#he’d smell my daddy issues a mile away | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pleasantanathema · 4 years ago

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Santa Daddy | Jean Kirstein x Reader

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Daddy kink, dirty talk, thigh riding, mutual pining, friends to lovers (or, rather, idiots to lovers), lots of holiday fluff

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is my Secret Santa gift to @whats-her-quirk 🎄💕 June, thank you so much for being a wonderful friend; I was truly lucky and privileged to get you as my Elf for Secret Santa! I hope this fluffy (and dirty) little fic with our best boi Jean brings you some holiday cheer!

There were only a few things in the world that made you happier than watching Jean Kirstein smile. Like most of your friends, you’d met him through work, but there was always something so special, almost magical, about seeing his darling smile and hearing his boisterous laugh. And you rarely passed up on a chance to see delight spread across his handsome face, which is why you couldn’t say no when he asked you to join him on a get-a-away with your friends for the holidays.

The inquiry came after you mentioned how you wouldn’t be able to make it home for the holidays due to a winter storm blowing in. It would be the second season in a row that the weather kept you from visiting home.

You could still hear his voice in your head, “alone? For Christmas?”

He’d then insisted you join him and his friends at Sasha’s family cabin. It was tradition for them, a gathering of misfits finding communion together out in the wilderness for a few days before the new year. You had taken trips with your friends before to amusement parks, festivals, even to the beach at Armin’s request, but something about being invited to an intimate setting to celebrate holiday traditions had you anxious.

So, there you were, swaddled in blankets, listening to Eren bicker with Mikasa while Sasha and Connie bustled in the kitchen to make eggnog and treats. Armin had declined to join, citing that he’d seen too many horror movies about young adults alone in cabins to feel comfortable making the trip.

And, true to form, Jean was running late. He was always late, his mind constantly moving a mile a minute unless he consigned himself to much needed rest and relaxation. Though, this time, you felt a little lonely while waiting for him on the couch, like there was a small part of you missing as you watched the snow fall outside.

“So, none of you guys go home for the holidays?” You looked over toward the modest, plastic tree that Sasha had thrown down from her attic to bring a little holiday cheer to the living room, a few poorly wrapped presents and bags nestled under the branches.

“Well,” Eren cleared his throat, “we are orphans.” He pulled at Mikasa’s scarf for emphasis.

“Oh fuck, yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t worry about, he just always brings it up to get sympathy gifts.” Mikasa sighed, jerking the red cloth from his hands and scowling. Eren only laughed, brushing a stray hair from his face that had come loose from the bun at his nape.

You sunk a little deeper into the cushions, eyes glancing out the window in hopes you’d see headlights flash in the driveway.

“Do you think Jean’s okay? He should’ve been here a while ago and the storm is getting closer.”

“Jean, Jean, Jean,” Sasha trotted into the room, balancing a mountain of sweet-smelling cookies on a plate, “you’re always worried about him.”

“Someone should be, guy’s an idiot.” Eren chimed in, green eyes shining from the low flames rolling in the fireplace. He and Mikasa were sitting in the floor, a game of checkers spread out before them, with more stolen pieces resting near the cunning Ackerman’s side of the board.

Eren wasn’t wrong, but over the years you’d known your group of friends, you’d noticed just how much the man in question had grown. In his early twenties, Jean had been quite the bumbling fool, having literally met you by bumping into your shoulder while leaving work, only to look at you and mumble “god you’re beautiful,” before issuing a quick apology as he rubbed at his neck sheepishly. You’d never mentioned the moment again, though your stomach still churned with a slight thrill every time you thought about it.

But over the years he’d managed to turn that puerility into something much more charming. He was more refined, almost infuriatingly suave, easily gaining attention from anyone and everyone. And though you sometimes hated to admit it, he’d captured your thoughts as well.

You kept your budding crush on Jean Kirstein close to your chest, not admitting it to any of your close friends. You always figured he was out of your league, seeing that he had a new, more beautiful girlfriend just about every other month. But, despite your simmering feelings, you still allowed yourself to get closer and closer to him over the years—some might say he’s your best friend, but you might call him your most treasured vexation.

Another hour or so went by, your time spent nibbling at cookies and reminiscing with everyone about another year passed.

Then the door finally opened, cold air gusting into the small living room as Jean stomped his damp boots on the entry mat.

“Have you guys opened presents yet?”

You glanced over the back of the couch, heart tugging in your chest as you noticed snow dusted in his long hair and a sizeable red and white polka dot package in his hands.

“No because Christmas is tomorrow, or did you forget that too?” Connie said it with crumbs in his mouth, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

Jean laughed, running a hand through his hair before wrapping the gift in his arms like it was something valuable.

