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lemon--squeezy · 3 years

Text

𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 | 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Summary: 𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫 found love during his teen years and ended up married to his high school sweetheart. However, he hadn't been prepared for the effects caused on him by a younger Agent and coworker.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Original Female Character

Warnings: Mentions of/implied attemped rape, sexual scenes, adult language, angst, boss/employee relationship, cheating, age difference and canon-typical violence.

A/N: Before we start I just wanted to warn you that English is not my first language so you might see some grammar and spelling errors, if you spot any just let me know please. I hope you can bear with me! This story in also available on Wattpad

“You made a really deep cut and baby, now we’ve got bad blood…” — Taylor Swift

Rays of a morning sun shine through the many windows, bringing a needy warmth to the cold bullpen of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. As soon as one enters the room, the bitter but invitingly warm scent of black coffee would invade their nostrils; a much needed drink to endure the consuming aspects of working for the FBI. Hushed footsteps, discussions of rapports, chairs moving around and whispers of good mornings are the prominent sounds filling the environment.

At the center of the room, three distinct agents are discussing among themselves about gossips of the office. A strong, shaved headed man, with dark skin and a smirk plastered on his face. By his side, half sitting on his desk is a woman with fluffy bright blonde hair, thick black glasses supported by her delicate nose and wearing colorful clothes, making her stick out in an ocean of grey suits and blazers. Standing in front of them is a raven-headed woman, with pale skin and dressing a dark outfit like no one else could do.

While grabbing his mug and sipping his morning coffee, the man looks at his wristwatch, slightly shaking his head in a mocking disapproval and declares, “It’s officially five minutes since our work time started and Agent Davis hasn’t arrived,” he flashes a smirk to the black headed female who had being part of the team for barely a month and continues, “I hope you’re ready to witness your first breakfast time quarrel between the bossman and Amy.”

Emily, the sophisticated gothic woman, stares confusedly at her teammate and says, “Okay, I’m gonna take the bait. What are you talking about, Morgan?”

He flashes a mischievous smile, “Do you want to explain it to the newbie, baby girl?” Morgan asks the blonde and eager female to tell the new girl about the most volatile - and funny to watch - dynamic of the team. “I’m pretty sure you’ve already noted that my lovely girl Amelia Davis and our stiff yet good-looking Superior don’t tolerate each other,” Penelope happily blabbers. “Since today is Monday and Amy loooves partying hard on the weekends, she’s already late. Something that displeases the bossman who is constantly waiting to scold Amy because of her little mistakes.”

“That is intriguing. Are you sure it isn’t all about sexual tension? That would explain their behavior.” Agent Emily Prentiss questions inducing a gasp from Penelope and a laugh from Derek.

“We’ve all considered it at some point,” the man affirms. “Just don’t say that to Davis or she will lecture you about how terrible it is that two people of the opposite sex aren’t allowed to sincerely and deeply hate one another,” he concludes and looks in the direction of his Superior individual office through the open blinds. “Hotch seems to be especially annoyed today so I bet he won’t even wait for Davis to reach her table before he calls her attention.” Morgan deduces and the elevator cheeps in sync announcing new arrivals, making the three agents stare in its direction. They see a couple of interns hurrying to the coffee marker and the next person to come out is the disheveled figure of Agent Davis. Her crystal blue eyes are hidden by black sunglasses, the woman’s usually perfect long brunette hair is currently disheveled, her button up white shirt is supporting some wrinkles while her dark grey blazer is in her left hand along with her bag. She connects the fingers of her right hand with her temple massaging it in a foolish attempt to ease the headache obviously caused by a hangover.

Amelia tries to walk discreetly in the direction of her desk, hoping she would pass unnoticed by her boss, but she isn’t successful. Seeing her state, Derek whistles and loudly states, “I think someone had a wild night,” he laughs with Prentiss and Penelope. His booming voice affects the balance of Davis, making her stumble over her own feet and before she gets a hold of her chair and tells the man to be quiet, the harsh sound of a door opening echoes through the entire space of the bullpen.

“Agent Davis. My office. Now,” the chief unit’s demand rings like thunder, giving chills to the ones around.

“Fuck,” Amy murmurs while taking off her sunglasses and dropping her belongings on her desk.

The brunette drags her legs, taking her time along the short way to her boss’s office.

Amelia feels like she’s in high school and the principal is calling to lecture her, but that’s something she never experienced during her school years since her teachers adored her effort to have the best grades and eagerness to learn. Besides, she could always blast a polite amiable smile to make people bend at her will. It came easily to Amy, being friendly and kind towards others, virtues that paid off and made everyone like her. Well, everyone but him.

The door to the room is already opened and to Amy, it resembles the entrance of a

scary and dark cave. After she’s inside, she makes sure to close it to shield herself from the curious ears of her coworkers. She goes straight to one of the chairs across from the stoic man, a journey she’s so used to, considering that Hotchner’s constantly expressing his discontent with her whether it was about being a few minutes late, or about a typo in a rapport, or even choosing to use a grey folder instead of the yellow ones. Everything would lead to criticism and by now she would just take it with humor. She mumbles a good morning but Aaron simply ignores it.

“Tell me, Agent, what’s your excuse for today? Two weeks ago there was something wrong with your car, four weeks ago it was a problem with shower. I can’t wait to hear about another one of your misfortunes,” there’s venom watering each word, his eyes colder than a winter day and his entire posture screams irritation.

Amy thinks how he’s ever so ridge when she’s around. Every time she enters the same room as him, the jet black haired man would instantly go ridge like her mere presence was a heinous crime. She’s used to it and more than happy to demonstrate that she is also offended by his existence.

“Would you believe me if I told you that my nanny died?” Davis playfully replies and grins, which boils Aaron’s anger further.

“Do you think this is some sort of joke?” he snaps, standing from his chair and positioning his hands on the desk that separated them. “I can’t have people in this unit that don’t take their job seriously and I don’t have time to endure irresponsibility and lack of respect.”

I bet you would have a lot of free time if you just left me the fuck alone, dude - Amelia thinks while maintaining eye contact with the man.

“One more day of tardiness and you will have to suffer consequences. Is that clear enough for you, agent?” he fumes.

She bites her lips and swallows a bitter response. Not afraid of the outcome, just too tired to deal with her boss’s intensity so early in the day. “Yes, boss.”

“You can leave now,” he grunts and sits back in his chair. Starting to reach for one of the files on his desk; at the same time, Amelia makes a quick way out of the room. Once she gets to her chair, she releases a loud sigh, longing for the day to be over already.

“That seemed intense.” Emily comments. She and Morgan are in their respectives chairs and Penelope has made her way to her own office - after the end of the show, of course.

“You have no idea,” Amy answers while starting her work.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened between the two of you?” Prentiss carefully asks, genuinely curious.

“He’s the one who decided to hate me since my first day, I’m just returning the sentiment,” Davis explains, unbothered by the question, being a curious person herself she knows how it is once interest sparks. That’s when Dr. Reid and Agent Jareau arrive, talking to themselves. Spencer is carrying a notebook with a sketch of a boy’s face in it, moving around the room frantically and picking a telephone.

“What’s wrong?” Amelia worriedly questions.

“Need to get that to everyone as soon as possible,” Reid hurriedly explains while making a call. “Detective Barnes, this is Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico,” he clarifies to the person on the other side of the phone and continues rapidly, “Have you had recent murders involving prostitutes? They would’ve been stabbed to death and their hair would’ve been cut off by the killer,” that causes the other Agents to exchange confused glances, intrigued by the sudden event.

“When was the last recent victim?” the Doctor inquires to the Detective on the line.

Seems like we have a case, Amy processes.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fic #agent hotchner #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds fanfic #hotch x oc #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!oc #aaron hotchner angst

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doexoeyes · 3 years

Text

Of Finches & Firsts

In case you wanna read ahead:

Archive Of Our own link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707513

Wattpad link:

https://my.w.tt/ZoUHpu1e59

Summary: “A Hufflepuff? Crushing on a Slytherin? Sounds like the start of a terrible joke to me, but ok.” You’ve harbored feelings for Draco Malfoy since your first year at Hogwarts. Secretly, of course, and very much from afar. But when you’re finally taken out of your role of being a background character in his life, will it be what you always wanted, or what you wish you never knew?

Chapters

Chapter 1 ♡ Chapter 2 ♡ Chapter 3 ♡ Chapter 4 ♡ Chapter 5

Chapter 4: Dirty Pants

Your latest run in with Malfoy had consumed your head for the majority of that week, even, unfortunately, during the tournament.

You were, of course, over the moon at Cedric’s success at capturing the golden dragon egg (Harry’s too, however you would keep that to yourself for the time being until the tension between him and your house blew over), but you just couldn’t shake off the feeling of having had Draco be so close and how he decided to take something of your’s for himself.

It sent you through an overwhelming spiral of thoughts and confusion and you so desperately wanted a friend to talk to, but you knew that Mauve and the others would immediately disapprove.

Anything Draco did was a red flag to them.

Still, that did lead to your most important question; why did Draco do what he did? He couldn’t seriously have had any real interest in your ribbon. It just all seemed like he was...toying with you, but if so, why would he waste his time toying with you in the first place ?

All of these questions received no answers for days until you had finally deemed your endless hours anxiously dwelling on it enough and decided to find your own answers.

Thinking back to the first day you had interacted with Draco, you grabbed your sketch book and pencil pouch and headed to the astronomy tower after dinner, waiting to see if you would run into the Malfoy boy.

Thankfully the universe seemed to be in your favor, because you did.

“Finch,” he greeted upon seeing you, his infamous smirk on its proper place. “Been running into each other more lately. I think you’ve become a bit obsessed,” he teased as he made his way towards you with slow steps.

You clutched your sketchbook to your chest, silently pretending it was a shield of sorts to encourage you to hang onto what little courage you had.

You then took a breath and began.

“We need to talk,” you stated cautiously, not knowing how this would turn out. “I need you to be honest with me.”

Draco frowned, clearly not a fan of your words. “Talk? About what?”

“About what happened a couple days ago. About the umm...” you weren’t sure why, but the words you were looking for escaped you so you chose to point to the top of your head where your hair was done up in a ponytail once more.

Draco stared at you, confused, before giving out a scoff, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Oh, your ribbon? Why, want it back? Has no one taught you about sharing, Finch?” and you clutched your book tighter as he once again placed himself inches away from you.

He really wasn’t a fan of personal space, it seemed.

“Why would I have to share my ribbon with you?” you questioned, feeling silly and small in his presence.

“Because I wanted it. Simple as that,” he answered, eyes looking at you as if to challenge him in saying something else about the subject.

You had no plan to do so.

“Ok...” you said, disappointed that that was all he had to say on the matter.

This was definitely not going according to your plan. Then again, you weren’t even sure you had one in the first place.

His eyes then flickered to the sketchbook you were holding to your chest. “What’s that you’re always bringing up here with you?” he asked nosily and your cheeks immediately flushed.

“It’s, umm...it’s a sketchbook. I like to draw in my free time.”

“Oh really? Well then you’re going to have to share that with me,” he said, moving as if to grab the book but you immediately stepped back, shaking your head with wide eyes.

“Oh no, absolutely not,” you blurted out, taking Draco aback at your sudden outburst.

He frowned once again. “And why not?” A ghost of realization then hit his face and he smirked knowingly. “Oh, I get it. It’s filled with drawings of me. Am I your muse, Finch?” he taunted, lifting his brows.

You unfortunately couldn’t control a small laugh from escaping, nerves setting in as you knew now that you had to explain. “No, actually, I’m...quite terrible at drawing and I’m terrified of you looking at them because...well, they’re really bad,” you confessed, and placed a hand over your mouth to contain the rest of your nervous giggling.

Draco eyes you now like you were completely mad.

“So, you’re telling me you spend your time doing something you’re horrible at?”

You bit your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to explain it to him best. “Well, yes. Have you never done something not because you’re good at it or you have to, but simply because you enjoy it?” you asked, and the very blonde boy remained starring at you oddly.

“No, actually, that sounds bloody ridiculous and like a terrible waste of time.”

You subconsciously pushed your bottom lip out, your expression resembling a small pout, as you stood there awkwardly, eyes avoiding his. Feeling the weight of the book on your chest, you looked at it for a moment before handing it towards him, wondering what was possessing you to do so.

He looked at your offering with furrowed brows, eyes asking you the same question.

“Just pass through it. No point in not letting you see it now that you know that I’m awful at it. You might find some amusement in it. Just, please, be prepared. I wasn’t being hard on myself, I really am crap at drawing.”

He snatched the book from your hand then, an action you thought was a bit too dramatic, and opened the book, eyes analyzing every page as he flipped through it.

You stood there, watching him pass through the book as you chewed on your bottom lip nervously. You were never usually this bold, letting someone (especially someone like Draco Malfoy) go through your sketchbook knowing very well how terrible your sketches were. Yet, you felt that the only way the tension between you two would dissipate was to be honest and open with him, like how you wanted him to be with you. Maybe then he’ll tell you the real reason why he took your ribbon...

How silly of you to still be hung up on such a little thing.

“Wow, you weren’t wrong. You really are shit at drawing,” he commented midway through his flipping.

You blushed, embarrassed, but also found his blunt honesty amusing, and couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. “I know. It’s a good thing art isn’t part of our curriculum. I would absolutely fail, without a doubt,” and you felt your chest swell up at hearing him laugh along with you.

“Honestly,” he said, handing the book back to you once he finished. “You know, you’re very strange.”

“And you’re very judgmental,” you quickly threw back, causing Draco’s eyes to widen slightly, not expecting your response.

You raise a brow at him, lips forming into a soft smile. “You only think I’m strange because you don’t understand what I’m talking about,” you elaborated before leaning down to sit on the floor.

You patted the spot next to you, looking up at Draco as you did so, but the boy shook his head with a frown.

“Are you mad? I’m not sitting on the floor. I’ll get my pants all dirty,” he said in disgust.

You playfully rolled her eyes, looking up at him from your lashes. “They won’t be, but if they are, I promise I will clean them for you. Just...please sit with me?” you asked, eyes silently pleading with him.

He stood there stubbornly, arms crossed against his chest and you were sadly made aware of what his answer would be. Just as you were about to tell him to forget about it, however, he sat himself on the floor next to you with a huff.

“There. I’m sitting. Now what?” he asked begrudgingly and you had to keep yourself from grinning.

You opened up your sketchbook to an empty page before handing it over to him, along with a pencil. “Take this and just...go with the flow,” you instructed.

He looks at you like you told him the most insane thing possible.

“You want me to sit here and draw?” he questions in disbelief.

“Mhm,” you said, smiling sheepishly at him. “Just one drawing. It could be of anything you want. A bird. A flower. Even a stick person. I just want you try it out for yourself.”

“I’ve drawn before, you do know that right?” he scoffed, finding the task you had assigned him to be entirely ridiculous.

“Doodling while taking notes in class doesn’t count,” you pointed out.

With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, Draco took the book and pencil from your hands and began to do as he was requested.

It was a funny sight, you admitted to yourself, seeing the boy draw with a frown etched on his face. He looked very unamused at first, but as he continued moving his pencil throughout the page, the frown on his face softened and a more concentrated look falls on his features. You smiled softly to yourself, trying to keep your eyes away from the page he was working on, wanting to see it only when he finished.

After a couple of minutes, Draco cleared his throat and handed the book back to you.

“Personally, I don’t think I did too bad,” he admitted, eyes on the page you were now able to see.

A snake graced the middle of the once empty page and you were surprised to find that it was a very well drawn one. Lips slightly parted in surprise, you noticed he had even shaded in the scales.

“Don’t think you did too bad?” you repeated, eyes taking in the details he was able to add from memory.

Draco immediately frowned once again, taking your tone the wrong way. “Well it’s at least loads better than your pitiful attempts,” he spat out.

At that, you immediately looked up at him, shaking your head. “No, I mean that in a good way. As in you did way better than just ‘not too bad’. You actually did a wonderful job,” you admitted sincerely.

You were aware of Draco’s infamous temper. The way he’d snap at the drop of a pin, especially if it was dropped in a way he didn’t like, had him labeled as a simple hot head by others. And although that could be true, you understood why he reacted in such a way; he was taught his whole life that people could be cruel, so he needed to be cruel first.

You knew all about the Malfoy family, namely Draco’s father, Lucius. You remember the day you went back home after your first year at Hogwarts, how you gushed to your father about your new school and your new friends and the new boy you really wanted to befriend.

You father had recognized the name ‘Malfoy’ immediately, and frowned as he looked at you in concern.

“You have to be careful with that boy. I can’t judge him, because I’ve never met him personally, but if he’s anything like his father, then he’s not someone you want to surround yourself with.”

You were snapped back to reality when Draco spoke once again.

“Really? That good?” he asked, looking his drawing over.

You nodded. “Yes. I guess you found something you’re naturally talented at.”

He looks up at you, expression unreadable. You feel your face warm up at the sudden intimacy you felt, realizing how close he sat next to you and how you could notice the different shades of gray in his eyes.

Clearing your throat, noticing how flustered you were becoming, you closed your sketchbook and put your pencil away. The sound of the pouch zipping fills the silence and you feel even more awkward until Draco finally speaks up.

“Are you going to go on the trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow?” he asked, causing you to turn your attention back to him.

“Oh, umm...yeah. I am,” you answered, attempting to play it cool despite your still blushing self.

“Perfect. You’ll join me then,” he said, standing up and dusting his pants off. Your eyes widened but Draco didn’t acknowledge it, simply stating “I’ll see you tomorrow, Finch,” before exiting the tower.

You remained staring at the spot Draco had been, processing the entirety of your latest exchange, feeling your heart race a little at the realization that he had just formally asked (well, demanded) to hangout tomorrow.

.....

What in Merlin’s beard just happened?

♡

Tag list: @sadgirlnumber92899, @yea-that-potato, @avellanas-nutty-empire

#draco malfoy #harry potter #hufflepuff #slytherin #draco x reader #draco fanfiction #draco imagine #draco x oc #imagine #draco lucius malfoy #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco x hufflepuff!reader #wattpad #aoo3 #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction

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agreeablesenseofthemacabre · 3 years

Text

Lifting the Sea

“Where’s Cas?”

Dean does a full comedic rotation before spotting the Angel— his husband— whatever, scowling at his phone near a landmark.

He shrugs, “Catching those little monster dudes probably. Apparently they’re all over the place here.”

Sam’s brow furls, he looks over at Eileen who shrugs.

“What?”

“You know that fuckin’ app that everybody was obsessed with like... 5 years ago? Pocket something something”

Sam frowns for a split second then it hits him.

“Pokémon go?”

“Yeah that shit.” Dean shrugs again, his green eyes still fixed on the man in question. “I knew it was a mistake getting a smartphone” but he doesn’t sound nearly as bothered as he claims. He glares upward. “It’s fucking hot”

Sam’s also dart up. “I mean. It’s the beach Dean.” He stares pointedly at his brother’s attire. “Would it kill you to buy some shorts maybe a tshirt?”

Dean pulls a face, but doesn’t argue, Cas is waving happily- just now noticing how far they’ve walked away from him. He points excitedly to his phone and says something.

“Can’t hear—” Dean sighs, “CAN’T HEAR YA CAS, you’re too far” he yells, smiling softly. “Asshole.”

Dean points at the nearby shop, waving to get Sam’s attention, a couple kids are clustered around Cas chattering to him animatedly.

