#(anyone reading this if you haven’t watched staged with him and David go watch it it’s marvellous) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ptrckjcne · 2 years

Text

THE THINGS WE DO WHILE...

... while showing we care for each other.

→ 8 drabbles showing sweet moments between Aaron and Emily, where they show each other, and the others, how they care for one another.

AARON HOTCHNER x EMILY PRENTISS Wordcount: 6.4k Read on AO3 or below the cut!

→SHARING A CUP OF TEA.

It wasn’t news to anyone that Aaron was the worst among the team members when it came to taking care of himself on a case. He’d leave the precinct after the others, and he would show up before everyone in the mornings, sometimes even before the detectives. In the early stages of her time on the team, Emily was convinced he slept at the various precincts, pushing chairs together, or curling up on the hard, uncomfortable couch in the waiting are to get some sleep before the new day dawned upon him, and his focus had to be on the case again. Over the years, he had worked up an impressive technique of working on little to no sleep, though the longer the cases dragged on, the more his mood and expression betrayed him. Emily knew Gideon had tried to push on it, though it had been years ago. David had given up, not seeming interested in bothering the unit chief anymore, and the rest of the team preferred to move on, solve the case and get home.

One by one, they left the room, this time it was a case worked from the comfort of their own bullpen. Jessica had picked up Jack from school, offering to let him stay at her apartment for a couple of days, knowing how a case engulfed their attention, and while both Emily and Aaron did their best to leave their FBI–personalities outside the door, it wasn’t always the easiest, and neither one of them wanted to bring the grim stories of the victim's home to where Jack still enjoyed a partially normal childhood.

Derek nudged her shoulder as he was about to leave. “You should probably get him to sleep. He’s going to burn himself out if he continues at this rate.” The agent spoke, his tone low and careful as he made eye contact with her. “I’d tell him myself, but let’s face it, he only really listens to you around here.”

“I will do what I can.” Emily nodded, shooting Derek a small, but reassuring smile. She couldn’t promise him anything more; even when she did her best, she couldn’t always win in the battle against Aaron’s stubbornness. She sighed as the rest of the bullpen cleared out for the day, David waving at her as he left his office. Soon, she was all alone, her gaze locked on the figure she could see through the window to his office.

He was hunched over his desk, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, and the stack of casefiles on his desk did not appear to have shrunken over the time they spent working; if anything, Emily was convinced it had grown, noticing how Erin Strauss had marched into his office with a couple of files she didn’t believe he had done well enough.

Sighing, she got up from her chair, abandoning the papers she was working on scattered across her desk in the bullpen, as she headed for Penelope’s office. The technical analyst had gone home for the day, but she had previously given Emily free access to her storage of tea whenever she wanted (or needed), something she decided she did now. Only a couple of minutes later, she headed towards his office, a colorful mug in her hands, also something she had borrowed from Penelope’s impressive collection.

He lifted his head as she knocked on the door, nudging the door open. “Oh, you haven’t gone home yet?” Aaron spoke, his brows furrowing, seeming genuinely confused as to why she was still at the office. After all, he had noticed how the others had gone home, one by one, the unmistakable slam of David’s door signaling he was the last to leave, and even that had been a while ago. “I thought everyone had gone home for the night.”

“Everyone has, but I’m not leaving without you.” Emily shrugged, placing the cup of tea in front of him on the desk, watching as he scrunched up his nose, seeming skeptical about the smell of it. He wasn’t usually a man who went for tea as his hot beverage, preferring to drink coffee, but Emily knew there was no way she’d be getting him to rest if he was pouring down caffeine late at night. “I noticed you pinched the bridge of your nose, do you have a headache?”

“No.” Aaron huffed, leaning back in his chair, though he knew she was seeing right through it. That was his tell, his way of inaudibly letting the world around him know there was a pounding in his head, that at the worst point made the letters on the papers scramble into incoherent jumbles. “I’m fine, Emily. I promise.”

“You promise a lot of things, Aaron.” She sighed, tilting her head a little as she leaned forward, gently pushing the mug closer to him, stifling a slight chuckle at the sight of a grimace slipping onto his face. “The promises you never keep, and the promises you usually lie about, are the ones regarding yourself and your own health.”

He wanted to argue, but he knew she was right. Emily knew him better than he knew himself, and he wasn’t going to lie; it frightened him. She could read him like an open book, no matter how closed off he tried to be. Aaron always considered that to be the most impressive thing about Emily, the way she had no problems fitting all of his darkness into her light. Sighing, he pushed the cup of tea back towards her. “Thank you, but tea really isn’t my go–to drink, you know that.”

“I do.” Emily nodded, a small chuckle rolling off her lips. “However, if I am to succeed at getting you to bed and making sure you sleep more than two hours, I can’t get you a coffee.”

Aaron shrugged, getting up from his chair. “Doesn’t mean I can’t get one myself.”

“I had Anderson unplug the coffee machine.” Emily replied quickly, lifting the cup to her lips as she sipped the hot beverage. From the corner of her eye, she noticed how he froze, an unimpressed look on his face as he eyed. “Come on, you’re not thinking I had him unplug it just so you wouldn’t get coffee, are you? I’ll have you know it’s out of order and needs maintenance too. Just a lucky hit it was tonight.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, before returning to his chair, glancing down at the paperwork on his desk. “Well, the papers are here, and I still have a bit of energy to go, so I’m not leaving.”

“Neither am I.” Emily shrugged, placing the cup back on the desk, getting comfortable in the chair. He returned to work, scanning the reports and scribbling down his notes, seeming to just completely ignore the fact that she was still in the room. It didn’t take long, however, until he reached out for the cup, mindlessly finding himself sipping the tea, grimacing as he realized what it was. “Force of habit?”

He nodded, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “And possibly a sign that I should go home. Are you ready to go?”

“Always.”

→WATCHING THE OTHER.

It was almost weird how natural the two of them felt together. Aaron couldn’t quite remember how he knew his feelings for her were more than being just friends, but he knew he was grateful she felt the same for him. Of course, one of the hardest parts was keeping it a secret. Keeping their distance at work was not difficult; not unless they worked rough cases, cases where one of them would feel the need to reach out and hold the other’s hand, or give the other a hug. Outside of work, it was a bit more difficult. He managed to sneak off fairly often, claiming he was visiting Jack at Haley’s before he returned to the comfort of his own apartment, or that he had other business to attend, that just so happened to be none of the team’s business. Emily, on the other hand, struggled to sneak off with the same elegance. It reached the point where Sergio the Cat became known as only Sergio, her super–secret boyfriend, which happened to be the only way Penelope and JJ (and sometimes even Derek) would let her go.

Coincidentally, she had a desk that was easy to see from the windows of Aaron’s office, and the two of them often found each other sharing looks throughout the day, silent conversations simply shared via their gazes. They were also good at making sure they weren’t spotted – not spotted too obviously, at least.

The team had returned from working a fairly standard case; nothing that had touched them too bad. Not more than the usual, at least. Quite like any other day, Aaron had retreated into his office, burying himself in the casefiles, having avoided them on the jet. However, it didn’t take him long until he was staring off into the bullpen, his gaze landing on Emily. He could feel his expression softening as he laid eyes on her; she just had that effect on him. It wasn’t until the sound of someone clearing their throat was heard at the door, that he came to realize he wasn’t alone.

“Anderson.” Aaron barked sharply, his expression hardening again, a sheepish smile spreading on the face of the agent. “What do you need?”

“Just checking in on how the files are coming along, sir.” The agent nodded, glancing out into the bullpen. “I won’t tell anyone, Agent Hotchner. However, I did hear Agent Rossi mention he was stopping by to have a chat with you; he might leave it alone if he notices.”

→KEEPING INFORMATION.

“Hey.”

The simple word broke through the walls of thoughts Emily found herself bouncing between, a sigh escaping her lips as she lifted her gaze to see Aaron. He was standing in front of her desk, a worried look having replaced the regular stern expression they were all used to seeing. “Hey.” She forced a smile onto her lips, hoping it was enough to keep him from digging. “I’m ready to go home whenever you are.”

Aaron remained quiet, his face softening, though he found himself still worried. Emily Prentiss, who was usually happy with a sarcastic comment up her sleeve, had let several moments of commenting pass by her, and had barely even noticed how Derek and JJ had waved at her as they went out for the afternoon, deciding they needed to reboot their brains for the next day. “I ordered pizza. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it home before the pizza guy shows up on the door.” He offered quietly, a small smile tugging on his lips as he reached out for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Not more than five minutes later, they were making their way into the elevator, and Aaron noticed how Emily was barely able to keep it together. “Emily.” He spoke, his tone soft and gentle, as he turned towards her, the worried look back on his face. “I need you to talk to me, what’s going on?”

“I’m okay, Aaron, I promise.” Emily choked out, nodding at him. “Just a really bad headache.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek, not sure whether he believed her or not, but that wasn’t important. Or, it was, but it fell second in line to her biggest worry right now – keeping her past to herself.

Emily Prentiss had never told her colleagues in the BAU about her past, her time being Lauren, her time spent in the company of world-wide wanted terrorist Ian Doyle. Years ago, before she joined the Bureau, she had been killed, Lauren being wiped from the world, as she returned to being Emily. Throughout the night, he would keep asking, his hand brushing against hers, a thumb running across her jaw or cheekbone, the words falling easily from his lips. Are you okay? Do you need me to get anything? Do you want to talk about it?

She hated not being able to talk about it.

Scratch that.

She hated not wanting to talk about it.

However, talking about it would put his life at risk. It would put Jack’s life at risk. It would put the team’s lives at risk, and she had already seen far too many people being injured, or even killed, due to her decisions. She wasn’t about to let the man she loved, the boy she considered her own family, and the team – her found family – be at risk because of her.

You keep asking me how I’m doing, and I wonder if I, one day, might be able to tell you the truth. The words echoed inside Emily’s head as they snuggled close to each other underneath the covers that night, her head on Aaron’s chest, his arms tightly around her as she listened to his steady heartbeat. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell you what has been bothering, tell you about the ghosts that keep haunting me.

This was not the time, however. Emily Prentiss decided to remain silent about the matter. Not because it was for the best for her, but because it was the best for everyone else. She cared too much for anything else.

→PREPARING THE OTHER’S FAVORITE FOOD.

“Please, go back to bed.” Aaron chuckled as he heard them shuffle into the kitchen behind him. “That goes for both of you.” He sighed, turning to find Emily and Jack, hopeful looks on their faces. For the first time in what felt like a life–time, they had a Sunday–morning off – a morning that didn’t include Jack having an early soccer tournament, or Penelope calling them, her voice laced with inaudible I’m sorry’s as she told them there was another case. Therefore, as the man of the house – or more because he was the one who didn’t mind getting out of bed before 9 am, he had taken it upon himself to make breakfast.

“Can I help?” Jack chirped happily, climbing up on a chair by the kitchen table, waiting for his father to respond. “You know I love making pancakes!”

Aaron turned, handing a cup of coffee to Emily, before ruffling his son’s hair. “Who said I was making pancakes?”

“I know, because I’m a profiler – just like you and Emily!” Jack smiled proudly, causing the older Hotchner to chuckle. Emily pulled out the chair next to Jack, sitting down as she observed the father–and–son duo, her heart nearly swelling with pride as she came to realize (once again) how lucky she was to spend her life with the two of them. Aaron eventually caved, helping Jack get in place by the counter as the boy wanted to stir the pancake batter.

“Hey.” Aaron mumbled against her temple, before leaning against the table next to her, ready to proceed with the pancake making the second Jack deemed the batter was ready. “Slept well?”

“I did, though Jack was not the Hotchner I had expected to wake up with this morning.” She chuckled, pressing a light kiss to his arm, the part of him that was the easiest for her to reach. He wasn’t quite able to hide the smile that was spreading on his lips, though he was saved as Jack called for him, saying the batter was ready. Emily managed to pull him down before he left the table, pressing a sweet, gentle kiss against his lips, feeling his chuckle against her.

“If you want your favorite pancakes for breakfast, you might want to let me go, sweetheart.”

→HIDING TOGETHER.

If you asked them, no one could possibly give a clear answer as to why the team had ended up playing hide and seek. The case had been a rough one, kids vanishing left and right, and somehow, they ended up back in the bullpen at Quantico, doing what they could to coax even the slightest bit of information out of two traumatized six year olds. Playing innocent games with them had been Penelope’s idea; she was the only one who had seemed to get the kids to brighten, alongside Derek, and they had made the decision to partner up – they would partner with one kid each, Aaron and Emily, Spencer and David, and then JJ would be counting. Aaron hadn’t been sure about the idea to play hide and seek (and the kids later admitted that they were grateful he wasn’t counting, as they found the stern–looking man in the suit awfully scary). However, he had shoved down his pride, and his paperwork could wait – he was already behind, so what would a couple more hours do?

“Alright, so here are some ground rules.” Penelope spoke up, a hand still linked with the young boy at her side, who was staring at her with wide, though curious eyes. “JJ counts to fifty, and we have until she’s done counting to hide. Hiding has to be done on this floor of the building, preferably as near the bullpen as possible, but any room is allowed – offices, briefing rooms, underneath desks or behind plants. Creativity is your only enemy. Clear?”

“Clear.”

The reply came in unison from the entire team, each and everyone of them ready for a proper battle. Aaron had abandoned the jacket of his suit on the back of the chair in his office, Derek had rolled the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows, and David had done pre–game laps of the building, figuring out whichever place would be the very best for hiding. In fact, Emily was quite sure she had seen Spencer studying the blueprint of the building at one point.

“Then I’m leaving the word to JJ.” Penelope nodded, crouching as she already started to plan out a place to hide with the kid.

JJ chuckled, clearing her throat as she caught the attention of the entire team. “Well – ready, set, go!”

Aaron couldn’t quite remember the last time he had seen the team scatter the way they did at JJ’s words, though he had hung back himself, chuckling a little as Emily grabbed his hand, desperately trying to drag him along (though she found it to be challenging; moving Aaron Hotchner was like moving a set brick wall). She assumed it just took him a couple of seconds to get the hang of the game, and soon they found themselves rushing down the halls, for a brief moment feeling like they were the two youngsters in her mother’s mansion again.

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” He mumbled as they ducked into a cupboard, bodies close as they returned to silence. Emily found herself tilting her head slightly backwards, fearing he would be so done with this already. However, in the dim lighting of the cupboard, she looked right into one of Aaron’s many grins – one of the grins that was usually reserved for her only, a playful spark in his eyes.

“It’s for the kids.” Emily couldn’t help but smile, sinking her teeth into her lip as she tried to stifle a laugh. “I must admit, this has to be the weirdest way we’ve worked a case – and that says a lot when it comes from the BAU members.”

“You’ve got a point there.” Aaron chuckled, shaking his head a little. He was about to continue speaking, when they could hear footsteps in the hallway outside, causing him to press the palm of his hand against her lips, taking another step closer as he pressed his body against hers. Just a couple of minutes later, the footsteps seemed to be gone, and Aaron dropped his hand, his lips finding Emily’s instead. “Would be a shame if we got busted right away, because I have a couple of things in mind that I’d like to remind you of before we step out of here.” He chuckled, his voice lower this time, as he once again connected their lips, Emily’s hands finding their way to the collar of his shirt.

Little did they know JJ was well aware of where they had been hiding, but as the team had been suspecting a secret relationship between the two for a long time, they had all made an agreement; if they ended in a situation where they could possibly bust them without saying it to their faces, they would leave them be. For the time being, at least.

→NOT LETTING GO OF THE OTHER’S HAND.

Aaron wasn’t a man used to feeling insecure; ever since his childhood, he had taught himself that insecurity wasn’t an option. He needed to be sure, and he needed to be able to stand for whatever choice he made. Throughout his career, he had found himself insecure only a handful of times – and most of those came within the span of the time he was being tormented by George Foyet. Even in the time after, he didn’t feel sure about a lot of things; he was ridden with nightmares and guilt, and the only thing that had really gotten him through it, was being able to spend his days with Jack and Emily. Then came the time case regarding Doyle, and Aaron found himself doubting his decisions again. He knew he made the right decision sending her to Paris, keeping her safe, but had he made the right decision keeping it from the team? His weeks spent abroad were spent second–guessing his decisions, guilt eating him up inside.

He tried his best to keep it together. For himself. For Jack. For Emily. For the team. For his found family. Aaron hated the feeling of doubt, of insecurity, but he was human. There was no way he could go through a full life without feeling it.

WITSEC had been everything Aaron feared it would be; challenging and quite boring. He was no longer Aaron Hotchner, and Jack was no longer Jack Hotchner. It hurt him to see how easily Jack had adapted to their new lifestyle. Did it fall easier to him, remembering how he had to do it when he was a kid, stalked by Foyet? Or was he simply just a well adapted young man? Aaron couldn’t quite be sure, and quite frankly he didn’t really want to think about it either. He had no idea when their lives would return to normal, if they would ever be able to.

No, he couldn't doubt that. He couldn’t doubt his team, the team which consisted of nearly hand–picked agents. They were capable of solving more things than most. Besides, he had made sure to leave Emily in charge, knowing she was capable of anything if it meant she got to protect the people she loved, no matter whether it was Aaron and Jack, or the neighbor who ever so kindly would swing by and make sure Sergio was fed and happy while she was out working cases. Never in his life could he find himself doubting Emily, he wouldn’t allow himself to do it.

It was late when the phone rang. Aaron wasn’t expecting any calls, causing his pulse to quicken, brows furrowing as he glanced at the screen. No caller ID. He didn’t pick up, fearing tightening in his throat as he thought the worst. Could it be Mr Scratch? Had he gotten the best of the team, and finally figured out the locations of him and his son, to come and end them once and for all? Aaron nearly shuddered at the thought, bringing his coffee cup to his lips. Outside, the dim moonlight lit the backyard of the small, suburban house they had been staying in. Had you asked him, chances are he wouldn’t be able to tell you where they had been staying. To be honest, he didn’t really bother, as long as Jack seemed happy.

Little did he know that on the other end of the phone sat an older man, desperately trying to remember whatever he could to remind Aaron of his life in the BAU.

Watched Serie A. Forza Inter. – DR.

Aaron’s hope peaked at the text message. He didn’t even doubt it; this was an inside joke between himself and David Rossi, from back when the Italian had sworn to teach Aaron everything he knew about soccer – or football (David was an Italian, after all). He had invited the unit chief over to his mansion, and over a bottle of beer, they had watched a classic Milan Derby, where David’s favorite team AC Milan had beat city rivals Inter Milan, which just so happened to be his least favorite team. Since then, Aaron would joke about it, dropping a small, barely audible “Forza Inter” in tense situations to get the older man to smile.

When the phone rang again, Aaron picked up without hesitation, his blood freezing in his veins as he heard David’s voice. “It’s over, Aaron. You can come home. Mr Scratch won’t bother anyone anymore, but … it’s Emily. She’s in the hospital, Aaron.”

He didn’t even hesitate, springing into action. Jack was confused as to why his dad was shaking him awake in the middle of the night, but didn’t question his motives when he said they could go home, finally seeing their friends and family again. A new text was received from David just a couple of minutes later; he had made a deal with JJ that Jack was welcome to stay the night at their house, something he eagerly nodded along with. Aaron knew Jack had been missing the time spent with Henry, the two boys being both close in age and the closest thing they could come to brothers. In the same message was the name of the hospital he could find Emily at. David said he’d meet him in the parking lot, more than ready to greet his friend welcome. It had been far too long since the last time.

Aaron was sure Jack had tried speaking to him multiple times during their drive, but he couldn’t remember anything the boy had said. He could briefly remember JJ greeting him as he dropped off Jack, before telling him to go see Emily. At the hospital, David stood where he promised. The Italian was standing by the end of the parking lot, near the entrance to the building, hands in his pockets as he patiently waited for Aaron to arrive.

“There you are.” David forced a smile onto his lips as he engulfed the agent in a tight hug, a weird kind of gloomy feeling over their heads. “Emily took quite the hit in the takedown of Mr Scratch. She’s sleeping right now, and probably high on about eighteen different medications, but I’m sure we can let you see her. You’re her husband, after all.”

“She … she told you?” Aaron stuttered, a surprised look on his face. The two of them had gotten married, a rushed decision to pay a visit to the courthouse right around the time when Mr Scratch surfaced the first time, with plans to tell the team – however, seeing how affected Aaron had been from the case, they had decided to wait, not even filling out the needed paperwork for the Bureau until after he was back to normal. Instead, he was sent into WITSEC, and Emily had been left in the office of her now absent husband, going home to their empty apartment at night.

“Yeah. I think it was about three months ago.” David let out a small chuckle. “You should’ve seen Penelope’s reaction – she was absolutely livid about the fact that Emily got married without her there. To be fair, I think we all were, in a way.” Aaron lowered his head a little, not even being able to utter the words I��m sorry. “Don’t worry, Aaron. When everything comes to it, we just want everyone to be happy and okay, even if that means we have to go through with a do-over wedding in my garden when all this blows over for good.”

Aaron nodded; he could accept that.

The hospital was quiet, not that it came as a surprise. It was the middle of the night, and the only people to roam the halls (besides Aaron and David), were the nurses who worked the night shifts. They seemed hesitant about letting Aaron see Emily, but upon learning that he was her husband and a fellow agent of the Bureau, they gave in. David could have sworn it was the tears threatening to fall from Aaron’s eyes that had been what made them give in, and he had to admit, it was weird watching the normally cool and composed man like this. He was broken, worn out, and worried. “I’ll just hang back here.” David nodded to the nurses as they motioned for Aaron to follow them, his heart rate skyrocketing as they reached Emily’s room.

He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears as he stepped inside, guilt tearing him apart as he saw her. She was pale, and she seemed so much smaller than the last time he had seen her. Quietly, he pulled a chair closer to her bed, sinking into it, his hand mindlessly finding hers. He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting like that, feeling himself get drowsy, eyelids heavy as he wanted to sleep, but he didn’t allow himself. Aaron refused to fall asleep, and not be able to protect her. Not again. When the nurses came in, it was morning, and it was time for them to check her vitals. He refused to let go of her hand, refused to leave her side.

It wasn’t until later that day, when she seemed to come to herself, awakening from a painkiller induced slumber, that she squeezed his hand, just a little, but enough for him to be sparked with a new wave of energy.

Never again was he ever letting her go.

→GIVING A MASSAGE.

The team had gotten used to spending nights in hotels of pretty much any quality as they traveled for cases, whether it was cheap motels along the road, or fancy hotels in the middle of New York. Whatever they spent the nights at for this case, however, was something right in the middle. They had tried their best to enjoy a quiet meal in the hotel’s restaurant, although no one really wanted it. Spencer had barely touched his food, and Derek had grimaced at every mouthful. JJ had picked up some food, bringing it to her room as she mumbled something about calling Will. David was deep into his third whisky for the night, barely even seeming to notice the world around him.

Underneath the table, Aaron placed a hand on Emily’s knees, shooting her a glance he knew only she would understand; not that he was too worried about the rest of the team, as they were far too distracted to notice. He had picked up on the signs, noticing how tense she had been the entire day, even having noticed how she groaned in pain as she did a quick turn, the tension in her shoulders sending a spark of pain through her neck.

He got up first, excusing himself with the paperwork that was waiting for him on the desk of his hotel room, though he doubted that any of them even cared. Emily excused herself next, not even bothering to lie. Spencer shot her a concerned look when she mentioned having a stress-related headache, though she waved it off. “I’ll be fine, Reid. Just getting an ibuprofen, and then getting into bed.” She leaned across the table, ruffling his hair, though getting no further response from him.

Emily made it out of the elevator to her floor, a tired smile tugging on her lips as she looked down the hall and saw Aaron leaning against the wall outside her hotel room, his focus deep in the call he was having. As she got closer, she could hear it was Jack on the other end of the line, Aaron’s voice tired, but still the same light and happy tone he had when speaking to his son, the tone that always had Emily’s heart skipping a beat. Beside him, she opened the door to her room, the unit chief not even hesitating to follow her into the room as she shut the door behind them both.

“Be good, Jack – I’ll see you as I get home. Yeah, I’ll say hi to everyone, and I’ll give Emily a hug from you.” Aaron chuckled, turning towards her, a smile on his lips. “Sleep tight, buddy.”

He hung up the phone, sliding the mobile device onto the desk, before closing the gap between himself and Emily, a chuckle escaping his lips as he connected his lips with her temple. “How are you feeling?” Aaron asked, raising an eyebrow slightly as he pulled away from her, his hands on her shoulders, giving a light squeeze. A worried expression slipped onto his face as she squirmed underneath his touch, visibly uncomfortable. “You’re not hurt, right?”

“Just a bit of tension, it’s fine.” Emily sighed, trying to pry his hands off her shoulders, pushing herself towards his chest. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in his embrace underneath the covers, her head on his chest as she fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. She didn’t intend to look at him, make eye–contact, knowing her expression would betray her, but as Aaron placed a hand gently under her chin, tilting her head backwards, she had no choice but to look at him.

“That’s a partial lie.” Aaron hummed, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against her forehead, before making her turn in his grasp, his hands once again finding her shoulders. Gently, he started kneading her tense muscles, his heart aching as he heard her stifle a pain of yelp underneath his touch. “I know it hurts, but you’ll feel a lot better once I’m done.” He whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of her head.

Emily seemed satisfied as he eventually finished up, his hands running down her back and settling on her hips as she turned back to him, nuzzling her face into the fabric of his shirt. “Have I ever told you that I think you’re pretty amazing?”

→DOING SOMETHING TO HELP THE OTHER.

To say Aaron Hotchner disliked his paper–work, wasn’t necessarily a lie. It was a big part of his job, being the unit chief and everything, and while the rest of the team’s agents considered the dreadful hours at their desks with stacks of papers in front of them to be the worst part of the job, Aaron quite liked it. Doing paper–work was his way of being able to sit alone with his thoughts for a moment, knowing no member of the team would be interested in bothering him when he did it, fearing it would result in them getting more to do as well. Only once had they been thinking about it, thinking about stepping into his office to ask how he was doing with the papers, when David had come to the conclusion before them, stepping into the unit chief’s office. Seconds later, he had re–emerged with a stack of new files in his arms, a defeated look on his face, and it had been everything the team needed as a confirmation not to check in on Aaron during his designated paper–work time.

Emily was the only one who dared entering the Hotchner lair during paper–work hours, knowing there was no way he would dump more work on her. Not because she wouldn’t do it, but because the paper–work he was working on needed immediate attention, and after having made an attempt at getting her to do some files for him (and discovering how she placed them at the bottom of the pile on her desk, and continuing right where she had left off.

On a handful of occasions, she had been able to get him to abandon his paper–work, and do something else; go home and sleep, get something to eat, stand up and have a walk around to stretch his legs. Hell, once she had even gotten him to run to the store, get cat food, and then go home to make sure Sergio was fed, though when Derek asked her how she had done it, she couldn’t exactly give him a clear answer.

The office was quiet, as Emily sighed, closing the case–file on her desk, not even bothering to return it to her pile. Derek was half–asleep at her desk, while JJ and Spencer were far too lost in a game of chess to even notice anyone moving around them. She knocked twice on the door of his office, before nudging it open, gaze landing on the tired expression that was smeared across his face. “Hey there.” Emily spoke up, watching as a tired smile dragged the corners of his lips slightly upwards. “How’s the paper–work going?”

“Well, it’s going somewhere, I’d say.” Aaron sighed, pushing the papers a bit further onto his desk, leaning back in his chair. “How about yours? Strauss really has it in for us with this amount of papers, and I wish I could lighten the blow for the rest of you, but … I can’t do it all by myself either.”

“No one’s blaming you, Aaron.” Emily spoke in a reassuring tone as she moved closer to the desk, picking up one of the many files from his desk as she sat down opposite of him. “Hand me a pen, will you?”

Aaron hesitated, but reached out for a pen, giving it to her. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to help him, but then again, he also knew she wouldn’t back down now. Emily Prentiss was stubborn, and while it was the thing Aaron possibly disliked the most, it was also one of the things he loved the most about her. Instead of arguing about her helping him, he glanced out at her desk, noticing how the pile of files on her desk was significantly smaller than when she had started. “Thank you.” He spoke in a quiet tone, briefly shooting her a look, before returning his focus to the file he was working on himself, just barely missing out on the smile that spread on her lips.

“Anytime, Aaron.”

#marie's fics #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfiction

27 notes · View notes

brookecuzyes · 3 years

Text

three years of you. — tear myself apart

Damiano David x GN!Musician!Reader

Main Masterlist — 3yrs Masterlist

Summary: it’s only been a couple of days, which were full of tears and regret. however, that regret wasn’t on their part until a simple comment was made. (Part 3 of a series)

Word Count: ≈3.4k

Warnings: cursing, alcohol intake, angst (Anyone drinking alcohol in this chapter is of the legal drinking age in the United States, which is 21.)

A/N: thank y’all for reading! this has already gained a lot of readers and so i am happy about that. love you guys sm 💕 songs included in this fic are not mine. any characters mentioned are not mine, and belong to their respected owners. and ofc, i don’t own the celebrities either. i do check comments/reblogs, so please be respectful!!

———————————————————————-

You’ve got this, you can do it.

You tried consoling yourself. Normally, he would be here to help calm you down— or at least call if he could physically be there. He’d be there if you were about to have a panic attack, he’d be there to make sure that you were OK.

But you aren’t.

An entire audience full of strangers who listened to the songs, who listened to your heartbreak. Now, they get to watch your heart break live.

He wouldn’t— no, couldn’t— be there to comfort you. He couldn’t be there to tell you that everything will be fine. He fucked up, he’s the one who messed up that relationship…

“…then why did you show up?”

——

Glasses clinked. Chatter was taking place all around. Honestly, it was a little overwhelming.

