#whew checking off a lot boxes with this post

[crypticdesire]

some sub slasher thoughts

MINORS DNI

includes vincent sinclair, jason voorhees, bubba sawyer, michael myers, brahms heelshire, and stu macher (around 2.4k words)

a note from vern: i haven't posted any fics about slashers yet, but the recent asks about slashers on pallas's blog made me want to share some of my hcs for some of my fav slashers. it's really a jumble of some broader hcs and some specific fantasies, which ended up being longer than i intended... i think i could write at least 10 different fics based off the content in this post ^^'

ANYWAYS content warnings will be listed with each slasher so make sure you read those! mentions of reader are all gn and implied top reader. cw will state if there's a mention of the reader having specific genitalia

VINCENT SINCLAIR cw: hypno, dollification, period sex + blood (vincent being one menstruating), reader mentioned having cock

➵ vincent is always so stuck in his mind trying to create the perfect art or be the perfect brother, so he needs you to help him unwind

➵ loves taking baths with you where he can sit between your legs and have you play with his hair and his cunt

➵ he also enjoys hypno because he gets the rare chance to not think at all. he just gets to mindlessly follow your instructions, laying still as he enjoys your touch and experiences orgasm after orgasm

➵ when it’s that time of the month, vincent especially needs your help. not only is he suffering from cramps but he finds all the thoughts in his head are louder and harsher making it too easy to become frustrated with himself over the smallest things

➵ it feels so good to have your cock inside him, letting him sign what pace he wants to feel your length gliding against his walls. alleviating his pain and pushing his insistent thoughts to the edges of his mind. he’s embarrassed by the thought of messiness at first but finds that the sight of his blood coating your fingers or smeared across the bottom half of your face is its own form of art that entrances him

➵ it’s not the only new form of art you make him aware of. you show him that he himself can be beautiful art through dollification. you’re the only one that’s ever made him feel pretty and he enjoys it even more when you do it by dressing him in pretty clothes and braiding strands of his hair. you tell him he looks just as beautiful as the wax sculptures he makes and when hypno is added he can feel like one for an extended moment. it's only in a hypnotized state that he lets you pose his body in front of a mirror with his mask off, allowing him to see the way you caress your precious doll

JASON VOORHEES cw: chastity device, piss, reader mentioned having a cock, role play, mention of murder

➵ just wants to be praised. pls call him a good boy and tell him how pretty he is!!

➵ i think he’s so eager to please you that once he’s comfortable with you, he’ll practically try out any kink you introduce him to, especially ones that give you control over him

➵ he gets turned on just by the process of you guiding him through a new kink, patiently explaining why you enjoy it, what you’re doing, how it might make him feel, possible limits to establish, etc.

➵ specifically, I think about that scenario with a chastity cage. he gets so turned on by you talking about it and what you’re going to do that he gets erect before you even put the cage on him. he’d be worried he disappointed you and wouldn’t enjoy being shamed for it, so tell him how cute he is and how much you’d enjoy helping him get prepped for it

➵ i also imagine that he especially likes a chastity device with a urethra rod so he has to get permission from you to pee

➵ something he really enjoys with or without the cage is cockwarming! he loves the feeling of you inside of him and when you praise him for sitting still. he finds it especially thrilling when you’re cockwarming him out in the open having to remain still even though someone could come across you any second, his senses elevated as he becomes super aware of his surroundings

➵ another discovery he makes is that he loves engaging in role play, especially when it involves a future victim who isn’t aware they’re taking part in it. after they’re killed he is so so sensitive and wants you to tell him how well he did with the scene and how that person deserved it

➵ just constantly desperate to hear you assure him that all his actions please you!

BUBBA SAWYER cw: reader is implied to have cock/strap on, overstimulation, feminization, exhibitionism

➵ he gets so excited anytime you touch him, and when you kiss him he can’t keep his hands still or stop himself from sloppily kissing or licking your skin

➵ he never takes long to cum, and even though he easily falls into overstimulation he prefers for you to fuck him roughly and loves when you pinch his clit, spank his pussy, or leave hickeys on his inner thighs or stomach

➵ he wants you to call him your pretty girl! he gets so excited when you buy him dresses or lingerie he has to try them on immediately and have you fuck him in it

➵ you have to patiently help him build up to it, but he ends up enjoying exhibitionism! he’s frequently worried about trespassers that could be a danger to you or his family, but you help him face that fear by convincing him to let you fuck him outside in a semi open space.

➵ he wears dresses and his pretty woman face for your outside rendezvous. you shower him with compliments and praise as you always do; additionally, you tell him that if anyone did happen to see you fucking, the only thing they’d be able to think about is how jealous they were of you for being able to fuck such a pretty girl.

➵ if given the option, his favorite place outside for you to fuck him is in the back of a pickup truck, especially when you’re on your knees fucking him against the back window where he can see your reflections

➵ on days when you can tell he’s up for it you coax him to ride you. he’s so used to being submissive in different aspects of his life that it takes him a while to understand that you’re giving him control of his movements and the pace you go at

➵ you have to guide him a lot the first few times and help him find what feels the best for him. you also have to help him choose what to do with his hands because not knowing what to do with them in the beginning, he instinctively covers his masked face with them

➵ he still prefers for you to be the one in control and fucking him but occasionally wants to ride you finding that he enjoys it when he’s feeling sexy and wants to last longer, drawing out your intimate time together

MICHAEL MYERS cw: voyeurism, reader mentioned having a cock, pet play, mention of role play and masochism

➵ definitely a voyeur, watching people without them knowing being so natural for him. when he finds himself attracted to you, i can see him not only watching you masturbate for pleasure but, being inexperienced, he wants to make mental notes of what you like, and how he might touch you if he ever did

➵ in my mind, I can picture him watching the way you move your hand on your cock, and without even realizing he begins to mirror your movements with his own hand, at least the best he can with his knife as the substitute he’s unconsciously using for your dick

➵ idk i’ve always liked the idea of him doing pet play with you before he’s even comfortable enough to let you touch him. tho that is very cat coded ig

➵ it’s not hard to imagine how the idea of a bell would come up with him always lurking. like just thoughtlessly saying he needed to wear a bell when he catches you off guard one time, and then considering your words making an offhand remark that a cat collar would actually look quite cute on him. you don’t think too much about your words until you come home one day with mikey sitting on your bed with a cat collar on the bed beside him

➵ after that, the kitty comments you direct at mikey come frequently and it's not too long before you convince him to wear the cat ears you bought as well. in getting closer to you it's easier to add another layer than taking off his mask physically and metaphorically speaking. and he discovers he’s really turned on by the fact that you call him "my kitty"

➵ he’s also a silly guy though so he definitely takes off the collar sometimes so he can still surprise you. just tilting his head in that cute way when you point out it’s obvious he scared you on purpose

➵ fast forward to when he does let you touch him… i can see him, especially at first, liking when you give his unclothed cock a hand job with his overalls still on, him holding the top together so really just his cock and a bit of his happy trail are visible. I think it helps him ease into things and I also see him preferring not to have his cum on his own skin so he likes that it’s spurting onto his clothes instead

➵ some other things I think he likes but won't go into detail about are you using toys on him, role play, you playing with his tits, and him just being a general masochist!

BRAHMS HEELSHIRE cw: pet play, scent kink, piss, possessiveness, reader mentioned having cock, somnophilia

➵ really he could be summarized as a puppy boy and a brat, but let’s talk about it anyway!

➵ he has a major scent kink and being a puppy boy and a brat ofc that means he’s going to be pissing on some of your things

➵ it always happens when you’re gone - how dare you leave him alone! - sometimes it’s because he gets too carried away humping your pillow but other times it’s out of jealously

➵ oh? you bring something new home that someone ELSE gave to you? pisses on it.

➵ oh? there’s this scent of cologne that he’s never smelled on your jacket before? pisses on it.

➵ oh? you’re going to make him spend a night alone in your bed? pisses on it.

➵ i also like the idea of him putting on your undergarments when you’re not home from your bin of dirty clothes of course. he’s always struggled to look at himself in mirrors but it’s different when he can focus his attention on the way he plays with himself while wearing something of yours. he doesn’t even try to hide it, you undressing him that evening to find him still wearing your undergarments stained with his cum

➵ his actions require some form of punishment, which he only enjoys if you reward him for taking the punishment like a good boy.

➵ peeing on your things instead of his pee pad? well, you’ll just have to tie him up and make him watch you piss on it since he doesn’t know how to. it makes him so upset knowing that he could be your pee pad or urinal instead. he could have your scent on him. he only lets you tie him up because afterward, he gets to suck your cock, perhaps getting lucky enough to taste a small dribble of piss that was left in your bladder.

➵ he’s not allowed to sleep in your bed for one night? only if you let him ride you on it the next day. while he loves being roughly fucked by you, liking the thought that you can’t contain yourself, he also wants to ride you from time to time

➵ you often keep him in check making sure he doesn’t get too carried away, but when he rides you let him be as eager as he pleases. he can fuck himself on your cock at whatever pace he likes, for however long he likes, and touch you wherever he wants

➵ you have to give him permission on specific nights when he’s allowed play with your cock while you're sleeping because if not you’d wake up every morning with your cock being warmed by his mouth or his hole

STU MACHER cw: pet play, implied that you aren't exclusive, facefucking with reader implied to have cock/strap on, overstimulation, mention of stuffing + emetophilia, piss, one mention of reader who menstruates + period sex + blood, mention of drug use

➵ whew playful puppy boy that tries to hide how obsessed he is with you and how badly he wants you to be obsessed with him

➵ he doesn’t have to be the only one you play with, but if other pets are around he has to prove he’s your good boy, the best boy

➵ he’s always doing something to get some type of reaction out of you for his own amusement, constantly testing your limits when you’re alone trying to see how much he can get away with. and he likes it when you push his limits in a different way

➵ seeing how long he can let you face fuck him even when he’s gagging and tears dot the corner of his eyes

➵ seeing how long he can watch you fuck someone else without touching himself if he wants to fucked himself

➵ seeing how many times he can cum, which has to be at least until he’s overstimulated and crying

➵ seeing how much he can eat before he’s throwing up

➵ seeing how long he can hold his piss for you. though he’s not satisfied by just drinking water and holding. he only enjoys it if you’re teasing him or he’s teasing you by making it harder for himself to hold

➵ ways he likes you to tease him include edging him, straddling him and pressing on his bladder, not letting him press his legs together, making him watch you wet yourself, and pouring water onto his groin

➵ ways he likes to tease you and himself include always insisting he can drink more, showing you how many jumping jacks he can do, grinding against his puppy pad, and masturbating in front of you sometimes while on the phone with billy

➵ if you menstruate he wants to go down on you. he loves the mess and will go out of his way to make it as messy as possible

➵ he also just likes to go down on you in general. at a certain stage of being high, all he wants to do is have his head between your thighs, laying there for as long as you let him. he’ll rotate between moving his tongue against you languidly, kissing anywhere his lips can reach, and nuzzling his face into you

#sub slashers #dom reader #top reader #sub vincent sinclair #sub michael myers #sub bubby sawyer #sub stu macher #sub brahms heelshire #sub jason voorhees #cw hypno #cw voyeurism #cw period sex #cw blood #cw stuffing #cw emeto #cw piss #cw pet play #cw scent kink #cw exhibitionism #cw somnophilia #whew checking off a lot boxes with this post

[elizaviento]

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 9 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated NSFW — 6676 words. Blow job, face fucking, vaginal sex, and a disgusting dose of feely feels.

Note: Whew, another long boy chapter. This one beats the last by over 1500 words and that's after I cut out a lot of the fat while editing. Anyway, here be more smut that's sappier than molasses. I really hope it's worth it!

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.  Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

Kristen awoke with a start, acutely aware that she wasn't in her uncomfortable bed nor the farmhouse, and the weight settled across her chest wasn't her cat, Moody. Disorientation rendered her useless for approximately half a second before the events of the following night flashed behind her lids, a menagerie of mental photographs featuring Shane's head buried between her thighs. Slick black hair and piercing green eyes staring up at her as if she were the center of the universe. Then, the sensations — his soft, warm tongue lavishing as if he were a starving man and her pussy was his only sustenance.

He'd been outstanding. Not that Kristen thought he wouldn't have been, but the way he worked her over with his tongue and fingers had her wailing in ways she hadn't for literal years. Nothing her imagination had conjured up thus far had come close, even in her wildest fantasies of hate screwing the man who told her to fuck off on a regular basis in the early days.

Shifting slightly, she opened her eyes and rolled her head to the side. Splinters of sunlight pierced the cracks in the curtains, splashing slices of gold across the hardwood. Shane was beside her, lying face down with one arm slung across her chest. His nose and mouth seemed mashed directly into the pillow, and she wondered how he could breathe.

You're still naked. And he's not…

Kristen hazily recalled Shane stripping down to his boxer briefs and a plain white t-shirt before he rolled her like a ball of dough toward the wall. Exhaustion had settled over her so heavily that she couldn't keep her eyes open, even as he crawled in beside her, and she nestled herself under his arm like a baby bird seeking shelter under its mother's wing in a storm.

Things had felt so comfortable then. She'd held no reservations about their conversations or the fun they'd had afterward when she'd drifted off into a dreamless, almost coma-like sleep. But now, the clarity that comes with a morning sunrise was plucking at her brain, digging its talons into the soft meat, making her wonder if she'd finally pressured the man beside her into relenting after two long years of wearing him down like metal to a grindstone.

Was he really as enthusiastic as you remember, or are you trying to compensate for dumping all your emotional baggage on him while he was under the influence?

Kristen scrubbed at her eyes with her good hand, the throbbing in her injured hand becoming harder and harder to ignore. In the throes of passion, a heady dose of endorphins had erased any remnants of pain. But that had worn off long ago, and she hated herself for not carrying the painkillers with her.

With a muted sigh, the farmer wiggled from under her companion's arm and slipped from the foot of the bed. Her clothes littered the small room — jeans in a pile on the floor next to the closet, tank top spilling from the nightstand, bra draped over the old game console on the floor in front of the box television. She picked up each article one by one until she was forced to drop on her hands and knees and check under the bed for her missing panties.

"Hey," a throaty voice greeted her from above. Her head jerked up and smashed against the metal frame with an audible crack. "Shit, are you okay?"

The shift in his tone from sleep-addled to horrified was so quick that Kristen giggled nervously in response, slipping from under the bed with the bundle of clothes clutched to her bare chest. Shane's face hovered over the lip of the mattress, eyes wide.

"Uh, where's my underwear?" she asked, heat already prickling her cheeks. She cupped the back of her skull gingerly, a lump already forming. 

"In the corner, I think."

He pointed toward a darkly obscured nook behind his bedroom door. Kristen could just make out the purple hue of the fabric as she awkwardly stood and shuffled to retrieve them. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Shane had rolled over so that he was lying flat on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling. He was obviously trying to give her a semblance of privacy so that she could get dressed without feeling gawked at, which she appreciated.

"So. Last night —" she began once she was fully dressed, smoothing her hands over her chaotic curls in an attempt to tame them.

"Last night," he repeated as if in agreement. He sat upright, swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, head hung low, and scrubbed a hand across his neck. Kristen felt he was still avoiding looking at her, creating a pocket of tension between them. The last thing she wanted was for her to leave this bedroom with even a smidge of uncertainty clouding the intimate moment they'd shared.

The faint sound of footsteps somewhere else in the ranch caused Shane to physically tense, and Kristen sucked in an anxious breath. She'd checked the time while gathering her clothes and was shocked they'd slept uninterrupted until mid-morning. The thought of Marnie or even Jas bursting through the door unannounced caused her stomach to roll, and she moved to sit next to Shane on the mattress.

"Don't worry; the door's locked. But she might knock soon."

"I'm not worried," Kristen lied. Several inches separated them, and she had the urge to close the gap and wrap her entire body around his like a needy koala. "Any regrets?"

He looked at her then, his expression open but also a bit perplexed. "Why would I have regrets?"

His answering question was so sincere that an immediate sting assaulted the farmer's sinuses and the back of her eyeballs; a sob lodged in her chest so deep that she sucked in a ragged breath to shove it back down to the debts of her soul. Without further debate, she did close the gap until their thighs touched, and she hooked her arm through his, seeking his hand and threading their fingers together as if they were made of the same cloth.

"You were amazing," she breathed, pressing her lips to the shell of his ear. The boldness that had overcome her the previous night had returned with renewed vigor, and she harnessed it like a wild mare. "I haven't had an orgasm that intense in… fuck, I don't remember."

Her intention was to stroke his ego. Make him believe she was enamored and not about to disappear in a puff of smoke after obtaining her prize. But her words were also as honest as anything she'd ever spoken in her life.

"Kriss." His voice was strained, and his grip on her hand tightened. "Please don't get me hard while my goddaughter is probably eating breakfast in the kitchen."

"Sorry," she snickered before capturing his earlobe between her teeth. He groaned, and she smiled wolfishly against his flesh, a sensual sense of pride lapping over her like warm ocean waves in the midst of a summer storm. "I owe you, though. Can you come over later?"

He forcefully exhaled through his nose and placed his free hand on her thigh. Several more footsteps could be heard, closer now, pattering on the hardwood. It occurred to Kristen then that there was no way she could escape the ranch without being noticed.

"Yeah," he finally replied. "I'll stop by Joja, too, to get… um."

"Condoms? I can't wait." She pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek, rubbing her lips across it lightly. Again, she wondered where this brazen confidence was coming from and decided to ruminate on it during her walk home. Right now, she'd rather drop dead than ruin the mood. "I'm dying to feel you inside me."

"I hate you," he groaned, wiggling away from her to stand and stiffly pace the floor of his room. Kristen's eyes immediately homed in on the tent in his boxer briefs and struggled with the urge to rip them down and swallow him whole right then and there.

"I know." She stood, stepped toward him, and wrapped him in her arms. And for the first time, he hugged her back. Despite everything that had transpired between them the night before, she considered this her most triumphant victory. "I'll face the firing squad on my own. Just stay here until I'm gone."

Catching her drift, Shane sat back down on his bed and scratched at his scalp while the farmer took a deep breath, unlocked the bedroom, and tip-toed down the hallway.

"But Aunt Marnie! If we get another kitty, that'll make 4, and that's an even number!"

The little girl's pleading cut through the shuffling of plates and silverware as the farmer attempted to sneak past the open kitchen.

"Let me guess, Miss Penny is teaching you and Vincent about evens and odds?" Marnie asked, her back now turned from the foyer separating the kitchen from the shop counter as she dug around in the open refrigerator. The farmer eyed the front door as if she could bore a hole in it with her glare, wondering if she could somehow phase through existence long enough for her to reemerge on the other side.

"Yeah! And she said — oh, hello, Miss Krissy! What are you doing here? Do you wanna eat pancakes with me?"

The farmer stopped mid-stride, like a statue frozen in time. Jas sat at the kitchen table, her large eyes wide with excitement, while Marnie swiftly turned from the fridge and dropped the carton of orange juice she'd been pulling from the shelf. Of course, it exploded in a lake of sticky liquid across the tile.

"Krissy! You scared the life out of me!" Marnie exclaimed as she frantically pulled a towel from the oven handle and dropped it on the mess at her feet. "I didn't even hear you come in!"

"She was walking down the hallway," Jas cut in, raising one sassy little finger to punctuate her fact.

Marnie had stooped to sop up the ruined juice but snapped her head upward and locked her eyes with the farmer, realization dawning on the woman's face faster than Kristen could scramble for an alternate explanation.

"Oh — oh! " she exclaimed, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Well, okay. We do have plenty if you're hungry, dear."

"Uh. No, I think I'm fine for now, thank you," Kristen replied. Marnie's eyes rolled toward the farmer's bandaged hand next, and Kristen could practically see the gears turning in her head.

"How's your hand? Shane was helping you take care of it, right? He did a good job with the bandage," Marnie said, nodding her head slowly as if to coax a specific response. Jas sat facing away from her, completely unaware of the silent exchange between the two grown women in the room.

"Yes!" Kristen practically yelled, clutching the lifesaver Marnie had tossed. "He took very good care of me."

"That's wonderful," Marnie replied. She'd finished cleaning up the spilled juice and resumed preparing a plate of pancakes for Jas, seemingly unphased by Kristen's tangible humiliation.

"Uncle Shane can be really nice when he wants to be," Jas interjected. She glanced back at Marnie just in time for the woman to place her breakfast in front of her on the table, a sweet smile adorning her pretty face. "But only to people he likes."

Kristen shook her head in agreement, suddenly dumbstruck by how effortless it had been for Marnie to swoop in and salvage a catastrophically awkward situation. She promised to thank the woman privately if she ever gathered the nerve.

"Have a good day, dear. Don't be a stranger," Marnie said with a subtle wink as the farmer pulled open the front door, delivering a parting wave to Jas while the little girl enthusiastically stuffed her face.

❦❧🍓❦❧

The walk back home was spent with the farmer ruminating on her behavior the following night. She'd practically thrown herself at Shane again , acting like a bitch in heat. She never considered herself sexually repressed. She had no issues expressing what she wanted or what she liked. But something about last night made her hyper-sexual in a way she'd never experienced.

Maybe it's because you haven't been laid in over two years , she thought as she crossed the property line to Wynand Farm. That was definitely a contributing factor. She'd been touch starved, lonely, actually miserable. The friendships she had cultivated around Pelican Town helped soothe her need for affection during the day, but at night, when she was alone with nothing but her thoughts, the overwhelming loneliness felt like a bolder crushing her ribs, snapping them to shards lodged into her aching heart.

God, you're so dramatic , she chided herself as the coop loomed into view. It was already nearing noon, and the hens were probably restless and hungry. But her thoughts settled heavily on Shane's reactions to her advances. He'd been eager. He'd confessed things she never thought would come out of his mouth in a million years. He'd eaten her pussy like a fucking champ and didn't ask for reciprocation. He'd been content with bringing her to tears and then cuddling with her in bed. Was he actually the perfect man?

The farmer chuckled to herself as she entered the enclosure and pulled the coop door open. A line of fat impatient hens waddled out and made a beeline for the fresh grass, ignoring her completely.

Shane was anything but perfect, and Kristen was well aware of this. But it wasn't an illusion she wished to spend her time with. It wasn't a fairytale prince who she found herself teasing once he could stomach her presence for more than a few minutes at a time. It wasn't Mr. Darcy who she thought about when her fingers slipped through her slick folds, seeking to quell that ache deep inside. It was Shane. Rough and gruff Shane who secretly had the biggest heart of anyone she'd ever known. Her best friend.

Fetching her chicken-printed egg apron from a nail inside the coop, the farmer tied it around her waist, plucked the spoils of her livestock from their nests, and gently tucked them into each pocket. Briefly, she imagined Shane in the silly apron and giggled, vowing to make him wear it one way or another.

The farmer busied herself with various chores until early evening, more than slightly irritated that it took double the effort due to her inconvenient injury. Pierre had agreed to come pick up her tomatoes, and she winced when she signed the bill of sale with a 20% service fee deducted by the shopkeep. When she finally checked her cell phone for the time, a text from Shane lit up the screen, and she tapped the notification with butterflies in her tummy.

I'm never buying condoms in this town again.

I'll take a bus all the way to Zuzu next time, fuck all of this.

Kristen snickered, curiosity piqued.

Oh no. What happened?

The replying chat bubble popped up almost immediately, and Kristen's eyes were glued to the screen, even as Moody zig-zagged through her legs, howling for attention.

Sam was working today and saw me pick them up.

He kept asking me who the lucky lady is. Like I was gonna tell him.

The farmer could practically feel Shane's unease through the screen, and a prickling intrusive thought burrowed in her brain like the needles of a cactus. Testing the waters, she tapped her fingers across the glass.

What, you're ashamed of me? Lol.

Her heart galloped as she waited for his reply. The chat bubble took a bit longer to appear, and Kristen hoped she hadn't actually pissed him off.

Don't be stupid.

I'm just tired from spending most of the morning dodging Marnie's smug looks.

Jas thinks I'm practically a doctor now, so that's cool.

She furrowed her brow, still unsure if the distress churning in her belly was justified. Every drop of confidence she'd fettered that morning seemed to dissipate like mist desperately clinging to milkweed in the midday sun.

You sure?

This time, the chat bubble seemed to animate on the screen forever, disappearing and reappearing multiple times as if Shane was struggling to come up with an adequate response.

If anyone should be ashamed, it's you.

I somehow landed the beautiful farmer, and she's stuck with the town drunk.

For the second time that day, Kristen choked back a sob. A mixture of indignation and sorrow coated the back of her throat, constricted with emotion. His self-deprecation was nothing new, but in this context, it hit differently than usual. Implying he wasn't good enough for her was simply unacceptable.

Now you're the one being stupid.

Just shut up and get here quick. I miss you.

Before she could chicken out, Kristen skipped toward her bedroom, stripped off her frumpy farmer's clothes, and wiggled into the sexiest pair of lingerie she owned. Then, she angled her phone's camera as flatteringly as possible, snapped a photo, and attached it to her message.

You called me a tease last night and then send me this shit?