“Sam. Can you keep an eye on him? I’ll be right back”

~~~

When Dean walks back out into the sunshine Cas has finally decided to join them. He’s signing to Eileen and going intensely through the alphabet. Probably more about that damn Pokémon game.

Sam whistles, “I’m blind” he laughs. “Your legs, they’re reflecting the sun”

Dean flips him off.

“No, but for real Dean, have your thighs ever been exposed to light? Are you sure it’s safe?”

“HA, HA, fuck you”

Cas turns at his voice, eyes glowing happily, and how in the hell did Dean Winchester get so lucky.

“I caught a Charizard in the wild Dean, none of the other players were able to capture him” He informs proudly, phone still out, finger flipping with precision, “You have very nice legs” he adds. “The sunlight will cause you to have more freckles, plus the added health benefits of vitamin D”

Dean winks, “Any nude beaches out here? I could benefit from your vitamin d”

Sam retches, seizing the umbrella from Dean and heading toward the beach. “You two are disgusting”

Dean waves cheerily before turning back to his boyfriend— husband.

“So What’s a charred—“

“Charizard.” Cas corrects, “dragon fire type”

“Uh-huh” Dean reaches for Cas’ hand, it takes him a second to get used to flicking with his thumb, but he manages, Dean lets Cas lead. “Did you bully those kids out of their dragon? Dragons suck dude.”

“It is very rare to catch in the wild, Edwin told me, he is one of the top players in this region, he is 12, and though he is Team Valor, and I am team Instinct, I decided to trust him.”

“Whatever you say babe.”

“I think you might enjoy this game Dean, it combines hunting and tracking with less bloodshed and all of the monsters seem kind.” Cas squints suddenly, yanking them out of the flow of traffic and down onto the beach. “I see combees.”

“Handsome and artistic, you’ve gotta be a serial killer right?”

Dean raises his head, shielding his eyes in the sun. She’s tall, and curvy with sparkling eyes and a near perfect smile.

“I don’t know about artistic, but I never murder and tell”

She throws out a hand.

“I’m Clarice”

“Dean.”

She notices the lift of his expression and rolls her eyes good naturally, “Yeah like Silence of the Lambs”

“Put the lotion in the basket” he intones with a mock accent.

“Yeah that never gets old”

He laughs and she smiles and takes a seat on the beach chair beside him.

“What brings you out here into the sunshine?”

“Celebratin’.” His eyes turn back to his sketchbook, thumb smudging a carefully drawn mop of black hair.

“Oh, that’s fun, how old are you?” She doesn’t seem bothered by his in attention, sips her drink and watches him sketch.

“Ah um” He shifts and does the mental math. “Forty-three I think...”

“Looking good” she says appreciatively. He’s too focused on the lines, eyes occasionally darting to the ocean, quite obviously only half listening. She’s not put off yet- no ring on his finger, only a necklace with two silver circles and that could mean anything.

“So uh, a couple of my friends are headed down into the—“

“DEAN!”

His attention is immediately diverted, a man waist-deep in the frigid surf is pointing excitedly at something, he’s still wearing his snorkel mask. He pulls something free of the water- revealing a long, lean wriggling shape.

“Is that a fucking shark?” Dean mutters in disbelief, then much louder “CAS is that a fucking shark?”

A giant man with longer hair stops splashing the woman with him, turns and starts cackling. The shark handler pulls his mask off, beaming. “Jack would love this!”

Clarice shades her eyes and takes a good look at the man with the shark and then at the drawing Dean’s been working on.

“Who’s that?” She asks, his distraction giving her a better chance seeing what’s in his sketchbook.

A lovingly rendered drawing of what looks like the man with the shark. But in the sketch it’s in a much different position, hair ruffled in detail over his brow. Blankets pooled around his barely covered hipbones. His eyes burn with inner heat despite the fact that they’re merely pencil on paper. His subject had clearly been in love with whomever he’d been looking at.

“That is my boyfriend, he’s gonna get his nipple bit off if he’s not careful.” Dean’s smiling cause Sam is trying to talk Cas into releasing the shark and is clearly failing. “Oh hell, I guess husband now.”

She stands, “I am so sorry, I didn’t realize. I gotta—“

“Nice to meet you Clarice” he says, honestly surprised by her quick exit. “Yo STEVE IRWIN. put the shark down and come up here— time to reapply sunblock”

“Who was that woman?” Cas asks, shaking like a dog and stirring a loud swearing session out of Dean as he shields his sketchbook from the saltwater.

“What woman?”

“The one speaking to you earlier? When I caught the shark?”

Dean looks completely vacant before remembering. “Oh shit, yeah! Clarice or something. Nice lady.”

Cas nods, waiting patiently while Dean starts applying sunscreen to his back.

“Did she need something?”

Dean shrugs, “just being friendly I guess, lean close. I gotta get your nose”

Cas hums and obliges, he grins suddenly and rips open a Velcro pocket in his trunks revealing his prize to Dean.

“Is that a goddamn crab Castiel?”

The angel nods happily. “We should find out if Claire can FaceTime. She would love to see.”

Claire and Kaia lean close, Dean’s got the camera aimed so that it’s mostly sky and their foreheads. Cas is smushed against his cheek waving.

“Jesus.” Claire hisses. “Hold the damn camera still. Dean— look, YOU’RE the square in the corner.”

Kaia hasn’t stopped giggling since they connected.

“How is Kansas?” Cas asks. “Are you well?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “You’ve been gone two days. It’s the same Cas— house burned down and a ghoul attack—“

The camera reels, two deep gruff voices start speaking rapidly.

“She’s joking!” Kaia intervenes. “Castiel, Dean. She’s joking. We’re fine and safe, worst thing that happened is we ran out of coffee.”

He nods seriously— the left side of Dean’s face is unamused.

“Tell them not to put damn Walmart coffee in my coffee machine—“

Cas lifts a blurry item into view. “I caught a crab today,”

She freezes only for a moment, crabs had been her thing in 1st grade. Her dad had shared some of his favorite memories with Cas; she was realizing that he did it because he trusted the angel. The crab thing was a new one— he seems proud though, pleased that he remembered.

“He also caught a fucking shark with his bare hands.” Dean adds, taking the phone back, view now up his nostrils. They’re both sunburned and nearly glowing with happiness. “Almost lost a nipple”

“I did not.” It’s Cas’ turn to roll his eyes. “I will send you photographs via messaging after the call.”

“When are you guys headed back?” Claire asks, cause she’s pleased about the pictures and doesn’t know how to admit it.

Dean turns the camera again. This time slightly more centered.

“Sam and Eileen are heading home tomorrow, but Cas says he has more surprises for me and “undomesticated equine could not drag the secrets from him’”

Dean and Claire snort simultaneously.

“I was being funny.” Cas interjects, Dean laughs at something off camera and grabs his face, kissing Cas’ cheek. “I know the saying.”

“Gotta go.” Dean says, with a wink. “Gotta get our vitamin D for the day, right Sunshine?”

The camera tips; Cas is frowning in confusion and they can barely see the top of Dean’s now suggestively wagging eyebrows.

“Oh. Uh. Yes.” Cas looks guiltily at the phone and shakes his head at Dean. “Vitamins.”

Kaia starts wheezing with laughter. It dawns on Claire moments later.

“That’s fucking gross.”

Cas shrugs apologetically, Dean’s laughter fills the background.

“We appear to be having connection issues.” Cas mutters, They watch Cas fumble with the phone as he frantically tries to hang up before Dean does anything scandalous.

“See you in a week!” Dean shouts. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Bye...” the screen goes dark and Claire is left with her and Kaia’s amused reflections. “Dads.”

If you liked this it’s connected to my ao3 vibesandwonders. Come say hey here and see the rest of the series

#destiel honeymoon #destiel #dean winchester #Castiel #sam winchester #eileen leahy #casdean #ficlet #spn #supernatural #domestic destiel #domestic deancas #kaia nieves #claire novak #spn fic #spn fanfiction #spn drabble #spn destiel

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone: Chapter Six

Title: Subway trolls and pancakes

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y , @innerpaperexpertcloud , @alievans007 , @tragiclyhip

They stop at the closest bodega for a cup of take out coffee and a carton of chocolate milk, then hand in hand navigate the snowy sidewalks on their brief jaunt to the subway. Tanner is excited about their morning out. Words rapidly leaving his lips as all his pent up thoughts come spilling out; sentences running together and often making little to no sense as several different topics messily mix together. But Tyler lets him get it out. Tanner often very quiet and shy and finding himself lost in the chaos of their home; unable to get a word in edgewise at times and then finding himself growing more and more frustrated. It always leads to a meltdown; tears and screaming hyperventilating and sometimes even the odd destructive episode. The latter hasn’t happened in a long time; both his parents and Tanner himself recognizing the triggers and the warning signs and able to calm him down before things escalate that far. It’s been a journey to say the least; learning how to both handle and help a kid like Tanner. Specialists and fellow parents of children with Autism and autistic adults themselves have been extremely helpful; they’ve found the strategies that aid him the best and in turn, help him thrive. Music therapy and appointments disguised as play, sensory items that provide him with the ‘break’ that he needs when overwhelmed, deep pressure applied with hugs and weighted blankets and vests. It’s a whole new world that has been both overwhelming and rewarding. Tanner isn’t the only one that’s being helped. It’s an adjustment for the entire family and everyone has had to make changes and sacrifices. But it’s also been a positive thing. What could have broken a marriage has actually made it stronger; working as a team and discovering just how strong and determined the other is and witnessing what lengths they’ll go to help their family thrive under even the most difficult of circumstances.

Tanner is a gift. An extra special one. In a way that his siblings aren’t. He’s opened their eyes to an entirely different existence, bringing out the depths of their patience and compassion. He’s beautiful and intelligent; the depths of his knowledge and information stored away inside that little brain simply profound. And talented; cooking and baking, drawing, playing the guitar and singing. But he DOES struggle. Anything social is a challenge for him; extreme difficulty in making friends, becoming extremely shy and withdrawn and even scared if a stranger approaches him for even the smallest of chit chat. And his fears and triggers are numerous; thunderstorms, needles, too much noise and conversation going on around him at once, the sudden and sharp clattering of dishes, the seams inside clothes. Things that most people would never even notice, are extremely heightened for him. And while most are easily recognized and identifiable and the entire family goes out of their way to accommodate him when possible, new issues seem to arise every day.

But the subway is one of his favourite places. The dark tunnels don’t faze him, nor does the crowd of people during the more busy times. And when the noises become too much he knows to simply put on a pair of sounds cancelling headphones and then concentrate on something else; whether it be a book he’s brought along of a sketch pad or even games and videos on one of his parents’ phones.

This morning he’s in his glory; kneeling on the seat beside Tyler, nose pressed against the window as he stares out into the darkness. The subway is quiet; people choosing to stay in after the snowstorm or already flooding earlier trains in hopes of beating the masses that will flock to malls and boutiques to complete their Christmas shopping. While extremely advanced intellectually speaking, he’s a lot younger in other ways; social skills and emotional maturity putting him around the level of a five or six year old. The difference is most apparent when he’s with his twin; TJ becoming older and wiser with each passing day while Tanner struggles to get to the level at Declan -or even Brooklyn and Takota- functions at. And he’s much smaller than his older brother as well; gifted with his mother’s height and slender body and some of her petite features. But there’s never any problem recognizing the Rake in him. The facial expressions and mannerisms and that Australian accent that he’s developed; much thicker and stronger than any of his siblings.

“Dad?” Tanner pipes up from beside him, one hand tightly gripping the top of the seat while the other keeps a firm hold on his chocolate milk; stomach pressed against the back of the seat, his father’s arm wrapped tightly around his middle.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think the subway trolls are real? Do you think they exist?”

“Subway trolls??”

“Remember the subway trolls? TJ talked about them during the summer. When we came here to visit Ovi. About how there’s trolls living down here. Do you think it’s true? Do you think there’s really trolls down here?”

“Something tells me that’s something your brother made up: to freak Takota out. He had nightmares for three weeks after that.”

“Everytime we come on the subway, I try looking for trolls. But it’s dark and the train is fast and I can’t really see ANYTHING. But it could be true, yeah? There really could be trolls. They could exist.”

“Trolls aren’t real. It’s just something that people made up. A long time ago. They just exist in movies and books. Like in The Lord of The Rings.”

A look of visible disgust appears on Tanner’s face. “Those are Orcs. NOT trolls.”

“Same thing.”

“No, dad. They’re not. You need to read the books again. Orcs and trolls are NOT the same. I mean, they’ve evil, but orcs aren’t much stronger than humans. Trolls have superhuman strength. Plus, they’re HUGE. Orcs are just the size of normal people. Even mummy knows this stuff.”

“That’s because mummy is a nerd.”

“She’s not a nerd! She’s very smart. In a lot of different things. She even speaks three languages. You only speak one.”

“I speak two. English and profanity.”

“Swearing is NOT a language.”

“You’re right, it��s not. It’s an art form.”

“You do have A LOT of swears in your vocabulary. It’s pretty impressive; that you know that many bad words. You know twenty different ways to say the F word. That’s cool. You’re smart in your way and mumma is smart in hers. Is that why you fell in love with her? ‘Cause of how smart she is?”

“It was one of the reasons.”

“I wanna meet a girl one day. Like mum. Mum is super cute and tiny and really funny. She makes me laugh a lot. And she’s got a really nice, kind smile and pretty eyes.”

“Yeah, she does. She’s pretty special, huh?”

“She is,” Tanner smiles.. “You’re a lucky guy, daddy. She loves you a whole bunch. I see it in her eyes, you know. They get all sparkly and shiny when she sees you. Like yesterday when you got home. As soon as you got out of the cab, her entire face changed. Her cheeks got rosy and she had a huge smile and her eyes were shiny. Like she was going to cry but not crying eyes at the same time. I want to meet a girl like mummy. Then I’d be lucky too.”

“You would,” Tyler agrees. “You’d be the luckiest guy on the face of the earth.”

“I’ll ask mummy about the trolls. When we get home. She might know. She lived here before. Maybe she’s seen one. That would be so freaking awesome.”

“Something tells me that mummy hasn’t seen a subway troll. Something also tells me they don’t exist.”

“Why you say that?”

“Have you ever seen one? I’ve never seen one.”

“Just because we don’t see things, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I haven’t seen a lot of things, but I know they’re real.”

“That’s a very good point, actually.”

A sudden pout appears on Tanner’s face; entire body stiffening. “I don’t like this part of the ride. It gets really noisy and extra dark here. Can I sit on your lap now? You make me feel safe.”

Nodding, he places the backpack sitting on his lap between his feet. It contains everything the ten year old could need during the time out; headphones, weighted lap pad, various fidget items, an extra sweater that’s a size too small but Tanner enjoys wearing because it’s ‘tight and feels like a hug’. Scooping his son off the seat next to him and settles him on his thighs; Tanner wrapping both arms around his neck and sliding his body forward in order to have that comfort of body against body. And he slips his hand up the back of the little one’s jacket, hoodie, and t-shirt; giving him that press of a warm, soothing palm against his bare skin.

“I don’t like this part, daddy,” Tanner whimpers, and tightens the hold on his dad’s neck. “It’s scary.”

“It’s okay, mate. I got you. You’re fine. Close your eyes; I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

“Alright,” he squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can. “I trust you.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever.”

“I know you won’t. But it’s still scary.”

“Nothing to be scared of,” Tyler assures him, and presses his lips to his temple; the end of his nose resting against the side of Tanner’s head as he speaks to him in a low, quiet voice. “Nothing can hurt you. Ever.”

“Not when you’re here. You won’t let anything hurt me.”

“Anything or anyone. You’re alright, mate. Just breathe. It’s almost over. Just a couple more minutes. Why don’t you tell me about some of your dreams? The ones you were writing about? Tell me some of them and I’ll read the rest. I want to hear about them.”

“Okay,” Tanner takes a deep, shaky breath, but keeps his eyes screwed shut as he launches into a recap of one of his many dreams.

Tyler’s not sure how many of these dreams are actually real; they’re vivid and often far beyond Tanner’s level of maturity. And he often wonders if it’s just tales the ten year old has conjured up in his own mind; a very detailed and colourful imagination that is often underused AND under appreciated. But he never questions their validity or ‘tunes out’ when his son is sharing his stories; letting him indulge in that little fantasy world of his where things probably seem a lot easier to handle and cope with. And it gives Tanner a sense of confidence and pride in himself; knowing how well he can both tell a tale and how well received it is by the one person he’s always so eager to please and make proud of him.

Today the dreams are about dragons and sea life. Two very distinct ‘dreams’; the first consisting of Tanner being the brave and noble knight that saves the princess and an entire kingdom from an untimely demise. The second he’s an underwater explorer; making friends with all the marine creatures and building a completely self-sustaining and livable underwater habitat for both humans and sea life. And he sees the way people around them react to both Tanner’s story telling and the gentle and calm way Tyler deals with him; the smiles and the comments about how ‘cute it is’ and even the praises of ‘it’s nice to see a daddy out with the little ones’.

“Is it done yet?” Tanner inquires, as the last of his final tale leaves his lips. “Are we past the scary part?”

“Yup. All done.”

“Good,” he heaves a sigh of relief. “But can I still stay here? Can I still stay on your lap?”

“You can stay there as long as you want, Nug.”

“I love you daddy. Thank you.”

“No worries, mate. I love you too.” He removes the hand from underneath Tanner’s clothing and briefly lays it on the back of his head; placing a kiss to his cheek before wrapping his arm around his waist. Even THAT’s been a learning process; expressing emotion and talking about feelings and showing affection. He’d grown up not being allowed to do any of those things; his father only beating him more savagely if he cried or begged for him to stop or if he cried over the loss of his mother. Meeting and marrying someone that craves both giving and receiving affection had been a real eye opener; showing him just how badly the old man had screwed him up both physically and mentally.

“Nug?”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask you something.”

“About what?”

“Mummy.”

“I don’t know what she wants for Christmas. She says ‘nothing’ EVERY year.”

“I already got that all figured out. This is about something else.”

“Okay. What is the something else?”

“When I was gone, did mummy seem sad?”

“Mummy is always sad when you go away. She misses you.”

“But did she seem extra sad, maybe? Did it seem like she was having a hard time with me being gone? A harder time than usual?”

“Maybe a little. I mean, she was really sad. She did cry a few times. And locked herself in the pantry once. But that’s ‘cause Millie was being mean and driving her nuts. I pushed tissues under the door; so mummy could wipe her face and blow her nose. We all get snotty when we cry.”

“I’m glad you help mommy out. Especially when she’s sad. You’ve always been good at that; helping take care of her. What about at night? Anything go on at night? Maybe you were supposed to be sleeping and you heard some things? Maybe mummy really upset and crying hard extra hard or…?”

“I snuggled with her a couple nights. On the couch. Because she said she said she couldn’t sleep and that she was feeling lonely. I went down to get a snack. I know I shouldn’t have; that I’m not allowed downstairs by myself in the middle of the night. I’m sorry, daddy. I was hungry though and mummy wasn’t in your room and I went looking for her. She was eating ice cream out of the container and watching Sex and the City. Are you mad? That I went downstairs by myself?”

“No, mate. I’m not. You went looking for mum, right?”

“Yeah, because I was hungry and I knew she would make me a snack. She always makes me an English muffin. Toasted. With a piece of cheese and two slices of tomato on it. With pepper sprinkled on top. And when I couldn’t find her upstairs, I got worried. So I went looking for her. We had snacks and she let me have some ice cream and then we snuggled on the couch watching Sponge Bob. I stayed up until she fell asleep, and then I went and got the big blanket of your bed and your pillow and took them downstairs and tucked mommy in. Then I went back to bed. Once I knew she was really fast asleep and comfortable. I gave her a goodnight kiss. Three, actually. Two on the lips, one of the forehead. Like you do. You always kiss her on the forehead.”

“You are a good son, Nug. A great son. That loves his mumma very much.”

“She’s the best mummy in the whole world. If I could pick mummies, I’d pick her above everyone else. Because she loves me no matter what. She doesn’t care that I’m different. That my brain doesn’t work like everyone else’s. She just loves me. No questions asked. Just like I love her no matter what. Even when she gets mad and yells. But I don’t like when she cries. It makes my heart hurt.”

“Was she crying a lot? While I was gone? More than she’s ever cried before?”

“I guess. TJ and I could hear her the first couple of nights. Crying in the bedroom. We were going to see if she was okay, but we didn’t want to get in trouble. Takota and Brookie went in though and slept with her. She seemed okay in the morning. She likes when we come in to cuddle. She doesn’t like the big bed all to herself.”

“Did she say anything to you? About me being gone?”

“Not to me. But I heard her talking to Desi. He came over every night to check on her and make sure she didn’t need anything. I heard her saying how worried she was about you. That she was scared something would happen and she’d never see you again. That she’d already almost lost you twice before and that she couldn’t take it a third time. Desi tried to talk her down; told her everything would be okay and that you’d be home before she knew it.”

“That was it? The whole thing you heard?”

“Most of it. She also said that she’s never loved anyone the way that she loves you. That you couldn’t ever possibly understand how much she does. That you saved her. In every way someone can be saved.”

“She said that?”

Tanner nods, then reaches inside Tyler’s jacket and pulls out the wool beanie he’d put in one of the pockets for safe keeping. “Will you help me when my glasses fog up?” he asks, and he yanks the hat down onto his head. “They always fog up when we go out in the cold.”

“I will help you.”

“And over the really high snowbanks?”

“I’m going to toss you in those. Have to call someone to dig you out.”

“Daddy…” he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at him pointedly. “...that’s not very nice.”

“I would never do that to you. TJ, yeah. You? Never.”

“You know…” Tanner scrambles off his lap as the train begins its final approach to their station, then curls all of his fingers around three of his father’s “...if I got to pick daddies, I’d pick you.”

Tyler smiles down at his son. “You would, would you?”

Tanner nods. “In a heartbeat.”

*****

Breakfast is a success. A small diner in Battery Park that Tanner had found online three years ago; spending hours online searching for the best pancake spots in New York City and reading all of the reviews and browsing all the menus. He’s very detail oriented. Choosing places to eat and shop on not just popularity and the items being offered, but on the way the food appears in pictures; a keen eye for attractive colour palettes and neat and tidy -and appealing- presentation. He’d put so much research and time into it that Tyler hadn’t had the heart to tell him that maybe somewhere closer to home would be a better fit; no ‘scary’ trips on the subway meant less crowds and noise and almost assured no sensory meltdowns which in turn, would mean an extremely hard day for Tanner. Once something is ‘set off’, he remains on edge and anxious for hours; the mere stress of his brain going into overload causing him to be destructive and aggressive. The latter is always directed at himself; yanking his hair out, banging his head off walls, scratching himself until he bleeds. And while it’s always a worry that something will spark the behaviour, they’ve become better at recognizing the warning signs; identifying triggers and able to remove him from a situation before it becomes too much for him to bear.

The morning had gone well. Tanner had been talkative and cheerful; uncharacteristically engaging with the waitress and carrying on conversations -albeit brief, as too much chatter and eye contact make him extremely uncomfortable- with fellow diners. He’d only had difficulties twice. Needing his weighted lap pad and some fidget toys when the wait for food was longer than expected, and a flight to his father’s lap when a larger group of diners came in and their voices were needlessly loud and obnoxious. A tight as possible embrace and encouraging and comforting words whispered had quickly soothed him, but he’d still insisted on staying perched on his dad’s thighs while he finished the remains of his breakfast.

After a quick trip to the Cartier store -a little something for mummy as a form of both apology and an excuse to spoil her- and to pick up some novels to read at Tanner’s favourite used book store, they returned home and onto the final ‘event’ of the morning; time spent at the private park. It’s cold and the wind brutal, but Tanner is in his element; loving the way he can ‘crash’ into the snowbank at the bottom of the slide, tend to building his own snowman without interference from his well meaning but way too hyper younger siblings, and time on the swings. And while he has two of his own hanging from the ceiling in his bedroom, he prefers being outside; leaning as far back as he can and staring up at the sky. It’s gray and dreary today, but he’s in his glory; catching snowflakes on his tongue and giggling the entire time.

That laugh -one he’d inherited from his mother- is more than enough to tolerate the frigid temperatures; a hot cup of coffee and the hat and gloves Esme had both nagged him about taking along -and had resorted to shoving into the pockets of his coat before he stepped out the door- enough to stave off the chill. And he’s leaning back against the wrought iron fence and sipping the strong brew -two shots of espresso helping to fight off the lingering exhaustion from jet lag- when the gate to the park swings open. It’s a highly controlled and private area. Only those who live in Gramercy Park have access; given keys when they take up residence. And while he isn’t necessarily worried about the stranger joining them, that old inkling of hyper-vigilance never fails to make an appearance when he spots an unfamiliar face. It’s the years spent on the job; burning bridges and stepping on toes and making a lot of enemies along the way. Revenge is par for the course; dirtbags sticking up for other dirtbags and seeking vengeance for fellow drug lords, rapists, murders, child predators. The list is vast and seemingly endless; he’s gone up against the lowest of the low and somehow lived to tell about.

The worry is always there; that someone will come looking for him and then use his greatest weaknesses to destroy him. It’s why he’s extra careful now; willing to do anything in his power to keep his family safe. Five years ago had been bad enough; if word got back to the wrong people that it was his business employing the mercenaries sent to clean up messes, the result wouldn’t be pretty. Far more devastating and widespread than what happened at the hands of Mahajan and Asif’s remaining people. And while he highly doubts that the woman and child stepping through the gate pose a threat, his brain immediately tends to think of the worst. Especially when one of his children -arguably the most vulnerable of them all- is with him. But he manages a polite smile in the woman’s direction, then shuffles his weight from foot to foot when she approaches; an attempt to keep warm and his discomfort at the idea of having to be social. It was one of the things that sold on him buying the brownstone; no one bothered with him and likewise didn’t seem to give a shit that he mostly stuck to himself.

“It’s amazing how they can stand being out like this,” she comments, as she sidles up next to him.

It’s way too close his own comfort; the sleeve of her fur lined coat brushing against him. He sidesteps; putting just enough space between them to let her know she’s invading his space, yet enough to come across a complete asshole. She’s new to the area; a face he hadn’t seen last Christmas or during the month they’d spent in the Big Apple over the past summer. Tall and slender; shoulder length blond hair sticking the bottom of the black and gray knit beanie and too much make up on her face.

“My daughter LOVES the snow,” she continues, nodding in the direction of the little girl attempting to make conversation with Tanner. It can go either of three ways; Tanner acknowledging her presence and actually speaking in return, completely ignoring her and acting as if she doesn’t even exist, or he’ll be so anxious that he’ll flee to his father’s side for comfort. “It’s why she took moving here so well; used to the weather in Utah I guess. I’m Natalie,” she offered a slender hand encased in a lambskin glove.

“Tyler. You just moved here?”

“Couple weeks ago. Took a job with Goldman Sachs. I’ve always wanted to live here, mind you. A dream going back to my childhood; Central Park, Broadway shoes, shopping at Bergdorfs. A lot of stuff on my to do list. Your accent; you’re a long way from home.”

“Our second place is here. Kids love coming to stay. Especially during the winter. They love having a white Christmas.”

“Must be a change. Going from somewhere hot and sunny to this. Why go from the ocean and the sand to snow and slush? And most of all, why New York City?”

