CS oneshot that provides a snippet into their married life after 30 years together. Includes fluff, feels, and cuteness. Short, sweet, and the perfect weekend treat. Find on FF here and AO3 Here.
A/N: Hey all! This is a short drabble based on the song ‘Honeymon Fades’ by Sabrina Carpenter. This story picks up on Emma and Killian when they’re children are all grown and they’ve been together nearly 30 years. Spoiler alert – the cuteness perseveres after all their years together, and in some ways they’re like honeymooners, still as in love and happy as they were just post-wedding. Hope you enjoy the cuteness and thanks so much for reading!
The silence in this house was still a foreign thing to Emma. After so many years of raising her family, and decades of craziness that she wouldn’t trade for anything, quiet moments still felt like a real commodity. They used to be so few and far between, and every time they found them, she and Killian made use of them. They lived a life of constant motion, and they were always go-go-go, but it kept things fresh and interesting. They were never lacking for love and excitement around here, at least they never used to be.
Now, however, things were different. Take this morning for example. It was 9:00 and she was only just rolling out of bed. She was off today from the station, where she was beginning to take a number of steps back. Her brother Neal had been working with her and her Dad for years, deciding he wanted to join the family business, and he was now the newly elected town sheriff. Emma still worked at the station and ran point on many aspects of Storybrooke’s response team, but even with that, there was never enough to do. She ‘worked’ from 9-5 Monday to Friday, mostly just conferring with the townspeople on what needs they had and what the town could do for them. And then the weekends she had off, totally free, never any hiccups. Just two whole days of… well, whatever the hell she wanted.
So, for years, YEARS, I’ve had this headcanon that Emma has this thing with touch. I mean we all know touch is Emma’s love language, and I’ve always found it interesting that after they kissed in Neverland, it seemed like Emma went out of her way to avoid touching Killian. And I always thought that it was pretty clear that her dam broke after the ice wall, so I’ve always had this exact scenario in my head, so much that sometimes I forget it didn’t actually happen. So now, years later, I’ve finally found the time to write it out. I hope you enjoy it. The pacing is a little different than my usual style, but I feel like it fits. It begins immediately after the 4x03 kiss, so watch that to get yourself in the mood. Let me know what you think!!
also on AO3
**********
The kiss leaves her more than breathless, head cloudy with a kind of relief she didn’t expect. His fingers are still tangled in her tresses, his rings catching tendrils of the soft gold as he moves his hand to thumb at a tear that’s slipped down her cheek. She smiles, trying to convey with her eyes all she’s still not ready to say to him. A cool breeze flutters along the dark street, gently cooling their flushed cheeks.
Killian is gazing into her face, seems to sense she wants to say something. But he’s surprised when all at once the scent of her floods him, her arms having wound tight and fast about his chest, head settling against his shoulder. He wraps his own arms around her, too, hand pressing strong and flat between her shoulder blades. He’s not used to this yet, even after her scramble for purchase against him once freed from the confines of the ice. Oh, but he will get used to it. There’s naught he loves more than his Swan like this, the simple touch of her body flush to his, allowing him to just hold her. He’s waited endless months to be honoured with this pleasure, and it’s not something he takes lightly.
Emma sighs into his neck, trying to memorize this feeling of safety with each separate sense. The smell of brine on his collarbone, the way she can see his pulse jumping at his neck, the taste of his lips still fresh on her tongue. But most of all it’s his arms around her, his thumb rubbing a circle at the base of her neck, the muscles of his abdomen hard against her own, despite his many leather layers. She smiles ruefully to herself in the quiet sway of his embrace, contemplating how she lasted so long, resisting his every touch. It had truly been a conscious effort, for Emma knows herself. Touch has always been her way of communicating love, and after the overwhelming heat of that kiss in the brambles of Neverland, she knew she must hold this man at arm’s length, or she’d be fucked for him too far, too fast. She wasn’t ready to be so tethered to another, especially someone she could already tell came from an achingly similar past. So she had resisted. On countless occasions throughout their shared time these past months, her hand had twitched for his, heart aching for the contact. Both when she left him at the town line and when he found her in New York and made her remember, her body had screamed at her to touch, to hold. But each time she gritted her teeth, hard, and told herself not to make that irreversible dive, not yet. Not yet.
