#Golf Shoes You Can Wear Anywhere | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fan-girling-101 · 4 years

Text

Pogue Winter

Pogues x Reader x Kooks, Rafe x Reader

Summary: After almost dying on Halloween Y/N stays with Rafe. Until he surprises her with a too expensive gift.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Rafe being a sweetheart, My sucky writing, I think that’s it

Thank you @thisismynerdyself who let me use her story which was part one. This is part two there’s going to be a part three and maybe four. Please go check her out and read the original. And thank you for letting me use it. This is all my writing, also if you read the first then second chapter the writing style is completely different.

Part one here

Original part one here

Her Tumblr

Imagine he’s dressed up not sweety in awe of how you look

The next few days I’ve been quiet, not talking to many people, mostly just Rafe, I haven’t even answered JJ. I mostly stayed in Rafe’s room reading or watching any movie on disney plus. Rafe got some clothes from Sarah for me to wear, Ward and Rose had no idea someone else was in their house. I guess that would happen if you never pay attention to your son.

“Hey Pumpkin.” Rafe called making me look up from Harry Potter: Prisoner of Azkaban book in my lap. “I wanted to go golfing with Topper and Kelce, but I don’t want to leave you alone, so do you want to come?”

“Do I want to come watch the most boring sport, if it can even be called that, in the world?” I looked out the window thinking for a moment before answering with a sure.

“Ok it’s not boring.” I rolled my eyes walking over to Rafe. “You keep telling yourself that.” I pat his shoulder walking around him to grab some clothes to change into.

“It’s not!”

♛

We’ve been at the golf course for what feels like an eternity, but probably only an hour or less. The boys are golfing while I sit in the golf cart, tempted to drive away and go anywhere but here, reading my Harry Potter book. The sun makes it almost too hot to bear, It’s November for God sakes stop being so hot.

“Come, I’m gonna teach you how to golf.” Rafe grabs my hand pulling me up and over to the golf tee. Handing me a golf club, I stand there not making a move to actually golf. “How hard can it be to hit a ball with a club?” I ask, laughing and going to walk back to my book.

“Pretty hard Y/N,” Topper said, hitting a ball himself that went super far. I roll my eyes hitting the ball Rafe so kindly set up for me. The ball ended up going further than Topper’s so I smirked at him and walked away. “Beginners luck.” He muttered.

♛

Over the next few weeks Rafe has been taking my golfing with him just the two of us. He says I could be amazing if I tried. I rolled my eyes everytime but went along anyway. By now I couldn’t really remember why we ever hated each other. Well I mean I know he was always kinda mean to friends, who I haven’t spoken to in a long time, but I can’t remember one time he said something mean to me. Ever.

It was now Christmas time, I was still living in secret with Rafe and if you’re wondering where my parents are. Right when I turned 16 I got emancipated. Their idea, not mine, not that I wanted to stick around with them. So back to Christmas, Christmas in the Outerbanks means the annual Winter Ball.

“So Y/N/N what are you doing December 18th.” Rafe asks me, coming to lie on his bed with me. His smile told me he was planning something, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to be a part of it. “Come on Pumpkin, it's not a hard question. 18th are you or are you not doing anything.”

“Well…. Let me check my schedule.” I pretend to pull out my phone. “Hmm.. well the 18th that's a Monday meaning, one o'clock, wallow in self pity. Four thirty, stare into the abyss. Five o'clock, solve world hunger; tell no one. Five thirty, jazz-ercise. Six thirty, dinner with me. I can't cancel that again! Seven o'clock, wrestle with my self-loathing… I'm booked! Well if I bump the loathing to nine I could still be done in time To lay in bed and stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness…”

“So you’re free. Good.” I shake my head at him letting him continue anyways. “December 18th is actually a Friday, also the day of the Winter Ball. So Y/N L/N will you come to the winter masquerade ball my me?”

“Rafe-”

“That doesn't sound promising.” He pouts looking at me sadly trying to get me to guilt me into coming.

“You didn’t let me finish. Why would you want to bring me? I don’t know if you’re aware but I’m a pogue, your sworn enemy. And being a pogue means I have no money, no money means no dress, no dress means no Y/N at Winter Ball. It’s really just logic.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to bring the most gorgeous girl in the universe to the winter ball.” A blush found its way to my cheeks, making me look down. “Also I already planned for you to come so…” He gets up leaving the room for a second and when he comes back he has a sparkling red dress. I was beautiful.

“Rafe-” I gasp looking at the beautiful dress. “I-I can’t take that. That probably cost you a fortune, Rafe I could never repay you for it. I mean when did you even. That cost more than my whole house and things combined.

“Y/N I don’t need to be repaid. Take it. At least try it on please.” He hands me the dress leaving the room. I reluctantly put the dress on facing the mirror looking at how the dress flowed. I couldn't help but smile. A soft knock on the door of Rafe asking if he can come in.

“If you’re making me do this I don’t want you to see me on the dress until the ball.” I heard the groan from outside the door.

“Fine but I have your shoes, mask, necklace and earrings.”

Full outfit

“Rafe! I’m gonna owe you for the rest of my life and more.”

“I don’t want anything, just take them please.” I open the door just enough to grab the stuff quickly putting it all on. “Sarah helped me find everything one night while you were asleep, the shoes took the longest, or I would have asked you sooner instead of a week's notice. Does everything fit, I was scared it would be too big, or small. Or you would hate the color. Or the style of it. It took me almost three nights to find that one, it had the prefect and I needed Sarah and Wezzie to say it looked good and you would like it.”

“Rafe shut up I love it ok. It fits perfectly, the shoes are my size, I love the color,and the style is beautiful. Stop panicking ok.” I open the door dressed back in my Christmas pajama pants and Rafe’s old football jersey. “Come on, ice cream my treat. And I’m driving your truck.”

The whole way there Rafe was acting like a scared mom in the car with their child. Telling me to slow down. I was an amazing driver, he was just paranoid. Sure I was a little reckless but I’m also too good to ever get in a crash.

We go through the drive thru Rafe ordering a plan oreo, while I got a candy cane ice cream because Chritmas time is here bitches! As I pull up pay I grab my cash going to give it to Matt a tenth grade that I go to school with. Out of nowhere Rafe reaches over to hand Matt his own money.

“Rafe!”

“I can't let you pay what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you pay.”

“The kind that already bought me a dress, shoes, and jewelry.”

♛

Soon enough the 18th came, Sarah, Weezie, Rose and I were all getting ready in Sarah’s room. Rose was so excited when she heard Rafe was bringing someone, never once had Rafe brought someone to a kook event. When she found out it was me I saw the fake smile with clenched teeth.

Sarah had me sit down on her vanity chair to do my makeup. I told her to do whatever would look nice with my dress. When she finished she started my hair curling my hair and braiding some small red flowers into my hair to match my dress and give me a pogue type look with the random small braids. Rose did everything for Weezie and after the two of us sat on Sarah’s bed playing a card game while Rose and Sarah got themselves ready.

Sarah’s Outfit

Weezie’s Outfit

I knew Kie was coming of course with her parents, Pope was coming to help his dad and John B was Sarah’s date. But I had no idea if JJ was going, usually the two of us would sit around drinking and smoking while the others were at the fancy parties, or on a rare occasion we’d crash the party, while being drunk and high. I haven’t spoken to any of them in a long time. I felt bad, really bad. I mean JJ was my best friend, basically a brother to me.

We all had our dresses and me, Sarah and Weezie started taking instagram pictures all dressed up. I say I was nervous was an understatement. I mean I was going to a kook party dressed as one of them. I was going with Rafe fucking Cameron, the kookist of all kooks.

Weezie and Rose left when Ward called us down. I started fiddling with my freshly painted nails. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Sarah. “Don’t be so nervous, if you get bored of my brother and his boring friends me and Weezie will come and save you. We have a secret place we go to.” She gives me a reassuring smile giving me a small hug.

“You go down, I'll be there in a sec. I have to mentally prepare for this.” She laughs leaving the room and heading down with everyone else. I pace the room a little before heading down myself.

Rafe’s POV

We all stand in the front room waiting for Y/N. I hear heels clicking on the stairs as someone walks down. I eagerly look at the stairs waiting for the girl that’s been living with me for over a month. The one who I always thought was beautiful. The one who deserves the world and more. The one I think I fell in love with. When the person came into view the excitement fell from my face seeing Sarah instead of Y/N.

“Sorry to disappoint.” She laughs going to stand with Weezie whispering things in her ear. “This is why you don’t bring someone like her.” My dad sighed clearly, not happy with having to wait.

“What do you mean ‘someone like her’?” I ask him. “Someone who’s never been to anything important in their life. We’re going to be late. Next time invite someone with some social class. If this was some way to piss me off congratulations Rafe you’ve done it.”

I would have yelled at him, I would have told him to shut up. But I head the soft click of heels on marble. This time I knew it was Y/N. I completely forgot about what was said about her. I couldn’t wait to see her all dressed up. The only time I’ve seen her in a dress was when she’d crash our formal parties. It was always the same one, a peach sundress.

When I saw her in front of me I had no words, everything else suddenly didn’t matter. I didn’t hear when everyone else went to the car. All I could see was Y/N, she looked like a goddess. No one was more perfect. Her Y/H/C hair was lightly curled with flowers braided into it. To be fair Y/N would look perfect in anything, and nothing.

I lied before, I don’t think I’m in love with her…

I am in love with her.

#obx #obx imagine #Outer Banks #outerbanks #outerbanks imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #obx x reader #obx x y/n #sarah cameron #pogue life #pogue style #kook #christmastime

72 notes · View notes

redisriding · 4 years

Text

The Right Swipe - Chapter Two

A Court of Thorns and Roses Modern AU Fanfic

All character’s belong to the wonderful Sarah J Maas.

Tag List: @superspiritfestival @duskandstarlight @perseusannabeth @courtofjurdan

Feyre’s heart pounded as she crossed the street towards Under the Mountain. This was the first date that she had ever been on and she had spent the day behind her cash register imagining how it would go. Now the nerves were getting the better of her.

The hours that had crawled by while she was at work, seemed to pass as minutes once she had hung up her apron for the day.

She had raced home after work to quickly pick up the empty pizza boxes and dump the wine glasses in the sink, just in case, before jumping into the shower. Turning the water up hot, she had washed and scrubbed and shaved every part of her, just in case.

Emerging clean with reddened skin, Feyre had dried and curled her hair before plonking down in front of the mirror to do her makeup. That was when the artist in her had taken over, and time seemed to move even faster, as created a dramatic smokey eye look.

Once perfected, Feyre dug a little black dress out of her wardrobe along with her only pair of heels. She had decided on the dress while she was daydreaming in work. It was the nicest looking item of clothing she owned. Under the Mountain was a fancy place, and Tamlin struck her as a man with expensive tastes, so she was pleased to find the dress still fit. She wouldn’t have had anything else to wear if it hadn’t.

She crammed a few items into a clutch bag, before grabbing her phone to check her bank balance. With a wince, Feyre said a quick prayer that Tamlin was going to pay for their meal tonight.

Surely he would…

Otherwise she was going to have to slip away to the bathroom and never come back.

Feyre’s hangover from the night before had lifted over the course of the day, heading to the kitchen she downed a quick glass of wine to calm her nerves before calling her RideShare.

The car had let her out a street away from the restaurant, one, so no one would witness her awkwardly climbing out of the backseat while she attempted not to flash anyone in her short black dress, and two because she needed a moment to calm herself before she headed in. It was a choice however, that Feyre regretted as she stumbled like a foal down the street. She was not used to walking in heels. She wasn’t even sure when the last time she had worn heels was.

her graduation from university perhaps?

She just prayed that Tamlin wasn’t now watching her approach the restaurant teetering in her heels trying to pull her skirt down to a respectable length. It certainly didn’t feel that short when she had put it on in her bedroom.

Thankfully, she caught sight of Tamlin before he saw her.

Feyre took a sharp intake of breath as she recognised him.

He was every bit as handsome as he appeared in his pictures on Swipe.

Dressed in a dark blue suit that offset his tanned skin and long blonde hair, he was leaning casually against the wall outside the restaurant. His focus was on his phone, but as she got closer he glanced up, doing a double take, before his eyes came to settle on her.

“Feyre?” He asked, a warm smile spreading across his face.

Nerves bubbled in Feyre at the sight of him. He appeared so collected, so cool, she was suddenly incredibly self conscious. “Yes, and you must be Tamlin?”

“I am indeed,” he said, kicking off the wall and strolling over to her.

“Lovely to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you too Feyre, you’re even more beautiful in person,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to each cheek.

He smelled amazing. Feyre knew she was blushing from his sudden proximity, but Tamlin appeared not to notice. Continuing to smile down at her, he offered her an arm which she gratefully took.

She tried not to lean on him too heavily as he lead her through the doors and into the restaurant, but he was the only thing keeping her steady in her shoes.

“So, how did you manage to get a table here so last minute?” She asked him.

Tamlin chuckled, “What can I say? I have connections.”

“Ah, a man of mystery?”

“Not quite, I know the owner.”

“Oh wow you really do have connections.”

As if on cue, and to prove Feyre’s point, the maitre d’ hurried forward to great them.

“Tamlin, lovely as always to see you, and with a beautiful lady on your arm…how nice.” The man offered Feyre a pained smile that suggested, in fact, it was not nice at all.

“Good evening Keir,” Tamlin said with a curt nod.

“Your usual table I assume?”

“Please.”

“You have a usual table?” Feyre whispered to Tamlin as the maitre d’ lead them through a maze of tables on the floor.

“It has the best view in the place,” he replied.

Sure enough the maitre d’, Keir, stopped in front of a table for two that was tucked away in a corner but beside a floor length window with a view overlooking the Velaris skyline.

“Oh wow,” Feyre breathed moving towards the window, “this is a beautiful view.”

“Yes it is,” Tamlin agreed, but when Feyre glanced back at him, she found him looking, not at the skyline, but at her. Her body grew warm under his gaze and she felt herself blush even further.

Tamlin pulled out a chair, motioning for Feyre to sit.

“Thank you,” she whispered, folding herself carefully into the chair so not as to expose herself to anyone.