“I know, I know, and sorry I’m late, had something important to go get.” He smiled, bright and cheery, hazel eyes bouncing between his friends and the carefully guarded box, “I ask because…uh, this needs to be opened kind of soon.”

“Is it perishable?” Sasha perked up, already ready to go make room in the fridge if something delectable was waiting as a gift.

“I mean…you could say that? It may or may not be alive.” He was laughing, that kind of infectious laughter that had everyone in the room grinning whether they wanted to or not.

Jean didn’t set the present down to even take off his shoes, instead tracking snow in with him and plopping onto the couch with flurries still on shoulders. He nudged your knee with his, pushing the present toward you. You pressed your lips together, hands getting sweaty as you pieced the puzzle together.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah,” his grin was pulling at his cheeks, eyes so sincere and happy and it almost startled you, “it’s for you.”

The top of the box moved, the green bow popping on top of the polka dots.

You moved the gift into your lap, pulling off the top to find perky ears and green eyes peering up at you—a kitten, grey and striped, with long, white whiskers and a pink bow around its neck greeted you with muted curiosity. You just stared at it for a moment, and it stared back, like you were both wondering just how it got into your lap.

“I just,” Jean was getting nervous, carding his fingers through his hair again as he waited for your reaction, “I wanted to make sure you’d never spend another holiday alone, you know?”

You carefully picked up the little cat, watching how it stretched and yawned as you pulled it from the carefully lain blanket inside its temporary home.

You smiled, pulling the warm little bundle to your chest.

“Um, Jean, this cat has six toes on her paws,” you said, pressing your thumb gently against one of the extra appendages in question.

“Six toes?!” Sasha was jumping up from her seat, bounding over to kneel in front of you and pluck one of the kitten’s paws into her fingers. The cat quickly pulled its paw back, little black toe beans curling to its chest.

“Yeah, it’s what drew me to her. She’s extra special…” you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, a little musing of “just like you,” but any hushed murmur was overshadowed by the ohs and ahs of your friends gathering around to look at the adorable little creature.

The kitten had been lulled to sleep by the car ride from the shelter to the cabin, content to just curl up in your arms as inquisitive fingers prodded at her little kitten mittens and the silky, white tufts in her ears. Even Mikasa was enraptured by the tiny animal, taking the time to retie the little pink ribbon around her neck to make a bigger, prettier bow.

You noticed how your friends were whispering, cheeky grins pressed against eager ears as they looked between you, the precious kitten, and Jean on the couch. You were starting to feel like you were missing something, or maybe that you were at the end of a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet.

“Thank you,” you whispered to Jean after the fuss died down, everyone returning to their seats and back to their previous fixations.

You’d mentioned perhaps wanting a cat a few weeks ago; it was just a silly, off-hand comment you made over coffee about how you’d once read that people with cats live longer because they pick up on the nine-lives of their feline partner. You didn’t believe it to be true, but you’d mused about the idea of having a cute kitten of your own to snuggle up with on lonely nights.

“I know it’s sudden and a lot of responsibility, so if you don’t want her—”

“No,” you cut Jean off, bundling the kitten a little closer in your arms, your heart singing as you felt her start to purr, “no, I want her, she’s perfect.”

Jean finally started to get settled himself, standing up and shrugging off his jacket. He was in a tight turtleneck, coal black threads stretched to their limit across his broad chest and shoulders, hugging his trim waist. You were careful not to stare for too long as he stretched his arms above his head to shake off the weariness of his drive through the snow.

He always looked like he stepped out of a fashion catalogue, fresh and so put together that sometimes you were tempted to snap his photo when he wasn’t looking; he just looked that good all the time. He loved to wear designer clothes and keep up with the latest menswear trends, and tonight was no different, that beautiful black turtleneck (that was covered in grey fur) undoubtedly belonging to a designer whose name you probably couldn’t pronounce.

“What are you gonna name her?”

He sat a little closer this time on the couch, a brawny arm outstretched behind you as he leaned over to scratch at the kitten’s chin.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, gazing down at the serene, sleepy face in your arms, “I’ll have to get to know her first.”

“Well, I’ve been calling her Frankie.”

“Frankie?” You smiled through your confusion, the name sounding oddly right.

“She was pretty wild in the car and kept meowing when Frank Sinatra was on the radio.”

“I see,” you laid the kitten down into your lap, sweeping your fingers through her fur and watching as she curled up into a tighter little circle, “well, I’ll consider it.”

You felt warm, heavy fingers brush against the back of your neck, Jean absentmindedly painting figure eights into your prickling skin. Heat flushed to your face as you realized just how close your bodies had become—his thigh was pressed against your own, dark jeans tight and hot, the scruff of his cheeks brushing against your own as he toyed with the sleeping cat’s tail.

