'll get going then. Thanks for the tattoo kook"

Jungkook simply nods his mind stuck in a different topic. Putting the equipments away and tidying up the towels as the older guy leaves the shop and disappears into the darkness of the night in the empty alleyway, Jungkook couldn't help but think about what you were up to. His mind stitching up different negative thoughts together.

"If Mr. Choi is really going to that club then he must have seen Y/N always talking to us..... What if he does something to her? " Jungkook asks to himself and the next thing he does is take his bag, turn off the lights, lock the doors and run off to meet you.

• -

"I'll be off then"

Bowing politely you take hold of the two big disposable bags and huff out a breathe when you realize how heavy both of them were. Kicking the back staff door with your leg open the first thing you see is Jeon Jungkook leaning on the wall infront. His hair tied up in a small ponytail, a bag hung around his shoulder and inked hands resting inside his jeans pockets. His eyes falls on your hands holding the disposable garbage bags, sighing he walks up to you.

"I thought your job was to serve and take orders not bring out garbages" You looked down at the bags in your hands while saying, "I was coming out anyways it's no biggie"

You flashed him a small smile but his eyes looked worried and his face tensed. You wondered what happened but didn't dare to ask thinking that he will only answer with 'none of your business' . Yes Jeon Jungkook unknowingly says harsh things without thinking when he's tensed. Jungkook takes the garbage bags from your hands and put it beside the door when his eyes lands on your right hand which was bandaged. His eyes widen and he quickly took your right hand examining it while asking

"How did this happen? Are you okay? "

Embarrassed you put your hand away from his warm ones and answer while smiling, not making eye contact

"It's okay I'm fine these kind of injuries are meant to happen if you work in a bar." Jungkook not convinced took your hand again now keeping it infront of him not letting you pull it back. His eyebrows knitted . "You were totally fine this evening tell me what happened". Chewing on your bottom lip you look down, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

"Y/N tell me what happened.." Jungkook says once again this time his voice laced with concern as his hands caressed your hair. You were actually a bit taken aback at how the always dominant voice of Jungkook is making its way to you in a concerned and soft way.

"A drunk guy harshly pulled my hand wanting me to sit beside him but I fought back and he suddenly let go of me making me loose my balance at hit the edge of the glass table behind and that's how I got this"

You say while looking at your bandaged hand which was now resting in jungkook's warm palm. He softly held your injured hand and lower down a bit to meet your height. Looking at your eyes he said

"Tell me who did this. Tell me who did this to you I'm gonna fucking kill him"

In a calm soft voice but the last part obviously didn't come out in a soft way. You laughed and pushed him a bit away from you. "It's okay am fine don't overreact he was drunk" But Jungkook not buying the answer walked closer to you and again with a serious tone asked you . "Tell me how he looked like"

Knowing that he won't let go of the topic unless you give him a proper answer you sigh, rolling your eyes while describing the drunk man you happened to meet inside the club. "He had small eyes , a sharp nose and dark stubble on his face and.." You trailed off thinking what else did the man have but Jungkook interrupted asking in a quick manner

"Did he have any sort of tattoo on his wrist? " Replaying the moment inside your head you widen your eyes a bit and nod your head, "Yea he did.. Was that a crown? A crown maybe"

Exactly knowing who that drunk man you encountered was Jungkook's chest sank at the thought that the old man touched you with his dirty hands. Gulping down the saliva that formed in his mouth he without thinking pulled you to his chest engulfing you in a hug. He wasn't sure why he felt like protecting you but he wanted to . He wasn't supposed to feel this way now that he set his mind on the plan his brain made up on the way here but..he did. He wanted to make sure you were safe.

Widening your eyes at how Jungkook suddenly hugged you, your mind went blank. There's no doubt in how fast your heart was beating. To be honest to yourself you were actually frightened when that man tried touching you in an ill manner but now being in Jungkook's arms you felt safe. You felt safe when he was around. Jungkook's arms around you got tighter as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

So this is how you gonna play it Mr. Choi

He thinks.

•-

Flashback 5 weeks back

Stretching your arms you give out a small yawn before grabbing the books from the table and making your way out of the auditorium. Walking while looking at your surroundings you didn't notice the tall man standing infront of you. Too immersed in the same old paintings hanging on the walls you hit something hard making the copies and books in your hands fall down. Without looking up at the person you bumped into you quickly said 'sorry' while kneeling down to pick up your supplies. The tall gentleman kneeled down too helping you with picking up your stationerys. You got up, the man following you soon. This time facing the guy properly as both of you made eye contact you were about to say thank you when your voice abruptly decided to not come out.

The man had soft long black hair .The kind of hair you would want to play with all day. His baby doe eyes staring at you, his lips parted. The oversized hoodie he was wearing made him the grizzly huggable bear image more.

As your eyes scanned him from head to toe, your lips a bit parted, the guy not being able to control his laughter at how cute you looked when your eyes went big as if you saw something really interesting and you'd like to study that thing more, he gave out small giggles making you quickly close your mouth and look at him. Noticing how every students in tha hall were staring at both of you, you shifted your weight from one leg to another leg uncomfortably. But the guy's Adorable bunny smile didn't go out of your notice. His eyes wrinkled as he tilted his face and asked you softly

"You okay? "

Blinking couple of times you nodded your head making him shyly scratch his nape and mumble 'thank god'. Your lips automatically curved up when your eyes landed on the ID card hung around his neck

"Jeon Jungkook"

Once realization hit you that you were now standing infront of your college's hearthrob while looking like a whole mess which you didn't care about that much until you bumped into him, your cheeks got tinted in a light blush. Pulling your lips in you tilted your head a bit to the side making your baby hairs fall over your face.

"Hey kook!"

A loud deep voice entered the ears of the people standing in the hall making them turn their heads to the two seniors waving their hands at Jungkook's direction, a big wide smile plastered know their face. Jungkook takes out his bracelet covered wrist from his pocket and waves at them. Jimin running towards us and wrapping his arm around the tall guy's shoulders he notices me and flashes me a smile

"Hey Y/N"

Waving your sweater paw at him as a hey you smiled. You met Jimin and Taehyung a couple of times before in some group works with seniors. You not really interested in gossips of the college noticed just a few days ago that Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook are the well known hot trio of this college.

"Y/N.."

Jungkook repeats your name to himself before looking at you once again , smiling while saying

"Sweet name"

His sweet honey voice saying your name was enough to melt you. If it was any other guy right now you would have simply said thank you for helping you pick up the books and walk away without saying anything but surprisingly Jeon Jungkook made you stop. "I'm hungry didn't have breakfast this morning" Taehyung whines while holding his tummy earning a slap on his head from Jimin. "we are going for lunch wanna join us? "

Jungkook asks you making you widen your eyes at the sudden invitation and Jungkook earning some smirks from the seniors beside him, Jimin elbowing his arm while wiggling his eyebrows. Jungkook simply rolled his eyes at his hyungs before looking at you for a reply. You glancing at your silver wrist watch said "I would love to but I should get going. I have some stuffs to do"

Jungkook quietly nods his head before flashing you a smile.

Is he always smiling?

You thought noticing that he had been smiling since the moment both of you met. "Y/N's always studying hard"

Taehyung says earning a nod from Jimin making you shyly scratch your nape.

The Brunnete haired approached you giving you a pat on your shoulder before saying "Study well but don't forget to have lunch okay? "

You flashed him a smile while nodding. Jungkook waving his hands at you as a 'bye' walked past you with the two boys. You looked back at three of them noticing that two of them were wearing hoodies and one of them were wearing full sleeved tees.

It's so hot these days why are they wearing hoodies on top of tees?

Shaking your head you quickened your pace and quickly got out of the college grounds. Walking to the bus stand while looking around at the cozy coffee shops on the streets you keep glancing at your watch from time to time to make sure that you're going on time or not.

Now here's a secret about you that no one knows

You're a student at an art college but you are also a student at a law school. Your father runs the family business of electronics. Yes the electronics company ranking the second best in the country out of all the other electronic companies, which he wants to hand over to your big brother after he retires. Your mother always wanted a child of her to be a sculptor. Borning late in the family with the talent of art you were forced to study this subject whereas you were interested in prosecution, catching criminals and stuffs. What you were most interested in were being a mafia or an assassin but you gave up on those dreams and decided to study law. Your parents only giving their all attention and care to their first born, didn't care about you that much. The only thing they wanted from you was becoming a great sculptor and bringing praise to your family.

After nights of confusion and judgement you decided to study in the law school that you got admitted, secretly with the money your grandparents left you. Your grandparents left some money for you and your brother before passing away and thankfully they were enough to pay for your study books expenses. But maintaining time for your law school as well as the art school was hard but you managed to make time after dropping off from some extra courses of the art college without telling your parents. But it was hectic. Your college hours starts from 7 am. And you have classes till 9am then a break at 9:15 am to 10:30 due to dropping off from some extra class. Your law classes starts from 9:30 so during the break you quickly leave the grounds and head off to the law classes. Then you return to the art college at 10:20 when it's a break at your law school. Then once again when it's a lunch break at the art school you head off to the law school while munching on some snacks, obviously not getting time to have proper lunch. And when it comes to events you had to make up excuses at the law school for not attending as your parents would obviously not skip their daughter's presentations.

It would be more hectic from today cuz you just applied to a job at a night club. There's a course for learning shooting at the law school but you don't have enough money to pay for that so it's time to earn some money.

•••

Stretching your arms while getting up from the seat you had been sitting on straight for 2 hours, you give a yawn before taking out a scrunchie and putting your hair up. All the classes for the day are done. Putting the back pack around your shoulder you bow at the teacher before leaving the school premises. Walking inside the bus and sitting on one of the seat you take out your phone and start typing to your mother , 'Mom I'll be late tonight as I got some extra lessons. Don't worry for me and you don't have to send car I'll come by bus'

"No one's gonna worry about me though"

You say to yourself while letting out a small laugh and looking out at the window. Everything vanishing from your sight at a fast pace as the vehicle picks up its speed upon seeing the empty road. Some of the street lights flickering due to not being fixed for several days now. You take out the 'guideline' paper of the bar you're gonna work in from backpack, going through the structure of the building in your mind and remembering all the rules explained to you yesterday when you went to apply for the job. This night club only seemed to be safe for you to work in now. By safe means you would have no worries of the common students who spends time in bars and clubs to see you. If anyone recognizes you then it's game over. Plus the pay is high too.

The phone screen lighting up as a notification popped up you unlocked the phone before seeing from whom the text is from.

Bro: heard you're coming late at night should I pick you up from the way while coming home?

"Geez already told him?"

You say to yourself once realizing that your mom told your brother to pick up but your brother being nice asked if you want to be picked up first or not. Smiling at his text before typing your reply It's ok you don't have to come. The office is far away from my college anyways. Get home safely.

Waiting for a few minutes to see his reply which you didn't get you turned off your phone and put it inside your bag. Looking out from the window thinking why he didn't reply when he saw your text whereas usually he would try to come pick you up, being the 'protective' brother. You got down from the bus as soon as the bus came to its stop. You walked for a few more minutes from the bus stop till arriving at your destination.

Hell's night club

•••

It's been only five minutes of you serving drinks but you're already tired. How can a human body and mind work for 13 hours straight without any rest. You did mess up some tables a couple of times for which you were now getting a scolding from the manager. You looking down bowing slightly while your hands in front of you.

"Miss Lee Y/N did you properly see the table numbers today? "

The old man asks to which you nod. "Then why are you messing up? " He asks in a raised voice making you flinch and quickly mumble a sorry. You lift your head up a bit to see the old man sighing while pinching his forehead, clearly visible that he's angry. "I'm letting you go as this is your first time don't make mistakes anymore"

He says making you bow and say

"Thank you"

He looked around trying to see if any waitresses are free. Sighing at how there's no one free without counting you he gave you a look before handing you a tray of various kinds of drinks. "Take this to table no. 14. And do not make any mistakes. They are regulars here I don't want them gone" Nodding at him you set off to find this table no. 14 . Noticing how your skirt got up a bit you tried pulling the skirt a bit down with one hand as the other one was holding the tray, you quickly withdraw your hand without fixing the skirt upon seeing the tray tremble in one hand. Quickly holding the tray in place and scanning if any drinks were spilled, you sigh in relief. You looked back to only lock eyes with the manager . He staring straight at you with his cold eyes. You gave a small awkward smile and walked towards table 14.