The look on Keir’s face was already one of distain for her. Feyre thought he would be liable to get sick all over the carpet if he caught sight of her beaver.

Could she still call it a beaver, she wondered, given she had shaved herself bare in the shower earlier. Perhaps dolphin was a more accurate description of what she had going on.

Feyre had to suppress a giggle at that thought. Clearly the wine she had downed before leaving the house was going to her head.

Catching her expression, Tamlin gently brushed her shoulder sending a shiver of heat down her spine. “You okay?’ He asked, rounding the table to settle himself in his own seat.

Keir approached the table and with another pained smile began reciting the specials.

Feyre couldn’t focus, she was too distracted by the heat pooling between her thighs in response to the man who sat across from her, thankfully, it all sounded delicious.

Tamlin glanced at the wine list, before ordering a bottle of the table, and with that Keir disappeared.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Tamlin said, “I’m just picky about my wine.”

“Oh, no go ahead. I don’t really know that much about wine anyway,” Feyre said with a shrug.

“You’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

A tense silence settled over the table as the two of them looked at each other.

Feyre glanced down at her menu. It was overwhelming to have Tamlin watch her like that, almost as if she was the meal he was here for.

Maybe she was.

She felt her nipples harden in response to his gaze which dropped, only for a second, from her face. Gods, this man was glorious.

“So…” Feyre began, in an attempt to break the tension that was consuming her, “is this where you bring all your girls?”

Tamlin’s eyes darkened “There are no other girls, Feyre.”

“Oh…eh…it's just,” She knew he face was flushing with heat again, “It’s just you have a regular table.”

“Yes, for business.”

“Ah, right. Of course!…What is it that you do?”

“I run a property company. We manage estates and land.”

“Oh very…interesting. You certainly look like a man that spends a lot of time outdoors.”

He did, with his tanned skin and blonde hair, sure it was natural, but it was certainly sun enhanced. He had the glow of a man who breathed in a lot of good fresh air.

Tamlin smiled at that, “That’s not from work though, it’s from play.”

The way he said play, hinted at something much darker than playing golf or drinking with friends. Her body went hot again at the thought of what Tamlin considered fun.

“Feyre?”

“Hummm?” She asked, pulled from her thoughts. When he said her name, it went straight to the core of her and made her flustered.

“What is it you do for work?”

“Eh…” Feyre hesitated, she wasn’t usually embarrassed by her job in the coffeeshop, it certainly wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, working hard to earn money, but she wanted to impress Tamlin, and that was hardly going to do it. “Right now I’m just working in a coffeeshop.”

“But that’s not what you want to do with your life?”

“No! I have a degree in Fine Art, which I would love to pursue, but it’s basically impossible to make money that way unless you’re really really huge.”

“Or you have some other financial backing?”

“Yeah.”

“Like a rich husband?”

Feyre laughed, “Yes, that would be perfect. Send him out to work all day while I stay at home and paint…the dream.”

“Dreams can come true, Feyre.” He said, surveying her with something dark in his eyes.

“I suppose they can. I think a more realistic option is for me to get a job in an art gallery, maybe work my way up to be a director, but those jobs are so hard to come by.”

“I can hook you up.”

“With a job?”

“Yes.”

“In a gallery?”

“Yes. Which gallery would you like to work in Feyre?”

Feyre gawked across the table at Tamlin. Who was this guy who could offer her her dream job within minutes of meeting her. Well connected he was indeed.

“…well if I could work anywhere it would be the Velaris Gallery of Art.”

“Consider it done.”

“What—“

Feyre’s stunned protests were cut off by the appearance of a waiter with the bottle of wine Tamlin had ordered. The waiter poured a small drop in Tamlin’s glass for him to sample. A curt nod from Tamlin had the waiter pouring two large glasses for them before disappearing again.

“Do I make you nervous?” Tamlin asked, looking at how the glass shook in Feyre’s hand as she brought it to her lips.

Feyre offered him a shy smile, “I guess you do, a bit.”

“Don’t be. No matter how I come across, I promise I’m no better than you are,” he said clinking her glass to hers.

Feyre made sure to take a long sip of wine to hide her expression. That was what was making her nervous, Tamlin was so clearly out of her league. He was attractive, tall and fit with a handsome face, he clearly had money…or at the very least connections, and was beyond generous. He just told her that he could get her the job of her dreams and she didn’t think it was the kind of thing someone just said on a first date to get the other person to like them, he was the real deal.

But she hadn’t thought that he thought that he was too good for her. In explicitly stating however that he didn’t want her to think that he was too good for her, had Feyre thinking that was exactly what he was thinking.

Although maybe she was over thinking things.

Or not. These seemed like the kind of details that her friends obsessed over when they were debriefing a date.

Before her thoughts could run any further away with her though, Tamlin asked her another question.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking herself from her thoughts, “I missed that?”

“Losing yourself in the view?”

“Something like that.”

“I was just wondering how you’re finding Swipe?”

“Oh right, yeah it’s going well. I haven’t had it for very long, just a couple of weeks. This is my first date though.”

“Your first date from Swipe?”

“Eh no…my first date ever.”

Tamlin’s eyebrow’s hit his hairline at that, “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true.”

“You’ve never been on a date before?”

“Well not a real one, with dinner and drinks.”

“But you’ve had boyfriends in the past?”

“Not really, no.”

“No one?”

“There have been guys, but it’s always just been casual. They never wanted me to be their girlfriend.”

“They’re idiots then.”

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t want to be their girlfriend either.”

Tamlin took a long sip of his wine. “You are a very beautiful woman Feyre,” his eyes dipping again for another split second,“You need a man who appreciates everything you are. Who can give you things that other’s cannot. That’s what you want, isn’t it Feyre?”

The warmth that had spread through Feyre, ignited in a sudden rush of heat at Tamlin’s words, at the way he looked at her. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes what?” He asked, his voice dropping to as low as hers.

“That is what I want.”

Tamlin sat back in his chair a self satisfied smirk stretching across his face. It was only then she realised how close they had leaned towards each other at the table. Their faces had been so close together. Catching herself, she quickly straightened, picking up her glass of wine, hoping the cool liquid would calm the burning inside her.

The wait staff must have been watching, waiting for an appropriate moment for them to interrupt. As the tension had reached its crescendo and begun to cool as if it was a game Tamlin was playing that Feyre didn’t know the rules to, they appeared to take their order.

Tamlin ordered the fish to start and the beef as a main. Feyre, realising that she hadn’t even looked at the menu ordered the first two things she saw. The salad to start and the chicken as a main, which Tamlin reassured her were good choices.

But then, in a restaurant like this, everything was going to be good.

The waiter disappeared with a flourish and Feyre knew that this was her chance to regain some ground on Tamlin before he bamboozled her with any more promises.

“What about you?” She asked.

“What about me?”

“Have you been on a lot of Swipe dates?”

“No Feyre, you’re the only one.”

—��——

Gods this date was going terribly, Rhys thought as he stared at himself in the mirror over the sink. He had escaped to the bathroom a few moments ago for a break. It wasn’t that he disliked Amarantha. It was that she liked him. A lot.

She was dressed in a low cut dress, that left her ample cleavage on display. Rhys had tried to keep his eyes on her face, but it was hard when he feared that a nipple was going to appear at any moment. She hadn’t seemed to mind though. In fact, she had encouraged it. Pressing her breasts together for him to notice, resting them on the table so they were always in eye shot. After a couple of glasses of wine she had moved in close and began rubbing them against his arm, while he had tried to eat his meal.

Yet it was only when she dropped her hand and began rubbing him through his trousers, did he think that she was being a bit forward for a first date.

Well that, and the comments she kept making about their future together.

At the fourth mention of their children, he had made an excuse to go to the bathroom and get out of her clutches for a while.

By now however, Rhys had been hiding in the bathroom for about as long as he could get away with without raising suspicion. With a deep sigh, he resigned himself to dessert with Amarantha.

No doubt she would attempt to sensually feed him whatever dessert she had ordered, but he could get through it…maybe he could claim he was allergic.

Pulling the door to the bathroom open he stepped out into the hallway and collided with a woman.

His hands instinctually went to her waist as she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.

But as she looked up at him with wide eyes and surprise on her face, Rhys felt his pulse begin to race.

“Feyre, darling. How unexpected to run into you again so soon,” he said smoothly, although he could hear the pitch in his voice go up an octave.

“Rhysand?”

“The one and only.”

She seemed to realise then, how close they were standing to each other, how she gripped onto him, how his hand rested on her waist. He heard her take a sharp breath in, before she stepped back out of his hold. A gentle blush spread across her face.

“I wouldn’t have expected to see you in a place like this,” he said, brushing off the rejection he felt as she moved away from him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She asked, her brow furrowing in the most adorable way.

“Well, just this is not the kind of place I would have thought someone who bagged pastries for a living could afford to eat,” he said with a smirk.

They were words he instantly regretted as she drew back even further. Shit. He’d hit a nerve. He’d just been fishing for information about her. Smooth Rhys, he scolded himself.

“Excuse me?” She asked, but before he could think of something to say that would save the situation she had stormed passed him heading for the bathroom.

“Wait, no Feyre, come back! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean how that sounded.”

She paused in the doorway, turning to look back at him, her expression pissed. “For someone so handsome, you are so rude.”

Rhys froze, his heart accelerated.

Had he heard right?

He schooled his face into a self satisfied smile so as not to betray his thoughts. “You think I’m handsome?” He asked.

“Handsome? Yes. Unbelievably cocky? Also yes!”

He quirked his eyebrow at her choice of words.

“Oh grow up,” she scowled before closing the bathroom door in his face.

Rhys couldn’t help but grin.

For the rest of his date with Amarantha he felt like he was on cloud nine. He didn’t even mind when she “accidentally” dropped ice cream on his trousers, with a promise to lick it up later.

#acotar fanfiction #The right swipe

60 notes · View notes

expectingtofly · 4 years

Text

SPN Stay At Home Challenge

Week 9: Undercover

After mysteriously returning from Purgatory, Castiel decides to take a break from being an angel and become a hunter. Dean is less excited about the idea, especially since he doesn't quite know where he and Castiel stand in their relationship. But he and Castiel take a case and shenanigans ensue, including, but not limited to...vampires, snakes, dramatic widows, and Castiel wearing Dean's clothes.

(taking place sometime around 8x7/8x8 if Castiel had tried out the hunter thing for longer)

Words: ~5k

also posted on ao3

When Angels Wear Flannel

“I can’t believe you fell into that gross swamp,” Dean said, opening the door to their motel room. “Way to go, making us look professional.”

“It was a river and it was slippery,” Castiel said, walking inside in squeaking shoes. His clothes were drenched in mud, leaves, and maybe even blood.

Dean took a step back to avoid getting any of the crap on himself. “You almost fell on the body.”

“I was trying to see the bite marks on his arm!” Castiel peeled off his trench coat and brown water dripped onto the floor.

Dean grimaced. “First step to being a hunter, don’t mess up the crime scene. And take that off in the bathroom, you’re getting gross river water everywhere.” Castiel held his trench coat to his chest to stop it from dripping and went inside the bathroom. “Hurry up because we need to go talk to the wife of that dead river guy.”

“I don’t have any clean clothes,” Castiel’s voice came from the bathroom.

Dean looked through the police report he had gotten from one of the officers at the river. “Do your angel power clothes cleaning thing.”

He could almost hear Castiel’s eye roll. “I told you, Dean, I’m trying to not use my powers. I’m a hunter now.”

Dean rolled his own eyes. “You should’ve thought of that before you fell in the river.” He heard Castiel huff. Dean had gone along with Castiel’s plan to become a hunter because he thought it wouldn’t last a day. It’d been a week now and Castiel was still asking to come on cases. Dean had to admit, though, he didn’t mind too much. Sure, Castiel wasn’t much help, but Dean just liked having him close. After Purgatory, he was scared to ever let Castiel out of his sight again.

“Fine,” Dean said. “Just borrow my clothes. I didn’t bring an extra suit, though, so we’re going to have to go casual.” He rummaged through his duffel bag and pulled out an extra pair of jeans. His fingers hovered over his shirts and he settled on a milky blue flannel, pretending it was the first one he saw, not the one that best matched Castiel’s eyes. Going to the bathroom, he found Castiel washing dirt off his arms in the sink.

“Vampire, right?” Castiel asked. “Because of the blood loss?”

“Right.” He handed Castiel his clothes and Castiel wrinkled his nose. “What’s that face for? These are fine.”

“It’s just…” Castiel held up the flannel shirt.

“You’ll look like a lumberjack, I know. Get dressed.”

***

They drove to the neighborhood of the wife whose husband had been found in a river this morning, half-submerged in mud. He’d been declared missing a week ago and had only been found now, nearly drained of blood with two small puncture marks on his wrist. The police didn’t know what to think, which usually meant a supernatural-related death, so Dean and Castiel had taken the case.

“Alright, we’re reporters, writing a story about the death of this woman’s husband.” Dean parked in front of the widow’s house—or better, mansion. He looked up at the large, three story pristine white house and its wrap-around porch and manicured lawns.

Castiel held open the police report on his lap and fiddled with the sleeve of his—Dean’s—shirt. “Helen Roylott. 42 years old. Herpetologist.”

“She studies herpes?”

“Reptiles.” Castiel buttoned and unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve.

“Roll the sleeves up.” Castiel started to and Dean leaned over. “Like this.” He took Castiel’s arm and rolled up the sleeves for him.

“This is a very comfortable shirt,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfy. I’m going to need it back.”

Castiel looked at himself in the rearview mirror and smiled. “Maybe I should wear clothes like this more often.”

“Uh, no. We’re not going to wear matching clothes.”

“But it makes me look more like a hunter. I could pass as a Winchester now.”

“You’re forgetting that you still look dorky.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and Dean finished rolling up his sleeves. He sat back. “Okay, be polite, act sad, try not to trip over your own two feet.”

He didn’t bother looking at Castiel, knowing the bitch-face he’d see. He got out of the car and started towards the house, checking to make sure the business card he’d grabbed was the correct one. Castiel did look strange wearing Dean’s objectively normal clothes, though in an adorable sort of way, Dean had to admit. Adorable? Gross, Dean thought, shaking his head.