There were voices all around you, the muffled sounds of your friends relaxing together falling almost on deaf ears. Your whole world felt like it just revolved around this couch, like nothing else mattered beyond the simple touches to your skin and the drowsy kitten beneath your hands. He never wanted you to spend another holiday alone, you replayed his words, the sweet sentiment finally settling into your spirit.

_______________

You could tell everyone was starting to get a bit sleepy, a few hours spent drinking spiked eggnog and chasing the new kitten around with a feather toy having left you especially exhausted. Your head was a little swimmy as you bid everyone goodnight, the grey tabby cat following closely on your heels to your bedroom where Jean had already brought in a litter box and a bed for her to sleep in. Jean, underneath all the designer bravado and smiles, was perhaps the most thoughtful person you knew.

But despite the heaviness in your head, you couldn’t seem to sleep. You tossed and turned in the bed, occasionally picking up your phone to scroll through it or just watch the time tick by. You had a lot of thoughts mulling around in your mind, most of them revolving around the man sleeping just right across the hall.

Never in a million years did you expect Jean to walk in with a beautiful, perfect kitten as a gift. The little thing was back to sleeping again, this time curled around one of your feet, each exhale a little purr against your toes.

You’d carried the weight of this crush around for too many years. You rubbed your palms against your eyes, sighing as you came to terms with your feelings for Jean for what felt like the thousandth time. Your pining was starting to take its toll, too, what with the sleeping giant so close yet so far away.

And you still felt like you were missing something.

Throughout the night, your friends had seemingly been playing coy, teasing Jean about getting you such a big, sentimental gift. Maybe they had all caught wind of your suppressed feelings and were poking at Jean for even daring to indulge you. Now you were just getting frustrated with your thoughts, sighing as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to sleep.

But then you heard a little sound, the soft buzz of your phone against the wood of the night stand.

Jean: You awake?

Your heart skipped a little in your chest as you saw his name flash upon your screen. You texted him nearly every day, yet he never failed to send a little jolt of adrenaline down your spine.

You: Yeah. Can’t sleep.

Jean: Me either. Cabin is too fucking cold.

You: I have a kitty asleep on my feet, definitely helps beat the chill.

Jean: A warm kitty sounds nice right now.

Only a few seconds passed before the next message appeared.

Jean: Wanna come keep me company?

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, your mind not even thinking about the words in front of you. Instead, you were picturing Jean in his bed, hair tussled with his own phone in his hand as he texted you, light spilling over his bare chest in the dark. You wondered what he was thinking—maybe he just wanted you to bring the cat over to see him for a bit, or maybe his mind was wandering in the same place yours was, which was picturing him naked beneath his sheets.

You set the phone down, momentarily starting to panic.

You hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility that Jean might be asking you to come get in his fucking bed with him. Thank god you took a leisurely shower earlier—and you still smelled good, you checked.

You stood up from the bed, watching the kitten stretch and quickly fall back asleep on top of the blankets. You bent down to slip on your pajama pants, but then found yourself debating if you should just leave the flimsy material behind.

If this was what you were hoping it was, walking in without pants would send the “I got the hint, I’m here to fuck,” message loud and clear.

But if this was just “hey pal come keep me company, I’m bored,” walking into his room in nothing but a shirt and panties could be quite awkward.

You decided to hedge your bets, stuffing your pajama bottoms back into your bag as that lingering liquid courage from the eggnog set in. If worse came to worse, you could always say you forgot to pack them.

You carefully closed the door behind you, making sure the cat didn’t follow.

Then, it was literally just a few steps to Jean’s room. Conveniently, his door was cracked. Did he get up and leave it open for you? Did he always sleep with his door cracked? Or had he planned all along to ask you to come over?

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. Those inessential thoughts needed to be quieted.

The door creaked as you slid past it, the old hinges signaling your arrival and making Jean’s attention whip towards you. His phone was still in his hand, like was watching your messages and too-eagerly anticipating your reply.

“Hey,” you whispered into the darkness, wincing as the door kept groaning as you pushed it shut behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, too nervous to just waltz up to his bed and fall in. You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you waited for him to break the silence.

“Aren’t you cold?” He whispered back, shifting in the bed.

His figure was illuminated by the pale, grey light from window, the snow clouds still keeping the moon suppressed in the sky. Like you’d imagined, he was shirtless, all those hard-earned muscles on display from where he was propped up on his elbows, sheets low against his waist.

“I thought you were cold, Mr. No Shirt.”

“You’re not wearing pants.”

“I’m not wearing pants,” you parroted back.

You watched the smile spread across his face, that darling, infuriatingly pretty smile that made you a little too happy in this moment.

He pulled his sheets back in invitation, revealing that he, too, was not wearing pants, only clad in blue boxer briefs that were sinfully tight around his upper thighs, etchings of Calvin Klein pressed against his lower stomach.