“My wife spent some time here. Fell in love with it. Always wanted to get back. And our oldest lives here. In Queens. He’s in his first year of med school.”

“You have a kid old enough to have done four years of undergrad and is now in med school?”

Tyler nods. There’s no need for specifics. No reason to tell a complete stranger about Ovi and his background and how he’d wound up going from Mumbai to Colorado and then onto Australia. That part of their lives is firmly rooted in the past; Dhaka, Asif, Mahajan Senior. And it’s not something either of them enjoy revisiting. The years have gone by excruciatingly slow; leaving mountains of mental and physical issues behind. “I’ve got grandkids too.”

“Seriously?”

“Two of them. Boy and a girl. Three and eight months.”

“You’re a grandpa?”

“As much as I hate being called that, yeah. I am.”

“Makes you feel old? Being called that?”

“Just thinking about it makes me feel old.” He takes a swig of coffee; watching as Tanner abandons his snowman and his new playmate in favour of returning to the swings. The ten year old is doing better than expected; not growing agitated or anxious when the little girl immediately follows him and once more attempts to make conversation.

“How old is he?”

“Ten. Eleven next month.”

“He’s shy. Or he’s already playing hard to get when it comes to girls.”

“He has Autism. Aspergers. It’s one of the things he struggles with; making friends.”

“I’m sorry, it must be hard. It must be…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I mean, look at him. He’s healthy. He’s happy for the most part. He’s beautiful. He’s a good kid. A REALLY good kid. We’re lucky to have him.”

“And are those your only two? The med student and him? Quite the age gap.”

“Actually, I have six more at home.”

Natalie’s eyes widen. “You have eight kids?”

“I do. Well, technically the oldest one isn’t mine. Not by blood. We took him in when he was fifteen. But I do have six more at home.”

“All biological?”

Tyler nods.

“All with the same mother?”

“Every last one of them.”

“I don’t know whether you’re crazy or brave. Or a mix of both.”

“Guess that’s up for debate. It’s a pretty full house.”

“God help the woman who got pregnant SEVEN times.”

“It was actually only five times. We have two sets of twins. Ten and five.”

“Wow,” Natalie laughs. “That’s quite the brood. You don’t see that very often these days; big families like that.”

“Once we started, we couldn’t stop I guess. We were supposed to be done at four, but…”

“Things happened.”

“That’s one way of putting it. You said you just moved here?”

“Number thirty-three. You?”

“Eleven.”

“The one right on the corner? With the two dogs? A shepherd and a…”

“Australian shepherd. Mac and Saju. Two major pains in the ass.”

“They love to stand on the couch. Look out the front window. My daughter always waves to them. She keeps hoping one day they’ll be outside. So she can meet them.”

“They’re standing on the couch because they like to spy on the neighbours. And growl and bark at the squirrels. They’re used to koalas and kangaroos. Not squirrels. They’re not the brightest, but they’re loyal.”

“I walked by the other day and when I saw all the kids out front, I thought it might be a daycare. That was a nanny with them? Cute little thing with dark hair. Didn’t look old enough to be their mom.”

“That IS their mom,” he confirms. “My wife is very tiny and cute. And I agree; she does NOT look old enough to have that many kids.”

“It would be nice to meet some of the other families around here. There aren't many with young kids, so it was a relief to see people at the park. My daughter’s always looking for new friends.”

“Well, she’s got a lot to choose from at our house, that’s for sure. I don’t think the wife would mind if you popped by. She’s the social butterfly. Complete opposite of me.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be holding your own in this conversation. A little gruff at times and straight to the point, but…”

“This is me on my best behaviour. It doesn’t get any better.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I think it’s perfectly fine how it is.”

Smirking, he downs the remains of his coffee and tosses it in the nearby trash. It’s a line that’s been crossed. Not appreciating little smiles and flirtatious comments and the insistent way she keeps stepping even closer to him; not realizing that he grows more agitated and uncomfortable each time he moves away. It’s annoying; unwanted attention even AFTER you’ve told someone that you’re married. Most women -and some men- seem to take it as a challenge; an extra thrilling chase to land someone that’s declared themselves unavailable. And maybe it’s worked for them before; landing a guy that claims to be happily married and getting him to abandon all his morals and betray the one person he’s supposed to love more than life itself. But that sure as hell ISN’T him. He doesn’t need or want anyone else. Perfectly content to spend the rest of his existence with just one person; happy to wake up to the same face every day, kiss the same lips and make love to the same body , and hear the same voice and laugh.

“Daddy!” Tanner calls as he bounds through the snow; wrapping both arms around one of Tyler’s thighs. “Can we go now? I’m getting cold. And I miss mum.”

“Yeah, we can go. I bet she misses you too.”

“Hey there, cutie.” Natalie smiles, and crouches down to the little boy’s level.

“No,” Tanner shakes his head and slides behind Tyler, hiding himself behind his father’s legs. “Please don’t.”

“He doesn’t like eye contact. Not with people he doesn’t know. Scares him. It’s okay, Nug.” Reaching behind his body, he lays a hand on the back of Tanner’s head and gently pushes; encouraging him to come out of hiding. “Don’t be nervous. I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen. Just people trying to meet you. Wanting to be friends.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Just someone being nice. Can you come on out? At least say hi? There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Come on…” he lifts one leg, allowing Tanner to slip between them. “...can you just say hi? I won’t ask for more than that.”

Tanner nods, both arms once more wrapping around his father’s thigh; body leaning into him, needing that comfort and support. “Hi.”

"I’m not trying to scare you, I promise,” Natalie says. “Just trying to make friends. What’s your name?”

Tanner glances up at his dad. Looking for reassurance. And permission.

“It’s okay. You can tell her.”

He looks back at the woman in front of him. “Tanner.”

“How old are you?”

“Ten. Almost eleven.”

“I hear you have a lot of brothers and sisters.”

He nods. “I have a twin. He’s older than I am. His name’s Tyler. Like daddy.”

“And is he as handsome? As you and daddy?”

“I don’t know. I guess. He’s really tall. And strong. Like daddy. He’s almost taller than mummy already!”

“Well your mum’s pretty tiny,” Tyler reasons, and straightens out Tanner’s scarf and hat; pulling the beanie down over the tops of his ears. “Speaking of mum, want to go see her?”

“Yeah,” Tanner nods enthusiastically. “I wanna see her. I miss her. I want to give her a hug. And her goodies. We got mum her favourites,” he addresses Natalie. “Mummy loves croissants. From a certain place. So daddy and I took the subway to get them. And he got her something really nice. From a really expensive jewellery store. There was lots of sparkly stuff in there. Mummy likes sparkly stuff but never lets daddy buy her any. She says he spoils her too much.”

Natalie smiles. I’m sure your mom deserves to be spoiled.”

“Oh, she definitely does. She’s the best mummy. And the prettiest. She puts up with a lot. Especially from Millie. That’s my oldest sister. She’s a bitch.”

Tyler frowns. “Tanner….”

“I’m just sayin’. Millie is really mean. She’s almost a teenager. That’s why. They get mean at that age. Girls. That’s what daddy says.”

“And on that note,” Tyler chuckles. “I think we should go home. You’re gonna wanna pee soon, aren’t ya.”

“Yeah. And you can’t drop your pants and go in the bushes here. Wayyyy too cold. I got snow in my boot. My sock is wet. I can’t walk in wet socks.”

“You could if you wanted to. It’s like a hundred feet away.”

“Naw. I don’t like it. The feeling. My foot is cold. And wet. My sock is too squishy.”

“You’re demanding.” Scooping Tanner up with one hand, he settles him on his hip, then reaches for the bags he’d hung earlier on the rungs of the fence. “Ready to go? Go and see and mummy?”

“Ready, Freddy. I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”

“You’re ALWAYS hungry. Giants eat a lot. Bye” ! Tanner waves a mitten in farewell in Natalie’s direction. “I like your hat, by the way. I like the panda bear pin on it. It’s sparkly. And I like panda bears.”

“Well, I like your glasses. You’re awful cute, you know that.”

“Cute like daddy, smart like mummy,” Tanner declares, as he curls an arm around his dad’s neck. “Bye new friend!”

“Bye, kiddo. You be good. Although something tells me you always are.”

Tanner giggles. “You’ll change your mind once you get to know me. I can be really annoying.”

“Something tells me you’re more cute than annoying.”

“Just you wait,” he singsongs, and then gives one final wave before being carried out the gate.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part seventeen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±4700 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part seventeen: Unable to sleep, Y/N goes over last night’s events, until she gets an unexpected visitor. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘After My Heart + Can’t Help Falling In Love’ - John Michael Howell. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Please listen to this song during the scene, it’s so worth it! Author’s note: I’m excited for this one, y’all! Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish and @winchest09 for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends.

Ride With Me Masterlist

The bunkhouse is silent after a festive night. All the lights out, except for the one on Y/N’s bedside table. Sleep might have come limited the past week, but she isn’t ready to close her eyes just yet. The adventurous trail, combined with the unexpected news about her qualification has her riled up with excitement.

Not sure what to do with this new found energy, she has taken out one of her notebooks, which is filled with scrabbles. She won State Championships with a relatively simple floorplan, not wanting to overshoot, but if she wants to leave an impression with the judges at Congress, she needs to step up her game. Combinations between exercises will push up her degree of difficulty, so she decided to change a few lines. Working on her freestyle tonight wasn’t entirely according to plan, but who knows, maybe the tequila and beer will add some creativity.

She has changed into a comfortable tank top and a pair of shorts, the soft fabric a contrast to the sandy denim she’s been clad in the past days. The temperature is comfortably warm, early October in Arizona much more like summer compared to the autumn days she’s used to in Maine.

Strangely, she hasn’t been homesick for Freeport at all. She misses her mom and dad, her brothers, but after her time living on campus, she’s used to being away from family. Her father travels a lot for work, and Jaime, her older brother by three years, moved to the other side of the country straight out of the Police Academy, fighting crime in Los Angeles these days. Middle kid Jackson bought a house in Boston and is busy with his real estate firm, while her oldest brother, Jeff and his wife are expecting their first child. Y/N wouldn’t say they have grown apart, but now that she and her siblings don’t share a house anymore, things have changed. They’ve spread their wings, built a life for themselves.

She checks her phone when a message from Jaime pops up, sending her a selfie in which he shows off his muscles, holding up a fist. ‘Show them what you’re made of! You’re gonna ace that ride!’ he added in the caption. She closes the text, scrolling down the list of messages from family and friends, until she finds one from Jeffrey, which is a little more lengthy. ‘Mom said I had to wait until Dad reached you, so I hope you got the news by now, otherwise I’m in trouble. Congratulations, Sis. You worked so hard for this. I’m really proud of you, and I know Grandpa will be cheering you on from above. You’re already a champion.’ She smiles at the sweet words; she should really give him a call next week.

Redirecting her attention to the notebook in her lap, she picks up her pen, sketches a new line, crosses it and bites on the pen cap, pondering. Marcel, her trainer at the Freeport Equestrian Center, helped her with the first version. She could get in touch with him tomorrow, she’s sure he will be willing to shed a light on what she has so far. Distance will be an issue, though, and with time being of the essence since it’s only fifteen days before they head towards Columbus, Ohio, where Congress is held, she has to take a different approach.

What if she asks Dean to help her with the freestyle, or even to come with her to the show? He has helped her a couple of times during training and she appreciates his approach. His suggestions and tips paid off; his methods really seemed to work for both her and Meadow. The head wrangler knows Y/N and her horse well enough to offer advice in bringing out their best qualities, she just hopes he’s up for it. After some drinks, Dean didn’t stick around long. When she asked Jo where he went, she said Dean offered to do the final feeding round. Y/N thought about following him, but didn’t want to draw attention from the rest of the crew; them both gone would’ve raised suspicion and she doesn’t want to put him in the spot of having to explain himself.

When Y/N noticed his absence, her stomach made an unpleasant flip. The uneasy sensation remained the rest of the evening, not evident, but brewing nonetheless, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. She wonders if something has changed, maybe. That coming home to the ranch caused Dean to reconsider. Why else would he distance himself?

Doubtful, she takes a breath, her mind going places she’d rather not be. Still missing a steady foundation for them to start building a relationship on, doubt surfaces again. Deep down she’s scared that the cowboy might back out, which would cause heartbreak she’s not sure she can handle. She cares too much already, she’s too far gone. Y/N is passing the station of just being in love with Dean; it’s growing into something even more.

Before her thoughts can spiral further, there’s a soft knock on the door. The kind that is soft enough to not wake her had she been sleeping, but loud enough for her to hear if she wasn’t. She slides out of bed, rises to her bare feet, careful not to bump her head against the top bunk like she has so many times already, and crosses her room. When she opens the door, she finds the man who has been on her mind on the other side, locking his green eyes on her. She’s pleasantly surprised to see him with it being past 11 PM already; she expected him to be in bed long ago after the exhausting past few days. “Hey, what are you doing u--”

He doesn’t let her finish and bridges the few feet between them, cupping her face with both hands and pulling her into a kiss. After the initial shock, which only lasts a fraction of a second, he can feel her lashes brush against his skin as she closes her eyes and melts into him, allowing him to deepen the connection. Her response takes away the restlessness that weighed on his chest like a chunk of concrete, ever since the thought of her leaving arose.

They step into her room far enough for Dean to kick the door shut, preventing possible eavesdroppers from tuning in, his mouth never leaving hers. Instinctively, her arms snake around his torso, tracing the lines of his strong back through the fabric of his shirt. There’s a desperation in his touch that’s new to her, the way he longs for this connection is different. Eventually, he breaks the kiss and she studies him when he rests his forehead against hers. His eyes stay closed for a little longer, holding on to the moment while his hands slip from her face.

He didn’t want to steal a few seconds while surrounded by the crew, he didn’t want to get in line to give her a quick hug or a peck on the cheek. No, he needed to be with her, just the two of them without restrictions.

“What was that for?” she wonders. “Just wanted to congratulate you.” He smiles, trying to mask his concern, and sweetly presses his lips on hers again. “Personally.” And again. “Privately.” And again. She giggles, triggering him to chuckle as well. He moves his head back to take her in. “Congratulations, Yankee,” he says, genuine. “You earned it.” “Thank you,” she smiles, still slightly confused. “Where’d you go earlier?” “Someone had to feed those poor starving animals,” he jokes. “And since Bobby already had a few whiskies, and Garth is an absolute light weight, I took one for the team.”

He was quick to take the final feeding round, not just because he was the last man standing. Doing one last check, giving the horses their hay for the night, making sure the stables are shut properly, locking up the tackroom and the cafeteria and eventually the large barn doors after switching off the lights; it offers him peace of mind. It’s a daily routine, a recurring series of actions, done so 365 days a year. Ensuring everything is exactly the way it’s supposed to be in the place where he lives and works, grounds him when he’s feeling restless. It gives him a moment alone, the horses his only company, allowing him to think things over and collect himself again. Tonight was no different, because even though he was relieved Y/N’s father wasn’t the bearer of bad news, Dean felt disturbed with his initial response. For a good few minutes, he thought he was going to lose her, and the anxiety it surfaced was much more intense than he anticipated.

Y/N keeps watching him as the cowboy is lost in thought. He’s trying to be funny and cute, but that’s not all there is to it; his eyes tell a different story. He kissed her a little too fierce, pulled her in a little too tight. Something is bothering him, and although she doesn’t want to force him to talk, she needs to know what it is before she loses her mind herself. “What’s wrong, Dean?” she asks, softly, moving her hands up his chest. “It’s nothin’,” he assures, shaking his head.

But when the concern remains evident in her expression, he sighs. He doesn’t want her to worry, or think it’s something she’s done. If anything, she’s been absolutely perfect. God, she’s so patient. Even though she needs him, she offers him space. Expressing how he feels might be terrifying, it’s about time he’s fair with the woman who’s willing to wait. “It’s just that, uh - when your dad called, he… he sounded pretty serious,” Dean admits, looking down. “I thought something might have happened with your folks or somethin’, and that you...” He pauses, struggling, but Y/N knows enough. “You thought Dad was going to tell me to come back,” she realizes.

Suddenly his behavior makes so much more sense. His complete change of demeanor when he approached her table in the saloon after receiving the call, him seeming as nervous as she was when she picked up the phone. The sigh of relief when she told him and Jo the great news, his disappearance from the celebration at the saloon. Dean thought he was going to lose her, and apparently it scared him. Y/N is as stunned by the realization, as she is by the confirming nod he gives her.

“Well - I mean - it could’ve been, right?” he says, shrugging his shoulders almost apologetically, like he’s not allowed to be worried about a presumption as such. “I’m twenty-four, Dean. I’m not going anywhere unless I want to,” she reminds him, hoping to offer him some consolation. “Glad to hear it,” he responds, his hands moving to her waist as he restores eye contact. “‘cause I’d hate to see you go.”

Heartfelt, the beautiful girl in his arms smiles. She seems to understand the weight of his words, because she crosses her wrists behind his head and urges him to come closer. Dean’s heart swells in his chest when she brushes her lips against his, tentatively at first. His mind calms, the nerves subsiding. Not only is she staying, she also understands what’s going on in his head, and in a strange and unexpected way, it’s kind of liberating. Not having to pretend and put on a mask, not having to convince anyone that everything is fine. He’s gotten so used to telling people he’s okay, the words to express himself prove to be hard to grasp. Who knows, maybe one day he’ll get the hang of it.

Dean’s mind goes blank when she deepens the kiss, swiping her tongue against his bottom lip. Her arms close around his neck a little tighter, holding him so close he can feel the warmth coming from her skin. She smells amazing, the scent of her shampoo still lingering in her hair, a sweet smell of a flower he can’t name. He presses his fingertips into her flesh, carefully shifting them under the hem of her tank top, even though he knows very well that he shouldn’t. It isn’t going to take long before he will not be able to stop himself.

She feels him trace her sides, rolling up the fabric of her top as he does so. Normally she would be self-conscious about it, but when she parts from him when running out of air, all she sees in his eyes is adoration and want. Both seem to be waiting for each other, unsure if they should take this further. Afterall, considering what they agreed on, this would be a poor execution of taking things slow.

Without breaking away from her gaze, his left hand travels down, following the curves of her hips. He adds pressure, gently pulling her against him. What she feels through the denim of his jeans has her eyes grow wide. A delightful tension starts to tangle up in her stomach, sinking deeper. Somewhat surprised that she apparently has this effect on him, she takes in a shuddering breath, gazing deep into his eyes. God, she wants to go there, but is he willing to as well? “Are you sure?” she checks with him. Dean doesn’t have to think twice and nods. To hell with it, he’s not going to waste another second. “I want you,” he breathes, his voice husky.

It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear him say. It might not be the confirmation of their relationship she’s been hoping to get eventually; it’s better. He wants her. He wants her.

Free from restraints, she crashes her lips to his and Dean doesn’t hesitate to return the kiss with the same need. All the question marks, the doubt, the thoughts along the line of ‘what if it goes wrong?’ and ‘maybe we shouldn’t do this’ go right out the window. It wouldn’t matter if they waited longer, because if that wake up call taught the cowboy anything, it’s that together or not, it would tear him to pieces if she were ever to leave the ranch. If he’s going to spend this time with her, he better make it worth her while, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll stay with him in the end.

Eventually, his mouth leaves hers and begins to descend, his breath tickling her skin as he ghosts down her neck. Willingly, she rolls her head to her shoulder, offering him space to leave marks on her pulse point, then down her collarbone. The hint of delicious pain has her fighting back a moan, which proves to be challenging, especially when his hands roam down to cover her peach-shaped behind. Trying to distract herself and be useful at the same time, she begins to unbutton his plaid shirt, his touch momentarily interrupted until the piece of clothing falls to the floor in a puddle of blue, soon followed by his white undershirt.

Before Dean urges her closer again, he drags the only chair in the room away from the small table by the window, sitting down and pulling her with him. The wood underneath them creaks when she settles in his lap, her bare knees on either side of the cowboy, holding herself up and leaning into his bare chest. The denim of his jeans stretches over his erection, rubbing against her core. The sheer thought of a few layers of fabric being the only barrier between him and her, sends a surge of heat to dampen her panties. Thank God she chose the lace ones earlier after her shower, the ones she can only wear whenever she’s not spending her day in the saddle. She wonders if he can tell how aroused she is already.

Dean can. He can feel the warmth radiating towards him and he can feel himself growing even harder, too. His breath hitches and he stifles a groan when she rolls her hips, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Ho-ly shit. This might not be how he originally imagined their first time, in this tiny room with thin walls, this one chair and a bunk bed, but it feels so good. He has enveloped her in his arms, his hands roam her body, not leaving a square inch unattended. Without tearing the seams, he pulls the strap of her loosely fitted tank top over one shoulder, the material shifting down. His fingers then reposition to cup her breast, all while he presses kisses on top. When he moves his thumb over her stiff nipple, she pulls in an audible gasp. “Sssh…” he hushes. “Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors.”

Y/N can’t help it, though. The friction she feels beneath her, combined with the touch of his mouth and his fingertips, is already beginning to build her up. She begins to pant, her lungs pushing out air in quivers. Dean doesn’t stop, however, and continues to knead her breast without hurting her, smothering the sounds she makes with another breathtaking kiss. His other hand has snaked around her waist again, splayed on the small of her back now, spurring her on to move against him. Good God, if he keeps this up, she might come undone without him even actually touching her down there.

The chair creaks louder when she moves against him, triggering Dean to cringe. The old furniture is either going to break or wake everyone in the bunkhouse, and so he pulls Y/N flush against him and stands up. Without missing a beat or breaking the kiss, she folds her legs around his waist as he walks her to the bed. Laying her down and fitting himself on top turns out to be a little more difficult than he thought it would be, the bunk bed limiting his space, but after some shimmying, he manages.

He hovers over the woman he’s about to be intimate with, mesmerized by the sight of her laying underneath him, her chest heaving, her eyes lustful. She’s the definition of gorgeous without even trying. Dude, how the hell did you manage to hold back this long?

The trail of kisses he presses on her stomach has Y/N arching her back, her eyes closed in delight as he travels down. Gently, he opens her legs a little wider, feather light touches electrifying her skin, sending currents towards her center. His hands leave her then, teasingly letting her wait in suspense. She listens, trying to pick up on any sound of him breathing or moving, her senses operating on full capacity. He’s testing her patience like he has done for the past few days. A chill runs down her spine as seconds tick by, but then Dean palms her heat through the fabric of her shorts. She bites her bottom lip at the unexpected connection, her fists clenching the comforter and a moan escaping her throat. This is happening. This is really happening.

Y/N feels him tracing the waistband of her shorts, before hooking his thumbs underneath the hem. He’s about to drag them down and move in, when they hear a door handle being pushed down. Her eyes shoot open in time to see Dean jerk back and sit up startled, hitting his head hard against the top bunk. The collision of his skull with the solid wood creates a loud bang, followed by a strangled groan. He curses through gritted teeth, trying to make as little noise as possible, while outside the room a door shuts. Horrified, they both stare at the other end of the room, not moving a muscle as shuffling footsteps cross the hall, opening another door and closing it again. A toilet seat is lifted up, the person whistling to himself softly. There can be only one person who needs encouragement to relieve himself: Garth.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean hisses. Y/N is unable to stop a snort, sniggering silently, even though she tries not to. “You okay?” she checks, trying to sound concerned. Not very convincing, apparently, because Dean shoots her a glare, while rubbing the sore spot on his head. The toilet flushes loudly and obscenely, triggering the woman underneath him to giggle unstoppably. When he shushes her, frantically holding his finger to his lips, it achieves the opposite, causing him to break character as well. Doing their best to keep it down, she clasps her hand over her mouth while Dean presses his lips together, trying to compose himself. “You need to be quiet,” he whispers. “I c-can’t”, she hiccups, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Garth heads back to his room, either sleep walking or he’s deaf, because he doesn’t pick up on any of the action happening on the other side of the hall. His door closes, the springs of his bed creak as he gets back in, and silence returns. “Would you stop?” Dean chuckles, poking Y/N’s side when she fails to control her laughing fit. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she returns, struggling to keep it down. “How’s your head?” “It’s alright,” he claims, ignoring the slight bump when he runs his hand through his hair. “Moment’s gone, ain’t it?”

She wipes the tears from her face, breathing in now that she’s capable again. Comforting, she reaches for his hand. As much as she would like to continue, the circumstances aren’t exactly ideal. Their first time together shouldn’t have to be clumsy and uncomfortable, in a bed that’s too small in a room with paper thin walls. “Rain check?” she proposes. Dean leans in to leave a kiss on her lips. “Rain check. ‘Sides, wouldn’t wanna have to hold back because you can’t keep it down.” She pokes him in his stomach now. “Don’t get cocky.”

Dean scoffs, sliding from the bed without hitting his head this time. Grinning mischievously, he turns around, pulling her to her feet as well. The cowboy takes a second to really look at her again, glad to notice the lack of insecurity in her composure. Her hair is messy, strands escaping the loose bun at the base of her neck, ready for bed in her pajama shorts and a comfortable top. She could have felt self-conscious in this situation, especially since their moment together came to an abrupt and slightly awkward end. But she isn’t, she feels at ease when she’s with him. A small smile forms on the cowboy’s lips.

“You should get some sleep. We’ll skip the afternoon siestas, now that the temperatures are droppin’, so we’ll start an hour and a half later tomorrow. I figured you might wanna train Meadow first thing in the morning?” he suggests, picking up his shirts from the floor. Y/N agrees, glad that she’s being given the space to focus on Congress. “Dean, about that…” He glances back, patiently waiting for the follow up. “I was wondering if you could maybe help me out with my freestyle?” she asks, a little shy. “Yeah, of course,” the head wrangler responds without hesitation. “Great,” she breathes, relieved. “And there’s this other thing.” Dean steps closer, laying his shirt and flannel over his shoulder so that he has his hands free and can lace his fingers with hers. “What is it?” “I was hoping you could coach me,” she says, looking up at him. “Not just at home, but when I have to compete in Columbus, too.”