Smirking, she posed for another photo, this time biting her lip seductively. She felt ridiculous attaching it to her next reply — but also sexy for the first time in years.

What are you going to do about it?

Shane replied with a photo of his own — a skewed angle of his feet as he neared the path toward the bus station.

You'll find out soon.

An exhilarating tingle bloomed between her legs, arousal simmering her blood. She had maybe 25 minutes before Shane walked through her front door, and she desperately needed a bath.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Kristen had just finished brushing out her damp curls and clumsily tying the belt of her silk robe around her waist when a soft but insistent knock startled her. Once again, she opened her mouth to remind him of his key, but the sound of the lock disengaging cut her off, a new swarm of butterflies taking flight in the pit of her stomach.

Shane entered the farmhouse hesitantly, peering around the door as he did the night before at the ranch, his expression softening when he spotted her approaching from the bedroom.

"Hey," he greeted, slinging her forgotten backpack from his shoulder while he approached. His eyes roved her body, taking stock of her state of dress — or, rather, undress — before they settled on her freshly bandaged hand. "How's it doing?"

"It looks disgusting," she laughed, holding the mitt in front of her face. She'd done a sloppy job of wrapping the gauze that Harvey had left for her. The crusty sutures and black bruises splotching her palm made her woozy, but she was proud that she hadn't dropped like a sack of potatoes on her bathroom floor.

"How many times do I have to tell you to let me help you before you listen?" he asked, though his tone held no hostility or exasperation. On the contrary, Kristen could detect a note of concern, and she wanted to nip it in the bud before the salacious encounter she'd been so excited about fizzled out altogether.

"Shh, I'm fine. I promise. I cleaned it and took my pain meds. And I'll be seeing Harvey on Monday." He gave her a leery glare, obviously still unconvinced she'd relent her stubbornness anytime soon. "Come here," she coaxed, holding her good hand toward him invitingly and crooking one finger. With her backpack still dangling from one hand, Shane approached and followed when she turned and walked back toward her bedroom.

The room was dark, the only light coming from a few candles flickering on Kristen's dresser opposite the bed. She'd wondered if the sentiment was too cheesy when she lit the wicks and stepped back to admire the shadow of flames licking up the pine slat walls, but the low light cast the perfect ambiance when Shane entered, his silhouette pitch black as it floated toward her.

"This is nice," he said, voice deep as his features slowly bled into focus when he entered the sphere of flickering light. Kristen felt he wasn't sure what to say but was trying his best, and she adored him for it. 

"Thanks," she whispered, capturing one of his forearms to pull him closer. He was still clutching her backpack in one hand, and she tilted her head toward it before asking, "What's in there? Whips and chains?"

Shane balked, jaw slack and eyes wide before he noticed the mischief dancing in her eyes. "You're so fucking naughty…"

He dropped the backpack on the floor and wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her in. The farmer stepped into his embrace willingly, seeking his lips with her own, molding her body around his solid yet soft form until she felt she could seep into his skin and possess him completely.

Something about the moment seemed graceful as they moved together. Lips exploring, hands searching, bodies swaying. The night previous, Kristen felt as if she were a feral animal, pawing and scratching at him like he might escape her clutches. Tonight, she felt as if the barbaric frenzy had ebbed to gentle acceptance that this man actually wanted to be here... with her.

"Shane," she sighed as his lips and tongue traveled from her mouth, down her throat, and across her collarbone. She could tell he was being careful not to scrape his stubble over her skin, even while his cheek and chin nudged the top half of her robe aside. "Shane, stop."

"Hmm? What's wrong?" he asked, pulling back to level her with serious eyes. She almost yanked him in for another kiss when she realized he was afraid he'd crossed some invisible line.

"Nothing, baby. I just want to repay you for last night before you make me too stupid."

"Kriss. Um, Kristen — you don't have to do that."

Relief softened his features as he held her closer and kissed her breathless — palms gliding across the silk of her robe, caressing every curve she hid underneath until one settled on the small of her back and the other ghosted between her thighs. The smooth fabric slipping across her sensitive flesh was unexpectedly delightful, and she shuffled her feet outward, supplying him with more room that he gladly took advantage of, prodding his fingers past the silk to make contact with her bare sex.

"How are you already wet?" Shane moaned against her lips. The farmer's breaths quickened as his middle finger probed, sliding through her folds with no resistance.

"Because you turn me on," she simply said, canting her hips forward as his thumb sought her clit.

"I wanna taste you again, pretty baby. Make you come on my tongue."

She nearly gave in, memories of last night along with Shane's sweet manipulation of her pussy making her pliant. She felt as if she could melt through his arms into a puddle just from his worlds alone, but she abruptly remembered her earlier request and how he had expertly distracted her.

"Nope," she breathed, playfully shoving him back. He stumbled slightly, giving her time to sidestep him, plant her ass on the mattress, hook a finger through a belt loop on his shorts, and tug his crotch toward her face. "I told you, it's my turn."

"Kristen." He shook his head. He was protesting, and it confounded her.

"What?" she asked, moving her hand to rest on his hip instead, hoping it would make her seem less brazen.

"I know it's not something women really like to do," he explained. His eyes were fixed straight ahead as if something on her wall was unbelievably fascinating.

"Since when?" she asked with a chuckle. But she quickly shut up when she realized he was serious. "Shane, that's not true. I don't know what type of other women you've been with, but most of us love giving head. I know I do." She then grasped one of his hands, bringing it toward her face to press a tender kiss to his palm, hoping to calm his nerves. "When was the last time someone swallowed your cock like they meant it?"

"Kristen, fuck me…" He finally tilted his chin down to look at her, awe sparkling in his green eyes.

"That's what I'm trying to do."

"You have such a filthy mouth," he said, blinking his eyes rapidly as if he were trying to gather his bearings to answer her question. "I don't know; it's been a long time."

"Then let my filthy mouth take care of you, hmm? I want to, I really do."

She flipped his hand to place another kiss on his knuckles, swiping her lips across them before taking the middle finger he'd buried in her pussy into her mouth, lightly sucking it while making direct eye contact. 

"Are you even fucking real?" he asked as she swirled her tongue around his wet digit. "Last week, I would have laughed if you said you wanted to suck my dick. Would've thought you were screwing with me for fun."

Feeling like he was finally coming around, Kristen released his finger with an audible pop and redirected her hand toward the waistband of his shorts, tugging him toward her again. This time, he shuffled forward with no protest, one hand settling on her shoulder while the one she'd just released curled into a fist.

Instead of replying verbally, she tapped the button of his shorts with her fingernail, indicating that she needed some help. Shane hesitated for an instant but quickly undid his fly and pulled the zipper down, exposing his boxer briefs beneath. Giddy excitement hummed within Kristen's chest as her imagination tried to conjure up an image of his cock before she laid eyes on it. The teasing glimpses she was afforded of his clothed bulge and the sensation of it grinding between her legs the night before gave her a pleasing theory.

"Can we take this off?" she cooed, tugging the hem of his shirt. Insecurity danced behind his eyes, his face scrunching up in a way that made her think he'd downright refuse. But, she smoothed her hand up his side, lightly grazing her nails over his skin before drawing it back down, hoping her silent encouragement would stay his fears.

"I'm not in, uh, the best shape," he mumbled, again avoiding her eyes.

"Shane, I think you're so god damn sexy. Isn't it obvious?"

She lifted the bottom of his shirt just enough to kiss the space below his navel. He flinched but didn't pull away.

"I've seen you naked," he said, capturing a strand of her curly hair between two fingers. "You put me to shame."

"It's not a competition, baby. Will it make you feel better if I take this off?"

She rose from the bed and shrugged the loose robe from her shoulders, allowing it to puddle at her feet. Shane hitched a breath and attempted to pull her in, but she playfully wiggled away and perched herself on the edge of the mattress again, smiling up at him.

"Fine," he sighed, fisting the collar of his shirt and yanking it over his head. His neck and cheeks burned red, even in the soft candlelight, and it only endeared him to her all the more.

"Thank you. Now, I can take care of the rest…"

As it turned out, attempting to pull down someone else's shorts and underwear with one hand was more complicated than she bargained, but she yanked and tugged until she secured her victory — Shane's fully erect cock finally springing free, greeting her like a long-awaited gift.

Kristen wondered later if he thought she would be coy — place feather-soft kisses on his shaft while batting her eyelashes and cooing like a bird. She even wondered if she should have been so dainty and seductive instead of licking a solid, hot stripe from base to tip before engulfing his thick length in one fluid motion.

"Fu — fuck ." The stuttered word fell from Shane's mouth in a strangled gasp, his hands instantly burying in her curls as if he had to clutch them or risk flying off the face of the earth. His fingers brushed her scalp tentatively, undoubtedly hesitant to grip too hard for fear of hurting her. "Kristen, ah! Christ!"

The farmer continued to slide her wet mouth across his cock, tongue flat as she gently pulled back his foreskin and swirled the tip. It had been so long since she'd indulged in giving head and nearly forgot how much she enjoyed it. The pants, the moans, the feeling of power as she subdued a man while on her knees.

"How's this?" she asked as sweetly as she could muster, flicking her chocolate eyes upward to lock with his. "Tell me how to make you feel good."

Relaxing her throat, she took him entirely in her mouth again, bit by bit, until the plush head pressed and slid even farther. And then farther. Fat tears welled in her eyes, pooling like droplets of dew on drooping blades of grass before rolling down her cheeks. The strain was magnificent, and the farmer knew she'd feel the raw sting like a badge of honor in the morning.

"Oh my fuck," he growled, fingers pressing a bit harder against her scalp experimentally. "Pretty baby, I —" He faltered, seeming to attempt to form a coherent thought while Kristen swallowed his dick, flexing her throat muscles weakly. "Can I?"

He pulled his hips back and then thrust them forward gently, eyes pleading with her to understand. She hooked her good hand behind one of his thighs, sucked in a deep breath through her nose in preparation, and nodded.

Shane started slow at first, shifting his hips gingerly, nudging the back of her throat while his fingers curled around the strands of her auburn hair. A string of praise and obscenities poured from his mouth like a siren song, and she hummed deep in her chest as he gradually picked up speed, chasing his pleasure.

Without warning, he tightened his hold on her hair, halting the motion of her mouth and his hips. Guttural pants filled the room as she looked up at him, lips stretched across his dick while her hand traveled to cup his balls, nails lightly scraping across the dimpled flesh.

"I need to fuck you," he rasped, pulling her head back until he slipped from her mouth, a string of saliva connecting them for a beat before it plopped to the hardwood below. "Please."

Kristen scrambled back to lay on the mattress like an overzealous puppy, waiting for him to follow with exuberance sparkling in her eyes. She honestly couldn't recall the last time she'd wanted anyone this bad, and her cunt throbbed in anticipation of being filled by the cock she'd just had shoved down her eager throat.

"How do you want me?" she asked, positioning herself in the middle, legs splayed open in an unconscious attempt to draw him in. A savage longing nearly puppeted her to crawl up his body like a deranged creature from the depths of hell, subdue him until he fell to the floor, and ride his cock until the both of them succumbed to exhaustion. But the more civilized part of her realized that Shane required gentle coaxing, at least for now, so she leveraged those unhinged desires and locked them away for another time.

There was a slight shuffle as Shane bent over and unzipped the farmer's backpack that lay discarded on the floor. The crinkle of a plastic bag, the rip of cardboard, and the tear of an aluminum wrapper clued Kristen in. In response, her fingers flowed toward the apex of her thighs, slipping one finger inside herself, then two.

Finally, Shane planted a knee on the mattress and crawled toward her. Backlit by flickering flames, one hand cupped her knee while the other rolled the condom on, his cock emerging from between his thumb and forefinger with latex encasing it like he'd performed the maneuver a million times before. Kristen tried not to let that little worm burrow in her brain, wondering if he was so practiced because he was screwing someone else on the side. 

On the side? You've already claimed him? 

She flung that thought into the 'analyze later' bin of her brain, fearing that the answer was a resounding yes.

"Um. Just —" Shane tenderly nudged her knee to the side, and she complied, widening her legs so he could slot between them like a puzzle piece. "I wanna be able to see your face."

"Oh, baby," she sighed, finally relenting to the urge to rein in some control, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him in for another blistering kiss. Their tongues rolled together effortlessly now, growing used to one another's moves while Shane nudged the head of his cock between her folds, gliding it across her clit teasingly, winding Kristen up like a doll with a key lodged in its spine until she felt she would snap.

When he finally lined up and began pushing inside, Kristen yelped against his lips, the stretch sharp and intense. Shane instantly ceased, pressing his forehead against hers as he caught his breath.

"Don't stop," she said. Wiggling her hips slightly, she lifted her legs and mounted them on either side of his thighs. The position was more comfortable and made her feel he wouldn't split her in half. "It's been… a while since I've done this. That's all."

He nodded, eyes squinted shut, engrossed with the task at hand. Kristen stared at him, his face blurred by the close proximity, but unable to direct her focus elsewhere. The intimacy of the moment felt soul-crushing in the best way — as if everything that made her human were wrapped up in a tiny package and placed in the palm of Shane's hand. He could pulverize her or hold her as gently as a kitten, and she'd welcome it either way.

Inch by inch, Shane slid into her, gauging her reactions carefully as he did so. Inch by inch, Kristen took him, quick and shallow breaths making her head swimmy as the sweet intrusion filled her much more than physically.

His thrusts were experimental early on, just as when his fingers played along her scalp. Slow and shallow. He pressed tender kisses to her face as he did so, soft breaths puffing from his nose and fanning across heated skin. Eventually, he sought her hand with his own, pinning it above her head as he interlaced their fingers, lips traveling lower, suckling on the hypersensitive flesh behind her ear.

"Shane —" His name rolled from her tongue like it had originated there, a vaguely audible sigh that morphed into a moan when she understood that this wasn't a simple fuck between friends. He was making love to her.

"Kristen…" Her name growled directly into her ear, causing her body to seize, cunt clenching around him almost painfully as he snapped his hips forward in punctuation. 

"Harder," she whined, shifting her hips in time with his still-measured thrusts.

"Yeah? You want that?"

His voice was deeper than she'd ever heard, almost scratchy. She shivered and whined again, feeling petulant if he didn't appease her. Luckily, he did, releasing her hand so he could sit back on his haunches and hike each of her thighs to rest on his chest, the back of her knees nestled against his shoulders like they were always meant to be there. The angle was acute and perfect as he leaned over her, hands bracing himself on either side of her head.

"Shit," she hissed, flailing her free hand until it made purchase with his side, nails digging crescents into his olive skin. 

"This good?" he asked, thrusting once, slightly upward. Kristen squealed and nodded, nails digging deeper. The head of his cock brushed against her g-spot just enough at this angle that she knew they could make magic happen if he were determined. "Let me know if it's too much?"

"It's never too much," she said. "Fuck me the way you've always dreamed." Kristen knew that statement was a bold assumption on her part, but god, did it sound sexy. Even to her own ears.

Apparently, it was sexy to him, too, considering how he kissed her, pushing her legs back farther and shoving his cock even deeper. "Pretty baby, I'm gonna make you scream."

His confidence firmly back in place, Kristen's eyes rolled nearly into the back of her skull as he pounded into her. Hard, just like she'd asked. Again and again and again. The bed rocked, headboard slamming the wall. The metal frame squeaked in protest as its legs skittered across the hardwood floor. Kristen's body tensed, launching into pure instinct, hips rolling in time with Shane's thrusts, each one more brutal than the last. Pleasure washed over in waves, lapping farther and farther toward the precipice of something just beyond reach as their shared grunts and moans filled the small farmhouse bedroom like a lewd chorus for an audience of two.

"Shane, baby. Oh god!" The farmer's mental facilities had been scrambled like a freshly cracked egg each time the head of Shane's cock brushed the soft, thick place inside her. It was so deliciously close to being enough but just far away that each pass had her crying out like a woman tortured. "I need… mo — higher!"

She wasn't sure how Shane interpreted the gibberish she'd just spewed, but she nearly cried in relief when he snatched a spare pillow from beside her head and shoved it under her lifted hips. But then he added another , and she lost the battle, a desperate sob escaping from her chest as the elevated angle allowed him to slam home with expert precision.

"I can feel you squeezing me, fuck!" he spat, keeping the rhythm even as Kristen's bones liquified. "Can you come on my cock, pretty baby? Rub your clit for me. I wanna feel it."

As useless as she felt to her encroaching orgasm, the farmer willed her arm to slither between them, seeking the neglected, engorged bundle of nerves. The pressure between her legs continued to mount, coiling like a viper on the verge of a strike. Her thighs quivered as the pads of her fingers slipped through her folds and made contact with her clit, the onslaught of sensations boarding on overwhelming when Shane faltered long enough to capture one of her nipples between his teeth.

"I'm close. Shane — I'm so close," she cried, sloppily twirling her fingers around her clit. Sparks of pleasure snapped and popped with each pass, her limbs tensing further and the viper coiling tighter in her belly. "Talk to me. I need to hear your voice."

"I'm close, too," he rasped. "Look me in the eyes when you come, pretty baby. Say my name? God, I love hearing you moan it like — shit! — I love making you feel this good."

Kristen felt as if she were falling in a dream, weightless for the blink of an eye before the ground zoomed closer with each passing second. And right before she hit the ground, she snapped, the viper unfurling as its euphoric venom softened her muscles and rendered her useless. Yet, she fulfilled his sweet request, the shape of Shane's name tearing from her throat as her entire world focused to a pinpoint and then exploded outward in a shower of twinkling stars.

Somewhere in the haze, her name floated like a feather on a languid breeze. Lips and teeth etched her flesh like liquid flames carving an errant river through steel. The gorgeous pressure between her thighs swelled, stretching her pleasure to an unbearable degree, and she cried out again, clinging to the only anchor she could find amidst the storm.

You've already claimed him? 

Yes — she had.

*****

End Note: Kristen's chicken egg apron:

Isn't that shit adorable?

#stardew valley #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #shane x farmer #stardew valley fanfiction #stardew valley smut #stardew valley shane smut #sdv shane smut #green on the vine strawberry wine

[victorluvsalice]

-->Anyway, with the rush over, I decided that I wanted Alice to make a pizza in her new pizza oven, so I had her check out her options, then prep some veggies and make some cheese in order to get a garden pizza going. Victor and Smiler kept working the sales floor, chatting to customers and leading to a few more sales – a guy named Umber snagged one of Victor’s Energizing scents for $744, while Brytani deigned to buy some watermelon conserve for $171 (I made sure Victor rung her up, since Smiler doesn’t like her for some reason). Cameron Fletcher also came by to grab a $2 spinach – I’m glad he’s not too annoyed that I banned him from the break room microwave. XD Alice wandered back upstairs while waiting on the stand mixer to clean one of the displays (which WERE getting a bit manky) – I promptly sent her back downstairs to collect her prepped vegetables and get the pizza in the oven while I had Victor finish the cleaning magically and conjure up some spaghetti for himself. Smiler meanwhile got another sale – someone named Anaya buying a box of veggie MREs for $241. For five seconds, everything seemed to be going well –

-->BOOM ANOTHER MASS BUYING EVENT! Complete with lag, because you gotta have lag. *heavy sigh* I had Alice stay downstairs long enough to get her pizza (as it was almost done by the time everyone decided they wanted to buy something), but after that, it was all hands on deck to take care of customers! Fortunately, they got them all – Paolo with a cube of beeswax for $18; Tetsuya with a box of canned fishcakes for $413; Dali with a box of chocolate syrup jars for $413; Jeb and Osuma both with friendly animal treats for $17 each. Oh, and a guy named Chad grabbed a strawberry out of the produce fridges for $19. Whew! I put Victor on "removing all of the out-of-stock signs" duty afterward while Smiler cleaned up some stray plates and glasses that had ended up on the produce stands (the custom “farmer’s market”-style ones I got from Brazen have slots on the little shelf underneath, it appears – perfect for Sims to hide shit from you) and Alice made a clay bunny. As you do. Alice then used the toilet and ate a container of prepped veggies over the bathroom sinks (I forgot you could just eat prepped ingredients straight-up) before running off to shower in the rain. *shakes fist* ERRATIC SIMS! While she was busy causing newcomers to the lot to gasp, Victor and Smiler handled what I decided would be the last sales of the day – Ivana with a box of canned tomato sauce for $413, and Francine with a pumpkin animal treat for $46. There was another lady wanting to buy something, but for some reason Smiler kept insisting they couldn’t get to her, so before things got any more chaotic, I decided to have them close the store. All in all, they sold 18 total items for a profit of $3,729! Not bad for a day’s work!

-->Except – when Smiler closed up shop, three people stayed behind, the previously-stuck lady and two others, all with shopping carts over their heads. Puzzled, I had Smiler and Alice (back in her clothes) ring up the two that could be reached (Victor heading back into the break room for another nap) while I let the “stuck” one time out – this did NOT result in any post-closing sales, though, just some customer goodwill. Well, for everyone except the customer who was mysteriously blocked. Sorry, lady, not sure what happened there! Try again next time!

-->Anyway – with that sorted, the trio decamped to the break room to watch a bit of TV and do a bit of flirting, as they do. :) Once the last customer had FINALLY left the store, they headed back to their place, arriving back home at about 9 PM in-game –

#sims 4 #the lazy save #victor van dort #alice liddell #smiler always #yeah real busy day at the store in the end! #I'm never sure what kind of day it's going to be when they first open #because there's generally always lots of people #but most of them are just wandering around with no real plan #today though #yeah everybody wanted to buy everything at once #which is not good when you're trying to test out your new small appliances in the basement processing room #I am trying to make pizzas here people XD #ah well it all turned out all right in the end #partially because Alice has super speed and thus can rush up and help pretty damn quickly #no idea what happened with that one lady in the blue dress though #it looked to ME like she should have been perfectly reachable #but Smiler said no not happening #Sims routing issues people #someone standing by some shelves can't be reached #someone standing IN shelves often can #*shakehead* #queued

[nancypullen]

DONE

Whew! Ladies, we did it again. The holidays are ending with no casualties and no one carted off in a straight jacket. Our Christmas was sweeter than ever, mostly because of a certain little girl.  More than anyone in the family she appreciated my decorations and the goodies.  We were probably tied in our excitement about Santa’s visit. She is a wonderful recipient. You could wrap up a potato in a pretty box and she’d name it and love it. Her preschool was closed the week after Christmas and her parents had to work so she stayed with us. She is an absolute joy, but I am OLD.  When my youngest was four, I was twenty-eight.  She is easy, bath time and bed time were a breeze.  She is cooperative, no tantrums or fussing.  But she is FOUR, and she is a smart, curious, bouncy, chatty girl. I wouldn’t have missed a minute of this visit, but you know I slept on a heating pad last night.  I hate to even joke about this because I’m going to blink my eyes and she’ll be 8, 10, 13, and then gone to college.  Her birthday is in just over a month and in the fall she’ll be a kindergartner. Make it stop! I could cry just thinking of how quickly she’s growing. Anywayyyyyyy...we had a fabulous Christmas, everyone was generous and kind to each other, lots of love around the tree and the table. I wouldn’t change a single thing, I’ve got plenty of sweet memories tucked away in my heart. Matt departs on January 2nd, he’ll be home about a week before heading to Uganda.  So we’ve got company for New Year’s Eve and may manage to stay awake long enough to welcome 2023.  I’m going to make a few snacky things, we’ll watch a movie, and around midnight we’ll say yippee and kiss each other.  We walk on the wild side around here. I, for one, am so ready to close the calendar on 2022.  Every year I get excited just thinking about a fresh new year and all it could hold. I’m choosing a word to focus on for this year, and it is flourish.  I want to flourish in every aspect of life, and I’m the only one who can make it happen.  I want to use the meager talents I’ve been given and do something with them. I want my health to flourish, I want my relationships to flourish, my home, my life!   It’s time to bloom where I’m planted. I have experience with that, but I was successful at it because I had to be - my kids were counting on me, my family, etc. I sort of accidentally flourished while making sure everyone else did. This time it’s just for me. I may be a blooming idiot, but at least I’m blooming. 

There are probably braver words that I could have chosen - I’m sure that there are people out there claiming courage or determination as their word for 2023.  I hope their years exceed their wildest dreams, but that’s not what I need. I’ve decided to believe in myself this year, and nurture myself too.  With that sort of fertilizer, surely I’ll flourish.

Alright, this kooky post is sort of all over the place.  I just popped in to let you know that we’ve all survived the holiday madness and have settled in for a quiet New Year’s Eve at home.  My favorite sort.  Think about what your word for 2023 might be -  what do you want or need more of next year?  Peace? Connection? Adventure? Simplicity? Passion? Harmony?  I have a friend who has chosen the word YES, because she intends to say yes to more things - everything from lunch invitations to job opportunities. There are so many powerful words that might mean something different to each of us, and might change your focus for the next twelve months.  Food for thought. And speaking of food, I have to check the meatballs in the crockpot and get started on tonight’s menu. I hope that you are sending this year off with a kiss or a kick, depending on how you feel about 2022, and greeting the new year with open arms.  Let’s make the most of it! Sending out BIG love tonight! Stay safe, stay well.

Nancy

[thedaveandkimmershow]

Up at seven on the 31st. Kimmer up by eight.