His hands were on you before you even settled onto the mattress, warm and greedy and pulling you flush against his body. All those worried thoughts you had before vanished under his touch, the message you had been missing suddenly loud and clear: you weren’t the only one hiding your feelings. All those veiled emotions came alive beneath wandering hands, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as his found the flesh of your thighs.

“Was this what you were thinking about when you invited me here?”

You breathed in the smell of his warm skin as you settled against him, notes of his cologne still lingering against his body.

“This is what I think about all the time,” he confessed, nudging his thigh between your legs.

You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth as the muscles of his thigh pressed against your aching core.

“Me too,” you were pulling his face down to yours, thumbs against his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

A satisfied sound rang from both of your throats, lips melding and slanting against one another hungrily.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His words were lost within the kiss, being swallowed down as you kept drinking him in.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You echoed back, gasping as his hands slid underneath your shirt and began to wander across your belly, reaching up toward your ribcage.

You both knew the answer to that: you were idiots, too scared to admit feelings even though they were clearly on display for everyone around you. But now the question didn’t matter, all the answers you wanted about to be shared between your anxious bodies with starved kisses and touches.

You shamelessly pressed yourself a little harder against his thigh, sighing as your pussy found relief against his leg. He groaned at your action, moving his thigh back and forth a little bit to see how you would react. When you whimpered, your own thighs squeezing around his, he smirked, repeating the motion of sweeping his thick, sturdy thigh back and forth between your legs.

“You like that?” His head was tilting down, teeth nipping at your jaw and down your neck as your head fell back against the pillow.

“Y-yes, feels so good.”

His hands were still traveling, wandering across your heated skin like he wanted to map your curves into his memory. He groaned against your throat when he discovered you’d also forgotten to wear anything under your t-shirt, his thumbs lazily brushing the undersides of your breasts.

You felt like you were burning beneath his sheets, like he was painting fire against your skin with every touch. His large hands engulfed your breasts, carefully kneading and rolling your soft flesh in his palms. He was eager to kiss you again, to slip his tongue past your parted lips and get addicted to your taste.

Jean pinched and pulled at your hardening nipples, greedily taking your little mewls into his mouth. He touched you like he already knew you, pulling at your body like you were the perfect little sex doll on strings for him to play with; rocking you on his thigh, tugging at your nipples, tongue dancing in your mouth, his hair tickling your cheeks, his cock hard and hot against his stomach.

Your panties were getting more and more wet by the second, the soaked material sinking into your folds as you rubbed yourself against the downy hairs and rounded, solid muscle of his upper thigh. His boxer briefs were bunching closer to his hips, pre-cum already staining against the fabric where his cock was imprinted into the threads. You slipped your hand down his impressive chest, fingers dipping into the elastic of his briefs.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling back to suck in a breath as your fingertips brushed against the head of his cock, “fuck you’re so hot riding my thigh like that, so fucking wet.”

“You did say you wanted a warm kitty.”

Your words had him pinching harder at your nipples, making you gasp as he chuckled.

“Mhm I can’t wait to play with your kitty, make you mine,” he punctuated his sentence by bouncing his leg up, sending electric pulses of pleasure racing over your nerves.

You responded by pulling his cock from its confines, wrapping your fingers around it and tugging at the silken skin. God he was thick, barely fitting in your palm as you moved your wrist up and down. You suddenly felt so small against him, realizing that he was dwarfing you just by lying next to you in the bed. His long, thick fingers could spread across the entirety of your chest, the thigh sliding against your pussy was enormous, but it felt like it belonged there; you could get used to riding him like this.

You both fell into a frenzied, delirious rhythm, your bodies bucking and panting as you found bliss against each other.

His hands slid down your body, leaving your tender breasts and searching for a new home. He found your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked you back and forth against his thigh himself, using the strength in his forearms to have your pussy pressed down against him in the most perfect way to have you seeing stars and whining his name.

“Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum just from riding me?”

“Fuck, yeah, yes, please, make me cum like this.”

Your hand had gone slack against his cock, your mind almost unable to concentrate under the waves of pleasure building and coiling inside you.

It felt too good to have his rapacious hands on your hips, grip mean and tight as he basically fucked you against his thigh. You wanted to scream, your other hand clawing at the back of his neck for stability.

“Baby,” he breathed, peppering a few kisses along your cheek, “could…could you call me daddy when you cum?”

There was a hesitancy in his voice, like he was ashamed to ask such a thing.

Your lower belly clenched, heat racing across all your nerve endings like he’d just poured sin straight out of his mouth.

You nodded your head for him, uncontrollable moans and gasps getting in the way of your own words. The thought of calling him daddy, that sent something wicked down to your pussy, had your fingers squeezing and tugging at his cock again and your eyes falling shut.