Humbled, he gazes back, the corners of his mouth curving up. Coaching such a skilled rider as Y/N would be an absolute privilege, and with the trainers he knows she’s had, he’s surprised she’s asking him. Sure, the connection they have personally is there on a much more professional level as well, but they are talking Congress here, the biggest show of the year, and possibly the most important one of her career. Apparently, she has as much faith in his abilities to guide her as he has faith in her talent. “It’ll be my pleasure,” he states. “Really?” Y/N responds, thrilled. “Hell, yeah,” Dean says, excited. “I’ll have to check with management if I can get time off for Congress, but I have plenty of days left. Plus, I think Ellen is kinda rooting for us.” She chuckles, but then does a double take. “Wait, what? Ellen knows we’re together? I - I mean, not together together, I get that we’re not an item--” “-Ellen knows,” he grins, squeezing her hand when he interrupts her nervous train of words. “I think basically everyone knows by now, except Garth and Bobby.”

A little uneasy Y/N glances from their hands up into his eyes. Wait… Is she reading too much into his words? He didn’t correct her when she used the term ‘together’. Why didn’t he? Is he worried he might upset her again? If anything, she doesn’t want to push him to oblige to something he’s not ready for. “Dean, I know we just… I didn’t mean--” She pauzes, collects herself and starts over. “I know you’re not ready for a relationship and that’s fine, we had that conversation already. I’m not trying to rush you.” “You’re not rushin’ me,” he assures, calmly. “I just needed a wake up call in order to pull my head out of my ass.” The woman before him hesitates, “W-what do you mean?”

The wrangler wets his lips, taking a second to choose his words carefully. “When your old man called, for a minute I thought you were about to hop on a plane and that I was never gonna see you again,” he admits. “And - uh, it kinda freaked me out, to be honest.” He huffs, barely able to believe what he’s about to say. “I’m not gonna keep you waitin’ any longer, Yankee. I know I said I want you, earlier, but truth is…”

Y/N watches him glance down at their hands again, running his thumb over her knuckles. Nerves close off her throat, because she has a hunch that he’s about to break it to her; he doesn’t want the commitment.

Tears begin to prick in her eyes, but not from laughter this time. She knew it was going to be difficult to get close to him. Dean keeps to himself, probably because he cared too much in the past and learned his lesson the hard way. The possibility of her leaving spooked him today, and now he’s done. He doesn’t want to risk that kind of heartbreak, he doesn’t want to rely on anyone. Dean Winchester would rather fill his world with a hundred shallow and meaningless flings than with one solid partner, and this is him setting her free, before things get out of -- “I wanna be with you.”

Her racing mind, which was breaking the speed limit, hits a brick wall. Shocked, she pulls her eyes away from their entwined fingers, gazing at him almost dumbfoundedly. Did he just say he wants to be with me? “W-what?” she stammers. “I mean, if you’ll still have me,” Dean adds, a little unsettled by her response. “Look, I know I’m not exactly an open book and that I behave like a dick sometimes when you try to get through to me. I’m stubborn as hell and my communication skills need some work—”

Now it’s Y/N who cuts him off for a change, closing the gap and kissing him passionately. He eases into her, smiling against her lips and leaves a peck on her hair when she embraces him and buries her face under his chin. Relieved, he allows the breath he was holding to leave his lungs. “So, what do you say?” he asks, cocking his head back slightly to be able to look her in the eye again. “Up for a challenge?” “Are we talking about us training together for Congress, or us as a couple?” she checks, regaining her footing again. Dean frowns and chuckles at that. “Both.” She doesn’t need time to think. She knew the answer to this question long before Dean was ready to ask. “Yes,” she beams. “Hell, yes.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part eighteen here

173 notes · View notes

obsidianfr3sk · 4 years

Text

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 2)

Summary: Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246812/chapters/64292134#workskin

A few weeks ago I was having kind of a writer’s block and my mom a friend of mine (cof cof @dawniebb cof cof) recommended me to create a playlist for my fic... and I did. @nodrianbcyes already listened to it and said it ruled so I’m gonna share it with you guys, pls don’t make fun of my music taste (? You can listen to it clicking here.

Mmmm, what else, what else??? Hope you like it! Reblogs, funny tags, likes and dead threats are always welcome!

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @alecjamesartino @ohmyskies @blueraspberry-official (tell me if you want in or out, don’t worry)

The stupidest plan

You fell asleep in my car, I drove the whole time,

but that's ok, I'll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine.

I'm driving here I sit, cursing my government,

for not using my taxes to fill holes with more cement.

Hugh

He had spent the whole night sketching the battle between Wonder Man and Ace Anarchy. It had been very tedious to be working without proper lighting. For a moment he believed that when morning came, his drawing would not look as good as he thought. However, the morning had come.

And it was perfect.

Although now that he was polishing the last details while waiting for classes to begin, he came across a question that kept him from concentrating.

Simon quietly walked into the classroom, as if he was afraid of bothering someone with his mere presence (although they literally were only ones there). He sat in the first seat in the row to his right. Simon hated sitting upfront because he said it only brought more attention to himself than he wanted to. However, Hugh couldn't sit anywhere else. His glasses weren't the best.

Also, it was strangely depressing to sit on the last row and see that of the forty tables in the room, only fifteen were filled. Twenty if it was a busy day. From the front, it was easier to ignore that more than half of the kids in his class had dropped out of school.

But Hugh had enough of ignoring things.

“What color are Ace Anarchy’s eyes?” he asked Simon.

“Good morning to you too,” he replied sarcastically.

“Good morning.” He took gray in one hand and blue in the other. “What color are Ace Anarchy's eyes?”

Simon looked carefully at the colors. “I don't know, gray? I feel like they are gray. I can't imagine him having blue eyes.”

Hugh agreed.

“What are you drawing?” Simon asked.

“Propaganda,” he replied with a mischievous smile.

“It looks good.”

“I’m a propaganda expert, indeed.” He grabbed his classroom chair and pushed it to the right next to Simon's. He would return it to its place when the professor entered. “Have you thought about what I told you about yesterday?”

He looked away. “No.”

He shook his head. Simon was lying. “I was being very serious, you know.”

“And I was too. Stop thinking bullshit,” and he smacked him on the back of the neck. “Or do I have to beat those ideas out of you, Wonder Man?”

Hugh hit him back, but in the arm. “Come on. I don’t believe it is bullshit.”

And I don't think you believe that either.

“All right, but you believe many things. You believed in Santa Claus until very recently.” Simon started playing with a ball of crumpled paper that had been lying on the floor for a week. “When you told me ‘Simon, but it has all the logic in the world that Santa exists, he is a prodigy, like us ’ and I was like—"

“A part of me died that tragic day,” he said in a dramatic voice, one hand on his chest. “My childhood…”

“You were eleven years old. It was to save you from bullying. I was protecting you.” The door opened again and they both turned at the same time to see who it was. It was just a group of girls. Good. “It's not like it helped that much though.”

He shrugged.

Neither Simon nor he had been spared from bullying during those years. All the schools in the district were mostly filled with non-prodigies because most of the prodigies were in gangs or hiding in their homes. The few who were still in school did their best not to cause problems and to go unnoticed. They were part of that last group since middle school.

However, the entire school found out about their powers when Simon got so nervous at a presentation that he disappeared in front of his entire class. Hugh tried to intervene but stood up so fast that he tripped over his backpack and hit his nose on the floor. He did not bleed or receive a single scratch. People were quick to connect the dots.

Obviously if one was a prodigy, the other one was too.

Alter all, freaks stuck together.

They thought high school was going to be different, but no. On the first day, an older boy caught Simon turning invisible intermittently in the bathroom while having a panic attack. A few hours later, a girl tried to stab Hugh with a pencil and all it did was break it as soon as it made contact with his skin.

“The next time you have a panic attack,” he told Simon on their way home, “tell me.”

“And the next time someone tries to stab you with a pencil, you stab them back.”

When you were a prodigy, it didn't matter if one believed in Santa or not. The mere fact of existing was enough to cause problems.

“At eleven you're still a kid,” Simon kicked him under the bench as he laughed. “Did you ever believe in Santa?”

“No. At my house the one who gave the presents was Baby Jesus,” he replied. “But I didn't believe in him either. How could a baby deliver all those gifts? His hands are too tiny”

Simon gave a light laugh, but Hugh couldn't even smile.

He toyed with the color blue. “Simon, did you ever believe in something?”

Simon bit the inside of his cheek and looked up at the ceiling. He took his sweet time thinking before replying, “I have believed in things.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Like what things?”

“Well... I believed the stories my mom told me before bed,” he replied. “I also believed they were never going to stop producing The Scarlet Enchantress and the Phantom Feline comics—” He gestured for him to come closer— “or that I was going to be a prodigy,” he whispered.

Hugh smiled at him. “The best curse ever.”

“What did you believe in?”

He laid his head on his desk. “I have a whole list.”

Simon covered his head with his hood and pretended to be ready to fall asleep. “The short version of that list, then.”

Hugh imitated him. “I used to believe that adults never grew up. Like, they were born as adults,” Simon laughed and rolled his eyes. “I thought little people were running the television inside of it. I thought my aunt was the most beautiful woman in the world—”

“She is,” Simon replied.

“Simon, stop it. She is my aunt. You have many other girls to choose from.”

“They are not as pretty as your aunt.”

“Simon!”

Simon laughed and the girls shushed him. His friend turned red in the ears as they returned to their conversation like nothing. Hugh wanted to point out how rude they had been.

However, when Simon discreetly smiled at him again, he decided to continue with his list. Those girls were not worthy of his attention. “I also believed in Santa Claus, until someone ruined my hopes and dreams.” Another kick. Simon kicked people too much. “But I also believe in that someone, you know.”

Simon's smile almost disappeared. “Well... that someone doesn't believe in himself.”

I knew it.

He understood his friend. He really did. He knew there were times when Simon would get more nervous than normal in banal situations. Or that he had some days when he didn't want to get out of bed at all.

Those were the worst.

But despite that, not a single day passed that Simon didn't get up and go to school with him. Even when Hugh had to stop at his house and practically beg him to do it.

Simon had never left him alone. And Hugh wasn't going to do it now.

He gifted him the widest of his smiles. “Well that someone doesn't have to worry about it. I can believe in him for both of us.”

Simon stared into his eyes for several seconds. He felt like he knew that face as well as he knew his. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I am sure,” he replied.

Simon kicked him again.

Hugh felt sparks exploding inside his stomach.

Suddenly, a body slammed into the lockers, and screams filled the school hallway. The trio of girls ran out to see who was involved. Hugh leaned out of the small window in the door. He had always believed he was above that kind of thing, and he was. But it was also the most interesting thing that was going to happen all day.

Simon followed him.

They were a couple of boys from their grade, the same ones who constantly teased them. One with curly blond hair was holding his friend by the collar of his shirt and was yelling an infinity of curse words. The other three in his group, instead of separating them as good friends would do, they had joined the chorus of “Fight! Fight!"

Who knows why they were fighting. They were always fighting someone, but never with each other. They usually grabbed someone smaller than themselves for that, like the prodigy boy that was a grade below them. (They would never physically fight Hugh or Simon, making jokes at their expense was enough for them.)

Cowards.

Maybe they were just brutally bored.

But there had to be other ways to shake off the boredom.

“I'm going to tell a teacher,” Hugh said.

At that moment, one of the girls ran out of the scene in the direction of the teachers' office. Well, at least now he wouldn't be the one to look like a snitch in front of his entire grade.

“That someone is slightly concerned,” Simon whispered.

“Why?” The blond slammed his friend again, but this time, against the door. “For them?”

“No,” he replied, a little disturbed by the tremendous blow that boy had received. “I am— that someone is... Well, what if the plan you have in your head is stupid?”

At that moment, Hugh realized that he had no plans. That was weird. He always had a plan for everything.

Beating Ace Anarchy should be no exception.

“I suppose we can come up with something. The two of us,” he added.

The fight was broken up by a short-haired teacher. They hurriedly returned their school chairs to their places and the rest of their class entered. Five, six, nine...

Eleven. Only eleven kids had attended that day. And that counting the ones who were fighting a few moments ago.

“Don't think that someone is just going to blindly follow you,” Simon whispered. “He will tell you when you have a stupid plan.”

“I would be very grateful for that,” he also replied in a whisper. “Although I always have amazing plans, to begin with.”

Simon tried to kick him, but at that moment, the teacher from the first class entered. Hugh chuckled, and in response, Simon discreetly raised his middle finger in his direction.

He knew at that moment that it would not be a stupid plan.

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #fic #ao3 #OG renegades #hugh everhart #simon westwood #georgia rawles #tamaya rae #kasumi hasegawa #evander wade #rise of the renegades #two bros trying to be straight #humon #i guess #lol

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chappedandfadedvds · 3 years

Text

Jan 16th, Saturday 15:16

Jens was actually laughing.

Genuingly laughing, when Lotte told them some really bad joke she had heard in school. A dumb pun. But it had been the fourth in a row and they had finally reached the breaking point.

He sat at the table, an half emptied plate of apple slices between him and his little sister, while Lies roamed the kitchen to write down a list of groceries to buy on her way home. She planned to visit their mom and it had weighed heavy on her, when she had admitted this to Jens early that morning infront of the bathroom mirror.

Lies had told him, how much it hurt to live so far away and unable to travel and come home. She would have loved to help Jens over the past year, even if it would just have been for a week here and there. It was the reason why she had been so desperate to secure the position to be send to Brussels.

Not that it been an actual problem, her wokrplace knew very well about her family situation. Still, Lies had said, that the moment she had recieved the plane tickets only a week ago, she had broken down in her boss’s office.

Lies was here though now, thankful for the opportunity to bid farewell to their mother in person at last.

Jens understood the relief his older sister had explained to him. He couldn’t even entertain the thought of not being able to see his mom, while prohibited to visit inmidst the pandemic.

„Oh, I know! There is this one dish Theo and me always make as comfort food. Quite easy, but really nice in winter, with a good hearty broth. I’m going to do that.“ Lies declared vague from where she stood behind the opened door of the fridge. Mumbling something under her breath, while she noted things down on the piece of paper on the counter next to her.

„I don’t know if I should trust you to actually cook something delicious.“ Jens mocked, reminded of the many times that Lies had simply ordered take-out on every evening she was watching her siblings. Cooking was for loosers, she always had said, and simultaneously implied that she was at an absolute loss in the kitchen.

„Says the person who had managed to let noodles get burned to crisps while boiling them.“

„I was ten.“ He defended, cackling when Lies snorted and their gazes met. So much time had passed, but Jens was assured that the loving arguments between them would never cease to exist.

„But Jens is really good now. He makes like a super good riceotto“ Lotte chimed in, the wide smile on her face somewhere between amused and puzzled. She hadn’t much memories of Jens and Lies together, so it was reasonable for her to be unsure why it was funny. Their little sister had been only five when Lies had left.

She had cried for a whole week, but with time passing, she had stopped even mentioning Lies alltogether. She knew her, yes, but she couldn’t tell what they had done or talked about together any longer. And maybe it was a little sad, Jens thought, but it also meant that Lotte wouldn’t miss Lies as much as Jens sometimes did.

„Risotto.“ Jens corrected, while he leaned a little over to ruffle through her hair. She slapped his hand away, stucking out her tounge at him in jest.

„Well, maybe Jens should cook then. I won’t complain.“

„No way, you are the oldest now, you cook.“ Jens quickly proclaimed his flawless reasoning against the mere suggestion Lies had voiced. His older sister barely contained herself from laughing again, instead nodded along, as she continued to write even more things down.

Jens knew that she had come with a rented car from the airport, but the list just grew and he wasn’t sure, if he should tell her off. It looked like she wanted to stock the kitchen for an entire month.

The mood turned a little quieter, only Jens’s spotify playlist filled the house with some comfortable noise, while Lotte sketched some abstract scenes on paper. Jens’s eyes flicked over every once in a while, but it appeared like there wasn’t much reason behind it.

He yawned and stretched his arms, a loud cracking sound in his shoulder earned him a gleeful glance from Lies, who he flipped off. Despite it, he felt younger today. He felt lighter. His breathing wasn’t hurting as much, his thoughts came easier.

Lies and him had talked for hours yesterday. He had forgotten how close they used to be. Which was wierd given their age difference and them not even being the same gender. But somehow they always stuck together. Jens wished she would stay.

The day they had bid goodbye at the airport had been locked somewhere into his head. Even after three years he didn’t dared to touch it.

This all would be easier if he had Lies to live with them. But it wasn’t reality and Lies had made him understand that it was okay to be scared. She had admitted at three in the morning, when they had headed to bed, that it had taken her month to figure out how to live on her own. Especially after she had moved to a different continent, while leaving her family behind. Jens could do this too.

He still had all of his friends around. He had this house. He had Lotte.

He just had to start somewhere.

„I think I’m going to call Lucas.“ Jens suddenly said. For a moment he had considered the possibility that he hadn’t spoken aloud at all. However, it became clear that he had, as both his sister’s heads spun towards him in an instant.

„Really? That came out of nowhere. But good for you. I think you should.“ Lies said, a little startled by his surprising change of demeanour. Only this morning he had still sat depressed and hunched over in pity in front of his breakfast. Jens wasn’t even sure himself where the urge to do it had popped up from.

„Yes!“ Lotte followed up quickly with bright wide eyes. Of course she would be excited.

„Okay. I’m going to do it.“ He declared, more to will his confidence in excistense than aynthing else.

He was nervous. Maybe Lucas wouldn’t even pick up? Jens wasn’t even sure, if Lucas’s mom was still around. This was a bad idea.

The whole conversation from thursday sprung back into his mind. The hurt in Lucas’s eyes and the anger in his words. All caused by Jens. What if the other boy needed more time? What if he wouldn’t even pick up?

The fear must have shown on his face. Jens was sure, because Lies stood suddenly next to him, to push his phone into view. He had been starring at the surface of the table, unmoving, even when Lotte had come closer too, with a hand resting on his shoulder.

„Come on. Call.“ Lies demanded, despite the gentleness in her voice, it still made him take the phone into his hand.

„Alright.“

„Do you want us to leave?“

Good question, Jens thought, unsure how to answer. But then, he wasn’t planning on having the needed conversation over phone anyway. He was scared that words would get twisted and intentions screwed by the missing connection one had face to face.

So he shook his head.

The phone rang four times.

Nothing.

He tried again. Just this second time and then he would put it away again.

It merely managed to make a sound, before the call was answered.

„Jens?“

He sat at the table, his breath on hold, as he listened to the boy on the other end. Jens wouldn’t cry from solely his name being spoken by the person he missed so much for only a couple of days now. He wouldn’t.

That was at least what he desperately told himself.

„Jens? Are you there?“

There was worry in the voice and Jens didn’t trust it. He didn’t deserved it. But he was on the phone, he remembered. He had been the one to iniiate the conversation. He should probably say something.

„Hi.“

Jesus. His voice had certainly cracked, like some fifteen year old teenanger going through puperty. This was embarrassing. But it also helped. Lucas was definitely snorting on the other end of the call. And the three siblings all fell into laughter, with Lies wheezing at her brother’s pitiful attempt to make things right. His sister’s really tried to keep quiet, but it kind of was in vain. Lucas must have heard them.

It took Jens a solid minute to speak again.

„Sorry, about that.“

„It’s alright.“ Lucas said as he took an audible deep breath to calm down to continue. The faintest amusement in his voice still there, even if the mood had turned serious again. „I am really glad that you called.“

It was the earnesty that struck Jens the most. It came unexpected. He had planned to force Lucas to hear him out if he had to. In the strong assumption that the younger boy didn’t wanted to talk to him in the first place. Apparently Jens had been wrong. Again. Like so often. It seemed to become a habit.

„I’m glad you picked up.“

„Of course.“ Lucas replied without any hesitation, it made Jens smile a little. It felt so good to hear him again. To hear him at ease. Jens pushed away the intruding thought in his head, that told him that it probably had to do with Jens’s absence. He hated that he somehow could belive it.

„I thought, maybe we can talk?“

There was a brief pause on the other end, as the call fell silent.

„I’d like that. When?“ Lucas asked and Jens noticed that he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

„Uhm, when?“

„Yes, when?“

The amusement in the younger boy was back. Jens could imagine Lucas shaking his head at the silly and ungraceful awkwardness Jens presented. There was a hand in his view, that lead him to look up at Lies, who tried to get his attention.

„Tomorrow.“ She whispered, nodding her head quickly, while she pointed a finger to herself. „I can watch Lotte.“

Jens loved Lies so much, it was ridiculous.

„How about tomorrow? I could come over to yours.“

„Okay. Be here at one maybe?“

„Yes, that works.“ He affirmed in a heartbeat. Jens would have agreed to any proposed time. It wouldn’t have mattered as long as he got the chance to talk to Lucas. He had an idea what he wanted to say after last night’s conversation with Lies. He knew that it wouldn’t be perfect or maybe even work in his favour, but it would be a start.

„I’ll see you tomorrow then.“ Lucas said.

„Tomorrow.“

They sat in silence for a moment. Usually Jens would have told him that he loved him. But it didn’t feel right, even when the feelings were clearly there. It felt too much to voice it. They hadn’t broken up yet, but it wasn’t as if they were in a relationship still either. So he simply waited.

And then there was a clicking sound and the call was ended.

__ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

#week 13 #wtfock #skam #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapped and faded #final week #picking up the pieces

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soyouareandrewdobson · 4 years

Text

The biggest post yet: Analyzing a multipage story

Before I begin, I like to thank every follower so far and the ones who helped me over the course of the last weeks to build this tumblr up. This is for you and in a way the first test run for future, hopefully more elaborate reviews of Dobson’s comics. Hope you enjoy it and learn something.

Without further ado, ladys, gentlemen and the colorful rianbow inbetween, I present the unpublished “So you are a cartoonist?” story about the King of Queens trying to become a comic artist

Okay, this is not quite right. What is going to happen is as followed:

A few years ago Dobson released via his patreon the unpublished sketches of a multipage comic story about the struggles of a webcomic artist by the name of Kevin James, with no relation to the famous comedian who as of recently is also playing a neo nazi in a supposedly pretty damn good home invasion movie.

What I want to do is now go through this comic and point out some of the flaws in the writing/progression, okay? Cause honestly, this is not going to be the worst thing Dobson ever published. But it unfortunately has more than a few little hiccups that show Dobson’s flaws when it comes to creating a story.

So off to the next pages

Now as you can see, it is pretty obvious that the story is heading into a direction where Kevin seems to be a down on his luck creator. Having to work at the blandest named Burger Joint since Good Burger, with discount Doctor Wily as his manager and getting pretty little money into his account. Seriously, only 206 $ plus? I don’t know much about minimum wage in the states, but are you really getting that little even after taxes have been accounted for? Or is it likely Kevin is pretty deep into the reds and his deposit was even putting it into the plus again. If so… yaiks.

And now we are getting into the pages where a few slight problems may show up, depending on your own interpretation of things.

See, in my opinion it is obvious that we are meant to feel sorry for Kevin, cause he lost his minimum wage job now for simply being late. Something that can happen to all of us. And yeah, losing your job when you have not really much in the bank, that sucks. So I would wish for the character to get at least a new job soon. However, we also need to acknowledge that the manager is not in the wrong here. After all, Kevin supposedly has shown up late for work for some time and his excuse that he was late because he had to work on his comic is not reasonable. For a lack of a better word, making this comic is just his hobby, not his job. His job is to make burgers and sell them, because the manager of the burger joint is paying him for that. So excuse me if my sympathy is not that much with him

Not really much to say here. I just want to point out two things: One, the countdown that showed up also in previous pages and goes further down the longer we get into the story, two that it actually may be a good thing that Dobson has not drawn the copy shop employee in more detail. Cause one thing I came to realize over time with Dobson is, that often times his sketches have more of a softness to them than the final product, where e.g. faces are more harsher and frankly, uglier than they need to be, in addition to being a bit oversaturated thanks to the colors. And with Dobson’s tendency to make also angry faces genuinely spiteful, I wonder if the copy shop owner would have come off in the final product as more “strawman mean” than necessary. Cause it is very obvious that “poor Kevin” seems to suffer from the indifferences of his environment.

One month since he was fired and one more month till we are in the present and he loses his electricity cause he has not paid his bills. And this is where I slightly start to lose my sympathy with the character. Again, it is obvious that the story wants us to feel bad for Kevin because he is down on his luck although all he wants to do is just create his comic.

But at the same time, only halfway through the comic I have to ask, how much of his shitty situation is not just him doing nothing against it?

I mean, he has obvious money issues, he can’t pay the electricity bill and he has been fired a month ago. Shouldn’t he at this point not have attempted yet to get a replacement job? Or ask for unemployment support? Do commission work for fans in exchange for money?

I am just saying, his woes become a bit less relatable if he does not really attempt to at least try and fix the situation.

And unfortunately, this development continues still

Gesh, this comic is really old when Kevin still owns a flip phone…

Also, I need to give his mom credit. 500$ send to her son so that he can pay his debts off and live well enough for a few days. Sorry, but 500$ is actually enough for me to live for a month and pay my groceries and major bills if I am careful enough. Lets hope Kevin is the same and that he looks out for a job

… nope, he does not look for a job. Two weeks after he got the money he still does not have a job to support himself and assure he has a roof over his head. In fact, he likely loses more money than he necessarily needs to by going to a diner.

Look, unlike other characters created by Dobson, I really do not hate Kevin. Primarily because he does not show any of the despicable or idiotic traits other characters by him do. But Kevin is not doing anything to improve his situation, period. And that is not really how you should write “down on their luck” characters, cause that doesn’t really make them sympathetic. The sympathy a reader gives those characters stems primarily from the fact, that though they really try their best, fate is not working into their favor for different reasons beyond their control. But here the problem is, that Kevin has to a certain degree control over his situation. He can decide what he wants to do with the money, he can decide to either do or not do anything to improve his situation at least slightly. And he doesn’t do anything.

Dear lord, Kevin is essentially Dobson when it comes to the laters overall situation and how he does little to improve anything when he is stuck.

Then there is also the entire thing about the waitress calling Kevin’s work amazing. For starters, I kinda doubt that that in our modern day society and work environment her acting like that in front of a customer, even if the customer does not mind, would fly with her employer. After all, professionalism and all that. Next, her praise feels shallow. The typical cardboard speech praise checkmark lines you can give to any piece of work, that don’t really mean anything if you do not elaborate on what it really is you find amazing about the characters in terms of personality or what it is about the story that hits home (e.g. can you realte to the characters, are you genuinely thinking the story is funny etc)