You sat down at the booth with the whole band. Saturday had rolled around, which you hadn’t noticed since you were lost in an almost depressive state where time was non-existent. However, the karaoke bar definitely woke you up.

“Alright, guys,” Luke, the lead guitarist, said, holding a couple of drinks in his hands. “Tonight is the night! The tradition kicks in once again, and Monday we start recording. Let’s celebrate and relax.” Julie, the lead singer and the girlfriend of Luke, followed behind him, setting more drinks down on the table. Flynn, the unofficial manager of the band, let out a loud, “woo!”, making everyone laugh. All of you grabbed a glass and clinked them together, all taking a sip at the same time. Your face crunched when you processed the drink.

“Jesus, Luke, what is this?” you questioned.

“Alcohol,” he said blatantly.

“Yeah, no shit,” you shot back, shaking off the effects.

“I just said that we’re relaxing— that’s exactly what alcohol does!”

“Or maybe you're just an alcoholic?” Alex joked, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t drink that much.” Luke defended.

“That’s what an alcoholic would say.” The whole band started laughing at the ongoing banter. It isn’t often when Alex made witty remarks like that, and everyone always enjoyed it when he did.

On another note, you felt as if you absolutely needed this drink. Given what’s been going on this last week, you felt like you deserved it. Though, you knew you’d regret this tomorrow. You knew Alex was keeping an eye out for you. The rest of the band didn’t know yet, they just knew that something happened, which is why you left Italy so early. They were all confused, but didn’t ask upon it when Alex glared daggers at them when they tried. So, thankfully, they did back off. But, it doesn’t mean that they weren’t concerned.

You had been talking, making it seem as if everything was fine, but Alex’s heart broke when he picked up on it. However, with the alcohol about to course through your veins, it would be harder from him to be able to pick up on whether you were drunk or going through it. Regardless, he was going to make sure that you were having fun and not thinking about your ex.

“Hey,” Flynn said, “why don’t we start the karaoke? I think we all have enough alcohol in our systems to do this.”

“I vote for Alex to go first!” You said, raising your hand. “Do Micheal Bublé.”

“Woah, hold up, I never even said-“

“It doesn’t matter. What I say goes. Now go.” He sighed, laughing as he stood up from the booth. He went over to the guy and told him what song he wanted to do. They got everything set up, and Alex got on stage.

“Let’s go, Alex!” You cheered on, making him smile and blush just a bit— though that wasn’t entirely visible from where you guys decided to sit.

The song started playing, and Alex started singing. It took you a few seconds to recognize the song but you figured it out.

“Oh, he’s singing Feeling Good. I love that song,” you whispered to Reginald, the bassist, who was sitting next to you. He looked to you over his shoulder, smiling. He hadn’t seen you so “out there” since you got back. It was nice to see you getting back to normal. Though, he didn’t actually know why you weren’t normal to begin with.

And I’m feeling… good.

You cheered Alex on again, dancing along to the beat with the whole band. Alex didn’t sing much, but when he did you cherished those moments. That’s why he songs Now or Never and Stand Tall on the band’s very first album are your favorite.

“God, I love his voice,” Reggie said, as if he read your mind.

“Yeah, and look at him,” you pointed out the way his body is moving with the music. The way he was just lost in a musical haze. It was enchanting. “That’s what his anxiety covers up.”

Alex soon finished, hopping off of the stage with an embarrassed smile on his face.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, babe,” you said, noticing his expression. “That was the best performance tonight by far. Not even Julie could compare to how amazing that was.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” she said, drawing out the ‘thanks’ in a sarcastic way. You raised your glass to her.

“Anytime, Jules,” you replied, raising your eyebrow and taking a sip. She laughed, letting the comment you made slip— for now at least.

“Hey, I have an idea!” Flynn exclaimed. “How about we take a couple photos and post them to our accounts? Y’know, to celebrate this very special moment.” Everyone collectively agreed. Pictures were taken left and right— and others were taken throughout the night, too— and each person had a different photo that they were each going to post. You had decided that you were going to post yours now, not wanting to forget later on tonight or tomorrow.

You captioned it:

Just continuing a small tradition tonight with music and alcohol. maybe if he lets me, i’ll post Alex singing Feeling Good 😏🤍

It was perfect and you posted it, after letting everyone see it to make sure it was OK. Within minutes people already saw it and were liking and commenting. You made sure to turn your phone off before it started going crazy. Julie and Luke decided to go up and do a duet with each other. They choose Little Do You Know. Their voices were beautiful singing the song. They mashed just so perfectly. You recorded them, knowing that you would 100% show them this at their wedding. (They aren’t engaged, but it’s bound to happen sooner or later.)

You weren’t paying attention to the notifications spamming the top of your screen, though you did look back once to see if the camera was aligned with their bodies. That’s when you saw a specific notification. One thing that you absolutely forgot when you posted that photo was that Måneskin could still see your posts. The only reason you remembered was because Victoria responded to your post.

Ahhh you look amazing!!!😘

The second you saw it, you put your head in your hands, mentally slapping yourself. If Victoria saw it, then the rest of the band is going to see, meaning Damiano would see it. Fuck, you thought to yourself.

“Hey, Y/N, are you alright?” Alex asked, placing a hand on your arm. You looked up at him showing him the comment. “I don’t understand.”

“Victoria commented. Meaning Damiano’s probably gonna see it.”

“Not if he’s blocked.”

“I didn’t block him, we’re still mutuals.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Alex. Maybe I just haven’t gotten to it yet.” You realized the angered tone in your voice, not meaning to be rude to Alex. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”

“No, it’s okay. Hey, maybe if he does end up seeing it, he’ll just be jealous. Damiano will see everything he’s missing out on.”

“What is Damiano missing out on?” Julie asked, sitting back down with Luke.

“Oh, it’s nothing-“ Alex started, but you cut him off.

“I left Italy because Damiano was talking to another girl. It caused too many problems, so I left.” Everyone went silent. Everyone’s eyes softened at you, unsure of what to say.

“Y/N…”

“It’s fine. I’m here now. It doesn’t matter.” Silence fell once again, especially on Alex’s behalf. He knew you weren’t fine, he knew it mattered— whether you said it or not. “Sorry if I kinda killed tonight’s vibe.”

“N-No, you’re fine,” Reggie said. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Yeah, you didn’t ruin anything. I am glad that you told us, though. We’ve been worried.” Luke said, putting his arms on the table and leaning forward just a bit. You felt your phone vibrate but didn’t think anything of it— probably just another person on Instagram.

“Sorry that I made you guys worry. I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. It’s just been a hard couple of days. This shit isn’t easy,” you explained, mumbling the last part. Everyone stayed silent, none wanting to make something worse.

“Luke, why don’t you and the guys go grab some food?” Julie suggested, placing a hand on Luke’s back, turning her attention back to you.

“Oh, yeah. Guys, let’s go,” Luke said, getting the hint. The boys got up and left, each giving you a sympathetic look. The girls, on the other hand, all stayed behind.

“Alright, listen up,” Flynn started. “Tonight is not the night to mope around. You can do that tomorrow when you’re hungover.”

“Right now,” Julie jumped in, “you’re gonna forget about that asshole, get your ass out there, and sing your heart out, dammit!” Your eyes widened at the girls’ sternness. A smile started creeping from your lips, Julie and Flynn following behind you. Soon enough, the three of you started laughing your asses off.

“Ok, ok, I’m convinced. I’ll have fun tonight. Thanks,” you said, trying to shake off the laughter so you can speak. You grabbed your drink, taking a sip of it. It was the same drink Luke got you earlier. Damn it, Luke. You shook your head to shake off the kick the drink had. Flynn chuckled at your antics, taking a sip of her, not as strong, drink. The guys soon came back with some snack-type items in their hands.

“Are we all good now?” Alex asked, setting down the plate on the table and looking your way.

“Yep, we’re all good now,” Julie answered, taking a sip of her drink. You chuckle at her, reaching for some of the food on the table. “But, Y/N’s about to sing for us.”

“Woah, wait, now?”

“What did I say? You’re gonna sing your heart out.”

You groaned, slumping back in your set in a joking— yet, not entirely joking— way. “Julie, I didn’t realize that you meant right now.”

“Ok, so? Get up there, Y/N! C’mon it’ll be fun.” You contemplated. I should go, you thought, it could be fun.

“Fine, I’ll go,” you announced, getting up from your seat. Reggie and Flynn got up from theirs so you could get out. When you got up, you turned to Reginald.

“C’mon, you’re doing this with me,” you said, grabbing his arm and dragging him over to the guy supervising the karaoke.

“I didn’t really wanna sing right now. Nerves, y’know?” Reggie explained.

“So? Reggie, I get that nerves are real, but there’s no way in hell I’m doing this alone.” You opened up a book full of songs, and was going through the selection.

“Why couldn’t you just get someone else?”

“Because I think our voices clash very well together.” You turned your head to him and gave him a smile. He shyly smiled back. You looked back at the book and held it up to Reggie. “What about this one?” you asked, pointing to a song. Reggie read it and smiled.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he said, grabbing the pen and marking off the song and writing your names. You stood back, waiting for him to finish. When he did, he turned around.

“Alright, I’ve got us down. Wanna head up?” He asked, holding his hand out with a playful smile.

“Let’s do it,” you said, grabbing a hold of his hand, him taking you up the stairs and into the stage.

When you walked up, you saw the screen in front of you turn on, switching to the lyrics of the song. The lights were bright, but it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to. You saw some people stare at you, but it was mainly the rest of the band. Reginald walked to the microphone set up on the far left, you took the other. The song started playing, immediately relaxing you. Maybe this isn’t as bad as I thought. The song you chose was a favorite of you and Reggie— Meet Me At Our Spot. Of course, the band loved it too, but they got bored with it after a while since you two were always blasting it wherever you went. You actually had some inspiration from this song and wrote a little tune, but you had no lyrics at the moment.

When I wake up

I cant even stay up

I slept through the day, fuck

I’m not getting younger

——

“Victoria, you don’t understand-“

“No, you don’t understand, Damiano!” Victoria raised her voice at him. They never argued. They’ve known each other since childhood and nothing had ever caused an issue, except for this.

“I did nothing wrong.”

“Really? ‘Cause it looks to me that you broke your lovers heart.”

“Y/N left me,” he said, trying to reason.

“They might have physically left, but, Damiano, you were gone a long time ago.” She started towards the front door of his house, grabbing her keys.

“Where are you going?” Damiano asked.

“Home. But, let me tell you something first, Dami.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “It doesn’t matter how you try to defend yourself, you fucked up. You broke Y/N’s heart. You were talking to someone else. The damage is done. If you’re gonna try and get them back, you’re gonna have to try really damn hard. You want to get Y/N back, right?”

Silence followed. Victoria gave him a second to compose himself, but ultimately feared the worst. “Dami…”

“I mean, yeah, but-“

“No buts. You shouldn’t be saying ‘but’, you have no reason to.” Damiano just looked at her. “Wow… unbelievable.” Victoria opened the door and walked out, slamming the door behind her. Damiano walked up to the door and locked it. He headed back to the living room and heard his phone ding. He picked it up and saw that you had posted a photo.

Just continuing a small tradition tonight with music and alcohol. maybe if he lets me, i’ll post Alex singing Feeling Good 😏🤍

He sighed. He unlocked his phone, and went to go see the photo you posted. You looked nice. Happy. What was the tradition again?

Right, karaoke. The weekend before the band records an album, everyone goes to a karaoke bar. He scrolled down a bit and saw a comment. He saw Victoria’s comment.

Ahhh you look amazing!!!😘

He figured that she saw the post before she pulled out of his driveway. He debated on what he should do.

Yeah, he fucked up. But, it really wasn’t that bad. It’s not like he cheated. It was just talking. He wanted to tell you that you look great, but wasn’t sure how you would feel about it. Like Y/N would care what I think, he thought to himself. You never broke up, though. Plus, he needs to know what’s going on, how you’re doing. He’s concerned. Couldn’t be the worst thing— it’s not like the internet knows yet.

Ok, I’ll just just comment.

——

Caught a vibe

Baby, are you coming for the ride

I just wanna look into your eyes

I just wanna stay for the night, night, night

You and Reginald were jamming out to the song, as per usual. Everyone was loving it, even the rest of the band. It was the most fun you’ve had in a hot second.

When we take a drive

Maybe we can take the 405

Hypnotized by the light

Man, this must be the life

As the song ended, everyone cheered you two on. You went over and hugged Reggie on his side, him giving a small hug back. You guys walked back to your booth, the whole band full of excitement. Alex got up from his seat and let the two of you in, you sitting in the corner of the booth.

“That was amazing!” Luke exclaimed.

“Thanks, we had fun,” Reggie said, practically reading your mind.

“Definitely.”

“Your voices go so well together,” Flynn remarked.

“That’s exactly what I said!” you said, hitting Reginald’s shoulder so he knows your point is proven.

“Ok, we don’t have to be violent about it,” he joked, smirking just a bit.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna go to the restroom real quick. I’ll be back,” you said, waiting for Alex and Reggie to stand up so you can go. You grabbed your phone, stood up, and made your way to the restroom. When you got to the restroom, you went to one of the stalls but checked your phone before you did anything else. However, you almost immediately regretted it because you saw that Damiano had commented on your photo.

What the hell does he want?

You read what he had commented, and, honestly, you wanted to laugh.

You look great tonight, as you do every night, amore

You couldn’t believe it. Amore, really? you thought to yourself. You looked up from your phone, looking at the stall door. You contemplated what to do next:

For starters, keeping the comment wouldn’t be out of the norm for your followers. They knew about you and Damiano. However, if you deleted (which you really wanted to do), everyone would notice. People would speculate. Or, you could just go off on Damiano privately. That would be too harsh. But, this is your account— your decision. Do you want to have your cheater boyfriend compliment you the way he did?

You know what, do it later, you thought, turning off your phone and finally, actually, using the restroom.

Once you finished, you exited the stall and walked over to the sinks. You washed your hands, not able to get that damn comment off of your mind.

You walked out of the restroom and back over to the booth, but you didn’t sit down.

“Alex,” you said, standing next to him. “Can I talk to you?” He looked up at you, unsure of what you wanted to talk about, but got up anyway. You grabbed his hand and pulled him outside.

When you two got out there, you sat down on a bench, Alex following your move.

“Is everything alright?” You opened your phone and went to Instagram, showing Alex to comment Damiano left. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I just don’t know what to do, and it is tearing me apart. Do I delete it? Do I keep it? Do I argue with him?”

“Delete the comment, and, Y/N, please, block him on social media. You don’t have to block his number, but you should block him everywhere else.”

“Why not his number,” you asked.

“Because you need closure. At some point, you’re gonna want to text him or call him and try to get some understanding as to why he did what he did. You haven’t actually broken up yet. Maybe that’s how you finish off?”

After a moment of contemplation (again), you nodded your head slowly.

“Ok. Yeah, ok, I’ll do that.” You lowered your head and searched through your following to find Damiano’s account. You clicked the three dots at the top, and looked for the block button.

“You sure this is the right thing to do?”

“Yes. Want me to do it?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can do it.”

You looked at the button for a second. You’ve never even thought of blocking him before. I’m your mind, he was the one. Now? Well, you’re blocking him because he cheated on you, so obviously your idea of him completely shifted.

I can do this.

Your hands started shaking slightly, your heart was beating like crazy.

I can do this.

Slowly, you moved your finger over the button.

Click it, it’ll be fine.

And, so, you did. You clicked the button.

You felt free.

———————————————————————-

Taglist for 3yrs — i’m so sorry if i couldn’t tag you!*

@mywritingonlyfans @nientedaridere @pingpongchamps @fairysums @kkjk @blackbluerose666 @thatmeganthing @teenyweenynightghost @ccweasley @lilchickie @katyldamusic @fanfictioncafe @tiaamberxx @butkutee @aboredassho @story-scribbler

*(for those who want to be tagged, please have stuff posted onto your blog and make sure that your blog isn’t censored <3)

#damiano david fanfiction #damiano x y/n #damiano david fanfic #damiano david x gn!reader #damiano david #damiano x you #damiano david angst #må #måneskin #maneskin #three years of you.#three years of you: tear myself apart #3yrs

99 notes · View notes

oasis-for3v3r · 3 years

Text

Cloud 9 <3

Prompt-reader is a famous singer and performs her first live performance with David Bowie, doing a duet of Under Pressure on Live Aid

David Bowie x Reader Platonic Pairing @laneofpennies @a-none-bee @angelofhell323

Warnings: none unless you count descriptions of nervousness. And a lengthy fic

Okay, let’s do it.

Was the first thing you said to yourself. At eight am. On a Saturday. In the middle of July. You usually be sleeping until 2pm on weekends since you were usually so busy on the weekdays. Being Englands new up- and- coming musician is all.

“Ow!” you said as your foot slipped on something and stubbed your toe on the edge of the dresser. You bit back a mirad of curses as you picked up the foul weapon.

Oh.

Sky Heavens- Head in the Clouds. Your first album. Of course. You were lucky enough to get one from the store. Nearly all of the record shops were sold out. You should be happy, I mean sales were doing great, and as for the royalties-

Oh my gosh how has it ben 25 minutes already?!.

It was a very important day for you.. you were preforming for your first crowd ever. So of course you were excited. but more nervous because, it was your first time. And you had terrible stage fright. And you were doing a duet with David Bowie. Oh you almost forgot.

Your first performance was gonna be Live Aid.

As you tucked in your fancy bell-sleeved bloused you asked yourself a string of questions. For example:

How in the hell did you get into live aid?

What song were you gonna sing with David, er Mr.Bowie?

Were there gonna be high notes? Could you even hit them?

Am i dressing too casual?

Oh my gosh, were going after Queen.

Your final though was punctuated with a hailing of a cab. You felt dizzy after you entered the car so you focused on the horizon, which made your eyes get heavier and heavier until...

“Ma’am this is a cab not a daycare” the driver grunted.

Your head snapped up, wiping the drool off off your chin. You have got to stop making this a habit. You scolded to yourself.

Every time your legs hit the ground of Wembely Stadium, you could feel the muscles in your leg turn into jelly. Your heartbeat is playing the percussion. And your pretty sure that your haven’t taken a breath since coming out of the cab.

You finally taken a breather when you hear commotion coming from the nearest hallway. You saw so many stars you could’ve swore you were in space. You saw Elton John, Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor, Brian May, (you couldn’t find John Deacon) Adam Ant was sitting on a couch reading a magazine. Next to him was Elvis Costello sticking straws down his hair, you were about to laugh when-

“Boo!”

“Jesus!”

“No this is David.” joked a lanky man with blond hair, and a pastel blue suit, matching your all white outfit (with a pale blue headband) making you too look like the color of the sky.

“Mr.Bow- David, hi!” you exclaimed, trying to sound as cheery as possible.

He hesitated for a moment looking in your eyes as if searching for something only for a moment. “Come into my trailer, i need to talk to you.” he says softly.

You followed him into what looked like a portal to the personification of serenity. There were books piled on top of a small table. A kettle burning on low. With not surprisingly, a pile of teacups littered on top of the counter. You also noticed (on nosier inspection) small annotations scribbled in the corners.

“Y/N!!”

“YES” you exclaimed, jumping slightly. You have got to start paying more attention to your surroundings.

“Tell me whats on your mind, and be honest” his voice was filled with concern, but somehow still comforting.

You took a breath- seventh one today. And started:

“ I feel like everyone will be disappointed, when they see me. All I ever wanted to do was make music that someone will relate to and find comfort in. And now that I have that, which I am very grateful for, I have to handle the price of fame as well. People put celebrities on pedestals and if they make one mistake in the public eye the pedestal crumbles. And don’t even get me started on the media. And today one of the biggest days in history, and if I do bad, then i will not only disappoint myself but the families in Africa who are relying on me to succeed. And-”

“Y/N” David said sternly “Calm down, you will be fine.” He took a breather and said.” You remind me of myself when I was younger, a shy little Capricorn boy, I just wanted to make music, and the fame tagged along. Its what happens eventually. I just used theatrics to cover up the stage fright.” “Now I just focus on the crowd as if they were one person and give them ll the light I have.”

“As for you when singing Under Pressure with me- while singing Freddie’s part- I want you to take all of the audience’s energy, make it into light and give it towards the sky.” “Give everybody hope.”

Just then you heard.a knock at the trailer. it was time for you to get ready.

You watched as Queen rocked the show. This was gonna be hard for you to follow up. You felt like this performance was gonna be talked about for decades. You felt pity for the future generations that wont get to see this.

You watched with butterflies in your stomach, as you saw David perform TVC 15 which bleed into Rebel Rebel. You smiled with fondness, as the corners of your mouth twitched,(which happened often when you’re nervous). When you were turned around.

Moustace, Freddie Mercury.

“Hello, Darling. You’re going up next with Under Pressure, right?”

“Y-Yes ” you were shaking

“ Well don’t fuck it up darling. And make everyone proud.” He said with a smile (that was also in his eyes)

You nodded, and he turned you back around. Just in time for you to be handed a microphone and introduced by David.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage-for the first time ever- Sky Heavens!!!”

You heard more applause than you expected. But then again it was your very first time ;)

You heard the beginning of the song, and you knew you had no time to be nervous as you started:

Mmm num ba de Dum bum ba be Doo buh dum ba beh beh

Then together-

Pressure pushing down on me Pressing down on you, no man ask for Under pressure that burns a building down Splits a family in two Puts people on streets

Um ba ba be Um ba ba be De day da Ee day da- that's okay

So far you have just been looking at the horizon, seeing the sun begin its descent, little by little.

It's the terror of knowing what this world is about Watching some good friends screaming, "Let me out!" Pray tomorrow gets me higher Pressure on people, people on streets

This is for peace and hope in Africa.

Chipping around, kick my brains around the floor These are the days it never rains but it pours Ee do ba be Ee da ba ba ba Um bo bo People on streets Ee da de da de People on streets

This is for anyone who has felt stress for being themselves

It's the terror of knowing what this world is about Watching some good friends screaming, 'Let me out' Pray tomorrow gets me higher, high Pressure on people, people on streets

The sun was setting now, making the crowd look like angels and your outfit dipped in the sun. David was looking at you with the biggest grin on his face as if seeing his child gain confidence. The high note was coming, and you were ready.

Take all the Audiences Energy

Turned away from it all like a blind man

Make it into light

Sat on a fence but it don't work

Give it towards the sky

Keep coming up with love but it's so slashed and torn

Give everybody hope

Why, why, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!

That was the highest note you had ever hit. The energy that the crowd was giving you was electric. You felt unstoppable.

Insanity laughs under pressure we're breaking

David was practically yelling into the mic, as he felt unstoppable with you too.

Can't we give ourselves one more chance? Why can't we give love that one more chance? Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love Give love, give love, give love, give love, give love?

Because love's such an old-fashioned word And love dares you to care for The people on the (People on streets) edge of the night And love (People on streets) dares you to change our way of Caring about ourselves This is our last dance This is our last dance This is ourselves under pressure Under pressure Under pressure Pressure

On the final word you hugged David, he shouted in your ear so you hear him over the roaring crowd. “YOU DID IT LOVE!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU111″

You look over his shoulder to see Freddie Mercury.

Clapping.

For You.

You felt as if there was the sun poured inside of you. As if you were weightless. You found your new home; on Cloud 9.

#david bowie #freddie mercury #liveaid #live aid #80s music #icon #first look #fanfic #writerscommunity #proof #oc #david bowie x reader #freddie mercury x reader #queen #love #under pressure #vanilla ice

162 notes · View notes

son-fuori-di-me · 3 years

Text

"I had no idea I could change someone's life."

One Shot. Word Count | Around 3300. Description | <French female pov> you're visiting Rome for the first time, and you casually meet Damiano David the day before the Circo Massimo concert. The conversation takes a unexpected path.

Content | Real talk. No romantic development. * Expect French idioms and italian approximations from automatic translators

---

"Bordel, c'est immense !" ("Holy cow, that's big !") I said, looking at the Circo Massimo.

It was my first time in Rome. Knowing Italy a bit, I expected a hell lot of sun, a delicious bunch of ice cream for each meal, and tons of pretty things to snap with my phone. Well, that was the plan for my first two days there. Cause Saturday would be a very different day. Saturday would be Måneskin day.

I've been waiting for so long to do this trip. And what a blast it has been for now. Took only a bag, my external battery, some makeup and my favourite clothes to finally discover this astonishing city. This was my first solo trip. I've always travelled with my family or my ex, but never on my own. For once, I could decide what I wanted to see, what I wanted to eat, when to take a break. And as there are plenty of things to see in Rome, i wanted to enjoy every second of my trip. I could focus my last day there solely to the Måneskin concert happening that Saturday night. But as I didn't want to leave anything to chance, I decided to precisely organize my last day, so I could visit a bit more - a get a last fantastic meal before the concert.

I got myself a gold pit ticket. I guessed that would mean I had a special queue. So on Friday night, as I was back from a late tour in town, I decided to watch more closely the Circo, to check for the entrances, and see how I could sharpen my organization and schedule for the next day.

"J'espère que je vais pas avoir à poireauter toute la journée, avec la chaleur qu'il va faire." ("I hope won't have to hang around here all day tomorrow, the weather's gonna be hot as hell")

It was almost 10 pm. I was getting closer to the Circo, trying to read the boards, but all was written in italian and didn't seem to concern the concert. And a year fangirling over Måneskin clearly wasn't enough to become fluent. I saw no sign mentioning "gold pit". So I decided I would ask around, with Google translate ready in my phone in case I couldn't find anyone speaking English.

I saw a guy sit on a bench, smoking. He was dressed in an ugly dark sweater, with the hood over a cap. He was either a drug dealer or a hobbo. My instinct as a girl living in Paris got the uphand and I decided to ignore the guy and try to find a woman instead, or maybe a group of locals, to get me the information I wanted. Unfortunately, after a good 20 minutes walking around and asking people, no one could tell me how to make sure I find the right queue for the concert. I was about to give up and head back to my airbnb and I saw a silhouette still sitting on a bench, near the Circo. It was the same guy from earlier. "Bon, je tente, s'il est trop chelou, je me barre." ("Well, might as well take the risk, if he's too much a weirdo, I clear off quickly.")

"Scusi, do you speak English ?" i said, getting closer to the guy, but still from a good distance in case it turned wrong.

"Pretty good. You need something ?" He was searching something in his pockets and reached his pack of cigarettes. His voice was deep, but gentle. He did look funny but didn't sound dangerous - i still didn't get too close as I hate the smell of smoke.

"Do you know well il Circo Massimo ? I'm going to a concert here tomorrow and I want to make sure I find the right queue, but they haven't installed any sign yet". I asked, showing the structure of the stage behind me.

"Cute accent, where are you from ?" he answered, completely ignoring my question.

"Well, I'm French. So, do you know il Circo ?" I preferred to quickly repeat my question to let him know I wasn't interested in whatever he was trying to.

"Ah, Bonjour ! I speak a little French !" He said, now reaching for his lighter.

"Yeeaaaah cool, but how about the Circo ? I'd like to be here early enough, but I don't know wh-" I froze as he lighted up his cigarette. It was brief, but with the spark, I saw his face for a second.

"Hm ? You don't know what ?" He asked, with a smirky voice.

"Mais naaaan ?" ("Dont tell me -") I let out that typical French astonished sound without thinking. "You gotta be kidding me !"

He laughed as I was getting a little closer, staring at him. With one hand, he was putting his lighter back in his pocket, with the other, he lifted a bit his cap. It was him. It was Damiano.

I felt my spine shiver with that uncomfortable sensation of being around someone famous. As a journalist, I had my lot of interviews, so I knew there's no point in changing behavior around such people. But I still was flabbergasted to see him.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Well, gotta say you're not dressed in your best outfit !" I chose the strategy of sass, to hide how impressed I actually was.

"That's my favourite sweater you're seeing me in, and I'm smoking hot in it" He said with a smirk, getting into the sassy game.

"Time off before the big day ?" I asked, completely forgotting about my initial request and switching to my interview mindset when I'm super focused about the conversation. "Shouldn't you be having a great night of sleep, to recharge your batteries ?"

"I don't feel like going to bed" He said, having no idea how the conversation would soon turn. Fortunately for him, I wasn't working in the music media industry. "That's quite a stage we're gonna play on."

I didn't know why he was talking to me about all of this. I didn't dare to ask him either. I just enjoyed the moment.

"Well, the Eurovision song contest was bigger, wasn't it ?"

"Hm, don't tell me about it, I still don't know how I managed that."

He suddenly had a strange tone in his voice. It didn't sound like the radiant and confident Damiano you see on Instagram stories or on TV interviews. I remembered where I heard him like that. In the 2019 documentary "This is Måneskin", the making of Il Ballo Della Vita album, in the sequence he's arguing with Vic on a train, as he tells her how anxious he can be get sometimes.

"Well, you did, didn't you ?" I put on a more serious voice. "And you had a ton more of pressure, representing your whole country ? So how a concert here in your home town could be worst than performing in front of all of Europe - not to say the whole world ?"

He was still smoking, listening in silence.

"Or maybe it isn't about how big the performance is but about performing in itself ? Why are you performing ? Why are you putting on a show ? All those fancy clothes and that makeup, who is it for ? For people to love you ? Or for you to love yourself ?"

Mais qu'est-ce que je branle ? Il va se barrer dans deux secondes, là c'est sûr (What the fuck am I doing ? He's leaving any second now.) I got a bit too excited about being able to share a few words with him. What's gotten onto me ? Well, let's go then.

"What is it you're running after ? Or running from maybe ? Some complex to compensate ? With all that smudge and confidence, that wouldn't surprise me."

He sat back on the bench. As he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, I saw a smile on his face. But I also saw his hand holding the cigarette shaking.

"Are you a psychiatrist or something ?" He simply said, as if he was trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

I hesitated to tell him the truth. I was sure he would walk away the second he would know my actual job. Et puis merde, autant tout dire. (Well, fuck, might as well be honest.)