It felt like your sanity was breaking, like reality was splintering and this wasn’t real—you were dreaming again, weren’t you? But then you felt his cock twitch in your hand, felt your swollen clit brush against your panties and his thigh, and you were thrusted back into the actuality of your situation. You were with Jean, he was groaning in your ear, and you were about to cum all over him.

“D—da…,” you were choking, so overwhelmed with a final cresting of bliss that you almost felt like sobbing.

But he just clutched you more tightly, pressed you harder against him, whispering your name in encouragement to let yourself go for him.

Then, you lost all of your sensibilities, euphoria washing over your body as you snapped and came undone with a little whine of, “daddy,” against his lips. You slowed the rocking of your hips, your heart beating out of your chest, your pussy pulsing and clenching as you rode out the last remnants of your orgasm.

“Holy fucking shit that’s so hot, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, one of his hands smoothing against your cheek.

“Wha—,” you smiled, shaking your head as you caught your breath, “what are you doing with a daddy kink, Jean?”

He mimicked your smile, hands moving to slide your ruined panties down your legs and removed the rest of your clothing as he repositioned your bodies. You let him move you around like a ragdoll, so delirious in your afterglow that you barely even registered how he was hooking your legs onto his shoulders.

“Do you not like calling me daddy?” There was a seriousness laced into his tone that told you he’d drop it if it made you uncomfortable.

“I like it,” you fisted one of your hands in his hair, bringing his lips to yours for a slow, messy kiss, “just didn’t expect it.”

“I’m full of surprises, baby.”

You felt the head of his cock nudge between your wet folds, his hands back on your hips where they belonged. Your head fell back against the pillow as he started to push inside of you, stretching your walls and making your toes go almost numb from the pleasure. You felt like you were splitting apart, like a fissure was forming down the middle of your body, stemming from where he was spearing into you.

With your legs on his broad shoulders, he was pushing you into the mattress, his hands urging your hips to relax and let him sink into your warm heat.

“Ohhhh fuckkkk daddy,” you couldn’t help but to whine, all your senses suddenly overwhelmed again. You were drowning in him, falling deeper and deeper into the throes of heaven with every inch of his fat cock slipping inside of you.

“God you’re so tight,” he presses his forehead to yours, keen eyes watching how your lips were falling apart and your eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure, “that’s right, daddy’s going to take such good care of you.”

It felt like all your history with him was being wiped away, like this moment wasn’t about two friends fulfilling all their years of mutual pining, but instead about a new relationship blooming between two bodies full of lust and desire. This was about Jean fucking you senseless, about him taking control and finally having what’s belonged to him for longer than he probably even realized. You wanted to lose yourself to him, lose yourself to his appetite and just let him devour you.

All the air left your lungs when bottomed out inside of you, your walls clenching and sucking him in. He stayed still for a moment, nearly lost himself at the feeling of your cunt wrapped so tightly around his cock.

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned, dragging his cock out of you slowly before pressing in again, your cunt greedily sucking him back in.

“I always have been,” you teased, one hand lost in his hair while the other slid down the expanse of his back. You bucked your hips in his hands, coaxing him to keep moving.

“Oh fuck. Good girl.”

His praise made you feel drunk, liquid heat rushing to your ears and between your legs.

He began to snap his hips, repeatedly burying his cock into your depths, the angle of your body making him hit that fleshy patch inside of you. You cried out at the feeling of being so stuffed, your walls burning from the intrusion but that coil inside your belly tightening again, hotter and more intense than before.

“Mhmmm, such a good girl, I promise,” you pressed your lips to his in reassurance, letting your breathy moans fall into his mouth as he started to get a little rougher. His pace was steady, solid, a hard motion of his cock thrusting in and out of you, each push and pull full of purpose and passion. Every plunge was making your lower stomach spasm, making pleasure burst across your body so forcefully that you felt that urge to cry again.

“Wanted to fuck you for so long,” his face was tucked underneath your chin, mouth trailing across your throat between his words. A particularly hard suck against your neck had your back arching, breasts flattening against his chest and your nails clinging to him.

Jean sat back on his knees, big hands smoothing down your thighs as he looked to where your bodies were conjoined, watching how your pussy enveloped his cock with every thrust of his hips, sweet skin encasing all of his length. He looked enraptured by the sight, groaning and hissing every time he pressed inside of you.

Then his eyes were flashing up to your face, softening as he took note of your blissed-out state, your face flushed and your lip between your teeth.

“So pretty,” he mused, a palm ghosting up to your chest to toy with one of your tits as he found a new rhythm.

You were ensnared by the scene before you as well, eyes wide with delight as you admired the man before you. Jean felt unhinged, electric between your legs, like he’d finally let go and was pouring all his clandestine secrets into your willing body. His chestnut hair was swept over his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and across his body rolling, rounded and thick like he was marble come to life. And his face was smooth, pretty, concentrated, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body.

Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

“Daddy,” you called out to him, having to bite back a grin as you observed how quickly you earned his attention, “you feel s-so good,” your hand was traveling down your chest, trailing over his fingers on your breast before snaking down to your clit, “p-please let me cum again.”

You had an inkling that he would take over for you.

His thick, long fingers hovered over your own, carefully aiding in swirling over your aching clit. You hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly.

Jean’s other hand slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, legs tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted. His thumb was almost impatient on your clit, now circling so quickly that your body was shaking, lower stomach clenching and unclenching repeatedly like you were lost in a reckless tide.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last with you squeezing me like that, baby.”

Your mouth watered at the thought of him finding that ultimate pleasure inside of you. Your ears became tuned to the chorus of resonances between your legs, the sweet, wet sounds of skin against skin, of slick at the base of a fat cock, of Jean grunting your name like a lost prayer.

The final chord of your sanity was threatening to snap, you could feel it again, like he was pulling the strings of your body too tightly and you were going to splinter and break with just the right swipe of his thumb.

“I-inside,” you mewled, unable to keep your eyes open any longer as your thighs began to quake, “daddy—oh fuck, fuck—cum inside me, please,”

God you were so fucking close to falling off the edge, and he could feel it, using his grip to bring you even harder and faster down onto your cock to get you careening and falling again.

Your push into oblivion came when you heard him pleading, almost whining, above you, sweat dripping down his skin as his syllables flowed together, “please, please, please, fuck, cum for daddy, cum for me, please.”

You could both feel it, how you creamed around his cock, pussy sucking him in so deliciously tight that it caused him to lose all control. His fingers dug a little too deep, his cock throbbing and pumping deep inside of you with his release. It was like the world went quiet, like a blanket of snow fell onto your bodies and hushed your sounds and cooled your skin. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, like he was meant to be there. Your body relaxed, feeling like you were sinking into the mattress and he was the only thing keeping you from being lost.

When he finally pulled his spent cock from inside you, he wasn’t gone long. His hands were back on you again, pulling you in for simple, affectionate kisses and rubbing tenderly at the places he’d perhaps explored too roughly.

“Jean…” you cut yourself off with a yawn, fatigued limbs winding into his own.

His thigh found its home between your legs again, both of you groaning with a mixture of lust and disgust as you felt his cum drip into a mess between your thighs.

“Whatever it is can wait until morning, we need to sleep.”

“Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.”

He nuzzled your cheek, lips searching for yours.

“Mhmm, Merry Christmas, baby.”

You laughed, laying your head against his chest.

_______________

You weren’t sure how long you slept, but it felt like you spent a small eternity in Jean’s bed before your eyes opened again. When you awoke, he was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the kitten in his arms. She was ready to play, striped tail swishing as he dangled a toy mouse just out of her reach.

“What time is it?” You stretched, suddenly all too aware that you were still very naked beneath the sheets.

“It’s only eight, everyone else is still asleep aside from Mikasa who actually went for a run in the fucking snow.”

Jean smiled, hair tucked behind his ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized just how madly in love with him you were. You always aimed to make him smile, to hear him laugh, but to see him gazing at you in the morning sun with pure adoration shining in his hazel eyes had you practically melting into the bed.

“I meant what I said last night, you know,” he said, turning the kitten loose to run across the bed.

“You said a lot of things last night, daddy,” you teased, watching his cheeks turn a pretty pink at the mention of that name.

“I meant about you never spending another holiday alone. Because, you know, I’d like to…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was genuinely nervous.

You sat up, running a hand down his arm before kissing at his shoulder, momentarily getting lost in the smell and feel of him.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

No one was surprised that the two of you, and the kitten, spent every single holiday together thereafter, mostly naked, and always smiling.

#jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x you #aot jean #aot jean kirstein #snk jean #snk jean kirstein #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #snk #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #aot #jean aot #jean kirstein fanfic

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amelialincoln · 4 years ago

Text

Notion

“Hey.” Link was breathless as he brought the final bits of outdoor furniture into the kitchen. It was supposed to rain tomorrow and Seattle had become covered in a thick layer of fog that seemed to cling to him as he closed the door to the backyard.

“Everyone headed out?” Amelia asked, scraping the last of the kid’s leftovers into the compost. Link nodded, placing a lingering, cold kiss on her forehead that made her shiver.

“Seemed kinda awkward between Jackson and Winston.”

“Well, it’s not Maggie’s fault that Jackson’s dated every person in a fifty mile radius,” she responded bitterly.

“This is true,” Link nodded.

“What’s going to make things worse is that she’s going to have to explain that all of us are mourning her other ex’s death,” she added grimly.

“No,” Link’s voice was soft. “I thought he pulled through.”