In fact, what even is Kevin’s comic?

I get that his work is not the center stage of this story, but think about it: we are supposed to think that Kevin is talented and that he needs his lucky break. But would his work even justify success and admiration? All we know is that the comic features a character called Kat (not really an original name) who for a lack of a better word and based on the sketch outline may just be the bastard offspring of Bubsy and Talus from Alex ze Pirate. And that is it. For all I know, and taking for shit and giggles a made up meta narrative into account, his work may actually be on the same level as Alex ze Pirate itself. And if that is the case, let me just fill out an application as janitor for Kevin right now. If he is lucky he can make around 1000 dollars a month soon.

This right here is actually a prime example of a common problem in Dobson’s longer story: Him breaking the old rule of “show, don’t tell”. The narrative tells us e.g. via the words of the waitress and the fact he has fans, that Kevin is a good cartoonist. But we do not see it for ourselves. And I am not suggesting here Dobson should draw 20 additional pages of Kevin’s creations and comics, because that would be freaking overkill. But imagine if this comic started off with the first page being part of a a very fantastic fight scene or story. Something rich in color and characters. Only for it to be revealed in the next page to be actually NOT the story we are supposed to read, but something Kevin creates right now. By doing so Dobson could not only show for the actual main story that Kevin is justified in having success, Dobson could have also shown for himself how he can be imaginative. How he can toy with tropes and expectations, while also creating something “new” out of nowhere just for fun. But that is not what we got. And all we have now are four more pages.

Again, ONE MORE WEEK passed and he still did not get a job. And in fact, he is also overdue on his rent and wants to ask his mother AGAIN for money.

Dude… I am all out of sympathy. Sell your freaking kidney for all I care, offer your landlord oral sex or that you are going to do work around the house for him, just try to do something except beg mother to help you out again. Especially as she has already send you 500 dollar. What have you done with that money anyway? Did most of it get spend on your electric bill? If so, how huge was it? And did you fail to pay rent for a couple of months now that even your landlord is having enough? I ask the later in part because I genuinely do not know how fast a landlord can vacate you in the US. See, where I live you can get vacated too when you don’t pay up, but most landlords are by law forced to at least let you stay for a few more weeks till you either find a way to pay up or another place to live. Forceful removal of a tenant can mostly only happen if the person causes severe damage to the apartment or is facing criminal charges.

So NOW you are looking for a job. Good luck getting 700 dollars in three days though. I can’t imagine that even if you get hired, that anyone will pay up that amount of money upfront to help you. Again, do you have no other options, Kevin? Also, for how long was that sign up there? How often have you gone by that diner? Also dear lord, the waitress really is not the smartest if she thinks being a webcomic artist pays all the bills

So if the manager has already found someone, even if it was “just” now, why was the “now hiring” sign even still in the window? And he assumes there are even more bills? Kevin… do you have a genuine problem when it comes to handling finances? Would you do better, if you only get an allowance? Just one more page. And with it my biggest complains

And so our comic ends with all the build up of how down on his luck Kevin is, being essentially pointless, because at the end of the day he is still lucky and all his problems get resolved not by his own doing but by deus ex machina.

Okay, this is not entirely accurate.

After all, Kevin DID create this comic. He wrote it, he drew it, he send the script to multiple publishers, he got rejected multiple times and now he is also going to finally get recognition for it all. You can say he worked to get his foot into the industry. The problem is, that none of that work is really shown in the story presented to us. We do not see him work on the script, potentially rewrite or fix up mistakes, get the impression that even with the bad situation he is in, he still wants at the very least this passion project to succeed. All we know is he worked on something and now because it is convenient for the story, his misfortune is going to end and he gets a happy end that is way too convenient for my taste.

Look, I know nothing about how publishers work. If someone reads this and has genuine experience in how publishers approach you if they are interested in your work and how much money you can really make through it, you are free to tell me what you know or have experienced directly or indirectly. Cause frankly, I find it hard to believe that any publisher would immediately do the thing Kevin now experiences here. First off, why would they not attempt to call him or get into a more convenient contact with him than the mail? Second, advanced payment? Shouldn’t you at least try to handle out basic deals before you send him a paycheck over?

I get it is supposed to be a happy end for Kevin here, but honestly, with the way how even if people are getting published, success may not be immediate or not to a degree Dobson actually hopes for. Sorry, but I am also just jaded enough as a person to know that even otherwise acclaimed work does take time to really hit a certain level of popularity. Luke Pearson e.g., wrote and drew the first volume of the comic series Hilda in 2010, just a few months after he finished college. The comic was a success and resulted in him publishing up to four more books till 2016. But only with his comic being adapted into a Netflix series in 2018 did he also get recognition outside of Great Britain, from which he is likely going to make enough money to have a comfortable life for the next couple of years. Mind you, I said comfortable, not “luxurious”. Cause this is actually one thing I fear with Dobson to a degree: That he thinks that being a successful comic creator equals also becoming stinking rich. Cause as far as I know, this is not really the case for many comic creators around the world. But I digress.

This post is not about the potential delusions of Dobson when it comes to how much of a fortune he could make through a successful publication, this post is about judging a SYAC story that got never published.

And frankly, the story of Kevin James… I don’t hate it. Honestly, I think there is potential for a decent, even longer story about a webcomic artist trying to get his big break. The problem is, this is not a story about the challenges Kevin faces in creating his comic. This is not the story about someone being determined to get his work out, even if he struggles in real life. This is not the story of someone facing and dealing with his real life struggles in a mature way, making the happy end all the more feel rightfully earned. This is a story where honestly there would be no drama at all (or at least less drama), if Kevin even attempted to do something halfway logical most other people in real life would do, if they found themselves in his situation (like looking for a job, trying to work commissions etc.) . And a drama where the dramatic event would not happen if some basic logic even a kid can think off would be applied, is at least for me not really a drama.

So yeah, it is not the worst thing by Dobson, but it is very flawed to say the least.

#so you are a cartoonist #syac #andrew dobson #storytime #comic review #webcomics #comics #multi page #criticism

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el-im · 3 years

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im putting all the things ive been meaning to write posts about into one single item because i am feeling Very Observed lately and i figure with it being as early as it is that hopefully this wont show up on some peoples dashes by the time they get around to pulling up tumblr today.

first of all heres a photo dump and some captions

from when i texted charlie my images of the sisko card, which i was really hoping he’d like

a smiley face on my coffee

i was gonna make a gender joke here bc the longer i looked at these before n after pinning back my hair pictures the more i was like ‘oh we just flipped gender presentation like a lightswitch huh’ but that was not funny and i am not funny and I wish i were but im not and its kind of a >:( fact thats been bugging me lately.

from mom, yesterday, who dropped off one for me, one for nick, one for mia, and one for abe. i was expecting this to be the only thing i got/heads up/message on valentines day but i woke up this morning to find that aub had sent me a playlist that i looked at but havent listened to yet (because im trying to order my responses to things in increasing complexity and time--i responded to the tik toks elanor sent me first, them had a look at the star trek document that joe sent me and commented on the questions he asked without giving away spoilers, and am now making this post, which ive been meaning to make, and will then maybe try to listen to the playlist and then respond to michelle’s email)

these are joes thoughts from some ds9 episodes. initially, i’d sent him a list of ‘best’ episodes (my favorites AND the eps i thought were most emblematic of ds9′s issues--bajor’s relationship with cardassia, trill relationships, etc) hoping that he’d be able to see the merit of the show, but he insisted on re-watching the first episode before he started working on the list because he’d only seen it once a long time ago, and then, after watching ep 1 and captive pursuit (with tosk) decided that he’d try to watch the full first season, especially after i expressed my dismay at realizing he wouldn’t get the chronological introduction to garak bc ep 3 wasnt on my list of best episodes. anyway. he showed me this list of written reactions after watching ep 1 and captive pursuit and it made me so happy he decided he’d keep doing it, which i insisted wasn’t necessary because it seems to me like a lot of work (and which i still feel guilty about) but he was like told me that he’d only seldom seen me as happy as i was upon reading that and it was something little he could do to foster that joy which.. makes my heart crack in two).

anyway. the real reason i started this post was because ive been up in arms for the past few days about mia and covid.

speaking of which.

baby ‘passed’ first covid test. that arrow on the side is the minimized player where im watching nemesis. hah.

anyway.

to make a longer story short, my (pregnant!!!) sister decided, stupidly, to go with her boyfriend abe, a sound engineer, to a broadcast stage he was setting up in california, because she has a liver condition that appeared during her pregnancy which makes giving birth difficult (which is emotionally challenging for her because she had always wanted to do an at-home birth without drugs) and in fact, is a condition which typically leads to the birth having to be induced early, which means, at this point in development, that she could potentially need to have the child at any time. she went with him because she didn’t want to be without him if the baby needed to come. she was there for a week, with the both of them feeling sick all the while, and then came home early without abe because she felt bad and wasnt having fun, eventually getting a ride from my mother (who lives with my grandmother and great aunt, 93 and 86 respectively) back home from the airport (she took a PLANE!?). anyway. at our insistence, she was tested the same day she got home. she was reluctant to do it because she ‘didn’t think she had it’ and figured that it was ‘just the flu, honestly’ as if she had any way of knowing that???? in the day she was waiting for her test results, she came out of her room multiple times without a mask on, walking around the kitchen or playing with the dogs, even though we told her to stay in her room (and had brought her food/hot tea/whatever else she needed). she had no reason to come out when she was 1. sick and 2. not quite sure if she had covid or not

anyway. her test came back positive so she was trying to ‘stay in her room’, which lasted for.. not even a day. nick and i, who hadn’t seen either of them in a week, but had been around each other, got tests. we (as pictured) both got negative results, so mia must have gotten it in california rather than from someone we’d all seen (like nick and mia’s dad or stepmother earlier in the month)

abe came home soon after and had taken two rapid tests when he landed, but then, when coming home, immediately was sitting in the same room as my sister, without a mask on. he slept outside in our ‘arizona room’--a screened in patio with a futon in it for the first night. when his results came back (as negative), he decided that he was fine to be in the house, so wouldn’t wear a mask in the kitchen or in the living room, (something nick and i both did) AND would also be in the same room as my sister for long periods of time. i’d like to think he was wearing a mask in there, but i can’t be sure. he was playing video games in their shared room where mia was watching tv, as long as he (AND I QUOTE) ‘stayed in his corner’. it’s a ten by ten room at most. there’s no way that staying in there, even with a mask on, for as long as he did was a smart option. so... to reiterate. abe was in a room with my sister, who has covid, for a long period of time, and then wouldn’t wear a mask when in the common areas that everyone uses. which is... great right

and the thing thats been annoying me for these last couple of days in particular, ASIDE from all the dumb shit they’ve done up to this point, is that mia says abe needs to bring her food (valid) and YET mia is always in the kitchen (which doesn’t make sense). i was in the kitchen preparing a meal the other day and she came out to refill her water. which, if abe was functioning SOLELY to bring her things, as she was insisting, would not have warranted her coming out of her room. it was the middle of the day. she could have said she needed water and left her cup by the door and i could have refilled it and brought it back.... but she didn’t. i was wearing two masks (a cloth one over a medial grade one) but was still wary about her being there--because I was making food. i told her to get out of the kitchen because she’d finished getting her water, but she said ‘just a minute!!’ and continued, not three feet away from me, trying to pick up one of the dogs and playing with her. i kept telling her to go back to her room but she was acting as though i was being rude and being completely unreasonable??? she takes every request we make for her to stay away from us as a personal attack, like we don’t want to see her or be around her, instead of us trying to protect ourselves from covid??

THEN the fun part is after all this, abe sets up an inflatable mattress in the office (which is :) right :) next :) to my room) because he decides he doesn’t want to sleep in the same room as mia (reasonable) despite having been occupying the same room as mia for hours (STUPID). so now abe is using the hall bathroom, which nick and i use/shower in/brush our teeth in. before, abe had been using mia’s bathroom off the bedroom, and, again, had been sleeping in there. so now, if abe DID catch it from mia, which is likely, at this point, he’d going to give it to nick and i.

nick and i were upset about this, and told mia last night that she needed to stay in her room. that was how people quarantined. that is how you quarantine. you do not leave your room for ANY reason, especially if you have 1. MULTIPLE PEOPLE CAPABLE AND WILLING TO BRING YOU FOOD AT ANY TIME OF DAY and 2. A BATHROOM THAT CONNECTS TO YOUR ROOM. she came out and started yelling at us about abe, though neither of us wanted to fight with her (and there was no reason to fight about something we were CLEARLY right about). she said ‘YOU CANT HAVE IT BOTH WAYS’ which meant that abe can’t not use the livingroom and the hall bathroom (which we were saying he shouldnt do) and that he can’t be in quarantine with mia (stay with her in her room) but the thing is.... BECAUSE he has spent so much time with her, and because they weren't wearing masks when they were outside and BECAUSE he spent hours playing video games in the room that my sister has been quarantined in for a whopping two days--he now shouldnt ALSO be using our bathroom, because now we can get sick. (and probably fucking will!!!!) she is having him now stay in the office and use our bathroom (GREAT) instead of just biting the bullet and staying with her because he ALREADY HAD BEEN staying with her

and now they are both in the kitchen :)! i can hear them from my room. great.

anyway here r some sketches that i never uploaded before cause theyre hideous but im putting here because i hope to fuck no one actually reads this/scrolls down this far

#captain's log #it does not compute to me #that you can just be this fucking stupid #i hate her #i am SO fucking mad at her about this i dont want to live here :)

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cameoamalthea · 4 years

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On DMs, Players, and Trust

“Of all the themes I want to explore, the Traveler-Jester relationship is one that I’m being very careful with. It can go into a dark path, which I don’t want to, and I don’t want it to even lean that way.”

— Matthew Mercer in Talks Machina Episode 146 - Discussing Up to c2e109 (via icouldbeherpocketbacon)

Matt Mercer is a good DM. And I don’t mean that in a he’s a professional actor with years of experience in VO work that makes him especially gifted at portraying NPCs or even a talented DM with years of experience crafting dungeons, building encounters, planning stories and running games. You don’t need that to be a good DM.

What you do need is to always respect your players and their experience, and try to make sure everyone at the table is having fun. That you’re all having fun together because at the end of the day you’re playing a game.

A couple of weeks ago I saw a take that really bothered me and has been sort of eating at me:

[Artagan is] not a person with whom anyone would start a relationship like Jester has, knowing him as a person. He was her childhood best friend, the one who was there for her when she was alone. And what a brilliant trap Matt has set that Laura is rising to so masterfully- Jester is so determined to stick with him despite everything Laura knows, and she keeps rising to his level over and over again

And now that I can articulate why, I want to talk about it (without hijacking @wellbustmybuffers post. Also this isn’t a call out. But I’m also not gonna vague post or not attribute the points I’m responding to because if you want to want to anything I say, then you should be informed of this post so you can, if you want : ) )

Matt did not trap Laura. A DM should not set ‘traps’ for players that override their agency.

Literal traps in a dungeon are fine because everyone is sitting down and consenting to play a game where you as players explore dungeons and face dangers, including traps. Your characters can die through bad rolls or poor choices, that’s part of the game everyone agrees to play together. However, a DM should NEVER force a player into a role playing a scenario they did not sign up to play or could make the player uncomfortable.

There are plenty of DND horror stories out there, and a lot of them stem from this kind of behavior. A DM kills a player’s animal companion off screen because they think animal companions are OP, causing a player to leave in tears. Or (TW rape, bigotry, homophobia, sexism, everything) a DM who crosses every line imaginable. And even outside of worst case horror stories, putting players in a situation where they don’t get to play a game they enjoy or are forced into situations they didn’t anticipate is not good. Of course, players can consent to play whatever type of game. If you want a backstory where you’re a warlock of a mysterious force that you know nothing about and the DM asks, are you cool if the mysterious patron might be evil, then that’s cool. Like whatever the players find cool and interesting is fine. You want to play a drow or a goblin in a world where they are hated and feared and play with having to disguise yourself and deal with hatred - again that’s cool. But you don’t inflict conflicts on the player they didn’t sign up for. If they want to play a goblin for fun and want acceptance/don’t want to rp racism, respect that.

It would not be ok if Matt saw that Laura had a backstory where her god was her mysterious imaginary friend and she loved him and then he sprung it on her that her best friend was actually a terrible guy no one would want for a friend. A DM should not hijack a player’s backstory or railroad them into losing their best friend or having to change their concept.

[Artagan is] not a person with whom anyone would start a relationship like Jester has, knowing him as a person.

Laura Bailey wanted her character to have a relationship like that knowing Artagan as a person because Laura loved him in CR1.

You can see it in how Vex reacts to Artagan. When they first meet in The Echo Tree:

MATT: “All right. Travel safe. Stay alive. And maybe visit. If you get lonely.” And he gives a deep bow and just vanishes.

LAURA: He was fucking cool.

TALIESIN: Dear god, let’s get out of here before something else happens.

LAURA: I really liked him.

When they meet again in Dark Dealings

LAURA: No, he was great!

MARISHA: He was cool.

SAM: Wasn't he the guy who sketched us and was creepy?

LAURA: Yeah, he was funny, and he also helped us, and he also enjoyed us because we were weird.

Vex liked him even after he asked if he could strangle her unkillable brother after the party offers him ‘a good time’ in exchange for a favor’ and Vax agrees, so they do). When Vax comes back, Vex invites Artagan to dinner and asked him for help identifying things in The Final Ascent.

LAURA: Artagan can join us.

MATT: Oh, he does. Don't worry. As soon as you guys begin to eat, at the far end of the table you see the orange mane erupt from the side of table as he takes a seat. "Oh, wondrous. I appreciate this, thank you."

LIAM: So did that live up to your expectations, then?

MATT: "Hello. It was all right."

LIAM: New hobby, or--?

MATT: "I don't know. Have to try when they're not willing. That's a joke; that's a joke."

LAURA: Okay. Hey, Artagan, can you look at this wand?

MATT: It's a war wand. It's a plus one wand. For anyone who's casting a spell through it, it's a plus one modifier to DC.

LAURA: Oh, do you have to attune?

MATT: Generally you have to attune to these, yeah.

LAURA: Okay. Great. All right. Thanks.

Laura liked this character so much that she worked him into her character’s backstory. Before she wanted to play Jester as a cleric, she wanted to play Jester as a character who is best friends with Artagan and they play pranks together. Knowing exactly who Artagan is as a person, Laura wanted her character to be his best friend, Talks Machina Discussing Episode 94

My original plan was to make a warlock, and I was going to make a warlock with the fey pack to Artagan and then I was gonna have the book...There's a thing called the book - the book pact or something like that, and I was like what a way to worship him! With like a spell book with like lewd drawings and it, that's so perfect. Yeah, and then Travis was like ‘what? Warlock? Oh ok”. And then I was like, oh shit I have to be cleric. And so I asked Matt, can I still have him as my god? And Matt’s like yeah, we can make it work.

This is what a good DM does. They listen to what their player wants to do with a character concept and they make it work because they want their players to have fun. Laura Bailey wanted Artagan and made up a backstory that would allow a relationship with him since there’s a class for that (fey pact Warlock) but when her husband decided to go Warlock she decided to go Cleric and Matt made it work so she could keep her concept and play with the NPC she loved and wanted as her best friend. Matt didn’t trick Laura, Matt didn’t trap Laura, listened to Laura and worked with her to give her the warlock/patron or cleric/deity relationship she wanted to have and play. Because that’s what good DMs do.

#dnd #Critical Role #dming #Artagan #jester lavorre

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theladyofdeath · 5 years

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Lovely {ACOTAR, ch 5}

written alongside the lovely and talented @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty . Look for chapter 6 coming soon. :) for previous chapters, click the link: Lovely

The clock chimed noon as Elain pushed open the door of Azriel’s tattoo parlor. He was sitting behind his desk, sketching a piece for a customer as he looked up and met her smile with one of his own.

“Hey.”

“Hey, boyfriend,” Elain beamed, holding up a paper bag from the taco food truck down the street. “I brought you lunch.”

“You’re too kind to me,” he said, sitting up off his stool to meet her lips with a soft kiss.

“Nah,” she breathed, coming around to perch on his knee. “I just noticed I hadn’t seen your truck leave yet, and if Rayna isn’t working I know that you,” she pressed a kiss to his nose, “weren’t going to eat lunch.”

He caught her lips with his and traced the seam with his tongue. She allowed him entrance and after a minute, when his hand glided up bare thigh, skimming under her dress, Elain broke the kiss and giggled. Azriel growled slightly, but began to pull his food out of the bag. Carne Asada tacos, with no cilantro. Exactly how he liked it. As he took a bite, Elain made her way over to the mini fridge in the corner and grabbed two water bottles. He opened his and took a drink. “Did you close the shop?”

She shook her head and pulled her own lunch out of the bag. He pulled her back onto his lap. “My assistant designer can handle it while I have lunch.” She took a bite and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

It had been a week since Azriel has asked Elain to be his girlfriend. A week of surprise visits and coffee dates and the happiest that Elain had ever felt. But they still hadn’t had sex.

It was partially Elain’s fault. He had been ready and willing the night she’d made him dinner, but she made him wait. And now, she was making herself wait and she thought it might cause her to combust.

“What’s this one?” She asked, turning the tablet towards her. She saw intricate lace work, the tiniest details in each eyelet. A bow at the top. And all along the edge...flowers. Tons and tons of flowers.

“It’s for one of the girls who work at Rita’s. She’s one of the bartenders. Mor sent her to me.” He took another swig from his water bottle.

Elain gnawed on her lip. “When you’re done with that one, can you show me your flower pieces you’ve done?”

Without a word, he saved his design, closed the app and opened his archives sketch book. He handed her the pen, allowing her to look to her heart’s content.

“Wow,” she breathed, going through sketch after sketch. “Az, these are beautiful.”

They were flawless, each sketch done with the same amount of love and adoration from the artist. She stopped on a black and white sketch of peonies. The flowers surrounded a pocket watch strung by pearls.

“Have you done this one on anybody?” Elain asked.

Azriel shook his head. “That one is waiting for the perfect person.”

Elain looked up at her boyfriend, brow raised. “Are you dropping a hint?”

Azriel’s small smile told her all she needed to know. But, he gave her a shrug and finished the last half of his taco in one big bite. He washed it down and she handed him back the pen. He opened his sketch again and began shading. He glanced up at her. “Do you have plans tonight?”

She was taking a bite of her quesadilla, covering her mouth as she chewed. She finally shook her head and said, “I don’t think so, why?”

“I’ll have Asher tonight, but I was wondering if you’d want to come over for dinner. My turn to cook for you.”

Her eyebrows raised. “I’ll be by at six, then,” she promised, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

“We’ll be waiting,” he smiled, watching her repack her few belongings.

“I’ll see you later,” she said and bent to kiss him. The second their lips touched, he stood to his full height, wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her until she was perched on the edge of his desk. He hooked a hand under her knee and the same hand from before skimmed up her thigh. He pulled back a fraction, his lips still skimming hers. “I can’t wait.”

He sat back down in his chair and watched as she closed her eyes and physically fought to control herself.

When she opened her eyes, he was smirking at her.

Her cheeks burned. “Yes?”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice low.

Every piece of her shook from within.

She picked her bags up and turned to go, but he caught her wrist and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand. “I’ll see you after work.”

She smiled as he let go and made her way to the door. She looked back at him before she opened it and breathed, “Bye.” With that, she slipped out the door and made her way across the street to her own shop.

As she came back in, Claire was helping a couple finish up an arrangement and she gave Elain a smile and a small wave before returning her attention to the couple.

She made her way into her office but before she could even sit in her chair, her phone was buzzing in her pocket.

“Hello?” she answered, pulling it out of the pocket of her polka-dotted dress.

“Busy tonight?” Lucien asked, sounding out of breath.

Elain blinked. “Yeah, going to Azriel’s. Why?”

“Oh, I see,” he said, in between pants. “You get a boyfriend then your best friend is old news.”

Elain chuckled, but she had to ask, “Please tell me you’re not…in bed with someone right now?”

Lucien laughed. “No, I’m not. I’m at the gym, jogging on the treadmill, but thank you. I see where your mind is at this afternoon.”

He wasn’t wrong, she could still feel Azriel’s hands snaking up her thighs, burning against her skin.

When she didn’t answer, Lucien asked, “Is there something you haven’t told me? Did it happen?” “No,” she replied, quickly. “But...I want it to.”

“You don’t sound like you want it to,” Lucien pushed, gently.

Elain took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she fell back into her desk chair. “I haven’t been with anyone since Greyson, and that was three years ago. It’s a big step, that’s all. And I’m nervous.”

“You don’t have to, you know,” Lucien said, catching his breath. He must have slowed down to a walk. “It’s not like he won’t like you any less if you want to wait. Even if you never get to that point with him, he’s crazy about you.”

Elain nodded and then remembered she was on the phone and had to physically respond. “You’re right, I know that. But I really do want him. There’s just a...pull there. I can’t explain it. I’m drawn to him.”

“Well, be safe,” he said, and it wasn’t judgemental. “Are we still on for brunch Sunday morning?”

“Of course,” she said, turning in her chair to log into her computer. “I’ll talk to you later, I just came back from lunch. Gotta let Claire take hers.”

“Such a good boss,” he teased, but she heard familiar laughter in his voice. “Have fun tonight, Lainy.”

“You too, Luce,” she said, smiling fondly as she hung up the phone.