"Nope, I'm a journalist." I admited, as he looked right back at me with a surprised look. "Pretty much the same. We get appoitments with random people, listen to their life, observe their body language, and tell them our whole opinion about all of it, which might very well shape how they perceive themselves from now on."

"Only difference is that you don't have to keep anything secret. Right the contrary."

There. This was it. He was gonna leave now, for sure.

"Before you go, did I hit any truth ? Don't worry, I'm not in the music media industry, I won't write anything from our conversation." I hoped this information would save me a few more seconds with him.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't leave either. He kept looking at me, still smoking his second cigarette in a row now.

"Whatever it is you write about, I guess you must be good at it" he finally replied. "Cause you did score a few points."

Another short silence broke. As a fan, I was obsessed with his music, lyrics, and attitude. But catching a glimpse of what lied behind the glamour definitly caught my interest. I wanted to know more.

"Why are you here ?" I slightly deepened my voice, getting back to my interview tone, and kept on going with this as if that was usual business for me. "It's half past 10. You play on Rome's largest stage tomorrow. You surely better should be in bed, or be about to, before the big day."

In that moment, I had the upper-hand in the conversation. He was sat on the bench, I was on my feet in front of him, and therefore above him. Not the best approach to get someone's trust for an interview, but with a personnality like Damiano's, you gotta put your own show.

"I actually don't sleep much before big events like these" He finally answered, accepting his condition as an interviewee. "I don't sleep much at all."

"You're tend to insomnia ?"

"Not really, I just got used to 4-5 hours of sleep, that's it."

"Even during tours ? Cause this all sold-out European tour for Teatro d'Ira must have been exhausting".

"You have no idea, bellezza."

"So tell me." From there, I decided to change my strategy and sat on the ground, still in front of him, but giving him the upper-hand, to put on a more trustful atmosphere. "How are you doing ? And I don't mean, like casual 'yay, fine', I mean : how are you doing ?"

I still have no idea of my tactical move of giving him more space to express himself worked, or if he understood right away where I was leading him, but in the end, he still didn't seem bothered by this conversation we were having. In fact, it looked like he was enjoying it.

"I'm... content, I'd say." He paused, and I didn't interrupt him with another question this time. "I know I'm going through the life I wanted. The music, the tours, the praise. It's all I could have ever asked for."

D'accord, très bien, mais ? (Okey, very good, but ?) I stayed silent, but I couldn't help anticipating what he was saying.

"But surprisingly, sometimes it's still... unfulfilling. Like I can never be satisfied".

Repressing some Hamilton's lyrics from my mind, I innocently pretend I didn't fully understand what he meant - another journalistic technique, to get someone to repeat themselves with other words in order to get them deeper into their reflexion.

"What do you mean, "never be satisfied" ? You're on top of Spotify chart list, your albums are now platinum successes, you're winning awards. How is this not satisfying ?"

"It's just... What are all those things for ? Money ? Fame ? Yeah, I like those but..."

"Typical Capricorn" I muttered, to slide in the conversation that I actually knew pretty well my subject - my subject being him. He chuckled.

"Damn really ? Let me guess ? Aries ?"

"Pisces+Taurus, actually. So what, you don't like being famous ?" Getting back quickly into more questions - another technique to keep control over the rhythm of an interview.

"It's not that I dislike it. It's just... not always as fun as I thought it would be."

"What part of the job ? The writing and composing ?"

"No, that's the best part." He reached for a third cigarette. It was almost 11 pm now. "Vic, Thomas and Ethan. Måneskin. They're the best thing that ever happened to me".

"Then what, you feel like a fraud ?"

"Hell, no ! I'm exactly where I should be." He claimed, with a light pride tone.

"So, if you're proud of what you create, and if you love the people you create that with, then what is the matter ? If life is about getting the Bare Necessities, it seems like you got it all." Hitting with a universal - and musical - reference. Shoud do the trick.

"Hahaha ! Lo stretto indispensabile, si ! But life isn't that easy." He said laughing, as I felt he started to let go of the tension. "In real life, you get judged all the time, and people try to dismantle you, and spread rumors."

"I didn't think you'd be one to listen to people's comments about you".

"I'm not. I stopped giving credits to those. But it's still here, you know ?"

"From what I see, you're keeping it real, with lots of wisdom. I can't quite grasp what seem to bother you."

He paused, looking at his feet for a few seconds.

"I'm afraid it won't last." He finally confessed. "I'm afraid it all ends as quickly as it all started. I'm afraid people get bored. I'm afraid I become a caricature of myself. I'm afraid I can't write new songs. I'm afraid to be a shooting star, you see ? Very bright, but gone in a flash."

"Like, to be an Icare ? Or may I say "Ykaaar" like on your Instagram ?"

He chuckled again.

"Huh, I'm that obvious ?"

"Yeah, even a bit over-the-top, if I may dare say so."

"Well, I've always related so much with this mythological figure. I mean what's wrong with aiming for the Sun ?" He said, pointing a hand to the dark sky above us. From his attitude, I could tell he was way more relaxed than in the beginning. He even took his cap and hood off, so I could now see his face more clearly. His eyes were glittering. "Burning your wings... What's that morale supposed to teach us ? Be modest ? Be moderate ? Che noia !" (How boring !)

"Well don't be !" I felt almost like scolding him. "There's nothing wrong with seeking big dreams. As there's nothing wrong with this feeling of being outrun by your life. Savour the moment. Every second of it. It's because you can't know how long it may last that it tastes so good, so thrilling ! And you actually already are ten steps ahead ! Writing songs like ´Torna a casa' or ´Coraline' at, what, 19-20 years old ? You're the real deal, dude. And even if later on, you get blank page anxiety or write just good-enough songs, it's okey. You got plenty of time to make mistakes. Take the leap of faith. Failing and being a failure aren't the same. You learn, you grow from it. It's okey to doubt yourself, but please, don't ever doubt all the love and support you get."

I paused, hoping I didn't do too far and missed my point. But in a way, I could also feel I got it right. He was looking at the Circo, his eyes even more sparkling than before.

"I..." He got up, standing on the bench, looking as tall as a statue from my perspective. He came down and took a few steps. I got on my feet, starting to feel concerned about what I just said.

"I didn't know I needed to hear that." He finally confided. "I always wanna reach perfection. I'm aware I can be authoritative, sometimes even harsh, on the band. I can't accept to be a failure. But love and support, that, I can't get enough of."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to add. This instant felt like an hour. The wind was slightly blowing through the length of the Circo in front of us. His hair reflected the gentle light of the moon, only showing her first quarter. He broke the tranquility of the moment, turning and taking a few steps in my direction.

"Grazie mille" he said, his arms opened, calling for a hug.

"But, you're very welcome" I said approaching him, softly putting my arms on his back as he put his over my shoulders. The second before his face disappeared from my vision, i noticed a tear on his cheek.

"You've completed reset my mind. I feel like I can start all over again. I was anguished, trapped by my anxiety. But it's all gone now. You've changed me. Thank you, thank you so much" He affirmed full of hope, his voice shivering.

"Wow, well. I had no idea I could change someone's life." I answered, trying to hide how moved I myself was from the conversation.

------

It was almost midnight now. We kept talking for a while, comparing life in Rome and Paris, exchanging what was our best concert experiences. But he still needed to get back home to rest before the concert, and I didn't want to arrive too late at my airbnb - even if I could have spent the whole night talking with him. Yet, to enjoy our last few minutes together, he offered to walk me back to where I was staying. It was just a 15 minutes walk, along the Tevere river bank.

"So tell me." he asked with a smirk. "How does the Bare Necessities go in French ?" He started to muffle the melody.

"Oh no, you don't expect me to actually sing it ?"

"Hehe, you got me into a therapy session, so I can get a little song from you, no ?"

"Damn, you. This is blackmail !" But drunk on the moment, I took a deep breath.

"Il en faut peeeeeeu pour être heureux, ("Look for the baaaaare necessities,") vraiment très peu pour être heureux, ("the simple bare necessities") il faut se satisfaire du nécessaire !" ("Forget about your worries and your strife")"

I started dancing along, if I had to be ridiculous, might as well utterly be. But he actually followed my lead, clicking his fingers.

"In fondo, baaaasta il minimo, ("I mean the baaaaare necessities") sapessi quanto è facile ("Old Mother Nature's recipes") Trovar quel po' che occorre per campar ! ("That brings the bare necessities of life !")

We kept on singing Disney songs for a few minutes as we walked at a slow pace - I was shocked he never saw Tarzan and immediately made him promise to watch it as i told him Phil Collins recorded all the songs in five languages, including Italian. When we finally reached my destination, we exchanged a last timid hug as farewell.

"Well, I'll see you on stage tomorrow." I told him as I crossed the street.

"And I'll look for you in the crowd !" He shouted with the brightest smile on his perfect face.

** the end **

#maneskin #damiano david #maneskin imagine #damiano david x reader #maneskin x reader #my writing

45 notes · View notes

scraregenrecs · 3 years

Text

Rec Roundup - May 2021

Hello friends! It’s June! (i know, i know, wtf, right?) Which means that we have a nice long list of fics from May that we know you all will love. There’s a little bit of everything. Everyone can find something they enjoy on this smorgasbord of rare ships and gen!

So, look through the list and buckle in for some AMAZING fic!

Aeration by @middyblue, Alexis & David, rated T, 4495 words

Summary: Isn’t her whole life proof that she can handle it? However shitty life gets, she puts one heel in front of the other and keeps walking, keeps going to the next adventure, the next thrill, because it’s when you stop that it catches up to you; it’s when you stop and there’s no one there that you start disappearing.

The night before she leaves Schitt's Creek, Alexis gets a text from Sebastien.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: This is a stunning fic that takes an unflinching look at the people that Alexis and David used to be, and the people they've become. I haven't read an Alexis character study that touched me quite so deeply. Check the tags!

and i’ve known you for a long time by @hullomoon, Stevie/Twyla, rated Gen, 574 words

Summary: While moving in together, Twyla discovers something from their childhood

Rec [written by samwhambam]: I love this little fic for multiple reasons! Stevie! Twyla! MOVING IN TOGETHER! REDISCOVERING SHARED MEMORIES. I love it all. Give it to me. It’s a sweet little slice of life and hullomoon killed it. Again. Per usual.

Every Night Has Its Dawn by @lilythesilly, Stevie/Ruth, rated G, 633 words

Summary: Everytime Ruth takes her to a new place, whether it’s a karaoke bar or a concert in the park or a cheesy tourist trap, or to try her favorite foods (sushi is so far a yes, the bistec Ruth made in her kitchen this afternoon is so far a yes, kimchi is so far a no) she watches Stevie with a bright smile, like she’s anticipating whatever her reaction is, good or bad.

Stevie never wants to stop chasing that smile. She’ll follow Ruth to a million different places in a million different cities if it means she gets to see that smile over and over again.

Ruth + Stevie + Karaoke

Rec [written by doingthemost]: This is so pitch perfect, I could see it easily unfolding on my screen. I love the way you instantly get to understand the dynamics of their relationship through Stevie's amusing POV. This is a must-read for anyone curious about the ship!

The Future Is This Moment by floosilver8, Jake/David, rated E, 1774 words

Summary: Mostly canon compliant, David's POV for just before the cold open of S03E01 Opening Night

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: I’m such a sucker for David/Jake and this is super hot! I also love the tense shift at the end there.

High and Warm by lonelygrocerystore, Stevie/Twyla, rated T, 567 words

Summary: A (very stoned) Stevie and Twyla share a moment at Mutt's barn party and Stevie has feelings.

Rec [written by samwhambam]: Give me ALL the Stevie and Twyla making out while stoned at Mutt’s barm party. It is SUCH an underrated moment in the show. They both looked fantastic and it’s time we all really appreciated it. This fic is a combination of stoned making out and queer feelings and I really enjoyed it. So much. Highly recommend it.

In her brown eyes (the ones she gave to me) by @sarahlevys, Stevie/Ruth, rated G, 600 words

Summary: "I'm dating someone. Her name is Stevie."

Her mother tsks under her breath. "Stevie, ha? Sounds like a boy's name."

A laugh escapes Ruth despite her nerves. "Well – yes. I guess so."

Ruth tells her mother about her new relationship.

Rec [written by samwhambam]: This fic gave me mom feels. 😂 I read this and was really rooting for Ruth and I was so happy that her mom was receptive to meeting Stevie. It really breathes life into a character that we got limited screen time from. It’s a nice little treat!

Let’s all be with us by [orphaned account], Stevie/Albany/Jake, rated M, 1556 words

Summary: Jake and Stevie are at Café Tropical for their weekly milkshake the night of Jocelyn's baby sprinkle. After Albany overhears Klair saying breaking news: we still fucking hate her in regards to her at The Wobbly Elm, she flees back to where they'd indulged in lunch earlier that day, meeting the two of them in the process.

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: The thing I love most about fanfic is when I read something that makes me consider a character in a new way — or, honestly, makes me consider them full stop, which is something I’ve never really done with Albany. But this fic fleshes her out and gives her a damn good day.

my dress on the floor by @5ambreakdown, Stevie/Twyla, rated T, 4332 words

Summary: David smiles and squeezes his hand. “You’re cute.”

Before Patrick can respond any sort of way to that, he hears the door open behind them and turns to see Stevie enter, her eyes widening and mouth opening slightly. He hears her whisper, “Oh shit,” as she takes in Twyla behind the counter.

Huh.

----

are stevie and twyla together? will patrick ever understand fashion? did i just vomit a bunch of words onto the page and didn't double check to make sure it was coherent? all these and more just might be answered!

Rec [written by samwhambam]: This is such a fun fic!! It’s told from Patrick’s POV as he slowly starts to notice some uhhhhh things between Stevie and Twyla. I love the Stevie and Twyla of it and I love David and Patrick being the classic best friends and getting super into it. I was smiling the entire time. It’s such a good fic and I kept getting distracted while writing this review because I keep reading the fic instead lmao.

rise and spin / over and over again by @anniemurphys, Alexis/Twyla, rated T, 2384 words

Summary: The apartment is dark when Alexis gets home, curtains drawn, air heavy. She wants to give in to the darkness, to curl up in it – but she also wants to pull her wife out.

Seven moments of grief, and one moment of hope.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: Please mind the tags! That said, if this is something you're comfortable reading, you'll find a devastating, breathtaking, captivating story in so few words. This is a fic that reminds me of how powerful fandom can be, and how we can often find solace and empathy in telling stories through these characters we love.

save it from the funny tricks of time by @hullomoon, David & Moira, rated G, 1114 words

Summary: While David helps her pack up her wigs, Moira reflects on their relationship.

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: David and Moira’s relationship is one that always fascinates me, and the parallel between the opening of the first episode of the show and this fic is so brilliantly done.

Sweaters In the Dead of Summer by @kindofspecificstore, Heather/Rachel, rated T, 2195 words

Summary: Rachel desperately wants to bury herself in the covers and never come out again. The lights were off last night- Heather didn’t have to see the patchwork that makes up her back and shoulders, the speckling of white and pink dots in varying stages of healing scars. She doesn’t like it. She’s not proud of it. But Rachel doesn’t really know how to fix it either. It’s not embarrassing, per se, just awkward to explain.

You know that feeling when you want to pop a zit?

Like that, but all the time. Except it’s all you think about. And you can’t control it.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: Yay, more Heather/Rachel! Please mind the tags with this one, but with that out of the way, this is a touching look at their relationship (every relationship in this fic, in addition to the Heather/Rachel, is treated so well!) and the importance of being seen and cared for.

To the end of reckoning by @dinnfameron, Patrick & Ronnie, rated T, 1308 words

Summary: He should get David a coffee. He could deliver it to the motel, see how he’s doing. His arm is raised halfway to flag Twyla down when he catches himself. David doesn’t want to see him right now. He may never want to see Patrick ever again. The thought makes him sick.

“Brewer.” Patrick turns at the sound of his name. There aren’t many people in this town who call him that, and sure enough, there’s Ronnie Lee at a table near the front. He’d missed her, somehow.

“You look like shit,” she says.

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: I love Patrick, I love Ronnie, I love anything and everything that explores the contentious relationship between the two of them. I love post-barbecue angst. Basically I love every single thing about this.

you make everything good by @rosedavid, Alexis/Twyla, rated G, 835 words

Summary: “Stop being grumpy, it’s lame."

Twyla has to go and visit her gaggle of cousins for two weeks, and Alexis is pouty about her girlfriend leaving for so long.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: This is an adorable little slice-of-life type of fic with some fun banter and some true-to-the-show Twyla moments! It's cute and funny and exactly what I love about the ship.

Happy reading, friends!

23 notes · View notes

thehanwen · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Netflix Recs

Since were all at home watching Netflix I thought I would give my fav show/movie for every letter so everyone has something new to watch. Please send me your own recommendations or make your own alphabet list and tag me! Here goes:

A: Anne with an E- This modern take on Ann of Green Gables is quirky, fun, and dramatic. It has good music, writing and is all around a good watch. It deviates from the books a bit, but keeps the spirit.

B: Broadchurch- If you like crime dramas, this is for you. With one crime spanning the complete first season it delves deep into motive and emotions. David Tennet stars in this tense British mystery.

C: Cargo- A dystopian zombie apocalypse film set in Australia with a focus on human connection, and sacrifice. This is honestly so different than any other zombie movie I have seen in the best way.

D: Daybreak- Sticking with the apocalypse theme, daybreak is a humorous view on what happens when a nuke kills all the adults and leaves all the teenagers. Its like if high school was the whole world, but the world had also ended. Strong characters and ‘Ferris Bueller’ esc fourth wall breaks give this show something special.

E: The Worlds Most Extrodiary Homes- For a change of pace this mindlessly beautiful home reality show shows off architecture that could be classified as art and makes me wonder how anyone can actually live here. If you just want something with no stakes what so ever, this is the eye candy for you.

F: Frontier- A gritty, and dark period piece starring Jason Momoa as the badass outlaw working against the British in the Canadian wilderness. Half political, half survival drama this show focus on the fur trade during the 1700s as well as themes like revenge, family history and love.

I have to do two for F: Feel Good- This emotional comedy is about Mae, a gay, ex-addict comic and her previously straight girlfriend. It is real and emotional and hilarious. It’s filled with amazing characters and amazing writing and explores hard to talk about subjects, including addiction, love, coming out, and family and romanitc relationships.

G: Godless- A refreshing addition to the western genre. An injuryed outlaw, a headstrong widow, the whole of the wild west. Gritty and dramatic, this mini series is a must watch

H: How it Ends- Another apocalypse film, can you guys see a pattern? This one is less about the event however and more about family. A young man and his future father-in-law travel across the desolate wasteland of the USA to save his fiance.

I: I am Not Okay with This- A sci-fi coming of age story, based on a comic book, about a young girl who develops mysterious superpowers and is not okay with it. Also shes gay and in love with her best friend, its great.

J: John Mulaney- I assume everyone has already seen all of his specials, but if you haven’t go check them out! They are hilarious and relatable on a deep level.

K: Klaus- This is my new favorite Christmas movie. Its got wit, charm, great character development and beautiful animation. It’s the first original Christmas movie that I've liked. It gives a new spin to all your favorite Christmas traditions while holding on to the essence of the Christmas spirit.

L: Let it Snow- Based of the book co-written by Maureen Johnson, John Green, and Lauren Myracle this film is a feel good romance with quicky characters that have thier lives changed forever by a snowstorm in their small hometown. Friendships and romances are formed and tested as these teens figure out how to deal with what life throws at them.

M: Maniac: In an unlikely pair Emma Stone and Jonah Hill work amazingly well together in a drug trial that is supposed to cure all mental illness, of course not everything goes as planned. Our heroes go through multiple stages of the trial and discover their brains are miraculously linked. This series merges multiple genres into something surprisingly cohesive.

N: National Treasure- “I’m gonna steal the declaration of Independence”

O: The OA- A psychological sci-fi thiller about a blind girl who gets kidnapped and held prisoner by a mad scientist looking for other dimensions. The friends she makes along the way mean everything, but when she gets found not only are they missing, but she can see again.

P: Princess and the Frog- A cute Disney twist of the classic fairy tale. A young woman working hard to buy her own restaurant meets a prince that has been turned into a frog by a shady magic man. But when she kisses him he doesn’t turn human, she turns frog. Together they have to figure out how to get back to being human and along the way they learn what they really need.

Q: apparently I have never watched a single thing on Netflix that starts with Q. So Queer Eye I guess. I’ve never watched it, but I've heard good things.

R: The Rain- After a deadly virus is discovered in the rain, sister and brother, Simone and Rasmus are separted from thier family and hide in a bunker for 6 years. Once they are forced to emerge they discover the world is much different than how they left it and their family wasnt all they thought it was.

S: Sense 8- This sci-fi drama focuses on 8 people from all over the world connected by some kind of psychic link. As they discover the extent of thier new abilities they also find out they aren’t the only ones and some others aren’t so friendly. This series was made with so much love and divotion and it shows throughout. The character development and backstories are rich, the writing is witty and thoughtful and the representation and focus on love above all else is so refreshing.

T: Tallulah- This drama is dark and witty, while simultaneously being bright and uplifting. When a young drifter kidnaps a baby from a neglectful mother and pretends the baby is hers, her boyfriends mother takes them in. The story is about family and doing the right thing, even when you can’t find the right choice in the grey area.

U: The Umbrella Academy- This series based on a comic book written by Gerard Way is about superheroes with out being about superheroes. They don’t save the day. They can barely save themselves, oh and also the world. Numbered 1-7 these siblings all have their own issues and getting them to work together was the dying wish of their asshole of a father.

V: None? Anyone have any ideas?

W: The Witcher- This series, based on a video game based on a book, is about a mysterious monster hunter and the bard he meets a long the way. Somehow full of action and also full of humor this series delves deep into the history and culture of this fantasy world.

X, Y, Z: I got nothing guys, but thanks for reading all the way down here. I hope you watch some of these shows and that you send some of your own recs to me!

Also None of these photos or shows or anything are mine and all belong to their rightful owners

871 notes · View notes

florrickandassociates · 3 years

Text

TGF Thoughts: 5x01- Previously on...

Welcome back!! I’m so excited to be writing one of these again. I think this hiatus has been the longest I’ve gone without new Diane Lockhart content in ten years, and it sure feels like it. A lot of important stuff has happened in the time since TGF season four ended (not concluded—ended). Most notably, CBS All Access became Paramount+ and suddenly started offering a lot of content I care about! I kid. 2020 was quite an eventful year, so I was curious how television’s most topical show was going to take it on. TGF is always forward-looking, but too much happened in 2020 to be ignored. And while I didn’t think TGF would have much to say about the pandemic, it seemed impossible to imagine a season five that pretended it never happened. Going into this premiere, I was expecting that they’d either skip COVID entirely or include very few references, but after seeing this episode, I feel like the writers took the only approach that made sense. And that is why they are the writers, and I'm just some girl on the internet who writes recaps.

Anyway, before I dive into the episode, I should also note that my pandemic boredom spurred me to actually pay $30 to watch this episode early as part of the virtual ATX Festival. Yes, I paid $30 on top of the money I spend every month on Paramount+ for this show. But I write tens of thousands of words about each TGF episode—are my priorities really that surprising? I note this not to brag or even to poke fun at myself, but because watching the episode before I knew a single thing about it (not even the title!) completely changed my viewing experience. I’ve never had an experience like this with TGW or TGF. I’m one to search for critics tweeting cryptically about screeners and refresh sites looking for background extras (haven’t done this in the TGF era, though) and read every single piece of press I can find. For any big episode, I usually know the outline of what to expect going in (I even knew about Will before the episode aired in the US!). Not this one! So, I got to be surprised, and I had to—gasp—formulate my own opinions before I knew what anyone else thought! It was really pleasant, actually. I think the structure of the episode worked extremely well for me because it caught me by surprise... and also because I’m the kind of person who somehow managed to write a college paper about Previously On sequences.

I see Tumblr has made it so that “keep reading” expands the post in your dash instead of opening a new tab. I absolutely hate this. Here is a link to the post you can click instead of the keep reading button!

The ATX stream started mid-sentence, meaning I missed the “Previously On... 2020...” title card and skipped right to Adrian saying “I’m retiring.” It was pretty easy to pick up on the device (the directness of the scenes at the start, their cadence, and their placement in the episode made it clear this was meant to mimic a Previously) but the second title card hit way harder because... well, I had no idea if this was meant to be 2020 or some moment outside of real time until a bit later in the episode.

Man, before I get any farther into this, two things that I don’t know where else to put. First, this episode had to cover so much ground. They had to write out both Adrian and Lucca—more on that later--, figure out how to deal with all of 2020, figure out how to either wrap up or continue all the truncated season 4 plotlines, and set the stage for a new season... in 50 minutes.

Second, just wanna shout out the Kings’ other Paramout+ show, Evil, which you should absolutely be watching even if you hate horror. Evil is a Kings show, so it is unsurprisingly topical (sometimes evil takes the form of racism or misogyny or Scott Rudin) and at times very, very funny. I would be recapping it if Paramount+ weren’t attacking me personally by airing it at the same time as TGF. Ever hear of too much of a good thing, people?! (On that note, I am VERY upset with myself for not having made a Good vs Evil joke about the Good shows and Evil. I didn’t even think about it until Robert King made the joke on Twitter, and it was right fucking there. How did I fail so miserably?!)

So STR Laurie, who wants a 20% downsizing, is still a thing. Noted.

This scene with Landau is the only one in this previously that is actually old footage, right?

Unexpected Margo Martindale! Yay! (Ruth Eastman is a character who is so much more effective on Fight than she was on Wife and I’m quite glad they’ve had her appear on Fight several times. It kind of redeems season seven. Kind of.)

I don’t think the writers intentionally chose for Adrian’s book deal to be with Simon & Schuster because it is the most politically fraught publisher (the number of stories about controversial memoirs they’ve picked up in 2021 alone...) but I kind of like that Adrian’s Road Not Taken involves S&S. My guess is they chose S&S because it is owned by ViacomCBS.

“Years ago, I wanted to create a law firm run entirely by women, but it never worked out. So, why not now?” Diane says to Liz. One of the advantages of having twelve (!!!) seasons of Diane Lockhart is that we’ve seen what she’s talking about. And we’ve seen her put this idea forward multiple times, too. I have my reservations about Diane’s brand of feminism, and I’ll say more about how fraught a Diane/Liz firm would be as the show explores the potential issues there, but on the surface I’m kind of excited about the prospect of a Diane/Liz led firm. Diane has wanted this for ages, Liz is a good partner, and this actually makes sense (unlike the nonsensical Diane/Alicia alliance of late season seven, where the only rationale was “well, Alicia needs to betray Diane in the finale, but they’re not on good terms. So maybe we make them business partners so then the betrayal stings more?”). Plus I fully love that Diane would end up running a firm with Alicia’s law school rival.

(Has TGF mentioned that Liz and Alicia were law school rivals? No. Am I still clinging on to that as a large part of Liz’s character? ABSOLUTELY.)

Julius is on trial for Memo 618 reasons; Diane is defending him. So this is still happening. (There’s more old footage here.)

Do they put these references to one/two party consent in these episodes as a wink at the fans? It has to be intentional. (Please do not ask me what the actual law is on this, this show has thoroughly confused me.)

I knew Cush was filming stuff for TGF, but I didn’t know it was for the premiere. She was just posting about it a few weeks ago, so either they shot a lot of it right before air or she posted a while after filming. Anyway, yay Lucca!

Bianca’s still around. And, TGF gets to shoot New York for New York, since Bianca is there. I do wish TGF could do more location shoots; there’s something about seeing an actual skyline that feels more real.

Bianca wants Lucca, who has never been outside of the country (except to St. Lucia, as Bianca reminds her) to go to London and buy her a resort. It’s supposed to be a three week stay and Bianca’s already arranged childcare. Speaking of children, because of COVID and filming constraints, that’s Cush’s real kid in this scene! You can’t really see him, but I recognized his curly hair from Cush’s Instagram, and the Kings confirmed in an interview.

Adrian wants to write a book about police brutality cases he’s worked on. Ruth very much does not want him to write that book. She wants him to write a book without substance about how white people and black people can work together. He, understandably, has no interest in writing this book. (Also, you can see in the background that Ruth doesn’t think Biden’s odds of winning the Democratic primary are good—there is a big down arrow next to his picture, which definitely dates this scene.)

Oh, David Lee is in this episode. He acts like an asshole towards Marissa when she’s trying to help him.

Marissa, not happy with the lack of respect, calls Lucca for advice “for a friend.” Lucca mentions she’s in London and Marissa does not believe her and keeps going on and on about her frustrations and her new desire to become a lawyer—quickly.

Marissa wanting to become a lawyer because she “hates being talked down to” is not a plot I would’ve expected but it’s also one that makes a lot of sense. I think Marissa’s used to being respected and praised even when she’s doing things that aren’t glamorous, so I see how she’d get very restless when she’s no longer outperforming expectations and is instead taken for granted.

Bells toll in the background on Lucca’s side and Marissa asks where she is. Lucca again notes she’s in London and Marissa still doesn’t believe her.

I’m going to miss Lucca so much, especially since we’ll also be losing a lot of the Millennial Friendship scenes with her. Cush is fantastic (even if she never really got enough to do here) and she plays so well off of the rest of the cast. I even sometimes liked the writing for Maia (who?) when she had scenes with Lucca, Lucca is that good.

Jay wakes up sweating and unable to breathe, so he deliriously calls his father-figure Adrian. This whole scene is shot like something out of Evil and (I’m getting ahead of myself here) this plot is the only thing about this episode I felt was a misstep.

“I think you’re my father,” Jay says to Adrian. Heh, I didn’t catch this line the first time around (maybe subliminally I did, since I just called Adrian his father figure lol) but I love that it is included here. Adrian and Jay’s relationship definitely deserves a goodbye.