“Richard just called me to see if I wanted to join a meeting on zoom tonight, everything fell apart and Teddy and Owen couldn’t save him.” Tears were starting to fill her eyes. Deluca hadn’t spent much time on her service recently but he and Sam were pivotal when she was working on Kimmie’s tumor. When it came to her own tumor, she was surprised how much Deluca had shown his support.

“So, he’s just gone?” Unlike Amelia, Link hadn’t experienced a whole lot of death.

“Yeah.” He pulled her into his chest and rocked gently. It almost hurt how nice it was to see the few people that had come over today. Despite the house they were living in being chaos, the couple had never felt more isolated and alone. “I had to tell Zola that Mer might possibly not wake up.” Amelia whimpered. “She was so strong. She doesn’t want to worry Bailey and Ellis so she told Maggie and I not to tell them. If anything happens to Mer, Derek made Kathleen their godmother, I can’t watch these kids get shipped off to New York, they’ve had it hard enough.”

“I know, babe,” Link sighed, pulling her in closer.

“I have to go feed Scout, my boobs are gonna explode,” Amelia finally shed herself of Link’s arms after a couple of blissful moments. “Can you read to Zola and Bailey? I can handle Ellis because she’ll get like five stories out of you if I let you go in there.” Link chuckled.

“You’re probably right.”

[][][]

“Auntie Amelia.” Amelia was relieved to be greeted with a sleepy voice as she stepped into the pink monstrosity that was Ellis’ room.

“Hi Elle belle.” She smiled in response to the little girl’s arms reaching towards her. “Come on sweetheart, let's pick some pjs.”

“Can you make it a surprise?” Ellis asked in a way that made Amelia’s ovaries explode and she found herself wondering what Link would think about trying for a girl. Hormones, Amelia, focus. “What about these?” She suggested, holding up a pair of pastel blue Moana pajamas. Ellie nodded happily, squealing as Amelia tugged them over her pudgy arms.

“Can we read the cookie mouse story?”

“Of course,” Amelia grinned. “It’s not like we haven’t read it every day this week.” She lowered herself gently down onto Ellis’ bed. Recovery hadn’t been the easiest when chasing three children around the house and caring for a newborn. Link had pulled out Amelia’s stitches the night before, using his phone’s flashlight, since neither of them wanted to go to the hospital and then go through the trouble of getting tested. She had tried to hide the pain for Link’s sake, tired of him expecting her to be constantly resting, but she hadn’t expected the pain. Link was an incredible ortho surgeon but when it came to the little details, he was sometimes a bit careless.

Amelia closed the door to Ellis’ bedroom as quietly as possible, trying not to chuckle at the little figure sprawled out across her twin bed. For such a small girl Ellis was notoriously known as the most impossible person to sleep with, taking up spaces three times her size. She walked past Zola and Bailey’s room, hearing Link’s animated voice through fits of giggles. He definitely outdid her in the storytelling department, and really in every department, which she tried to not think too much about. Scout was babbling as Amelia entered the familiar room.

“You hungry, big guy?” To Amelia’s relief, Scout had progressed past his grumpy and problematic eating phase. She hugged him into her chest, breathing in his sweet and comforting soft lavender smell from the bubble bath they’d used this afternoon. “My beautiful boy.” She was still in disbelief, even staring down at him in her arms, that he truly existed. As he’d gotten bigger, he’d started to become a perfect combination of his parents. With Link’s strong features, like his nose, and what Amelia could tell would be his jaw, along with her dimple and piercing blue eyes.

“Hey mommy,” Link’s amused voice came from the doorway. “You feeling better?” Amelia wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the soreness in her lower half or the news about Deluca.

“He makes everything better,” she sighed, fumbling with one of the buttons on Scout’s onesie.

“You going to go to that meeting?” Link asked, she could tell he knew something was bothering her. “I already missed it.” She shrugged, glancing at their bedside alarm clock. “I’ll probably just feed him and then pass out.”

“Do you want me to grab the baby wrap, you were lifting lots today already with the furniture.”

“Sure,” she nodded, not feeling like having a conversation about how perfectly fine her arms were. Link nodded, placing a soft hand on her back before rummaging through their closet for the wrap. She was happy to find that Scout latched on easily and without protest, feeling a little guilty about the lack of attention that he’d received today. She knew that people were suffering way more during this time and she couldn’t help but feel guilty for wishing that she, Scout and Link could be spending quality time in their apartment for their maternity leave like planned.

“Lift your arm a bit.” Link ran a soft hand along the side of her forearm as he tied the piece of fabric around her shoulder and managed to wiggle Scout into it, without removing him from her chest.

“Thank you,” she smiled tiredly.

“No problem,” he yawned, practically collapsing into bed beside her. “Fuck, Amelia I’m exhasuted.”