~~~

The halls were nearly empty after the final bell as Nesta walked toward the performance hall. Cassian had texted her during their final period to meet him there after school, but she didn’t quite make it.

Before she could make it to the hall itself, a strong, calloused hand pulled her into the supply closet, shutting the door behind them.

Cassian grinned in the dim light before pressing his mouth lightly to hers. “Hi.”

“Cass,” she breathed, her hands immediately gripping his shirt as their bodies were pressed together. His lips found her neck and she tightened her grip. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to fuck my girlfriend in the janitor's closet,” he said, lifting her so her legs automatically wrapped around his waist.

No one knew they were a couple. None of their coworkers, their students, and shockingly enough, their families. It’s not that they didn’t trust anyone, they were just enjoying having their own little secret.

Without another word, their lips had found another again. Nesta would never get over this feeling, the feeling of absolute safety and pleasure she got from being in this man’s arms.

After setting her feet on the floor for only a few seconds, her panties were unceremoniously dropped from under her skirt and Cassian undid his pants and was sliding his member against her wetness. He picked her back up, pushing into her in one fluid motion and capturing her lips with his own, stifling a moan that threatened to tear from her. He set a relentless pace, bottles and mops rattling off of the shelves beside Nesta’s body.

She could honestly say that a janitor’s closet was one place she had never had sex, and the thought was almost amusing. But when Nesta opened her eyes to find Cassian watching her with that damned predatory gaze, there was nothing funny about it.

Her lips crashed into his as the grip she had on his shirt tightened.

She felt light, like she was floating on air. Peaceful. Happy. Complete.

He paused and she was about to whine — literally whine — when she heard what he had somehow picked up first: the chatter of voices from outside the door, heading towards the performance hall.

“Shit,” they said, almost in unison, and they laughed lightly, while Cassian put her down and zipped himself back up into his jeans. Nesta began trying to smooth her hair down and brush down her skirt.

“Where’s my thong?” She whispered, frantically looking down in the muddy light from the dusty, hanging bulb.

He held the scrap of blue lace on one finger. “You mean these?” She went to grab them, but he snatched them back and stuck them in his pocket. When she began to protest, he pressed his lips against hers. “Come over tonight and you’ll get them back.”

“Cassian,” she warned, stomping her foot lightly.

“Was that a temper tantrum?” He smirked, brushing a curl back from her face. “Wait about a minute before you leave. I’ll be home at five-thirty.”

He gave her one last bruising kiss on her lips and without another word, he was gone.

She sighed and picked up the bottles they had knocked off. When she determined it had been long enough, she cracked open the door, checked that the coast was clear, and made her way back to her studio.

The only thing she could focus on was how slick she was between her legs as she walked. She had her back to the door and was pulling her purse out of her desk, when she heard a knock at the door.

She turned and quickly sat in her open desk chair as she said, “Dad. Hi. What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn’t be back in town until the end of the month.”

“Wanted to come see my daughter at her dream job,” he smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

You wouldn’t be if you knew what I was doing in the closet ten minutes ago.

“Thanks, dad,” she said, giving him a side hug.

Things had not always been so good between Nesta and her father. Now, he was often out of town on business. He didn’t see his girls as much, which had actually improved Isaac and Nesta’s relationship.

“So, what do you think?” She asked, gesturing to the room around her. “Same as you remember?”

“It is,” he said, “Although I really like what you’ve done with the place.”

Nesta just opened her mouth to reply when Cassian’s voice came floating from beyond the doorway.

“Oh, Nes, could you also-.” He froze when he entered the doorway, catching sight of Nesta’s father.

The words fell out of Nesta’s mouth. “This is Mr. Nazari. He’s a music teacher here.”

Cassian’s surprised expression eased into something far more relaxed as he reached out his hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” her father smiled.

Nesta began to cough as their hands touched. From where she was standing, she could see the blue lace of her panties peeking out of his back pocket.

She tried to direct her father’s attention towards her, hoping to catch Cassian’s eye as well. “Dad, have you talked to Elain yet? I’m sure she’d be excited to see you back home so early.”

He walked over to the window as he answered and Nesta tried to get Cassian to look at her. “I spoke to her on my way into town. I wanted to surprise you and Feyre.”

Cassian was looking at Nesta like she was insane as she tried to get him to understand that her underwear were sticking out of his back pocket. She was about to walk over to him when her father turned around. “I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me, Nesta. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Her eyes went wide. “I would, Dad, but I’ve already got dinner plans.”

Cassian had started to awkwardly back out of the room. “Nah, Nes, I’m sure they’d understand. You should have dinner with your father.”

He turned and as he left, Mr. Archeron said, “Son, you got something falling out of your back pocket.” Cassian froze with his hand on the door frame. “I imagine that young lady will be wanting those back.”

He was rubbing the back of his neck as he turned back around, a lazy grin on his mouth. “Yeah...I should go do that. It was...nice meeting you, sir. Miss Archeron.” he dipped his head before hurrying into the hallway.

“Womanizer,” her father mumbled.

Nesta had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. “Well, I suppose I can reschedule my plans if it's important to you.”

He shook his head. “No, sweetheart, I’ll just see you this weekend. Go out. Have fun. You’re only young once.” He gave her a quick hug before leaving out the same door Cassian had just a few minutes before.