Adrian calls an ambulance and also gets to Jay before the ambulance somehow. Adrian notes that Jay might have “this thing from China” and... we’re doing the pandemic, y’all. (Minor nitpick: on March 13th, 2020, when this scene is dated, COVID was not “this thing from China”-- we were all aware of it. March 11th was the day Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson announced they’d tested positive and the NBA shut down and travel was restricted and every single brand that had my email sent me a message about their plans and measures. March 12th was the last time I was in my office, and we’d been getting emails telling us to wash our hands and prepare to work remotely for weeks. I went to San Francisco in mid-late February and distinctly remember deciding to leave a burrito unattended on a table while I washed my hands because I was paranoid about COVID... and then I remember making a specific trip to Walgreens to buy hand sanitizer so that didn’t happen again. My point is, Adrian lives in the same world I do. On March 13th 2020, he would not be treating COVID like it was some new thing he’d vaguely heard of.)

(I am going to nitpick this timeline, but please know that I’m only doing it because I can, not because I think it’s necessarily a bad choice. Lines like this do feel a little forced, but I see the reason for introducing COVID as something new rather than going for the line that’s exactly historically accurate. I also am pretty sure there are references to dates in March/April in s4 of TGF that are now going to be contradicted by this episode, but I truly do not care. The writers get a pass on this one.)

We skip slightly back in time to the beginning of March after the MARCH 13TH title card, or maybe this is supposed to be after March 13th and my own memories are preventing me from believing these face-to-face interactions were happening. Who knows.

Michael Bloomberg is... here, again, I guess? He asks Diane to assist with a Supreme Court case about gun control. I guess it does add some weight to the plot and make the stakes feel higher.

Oh hey, this case is the 7x17 case!!!! Love that continuity.

Diane and Adrian are both at the office late, working, and there is an unnecessary split screen that feels even more unnecessary when you consider that the editing alone was enough to create the parallel.

Diane and Adrian have a nice convo (which I’ll really miss, their dynamic is great and this really feels like a successful partnership) as they wait for the elevator. When the elevator dings, they nearly tumble down into nothingness because... the elevator never came. Apparently this is a reference to an law old show I’ve never seen that killed off a character this way, and it’s meant to be a wink at how they are not going to kill off Adrian.

I do not know why I remember this, but I do: after they killed off Will, a critic (Noel Murray; I just googled to confirm my memory) who didn’t want to spoil things tweeted, “Exactly 23 years and 2 days ago, Rosalind Shays fell down an elevator shaft.” Please tell me why I remember this reference that I didn’t even understand well enough to have tracked down the original tweet in under a minute. (https://twitter.com/NoelMu/status/447942456827326464)

Back on this show, Diane and Adrian share a drink and talk about their wishes. Diane wants to argue in front of the Supreme Court, and Adrian encourages her to speak up. His own near-death experience motivates him to trash the book Ruth has him writing, and Diane trashes the (bad) legal strategy someone else prepared for the Supreme Court.

DIANE IS WEARING JEANS!!!!!! Tbh, I think my favorite part of this episode is how many slice-of-life scenes and settings we get. These are always my favorite moments. I love the satirical and political stuff too, but the character moments are what get me invested enough to write these. (Yes, Diane in jeans constitutes a character moment.)

Diane tells Bloomberg she wants to be involved and advocates for herself. Kurt gets a call on their landline (hahaha) from Adrian.

God, I love Diane and Kurt. Not only is their banter fun, you can just see a different, more relaxed side of Diane in these scenes. Diane tells Kurt she has good news for herself, but bad news for him since she’s arguing for gun control. She asks him to help her prep for court, too.

So this is before Jay is rushed to the hospital, because now we are back at the hospital with Julius, Diane, and Marissa. I do not believe any of these people would be setting foot in a hospital like it’s any other day on March 13th, 2020. But I'm trying not to nitpick.

I get why they chose to give Jay a rather severe case of COVID. I just don’t get literally anything else that follows from the initial shock of Jay having COVID.

I see why the writers chose March 20th (the actual Illinois stay at home order) as the next date for this timeline. I still do not believe that people were in this particular office on that date.

You know what else I don’t believe? That RBL just shut down for two weeks and was like, no work is being done. Did law firms really do this? I can believe it if it’s an excuse to cost-cut, and I know there were massive layoffs, but this seems... really weird???

Why are they setting up a teleconferencing infrastructure (didn’t they have one at LG? In season five?) if they are not planning to do work?

Lol Diane explains what Zoom is, very slowly. She asks everyone to “download a program called Zoom.com” which is one of the first Zoom jokes I’ve chuckled at in a while.

Marissa is not happy to hear that there’s no work for her in a work-remote world (this I believe 100%), so she calls Lucca again with more questions about law school.

Love these NYC and London location shots. Wish they could do that for Chicago.

Lucca asks Bianca to help get Marissa into a law school, fast, and Bianca tells Lucca to use her name... then offers her a job.

Marissa is at the office, alone, boxing up her things, when one of the office phones rings with some dude offering her a spot in a law school class. I guess we are really all-in on this! (Why would Lucca have given a firm phone number not specific to Marissa, though?)

Adrian and his corrupt girlfriend decide to shelter in place together. I still do not understand why he is okay with her being corrupt. I also don’t really understand why they’re going from talking about sheltering-in-place to George Floyd. How did we just skip from late March to late May? Are Adrian and corrupt gf having a conversation about sheltering-in-place two months into sheltering in place?

Okay, I am not doing so good at this no-nitpicking thing. Again, I understand why they need to merge several scenes into one to keep things moving. And I guess they could just be getting around to this conversation.

I’m going to nitpick again, I can’t help myself. How did we just go from a scene of Adrian specifically talking about sheltering in place to a scene of Adrian bursting into a bustling and maskless DNC headquarters room? How!? The only masks in this scene are on TV!! There are like ten people in this scene!

Anyway, more importantly, Adrian tells Ruth off and screams at her that she needs to listen to him instead of acting like she knows the way forward. He is completely right.

Why is travel from London closing down in May 2020? Is it because this scene is supposed to be at a different place in the episode? Liz is asking Lucca to come back home from her three week stay in London (which has now lasted three months but travel is just now closing down), and Lucca’s hesitant to come home.

This is all happening via Zoom, btw. Lucca’s in her hotel, Diane and Adrian are at their respective homes, and Liz is in the office. All of this feels right. There is a chat off to the side of the screen where you can see Adrian and the others discussing how to unmute on Zoom. Very real. Though probably not very real in late May 2020. Feels more like April. I am convinced this scene got spliced in later to help the episode flow because everything in this scene (except the TV footage that definitely was added later) feels like it should be happening in the March section.

Lucca mentions that Bianca offered her a job, and at this point we as viewers know how things are going to go—Lucca's going to end up taking it. Liz types in the Zoom chat that they don’t want to lose Lucca. When Lucca tells them how much Bianca’s offering ($500k/year, go Lucca!), Diane types “Shit.” into the chat. “Shit’s right,” Liz replies. “Yes... What should our counter be?” Diane replies. Lucca is kind enough to point out the messages are not private (again, this feels like March not May) but I think knowing that their reaction to topping $500k is “shit” tells her all she needs to know.

Diane’s background still says that RBL is a division of STR Laurie. Weird how little we are hearing about the overlords except the 20% staff cut.

Liz and Adrian chat and decide the only way to keep Lucca is to make her a partner. Which, yeah, if you’d just made her a partner years ago when you told her she was in the running for partner and then offered it to fucking MAIA, maybe she wouldn’t be considering Bianca’s offer. Lucca is definitely one of RBL’s stars, and I don’t think she’s wrong to feel like they don’t value her enough. They treat her well enough to be upset about losing her, but not well enough to have already made her partner and not well enough to actually give her authority (even though she runs a whole department). I’d be pretty unhappy too. It kind of feels sometimes like they take her for granted, and I don’t know that Lucca is one to feel like she owes a company anything. She’s more of an “I’m out for myself” type.

Madeline and the other partner we’ve seen a few times who isn’t Liz/Diane/Adrian, walk into the office (wearing masks! Which they take off as soon as they enter a room with Liz! Without asking her if she is okay with this! TV logic!) and ask who is replacing Adrian. They think this is a good time to reevaluate having a white name partner of an African American firm, and they are spot on. Liz tries to deflect, noting that Diane is already a name partner and was before Liz even joined, but Madeline and other partner (whose name I really wish they would say so I can stop calling him “other partner”) won’t let up. Their position is that Diane shouldn’t have been made a name partner then—all she did was bring in ChumHum, an account that quickly left the firm. Good point.

“What is this firm if it’s not African American? It’s just another midsized all-service Midwestern law firm, one of 50,” Madeline argues. The other partner says Liz needs to remove Diane and promote two African Americans to name partner. Liz laughs and asks if they mean themselves. Madeline does not—she's concerned about the number of black associates they’re letting go. Liz heads out, but this conversation is very much ongoing.

And I think it’s a very interesting dilemma! There’s a lot of mileage the writers can get out of this, because I don’t think there’s a right answer or a wrong one. It’s all about what Liz decides she wants the future of the firm to be. If Liz chooses Diane, she might be choosing something that works for her personally or that she thinks is a safer financial bet—but she’ll be choosing to work at a firm that can no longer be thought of as a black firm, and she’ll be choosing to move away from her father’s vision for the firm. And since the plot hinges on what Liz will decide rather than what’s objectively the right path forward, there’s a lot of interesting tension there I can’t wait to see.

(My favorite thing about Adrian leaving is that Liz will likely get more to do, especially when it comes to managing the firm. Adrian tends to speak up first, but Liz is more than capable of managing without him and I’m so excited to see what she does when her ex-husband isn’t constantly talking over her.)

Marissa and Lucca video chat with Jay. He’s still in the hospital. One thing that bugs me about how this episode handles COVID is that I never really get the sense that any of the characters are particularly afraid of the virus. Maybe none of them were. But you’d think you’d see a little of that fear, the weird dance of trying to assess others’ comfort levels with masking, etc., in an ep specifically about living through this time. ESPECIALLY since someone they all know and are close to has been hospitalized for MONTHS with this thing! It’s just so weird to go from a scene where people wear masks until they come in contact with other people (when masks matter the most) to a scene of someone in the hospital with COVID.

And now Jay’s weird hallucinations start as his battery dies on the video chat. I really, truly, hated these hallucinations. I was ready to be done with these from the second they started. They’re weirdly shot, they go on for too long, and they feel like the clunkiest parts of Mind’s Eye when Alicia starts having a debate in her mind about atheism mixed with the (far superior) hospital episode of Evil.

I don’t have much to say about these hallucinations except that I hated them a lot. When there’s the reveal that Jay is hallucinating a commerical, I almost came around on the hallucinations because that’s kind of funny and inspired. And then several more hallucinations popped up and they had a round table and Jesus got added to the mix and I was like, nope, this is bad in a very uninteresting way. I reject this.

I feel like the Kings didn’t have much to say about COVID, the actual virus. This episode is definitely more about what the characters’ lives were like during COVID and not the pandemic itself. I think they likely got a lot of their COVID commentary out of their system with their zombie COVID show The Bite (I have not seen The Bite due to it airing on Spectrum On Demand, which I have no way of accessing. Like, I would have to move and then decide to pay for cable in order to watch it.) I also suspect a lot of their commentary on COVID isn’t going to be specific to the virus and is instead going to be about things like mask-wearing and vaccinations becoming political. And, really, that’s just a new variation on talking about polarization... and they’ve been talking about polarization for years.

In fact, they even wrote a whole series about an outbreak of a (space-bug-spread) virus that caused political polarization before Trump was even elected. BrainDead is basically commentary on the pandemic before the pandemic even happened. Soooooo I get why they are more interested in recapping 2020 than in doing a Very Special Episode about themes they’ve been talking about for years. (I still think they would’ve benefitted from at least one character being afraid of getting sick or getting their family sick.)

There is likely some interesting content in these Jay hallucinations. I hate them so much I cannot find it. You know when you’re just on a completely different wavelength than the writers? This is an example of that.

Also I’m not a fan of the shadowy directing. I think this is meant to look cooler than it does.

Have I mentioned yet that I absolutely love the “Previously On” device for this episode? It’s such a fun, propulsive way to get through the slog of 2020. Scenes can be short and to the point, and each scene has to do a lot of lifting to fill in the gaps. I think that leads to scenes that are better constructed and telling on lots of levels—where are people when they’re quarantined? Who’s wearing casual clothes and when? What about this scene defines this character’s life at that moment in time?

Bizarrely, even though this episode is pretty much all plot (this happens! Then that!), I actually found this to be one of the most character-driven episodes TGF has ever done. There’s a lot of story, but most of that story is about how the characters reacted to 2020 rather than overarching plots that will weigh on the rest of the season. This episode covers a lot of ground, but it does it with character moments that resonate.

Now it’s July and Diane’s prepping to argue in front of the Supreme Court. Kurt’s helping her witness prep and it gets a little personal... and that ends up turning Diane on. Good to see McHart hasn’t lost its spark. (Remember how Kurt cheated on Diane in season 7 of Wife? No, me neither, because that never happened.)

Corrupt judge is back. Adrian playfully tries to distract her from work. Then he takes a video call from Liz, who updates him on the conversation she had with John (so that’s his name) and Madeline. I guess that part of May was close to July? Anyway, Adrian isn’t surprised to hear that people are upset at the prospect of Diane being one of two name partners.

Liz is at the office in workout clothes and I love it!

They’re losing 15 black associates (and Adrian and Lucca) and 4 white ones, Liz says. This sounds like a very big problem. (I’d be curious to know what that is as a percentage of the firm and how the racial composition shifts.)

Liz knows it’s not exactly up to her if Diane stays on as name partner (the other partners get a vote, but I think Liz knows she has a lot of sway here). She’s also wondering if Biden could win, and if so, would it be to the firm’s advantage to be black-owned? Interesting.

“Well. If you’re thinking it, then Diane’s thinking it, too,” Adrian says. He’s right. “White guilt. It runs verrrrry deep on that one, huh?” Ha. He is right about that, too. I actually can’t decide which of these interpretations is correct, because it could be either even though they seem contradictory. (1) Is Adrian saying it with a hint of mockery because he knows Diane will fight for her partnership even as she would say she’s a huge supporter of black businesses? (2) Is he saying it because he knows Diane would have enough white guilt to realize what her presence as a partner means and think through the implications? I think it is, somehow, a combination. I’m interested in this line because this whole dilemma (from Diane’s POV) is something that’s very familiar. Diane’s always been an idealist who will betray her ideals for personal gain. That sounds like an attack, but I mean that as neutrally as I possibly can. There are so many examples of this that this is kind of just a character trait of hers at this point. Usually those ideals are about feminism, but this situation seems closely related.

Adrian overhears Corrupt GF talking about Julius, Diane, and Memo 618. You would think she would wait to have this conversation until there is no chance of Adrian overhearing, because if Adrian overhears, he might...

... do exactly what he proceeds to do and hop into a car with Diane to give her a heads up. (I think I’m just going to have to accept that the mask usage rule on this episode is “we use masks to show that the characters would wear them, but we don’t want to have scenes where characters are fully masked because that’s annoying.” If that’s not the rule, then why else would Adrian be masked outside... and then take off his mask as soon as he gets into a confined indoor space with Diane?

Baranski looks ESPECIALLY like Taylor Swift in this scene.

Adrian tells Diane what he knows. He dug deeper after overhearing Charlotte, so he has even more info. “If you tell me, I will use it,” Diane warns. Adrian knows that, so he takes a moment to decide. And he decides that he cares more about Diane and Julius than about his relationship with a corrupt judge.

Diane and Julius are masked in court. Visitor and the judge are not. They use masking in a clever way in this scene: Diane uses being masked to her advantage because it means no one can possibly read her lips, so she can use the info Adrian fed her against Charlotte without any fear of spies. Charlotte, who is unmasked, guards her lips with a folder, as the Visitor watches interestedly.

Diane convinces Charlotte to recuse herself. Charlotte says she’s making a mistake; Diane does not care.

The new judge is, unfortunately, the idiot who doesn’t know anything about the law. Uh oh.

Charlotte decides she’s done sheltering in place with Adrian. He tries to talk through the conflict, but Charlotte says “You made your choice, Adrian. Julius Cain over me.”

“The choice was about right and wrong, Charlotte,” Adrian tries to explain. I mean, yeah, but if you’re dating a judge who has admitted she’s totally corrupt, didn’t right and wrong go out the window a while ago?

Adrian seems to think the other people involved in the events are bad and Charlotte is good. I am not convinced. I don’t think she’s the big bad, but I don’t think she’s good.

Charlotte points out that he invaded her privacy. She is right about that. “You said the choice was between right and wrong. Turning over my emails was the choice,” she said. I get her POV. But also, she is corrupt.

I do not like the way the part of the scene where Adrian physically restrains Charlotte to keep her from leaving is shot. I don’t think this is an abusive scene but I think it should’ve been shot from a little farther back so we could see it’s more like Adrian reaching out in desperation than trying to choke Charlotte. Because it very much looks like he is trying to choke Charlotte.

He tells Charlotte he loves her. She says it’s too late and leaves. “Maybe you won’t be with me. But you keep down this path... you’ll be done, I’m telling you, you’ll be done.”

I think something that I’ve been missing in these interactions is that I didn’t quite realize until this scene that the Adrian/Charlotte dynamic is more interesting than Adrian liking a corrupt judge. I think he truly believes Charlotte is a good person who got caught up in some bad stuff, and that she can bounce back from it. I’ve always seen Charlotte as someone who is corrupt for herself and then ended up going along with the corruption of others, too, so I’ve dismissed her and the relationship. This is the first scene that has felt real to me, and the first scene where she’s felt like more than a caricature. Kind of sad it’s the last she’ll get with Adrian—now I’m actually starting to find her interesting. Notice how in these last few sentences I’ve used her name instead of “Corrupt GF”!

Charlotte says she loved Adrian too, but that’s not enough. Awww.

He can’t really be surprised though, can he?

Now it is August and we get to see Diane and Liz react to the announcement of Kamala Harris as Biden’s VP pick, and I would like to thank the writers for giving me the opportunity to see Diane and Liz react to this. It’s kind of fan-service, but it’s also a nice tie-in to the girl-power theme of the Diane/Liz alliance.

Diane and Liz realize that Adrian’s probably not a good candidate for 2024 if the DNC only wants one black candidate and Harris is the clear front-runner. Liz suggests keeping him on as partner instead, in a way that very much implies this would be her ideal solution. Diane, being Diane, says she was liking the idea of an all-female firm. Liz hesitantly says she was too, and Diane senses the hesitation.

“Let’s look again at which associates to fire. I’m worried we’re losing too many African Americans,” Diane switches the subject. How have they still not made this decision? If any employees know downsizing is coming, and they’ve had months to act on it, assuming there are jobs elsewhere, people would’ve been jumping ship by now.

But that’s not the point of this scene. The point of this scene is that Liz corrects Diane: “Black. You can just say Black people.” Very nice moment underlining the tension. Diane means well, but she’s still acting like a white lady who doesn’t know how to act around black people... and she wants to (and, I guess, already does) run a black firm. Major yikes.

Marissa and Lucca are talking again. Marissa does not want to be in law school—she just wants to be a lawyer. Lucca won’t accept Marissa’s refusal to memorize meaningless rules: “Marissa. I know that you know how to play the game, but you have to pass the bar to get into a position to play the game.” Why does this line make me love Lucca? This line isn’t even anything amazing. It’s just a line that cuts through the bullshit and makes a good point.

Marissa keeps going, insulting all of her peers and teachers, and Lucca figures out how to cut through that, too: she tells Marissa that she’d hire her as a lawyer if she killed someone, but only if Marissa passes the bar. Marissa is instantly intrigued.

“Why are you leaving here? I’ll miss you,” Marissa says.

“Because they won’t pay me what I deserve,” Lucca says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Anyway, I thought they fired you.”

“But they didn’t mean it. It’s like the smoothie place—they kept trying to fire me and I just kept showing up,” Marissa replies. That checks out. (Love the callback!)

Lucca tries to get Marissa to come over to England. Marissa shuts that down as Lucca gets a news alert—and it’s not good news.

Our next date is September 18th, 2020 and I will get my nitpicks out of the way up front! I don’t really know why it is daytime for Lucca when she reads the news, considering it was already the evening in the States when the RBG news broke. And, also, it was Rosh Hashanah, so Marissa probably would not have been sitting in her bedroom studying... she most likely would’ve been with family or friends. OK I’M DONE. FOR NOW.

Diane is getting ready for her arguments in front of the Supreme Court. It’s almost time! She’s in casual clothes but has on a wonderful mask. She’s standing in front of Kurt’s guns to make a point (love that she’s using her video call background to her advantage) and there are several people in her bedroom getting the tech all set up. I have noted before that they only built one set for Diane’s apartment, and it’s just a massive bedroom. Diane choosing to be in front of the guns does a nice job of cutting off my question about why she’d be arguing in front of the Supreme Court from her bedroom rather than the home office she absolutely would have.

Kurt walks in and tries to shake hands... he’s clearly not very COVID paranoid, and Diane seems to be, and... that’s something I might have wanted to see? How was Diane okay with Kurt taking risks that also affected her?

Diane confirms she intentionally chose to stand in front of the guns. That’s when Kurt gets the push notification. He pulls Diane into the bathroom to show her the news. He hands her his phone and Diane’s face falls. She starts tearing up. “2020 just won’t let go,” she says, speaking for us all.

Normally I hate things that are like, we’re going to contrive this so the news hits at the worst possible moment! This works for me, because the Supreme Court plot for Diane feels more like something that exists to be a through line for the episode. It would also be a little hard to work in RBG’s death as a main plot point—and it is definitely important enough to be a main plotpoint—if it didn’t also affect something in the world of the show.

Also, another reason I like this contrivance is that it makes it all the more powerful when Diane says, “It’s over. He gets to nominate someone. Another Kavanaugh! We’ll have a conservative court for the next 20 years. My whole fucking life!” She’s not thinking about how this affects her case (and that case is basically a life-long dream for her). She is thinking about way bigger things, and knowing that her mind goes to the bigger things before the personal with news like this really underlines how big of a deal RBG’s death was.

Diane tells Kurt, “I don’t deserve you. You don’t agree with me.” “I can still feel bad for you,” he responds. He holds her while she cries.

Jay’s hallucination thing is back. Now Karl Marx is here. So is Jesus. I’m so done with this. It’s nice to get a break from writing.

Malcolm X is also on the roundtable and now they’re talking over each other in that way that everyone on this show always does. (RK gave an interview about Evil where he said he likes having the children on that show talk over each other because he grew up in a household like that. I did not need to read that interview to understand that RK likes scenes where people talk over each other.)

If anything happened in those hallucinations, I missed it, because I didn’t pause the episode. Because I do not care about the hallucinations. Because I hate them.

Now it’s November 2020... Diane’s watching election results and rocking back and forth. She tells Kurt he can go watch Fox News in the other room (so they do have more than one room!). He says he’s fine—he thinks Diane needs it more.

“Yes, but Kurt, if you stay, I know this isn’t sensible, but... Trump seems to get more votes whenever you’re sitting on this couch,” Diane tells him. Ha, I relate to this kind of superstition so hard. “Are you serious?” Kurt says. “I am so deathly serious,” Diane responds. “Whenever you’re sitting here, Arizona goes for Trump. Humor me, please. Just go in the other room.”

When Kurt tries to kiss her, she pulls away: “No, no, no. No kiss. If you kiss me, we’ll lose Georgia.” This scene feels so, so real and perfectly captures what it was like (at least for me, though I don’t have a Republican husband or anything) watching election results come in.

“Uh, if you lose, we’ll be fine, right?” Kurt asks. “Kurt, let me just say this. I’m only saying that we won’t be fine so that the universe will grant me a win,” Diane responds. This scene is so fun and so good! It simultaneously captures a relatable mood, adds some levity, gives us a window into Diane’s life, and shows some of the tensions in her marriage?! I want this all the time!

Kurt leaves the room. Diane pours more wine.

Later, with Diane still rocking back and forth with anxiety (just you wait for the several more days this will drag on!), Kurt brings in the champagne. “That was for when Hillary won. I can only drink it if Biden wins,” Diane protests. Did I also refuse to drink any celebratory alcohol until things were absolutely certain? No comment.

“It’s odd you progressives resisted religion. You seem to have a hundred religions to take its place,” Kurt says, speaking on behalf of the writers’ room. (This joke doesn’t get written if the writers don’t believe this and probably even see it in themselves.)

“Go away, Trump. I mean Kurt,” she shoos him away. Have I mentioned yet I love this scene?

“Love me even if you lose?” he jokes (though I do wonder if this isn’t that joking? I think it is, but he keeps saying it!) as Diane gestures at him to get out.

I could do without the joke about Diane’s heart on the TV for a couple reasons. One, it goes on too long. Two, I was very worried something would actually happen to Diane. You’d think that would make the scene feel more tense, but it does not, because it takes me out of the moment.

“Ok, God. You know I don’t believe in you. But I will believe in you if Joe Biden wins. I’m sorry. I know that that’s not what Jesus taught. There’s nothing in the New Testament that says, ‘Believe in me, and I’ll make sure your candidate wins,’ but I need Joe Biden to win. I’m sorry, God, but I just do. I need some faith.” This is a little much but... yeah. Also, is this the first time Diane’s flat out said she’s an atheist? I think it is, though I’ve assumed as much for quite a while.

The next day in court, masks are no longer required if you’re a series regular and votes are still being counted. I remember those days. Marissa thought Diane was checking in on Jay... Diane was not. She was checking on vote counts.

Apparently Jay’s finally being released from the hospital!

Bad news for Julius—the idiot judge finds him guilty of some nonsense charge and sentences him to seven years in prison.

Diane says not to worry, and Julius asks “Why not?” Good point.

Then we have election results! We skip, specifically, to December 14th and the electoral college vote. I’m a little sad we skipped over the huge party that was November 7th, but I get why they’d rather keep things moving along. I think showing November 7th in an uncomplicated way would’ve just been too close to fanservice. But, man, what a day.

Diane, in a red hoodie with leopard print that she somehow manages to still look classy in, is ready to pop champagne. Then she hears that on January 6th, a joint session of Congress will count the electoral votes and there might be a debate. “Nope. If I open it now, something bad will happen,” she reasons. “I’ve waited four years. I can wait another few weeks.”

It’s been almost a year and they’re still somehow negotiating with Lucca, but I understand why they’d space this out across the episode. Otherwise we’d have to say goodbye to Lucca in the first like, 15 mins of the episode and all those scenes would be in a row. I can forgive (and still nitpick) choices like this when the reasoning behind them seems sound.

Adrian says they don’t want to lose Lucca. He, Liz, and Diane are all in the conference room, and they ask Lucca for a yes or no on their latest offer by the end of the call. Diane offers Lucca partner—she'll be the youngest partner in the firm’s history—and she’ll get a $500,000/year salary. Adrian tries to sell her on being part of American history by being part of the firm.

“We are a black firm, Lucca, and we need you,” Liz says with a lot of passion for someone who knows she might very well partner with Diane. Diane looks at Liz with a bit of suspicion at this, wondering if Liz is showing her cards.

Lucca manages to make the wifi malfunction (or she gets very lucky) and uses the disconnection to call Bianca for a counteroffer, even though they said they needed a yes or no on the spot.

“They used George Floyd because they want you for less. They have never appreciated you as much as I do. All those scars, all that time being taken for granted and undervalued has made you a fighter. It’s made you someone I now want,” Bianca tells Lucca. She gives Lucca a counter offer of $1.3 million and the title of CFO. Lucca takes it. Is there really another choice? (If she were concerned about loyalty to the firm and the partnership was what she wanted, she probably would've just taken it.)

(Also, the partners can’t really act like Lucca is making history by being the youngest partner ever when they passed her over for partner two years earlier and offered it to Maia! To MAIA! Who had like three years of work experience! And yes I was fine with Alicia and Cary getting partnership offers with four years but, one, that was a scam, and two, Alicia and Cary actually worked. Oh, I see I still hate Maia with a passion. Back to THIS season...)

Lucca apologetically informs Marissa she’s leaving and the offer was just too good to turn down. I believe it. I also believe Lucca wants that job more. What has loyalty to RBL gotten her? She's someone so talented and good at her job that she just gets job offers from acquaintances all the time (starting with Alicia!). RBL appreciates her, but just enough to appease her while still undervaluing her. I don’t know that I would’ve believed a plot where Lucca actively job hunts, but I definitely believe this.

“Marissa, we don’t have to work together to be friends,” Lucca tells Marissa. I’m going to miss this so much. Why is this the best material Lucca’s gotten in ages?! I think one of the things that makes Lucca such a great character is that you can see why everyone instantly wants her on their team. She’s a fantastic friend (without giving too much of herself), she’s not a pushover, and she is incredibly sharp and able to get to the heart of any situation. I love her and I’m sad we won’t get to see more of her.

(On that bit about friendship—I can’t write about Lucca’s departure without writing about the moment I realized just how great of a character Lucca was. It was in 7x13, when Alicia has her breakdown that’s seven seasons in the making... and Lucca supports her. But the writing, and Cush’s performance, never make it feel like Lucca exists to be a part of Alicia’s story. Lucca seems like her own fully formed person who happens to be supporting Alicia at this moment. I don’t think I can overstate how tough of a task it is to get me to care about the other person in a pivotal Alicia scene, especially when that other person was added to the cast in the final season and many suspected she’d just be a replacement for a different beloved character! Anyway, Lucca’s been great for years, and I’ll miss her.)

Just when I thought I couldn’t hate the hallucinations more, we get a hint that they are going to continue: Jay sees one right after he learns that Marissa’s used her quarantine to start law school and he’s done nothing.