The table no. 14 seemed to be surrounded by many big men. All had some sort of tattoos on them. A familiar man sitting in the middle holding a pen and scribbling something on a notebook. His inked arms full on display as the silver earrings were still being able to shine despite the dullness in the scene. His long bangs falling before his eyes not letting anyone see the face beneath it.

You quietly approached the table and when you raised your eyes from the ground to the man sitting in the middle, your legs automatic came to a halt and your breath hitched.

Jeon Jungkook right there was sitting. The table in front occupied with various weapons and him sitting like a whole five course meal, fingers playing with the dangly earrings

This is totally not what I expected

#jungkook tattoo #jungkook ff #mafia jungkook #tattoo artist jungkook #jjk imagines #bts imagines #bts namjoon #bts yoongi #BTS jimin #bts hoseok #bts seokjin #bts taehyung #wow i'm posting

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 3 years

Text

Happiness Continues

Epilogue

Summary: The Ackles’ celebrate a birthday with their families.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.6K+

Warnings: Language, unprotected intercourse, oral sex (male receiving), semi-public sex

Author’s Note: Well, I can’t believe it, but here is the final installment to this epic saga (I can say that since I wrote it lol). I’m so thankful to each and every one of you who have taken the time to read. I sincerely hope it has lived up to your expectations. Many thanks to my constant cheerleaders and to @winchest09 for looking over this one. xoxo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and then check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

Five Years Later

The island was littered with Tupperware, each one filled with pre-cut vegetables, meats, or cheeses. Y/n stood at the edge, humming along to the muffled music playing outside as she arranged the snacks onto servings trays. She was concentrating on the Halloween design she was putting together, missing the sound of the patio door opening and closing around the corner to the kitchen.

A soft ‘oof’ fell from her lips as a body pinned her between themselves and the counter. “I’ve got a full moon that’ll make you howl,” the voice of her husband was thick as he spoke in her ear, his arms coming to rest on the counter around her, effectively caging her in. Y/n reeled back from him, concern evident on her face as she turned her head. The couple made eye contact before bursting out in shared laughter.

“That was so bad.”

“Yeah it was really bad,” Jensen agreed, his body still shaking with amusement.

“I don’t even know what to say to that.” Y/n turned back to her task with a shake of her head.

“Uh, say you can’t wait to see my full moon because it’ll bring out the animal in you,” Jensen suggested, referencing back to the werewolf costume she had chosen for the night.

“Nope, not doing that.” Y/n was quick to shoot him down. “How long have you been working on that one?”

“Pretty much since you came downstairs in this little number,” his voice dropped as he let one hand fall to her knee, tracing the inside of her thigh up until it hit the edge of her skirt.

When her husband suggested Supernatural costumes, she hadn’t thought he was serious at first but he convinced her, not that it took much. She knew that she wanted to do something a little different than an angel or demon, choosing instead to emulate Garth’s werewolf family from the episode Sharp Teeth. So she got her nails done, bought a pair of yellow contacts and a silver bullet on a chain, and paired it all with a white turtleneck and plaid skirt. It was simple but she was satisfied with how it turned out. Her husband’s reaction to seeing it just the cherry on top she had not intended.

“You are such a guy sometimes,” she giggled, though she would never admit that it was one of her favorite things about him.

“Oh, you love it,” he purred, pressing the length of his body closer to hers, the hand that had been on her thigh now pressing into her lower belly. Her husband’s movement had Y/n biting back a whimper. “Been thinking about tearing it off of you all damn night. Care to come with me?”

“Have you lost your mind? Our entire families are outside.” Y/n dropped the cheese in her hand in surprise.

“They won’t miss us for twenty minutes,” Jensen shrugged. “There are a million people out there and a bouncy castle. Everyone is occupied.”

“Oh, you only need twenty minutes?”

“I seem to remember being able to get you off in fifteen once before.” Her body reacted to his words before she could stop it, arching her back against her husband who groaned as her ass pressed into him. The memory of that morning in his trailer had her biting her lip, the moment still clear in her head even if it did feel so long ago now. “Come on, leave the snacks for a minute.”

“Jensen...”

“Ah, it’s Dean tonight,” he interrupted her protest. “I know you’ve been dreaming of fucking Dean Winchester for the past eight years. So what do you say, sweetheart?”

“You don’t play fair,” she breathed as her body trembled at his words, heat pooling deep in her belly. He was right of course, it had been a fantasy of hers even before they started dating. And of course, he knew it without her ever needing to vocalize it. Jensen was playing her like a piano, hitting all the right notes.

“Is that a yes?” Y/n could hear the smile in his voice. She turned around in his arms and tried to put on her serious face.

“You better be fast, Ackles,” she asserted.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jensen agreed, swiping his tongue over the length of his lower lip before dipping in to kiss her hard and fast. He stepped back and took her hand, dragging her towards the garage. Stopping outside the half bathroom that sat near the garage entrance, he looked around before pushing her inside.

“So serious,” Y/n grinned at her husband as he shut the door and locked it behind them.

“Baby, you know I don’t kid when it comes to you,” he reached out for her, cradling her jaw in his hands as he tugged her body to his.

Their lips crashed together in a heated exchange, their mouths moving against one another in a rehearsed dance. She could taste the beer he had been sipping on all night as she sucked his tongue into her mouth and she relished in the flavor combined with her husband’s usual spice. Y/n slid her hands over the expanse of his shoulders, urging the flannel and canvas jacket that made up Jensen’s ‘Dean’ costume off his body. The fabric fell to the floor with a gentle thud. Once he was free, Jensen ran his palms over the globes of her ass, using his fingers to bunch up the material of her skirt to her hips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, finding her barely covered by the lace of her black thong. “You knew what you were doing to me.”

“I only hoped,” she admitted, taking advantage of his distraction to kiss along his jaw and down his neck. Y/n dropped her hands to his belt, unfastening the leather from the buckle as her husband dipped his fingers between her folds. A moan crept up her throat causing her to bury her face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

“So wet for me already,” he noted as he continued to play with her. She could only nod in response, her shaky hands finishing her work of undoing his jeans. As the zipper came down, she wasted no time pushing his jeans and boxers below his ass and taking his hardening cock in her hand. He brought her lips back to his as she jerked him off, the couples gasping breaths making the air in the small room heavy.

“Spit on it,” his voice was gruff with his arousal as he pulled back from his wife. The grin on her face was wicked as she collected saliva in her mouth and dropped to her knees. She let it dribble slowly from her mouth and collect on the head before rubbing her thumb through it, mixing the drool and precum before spreading it up his shaft. “Yeah, that’s my good girl.”

Y/n looked up at him through her lashes, the yellow contacts she wore glinting in the warm light of the bathroom. Her husband had his lip caught between his teeth as she took his length in her mouth and suckled against the head before taking him as far as she could. Jensen bucked his hips, pressing himself to the back of her throat, causing his wife to gag. She released him and took a deep breath, trying not to laugh but failing.

“Get up here,” he laughed softly along with her, squatting a bit to help her back to her feet. Placing a kiss on the tip of her nose before he spun her around, Jensen bent her over the sink as he pushed aside the thin material of her thong and lined himself up with her entrance. Her chin dropped to her chest as he pushed inside her, stretching her cunt just right with every inch.

“Oh, god,” she gasped, the sound echoing in the room and earning her a large hand over her mouth. Jensen brought her back against his chest as he began to move, his tongue poked out between his teeth as he bit back the vibration in his chest threatening to escape. Y/n watched him in the mirror, the concentration on his face making her whimper with every calculated thrust of him inside her. The noise had his eyes snapping up to meet hers in the glass, a devilish smirk crossing his face.

“You’ve got to be quiet, sweetheart. Unless you want everyone to know how you are taking my cock like a good little slut,” he husked in her ear, his eyes never leaving hers. She nodded her understanding and he released his hold on her mouth, his hand traveling down to hold her throat instead. Her eyes fluttered shut as he applied pressure, his hips still fucking her mercilessly. “Keep your eyes on me, I wanna see you when you come.”

Doing as she was told, Y/n once again met her gaze with her husband in the mirror. She was close, the rubber band in her core ready to snap and she knew he wasn’t too far behind. His dick was throbbing inside her, making her walls flutter against the length of him. Her vision was beginning to darken around the edges as his fingers flexed against her throat. Jensen could sense she needed a little more and used the thumb of his free hand to rub tight circles into her throbbing clit. The orgasm hit her like a truck, a scream assuredly escaping her mouth had she been able to breathe. He relented his grip on her as her pulsating walls milked him of everything he had.

A knock sounded at the door just as he filled her used cunt with his come. Both of them snapped their heads to the sound, their bodies tensing. The handle jiggled against the lock and she knew something had to be said.

“Be out in a minute,” she rasped, hoping her voice didn’t sound too wrecked. Footsteps could be heard against the tile receding into the house after a beat. Jensen rested his forehead against her shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath. “We’ve got to go now.”

“Right,” he mumbled, pulling his softening cock from inside her. Y/n quivered as she felt the mixture of their release drip down her thighs. Jensen snatched a bit of toilet paper and cleaned her up before doing the same to himself. The couple swiftly fixed their clothes back into place before Y/n opened the door and peered out to make sure no one else was waiting. Jensen gave her a second head start before following after her.

As they came to the end of the hall, Donna looked up from her place at the kitchen island. She smiled sweetly at Y/n, her brows raising ever so on her forehead as she glanced behind the younger women. Y/n turned to see Jensen now appearing from the hallway. She flashed her husband a look before turning back to his mother.

“Oh, Donna you didn’t have to do that. I was just using the restroom,” Y/n tried to play off her absence, but she was still a tad breathless as she spoke. Her mother-in-law had taken it upon herself to finish up the task of refilling the snack platters in their absence, much to Y/n’s dismay.

“That’s alright. I came in to see if you needed any help, so I’m helping,” Donna waved her off as she looked back down at the job at hand. Y/n glanced over her shoulder at her husband, her eyes wide. Jensen gave her one curt shake of his head, urging her to move further into the kitchen. The older woman looked up as they reached the island, looking at her son this time. “Where were you at, honey?”

“Oh,” Jensen cleared his throat and pointed over his shoulder. “Um, Y/n asked me to check her car because she, uh, thought she bought another bag of pretzels but couldn’t find them.” Y/n had to admit he was pretty good at coming up with that on the fly and managing to keep his face straight, but she guessed that’s what decades of acting will do for a person.

“No luck I guess,” Donna noted that he was empty-handed.

“Nope, no pretzels,” Jensen agreed, his reciprocating smile tight on his lips.

“Alright, well the little ones are getting antsy, you might want to cut that cake soon,” Donna picked up the finished tray and headed towards the patio door but not before stopping to turn back to the couple. “Oh, and Jay?”

“Yeah, mom?”

“Your fly is still down.” She smiled sweetly before disappearing outside. Y/n spun to look at her husband, her mouth agape as he looked down and hurriedly zipped up his jeans.

“Oh my God,” she yelped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Jensen moved past her with a huff and pulled open the drawer in the kitchen that held the candles and lighter for the party.

“Babe, don’t worry. It’s not like she is going to announce it to the whole party. Though she might tell my dad later,” he mused with a slight grimace.

“Don’t tell me that,” Y/n looked at him, the embarrassment written all over her face. Jensen chuckled at her as he used his free hand to pull her into his side. He squeezed her waist as he kissed away the wrinkles in the center of her forehead.

“Honey, we are married. I think everybody knows we have sex by now.”