Last minute cleaning, packing, admin, and showers 'til eleven then out the door, on the road, to the Doug Fox parking lot by 11:45, change our TSA Spot Saver for a half hour later, shuttle over to the airport, check our one big bag in, mail my dad's birthday card from the one mail box they actually have at the airport, sail through TSA to the S gates where we score sweet potato fries before realizing there's no Starbuck's here so we take the shuttle train back to the main terminal where we score our drinks (chai latte for me, tall drip coffee for her), shuttle train back to the S gate where boarding's in progress, get on the plane, and enjoy a pretty chill, nearly ten hour flight.

Enjoy?

Seriously?

Yeah, I know. I was really kind of worried about the flihty 'cause it's been a coupla decades since I did that trip last and who knows, right?

Plus, ten hours sounds like a really.

Long.

Time.

So I have a bunch of stuff for me to do with that ten hours. Have some books in my bag. A thermos I'm gonna plaster with stickers. There's a paper I'm gonna brainstorm. I figure I'll catch a nap. And so on.

It helps, of course, that not everyone chooses to fly on New Year's Eve so there's plenty of open seats, lots of room to spread out. So Kimmer takes over our two seats and I take over the two seats across the aisle. Didn't end up doing the sticker thing. Didn't end up doing the brainstorming thing. Didn't end up taking a nap.

I write a pair of blog posts for December 31 and January 1. I text with a number of friends and family. There are a coupla meals in there. And I watch A Haunting In Venice.

BAM. Ten hours. Like that.

The math of my airplane activities doesn't quite sound right to me, doesn't quite add up to the full ten hours... which is what I mean by that ten hours not feeling like ten hours.

The entire flight did feel like we were traveling in the middle of the night, though. Shortly after take-off at 2:30 in the afternoon, the pilot has everyone lower the blinds on their windows and, by 'n by, people begin stretching out for naps even though it's full blown daylight outside in North America.

When we raise the blinds again, it's morning over Holland the very next day, January 1, because of the length of the flight coupled with the number of time zones we just crossed.

Off the plane, passing through seemingly endless halls in Schiphol airport, we do a quick, friendly, and mildly profane interview with a dutch customs officer before continuing many more halls to our baggage claim after which we exit into the airport arrivals area where we're met by...

No one.

So here's what happened. Of my two cousins who were gonna pick us up, one had to work an unscheduled night shift and the other, well, I didn't have any means of contacting by phone or messenger. So Kimmer 'n I decide to set ourselves down nearby to figure out our next move. There's no worry or anxiety. We already achieved our biggest objective: we made it to Holland!

By 'n by, after strolling back to where we exited baggage claim, I spot one of my uncles.

Wait.

Is that guy my uncle?

I start to not be sure.

Then I start to really not be sure.

Then I start to think this was someone who only looked like my uncle until my uncle looka up and sees me and—

Whew.

It really is him.

Because he recognized me. ☺️

After that, we meet up with my cousin—the one I had no way of contacting except through, it turns out, Instagram Messenger—we meet up with my cousin and her husband, my uncle and his girlfriend at a nearby coffee shop where Kimmer 'n I order mint teas that arrive in glasses filled with hot water and tea leafs. It basically looks like someone threw a handful of salad into a glass of water. I will say, though, the tea's delicious.

The way our travel day worked out, we arrive in Holland a little after 8:30 in the morning local time. We're through baggage claim a little after 9:30. And we finish up at the coffee shop at 11 after lively family conversation. A preamble to the coming evening's get-together with even more family.

11 in the morning dutch time, by the way, is 2AM at home. The actual time our bodies recognize as the official time. Home time.

By the time we're at our hotel, it's noon. 3AM at home.

By the time we're in bed for our nap, it's 1. 4AM at home.

4:30pm dutch time, we're shaking off the sleep, enjoying hot showers, getting ready and packing anything we took out of our bags back into our bags because this room we booked we booked because we couldn't check into the room we booked for the week... until 3. So we booked a room for, basically, five hours so we could check in and get some sleep immediately.

Afterward, back down to the front desk we go, turn in our keys, get our new ones, back upstairs we go, stash our stuff in the new room, then back downstairs we go again where we meet up with my cousin and her husband already waiting in the lobby.

Six o'clock we're at my aunt and uncle's place where there's a mass of family. Four generations for about an hour there until the representatives of generations three and four have to take their leave 'cause it's someone's bedtime... leaving in its wake a coupla grandparents, five parents, a handful of young young adults, one little girl, and two littler girls... a family menagerie representing conversational interests spanning physical health and mental health, police work and bodyguarding, editing, videography, and observation, family albums and parties, school and work, travel plans and life plans, food and food 😉, bad English speaking skills and non-existent Dutch speaking skills, what's happened in the last twenty years and what's happening now, plans and hopes, relationships and accomplishments, and so on and so on

And so on.

At one point I'm hanging out with my nephew when my aunt walks over with a photo album she deposits in front of us. The album contains family photos from the last few family gatherings and parties.

One of the twins is with us just then. The granddaughter of my younger (but seems older) cousin. She's shy, quiet, but a huge fan of my nephew. And what apparently brings her out of her shell is the opportunity to identify herself in any given picture.

A few pages into the album, her twin wanders up in front of me, looking down at the album (upside down from her point of view). As soon as she spits herself in a photo, she declares—

"Daar ben ik!"

"There I am!"

—as she continues the hunt for other instances of herself in these pictures.

When she doesn't see herself on either page that's open, she declares

"Niet!" (Not!)

And if I don't move my hand to turn the page fast enough, she reaches down herself to turn the page because she's not, you know, on it.

If it turns out she's not present on subsequent pages she declares—

"Ook niet!" (Also not!)

and "Ook niet!" (Also not!)

and "Ook niet!" (Also not!)

—until she sees herself again and declares as if for the first time...

"Daar ben ik!"

The experience was totally adorable. And it made room for her shy sister to point out where she was in all these family pictures.

☺️

In the end, this was the fullest night (and quite the packed day) I can remember with people in a really long time. An experience that can only happen here where the majority of my family lives.

It's an exquisitely fun and funny, thoroughly engaging, completely familiar experience and we loved every second of it.

No joke.

Every second.

It's just that satisfying.

It's just that personal.

And it will be tough to leave this behind.

😕

#travel #family #fun #friendship #familiar #itinerary #conversation #catching up #comparing notes #enjoying #comoany

[rapifessor]

Pokéchronology, Volume I: Yellow

Day 5

Whew, what a day. There's a lot to go over in this update post because I played a lot. I was hype to start steamrolling things with my freshly upgraded team, so I got started right away and even played some more during downtime at work (my job involves a lot of fucking around because there isn't always a whole lot to do).

If Pokémon Yellow spoilers are too spicy for you, you may wish not to proceed beyond this point.

Diglett's Cave

The only way to go from Vermilion City was east, I figured, so I went through Diglett's Cave and realized it was a way back to the start of the game like I wanted. Turns out I needed to go there anyway, because I needed the Flash HM to get through Rock Tunnel and into Lavender Town. But more on that later.

I did a thorough search for items and got the HM, and encountered a trainer who offered to trade me his Mr. Mime for a Clefairy. I figured why not, since I had a Clefairy in the box that I wasn't using and I can always catch another one. Thus Miles was added to my team, and it turns out he's a pretty good Pokémon. Since it doesn't evolve, it comes with some quite respectable stats, and having a Psychic type in my arsenal means I have excellent type coverage now.

I trained up Miles as I went through Mt. Moon again, backtracking towards Cerulean City. I returned to the daycare and took back Lemon the Sandshrew, replacing them with my Spearow named Pear, thinking I could use a good Flying type. It should also be able to learn Fly from the HM later, although maybe Ominous can as well. I should decide carefully though, because HM moves can't be overwritten.

I thought about teaching Thunderbolt to Ominous instead of BIG RAT, since he learns Thunderbolt at level 26 anyway, which isn't that far off. Decided to put a pin in that for now. We'll see what I feel like I need later on.

Route 11

As always, there are lots of trainers to fight on the way to my next destination. Most of them were rocking Poison types, so Miles saw a lot of action and started leveling up very rapidly. Pokémon that you receive in a trade receive 50% more experience, so it wasn't long before Miles was approaching Prinzessin's level.

Ah, but the way to Lavender Town is blocked off from Route 11 by Snorlax. Because of course. Puzzled for a moment, I had to do a little research to remind myself that Cerulean City exits to Route 9 in the east, and that was the way I had to go to reach Lavender Town.

Route 9 & 10

These have become largely uneventful, just lots of trainers and battling. I don't recall anything interesting happening on the way to Rock Tunnel, anyway. Speaking of which, I decided to teach Flash to Butterboy.

Rock Tunnel

Ominous eating good today. I have to wonder what Game Freak was thinking, making so many Rock/Ground type Pokémon. Having a quad weakness to both Water AND Grass makes it one of the weakest type combinations in the game, and because they're so common, just having a Water type move is enough to decimate all of them in one hit.

Other than that, it's just a really long tunnel with lots of trainer fights. Nothing really special to go over, though I did catch a Machop and named them Critz.

Lavender Town

So, at last I arrive at Lavender Town, inspiration for Pokémon creepypastas since time immemorial. Seriously though, what's so creepy about this place? The town theme isn't even that unsettling or anything, it's just a little darker than what you normally expect from Pokémon.

Sorry for being such a skeptic. Anyway, I decide to check out the Pokémon Tower, but I don't stay for long. The Gastly used by the Channelers are really irritating to fight if things don't do well. They confuse you, hit you with fixed-damage moves, and are generally just a pain in the ass. I wanted to catch one for myself, but to do that, I would need the Silph Scope.

Ah, that's right. I also fought Gary once again in the tower. He really brings it this time with a Fearow, who tanks BIG RAT's Thundershock and is a force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately for Gary, this is his ONLY threatening Pokémon. Numbnut hasn't even evolved his Eevee yet, what the hell is he doing? And why is he "taking it easy on me" when I've literally beat his ass every single time we've fought? Whatever, he's a loser, who cares.

Celadon City

After passing through Route 8, I take the underground tunnel to Celadon City, catching a Jigglypuff and naming it Hungrybox before entering the city. There's quite a lot to do and explore here. I proceeded to have a thorough look around the city. Looks like there's some gambling (very kid-friendly!), a bunch of shops selling new items, and of course, Erika's gym. It looks like Yellow is starting to become somewhat non-linear at this point, but right now I'm focused on getting the Silph Scope.

Went and got myself an Eevee at "Game Freak HQ." I just named it Starry and sent it to the box. Maybe I'll have a look at it later, evolve it, add it to my team, I dunno.

Time to invade Team Rocket's hideout.

Team Rocket's Hideout

This is a fairly interesting sequence for once. There are a good few items in here, which annoyingly meant I had to go back and store some things a couple times (why is your inventory so limited in this game?). Also some cute puzzles as you navigate this maze-like complex. Battling my way through the Rockets, I obtain the key card and access the final part of the bottom floor, where I am challenged again by Jessie and James. I dealt with them easily. That just leaves...

Oh, Giovanni. You poor bastard. He opens the fight with an Onix and uses a Guard Spec. on it. I think what they were trying to do here was make it so that Onix didn't get OTK'd by any Water or Grass move like it usually does. But Ominous is just too powerful. I whipped out my Gyarados, said, "Nice item bro, would be a shame if it did absolutely nothing," and Bubble Beamed that shit into the next dimension. The rest of his team was also laughably bad.

Pokémon Tower

With the Silph Scope in hand, I returned to Lavender Town with the intention of reaching the top of Pokémon Tower. The Gastly were still annoying, but I could easily get rid of them by keeping Miles healthy. Though, it seems he got a little TOO healthy, because now the little shit thinks he's all big and bad just because he's above level 30. Obviously, defeating Erika was a top priority once I finished the tower.

I caught two Gastly and a Haunter while in the dungeon. The reason I caught all of them was that the first Gastly I caught was pretty low level, and I eventually encountered one that was level 25 which I decided I would rather have. Haunter I caught just to fill the Pokédex entry, as I wasn't sure when or if I'd be using Gastly in battle. By the way, I named the Gastly YA BOI. Thing is, I actually really like Gengar, and I would love to use one, but I can't without trading. With the games that I have I'd have to trade to Crystal, which would mean starting that game before finishing this one.

Sadly, I don't think it's meant to be. With my team as it is right now, I'm not sure I even have room for a Gengar. That's okay though, if I can use one in Generation II, that's enough for me. Maybe I can even train a Haunter in Crystal as well, and have a Gengar in both games. One to play with, and one for the Pokédex in Yellow, which I may or may not endeavor to complete. We'll see when I've beaten the game.

But I've gotten off topic. Marowak at the top of the tower gets deleted. Jessie and James are here again, only slightly more threatening than last time, which is to say, not threatening enough. The Poké Flute is mine, which means I can wake up that Snorlax now. First things first though. Gotta go fight Erika.

Celadon Gym

I figured I was all set to take on this gym. Chances are most of the Grass types in there are also Poison type, so they're weak to Psychic. Though, thanks to Miles being overleveled, that sounded a little dicey.

Thankfully, I have Mycoboss, who is now evolved and knows Leech Life, a Bug type move that gives me the versatility I need to take on Grass and Psychic types. I'm able to defeat most of the Pokémon easily enough, but good LORD, Bellsprout is irritating. I tried pulling out Miles to fight it in the battle with one of the trainers but he literally couldn't do anything. After several turns of being Wrap-locked I finally sent in Mycoboss to just kill the damn thing already.

Aside from the constant and infuriating status moves I got through the trainer battles easily enough. I accidentally challenged Erika before having fought them all though, so I missed out on some EXP and money... not that I need it. I doubt money will ever be an issue for me again.

For Erika herself, I tried using Butterboy. He performed decently at first, but he's a much lower level than my other Pokémon at this point, and he got destroyed by one Poison move. I think he's kinda fallen off unfortunately, his typing just isn't that useful anymore and I have a better user of Confusion now. Sorry to say, he might be getting replaced soon. I can't say it hasn't been a slice though, he was one of my best for the early game.

Miles and Mycoboss handled the rest with ease, and I earned myself yet another badge and the ability to properly control Miles again. And that is where I left things this evening.

#rapifessor rambles #nerd shit #long post #pkmn #pokémon #pokeblogging #pokemon #pokechronology #pokechron #classic games #retro gaming

[kingofkingdom-archive]

1979

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (Read part 2 HERE)

Rating: T (Teen) - part 2 will be E

Summary: The year is 1979. You need a ride to anywhere that’s far away from where you are. When a handsome stranger in a rustbucket pickup gives you that ride, neither of you could predict any of the events that follow.

Warnings: Smoking (and lots of it), mild violence (a punch is thrown), brief harassment of reader, food, mention of a gun (one is encountered but not used), mention of homelessness, brief mention/description of war (Vietnam), child abandonment, mention of abusive/dangerous father figure, passing mention of serial killers, vague description of non-specific events leading up to reader resorting to hitchhiking, very meta mention of a certain beloved space opera

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: Whew! This one has been in the shop for a LONG while. Originally I meant for this to be a single work, but I’ve hit a bit of a slump with the last bit. I decided to post this to see how y’all feel about it! The second part will be much longer :) Also: I know there has been some discourse recently about Din’s characterization in certain fics, so I hope this does him justice for you! I’m always open to comments, and like I said I’m very interested in hearing what you think! As per usual, no use of Y/N and please heed the tags/warnings.

8:47

You lean against the streetlight, glancing down at your watch and then back up to the motel across the street. You told yourself you'd wait until 8:30 and then you'd go back and reserve a room for another night. As you watch the second hand wind its way around the small, plain face of your 2-dollar timepiece, you've convinced yourself that maybe staying out until 9 is the ticket.

Your ticket, out of this shithole town.

The summer air is hot and thick around you. It's especially unbearable both between your legs and at the band of your bra, the elastic stretched around your middle doing its best to make you feel as sweaty and uncomfortable as possible. At least you're wearing your cutoffs, giving your legs the chance to breathe. You've also got a loose tank on, which flutters in the sticky wind as cars pass you by.

8:51

Your thumb has been stuck out for passerby to see for the past three days. No one has picked you up. You suppose you should be more wary of taking lifts from complete strangers with all the murder and kidnapping that's been in the news recently, but you're more than a little headstrong with a dash of stupid to go along. That's what your mother always told you, anyway.

Some Cadillac speeds past you, blaring what you think is a Donna Summer song, and you watch as the music and taillights fade into the night.

You shouldn't be surprised, you figure, as the minutes continue to tick on by. There's a gas shortage, you reason with yourself as you bend down to pick up your bag, thumb still stuck out, elbow resting on your waist. People don't do this anymore. Afraid of getting picked up by a pervert or a killer. Afraid of picking one up, and then a streetlight just like the one you're under is the last thing they see.

8:58

You sigh, ready to head in for the night. Marvin, dude who sits at the motel's front desk, is sure to give you shit about it again.

You're preparing to cross the street when you hear the low growl of a pickup truck approach. Not looking to get creamed by some fuckin' rusted-out GMC, you step back onto the curb where you'd been posted.

Except the truck slows up, and the window rolls down as it crawls to a stop in front of you.

Your heart races. Finally.

You walk up to the passenger side window and look in, expecting some fat old putz looking to get some tail in exchange for a ride.

That's not what you see.

"Need a lift, young lady?"

The truck's driver is older than you, sure, but you were wrong about pretty much everything else. He's got short dark hair and a 'stache, with some stubble across his chin. He's wearing a leather jacket over a plain gray tee, with a pair of sunglasses hung on the collar. One hand is on the wheel while the other is laid across the back of the bench seat, a cigarette perched in between his first two fingers.

You lean forward on your tiptoes as best you can, forearms resting on the door's open window. Pretending to survey the interior, you look around and take the opportunity to check the man out. God, you think. I wouldn't mind giving him whatever he wants in exchange for this ride. Maybe another kinda ride. Ha!

"As it turns out, I do. You offering?"

You rest your chin on your arms and give him the sweetest smile you can muster. The man eyes you up and takes a drag from his cigarette. You watch with rapt attention as he inhales deeply and then exhales the smoke out through his nose.

This guy's got you all hot and bothered and you haven't even gotten in the truck.

He gestures with his hand. "Come on, kid. I gotta make the state line by midnight."

You definitely like the sound of that. Eager and supremely stoked to finally have a way out of this dump, you pull on the handle, jump in, and swing the door closed behind you. Your backpack finds its place between your feet, and the stranger starts driving again as you pull your seatbelt across your shoulders.

"Where're you headed?" the man asks, glancing over to you and then looking back at the road. The asphalt seems to stretch into infinity, flanked by trees and fields and the occasional watering hole.

"Away from here," you chuckle as you fidget with your fingers. Black nail polish decorates your trimmed nails. It's chipped and uneven in some spots; you never were great at painting your nails, especially your right hand.

"I got that," the man drawls, voice deep and smooth like honey. "Any particular destination in mind?"

You shrug. To be honest, you hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. Your first and only priority was a way out, and anything after that was a problem to be handled when it came to it.

"Nope. Just as far as you're willing to take me."

The guy nods and takes a drag. The smell of cigarettes never bothered you like it does some other people; you find it relaxing, calming, especially when it's fresh and all-consuming like it is in this guy's truck. The vehicle itself is old, maybe 10 or 15 years, and a glance into the bed behind you tells you he's traveling with a couple boxes and nothing more.

It's certainly not state-of-the-art, but that's all the better for staying under the radar.

The silence looms over you like a cloud. The stranger seems content to just listen to the engine and the tires on the road, but you're prone to fill silences unprompted.

"What's your name?" you ask, and look over at him. He glances at you and raises a brow.

He clears his throat, eyes moving back to the road. "You can call me Mando."

"Mando?" you retort before you can stop yourself. "What kinda bogus name is that? Like, what... you got a thing for mandolins or some shit?"

The man huffs. "It is what is, kid. Get used to it."

You sigh, crossing your arms. "Alright, alright... Mando."

He doesn't try to continue the conversation, so you don't either. Minutes pass, and then hours, and you find yourself drifting off not too long after the clock reads 10:00. You shake yourself awake, wanting to stave off sleep until he pulls over to rest for the night.

But the engine is like a lullaby, the soft swaying of the truck a gentle rocking motion, and your eyes fall closed despite your best efforts.

When you wake up again, the truck is no longer moving, and the clock reads 12:30. 

You must have been woken up by Mando putting the truck into park. The darkness outside does not give any clues as to where you are, but as your eyes adjust you can just make out some picnic tables, garbage cans, and signs.

A rest area. Makes sense.

Mando is fumbling with something beside you. It's a map, you realize when you look over.

"Where are we?" you ask with a yawn.

"Just over the border. Made it a bit later than I would've liked, but that's not a big deal. You can sleep here in the cab. I'll take the bed, since I sleep there anyway."

You nod, though you find it odd the way he's... not asking you for anything. He hasn't mentioned payment, monetary or otherwise. You watch as he folds the map back up, and catch his gaze as he stashes it in the glove box.

"I gotta repay you somehow, mister," you mutter. "For how nice you're bein' to me. 'Specially since I made fun of your name and all."

At your words, Mando gives you a stern look from under one of his furrowed brows. "No, you don't. Blanket's under the seat. Get some rest."

He turns away, grabs the keys, and is out the door before you can reply.

It's just so unusual for a guy to pick up a girl like you and refuse payment, much less not ask for or take it outright. It's a shame, really. Any other guy, you'd give him what he wanted sure, but with less than enthusiastic participation. The one man to whom you'd gladly deliver anything he asked... and he seems not to want it.

You suppose you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Better a prude than a murderer, that's for sure.

As you reach under the seat for the blanket, your hand brushes against some sort of canvas bag, long and zippered. You lean over to look in at it upside-down, hair brushing against the dusty floor mats.

It's a rifle bag. You reach in to feel at where the barrel would be, and sure enough, there's something distinctly rifle-shaped inside.

Huh. It's not a surprise that a guy like him's traveling armed, but it makes you wonder. A hunter, maybe? Probably. There's a lot of those around.

You spot the blanket and pull it out. It's gray, scratchy wool, but as you pull it over yourself, you find it keeps the nighttime chill away quite well.

-

You wake up to Mando swatting at your feet.

"Time to get up, sunshine. Gotta get going."

His deep voice pierces through the fog of sleep still hanging thick over your mind. You groan and push yourself up onto your elbows, drawing your feet in to give him space to slide into the drivers' seat. 

It's still dark out. You see a hint of light on the horizon, the beginning of the sunrise peeking over hills and fields.

"What time is it?" you ask, rubbing at your eyes. You're a chronic over-sleeper, so seeing the sunrise is a rarity. It seems Mando has no such problem.

"A bit after six. We'll stop at a diner for something to eat in about an hour. You're welcome to go back to sleep until then." He turns the key in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life, a blast of lukewarm air hitting you in the face. 

"No, no. I'm up," you assure him, shrugging the blanket off your shoulders. As you fold it, you look over at the man beside you. He's wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket as yesterday, but the shirt underneath has changed. The sunglasses are still hung on the collar, but now it's some faded band tee from like 8 years ago. 

You set the folded-up blanket on the seat between you and him, watching as he puts the truck into drive and starts off. Before you know it, you're watching the early-morning world pass by outside your window. You kick off your sandals and tuck your feet up under yourself, sitting crosslegged on the seat.

About 15 minutes later, you've grown tired of watching farmhouses and cornfields fly by in the dark.

"So, uh..." you start, not really knowing where you intend to finish your sentence, "you like music?"

Stupid. That was stupid.

Mando chuckles. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" you reply, hopeful that he might have more to say.

"Yes. I do like music."

You roll your eyes. "What kind of music? Jazz? Opera? Country-western? Who's your favorite artist? Got any favorite records?"

He glances over at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be traveling with you for a good while, I might as well know a bit about you. And vice versa."

Mando just hums. 

"I'll tell you mine, then," you inform him, grinning widely now. "My favorite record right now is Parallel Lines. By Blondie, you know? I really like them. This time last year I woulda told you my favorite album was something by Wire or the Sex Pistols - I was real into punk, if you know anything about it. Now I'm more into poppy stuff. I just think it's fun, to be honest."

You continue to ramble to Mando well into the drive. The sky grows lighter and the road grows more crowded, but he does not stop you. At the end of a tangent about Bowie, you turn to look at him, and he's sitting there like you haven't just talked his ear off for the past twenty minutes.

"Sorry. I jus-"

"Don't apologize. It's... I don't mind," he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, looking at the sandal-shaped marks on the tops of your feet. "Don't you have any particular songs you like?"

Mando's quiet for a minute. You wait, looking up out the window. The sky is a pale pink and blue, with a hint of orange off to the east. A field of cows comes up on your left - your eyes track them as they pass by, wondering what it's like to pet one.

You bet they're soft. Soft and cuddly and so dumb they're cute.

"You have to promise not to laugh." 

The words come as a surprise. You look over to Mando, eyes wide and interested.

"Never. Favorite music is sacred."

He sighs. His grip tightens on the wheel, like sharing even a small part of himself causes him distress.