Jay says he carries a gun now and it’s “performative.” I have no idea what that means and Marissa and Lucca don’t seem to, either.

Another thing I like about Lucca’s final scene is that it isn’t rushed. We have time for all that, and also for Lucca to tell Marissa about the time she stole her breakfast sandwich, and for Marissa to react to it, and for Marissa to find Lucca’s Birkin bag, and for Lucca to tell Marissa to keep it, and for Marissa to react to that, and for Lucca to sappily say “think of me when you use it,” and for Marissa to nonsensically reply, “you think of me when I use it,” and there’s still a little bit more of the scene after that!

Marissa’s silly line makes Lucca tear up. “God, I’m gonna miss you guys,” she says. “I’m gonna miss this. You make me smile. I didn’t smile much before you guys.” Awwwwwww. This is also so true to character! Her friendship with Alicia aside, Lucca’s definitely said before she’s not one to have friends (which is hilarious because she is, as I've said like 100 times, a fantastic friend and also just like, the coolest person??? Who wouldn’t want to be HER friend?!).

She says she has to go because she’s getting too emotional and says goodbye. She’s also super sappy and when Marissa says, “you were the best,” she responds that they were the best TOGETHER! Awwwwwww.

What a nice, fitting goodbye for Lucca. There’s no bad blood or fireworks—she just makes a change like a lot of people do. I’d like to think she’ll still be friends with Marissa and Jay after this. I don’t want too many Lucca references in future episodes, but I would really like it if we see Marissa and Jay update each other on the latest from Lucca, or if a scene begins with Marissa closing out an Instagram post from Lucca of her kid, or something. I wouldn’t want clues about what Lucca’s up to, but I’d love to see that she’s still a part of Marissa and Jay’s lives.

Now it is January 6th. Liz, Adrian, and Diane sit on the floor of the mostly empty office, watching TV coverage and drinking. It’s so relaxed it’s almost surreal, and it, like many other moments in this episode, feels like a slice of life. Everyone’s dressed casually and no one is worried about appearances or looking like the boss.

“God, have you ever seen anything like it. It’s so fucked,” Diane says. Adrian’s more optimistic—the courts rejected most of the challenges to election results! “System worked,” he says. “Yay.” Liz says in response. She’s not as optimistic as he is.

“Liz. Liz. Sometimes when things work out, there is no parade. There’s no congratulations, but I’ll tell you this: We live to fight another day,” he explains to her even though she makes a good point that a system just barely hanging on doesn’t bode well for the future. (She doesn’t say all this, but that’s a very loaded, “Yay.”)

“Yeah? Then why are you leaving the law?” Liz asks. Diane seconds to the question.

Adrian announces he’s still retiring—and he’s moving to Atlanta. He wants to go to the south to help “create and consolidate political power.” He’s excited to start over and inspired by Georgia going blue. This is a very nice exit for Adrian. I fully believe that he’s interested in political organizing, that he’d be good at it, and that he’s ready for a change. I don’t think he’s always the most progressive person (of the three in this scene, Liz is absolutely the most progressive one, though Diane probably thinks she is!), but I absolutely think he thinks of himself as an activist and I believe that if he’s going to step away from the law, he’d do so to make a move like this.

Adrian—and Lucca, but especially Adrian—probably both got better exits thanks to the events of 2020. If Adrian had just left to be groomed by the DNC, that would’ve been a predictable and boring ending for him. His candidacy would, obviously, go nowhere, and the whole thing felt weird from the minute it was introduced. But this? Adrian being energized—like so many others were—by the ways the world changed in 2020 and using his already announced departure from the firm and recent breakup as a chance to start over and make change? This is great!

Adrian asks Liz and Diane what’s next for them. Liz says that she thinks the Biden admin will be better for black businesses. Adrian asks if they’re replacing him, and Diane says, “I think the big question is, are you replacing me?” She’s smart. I like how this scene goes from friendly to tense very fast, with everyone kind of testing the waters. Adrian tries to force the conversation, Liz opens with something vague yet pointed, and Diane speaks what’s previously been unspoken.

Liz says it’s not her intention to push Diane out. “I can’t change the color of my skin,” Diane replies. “I know,” Liz laughs. Audra’s delivery is fantastic on that line.

“Hey, I’m gonna fight for my partnership,” Diane says. “I know,” Liz says. The tone of this scene is so different from previous partnership drama on these shows and I’m excited about it. This is just a bunch of adults talking about business decisions with each other and treating each other as equals?? It's not backstabbing?? Or drama?? No one is hiding things?? It’s refreshing and I hope this plot stays like this. We’ve done so much partnership drama that I think drama that stems from a real, pressing question that has no easy answers and isn’t anyone’s fault is going to be much more fruitful for the show.

Adrian heads out—ah, I see now this scene is set in his empty office and this is why they are on the floor—and gets a nice last moment with Diane. And then they give him a last moment with Liz, which I knew they would but was still glad to see.

Liz asks if he knows what he’s doing—he says he’s not sure.

Adrian asks if Liz knows where she stands regarding Diane. “It’s going to be interesting,” Liz says. I don’t think she’s decided what she’s going to do yet.

It wouldn’t be an Adrian and Liz scene if Adrian didn’t have some unsolicited advice. “Diane’s a terrific lawyer, but this firm belongs to you. Your dad built it. He did, Liz. Despite all his faults. You got to run this place the way you want. This is a black firm. And after today, the world needs black firms. You got me?” He tells Liz. He makes it seem like Liz gets the choice and then tells her what to do. She says, “I got it,” signaling she understood him but not that she necessarily agrees.

I cannot wait to see what Liz does next!!!!!!! About this but just in general!!!!! Without Adrian there giving her constant advice I feel like she can grow so much and the show will have to give her more to do!!! I think Adrian, for all his many wonderful qualities and all he brought to the show, can suck all the air out of a room with his charisma, and Liz usually ends up suffering as a result. She’s such a capable lawyer in her own right, but Adrian has a way of making it always seem like he’s right—even in arguments she wins. I’m excited to see Liz lead (or stumble at leadership; she is fairly new to management) without Adrian’s direct influence.

Liz walks Adrian out and it’s cute. They run into Marissa and Jay. “Everybody fun is leaving,” Marissa notes. Liz is minorly offended, but playfully. Heh.

Adrian asks Jay how he’s doing; Jay says he’s a long-hauler but he’s doing okay. I like that they included that moment in Adrian’s goodbye sequence. It’s a very little thing, but it underlines that Adrian cares about Jay.

Then Liz interrupts to note that Trump pardoned a lot of convicted and corrupt Republican officials....... including Julius.

Everyone celebrates, but especially Diane and Marissa. Diane lets out her wonderful laugh and then we, finally, get to the credits. Because now that the previouslies are over, it’s time for the real show.

The credits are absolutely delightful, btw. I was a little worried some of the kittens would blow up, though! Once I relaxed and realized what they were up to—literal puppies and kittens because Biden won—I couldn’t get enough of these credits. They work so well because they accurately capture the way I (and all of these characters, except maybe Julius and Kurt) feel about the election results, but it’s so exaggerated that you know the kittens and puppies aren’t a realistic representation of our new reality. They’re just too good to be true, but you may as well enjoy them for a minute. I’m sure we’ll be back to exploding vases next week.

What a great episode! My timeline nitpicks and whatever they’re trying to do with Jay aside, I was blown away by how well the writers managed to move on from season 4, tie up loose ends, and write out two main characters. And they did it all while making me revisit the events of 2020, a year I don’t think many of us want to spend much time thinking about! This episode was enjoyable, fun, emotional, and clever. I don’t know what to expect from the rest of the season, but I’m definitely excited about the show in a way I haven’t really been in quite some time.

This season’s naming convention seems to be titles that end with ... and only have the first word capitalized. I want to see more.

Season FIVE? There have already been as many TGF seasons as there were TGW seasons prior to Hitting the Fan?! Time flies.

Please writers: No topical episodes this year-- no pee tape, no Melania divorce, no Epstein. None of that business.

Sorry if I repeated myself here. I never proofread these things, and I wrote half of this on Saturday and half of it today (Wednesday) and the days in between were an absolute blur so I cannot remember if I said the same things about this episode twice.

#the good fight #tgfthoughts

16 notes · View notes

hookedonapirate · 3 years

Text

The Dirty Text Challenge

Summary: “I told you, Emma, you should try it!” Mary Margaret screeches through the phone.

Emma pulls the device away from her ear, lest she go half-deaf by the sheer volume of her sister-in-law’s voice. “And I told you, I’m not doing that,” she protests, leaning back against the wall of the corridor outside the restrooms.

“Why not? You’ll be able to see how interested he is without having to tell him how you feel to his face.”

“But what if he's not?”

“Oh Emma, do you really not know your best friend? He’s interested, trust me!”

“Has he said anything to you or David?”

“Of course not. But that doesn’t mean he’s not interested in you. It just means he’s not interested in getting clocked in the face by your brother.”

Notes: This is a birthday gift for my good friend, @onceuponaprincessworld. Thank you for always being supportive and encouraging and, well, for putting up with me :) Hope you have an awesome day, love!

Inspired by the Dirty Text Challenge on Tik Tok that was trending awhile back, where you send a dirty text to your significant other and record his reaction when he reads it. There was one video in particular that made me want to write this for CS, and it was by realkayjane. She posted a video of her best friend reading a text she sent him in a bar, and then they started dating. It very well could've been staged, or maybe not, I honestly don't know. Nevertheless, I wanted to write it, so here it is. And if you're interested to see what the text says, no worries, I've included a flashback at the end ;)

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for being so kind and for looking it over at the last minute!

Rated: Explicit

Also Available on: AO3 FF.N

Killian’s phone vibrates from his pants pocket for the second time since he’s been at The Rabbit Hole that evening, but he continues to ignore it. What could possibly be more important than hanging out with his best friend at their favorite bar anyhow?

“Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

“It can wait,” Killian says, waving off her question and taking a swig of his rum.

“It might be important.”

Killian glances up at her from over the rim of his tumbler.

More important than being with you?

Unlikely.

His phone vibrates once more, but he still doesn’t move to retrieve it.

She cocks her brow, giving that castigating look. A look that tells him he should answer his phone.

So he sighs and reluctantly digs it out, seeing three text messages from the same person.

Unknown: Hey Killian. It’s Tina. David gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind.

He groans.

Yes, I do mind. Bloody hell, Dave, why did you have to give her my number?

Unknown: Are you free tonight?

Definitely not.

Unknown: You can come over if you want.

He’s never even been on a single date with Tina.

Killian thinks about how he will politely decline.

“Who is it? If it’s David, I swear, he better either be in jail or the hospital if he’s interrupting our evening.”

Killian’s cheeks heat with blush, and he has to suppress the smile threatening his lips.

She said our evening .

Killian scratches behind his ear, reluctant to tell her the texts are from some woman David’s trying to set him up with. “Uh, it’s… it’s no one.”

Emma grins, clearly not buying it. “Doesn’t seem like no one. You’re blushing.”

Not for the reasons you probably think.

He chuckles nervously. “Truly, it’s no one important.”

Emma cocks her head to the side.

Damn her for knowing him so well. For being able to tell when someone is lying to her. Tina is really no one important to him—he barely knows her, if at all. He spoke to her one time, and that was when David introduced her to him. They chatted for all of ten seconds. So he’s not exactly lying to Emma. But she thinks he’s blushing over the person sending him the texts. She doesn't know she is the one he is blushing over.

He's about to slip his phone into his pocket, but before he can, Emma grabs his arm with one hand and steals the device with her other one. She's so quick and smooth, he doesn’t have time to stop her.

Killian gulps as she checks his phone.

Her eyes light up with amusement when she sees the messages from Tina and reads them out loud. Then she looks up at him, raising her brow. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?”

Killian reaches over the table and plucks the phone from her hands with a heavy sigh. “She’s not my girlfriend. Your brother is trying to set me up with her.”

She picks up her strawberry daiquiri, knitting her brows in confusion. “Sounds like you’ve already hooked up with her.” She brings the glass to her lips, taking a sip as he watches her intently.

“We haven't even been on one date.”

She nods, lowering her drink as she swallows. “So, are you going over to her place?”

He wishes he could read minds right now because he can’t tell if she’s asking about Tina because she’s just curious or if she's asking because she’s jealous.

Definitely the first option, he thinks.

He shakes his head. “Of course not.” A small smile plays at his lips. “Why would I go to her place when I’m already with my favorite person in the entire world?”

Emma’s cheeks paint with blush as she sets her drink down and crosses her arms on the tabletop. “Because obviously you’d be getting laid.”

“Well, you know me, Emma. I’m too much of a gentleman to just go over to a woman’s home who I barely know and get my rocks off.”

She smirks and teases him playfully. “I know. So are you at least going to ask her on a date?”

He stares at Emma for a moment, trying to figure out how to properly answer her question without baring his soul to her. So he settles on a flat-out lie. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He hates this.

He hates not being able to tell his best friend he’s madly in love with her.

And he’d nearly blurted it out over an intense game of Mario Kart a few days ago.

“Fuck me!” Emma whines after losing another round against him and nearly throwing the controller across the room (she probably would have if David hadn’t plucked it from her hands).

Killian is busy trying to recover from her expletives and how her words had shot straight through him. He knows he should just keep his mouth shut, because, for one... her brother is in the room and two… well, he would very much like to take her up on that offer. No actually, he doesn’t want that, and that’s the problem. He wants so much more than that. He’s had so many fantasies about being with Emma, but they all involve things like taking her out on a proper date, holding her hand, kissing her, making love to her. So no, he doesn’t want to fuck her. He wants a future with her, one which involves being more than her best friend. Gods, he wants so much more than that. But he’s not willing to give up any less than what he already has. So, instead of revealing his true feelings, he covers them up with a playful quip. “Is that an invitation, love?”

The look she gives him makes his heartbeat quicken, one corner of her lips curving up into a shy smirk, her cheeks reddening as he feels David’s stare burning into him.

“Why? You offering?” she retorts.

Killian stares at his best friend in shock, his mouth slightly agape. “Maybe I a — ”

Before he can finish his reply, David threatens him with a deadly glare and cuts him off. “No, it’s not an invitation and no, he’s not offering,” he answers for both of them.

And that is one of the other reasons why Killian hasn’t had the guts to tell Emma how he really feels. Okay, it’s the main reason. Because not only could it destroy his friendship with her, but also his friendship with her brother.

Emma scowls at David and snatches the controller from his hands. “Who died and made you king?”

David mimics her in a whiny voice and Emma retaliates by shoving him in the arm.

“Ow!” He rubs the spot where she'd hit him, and sticks his tongue out at her. “Brat.”

She does it back. “Dork.”

Killian chuckles . He's always thouroughly entertained by their little sibling squabbles.

“One more game, Jones?” Emma asks him.

And that was that. They played another round, which she won, and neither of them spoke of the words exchanged that night.

Which makes tonight pretty awkward, considering it’s the first time Killian’s actually been alone with Emma since then. Well, if you consider sitting together in a booth at a crowded bar, alone. So to dial down the awkward tension between them, Killian keeps the drinks coming so the alcohol will ease the nerves in his stomach.

But the problem with alcohol is the effects it has.

The first one is giggliness.

Emma is adorable when she’s sober, but when she’s drunk, she is extra adorable. She can’t say three words in a row without giggling.

That effect, mixed with the second one, is bound to lead to things he’s not sure he’s prepared for. Especially not while they’re drunk.

Oversharing.

Not that they don’t already know everything there is to know about each other, but when he’s trying to keep his biggest secret from his best friend… well, that presents quite the problem when he’s drunk. At least he still has enough presence of mind to know how much to overshare.

“Must be nice to have women throwing themselves at you, Jones. I swear, if it wasn’t for my vibrator, I’d probably have cobwebs!” she exclaims over the noisy bar chatter.

Killian shudders at the images her confession is supplying him with. He’s certainly not imagining her using said vibrator. And he’s fairly certain she wouldn’t have to worry about cobwebs if she didn’t have a vibrator. Emma could have any man she wanted. He’s one of them. “I’m definitely not getting laid as often as you make it sound,” he retorts with a chuckle. “Or as much as I’d like to.”

“Please!” she snorts. “You could have your cock licked by every woman at this bar with a snap of your fingers if you wanted to.”

Testing her theory, he snaps his fingers and looks around. “Where are they, love?” Not that he has any interest to get his cock licked by anyone at this bar. Or anyone, really. Anyone except the gorgeous blonde sitting across from him with the most beautiful emerald green eyes he’s ever seen and a smile that sets his heart on fire as she bursts out laughing.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just being honest,” he says before draining the last of his rum.

She taps her empty glass with her nails. “One more round?”

He nods and raises his hand to summon the server.

“But first, I have to pee. My bladder is about to burst.” She rises from the booth, and he follows her with his eyes as she makes her way to the restrooms.

~*~

Emma’s a bit lightheaded as she leaves the ladies' room, but not nearly as much as she’s led on. She was hoping to drop hints to Killian without repelling him. But she’s afraid she’s completely failing. How does one exactly go about telling her best friend of five years she’s completely in love with him?

She has no fucking clue.

“I told you, Emma, you should try it!” Mary Margaret screeches through the phone.

“Why not? You’ll be able to see how interested he is without having to tell him how you feel to his face.”

“But what if he's not?”

“Oh Emma, do you really not know your best friend? He’s interested, trust me!”

“Has he said anything to you or David?”

“Of course not. But that doesn’t mean he’s not interested in you. It just means he’s not interested in getting clocked in the face by your brother.”

“And if you’re wrong? Then what?”

Mary Margaret sighs. “If I’m wrong—which I’m definitely not—then you can just tell him you meant to send the text to someone else.”

“But who? I just told him I have an exclusive relationship with my vibrator.”

“Then maybe one of your past flings? I don’t know, Emma, you’ll come up with something. But I’m like one hundred and ten percent sure you won’t have to.”

Emma sighs in exasperation and defeat. “Fine, but if this ends badly, I’m only blaming you.”

She can almost hear her sister-in-law’s grin from the other line, even though she can’t see her. “Fine. If I’m wrong, I'll take full responsibility. In fact, if I’m wrong, I’ll buy you grilled cheese sandwiches every day for an entire year.”

Hmmm, that does sound appealing.“With onion rings?”

“I’ll buy you the whole freaking menu at Granny’s if you want.”

“Okay,” Emma laughs. “And if you’re right, what do you want?”

“If I’m right, I will already have everything I could possibly want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Well, besides your brother, obviously, the knowledge that you and Killian will live happily ever after, of course.”

Emma’s heart warms at her sister-in-law’s sentiment. If only love could be that simple. Just offer her heart to Killian and receive his in return. But this isn’t some fairytale or romance novel where the heroine rides off into the sunset with her handsome hero. This is real life. “Okay.” Suddenly the idea of what she’s about to do makes her heart flitter in panic. “So I’m actually doing this?”

“You’re doing this. And you won’t regret it. Now put on your big girl pants and go get your man.”

After they end the call, Emma lowers the phone from her ear and with shaky hands, pulls up her text conversations with Killian. She sucks in a deep breath and releases it slowly, her breath wobbly. Gnawing on her bottom lip, she types a text with shaky fingers, erases it, retypes it and repeats that cycle three more times before she’s satisfied with the message. At first, she didn’t want to send anything to Killian that she wouldn’t be able to defend and say it was meant for someone else. But then she thought, screw it. She can blame it on the alcohol.

For years, she’s been wanting to tell her best friend how she really feels about him, and when she finally scrounged up the courage to tell Mary Margaret, her sister-in-law suggested this hair-brained scheme she came up with after watching these trending Tik Tok videos of women sending their boyfriends or husbands dirty texts in public and recording their reactions. Since Killian isn’t her boyfriend or husband, Mary Margaret thought it would be a great idea to find out whether he likes her or not. Or rather, prove to a stubborn Emma he’s secretly in love with her.

Well, she’s about to find out. Here goes nothing...

She peers around the corner of the hallway entrance and does a quick check to make sure he didn't leave and go into the men's room or something. When she spots him across the room, still sitting at their booth, she sends off the text. Then she quickly pulls up the camera on her phone and starts recording, her heart pounding. It’s pounding so loud she can hear it in her ears over the loud music and boisterous bar chatter.

His phone lights up on the table and he sets down his tumbler to pick up the device.

Emma watches him with bated breath, hoping and praying this wasn’t a mistake. Hoping his reaction won’t be the same reaction he had when he received those texts from Tina. Emma had done her best to hide her emotions when she saw that skank’s text messages. She had to swallow her words and shove down her jealousy, but when she remembered that look of irritation written all over Killian’s face as he read those texts, she realized why he was irritated. Needless to say, she was relieved beyond belief.

Through her phone, Emma watches as Killian’s mouth falls open, his eyes big and wide as he stares at his screen.

Emma has no idea what he’s thinking right now, but she really wishes she did. Is he happy, excited, turned on? Or is he pissed off, disappointed, disgusted? She’s usually pretty good at reading her best friend, but right now it’s like trying to read a blank page.

He lifts his head and looks toward the restrooms, so she quickly retreats inside the hallway, keeping her phone in place so it’s still recording him. She presses her back against the wall, as though the opposite wall is closing in on her, and she’s trying to draw in as much air into her lungs before she’s suffocated to death.

Shit, shit, shit.

What if Mary Margaret’s plan didn’t work? What if Emma scared him away?

Cautiously and carefully, she turns her head and looks around the corner again.

To her utter horror, Killian is not in the booth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did she send him the text?

In panic mode, Emma brings her hand back and stops recording as she flattens against the wall again and contemplates shooting Killian another text saying she sent the text by mistake.

She starts typing out a message.

Emma: Sorry, that text was for someone else. Ooops, my bad.

But then she sees the text she'd sent and realizes she made it impossible to say it wasn’t meant for him because of what the text said.

Nope, she definitely can’t talk her way out of that one.

Before she can erase the message and type out how sorry she is, her phone is being slipped from her hands.

She’s about to lose her shit when she looks up and gasps as her eyes meet vivid blue ones.

Killian’s looking at her with a hungry—no, primal—stare.

And just like that, all of her oncoming anger melts away.

Emma can’t move. She can’t speak, she can’t even breathe. This man has impaired her ability to do anything other than stare back at him, waiting for him to speak. Her stomach is clenching and her heart is racing under the heaviness of his stare.

She doesn’t even give two flying fucks when he slips her phone into his pocket.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leans into her space and murmurs in her ear. “You said I could have any woman in the bar licking my cock at a snap of my fingers...” His voice is decadent and drops an octave when he speaks again. “What if I told you, you could have one man licking your pussy at the snap of yours?”

She gulps hard and just stares at him in shock. He’s joking, right? But she’s known him for five years and can’t detect a single trace of mocking in his words.

Without breaking her challenging stare, she lifts her hand.

And snaps her fingers.

Without hesitation or any preconceived thought, Killian takes her hand in his and leads her into the ladies' room, locking the door behind them. He backs her against the sink and draws her into his arms, a wave of desire so profound sweeping through her, it leaves her trembling in his muscular arms, clinging to his body like a lifeline. When he lifts her up and sets her on the edge of the sink, their mouths find each other, their lips moving with a need that burns like a fire inside them both. She slides her arms around his neck, her lips fused to his, her tongue swirling and exploring his mouth as her breasts are pressed deliciously against his chest.

Killian holds her flush against him, his tongue mingling with hers in a sensual ballet of lips and flesh that leaves them both panting. She moans softly into his mouth as he rubs at her back, squeezing one of her ass cheeks in his free hand.

She can’t believe she’s actually kissing Killian. Her best friend. And he is every bit the kisser she knew he would be. His tongue flicks against hers so expertly and he’s groaning, his guttural sounds vibrating through her, shivers running down her spine, her skin tingling all over. Her stomach is coiled in anticipation at the thought of that same tongue on her pussy.

Oh God.

She needs that tongue on her like she needs air to breathe. As much alcohol as she’s had, the only thing fogging her mind is the lust and pleasure coursing through her veins. She’s now drunk on something else entirely. And it’s on the man who is currently breaking the kiss and leaving her a panting, breathless mess as he slides his lips over her jawline and down her neck, the scruff on his chin scratching her so deliciously.

As she’s still trying to recover from that kiss—as if she could—she’s so glad she wore a dress tonight. As he leaves a trail of kisses along her collarbone, he pulls the straps down her arms, yanks down the top of her dress and pushes her black, lacy bra cups out of the way, exposing her breasts. As he’s admiring her naked breasts in wonderment, as he's squeezing them in his firm hands, making her nipples harden, she's admiring him and blushing profusely.

Fuck.

When he caresses a hard bud with his lips, Emma moans, and when he draws the same nipple into his mouth, she runs her hands through his hair, enjoying how soft and warm his mouth is against her sensitive skin, a breath exploding between her lips. He kisses his way to her other breast, giving the same treatment. She can feel how hard he is through his jeans, and it’s making her so much wetter than she already was. To her relief, he’s grabbing her dress and hauling it up her legs, seeking access she’s definitely willing to grant him. She helps him move the hem of her dress to her stomach, exposing her black, lacy thong. He leaves bruising kisses on her lower belly and inner thighs as he slides her panties off.

When he’s on his knees and his gorgeous face is between her thighs, he looks up at her, those intense blue eyes stealing her breath as he gently slides his lips up her leg, giving her time to push him away if she desired. A completely unnecessary precaution.

She leans back, gripping the edge of the sink as she drapes one leg over his shoulder and pushes him to her.

The soft, warm air of his chuckles hits her glistening folds and sends a shiver up her spine. “Patience, love.” He presses gentle kisses to her nub, her folds, and noses her slit, breathing in slowly, taking in her unique scent. Emma’s incapable of being patient, though; she can almost feel his tongue on her as he wraps his arms around her, urging her to lean back a little more so he has full access to her.

Finally, his tongue hits her flesh, taking a thorough exploration between her folds until he finds exactly what he’s searching for. She dips her head back, hitting the back of it against the mirror, her hands clutching at the top of his head for purchase. Her eyelids fall shut, soft moans pouring from her mouth as his tongue works so skillfully on her bundle of nerves. She opens her eyes so she can watch him as he licks her good and hard, and she lifts one of her legs to the edge of the counter so she’s spread out like a feast before him. She tugs gently on his hair, urging him closer and she can tell he doesn’t mind, because he's growling and puckering his lips, drawing her clit into his soft, warm mouth, making her tremble. It’s the most erotic thing she’s ever witnessed, and she’s wondering who’s enjoying this more, him or her.

When he glances up, his eyes are boring into hers, and she can feel him smiling against her folds when he sees how wrecked she is with her best friend’s tongue between her legs. Those sparkling blue eyes are piercing through her soul and she can’t find the strength to tear her gaze from his. It’s so fucking hot watching him eating her out. Watching him take his sweet time bringing her close to the very edge before pulling away and then bringing her back. It’s like watching the waves of the ocean moving in and lapping the shoreline before ebbing away. His tongue lapping her up and then withdrawing. In and out, in and out, over and over, increasing in intensity and speed each time, until she’s a complete mess, until she’s arching her back and fisting tufts of his hair and tugging him closer, begging for him to finish her off.

“Killian… please…” she moans breathlessly, helpless against the mirror and completely at his mercy.

The alcohol certainly doesn’t help; it had made her incredibly more horny. Meaning every inch of her is more sensitive. So, Killian suckling on her clit and lapping her up as if his life depends on it is bound to push her over the edge and make her crumble into a million pieces very soon.

And he does so effortlessly.

God, he does.

“Killian!” Emma screams, hoping the loud music and chatter of the bar are drowning out her sounds of ecstasy as she falls apart. She falls so hard, she’s thankful Killian’s hands are gripping her thighs, holding her in place, because otherwise she’d be on the floor right now. Literally.

When she comes back to reality, her body is still twitching. Killian is pressing soft, wet kisses to her nub and each of her thighs, and there’s fire in his eyes as he rises and sucks her essence off his fingers.

She can taste herself on his lips when he kisses her. And she melts again, arousal shooting through her once more. But as airy as she feels, she somehow musters the strength to push him back, fumble for his belt, tug down his pants and sink to her knees.

Holy hell.

His cock is glorious.

Thick and throbbing, pointing at her, almost beckoning her forward.

“Snap your fingers,” she says, smirking up at him.

He manages a grin and doesn’t argue.

When he snaps his fingers, she wraps her hand around his stiff length and strokes him slowly, a deep, soft moan escaping her lips. He feels fucking amazing in her hand.

He draws in a sharp breath when she kisses his velvety tip. Then she leans in and licks up his entire length, making him gasp.

“Good… Gods… Emma.”

His thick shaft is glistening with her saliva, and Killian bites his lower lip as he looks at her, trying to hold back the urge to lose himself too soon. She smiles, encouraged by his palpable excitement, and wraps her wet lips around his cock. The tip of him slides easily into her mouth, and she sucks on him greedily, bobbing her head a few times before removing her hand, grabbing his hips and taking him in deeper. Killian lets out a deep, guttural groan, reaching down to cup her cheeks in his hands. Emma hums gently around him while allowing his cock to slide back and forth past her lips, not enough to escape her mouth, but enough to build up some friction.

“Fu-uck! That feels incredible, love…” he groans, his voice completely wrecked.

The sounds of his breathing grow louder with each passing minute. Her arousal builds inside her again while she takes him deep, letting his belled tip almost slip free from her mouth before taking him in again. She can’t refrain from smiling around his cock, knowing she’s subjecting him to the same torture he put her through.

Emma massages his balls in her fingers and increases her speed, taking him into her mouth deeper and faster and harder. Killian’s hands are threading through her hair and he’s groaning loudly, thrusting his hips, seeking release. And she’s finally ready to give it to him. She moans around him and takes his perfect buttcheek in her free hand, taking him roughly, letting him fuck her mouth until his hot seed is spurting down her throat and he’s gripping her hair tightly and his legs are shaking.