He rang the doorbell and in a few seconds a woman in a long, silky black robe opened the door. She looked at them over a lacy black handkerchief which she held to her teary eyes. “I suppose you’ve heard the news,” she said without introduction. She leaned on the doorframe and slumped her shoulders. “It’s simply tragic.”

“Umm, yes,” Dean started. The woman, who he was assuming was Helen, dabbed an eye and looked over Dean’s shoulder at Castiel. “We’re from the Gazette,” Dean said. “We wanted to ask a few questions about your husband’s death.”

“Ah, the greedy press,” Helen said with a sigh. “Oh well, you must do your job.” She stepped back, motioning for them to come in.

“Nice bathrobe,” Dean commented as he walked past her.

She brightened. “Oh thank you. It’s real mink fur.” Dean tried to keep the smile on his face.

They stood in a wide foyer with a curved, marble staircase. Helen shut the door behind Castiel and touched his arm. “And what’s your name, darling?” she asked, her voice echoing in the wide space.

“Um,” Castiel looked at Dean for help. “I’m Arthur, this is Conan.” Dean sighed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Helen pointed to a room off the foyer. “You two have a seat in here. I’ll tell my maid to bring some tea.”

Dean and Castiel obediently went into the sitting room off the foyer. A purple sofa lined one wall and faced two matching purple armchairs. Hearing Helen’s footsteps fade, Dean turned on Castiel. “Arthur? Conan? What the hell?”

Castiel sat on the sofa. “I was improvising. I think I did quite well.”

Dean shook his head. “We need to work on your aliases.” Walking up to the fireplace, he looked at a large painting hanging over the mantle. It was a portrait of, he assumed, a younger Helen. She wore a looping ring on her finger which, he realized as he peered closer, was a silver snake. “Creepy,” he muttered.

He heard Helen tapping back—she must be wearing high heels under her robe, he realized—and sat next to Castiel.

Helen came into the room still dabbing her eyes. She settled herself onto one of the armchairs and sighed. “I’m so sorry you never met my late husband George. He was such a kind soul.” She gestured to her portrait over the fireplace. “He commissioned this for me, such a dear.”

“Yes, very nice,” Dean said. “So, Mrs. Roylott—”

“Call me Widow Roylott,” she said. “I’m afraid that’s what I am now.”

“Alright,” Dean said, shooting Castiel a you-see-this-crazy-bullshit-too-right? look. “Your husband went missing May 12th, correct?”

“Oh, let me see. Yes, it was the night of May 12th. We retired to bed and when I woke up that morning, he was gone. I assumed he was at work. It was only that night when he did not return that I began to panic.”

“Is there anywhere he might have gone after work?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he went to the golf club with his friends, though no one ever mentioned anything to me. Thank you dear.” A maid had walked into the room and set a tray with tea cups and small pastries onto the table in between the seating.

Widow Roylott took the tea cup the maid poured for her. “You two are the first reporters to show up here,” she said. “I was expecting more pesky intrusions, though, I must say, I wouldn’t mind if all reporters were so handsome.” She peered over her tea cup at Castiel and winked.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. He glanced at Dean. “I wouldn’t mind my job so much if all the widows were so beautiful.”

What the fuck? Dean mouthed at him and Castiel frowned. Flirting? Dean thought. The Cas he knew would’ve frozen up at a compliment, or taken it too literally and made everything even more awkward.

“Oh, you’re too sweet.” Widow Roylott leaned forward and touched Castiel’s arm. Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the small cookies on the tray. “Such a nice jacket,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

Having had enough of this bullshit, Dean spoke up, “He’s taken.” It wasn’t true, but hopefully it would shut this absurd widow up. Then again, maybe he was the absurd one for getting jealous.

Castiel looked confused. “Um, right,” he said. “I have a boyfriend. His name is Dean.” Dean nearly choked on the cookie he was eating.

“Oh, the good ones are always taken,” Widow Roylott sighed. “Well, give me a call if Dean ever dies of mysterious circumstances.” She leaned forward to grab a cookie off the tray and glanced up at them. “I’m only joking!” She laughed.

Dean cleared his throat and stood, “Can I use your restroom?” He’d be damned before he drank out of a teacup and this conversation made death by vampire look merciful.

Widow Roylott waved her hand. “Yes, Charlotte, please show him the way.” Dean followed the maid, Charlotte, and looked back at Castiel. Ask questions, he mouthed.

As he left the room, he heard Castiel ask Widow Roylott, “So you study reptiles?” Dean rolled his eyes. About the case, idiot.

“Second door on the left,” Charlotte said, pointing down a long hallway.

“Thanks.” He headed in that direction and waited until Charlotte had disappeared around the corner, then backtracked and went up to the second floor where he started trying different doors, trying to find the master bedroom,

He wasn’t going to lie, hearing Castiel say he had a boyfriend named Dean gave him a small satisfaction. Only problem: he and Castiel weren’t dating. Yes, Castiel was back from Purgatory, yes, they were on a case together, and, yes, Dean was damn glad to have him back, but, at the same time, he and Castiel were most definitely not together. Did Castiel think they were? He sure didn’t act like it. This was the first time since Purgatory that he and Dean were together alone for an extended period of time, and they’d fallen right back into the easy, teasing, ignore-any-feelings relationship they’d had before.

And, yes, Dean supposed he hadn’t done much to change that, but Castiel was...different. Everything was different now and he didn’t know where they stood. Not to mention, he was still trying to wrap his mind around Purgatory, where Dean had actually thought that, for once, he and Castiel were on the same page about their feelings for each other. But then Castiel had chosen literal monster hell over returning with Dean—and if that didn’t say something about Castiel’s feelings, what did?

Dean shook his head and tried two tall french doors. They opened to reveal a large room with a wide poster bed. The closets and dresser drawers were open, revealing their contents. It seemed Widow Roylott was in the middle of packing. But what was strangest of all was a large, empty glass tank in the corner of the room. Dean walked up to it and peered inside. It smelled like disinfecting solution.

He poked around in some of the drawers. All women’s clothes. Then he noticed several cardboard boxes stacked in one of the closets—there were three closets in total. He opened a box and found men’s clothing. So Widow Roylott moved on quickly.

As he crouched down to look in another box, something under the bed caught his eye. Reaching under the bed, his fingers touched something dry which nearly crumbled at his touch. Delicately, he pulled it out, then yanked his hand away and stared down at what he’d found. A long snake skin.

“Well, look at the time,” Dean said, walking into the sitting room. “Looks like we better get going, right Cas—Arthur?”

Castiel and Widow Roylott looked up at him. He was momentarily surprised to see Castiel in his own clothes, forgetting for a moment that Castiel wouldn’t be wearing his trench coat. He and Widow Roylott were bent over a box of what, Dean couldn’t tell, resting on the glass table between them.

“Oh, umm, yes.” Castiel stood. “Nice to meet you, Helen.”

So they’re on first name basis now, Dean thought. He put his hand on Castiel’s back and half-pushed him out of the room. “We can come back another time to complete our interview,” Dean said to Widow Roylott. “Or maybe just send an email, talk on the phone.”

“An email will have to do,” she said as she followed them into the foyer. “I’m moving this weekend. I’m afraid this house holds too many memories.” She produced her handkerchief to again dab at her eyes.

“Are you bringing any snakes with you?” Dean asked. “I’m assuming you have some, being a…” he forgot the word and improvised, “Reptilian.”

“Herpetologist,’” Castiel said quickly.

Widow Roylott’s eye twitched. “Oh, no, I don’t keep snakes here. I like to keep my work and home life separate.” She opened the door and put on what seemed to be a forced smile. “Well, adieu, my darlings. And thank you for your visit and sympathies.” She patted Castiel on the shoulder and shut the door behind them.

“Creepy, creepy, creepy,” Dean said, shuddering as they walked down the pathway back to the Impala.

“She had an impressive collection of rattlesnake rattlers,” Castiel said.

“That’s what you were looking at? Gross. Ew.” Dean pulled out his keys and unlocked the car. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to mention it, but he couldn’t help say, “Looks like you two got along well together.”

Castiel frowned. “I was only trying to work the case. Isn’t that what you do? Flirt with the women to earn their trust?”

“What? No! It sounds so creepy when you say it like that.”

Castiel shrugged. “Did you find anything in her house?”

“Yeah, a snake skin.” Dean got in the car. “Under her bed. It was massive. And a big tank. I don’t care what she says, she’s keeping a snake there. Or multiple.” He shuddered again.

“Why would she lie about that?” Castiel asked, shutting his door.

“Because having a big snake tank in your bedroom is freaking weird. Did you learn anything from her?”

“I learned the latin names for different kinds of rattlesnakes.”

“Very helpful,” Dean muttered. He glanced at Castiel, wondering what the whole “boyfriend named Dean thing” was about. He cleared his throat. “You know, Cas, that we’re not dating, right?” Castiel looked at him and Dean hastened to say, “I mean, I know you’re back now and we’re going on cases together, but—”

“I know, Dean. I was only lying when I said I had a boyfriend.”

“Named Dean.”

“It was the first name that came to my head.” He looked at Dean. “That is the number one skill of being a hunter, right? Lying? I think I’m becoming a very good hunter.”

Dean shook his head and turned the key in the ignition. Not the answer he was expecting, though a much easier one to deal with. “Alright, to that golf club Helen mentioned, I guess. Maybe our vampire is a golfer. Long as he doesn’t collect snakes.”

***

“Well that was a bust.” Dean took a drink from his beer. No one at the golf club had seen Mr. Roylott on May 12th or since. Dean had even asked the owner of the bar in which he and Castiel now sat, but he had never seen Mr. Roylott, which wasn’t a surprise. Dean couldn’t see mink bathrobe Helen coming to a dive bar.

“Maybe the vampire was only passing through when he killed Mr. Roylott,” Castiel suggested.

“Sam did say there haven’t been any signs of a vamp nest around here.” Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, man, I don’t know where to go next from here.”

Castiel ran his finger down the condensation on the neck of his beer bottle. “Does this happen often? That you and Sam can’t solve cases?”

“Not often. But, yeah, sure. Sometimes you just have to call it quits.”

Castiel wiped his hands on his—Dean’s—jeans. “Why did you buy these clothes?” The way he changed subjects so quickly gave Dean whiplash. It was like his mind ran a million miles an hour and Dean had to run to keep up.

“I don’t know. I liked the color of the shirt, I guess. Jeans were on sale.”

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “I wear the trench coat and suit because they were the last thing Jimmy Novak ever put on.”

“We can go shopping for clothes for you, if you want,” Dean said.

“I don’t know.” Castiel looked down at Dean’s shirt. “Maybe I should get new clothes.”

“I like the trench coat.” Castiel looked up at him and Dean tried to amend, “I mean, it’s kinda your look, right?”

“I think I need to try something different.” Castiel stared at his still full beer bottle.

“Alright, what’s with this whole hunter thing?” Dean asked.

“Being an angel...” Castiel seemed to search for words. “It’s overrated. Besides, I’ve been an angel for millenia. I want to try something new.”

“Hmm.” Guess he had a point. Finishing his own beer, Dean grabbed Castiel’s and Castiel stood up from his chair.

“Teach me how to play darts. That is something hunters do, right?”

“Well, this one does, at least.” Dean stood and grabbed the darts from the dartboard on the wall. He handed them to Castiel. “You go first. You get three tries at a time. Try to hit a section with the highest number, or the bullseye for the most points.”

Castiel squinted at the board, and Dean thought that if he scanned the room quickly, he might not even recognize Castiel in this outfit. He didn’t understand why Castiel felt the need to change his identity. Did this have something to do with him? Was this the angel equivalent of getting a new haircut after a breakup?

Castiel threw the dart at the board and it landed in the bullseye. “This isn’t very fun,” Castiel remarked.

“You’re too good at it,” Dean said. “Try not using your angel voodoo.”

“I wasn’t! I can't help it."

It wasn’t so much the clothes that was bothering Dean about Castiel. It was that Dean had felt the closest he’d ever felt to Castiel in Purgatory. Now he didn’t know what was going on between them. The frustration of not knowing who Castiel was or what he wanted was only exacerbated when Castiel wasn’t even dressing like himself and was trying to act like someone new.

Castiel threw another dart and it landed right next to his first. “Son of a bitch!”

Dean had been in the process of grabbing his beer bottle; at Castiel's exclamation, he nearly dropped it, splashing beer onto his hand, and swore. Castiel turned to look at him, smiling.

“What the fuck was that?” Dean asked.

Castiel tried to look innocent. “What?”

“You don’t say that, I say that. Pick your own catchphrase.”

“Fine.” Castiel turned back to the dartboard. Dean shook his head. He needed his angel back, now.

***

“Sam said he’ll be here tomorrow,” Dean said, looking down at his phone as he sat down on the motel bed. “Maybe he’ll be able to help with this case.”

“Okay.” Castiel sat down at a small table in the corner of the room.

Dean set his phone down and ran a hand over his face. “Well, I’m going to sleep.” Castiel nodded. “You gonna sit there all night?”

Castiel shrugged. Dean pulled back the covers on the bed and lay down. He started to turn off the light, then glanced at Castiel. The angel was staring down at his hands, or maybe at Dean’s clothes which he was still wearing. “You can lie down here, if you want,” Dean said. Castiel looked up at him. “It’s got to be more comfortable than that chair.”

Castiel studied him, then nodded and came over. Dean slid over and Castiel untied his—Dean’s—boots and set them down on the ground. He laid down under the covers, still in Dean’s jacket and clothes.

Dean turned off the light and they lay there in the dark. It was more comforting lying next to Castiel than Dean wanted to admit. In Purgatory they’d slept close for safety—so they said, though he and Castiel might have abused the excuse. Benny mercifully turned a blind eye to the fact that Dean and Castiel were practically sleeping in each others’ arms.