"Tapestry. Carole King," he says, though the words are quiet and guarded.

That wasn't the answer you were expecting. "Really?" you ask, smiling brightly.

He just nods, though he spares a glance towards you, like he's gauging your reaction. You lean back against the seat, turning towards him more fully.

"I wouldn't have guessed. Color me surprised, Mando. You have good taste." It's true. The album's a classic, though more so with girls your age, not guys who pick up hitchhikers and keep rifles in their trucks. "What do you like about it?"

Mando shifts, bringing his left arm up to rest on the door, elbow propped so his head can rest on his hand. "Not sure. She writes a good song, that's all I know."

You're not satisfied with that answer. You'll get to know Mando, even if it's like pulling teeth. "Bull-shit. Pink Floyd writes a good song. Paul Simon writes a good song. Why her? Why that record? It came out like ten years ago, there's gotta be a reason - a real reason - you still like it."

The drone of the engine and the road is like a soundtrack in itself to the silences that loom heavy before every sentence he speaks. You wonder when the last time he really got to talk to someone was - talk like this, not small conversation with the waiter or grocer. 

You're no psychiatrist, but it doesn't take a genius to spot someone who's been alone for a while.

Mando hums. "I guess I relate to her songs... in a way I didn't expect to when I first heard her music."

You smile at that, pleased as punch that he trusts you with that information. It's like cupping cool water in your hands on a hot summer's day, fleeting and precious. "What's your favorite song on the record?"

He turns his gaze to your for a moment, dark brown eyes staring at your dirty feet and day-old shirt and messy hair. You're not sure what exactly he sees as he takes you in, but you sit there and allow it regardless.

Mando looks back to the road, watching the small town approaching slowly on the horizon. "I Feel the Earth Move."

You nod. "A classic."

He just hums in response, and you expect the truck to fill with silence once again.

Except it doesn't.

Mando reaches out and presses the button to turn on the radio. Blondie's Heart of Glass flows out through the speakers - and you laugh.

-

The glowing neon sign advertising Lindy's Diner, with her promise of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee, gets you more excited than you care to admit. Mando pulls into a parking spot along the street, and you're out the door before the wheels have stopped turning.

Admittedly, you do also have to pee. 

You rush into the diner to take care of your business, also using the provided sinks to brush your teeth and the mirror to comb through your hair with your fingers. 

It's not much, but you do feel better. Hopefully tonight you can stay in a motel at least, maybe take a shower.

You exit the restroom and look around the diner. Mando's sitting in a booth, smoking a cigarette and looking out the window. You head over, tossing your backpack into your side first and sliding in after it.

"I'll be right back," he says, and leaves. You watch him walk over to the men's restroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Whatever. Kinda rude. Not like you care, anyway.

You lean back in the booth and take a menu from the stand at the end of the table. The classic breakfast platter is looking particularly tempting, with its hash browns and bacon and eggs-however-you-like. You're contemplating scrambled versus over-easy when you hear a pair of footsteps walk up to your table.

Two strange men stand over you, looking at you like they know exactly how homeless you really are.

"You here alone, baby?" the shorter one asks, putting a grimy hand on the back of your booth, right behind your head. You open your mouth to say no, in fact, I am not, but the other guy speaks for you.

"It looks like you are, honey. Just our luck, a girl like you all on her -"

"Is there a problem?"

Mando's deep voice cuts through whatever it was the creep was planning to say. The low timbre of his voice, normally soft and kind, is uniquely dark - almost menacing - when it hides a threat. 

You slowly cross your legs, hoping no one notices the movement under the table.

The two guys turn, and behind them you see Mando, looking extremely pissed. He puts a hand on the back of the taller man's neck, cig still perched between his fingers, and yanks him away from where he'd been standing in front of Mando's side of the booth.

"Jesus, man! We didn't know you were -"

Mando puts his hands on his hips, eyeing them up like a lion might size up its prey. "What? You didn't know what?"

The guy gulps. "Uh..."

"Come on," Mando taunts, something dark glinting in his eyes. "Don't get nervous on me, now."

"We didn't know you were with her, man. Sorry."

Mando shakes his head. "No. Don't say that to me. Say it to her." He nods hid head towards you, subtly positioning his body in between yours and theirs.

You're frozen in your seat, torn between fear and arousal.

The tall guy glances at you. "Sorry," he mutters. The shorter one's still looking at you funny, though.

Your companion jerks his head towards the door. "It's best you both leave, now." 

You realize the diner's gone quiet, customers and employees alike watching the exchange with bated breath. The taller guy glances around and turns, heading straight for the door. His buddy hesitates, gaze shifting from Mando to you and back again. Eventually he also turns to leave, following the other one out.

Mando slides into his seat, though he won't quite meet your gaze when you look at him. Noise picks up in the diner once again and you let out a shaky breath.

You're about to say something when the two guys pass by the window. The shorter one peers in, works his jaw, and spits on the ground on the other side of the window from you. You see him mouth the word 'bitch!'.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Mando to try and joke about it, attempting to brush off the uncomfortable encounter. But he's not there, and you realize belatedly that he's now storming outside.

Mouth agape, you watch as Mando stalks up to the short guy. Jesus, you think, if looks could kill... 

The creep whirls around, throwing a fist at Mando before he even gets a good look at him. Mando dodges it easily with a step back, looking simultaneously murderous and annoyed. He winds his arm back and sends his fist flying at the creep's face. The guy stumbles and falls, clutching at what is now a bloody and broken nose, landing on his back on the sidewalk. His friend has long run off.

Mando puts a boot on the guy's sternum, pressing down so he can't get up no matter how much he struggles.

You see him lean down, elbow on his knee, and say something. The guy's eyes widen and he nods frantically. Mando then removes his foot and, without sparing the guy a second glance, re-enters the diner.

He slides into the booth again and takes the menu from you. There's blood on the knuckles of his right hand, but he makes no move to wipe it off. He flips through the pages as if nothing happened. You stare at him.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter, voice soft and wavering. 

Without looking from the menu, he responds. "Yes, I did."

"But, you coulda just... just let him go..."

"I could have," he replies, and turns a page. "But I didn't."

"But -"

For the first time since you both entered the diner, he looks up at you, and you're taken aback the intensity of his eyes. "He deserved worse, kid. Far worse."

He sounds so sure of it that you can't bring yourself to say otherwise. You sigh and clasp your hands together on the table, unsure of where to go from here. 

Just then, the waitress comes up to your table, notepad and pen in hand.

"You two know what ya want?" she asks as Mando puts the menu back in its place.

He gestures for you to go first.

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the classic platter with scrambled eggs and white toast. And black coffee, please."

The woman nods, writing your order on her pad. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have the blueberry flapjacks, please. And coffee, black, for me as well."

The waitress nods and turns away. As you watch her push through the silver kitchen door, you realize that maybe you should be grateful for the way things went. That they didn't get uglier.

That Mando was there at all.

"Thank you," you say softly, doing your best to convey your sincerity to the man sitting across from you.

He simply nods, observing you with a look you can't quite place.

-

After breakfast, the two of you set off down the highway again. Fleetwood Mac flows out through the speakers and you don't expect to stop until after noon, when Mando will have to refuel (both the truck and your stomachs). Until then you kick off your shoes and put your feet up on the dash, window cracked about an inch so the summer wind can flow through your hair.

Despite the rocky start to the morning, the hours pass by easily, weightlessly. Sometimes you talk with Mando, other times you simply sit and watch the world pass by. You don't think you've ever seen this much land in one go, and it thrills you. The idea that there's so much more. 

The topics vary from your time in school to movies to the truck. You're surprised to find out that Mando's never seen Star Wars, a fact nearly unheard of to you. You promise yourself that you'll make him watch it sometime, somehow.

Lunch passes without incident; you insist on paying for your ham and cheese sandwich, because Mando had covered breakfast before you could protest. It hits the spot, along with your ice-cold Coke from the little market's freezer. There's a line to get gas, as there is everywhere, but luckily it isn't too long, since you're in the middle of nowhere. Mando won't be able to fill the truck up again for a few days, meaning you'll have to stop for the night earlier tonight than you did yesterday.

You do find something interesting at the market and you decide to shell out the money for it because it intrigues you. A new style of Kodamatic camera, complete with a pack of instant film - 12 potential photos.

In your mind you see pictures of mountains, and the truck, and Mando, and you stuff the camera in your bag before your mind can wander any further down that road.

You have to admit - traveling with someone who you know can protect you if the need arises is comforting in a way that almost makes you nervous. You keep telling yourself not to get used to it, that this is just a temporary situation for as long as he sees fit to keep you around. After he decides he's had enough, he'll leave you, and you'll be on your own again. You can't get too dependent on him.

Nighttime arrives much too quickly. The sun has just dipped below the horizon when you drive into another small town, not much more than a stoplight and a few bars. You get lucky, though, because the unmistakable neon of a motel glows just ahead.

"Thank god," you groan as Mando pulls into the parking lot. "I need a shower so goddamned bad."

Mando chuckles. His arm rests with his hand out the window, flicking the ash at the end of his cigarette out onto the pavement. The orange glow at the end of it brightens as he takes a drag, and you tear your eyes away from his lips before he can catch you staring.

That's another problem. He's every inch as attractive to you now as he was before, except now you know he's nice. The mustache and the dark curls and the broad expanse of his chest are all only made hotter by the knowledge that he likes Carole King and Elton John (he knew all the words to Tiny Dancer) and blueberry pancakes.

Plus there was that whole punching a guy to defend your honor business.

The guy at the motel's front desk reminds you of Marvin. Greasy blond hair and acne on a kid not much younger than you. You give him a disgusted look when he eyes you up, but he cuts it out when Mando walks in behind you. It gives you a small sense of satisfaction to see him so meek before your companion.

"We need a double for the night," Mando drawls, counting cash on the counter, cig perched between his lips. The sign advertised a night's stay for $22. You'd tried to pay Mando your share, but he'd refused your money.

The kid shakes his head. "Only got singles available."

Mando raises his brows. "Really."

The kid, whose name is Matt according to his name tag, nods. It takes Mando a moment to think on it, and then he looks to you.

You shrug. "I'm fine with it if you are, Mando."

He nods once and pays for the room. 12. You take the key and head over to get a head start on your shower while Mando parks the truck and gets his stuff.

The hot water feels divine. Even the towel feels great, because as threadbare and shitty as it is, it's clean and warm from sitting under the vent. You finish up in the bathroom and emerge in a pair of old track shorts and a loose-fitting tee.

Mando's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard. His jacket's draped across the table and he's kicked off his boots, so he sits with the remote in hand, barefoot. It's the most casual you've seen him thus far, and it makes your heart race.

"Shower's all yours," you tell him.

Mando looks at you from the corner of his eye. It's hard to tell what he's thinking at any given moment, so you fidget with the hem of your shirt as he looks at you. 

A thought blooms unbidden in your chest. I wish I could kiss him.

You blink, taken aback at the sudden, intense nature of your desire to feel his lips against your own. Not knowing what else to do, you cross your arms and turn to the TV. Bonanza is on.

"Seen this episode before?" you ask. It's an old show, but you still like it.

Mando nods, humming. "Used to watch these every week, right when they came out. Only the first few seasons, though."

"Why'd you stop?"

He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the ground. He gives you a small smile, though his eyes hide something pained.

"I got drafted."

Oh. "Oh. I didn't mean -"

"It's fine," he says and gets up, brushing past you to enter the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him.

You walk over to sit on the other side of the bed from where he was. Drafted. Jesus. You feel bad for bringing it up, even if it was unintentional. The TV plays though you aren't watching, mind wandering to thoughts of Mando in Vietnam. You picture him in the jungle or in a helicopter, the deafening noise of artillery and gunfire filling the air around him.

Maybe that's where he got the nickname. It certainly explains the rifle.

You reach over for the remote and shut off the TV. The clock on the wall reads about 8:00, still early for you, but you tuck yourself under the sheets and blanket regardless. You face the door, away from where Mando will sleep.

Just as you're drifting off, the lamp on the bedside table clicks off. You feel the weight of Mando crawling in beside you, and he too curls up on his side, back turned.

You fall asleep hoping he's not too upset with you.

The next thing you know, you're awake, though the world is still dark outside. Behind you, Mando snores softly, warm breath fanning out across your neck.

Wait.

You blink a few times and realize the two of you must have shifted in the night. Mando's body is pressed right against yours, chest to your back, arm draped over your middle and hand tucked under your chin. Your legs are intertwined and against the back of your thigh you feel -

You feel him.

Sleep is a powerful drug, however, and the realization is not enough to make you move. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you think maybe this isn't so bad. Your tired brain convinces you to revel in it, to enjoy this position you've found yourself in. Before you can second guess that reasoning, you drift off.

And then you're awake again. 

This time it's thanks to a rush of cold wind in your face. You reach back to feel for Mando, but the warm pillow tells you he's not there. You open your eyes to see him standing in the doorway, looking down at something. It's still dark out, but the lights of the motel parking lot put him in silhouette before you.

"What is it?" You lean up on your elbow to get a better look. The nighttime air is cool on your face, smelling faintly of gasoline and rain.

He bends down and picks up whatever it is that's in front of him. You watch as he turns to look left, then right, seemingly in search of something. He turns around and you see what he's holding.

It's a baby's carrycot.

You immediately sit up, heart racing. "Is it -?" you whisper.

Mando nods, closing the door behind him. You get out of bed and rush over to stand next to him, peering into the carrier.

Sure enough, there's a baby asleep inside. It looks to be a boy, about a year old. You bring a hand up to your mouth.

"Why - who would - what?"

Mando shakes his head, staring at the little guy. "I don't know. I heard a knock at the door and there he was - no sign of anyone else."

"We should - what do we do, Mando?"

He brings the carrier over to rest on the table beside his jacket. The boy is out cold - his little hands grip the blue knitted blanket and his mouth is just barely open. He's got dark hair, wispy and soft atop his head. As you observe the sleeping child, you notice the corner of a small piece of paper tucked in between the blanket and the cradle. You reach out and grasp it between your thumb and forefinger, unfolding it carefully.

"What does it say?" Mando whispers. Your voices are low so as to not disturb the child.

"Grogu. Please take him far from here," you read, and feel your blood run cold as the note goes on. "Not safe in this area. His father is dangerous."

It's scrawled in blue ink on half a sheet of lined notebook paper, the fringe from being torn still attached. Your hands shake as it hits you - there's some mother out there so scared for her son that she left him in the care of strangers. That there's a man out there who legitimately threatens this boy's life.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, rage and sadness simmering in your chest.

"We have to, Mando." Your words are shaky but certain. The man beside you rests a hand on the carrycot, still looking at the sleeping child within.

You turn your eyes to him. He nods, solemn.

"Let's let him rest. We'll leave in the morning, get as far west as we can. Might even be able to make Texas if we leave early enough. We can figure it out from there."

His other hand brushes against your back, and then he's drawing you into his chest. The embrace is soft, unhurried, and you lean your head against his shoulder, hands tucked against his chest. Letting your eyes slip closed, you think back on the previous day, how you never could have predicted this turn of events. How you've never felt so uncertain of things, even when you'd lost everything.

Together you return to bed, but neither of you gets much sleep.

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #fanfic #din djarin fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x fem!reader #female reader #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

[silverkoushi]

haikyuu!! headcanons

⇢ scenario: how you’d spend the holidays with them!! pt.2 | read pt. 1 here! ⇢ feat. : tsukki (karasuno), bokuto (fukurodani) & kuroo (nekoma) x gn!reader ⇢  wc & warnings:  3.3k, slightly suggestive for kuroo

ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ not @ me having the phattest crush on kuroo as you can probably tell here... dear god that man is something edit: omo for some reason the paragraphs got messed up n i just checked it after hours of posting... i fixed it now so hopefully it makes more sense ahh my apologies!! ><

tsukishima kei

୨୧ ˻˳˯ₑ*॰¨̮  idk about you but i think tsukki secretly enjoys the holidays? like he’d think the music is overbearing, the movies are disgustingly cliche, and the amount of people gathering in places is one of his worst nightmares— those aren’t the things that he looks forward to. i think tsukki loves winter, maybe because i see him as a softie who collects sweaters, hoodies, and sweatpants that keep him comfy and cozy during cold nights and chilly mornings! WITH THAT BEING SAID, tsukki dies inside when he sees you wearing any of those following outfits of his. he might get annoyed at first that you don’t ask because he was planning on wearing them that day, but when you show up at his dorm clad in his night blue sweater with a little moon stitched on the side, there are no words coming out of his mouth. he will try to look menacing, eyes in a deadpan expression but you know he’s lying, and just stare at him with a doe-like face and put his hands in yours, swinging it back and forth as you drag him out of his room and into the snowy field. you don’t even think twice about getting matching sweaters because the boy will hate you for the rest of his life, but at least you got him to wear a reindeer headband for 2 seconds in the photobooth!! most of the time, you basically just bring him to anywhere you want to go. you guys look at the humongous christmas tree they placed in the center of the plaza, and you ask someone walking by if you can get a picture of the two of you in front of him. this way, tsukki can’t complain and will be semi-forced to pose with you hehe. you thought he’d just be standing there, arms to his side with a nonchalant expression but you actually feel him put his arm around your waist and lean his head down on top of yours. 

you can’t help the cheeky smile show on your face as you tiptoe just enough to reach his cheek, and once the guy said, “ok one more!” you steal a kiss on the side of tsukki’s small smile. “hey, what was—” “thanks, mister!! happy holidays!!” you avoid his stare, and get your phone back from the guy as you scroll through the pics he took (thank god only a few were blurry). tsukki keeps glaring at you, and you understand he’s not big into pda but uh, he started it with holding you close to him like that >:( “what?? you look so cute here, though!!” you whine to him, hoping he doesn’t ask that you delete it :( tsukki gives it a once over, a warm feeling creeping on his cheeks as he studies the picture: damn, is he whipped for you. he dismisses the overreaction on his part (for once), and takes your hand in his once more, asking where it is you wanted to go next. you’re surprised he left it like that, but you’re taking advantage of this situation and drag him to more festive stuff around the plaza <3

with your parents spending the holidays abroad and working overtime, tsukki’s mom invited you to their place instead and you’re!! more than happy and oh so grateful!! tsukki doesn’t show it but he’s actually extremely nervous,, what if you don’t like his family?? what if his brother is too annoying for you, what if this isn’t the kind of in-laws you were expecting— wait, he’s thinking too far ahead and you’re looking at him with raised eyebrows. quick! he turns away from your gaze, biting his lip at getting caught with his overthinking. “tsukki, you okay?” you ask gently, looping your arm around his as you guys near his house. “yeah…” he responds lamely, and you’re not sure if he wanted you at his house for the holidays or what… but you shake the negativity away and tell yourself that this is an opportunity to show your own personality to his family!! you’re greeted by a boisterous even taller guy at the door, and his also really tall mom waving at you from the kitchen, finishing up the grand dinner. “mom and i thought you were just pretending about your relationship, tsukki~” akiteru nudges him, and you chuckle at your boyfriend’s helpless look on his face, as if telling you this is what i dealt with during my childhood. but the holiday celebration with his family went super smooth!! his mom cooked amazing homemade dishes, and tsukki was actually smiling and laughing along the poor jokes akiteru made, it was so endearing to watch. you asked to help with the clean up as tsukki and his brother play volleyball outside in the cold. 

“i’m so glad he has you,” his mom comforts you, and you nod your head in thanks while you wipe the plates clean. “i’ve never seen him so… cheerful like this, you know?” what a heartwarming thing to say :(( and yet you thought he was just finally letting loose because he’s at home!! his mom turns in early that eve of christmas, and his brother goes out to have a nightly beer sesh with his hometown friends before christmas morning tomorrow. you and tsukki are left alone in his room as you marvel at the many dinosaur related merch, posters, and even stuffies he has in his childhood room!! “don’t say it,” he threatens you lightly, even though you’ve been well-aware of his fascination for the species. a little tired from the trip earlier and ngl you’re both full from the food, you lay down on the floor, pillows supporting your sleepy heads as tsukki shares the other side of his earphones. you listen to calming, lofi music for the night and at some point, he finds your fingers in his again. “thank you for having me, tsukki,” you whisper with a yawn, remembering the night days ago where you cried into his shoulder about missing your own family during this season. tsukki doesn’t respond as he hears your light snoring, and instead turns his body towards you as he caresses the side of your face, smiling at the beauty before him. “you’re always welcome here, dummy. you’ll always have me.”

bokuto koutarou

୨୧ ˻˳˯ₑ*॰¨̮  oof!! so many holiday parties!! gift giving exchanges!! dancing and singing, drinking and having the time of your lives! of course, bokuto asks first and foremost if you’re okay going to all of these celebrations with him as he has gathered a lot of friends from different majors, clubs, and such. you didn’t expect to come with him to all of them, tbh, but since he seems so excited to bring you along you found yourself nodding along! OOPS, what a wild ride it was to meet friends you didn’t even know he had. first, bokuto asked you to help him find some gifts for the exchange parties and you comply— you love thinking up presents for diff kinds of people! “would akaashi want this?” he points at a set of compression socks for sports “you’d want that more, bo” “oh oh!! how about this for kuroo?!” he leads you to the beauty section, hairspray littering the aisle “i think that’s more of an insult than a gift…” he’ll pout at his failure to think of the best gifts for his friends, but you cling to him with your linked arms and tell him not to worry— you kinda figured the kind of people his best friends are, so you suggest things off the bat: film roll for akaashi the photography minor, a mug with a pun-ny chem joke for kuroo, and a new case for kenma’s switch lite!! “wah! you know them better than i do,” he exclaims, eyes shining in excitement as you bring the gifts and other extra stuff to his apartment to help him wrap them. with this, bokuto came up with an idea to wrap the presents in the most creative way possible, and you just stare at him in awe as he tries to disguise the mug as.. a gingerbread man?? you don’t even know how he did it! as you tape up the finishing touches with the others, you eye a small gift wrapped box on the island counter along with a card next to it, all glittery and a name scribbled on top that you can’t make out where you were seated. 