“Gods, Emma… that was…”

The knock on the bathroom door pulls them both back to reality. Emma quickly swallows his cum down her throat and licks her lips as she rises. They reassemble themselves quicker than they would’ve preferred. They right their clothes, tame their hair and walk out of the restroom like everything’s perfectly normal, ignoring the looks they’re getting from the female patron who’s outside the door waiting to use the restroom.

Killian and Emma are laughing as he pays their tab and they’re still giggling as they stumble out of the bar.

They take an uber to Killian’s apartment and the keys he drops on the floor is only the beginning of the trail they leave behind as they make their way to his bedroom. A jacket, one shoe, Killian’s sweater, another shoe, another jacket, her bra, her dress, her wet panties… they don’t even break the kiss to fling their clothes to the floor, and their lips are still connected when they make it to the room and fall into Killian’s bed.

Emma can’t believe that after five years she’s finally making love to this man, making love several times in several different positions, and when they’re both completely sapped, their heads are falling against the pillows and he’s kissing the back of her hand and asking her on a date.

~*~

Once they're not both in bed or out on their first official date (they wait until they go back to her place to begin any more enjoyable activities this time), Emma finally gets to watch the video of Killian’s reaction to the dirty text she’d sent him two days prior.

And what she sees fills her with so much happiness, she can’t stop smiling.

And when she uploads the video on Tik Tok, it goes viral.

~*~

Killian sighs heavily into his hands. He’s such an idiot. He needs to just man up and tell Emma how he feels. But if it were really that easy, then he would’ve done it five years ago, right?

The sound of his phone vibrating against the table drags him from his reverie and he lifts his face from his hands and picks up his phone.

It’s a text message from Emma.

Emma: I have a confession. I didn’t actually have to pee. All that talk of licking your cock made me so wet. Made it difficult to sit across from you instead of crawling underneath the table and licking your cock.

Killian groans, his cock actually twitching when he reads her text.

Fuck.

He’s completely stunned. He doesn’t even know how to react or feel about her text. Is she serious? Is she joking? Is it the alcohol?

A million questions race through his mind and when he’s finally able to peel his eyes from his phone screen, he looks across the bar toward the restrooms. He’s half expecting to find her watching him from a distance to catch his reaction but she’s nowhere in sight. He looks at his phone again and reads her text again. A slow smile creeps across his lips at the thought of Emma crawling underneath the table to suck him off.

Bloody hell.

Suddenly he feels very warm and grabs the drink menu to fan himself. Did they turn on the heat in here?

He blows out a laden breath and slips the phone into his pocket, trying to recover from how turned on he is. The thought of Emma’s sweet, pink lips wrapped around his hard, aching cock makes him painfully hard. And he’s pretty sure his arousal is written all over his face. But he also wonders what this means.

Was she sending him an invitation?

Does she want him to take action? Is she wanting him to meet her in the restroom?

He’s not sure, but he’s not about to let this opportunity slip from his fingers. Killian sets down the menu, drags a hand through his hair and gets up before he can talk himself out of it.

Fuck.

Is he actually going to the ladies’ room to get his dick sucked?

Nah, while the thought of having Emma’s mouth on his cock is awfully enticing, he has other ideas in mind.

As he approaches the hallway, he can see Emma on her phone. He suddenly becomes nervous and completely terrified.

Holy hell.

Is he actually doing this?

He keeps moving his feet, breaking through his stubborn wall of fear that’s held him back all this time. He breaks through the wall of anxiety and nerves that have weighed him down.

He takes another deep breath, steps into her space and snatches the phone from her hand, hoping and praying this isn’t a huge mistake.

If it was a mistake, then it was the best mistake he’s ever made. Because not only does he get to be with his best friend—the woman of his dreams—but her brother doesn’t completely hate him. David wasn't happy at first, but he’s slowly getting used to the idea of his best buddy dating his sister.

And Mary Margaret is overjoyed. But she's been acting very peculiar ever since he began dating Emma. Every time they meet Mary Margaret and David for lunch, the petite brunette always says without fail, “Guess what time it is?” After Emma shakes her head and rolls her eyes, Mary Margaret always has the same answer to her own question: “It’s time for you to buy your own grilled cheese sandwich and onion rings.”

Which is strange because, being the gentleman his mum raised him to be, he always foots the bill whenever he takes Emma out to eat.

What's even more puzzling is that Mary Margaret suddenly stops saying it after a year.

David's wife sure is an odd one.

Tagging: @itsfabianadocarmo @ilovemesomekillianjones @onceuponaprincessworld @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @searchingwardrobes @gingerchangeling @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @artistic-writer @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @superchocovian

Sorry if I missed anyone, I’m very sleepy at the moment and have a long, early day tommorrow, so I’m posting this before I sleep.

#captain swan #cs ff #onceuponaprincessworld #dirty text challenge #cs smut #my fic

92 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

Walking the Baseline (Year 2012)

Chapter Summary: He’s seen her around. Of course he has. They walk in the same circles, play at all of the same combined tournaments, and they have mutual friends. It’s not until they both win the Australian Open and start talking over Instagram that Killian Jones gets to know Emma Swan. He doesn’t expect one message to turn into more, and he certainly doesn’t expect to find himself knowing who Emma is when she’s not got a racket in her hands.

Even more, he doesn't expect to let her know who he is off the court when that's a secret he holds close to the vest.

Rating: Teen-ish.

a/n: I told you guys I had more Walking the Baseline coming, and I meant it! I did not expect you guys to be so excited about this universe, but you’re always blowing me away! So, here’s their story for part of the year 2012, four years before the events of Walking the Baseline and the RIO Olympics.

You do not need to have read the original one-shot to understand. If you haven’t, well, that just means you’ll be surprised with the ending of this collection 😂

Found on AO3: 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 | 2016 (Part One) | 2016 (Part Two)

-/-

2012.

“You look nice, Swan.”

She’s standing in front of him in a pair of long white paints and a matching white shirt that bares her midriff. Her lips are painted red, her blonde hair long and curled. It’s different to how he usually sees her, but the same can be said for him as he adjusts his jacket sleeves. They spend their lives in athletic wear with sweat an almost constant companion. They do not spend their lives dressed up like this.

“Same to you. How are you not dripping in sweat?”

“Oh, I bloody well am. It’s hidden under the jacket.”

Emma laughs and flips her hair off her neck. “Damn Australian summers. Been trying to kill me since I was eighteen.”

“But now you’re the queen of the court. Congratulations, by the way. That was a damn good match.”

She smiles and adjusts her trophy as he does the same, the flashes of photographers surrounding them and the water behind them. They’ve both done their individual photographs but are now doing promotion for the tournament and Nike, their clothing sponsor. Killian has the beginnings of a long flight today, and Emma has an even longer one to America. He believes she lives in Florida, but it could also be New York. Maybe California. He’ll ask Ariel if she knows, because he already knows she will have the answer to every question he asks. His manager knows everything there is to know about everybody. Somewhere in that brain of hers, Ariel Fisher has a file on Emma Swan that Killian has never bothered to ask about.

It’s not that he’s never been intrigued. She’s a damn good tennis player and a successful one at that. He’s watched her rise to the top of their sport for years now, and while they’ve done a few photo shoots and charity matches together, they’re never talked much outside of a professional capacity. He knows her brother is her coach and she’s close to Ruby Lucas, another player, and he’s read a little about her upbringing. That’s something she keeps close to the vest, but he gets it. He does the same thing. That isn’t the easiest when you’re on the world’s stage like they are. Now, everyone has to know the details of personal lives of athletes, and it makes staying private difficult when you have to brand yourself to get sponsors. Killian would rather run for five hours over doing an interview, especially now that he’s given twenty interviews since the championship last night.

It’s media overload in every way.

“Congratulations to you. I may have slept through half your match, but what I saw was good.”

“Thanks,” Killian laughs, scratching his chin. “I’m terrified that if I sit down, I won’t be able to get back up.”

“Oh, that’s definitely a risk. David had to slide me out of the bed this morning. I’m only wearing this because I was too lazy to shave. I was pretty sure I’d have to have help.”

He bites his tongue to keep from making the comment he wants to make and turns back to the camera, smiling and nodding, following the rest of the instructions. He and Emma are quickly pulled in different directions to finish out their obligations, and before he knows it, he’s on a plane, flying away from Australia. It’s been a month since he’s been home, and Oxshott has never seemed so good even if there is no one at home waiting to greet him.

-/-

Killian grabs a sweater from the shelf, pulling it over his shoulders, and heads downstairs where he fixes himself a cup of tea and settles on his couch, his television playing in the background. It’s been a long day. His first day back training after a week break nearly killed his knees, but that’s over now. He’s put in his time on the court and at the gym, and no one is going to bother him for the rest of the day. He’s muted Ariel’s name in his phone, and if she really needs him, she’ll call him from Eric’s phone.

God does he hope she doesn’t need him tonight.

Nemo better not either because Killian does not want to see his coach’s face again until early tomorrow morning.

Despite his sweater, he’s still chilled. Going from an Australian summer to a British winter is quite the adjustment. It’s nearly as bad as the jetlag.

Killian’s phone dings in his hand, and he dreads what message he’s surely gotten. He expects it to be Ariel from Eric’s phone, but it’s an Instagram message.

@EmmaSwan: Whoever said @KillianJones was photogenic needs to take a serious look at these photos.

He looks at the photographs, and it’s a series of horribly awkward faces he’s made. He remembers this moment of the shoot. A bug kept trying to fly into his mouth, and at one point, it succeeded. Emma looks great in them, laughing with a bright smile, and she’s right: there’s no part of him that’s photogenic there.

@KillianJones: So you’re saying there are people out there who think I’m photogenic?

Her reply comes instantly.

@EmmaSwan: Well, there were! ;)

Killian laughs and then clicks on her profile, scrolling through. She has several pictures from her win, a few training videos, but mostly it’s pictures of her with some of the women she’s friends with on tour or her brother and sister-in-law. His page is so different in that it’s made up of a majority of tennis photos. He doesn’t share much about his personal life there because there isn’t much to share lately, and when there was, he didn’t want the world to know who he was dating. They did, of course. There were few ways to hide it all when he had photographers literally hiding in bushes, but he imagines if it was a relationship he truly held sacred, he would find a way to keep it hidden away.

Milah was the last person he would have wanted that with, but she was a fan of the attention. She still is if what he sees around is any indication. She married some older man who is worth millions, but other than that, Killian tries not to keep up with her. Some days it goes better than others, but being disconnected from the world does help.

Social media definitely doesn’t.

And after looking at Emma’s profile a little more carefully, he realizes her profile is more private than he thought. In some way, every photo that has a person in it relates back to tennis.

Killian exits out of the app and goes to the link Ariel sent him of all the photos from his shoot with Emma. He clicks on it and tries to find one where she looks bad. It takes awhile, damn gorgeous woman, but he eventually finds one where the wind blew her hair in front of her and she’s making an awful face. It’s perfect, and Killian quickly saves it and a nicer photo to his phone before uploading them to Instagram.

@KillianJones: @EmmaSwan, if only your serve was as big as your hair.

@EmmaSwan direct messaged you.

@EmmaSwan: My serve stats are better than your serve stats.

@KillianJones: Lies.

@EmmaSwan: Okay, well, my hair is also better than your hair.

@KillianJones: Eh, I wouldn’t say that either.

@EmmaSwan: My ass is better than your ass.

@KillianJones: Now, I will fully agree with that.

@EmmaSwan: Isn’t it, like, midnight in England? What are you doing up, old man?

@KillianJones: Watching TV and having a cuppa. Truly exciting times here.

@EmmaSwan has added a picture to this chat.

It’s a shot of her legs, her feet resting on the court. There’s a pool of sweat underneath her, and he is not jealous. It’s February, and while he knows she lives in south Florida – he did ask Ariel – it shouldn’t be warm enough for anyone to sweat that much unless they put in a massive amount of effort.

He must be getting old for this game if just thinking about that makes him want to retire, but there’s no way in hell that’s happening anytime soon. He told Liam he would play until he no longer had a passion for the game.

That hasn’t happened yet.

@EmmaSwan: I’m making my mark on this court. I cannot wait to be in my pajamas watching TV tonight. If I can get up from this chair.

@KillianJones: I’m sure you can slide home in that lovely pool of sweat.

@EmmaSwan: Honestly, I have thought about it.

@EmmaSwan: I’ve got to practice my shitty serve, but I’ll think of smacking your face every time I do it. I’m sure my numbers will be higher than ever.

@KillianJones: Anything I can do to help.

-/-

“How do you eat your strawberries?”

“With my fingers,” Killian says, arching his brow at such a ridiculous question.

“You’re supposed to say with cream.”

Killian spins around behind him, and he immediately sees Emma Swan walking toward him. He hasn’t seen her in months as the tours haven’t had a joint tournament since Australia, but they’ve been chatting pretty regularly over Instagram. He’s never liked the app, but it’s one of his most used ones now.

“Excuse me, lass?”

“You’re doing a promotion for Wimbledon, idiot. They want all of us to say we eat our strawberries with cream.”

“I actually don’t love the cream.”

Emma mock gasps, covering her chest with her hands, before stepping up to him and giving him a quick hug he’s sure is for the cameras surrounding them. “Well, they should kick you out of England for saying something like that.”

“Believe me, they’ve tried, but I chained myself to the ground to keep it from happening.”

“I’m sure we could find you a place here if we had to.”

“Your place?” Killian jokes.

“In your dreams, Jones.” Emma widens her smile before turning to the camera. “I’d eat my strawberries with cream, just in case you want to use me for the promotions instead of this shameful excuse for a Brit.”

“Actually,” the producer behind the camera says, “we have a game that we’d love for the two of you to play together if you want. We usually don’t have two of the bigger names up here at once.”

“What’s the game?” Emma asks.

“It’s basically beer pong.”

Emma tilts her head back with laughter and claps her hands together. “Oh, I’m good at this. You’re going down, Jones.”

“Nice to see your competitive spirit doesn’t die off the court.”

“It never does.”

Emma shrugs and walks over to where they have a ping pong table set up on the roof of this building. Killian gets to travel a lot of beautiful places for his job, and while he doesn’t get to explore a lot of them, he does get to take in the view. He’ll never get over the oasis that is Palm Springs with its mountains going as far as the eye can see with palm trees and lush vegetation filling in so many other gaps. There’s a hell of a lot of desert, but considering Killian only goes between the tournament and his hotel, he doesn’t see that. For him, it’s all about the oasis.

“You ready?” Emma asks as they settle at opposite ends of the table. “It’s going to be a challenge to beat me.”

He winks and leans forward, hovering over the cups of water. “I do so love a challenge.”

-/-

“I mean, I wouldn’t say that you had a bad reputation.”

Killian rolls his eyes and toes his trainers off, kicking them across his hotel room in Monte Carlo. He pulls his phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker so he can change clothes while Emma talks.

“Then what would you say, love?”

He imagines she shrugs, and if he wasn’t disgustingly sweaty despite his shower at the club, he’d video call her instead of this. “I would say you had a colorful reputation.”

“For fuck’s sake, that’s the same thing.”

“No, no, it’s not,” Emma sighs. “It’s…”

“Swan, I was on the verge of getting all my sponsorships taken away at the age of twenty-two. I’d barely gotten started, and I nearly fucked it all up by drinking too much and being enough of an idiot to do it in public.”

“And now you’re England’s poster boy for all sports, so at least from a publicity standpoint, it’s all okay.”

She’s right. He knows she’s right, and he appreciates being talked down after an awful contract negotiation with one of his sponsors and what will surely be an equally awful conversation with Ariel later. They decided that they suddenly had issues with some shit he pulled six years ago, and he’s tired of having to explain himself to people.

His fucking brother died, and Killian didn’t handle it well. How is anyone supposed to handle that, let alone a twenty-two-year-old whose only family was that brother? It was too much, and while he didn’t tank his career, he did derail it, drinking and sleeping around and making horrible choices for his body. There are times when he still wants to do that, but he knows better now. His grief is private, and the world will never see it again unless it’s on his terms.

“My brother’s life was taken because of a drunk driver, and, you know, I’d give up all the sponsorships to have him back. I’d give it all up. And I know I did a piss poor job at dealing with my grief by getting drunk just like the man who killed him, even if I never got behind the wheel, but what was I supposed to do? It hurt too much to not be dulled.”

The other end is silent, and he focuses on his own breathing. It’s heavy now, and he can feel his heart thumping. He hates this feeling. He hates talking about his past, and he damn well hates having to talk about Liam like this.

He’s got no fucking clue why he’s talking about it with Emma, but she called right after the meeting and he spilled his guts out of frustration.

“I never met your brother,” Emma says so quietly he can barely hear her, “but if he was anything like mine, I can guarantee that he’d be proud of you for getting through it and continuing to move forward. Life sucks, Jones, and we all deal with those sucky moments in different ways. I, for one, eat massive amounts of icing and candy. I have an entire stash in a drawer in my bathroom so David can’t find it and scold me for it.”

Killian huffs and reaches up to yank his shirt off before falling back on the bed. He tugs on his hair before blowing it off his cheek. He needs a haircut.

“You keep icing in your bathroom? That seems unsanitary.”

“I promise it’s very secure.”

Killian hums and more silence falls between them. He doesn’t feel the need to fill it, but he does anyway. “I live alone, so I think I may not need to hide my icing stash. I’d have to get one first.”

“Cream cheese is the way to go. It’s, like, two dollars and all the calories are so worth it.”

“Have you ever considered making it at home?”

“I would give myself food poisoning. I can’t really cook.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not. Never learned how to do anything past the basics, and I’m not home enough to try. When I do, Mary Margaret always takes over so I don’t get food poisoning.”

“Where are we together next? Rome?”

“Madrid,” Emma sighs, and he hears a dog bark in the background. He’s sure she doesn’t have a dog, but maybe someone she’s with has one. Or she’s walking around her neighborhood. He never did ask what she was doing. Instead, he immediately started bitching about his sponsor meeting, and then they ended up here. Most of their conversations veer off track, so it’s nothing he isn’t used to. “I get there Monday.”

“I think the same unless I lose early here.”

“You best not. I have money on you.”

“Well, that’s a good way to get yourself suspended.”

Emma laughs, and Killian stretches out on the bed, flexing his feet. “Well, if you don’t tell anyone, I think I’ll be okay.”

“I swear I shall not say a word. Also, Swan, I don’t think we’ll have access to a kitchen in Madrid, but when we get to Rome, I’ll cook you something.”

“If I’m in Rome, I’m not wasting a dinner on your cooking.”

“We can eat two dinners then,” Killian suggests.

“I like that idea.” The dog barks again in the background, louder this time. “I have to go. My neighbor’s dog is walking over this way, and I have to give him my full attention.”

“Bye, love.”

“Talk to you later, Jones!”

The phone goes silent, and Killian closes his eyes. It’s been a rough day for a myriad of reasons, and all he wants is to sleep. His call with Emma has calmed him, as they usually do, but that’s something he often doesn’t like admitting to himself.

Getting involved with Emma would be complicated, and Killian isn’t sure he can do complicated anymore.

His phone buzzes, and he opens one eye to look at the message.

Ariel Fisher: I’m coming to talk to you because you stormed off.

Ariel Fisher: I have the key to your room, so make sure you’re dressed.

Ariel Fisher: I’m bringing dinner, so I know you at least kind of want to see me.

Killian Jones: I’m in the nude, and I’m not changing for you.

Ariel Fisher: It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.

Killian Jones: That is your fault for walking into my bathroom without knocking.

-/-

Killian wins in Monte Carlo, and it feels good to have a trophy for the first time since late January. It’s only April now, and he’s only played three tournaments since Australia. Yet, he had higher expectations for himself for this year. It’s a great year by anyone’s standards, but Killian has really focused on his training this year. He wants another record year like two years ago, and if he keeps this momentum going, maybe he can do that.

That year, he’d worked off the motivation of heartbreak. This year, he’s trying to work off the motivation of doing something for himself.

Whatever keeps him in the game.

Whatever keeps him loving what he does like Liam asked him to do.

-/-

The thing about Killian’s job is that he’s constantly surrounded by bloody people. From when he’s playing a match to doing press to sitting in the living room of the houses and apartments he rents for some tournaments when he doesn’t want to stay in a hotel. Sometimes the only times he has to think are when he’s on court, which is ridiculous because that’s when he’s surrounded by the most people and is supposed to be focusing on his plan for the next point.

Tonight, Killian had planned on having Emma over for dinner, but Ariel, Eric, Will, and Rob have all shown up and are sitting on his couch watching the television and he’s desperately trying to get Emma to pick up her phone before she arrives. He’s sure Nemo and Al could show up any second by the way things are going.

“Hello?”

“Swan!”

“Hey, I was just about to get a car from the hotel to your place. Everything okay?”

Killian sighs and massages his fingers over his forehead. “It seems my team and my mates have decided they’re spending the night with me, so if you want to stay at the hotel, I would understand.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. Of course, you can still come if you want.”

“Is there still going to be food?”

“Absolutely, but I don’t think I’ll be cooking it.”

“Then I’m coming,” Emma laughs. “Would you mind if I brought some people over as well? I can pay for their dinners.”

“The more the merrier,” Killian says, even if that is not how he intended his night to go. “See you soon, love.”

Killian walks back to the living area and settles down in an armchair, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions he’s about to get. “Emma Swan is coming over for dinner. She’s bringing people with her. I don’t know who yet, but I know she is.”

Slowly, everyone turns and stares at him, and Killian is already dreading everything about tonight.

“Why the fuck is Emma Swan coming over?” Will asks as everyone else nods. “I didn’t even know you knew her.”

“How would I not know her?”

“Oi, you know what I meant! You know her, but you know her in a way that has you say hello in the hallways, not that you invite her and her mates over to take our food.”

“You were not invited here tonight, Scarlet.”

“I am always invited.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ariel sighs, holding her hands up between them. “I need more of an explanation. How did this come about? Are you dating Em – ”

“No, A. Bloody hell, no.” Killian stands from the chair and straightens out his t-shirt. “We got to talking about food one day, and I casually invited her over. Believe it or not, I can have other mates besides you lot.”

“Your personality says otherwise,” Rob teases, and Killian rolls his eyes.

“Alright, alright. What should we get delivered for dinner? A little bit of everything?”

“I still have so many questions,” Ariel tells him.

“I have no more answers. I’m going to order food. You guys can keep watching the match.”

“Isn’t this who you play tomorrow?” Rob asks.

“Mhm, but Nemo will take enough notes and give them to me, so I don’t have to watch the match too closely.”

Killian walks away from the living room and goes through the contacts in his phone for the restaurants he likes, and once he settles on one, he orders several meals for delivery, chatting with the owner and promising her he’ll be in to see the entire team before he leaves Rome.

There’s a knock on the door, and Killian glances out the kitchen window. He can see Emma, Emma’s brother, and her sister-in-law. He was expecting Ruby Lucas and Anna Jergenson, but he shouldn’t be surprised. Her family is nearly always with her.

Ariel gets to the door before he does, hugging and greeting everyone. She knows David and Mary Margaret from constantly working with Mary Margaret over management collaborations, and while this is a large industry, there is always going to be overlap amongst certain people.

“David, nice to see you,” Killian says, walking into the room and taking David’s hand before kissing Mary Margaret’s cheeks. “Mary Margaret, beautiful as ever. Hey, Swan.”

“What? Am I not as beautiful as ever?” she jokes as she embraces him. “I got all dressed up for this. I’m wearing leggings that don’t have any holes in them.”

“I thank you for your effort.” He pulls back and winks. “I’m sorry for the slight change of plans, but I guess I’ll give you food poisoning another day.”

“Can’t wait.”

Killian guides them into the living room, where it’s a mess of greetings and jumbled conversation, and Killian settles himself back in the chair in the corner, watching everyone talk. They’re in the middle of one of the busiest stretches of the season, and it’s nice to have a night where he can relax. He has a match tomorrow and possibly even more depending on how tomorrow goes, but he tries to forget about those. That’s something Killian is still working on. Liam was the one who usually made him forget, and while his mates, many of them under the same pressures, do a damn good job, there are rarely times when his mind doesn’t race with the possibilities of how everything good in his life can slip away.

Killian rents this house in Rome every year because it was Liam’s favorite, so this week is always a particularly difficult one when everything reminds him of his brother.

When the food arrives, Killian spreads it around the kitchen and gets out a few bottles of wine. He won’t drink tonight, but others might want to. They fill their plates and settle back in the living room, the match that was at the forefront now in the background as Rob and Will take the piss out of each other for how badly the mangled the Italian language while asking for directions earlier today.

“I didn’t grow up speaking two languages! I’m still learning!” Will grumbles.

“You trained in Italy for most of your childhood.”

“I have no excuses for Italian, I know. I do speak French pretty well.”

“Oi, and none of us have to wonder why that is,” Rob laughs.

“You’re all wankers.”

“Why does Will know French?” Emma asks him from her seat next to him.

“His girlfriend is from France.”

“Ah,” Emma sighs, picking up a piece of ravioli and putting it in her mouth. “This is delicious. Much better than whatever it was you were planning on cooking.”

“I’m going to prove you wrong one day.”

She shrugs and puts her plate down on the coffee table next to her glass of wine. “If you say so. Where’s the restroom?”

Killian points to the hallway behind the kitchen. “Second door on the right.”

Emma nods and stands from her seat, walking away toward the bathroom. He gets a notification on his watch that he’s got a text from Nemo, and it looks like a long one. Sighing, Killian moves away from the conversation and down the hall to his bedroom so he can text Nemo back. It’s an analysis of his opponent for tomorrow, and Killian skims through it. He’ll read it more in the morning since his match isn’t until the afternoon, but if he doesn’t text Nemo back now, he’ll call until Killian does. The man is a damn good coach, but he can also be high-strung.

The bedroom door clicks behind Killian as he closes it, and at the same time, Emma leaves the bathroom. The two of them are nearly pressed together in the close quarters of the hallway, and Killian aligns himself against one wall while Emma does the same with the other. Still, he can feel her foot brush against his, and he is close enough to see the freckles on her face.

Those freckles are what have himself tilting closer, his breath intertwining with hers, and for every movement he makes, Emma makes an equal one, the voices in the background fading away as Killian focuses on the flutter of Emma’s lashes and the subtle twitch of her lips. He mirrors her, curling up one corner of his mouth and teasingly tapping his lips.

“Please,” she laughs, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma studies him as heat swirls around them and tickles up his spine, pulling him closer to her. He watches her, waiting to see if she’ll do something, but he expects her to make a joke, to turn away like she sometimes does when things get a little too serious between them when they’re talking in person instead of over the phone. She doesn’t always do that, not when he’s the one sharing, but when it comes to her, she’s more guarded, holding everything deep within.

Emma Swan is constantly subverting expectations, however, so when she pulls on the collar of his shirt and tugs his mouth to hers, he takes a moment to reciprocate.

Bloody fucking hell.

Emma is kissing him.

And she’s damn good at it too. Killian reaches up to thread his fingers through her hair, pulling and tugging until he can take a little of the control back from her. She’s a demanding one, and while he can’t say he minds, he would like a little control too. Her lips are soft, and she tastes of wine and the spices of her ravioli. He could get lost in it all, especially when she moans in response to him backing her up against the wall. Her back arches, and Killian rolls his hips as Emma’s kiss teases him. The friction is fucking amazing, and it would be so easy to take a few steps to the right to his bedroom and…

Suddenly, Emma pulls back, lingering in his space, breath hot against his skin, and Killian can feel a smile tugging at his kiss swollen lips.

“That was – ” Killian mutters, leaning in to kiss her again.

“A one-time thing,” Emma quickly tells him, shoving at his chest until he backs away, a mountain of space between them. “I’m going to go back to the living room. Actually, I think I need to go home. I have an early training session tomorrow.”

“Swan – ”

“Thank you for dinner. It was great.”

Then she’s gone, blonde hair falling away, and Killian can’t move from his spot, standing there with his fingers against his lips. He listens to her tell David and Mary Margaret she’s ready to go, listens to her telling everyone goodbye, and then she’s gone, the front door shutting behind her.

What the hell just happened.

And when did he fall halfway in love with Emma Swan?

Fuck.

“What happened to your hair?” Ariel asks when Killian gets the strength in his legs to walk back to the living room.

“Nemo,” he lies. “His analysis for tomorrow had me tugging on it.”

Ariel studies him like she doesn’t believe him, but then she’s back to drinking her wine and talking to Eric, her life going on as normal even when his isn’t.

-/-

He gets blown out of the water in his match the next day.

He can’t compartmentalize his thoughts, putting the personal behind him and the professional in front of him. That’s been the key to all of his success. No matter what’s going on in his personal life, he can always lace up his trainers and take the court, leaving all of that behind him.

Today, it’s like everything that’s happened to him in the past decade has come flooding back, and Killian wants nothing more than the floodgates to stop.

-/-

Emma doesn’t respond to any of his texts.

He pretends it doesn’t bother him as his team leaves Rome and flies to Paris, immediately preparing for Roland Garros. Killian can fuck around at other tournaments on occasion, but he can’t do it at a major. There are only a handful of those to go around, the importance of them will never be lost on him.

Even if sliding across the clay is the last thing he wants to do right now.

“Smaller steps,” Nemo yells from his place on the sidelines. “You’re going to fuck up your ankle if you run like that.”

Killian adjusts his footwork and keeps moving, sweat slicking down his back as the crowds around the practice courts fill in while more players keep showing up. When he sees long blonde hair in her trademark braid three courts over, his step nearly falters.

It doesn’t.

He can’t.

If Emma is going to put distance between the two of them, he’ll let her. He had a life long before he began talking to Emma Swan, and he’ll have one if she never talks to him again.