He could feel his own jacket against his arm and Castiel shifted, pressing his arm closer against Dean’s. Dean took it back; lying here next to Castiel wasn’t so much a comfort as it was torture. He’d been itching for a chance to take Castiel into his arms ever since Castiel returned. But he hadn’t when Castiel first appeared—bloody, dirty, tired, but alive —and he worried he’d lost his chance. Maybe Castiel had taken his stunned, stilted response as proof that whatever they’d had in Purgatory was over.

Because they had had something. Dean might have put on a brave face in Purgatory, might have continually promised Benny and Castiel that they would get out, that they would live, but deep down he’d been the most terrified he’d ever been. So terrified, he said things he’d never said before to Castiel because he feared, more than dying itself, dying without ever saying them.

“Listen, Cas,” Dean said, staring up at the ceiling. His words were loud in the stillness of the room. “I said some things in Purgatory.”

“You want to take them back.”

It hurt to know that’s what Castiel immediately assumed. Dean remembered a moment in Purgatory when several Leviathan attacked, nearly overpowering him, Castiel, and Benny. He remembered how Castiel grabbed his hand to pull him to his feet after they’d killed the last Leviathan. How, still shaking from their near deaths, Dean clutched Castiel’s hand, said, “I don’t want to ever lose you, I love you.” How he pulled Castiel into an embrace and felt a rush of relief as Castiel wrapped his arms around him, held him close.

“No,” Dean said.

A click, then the hum of the air conditioning. Dean turned his head to look at Castiel. Castiel didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I don’t think it’s wise. Us, together. Right now. Not with everything I’ve done.”

“Cas, I don’t care about that shit. Yeah, you messed up, but so have I, a thousand times. If anyone should be using that excuse, it should be me.”

Castiel shook his head. He started to speak, and then he was gone.

Damn angel, Dean thought. Castiel had said he wasn’t going to use his wings.

Rolling over, he stared at the neon red numbers on the alarm clock until they wavered in his vision when he looked elsewhere. So everything they’d gone through in Purgatory meant absolutely nothing. But he knew that already, didn’t he? Castiel had stayed behind. Castiel wasn’t fueled by the same consuming need to be together, always, which had urged Dean through Purgatory, had kept him searching, praying, hoping.

A memory rose. Stopping for the night in their search for the portal and sitting next to Castiel, exhausted. Leaning against Castiel’s shoulder and shutting his eyes for a moment, too afraid to put down his guard for any longer.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” Castiel had said quietly, and Dean had thought he known what he meant.

***

Dean woke to his phone ringing. Half-sitting up, he groped for his phone on the nightstand, found it, and answered it. “Hello?”

“Agent Russell?” the voice said. “Police commissioner Anderson here. You should come down to Mrs. Roylott’s house. You’re going to want to see this.”

As if this case couldn’t get any weirder. Dean hung up and looked around the room. Castiel was still gone. Worried, he checked his phone to see if Castiel had texted him, but of course he hadn’t.

Dean thought briefly of praying to him, telling him to come back, but decided against it. Praying to Castiel had become a habit in Purgatory, one he wasn’t eager to pick back up again. Those prayers had been fueled by desperation, were probably what Castiel was referring to when he gave Dean a chance to take his words back. I love you, I need you, I can’t go on, come back, please.

Dean swung his legs off the bed and heard the motel room door open. He looked over his shoulder to see Castiel walk inside and turned away before the relief he felt showed on his face.

“Good morning,” Castiel said, shutting the door. He held up a brown bag. “I brought you breakfast.” He was still wearing Dean’s clothes, albeit without the boots. He seemed oblivious to that fact, as well as unconcerned that he had disappeared last night without warning.

Dean stood. “We need to go. Something happened at that widow’s house.”

“Oh.” Castiel set the paper bag on the table. Dean opened his duffle bag and pulled out something to wear. “My clothes are still dirty.”

“Then keep wearing mine.”

Castiel came over and grabbed one of Dean’s shirts out of his bag, a dark green flannel. “Can I wear this one?”

“What’s wrong with the one you have on?”

“I like this color more.”

I’ve created a monster, Dean thought. He’d be lucky if Castiel didn’t steal every piece of clothing he owned.

He headed to the bathroom to change and thought of asking where Castiel had been all night. Instead, he said, “I want that shirt back.” What he really meant, he supposed, was I want the old Cas back. The one who’d held him in Purgatory, the one who always came when he called. The one who—Dean knew—despite the fights and betrayals, despite never saying the words aloud, loved him too.

***

Police cars and an ambulance crowded the street outside of Mrs. Roylott’s house. Dean and Castiel got out of the Impala and flashed their badges at the police officers trying to keep curious bystanders at bay.

The police commissioner turned to look at them as they walked over. “Well, agents,” she said, “looks like your work here is done.”

“Why? What happened?” Dean noticed the large tank he’d seen in Mrs. Roylott’s bedroom now standing on the lawn.

“Mrs. Roylott is dead. Snake bite. Same thing that killed her husband.”

“Snake?” Dean asked.

“Last night, the coroner found traces of venom in Mr. Roylott’s body. We’ve arrested the maid for being an accomplice in the murder. Says Mrs. Roylott released the snake while Mr. Roylott was sleeping, then drained his body to get rid of the venom. The maid dumped his body in the river.”

Dean blinked. “Wow.”

“If the snake hadn’t gotten loose from the basement last night and killed Mrs. Roylott, she’d be halfway to Costa Rica right now banking on a life insurance check. Excuse me, will you?” The police commissioner turned to talk to another police officer and Dean looked at Castiel.

“Guess we should’ve seen that coming.”

“No vampires?” Castiel asked.

“Nope. Just a deranged lady.” He spotted people coming out the house transporting a large snake. Its tongue flicked the air and Dean shuddered. Everything about this case was wrong. Castiel was trying to act like a hunter in Dean’s clothes, the monster of the week turned out to be a creepy snake lady, and Dean, for once, wanted to be with Castiel, had even said as much, but Castiel had said no.

Dean turned from looking at the snake. “Alright, time to go.”

As they walked back to the Impala, Castiel complained, “When am I going to get to solve a case?”

“That’s your takeaway from this?” Dean asked. “That lady sicced her pet snake on her husband.”

“I should’ve been able to tell there was something off with her. I’m an angel, Dean. I should be good at hunting.” He opened the door to the passenger side of the Impala and sat inside.

Dean got in the Impala and pulled his door shut. “Give it a few years, you’ll learn.”

Castiel sighed. “Maybe I am a better angel than hunter.”

Dean didn’t respond to what seemed an obvious fact and Castiel huffed. He pulled off Dean’s jacket and threw it onto the back seat.

“You don’t want to be a hunter anyway,” Dean said. “It’s a shitty life.” He started the Impala and glanced at Castiel staring moodily out the windshield. “So...you gonna quit, go back to Heaven?” Castiel shrugged. “Sam and I don’t mind having you around.” Please don’t leave.

“I’m sure the angels don’t want me,” Castiel said. “So I suppose I’ll stay with you and Sam.”

Good to know; Dean was Castiel’s last choice. Relieved all the same, he smiled at Castiel. “We like angel you just fine anyway,” he said.

Back in their room, Dean packed up their things as Castiel threw his dirty clothes in the wash. Dean met him in the motel’s laundry room and found Castiel pulling his trench coat out of the dryer. He shook his head as Castiel pulled it to his face, smiling.

“Ah, nice and warm,” Castiel said. He pulled his trench coat on over Dean’s clothes, which created an odd-mismatched look. Still, it was better than nothing; Castiel looked marginally more like himself. Dean found himself hoping that he and Castiel could start over. Forget all the years of tiptoeing around their desire for each other, forget the tortured, confessional year in Purgatory. Maybe Castiel would come around. Dean had, hadn’t he?

“You are planning on returning my clothes, right?” Dean asked.

“Mmhmm,” Castiel agreed noncommittally, smoothing his sleeves. “Maybe instead of coming on cases, I can man the phones for you and Sam.”

“Right, you can be our secretary,” Dean said and Castiel nodded eagerly, not catching the sarcasm.

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved the rest of Castiel’s clean clothes into his duffel bag. “Come on, let’s get going.” As Castiel walked past him, he had the urge to pull Castiel close and feel the familiar texture of the trench coat, the warmth of Castiel’s body against his. He settled for putting his hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Can I drive?” Castiel asked, looking up at him.

“Not a chance.” Maybe he hadn’t ever said enough, even in Purgatory. He knew there was plenty he wanted to say now, wanted to do, wanted to prove. “But if you really like the shirt, you can keep it.” It still wasn’t enough, but he’d find a way. He wasn’t going to lose Castiel again.

Thanks to @helianthus21 @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen for this challenge!! These have been such good prompts and I’m writing more than I have in ages so thanks for the inspo :)

Tagging: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my destiel fics!

#spnstayathome #destiel fic #hunter castiel #castiel wears dean's clothes #spn fic #expectingtofly writes #this started out as just a silly fic #and then it became angsty #whoops #inspired by the adventure of the speckled band by sir arthur conan doyle #touch starved dean #purgaytory #idk why the widow is so extra #she just is #expectingtoflywrites

71 notes · View notes

upthenorthmountain · 4 years

Text

Heartwood - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

I need to make a fic page, will try and do that today, but do I want to draw a picture? Hmm

Anyway here’s chapter two!

Chapter 2

No one noticed when Anna got home, and no one noticed that she didn’t eat any dinner. She went up to her bare, sterile room and she lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling. If anyone came in they would only see my head and my hair, she thought, all in white as I am, on these white sheets. She looked down at herself and pulled her hands up into her sleeves. If I were to die right now then they would just have to carry me out, straighten the counterpane, and everything in the world would keep going the same as it always has. They’d have to tell Elsa, of course, otherwise she might not realise I wasn’t here any more.

A year. One more summer, one more autumn, one more winter, then maybe a slice of spring. And that was all.

She wondered what would happen when she told Elsa.

She’d drag her back to the doctor, that’s what would happen. She’d ask a thousand questions, and she’d insist on that referral, and they’d go to the city; and there would be so many doctors, and so many more white rooms like this one. Anna would be poked and prodded and half her blood would be run through machines; and they’d cut her open and poke around in there as well, and post her into MRI machines and goodness knew what. A year to live, and that’s how she’d spend it.

Maybe...maybe she didn’t have to tell Elsa straight away.

Maybe she didn’t have to tell her at all.

Anna slept very little that night. By the time the sun finally rose, the sunrise filling the white room with some colour for once, she’d made up her mind. On the stroke of 9am, she rang the doctor’s office, and said she’d like to cancel her appointment for next week, please. No, she didn’t want to reschedule. Yes, she’d call back if she changed her mind. Thank you.

And then she went out. It seemed like a good day to buy a red dress.

-----

The dress was perfect. It was a rich, deep, cranberry red; it was fitted at the top with a skirt that swirled beautifully; it showed a little more cleavage than Anna was used to, but still fairly respectable - other people she knew showed a lot more, certainly. None of her shoes went with it, of course. It needed sparkly shoes. Fortunately, the shop sold those too, and a matching necklace.

Anna’s daring didn’t quite extend to wearing the dress at home. She quailed a little at Elsa seeing it, and wasn’t sure she wouldn’t end up changing, and then when she got home the dress - and shoes, and necklace - would have disappeared. But she had a charity tea this afternoon, and her outfit was perfectly appropriate. Elsa wouldn’t be there, and no one else would think anything of it.

She changed quickly in the Ladies in the reception of the hotel, and on a whim, brushed her hair down too. Her hair waved naturally, and usually had to be pulled back to keep it neat - but today she didn’t feel like looking neat. She pinned a little of it back from her face and peered at herself in the mirror. She hadn’t brought any make-up, and her freckles were showing something awful - but nothing she could do about it now.

The tea was taking place in the main ballroom. Anna gave her ticket to the staff member at the door, took a deep breath, and went in.

-----

She did get a few odd glances. She suspected a few acquaintances didn’t recognise her immediately. Anna took a drink and said a few hellos, then she stood to one side and looked around.

It suddenly struck her how pointless this all was. No one wants to be here, she thought. They’d all rather be at home or on the golf course or conducting their tedious extra-marital affairs, but it’s for charity so here they are. Imagine how much better the charity would do if they all just donated the same amount but no one had to book the room or buy the drink or arrange for the tiny food. Anna snagged what she suspected was some kind of deconstructed cucumber sandwich from a tray. It was actually quite good. If this is an afternoon tea, though, surely there should be cake?

She took another miniscule sandwich and wandered over to the staff member who seemed to be overseeing the waiting staff. “Excuse me,” she asked him, “Is there any cake?”

“Cake?”

“Mm. It’s not a criticism, I was just wondering. These are very good, by the way.”

“Thank you. There will be a selection of fancy cakes and meringues served after the speech from the charity representative.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” Anna paused. Did she want to listen to a speech? Was that really how she wanted to spend her hours on Earth, that were apparently very precious?

“D’you think I could get a cake to go?” she said. “I have to leave now. Medical reasons.”

The man hesitated, then he shrugged and disappeared towards the kitchen. Anna surveyed the room again - there was no one here she actually, actively wanted to talk to - and thought about what she could do instead. She could go anywhere. The thought was thrilling but also a little terrifying.

She remembered meeting Mrs Davies yesterday. Mrs Davies - Lillian - had been her Science teacher, back when she had gone to the local secondary school (her father hadn’t really approved of private education, he thought it gave the wrong mindset. Her sister did approve of it, or maybe she just approved of paying money to make Anna someone else’s problem, so she’d done her A-levels at a boarding school where she’d known no one and no one wanted to be friends with the girl who cried all the time). Mrs Davies - Lillian - had been an excellent teacher, friendly and enthusiastic and full of a passion for Science and nature. Anna was not at all surprised to find her spending her retirement engaging in a little light environmental protest. She’d also been Anna’s Girl Guide leader, and taken her camping a couple of times when she was twelve or thirteen. Oh, she’d love to see her again, and have a proper chat.

She knew exactly where Bennett’s Field was. She remembered, when she was a little girl, walking down there with her father. The footpath ran down the side of the field, and then skirted the edge of the woods. You had to stay on the footpath as far as the old oak tree, because the land on either side belonged to someone else, but the corner of the field and a small patch of the woods belonged to her father.