“Sure, but they don’t know when we do it,” she cringed internally. “Or that we do it when they are in our house at our kids’ birthday party.”

Jensen leaned into her ear again. “You can’t fool me, you know? I know how much you secretly like everybody to know you are mine. It’s why you are gonna enjoy feeling me between your legs for the rest of the night.” He smacked her ass before leaving her standing in the kitchen as he rejoined the party. Y/n cursed him silently as she chased after him.

The sun was almost gone over the horizon, making it the perfect time to light the candles. Y/n made her way off the patio where the seating was filled with various adults and some of the older cousins and headed towards the hoard of children on the lawn and the bounce house.

“Who wants cake and ice cream?” She yelled as she reached the nylon structure. Her question earned a series of shrieks from the kids both inside and out of it. Josh, who had been watching those inside, helped her with getting them all out. They followed after the flurry of kids towards the house, arriving just as Jensen lit the candles.

The cousins surrounded the cake table. Ezra and Odette, who were nearly inseparable these days, found their way to the other side to surround Levi. Tom hung out with Mackenzie’s kids, having grown close in the past six years, and Shep tended more towards Josh’s kids, but they were all there, more grown than her heart wanted to accept.

The whole party began singing ‘Happy Birthday’ as Jensen grabbed the twins’ hands. He pulled them from the crowd of kids and close to the table, squatting down to hold them against his chest, one in each arm.

“Happy birthday dear Willa and Atlas, happy birthday to you!” The song ended with cheers from the party-goers. Jensen helped their kids to blow out the candles, the excitement written across their tiny faces as he cheered along with the rest of their family.

Y/n stepped up then and took Atlas from his father while the grandmas took over the cutting and serving of dessert. The twins got their’s first followed by the rest of the cousins and then the rest of the family. The handful of napkins Y/n held in one hand was no use against thawed ice cream and a toddler, the melted dairy getting everywhere. Not that their border collie, Poppy, was upset by the drippings hitting the edge of the table and the stone patio below. The parents however were a different story. Jensen was covered from Willa, and he had to permanently rid himself of the flannel and canvas jacket. Y/n had managed to keep her own clothes clean but the twins were out of luck. The two had to be stripped of their ‘Phil and Lil’ costumes before they were let loose again.

The kids spent the rest of the night running off all the sugar and excitement of the day. Surprisingly, it didn’t take as long as she had expected it to. By the time they were starting the bonfire, the twins were tapped out, trapping Jensen in his seat as they slept in his lap. The older cousins were also starting to slow down, enjoying the fire with the adults as the night cooled.

The fire pit sat not far from the creek that cut through their property; the night air filled with the sound of the crackling fire and undisturbed nature. Y/n sat back in her folding chair as she listened to the conversation being had around her by her loved ones.

“Mommy, can I sit with you?” Ezra stood next to her, evidently over sitting on the blanket with Odette. She nodded to him with a smile and helped him into her lap, allowing her oldest to rest against her chest. With the child growing more independent every day, Y/n was learning to savor the small moments like these, unsure of which one would be her last. Her head turned towards the bed of water to her right, watching the flames dance against the waves and tuning her ears to the rushing water.

“You know, in the five years you guys have been here, I have not been able to get over this view,” Jared spoke up from across the way with Gen sitting in his lap, after having followed his sister’s gaze towards the water. “I might have to move the family in.”

“Uh you do that and the horses are officially your responsibility,” Y/n laughed as she rubbed her son’s back absentmindedly, her hands running every so often through the blonde locks on the back of his head.

It truly was a beautiful property that had just gone onto the market when she and Jensen began looking. It was more than they initially had wanted to pay, but the seclusion and security couldn’t be matched. After everything that had happened, the couple took on a lot of new protective measures for their family. Moving somewhere more secluded was number one because while Chandler had gone to prison, he wouldn’t be there forever and he wasn’t the only crazy fan that lived out there. This way they could sleep again at night.

The ranch was almost forty acres of fenced property that cut through Barton Creek, just west of downtown Austin. It sat back off the road in a gated community, leading up to the nature preserve. There was even a barn for horses and a guest house. They were hidden from the world and that was just how she liked it. Now, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, even if it was a lot of work at the end of the day.

Jared and Gen had convinced the Ackles to let them fill the barn not long after they bought the ranch. After all, it had been their plan all along, just not housing her brother’s horses along with her own. Though they were here all the time to help out with the upkeep, passing it off sounded like a dream.

“I think we could make that happen, after all, two of the three are ours,” Gen agreed, laughing at her sister-in-law’s face. Jared joined in with his wife and Y/n couldn’t help but smile at them.

“But seriously, I love seeing you happy, smalls,” Jared acknowledged, his gaze flicking to where her husband was next to her. She followed his line of sight, finding her husband now just as out as their twins.

“Yeah, me too.” A grin spread across her face as she watched the three sleeping. She felt her chest swelling as she let the scene take over her, the emotions hitting her all at once as she watched her family were overwhelming.

There was a time when she had resigned herself to the fact that this was out of her reach. As much as she had been content with her life when she walked onto the set of Supernatural all those years ago, she couldn’t deny that at times it felt like something was missing. And this, this was what she had been missing. That feeling in her chest due to the overwhelming amount of pure love in her heart as she looks at her husband and their family that she has no idea how to even begin to quantify it.

There will never be words for her to express to him how she truly feels. Words can’t describe it. And when she looks at the three little lives they created together, that feeling only multiplies. He took a self-proclaimed independent woman and taught her what it truly meant to love and be loved by another person. Then he gave her their most beautiful blessings and she learned all over again that the heart will always make room for more love. But most importantly, he taught her how to be happy. All she needed to do was let it in because the happiness has always been there, and now more than ever, it always will be.

Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, for reading, commenting, and enjoying. The Happiness Saga will forever remain close to my heart xoxo Alex

Forevers: @22sarah08 @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @briagallen @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deandreamernp @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @katehuntington @lyarr24 @malfoysqueen14 @miss-nerd95 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @smol-and-grumpy @suckmyapplejacks @superfanficnatural @supraveng @talesmaniac89 @tatted-trina6 @thoughts-and-funnies @tranquility-or-chaos @waywardbeanie @winchest09

Happiness Continues: @afangirlreacts @anaelsbrunette @ashleyrose0117 @austin-winchester67 @cno92 @deanbowlegsackles @deangirl93 @deans-baby-momma @death-unbecomes-you @dvnmbabe @fangirl199813 @harryhook-lover @hoboal87 @itsdesiree86 @jbsgirl4ever11 @let-me-luve-you @linki-locks11 @lunarmoon8 @neverland14353 @onethirstyunicorn @parinarain @rebeccathefangirl @rebelemilu @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @squirrelnotsam @stoneyggirl @supernatural3002 @traceyaudette @winchestergirl82 @winqhster @zpandaqueen

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almanacrat · 2 years

Note

Hi! I know you did an Ed one for josh but may you please do one for Sam aswell and maybe add (if you are comfortable) sh? I’ve been struggling lately with both and the way you wrote joshes made me feel seen in a way ya know.

HUGE HUGE TRIGGER WARNING

please do NOT read if you are triggered by self harm, mentions of blades, or are currently not in a good enough mental state to read this

Also if you are young, please do not read this. There are no graphic depictions of any gore, but it is best to not engage with topics this heavy.

that being said, if you or anyone you know is having thoughts of suicide or self harm, please seek help immediately. There is always someone there for you. I have struggled with sh myself, and it is not easy or glamorous. I am in no way trying to glorify self harm.

National suicide hotline: 800-273-8255

You were in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. A void filled your chest and salty tears bathed your eyes, streaming hopelessly down your face.

It had been harder to get up lately, and everything seemed hazy again. Days passed by like minutes and nothing was clear anymore. You couldn't tell the days apart and everything turned mundane as you became more apathetic.

The shiny silver blade seemed to loom over you even though it was merely sitting on the counter. It was so tempting when the rubber band on your arm didn't work anymore and the pen marks faded. You didn't want to let yourself down by relapsing, but it seemed like the best source of healing. It would sound like a paradox to anyone else, but to you it made perfect sense. The pain provided distraction from reality, and it assured you that you could still feel.

You picked it up and examined it, the light bouncing from it's metallic surface and splitting through the room. It felt cool between your fingers as they began to tremble. The blade had you so transfixed that you didn't even notice the chime of the alarm, signaling Sammy coming back from the recording studio. You didn't hear his calls for you as he searched throughout the tiny house.

"No. Absolutey not." Sam declared as he removed the blade from your hand and shut it in the drawer, knowing he would hide it later.

Sam enveloped you in a tight hug, the smell of his cologne comforting you as he held you in his tight arms.

"Why didn't you tell me it had gotten this bad again?" Sammy asked after a few minutes of simply holding you.

"I didn't want to trouble you. I'm not your responsibility." You responded.

"You could never trouble me. If you ever feel like hurting yourself, telling me is the first thing you should do. God, I just- I love you so much and I don't ever want to see you hurt yourself. I'll get you whatever you need. Just tell me what it is. You're my baby, and I'll be damned if I sit around and let you do this to yourself."

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

the words you read (my heart’s been displayed)

how did you know 'cause I never told but you found out I've got a crush on you the words you read, my heart's been displayed you found out I've got a crush on you —“crush on you,” the jets

warnings: awkward clueless teenagers, crushes, slightly overbearing matchmaking uncles, mentions of government surveillance, mostly fluff, please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairing: virgil/logan, secondary patton/roman and janus/remus

word count: 5,761

notes: this is for day 5 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “vocab card/skateboard” and i have decided to write about vocab card! please enjoy!

⁂

In Virgil’s opinion, Logan Sanders is the cutest boy in all of the sophomore grade.

He was the cutest boy in freshman year, too, and eighth grade, and seventh, and all the way back to kindergarten, but Logan’s changed over the summer.

He’s sprouted up a few inches, so now he’s a half-head taller than Virgil. He still looks a little gangly, like he’s going to grow more. He’d always been shorter than Virgil before. He’d gotten new glasses, too, black frames that suit him way better than the silver ovals he’d used when they were little. His voice has gotten a bit deeper, his jawline’s gotten stronger, and Virgil’s helpless crush on him has only grown with Logan.

Logan isn’t just cute, either, he’s smart. He carries around stacks of notecards, blank and filled in, and there’s all sorts of things written on it—interesting fun facts and the latest slang terms, in rubber-banded stacks next to rubber-banded stacks of notecards of terms that will be on their next exam. Logan has a way of explaining anything and everything in a way that is really understandable and never makes you feel dumb. Logan’s always top of the class.

And to make matters worse, they’re next-door-locker-neighbors this year, because Chloe-who-was-between-them-alphabetically moved away. Which means that Virgil cannot quite get away with admiring Logan from afar, the way he has since they were little. Which means that when school starts, on the first day when Logan asks him what homeroom he’s in this year, Virgil’s brain can only go ahhhhHHHHHH and the fact that oh my God Logan is tall now oh my GOD Logan has the locker next to mine now! makes him delay his answer because he’s just staring at Logan, and Logan looks at him a little oddly and then repeats his question as if he thinks Virgil didn’t hear him, and Virgil kind of wants to crawl into his locker to hide there forever thanks.

“Oh,” he manages. He closes his locker. “Um. I’m in Mr. Morales’ homeroom this year.”

Logan smiles at him. Logan SMILES AT HIM. And then he says, “I am, as well. Perhaps we’ll be seated next to each other in homeroom, in addition to being locker neighbors. I would enjoy that.”

He would ENJOY THAT!!!!!

Logan clears his throat and fiddles with his glasses, finally just pushing them a little further up his nose, even though they’re pretty high up on his nose already. “Would you like to walk together to Mr. Morales’ classroom? I was in his home economics class last year, I know where it is.”

“Um, sure,” Virgil says, voice cracking embarrassingly, and he considers opening his locker back up again so that he can hide there. He’s pretty skinny, he might be able to fit.