He’s a liar if he says that his world would be anything other than miserable for awhile.

-/-

Killian crashes out in the quarterfinals of Roland Garros, and he immediately puts it behind him, bracing his shoulders for a month of grass court tournaments in his own country, where the pressure is always highest.

Sometimes it can be suffocating, but he has to do it.

-/-

“Okay, now that you’ve answered all of our questions, we want to show you a little video clip,” Chris McKendry tells him while Killian adjusts the mic resting on his ear.

“It’s never good when you tell me that, Chris.”

She laughs, as fake as always, but Killian goes along with it. “I promise you’ll enjoy this one.”

A producer for ESPN hits play on the video, and Killian keeps his eyes glued to the screen even as someone slides several bowls of strawberries and cream in front of him. The video of he and Emma from California plays on the screen, all of the promotional work the two of them did that day after she took the piss out of him for his answer to how he ate strawberries and cream. Killian forces a smile on his face, not allowing the cameras to see him slip, because this is what he does now. He’s a perfectly polished PR machine. If he’s going to show emotions other than happiness, they’re going to be either on the court or behind the scenes with no cameras rolling. They are certainly not going to be here.

“So, Killian,” Chris laughs as the video rolls, “we thought it would be fun to bring you some strawberries and cream with a spoon to eat them.”

Killian chuckles and takes the spoon, scooping up a large helping of the strawberries and cream and eating it. It’s not bad. He doesn’t like it, but it’s not the worst thing he’s ever had to eat because someone has asked him to. And the faster he plays along, the faster he can get out of here.

“I think I’ve got it right now,” he jokes, “though I know my last answer went viral because I failed all of Britain with it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but we are giving you this chance to redeem yourself so you can have this crowd behind you for the fortnight. With your draw, I think you might need it.”

“Draws don’t always hold up, but nevertheless Chris, I’m ready for the challenge.”

“You always are.”

-/-

She’s fucking incredible to watch.

She moves with grace but with incredible power underneath her feet and determination set between her brows. Her play gets better with every match she plays, and Killian is mesmerized by it even if he’s been avoiding her matches over the past few weeks. But now she’s on Centre Court, and her match is playing on the screen above his bike where he’s cooling down from his match. There is no avoiding it, and he can’t say he wants to at the minute. He’s obviously a glutton for punishment.

He’s seen her draw, knows that it’s just as difficult as his, and while she might not win here, the Olympics are just around the corner on these same courts. He can’t imagine her not winning at least one of the two.

Then again, he is aware of his bias, but he is also aware of Emma’s skill.

Killian grabs his phone and takes a picture of her match, posting it on his Twitter, which Ariel has told him he has to use more since he “needs to interact with people online.”

@KillianJones: She’s graceful like a swan but also just as vicious. What a match to watch on my cool down. @Emmaswan is the type of player every kid should try to emulate when they pick up a racket

It’s an olive branch.

If she doesn’t take it, Killian will be fine. He may have fallen hard and fast, but that doesn’t mean Emma did. She is free to take things at her own pace, whatever that may mean for the two of them.

-/-

@emmaswan mentioned you in a tweet.

Killian swipes across his screen and opens Twitter, where he sees a picture of yesterday’s match. It’s from high above in what is obviously a private room, but it’s still clearly him on court, pumping his fist after a big point, the crowd standing all around.

@EmmaSwan: @KillianJones, I don’t think any of these people like you. You should try to get them on your side.

He laughs and falls back on his couch. He’s not well liked in a lot of places, but in his home country, he knows that as long as he’s winning, he has the country behind him.

No pressure.

@KillianJones: @EmmaSwan maybe you could help me out. How do I get the crowd to like me?

@EmmaSwan: @KillianJones cook them a home-cooked meal. It’s the way to everyone’s heart.

Killian nearly drops his phone. She’s joking. She has to be. This is the first time he’s so much as talked to Emma in weeks, and she either doesn’t realize the magnitude of her words or is sending him a clear message.

Emma has never cared much for subtly.

He closes out of Twitter and texts her, hoping he’s not fucking up the olive branch she took by snapping it in half.

Killian Jones: I’m making salmon tonight. It’s just me here tonight. I promise. Do you want to come over for dinner?

Emma Swan: How good is your salmon?

Killian Jones: It’s good.

Emma Swan: I’ll be there.

-/-

Emma Swan walks into his home like she belongs there. She steps inside his front door, removes her trainers, and easily walks to him in the kitchen, propping her hip against the counter while he prepares dinner. They talk, mostly about work, and Killian tries to act as unaffected by her presence as possible. The last time they were this close to each other, he had Emma pressed up against a wall. It’s been over a month since then with very little communication, and Killian constantly feels like a bucket of ice has been dropped over him.

He still doesn’t believe she’s here when he is clearly having a conversation with her.

They eat dinner on his couch, the television turned low in the background, and the conversation stays stilted. If Killian is honest, he wants to sink into the cushions and have this night be over with, but he knows better. Either this night firmly cuts the ties between them, or it ties the string back together.

He knows which one he wants, but he dare not speak for Emma.

“This is really good,” Emma says as she scoops up some of her remaining salad. “Thanks for cooking.”

“Thanks for coming over.”

“It’s a really nice place. I bet it must be nice to be able to stay home for a month while still working.”

“Yeah, it is.” Silence falls between them again, but it’s not comfortable, not like it used to be. “Look, Swan, I – ”

She holds up her hands and places the plate in front of her on his coffee table before twisting around and crossing her legs under her on the couch. “Don’t.”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t say it. Don’t apologize for doing something wrong when I’m the one who made out with you and then ran away. I fucked things up between us, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Do you want to fix it?” he suggests, knowing the line he walks is thin.

Emma shrugs, sheepish smile on her lips. “I don’t know. I don’t – I mean, I like…you’re…we’re…I don’t know, Killian. I am obviously not the most emotionally aware person, but I care. I care about my family, my friends…you. I care about you. Like, a lot, which was unexpected.” She leans forward and buries her face in her hands, all of her words coming out muffled. “I don’t know how I can do this without messing things up between us where we’ll be avoiding each other while having to walk the same circles.”

Killian arches his brow and stifles his laugh. He shouldn’t be laughing. This isn’t funny, but there is something comical about it.

“What I’m hearing is that you fancy me.”

Emma peeks out from behind her hands, and she glowers at him. “Seriously?”

Killian shrugs and leans forward, grabbing her hands and slowly intertwining their fingers. “I have no bloody idea what I’m doing either, and I don’t mean to upset you Emma. I really don’t. But we make quite the team. I think it would be foolish not to try, but I’ll do whatever you want.”

“That’s really fucking unfair to make me make the decision.”

“If I did, you would find a way to turn it around on me.”

She digs her nails into his palm, but he doesn’t flinch. “Asshole.”

“I would agree with that assessment most of the time.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but there’s also determination there, green, blue, and gold all mixed together to create the emotions hidden just below the surface. “We don’t tell anyone. Like, no one. I don’t like my private life to be public, and if we tell other people, it’ll become public. I’m already risking a hell of a lot possibly being with someone who I’ll have to see on tour if things get fucked up, so I want a safety net even if this doesn’t solve every issue.”

“You’re a romantic.” She parts her lips to protest, and he squeezes her hands, leaning forward and lingering in her space, closing half the gap. “But I agree with you, wholeheartedly. I was with this woman, and – ”

“We don’t have to talk about our pasts right now. I’ve got a match at one tomorrow, so we sure as hell don’t have time to get through everything. I’m also not entirely sure I trust you with everything yet.”

“You shouldn’t,” Killian half jokes as his lips ghost over hers, “but I hope to earn it.”

“Good,” Emma whispers, wrapping her arms around Killian’s neck and pulling him those final few inches toward her until her lips are softly gliding over his, pulling him under as pleasure trickles up his spine.

Good. This is all damn good.

They have no idea what they’re getting into, but Killian can’t wait to figure it all out.

-/-

tag list (you can be added/removed at any time: @qualitycoffeethings @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @itsfabianadocarmo @iam2307 @capthamm @ilovemesomekillianjones @kktabjones @jonesfandomfanatic @ouatxxxxx

#walking the baseline #walking the baseline series #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #Captain Swan

103 notes · View notes

rudysrings · 4 years

Note

Okay but if you’re still taking requests how bout one w Jeff wittek w the whole billboard thing w Todd and Natalie but instead it’s Jeff x y/n and David accidentally exposes their relationship and maybe have y/n be the drunk texted since Jeff doesn’t drink 👀 I hope that made sense lol.

A/N: I’m totally still taking requests :) This is one of the best ones I’ve seen yet… thanks for the awesome idea and hope you enjoy!

David had finally gotten his filming done for Monday’s vlog and was currently editing. As usual, it had involved several extreme events, some of which ended up with Jeff covered in crow feathers. Hence, Jeff was in the shower.

David noticed Jeff’s phone light up where he had tossed it on the couch. He noticed that the contact was not just Y/N, but it had a tongue and red heart emoji next to it. (As well as the squatting monkey looking creepily over to the side and a clown, but David figured that was a joke.) On some weird impulse, David tried out Nerf’s birthday and found that it worked as Jeff’s pass code. A wide, scheming grin spread across David’s face as he read what you had sent Jeff. In essence, you were asking him to pick you up, but the way you asked made it obvious that you were wasted.

Giggling, David took a screenshot and sent it to his own phone, deleting any evidence before Jeff came back. When Jeff picked up his phone, flopping down on the couch to scroll through it, David continued editing, looking for a reaction in his peripheral.

Jeff’s eyebrows furrowed, before he chuckled softly. He got up, grabbing his jacket and keys. He was halfway out the door, before he called out, as if it was an after thought, “Gotta go feed Nerf, David.”

Sure you do.

Jeff found you at the bar you often frequented on karaoke and trivia nights, today being the former. You were singing some god-awful rendition of a Katy Perry song, clearly drunk off your ass. Jeff smiled, walking over to the stage.

He gulped as he realized he could see up your miniskirt if he wanted to, not that he would. His eyes were hooded as he took in your halter top and the thin belt you wore over your hips. That fucking belt. You didn’t even need it. It rested on your bare skin, but you loved the way it made you feel all the same, not to mention the way it drove Jeff crazy. He wanted nothing more than to grab onto it, or even bite the sliver of skin it hid. Maybe you would let him another day.

Your eyes lit up with an elated smile as you saw your boyfriend of only a few weeks, pointing to him as you swayed your hips.

“ ‘Cause baby you’re a FIIIIIIIIIIIreewOOOOOork!”

Jeff was forced to watch, completely smitten, as you finished off the song with drunken splendor.

Once you were done, Jeff couldn’t help but notice the sleazy looks and overenthusiastic cheers and applause you were getting. It was karaoke night, for Chrissake, he thought.

Giggling, you let yourself fall into Jeff’s arms. He held you tightly, helping you down from the stage, struggling with his self-control as he took in the now familiar smell of your body wash and realized that your top was backless, his hand meeting the smooth skin of your back, making him shudder.

You sighed into his ear, furthering his lustful haze. “Hey, Jeffrey. You came…”

Jeff had his arm around your waist, and yours around him as he guided you to the exit. “ ‘Course I came, doll,” he whispered into your hair.

Once you got outside, he led you to his car. Jeff backed you up against the door. He looked at you for a moment, and it seemed to you that he was fighting an internal battle.

You eyed his lips, which were full and red from him biting them during your performance. “Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask…” Finally, you heard him curse under his breath and bring his hand up to the back of your head, the other to your waist, pulling your lower half against him. His mouth covered yours completely, his tongue slipping into to stroke yours. You gasped at the sudden entrance, grabbing at his hair and tugging, eliciting sinful noises from him.

You slid your hands down his neck, gripping his collar and trying to bring him closer. His lips trailed away from yours, down to your collarbone where he forcefully placed kisses.

In the mean time, you softly kissed his neck, trying not to leave any marks, but couldn’t help yourself from nipping at him, soothing the abused skin with your tongue immediately after.

A catcall from a passing stranger brought the two of you to your senses and you pulled apart. Jeff’s hands remained at your hips and he leaned his forehead on yours, catching his breath.

“Wheree’d that come srom Jeffrey?” You slurred.

Jeff shook his head at your state, chuckling. “I hope I haven’t overstepped. It’s this fucking belt, doll.” He fingered it, and you let out a bubbly laugh at the ticklish feeling.

You’re phone dinged with a message and you pulled it out, seeing that it was David. “He wants help editing.”

Jeff shook his head. “You’re in no state to drive to David’s right now.” He sighed. “And I can’t drive you, because I just left him saying I had to feed Nerf.” He slumped his head onto your shoulder. “Fuck, I wish we could just tell everyone.”

You played with the hair at his neck and said, “We will. Just not right now?”

Out of respect for you, he nodded against your skin. “Just ignore the text and say you were asleep if he asks tomorrow. I’m driving you home.”

Jeff wouldn’t meet your eyes. You pulled his chin up and despite your intoxicated state, managed to say convincingly, “Dontchyu ever doubt how I feel about you, Jeffrey. I don’t wanna hide you. I wanna celebrate us when iss right, ya feel me?”

Jeff smiled, bending slightly to nudge your nose with his. “Fuckin’ right I feel you. You’re fuckin’ adorable.”

***

David really took Erin’s idea of putting the texts up on a billboard seriously. Within a couple of days, he had it up in Hollywood and was inviting everyone to come see it. He invited you and Jeff at the same time, along with Todd, Ilya, Jason, Zane, and Carly.

You were confused as to why you were in the middle of a random street of Hollywood, but with David, you never knew what to expect. You shot a look at Jeff, who had his arm around Todd, as if to say What the fuck is going on.

Jeff simply shrugged, biting his lip as he looked you up and down, telling you subtly that he really liked what you were wearing. You had on a romper that had really low sleeves, so your lacy underwear was clearly visible. You checked him out too, your arm looped in Carly’s, fluttering your eyelashes dramatically and smiling, fanning yourself subtly as joke, to show him how much you liked his current outfit, a sleeveless shirt and joggers. When David asked you guys to turn around, you turned while smiling, but your jaw immediately dropped as you saw a giant billboard with your smiling face on it, beside it, a series of texts. As you began to recognize the messages, your heart dropped to your stomach.

“No,” You whispered.

Y/N: Jeeeefffreyyyy

karaoke nigh

i miss you

i hate that i can’t show you how much

akchually maybe i can… if you come pick me up, then maybe i can show you just how much i miss you l8r 2nite?

or not… if u don’t want that then that’s cool 2 :)

i dranked too muhc

“You muthafucka…” Jeff was smiling for the camera but it didn’t reach his eyes. He pulled you into him, tucking you into his chest.

You pushed him away, accusation in your eyes. “Why would you send him that, Jeff?” You asked low, so that the others wouldn’t hear.

Jeff flinched. You always called him Jeffrey. Though he hated it at first, it had grown on him. He shook his head. “What? No…I didn’t…” He looked over at David. “How tha fuck d’you get that, ay?”

David giggled. “You were in the shower when you got the texts, bro!”

The others had gone quiet.

Feeling humiliated beyond belief, you began walking away from everyone, pulling your car keys out.

A/N: I think I might make a part two to this… sorry it got really steamy. I didn’t mean for it to happen but it just did i guess. Let me know if anyone would read a second part?

#vlog squad #david dobrik x reader #jeff wittek x reader #david dobrik #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek x reader imagine #vs #vlog squad x reader #vlog squad imagine

551 notes · View notes

the-l-spacer · 3 years

Link

Summary: Lloyd Allen is sick and alone at his house. This is unacceptable.

Written for Day 7 of Shaperaverse week, for the prompt ‘Family, Home’ - and is a continuation of the theatre kids au in chapter 1! I had a blast writing for this event. Thank you for reading!!

Lloyd Allen is sick. Like, sick sick. Not the sort where he gets a runny nose and maybe a hoarse throat that clears up in a day.

No, this is the everything-at-once, Chernobyl-nuclear-fucking-meltdown-anthropomorphised kind of sick. He’s hot (and not in the good way that, as Kelis once put it, brings all the boys to the yard). His throat feels like someone attempted to make him swallow hot control rods (to continue the Chernobyl metaphor). About every facial orifice is leaking steadily. Looking at himself in the mirror is an experience akin to staring at the Elephant’s Foot.

To put it sparingly, he feels like shit.

And, he laments, lying on his side on the living room couch, today is the absolute worst day to fall sick.

Through half open eyes, he gazes at the clock hung on the wall, — an old-fashioned thing circled with Roman numerals, because everything about his dad is old fashioned, a trait that passed from father to son — ticking steadily to 10am, when rehearsal is slated to start.

He briefly considers pushing himself off the couch, wrapping himself in a warm coat, and going anyways. After all, they’re just starting to rehearse Janissary in earnest, having almost memorized the scripts and choreography and blocking, and it physically pains him to be absent just when the real work is about to begin.

On the other hand, he can’t have the entire cast be bedridden because of him.

Mulling over his choices, he doesn’t remember when exactly he blacked out, only to be woken up again by the vibrating of his phone on the floor next to him.

Groaning, he reaches out his hand to answer it, and the very action feels like moving through slow, thick honey. He manages, but by the time he brings the phone to his face, the call ends.

The too-bright display tells him he missed a call from Asha.

A slight smile crosses his face. Of course she’d be the first to call him.

He dials back, and she picks up right away. “Lloyd?” Her voice is high and hurried. “Thank goodness you picked up. Me and the others are so worried. Are you all right?”

Try to sound like nothing’s wrong. “I’m fi-achOO!”

Well, so much for that.

“Oh Lloyd, you’re sick?”

“That- that much is obvious, Asha.” He forces the words out through a stuck throat, and is too busy cringing as sneeze-gunk runs down his face (gross) to regret his curt tone.

She sucks in a breath. “Sorry, sorry, god I’m such an asshole. Is it a fever?”

He wants to tell her that the asshole is him, that she shouldn’t waste her breath on someone as ungrateful as he, but all he manages is a short, “Yeah.”

“And from the sound of it, a sore throat and a stuffy nose as well. Do you have a glass of water somewhere nearby? Do you feel well enough to see the doctor?”

“No, and… no.”

“Lloyd- “

“Sorry.”

“- stop- stop hating yourself for one second. I was going to say I can come over right now, if you want me to.”

That’s enough to snap him awake. “NO!” He pauses, wiping his nose. “No. Continue rehearsing, take over for me. I want everyone’s lines fully memorized by next week.”

Now it’s Asha’s turn to be the naysayer of the conversation. He listens, with some grim satisfaction, as she splutters on the phone. “M-me? You want me to be- bu-“

“I’m sick, remember?” He coughs once, for emphasis. “You have to do what I say.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll do my best, and I’ll let the others know you can’t make it. In the meantime, you’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yyyyes?”

“And you’re sure you’re getting enough water? Did you take a panadol? I could get some soup delivered to you-“

The rest of the conversation passes in a blurry haze. He vaguely remembers telling Asha to very much not waste precious rehearsal time by ordering food for him, and was it a fever-induced hallucination, or did he tell David to take over as narrator? Did he comfort the fraught third year until he no longer could, Asha finally stepping in to tell him to rest?

Well that he can certainly do. As Asha says something about sleeping in a cold place, he is already drifting off on the couch. He watches the (decidedly not cold) living room’s ceiling fan turn lazy circles, he murmurs a half-conscious ‘I love you’ to Asha, and he finally surrenders to unconsciousness.

Knock knock.

Knock knock knock.

“Lloyd? Are you there?”

What….

Lloyd stirs, and immediately regrets doing so. His hair sticks to the nape of his neck, and a layer of awful post-nap sweat coats his skin. Yet, despite the warm, stuffy air, he’s shivering, curling into himself, trying to figure out if the knocks on the door are figments of his fevered imagination.

“I think he’s still asleep.” The voices he hears are muffled, but definitely there. Is that David?

“Nothing else for it, we gotta pick the lock. I can use my hairpin.”

“Jill, NO!” His ears pick up Asha’s shrill soprano.

Michael’s telltale drawl comes next. “Doesn’t Lloyd keep a key outside the house somewhere? Was it the doormat, or the flowerpot…”

Lloyd’s eyes drift closed once again, until…

“LLOYD!!!” Two blurs bound toward him, but are quickly yanked back.

“Don’t crowd him! He’s way too warm as is.”

Lloyd rasps, “Asha... ? And Jill and Michael a.. And David? What are you all doing here?”

He feels himself being lifted, bridal style, and pressed against a sturdy chest, can feel the vibrations as Michael speaks. “We’re here’ta take care of our favourite stage manager, of course!”

“But.. you.. Rehearsals?”

“Done and dusted,” David says, hovering behind Michael as he carries Lloyd into the bedroom, depositing him gently on his soft mattress. “It went… not terribly, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Pfft, Davey here’s bein’ waaay too modest. As you predicted, he makes a pre-tty awesome narrator.”

David opens his mouth to protest, but Michael shushes him. “Go, set up the Switch so our boy Lloyd has somethin’ to entertain himself with once he’s feelin’ better.”

The obliging theatre techie in David wins out over his self-deprecating side, and he obediently trots off, leaving Michael in the room with a rather overwhelmed Lloyd.

“Don’t lie,” Lloyd begins, “was he really…”

“Yes.” Michael fishes out a thermometer from his backpack and takes Lloyd’s temperature. “Woof, 38 degrees. You’re burnin’ up. Aaanyways, David’s a little nervous, sure, I’ll let Asha fill you in on all the specific details, but he’s got potential. A loootta potential.”

Lloyd lets out a breath. “Good.”

“Now less talkin’, more tryna’ get better soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lloyd gives a small nod.

The other boy pats his arm, and leaves Lloyd, giving room for Jill to breeze in, pushing cups of honey lemon and hot herbal tea and instructing him to drink, opening the windows to let the cool spring air in, and twining small flowers around his shelves and bedposts, before finally pulling his rolling study chair over to his bedside.

“Asha’s in overdrive,” she says conspiratorially, “been freaking out ever since the call. She tried to hide it, obviously, but we could tell. She’s, like, super worried about you, so real talk. Are you okay?”

The chamomile tea warms his throat as he drinks, and he finds his voice flowing freer than before. “I’m all right, really. Some irresponsible delinquent in my lit class came in with a flu, which no doubt passed on to me.”

“But you’ve never been sick before, at least, you haven’t been like the entire time we’ve known you!”

“When my immune system is down, it’s down, I suppose.”

Jill’s face pulls in a sympathetic pout. “Oof, that’s rough. Least it’s not anything serious. If it was something serious, you’d tell us, right?”

Lloyd must have paused too long, because Jill leans forward with sudden seriousness, necklaces adorned with tiny silver trinkets dangling in front of his face. “We care about you. I know Michael and I like to give you grief, but we really do. We’ve been friends for years now, and if something happened, it’d be like I lost my- my brother or something!”

His face heats. “Jill… I... of course. Of course I’d tell you. I care for you all greatly as well, even if I don’t show it.” His hand finds Jill’s. “Thank you, for saying that.”

She gives his hand a squeeze. “Just saying what we’re all thinking. I’m gonna go play Smash with Michael and David. You,” she stands up, tapping his shoulder lightly, “rest.”

“I will.”

She leaves Lloyd, a little confused at the interaction, though all that falls away when Asha enters the room, a bowl of hot ginseng chicken broth in hand.

“I’m sorry for being so curt on the phone, just now,” he blurts out.

Asha waves his apology off. “Water under the bridge. Eat up.”

Time passes, Lloyd savouring spoonfuls of soup as Asha sponges him with cold water, giving him a play-by-play of their rehearsal. The details remain hazy in his mind, though Lloyd does chuckle when his friend tells him of David forgetting he was so far downstage that he almost missed his cue and fell right off the raised platform, saved only when Michael yanked him backwards.

“That.. certainly explains why his shirt is hanging off of him a little looser than before.” Lloyd remarks.

Asha sweeps the finished bowl of soup from his grasp, replacing it with a glass of water and a Panadol. “Interesting that even with a fever, you notice how David’s shirt fits on him.”

It’s lucky that Lloyd only has the glass raised to his lips, else he would have done a spit-take. “Wh- what?!?? Who said anything about me staring at David’s shirt?! It’s just a- a casual observation, anyone would notice it!”

Asha grins. “Naturally, naturally.”

“What does that mean?!”

“Nothing!” She says breezily.

Lloyd stares at Asha, currently sending a text on her phone to someone. From the living room outside, he hears Jill snort.

Ordinarily, he would press, but as is, his information-overloaded brain begins to shut down once again.

“Sure,” he says finally.

Asha looks at him with surprise. “That it? You’re letting me off that easy?”

“ ‘m tired,” he simply says, sinking lower into his sheets. “I’ll ask again if I remember.”

Asha busies herself switching on the AC, drawing the curtains so they don’t let in the late afternoon sun. “Sleep, and properly this time, okay? We’ll be waiting outside for you once you wake up.”

“M’kay.” His eyes are already half-closed, watching Asha hover in the doorway.

“I love you, Lloyd.”

I really did say that on the phone, huh.

Nothing else for it, then. “Love you too.”

When Lloyd wakes, his senses come alive one at a time. He feels better than he did in the morning, the medicine doing its work so he’s no longer covered in a cold sweat. His nose is no longer stuffy, and the room’s cool air is permeated with the faint scent of chrysanthemum.

He sits up. It’s properly dark, now, and he can hear faint voices outside.

Gingerly, Lloyd pads out of his room, peeks around the entrance to the living room, and sees his friends, crammed together on the couch, whisper-screaming as Princess Peach beat the shit out of Link on the TV screen.

It’s hard to tell who it was who notices him standing in the shadows first, but it’s David who says, “Guys, Lloyd’s up!”, followed by a responding chorus of cheers from his friends.

His friends.

Is it his fever, or is the warmth he feels rushing through him as they make room on the couch coming from someplace else entirely?

Is him resting his head on David’s shoulder a result of fatigue, or… something else?

And is David tilting his head so it rests on his in turn coming from the same place too?

Later, they sit at the kitchen table, eating soupy noodles ordered in by Michael, and Lloyd wonders if it's the hunger from his previously light meals, or if the food, eaten as he sits surrounded by his friends, is the best he’s ever had?

Is it the thinking of his sickness-muddled mind, or is his house, filled with inane chatter and loud, boisterous laughter, so unlike the cold, quiet days spent with his father, more like a home to him than it ever was before?

And is it his imagination, or is this small group of theatre nerds truly his family? Family he never had, family that disappeared when his mother left?

Even after his father does return, frowning at the mess and noise, and his friends sheepishly clear the takeout boxes and unplug the switch and wash the dirty plates and cups, finally bidding him forlorn goodbyes and get-well-soons, the thoughts don’t go away.

Lloyd pops another pill and heads back to bed, sending a short ‘thank you’ in the main cast and crew group chat, switching off his phone as he sees the wall of responding texts and stickers flooding in.

He settles his sheets back around him, catches sight of evidence that the afternoon and evening truly happened - flowers adding a splash of colour to the space, a scribbled ‘gws’ post-it from David on his bedside table.

Lloyd Allen goes back to sleep with a small smile. After all, the sooner he gets better, the sooner he can return to the theatre. The sooner he can see his family. The sooner he can come home.

#new albion #shaperaverse #paul shapera #sorry i cranked this out at like 1 am and dont have the energy to edit it so #here take it #prompt week was kinda intense but like. fun! never wrote this much in such a short span of time b4 dlkjfas kinda proud tbh

7 notes · View notes

nazyalenskyism · 3 years

Text

Let’s Get Married 3

Let’s Get Married Part 3 (Let’s Get Married)

Summary: Guess who got married! A/N: PLEASE READ: From this point on, anything labeled as "THEN,"/"18 months ago" refers to the week during which Chapter 2 (I've Been So Far Gone Lately) is set during. Anything labeled as "NOW" or "18 months later" is set in the present day. Sorry for any confusion!

Ao3: Let's Get Married Part 3

18 months later (NOW):

David Kostyk came back from his break like always, with a mug of tea from his wife in one hand and a stack of files from Nikolai in the other, ready to dive into the documents for the day. The first few files were standard, he was signing off on others’ work, making sure everything was up to date and properly formatted but it was when he hit the fifth document that he found something amiss. He pushed his glasses up his nose, bending down to make sure that he read the file correctly. No, that couldn’t be. That would mean that--Oh no.

David picked up his receiver, punching in numbers he knew by heart, this was going to be anything but a quiet morning like he’d hoped. “Genya, you need to see this.”

***

“Nikolai Lantsov!” he glanced up at the mention of his name, surprised at the sight before him. Genya marched into the room with Tolya and Tamar walking determinedly behind her while David trailed behind them, clutching a stack of papers in his hands. Nikolai glanced at his watch, it was only 11 AM, they didn’t have their daily meeting until 2 PM, that was odd.

He raised a brow, easing back in his chair, “can I help you?”

“What’s this?” Genya exclaimed without any preamble, grabbing a paper off the top of the stack in David’s hands and slapping it onto his desk.

“Paper, I assume, darling Genya.”

“I mean what’s on the paper,” she snapped, “it says you’re married.”

Nikolai paused, drawing the paper towards him, “you were at the wedding,” he glanced around, “you all were. In fact, you were the only people there.”

“You were supposed to get divorced,” Tolya interjected, “that was the plan.”

“Plans change.”

“Nikolai, you were supposed to be married for six months, a year at most.” Tamar frowned.

“It’s just been more beneficial than we’d originally thought.”

“What?” Genya asked, scowling at him.

“Well, we realized it would be better for our taxes, for one.” he ticked off a finger with each additional reason he gave. “People don’t ask for our numbers when we go out anymore and my parents and brother hate both of us so they leave us alone. One glare from Zoya and deals are signed in record time, I don’t have to suffer through terrible parties alone anymore, and Zoya has to be nice to me,” he furrowed his brow, “well sometimes. Actually not nicer but--”

“What are you going to do now?” David interrupted.