The memory stopped her short. Yes. It belonged to him. At some point when the farmland had been chopped up and parts of it sold, a small amount of the field and a corner of the woods had been bundled in with some other land her father had bought to develop. She thought so, anyway. She couldn’t see how it would have been sold, unless the developers of the field had bought it - there was no reason anyone would have told Anna about that.

She ducked out of the room and leant against the corridor wall. Imagine if it was still theirs - she would gladly, happily let the protestors stay on their corner of the field, make whatever observations they needed to in their corner of the woods. How did she find out?

Anna knew where her lawyer’s office was. She’d heard her parents’ wills being read there, and she’d been there on a handful of other occasions since she came of age, to sign odd documents and make her own will at Elsa’s insistence. It was only four’o’clock. She ran down outside and found a taxi.

-----

Mr Owens was very obliging, and agreed to see her, despite the short notice. Anna suspected he might have some sympathies with the bats; very soon the pair of them were looking at the map, and Anna was thrilled to see that she was correct.

“I think someone used to live there, many years ago,” Mr Owens said. “Although there’s no building there now, and you’d never get planning permission - the only access is along the public footpath, no utilities. So it’s not worth anything.”

“I don’t want to live there,” Anna said, though she did, a little. “But I could camp there if I wanted, couldn’t I?”

“Yes, of course.”

“With some friends, maybe.”

“If you liked. Of course, if the wood does become a Site of Special Scientific Interest, that would affect you, too.”

“That would be alright.” Anna traced the outline of the little patch of land on the map. “And if they build on the rest of the field?”

“Then they might give you access, but maybe not. They tried to buy this land, as you know,” he said.

“I didn’t, no.”

“Your sister didn’t tell you? They weren’t willing to pay what she was asking. To be quite honest, I advised her to take whatever she could get, they were the only people who might have given you anything for it. Like I said, it’s worthless.”

“Unless you’re a bat,” Anna said absently. Had Elsa been being greedy, or had she just not wanted to sell?

“Well, I suppose that’s true.”

“Can I have a copy of this map, please?”

“You can take that one, if you like. Was there anything else?”

“No, that was all. Thank you so much for seeing me.”

“No problem at all, Miss Rendell. I’m glad I could help.”

-----

“I might go away for a few days,” Anna announced over breakfast the next morning.

Elsa looked up from her paper. “Really?” she said.

“Mmhm.”

“To where? With whom?”

“Um, you know I used to be in Guides? My old Guide leader invited me to go camping with her and some friends.” Anna buttered her toast without looking up. “I’ll have to get some camping things but there’s that shop on the retail park, isn’t there? I’ll run over there this morning.”

“Camping?” Elsa looked horrified. “Why would you want to do that?”

Anna shrugged. “Felt like it. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Elsa pulled a face. “I don’t think you’ll enjoy that at all, Anna. Camping! In a tent?”

“If I remember right, that’s how it goes.” Anna looked up. “If I don’t like it, I’ll come back. It’s not far.”

“How long for?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have my phone.”

“And where will you charge it?”

“I’ll get a solar charger.”

“And where exactly are you going?”

“Um. Bennett’s Field.”

Elsa dropped her paper. “Not that - Anna! You know they’re squatting illegally. That’s not camping, it’s a protest. What will you do if the police get involved?”

“Mm. But, if they moved over a bit to the north - and I was there - it wouldn’t be illegal, as such, would it.”

Elsa was quiet for a while, watching her sister’s face. Then she said, “I didn’t know you knew about that land.”

“Dad told me. A long time ago.”

“You don’t have to actually stay with them. You could just give them permission, if that’s what you want. And stay here.”

“I think I’d like to go, thanks.”

Elsa looked at her again, for a long moment, then she picked up her newspaper. “As you wish.”

Anna took a big bite of her toast. That had been easier than she expected.

#fanfic #fanfiction #heartwood #kristanna #modern au

54 notes · View notes

purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1221

Are you mad at your best friend right now? I have absolutely no reason to be angry with Angela now and certainly not since our last petty childhood fight in like, 2009.

Do you know anybody with a pet snake? I used to know somebody, but she’s since gone off the radar and idek if her pet snake would still be alive at this point.

Do you buy your underwear in a pack or seperately? I can go either way.

Have you ever made fun of anybody and later became their friend? OMG yesss this was the entire background of my friendship with Sofie. Though I wouldn’t say I made fun of her...I just found her really annoying at first, and quite ditzy, too. Then something just clicked and worked out along the way and we ended up being best friends for quite some time until we went our separate ways shortly after college life started.

Is the lamp on in the room you're in? Yes; it’s one of my favorite pieces in my room.

Do you have a pair of shoes that you can only wear with one or two outfits? Nah, not really. I mostly own sneakers, which can go with most things casual.

Is there any drink that you absolutely MUST drink cold? Most drinks, honestly; but mainly, I like my coffee and water cold.

Did you sleep in past noon today? I don’t think I’ve ever done that. The latest I’ve woken up is probably a little over 10.

Did your grandma ever tell you about her love life? Neither of them have.

Have you ever painted anybody's nails aside from your own? Possibly, but I no longer recall it.

Anything exciting happening in the month of September? I don’t think so. There are couple of birthdays in the family, but we don’t have plans for those days yet.

Who is your last missed call from? Some media or blogger I ignored because I don’t take calls.

When was the last time you ate Frosted Flakes? I can’t remember...I don’t really eat cereal.

Did you ever NOT want a substitute in a certain class? Yeah, for classes I hated, like math.

Do you ever donate to the less fortunate? Not regularly. When a homeless person or street child knocks on my car while waiting in traffic I do try to give them some money and/or snack, if I have one in my bag.

Did you buy an American flag after 9/11 to put on your car/house/ whatever? I was barely conscious in 2001. I am also not American.

Do you know any songs that are older than you are? ...Many?

Are there framed pictures of you anywhere in your house? Yeah we have some framed photos going up the staircase. I also have my Prep graduation portrait up in my room.

Compared to other people of your age would you be considered 'NORMAL'? Ugh.

Honestly, do you have any Hilary Duff on your MP3 player? I don’t have an MP3 player but I don’t think I ever had Hilary Duff on any of my music players.

Who is worst in your family about calling people back? Probably Nina as she hates making calls to begin with.

Do you like peanut M&M's? Nah, I hate nuts in my chocolate.

When was the last time you had an ice cream sandwich? Safe to say well over a year ago. It’s not my snack of choice haha I never understood why I had to bite into my ice cream.

When was the last time you ate jelly beans? August 2019.

When was the last time you had hot chocolate? Around a month ago, I’d say? My mom fixes me a mug of hot choco every once in a while.

Have you ever caught a friend cheating on their bf/gf? I haven’t.

What was the last song stuck in your head? I think it had been Rain by BTS.

Do you enjoy doing math? If I know how the math works and have the formulas memorized, I can definitely find it fun. Math had actually been pretty manageable for me in school, at least right until we reached trig and calc which were just bleck.

Do you think your mom has secrets she’s never told you? Oh without a doubt. I’m 200% sure everyone in the family has secrets we never share; we’re not open with each other.

Do you own anything you don’t want your parents to know about? Yes.

Do you pose in your pictures or just smile? I will pose if I’m comfortable but most of the time I just smile.

Are there any colors you will NOT wear? I avoid orange as much as possible.

Do you use scented soap in the shower? Nah, just a normal-scented one.

Did you ever want to be a fashion designer? That was never part of my plans, no.

Who was the last person you danced with? Enjoyable? Angela and Hans. I was drunk, so yes I had fun lol.

Do you like convertibles? I don’t really care for them, or for cars in general.

Have you ever yelled at the television? So many times, usually when a favorite singer or band is performing OR when I’m watching a really intense sports game - usually basketball or wrestling.

How many songs on your MP3 player are about sex? -

Do you like water parks? I think they are nasty for the most part.

Dark or light colored jeans? Light.

Can you take apart a computer and name all the parts? Nope.

Can you take apart a car and name all the parts? Even more so no.

Would your friends describe you as nerdy? I don’t think they would.

How many different colors are you wearing right now? Five.

Have you ever purchased a lotto ticket? Nope.

Are you double-jointed anywhere? I am not.

What is the longest amount of time you've spent playing Monopoly? You know, I’ve never even understood the rules of Monopoly...I’ve never bothered to play a round of it. Board games are usually too complicated for me lol.

Have you ever witnessed a tornado first-hand? Not a tornado, no. But I’ve experienced countless hurricanes and floods.

Did you play in the sand box as a kid? It was my favorite part of the playground and I was always exclusively found in a sandbox. I liked the texture (still do) + no one was ever there, so as a shy kid it worked out perfectly for me.

How about on the monkey bars? I tried it every now and then but I wasn’t a very active kid, so my arms would feel strained fairly quickly. It was never the first thing I’d run to whenever I got to go to the playground.

Have you ever made an alarm go off? I don’t think so.

Have you ever colored your eyebrows? Nope.

Did you ever own a pop-up book? Many of them, as a kid.

Have you ever honked at a biker? Yes but only whenever they swerve a little bit and are about to hit my car.

Have you ever taken another person's prescribed medication? No?

Have you ever played golf (not miniature golf)? No, I’ve played neither version. The sport doesn’t interest me.

Do you use gel in your hair? Only for formal events where I can’t afford to show up with my hair all frizzy.

Do you own a garden gnome? We don’t.

Are any of the rooms in your house painted blue? Nope, they’re all white. My parents’ room used to be green (came with the house), but it looked gross so it didn’t take long before they hired someone to paint the walls white.

Do you kick off your shoes as soon as you walk in the door? Yes. Actually, since the start of COVID, we’ve taken to removing our shoes even before we enter. We have a mat right by the front door where we can properly take off our shoes and head inside already barefoot.

Have you ever judged a book by its cover? Sometimes, but I don’t let it linger.

What is the most effective device at the gym? I don’t go to the gym.

Can you drive a stick shift? Hahahaha no, and I’m not so sure I’m ever willing to learn.

Have you ever picked on a substitute teacher? That’s mean and no, I haven’t.

How good are you at giving directions? Terrible. As much as possible I don’t do it and just refer the person asking to my nearest friend/companion.

When was the last time you looked out the window nearest you? Just a few minutes ago, actually. I put an arm out to check if it’s chilly outside since it rained all day today.

Have you ever got dressed with the windows open? Never. I make sure to pull down my blinds every time.

Have you ever given a foot massage? No.

Do public restrooms freak you out? They don’t freak me out per se but like I rarely go into them and use them, even before Covid. The idea of sharing a toilet with strangers is super gross lol and many of them don’t even put away their trash properly.

Have you ever taken a shower outside? I may have, but nothing sticks out.

Have you ever been to a junkyard? I don’t think so.

What do you think of Brad Pitt? I don’t really have an opinion...I loved his episode on Friends, but that’s it.

Have you ever watched the History Channel willingly? Yes, a few times.

Have you ever used pennies to pay for something that cost over 50 cents? I don’t speak US currency, but yeah there’ve been around 1-2 times I had to pay for something worth P50 with just coins. It’s always been embarrassing lol so I try to avoid it and be prepared with paper bills as much as I can.

If a place makes you pay for delivery - do you still tip the driver? Yes.

Without the aid of a cell phone - do you know your parents numbers by heart? Just my mom’s. Since my dad is always in and out of the country (at least until the pandemic), I’ve never gotten to memorize his number.

Can you name 10 former presidents? Arroyo, Macapagal, Aquino, another Aquino, Estrada, Ramos, Magsaysay, Quirino, Quezon, Roxas.

But if we’re talking about US presidents...Obama, Trump, Clinton, Roosevelt, another Roosevelt I believe, Nixon, Reagan, Carter, Lincoln, Washington. I hope I got them right hahaha.

Have you ever bought a gift for a teacher? Just as a kid.

Is your bedroom carpeted? Nope.

Right now, what color is your tongue? Pink.

When was the last time you had a Tootsie Pop? Years ago. I don’t have it a lot.

If you could get the cell phone of your choice - what would it be? iPhone 12 Pro Max.

Who is your favorite super hero? I don’t have any.

How about your favorite villain? I don’t really have any, either.

Do you know anybody who works at a bank? Possibly, but I can’t place a name right now.

What do you usually order from your favorite fast food place? That would be KFC, and I usually order either their Zinger or Twister. FUCK now I want to get KFC :((

Do you hand out candy to kids on Halloween? No, because none of them ever reach this part of the village. We never have to prepare any candy lol.

What perfume/cologne do you wear the most? Heat Rush.

Can you name all 7 dwarfs? I always miss out on one or two.

Does the early bird really catch the worm? Idk what this expression is.

#survey #surveys

1 note · View note

dreamonminecraft · 4 years

Note

oh yes, tell me more about this beautiful lesbian slowburn. I’m a sucker for a good love story

Okay so to start off, My sexuality fluctuates greatly throughout this story, but as of now I identify as a Bisexual lithsexual lesbian, which means that I am attracted to lots of people but lose attraction when the feelings are reciprocated, and I'll only date girls.

The story starts off August of 2018. I was starting 6th grade (middle school) and didn't really have any friends aside from a few people that I had last talked to in 3rd grade.

It's important to know that I'm a GT kid and so I almost always have the same group of about 20 kids. This started when I changed to an all GT class for 4th grade.

While it's nice to have a comfortable learning environment, it also means that there's no escape from any drama, and you get to pick friends from the very small pool of kids that you'll spend the rest of your education with.

This is a pretty long story as well and I'm not sure I'll be able to accurately retell many of the things because dates get mixed up and stuff. Anyway, I'm gonna try my best to explain but these are really only the things from my point of view and I don't remember a lot of the things. (This is also gonna be written like a fanfic because that's all I know how to write, I apologise)

So start of sixth grade, I don't really have any friends, I'm kind of this awkward nerd, there's 2 people in my class (we switch classes like normal middle school, but I'm with the GT kids for most of the day so that's what I'll refer to them as) that I've known for years, a few I've met before, but mostly new people.

I sit by some old friends from volleyball at lunch for the first few days but begin to feel unwelcome. One day I decide to sit by these two people that I know are in GT but haven't talked to before. I don't say anything, but I sit and they don't mind.