All of her resolve had crumbled upon seeing his face through that little hole in the ice. She’d been nearly unconscious, her shivering long ceased, but somehow hearing him screech her name in anguish and seeing his face contorted in boundless worry for her had chilled her even more. And in a blur of flurried motion, resistance was forgotten as she sought warmth and refuge and safety in his arms. The weight of it robbed her of any ability to speak, and she was grateful knowing he’d simply blame the cold for her silence.
Now, only a few days later, and she knows she’s addicted. Knows every fibre of her soul aches to touch him always, which is why she’d been so upset by his recent brush with disaster. Which is why, in the middle of the street this evening, she had mustered the courage to tell him she couldn’t bear to lose him. And now, in his arms, she’s loathe to let go at all.
So, for years, YEARS, I've had this headcanon that Emma has this thing with touch. I mean we all know touch is Emma’s love language, and I've always found it interesting that after they kissed in Neverland, it seemed like Emma went out of her way to avoid touching Killian. And I always thought that it was pretty clear that her dam broke after the ice wall, so I’ve always had this exact scenario in my head, so much that sometimes I forget it didn’t actually happen. So now, years later, I’ve finally found the time to write it out. I hope you enjoy it. The pacing is a little different than my usual style, but I feel like it fits. It begins immediately after the 4x03 kiss, so watch that to get yourself in the mood. Let me know what you think!!
also on AO3
**********
The kiss leaves her more than breathless, head cloudy with a kind of relief she didn’t expect. His fingers are still tangled in her tresses, his rings catching tendrils of the soft gold as he moves his hand to thumb at a tear that’s slipped down her cheek. She smiles, trying to convey with her eyes all she’s still not ready to say to him. A cool breeze flutters along the dark street, gently cooling their flushed cheeks.
Killian is gazing into her face, seems to sense she wants to say something. But he’s surprised when all at once the scent of her floods him, her arms having wound tight and fast about his chest, head settling against his shoulder. He wraps his own arms around her, too, hand pressing strong and flat between her shoulder blades. He’s not used to this yet, even after her scramble for purchase against him once freed from the confines of the ice. Oh, but he will get used to it. There’s naught he loves more than his Swan like this, the simple touch of her body flush to his, allowing him to just hold her. He’s waited endless months to be honoured with this pleasure, and it’s not something he takes lightly.
Emma sighs into his neck, trying to memorize this feeling of safety with each separate sense. The smell of brine on his collarbone, the way she can see his pulse jumping at his neck, the taste of his lips still fresh on her tongue. But most of all it’s his arms around her, his thumb rubbing a circle at the base of her neck, the muscles of his abdomen hard against her own, despite his many leather layers. She smiles ruefully to herself in the quiet sway of his embrace, contemplating how she lasted so long, resisting his every touch. It had truly been a conscious effort, for Emma knows herself. Touch has always been her way of communicating love, and after the overwhelming heat of that kiss in the brambles of Neverland, she knew she must hold this man at arm’s length, or she’d be fucked for him too far, too fast. She wasn’t ready to be so tethered to another, especially someone she could already tell came from an achingly similar past. So she had resisted. On countless occasions throughout their shared time these past months, her hand had twitched for his, heart aching for the contact. Both when she left him at the town line and when he found her in New York and made her remember, her body had screamed at her to touch, to hold. But each time she gritted her teeth, hard, and told herself not to make that irreversible dive, not yet. Not yet.
All of her resolve had crumbled upon seeing his face through that little hole in the ice. She’d been nearly unconscious, her shivering long ceased, but somehow hearing him screech her name in anguish and seeing his face contorted in boundless worry for her had chilled her even more. And in a blur of flurried motion, resistance was forgotten as she sought warmth and refuge and safety in his arms. The weight of it robbed her of any ability to speak, and she was grateful knowing he’d simply blame the cold for her silence.
Now, only a few days later, and she knows she’s addicted. Knows every fibre of her soul aches to touch him always, which is why she’d been so upset by his recent brush with disaster. Which is why, in the middle of the street this evening, she had mustered the courage to tell him she couldn’t bear to lose him. And now, in his arms, she’s loathe to let go at all.
Moments pass, and he truly can’t believe his luck. She’s clung to him so tightly, her breath warm against his neck, so different from how it felt the last time they embraced. As thankful as he is for her newfound willingness to be close, Killian knows he must tread carefully. Oh, so carefully, now. “It’s alright love,” he whispers, daring to press a kiss to the top of her head. “All will be well. We’ll face what’s to come together, aye?”