So they walk to Mr. Morales’ classroom. Logan’s the one talking, mostly; Virgil’s grateful for that, because he’d probably just be rambling nervously the whole time, and it’d be tempting fate to have his voice crack in front of Logan again. But now he can just listen to Logan’s various opinions about their summer reading for their English class, which is much safer. He sure has a lot of opinions about it, which makes Virgil sweat a little nervously—Logan sounds like he’s ready to sit down and write an essay about it, as if they’re going to have to, and Virgil’s pretty sure that if he sat down to take a multiple-choice quiz about that book right now he’d flunk it.

They end up not being assigned to sit next to each other. Mr. Morales says to just sit wherever, since they’re all going to go to an assembly once he takes attendance anyways, and that he probably won’t assign seats for the whole year.

And then Logan ends up sitting next to him anyways.

Like he really meant that he’d like to be next to Virgil in homeroom.

Mr. Morales smiles at them, and then, inexplicably, gives Logan a double thumbs up? And then Logan’s cheeks go kind of red? Logan turns his face away from Mr. Morales, turning to more fully face Virgil.

“You were in his class last year, right?” Virgil says.

“Erm, yeah. Yes. I was.” Logan clears his throat, turning away from him. “He supervises my study hall, too.” Then he mumbles, “also he’s my uncle.”

“He’s your uncle?” Virgil repeats. This is news to him.

“Through marriage,” Logan explains. “Mr. Regnant is my father’s brother.”

Mr. Regnant is the arts-and-music teacher, and, though they don’t talk about it very much (students do, but then, students always gossip), Mr. Morales’ husband.

Mr. Regnant is also, not that Virgil would ever tell him so, Virgil’s favorite teacher.

“Which dad?” Virgil says, because Logan’s two dads were basically his only version of real-life gay representation when they were really little. He knows Mr. Sanders better than Logan’s other dad.

Mr. Sanders always volunteered to be part of the PTA moms who supervised them during holiday parties and field trips, though, looking back, he doesn’t think the PTA moms liked him very much. The kids, on the other hand, loved Mr. Sanders, who would treat them like very short adults and once a year would bring in his mamba Eve for kids to pet and hold.

Logan’s other Dad had been the one who encouraged the kids to throw paints and roll around in the mud and tear things up. Logan’s other Dad had come to supervise one holiday party and was politely asked to never do so again.

“Not Pa—I mean, Janus,” Logan says, looking briefly embarrassed. “He’s Dad’s—Remus’—twin brother.”

Virgil makes an “ohhh” sound, because that makes sense. Now he’s thinking about it, Mr. Regnant and Logan’s dad really do look alike, if one looked past their contrasting senses of style.

“That’s cool, though,” Virgil says thoughtfully. “That you’re related, I mean. Mr. Morales is really nice.”

“Yes, he is,” Logan says. “It’s been a bit strange to adjust to calling him Mr. Morales instead of Uncle Patton, though.”

“Yeah, I guess it probably would be,” Virgil says.

The bell rings, and Mr. Morales ushers them off to the assembly.

Logan sits down next to him on the bleachers at the assembly, too. Their knees bump together as they listen to the principal welcome them back from summer vacation and give some announcements.

And Logan keeps sitting down next to him.

At lunch, in their two shared classes, in homeroom. He wishes Virgil a good morning and good afternoon every day at their locker. As the months of the school year slowly creep by, Virgil definitely does kind of feel like crawling into his locker, sometimes, but less and less so, because.

Because he and Logan are kind of friends now.

Logan asks him about his favorite hot beverage and then starts bringing him chai when he and his uncles stop by a café before school. Virgil sketches out drawings of astronauts and space when Logan goes on a loving tirade about it that lasts, on-and-off, for a week.

He still definitely has a crush on Logan. His increased presence near him is both a blessing and a curse.

They share earbuds and laugh at videos in homeroom, they sit quietly side-by-side and do their homework together in study hall. Virgil even tags along, sometimes, when Logan takes time out of his day to visit his uncles. His uncles always seem delighted whenever Virgil drops by, which Virgil guesses makes sense—Mr. Morales is just kind of Like That, and he’s been taking classes with Mr. Regnant since freshman year, and they’ve been sassing at each other for just about as long.

Logan makes those visits rare, though. He always seems a little self-conscious about how excited his uncles are during their visits, the way they elbow Logan and give him thumbs-ups and wiggle their eyebrows. Virgil doesn’t really get it—he thinks it’s nice that his uncles are so excited to see Logan with his friend.

But then his mom unexpectedly comes by and drops off his lunch and ruffles Virgil’s hair right in front of Logan, and Virgil spends the rest of the day going beet red even Logan assures him that it’s okay and he thinks it’s nice, something in his brain... clicks. A little bit. Even though it doesn’t make sense.

Does Logan...?

No, his brain tells him. There’s no way.

But Virgil keeps an eye out for the next week anyways.

On Monday, Logan’s uncles give him a ride to school and also drive him by the café, so Logan hands over a chai for Virgil. Virgil smiles and thanks him.

Have Logan’s ears always gone red whenever Virgil thanks him for bringing him tea?

On Tuesday, their fingers brush when Logan’s passing over a stack of notecards for Virgil to study for an upcoming exam during their study hall. Simultaneously, they look away from each other, redirecting their attention to their textbooks.

Have they always done that?

On Wednesday, Logan and Virgil swing by Mr. Morales’ classroom. After Virgil laughs at a somewhat sarcastic comment that Logan says, and redirects his attention to the sketch he’s been doing to turn in for approval for his end-of-semester art project, he peeks through his bangs to see Mr. Morales waving his hands eagerly, and Logan go red and gesture sharply for him to stop.

Has Mr. Morales always been so excited whenever he and Logan spend time in his classroom?

On Thursday, Logan seems chilled by the overenthusiastic air conditioning, so Virgil gives him a spare hoodie he had in his locker. Logan looks at him, looks away, and then proceeds to huddle in Virgil’s hoodie for the rest of the day, even after the school adjusts the temperature and it isn’t quite so cold.

By then, his brain saying no way! No way, you cannot afford to be wrong on this so you aren’t even going to try, there’s no way—

It’s after school on Thursday, and Virgil makes sure Logan has already gone home when he descends the stairs to Mr. Regnant’s art-and-music studio.

“Oh, Virgil, hey,” Mr. Regnant says, distracted, looking up from the sheet music he’s laying out across four desks. “Gimme a second, I’ve got the feedback for your sketch on my desk somewhere—”

Virgil looks to Mr. Regnant’s desk. He can’t even see the mug of pens on his desk that Virgil knows is there, it’s so buried in papers and models and paint palette piles. It’s like an avalanche waiting to happen.

“Uh, that’s not—you can give it to me tomorrow,” Virgil says awkwardly. “Um. That’s not why I’m here.”

Mr. Regnant blinks at him. “All right.”

“I,” he wipes his hands on his jeans and grimaces, not quite believing that he’s about to do this. “I need advice.”

Mr. Regnant pauses, before he manages to find an empty desk and sets down the sheet music. “Okay.”

“Before I say anything,” he says. “I need you to give me this advice as Mr. Regnant, faculty supervisor of the GSA club.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Regnant says. “Yeah, ‘course, Virgil. I’m always—”

“Mr. Regnant, faculty supervisor of the GSA club, is a separate person from Mr. Regnant, Logan’s Uncle Roman,” Virgil interrupts, twisting his fingers together anxiously. “Right?”

Mr. Regnant opens his mouth. Closes it. He gestures for Virgil to sit on one of the choir risers, settling there himself, but Virgil sits on the floor. This is a time in which floor-sitting is necessary.

“He could be,” Mr. Regnant says eventually.

“Well I need him to be,” Virgil snaps. “Okay?”

Mr. Regnant presses his lips together and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little higher pitched. His lips twitch and he clears his throat. “Yeah! Yeah.”

“Oh my God, you’re about to laugh at me,” Virgil says, horrified. “I knew this was a terrible idea, forget it—”

“No!” Mr. Regnant says hastily. “No I’m not, no I’m not. I swear I’m not. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is not about to laugh.”

“Is Mr. Regnant Logan’s uncle about to laugh?!”

“I thought they were different people,” Mr. Regnant sasses back, seemingly on instinct, and Virgil buries his face in his hands and screams a little bit. Just a little bit.

“Shi—shoot, I mean shoot!” He says, and tugs lightly at Virgil’s arm. Virgil peeks at Mr. Regnant from between his fingers.

Mr. Regnant’s face is very serious. There is no more sign of lip-twitching, throat-clearing, or mirth in his eyes.

“Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is here and listening,” he says. “Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA does not have any relatives to speak of. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA does not have any twin brothers or nephews. What on earth even are those? Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA would have no idea. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA doesn’t even have parents, or a husband, that’s how absolutely relative-less he is. Okay?”

“Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is an asshole,” Virgil mutters.

“Faculty supervisor of the GSA is starting to not sound like words anymore,” Mr. Regnant says, “also, you are so lucky school is technically over, otherwise I would have totally given you a detention for language.”

“You’re such a hypocrite, you literally just almost swore.”

“Almost,” Mr. Regnant says, “is not the same as did. Now. What can I do for you, Virgil?”

Virgil takes a deep breath in.

“What do you do if you think the boy you have a crush on likes you back?”

Mr. Regnant’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, but otherwise, he doesn’t react.

“You could talk to him?”

“Okay, maybe I should be more specific,” Virgil says, “What do you do if you have an anxiety disorder, and you think the boy you have a crush on likes you back?”

“I know you’re not gonna like this,” Mr. Regnant says, “but my answer is still you could talk to him.”

He holds up a hand before Virgil can protest. “I know it can be scary, I know it can be anxiety-inducing. I know that can be a deterrent for a perfectly neurotypical person, let alone someone who’s got a diagnosed anxiety disorder. But, I mean. Your only options, as I see them, are, A, tell him, or B, sit quietly and wait for him to maybe make the first move.”

“But how can I be sure?” He says.

“Well, why do you think he likes you back?” Mr. Regnant says reasonably.

So Virgil tells him. Virgil tells him all about it—thinking he was cute since they were kids, then suddenly becoming friends this year: the chai, the sketches, the music listening, the blushing and the awkward chats, and how they’re friends now but Virgil still really likes him in a romantic way.

“Does that sound like he likes me back?” he asks anxiously.

Mr. Regnant bites his lip. “As the faculty supervisor of the GSA? I think it could definitely be likely.”

“Likely?” Virgil wails.

“Well, as the faculty supervisor of the GSA,” Mr. Regnant enunciates carefully, “I can’t be certain.”

“I can’t go and tell him based on if it’s just likely! I need to be sure he likes me back or else there’s a chance he says he doesn’t like me and then I’m going to have a heart attack and die!”

“Virgil! As the faculty supervisor of the GSA! I really think you should go for it!”

Mr. Regnant looks like he’s about to reach out and start shaking Virgil by the shoulders. His eyes are huge, the way he always looks at actors onstage who have forgotten their lines, like by just staring at them he’ll be able to psychically impart the script to them.

“Forget it,” Virgil groans and reaches for his backpack, swinging it over his shoulders and standing up. “I’m doomed to suffer in silence. Thanks, I guess, I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Please don’t tell anyone I told you all this.”

As Virgil is closing the classroom door behind him, he’s pretty sure he hears Mr. Regnant screeching.

Honestly, Virgil should be the one screeching. He can’t believe he just told him all that—who knows if Mr. Regnant will be able to keep the information of a crush concerning his nephew to himself?!

⁂

“Okay, here’s your mocha-with-extra-espresso, please don’t tell your Dads,” Uncle Patton says cheerfully, passing back a to-go cup to Logan. “And the chai! I think it’s very sweet that you keep getting this for him, kiddo.”

“Gestures are a good way to express affection,” Logan says anxiously, carefully setting the chai in a cupholder. “I’ve been trying to vary my approaches based off the five love languages. I’m not sure if it’s working.”