The next day we get new seats in English. I'm behind a boy named Owen, Inara, who is one of the girls I sat with at lunch, is to my right, and in front of her is a girl named Emilyse.

Inara and I hit it off immediately.

It's kind of crazy because we're both crazy anxious introverts, but we gel nicely. I'm a boyband-obsessed 11 year old and she's a mature and mysterious 11 year old.

She's a lefty. I'm a righty. The way we've been placed makes us bump arms everytime we try to write anything.

We have every class together. Somehow, we sit next to each other in every class as well, even in the ones where we didn't pick our seating chart.

It's September. I cry over boybands. She watches curiously.

For the next couple of months we casually talk. She spends every lunch period in the library. We text occasionally.

I have another friend who takes priority. His name is Logan. We got introduced by his friend Lennox when she asked for my phone number to give to him.

Lennox and I don't talk. Logan and I text nonstop for months. We discuss possibly dating in the future. I identify as bisexual and biromantic at this point.

I've been in this position before. Having mainly guy friends growing up puts me in a lot of awkward friendship/relationship situations. They always end the same.

I have an issue with dating in middle school. You're not dating if you don't go on dates, hold hands, kiss, or cuddle. But you can feel like you are.

In December Logan starts being mean. We start a game where we step on each other's shoes at lunch or in the hallway. It's fun.

Eventually, he recruits his friends to do it to me, too. It's a joke a first, but eventually there are 10 middle school boys chasing me and trying to hurt me.

I get kicked in the hallway and fall. Someone steps on my arm and people laugh. Logan watches. I tell Inara and she steps on his shoe for me.

Logan and I stop talking. Inara and I hang out more. By early January, Inara has stopped going to the library at lunch. We hang out with Emilyse in the field instead.

I text Logan one day in mid January and ask why we fell out. He says that I told someone that I was going to punch him in the face.

The person he said I told, only talked to me at the bus stop, and he didn't ride my bus. I had never said it in the first place, but his logic made it even more frustrating.

I tell him I got scared because I had a crush on him and didn't want to make things weird. It was a lie.

In February I came out to someone for the first time. They asked if I was bi and I said yes.

By March I had accepted that coming out didn't really make a difference. Inara and I hung out at school but not really anywhere else.

My birthday's in April. I invite her, Emilyse, and Rebekah. We paint rocks and draw on a table cloth. Emilyse feels distant.

Emilyse is homophobic. We find out in English one day. I don't remember how. Inara and I look at each other. We know we're both queer but haven't come out to each other.

I ask Emilyse if she would hate someone in GT for coming out. She says yes. Inara and I stop talking to her.

By May I've become obsessed with Marvel. Inara's interested in it and I decide to be, too. We talk about the movies. It gets awkward. She's not as interested when I get in on it.

By June we're best friends. We hang out fairly regularly, have all our classes together, and text all the time. Logan is forgotten.

School lets out at the start of June. We keep texting regularly. We make plans to see the new spiderman movie in early July with one of our other friends.

I have a complicated relationship with said friend. They're non-binary, although I didn't know it yet, and I've known them since Kindergarten. Inara met them in an advisory this year. I get jealous easily.

The day of the movie I shop at Kohl's. I buy the two of us matching shirts. We meet at the movie theater and it's awkward. I pay for popcorn and sneak in snacks that we share. Our friend's dad is there, but Inara and I don't have parents present.

We sit next to each other during the movie. At a certain scene, I start to get anxious. My stomach hurts and I can't breathe, I start to get sweaty.

I get up and rush out of the theater. I get to the women's bathroom and sit down on the floor of the very last stall. I'm panicing, dry heaving into the toilet, and trying not to cry. I try to text my mom that I'm having a panic attack but don't have reception.

I go back into the theater room after a few minutes. I'm still anxious, but better. Our friend is highly concerned, Inara just glances at me worriedly.

It's my first panic attack, and it sucked.

We leave awkwardly after it ends, trying to avoid the obvious elephant in the room. My mom is concerned when she picks me up. We don't talk about it. My dad and brother are watching it illegally when I get home.

We don't see each other until August of 2019, but continue to text through the rest of the summer.

When 7th grade starts, I'm still into Marvel. I've seen all the movies at this point, but there haven't been any new ones (even now) since FFH. Inara's interested, but not fully.

In late August/Early September we take BuzzFeed quizzes for fun and text each other the results. I take one about soulmates. I get her initials. I send her the link. She gets mine.

We take more and they all point to us being soulmates. We propose by sending pictures of rings over text. The wedding date is set for September 28th, 2019.

The time comes. It's Saturday and my brother has a double football game. We've planned to pick her up and take her there. It's a Christian league, so the games are at a church.

We go to the garden. There's a small white bench in some rocks, surrounded by flowers. We joke that we've had our ceremony. We wander around for a while longer.

My dad suggests that we go to the taco bell across the parking lot. We do. When we're done, we walk back to my house. Its not far, but we're alone. I carry her halfway back.

When we get to my house we pick things from my garden. We're barefoot and I'm wearing overalls. I joke that we're gonna get a farm one day when we're older.

She picks things while I stand back and watch. The sun hits her dyed-red hair just right. I vividly remember smiling at thinking "holy fuck she's pretty" you would think I'd put together my crush by then.

October rolls around and she cancels plans to go trick-or-treating with me. I'm upset but understand.

We "work" on a school project at her house. We don't actually get anything done before cuddling up on her bed and falling asleep to black panther.

In November, it's Emilyse's birthday party. We've gotten distant but still talk occasionally. Inara and I both go to the party.

We're watching Spiderman Far From Home because that's what Emilyse wanted. I've seen in twice, Ianra has too.

We're given candy and popcorn and then curl up on the couch. Inara and I sit next to each other.

(I forgot to mention this but at some point she stayed the night at my house. She slept on the floor in her swimming suit even though I asked if she wanted to sleep on the bed. Swimming was fun though. We also go to an arcade. We mini-golf and play laser tag. We also danced in the rain together at some point that day.)

Once we're no more than 15 minutes into the movie, I'm cuddled into her chest. It's important to mention that at this point I'm 5'6 and she's no more than 5'0.

We cuddle the entire movie. We share candy and pretend no one else is there. It feels great.

We don't talk about that night for months. Nobody brings it up. I come out to Rebekah around this time, saying no more than that I like girls. I still haven't told Inara.

By December, I've brought her to church a few times. I don't enjoy going to church, but my parents always encouraged it.

(I'd like to say at this point as well that I have been raised Christian and identify with the faith despite the fact that I despise Church and disagree with many of the common teachings. If I ever had to choose for some reason, my sexuality matters more to me than my religion. Regardless, I respect your beliefs if they differ from mine :) )

Inara's birthday is in mid December. Her party consists of us making gay jokes with our enby friend despite not being technically out to each other.

My church youth group plans ice skating. I invite her and she accepts. I'm worried about it. It's essentially a date. Neither of our parents will be there.

We carpool with the youth leaders, who are actually pretty cute for a hetero couple. Inara and I share awkward glances the whole time.

When we get there I learn that Inara took ice skating lessons as a child. She's much more confident than I am, but pretends she doesn't know what she's doing. I skate about once or twice a season, but also rollerblade.

There's a wet, sloped, melty part of the rink. I get nervous and grab her hand. She holds it until we're out of the melted ice.

Every lap around I grab her hand at that point. Eventually, we just keep holding hands for an entire lap.

By the end of the night, we've both fallen a few times but held hands the whole time. We drop her off and I say goodnight.

That night, I rant about the adventure to one of my (ex)friends, who excitedly listens to my talk about holding hands with a girl.

There's a GT Christmas party at Hannah's. Inara and I carpool there. It's an all together boring party with the exception of a few interesting truth-or-dare questions.

(side note, remember Owen? Well he's one of Inara and I's best friends and we were actually close enough that the three of us were basically cuddling on the couch during part of the party. Also the whole class knows about Inara and I's wedding and calls us wives.)

Paislie asks me if I wanted to "marry" Inara before we got "married". I mumble an answer that nobody hears. I don't repeat it. When it's time to leave, Inara and I have our legs intertwined on the couch. We don't mention that, either. We drop her off and I say goodnight.

January is good. There's a night, the 4th I believe, that we really connect. We officially come out to each other for the first time on that night, and it gets really real, really fast.

She says she's pan, I say I'm bi but confused.

In mid January she texts me that she's crying because one of her favorite YouTubers finally hit a million. She cries for hours but never tells me who. I pay it no mind.

A few days later, she mentions a YouTube channel called Unus Annus and tells me that it's super interesting. I text back but don't look it up.

A few more days pass and I'm randomly on the trending page for YouTube, which I never do. I see a video trending called "Mark and Ethan go casket shopping". The thumbnail is interesting enough that I check what the channel is. I notice it's the one Inara told me about.

I watch the video and subscribe within 5 minutes. I text Inara quotes from that video, Ethan Finally Becomes a Man, and the Lie Detector test videos, until she responds and is surprised that I found the channel.

I obsess quickly and depend on her to know the new video at 1pm everyday. She gets annoyed and we drift apart slowly.

In February things get rocky. We fight often. If I win a small argument she doesn't talk to me for hours. She gets pissed at refuses to tell me what the Unus Annus video is called if I ask too many times.

At some point I get fed up and confront her. I don't remember what about, but we stop talking all together.

Friends pick sides. I'm left alone. We don't talk for a month. She tells me that she pushed me away because she thought I'd react badly to her telling me she loves me.

I confess my crush. She tells me she feels the same.

We finally make up at about 8:30 on a Sunday night in March. It's not fixed but we plan to talk. And 9:00, the school district announces that it's shutting down until least after spring break.

We stopped trying to communicate, but eventually, slowly we started talking again. We text a few times a day now, mostly about UA and anxiety, the best combo.

We haven't seen each other since. We're probably going back to school in person in about a month, but I'm not sure. Nobody is.

I've called her my girlfriend on here before, simply because I don't know what we are. I joked the other day about how the youth leaders would react if I said I was texting my girlfriend.

Here's how that went:

So we're just jokingly married for now! It's a confusing pile of garbage but we both came out as lesbians the other day so that's a new development.

I don't know if any of that makes sense but I'll answer any questions anybody has :)

#asks #elle has girlfriend issues #unus annus #crankgameplays #markiplier #yes the guy who hit a million was ethan #thank you kait #im sorry this is so long #lesbian #wlw post #wlw culture #LGBTQ

14 notes · View notes

harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

Complicit // 1

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, me writing Niall’s accent

WC: 6.7k

-----------

“So… are we talking like, full on whips and chains and nipple clamps and shit?”

Shawn’s eyebrows are lost somewhere in his hairline, but at least it’s more life in his eyes than Niall’s seen in a while. Niall tries not to go pink at Shawn’s assumption, but he’s still not that good at talking about all this.

“No, no, mate. I mean, some of ‘em do that. I think, I mean, based on what you pay for it, they’ll do whatever you want.”

Both guys go quiet and squirm a little uncomfortably. They’re sitting in Shawn’s living room in his $3 million bachelor pad, furnished very tastefully and expensively, talking about hiring sex workers. It doesn’t look or feel great.

Niall sighs. “It’s not like Pretty Woman. These girls don’t even charge by the hour. They’re escorts, not hookers. They’re educated and articulate and the kind o’ woman you could have on your arm at any industry schmoozing event and no one would bat an eye. That’s the whole point.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully. He’s heard of agencies like this, obviously. He’s been around the industry long enough to know guys like him, and producers and managers and agents and other high-powered men, aren’t driving down Hollywood Boulevard looking for $200 an hour streetwalkers. But that doesn’t mean Shawn’s ever remotely considered utilizing a service like this.

“But… they’re dominatrixes?”

Niall tips his head back and forth, squinting as he looks for the words. “They’re dommes. ‘S a bit different. La Splendeur is the name o’ the agency. They hire women that boss you around a bit, in some form or an udder. I mean, have you ever tried that?”

Shawn flushes a little and scrolls through his relatively short sexual history. “... sort of? Like, she’s on top?”

Niall sighs and closes his eyes with a wise smile. He has much to learn.

“‘S just a suggestion. La Splendeur is the best of the best. Super discreet. Beautiful. Interesting girls. And it’s better stress relief than I’ve found anywhere else.”

“Including golf?” Shawn quips.

Niall barks a laugh. “Including golf. I’ll leave you the number and you can decide. I really like Karina, but it might be weird knowin’ we’ve both had our hands in that cookie jar. Up to you, mate. Totally up to you.”

Shawn has never been so anxious about a phone call in his life. He goes through his phone and turns off location services first, suddenly paranoid that they could somehow track his device and be able to broadcast this for the whole internet. Plus, he’s busy with pre-festival run promo, so he’s forced to make the call in the middle of the day.

He goes to great lengths not to be heard, very publicly excusing himself to the bathroom and then running off to a quiet conference room down a hallway that was deserted. He shuts himself inside, stands in the corner by the window and dials, hands shaking.

The voice on the phone is smooth and easy, probably used to dealing with nervous wrecks like him all the time. She explains how it works -- the rates, the wire transfer, the security, the booking. Selecting his date comes down to an emailed photo portfolio, password encrypted and accompanied by a very stern warning not to share it with anyone, even potential referrals. Shawn supposes that makes sense -- they don’t want these photos getting passed around without the safety net of knowing that in return, the agency has the client’s private email address.

He’s twitchy all day before he can get home to his laptop, kick off his Saint Laurent chelsea boots, and pick his date.

‘Date’ is how he’s trying to think about it. Niall encouraged that, too. Shawn texted to let him know that he’d made the call (less than 24 hours after Niall had made the suggestion). Niall was over the moon, reminding him that it’s supposed to be fun and he shouldn’t feel weird about calling. It’s like a guaranteed great first date, just… a really expensive one.

Shawn opens the email to a PDF of professional and truly stunning photos. Each girl has a short bio and a series of shots that really don’t feel at all like advertisement for sex. He takes note of Karina, Niall’s favorite, a short and curvy Filipino girl who apparently excels at tennis, loves to sail and has an MBA. Her photos are gorgeous -- her on a beach wearing a tasteful cover-up and a flower in her hair with just enough cleavage to catch a guy’s attention, standing beside a tall window in a snug dress and heels, and grinning on a tennis court, a cute candid.