One more time, Nesta fell into her chair, but this time, she ran her hands down her face and sighed, which bubbled into riotous laughter. She sent Cassian a text letting him know she’d be over at five-thirty.

~~~

Feyre glanced at her phone for the hundredth time, waiting to see if Rhys had left his apartment yet. She had already ordered a pizza and, according to the tracker on her phone, it was coming to her door in thirty minutes or less.

She had looked at herself in the mirror every five minutes. She didn’t want to look like she wasn’t trying hard enough, but she also didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard for a night in.

She was wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie. Her hair was in a long braid, her makeup flawless.

She had changed her slippers twice, only to settle on a polka dotted pair of fuzzy socks.

It was nearly seven when a quick, obnoxious knock sounded on the door.

The pizza guy stood on her front porch. She stepped out and pulled the door shut behind her.

“Archeron?” He asked. She nodded and he glanced down at the receipt. “$22.17.”

She quickly handed him three ten-dollar bills and told him to keep the change. As he strode down her porch steps and headed to his car, Feyre’s phone chimed.

Leaving now. Be there in 5. Need me to bring anything?

She smiled as she responded.

Pizza is already here, so all I’m missing are you and the drinks. You got that under control, bartender?

His reply was nearly instantaneous.

Pretty sure I can handle that.

“Look at you, smiling at your phone. Must be Rhys.”

His voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, immediately putting her on edge. It was also slurred.

He was right next to her on the porch, somehow getting up the stairs without her notice.

His green eyes were glazed over, his blonde hair a mess. “You used to smile at my texts like that.”

“Why are you here?” She asked. There was no bite, only exhaustion.

He frowned. “I’ve missed you, baby. I want you to come back to me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Feyre shook her head. “Leave. Now. Before Rhys gets here and you’re too drunk to defend yourself.”

She could’ve sworn she watched his hackles raise. “I made a mistake, Feyre. Brannagh was-.”

“Exactly what you needed,” she finished for him. “I’m sure she’s always willing to beg and grovel and get on her knees for you.”

“I’m not with her,” he growled. “You’re the one I want to be with.” His words were starting to string together more and more. “I love you.”

“You don’t get to start this shit.” She shoved hard against his chest, surprised to see she could actually move him. Another shove. “Stop it.”

He shook his head, as if trying to clear a fog. Before she could stop him, his hands were on her face, his lips crashing into hers.

She whimpered against him, pushing so hard against his chest that he went stumbling back. He couldn’t catch himself.

Tamlin, tripping over his own feet, fell to the porch boards, eyes fluttering shut as his alcohol consumed him.

He laid there, perfectly still, breathing steadily.

Feyre wiped his scent off her lips, nausea rolling in the pit of her stomach.

He would never change.

Couldn’t change.

Tamlin had taken too much from his father, searching for happiness in all the wrong places.

“Feyre, what are you-?” Rhysand’s sultry drawl was cut short as he saw Tamlin on the ground and the tears beginning to stream down her face. Before the near silent sob was able to fall from her lips, Rhys was there, face in his hands. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, alright? I’m here.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and Feyre gripped his wrists, grounding herself to him.

“What happened?” He breathed.

She was breathless as she answered. “He snuck up on me when I was paying for the pizza. Then he begged me to take him back and when I said no, he kissed me.” She gestured to him on the ground. “When I shoved him off of me, he hit the ground and passed out.”

Rhysand pressed another gentle kiss to her forehead before letting her go and kneeling by Tamlin’s head on the ground. He checked a few places on his neck and then lifted his arm by the wrist and let it go.

It landed on the porch with a resounding thud.

“Yep, he’s out.” He looked up at her. “Want me to call the police?”

She could tell that regardless of whatever history they had, he was offering for her, not for his own gain.

She shook her head. “Help me get him inside.”

Rhysand hesitated, but nodded nonetheless. He gathered Tamlin in a not-so gentle manner before dragging him through Feyre’s door and lugging him onto the couch in the living room.

Rhys gagged. “He smells like shit, where the hell has he been?”

Feyre sighed, softly shutting the door behind them. “I don’t know. Don’t want to know.”

Rhysand’s face softened as he met her where she stood on her welcome mat. “Are you okay?”

She nodded again and he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Not exactly how I saw our evening starting,” he said quietly, running a finger over the back of her hand.

She couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled from her. “Me either.” Her eyes widened. “Oh crap, the pizza! I left it on the porch.”

He kissed her again and said, “Pick any movie for us to watch, even a chick flick, and I’ll watch it for you. I had something in mind, but you choose.”

“My couch is kind of occupied,” she said, nibbling on her lip.

“Oh.” Rhys looked at Tamlin passed out on her couch. He glanced back at her.

“We could go up to my room instead?”

Rhys’s eyes widened. “That’s, uh- That- Yeah, that should be fine.”

Feyre raised a brow at his boyish stuttering before grabbing the pizza from the porch and leading him upstairs.

She had cleaned her room, which she hadn’t done in quite some time, just in case he came up. Now, she was grateful that she did.

Rhys looked around as he entered and smiled fondly.

There were unfinished paintings littering her room, lining all of the walls and propped against every piece of furniture. There were tapestries draped from ceiling to floor and string lights were draped on every surface, strung across the draping. It coated the room in a soft glow.

It was exactly how he’d imagined it.

She tossed the pizza onto the covers and crawled onto the bed. Rhys tried not to focus on the way her hips swayed as she moved across to the other side.

He sat down, hesitantly, on the edge.

“You don’t have to do that,” Feyre laughed.

“Do what?” He asked.

“It’s just a bed,” she said, simply, blue eyes softening. “I’m not going to try and seduce you.”

He almost told her that he wished she would, but thought better of it. He swung his legs onto her midnight blue comforter as his body began to relax.

“So,” she began, grabbing the remote and flipping through the different streaming services. “Comedy? Scary movie? A drama? Or a tv show?”

His eyebrows rose as he looked at her. “A tv show? That would require me to come back over to continue watching it. Are you sure you want to start something with that much commitment?”

Feyre rolled her eyes, but tossed the remote his way and grabbed a slice of pizza. “Fine then, you choose. You said you had something in mind anyways, didn’t you?”

Rhys caught the remote before it landed on his lap and chuckled.

He flipped through the options, stopping on a murder mystery documentary.

“Really?” Feyre asked, brow raised. “That’s what your choosing for a date night?”

Rhysand grinned. “Scared?”

“No,” she stated. “Unimpressed? A little.”

“You wound me, woman,” he said, kicking his shoes off and reclining back on the bed. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

Soon enough, Rhys had scooted over to Feyre’s side of the bed and his arm was thrown around her.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Feyre mumbled, voice sleepy, “but this documentary is terrible.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, and Feyre glanced up, seeing the smirk on his face. “I was just waiting for you to say so, so I could do this.”

His lips were on hers and his hand gripped her thigh.

She laughed against his mouth, her hand instantly reaching up to cup his stubbled cheek. The pizza and the documentary were instantly forgotten as her tongue gently swept along his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pulling away. She inclined her head downstairs. “About him. He kinda put a damper on our night.”

Rhys rolled them until he was on top of her, his weight pressing her down into the mattress. “I’m not going to say that I was planning to be a perfect gentleman tonight, but,” he breathed, kissing down her neck. “I’m not going to take you for the first time while your ex, who I just happen to hate, is passed out on your couch.”

Feyre’s breath hitched. “Tease,” she breathed.

He chuckled, low and deviously. “I’m just telling you the truth.”

But it was the truth that created the throbbing between her thighs.

As if he knew, he pressed his impressive length into her core, grinding into her. She gasped and his eyes snapped up to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were dark.

He dropped his forehead to her chest and whispered, “Fuck,” before rolling off of her. Feyre sat up but didn’t say a word. She understood. If they didn’t stop, they were going to do exactly what he’d just swore, consequences and ex-boyfriends be damned.

She wanted him, though. That much was obvious. He was perfectly beautiful, perfectly kind. Her heart skipped a beat when she looked at him, much less when he was on top of her, tongue slipping between her lips.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Something primal flashed in his violet eyes as they trailed from her mouth, then back up to her eyes.

They wouldn’t go all the way.

They would save that for another night.

But for tonight, Feyre would take what she could get.

——————

At five-thirty on the dot, Nesta pulled into a parking spot of the apartment complex Cassian had sent her the address to after she told him she’d be coming. She looked up the stairs, to the door marked 221. She glanced down at her outfit, at the leggings and oversized VIA hoodie she wore. He’d told her to dress comfortable, but she was worried she’d gone too far. She quickly pulled the hoodie over her head, dropping it onto the passenger seat, leaving her in nothing but a soft pink camisole. She groaned and grabbed her purse and keys, getting out of the car before she could stop herself.

She hurried up the steps and gave the door two quick knocks.

No answer.

She knocked again, but still, the door went unanswered.

She quickly dialed his number and called him, able to hear his phone ringing faintly from inside.

After the phone went to voicemail, she waited a minute before hesitantly knocking one more time.

The door swung open.

Cassian stood in nothing but a towel, wet hair dripping down his body.

“For cauldron’s sake, woman, I didn’t think you’d actually be here at five-thirty exactly.”

Nesta wasn’t listening though. Nesta was watching one droplet of water that had cascaded down over his chest, fallen into the grooves of his abs, and was now trailing into his towel along the defined V on his hips.

He grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Awfully cocky tonight, are we?”

“Last time I checked you liked my cockiness,” he winked. “Please, come in.”

With a roll of her eyes, she entered. “It smells delicious in here. Did you…actually cook something?”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” he said, shutting his front door. “I have many talents.”

She set her purse down on the table by the door and turned to face him. She glanced down at his towel again.

“Yeah,” he drawled and the slight blush that rose on his cheeks made him look boyishly charming, despite his nakedness. “I’ll be right back. There’s wine in the fridge.” He softly pressed a kiss to her lips and as he stepped around her, she briefly debated the idea to follow him back to his room.

But she didn’t, thanks to a ridiculous amount of self control.

She helped herself to a glass of wine and sat at his small kitchen table. She felt like that was too formal, so she made her way to the couch.

She wasn’t good at this stuff.

Sex? Yeah, that she was pretty good at. Actually being in a relationship? Eh.

She heard his footsteps coming back down the hall and she quickly crossed her leg over her knee and she kicked his coffee table.

She cried, “Ow! Fuck.”

He came around the corner and was on red alert. “Baby, what happened? Are you okay?”

He was crouched in front of her, his hand resting over hers on her ankle.

She didn’t move. Just looked at him.

She whispered, “You’ve never called me baby.”

He blinked. “Does it bother you?”

No. It didn’t bother her. It actually made her stomach flip and her heart beat faster.

“You may call me whatever you wish,” she said.

He leaned up on his knees and pressed his mouth to hers, slowly, tenderly.

“I can’t cook.”

Nesta pulled back. “What?”

“Azriel is making dinner for your sister tonight. I went to the store with him this afternoon and got all the same ingredients.”

Nesta sputtered a laugh. “So you are just a pretty face, then.”

His grin is what made her mouth find his, once more.

Baby.

She was his baby.

She pulled him on top of her on the couch and dinner was long forgotten, whether it was edible or not.

————

Elain was on the way back to the kitchen from the restroom when she spied the door left open across the hall from Azriel’s bedroom. She didn’t want to intrude, but she couldn’t stop herself from quietly pushing the door open.

The nursery was decorated in blacks and grays, just like the rest of the house, but random flashes of color kept it from being morose.

She smiled, softly, to herself.

Azriel had put so much thought into it. His love for his son was perfectly portrayed in the little nursery.

Elain admired the sketches that were framed on the wall. Azriel had drawn himself, and Asher, and one of them together.

“He doesn’t get to spend much time here, but I want him to think of this as his home.”

Elain jumped from where she’d been trailing her fingers along the railing of the black crib. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled and she could tell it was genuine. He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, dropping a kiss to the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“I’ve always wanted a big family,” Elain breathed. “Growing up with two sisters, I always knew, that’s how I wanted it to be. I can’t imagine it any other way.”

Azriel was silent for a minute and Elain was about to turn in his arms to face him when his arms tightened around her waist and he said, “I’ve always wanted a big, loving family because I never had one.”

He didn’t sound sad though, just thoughtful.

Elain turned and faced him. “I have no doubt you will have that someday.”

A small smile twisted his lips. “Your kindness is overwhelming, sometimes. Do you ever get mad? Annoyed? Have you ever cursed?”

Elain laughed, forehead falling against his chest. “Oh, yes. I curse all the time. In my mind.”

He laughed then, too, and the rumble in his chest shook her body lightly. “Will you curse for me?”

She glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I want to hear you swear. Say a cuss word.” There was a light in his eyes that she wouldn’t have been able to say no to if she tried.

“Fine,” she said, and took a deep breath in. “Hell.”

Azriel threw back his head in laughter. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I said it,” she said, laughing herself.

“You said a place,” he said, resting his hands on her hips. “Give me a real one. And use it in a sentence.”

She gnawed on her lip, glancing down at the black ink peeking out of his v-neck shirt. She looked up at him, into his hazel eyes, as she breathed, “I want you to fuck me.”

Azriel leaned back, only slightly, his hazel eyes wide with surprise. “Was that…an example or an actual fact?”

“Both,” she whispered.

He leaned down and kissed her. “Dinner first. Then we’ll see about the rest.”

He walked away, glancing at her over his shoulder through his dark bangs, smiling tauntingly.

Elain didn’t move for a good minute. Her cheeks began to heat, her thoughts running rapidly through her mind.

It wasn’t until Asher began to fuss that she was snapped back into reality.

She made her way back down the stairs and found Azriel holding Asher while he stirred whatever delicious smell was filling the kitchen.

She sat down at the bar across from the stove, watching him, and said, “You never told me you could cook.”

“Sort of a hobby of mine.” He was bouncing Asher on his hip.

She smiled at the sight. “What are you making me?”

“Cajun chicken pasta,” he said. “Homemade sauce.”

Elain rested her chin on her hands. “Homemade, huh?”

He chuckled, bouncing Asher as he turned to face her. “You’re going to be pleasantly surprised. Promise.”

She stood up and walked around the island, reaching out and taking Asher from him. He immediately began to coo and kick. He gripped her hair and pulled. “Ow, okay, ow.” She laughed and she worked his chubby fingers from her hair, letting him cling to her finger. He began to laugh and Elain giggled, looking down at him.

She glanced up and blushed as she found him watching her, a hip leaned against the table.

“What?” She asked, swapping Asher to her other hip.

He reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”

Elain felt her cheeks heating as she arched a brow. “Is that so?”

He nodded, smiling at her newfound nervousness.

His comment from the hallway came back to her mind.

Dinner first, then we’ll see about the rest.

Elain cleared her throat, setting Asher in his high chair by the table. She opened her mouth to change the subject, but nothing came.

“Ready to eat?” He asked, grabbing two — surprise, surprise — matte black bowls from the cupboard.

“Starved,” she said, taking a long drink and emptying her wine glass.

“Good,” he glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled.

He served them both, refilling Elain’s wine glass and opened a small jar of puréed carrots for Asher. The baby immediately resisted when he tried to put the spoon to his lips and Azriel sighed. “I gave him banana baby food one time and now nothing else is good enough.”

Elain laughed quietly and took a bite of her pasta. She dropped her fork back into the bowl and moaned.

When she opened her eyes, Azriel was staring at her with an intensity she’d never seen.

Elain quickly took another bite. “This is delicious.”

Azriel did nothing, didn’t move. It wasn’t until Asher began banging on his high chair table that Azriel blinked.

“Thank you,” he said, although his voice was quiet.

They ate their meal in silence, though, and as per usual, it was completely comfortable. They randomly caught each other’s eye and before long, Asher has dozed off in his high chair.

Azriel quickly finished off his food and picked Asher up. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna put him down.”

He left, leaving Elain to quickly check her breath. Although delicious, Cajun chicken pasta was not a very good meal to have before…

This was it.

It was the night.

Elain was nervous, but in a good way. A shock of thrill and affection shot through her body.

Waiting for his return felt like hours.

Finally, she heard him coming back down the stairs. She turned and looked at him as he reached the main floor. His hands were in his pockets and he looked up at her through his lashes. “Sorry, he woke back up right after I put him-.”

Elain had stood from her chair, crossed the room and crashed her lips against his, cutting him off. His arm snaked around her waist and his hand dove into her hair.

Azriel was quiet. He was respectful, and kind, and genuine. But as he kissed her, he was everything but the gentleman she had come to know. It wasn’t that he was disrespectful in any way, but he was rough. There was a need radiating through him that Elain mirrored.

Breaking apart from him in any way in that moment felt like the end of the world.

He gripped her under the thighs and lifted her, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. There was no need to ask where he should take her, no need to remove his lips from hers.

When they entered his bedroom, her back did not meet plush expanse of the bed as she expected. No, he pressed her up against the wall, his hips pinning her in place as his palms pressed against the wall by her head. He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth and Elain gasped lightly.

He immediately pulled back, his eyes bright with desire. His gaze left her face, after snagging on her parted lips, dragging down her neck, to her chest, and then to her spread legs wrapped around him.

A shudder shook Elain’s slim frame.

It wasn’t that this would be her first time. She had made love to men before, and she had enjoyed them plenty, but her heart had never pounded inside of her chest as it was doing at this moment.

Azriel was not like the others.

She cared for him as if she had known him her entire life.

Her desire for him was a feeling that should have been impossible, fictional, but wasn’t.

“We don��t have to do this,” he said, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “I’m perfectly fine with going back downstairs and turning on a movie.”

Elain didn’t reply. Her arms wrapped tighter around his neck and she crashed her lips against his.

As they kissed, she worked her hands down to the hem of his shirt and lifted it. He broke the kiss and pulled it over his head. The sight of him made her mouth water.

The black ink that covered his arms continued onto his body, the swirls and whorls cascading down his chest and even onto his abdomen.

He spun them and carefully laid Elain on the bed, his lips finding her neck as he began to work the button on her jeans.

He continued his handiwork until she was bare before him.

Elain was not fond of being naked in front of a man, but he made her feel like a goddess.

She felt beautiful, invincible, ethereal.

She met his gaze as his skin, every inch of him, was pressed against her own. Azriel moved a strand of brown hair out of Elain’s eyes with steady, scarred fingers.

He pressed one, long kiss against her lips as he lifted her hips, her legs wrapping up around his waist as he pushed his length into her.

Elain’s eyes fluttered shut, her lips falling open as her body tensed from the contact.

He stilled once he was inside of her, letting her adjust to his size, his lips brushing over her cheeks, nose, eyelids, forehead. He kissed her lips, letting his hands roam over her body.

Elain stayed still, enjoying the fullness, the feeling of him filling her, until she felt like she was burning from the inside out. Her nails dug into his back as she began to writhe beneath him, aching for friction.

Azriel took the hint and slowly began to slide out of her. The headboard hit the wall as slammed back into her in a hard thrust. Elain cried out, his mouth still pressed against hers, and she clung to him as he set an unrelenting pace.

She suddenly could remember nothing, nothing else but him. She could barely remember who she was as his mouth slid along her jawbone, down to her neck, his tongue dancing along her burning skin.

Her released barreled into her all at once, surprising her, and she threw her head back in utter ecstasy. She had the vague notion of hearing herself calling his name, but could only focus on the feel of his hips rolling into hers.

Azriel was able to hold himself together until Elain begged, “Azriel, please,” and he began to spill himself inside of her with a groan.

After a while of making love and yearning for a life of staying in bed with the man beside her, Elain couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. As she lay awake with her head against his chest, tracing the ink along his tanned skin, Elain Archeron fell in love.

#lovely #tacmc #throne of ashes and beauty #collab #fanfic #acotar #acomaaf #acowar #acofas #elriel #feysand #numbness #fanfiction

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ciarawritesmarvel · 5 years

Text

a worthwhile catfish - steve rogers x reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Language maybe, I’m not gonna check tbh and dating app usage which in itself is a goof

A/N: Welcome to Day Eleven of Hello Spring by @ibwhellospring! Here’s a little something something for ya, with Steve and tinder and all around fluffy goodness. There is scope for a part two here so let me know if that’s something you’d read. Lots of love to youse all <3

Prompt: “Where should we meet?”

masterlist in my bio and tags in the reblog! please drop me an ask to be tagged in bucky, steve or all the hello spring pieces!

---

It was just a regular day, or so it seemed. You were sat in a little coffee shop, a cup of tea at your right hand and a delicious half eaten pastry at your left. Your laptop was perched in the middle of the table and you were getting on with some work that, strictly speaking, should have been sent off two days ago. You were rather lucky your boss was so understanding.

After an hour or so, you finished off the work and sent it off with a triumphant smile, clapping your laptop shut and then looking around as if someone else had done it when a few eyes glanced up from their plates. As you were finishing off your own drink, you haphazardly pulled your phone out of your pocket and your focus landed on the little app in the top corner.

It couldn’t hurt to have a little swipe.

You had a serious love-hate relationship with Tinder. Every few weeks you’d go through a cycle of a few days where you swiped with abandon, started conversations with a variety of different people and enjoying most of them. But invariably, it always ended the same, with you agreeing to a date with the one you liked the most and it going horribly. You’d swear off the app for a few weeks and then the cycle would start anew.

Clearly it had been a month since your last disaster date and it was time for you to find a new one.

You swiped left many, many times, mostly down to people’s bios rather than their looks, a couple of right swipes thrown in here and there but nothing spectacular.

After about five minutes, you swiped left again and found yourself on a page that brought the ghost of a smile to your lips involuntarily.

Steve Rogers. 100+.

The picture was of one Captain America, in a dark blue button up and jeans and taken in front of a gorgeous lake as he smiled.

It was clearly a catfish because there’s no way that the actual Steve Rogers would have tinder of all things, you expected he was probably more of a match.com kind of guy if anything. However, the bio was interesting and even concluded with a little America’s Sweetheart joke and you couldn’t help yourself. You swiped right.

Y/N: I know there’s an age difference here but I think we could make it work.

You decided you’d probably found the best you were going to find today and clicked your phone off, stuffing it into your back pocket and tidying up your table in preparation to leave.

You couldn’t wait to get home and put some fluffy socks on. Couldn’t. Wait.

---

It was just a regular day, or so it seemed. Steve was sat on his balcony at the tower, which he’d covered in plants and climbers just to ensure he had a little more privacy. The small window in the middle of these invasive plants offered him a beautiful view that he sketched from time to time. A chance to measure his progress, and mark his ever changing style.

Bucky was sat beside him, scrolling mindlessly through his phone and occasionally glancing over to Steve’s paper with a smug smile. Steve had asked to draw Bucky for a bit of a change and a bit of a challenge, but he’d politely declined and said that he didn’t need anyone staring at him intently as he went about his business. Steve certainly understood that.

“Wanna go for dinner later? Nat suggested this new place downtown, I don’t remember the name. Just the four of us, y’know, with Sam?”

Steve looked up from his work and smiled at his friend warmly.

“I’d like that Buck. 7pm?”

“Seven it is. I really want to eat a good-”

Bucky was cut off but a buzz from Steve’s phone, a familiar buzz that had both pairs of ears pricking up. Steve fumbled in his pocket to pull it out and check it.

Y/N Y/L/N. 30.

He read your message and Bucky saw his eyes light up and the corners of his mouth perk up just the slightest. His grin was huge.

“Found y’self a pretty dame, Stevie?” Bucky teased, drawling the words in a tone that had Steve rolling his eyes.

“It’s the first match I’ve had in ages. Don’t know why you even set this up for me.”

“It’s only ‘cause people think it’s not really you. You need to get yourself out there and Sam and I can’t trust you to do that yourself,” Bucky explained and Steve’s brow furrowed.

“Why would they think it wasn’t me? Who else would I be?”

“Think about it Rogers,” Bucky said, almost but not quite exasperated, “You’re the Captain America. That’s a pretty good way to get matches. I bet there’s hundreds of Caps on there.”

A quick and frantic search from Steve had him finding, much to his horror, the hundreds of Caps that Bucky had described, each one with different photos of him and different bios, mostly consisting of things he would never write under any circumstances. A few even made him choke back a gag. He looked back at his friend with a horrified gape.

“This is theft!”

“Not much you can do about it,” Bucky shrugged, “I’m surprised someone’s actually messaged you. She must either be really gullible or really desperate.”

Steve glowered at him.

“James,” he warned, “That’s an insult to her and to me.”

“Oh, you knew what I meant, just show me what she said.”

Y/N: I know there’s an age difference here but I think we could make it work.

Bucky stood up and crouched beside Steve to read the message and then turned his head to Steve, eyebrows raised with a smug grin adorning his face. Steve’s brow furrowed.

“What?”

“She doesn’t sound gullible,” he said, an amusement in his tone that Steve couldn’t place, “Or desperate.”

“...your point?”

‘Message her back, dipshit!”

Steve elbowed Bucky away from him and he stumbled back into his own chair with an over dramatic thud. He quickly started typing though, and Bucky’s grin only grew wider than before.

Steve: 70 years is nothing. The real problem here is that you’re way out of my league.

He briefly considered showing his response to Bucky before he sent it, but he was unwilling to have him change it and then it be sent without being fully his so he hit send and then held it out for Bucky to see. He nodded slowly, eyes alight with a shine of their own.

“You’ve got more game at 100 years old than you ever did at 20.”

A pause.

“Shut up Buck.”

---

Y/N: Morning sunshine. Any plans for the day?

Steve: I’ve got a super top secret ‘hush hush’ mission but other than that, not really. You?

Y/N: Ah right, of course. A mission. ;)

Steve: Still don’t believe I’m Steve Rogers, huh?

Y/N: Nope. But I’m talking to you anyway, so I think you should be flattered.

Steve: If you say so, sweetheart.

You looked up from your phone to make sure that none of your colleagues were watching you with a silly grin on your face, the slightly flustered look in your eye. Just one text with the word sweetheart in it from your current tinder crush ‘Steve’ had you an absolute mess, whether that be at work, at home or out with your friends. So far, you’d been caught grinning twice and full on laughing out loud once. That was a low point.

Y/N: I do say so. And I’ve got the day off, so I might have a date…

Y/N: ...with Netflix.

Steve: I’d be lying if I said you didn’t scare me for a minute there.

Y/N: And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to scare you for a minute there.

Steve: If you’ve got the day off and my super top secret hush hush mission should be wrapped up early afternoon, why don’t we actually meet up today?

If it was possible, your heart completely stopped. Your eyes went wide as you read and re-read the message on your screen, making sure you hadn’t seen it wrong, hadn’t made up what was happening. You were worried. Three weeks of talking to this guy practically all day, every day and you were already slightly smitten. But at the same time, you were 95% sure you were being catfished. If you agreed to this, you probably weren’t agreeing to meet Captain America, but instead some random man who was pretending to be him, and doing a damn good job at it too.

But he was sweet. Kind. Funny. You felt there could be something there, if it was given time.

Steve: Didn’t mean to scare you off, don’t worry, it was just a suggestion.

“Did you just double text? God, Steve, I have told you before, quite a number of times, that you don’t double text.”

“She wasn’t replying Nat, what was I supposed to do.”

Nat fixed him with a glare.

“Oh I don’t know, have some fucking patience?”

He rolled his eyes and left the room, flipping her off behind his back as he did and she chuckled sardonically at his retreating form. Men.

Y/N: Didn’t scare me off. I was just double checking my calendar. Where should we meet?

Where should we meet? Where should we meet? Where should we meet?

The words played over and over in your mind as you read them back to yourself. You were really doing this. Going with your gut wasn’t exactly a common occurrence for you, but then again, your love life hadn’t been that great. Maybe it was time to change things up.

Steve: Wherever you want. Ladies choice.

Y/N: I know a place that does great burgers.

Steve practically punched the air, and considered himself very lucky that he’d gotten away from Nat when he did. He would’ve really been in for some teasing otherwise.

Steve: Sounds perfect. :)