Uncle Roman in the passenger seat, his arm thrown over his eyes, makes a sound of great discontent, the way he’s been doing for the past week whenever Uncle Patton has tried to give him any advice concerning Virgil.

“Are you okay, Uncle Roman?” Logan asks again.

“Thinking about being the faculty supervisor to the GSA,” Uncle Roman moans, as if in pain.

“Is the club schedule about to be particularly busy?” Logan asks, frowning. “You typically enjoy your work with the GSA.”

“You could say that,” Uncle Roman says tightly, then groans again.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do personally, in order to relieve any undue stress,” Logan begins, but is cut off by Uncle Roman shrieking.

“Um,” Logan says, looking to Uncle Patton, who snorts, shaking his head.

“He just, um,” Uncle Patton says. “Well, I think something’s happened, except he told me he can’t tell me what it is without betraying someone’s trust, so.”

“I see,” Logan says, frowning, except for the part where he doesn’t see, really. But that happens fairly frequently with Papa and Dad. Honestly, it’s rather curious that Uncle Roman has not acted in a way that seems strange to outsiders. Dad does it all the time, and they’re twins.

Oh, well. He’s sure he’ll understand eventually.

“I’m fine,” Uncle Roman says, and he sniffs loudly. “I’m fine, it’s all—fine.”

Uncle Patton pats his hand sympathetically, before directing their car to school.

Logan sips his drink, before he says idly, “I think I’m going to tell him I’ve had a crush him today.”

Uncle Roman immediately spews coffee onto the windshield in an impressive spit-take. It is hilarious. Even though Uncle Roman is choking a little.

Uncle Patton meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, his eyes bright with excitement. “Really?!”

“Really,” Logan confirms. “I mean, it’s been—it’s been a couple months. We are friendly enough. I do not think that Virgil will discard our friendship if I confess that I have had a crush on him since last year.”

“Well!” Uncle Patton says, so flustered that he accidentally turns on the windshield wipers when he means to signal a turn, and then when he tries to fix that he turns on his hazard lights, before he manages to get the car under control again. “Well, that’s great, kiddo! I’m so excited for you!”

“You are the smartest kid I know,” Uncle Roman says, turning in his seat to face Logan, his expression near-worshipful. “I love you.”

“Um. Thank you?”

“I know you don’t believe in psychics, but are you—?”

“Why are you bringing up psychics?” Logan says, perplexed. “I figured—well, I’ll tell him. And it is time that the Halloween festival will begin this weekend. That seems like a date that Virgil would enjoy.”

“Right,” Uncle Roman says. “Okay. Well—go for it! Please go for it!”

“I have already told you I will,” he says.

“I think it’s gonna go great if you go for it!”

Strange. Uncle Roman is acting as if he has had too much caffeine. As far as Logan is aware, the beverage they have just stopped to get is his first coffee of the day, and he does not metabolize the effects of coffee that quickly.

“Right,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses and taking a sip of his coffee. Then, “Right.”

Then, “What if he says he doesn’t like me back?”

Uncle Roman throws his arm across his eyes and makes that same groaning sound again.

Uncle Patton absentmindedly reaches over and bracingly rubs Uncle Roman’s thigh, again meeting Logan’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Well, kiddo, if he says he doesn’t like you back,” he says, then frowns. “It’s understandable to be disappointed, or a little bit upset, but it’s important to accept his answer graciously and kindly. No means no. No is a full sentence. But Virgil seems like a very nice boy, I can’t imagine he’ll be very mean about it at all, and you two have gotten close over the past few months. It might be kind of awkward for a bit, but with a little work, your friendship will be able to survive it.”

“I suppose,” Logan says quietly, looking down at his lap.

“But,” Uncle Patton adds hastily, “I think the chances are really good for him saying yes to the date! We both do, don’t we, Roman?”

Uncle Roman lets out a very strangled “mm-hmm.”

Logan chews his lip, before he says timidly, “Can I borrow one of your phones to call my Dads?”

“Cupholder, just a bit in front of ya,” Patton says cheerfully. “You already know the password.”

Logan does. He swipes it in—his uncles’ wedding date—and presses on Papa’s contact number. Dad’s phone is lost more often than not, and almost always turns up in strange places, like inside the gateau he’d tried to make, or inside the neighbor’s rain gutters.

His father picks it up almost immediately.

“Patton, if this is about the adopt-a-thon, if I have told you once I have told you a thousand times—”

“Um, hi, Papa,” Logan says awkwardly; he does not want to get into the family squabble about sharing a pet between their households again. Eve is a sufficient pet, even if she’s not as cuddly as Uncle Patton might like.

His father’s voice transforms from chiding to concerned in a second. “Logan, is everything all right?”

“Yes, everyone is operating under adequate parameters,” Logan says. “Is Dad there?”

There’s the sound of something crashing in the background, as if on cue. Knowing Dad, it might have been.

“I’ll get him,” Papa says wearily.

He hears his Papa say Remus, our son is on the phone, please put down the—Uh, Jan, sexy-pie! I thought you were! On the way to work!—what the—REMUS, we’ve TALKED about this, how did you lay hands on a HERON—and then the conversation gets a good deal more muffled. He is pretty sure that Papa is shouting at Dad about capturing local wildlife again.

He waits patiently, before he hears the clatter of the phone being passed into someone’s hands, and Dad asks, “Did someone die?! Do you need help covering up a murder?!”

“Remus, please,” Papa groans, “the boy is too smart to implicate himself by opening the opportunity to be recorded over the phone lines.”

“That’s right, Logie-bear, the government is always watching,” Dad says solemnly. “Big brother, all hail. Also lean over and give my little brother a wet-willie for me, it’d be so funny—”

Logan, accustomed to conversations of this tone since birth, continues stolidly onward. “I’m going to tell Virgil I like him today.”

“Finally!” Dad hoots.

“That’s excellent, Logan,” Papa says placidly. “Please know that I am fully aware of the misogynistic roots of the what are your intentions discussion, and I’ve been doing research in order to make our version as feminist as possible. Also, your father has been warned to discuss minimal amounts of gore when he comes to our home.”

“What is the point of a shovel talk then!”

“We already agreed no shovel talk,” Papa says irritably. “When we threaten the boy, we’ll do it subtly.”

“Please don’t threaten him,” Logan says anxiously. “I don’t even know if he likes me back yet.”

“Of course he likes you back!” Dad says, outraged on his behalf. “Why the hell wouldn’t he like you back?!”

“How did you two know that you loved each other?” Logan asks. The question feels slightly childish, and he feels even more so when he curls up in his car seat, but he cannot deny the posture brings a certain level of comfort.

There’s a pregnant pause.

“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Papa says.

“I’m sixteen in a matter of weeks!”

Dad makes an absurd gagging noise, because he is ridiculously averse to the concept of Logan (and therefore, himself and Papa) aging. Logan thinks that it might have to do with a latent existential crisis, but he has not asked, because knowing Dad, he will spin it out into thirteen separate absurd reasons, and ten of them will make Logan cringe away, repulsed.

“Trust my judgment on this,” Papa says. “You do not want to know the origins of how our romance developed. However, when we actually had the discussion concerning feelings, your father—”

“I wrote him a beautiful letter in my best calligraphy,” Dad says proudly, then, “You probably don’t want to hear about the ink, do you?”

“Is it disgusting?” Logan asks warily.

“Quite, but,” then, in a voice that literally every other person wouldn’t realize is Papa’s version of profound sappiness, “that’s your father.”

There is the sound of kissing. Logan resists the urge to make a gagging noise of his own, because somehow, he is the mature one in the entire family.

“As it is, just,” Papa says, then sighs. “I cannot believe I am about to give such... Pattonish advice. But. As it is, just be yourself. If this boy likes you back—”

“—as he should, and if he doesn’t he’s in desperate need of a lobotomy,” Dad mutters.

“—then he will like you for you, just the way you are,” Papa says, as if Dad had not said anything remotely worrying. “Tap into your strengths, Logan. You are intelligent, and observant, and thoughtful—”

“—and the best son there is—”

“Well, that goes without saying, clearly,” Papa says. “As long as your confession comes from you, then there is no way that it can go wrong. You are simply too excellent a person for it not to.”

“Even if it turns out he doesn’t like me?” Logan says timidly.

“If it does, then have your uncle forge an excuse note for you to get out of school early today and we’ll plot accordingly,” Papa says evasively. “But I do not think that outcome likely.”

Logan chews his lip. Papa is the best liar he knows, but—

But hearing his encouragement is too comforting to really analyze if he is lying.

“Thanks, Dads.”

“Knock him dead, kid!” Dad shouts. “And if he doesn’t then I will!”

“What did we just say about discussing potential evidence over the phone lines,” Papa scolds, and Logan hangs up, smiling.

Just be yourself.

Uncle Pattonish advice it may be, it has given him an idea.

⁂

Waiting over this past week to see if Mr. Regnant will crack and spill to Mr. Morales, or even worse, Logan himself, has been absolutely agonizing and Virgil’s kicking himself over going to Mr. Regnant for advice surrounding Logan at all.

That morning, though, Mr. Morales is at his desk, and a chai is waiting for Virgil at their usual spot, but Logan is nowhere to be seen. Virgil tries his hardest not to act too much like he’s keeping an eye out for Logan, but he is pretty sure he’s not succeeding, because Mr. Morales is smiling at him way too wide.

He actually seems really excited about something. Like, Mr. Morales usually gets excited when it’s fresh chocolate chip cookie day at lunch, but this is beyond the pale for fresh chocolate chip cookie day. Maybe the assembly they have today is something special? Except Virgil’s pretty sure it’s to pass out honors for the last quarter and talk about fall sports. That’s nothing particularly special.

Logan slides into his seat just before the bell rings, though, wrapping a rubber band around one of his notecard stacks. It’s a thin stack, it must be for something that’s just started; usually Logan compiles every unit of every class into thick stacks, able to be differentiated by the different colors of the notecards. These are just basic white ones.

He fiddles with it, darting looks to Virgil as Patton takes attendance, and, as they’re all filing out of the door, Logan holds out the stack of notecards.

“Here,” he blurts out.

Virgil blinks. “I don’t think we have a test soon?”

“They’re not for a test,” Logan says. “Just—take them. Read them during assembly. Please,” he adds belatedly.

“Uh,” Virgil says and takes them. “Okay?”

“Okay!” Logan says and nods. “Okay. Okay. Great! Um—please take your time to consider them carefully, and I await your response,” and then he practically runs off to fall into line near Mr. Regnant.

So that’s... weird.

But Virgil sticks the notecards into his hoodie pocket, anyways, ready to read them during assembly like Logan directed.

He waits until the principal is droning on about the importance of school spirit to take the notecards out of his pocket.

He spares a glance for Logan—who is several rows ahead, near the faculty, sitting next to Mr. Morales and Mr. Regnant, Mr. Morales occasionally reaching over to rub Logan’s shoulder bracingly—and then angles the notecards so that a teacher looking into the crowd wouldn’t really be able to see them.

He stares at the title on the top notecard. Blinks hard. Blinks again. Looks down at Logan’s back, then back to the notecard.

Reasons why I have a crush on Virgil.

He reaches over to pinch himself. Nope. Not dreaming, then.

And Logan really doesn’t seem like the type of person to make a joke like this.

He flips the cards and reads them slowly, savoring each and every word written in Logan’s blocky, neat script.

He is exceptionally witty.

He is knowledgeable about a great many things, such as music, art, spiders, novels, and mental health issues.

He is sarcastic.

He is thoughtful and deliberate in the formation of his opinions, even ones as small as the proper preparation of chai.

He is very handsome.

He is never rude without reason, and when he is rude, it is usually because the other person is “an asshole” and should be receiving backlash.

He is a remarkably talented artist.

Virgil keeps reading on, he is, he is, he is...