In total, there are about 25 women on La Splendeur’s roster of sorts, more than Shawn expected. They’re incredibly diverse in terms of race, shape and size, all accomplished and learned and surprisingly non-threatening, given the niche service they provide. Only one had him scrolling back up to look at her again and again.

Penny, 26, has a master’s degree in criminal psychology, is fluent in four languages, is an excellent skier and has a German shepherd named Pamela. Her photos show her lying barefoot in a cocktail dress on a lounge chair with a look in her eyes that says she already knows everything about you, looking over her shoulder to laugh at the camera during golden hour from above the Hollywood sign, and his personal favorite, a black and white close up headshot. She doesn’t look to be wearing a stitch of makeup. Her hair is wet and slung over and around her face like it’s in the wind. Her lips are parted, her eyes are dark, and Shawn has to meet her immediately.

Penny. Penny. Penny.

God, he can’t fucking wait. He’s so keyed up he actually grins at the change he gets from a barista at Commissary because she gives him back two cents.

His instructions are clear and concise. He is to get himself to the Chateau Marmont and head into the bar, where he will give his name. Someone will escort him up to his suite for the evening, where he will be greeted by security, who will confirm the receipt of the wire transfer and wait until his date arrives. Check out time is 11:30am the next morning.

The big guy who lets him into the room seems friendly enough, but Shawn is sure his every move is being watched by a hawk. Even with rich and famous clientele, agencies can’t afford to take risks with their employees. At least he doesn’t feel like a nervous kid being scrutinized by his prom date’s dad while he waits. In fact, the guy, Gus, he says, sees him shaking like a leaf and murmurs that the mini bar is fully stocked. He excuses himself to wait outside.

Shawn pours himself a glass of bourbon on the rocks and looks around. He’s never been in a room at the Chateau. It’s a bit odd -- almost too comfortable to be a hotel. There’s a full kitchen and vintage furniture that looks like it belongs in a warm, comfortable apartment rather than the stoic uniformity of a hotel.

He’s rattling ice in his glass anxiously and staring out at the lights of West Hollywood when the door opens. He’s just distracted enough not to stand immediately when she walks in, and he realizes a little late that it’s rude, so he scrambles to be upright and almost drops his fucking crystal glass.

She’s smiling warmly at him like they’re old family friends. It’s not clinical or superficial or forced. It’s a real smile, and it’s so beautiful. She’s so beautiful.

I mean, wow.

She’s medium height, 5’7” probably, but taller in her spiky heels. Her hair is lighter than he saw in the pictures, probably from the summer sun. Her olive skin is gorgeously bronzed. Her brown eyes are darker than his, like espresso. Her eyes are wide set and framed by well tamed thick brows. Her lips are full and European. Italian, he’d guess.

So why is her name Penny?

Shawn almost rolls his eyes at himself. He doesn’t know why that’s sticking in his head now, of all moments. Gus gives her a nod and shuts the door. As she approaches, graceful and quiet even in her heels, Shawn blinks, staring at the door.

“Is… uh, does he stand outside the whole time?”

Penny smiles again and cocks her head, shaking it. “No, no. He’s my driver, not my guard dog.”

Shawn gives a weak chuckle and it sounds pathetic to his own ears. At the mention of dogs, his mind springs to Pamela the German shepherd. He wonders if she’s real or a line in a bio to make Penny sound quirky and likeable. He watches her lift her sheath of thick hair over one shoulder and reach for the glass of bourbon in his hand to take a sip. He decides he doesn’t care.

“Please, have a seat,” she suggests, gesturing to the sofa. He blinks too much and plunks himself down, clearing his throat.

She lowers herself beside him, facing him with her arm stretched along the back of the couch toward him. She folds her ankles and for a second Shawn thinks about the scene in The Princess Diaries when Mia falls out of her chair trying to pull the same move. Penny emulates Queen Clarisse instead. Shawn tenses against his own will. He can feel himself shutting down.

Penny takes another sip of his drink and eyes him carefully from over the glass. She’s been doing this long enough to know when a guy is locking up in front of her eyes.

It’s like Operation. You have to move slow and careful, or you get zapped. He could be the kind of guy that would respond well to her dropping her hand to his knee while they talk, or it could send him springing across the room. Penny follows her instincts and instead flicks her heels until her multi-thousand dollar shoes clunk onto the hardwood below her. She curls up her feet beside her and tilts her head to rest against her fist.

“How long are you in LA for?”

It’s one of her favorite safe questions. It offers potential to discuss work if he wants to go there, but is vague enough to offer him an out if he wants it.

“Uh, for another couple weeks. I’ve got some meetings and events and stuff and then I think I’m bouncing around. New York, maybe. I don’t know my schedule as well as I probably should.”

Well, at least he’s talking. She hands him back his glass with a wink.

“Schedule schmedule.”

Shawn smiles. It’s tentative still, but sweet. She made the right move by taking off a layer of the untouchable glamour.

It’s her move again. She considers the board, eyes her options, keeps her fingers delicate on the tweezers.

“I listened to your music this week.”

It’s a risky shot, like going for the funny bone. She already knows, can tell by the way he carries himself, that he’s here to work something out of his system. This appointment isn’t about satisfying a rakish curiosity or an ego thing, or worse, a sex addiction. He needs something from her -- comfort, release. If it’s his music that’s driving him to need her, mentioning it off the bat like this could do some damage to the trust she’s working to build. She holds her breath.

He lights up.

“Oh, cool. All of it?”

She wiggles her naturally shaped eyebrows. “Right down to “Something Big.””

Shawn winces playfully and laughs. It sounds real this time. “Yikes.”

“No, it was cute,” she insists, her fingers stretching out along the back of the couch to nudge at his very solid arm. He goes a little pink.

“Do you have a favorite?”

Shawn doesn’t mean to put her on the spot. For all he knows, she just googled his albums to have something to say. But he asks anyway, despite himself, because he’d like to know which, if any, of his songs caught the attention of a woman like her.

“I like “Particular Taste.” It came on in my car the other day while I was on Mulholland. It’s a damn good car song.”

Shawn feels himself get a little smug. “Thanks. I like that one, too.”

They’re watching each other quietly, feeling the tension build. Penny wets her lips and leans in, getting ready to speak again.

“So how long have you been doing this?” Shawn blurts. His eyes go a little comically wide before he course corrects and inspects his nearly empty glass.

Penny is startled, but tucks some hair behind her ear and regroups. “Almost five years.”

“Wow. That’s… wow.”

Penny shares a wise sort of smile that reminds Shawn uncomfortably of Emily. “It’s nice work if you can get it.”

“Right,” Shawn croaks, glancing away.

Penny feels the gentle sting of having nicked the board just a bit with her tweezers. She reaches out the arm against the couch and lets her fingertips skim his lush curls. His chest shudders and his eyes dart toward the window. He raises his shaky hand with the empty glass to his lips for something to do.

Penny drops her other hand to his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Hey,” she murmurs, all honey, “Would you like me to refill that?”

Shawn looks down at his drink and shakes his head. “N-no, that’s ok.”

Penny swipes her tongue over the front of her teeth and decides to toss her playbook aside the way she does on rare occasions.

She scoots in, cups his cheek in her hand and focuses his eyes on hers. His jaw twitches under her fingers.

“What do you want, Shawn?”

He blinks quickly, startled that she said something, confronted him with the actual situation they’re dealing with.

“I’m… I don’t know. Can… can we just talk for a while?”

She eases back a little, drops her hands in her lap. “Of course. About anything in particular?”

Shawn bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “How did you get into… escorting?”

He emphasizes the last word as a question, unsure if he’s using the right terminology. She nods reassuringly.

“Well, around the time I was graduating from college, I met a girl at a party who recruited me, for lack of a better term. She told me about the money, the tips, the security, the gifts. Sounded pretty good to a 20-year-old without a post-grad plan.”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift. “You graduated college at 20?”

She shrugs. “I skipped the 4th grade and AP tested out of most of my freshman year.”

He’s impressed. And intimidated. He fights the instinct to curl him up into himself. He doesn’t want to feel small beside her. He wants to feel impressive, too.

“That’s pretty cool. Do you do this full time?”

Penny laughs. It’s light and airy and maybe just a little… restrained somehow.

“Yes. You’re very curious about my line of work.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be-- I mean, I just… Sorry--”

She stops him from stumbling all over himself by planting a hand around his wrist.

“It’s ok. I’m just not used to being asked. Most people… they don’t want to be reminded that they’re paying for it.”

As soon as she says it, she hears the mistake in her words. Fucking amateur bullshit, she scolds herself, watching him cave in. His eyes drop to his feet and his chest rises and falls a little harder.

“Hey,” she prompts gently, keeping her hands off this time for fear of sending him flying, “Don’t shut down on me.”

He looks back at her blankly. “Don’t…?”

She presses her tongue out to smooth along her lower lip. “I’m here to help make you feel good, Shawn. I’m excellent at knowing how best to do that, but I think I’m gonna need an assist from you this time. So just… don’t think, don’t act, don’t react, just feel it. And tell me what you want.”

“I want to cuddle.”

He says it so suddenly he surprises himself. Without missing a beat, Penny nods, formulating a new gameplan in her head. She bites her lip and reaches for his twitchy hand in his lap.

“Ok. I can do that. I just want to get comfy first, ok?”

Before he can wonder out loud what she’s going to change into and how she got clothes in here without him seeing, she leans in and presses her lips to his delicately. His frazzled brain lights up like the 4th of July, sending thoughts flying like out of control fireworks. He kisses back after a second or two, firm but chaste. He murmurs subtly into her mouth.

Small victories.

When Penny walks out of the bathroom five minutes later, her makeup is wiped clean, leaving her face a little shiny and flushed. She’s in touchably soft clingy leggings and a Lululemon hoodie, looking like an athleisure ad. She’s still barefoot, her white painted toes winking up at him before she drops onto the bed and waves him over. He makes to climb up next to her and she hisses, gesturing to him with a wave of her hand.

“I took off my armor, Mendes, you need to do the same.”

Shawn swallows and smiles shyly. He kicks off his shoes, balls up his socks and drops his jeans into a heap by the bed. In his taut navy t-shirt and custom printed Calvin Klein boxer briefs, he settles in beside her, mirroring her position on his side.

“Ok, cards on the table, I think. Bad breakup? Tour anxiety? Voice struggles?”

Shawn’s chest rises and falls heavily with a deep, unrestrained sigh. There’s no reason to hide from her. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t have expectations. She’s a safe space.

He stares down at the curve of her hip as he speaks. He tells the story from what he thinks is the beginning -- Emily’s first mention of the idea of the PR relationship with Bex. He explains the strategy and the trajectory, that they expect to be in and out of the public eye throughout the summer festival run and will not-so-quietly break up just around the time his album releases in the fall and Bex heads out on tour for her brand new EP.

Penny nods along while he speaks, pursing her lips and shifting slightly closer to him. She’s not working consciously, not timing the seconds between movements like she sometimes does, like she did even just on the couch a few minutes ago. But as he talks, she feels the tension start to drip off him and release to the point where she has no hesitation in slipping her fingers into the tight, short curls at the back of his neck while she runs her toes up and down the back of his calf.

He seems comforted by being able to touch her, too. He rests a hand in the dip of her waist and it wanders slightly up her ribcage and upper arm, twisting his long pale fingers in her hair. He watches it curl and bend for him. He can’t remember the last time he played with a woman’s hair like this.

When his cursory explanation ends, he closes his eyes and rests his head on his folded arm. Penny’s fingers tug gently at the nape of his neck for his attention.

“Sounds like a lot.”

Shawn’s chest stutters. His eyes well. He turns his face into the pillow, embarrassed by the hair trigger of his emotional reaction.

“S-sorry, I just… fuck. I don’t know why I’m--”

He cuts himself off with a final unintended whimper of defeat, a nice bookend on a chunk of shame he can hang onto and revisit in his head when he needs it the least.

His eyes are snapped shut. The tears on his lashes start to wick into the expensive fabric of the pillowcase beneath his head. He’s waiting for her -- he doesn’t know what for. He’s waiting for her to leave him there to cry it out, get back in her expensive shoes and clack away from his misery. He’s waiting for her to shove a hand down his boxers and give him what she thinks he paid for. He’s waiting for her to hate him like he hates himself right now.

Slowly, timidly, he opens his eyes. She’s there, blinking at him, face as placid and reassuring as he’s seen since she got here. She doesn’t look ready to run. She doesn’t look at him like the pitiful creature he’s acting like. She slides her long fingers up further to cradle the back of his head and make his wet eyes flutter.

“Would you like to hear what I think?”

Shawn pauses, then nods.

Penny wets her lips. “I think maybe you’re not very good at compartmentalizing yet.”

Shawn frowns slightly and starts turning circles on her lower back with the pad of his thumb, nodding at her to continue.

“This relationship stunt doesn’t define you as a man or as an artist. It’s publicity, the same way appearing on GMA is publicity. It’s not as honest, maybe. I can see that’s part of what bothers you. I can understand that. But this is a means to an end. You’re not using Bex; she’s aware of what she’s involved in. She benefits, too.

“So instead of letting this become something that bothers you in quiet moments, makes you question what this makes you look like or even who this means you’re becoming, you need to accept that this is a part of your job and it’s not who you are.”

Shawn blinks dumbly. He’s been trying to convince himself of this for a while, but he’s never come close to sounding as soothing and confident as she does right now. This woman listened to him yammer for seven minutes about his stupid pop star problems without rolling her eyes or waving off his concerns.

Thank god he’s paying her to be here or he swears he’d already be half in love with her.

Shawn closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against the pillow. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes you may.”

He opens his eyes and watches her, settled by the distinct sensation that she’s allowing him to proceed as he’s comfortable. At the same time, he’s deliciously unnerved by something lurking behind her eyes, like she’s deciding how long to give him before she takes over. He hopes it won’t be long.