Begrudgingly, she loosens her hold on him, enough to look up at him again. She breathes, nodding, almost more to herself than to him. Together. They would do it together.
He turns slightly, moves them both away from the centre of the deserted street. “May I take you home, Swan?” he asks her, tipping his head in the direction of the loft.
The burning starts in her then, instantly; suddenly and with fury. She tries to breathe against it, to get it to go away, but it doesn’t. It only roars in her throat, demanding her attention. Every ember screaming at her. Touch. Hold.
No, she thinks to herself. No, you may not.
Bloody hell, he thinks to himself, seeing clearly the wrinkle of her nose, some sort of struggle in her features. Have I upset her? I only-
“Actually, I…” she says then, squaring her shoulders to face him, her posture almost businesslike all of a sudden. “I…”
She stutters, and he waits. Patiently, he waits, unable to resist the tiniest encouraging nod.
“What you said, about the weight of the world. I do. I feel it,” she confesses in a rush, and she looks down, away from his face, and puts her hands against his forearms. She feels the muscles jump beneath her fingers and the burning ebbs and flows, cooling slightly.
“But I’d like it if you…held some of it. The weight,” she clarifies, exhaling deeply, daring to look back up at his eyes.
They’re soft. So, so soft. He’s dumfounded, truthfully. Is this a trick? Is it real? He opens his mouth to reassure her there’s nothing he wants more than to help shoulder her burdens, but she soldiers right ahead, astounding him yet again.
“And I’d like it if you held…me. I’d like it if you held me and I don’t want to go home.”
“Oh, Swan,” he says reverently, heart breaking at the way her lip quivers, knowing how incredibly difficult it must have been for her to utter these words to him. He gathers her close again, hook firm at her hip and hand coming to rest again against her face. She leans into his touch, grips his forearms harder. He steadies his gaze, chest almost visibly swelling with the joy he feels. “I will gladly bear as much weight as you need me to, Emma. And it would be an honour to share my quarters with you, love. Please. Come.”
He holds her closely as they walk into Granny’s together, and already she’s burning for more contact. It’s a heady feeling, and again, she’s amazed at how long she managed to stave it off. He opens the door to his room and they shuffle inside, Killian quick to close it behind them.
The intensity of the situation sits on Emma’s chest, and some of her feels shy, but most of her peels off her tan jacket, drops it to the floor, and immediately returns to the safe cradle of his arms, pressing as much of her body against his body as she can.
He holds her again, flush to him, vowing to learn exactly how she likes it, vowing to do whatever it takes to make this woman want to stay with him forever.
Her hands rove, they race, his hair, his back, his shoulders. She can’t keep still, wanting to touch him everywhere at once, everything she’s wanted for months suddenly beneath her fingertips.
“You’re to tell me what you need, darling,” he whispers, his words briefly pausing her exploration. “Anything you need.”
She eyes his lips and tugs on the lapels of his coat, drawing his mouth to hers for what he can only describe as a heavenly kiss. He reciprocates in kind, tongue tracing the seam of her lips in the way that made her groan in the jungle.
She breaks for air, staring up at him again. “I think I…I think I’d like a quick shower. Could you find me something to wear?” she asks, voice soft and sweet.
He chuckles at her request, if only because it’s the last thing he’d imagine her asking. So recently she’d been desperate to run from him, to bury her head in the sand of her made-up New York life. And now she’d like some of his clothes?
“Of course, love,” he assures her, running his hand down the side of her neck to squeeze her shoulder. “Take your time.”
He fetches one of his thin button up shirts and some pants that will surely be too large for her, and she skitters into the little bathroom, shutting the door and feeling an absurd pang of loss when she’s separated from him. She grips the sink for a moment, and stares at her own green eyes in the mirror. “What are you doing?” She whispers to her reflection, considering her own question.
“Giving in,” she answers, and she is baffled at how pathetically relieved her face looks. “Finally.”
She takes the shower, and indeed keeps it quick, for she’s begun to burn up in longing again. She towels her hair dry, and picks up the clothes he chose for her. She puts on the navy button up, and finds it’s long enough to cover her ass; and so decides to skip the pants, just to drive him crazy. “Slow,” she tells herself in the mirror before opening the door to him. “Go. Slow.”