“hey, bo, who’s that for?” you point at the suspecting box, and almost immediately bokuto body slams you on the ground, obstructing your view of the gift. “bokuto i can’t breathe—” you wheeze, laughing at the way he scrambles to get up from the position but his feet slips against the unused wrapping paper on the floor. “sorry, sorry i just— STOP LOOKING” he pleads, caging you with his arms either side your figure. the both of you pause, realizing the predicament you’re in until bokuto unleashes a sly smirk, eyes pointed at you with a mischievous glint. you know that look, so you start wiggling out of his way until he plops down on you again (mind you, he’s MANY inches taller than you and his built...whew, but that’s part of the problem right now!!) and blows raspberries on your neck, the audacity!! “tell me,” he whispers against your ear after a while, voice suddenly low in tone and your senses perk up. “have you been naughty or nice recently?” he continues hoarsely, and it doesn’t take long until you burst out laughing at his attempt of being flirty right now. he finally releases you, feigns hurt from your reaction but he knows what a goofball he is.

anyway, you put all the gifts in the car and head to the many parties he was invited to!! and honestly, you enjoyed yourself albeit it got really tiring to show up with much enthusiasm compared to the last. but bokuto on the other hand never runs out of energy for some reason!! he’s still winning the games, singing his heart out with his friends, and trying all the foods in the potluck, even shamelessly!! feeding you too! it’s embarrassing >< but in a way your heart swells with the thought of bokuto being very openly proud of his relationship with you, and how his friends seem to like you as well! pictures were taken, holiday spirits and gifts were exchanged and finally, he’s free for the night <3 you’ve been waiting for the right moment to give him your personal gift to your boyf (it’s an edited picture of the two of you at one of his winning games!! you can’t draw for sht but you are the best at adding lil stickers and cute petnames all around the photo hehe) you had it inserted in a picture frame too so the gift was relatively medium sized and rectangular. when you crash at his place, you ready yourself to give it to him, having second thoughts with how corny it must seem like… as you psych yourself up on the couch, you feel his arms suddenly wrap themselves around you as he starts peppering your neck with lazy kisses. your chest tightens, eyes closed at the warmth of his lips on your skin but— you can’t get distracted!! “bo, i have something for you—” “i saved the best gift for last—” o, you say it at the same time and so you look at each other with blank stares, and then laugh at your awkwardness!! 

he lets you go first, your nerves slowly dissipating at the excited gleam in his irises, he’s so cute!! as he unwraps it, he hitches a breath, looks at you then the picture and you again and— let’s say your face was just full on bokuto territory only ;-) as much as you were enjoying his attention all on you, his gift wasn’t opened yet!! bokuto went from confident to shy mode again, hiding his face with only one eye peeking out to watch you…. for some reason, since it was a tiny box you blurted out, “don’t tell me it’s a ring, bo.” as a joke but bokuto suddenly freezes at your words. and you had to stop unboxing to make sure he doesn’t go all pale on you, but also??? was he really???? GOING TO???-- “DID YOU WANT ME TO GET YOU A RING?? I CAN RETURN THE EARRINGS TODAY, I THINK I STILL HAVE THE RECEIPT—” “bo, it’s okay!!! omg no T_T” you take his hands off his face to look at him lovingly, a kiss on his pouty lips as you reassure him his presence is all that you can ever want, but whatever it was he gave you, you’ll cherish just the same!! so finally, once you take the lid off the box you see an adorable pair of owl earrings!! it’s so cute and it reminds you of him and thats probably why he got that for you :’)))) “i also wrote you a letter but please read it when i’m asleep or something…” aww shy bokuto!! >< you never thought you’d see the day :’)

kuroo tetsurou

୨୧ ˻˳˯ₑ*॰¨̮  man.. i just know this guy wouldn’t want to let leave… the bed… with him… on christmas day. imagine something like having to stay until he can for his duties at work which ended up til late christmas eve :( you were looking forward to spending time with him back at his hometown since you don’t necessarily celebrate the specific holiday, but being with tetsurou for almost a year now and knowing he does— you wanted it to be special and memorable for him! he felt really bad making you stay at his apartment until he finishes up work, really zooming through all the documents and stuff he needed to complete just so he can spend at least a few hours of christmas eve with you. when he got home, his heart dropped to his stomach at the sight of you falling asleep on the couch, right next to the lit up christmas tree you two decorated a week ago (thats how busy he has been! you opted to fix the tree yourself, but tetsu insisted on doing it together since it’s your first holiday with him!). your favorite blanket was wrapped around you but your feet were dangling midway with no socks on and he just >:( had to carry you to bed and tuck you in— all of you!! 

he changes to a sweater and pjs before readying himself to carry you against his chest. his own body is exhausted from working non-stop, but he doesn’t let it get to him as he passes by the hallway and plops you gently on your side of the bed. you stir groggily, eyes refusing to open but you notice your surroundings are different. the room is dimly lit but the figure walking around the place isn’t amiss; with his hair sticking up and his wide shoulders, you know it’s your tired boyfriend finally home for the holidays. you smile, still sleep-induced but you try to reach over for him. “tetsu… come to bed, please,” you mumble but he hears you, and his back is against you but he smiles at your half-awake tone. “i’ll be right there,” he lets you know softly, and true to his word you feel the dip in the mattress with his warmth slowly exuding onto your own body, his hands easily finding themselves over you. you wiggle into his grasp, head against his chest and hands holding onto his waist. he feels warm, he feels like home, and you press a kiss where his neck meets his collarbones. “mm, merry christm…” you mutter, losing consciousness but he doesn’t mind. he lets you snore your way into dreamland, watching your eyelashes tickle the surface of your skin, lips partly open as you breathe in and out. suddenly, his tense muscles relax with your presence oh so close to you, and he sleeps soundly after a few minutes of admiring your face.

as the sunlight filters thru the windows, kuroo wakes up first but knowing it’s his day off (finally), he relaxes into the bed and just observes the tiny details of your face, same as the night before but with some of the brightly shining rays of the sun hitting the right spots— you’re breathtaking to him. he feels you stir in his embrace so he pretends to snore because he knows you like to get up as soon as you feel awake. “tetsu…” you mumble, popping out your head from his grasp to peer your eyes at him pretending to not hear you. “you’re a lousy liar, i know you’re up,” you tell him, rubbing your nose against him as a form of an eskimo kiss. it takes so much out of his restraint to bite his lip in pure love for you, so he gives in and kisses you on the lips. 

you are taken aback for a split second until you comply to his request, and you spend your first christmas morning with him in bed just like that <3 he still asks if you guys can spend the whole day just tangled into each other’s embrace but you lecture him playfully, knowing that he had a christmas party to attend to in the afternoon with his closest friends (bokuto, akaashi, kenma, and others) and you have a lovely dinner planned in the evening. he wiggles his eyebrows, fingertips tracing the exposed skin on your chest, “what if we skip all of that and i just have you for dinner instead?” “KUROO TETSUROU IT IS TOO EARLY FOR YOU TO SAY THAT RIGHT NOW—” you swear to god, it is his teasing and malicious intent that will kill you one day. but the blush on your face doesn’t go unnoticed, and yet kuroo complies with your light nagging, getting up and getting ready for the day. you’re happy that he finally has the day off, and being with his friends during the party truly lightened up his mood. afterwards, he then asks where you got a reservation during the busiest time of the year, and you just winked at him and zipped your mouth. 

since you ate a bit at the party, you knew you had some time to finish prepping the food you had prepared the night before, it all just needed to bake or be cooked on the pan. and bec of his exhaustion last night, he didn’t even open the fridge at all so there were zero suspicious at your surprise dinner. urging him to take a long, hot bath, he drags you with him. “you seriously want me to take a bath by myself?” he says in shock horror, and normally you would join him hah but you tell him that your parents are calling, just wanting to say hello. a little sad, kuroo nods in understanding and so he goes about his way while you cook the food with haste. he likes to take his time in there but you know you won’t finish beforehand, so once he’s out of the bathroom, you immediately go right in front of him to hide the view of the kitchen. you played yourself, seeing kuroo only in his bathrobe with his chest exposed, you slap him right at the center to ignore the sensation in the pit of your stomach. “what?? what’d i do???” “existing right in front of me like that!!” kuroo laughs at your embarrassment, but kisses you on the forehead nonetheless. he ignores the obvious smell of pasta and chicken in the apartment, ignores the messy apron you forgot to take off because he thinks you really wanted to surprise him. so he goes to the room to change, thinking about how lucky he is to have you in his life. the rest of the night ends up with the both of you having a romantic dinner in the dining room, talking about everything you already know about each other—but it never feels repetitive. he always feels so renewed with you, falling in love every day. 

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu au #tsukishima kei imagines #tsukishima kei scenarios #kuroo tetsuro imagines #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #bokuto imagines #bokuto scenarios #tsukishima au #bokuto au #kuroo tetsuro au #haikyuu headcanons #tsukki:hc #bokuto:hc #kuroo:hc #hqf.jiae

[ffakc]

A Midwest Christmas - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

Again, I’m aware I’m late posting this. I know it’s no longer Christmas, don’t yell at me. Christmas is one of my favorite holidays and I LOVE writing stories that are based around Christmas.

Jeff crushed out his cigarette and breathed hot air into his hands to warm them. He shrugged his shoulders a few times, almost as if he was psyching himself up.

“You okay, babe?” I ask and kiss his cheek, shutting the car off.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t know why I’m so nervous! I’m a grown ass man, damn it,” my boyfriend chuckles.

“They’ll love you, Jeff. You know my mom and dad love you already, you have nothing to worry about, baby” I give his thigh a squeeze and kiss his neck deeply. Jeff moans and tilts his head to the side.

“Please don’t give me a boner before meeting your female relatives,” Jeff chuckles. “I don’t know, babe. Dad might not love me after I walk through the door,” he gestures to his Seattle Seahawks beanie.

“He’ll get over it,” I laugh and open the car door. Jeff grabs the box of gifts from the trunk and holds my hand as we walk to the front door.

“Merry Christmas Eve!” I holler from the foyer. Jeff kicks off his boots.

“Hey sweetie! Hey Jeff, what’s up, brother?” my dad calls from the den.

“Hey, Mr. C,” Jeff smiles warmly.

“Oh no, oh no. You take that hat off! You’re in Bear country!” my dad laughs. “Just when I thought I liked you!”

“I knew you’d say something! GO HAWKS!” Jeff chuckles and tosses it onto the bench. My dad jokingly makes a fist. I roll my eyes playfully and ruffle his hair as we head upstairs. Men and their sports, I’ll never understand it.

“You can just set the gifts under the tree,” I whisper to Jeff and give his arm a squeeze. He waves at my female relatives at the table.

“Hiiiii! Merry Christmas! I’ve missed you!” my cousin Amy hugs me. “How’s New York?”

“Absolutely incredible. Every day feels like a new adventure with this one,” I gesture to my man standing behind me. “This is my boyfriend, Jeff!”

“Hi there, you must be Amy? I’ve heard so much about you!” Jeff shakes her hand and kisses her cheek.

“All good things I hope!” Amy laughs.

“Yes ma’am. I’ve heard y’all are super close, and I love that. Family togetherness recharges the batteries.”

“I’m glad to hear it! I can’t think of a single holiday we didn’t spend together,” Amy gestures around the table.

“Have a seat!” my mom says. “Can I get you anything to drink? We have wine, beer, Coke Zero...”

“I’ll have a Coke,” Jeff replies and sits next to me at the long dinner table. I pull a small bottle of Crown Royal out of my bag.

“I’ll take a Coke as well,” I laugh.

“You came to party! I’ll take some too,” Jeff wraps his arm around me and kisses my cheek as I add the liquor to his glass of ice, “It smells amazing in here, Ma,” Jeff says to my mom.

“Thanks, Jeff! It’s a tradition on Christmas that we have Grandma, my mom’s, tacos. The shells are from a tiny little Mexican kitchen downtown, that’s how my mom always did it. I think we’re just waiting on Jessica and then we’ll be ready to eat!”

“Sounds delicious,” Jeff sips his drink.

“How’d you guys meet? You look super familiar, Jeff,” my aunt Janine remarks. I rest my head on Jeff’s shoulder.

“It all started when I began frequenting this coffee shop that opened near my, well, OUR farm while on hiatus from work. I couldn’t take my eyes off this brown eyed manager with the messy bun in her hair who would always ring me up and make my drink. Golly, she looked cute in that apron,” Jeff nudges me and everyone laughs as I blush. “I finally had to ask this pretty young thing out. I invited her over for dinner and the rest is history. One year and some change later and I can’t imagine my life with anyone else but my baby gal,” he kisses me softly. “Oh! I’m an actor, by the way. I’m currently on a show called The Walking Dead, I play the bad guy named Negan. A lot of people still recognize me as Denny from Grey’s Anatomy and John Winchester from Supernatural though,” Jeff smiles warmly.

“I knew those eyes looked familiar!” my aunt exclaims. “Wow, girl, a famous actor? Check you out!”

“He’s pretty great. I thought the concept of soulmates was cheesy til this man came along. I mean, nobody’s perfect, but Jeffrey comes pretty darn close,” I rub his thigh under the table.

“How old are you anyway? That gray beard says you’re old,” my 13 year old cousin Alyssa asks.

“Lys! You can’t just say that!” her mom quiets her.

“It’s okay, hon! I’m not offended at all! I AM old, real old. I’m 54,” Jeff laughs.

“And how old are you?” Alyssa turns her attention to me.

“24,” I link my arm with my man’s and nuzzle his shoulder.

“Sooo, you were 30 when she was born?” Alyssa makes a sassy face.

“Don’t push it, little girl,” Jeff teases and we all laugh.

*Jeff’s POV*

“So, this is the man cave, huh?” I glance around at the fishing poles adorning the chocolate brown wall and Chicago sports gear.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice! It gets cold down here, but the fireplace helps!” my girlfriend’s dad Tim tosses some kindling on the fire.

“Super cozy,” I remark. I haven’t been this nervous in a long time. I had something I desperately wanted to ask him, but I didn’t want to just get right to it.

“How you doin’, bud?” my girlfriend’s grandfather Ray asks.

“Good, Ray! I’m really good, fantastic actually. It feels so nice to be off work for the holidays! Thank you guys so much for welcoming me into your home. Dinner was delicious and the Midwest hospitality is much appreciated.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Tim says.

“This is for you,” Ray reaches into his coat pocket. He passes a CD my way with small writing on the jacket, “To: Jeff. Love, Grampa.”

“Aww, what’s this?” I say, pushing my glasses up.

“Elvis Christmas songs. Something for you and your girl to dance to. You better treat her good,” he smiles his adorable old man smile.

“Thank you so much, Grandpa,” I get up and give him a hug. “You didn’t have to get me anything. So, um,” I clear my throat as I settle into the couch. “There’s something we should talk about. I mean, something I need to ask you. I don’t know, I’m shaky as hell. So, how do I put this?” I pull a small velvet box out of my pocket. “I brought this with me.”

“You want to marry me? Let me go get my dress!” Tim teases. Whew, a joke to break the tension.

“Yeah, totally! I, wow, I’m going to cry. Pull yourself together, Jeff. I wanted to know if I can ask your daughter to be my wife. She’s got me wrapped, man. When I look into her eyes, I just fall in love over and over again. I know it’s old fashioned of me to ask, but I thought I’d do the right thing and ask for your blessing. I love your girl so damn much, you have no idea,” I wipe tears away.

“I had a feeling this would be happening. You kept staring at me all through dinner with this lost puppy look in your eye, like I was going to yell at you or something! Jeff, I see the way she looks at you and it warms her dad’s heart. Every time you speak, she stops immediately what she’s doing and stares at you with hearts in her eyes. I’ve never seen my daughter so happy. Of course you have my blessing.” My heart begins hammering in my chest as my soon to be fiancée’s dad pulls me into a hug.

“Thank you so much, sir! Oh my god, I’m freaking out. Thank you, thank you! So, next question, where’s the best place to propose around these parts?”

“Well, downtown near your hotel on 5th Avenue, it’s all decked out in Christmas lights. Maybe you guys could take a walk down there?”

***

“What a great dinner, your family is so kind and welcoming!” Jeff says as we climb into the warm car. “I love you so much, doll.”

“I’m so glad you had a good time, honey. I knew you would! I love you too, Jeff. I’m so looking forward to the hot tub when we get back to the room, I don’t know about you.” Jeff slides his hand over my upper thigh seductively as I drive through the city in the direction of the hotel. I glance over at my boyfriend and he gives me the sexiest bedroom eyes. I could have just stopped the car and taken him right there. We jam out to our favorite Christmas songs and giggle like kids.

“Fifth Avenue,” Jeff mutters. “Pull over, babe.” I pull into a parking spot and Jeff grabs my face and kisses me deeply, “Let’s go walkin’ in a winter wonderland.” I smile and shut the car off and follow behind him. Jeff’s adorable spontaneity was one of his best qualities. He takes me by the hand as we look at the twinkling lights. There’s no cars on the road and the snow dampens all the sound.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Jeff places his hands on my hips.

“Yes?” I wrap my arms around his neck. We hold each other close.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he pecks my lips, I run my fingers through his soft gray hair. “I tried to come up with a long romantic speech, but words are failing me. You’re everything I’ve hoped and dreamed for. You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. You’re the reason I can’t wipe this smile off my face. Every time I look into those gentle brown eyes, I’m reminded of why I fell in love with you all over again. A life without you is a life I don’t want to live. You’re my entire world, sweet girl.” Jeff pulls away and reaches into his pocket.

“Oh my god,” I sigh, “Jeffrey, I-I-“ I’m utterly speechless. Jeff brushes away the snow on the sidewalk with his gloved hand and gets on one knee.

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?” Jeff smiles widely, opening the velvet box and revealing a simple, shimmering band. That man knew me so well, it was exactly the

“Oh god, Daddy! Yes! Yes, Jeffrey, yes I’ll marry you!” I jump up and down excitedly. Jeff’s hands shake as he slides the ring on my finger. I gasp with delight, “I love you. Oh baby, it’s beautiful!” Jeff gets to his feet and rests his forehead against mine as we both cry tears of joy. My breath quavers from excitement and the biting cold as Jeff kisses me over and over again.

“I want you to be mine forever,” he whispers against my lips.

“Forever and ever. Oh my god, my heart is racing! You’re so amazing, I love you so much.”

“I love you the most, baby gal.”

***

Jeff and I could hardly keep our hands off each other as we hustled to the elevator.

“Merry Christmas!” the front desk agent calls out.

“You too!” Jeff replies with a friendly wave. I untie my coat as the door to the elevator shuts. I tangle my fingers in my silver fox’s thick hair and moan as he kisses my neck and pulls down my sweater, brushing his scruffy beard against my chest as he kisses and sucks gently.

“Jeffrey, you naughty boy,” I gasp. His large, slender hand find its way between my thighs. “Please, Daddy,” I whine. Jeff slides his fingers down the front of my leggings. He pulls them out just as the elevator chimes, my face goes red as I readjust my Christmas sweater and Jeff fixes his hair as if nothing ever happened.

“Merry Christmas!” an innocent, elderly Mrs. Claus looking woman greets us.

“Merry Christmas to you too!” I reply, the cool air of the hallway hitting Jeff’s saliva on my chest, causing me to shiver with delight. We laugh to ourselves as Jeff opens the door to our suite. Oh, that poor old lady, I hope she didn’t hear too much.

“Let’s see, how about we celebrate with a drink!” Jeff says with a wide smile, slinging his coat over a chair.

“Hmm, how about something sweet? I kind of want dessert after all those tacos,” I wrap my arms around my now fiancé’s waist as he kisses me, his large hands squeeze me closer.

“Your sweater reminds me, how about a White Russian?”

“I am, in fact, the Dude. One of my favorites,” I reply with a laugh.

“Hmm. Vodka, check. Coffee liqueur, got it. Cream, hmm. Cream, cream, cream,” Jeff taps his chin. “Got it!” he grabs some half and half packets from the coffee station.

“Ah, resourceful! I like that!” I kiss him and sit on the bed, “I’ll get the bath ready.”

I draw the bath and Jeff hands me a drink, setting his on the rim of the tub. He unbuttons his shirt revealing his hairy chest and stomach. He kisses me.

“I love you so much,” he says. “Nice ring you’ve got there.”

“Thanks!” I run my fingers down his chest, “My handsome fiancé gave it to me.”

“He must be a lucky guy,” Jeff’s pants come off and he slides into the tub with a loud groan.

“Jesus, that feels so fucking good,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “Come on in, baby gal, the water’s fine.” Jeff bites his lip eagerly as I take my clothes off. “You’re so sexy, you know that?”

“I could say the same about you, darlin’,” I reply, tossing my bra on the floor. I tie my hair up as my fiancé looks me up and down. I climb in the tub, opposite of the rugged older man that I was so lucky to call mine. Jeff grabs my leg and begins kissing the length of my calf.

“When and where do you want to get married?” he asked with a sly smile, kneading my legs.

“Honestly, I’ve always dreamed of a fall or winter wedding. You know how I feel about hot weather,” I take a sip of my White Russian.

“Babe, it’s too hot! This is stupid! Ninety degrees? Ew, fuck that!” Jeff imitates my whining. I laugh.

“You know me so well!”

“Daddy, I have a headache!” Jeff cackles.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” I playfully splash water in his face with my foot. Jeff sputters.

“I give you shit because I love you!” he wipes his face.

“I know, and I give it right back to you, asshole! What were we talking about again?” I giggle.

“Wedding plans?”

“Oh, right. So, definitely a fall wedding. What about on the farm? Ballrooms have never really struck my fancy. That little area off beyond the pastures would be beautiful, don’t you think?”

“I agree, I don’t need a big gala with a stuffy tuxedo to show everyone how much I love you. Ooh! How about under that big tree where we had a picnic and carved our names?” Jeff places my legs on his shoulders.

“J hearts K, yeah, I remember,” I sigh longingly. “That’s where you first told me you loved me.”

“Aw, it was, wasn’t it? You packed us a picnic and everything! You’re just a regular Ina Garten, aren’t you? Remember me yelling at the dogs to stay away from the alpacas? ‘Guys, those aren’t puppies, they’ll kick the shit out of you!’” Jeff laughs.

“Well, if I’m Ina, you’re Jeffrey! Hey, look at that! It works!” I tap my glass against his. “Those dogs are so cute, but they’re little shits sometimes.”

“Oh, absolutely they are,” Jeff agrees. “Wow, that cute barista who I was scared to ask out is going to be my wife? How did I get so damn lucky?”

“You were scared to ask me out? Why? We would always chit-chat back and forth.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why. I think it’s because I didn’t want to be THAT guy. You know, the guy who thinks the food service worker is flirting with him just because she’s being nice,” Jeff rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t get that impression from you at all! I think you’re sexy as fuck, and have since the day I first met you. If I thought you were a scumbag, I wouldn’t have flirted back. And I wouldn’t have had sex with you on the first date, would I?” I tease.

“You’re right. Man, that was a wild night, eh? My heart still beats fast when I think about it,” Jeff grins. “You looked so damn good in my shirt too. Come here,” he holds out his arms and I make my way to his side of the tub, sitting on his lap. He runs his manly hands all over my body and buries his face in my neck, kissing and moaning, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Mrs. Morgan.”

“I love the sound of that. I get to be your wife and I’ve never been happier in my entire life. I love you so much, Jeffrey.”

“I love you too.”

We eventually climb out of the tub, after kissing and laughing and talking til the water turns our toes to raisins. I wrap myself in a fuzzy bathrobe and Jeff quickly does the same. I climb in the big, fluffy bed and Jeff snuggles next to me. He wraps his slender arms around me and I immediately drift off to sleep.

***

“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” Jeff’s croaky, sultry morning voice rings in my ears like church bells. He kisses my forehead, his scruff brushing against my skin. I squint my eyes at the bright sun bouncing off the snow and flooding our suite.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” I curl up closer to his warm body. I close my eyes and bury my face in his chest, “Has anyone told you that you look like Santa Claus with your beard?” I laugh and kiss his collarbones.

“Every damn day on social media,” Jeff chuckles. He moans softly at my touch. I stop and hold out my left hand, my vintage gold band shimmering in the light.

“Just had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” I smile.

“You ain’t dreamin’, sweet girl. You’re going to be my wife,” Jeff kisses me and strokes my hair. He climbs on top of me, our naked bodies still cloaked in the beige comforter. He buries his face in my neck, leaving sloppy kisses.

“Daddy,” I whimper.

“Yeah, baby?” I hold his face in my hands.

“Nothing, I just like looking at you. You sure are pretty. What do you say we have a little fun before going back to Mom and Dad’s?”

“I would want nothing more,” I reply as Jeff pulls the blanket over his head and begins kissing down my body. I giggle with delight as his beard tickles me. Best. Christmas. Ever.

Tag list: @negans-attagirl @jdmbbycakes @iluvneganandjamie

#denny duquette #fanfic #fanfiction #greys anatomy #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #the walking dead #older man younger woman #christmas #engagement

[abbeyroadie]

I know others have gotten that stupid question when someone finds out that you like The Beatles they ask, “Oh yeah? Name five Beatles songs that weren’t big hits.” The other day I told someone that my favorite Beatle is Paul McCartney and they said, “Ok, name five songs from McCartney’s solo career.” Laaaaaawd I have nothing to prove to anyone, but it always grinds my gears when people assume I’m only wearing a Beatles t-shirt for aesthetics, or I only love Paul for his looks. Bitch please.

So I compiled this list of songs that I first tried to narrow down to ten and quickly realized I couldn’t even narrow it down to twenty, lol. My favorite Paul McCartney songs post Beatles era are listed below with links to YouTube to hear each song. I left out anything he did as a collaboration just because this list is hella long already. Please feel free to add your favs as well!

~

36. Calico Skies

- I love the simplicity of this song. Paul’s finger picking on the guitar vaguely reminds me of the style of Blackbird.

 35. Put It There

- This song has a soft, sweet melody that always gets stuck in my head.

 34. The World Tonight

- “I go back so far, I’m in front of me.” Sometimes Paul’s lyrics are awesomesauce, lol.

 33. Call Me Back Again

- I love how this song kinda goes back to his roots. Very oldies, very bluesy. Lots of wailing Paul and great guitar licks.

 32. This One

- Might be a song for John if you squint sideways and upside down. Another one that’s a definite earworm.

 30./31. Venus and Mars/Rock Show

- I’m sort of cheating but these two songs def go together. Venus and Mars is very melodic and draws you in, jumping right into the rocker that is aptly named Rock Show. A great way to kick off the V&M album.

 29. C Moon

- This tune is very sentimental to my sister and me. As kids we’d run around the house singing it at the top of our lungs. Also, the beginning when Paul misses the intro and just keeps the gaff in the song makes it that much better, lol.

 28. Somedays

- A quiet song, Paul’s more thoughtful, reflective side. The dueling acoustic guitars and harp are especially lovely.

 27. Big Barn Bed

- I used to skip over this song because I thought it made no sense. Then one day it hit me how much fun it is. And now I wanna keep on sleeping in a big barn bed too, haha.

 26. With a Little Luck

- One of those uplifting, positive tracks that Paul is so freaking good at creating.

 25. Young Boy

- Just the way Paul sings “looooooong” and “strooooong” at the end of a couple of the lyrics. And the guitar solo kicks ass too.

 24. Goodnight Tonight

- Ooh boy, where to start with this song? First and foremost, that BASSLINE. Perhaps it’s a disco-ish dance number that meets electronica? I don’t even know. John said he didn’t like this song but he loved Paul’s bass playing on it, so there you go, lol.

 23. Nineteen-Hundred and Eighty-Five

- This one is very upbeat, but the slowed down intermission with the “ooohs” is what makes it interesting to me. It also includes some amazing piano playing.

 22. Hi, Hi, Hi

- I prefer the live version of this song, but it’s tons of fun no matter what.

 21. Junk

- A very soft tune that would have fit perfectly on The White Album. Very stripped back and almost sad.

 20. Off the Ground

- Paul at his very best at creating melodies that are catchy and fun and don’t delve too deep. “I need lovin’, you need lovin’ too.” And you can’t forget the hand claps and la la las! Good luck getting this song out of your head.