When he gets to the end—I would like to take you on a date. I would also like to be boyfriends, though I understand if you would like to table that conversation until we have established a rapport. Please let me know if you would be amenable to that suggestion.—he feels kind of dizzy. His throat is tight, his heart is pounding, and his hands are so sweaty he’s had to wipe them off on his jeans twice already.

Is it really possible that someone as wonderful as Logan would think of him so highly?

It’s like he’s describing someone entirely different—awkward, anxious Virgil couldn’t possibly be the snarky, witty, caring, deep-thinking guy that Logan’s writing about. There’s just no way. But, Virgil thinks, heart twisting, but Logan doesn’t lie about things like this. Is this the way Logan sees him?

Is it really possible that someone as wonderful as Logan would have a crush on him at all?

He likes Virgil. He wants to take Virgil on a date. He wants Virgil to be his boyfriend.

There’s the rumbling of everyone standing up from the bleachers, and Virgil jumps—has it really been the entire assembly?—and hastily gets to his feet, so he won’t get swept up in the crowd of students returning to their classrooms.

As he’s heading for the door, Logan practically materializes in front of him, hugging his books tightly to his chest.

“Did you read them?” He asks fretfully. Now that Virgil’s close to him, face-to-face, he isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Logan so nervous. He isn’t sure if he’s seen Logan nervous at all. Logan’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, drumming his fingers on his books, holding the books like they’re a teddy bear.

“Do you,” Virgil says, his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “You really like me?”

“Since last year,” Logan admits.

“I’ve liked you since kindergarten,” Virgil blurts out.

Logan blinks at him, jaw dropping. Then he says, “Really?!”

“Really,” Virgil promises. “My mom has this journal entry saved where I kept writing about how I was going to be Mr. Virgil Sanders, oh my God, she’s going to be so embarrassing about this—”

Logan snorts, ducking his head. “You’ve withstood my uncles handily.”

“Your uncles are cool, though,” Virgil says, confused.

“My uncles are embarrassing,” Logan says, “and my Dads are going to be so weird, I’m very sorry in advance, but—but if you can handle all of that, then I’d—I’d really like to take you out to the Halloween festival. I’d really really like that.”

Virgil’s smiling so wide that it hurts his face. “I’d really really like that too.”

And then the bell rings, and the pair of them jump at the sudden loud noise.

“I—we have to go to class,” Logan says, sounding very put out.

“Yeah,” Virgil says, then, “I’ll see you at lunch?”

Logan beams at him. “Lunch sounds wonderful.”

Virgil hesitates, before he reaches out and places a hand on Logan’s shoulder. He leans in and presses his lips to Logan’s cheek.

Logan’s bright red when he pulls away.

“Lunch?” Virgil confirms.

“Lunch,” Logan squeaks out, his voice cracking.

They emerge from under the bleachers, and have to split ways. Even when Mr. Regnant pulls him out into the hall under the guise of talking about his project and starts whisper-shouting about “do you know how HARD IT WAS to keep QUIET when i KNEW all along that you both LIKED each other bacK,” even when Mr. Morales ducks his head into his math class to pass over papers and gives Virgil some super-obvious thumbs up, even after he texts his Mom and his mom sends him screenfuls of exclamation points and immediately asks him to invite Logan over so that she can show Logan all of Virgil’s baby pictures—

Virgil cannot stop smiling.

#my post #text #my fic #analogical #analogicalweek #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #logan sanders

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willowbird · 3 years

Note

For the prompt game — could you do AU 1, trope 8, location 2 for Andreil? I always love reading these, thanks for sharing!

Grad School, return of the childhood best friend, inside Andrew's closet!!! Thank you so much for sending in the ask I'm glad you're enjoying the little ficlets and I hope you like this one too!

-----

Tall people were a curse. A blight on all of society. Civilization would undoubtedly crumble under the obnoxious stomping of their huge feet and the polar ice caps would melt at least in part due to the heat from their big fat heads.

Also, all the tall fuckers in Andrew's cohort were constantly putting things in places Andrew couldn't reach, especially when it came to the supply closet off of the office the group of them communally used. It had gotten to the point that Andrew had taken full command of the ordering and organization of all their supplies. Last month he had even gone so far as to print out and laminate a full-color sign for the closet that read: NO ONE ABOVE 5'3 PERMITTED. SEE ANDREW J MINYARD FOR ALL SUPPLY RETRIEVAL.

The only reason he'd given the extra few inches at all was because Robin, the undergrad TA that assisted in one of his classes, sometimes helped him out and she was a whole three inches taller than him. It was enough of a restriction that it barred the rest of his cohort from intruding, though, as even Renee was a solid 5'8.

Or at least, it should have been an effective restriction. Andrew had thought the rest of his team could read well enough to get the goddamn message. Then he showed up this morning and the fucking closet door was open and where was the box of printer ink he'd ordered last week?

That's right, on the top fucking shelf.

When Andrew figured out which idiotic fucking beanpole had decided to pull this shit with him there was going to be hell to pay. He would raid his cat's litter box for ammunition if he had to.

For the moment, though, he needed to replace the ink in both printers. Which was why he was balancing precariously on the arms of the only non-rolly chair on the goddamn floor, straining to reach the box of ink and quietly promising to take an extra dose of revenge out of each and every person over 5'3 if he fell.

Which he almost did when a sharp knock suddenly echoed a bit too loud from directly behind him.

"Jesus fuck what is wrong with y--" Andrew cut off abruptly as he looked over his shoulder to see who had dared come up behind him at a time like this. He blinked, then he fully closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. When the man before him was still fucking there, Andrew twisted slightly and jumped down, letting his ass hit the seat as he overbalanced on the landing.

"Um... hi."

It had been almost ten years since Andrew had heard that voice. Ten years. In that time Neil had gone from being a scrawny, anxious kid to... well...

Vivid blue eyes stared at him steadily, winged with eyeliner that only made them brighter. His dark russet-auburn hair was shaved close to his head on the sides but long enough on the top that he'd gathered it back in a loose bun, which only emphasized the perfect angles of his face and the soft give of his mouth, the way his chin carved down to a point as if to frame it, drawing the eye.

"Andrew? I didn't mean to surprise you. Well, I did, that's why I didn't tell you I was coming. I didn't mean to almost make you fall off a chair though..."

Neil clicked a tongue-piercing against his teeth. It flashed silver for a moment, matching the two bars that bisected his left eyebrow. Purple studs and a line of tiny hoops trailed up each ear.

Andrew stared, then he did the only rational thing and reached forward, grabbing the doorknob and slamming it shut with himself inside the closet.

His heart was fucking pounding, and he knew his face was flushed because, look. Look. Neil Josten at fourteen years old had been a scrawny kid with big ears and a chipped tooth that was always covered in bruises and Andrew had been so fucking in love with him. All he ever wanted to do as a baby gay was kiss Neil Josten. Thought about it all the time. But that had been off the table because Neil was his best friend and probably asexual and also literally trying to survive. When Neil moved to the other side of the fucking planet to be with his uncle, Andrew had told himself that this was a good thing because 1) Neil would be safe and 2) if there was distance between them then Andrew could finally get over him.

Over the last ten years they'd exchanged regular letters, but because Neil was a fucking technophobe and there may or may not have been an actual hit from actual hitmen and gangsters and shit on him over here in the states - they hadn't spoken on the phone and no pictures had been shared.

And now here was Neil. Almost twenty-four and... so so fucking hot.

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by a quiet, anxious, "Andrew..?" that sounded a lot more like the Neil Andrew remembered.

"Um... should I go? I'm sorry... I thought... I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'll go..."

"No!" The word escaped him before he had time to really think about it. He was pretty sure his voice cracked a little in his desperation too. Shit. Andrew cleared his throat and tried again. "Just... wait. I.. need to get ink."

"Okay."

Andrew did his best not to read into the mystery in Neil's tone. Instead, he thanked the closet gods and carefully climbed back up onto the chair. Another couple of minutes later he had the ink he needed and was facing a coming out he really never anticipated having to go through. Coming out of the closet to your best friend was one thing. Coming out of the literal, actual closet you have shut yourself in to reunite with your super hot best friend that you've been in love with for over a decade at this point was quite another.

Ripping the band-aid off was really the only way to go, so Andrew took a deep breath, put his free hand on the knob, and opened the door.

Neil had repositioned himself and was now leaning against the nearest desk. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows exposing strong forearms decorated with swirls of dark ink. Three fingers on each hand bore rings (not the ring fingers, not that Andrew was specifically looking) and his nails were painted a dark, glossy gray. Around one wrist was a frayed bracelet that perfectly matched the one Andrew also wore on the same wrist.

As soon as Neil saw him, he lit up. A smile on his face that shined in his eyes, even if there was a slight hesitance to it - understandable considering Andrew had just.. you know... shut himself in a closet after seeing him.

"Hey... Sorry again, about that. I know you don't like to be startled. I just... I got excited."

Andrew swallowed, a tough feat with a throat so dry. Somehow, he managed a snort. "Like a puppy. Should I be worried about my floors, Josten?"

"I dunno, you gonna scratch me behind the ears?" Neil shot back, and the smirk that accompanied it was fucking devastating. That's is, Andrew gave up. He lost. Dead, he was dead. There was no way he was getting out of this one.

Andrew did the only thing he could do to keep himself from grabbing the little bastard and kissing him senseless, which was ask the big question hanging in the room between them.

"How are you here, Neil? I thought you'd never be able to come back to American soil."

Neil rubbed the back of his neck, like he was thinking of the best way to explain it. After a moment he said, "Uncle Stuart still doesn't think it's a great idea - but there's no price on my head anymore. As of last month we cleared out the last of... well, let's just call them the old bad guys. There are new bad guys, but they don't really care about me."

It took a moment for that to fully sink in. Andrew set down the ink on the desk and moved to stand directly in front of Neil. When Neil stood up straight, they were almost exactly the same height - Neil only really had a few inches on him. At least he hadn't been lying to make him feel better when he'd told him in a letter a few years back that he'd topped out at 5'3.

"So? Don't you have a whole new life over in jolly old England now? Friends and family who don't regularly try to kill you? Why come back at all?"

He knew why, but he wanted - he needed - to hear him say it.

"Yeah, but... they aren't you."

"Me."

"Yeah, Andrew. You."

Their eyes met. Something in Andrew's chest snapped like an overworked rubber band stretched too taut and all the carefully sequestered feelings it had been keeping at bay suddenly sprang forth like a tidal wave. They rushed through him, filling him up, buoying him until he probably could have reached the top shelf of that goddamn closet without the chair.

"I hate you," Andrew ground out. And Neil smiled, because he knew it wasn't true.

"I missed you, Andrew. I missed you so fucking much."

"Shut up, stupid." Andrew forced himself to take a deep breath, then he snatched up Neil's hand and started dragging him out of the office. "Come on. We're getting ice cream."

Neil laughed and squeezed his hand. "Some things never change."

No, Andrew thought, some things never do.

#asks #AFTG prompts #aftg fanfic #andrew minyard #neil josten #reunion fic #i will never pass up the chance to make an 'in the closet' joke #they are so in love #andrew minyard x neil josten #andreil

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years

Text

Love Hurts - pt. 5

A/N: Okay but gif was so hard to find and I love this part so much. Hahah, help me. I am falling deep into this fic.

How in the hell did you end up here?

You sat on the bathroom floor, placing your palm on his back and gently rubbing it as he threw up in the toilet. “Want me to hold your hair, princess?” you started to tease as he lowered his head and weakly replied.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You laughed at him but continued to rub his back. You didn’t say anything, just tried to be there for him...

‘---You were afraid to open the box your mother had sent you. Now, you loved your mother but her taste in clothes and in general, wasn’t really the one you would choose to live with. Remembering back on the childhood days where she would sometimes dress you in the most colourful puffy dresses or give you haircuts on your own.

You took a deep breath and opened the box. You weren’t surprised or upset of what you saw- it was sparkly and purple fabric. You had to take it out and that took another long mental preparation to do it. But you wanted this to be over, you were prepared to be disappointed.