His Swan emerges in naught but his thin shirt and he thinks he might bloody faint. Her long, creamy legs are torturously on display, and he clenches his jaw, hard, to keep his composure. Her hair is wet, the navy of the button down a lovely contrast against her pale skin. She smirks at him and he narrows his eyes playfully. “Did you find my pants unsuitable, Swan?”
“Not unsuitable,” she teases, enjoying the way the tone has turned lighter, less intense. (For the moment at least.) “More like…unnecessary.”
“Mmm,” he concedes, standing from his spot on the bed and beckoning for her to sit upon it. Her gaze is locked to his, watching him watch her. He doesn’t miss it, and once she sits, he leans to kiss her forehead. “My turn to wash, darling. I’ll be but a moment.” He says this like a promise, and it warms her in a way only he can.
He turns for the bathroom, and as soon as he clicks the door shut, her eyes come to rest on the other door in the room; the door out. What a perfect opportunity for her to run. She sighs, feeling a familiar, slight tug toward the escape. This is always the moment whenever she finds herself in a one-night tryst. The moment she darts and never looks back. But this time, she bites her lip and shakes her head, leans further into the pillows that smell just like him. She puts a hand over her hammering heart, breathing through her nose to help her settle. This time, the urge to touch, to hold, will win. The urge to stay.
He turns off the shower, and with a jolt, he realizes he’s given her a magnificent opportunity to run for the hills. Indubitable panic spikes within him, and he clambers out of the shower, drying himself in a fury and yanking on the pants she had forgone. Not wanting to startle her if she is in fact still there, he forces himself to open the door slowly, popping out only his head. Mercifully, she is still on the bed, long bare legs crossed at the ankles. He lets go of the breath he was holding and smiles. “Alright if I skip the shirt, love? Or would you consider me immoral?” His tone is teasing, but they both know that he really is asking.
Her lips curve up into a hungry smile. “Fair’s fair,” she assents.
He opens the door wider then, and the sight of him bare from the waist up is not a sight she’ll soon forget. Lean, tanned muscle swathed in dark splendours of hair. Defined lines. His left wrist blunted, indents from the hook’s brace visible to her, even across the room. The jut of his hips. Oh, the ache and burn flares harshly now, scorching her. To touch.
He is more than satisfied by how gobsmacked she appears now, but does his best to hide it. Instead, he fixes his gaze in that reverent look of wonder, drinking in the sight of her in his bed. His bed.
At first, it frustrates her in that he doesn’t move to climb in the bed right away. She watches as instead he kneels on the floor, and reaches for her hands. She leans and turns to sit on the edge of the bed, facing him fully. The touch of his hand on hers is balm to her burning flesh. Suddenly her throat feels tight, because he’s gazing at her with so much love in his eyes; blissfully terrifying.
He takes a steadying breath, measuring his next words carefully in his head before he speaks them. For they have made it so far this night, and he must not place one toe out of line. Regardless of how tempting she is with so much of her skin on display. He means to make her understand his intentions and his gratitude in a way that won’t make her feel suffocated. In a way that won’t make her regret not running when she had the chance.
“Emma,” he starts, and already she is trying not to squirm, wants so badly to rake her fingers against the planes of his chest. “I need you to understand how grateful I am for what you shared with me tonight. With a past like yours...like ours…I know how difficult it can be to open up. And I…I’m proud of you, Swan.”
The tears begin to well in her eyes then, and she squeezes his hand. Because he just…he understands. From the start, he’s always understood her.
“And darling, to touch you…to hold you in my arms…I have yearned for it, for so long, love. But I need you to know that you will set our pace, Emma. Your comfort is all that matters to me. So you, love, you tell me what you need. What you want, when you want it. And I will gladly be ready, for whatever you wish.”
His words wash over her like a tidal wave, and she’s overwhelmed. Your comfort is all that matters to me.
“Killian, I…” she falters, unsure of how to explain that she needs to touch him, now. “Come up here, God. Please.”
He climbs on the bed next to her, and at last. At last, he is hers for the taking. To touch. To hold. She waits one more beat. Takes one more second to appreciate what her life has been before this final surrender. For she knows, after this, there is no turning back.