 19. Live and Let Die

- I’d be surprised if you haven’t heard this song sometime in your life. It’s one of those songs where you hear it and go, “Wait, I know this song. This is Paul McCartney?!” He be James Bond like that, heehee.

 18. Dear Boy

- I’ve heard this song is about Linda’s ex. Some think it’s about John. Either way, it’s a catchy little tune.

 17. Take It Away

- This is a great song even before you realize how amazeballs Paul’s bass playing is on it.

 16. Monkberry Moon Delight

- Y’all, WHAT EVEN IS THIS SONG?! I don’t know, but it’s so freaking FUN! Paul’s poor voice though. I feel like he probably couldn’t talk for a week after laying down the vocal track, lol.

 15. Too Much Rain

- Ugh, this song is so beautiful and so sad at the same time. Paul trying to be optimistic as always.

��14. Dear Friend

- Is this a song about John too? Maybe. Probably. A haunting melody with a solitary piano for most of it, with a heavy feeling of regret, at least imo.

 13. Band on the Run

- Here you get three songs in one, not unlike the Abbey Road medley but completely different as well. Paul knows how to kick off an album, that’s for sure!

 12. Maybe I’m Amazed

- I prefer the live version of this song too, but it kicks you in the gut no matter what. Paul loved Linda so much, and he lets everyone know it.

 11. Tug of War

- Ok, I don’t know if this song is about John. It could be. It sounds like Paul’s talking about something…more. “In another world we could stand on top of the mountain with our flag unfurled.” “We will be dancing to the beat played on a different drum.” What is Paul trying to say exactly? Many have debated the lyrics to no end. You decide.

 10. Too Many People

- This is FOR SURE about John, and the breakup of the Beatles. And it started a song war between John and Paul that would go on for years. But it’s also a bop, lol.

 9. Here Today

- This is Paul speaking to John after John’s death. And it’s completely heartbreaking. I have to be in a certain mindset to listen to this one.

 8. Hope of Deliverance

- If this song doesn’t get your foot tapping and your head bopping, idk you might want to check your pulse.

 7. Silly Love Songs

- DAT BASS THO. For real, this song is built around Paul’s bassline and it’s amazing! Also, this was Paul basically giving John the finger for making fun of his “granny shit” and “silly love songs.”

 6. Jet

- This is one that I crank up in my car and it may or may not make me drive a little faster, lol. I love it so much.

 5. Little Lamb Dragonfly

- A two for one! Both songs are lovely, but I particularly love the dragonfly lyrics and melody. (Yes, this song is possibly about John as well (“how did two rights make a wrong?”), but it’s debatable.) Listening to it once usually isn’t enough for me.

4. Little Willow

- Whew, this one makes me emotional. The guitar, the lyrics, the piano, Paul’s voice – all so soothing and unbelievably soft and achy. It breaks my heart in the sweetest way.

 3. Mull Of Kintyre

- Arguably the biggest hit of Paul’s solo career, it’s like the Hey Jude of its own time. And it has freaking BAGPIPES, lol. This is one of those songs that you’ve heard before, but you don’t know where and you don’t know how, you just have. It will stick with you for a long time.

 2. Let Me Roll It

- This song. THIS SONG. Ughhhhhhhh. So sexy I can’t even begin to explain. You just have to listen and let it take you there. Another one where the bassline makes you want to weep. Tingles. Tingles everywhere.

 1. Wanderlust

- This will forever be my favorite solo Paul McCartney song. Completely underrated and simply magical. George Martin has said that this is Paul’s greatest vocal performance and I wholly agree. His voice is so pure and melodic, I sometimes get emotional listening to it. The song as a whole just checks all the boxes of what I most love about a Paul McCartney song – beautiful, melodious and timeless. There’s that old jokey saying, “If this ain’t played at my funeral, I ain’t going.” Yeah, this is that song for me.

#the beatles #paul mccartney #mclennon #i spy mclennon #long post #this was harder to do than i thought #i love a whoooole bunch of paul songs lol

[earthnashes]

Finally finished with the headcanon of the Twili and the Twilight Realm! Or at the very least the main stuff regarding them and their culture. O: Took me so long ‘cuz I had to draw everything up first but I’m really happy with how everything came out. Now before I get into the headcanon I’d like to thank ya’ll for allowing me to have some of your OCs cameo in the post, it saved me quite a bit of time instead of me having to design the characters from the ground up, and it was a lot of fun! <: The following is featured:

Panel 1: 

Akamu (owned by drawingshady) Rishai (owned by takitacomako) Eclipse (owned by Desphiria)

Panel 2:

Dream Walker (owned by elosoquelee) Cass (owned by furysscorn) Alix (owned by Crunchy-Cucumber)

Again thank you all so much! ^.^ Aight then, now onward to the headcanon!

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

-The Twili are a unique race that inhabit the Twilight Realm, a realm of which they didn’t originate from but have since made their home all those many centuries ago. They were once Hylian but when their ancestors, a group called “The Interlopers” were banished to the Twilight Realm for their crimes, they have since evolved to adapt to their environment and, in turn, have evolved into a race of their own.

-Twili are covered in a short but thick coat of fur, often coming in two different tones and distinct markings. The tones are usually a greenish gray or blue-grey with a much lighter color of the same tone, however it isn’t too uncommon to see Twili with a more reddish tint to their fur. Their hair color is often a unique gradient of red to yellow and their eyes are often a shade of red (with the sclera usually a light yellow). Despite having normal-like feet, the Twili are digitgrade and always stand on the tips of their toes. Twili all have slit pupils, claw-tipped fingers, and small-ish fangs adorning their mouths: they are most likened to being more “feral” in appearance in comparison to their Hylian relatives, which is true to some extent.

All Twili have natural tattoos that are etched into their skin (and is entirely visible through their fur), and these marks have the capacity to glow if the individual is using magic. These tattoos are almost always a bright green-blue or electric blue in color. While each individual’s tattoos are generally different, all Twili have tattoos that seem to share the same motifs and repeated patterns as shown in the “Common Markings” panel above.

-The three headshots show off rare color mutations seen within the Twili. All the information about these mutations can be seen and read in the info-boxes of each headshot above! <:

-The Twili, given their evolution to better inhabit their environment, all have a sensitivity to the sun. Exposure to the sun doesn’t necessarily harm them however sunlight upon their bodies can cause discomfort, especially if exposed for too long. Overexposure to extreme and direct sunlight or divine light can be harmful or even lethal to a Twili (ex: Midna being mortally wounded when exposed to a Light’s spirit’s unfiltered light directly). As a means to protect themselves, the Twili will often don hooded cloaks when visiting the Light Realm. 

-Culturally, the Twili are indifferent and unbothered by nudity. It isn’t uncommon to see a Twili waltzing around in near nothing as far as clothing goes, however all Twili wear loincloths out of politeness instead of any real embarrassment to their bodies. Pants and shirts are very rarely worn unless the Twili’s specific profession requires it, which will be talked about a little more in detail below.

-The Twili don’t quite follow the typical social ranking system often seen in other cultures. That’s to say, “Upper-class, Middle-class, Working-class, ect” doesn’t necessarily exist in the Twili’s culture. Instead they are categorized by the profession they choose to partake in, though that doesn’t necessarily separate them from each other, due to their belief that every Twili serves an important purpose to their society, no matter where they’re born or who they’re born to. The only exception to this belief are religious figures and royalty, but while Royalty are distinguished by blood, any Twili can become a religious figure should they choose to commit themselves to the profession.

At any rate, their society is categorized by profession:

Artisans: Twili who’s focus is on the artistry of their culture. Includes professions such as: Painters, writers, musicians, craftsmen, architects, chefs, so on.

Enforcers: Twili who’s roles are to provide law enforcement and the protection of their people. Includes professions as: warriors, law enforcers, knights to the crown, judges, so on.

Providers: Twili who’s roles focus on providing the necessities of living to their society. Includes professions as: hunters, farmers, fishermen, healers/doctors, so on.

Mentors: Twili who focus on the pursuit for knowledge as well as the desire to share that knowledge. Includes professions such as: philosophers, teachers, librarians, wizards/witches

Spirituals: Twili who’s focus is on the spiritual and religious aspect of their society, they act as the superficial bridge between their people and the gods they worship. Includes professions such as: Priests and Priestesses, shamans, monks

-Despite their non-nonchalance toward clothing, what a Twili wears can indicate their profession. For example: a monk or a shaman are often seen in etched pants or traditional robes, while a Twili with a profession in fashion may wear transparent silks and an abundance of jewelry. Twili with practical and labor-based professions, like farming or metalsmithing, are unlikely to wear anything more than the bare minimum of the cultural loincloth so it won’t get in the way of their work, while royalty and Twili involved with the government are often seen wearing moderate but relatively intricate jewelry, often in copper or bronze.

-Midna is no longer the Queen of the Twili, having since willingly stepped down to allow another leader to the throne. However, the events of Twilight Princess has since elevated her as a sort of demi-god to her people, much to her chagrin. As a living deity to her culture, Midna still retains much of the power she had as queen, if not moreso given her current status. If you’d like to learn more about Midna in my headcanon, you can check out the post dedicated to her HERE.

-The panel with the 2 BG speedpaintings are my vision of the track leading to the Twilight Realm and the Twilight Realm itself respectively. The destruction of the mirror may have made traveling between the realms more difficult but it didn’t make it impossible. Sometime in her long-standing rule as the Queen of the Twili, Midna eventually went hard at work to re-establish that direct connection to the realms and, once she did, set out to put into place an alliance between the Twilight Realm and the Light Realm. It took a couple of long centuries before it was fully in effect, and from that point on relation between the two realms have only grown stronger. It wasn’t long before transportation between the realms was established, which in turn only strengthened their comradery. Nowadays it’s very common to see Light Dwellers visiting or even living in the Twilight Realm, and vice versa for the Twili.

-The Twilight Realm is accessible through the use of a Spirit Train, a unique locomotive that has access to traveling into realms connected to its native one. The train that runs to the Twilight Realm is a one-way train that travels through nearly every possible realm that’s available to visit, with the Twilight Realm being it’s first stop.

-The last panel is a depiction of a Twili Wolf. The Twili Wolf is a sacred animal in Twili culture, a creature who was once of the light realm before adapting to the Twilight Realm way before the Twili even inhabited the land, they are a symbol of survival, freedom, and power. Their heads are covered in a strange skull-like chitin that is often mimicked by the Twili when making armor and artifacts. The Twili Wolf is typically huge, about as big as a horse, and they have orbs of raw magical energy rolling off their fur as if it were flickers of flame.

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

WHEW! A long-winded headcanon but I’m pretty happy with the result! I hope ya’ll like the headcanon here and if ya have any questions you’re more than free to ask. Otherwise, thank you so much for takin’ a look! <:

#nintendo #the legend of zelda #Character Design #my art #Headcanon #nintendo headcanon #loz #loz: a new mythos #loz: NM #midna #twili #twilight realm #twilight princess #au #speedpainting #wolf #fanart

[nancypullen]

Progress

We’re making baby steps toward getting this house the way we’d like it.  I think it was Martha Stewart who once said that a house is always a work in progress.  While I agree with that, I’ve always thought that meant adding little things here and there, maybe updating a bathroom or two, or refreshing your color scheme or wall decor.  I want to get to a place where the “work in progress” is just new throw pillows or a pretty plant, ya’ know?  Okay, whine over. I confess that I’ve had fun the last few days.  I’d been on the hunt for a bedside table for Matt’s room.  I wanted something with a little character -  vintage, retro, whatever you want to call it.  I just didn’t want brand new factory-produced stuff.  I had poked around a couple of area antique stores and the stuff I found was either too big too small, too feminine, or too fragile.  I wasn’t having any luck.  Last Sunday we were driving back from dropping off the grandgirl and I was telling the mister all of that.  He asked if I’d looked at Goodwill. I had not.  So he pulled into the local Goodwill parking lot and I found the perfect piece right inside the front door for ten dollars.  Score!   It’s actually an old record cabinet, for storing albums - that made me love it even more.

I brought it home, cleaned it up, and got to work. It only took a couple of Snapped podcasts to get it to this point.

Why yes, that is a mountain of Amazon boxes in the garage.  We’re due for a trip to the recycling center.  Anywho, I put a nice, matte black on that cabinet and replaced the old knobs with these cool leather pulls.

Instead of albums, I filled it with National Geographic magazines because our family is big on National Geo.

And, HALLELUJAH, the carpet installers finally came this morning and I was able to put Matt’s room together.

That little cabinet worked out perfectly!  Whew! Just in time, too. Matt is flying in tomorrow and then the whole fam damily will be here for the holiday weekend.  I still have plenty to do in this room, but for now it will be cool and comfortable for him. I also had time to put a clear coat on that little chair I painted. Then I had to find a fern. I had my heart set on a fern, not flowers.  I figured I could substitute another green plant, I just didn’t want to do flowers, I thought it might be too busy for that multi-colored chair.  No one has ferns for sale in late June, it’s more of a “Hey, it’s spring!” plant.  Most folks have killed their ferns by now.  I crossed my fingers and drove down the road to Clayton’s, a big farm stand with green houses.  Lo and behold they had one fern hanging with a few scraggly leftover plants, and she was half price! Score!  So this sad chair with the broken seat....

is wearing some makeup and sitting on the front porch now.

Yippee!   I love it when things work out. Although we still need to buy granite for the kitchen counters and hopefully get the cabinets painted, I don’t even want to think about it right now. I think we both want a break from begging people to do some work.   I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight.  Most of what has been worrying me is now checked off the to-do list.  Tomorrow I’ll do a big grocery haul. I have forgotten how to feed a crowd. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner for six for several days? I’m thinking taco bar one night, something on the grill another, and everything else I can think of sounds too hot.  Can’t we all just sit around and eat watermelon? I’ll just keep sandwich stuff on hand for lunches, but everyone likes different things for breakfast.  Maybe I should just buy a tub of greek yogurt and some granola and we can do fresh fruit parfaits.  Or maybe I’ll win the lottery tonight and I’ll have the whole weekend catered.  That sounds best. Alright, I’m off to plan menus and make a grocery list. It feels like we’ve made some progress around here and maybe, just maybe, these blog posts will become less whiny and more interesting.  UPS just delivered a curtain rod that I ordered (I wanted one with a French return) so the panels I bought for the sliders will be up soon.  Starting to look like someone lives here!  I’ll keep you posted. I hope that this bit of fluff has distracted you for a few minutes from the craziness of life.  Hang in there, we’re all due for a win.  Good things are coming. I just know it. Stay safe, stay well, stay positive. XOXO - Nancy

[dark-academia-newsroom]

Advice for early career and student journalists

I’m making this post because students will often reach out to me for advice. I’m always happy to chat, but thought I would do a brain dump on tumblr as an easy-to-share resource. I’ll continue adding things as I think of them. 

First, who I am: Right now, I’m the audience engagement editor at the Center for Public Integrity, one of America’s oldest, Pulitzer-prize winning, nonprofit newsrooms. I handle digital strategy, social media, partnerships, crowdsourced investigations, newsletters, metrics, SEO and help with membership building. I also sometimes report when I can. -whew- Before that, I was doing audience engagement at POLITICO. I hope my experience can be useful to you! ✨

Low-hanging fruit: 

Network but IRL: I feel like I could have done this more when I was an undergraduate student. There are a ton of groups that regularly host events like the Online News Association, Society of Professional Journalists, the Asian American Journalists Association, National Association for Black Journalists, National Association for Hispanic Journalists and more. I personally like smaller events so that you can get to know people on a more intimate level. Conferences are sometimes intimidating but special tracts or scholarships for students are really great opportunities that you should take advantage of. 

Reach out to people you admire: First, they might actually end up being your colleague or superior one day. It’s also great to get advice from journalists you want to emulate. If you want a similar career, learn from the best! 

Have a portfolio: It doesn’t have to be fancy –– my first portfolio was on tumblr! It helps to have your work in one place so employers can have your information and experience on hand. 

Build your social presence: It doesn’t just help with clout. Employers can get a sense of who you are and based on what you tweet (since journalist Twitter is still a thing), it shows that you’re thinking critically about the conversations going on in the industry. 

Keep up with industry news: Read Nieman Lab, Poynter, Pew research etc. You’ll be remembered not just for reporting, but for executing journalism smartly. Plugging into tough conversations in the industry also helps build your news judgement. 

Be active at your campus paper: It’ll help you get experience and internships which lead to jobs!

P.S. A job interview starts the minute you walk through the door or pick up a phone, not when you’re sitting down across from the hiring manager. Use every minute you have with them to impress. 

For the workplace: 

Journalism is best when it’s collaborative: Aim to work with people who will elevate your journalism. They might be on a different team from yours entirely. 

Go the extra mile, but know your limits: This one is pretty self explanatory. If you can do something, say yes. But if your plate is full you should communicate that to your editor and they will help you reprioritize. They should work with you, especially if you’re still in school. 

Ask questions: I still sometimes hesitate to ask my director questions. But it’s important to make sure you have your ducks in a row. Depending on the story, asking questions might even be a matter of safety. 

Speak up: If you have an idea you want to spitball, share it with your editor or at the all staff meeting. It might be intimidating, but it’s better to be generous with your ideas. You can’t build from nothing. Btw, you might know something that other people don’t –– even if you feel you’re the least experienced because of your age. You have something to contribute and people should recognize that. 

Roll with the punches: Don’t beat yourself up too badly when you make a mistake. I sometimes think back on errors I’ve made, especially while covering breaking news. I learned from those mistakes and did better the next time. That’s what counts. 

Join your diversity committee: If you care about an equitable world, start with your newsroom. If you don’t have a diversity committee, start one! 

Join your coworkers for drinks or hangs: Camaraderie amongst coworkers builds a strong team. I'm not promoting alcoholism...but journalists do have strong livers for a reason.

Keep your receipts: If there’s ever an issue with senior management, write the incident down, export your emails and screenshot your messages. The first thing HR will ask for is proof. Also, don’t send anything you don’t want other people to see.

For reporting: 

Think outside the box: With interactives, video, graphics and social media, there’s a ton of ways to experiment with different forms of storytelling and soliciting feedback from audiences to help inform your work. You’ll be remembered for implementing something new. 

Don’t get attached: Editing is a bitch, no matter what the medium. You’re gonna see a lot of red lines or cuts. Don’t be discouraged. It’s normal! Unless you can make a case for why something is really strong or necessary to include, you might want to check yourself and see if you’re being too precious about your work. I found that my editors were wise enough to make decisions that strengthened my copy.

Listen humbly: Always consider the possibility that the story that you originally had in mind could be completely wrong. Journalists are not experts at everything. Be flexible and report on what you find. Treat people with dignity and compassion.

Journalism is a service: Before you report a story, ask yourself who you’re serving by reporting it. How are you contributing to the narrative? What impact do you hope this will make? Who are you holding accountable? How are you lifting people up? Who isn’t being heard? 

Diversify your sources: Make sure POC, women, LGBTQ+ are represented in your work, even if they’re not explicitly talking about their identities, you’re highlighting their voices and expertise. 

General advice: 

You are your best hype-man: No award or accomplishment is too small. Celebrate! And #humblebrag.  

Question everything: Even your editor and yourself! 

Know your worth: Don’t let anyone drag you down. And if you can’t afford it, don’t work for free. 

Objectivity isn’t real: “Both sides” journalism is not it. Why? It fails to acknowledge injustice and structural inequalities our country is built on. The role of media is to use it’s power and influence to inform and hold people accountable for upholding those structures. If something is wrong, call it out. 

Wellp, these are all the things that I can think of off the top of my head. Let me know if I missed anything! :’) 

#journalist #journalism #tumblr #journalists on tumblr #student #dark academia #dark academia newsroom #career advice #aspiring journalist #editor #journalists of color #writers of color #writing #spilled ink #writers #writer #words #career #nonprofit #newsroom #thoughts #reporting #student journalism #student journalist

[christa-tomlinson-romance-author]

“Babe, I’m going to Wal-Mart.” Danny started answering before he looked up from his tablet. “Okay, get me some...” he trailed off once he raised his gaze from the screen and got a look at what his tall, ridiculously fit and muscular husband was wearing. Jordan was dressed in a white, short-sleeve T-shirt, light gray Jersey shorts, and low-top athletic shoes. The outfit should have been nothing more than super casual run-around clothes. But the tee was soft and tight on his torso. His firm, rounded pecs pressed against the white cotton, and his nipples - stiff from the air conditioner - were plainly visible. The shirt was slightly loose and rumpled over Jordan’s tight waist and hard abs. But the shorts... The shorts were obscene. Not only did they cling to his muscular thighs, but Jordan’s dick print was on full display behind the thin material. Danny didn’t even have to squint to see the outline of the head of his cock. His man was a show-er and a grower and right now he was putting on quite the show. “Get you some what?” Jordan prompted. Danny shook his head - snapping himself back to their conversation. “Actually, I’ll come with you,” he answered as he put his tablet aside and stood. No way he was letting his husband out of the house dressed like that on his own. Jordan’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion once before he shrugged. ��All right. Let’s go.” Together they left the apartment, taking the elevator down from their private floor to the street level where Jordan’s auto body shop was located. They went around to the side parking lot and got in his Camaro. The ride to Wal-Mart was quick, and in about fifteen minutes they were turning into the parking lot for the giant shopping center. After they parked and got out, Danny walked hand in hand with his husband. As they went through the crosswalk, a woman leaving the store walked toward them. Her eyes widened when they landed on Jordan. She ran them appreciatively over his entire body in a glance so fast Danny would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking directly at her at that exact moment. After the stealthy perusal, she looked at Danny and gave him a nod. That nod said multitudes without the woman ever opening her mouth. I’m checking him out but respectfully. Damn your man is hot. Congrats to you. You deserve it. Danny nodded back. I know it. Thank you. 