Shawn cups a large palm around her cheek, marveling at the silkiness of her hair in his fingers as he leans in, brushing his lips over hers. He hears himself murmur gently at the slick warmth of her lip balm. It tastes like rose water and coconut.

He eases back after a moment, his head spinning.

“Jesus Christ, that’s incredible.”

Her long, dark lashes lift and lower lazily, casting shadows on her cheeks in the lamplight. “Kissing me?”

He shakes his head, marveling with a gentle groan, “Yes. Why does kissing you feel like the best thing that’s happened to me in months?”

“It’s simple. It’s stable. It’s honest.”

She says it like she didn’t have to think about it. She’s unwavering and direct and he knows she’s probably really good at all this because of who she is and what she does but he doesn’t think he cares right now if it’s not genuine. It feels too fucking good.

He smirks. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

Her full lips spread in a lazy grin. “Yes.”

“Thank god,” Shawn mutters just before pressing his lips back to hers.

Shawn has no idea what to expect. It’s been what’s had him on a knife’s edge since he booked this appointment. His curiosity has been his friend while zoning out in meetings, standing in security lines at airports, stripped down to his boxers in front of a team of people while trying on show clothes. An experience like this to look forward to was an intense enough distraction from his anxiety.

And now, lying in a bed next to her with her perfect tongue tangled with his and her soft hands roaming his body hungrily, but with purpose, his mind races -- what will this be like? What will this feel like? Is it really as good as Niall says?

She pulls back suddenly, her lips leaving his with a wet smack. His hips rut against her stomach in response.

“Time for you to stop thinking,” she rasps. Shawn squirms at the fucked-out quality of her voice. Is it at all possible that he’s got her as worked up as she has him? He’s already throbbing for her in his briefs, which he knows she can feel against her thigh.

He brushes his nose against hers a little desperately, silently begging for more. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell she’s smiling when she cups his cheek and rolls their bodies so she’s lying slotted up against him in every way that makes him crazy.

“You like kissing, huh?” she breathes. It’s not teasing, not really. It’s curious and gentle. He can feel the way she takes note of the things that have him panting a little harder, pressing into her more insistently. It makes him feel important and a little bashful. He nods anyway, lifting the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a good kisser, Shawn,” she sighs into his mouth, dropping her weight into her hips and sliding her hands up his chest to rest over his pecs.

If her tongue wasn’t teasing his lower lip, he’d be grinning like an asshole.

His hands are growing frantic. They can’t decide where they like better -- her supernaturally soft hair, coursing up and down her spine, or resting on the toned swell of her ass. So they wander, getting grabbier as they go, until she pulls away again with a long lick of her wet lips.

“What are you going to do to me?”

He hears himself ask it over the rushing of blood in his ears. He can tell by the way she smiles down at him that he looks horrified at his own question. She pushes some curls off his forehead and looks him over, slowly, carefully, admiringly. Shawn is on fire beneath her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

As if in slow motion, she tucks a hand under his neck. The motion fixes his manic, desperate eyes on hers. His breathing slows. His heart drops into his gut. His jaw tightens.

“Anything I want.”

Her voice is hot and sharp. Shawn’s face screws up like his body is physically overwhelmed by the idea of all the pleasure she can offer him. His eyes snap shut and the groan he releases is inhumanly loud.

When he can force himself to look back up at her, Penny has straddled his hips and works on lifting her hoodie up and over a black bra that he’s sure only a woman like Penny could wear… like that.

Her breasts are full and soft, as evenly tanned as the rest of her, from what he can see, which is not enough. He gets a flash of a vision of her lying on the chaise on the balcony outside their Chateau suite without a stitch on her, sipping a mimosa and smiling when she catches him admiring her. He grunts and reaches for her, needing to take and touch and taste.

His hands are pinned beside his head before he gets far. He gasps. His eyes blur with her quick movement until they can refocus and realize she’s holding him down, her breasts a breath away from his mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

“Listen to me.”

It’s clear and stable and calm like a beacon in a storm. Shawn juts his chin up defiantly, licking his lips.

“You don’t touch me until I tell you to. If you do, you don’t touch me at all, not for the rest of the night. Do you understand?”

Shawn’s fingers curl into fists beside his head. His body aches, straining for the control she’s sapping from him. He’s not used to willingly giving it up, not anywhere, not for anyone.

“Take a deep breath,” she advises, feeling him struggle with the release of it, of the reins he’s held for so long his hands are fucking raw. His whole body feels raw looking up at her.

He does as he’s told. Her eyes are nearly black in the low light. He feels his shoulders soften and the squeezing of his heart start to slow, just a bit.

“You’re gonna have to walk me through this,” he grunts, shaking his head, “I-- I’m… for so…”

“I know,” she soothes, not to placate him, not to baby him. She wants him to know she understands. He feels it in the way she looks at him, the way she massages her fingers around his wrists.

He’s ok. He’s safe. He’s safe with her. It hits him all at once like a brick over the head. He swallows.

“I’m here to take care of you. I want to make you feel as good as I possibly can.”

He nods again.

She moves slowly, gracefully, like a lithe and dangerous predator. She pushes her leggings down her hips, sliding them off her feet until they’re forgotten in a pool at the end of the bed. His shirt and boxers join them, leaving his cock aching and leaking from the tip on his lower belly. He lies beside her, as instructed, with his arms over his head, grasping a pillow in his needy fingers.

She just… touches him.

He thought at first she was just going for a slow tease, would wrap her warm fingers around his cock after thirty seconds or so to get him somewhere, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan. He’s flat beside her, legs slightly spread, tensing and relaxing with each brush of her fingertips.

Before long, he realizes what she’s doing and it stuns him into holding his breath for so long that the gasp he releases when he remembers he needs oxygen makes her jump a little.

She’s studying him. She wants to know every inch of his body, wants to see how every subtle touch affects him. She is reading him like an instruction manual. Her eyes flicker, narrowing and darting and taking it all in. She can see every goosebump, every subtle lift of his hips, every intake of breath, every clench of muscle and little smile when she finds somewhere ticklish. By the time her scan seems complete, he’s panting, shaking, vibrating with need, and he knows she knows his body better than he does now.

And she gets to decide what to do with it.

From beside him, keeping her eyes on his, Penny reaches back and unclasps her architecturally stunning bra, draws the straps down her arms, and drops it off the side of the bed, revealing what Shawn had suspected to be the most perfect pair of breasts of all time. He was right.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he hisses, pressing his head back into the pillow to keep from lunging at her stiff brown nipples. He’s rewarded for his compliment with a sweeping hand down his stomach, her fingertips just skimming the line of pubic hair that reaches down from his navel. His hips roll up in response.

Penny turns. Shawn watches her hair swing low against her back like a pendulum, entranced before he realizes she’s standing and bending over to shed her black lace cheeky panties. He remains still, his head turned toward her as she bares herself, until she turns back and faces him and he chokes on air.

He’s seen beautiful women naked. Plenty of them. Really, he has. He knows somewhere in his addled mind that it’s the performance of it that has him so fucking high strung that he almost coughs up a lung when he sees Penny without clothes, that he really, legitimately feels like he’s going to have a heart attack just from looking at her.

But he’s never been so goddamn hard in his life.

She takes a step toward the bed and lifts her leg to climb up next to him. He realizes with a jolt as he watches her legs separate that she’s soaking fucking wet. The insides of her thighs are slick. Shawn presses his heels into the bed to ground himself.

You can’t fake that.

Without a word, she positions herself on top of him, her strong legs on either side of his hips, her hands sunken between pillows by his head. Their eyes are locked. Shawn’s cock shifts against his stomach impatiently. Penny lifts a corner of her soft wet mouth. Shawn chokes on a whimpering sound he’s never heard himself make before. She drops her hips and he hears himself gasp.

“Oh!” he cries, throwing his head back as his hips thrust up to meet her. He vaguely feels the warmth of her lips on his chest, but he’s busy trying to fight back his orgasm that, with just the pressure, warmth and wetness of her pussy resting against his length, is roaring up in his abdomen.

“J-jesus… fuck…” he hisses, rolling his head to the side, sure if he looks down at her pretty face he’ll be coming like a freight train before she even has the chance to really do anything.

“You’ve never felt anything like this before,” she tells him smoothly. It doesn’t smack of arrogance or condescension. It’s simple fact. They both know it.

He shakes his head no, panting breath into the pillowcase.

“You never knew it could be like this.”

Again, he’s agreeing.

“I want you to remember this, what this feels like with me in your lap, wet for you, showing you how this can feel with me. I want you to look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me, Shawn.”

Another purring whimper escapes his throat. Slowly, he peels his sweaty cheek from the pillow and blinks down at her. There’s something feral that’s taken the place of what he saw in her before -- the white painted toes, the cozy hoodie, the gentle giggles. This part he sees now is going to swallow him whole. He’s going to let it, with pleasure.

Penny rolls her hips from left to right, swinging back again easily, with the rhythm of a dancer. The sound their bodies make is absolutely obscene. He grits his teeth through a hiss, watching her eyes flutter.

“You feel… incredible,” she pants slightly, establishing a slow, aching pace that makes Shawn’s brows draw together and his knuckles whiten against the pillow.

“I don’t know how long I can--”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell you when you can come.”

She says it easily, like he’s in no danger of losing his fucking mind and spurting all over her stomach in probably only a few seconds. He realizes with a shiver it’s because she knows, for certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that he won’t come until she tells him.

“You’re so nice and hard for me, fuck. Touching you got me so wet. Can you hear us?”

Shawn is quaking, clinging to sanity, as her slick folds hug his cock, grinding harder with each pass of her hips. He doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore. He has no idea what could come out of his mouth at this point. He just nods eagerly, begging his eyes to stay open so he can obey her.

“Can you feel the way the head of your cock is rubbing my clit?” she nearly squeaks, sounding genuinely as close to orgasm as he is. His eyes go wide. His stupid mouth opens.

“Are-- are you gonna come like this?”

Holding her quick rocking pace, Penny springs up, snapping at his lower lip like a snake. He freezes, whining, and very nearly loses control of his tensed arms.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” she moans, and it’s the only warning he gets before her whole body goes tight atop him and she gushes all over his cock and thighs.

“Holy fuck, holy fucking shit,” Shawn gasps, rolling his hips to cradle her as she stutters through it, mewling and humming against his chest. He watches her eyes squeeze shut and open again slowly, looking up at him like she forgot he was there.

In the stillness, the room is so quiet, it’s loud. Shawn feels every cell in his body screaming, begging.

Penny licks her lips and shifts, getting ready to bear down. “You can come now.”

His hips take off at a sprint with her permission. She keeps up easily, using her weight in her knees to drive herself back against his every stroke, egged on by the wet slap of their skin and the glazed look in his eyes.

“Penny, I’m coming,” he warns her, because he feels like he should and he doesn’t know quite why other than he thinks she craves her permission for everything now. She squeezes her swollen lower lip under her row of straight white teeth and watches curiously, doubling down on the stroking of her hips.

“Shit! Oh fuck!” Shawn screams, hips roiling and rioting beneath hers as he comes hard, spurting against her swollen folds and between their clenching stomachs. His vision goes white. He can’t hear himself if he keeps talking, or yelling, and he can’t hear her if she’s trying to soothe him through it. It’s several seconds before he crash lands to feel her peeling her body off his and sees her shifting back over his thighs.

He doesn’t have time, or the mental capacity, to speak before she reaches between her legs and swipes a hand through her wetness and his. Her palm is slick, glistening in the low light. She reaches for his tired cock and gives it a squeeze.

“I want one more.”

His eyes bulge. “What?”

“One more, Shawn. Come again for me. You’ve been waiting for this for a week, I know you have it in you. Now fuck my fist and come for me.”

Shawn’s jaw drops as she pulses her fingers again. Despite everything he thought he knew about his own body, he feels himself already starting to harden in her palm again. He groans loudly, pulls his shaky legs so his feet plant below him, and starts lifting his hips.

“Ohmygod. Oh… oh my god,” he pants, eyes wild as they fix on her in disbelief. How did she know? How does she have this much power over him already? How does he make sure she never gives it back?

“Yes,” she praises, looking ravenous as his hips pick up speed and he grows fully hard in the clench of her fist, “Fuck, you’re so fucking good for me.”

His head tips back. He mewls a noise of overwhelmed pleasure and fucks his hips up even harder.

“Jesus Christ, I’m gonna fucking come again!” he shouts, pupils blowing out as he comes up on his forearms and bucks his entire lower body, quaking as he hurtles toward a second orgasm.

Penny lurches forward, swallowing the scream she knows is building in his chest with a searing kiss. His abdomen clenches as he bursts for her again, drenching her fist and his belly. It’s shorter and rockier than the first orgasm, sending him falling back to the bed totally limp and sated in only a few seconds. Penny mercifully releases him from her fist, using her other hand to smooth through his hair.

She’s concerned for a minute that she broke him. He just keeps staring at her, blinking too slowly, not speaking. She presses little kisses over his face, partially to encourage him, and maybe a little bit to distract herself from trying to make him come again because holy shit, she loved that.

“Never done that before,” he mumbles finally, his eyes sliding shut, like he’s finally secure enough to close them and believe she’ll still be sitting there when he does.

She nods, though he can’t see her. On her own wiggly legs, she manages to stand and get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. When she returns to wipe him off, he’s blinking at her curiously.

“Can I touch you now?”

She grins. “Yes you may.”

Shawn smiles gently. His eyes slide shut. He lifts a heavy palm to her thigh, rubbing her soft bronzed skin in a tender gesture of thanks.

Penny tosses the cloth aside and folds up against him, manipulating his arm around her as she lies against his chest.

“Wanna see you again,” he whispers. She bobs her head.

“Anytime you want.”

He presses his face into her hair, inhaling expensive salon shampoo and exhaling at least three months’ worth of stress. He’s asleep in under ten minutes. She decides to let him rest and behaves herself enough not to wake him up for round two (or three, technically) for at least an hour.

----------

This is gonna be a wild one, guys. If you’re so inclined, the link to buy me a Ko-fi is in my bio!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @tnhmblive @greedydevil

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes drabble #shawn mendes fiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction

730 notes · View notes