“What do you mean?”

Tamar spoke up, “you can’t keep this lie up forever, someone is going to find out, it’s amazing they haven’t already.”

“Yes,” Genya nodded, “what if you meet someone, and want to get married? What are you going to do then? Or what if someone asks you why you don’t live together or why your prenup with Zoya is basically giving her 50% anyways?”

“We’ve been too busy,” Nikolai said dismissively.

“Busy? She spends half her evenings hanging out at your apartment or with us. Even if that wasn’t the case, Nikolai, you always make time for important things.”

“It’s not important at the moment.” He understood their confusion, he had been surprised at first too when Zoya hadn’t asked him to call things off three seconds after they had officially gotten married and secured the company as his. In fact, she hadn’t brought it up at all. Not once in a year and a half and neither had he. It felt like they’d struck some sort of perfect balance, and the last thing he wanted was to destroy their peace. No, when Zoya wants to end this, I’ll agree, but until then I won't be the one to ruin this.

“It is important!” Genya looked as if she wanted to shake some sense into him, which was odd, usually only Zoya had that look on her face. Speaking of Zoya, it had been a minute since he’d spoken to her, not since he’d brought her coffee to her office this morning, all the way on the other side of the floor. He should send her a text about dinner tonight, he had found a fantastic restaurant whose specialty was her favourite dish and wanted to take her. He pulled his phone out of his waistcoat pocket, smiling as he typed a message he knew would make her roll her eyes, chuckling at her response.

“Hey!” Genya snapped her fingers in front of his face, startling him from his texting. “Nikolai, if you don’t think this is an important thing to do at the moment, what do you think it means that you like spending time with her, that you trust her with all your secrets? How you don’t care about what anyone else has to say about you, everyone but Zoya? The rare time she compliments you, you light up like a Christmas tree! Not only that but…” Genya trailed off, twisting her wedding band around her finger, glancing around at her friends for a reprieve, but they were all avoiding her imploring gaze.

“But?” Nikolai prompted. He could feel his ears burning, but he wouldn’t allow his friends to see how Genya’s words had impacted him.

“You know what,” she sighed. “Nikolai, you know why you don’t want to change things and it’s the same reason she doesn’t want to change things either. Both of you want this and there’s a reason why, a reason that would make you both a lot happier than you are now.”

Nikolai stood abruptly, he’d had enough. “As always, your advice is appreciated but unneeded. Now if you’ll excuse me I have an appointment and before that, as per the request of my friends,” he gestured to them, “I need to start filing for divorce.”

***

18 months ago (THEN):

“I found something,” Nikolai whispered, sliding up behind Zoya and gently touching her arm before slipping a drink into her hand. In the ballroom behind them the party was in full swing but out here on the terrace overlooking the gardens there was barely a buzz. They’d moved outside because they hadn’t wanted their conversation to be overheard by someone at the party. If anyone found out what they were planning on doing they would be in big trouble, to say the least. She arched a brow, and took a sip of her drink and he took it as an indication to speak. “There’s a clause in the bylaws that states that someone other than the intended heir of the company can inherit it if they challenge the intended heir, get a majority of votes from the board, and are over thirty.”

“Nikolai, you’re nowhere near thirty, there’s no way you’re going to be able to stop Vasily from getting his greasy hands all over your company.”

He shot her a bemused look, “my company?”

“You know what I mean,” she snapped. “That can’t be all you found, keep talking.”

“Well,” he began slowly, “the only way we get around that is, there’s a clause that says you have to be thirty or married.” A deafening silence stretched out between them, both trying to gauge the others’ reaction. Zoya spoke first, surprisingly.

“So, when’s the wedding? What should I get you, cash or something off the registry?”

“Nazyalensky, I didn’t say that I was going to get married.”

“Come on,” she said, looking up at him, “this is your life’s goal. If you don’t secure the company now, then your brother or that old creep Aleksander will take what’s rightfully yours.” Her finger jabbed at his chest, her eyes alight with passion. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that she believed in him. “You are the only person who can and should be running it. It’s yours Lantsov, it always has been.”

Nikolai felt a kernel of warmth unfurling in his chest as Zoya whipped away from him and back towards the skyline, the faintest blush colouring the tops of her cheeks. Open admissions of friendship always made her ill. Nikolai drew in a breath, preparing to be eviscerated for what he was going to say next. “Would you?”

She squinted at him, “would I what?”

“Would you marry me? Hypothetically. If you were an eligible bachelorette in the city?” Zoya cut him a quick glare, “hypothetically, yes. Anyone would be stupid not to.”

“And do you consider yourself smart?” he said.

“Nikolai…” she faltered, “don’t.”

“Don’t what? It makes sense, doesn’t it? We already know each other, we don’t have to draw up an extravagant prenup, I’ll gladly give you half of what I have, we can get divorced a week after we get the company, and go on with life as usual.”

Zoya shook her head at him, “and what will people say when you and your ex-wife are working side by side every day, with no bad blood? And getting divorced a week later, that makes it so obvious that you only did it for the company.”

“Fine,” he said simply. “If you can tolerate me for a couple of months, we can stage some big fight and break things off. We’ll say that we were young and in love and made a stupid decision.”

Her hand went to the chain around her neck, rubbing the locket absently. “I don’t think this is a good idea Nikolai.”

“Nazyalensky,” he stepped closer to her, “we’re running out of time and I don’t think I have any other options. I wish there was another way but if this is the only way, I will do it, but I would rather it be with someone I trust. And hey, it’s only six months, then we’ll be back to how we always were.”

Nikolai waited for a minute, then two, then what felt like forever before she finally spoke. “Okay.” She turned towards him, “okay, but no big wedding. Just us, the officiant, Genya, David, Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, and my family. Just the ten of us.”

He took her hand, “what about all my friends?”

“What friends,” she scoffed.

Nikolai pouted, “harsh.”

“Honest.”

He laughed at that, pulling out the small box that had been sitting against his chest all night. He popped it open before flipping it towards her, cherishing the faint flicker of disbelief on her face as he slipped the ring onto her finger. He knew what she was thinking; it was huge and sparkly, the two things she liked most.

“You idiot,” she slapped his chest, “you knew about this already, why did you wait until now to tell me?”

“I wanted to have the ring ready,” he protested, admiring the excitement painted onto her exquisite features as she admired the glimmering ring in the moonlight. “I didn’t think you’d agree unless I had it.”

“You’re right, I was just feeling extreme amounts of pity towards you tonight, otherwise, even your desperation wouldn’t have been enough. ”

“Ruthless,” Nikolai smiled, “now, shall we tell the others?”

Zoya took his outstretched arm, “let’s.”

“Ah, ah.” Nikolai chided, “it would be a little obvious if we stepped out of the party to get engaged, no?”

“Ugh, fine,” she groaned, slipping the ring off her finger, and reluctantly placing it back in the box. “You’re right, it clashes with my outfit tonight anyways. But I’d like it back as soon as possible.”

“Let me finish putting a little something together. We should at least be able to have a little fun with it.”

“Alright,” she sighed, “but no public proposal.”

“No public proposal,” he agreed, “just us. Like always.”

***

18 months later (NOW):

“What is it, Genya?” Zoya sighed, stepping around a tourist glued to the center of the sidewalk, her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she gripped the box of baklava against her chest. Nikolai always got peckish in the afternoon and the sweet was his favourite snack and if she’d learned anything in life it was that a well-fed Nikolai was a more productive Nikolai.

“Care to tell me why you’re still married?”

“Hm?” She eyed the window display of the boutique behind her, while waiting for the streetlight. Nikolai would love that sweater and the blue would bring out the gold in his eyes.

“Hey!” Genya snapped at her, “why didn’t you tell us that you’re still married?”

“Should I have?”

“Yes? Obviously yes!”

“Okay,” Zoya said, not seeing the issue, “so now you know.”

“You were supposed to get divorced a year ago, why are you still married?”

She sighed, it was so simple, how did no one else get it? “It was better for our taxes, people don’t ask for our numbers when we go out anymore, Nikolai’s family leaves us alone. It makes it easier to deal with all the stuff from when Liliyana--” she broke off, clearing her throat, “it makes business deals go smoother, we can bail each other out of stuff. It just makes things easier.”

“What if you meet someone and want to get married, or even date them? Or what if Nikolai does?” Zoya frowned, turning away from the boutique door she’d been about to open, crossing the street instead. She hadn’t thought about that before. Nikolai was a romantic, she’d seen it in action, and while he’d never been in a long-term relationship in the time she’d known him, he had been on dates where he’d gone all out. What if he was even slightly interested in someone and pushed aside the prospect of a relationship with them because he felt that he owed her something? She didn’t want that.

“I know. It’s just-- we’ve been busy.”

“That’s exactly what he said.”

“We’ll get around to it, we will.”

Genya seemed to pick up the weariness of her voice and simply said, “I know you will,” before hanging up.

Zoya slumped into her car, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. When did things get so complicated? He’d asked Zoya to help him because it was supposed to be uncomplicated when it was her. When had she let herself fall into this so badly that she genuinely questioned her ability to extract herself from it?

Her phone chimed and she saw that her last conversation with Nikolai had been deleted from their message history, the one where they’d been making dinner plans. Instead she saw a new message under their conversation from last night simply reading, “we need to talk. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

Zoya exhaled through her nose, punching out, “Okay.” in response before tossing her phone into the backseat. It was ridiculous to think that anything about this arrangement had ever been easy. The night that Nikolai’s parents had thrown them an engagement party had been proof enough of that.

#zoyalai fic #my writings #let's get married

3 notes · View notes

pro-bee · 4 years

Text

Clean

I have been in a major writing rut for months, so I decided to write something completely different to get me out of my funk! This is for @coffeedepablo and @indestinatus and @delicatefalice and anyone else who’s ever nagged me to just write again. Also, this was inspired by the scene in “Hiatus” where, in the middle of the chaos of Gibbs being blown up, Ziva is transfixed by the rain outside, and today was a rainy day which was finally a perfect excuse to just wrote.

Also, I wrote this today, and haven’t done as much proofreading as I would like, but I decided I had to just post it and forget it!

Rating: G Characters: Ziva David, Tony DiNozzo Pairing: Established Tiva, duh. Type: One-shot fluff. (That’s all I’m good for these days.) Word Count: 1,100 Summary: A rainy day makes way from some quiet contemplation.

Also available on AO3.

The air is heavy, weighed down by the humidity of the passing storm. The rain falls gently in the small yard, creating a sheen over the sidewalk this evening that threatens to become a reflecting pond if it doesn’t let it up soon.

She is curled up in the weathered Adirondack chair on the small deck, her body still, and her gaze set afar, like a lioness surveying her domain. She cradles a mug of tea in both hands, the steam rising to join the mist that surrounds her.

“I was wondering where you’d gone to.”

She is awoken from her reverie by the humor in Tony’s voice behind her, and she turns around to acknowledge his presence. At some point after dinner, he’d scurried off to catch up on some neglected work, and it wasn’t until an hour later that he’d noticed that Ziva had disappeared from her usual reading perch in her favorite armchair in the living room.

“It’s raining cats and dogs out here.”

“Ah, that would make our daughter extremely happy, would it not?”

“Can’t argue with that. Guess we’ll have to settle for the tadpoles for now.”

She offers him the hint of a smile in return, but her her attention is fixed upon the horizon. (The horizon, here, is the hedge separating their yard from the neighbor’s. Not quite the Saharan vista of his imagination.)

Curious, he grabs a chair and joins her under the awning, without saying a word. He follows her lead, basking in the hypnotic melody of drops hitting the roof, the drizzle pulling a curtain around them. Here they are, protected in their cocoon, the rest of the world melting away from them. Truth be told, he’s a little on edge, unused to this lack of conversation in their new home, but he also senses the importance of this moment of solitude. He’s become an expert at biding his time over the years, so he lies in wait for her to make the first move.

(Or not. If she wants to sit here for the rest of their days, immovable like a sphinx surveying the desert, he’ll plant roots right along with her.)

She pulls her legging-clad knees in even closer, taking in a deep breath and sighing, letting go of a lifetime of worries in a single exhalation. He’d give a penny for her thoughts, but he’ll make do with whatever she’s willing to part with tonight. Unsurprisingly, she seems to read his mind.

“I used to love watching the rain when I was a kid.”

She pauses for a second, like she were waiting for a prompt, as would have so often been the case in the old days, but none comes forward. He’s still wary of pushing too hard, too soon, so he’s learned to let her take the lead when it comes to deciphering the code to Ziva David’s meditations.

“It hardly ever rained at home. Not like this, anyway. In the winter, we would have these thunderstorms that seemed to come out of nowhere, and end just as quickly. My sister used to complain about them, because they got in the way of her imaginary stage design outside,” she recalls with a chuckle, “but my mother used to tell her that we needed the water for things to grow. The stormy skies would give way to the shining sun.”

He waits to see if any storm clouds brew behind her eyes.

“How’d she handle that?”

“Usually by tearing up the house and inevitably ending up in what we would now call a ‘time out.’”

It’s his turn to laugh, trying to picture the siblings squabbling a lifetime ago, before they had to confront the demons in their home head-on. (The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, it seems.)

“But not you?”

She shakes her head. “The storms always fascinated me. How you could feel the air change, all of a sudden, and then the sky would just open up. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. Life was always so busy, so regimented, so volatile, but one thing that no one could control was Mother Nature. You could predict and plan all you wanted, but when the storms came, all you could do was take cover and wait it out.”

He has a feeling she isn’t just talking about the weather.

“I would sit by our living room window if we were at home in Tel Aviv, or on our porch if we were in Haifa with my grandparents, and watch it pour down. It drowned out all the other noise, for a little while at least.” The wistfulness in her voice belies the darker memories bubbling beneath the surface.

He watches her in turn, understanding how rare these moments of utter tranquility must have been in her young life. Hell, still were, until recently. Some days, it seems like she’s still struggling to grasp them, even now.

“It’s funny. There is so much fear tied to storms. About their unpredictability, and the floods and destruction left in their wake. They are the only thing that cannot be bent to one’s will. But I never felt that fear. To me, they were… soothing. Like the rain would fall and wipe the slate clean. No matter what was happening, you could start over fresh when it was over. It was like finally being able to breathe.”

Once upon a time, this kind of talk would make him nervous, wonder if she weren’t about to decide her own slate needed to be wiped, all by herself. Yet here they are, together, and he realizes that maybe, that isn’t what this is about at all. That maybe after every storm is a chance for a sunny start, too.

“Sounds like maybe your mom was right.”

“I guess so.”

They sit in silence for a spell, mesmerized by the clatter of the downpour and the motionlessness of the moment. Where once they would have both felt awkward at the silence between them, now they sit in reverence of it, the beauty of what doesn’t need to be said anymore

After a while, though, he comes to realize that this is her quiet confessional, between herself and whatever power is driving her forward, and he feels as though she needs this time alone to commune with her higher power. He gets up, a little less limber than he’d care to admit, and places a gentle kiss on the top of her head, before heading back into the house. Once inside, he watches from the kitchen window as bit by bit the tension seeps from her body, washed away by the deluge and the promise of tomorrow.

Time stands still, and for what feels like hours, all she hears is the patter of the rain, gently surrounding her, the rushing sound eclipsing all of her worries as she welcomes its release. She takes a sip of her tea, and smiles to herself as her old friend envelops her in its comforting embrace.

She thinks that, maybe this time, she is finally clean.

---

My apologies to Taylor Swift for paraphrasing her song “Clean” in that last line.

#tiva fanfiction #my fanfiction #ziva david #tony dinozzo #fluff!#this just got stuck in my head #i've wanted to write something like this for months #and initially had it planned for part of my long fic #but that's not gonna happen anytime soon #and it was raining today #so i figured i better write something today #or i might not ever write again #to be a dramatic bitch :-P

32 notes · View notes

waywardodysseys · 4 years

Text

Victory - Oneshot

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Warnings: cussing, teasing

Requested?: Yes from this ask by @bloggerchic14 - I was hoping if you can do one where reader is nominated for best director at the Oscars and she didn’t expect to win but when she does ends up in shock and Pedro ends up walking up stage with her. They then end up at the Vanity fair party and reader parties hard and teases Pedro. Thank you ☺️

Author’s note: none

~ ~ ~

You’re jittery as you sit in the limo. You breathe in and out trying to calm your nerves. Your hands running over the simple black strapless gown you are wearing.

The man sitting next to you places his hand on your arm, trying to calm you.

“We haven’t even walked the red carpet,” your dad whispers.

You swallow, “you aren’t the one nominated for an award. Talk is I could win. I won at the Golden Globes, the BAFTAs – which was still surprising, the Critics’ Choice Awards. An Oscar would complete the shelf of the other awards.”

He laughs wholeheartedly, “they aren’t on a shelf. You use them as bookends or paperweights.”

You shrug and laugh, “you know what I mean.”

You had taken a family member or a close friend as your date to each awards show. You took your mother to the Golden Globes (your mom nearly fainted when she met Tom Hanks), your best friend to the BAFTAs (this included a well-deserved girls trip), your sibling to the Critics’ Choice Awards (which they found dull, but they got to meet their celebrity crush), and your father’s now going with you to the Oscars.

Your father and mother had bickered about what awards show they would attend with you. You had picked the Golden Globes and the Oscars for them because those award shows meant the most to you.

They eventually drew straws. Your mother getting the Golden Globes, and your father getting the Oscars.

You knew they couldn’t be more prouder of you when you had told them you had been nominated for directing your first movie.

“We’re ecstatic for you honey!”

“Over the moon!”

“Proud of our baby girl!”

“We knew you could do it!”

They both had exclaimed when you called them to tell them the news of each nomination.

Now with three awards under your belt you were ready to claim the fourth but also feared you weren’t going to get it. You’re up against some big names – Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, and David Lynch. You are the newcomer, the first timer. It would be a rarity for the Academy to award you when they could easily go with an oldie tried and true person who has been directing nearly their entire life.

The door opens and your father looks at you, “ready?”

You smile weakly, “I guess. Let’s do this.”

-------

Inside the Dolby Theatre celebrities are mingling as you and your father are escorted down one of the many aisles towards your seats. The usher pauses at the fifth row up from the stage.

“Miss Y/L/N,” the usher smiles, “here are your two seats. Enjoy!”

“Thank you kindly,” your father remarks as the usher disappears.

You breathe a sigh of relief at being on the aisle. You didn’t want to parade down an entire row of people in case your name was called when they announced the winner.

Several people were familiar to you as you looked around, most of them your cast. They all greeted you with smiles and hugs.

Sarah Paulson pulls you into a tight embrace.

“I’m betting big on you tonight,” Sarah whispers as she pulls away.

“Please don’t tell me that!” You laugh.

“They’d be wrong not to give you the damn award. You’re the first female director to be nominated in a few years and your first nomination ever!” Sarah retorts.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you reply as the lights begin to dim and brighten which indicated five minutes to show time, “no Holland?”

“She’s working. I brought Pedro,” Sarah looks around the theatre, “he’s here somewhere. Hopefully he’s here before the show begins.”

Right before the orchestra begins playing you hear a light “excuse me” from beside your father, who took the aisle seat.

Your father stands then you do.

The man nods at your father, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” your father whispers as he sits.

The man then looks at you and smiles, “thank you.”

You nod your head and smile in return. You hadn’t met Pedro Pascal prior to this evening. He was someone you were wanting to work with because of seeing him in Narcos. Sarah had even praised him when you two were discussing your next movie one day.

“Pedro would be fantastic!” Sarah had exclaimed.

“I’ve seen his work in Narcos, nothing else.” You had remarked.

“He’s versatile. Done plenty of stage work, movies, T.V. shows. If you are wanting to do a modern reimagining of The Lady Eve, I think you should reach out to Pedro’s people. You won’t regret it.” She had leaned in and whispered, “he loves that movie. One of his faves.”

Now you glance at Sarah as you take a seat. She gives you a sly smile. You know she remembers your conversation as well. She wants you to meet Pedro and show you he deserves to be directed by you.

“Pedro this is Y/N,” Sarah remarks a couple of hours into the show.

Pedro smiles at you and holds out his hand, “I know who she is Sarah. Yet I haven’t met her.”

You take his hand and shake it. “Nice to meet you Pedro.”

“She wants to direct a modern reimagining of The Lady Eve,” Sarah implies with a smile towards you.

Pedro turns his dark brown eyes to you. Their opened wide and his face is a look of seriousness. “Really?”

You blush and smile, “yes.”

“How would you tell it?”

“I’m thinking of having the man play the con artist,” you reply.

“Are you working on a script? Or have someone working on one?” Pedro asks eagerly.

You laugh, “Phoebe Waller-Bridge and I are working on a script together.”

“I’d love to read it! Even audition!” Pedro smiles widely.

You glance at him, “I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Oh, come on!” Pedro laughs.

“Y/N,” your father whispers, “your category is up next.”

Right, you think as your heart begins pounding loudly inside of your chest.

Pedro squeezes your hand and whispers, “good luck.”

You smile in return then move your eyes to the stage.

Natalie Portman smiles brightly for the camera as she reads the teleprompter, “the nominees for best director are: David Lynch, Y/F/N Y/L/N, Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg and Quentin Tarantino.”

Your eyes are on the screen as small clips from each of the movies are played. You shrink in your seat as you watch a cameraman kneel beside your row and place the lens on you.

“You’re okay,” your father whispers as he leans over, “breathe.”

You try but you know one of the men will get it. They’ll go with the tried and true who have won before. Not the debut director, not the newcomer.

“The Oscar goes to,” a pause as the envelope is opened, “wow! The Oscar goes to Y/F/N Y/L/N!”

Natalie Portman said my name, you think as tears flood your eyes. My name? My name!

Everyone around you stands and applauds. The whole theatre stands to their feet and applauds.

Your father leans down and touches your shoulder.

“You have to go get it,” he says with a smirk.

You nod as you stand.

Sarah’s right there and embraces you tightly, “told you!”

Pedro’s pushed back against his folded seat as he lets Sarah hug you. He winks at you as you pull away from Sarah and turn towards the aisle.

The thundering applause fills your ears as you begin to take a step up the stairs towards Natalie and the Oscar. You’re focused on making sure you don’t trip yet you do.

You laugh as you sit up and smile. Pedro’s right there with a hand to help you up.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers in return.

He tries to let your hand go but you’re gripping it tightly. Your nerves are getting the best of you.

Pedro smiles as he hooks your hand in the crook of his arm. He guides you up the remaining stairs, escorting you towards Natalie and the microphone. The Oscar statue you are about to claim as yours.

Once Natalie embraces you and hands you the award, Pedro takes a step back and lets you have the spotlight. The applause dies down as people take their seats and you wring your hands around the Oscar you now have in your possession.

You wipe at your tears, “Um, there’s so many to thank. I apologize beforehand if I forget anyone,” you pause, “I’d like to thank the Academy. Paramount Studios for taking a chance on me and this movie I love. Plan B productions for a chance as well. The amazing crew I was placed with, thank you. My wonderful cast – Hugh Laurie, Katie Holmes, Emily Blunt, Sterling K. Brown, and Sarah Paulson. Thank you. As well as to the other amazing cast members I appreciate you all. To my close friends and my dear family I can never thank you enough for loving me for me, and supporting me for when I wanted to come out here and start directing. From T.V. shows to the big screen, directing will always be my passion. To all the girls out there wanting to direct, take a chance and follow your dreams, follow your heart. I will be your biggest supporter.” You smile widely and raise the Oscar in the air, “thank you again!”

The entire theatre erupts in applause as you walk off the stage with Natalie and Pedro.

You’re grinning from ear to ear as Natalie releases you from the hug she gave you once you were in line to make your way to the media room.

“Congrats again!” She smiles.

“Thanks,” you smile in return.

Your eyes watch her walk away then land on Pedro who was stopped by Kit Harrington. You had hoped you’d be able to talk to him more. You wanted to talk to him more. You wanted to thank him properly for being there to help you up the stairs.

“Miss Y/L/N?” Someone with a headset on their head draws your face back around.

You hum and raise a brow.

“The press is ready.”

You smile, “thanks.”

The person opens the curtain and the cameras start flashing as you walk in. You take one glance back at Pedro hoping he’s going to the same after party as you are.

-------

The Vanity Fair after party is in full swing after the limo driver took your father home. He didn’t want to spend all night out on the town, which you preferred because you were going to party hard for as long as you could before returning in the wee hours of the night. And there was someone you needed to cross paths with again – Pedro.

Inside you are swarmed by actors and actresses congratulating you, wanting to know what you’re doing next, wondering if they could give you a call about auditioning for anything you do in the future. They give you glasses of champagne. Toasting you over abundantly, making you sip on the frothy and bubbly liquid. It’s all overwhelming until you feel a hand grasp yours and pull you away.

“Give her a chance to breathe!” Sarah nearly shouts as she drags you away from the horde of people.

You giggle as Sarah pulls you away and into a corner. She swipes two glasses of champagne off a tray from a passing by waiter.

Sarah clinks her glass to yours, “congrats!”

“Thanks,” you smile not bothering to take a sip. “I’ve had too much of this.”

“Understandable,” Sarah pauses as she gulps down her glass then takes yours, “so, Academy Award winner director Y/F/N Y/L/N directing a remake of The Lady Eve starring Pedro Pascal…”

You giggle, “where is he by the way?”

“Oh, your rescuer?” Sarah giggles loudly. She’s had a little too much alcohol already. “He’s here somewhere. He saw you trip, and zoom did he go to rescue you. When he got back to the seat I whispered, ‘her dad’s right there Pedro.’”

“What was his reaction?”

“’Well at least I scored brownie points with him.’” Sarah laughs.

You giggle as the alcohol courses through your veins. You place a hand on your stomach when it growls. You realize it’s empty, and you’re starving.

“Is there food here?” You ask absentmindedly.

“Yeah but it’s mostly finger foods,” Sarah smiles, “here he is!”

Pedro smiles as he hands Sarah a napkin, “food.”

“Share with the lady,” Sarah points at you as she swallows a couple of cheese cubes.

Pedro smiles at you and holds out another napkin. It’s filled with cheese cubes, crackers, even a chocolate covered strawberry.

“Hey,” Pedro pouts, “the strawberry was mine!”

You smile as you bite a small piece, “have the rest.”

“You may the whole thing. It’s not like I fought a swarm of people to get just one!”

You finish the decadent dessert. Not sure if it’s the alcohol or not, you lean over and brush your lips across his.

Pedro inwardly moans as he tastes the chocolate strawberry on your lips. He swipes his tongue across your lips. He tastes the champagne once you let him in.

You pull back breathlessly and look into Pedro’s deep brown eyes. “I, uh, I…”

Pedro smiles, reaches out, and runs a finger down your cheek, “it’s okay.”

Sarah is able to tell she’s no longer needed. “I’m gonna leave you two to it. Goodnight.”

“Night,” you and Pedro say in unison. His eyes and your eyes are one another.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” you say after seconds of silence.

Pedro grins lopsidedly, “you’re welcome. I do hope at least it scored me some brownie points.”

“Why?”

“I want to be a part of The Lady Eve.”

“Script’s not done. And I’m currently working with Netflix on a series.”

“I’d like to be forefront and center when you go to producers. Tell them Pedro Pascal needs to be in this movie, will be in this movie,” he remarks with a laugh.

“Are you desperate for a role where one sees your face?” You ask.

Pedro raises an eyebrow, “I was informed you’ve only seen Narcos from my long resume.”

“I see you and Sarah have talked.”

Pedro shrugs, “I inquired about you on the way here. She’s the one who worked with you. She even raved about you while you were filming. Said you were extremely kind and knew what you were doing, what you wanted and needed from the cast and crew.”

“Glad to know at least one person likes me,” you jokingly laugh.

“Everyone likes you Y/N,” Pedro remarks. “You’re kind, sweet. A great kisser.”

You inwardly laugh then run your hand up Pedro’s arm. “You’re too kind Pedro, too sweet.”

Pedro holds in his moan as your hand runs up his arm then over his chest and down his stomach.

You lean forward and brush your mouth against his. You feel his arms wrap around you and pull you close, deepening the kiss. You moan as his hands travel up and down your back, occasionally touching your bare skin.

Heat rises in your body as you move your hands across his shoulders down his chest. You finally loop them around his neck and run your fingers through his hair.

Pedro pulls faintly away. He looks into your Y/E/C eyes. He leans down and nuzzles your neck. Your skin is delicate and warm.

“Pedro,” you moan lowly as his mustache tickles your skin.

You snake a hand down his chest. You run it teasingly over his crotch and find him hard.

Fuck, your mind screams as pleasure intensifies inside of you.

Pedro hisses as he pulls back, “you’re a tease too. A wicked tease.”

“You are too Pedro,” you remark as you press your body against his.

You want Pedro, need Pedro. Your body is aching to have his mouth and hands all over it.

You would never have the courage to be this blunt, but with the alcohol pumping through your veins you do. You look at Pedro in seriousness, “please get me out of here Pedro. I need you in more ways than one. If you know—”

Pedro kisses you soundly and grabs your hand as he pulls you towards the exit, “I know what you mean Y/N. I want to get us both out of here so we’re able to enjoy each other fully especially with our clothes off.”

You knew this was going to be a night you’d never forget – you won your Oscar, and you had the ultimate lap of victory when you and Pedro finally made it into his bed - sans clothes.

Tags: @pascalisthepunkest, @cosmo-bear, @kaelyn-lobrutto24, @knight-of-heart44, @caitlincat-95, @random066, @readsalot73, @arrowswithwifi, @halefirewarrior, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8, @stardust-and-starlight, @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead, @longitud-de-onda, @jokersdoll, @earl-01, @ezraslittlebirdie, @bonkybaaarnes

#victory oneshot #request #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #oneshot #sarah paulson #oscars

155 notes · View notes