Inside the store, Danny grabbed a cart as he usually did. They strolled up and down the aisles, getting what Jordan needed and tossing it in the cart. As they shopped, Danny noticed several people doing double-takes at Jordan. He wanted to laugh at how obvious some of them were, but he managed to keep a straight face. In the office supplies section, they passed a trio of teenagers. They lingered at the end of the aisle, giggling and shushing each other as they threw glances at Jordan, while pretending to look at paper clips and Post-Its. Jordan moved on without paying any attention to them. To Danny’s amusement, the trio popped up in the next aisle over for another look. When he noticed they were about to follow them a second time, he loudly cleared his throat. Once he had their attention, he raised his eyebrows at them and tilted his head to the side. His message was clear: That’s enough. Run along before I have to say something and embarrass you. The teens were smart - they took off - disappearing around the corner at the end of the aisle for good this time. In the Health and Beauty section, they had to step to the side to let an older woman pick out her face wash. She was clearly years past things like tact or giving a fuck because she loudly exclaimed, “Whew, Lord!” and fanned herself as she walked past. Danny wasn’t normally one to be jealous but he was torn between wanting to cling to Jordan’s buff bicep to stake his claim, and strutting next to him, full of pride that the warrior-god statue come to life was his husband. Everyone was salivating over him without even realizing that he was Blaze, the superhero that so many of them admired and probably fantasized about. But he was the only one who got to touch and taste and love the gorgeous and kind man walking next to him. “Hardware section is next. I need more zip ties.” “Okay.” They cut through Home Goods to get to Hardware, turning down the wide aisle that ran between the two sections before crossing over. A young man in a Helios graphic tee approached from the other end. Danny immediately recognized the artwork, which he should, since he was the one who’d drawn it. When the man caught sight of Jordan, his mouth dropped open. He stared hard, not looking away as they got closer. He was so busy staring - he drifted off course and slammed his cart into the center aisle display of Tupperware with a loud crash. Stacks of plastic containers clattered to the floor. “Oh my God!” the man cried out in embarrassment. He dropped to his knees, scrambling to gather the knocked over Tupperware and haphazardly restack them. Danny took pity on the poor guy. He signaled to Jordan to wait, then went over and kneeled to help him rebuild the display. “I’m so sorry for staring,” he whispered without meeting Danny’s eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I see it every day and I still walk into walls when he catches me off guard.” Now the guy looked up at Danny. His face was still lobster red from embarrassment but he snorted a laugh. “It’s a public safety hazard letting him out of the house like that.” Danny huffed a quiet laugh of his own. “I realize that now.” Once the containers were returned to their display, they went their separate ways, the Helios fan continuing on down the aisle, and Danny rejoining Jordan at their cart. Jordan waited, arms crossed over his chest, feet spread wide in a firm stance. It was the stance he usually took when he was out as Blaze. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it it came so natural to him after all these years. The pose stretched the T-shirt tight over the bulge of his biceps, while his other bulge... Danny shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from fanning himself as that older woman had. “What was that guy’s deal?” Jordan asked, a frown creasing his forehead. “Somebody shouldn’t have come out of the house dressed like a thot,” Danny mumbled under his breath. “What?” “Nothing. It’s your turn to push the cart.” It helped, some, having Jordan behind the cart. It mostly covered his groin area. But his round pecs hugged by soft cotton were still plainly visible. And of course... Danny fell a little behind to check out the rear view. The thin gray shorts clung to Jordan’s ass, clearly defining each muscled, flexing butt cheek as he walked. Danny shook his head. “Shameless.” Jordan looked back over his shoulder. “What was that?” Danny gave him an innocent, wide-eyed smile. “Nothing. Do we need anything else?” “I’m finished. But what did you want to get?” “Oh, yeah. My Corn Pops.” He’d nearly forgotten what he wanted while trying to prevent his husband from causing a riot in the shampoo aisle. He hoped there wasn’t anybody around taking pictures for People of Wal-Mart. His poor husband’s pics would probably end up on a Shoppers I’d Like to Fuck site - if there was such a thing. They strolled to the other side of the store to get to the cereal aisle. The cereal Danny wanted was on the bottom row. Instead of grabbing it himself, a little devil on Danny’s shoulder prodded him to do something naughty. “Could you grab a family sized box of Corn Pops for me, please?” he asked politely. “Of course, baby.” Jordan squatted down in front of him, the shorts stretching tight over his ass. Danny clasped his hands together in front of him, bowing his head and smiling in prayerful thanks. He quickly dropped his hands, returning his expression to neutral when Jordan straightened and tossed the box into the cart. “Okay, that’s all I wanted. I think we’re ready to check out.” At the register, the cashier looked from Jordan to Danny. He grinned and cracked his gum. “Congratulations.” Danny couldn’t hold it in any longer. He burst out laughing at the cashier’s cheeky expression and comment. “Thank you,” he said once he managed to rein in his laughter. They worked together to load the bags into the trunk. After they finished, Jordan closed the trunk then turned to Danny. “Okay, what was the deal in there?” Danny tilted his head to the side as he looked up at his husband, a smile still tugging at his lips. “You really don’t know?” “Not a clue.” “You’ve got everything on display in this outfit,” Danny said as he waved his hand to indicate Jordan’s six-foot-plus frame. “Bara tiddies and dick print and thank you squats butt cheeks. It’s nice.” He paused to run his gaze up and down his husband’s magnificent build. “And everybody was checking you out.” Jordan looked down at himself in surprise. “You’re kidding.” “Nope. How is it that you’re always checking out my ass in athletic bottoms but never realized yours looks just as yummy?” “I never thought about it,” Jordan said with a shrug. Danny laughed again at his uncommonly attractive husband being so clueless over his effect on people. He put his hands on either side of Jordan’s tight waist and leaned into him. “It’s okay. But maybe you can save this outfit for home wear only from now on, to save poor hapless shoppers from crashing into displays of household goods.” “Maybe I should throw it away.” Danny reared back, his eyebrows drawn together in a stern frown as he scolded his lover. “You’d better not! I adore this look on you.” A slow grin curled Jordan’s full lips, while a sensual expression Danny recognized all too well started to gleam in his honey brown eyes. He slid his arms around Danny’s waist, pulling him into a relaxed hug. “You like it that much, huh?” “Definitely,” Danny assured him with a firm nod. “Let’s go home, my thotty husband. I’ll draw you in this outfit for posterity. It’ll probably take hours because I’ve got multiple poses in mind.” “Sounds good to me. You know I’ve got the stamina for whatever you want.” Now it was Danny’s turn to blush. Then he squeaked when Jordan copped a feel, squeezing his butt cheek in a firm grip. He leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I don’t care what anyone was looking at. You’re the one with the gorgeous ass.” Danny thumped his forehead against Jordan’s firm chest, hiding his face in embarrassment. “I can’t believe you just felt me up in a Wal-Mart parking lot.” Jordan laughed. “Let’s go before I show you what else I’ll do in a Wal-Mart parking lot.” He started to lean down, clearly aiming for a kiss. But Danny dodged him and squirmed free, rushing around to get in the passenger seat. Jordan followed. He was still laughing when he sat behind the wheel and closed the door. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.” Danny pretended to pout and didn’t answer. But once they were home, he showed his husband exactly how much he loved him in those gray Jersey shorts. 

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this short story featuring Danny and Jordan from BLAZE - Arch City Guardians #1. If you haven't read BLAZE yet, you can check it on Amazon in Kindle Unlimited. Love, Christa 

Read more about BLAZE on my website! https://www.christatomlinson.com/blaze.html

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07YS3VWS5

#romance novels #superhero romance #superheroes #superpower romance #writers of tumblr

[spn-rewrites]

01x16 (part 1)

Season One Episode Sixteen: Shadows

A/N: i know this part is a little short, but it’s here! thank you for all the support, it really does mean a lot to me! feel free to send feedback, as always, and any suggestions you may have for the story. i have a vauge idea of a main story line, but i’d love your input for smaller ones or whatever you may have! please REBLOG if you enjoyed and let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. i also wanna say thank you to everyone letting me know when the tags aren’t working, i know it’s frustrating but bare with me while i figure it out!

SYNOPSIS: a strange case brings you to the Windy City wearing polyester jumpsuits

WORD COUNT: 1693

It isn’t that dressing up as alarm system employees was beneath you, it was that dressing up, in itself, was becoming a more embarrassing part of your job. It was mostly Sam’s idea and at least Dean was on your side, tugging at the cheap polyester clinging to his thighs. “I’ve gotta say, we were doing just fine without these stupid costumes,” he says. “I feel like a high school drama dork.” The costumes were a new development post-operation Get John Back, courtesy of Sam’s desire to keep everything at mute as possible. You and Dean clearly did not share the same mindset.

The suits, in fact, did come from a costume store, completed with a tool box that Dean is carrying as you walk up the streets of Chicago. Horns were blaring, people were yelling and the pollution was thick but you always did have a soft spot for the city. 

They were calling it a Sleuth Killer, the thing that killed Meredith Rodgers in her apartment. It wasn’t unusual for murders in cities like these to go uninvestigated. Most of the time they chalked it up to gang violence or a freak accident and that was the end of it but the moment you read this article, the entire thing seemed too fishy to just be a coincidence. 

             “What was that play that you did?” Dean asks, snapping his fingers and pointing at Sam. 

            “You were in a play?” You perk up, looking at the younger brother with excitement. It’s always fun finding out new things about the boys, things that happened before you and before this. 

  Dean continues to snap his fingers as he thinks. His nose scrunching up in focus as you bounce on your own feet waiting for more informtion. “Our Town!” Dean cheers when his memory comes back to him. “Yeah,” he chuckles and shakes his head. “You were good. It was cute.” 

“Look,” Sam says, trying to change the subject just as you lean into Dean to ask more questions about this play and maybe if he had video evidence of it hidden somewhere. “You wanna pull this off or not?” 

“I’m just saying these outfits cost hard earned money,” Dean says. 

You shrug your shoulders and look down at your outfit. It was an ugly shade of navy blue, the fabric made you look frumpy and not to mention the awful shoes. “I kind of like the costumes sometimes,” you say. But mostly when they involved dressing up in tights and a pretty skirt and not like a city laborer.

“Whose money?” Sam asks his brother, ignoring you. 

“Ours! You think running credit card fraud is easy?” 

+++

The landlord was more than willing to let you inside Meredith’s apartment, which was no longer blocked off by crime scene tape but still had the evidence stained on the white carpeting. It was the only evidence of a crime even happening. Everything else was still perfect, the way that Meredith wanted them. The only weird part, besides the blood, was the fact that Meredith had at least five different deadbolts installed on her door.

“You guys said you’re with the alarm company?” The landlord asks. She’s a short woman dressed in comfy clothes: a long cardigan and t-shirt underneath and her hair was in a bun on the back of her head. You all mumble, confirming her question. “No offense but your alarms are about as useful as boobs on a man.” 

You try to stifle a laugh as Sam looks down at you smirking. “Well, that’s why we’re here,” Dean says. “To see what went wrong and to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” The landlord nods her head and glances around the room, shivers a little bit under the grotesque situation. 

“Ma’am. You said you found the body?” You ask her. The question was meant to distract her from looking at all the blood on the floor, but it probably ended up making her think about it more. She twists the key around in her hands and nods. “Right after it happened?”

“No. A few days later. Meredith’s work called and she hadn’t showed up,” she says. Most of this information you already read in the news article that Sam was reading out loud in the car on your way but you ask her anyway while the boys check the surroundings as if they were looking for the alarm sensors. “I knocked on her door and that’s when I noticed the smell.” 

“Any windows open? Any sign of break in?” Dean asks.You turn your head to look at him. He was holding a curtain open and the view from her window was spectacular. You start to miss it the moment the curtains falls closed. 

“No. The windows were locked, the front door was bolted. Chain was on the door, we

had to cut it to get it open,” she explains like she was telling an adventure story. One with so many twists and turns it was hard to keep it straight. She has a dispassionte tone about her voice, though. Like maybe telling it as a story was easier than admitting it happened to her. 

“And the alarm was still on?” Dean moves his finger around in a circle as he walks toward you and the landlord. 

“Like I said, bang-up job your company is doing.” Dean just agrees softly and your eyes dance around the room. The blood splatters don’t seem like splatters to you. Their placement just too perfect and your eyes are so drawn to them, it’s hard to take them off. 

“Any overturned furniture? Broken glass or signs of struggle?” At this point, Dean is just fishing for her to say yes to anything that deems this as normal but she just shook her head once again and Dean lets out a sigh. You start to walk the trail of blood, noting how the big ones seem to be always the same distance apart. Only being strung together but smaller spots. 

“Everything was in perfect condition,” she maintains. “Except Meredith.” Your eyes snap back to her as her voice quiets down and darkness cover her eyes.

“What condition was she in?” You asked softly. 

Without looking at you, she answers. “Meredith was all over. In pieces. The guy who killed her must have been a wack job. But I’ll tell you, if I didn’t know any better, I’d have said a wild animal did it.” You look up at Sam, whose standing by a window and then you look down at Dean, who’s crouched down by the desk chair looking at a pool of blood and you sigh. 

“Ma’am, would you mind if we just took a minute? Give this place a once over?” Sam asks and the woman agrees, leaving the key on the coffee table and exiting the apartment as if her feet couldn’t carry her fast enough. 

The tool box that Dean was carrying did come with the costumes, however the contents

inside were all your own. EMF readers, blacklights, temperature detectors. All the makings for a ghost hunting were inside. “So, the killer walks in and out of the apartment. No weapons, no prints, nothing,” Dean says.

“I’m telling you, when I read that article. I just knew that something was off,” you say. The moment you saw the heading, you ran over to Sam and showed him and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind either. The EMF reader going off in Dean’s hand seemed to be certain, too. 

“I think I agree with you,” Dean mumbles. 

“So, you talked to the cops?” Sam asks while he and Dean sweep the room with their gadgets. You, empty handed, walk the path of the blood. Your eyes trained to the ground, following the pattern over and over again trying to make sense of it. 

“Oh, yeah. I spoke to Amy,” Dean says absently. “A charming, perky, officer of the law.” 

“What did you find out?” You ask, oblivious to Dean’s statement. You both were to engrossed in your own tasks to put much force into your voice. 

“She’s a Sagittarius and loves tequila,” Dean says.

“I’m a Sagittarius, too!” You perk up and glance over at him, but he doesn’t look at you and he doesn’t stop talking.

“I mean, whew. And oh, she’s got this little tattoo--”

“Dean!” Sam snaps, turning around to face him with his hands up. Sometimes, you wonder if Sam feels like a dad trying to rangle in his toddlers. Because, quit honestly, that’s sometimes how you feel when the boys fight. 

“What?” Dean looks back at Sam and then shakes the thought of Amy out of his head. “Nothing that we don’t already know. Except for one thing they’re keeping out of the papers.” Sam looks back down at his reader and mumbles for Dean to keep going. “Meredith’s heart was missing,” he says. 

“What?” You ask, your attention leaving the blood pattern. Sam seemed a little less phased than you, but his eyebrows raised in interest. “So what do you think did this?” You ask softly as the boys meet you in the middle of the apartment. 

“Well the landlady said it looks like an animal attack. Maybe it was a werewolf?” Dean suggests. Your fingers dance in the pattern of the blood. 

“The lunar cycle isn’t right. If it was a creature, it would have left some kind of trace,” Sam suggests. “It’s probably a spirit.” You nod your head to the side like you’d consider the thought but Dean saw the half-ass attempt at making Sam feel like he was on to something while your brain was already onto the next and the next after that.

“What’s up?” Dean asks you. 

“Do we have duct tape?” The boys exchange a look but Dean checks the tool box and Sam digs through Meredith’s junk drawers for some kind of tape and when they find it, Dean hands the roll you to you and you begin connecting all the dots of blood together with it. The pattern was cohesive and with actual lines connecting the dots, you were able to see it clearly on the floor in front of you rather than a foggy image in your brain. 

“What the hell is it?” Sam asks as you stand back and look at the final product. 

“I have no idea.”

tagged: @matchamendes @stuckupstucky @sillydecoy @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @liztorr1212 @icanreadbookstoo @rachael-mae @jessewa26 @sundownridge @givemebooksorgivemedeath @alienemilyyyy @teenwaywardasgardian @mpmarypoppins @mellowlandrunaway2

#spn #supernatural #spn fic #spn fanfic #SPN AU #spn fan fic #sp series #spn one shot #spn blurb #spn rewrite #supernatural series #Supernatural Fan Fiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural one shot #supernatural blurb #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #supernatural rewrite #reader insert #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam x reader #dean x reader #season one episode sixteen #01x16

[goldenhemmings]

Stealing Second | Baseball!Shawn

Whew. If you know me at all, you know I am a sucker for any AU scenario where Shawn is an athlete, so naturally I’ve spent the last three days neglecting all of my academic responsibilities to crank out 8.3k words (!!!) of Baseball!Shawn. I tried to keep the jargon in check, but here’s a little study guide of the things I wrote about in case you’re not super well versed on all things Major League Baseball: 

MLB teams are divided into two leagues: American and National. Each league has slightly different rules. The Toronto Blue Jays are in the American, and their home stadium is Rogers Centre. Rookie of the Year is an award given by each league to the best first-year player. Players often wear compression sleeves over their throwing arms because it reduces soreness, and eye black under their eyes to reduce the glare of the sun or stadium lights so that they can see better. If you have any more questions please ask, and without further ado please enjoy Baseball!Shawn!!

When you got the call from “Greg with the Toronto Blue Jays” that you had been selected from a field of over two-hundred applicants for one of the team’s few coveted internship positions, you almost stopped breathing. The sun was making its descent as you sat at the kitchen table of your quaint suburban apartment, having just finished the leftovers you’d microwaved a few minutes before when your phone sounded its familiar siren. It was an unknown number, but the Toronto area code immediately made your stomach flip. It was a straightforward phone call, Greg simply offering you a congratulations and saying you started at Rogers Centre in two weeks’ time, but to you it meant the entire world. You managed to breathe out a “thank you” as you hung up the phone, eyes blurry with tears and hands shaking as you struggled to dial your mother’s phone number--the only person you could think to call.

You cried as you talked to your mom about how all of your hard work had finally paid off; four years of suffering as a double-major student to obtain two bachelor’s degrees, almost entirely giving up sleep and a social life as the price for your scholastic success, and eight months of waiting tables post-graduation to (barely) sustain yourself while you looked for a job. The sports industry was harder to find a place in than you’d thought, and you couldn’t believe the opportunity had finally come. Your mother was beyond proud, and after the phone call you sat at the kitchen table and cried because you didn’t know what else to do.

You’d wanted to work in sports your entire life; the love had been ingrained into you by your parents when you were young, and it never faded as you’d grown. You’d sent your resume to every sports franchise with availabilities, prepared to emigrate to the States for your dream job if you had to, but with this internship for the Blue Jays you thankfully only had to move an hour or so away.

Moving, however, caused you great stress. The ballpark was in the heart of downtown Toronto, which meant that every apartment or condo within a reasonable distance of the stadium would be exceedingly out of your price range; not to mention that the deadline of two weeks only added to your panic. You expressed this concern to your mother the next morning when you were level-headed enough to hold a steady conversation, but the words your mother spoke were enough to send you spiraling down yet another path of overwhelmed emotions: your mom and dad would help you pay to live downtown until you were financially stable enough to take the reins on your own. You had paid your own way through college, and your parents didn’t want further financial struggles to stand in the way of getting your foot in the door of your dream industry; they’d let you pay them back whenever you were able. With a cushion of temporary aid from your family, finding a place to live was a breeze; you settled on a one-bedroom apartment about a twenty-minute walk from the stadium. It had a perfect view of the Toronto skyline, and you could already imagine yourself sitting on the small balcony at night just watching the city lights twinkle before you.

On a Thursday in May, not three days after getting the phone call, you and your parents loaded the contents of your tiny apartment into the back of your barely-running sedan. You sighed as you realized how out of place the old car would look juxtaposed to the sleek vehicles that surely filled the streets of the city. Oh well, you thought. I’ll probably be walking everywhere, anyways. You shut the hatch of your trunk and smoothed over your favorite Blue Jays player’s jersey--a parting gift from your mother--before hugging your mom and dad goodbye. You took one last look at your small apartment complex and climbed into the driver's seat before reversing out of your designated parking spot and driving away in the direction of your dream life.

As you merged onto the 401 and the Toronto skyline came into view, you had to turn your music up even louder in a desperate attempt to distract yourself and therefore control your pounding heart, an exhilarated smile unable to keep itself from spreading across your face. You were finally here. This was finally happening. You pulled off the highway and drove into the parking garage of your new apartment, awestruck at how tall and sleek the building was. You went into the lobby to get everything sorted, and you were all set when the manager handed you a key to your door and sent you on your way with an enthusiastic “Welcome!”

You made your way back out to the parking garage, popping the trunk of your car and beginning the grueling back-and-forth process of taking the boxes up to your apartment one by one. You made your way back down to the car for what felt like the hundredth time, sighing in relief when you saw that there were only two boxes left. You pulled the larger of the two out, which was exceptionally heavy, and as you tried to shut the trunk while still holding the box your balance completely failed you.

“Fuck!” you cried, as the contents of the box went tumbling onto the ground next to your car. You sighed as you knelt down to place the box upright when you heard a voice echo from behind you in the parking garage.

“Do you need some help?”

You snapped your head around, your eyes settling on the figure of a tall man who was far enough across the lot that you couldn’t quite make out his features. “Um, I think I’ll be okay,” you called back, ducking your head down in embarrassment over the fact that someone had seen you clumsily and inadvertently dump the box onto the ground. “Thank you though!”

The man continued talking, the sound of his voice getting closer despite the fact that you had declined his offer. “Are you sure? I’m more than happy to--hey. Nice jersey.”

You turned around and looked up to meet the man’s smug eyes, and as you did you felt your cheeks immediately begin burning. You fell back onto your ass as though you’d been pushed, the box’s spilled contents suddenly disregarded. You looked down self-consciously to the Blue Jays jersey you had on, all-too-aware of the Mendes 98 embroidered onto the back, and slowly let your gaze travel back up to the real number 98 standing right before your eyes. You’d been in Toronto for twenty minutes and you had already come face to face with your favorite baseball player...while wearing his jersey. If you weren’t embarrassed before, you surely were now.

“I’m Shawn,” he said, kneeling down to your level as you hadn’t yet picked yourself up from the pavement. He extended his hand, and you weren’t quite sure whether he expected you to shake it or help yourself up with it.

“As if I don’t know who you are,” you muttered, laughing nervously as you disregarded his hand altogether. You opted to stand up on your own, brushing the asphalt off of the back of your jean shorts as you forced herself to meet his eyes. Eyes that, to your surprise, seemed almost bashful.

Shawn’s hand, marked with a tattoo you couldn’t quite see the shape of, came up to rub the side of his neck. He looked strange in his fitted shirt and black Nike shorts; you weren’t used to seeing him without his jersey on--or in person, for that matter. You’d known he was a rookie and therefore one of the younger players on the team, but standing this close to him you realized he couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two. Who’d have known that his ball cap was hiding such curly hair, or that underneath his compression sleeve were several concealed tattoos, his short sleeve shirt now putting them on full display?

Shawn Mendes was a first-year second baseman for the Blue Jays, and nearly every Major League Baseball commentator had pegged him as a top-three contender for the American League Rookie of the Year award. He’d quickly become your favorite player at the start of the season, with his ability to flawlessly handle any ball hit his way and his red-hot swing racking up the most hits on the team. But it was his character, however, that really drew you to him. He was his teammates’ biggest fan, always making sure to give players words of encouragement after a bad game or a celebratory smile and high-five after a big hit. Even though he was only a rookie, he was loved by players, coaches, and fans alike, and he’d quickly become one of the Blue Jays’ greatest assets.

You were snapped from your reverie by Shawn’s voice once again cutting through the air, and you refocused your eyes so that they were looking up into his. “W-what did you say?”

He smiled. “I said I really don’t mind helping you carry your things up, I know how awful it is to move on your own. I’d have loved the help back when I first moved in here.”

“You live here?” you squeaked out, but it sounded less like a question and more like you were stating it to yourself, as though repeating the words would have them make more sense.

“Twelfth floor,” Shawn affirmed, shooting you another smile that almost made you dizzy.

You cast your eyes downward, nudging at the ground with the toe of your Converse. “Fifth,” you responded. The view got better the higher up you were--which meant the price also rose with the floor number. “It’s close to the stadium, though, so I’d really be set no matter which floor I ended up on.”

“Plan on making it to a lot of our games?” Shawn teased, smirking as he folded his arms over his broad chest.

“I actually just got an internship with the team’s public relations department, which is why I moved out here. I’ll officially work for the Blue Jays in about a week and a half, so I’m sure I’ll be at most of the home games.” As you heard yourself say it, you couldn’t keep the childish grin from your face. It still barely felt real to you, and you found yourself wishing there weren’t ten long days standing between you and the beginning of your dream career path.

“No way!” Shawn grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle and revealing a set of teeth so perfect you found yourself nearly mesmerized. You’d thought that he was handsome on TV, but the in-person effect was a million times stronger. “Guess that makes us co-workers, then.”

You let out a strangled laugh at his comment, but it sounded more like a yelp. “I wouldn’t go that far. I’m just one of the little people working behind the scenes.”

“But you make us look good,” Shawn insisted, his genuine smile unwavering.

“You make yourselves look good,” you scoffed, timidly looking at the ground as though it were suddenly interesting you. “You of all people should know that. You don’t make any errors in the field, your batting average is sky-high, and you’re on the short list for Rookie of the Year. I’m not sure there’s anything I or anyone else could do to make you look any better.” You could hear the gushing words spilling out of your mouth before you had time to process that you were even saying them, and when you finally managed to stop talking you wanted to crawl into a hole. Your favorite baseball player was talking to you like a normal human being, and you had to go and ruin it by fawning over him like the crazed fan that you were.

But, to your surprise, Shawn seemed unphased by this. “You really know your baseball,” he replied, and your eyes shot up to meet his brown ones.

“I’d hope a pro baseball team weren’t hiring people who didn’t,” you teased in a brief moment of bravery, Shawn letting out a little laugh.

“I guess I’d hope so, too.” As the words left his mouth, you both fell silent. His eyes were still on yours, and you’d have been a fool to look away. It was strange, having this seemingly intimate moment in the middle of a parking garage with a box of your personal belongings still scattered at your feet.

“Um,” Shawn cleared his throat, the first to break the long pause. “Are you sure I can’t help you with anything? The team has the day off today and I’d feel like a dick if I knew you were moving all these boxes by yourself while I sat on my ass doing nothing.”

“That’d be awesome, actually,” you finally assented, bending down to start putting the spilled box back together again as Shawn followed suit.

“I never caught your name,” Shawn said as the two of you carefully repacked your belongings.

“You’re a baseball player, you should catch everything,” you joked, to which Shawn chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Kidding,” you continued, smiling in response to Shawn’s laugh. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, and your heart fluttered at the sound of him saying your name. “That’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” you giggled, continuing to pack up your things and forcing the giddiness that was threatening to spill out of you back down with all of your might. If this was how your luck was going to be in Toronto, you hoped you’d never have to leave.

“Oh, this is too good,” you heard Shawn say, and you looked up to see him smiling down at the framed photograph his large hands were clutching. Without even looking, you knew what it was: a picture of your mom and your dad holding baby you in between them, the Blue Jays’ stadium filling the background. They’d put you in a onesie covered with the team logo, and you sported a smile just as big as your parents’, except yours was toothless. You really were born and raised a sports fan; this picture was evidence of that.

“You were made for sports, weren’t you?” Shawn asked, placing the photograph gently inside the box.

“Absolutely,” you responded, flattered that he seemed so interested in your life. “My parents totally ingrained it into me. I don’t think I’d be happy with a career involving anything else.”

He smiled. “I can understand that. I’m pretty sure I knew how to throw a ball before I knew how to walk.”

You laughed, standing up as you placed the last of your things inside the box. “I’d expect nothing less. The greatest athletes always start young.” You moved towards the trunk of your car to grab the last box, shifting to balance it between your thigh and your arm in order to have a free hand to close the trunk with. You quickly pulled your keys out of your pocket and locked the car, shoving them back out of sight and taking hold of the box with both hands.

“Do you want me to get this one?” Shawn asked, pointing at the one you’d both just repacked.