He sits patiently, watching her face, her every move. Her hands flutter upwards, and they shake, slightly. Slowly, she presses them, flat against his chest on the borders of his sternum, and he’s so solid. So real. She feels his skin move and stretch with his sharp inhale and she shuts her eyes, letting herself be soothed. His chest hair is as soft as she had dared to imagine it would be. She scratches through it gently, flips one of her hands over to feel it against her knuckles, and he finds his eyes want to slip closed under her tender touch, despite a deeper desire to continue to watch her.
She smoothes her right hand up, over his nipple to his shoulder and down to rest on his bicep. It twitches under her hand and she smiles. She’s not burning anymore, but melting, and it’s so nice not to have to clench her teeth and resist. She watches his face carefully as her hand drifts lower, moves to cup the blunted end of his arm. She rubs her fingers over the puckered scars, her other hand jumping from his chest to cup his face, to nudge her fingertips through his stubble.
I’m fucked, she thinks, knowing with certainty that she’ll never be able to be near him without craving his touch, ever again.
As though he’s read her mind, tentatively he raises his hand. “May I touch, Swan?”
“Yes,” she sighs, and she closes her eyes, so ready.
With just two fingers, he begins toward her shoulder, tracing the outline of her collarbone. He pauses in the centre of her chest to stroke her throat, and her lips warble at how ridiculously gentle his touch is. She is well aware that he’s used that hand to kill, many times. But right now, she can’t see how it’s possible. He moves closer, hand moving up to trace the shell of her ear. He scratches lightly at the skin behind it, and she shivers, goosebumps everywhere. Her eyes open, and she reaches her hand up to circle his wrist, trapping his where it rests.
And suddenly, they are kissing. Her mouth slants over his and he groans, his nose brushing along her cheek. She twines her fingers in his hair, and she’s sort of desperate to switch from touch and hold to pull and yank. She wants to let the fire consume her, but she knows if there is to be any chance of her solving this damned town’s many problems, she must. Go. Slow. He’s giving as good as he gets, this kiss so different than any others they’ve shared before. It’s intimate, it’s domestic. It’s new and it’s wonderful.
She breaks it, but only to press her forehead to his, to breathe in his air. “Hold me, Killian,” she whispers. “Please, I need…”
He reaches for her and she goes. Oh, she goes. He is breathless at the simple intimacy that is pulling her against him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She tucks her head under his chin, her cheek at his heart. Surviving, she remembers, from the street. He’s good at surviving.
She tangles her legs up with his in a near instant. He is amazed at how quickly she settles, nestles herself right in, her body pliable in his hold, molding her lines to match his. Every breath she takes he can feel, and the smell of her clean skin and her wet hair is better than he ever dared to imagine. He tries suddenly, to think of a time he’s ever felt more at home than this moment, and miserably fails.
The silk of the button down is slippery against his chest, but he anchors her there, all the same. She nearly combusts from the warmth of him around her, of him simply everywhere. She’s obsessed with the way it feels to press her face against his skin. Completely enraptured by his lips at her hairline, whispering nonsense about how precious she is to him. She feels his stumped arm kneading at the small of her back, and fuck, she finds herself wishing she had forgone his shirt as well. Slow, she reminds herself. Just take it slow.
She flicks her wrist, and the room is dark. She delights in the fact that even though she can’t see him, she can feel him against her. It’s all she’s wanted every day since the blistering heat of Neverland. “It’s alright to sleep, Swan,” he promises. “I’ve a firm hold, now.”
She closes her eyes, and drops three quick kisses to the base of his throat. She reaches her hand up to stroke his face in the dark, a silent prayer that he understands what she’s still too afraid to say. She is utterly relaxed, the burn for now, sated. For tonight, this is enough. To touch, to hold, to sleep, to stay. To wake in the morning, in his arms, where she...where she belongs. It’s enough.
This is kind of specific, do you have any canon compliant/slightly divergent comfort fluff from events like post 5x14, post 5x21, post 6x06, etc? I just live for comfort fluff when it goes along with stuff that actually happened!
Hey, nonnie. After doing a bit of a deep dive through AO3 tags and a few of my older fic rec lists, I think I’ve found a few stories you might be interested in! I’m not sure if all of them 100% meet what you’re looking for- i.e. some of them might be more fluff than comfort or fix it fics rather than canon-compliant- but these are all great fics nonetheless, and I hope you enjoy reading!