You quickly sent over the details and agreed to meet there at seven, effectively cutting the conversation short before you lost your cool at work. 7pm. You’d be meeting your mystery man. You quickly fiddled with your phone, making a decision.

You needed to call in a favour.

—-

Now, at 6:55pm exactly you stepped out of your car and walked into the restaurant, trying to ignore the way you felt you teetered in your heels and the irrational urge to pull your skirt down. It was unnecessary, as you’d chosen a just-above-the-knee red skater skirt with a white off the shoulder top for the occasion. Not too much, not too little. At least you hoped so.

Walking up the stairs inside to the actual restaurant area, you mused that at least you felt vaguely comfortable. This was one of your go-to spots with friends and dates alike, with its range of burgers, beef, chicken and non-meat that seemed to satisfy even the fussiest of eaters. One waitress skimming past gave you a bright smile, one that you returned as best you could, and even that was enough to bolster your confidence a little more.

One waiter saw you hanging around the door and came up to you, the smile on his face just a little too manic for your liking. In fact, looking around, everyone seemed a little...giddy.

“Hi, can I help you?” he asked, almost excitedly and you smiled kindly, if a little worriedly.

“I’m here for a date, he booked the table so…” you paused, unsure whether to say this but going for it anyway, “It might be under the name Rogers?”

The man gasped. Audibly. Incredibly loudly, in fact, to the point where other people eating in the vicinity looked up at you and you felt yourself getting more and more anxious, dropping your gaze to the ground. The moment you heard the giggles and whispers around you, though, your head snapped up again and your brow furrowed.

What the everloving fuck was going on here?

The man seemed to collect himself with a stern cough and a deep breath.

“Right this way, madam,” he said, in a far more deliberate voice than previously and your mind was going a mile a minute. You followed him through the restaurant, taking a right and then a left and then one final right before…

You were lead outside onto the terrace that nobody was ever allowed to eat on, the one reserved for VIPs and ridiculously rich people and there, through the double doors, sat a man who quickly stood up as soon as he saw you and in doing so, knocked his chair over.

You bit your lip to stop your giggles as he mumbled apologies and leaned down to pick the chair up. Huge biceps, broad shoulders and an incredible a-

He turned around.

“Holy shit!”

The expression was an involuntary one and you clapped your hand over your mouth in utter shock as you stared at the Captain America, who was looking equal parts embarrassed and smug. Capt- Steve, rather, asked the waiter to give you a few minutes and though he looked reluctant, he hastily left the balcony area. Just the two of you.

“Sorry about the balcony,” Steve said after a few moments of silence that you couldn’t fill, “I tried to stop them but they insisted.”

He still looked kind of embarrassed by this and you decided then and there that whatever strange awe you were in had to stop, for his sake rather than yours. The way in which he spoke was so familiar due to his texts, anyway, and it gave you a much needed reminder that this was the man you were developing a crush on.

“Probably for the best,” you said, taking your hand away from your mouth and smoothing out your skirt just to give it something to do, “There’s a lot of whispering going on in there.”

Steve winced and you realised that probably wasn’t the right thing to say but before you could apologise and change your story, he made the few steps over to you and the words died in your throat.

“You look-” he trailed off as he looked you up and down and you actually shivered, “-even more beautiful in person.”

His words sounded genuine even if you were in a perpetual state of disbelief that this was really happening. You spoke before you thought.

“And you’re actually Captain freaking America so this is going well so far.”

He laughed then, a freeing and somewhat gorgeous sound that didn’t look quite right coming from the lips of a man you had seen in such a serious light so many times on the TV or in the news. You quite liked it.

He moved over to pull your chair or for you and finally you moved, thanking him softly as you let him tuck you into the table. Once he had taken his own seat on the other side, he spoke up.

“So,” he began, and already there was a teasing note in his voice that had you smiling, “You agreed to come out on a date with me even though you were that sure I wasn’t who I said I was.”

You bummed thoughtfully, beginning to see where he was going and your lips parted, smile morphing into a grin.

“I did.”

“Well, it begs the question: why?”

You sat further back in your chair and pondered how to answer it. But truly, the only way you could answer was honestly.

“Because I liked you, whoever you were. You were sweet and funny. We had a lot in common. I had to find out whether this could be…”

You trailed off, unsure of how to finish but by the look shining in Steve’s eyes, you decided that maybe you’d said the right thing after all.

“Nice,” he said, sincerely though, not just as a throwaway comment, “Although this won’t be anything if these burgers aren’t good.”

And just like that, you were out to dinner with Steve and not Captain America.

And, as it turns out, you liked Steve an awful lot more anyway.

#IBW: Hello Spring 2019 #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers drabble #captain america imagine #captain america oneshot #captain america drabble #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #hellospring #ibwhellospringday11

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brieflygorgeouss · 5 years

Note

36 and 96! ♥

36. “please don’t be mad at me” & 96. “i think i’m in trouble” (this probably isn’t what you were expecting but i hope you’ll enjoy either way, love!)

”Please don’t be mad at me,” is the first thing Lucas says as he flops down onto the seat opposite from Eliott, ”but I haven’t read a single page of what I was supposed to.”

Eliott looks up from where he’s been sketching an outline of a building while waiting for Lucas to show up. ”Are you serious?”

It’s Monday. Like every Monday, the library is quiet and mostly empty, even though the exam season is about to start. Eliott has chosen a table in the back by the window this time, where he can look out onto the campus, knowing that Lucas would be at least 10 minutes late, as he always is.

Sure enough, Lucas comes in 15 minutes late this time. Eliott barely notices, busy with the drawing, but still.

”Yeah, I know, I suck,” Lucas says, and Eliott wants to protest, don’t say that, but Lucas is already waving a hand, dismissive, and throwing his books from the bag onto the table and saying, ”So. Teach me everything I need to know.”

”Lucas, I told you,” Eliott says, closing his sketchbook and propping his chin on his hand, ”that literature doesn’t work like that. You know that you have to actually read the books first, right?”

He aims for exasperated as he says it, but misses a great deal and it somehow comes out fond. Just a little.

”Yes, I’m aware, technically,” Lucas responds, rolling his eyes, pushing his hair away from his forehead, ”but I also know that you are my tutor for a reason. The reason is — you’ve read the books so I don’t have to.”

Eliott has to hold back a smile.

Between his classes and his job at the art supply store and therapy sessions and working on multiple art projects at once, the tutoring sessions with Lucas are something Eliott, strangely, enjoys. When Idriss had asked him, sly, two months ago, ”Hey, how much do you remember from your literature course from high school?” and Eliott responded, ”I don’t know, why?”, he never expected all of this to come out of it.

Lucas is in his first year, and his major is biochemistry, or microbiology, or something equally insanely difficult, anyway. He has a horrendous sense of time and no interest in literature at all, but, for a reason Eliott doesn’t understand, has to pass a literature class if he wants to continue his college education at all.

Cue Eliott.

”It’s so stupid,” Lucas had told him the very first time they met, frustrated and rolling his eyes and running a hand through his already unruly hair. ”I didn’t decide to study biology only for literature classes to haunt me all the way here.”

It made Eliott laugh, just a little too loud for the library setting. ”Yeah, that sounds unfortunate.”

Lucas lifted his eyes to him, then, wide and blue and pretty, ”You’re laughing,” he’d said, ”but think how you would feel if someone suddenly told you you had to learn maths again, or physics, or whatever you hated the most in high school.”

Oh, hell no. ”Um. If you put it like that.”

”See?” was Lucas’s response. Eliott remembers him leaning back in his chair and biting his lip. He remembers looking at the motion just a second longer than he should have. ”I think I’m in trouble. I’ll have to sit through 2 hours of this hell every week. If I’m still alive by the end of this semester, I’ll give myself a medal.”

And Eliott had smiled, turning his eyes away from Lucas’s face, said, ”I’ll try to make this as painless as possible for you, okay?”

So that’s what he’s been doing.

”I’ve read a summary of this somewhere on the internet, I think,” Lucas tells him now, holding up Antigone and grimacing like it’s causing him in physical pain just to touch it. It’s a very battered copy, falling apart a little, pages curled, ripped in places. Eliott likes those kinds of books best; the ones with history to them. ”You think it’ll do?”

”How much do you remember from it?”

Lucas winces. ”Uhm… I think someone died? At the end?”

And Eliott doesn’t really have much choice but to sigh, pluck the book from Lucas’s willing hands and launch into retelling the story because Lucas’s literature exam is in three weeks and they don’t have much time left. Lucas is supposed to take notes, but he just looks at Eliott instead, resting his chin in his palm. Eliott can feel his gaze on his own face, warm and pleasant like sunlight.

Their knees knock under the table. Lucas shifts his weight on the chair, pressing his leg firmer against Eliott’s, and Eliott doesn’t move away an inch.

His voice doesn’t waver as he speaks, but it’s a near thing.

See, the thing is — Eliott’s not sure what is this game that they’re playing.

He’s missed the moment of transition. Blinked and somehow overlooked the point when Lucas turned from just a friend of a friend into someone else; when the easy banter started, and the feeling of ease, the feeling of familiarity. Lucas has, when Eliott wasn’t paying enough attention, turned from a smart, a little bit grumpy biology kid into all that and beautiful, all that and dazzling, all that and I'll-take-your-breath-away.

He keeps sending Eliott weird literature memes that Eliott doesn’t even want to know where he’d found, and grins at Eliott’s silly jokes and asks if Eliott’s feeling alright when he notices him looking a little pale around the edges.

They keep toeing the line between friendship and flirting, both aware of it happening but not willing to say it out loud. Eliott feels like Lucas liking him back would be too much of wishful thinking and not enough of reality. There is something in his chest, every time he thinks about the possibility of them, and it keeps curling like smoke trying to escape. But Lucas never asked for anything of that, and Eliott might be reading too much into things like he has in the past already, so he keeps this smokey feeling down, hidden, away where it belongs.

And Lucas keeps brushing their shoulders together whenever they leave the library at the same time, and sometimes buys Eliott coffee, saying it’s an apology for always being late, and keeps looking at him instead of making notes, and even if Eliott does notice, sometimes, how he flushes a pretty pink if Eliott says something even vaguely flirty, that’s the extent of it.

Their scene is this, Eliott tells himself, and this only: a library, a table tucked into a corner by the window. Their voices, hushed but carrying anyway. A pile of books. Sheets of paper strewn between the two of them.

”Can I see some of your drawings?” Lucas asks him, once, bored of the book they’re talking about but curious about Eliott like he always seems to be, something in his eyes sparkling.

Eliott thinks about many, many the pages of his sketchbook filled with the outlines of Lucas’s profile, with how many times Eliott has tried and failed to capture the way Lucas’s hair falls over his forehead, how the shadows under his eyes look when he’s tired, and how it’s all there, in charcoal and ink, a testimony.

In the end, Eliott only shows him a couple of silly things he’s drawn in the back of his art history notebook, little doodles on the margins of the pages — an outline of a building, or some clouds, or a bird he saw out the window.

”I don’t have my sketchbook with me,” he says in a lieu of an apology and sends Lucas a small smile. ”Next time, okay?”

And then, on a Monday again, as he’s about to head into the library, he bumps into someone by the entrance.

It’s Lucas.

”Oh my God,” he says instead of hello when Lucas blinks up at him. He’s automatically reached out to steady him by the shoulders when the impact of them running into one another made Lucas take two steps back. Now, Eliott lets go, although reluctantly. ”Am I seeing things or are you actually here on time, for once?”

Lucas sends him a look. ”That’s very funny,” he says, but then turns a little and points to the door of the library, brushing Eliott’s comment off. ”I was actually looking for you. The library’s closed today.”

Eliott frowns. ”What?”

”Yeah, I know,” Lucas says, shrugging. ”I’ve heard that there’s a broken pipe or something. They’re flooded.”

”Seriously?” Eliott stalks closer to the door. There is a sheet of paper taped to it. It says, due to technical difficulties, closed until further notice.

Eliott only realises that Lucas has come up to stand beside him when he bumps their shoulders together playfully, saying ”Told you, see?” and then, ”Can you believe that the one time I’m not late, the library’s closed?”

Eliott only says, ”So, no Wuthering Heights today, I guess.”

It's what they've moved onto now, the last book on Lucas's "must-read-although-i-hate-it" list. Eliott doesn’t care much about Wuthering Heights, really, but it is a little ridiculous, how disappointed he feels about suddenly not being about to spend the next hour with Lucas, explaining the plot or talking about motifs or whatever they would be doing today. Tutoring is a good excuse for Eliott to look at Lucas from across the table as he reads, point at a sentence in a book and brush their hands together. It’s gonna feel weird, to have the Monday afternoon to himself; Lucas hasn’t skipped or called off a tutoring session even once this whole semester.

Next to him, Lucas rocks on his feet a little. ”I mean…we could just go somewhere else.”

Eliott raises an eyebrow. ”Like where?”

”Um,” Lucas starts, suddenly looking a little fidgety. ”My place, if that’s okay? It's not far. My roommates might be home, but they shouldn’t be a problem, I think.”

”Don’t you hate literature?” Eliott says in reply, aiming for teasing, but it comes out laced with uncertainty instead. ”I thought you’d take whatever chance at not having to study it that you’d get.”

Eliott half-expects him to say something about the impending exam in response, about how there’s not much time left anyway. But that’s not what he gets.

”I do hate literature,” Lucas tells him, and then Eliott watches, a little incredulously, as a blush creeps onto his face, makes his features glow like the dawn. ”But not spending time with you.”

Eliott’s heart does something complicated, then. He licks his lips. The words take two tries before they leave his mouth.

”Okay,” he says at last, and it makes Lucas look up at him. ”Let’s go, then.”

When Lucas smiles, Eliott smiles back.

The apartment, when they come in, is quiet.

They camp out in the living room, spread the books and notebooks and papers on the floor and sit side by side, going over the plot of the book again. Eliott makes Lucas repeat all the recurring themes of it back to him, without looking at the lazily scribbled notes Lucas tried and mostly gave up on making once, and then when that’s done, he listens as Lucas lists all the characters one by one and explains the relationships between them all.

Lucas keeps complaining that it’s all overly complicated and very depressing. Eliott keeps insisting that the atmosphere of the book is what makes it special.

As it often happens with Lucas, Eliott quickly loses track of time. It gets blurry. One moment, they’re arguing over the ending of the book — Lucas, shockingly, does not like it — and the next they’re lying next to each other on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. It’s very quiet; apart from the sound of cars outside, there’s nothing. Eliott feels a little drowsy in the best way possible, feeling Lucas’s frame inches away from his, aware of it like he’s aware of his own heartbeat, continuous but under the surface of his mind.

Then, Lucas says, ”I’m gonna miss this.”

He sounds like Eliott feels. Eliott imagines his words like bubbles, dissolving into the air once they’re out. He feels himself chuckle. ”I knew you secretly liked Wuthering Heights.”

”Not the book,” Lucas scoffs, sounding almost offended for a second, but then Eliott turns his head and when his gaze land on Lucas, it’s impossible to look away. His eyes are very blue. Eliott’s mind goes back to every description of beauty he remembers ever reading, and he understands, anew, what they all meant to convey.

”Then what?”

A breath. Then, Lucas says, ”This. You,” with a lilt to his voice Eliott doesn’t recognise, and within the next second, something in his face shifts before Eliott can properly react. He watches as Lucas pushes a hand through his hair, licks at his lips. Something hot surges through his veins. ”I mean—you’re a good tutor. And we had fun, right? It was— it’s nice. That’s all.”

Eliott blinks, then turns a bit so he’s lying on his side, carefully, like the motion could disperse the moment they're caught in. Lucas keeps looking at the ceiling. ”Are you saying I made literature fun?”

It’s supposed to sound like Eliott’s joking but comes out fond. A little astounded. It’s difficult to keep the feelings out of his voice now, after all those times of making Lucas laugh and after all those hours spent talking, heads bent together, knees knocking under the table, more on purpose than not.

”For the most part,” Lucas admits. ”I still don’t like it, but you— made it better.”

Something in Eliott’s chest ties itself in knots.

They have one more tutoring session left. They’ll go over anything that Lucas still feels unsure about, and then Lucas will write his literature exam and probably text Eliott how it went and that will be that. End of the semester. Eliott will have no reason to wait for him in the library anymore, or lie on the floor next to him and marvel at the arch of his bottom lip, or at his eyelashes. They’ll go back to the frames of their separate lifestyles, easy and bland.

He doesn’t fucking want that.

”Hey,” he says, propping himself up on his elbow, leaning over Lucas a little. The knot in his chest tightens, but he just thinks, screw that. Screw that. ”I’m gonna do something, okay?”

And when Lucas just blinks at him in response, confused, he leans down and kisses him.

It’s—supposed to be short. It’s supposed to be touch-and-go, a barely-there press of lips, shy and fleeting and light enough to give Lucas room to back out.

Instead, when Eliott kisses him, it’s shivers down his spine and feelings spilling in his chest. Lucas freezes for a beat, and Eliott curses in the back of his head, but then there's a hand settling shyly on his waist and an answering press of lips, then again, and it all slides, impossibly, into place. Everything narrows down to this — Lucas sighing against his mouth, then fully kissing him back, tilting his head like he’s been ready, or like he’s been waiting. His hands feel heavy and warm when he cups Eliott’s face. When Eliott moves away, just for a breath, Lucas chases him up, drags him back down.

Eliott licks into his mouth, feeling warm all over with relief, and with something else.

It’s supposed to be short. Instead, they kiss for a long time.

”God,” Lucas gasps against his mouth when they part, eventually, minutes or hours or days later. Eliott doesn't know. ”God, Eliott.”

”I know,” he says, giddy and probably flushed. His arm hurts a little with the strain of holding him up, so he untangles his fingers from where they’re buried in Lucas’s hair and sits up, tugging Lucas with him. Lucas is blushing all the way down his neck, eyes big and lips red, and Eliott looks and looks. ”I'm—I’m gonna miss this, too. But we can turn the tutoring sessions into something else, if you’d like.”

Lucas’s gaze flits over Eliott’s face, then seems to stumble once their eyes meet. ”Into something else,” he repeats, "like a date?"

”Yes,” Eliott says. His grin is wide. ”Like a date.”

Lucas kisses him again, then, muttering a quiet, ”Okay,” against his lips, and when Eliott presses their foreheads together, he says, ”I take back everything I said. Literature is my favourite subject now," and then, before Eliott can react to that, adds, "Jesus, do you have any idea how difficult it was to focus on fucking Wuthering Heights with you sitting across from me?"

And Eliott laughs, charmed, and a little bit enamoured, and happy.

#elu fic #elu #skam france #skamfr #my writing #tutor!eliott won this round ehh #i wrote the beginning like 3 weeks abo and then agonized over it and wrote the rest today.....i love inspiration #thank u so much for the prompt kate ily

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princeraphoffrance · 4 years

Text

➥ 𝑹𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝑺𝒐𝒍𝒐 # 𝟑

✘ Circa ─ August, 2019.

✘ Trigger Warnings ─ none.

___

Raphael had been lost the last few weeks, months actually, and had been dealing with his own inner demons. Regret had coiled in his stomach like a slippery serpent wiggling about. Lately it had been better, even if only a smidge. He had been transferring money anonymously to Doctor Moyer’s family despite knowing that it could never bring back their wife and mother. At least this way they wouldn’t have to suffer financially. He’s even considered, briefly, giving therapy an honest shot. But he was also well aware that this new one was deeply in his parents pockets.

The sun was out that day and burning hot. Raph was more of a winter person than summer, but autumn would always be his favorite season. He was inside, lounging on his bed with a book laying across his chest. He had been reading, but his attention was beginning to drift. He needed to buy a few more fictions the next time he was in town, the library here seemed to be filled with more educational books than anything. And, he wanted to keep his secret love of books just that. A secret. No need for rumors to spread that a Lynch loved to read, especially one of the two playboy Lynch’s. A riot would start, he mused along to his own thoughts. The thought oddly entertaining.

The heat was making him lazy, tired, and craving a nap. He wore nothing but a pair of basketball shorts as the air conditioner hummed in the background. He had some music playing from Spotify, one of his random playlists. Turning his head, he stared at some of the posters and sketches on the walls of Raven’s half of the room. He knew nothing of fashion, literally nothing, but he admired her talent and passion. He had a nagging feeling in his gut telling him that it was too peaceful, too calm, and something was going to ruin his rare moment of serenity. He just didn’t get peace like this, there was always something happening. Always.

Raphael’s mix matched eyes landed on his book again, having momentarily forgotten that he had it on him. Grabbing it, he slipped a piece of paper in it marking his place before he closed it and sat up. Stretching, he popped his back and groaned. He had been laying there way to long. Then suddenly as of waiting for him to move, the shiril sound of his phone ringing cut through the calmness of the room. Groaning softly, he reached over getting ready to deny it when the name of a legal firm danced across the screen. Odd, considering he hadn’t done anything that would get him in trouble recently.

Sliding the green symbol across the screen, he placed the device to his ear. “Hello?” His voice was slightly hoarse from disuse and tiredness.

“Is this Prince Raphael Lynch?” A feminine voice drifted through the speaker, a frown forming on his lips.

“Yes this is. Can I help you?” His eyebrows scrunched together as he leaned forward, resting his free arm on his knee.

“I’m Candice James, the lawyer in charge of executing the will of one Edith Caldwell. You personally have been named in the will.”

Raphael wracked his brain for a face to put to the name. It was familiar, but it still took a few seconds for him to remember the blonde Scottish noble that had paid for his services nearly five years ago. She had been older by almost a decade and had seemed particularly fond of him. She had paid for him at least three times a week for nearly two months. Until she stopped one day, he hadn’t questioned it. She had been one of the more bearable women he had been with, funny and talkative.

“Yes, right, I remember her. She passed away? How?” He wet his lips, confused as to why he’d be named in her will of all things.

“A car accident last week involving a drunk driver. In the will Ms. Caldwell stated that we were to contact you directly about her daughter, Verona.” The woman paused, and Raphael had a nervous feeling fluttering in his gut. “Verona is your daughter.”

Raphael felt like he had been punched in the gut as all the air left his lungs. His world stopped, and he felt his head spin. His grip on his cellphone tightened so he didn’t drop it. “What?”

“When Ms. Caldwell discovered her pregnancy at the end of your… relationship, the grandparents, your parents, paid her a handsome sum monthly to withhold the knowledge of Verona’s existence from you. Your parents even had a DNA test proving that she is, indeed, your daughter. I have a copy on file. If you could come visit my office, we can work out the technicalities. For example if you wish to claim custody of your daughter and the way to go about it. Or if not, finding her a new home.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll be there. Where’s your office?”

“Glasgow, Scotland.” The crisp answer came through, the woman talking as it she hadn’t just upturned his entire life.

Raphael uttered a quick goodbye, promising to be there in the next few days before hanging up. His head was spinning, mind racing, and heart beating fiercely in his chest. He felt his stomach flutter, not necessarily in a good way as he stood up and began pacing the length of the room. What was he going to do?

Running his hands through his hair, he pulled on the ends, hoping for some answers. He had a child, a daughter. Verona, he remembered. He liked the name, a lot. She’d be four now, and his parents kept her from him. Being in her life was different from raising her though. He’d screw her up, he knew it. Or he would have then. Maybe not so much now. The idea wasn’t as terrifying as he thought it’d be. Being a dad that is.

The more Raphael thought about it, the angrier he was that it was kept from him. His parents, the cause of the colossal screw ups in his life, kept his daughter from him. He heard his phone ding and groaned, what now? Sliding the screen open, a picture showed up from the law office in his email. A beautiful little girl with dirty blonde hair and wide brown eyes looked at him. Swallowing, he made up his mind and booked a plane ticket to Glasgow.

—

Two days later, Raphael walked through the halls of a prestigious law office. He hoped, desperately, it would be too late by the time his parents found out what he was up too. He had thought about this a lot over the last forty-eight hours and the more he was determined to step up and the father the little girl deserved. Who would have thought. Raph had Raven covering for him, saying that he was sick in bed and they even convinced a bribable nurse to confirm to the story, and he snuck out through an unmarked path the guards didn’t know about. As far as the Estate knew, Raphael Lynch was still on the grounds, sick and bedridden.

“Prince Raphael?” A red haired female was the originator of the voice. His eyes focused on her and he nodded.

“Just Raphael, please. No need for such formalities. How is Verona? Where has she been staying through all this?” He couldn’t help the genuine worry and curiosity in his voice. It was hard for him to grasp how easily he had come to love the little girl who’s picture he had taken to staring at.

“Raphael then. I’m Candice James, we talked on the phone. Verona is doing okay, she’s still confused about her mother, but she’s smart. She’ll be okay. She’s been staying with her aunt. Her mother's younger sister. Eudora Caldwell. She stated that she’ll raise Verona, should you not want too, but as she’s slightly younger than you are, and she is attending university, it isn’t preferable that Verona remain in her care permanently.”

Raphael nodded along, he understood. “That’s good. Will I meet Eudora? I wouldn’t want to keep Verona from her, so I would like to get to know her. And Verona? When will I be able to meet her?”

Raphael noticed the small smile form on Candice’s lips before disappearing. “Both of them are here. Eudora wanted to meet you, and for you to meet your daughter. We both thought it would be a good idea. Come, let’s get the paperwork out of the way. You won’t be able to take Verona… home.. just yet. Due to your age and.. reputation as well as current residency you’ll have to go through a class and meet with a counselor of the firms choosing for a few weeks. We want to make sure that Verona will be in the best care possible.”

Raphael tried to ignore the sting of her words. He knew his reputation wasn’t the best, and being at the Estate worked against him, but he’d do this. Whatever necessary, he reminded himself. The comment about the counselor being of the firms choosing pleased him. “My parents. Is there anyway we can keep them out of this until there is no room for interference? They, uh, won’t approve of this. And even now, they don’t know I’m here.”

A knowing look crossed her features before her lips pursed in distaste. “Yes, yes. We can do that. As technically you are of legal age, they cannot get involved without your approval, nor do they need to be informed of anything.”

For the next forty-five minutes Raphael and Candice worked through the papers, making sure he both understood everything and signed the necessary papers. Finally everything was taken care of and Raphael was escorted to a room off the conference room used to go through the paperwork. A girl around his age and a child occupied the office watching something on the computer screen. Raph noticed then that Candice had disappeared and he was alone. Swallowing he rapped his knuckles on the door frame gaining their attention.

A guarded look crossed the older girl’s eyes as she took him in. Standing, she walked over and looked him in the eye. “My sister said you didn’t know, that if she didn’t accept their bribe your parents would have done something drastic. Is that true?” He noticed a vulnerability in her eyes then, something she tried to hide.

“It’s true. My younger sister, Nesryn. She was kidnapped at birth, we thought she died. When we found out she was alive a few months ago, our parents killed the couple that raised her. Her adoptive family, as a punishment for refusing to be their daughter. They are… not nice, but I won’t let them hurt you or Verona.” He wondered if he shouldn’t have said that, but when a certain strength filled her gaze she nodded.

“Verona, come here sweetheart.” Eudora held her hand out as she half turned towards the child. His eyes landed on his daughter, prettier in person by far, as she came skipping over and attaching herself to her aunt’s leg. Swallowing hard he couldn’t believe that he had helped create her. “This is your daddy. He’s gonna be taking you home once him and Candice have everything figured out.”

“You’re my daddy?” Raph was momentarily stunned at how well she spoke before nodding, and crouching down so that he was on one knee in front of her.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m your daddy. I’m so happy to meet you. I’m sorry it took so long.” He felt his throat constrict as a wave of emotions overtook him. How could he love someone he just met so much?

“It’s okay daddy! Momma said you are a prince and princes are very busy and that you were helping people.” He watched in fascination as she spoke so enthusiastically and so sure.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself Verona? I want to know everything about you.”

That was all the right thing to say as she grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the couch before climbing in his lap to being talking. He could see Eudora smiling in the background as she followed and sat in the desk chair.

“I’m Verona Iris Caldwell and I’m four years old!” She held up four fingers with the number, practically smacking him in the face in her enthusiasm. “I love the color purple and pandas are my favorite animal.”

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