“Yes, please. We both know what happened the last time I tried to carry that thing.”

Shawn chuckled as he turned his back to you and bent down to grab the heavy box, and you had to force yourself to keep your lips together as you watched the way his back muscles flexed and strained under the fabric of his skin-tight Under Armour shirt. “Lead the way,” he said, turning around to face you. You felt your cheeks get hot as you moved in front of him, sure that he’d caught you staring.

“Is this your first job with a sports team?” Shawn asked as he quickly fell into stride next to you, the both of you making your way into the apartment building’s lobby and towards the elevators.

“Yeah, if you’d even call it that,” you sighed, pressing the up button with your elbow. “It’s just an internship. But an opportunity is an opportunity, and I plan to make the most of this one.”

The elevator doors open and the two of you filed inside. “Guess we’re both rookies, then.”

You smiled, comforted by his kindness. “Yeah, I guess so. Except your season officially started in March. Mine doesn’t start for another ten days.”

“Are you excited?” Shawn asked, hitting the five button, and you felt yourself smiling again as you realized he’d remembered what floor you said you lived on.

“I only cried for two whole days after I got the call,” you giggled as the doors opened onto your floor, and Shawn laughed with you.

“I’ll take that as a resounding yes,” he said as you set the box down at the door and fished in your shorts’ back pocket for the new key to your apartment. You pushed the key in the lock and flung the door open, pushing your box inside to join the pile of all the others.

“Forgot how empty these things look at first,” Shawn remarked, gingerly placing the box in his hands down with the rest.

“I kind of like it,” you responded, taking in the space that was now all yours. Your kitchen was off to the left, and there was a large open space in front of you waiting to be converted into a living room. Your bedroom and bathroom were just beyond the kitchen, and there was a floor to ceiling window that revealed your quaint balcony and a decent view of the Toronto skyline directly across the room from the front door. “Kind of like a blank slate that I can do whatever I want with.”

“I don’t suppose you have furniture packed away in those boxes?” Shawn joked, stepping further into your empty apartment.

“Nope,” you giggled. “It’ll be me and my air mattress tonight. But most of the furniture I ordered should be coming Friday...which I guess is tomorrow.”

“We’ve got a three-game series against the White Sox starting tomorrow. The Friday and Saturday games are pretty late, but the Sunday game is early...I think it’s at one in the afternoon. I should be home by six, and I’m more than happy to help you with any furniture assembling. N-not that I think you can’t do it by yourself,” he rushed to add, eliciting a giggle from you.  

“I’d like that,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek to restrain your giddy smile. “Hopefully I won’t have too much trouble, but I already know I won’t be able to do it all myself.”

“Cool,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black shorts. “I’ll swing by. And, um...You know...If you’re ever free on any of my off-days and you want someone to show you around the city or something, I’d be more than happy to.”

“I’d like that, too,” you smile, your quickened pulse echoing in your ears.

He grinned. “Perfect. We’ll figure something out.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and good luck tomorrow night,” you called as he began making his way towards the door. “Not like you need it.”

He turned around, his eyes bright and a smile playing on his lips. “Will you be watching?”

“Yeah, on the TV that I don’t have yet,” you giggled, and he smiled and ducked his head.

“Right, right. But knowing you, you’ll find a way.”

“Oh, I definitely will. With an extra-trained eye on number 98.”

“No pressure,” he chuckled, running his inked hand through his brown curls.

“You’ll play amazing,” you said seriously, folding your arms around yourself. “You always do. And thanks for the help today, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s nice to know someone else living here.” He swung the door open, stepping halfway in and halfway out of the entryway. “I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Mhm. And I’ll see you on the big screen tomorrow.”

“Hopefully I don’t disappoint,” he laughed, and you did too. “Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Shawn,” you answered, and with that the door was closed behind him.

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

Come Sunday afternoon, you’d managed to assemble most of your furniture with the exception of your bed. The pieces were heavy, and there were too many of them for you to figure out exactly what part went where. As you walked out of your apartment’s sole bedroom and into the kitchen to make lunch, you remembered that day’s Blue Jays game was on at 1; in ten minutes.

Your television had come in last night, and it had taken a while but you’d managed to set it up by yourself. You had nothing planned in the days before you started at your internship, and though assembling your apartment was grueling, you found yourself grateful for the fact that you had something to occupy your time with.

You sauntered over to where you’d put the small TV, reaching for the remote and flipping the channel to the Blue Jays game. Your heart nearly dropped when you saw that the cameras were currently focused on a pre-game interview between one of the announcers and Shawn. You flung yourself down on your new couch, cranking the volume and completely disregarding the fact that you’d meant to make lunch.

The brim of Shawn’s baseball cap concealed most of his forehead (and those perfect brown curls), but the camera still picked up the youthful excitement behind his eyes as he spoke. He had fresh eye black painted under his eyes, and you knew that the two strips would quickly become smeared once the game started and progressed.

“With the White Sox winning the first two games in this series,” the announcer began, Shawn leaning in and listening intently, “What do you think is going to be the key to stopping their streak and winning this game?”

Shawn answered immediately, and you were shocked by how well-spoken he was. You’d heard him speak before, of course, but now you found yourself paying extra attention to every detail about him. “I think we just have to focus,” Shawn started, adjusting his hat. “We have to not get caught up in the last two games because right now, today’s game is all that matters. We took some tough losses but we fought hard, and today we need to fight a little harder.”

You smiled, folding your knees up under your chin and resting your head on top. Good answer. The announcer continued. “I’m sure you’ve been following what the sportscasters have been saying, so I have to ask how you feel about the buzz for you to win Rookie of the Year.”

“I’m honored that they see so much potential in me, but it’s still so early in the season. Right now I’m just trying to focus on playing my position and helping my team win games.”

“Good man,” the announcer said, laughing as he clapped Shawn on the back. “Thanks for your time, and good luck today.”

“Thank you, man,” Shawn said, and with that he was off camera as he made his way back to the Blue Jays’ dugout on the third base side of the field.

The announcer sent the program over to a commercial, telling the audience to stick around because the first pitch was right after the break. You took this as your chance to finally make lunch, throwing together a sandwich with the few groceries you’d picked up from the store yesterday and then making your way back over to the couch. You pulled the blanket you’d laid over the back of the sofa down and covered yourself with it, the blasting air conditioning leaving you a little chilly in your spandex and old Maple Leafs t-shirt. Now that you were settled, you were ready to be glued to the screen for the next three and a half hours.

The game passed uneventfully, both teams’ pitchers throwing an amazing game. The score was still 0-0 in the bottom of the sixth inning, but the White Sox pitcher’s arm was clearly starting to get tired, evidenced in the two consecutive hits he’d given up. You perked up a little bit at the potential scoring opportunity, with only one out and Blue Jays players at first and second base. A single would score one, and a double or triple would likely get both runners home. You could hear the crowd through the TV, and your stomach swirled with the excitement of knowing that you’d be a part of this atmosphere in just over a week. You waited with anticipation to see which Blue Jays player was up to bat next, and you almost screamed when you saw that it was Shawn.

A graphic displaying his statistics flashed on the screen, the announcers gushing over the Blue Jays’ beloved young rookie. Shawn stepped into the batter’s box, raising his bat over his shoulder and watching the pitcher with anticipation. Your eyes raked up and down his body, his arms flexed beneath his jersey from the weight of the bat and his white baseball pants hugging all the right parts of his lower half.

The pitcher started his windup, refocusing your attention on the game and sending a pitch flying over the plate for a strike that Shawn didn’t swing at. The screen said the ball came across at 83 miles per hour, which was beyond slow for the kind of pitch he’d thrown. His arm was tired, and your legs were bouncing up and down as you silently prayed that Shawn could take advantage of the opportunity. Another pitch--this one ruled a ball. As the pitcher began his third wind up of the at-bat, your breath hitched. The ball hurdled towards the plate as Shawn brought his bat around, a crack echoing as the barrel made contact, sending the pitch soaring into left field between the left and center fielders, who both went chasing after it. Both runners had crossed the plate, scoring two for the Blue Jays, and Shawn slid headfirst into second base to avoid being tagged out. The umpire called him safe, and dirt was stained all down the front of Shawn’s uniform as he popped up from the slide.

You could hear the crowd going crazy just like you were, reflexively jumping up from the couch and cheering as the camera showed the Blue Jays dugout high-fiving the runners that had just scored. The White Sox manager walked out to the mound, signaling for a new pitcher to come in and replace the current one. With the score now 0-2, Toronto winning, the game had a new life to it--and you were as hooked as always.

The game went by pretty quickly after that, each team managing to score another run, which left the final score as 1-3 Blue Jays. You smiled, clicking off the TV to get back to work until Shawn (hopefully) stopped by in a couple of hours.

You walked over to the pile of boxes, most of which you’d emptied, and chose a random one to begin unpacking. As you looked inside, you laughed to yourself; it was the box you’d spilled in front of Shawn. You pulled your hair into a sloppy ponytail and set about unpacking, placing photographs where you wanted them and arranging the decor from your last apartment how you liked it in your new one.

Before you knew it the sun was starting to go down, and you’d unpacked the rest of your boxes. You took a proud look around your apartment, satisfied with how everything had turned out. There were still a few tweaks you wanted to make here and there, but for three days’ work you were pretty damn happy.

You’d walked over to the kitchen to get a glass of water when there was a knock on your door, and you dashed over to open it, practically sliding across the hardwood floors in your fuzzy socks. You swung the door open to reveal Shawn, wearing black workout shorts and a white Blue Jays t-shirt, his hair slightly damp from the shower he’d surely had after the game.

“Hey MVP,” you grinned.

“So you’re a hockey fan, too?” Shawn asked, pointing at the Maple Leafs shirt you had on.

“I’m an every sport fan,” you giggled, turning and allowing him to pass by you into the apartment. “Even football.”

“A Canadian who likes football,” Shawn mused as you shut the door. “Don’t come by those too often.”

“You’d be surprised,” you said, walking into the center of your apartment as Shawn took in his surroundings.

“You really whipped this place into shape.”

“Makes it easy when you’re stuck here all day with nothing else to do.”

Shawn smiled. “Well, how can I help you finish up?”

“I actually need help with my bed,” you said sheepishly, running your fingers through the ends of your hair. “The pieces are too heavy for me to lift on my own.”

“No problem,” Shawn answered cheerily, following you down the short hallway into your room.

“Oh, and good game today,” you remarked as you walked.

He smiled, his cheeks getting rosy. “You watched?”

“Of course I did,” you laughed. “Every minute of it.”

“Well, thank you. Glad we could win at least one game in the series.”

“And there will be many more wins where that came from, especially if you all keep hitting as well as you did today.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I hope you’re right.”

The two of you set to work on the piece of furniture, assembling the frame and attaching it to the headboard. What you couldn’t even finish on your own only took half an hour with Shawn’s help, and there was, of course, the added bonus of getting to see his muscles bulging under his shirt as he did your heavy lifting. You pulled your new queen-sized mattress from where it was pushed up against the wall, tossing it down so that it fit perfectly inside the white bed frame, and let out a little cheer over the finished project.

“That’s everything!” you exclaimed.

Shawn grinned, brushing his hands off and moving over to where you stood. “Feels good to be all moved in, doesn’t it?”

“No kidding,” you laughed. “Now, how about a drink?”

“Oh, I don’t really drink much during the season. Thank you, though,” Shawn sighed, but you weren’t having it.

“Come on!” you teased. “You just helped me with half an hour of heavy lifting after you played a hell of a game. Tomorrow’s a travel day for the team, anyways. All you’re going to do is sit on a jet for however many hours until you get to San Francisco. I think you can afford one glass of wine, and it’s the least I could do for your help.”

“Of course you’ve memorized the team’s schedule,” Shawn chuckled, and you felt a wave of heat rising to your cheeks. “But I guess you’re right. Pour me a glass.”

“Always am,” you teased, heading to the fridge. “Red or white?”

“Whichever you’re having. You’re pretty convincing, you know,” Shawn continued as you poured two glasses of red wine, handing one to him and leaning your back against the counter right next to where he stood. “And you always know what you’re talking about. I have a feeling this internship is going to turn into a job more quickly than you think.”

You let out a sigh, tilting your glass back to let the wine past your lips. “I seriously hope you’re right. I need a big-girl job at some point.”

“What day do you officially start?” Shawn asked, angling his body so that he was leaning up against the side of the counter and facing you.

“A week from Monday. Same day as the first home game back versus--”

“Boston,” Shawn finished, and you both laughed. “I’ve heard.”

“Sorry,” you giggled, picking up your glass for another sip.

“Don’t apologize. It’s cute how you know everything.” At this you almost choked on your wine, but you managed to force it down and suppress your coughs. Shawn kept talking, which you were exceedingly grateful for; you wouldn’t have immediately been able to form the right words to respond to his compliment. “There’s a long corridor at the stadium that connects the offices to the Blue Jays locker rooms, and there are a bunch of random rooms off to the sides of that hallway. If you can manage to get away, you should meet me in the one closest to the locker room, like, fifteen minutes before the game starts. I wanna hear about your first day.”

You smiled at him over the rim of your wine glass, trying to keep your butterflies in check. “Fifteen minutes before game time...got it. I’ll do my best.”

You smirked. You’d do more than your best; you’d be there like your life depended on it.

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The rest of the days went slowly, with you desperate to pass the empty time in any way you could. You arranged your artwork, then rearranged it, then rearranged it again. You paid several visits to the apartment complex’s gym--something you’d normally never do, but resorted to out of pure boredom. You went on walks to explore the area around your apartment, identifying which restaurants looked good and the shops you wanted to look in when you finally (hopefully) had money to spend. You watched every Blue Jays game from the comfort of your couch, now with the added excitement of seeing Shawn on TV while also knowing him personally.  

When Monday morning finally rolled around, you were out of bed much earlier than you probably needed to be. You put on the flowy dress you’d picked out, which was blue with white polka dots to match the team’s colors. It was cute but still professional, and when paired with simple jewelry and sandals it was perfect. You did your hair how you liked it and put on a touch more makeup than you normally would, checking the time to see that you still had an hour to be at the stadium and it was only a twenty-minute walk.

You headed into your kitchen and brewed yourself some coffee, making sure that it was decaf; you didn’t need caffeine adding to the jitters you already had. You sat at your kitchen counter and sipped it slowly, trying to think about anything but how nervous you were. When half an hour had passed you opted to start your walk, grabbing your purse from the hook you’d put by the front door and plugging your headphones into your phone to listen to music on your way.

You arrived at the stadium offices with seven minutes to spare, as you weren’t set to meet with Greg until nine o’clock. You were hit with a rush of excitement as you walked through the office doors, Home of the Toronto Blue Jays proudly displayed on a blue banner directly above the entrance. Once inside, you felt like a kid in a candy store. You could see past the receptionist’s desk, the front of which was adorned with a giant Blue Jays flag, to all of the cubicles in the center of the large space. The walls were lined all down the sides with door after door concealing the offices of higher-ups in the organization, shiny plaques displaying each occupant’s last name pasted to the doors. Additionally, there were two silver-doored elevators tucked into the left corner by the front, where you’d come in. The walls inside the reception area were lined with framed newspaper clippings, photographs, and jerseys, and everyone working seemed to have at least one article of clothing that matched the team’s blue; the entire space was a giant homage to the Blue Jays.

Before you had time to ask the receptionist where you were supposed to go, you were met with the sight of a tall, bald man who couldn’t have been older than fifty walking briskly in your direction, his gray suit pressed to perfection and adorned with a royal blue tie. This man, you assumed, was Greg--the one who’d called you to give you the job.

“Are you my intern?” he asked cheerily, reaching out his hand for you to shake before you’d even given him an answer.

“Yes,” you smiled, shaking his hand. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Greg, and the pleasure’s all mine,” he said with a smile, and it seemed truly genuine. “Your application was beyond impressive, I remember it well.”

You blushed at his compliment, filled with pride for your hard work and dedication. You felt your nerves slowly slipping away in Greg’s presence, his exceedingly friendly demeanor making you more comfortable by the second.

“If you’d follow me,” he continued, setting off into the giant office area, “I’ll get you situated and introduce you to the other interns.”

“Are the others already here?” you asked, filled with a new wave of anxiety. You’d been almost ten minutes early, how had they all beaten you?

“Yes, but don’t worry--you’re not late. I told you all to come in fifteen minutes apart from one another so that you had time to adjust. It can be overwhelming on your first day, and I didn’t want the added pressure of a crowd,” he explained, sending you a smile from over his shoulder. You relaxed at this; not only was Greg friendly, but he was thoughtful. “I’ve got them all sitting in a conference room at the end of the offices--” he reached out to push in a door handle, “--right here.”

He led you into the room, where five people sat around a large conference table. Five men. They all stopped their side conversations, looking up to you. You felt the heat of five pairs of eyes sizing you up and down, and you swallowed hard in an effort to stay calm. Greg clapped his hands together once and took a seat at the table, you following suit.

“Alright,” he began, your eyes glued to him. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s introduce ourselves and then I’ll get you each started in your individual departments!”

You and the five other interns, who all appeared to be about your age, went around the table as though it were an icebreaker on the first day of high school and introduced yourselves with your name, hometown, and the department you were interning for. There was Chris who’d be interning with Finance, Matthew with Operations, David with Medical, Tony with Marketing, Brandon with Sales, and you with Public Relations. The difference between Finance and Sales, you learned from Chris (who seemed like a massive know-it-all), is that Finance deals with how the team spends money, whereas Sales is concerned with making money.

Once the rounds had been made Greg stood up, announcing that he’d take you one by one to your departments to get you situated. Know-it-all Chris was first, and as soon as he and Greg were gone the guys started talking to each other again. This left you sitting awkwardly, wanting to join their conversations but they were too quiet for you to hear. You tried to push the thought that they were excluding you on purpose into the back of your mind.

You looked down into your lap, pretending to be fascinated with a detail on your purse, when you felt the chair to your right slide out from under the table. Your head shot up, met with Brandon smiling warmly and sliding in next to you. “It’s Y/N, right?” he asked, and you nodded. “Brandon.”

“I remember,” you grinned, and he smiled back. Brandon had tan skin and light eyes, and he wore a black suit that seemed a little large on his frame despite the fact that his shoulders were so broad. His smile was friendly, and though it was early to tell, you thought he seemed kind.

He must have caught you noticing the size of his suit, because he ran his hands over it and let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s big. Couldn’t really afford a new suit, so I had to borrow this one from my dad. Anyways, I could tell the others were ignoring you so I wanted to come say hi. This place is nerve-wracking enough without having to be by yourself.”

“Thank you,” you shrugged, giving him a smile as you felt yourself relax. “You said you were from America, right?”

“Texas,” he confirmed, leaning back in his chair. “Really small town. Nobody ever moves in and nobody ever leaves.”

“Wow,” you quipped, intrigued. “What drew you to Toronto, then?”

“They took my application,” he answered, and you both laughed in mutual understanding of how challenging it was to secure a position like this. “I actually played baseball all through high school and college. Was projected to make the major leagues as soon as I graduated, but then I got hurt and nobody would sign me to play for them. But I knew even if I couldn’t play in the majors I wanted to work there, hence the reason why I’m hoping this internship leads to a higher position.”

“That’s quite a story,” you remarked, and Brandon shrugged. “I know what you mean about the internship, though. I hope it opens up something bigger for me, too.” Brandon nodded in understanding, continuing the small talk with you until Greg called him away.

You were the last intern that Greg pulled, and you were more than ready to finally have something to do after sitting in the conference room for an hour. “So you,” he started, leading the way towards the elevators, “are my lovely PR lady. Which means you are working to make sure that the team is positively received by the fans. You’ll mostly be making written contributions--conducting research and interviews to contribute to articles for the Blue Jays website--and eventually writing articles yourself once your training is done. The website is the main way we keep the community updated on the team both on and off the field, so it’s very important to the success of our organization. You’ll additionally get practice guiding post-game press conferences, which are also very important.”

You listened intently, making mental notes of everything Greg was saying. The man spoke very quickly, almost to the point where you couldn’t keep up, but your focus was razor-sharp.

The elevators opened onto the third floor of the stadium offices, where the PR department was housed, and you followed Greg as he stepped out onto the tiled floors. He took you into every single office, introducing you as The Intern to more people than you’d ever met in your life, whose names you only prayed you remembered.

Lastly, you were introduced to a woman named Cassidy, who didn’t seem much older than you. She stood up from behind her desk with a bright smile and, instead of greeting you with a handshake like everyone else had, she pulled you in for a hug. You learned from Greg that you’d be working very closely with Cassidy; she’d be your “mentor” throughout the internship, and your desk was inside her spacious office. Greg shook your hand one last time before saying he’d “leave you two to it,” and with that he started back down the hallway for the elevators.

Very quickly, you realized Cassidy was beyond cool. She was young, intelligent, and well-respected in her job; everything you aspired to be. She handed you a folder, containing the transcript of an interview she’d done with one of the players regarding his nonprofit work. She told you she was writing an article about how charitable the player was, and asked you to seed out several quotations that you thought would fit the article.

After several hours of doing back-and-forth work with Cassidy, breaking once for lunch and again for dinner, it was nearing 6:30--and that night’s game started at 7. “Me and some of the other PR staff are going to watch the game in the clubhouse, you’re more than welcome to join us,” she said, her eyes bright.

“I will!” you exclaimed, grabbing your purse and standing up from your desk. “I just have to check in with someone first.” Cassidy nodded and made her way out of the office, turning to lock the door as soon as the both of you were out. You were sure she assumed the person you had to check in with was Greg; little did she or anyone else know that you were about to sneak over to meet with Shawn Mendes. The simple thought of it sent adrenaline coursing through your body.

You took the elevator down to the first floor, retracing your steps back to the door you’d noticed was marked with Stadium Access. You checked to make sure that nobody was paying you any particular attention (as if anyone cared about The Intern), and you pushed the door open to reveal a long corridor much like the one Shawn had described.

You found the door closest to the locker rooms just as he had said, gingerly tugging it open and breathing a sigh of relief when you saw Shawn leaning against the wall in waiting. His head perked up at the sound of the door opening, and he smiled from ear to ear when he saw it was you.

“Your dress matches my uniform,” Shawn remarked, pulling you in for a hug after you’d shut the door behind you. This took you by surprise, but your arms found his waist as his squeezed around your shoulders.

“That was intentional,” you grinned, pulling away from him.

He smiled. “How was your first day?”

“Overwhelming,” you admitted. “I’m the only girl of the six interns, and only one of the guys has been all that nice to me. But there’s a girl named Cassidy who works in the same department as I do and she’s really cool, she’s not much older than me. I met a lot of people with such awesome jobs, though. I’d kill to be where they are.”

“First of all, those guys are insecure and you can’t let their fragile egos get inside your head, especially since you’re probably ten times smarter than them. And secondly, you’re gonna rock this internship. You will be where those people are, I know it.”

You smiled, suddenly shy from his compliments. “Thanks, Shawn. I really hope that’s true.”

“It is. How do you feel about the game?”

“You’re asking me how I feel about the game?” you laughed incredulously.

“Your opinion’s as good as any,” Shawn said, looking down at you with a closed-mouth smile that touched his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling your heart beat a little faster under the weight of his stare. “Well, I hear the Blue Jays’ rookie second baseman has quite the batting average right now. Think as long as he keeps hitting like he has been the game will be just fine.”

It was Shawn’s turn to be bashful from your playful compliment but, right as he was about to answer, you heard the loudspeaker announce that there were ten minutes until the first pitch.

You sighed. “You should go. You don’t even have your eye black on yet.”

“Do it for me?” he asked, reaching into the back pocket of his white pants and handing you the tube.

You felt another shy smile cross your face. “Move your hat,” you said softly, not wanting the cap’s brim in the way of the marks you were about to put under his eyes. Shawn reached up to take his hat off, placing it backwards on your head with a smug smile. You bit back a grin as you reached up to paint the lines on his face, gingerly taking hold of his chin to get a steadier hand. You could feel his gaze on you, and your heart was hammering in your chest so loudly you’d have sworn he could hear it.

“There,” you said, your voice scratchy as you slid the lid back onto the tube and handed it back to him. “Bright lights have nothing on Mendes now.”

There was a pause, each of you wishing you’d had more than five minutes with the other and knowing you both had to go. “Same time here tomorrow?” Shawn spoke up, evoking a confused frown from you.

“What do you mean?”

“Here, fifteen minutes before game time,” he answered matter-of-factly, and by this point you were grinning like a little kid.

“Okay, yeah. Same time tomorrow. But now,” you said, grabbing his hat off of your head and reaching up to place it back on him, “You have a game to win, and the team’s probably looking for you.”

He sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here. Give ‘em hell, rookie.”

“You too,” he grinned, and with that he left the room, his metal cleats echoing as he jogged down the hallway to the locker room.

You leaned back against the wall, feeling like your breathing had stopped and relishing in the fact that this was actually happening to you. You smoothed down your hair, tangled from where Shawn’s hat had been, and made your way back to the offices to watch the game.

Oh, how you were starting to love Toronto.

Feedback is so appreciated, and let me know if you want a part two!! 

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