But were you really? - No. For the first time you wanted to cry because when you pulled out the purple fabric out, the skirt fell down in waves, the top was nicely sown and the dress was- what’s the word? - Perfect.

You gasped, putting your hand over your mouth and beaming at it. Immediately you went to your desk and started writing your mother a thank you letter, telling her that you will send her a picture as soon as possible.

You folded the letter into an envelope and ran to the Owlery. Down the stairs, by the commom room, through the portrait hole and outside. You gave it to one of the owls and watch it fly away. When it disappeared out of your sight, you took a deep breath in and started walking out.

One second and you were suddenly on the freezing floor. Your bum was hurting, as well as your back from the hard fall but when your eyes looked at front it was none else but Fred Weasley.

Your cheeks glowed red but you blamed it solely on the cold wind.

“Sorry about that.” he rubbed the back of his head and stepped up, offering you his hand and pulling you up.

“No worries.” you patted your robes of snow and tucked your hair behind your ears.

He was looking at you awkwardly as you did the same, trying to find a proper way to get out of this situation. “Well... see ya.” you tried to move away but he gently took you by the elbow, pulling you back.

“(y/n) wait?” he said just before goosebumps reached from his fingertips to his shoulder. He looked down at your elbow and quickly removed his hand, shaking off the goosebumps. Must be the cold - he thought.

“Yes?” you looked at him with eyes as big as the owl and cheeks as red as a rose.

He felt something grab his throat but he managed to clear it out. “I- uh- are we... I mean...” he shut his mouth and looked at you with sorrowful eyes; the ones that hung on his cheeks and let it fade in their brown colour.

“I don’t know, Fred.” you simpered, trying to lighten up the mood. “But today is the dance and we promised to be at our best behaviour, didn’t we?”

His eyes got a bit lighter, as well as his smile. “Yeah... we did but-” he stopped himself.

“But what?”

“Nothing.” he smiled, shaking his head. “See you on the ball?”

“Yeah.” you smiled and waved at him just before you left, burning from the inside out.

Day passed with a flip of a switch. Suddenly, everybody was getting ready for the Ball, hours before it started. You were frustrated with your hair. When you ironed them, they looked too casual but when you curled them, you looked like a sheep.

“UGH!” you dug your fingers in your wild hair and wanted to pull it off your scalp.

Your makeup was done, your dress was waiting to be worn but your hair just didn’t want to work with you.

“The struggle of being a woman.” your roommate stood behind you and continued to look at you. You lifted your head to frown at her but she only chuckled and took your hair in her hands. “Here. How about we take all of this-” she kept pulling all of the strands her hands missed. “- and this.” she grabbed the comb from the desk, brushing back your hair neatly and slick. She twirled the hair back and secured it with a rubber band. She then pulled the hair out a bit, so they weren’t too tight on your head, grabbed a few pins to secure the fallen strands, took the comb again and pulled two strands in front of your head.

You looked back in the mirror and found yourself with a lovely loose yet elegant hairstyle that you knew would match your dress perfectly. “Oh my-” you touched it gently and looked at her with bright eyes. “Thank you so much.”

“Now go put that dress on and lets get this Ball rolling.” she rubbed your shoulder and went to get changed herself. ---’

The two of you were sitting across each other. He was leaning his head on the wall and his eyes watched you drunkenly from afar. His hair was a complete mess by now, the times he ran his hands through it, times you brushed it gently on the back of his head as he threw up the alcohol out of his stomach. He wore a white shirt under his tuxedo, bow already gone as he unbuttoned a few buttons on the top to breathe. His legs were between yours and he couldn’t help himself but to remember the first time he saw you in those silver heels and this gorgeous purple dress.

‘--- He was with his brothers, his friends looking around at the joyous faces of other students. Every face that entered through those doors lit up at the sight of the gorgeously decorated room. Now before any dance, they had to wait on their Champions first to make an appearance but he really wasn’t waiting for the Champions to show up... he was waiting for you.

And like a wish come true, you walked through those doors in the arms of another man, both matching your smiles as your eyes scanned the room. He didn’t know what he had felt because it was the first time he felt something like this. Something so sharp cut him below the knees that he could feel the strength in his muscles anymore. He didn’t even notice the beat of his heart nor the surroundings around him. All he saw was how stunning you looked in that amazing purple dress. The top held on to you by two purple straps by the shoulders, the middle of the dress hugged your torso tightly but lower it got, gentler the dress hugged you. It didn’t fall to your feet but a little lower your knees. There was a short cut on the side, just enough to let a man show a glimpse of your thigh before it covered itself with the fabric.

Your hair was pinned back, makeup smokey purple and sharply outlining the colour of your eyes. Silver jewelry, silver heels with straps above your ankles.

So there you were, one hand waving at the other students meanwhile the other held on to your date. Fred couldn’t help himself but to tense up at the spot. The way your blonde date looked at you- the two of you just didn’t belong together. You didn’t belong to him.

Your eyes finally locked with his and his anger sunk back into void because now all he has felt was you looking at him with your sparkly eyes- as he would say. You weren’t angry at him- no, not even a little bit. You were just there, looking gorgeous. ---’

He bumped his leg onto yours and grinned. You looked up and bumped back, smiling to him. “How are you feeling?” you asked.

“Better with you here.” his eyelids lowered, then opened up a bit as he nuzzled into his arm.

You brushed away his drunken comment and decided to take him to bed. You stood up slowly, trying not to slip with your heels on. To avoid any falls, lifting his heavy weight, you decided it was best to just take them off.

Unstrapping it, you threw your shoes off and sighed with relief when your foot touched the ground. Nothing feels better than taking off heels you wore all night.

You weren’t aware though, as you enjoyed that moment of taking off your heels, so was the ginger on the other side...

‘--- The dance began and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You felt him looking and you caught him looking. He only grinned when your eyes met his, when the two of you bowed, his eyes watched yours and when suddenly after dancing with your partner, you had to switch it up.

He caught you firmly and he pulled you close as the two of you dance. He didn’t want to let go when he had you. The way you were dressed, the way you smelt and the way you looked up at him with those eyes of yours- he could consume you.

You could feel him staring at you with lust but one thing you didn’t let to consume your mind was that he might have feelings for you. He didn’t. He told you that, multiple times. He didn’t feel what you felt right now; when he held you so close, so tight, so lovingly- it was just Fred being Fred.

He could see your eyes falter in their light, something changing in yourself- like a promise being broken, like hope being wrecked down and he knew that you were thinking of him and what he did to you.

A second and you slipped away back to your partner- your devilishly handsome foreign partner that he could never compare to. He held you just as close and just as firm but something in your eyes was different. They weren’t there with him like they were with Fred.

But the Serbian took you away and suddenly you were with other people, laughing and drinking punch. The Serbian took you to the dance floor where the two of you enjoyed the music together and the Serbian held onto you, always so close, always touching you, hugging you, rubbing his nose against your neck and cheek... wanting to kiss you.

But Fred couldn’t take it if he would, so he left before his heart would break from seeing you with another man. But that wasn’t his right- to be jealous. You were right there, ready to commit to him, telling him how much you liked him but he had rejected you in the most horrible way possible, thinking he was out of your league when in reality, you were out of his.

He thought that he was better- he really was full of himself before he realised he wasn’t and that he lost the one girl he didn’t even give a chance to. He did like you, he just didn’t know how much until it was too late because this crazy funny and flirty girl who sat behind him in class grew on him the moment he let her go. And it wasn’t just that. You frustrated him, you challanged him- confronted him about his ego, his pride... but now it’s too late because you’re dancing with another man, probably snogging him as well.---’

He snapped out of his thoughts as soon as he felt something brush his cheek. His eyes flickered back into reality and he was faced with your eyes, smiling with care and adoration.- And your makeup was a bit smudged but that didn’t matter, not to him. He practically grew up with you in this school. He knew you were just as pretty under all that makeup, even more so than with the makeup.

His hand reached up to your cheek and his thumb brushed over the blush on your cheek.

‘--- You were furiously storming out of the ball, tugging down your as your heels clicked every time they hit the ground. Gritting your teeth and thinking back on the way he grabbed your thigh, making you extremely uncomfortable in the middle of the dance floor. You were fiery like that, you slapped him right then and there but no matter how much he apologised, you were upset and angry with your date.

It was weird though when something made you stop as you passed the courtyard. Like a buzz in your ear that made you turn your head and find someone lying on the cold grass.

It didn’t take you long who it was. “Fred?!” you hugged your arms and walked to him. You kicked him gently on the thigh and he jerked awake. He sat up and tried to clear his vision but the gorgeous yet blurry purple colour of didn’t really challange him of trying to figure out who was standing above him.

He smiled drunkenly. “Are you stalking me Miss (Y/l/n)?”

“Are you drunk?!” you widened your eyes in shock and knelt down to see if that silver flask was really a flask or something that would explode into bubblegums or something. “Where’s George? Where are your friends?”

“I-” he leaned forward. “- left them there.” he let out a giggle.

“What even is thi- ugh!” you said as you smelt the awful liquor.

“I don’t even know.” he wheezed. “I just found this good ol mate from Durstrtr- Durmastr- Durmrmrr- you know what I mean.” he brushed his hand, still smiling. “He just went- OI! GINGER!” he shouted over your ear and you quickly leaned back. “AI GOT SOMETHING FOR YOUR SAPPY FACE!- he said.” Fred leaned forward as he told his story. “He asked me if I want something strong or something to make me whoozy and you know what I said?” he grinned, looking at you with his red eyes.

“I would say strong.”

“Nope. I said make me forget my feelings- so he gave me this flask and he said I could pay him tomorrow and gotta say, princess. Balkan alcohol hits different- I mean he said it was from there so I guess there is this alcohol whiskey? rum? rakija? He mentioned something about rakija maybe not what is this, you know?”

“You are talking nonsense.” you said, looking over your shoulder. “I’m getting George. He’s probably worried.”

“No!” he panicked and grabbed your hand, goosebumps reaching his shoulder again. He continued to stare at your hand, before back up into your eyes. “How do you do that?”

“George will-”

“Georgie can’t know about this, please.” he staggered on his feet and went back to you and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was looking at you with pleading eyes and your heart couldn’t crush it. You had all the power to just leave him there, do what he did to you, hurt him, laugh at him, do anything but your heart didn’t think twice.

You just weren’t mean.

“Then I’m taking you back to your dorm.” ---’

You took his hand and removed it from your cheek, frowning at feeling what you did when he did that. He was drunk. He won’t remember anything.

“Come on, Freddie. Let’s get you out of here.” you threw his arm on your shoulder and wrapped yours around your torso.

He stood on his feet and he held himself up quite strongly. You could say he felt a little bit sober, throwing up all he drank but it took him a while to process what you said. “What did you call me?” he stopped, looking at you from the side as he held on to your hip.

“What?” you looked up at him, letting go of him because he could stand on his own, however you were pulled a bit closer to him by himself.

“I missed that.” he smiled.

“Missed what?”

“Freddie- how you called me before everything happened.”

“Really?” you smiled, getting away from his grip and pulling him by the hand to walk him to his bed.

You pulled the covers off and waited for him to get in. He was grinning at you cheekily. “Ladies first.” he said and you laughed, rolling your eyes.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not when it comes to you.” he sat down on the bed and tucked his legs under the covers.

“Yeah.” you laughed, covering him with the blankets. “I miss flirting too.” you shook your head, chuckling.

“Flirting? I was serious.” he furrowed his eyebrows but you only put your hand on his thigh and smiled.

“Goodnight, Fred.”

“Wait-” he said and you turned around to find him sitting on the edge of the bed again.

“I just tucked you in!” you narrowed your eyes at him. “I was being all caring and even said goodnight-”

He smiled at your little joking, feeling a bit nostalgic as you continued to smile and talk at him, reminding him back on the days before everything happened. “I never told you that but you look beautiful.”