-/-
Reminder by @scientificapricot
Hush Now, I'm Here to Dry Your Tears by @snowbellewells
A Place Only You Can Go by @caprelloidea
this love came back to me by midwestwind*
my feet don’t touch the floor by @qqueenofhades
Just Like That by @captainstudmuffin
Midnight Cocoas by hannahhoppers*
Hush by @sambethe
a soul at peace by @the-reason-to-sail-home
Where We Belong by @laschatzi
All of Me by @caprelloidea
Walls So High (That No One Could Climb) by @ohmakemeahercules
She Steals the Sun and Shuts Out the Light by @acrobat-elle
past the clouds we’ll find the stars... by @startswithhope
Sunburn by @scientificapricot
4 a.m. by @unfolded73
i’d follow you anywhere by @kindredsspirits
Like the Sea by @georgianablythe16
*I couldn’t find these writers on Tumblr. If you know their usernames, please let me know so I can tag them correctly!
-/-
Anyone reading, feel free to reblog with additions of your own!
https://canwetalkaboutcaptainswan.tumblr.com/post/145337885002/can-we-finish-talking-about#notes I forgot that I wrote a 3 part post-season-5-lift-kiss that fits this genre perfectly! (Links to part 1 & 2 can be found at the top of this post) <3
This is kind of specific, do you have any canon compliant/slightly divergent comfort fluff from events like post 5x14, post 5x21, post 6x06, etc? I just live for comfort fluff when it goes along with stuff that actually happened!
Hey, nonnie. After doing a bit of a deep dive through AO3 tags and a few of my older fic rec lists, I think I’ve found a few stories you might be interested in! I’m not sure if all of them 100% meet what you’re looking for- i.e. some of them might be more fluff than comfort or fix it fics rather than canon-compliant- but these are all great fics nonetheless, and I hope you enjoy reading!
-/-
Reminder by @scientificapricot
Hush Now, I'm Here to Dry Your Tears by @snowbellewells
A Place Only You Can Go by @caprelloidea
this love came back to me by midwestwind*
my feet don’t touch the floor by @qqueenofhades
Just Like That by @captainstudmuffin
Midnight Cocoas by hannahhoppers*
Hush by @sambethe
a soul at peace by @the-reason-to-sail-home
Where We Belong by @laschatzi
All of Me by @caprelloidea
Walls So High (That No One Could Climb) by @ohmakemeahercules
She Steals the Sun and Shuts Out the Light by @acrobat-elle
past the clouds we’ll find the stars... by @startswithhope
Sunburn by @scientificapricot
4 a.m. by @unfolded73
i’d follow you anywhere by @kindredsspirits
Like the Sea by @georgianablythe16
*I couldn’t find these writers on Tumblr. If you know their usernames, please let me know so I can tag them correctly!
-/-
Anyone reading, feel free to reblog with additions of your own!
And suddenly it was all simple. He held out his arms to her. She stepped into them and found that she had been wrong; he was as big as she’d imagined - and his arms were as strong about her as she had ever dared to hope.
🚨Put the Money in a Bag and We Stole The Keys...To Drive to REP TOUR DETROIT!!! 🚨
TAYLOR!!! WE’VE BEEN DANCING FOR 98 DAYS THUS FAR AND OUR TOUR COSTUMES ARE FINALLY READY!!!! We are beYOND excited and thankful that we are able to attend the Reputation Stadium Tour @ Ford Field in Detroit!!! Just incase you can’t tell, we may have a SLIGHT obsession with Getaway Car….
FROM LEFT TO RIGHT WE ARE: SAYLOR, JENN, HEATHER, & MEGAN, and we are four BEST friends who have all been listening to your music since DAY ONE! We can’t WAIT to experience the magic that is #reptourDetroit, and even though it’s only two days away now, we STILL aren’t ready for it! We have been dancing like maniacs for months in preparation, and we are SO ready to show you our moves ;)
You will find us in section 111, row 1, seats 1-4 riding in our getaway cars and crying in our getaway cars and dying in our getaway cars because of how hard you are SLAYING the stage!!! We are so thankful for you & this tour, as it’s brought us so close together as friends this summer, and we’ve had nothing but nonstop fun counting down the days!!!!!!!
Love you forevermore @taylorswift ! WE ARE JET-SET STRAIGHT FOR DETROIT FROM CANADA!! See you soon xoxoxox