You shut up completely, staring at him. You took a few steps forward and he stood up, watching you approach him.

Your hand reached up to his cheek and his hand planted itself on top of it. “You’re drunk, Freddie.”

“Maybe... but tomorrow I’ll be sober and you’ll still be beautiful.” and without any second thought he pulled you into his embrace, lifting you off your feet and just holding you so close to him, taking in your scent, taking in every moment, every second and every touch with you. “I know you’ll leave.” he mumbled into your neck, putting you back down on your feet but keeping you close. “But please stay until I fall asleep.” he pulled away, looking into your eyes as you cupped his jaw and smiled. “Will you stay?”

“I’ll stay for you, Freddie.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

When Naruto let go of that pitch, Sakura knew their school had won. She hugged Hinata who was also overjoyed, and she turned to her side to give Sasuke a high five then she realized he was still not back.

As she moved along the bleachers, she rallied her schoolmates to give a resounding yell routine. Disappearing within the noise, she moved along the halls below the benches, and there she found the group.

When the fist made contact with her face, she almost blacked out. The pain came rushing in after a few seconds of numbness, her sight a complete blur, a slight disorientation, and her hearing muffled. The scuffle played out before her as her eyes refocused, Sasuke kicking and punching the goons on the stomach, but it seemed she got it wrong when Kakashi’s eyes drifted to her as a pair of glaring daggers.

His one foot was on the wrist of the guy who punched her. When the blood finally dripped from her broken nostrils, Kakashi broke the guy’s hand, thankfully echoed by the screams from the bleachers. “You’ll get expulsion and multiple restraining orders just for the hell of it.”

While Kakashi called the security, Sasuke went to Sakura’s side with a mix of an irritated but worried look on his face. Ah, he was wondering why.

“I’m okay,” she tried to say despite receiving no question, but the words came out wrong. Oh my gods, are my teeth broken? How embarrassing?

As if summoned by her thoughts, he stood before them right after the guards took away the passed-out bullies. “Let’s get you two to the clinic.”

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

“I can’t call Naruto. I left my bag with Hinata,” she tried to say again but the words were coming out jumbled like I con kor Nar-u-o…I re ma ba wi Hina-a…

Kakashi was trying not to laugh as she communicated with Sasuke who was on the other bed, being checked by a doctor with curtains drawn. The school clinic recommended them to go directly to the hospital.

“He would have to wait for our congratulations,” Sasuke replied.

“I see you wincing in pain, young man. That’s a broken rib right there,” the doctor noted from the other side. When the curtains were swept to the side, Sakura saw her raven-haired classmate clutching at his side. When his eyes opened to find hers, he glanced away and let go of his pained expression.

“Ms. Haruno, I will be referring you to our plastics. Would be a waste if your student council president loses her pretty face.” The doctor tapped Kakashi’s shoulder as she walked out of their ward.

“Thanks, Nohara,” he called out after her.

Sakura deduced he was friends with the doctor, but she could ask him that some other time. She looked a bit older than the Math teacher so they might not be together. Regardless, shouldn’t she be more engrossed of having a crooked nose in front of Kakashi than his personal love life? When he turned her attention to her finally, she instinctively covered her face with her hands.

“Sakura, you should tilt your head upwards, just a little bit. You had a nosebleed earlier, didn’t you?” She did what he said, but gods, this was so embarrassing. She tried to look at him through her fingers, and his beauty mark moved as he chuckled. Ugh, why is he so perfect?

His phone suddenly pinged, and he took a moment to read the message. “Hmm. I need to leave and go explain things to the board. Nohara might advise bed rest and school leave for at most three weeks so get well soon, all right?” Then, he turned to Sasuke. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Sakura wondered if she should ask a favor from Kakashi. Asking him to stay was a tad too much, and asking him to contact the council would be too irresponsible. Maybe she could sneak out after his exit and find a way to contact the council. She should also call Naruto – second on the task list. He would be devastated without their congratulations.

A hand on her head stopped her thoughts. “Stop thinking at hundred miles per second, and rest. I will take care of the council and inform Uzumaki of your situation. I assume you three are friends?”

“No.” “Yes.” Sasuke and Sakura answered respectively.

Kakashi smiled, finding amusement in their dynamics. “See you soon.”

“Shi yo,” she muttered through her broken nose, unaware of her fingers already fidgeting the rubber band on her wrist.

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

She was back in the hospital the following week. While Sasuke was advised to be confined, she was sent for home care. The mandated rest did not even last a day because she needed to show up to her shifts in the café and showed up she did in some elaborate mask to cover her bandaged nose and a sketchpad for conversations. To appease the constant nag and flood of messages from her councilmates, she stopped showing up in school for three days and turned the tables on them by doing all the nagging and demanding daily updates.

On the fourth day, she was up and running through the school halls to reach the board inquisition in time. She gladly accepted an annoyed litany of precautions and reminders from Kakashi.

“I never thought you could be this stubborn, Sakura.” He was visibly exasperated. “I can’t tail you every time and remind you that you’re injured.”

But you could. “I’m sorry, Sensei. I promise to not push myself so hard for the next days.” Sakura gave him a peace sign which he jokingly waved away.

“Pull your energy back, like 60 percent of it.” He patted her head softly, like an adult would to an unreasonable kid, and never have she felt more insulted. “If only I could take care of you.”

Like a babysitter would? She immediately put distance between them, feeling angry for no reason, and she stormed off, leaving him clueless in the middle of the hallway about her sudden rigid behavior.

Now she was back in the hospital after a week of mild recuperation. When she went to check on Sasuke, she found him asleep, probably from the sedatives. It amused her that even in slumbers, his brows would furrow, yet a part of her worried that there must be something looping him in nightmares. She left her presence with a basket of fruits and a medium-sized carton of tomato juice which Naruto mentioned was his favorite. Several juice boxes of the same flavor were stacked on the other side of his bed and a plastic bag filled with instant ramen bowls. She would ask the maintenance staff later to take out the trash.

When she finally reached the door of Dr. Aki Nohara, her assistant gestured for her to wait for a while outside. She figured she can loiter in Sasuke’s room and have one of the nurses get her until she heard Kakashi’s voice inside the room.

“I know you literally accelerated throughout school, but you need to act more like your age.” Her doctor scolded her teacher like an old friend. She was aware of her eavesdropping, but she hoped to learn more of his life. “I’m saying you should visit Rin.”

“Does she miss me?” It was and wasn’t his voice. She didn’t hear his usual nonchalance when he blurted out those words. Ah, a weird ache was forming in her chest.

“Do you even need to ask that from me when the answer is already so obvious?”

“Hmm. I’m just not ready….yet.”

“Well get on with it and put a ring on her finger or others will!”

Ah, her sensei was apparently planning to get married? So he had someone after all, someone named Rin. Sakura felt the room crowd her in, almost suffocating her, and she accidentally bumped into a passing staff and a tray cart of medical supplies.

Her small disturbance brought the occupants outside the room. “Ah, Ms. Haruno, you may come in now. You look pale, dear.”

Kakashi waved at her, his teacher persona already up in arms, then he turned to Dr. Aki. “Your medical advice for my heart is noted, but not now, maybe in the far, far, far future.”

Dr. Aki tsked at him. “Off you go Hatake. I have a patient waiting. Oh thank heavens, the color is returning to your face.”

He’s not marrying her……yet. Would it be silly to think I have a chance?

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

A whole two weeks have gone in secluded rooms – a week alone in a hospital room because of Itachi’s connections and another week alone cooped up in his apartment. He got radio silence from his brother, and he almost wished he gave him an earful of insults instead – many of which should have called out his cowardice, especially when the clash had an avoidable casualty. He looked so stupid next to cool Kakashi, Kakashi who was only five years older than them, Kakashi who smoked and read with baseball playing on the background, Kakashi who took on all four people at once with no scratch on his body, Kakashi with his silver hair being friends with doctors and bigshots, Kakashi with his beauty mark laughing at Sakura.

If there was any further downside to this, that was also the angry flood of texts he got from Naruto the night of the game, and then nothing. He was too drugged with sedatives he didn’t have the right mind to reply and process them. He was too drugged to wake up with a clear mind even. He didn’t bother to text or call back. Whatever, whatever, whatever. He took a look again at his phone, checked the time, found no new messages, and put it back on his side table.

His past self would have enjoyed this momentary social isolation, but he couldn’t help the nagging feeling of missing company however, he can’t bring himself to admit this aloud.

The next time he opened his eyes, he scrambled out of bed in panic and cold sweat. Someone was incessantly ringing his doorbell. When his eyes tried to find the clock, he found that it was already eight in the evening. He was sure he wasn’t expecting any guests tonight.

He trudged on to his door and mustered some strength to look through the peephole. Blue irises looked back at him, moved away a few steps, and struck a pose with a pink-haired girl with bandages still on her nose. The door never opened so quickly during the length of his stay.

“Are you stalkers or something?” were the first words he spat.

“Dr. Aki Nohara said it’s okay to visit you now!” Naruto whined. “And Sakura brought food!”

Sakura presented several paper bags. “It was Naruto’s idea actually. He nagged me for a week.”

“Yeah and I couldn’t understand her in the first few days,” the blonde said, rather straightforwardly.

Sasuke held back the urge to slap his hand on his forehead, but he moved to the side as he allowed them to venture inside his apartment. On second thought, did he put his underwear on the laundry basket?

“We figured you didn’t have dinner yet,” Sakura told him as she laid out the food containers on the dining table. “Mind if we use your utensils?”

“I forgot to say please make yourself at home,” Sasuke snapped sarcastically.

“Eeew, you’re still in your pajamas.” Naruto made a face at him while he opened his fridge and scoured for water and fruit juices. “That makes the two of us who didn’t shower!”

“You idiot. I showered this morning.” Nevertheless, Sasuke sat on the seat beside Sakura, allowing her to give him a bowl of ramen and some serving of okonomiyaki. A large platter of takoyaki was placed in the center of the table, first to be consumed by impatient hands and hungry mouths. Sakura had one hell of an appetite and fast metabolism to boot.

“Anyway, congratulations idiot,” he said while munching on the last piece of takoyaki. “Aren’t you supposed to travel to Fukuoka for the semis?”

“Yeah, next week! It doesn’t start until next month, but Captain Haru said we need to train,” Naruto replied as he proceeded to open a bowl of instant ramen. “The board also granted us exemption from exams. My brains are saved.”

“Your training camp really coincided with the school field trip,” Sakura noted. “Maybe we could visit you in between?”

“That would be the best!” Naruto grinned sheepishly, but Sasuke swore there was a tinge of red in his cheeks.

Finally rid of all food and dishes, the three lounged around in his living room, browsing titles in Netflix – Sakura wanted gore, crime, and horror while Naruto wanted adventure and fantasy films.

“What genre do you want, Sasuke?” Sakura asked. She was in possession of the remote and was seated on the other end of the couch. Naruto was on the floor with an open packet of chips and soda.

“And if I said romance?” he chided, weirdly enough to catch them offguard, but Sakura landed on the Twilight series and pressed play without second thoughts. “I was joking.”

“And it’s now starting,” she said back.

“How long are you gonna stay here?” He lost track of time – not the first instance this happened but the first occurrence without the burden of something heavy. “It’s past midnight.”

“I thought I was slow but you’re actually slower,” Naruto teased. “We’re staying over, grumpy.”

“I would love for a vampire to bite me,” Sakura quipped out of context.

Sasuke figured he didn’t have the energy to refute their uninvited sleepover at his unit. By the time New Moon played on screen, Naruto was sleeping on the floor with his mouth hanging wide open, and Sakura was lying fully on the couch, her feet stretched out on his lap. He slid out of this awkward entanglement and strode quietly to his drawers where he took out spare blankets to cover them with. On his bedside table, his phone lit up with a message notification.

Happy birthday, Sasuke. – Itachi

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 6

#SCPS #student council president sakura #sasusaku #kakasaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #uzumaki naruto #team 7

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