“Me too.” She ran a gentle hand through his hair, tugging out some of the frequent knots that had begun to form since his hair had begun to grow out.

“Is your incision site healing okay,” he groaned into the pillow, melting a bit as she massaged the root of his neck.

“I haven’t checked,” she admitted with a yawn.

“Want me to grab some polysporin?”

“It’s okay, babe, it feels fine.” She sighed slightly, playing with the idea of bringing up a topic that has been bugging her but not wanting to cause an argument that neither of them were up for. “You started drinking pretty early today.”

“Amelia,” Link groaned tiredly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It was just unnecessary, no one wanted...I’m just worried.” She shifted Scout to the other side uncomfortably.

“It’s not my fault you see addiction everywhere. I had like two beers.” Silence hung thickly in the air and after a couple of minutes Link turned to face her. “I’m sorry. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t really seem to care,” she answered honestly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He replied defensively, tiredness had seemed to leave his body momentarily. “I don’t--”

“The fridge is stocked, Link. It’s like a reminder every time I go to make food. There’s a cooler in the garage for a reason.”

“How am I supposed to know,” he sputtered. “Meredith downs tequila in front of you like this is a frat house. You hang out with our friends when they drink all the time.”

“It’s different when you're surrounded by people. When I’m alone and just staring at a fridge filled with booze it’s hard to not want to take one.”

“Amelia, you haven’t relapsed in years, why would you even--”

“Because I’m an addict, Link!” The increase in volume of her voice caused Scout to shriek in protest. “Don’t you understand that? It doesn’t get easier. It’s a fight every fucking day. And when my boyfriend starts drinking every day at three o’clock in the afternoon, it makes that fight ten times harder.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” he grumbled.

“Are you serious right now?”

“About what,” he shot back.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. I thought you’d be considerate enough to validate my feelings instead of acting like I’m being dramatic but instead you’re being a child.”

“Mia,” Link groaned, slamming his head back into the pillow, looking as childish as ever. “You’re--”

“What? Overreacting? The fact that you don’t see this as an issue is concerning.” Scout’s shrieking turned into a full on meltdown as their “perfect” son burst into tears. “Oh, baby, no. It’s okay.” Amelia sighed, finding tears of frustration begin to build at the sides of her own eyes and let out a tiny whimper as she held back any sobs that attempted to be heard. Of course Link noticed, as always, and rolled over to witness the upset state that both his girlfriend and baby were in.

“I am sorry,”

“Show me then,” Amelia hissed through a clenched jaw, wiping away some stubborn fallen tears. “Cause right now I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll put the packs in the cooler tomorrow,” he promised, with a hint of resentment. Amelia shrugged, finally giving up on feeding Scout and bringing him tightly into her chest.

“Hey, it’s okay, mommy and daddy fight sometimes, but everything’s going to be okay. Don’t cry Scout. We love you so much,” she murmured into the crown of his head, causing Link to melt a little inside.

“Are we going to be okay?” Link asked, receiving a teary glance from his girlfriend.

“Not if you can’t get this sorted because I cannot be his mother and also be passed out in a ditch somewhere on opioids.” Link nodded, moving to tug her shirt back into place and took Scout into his own hands, marvelling slightly at the little miracle they had created. “I don’t want to screw him up.”

“You won’t,” he promised her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before grazing her slightly chapped lips. “You’ve been a mother for a month and have already proved that. That’s the last thing we need to worry about right now.” He patted his chest. “Now come to sleep because if we stay up any longer I feel like I might end up on the couch,” he chuckled.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” she replied with a yawn.

“I love you,” he sighed.

“I love you too.”

what did u guys think of 17x07? i did find the beers at like 12 a bit weird and with the upcoming episode’s synopsis “Jo, Jackson and Link play a drinking game” I wonder if Amelia and him will have a conversation about her addiction bc I feel like they haven't really talked about it. lmk what u think!

#amelia shepherd #AmeliaShepherd #amelinkfanfiction #amelink #amelink fanfiction #link #Atticus Lincoln #atticus link #greysanatomy

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 88

Warnings: none

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

The final attempt at sleep had been successful. Although the road ahead of him is destined to be long and extremely difficult -and no doubt agonizing- his brief moment of wakefulness had done wonders to life Esme’s spirits. That chance to speak to him; to see him open his eyes and know -with one hundred percent certainty- that he was able to acknowledge her. It wasn’t a drug induced incoherent rambling or hallucination. He actually saw her and was able to engage; giving appropriate responses and showing concern for her and the baby. Able to express how he was feeling and that telling her he loved her. No one could ever possibly understand how just incredible that small moment was, or what an enormous impact it had on her state of mind. She knows it won’t be easy. There will be weeks, even months, of healing; tremendous pain and more hard times than easy ones. A full recovery could take as long as a couple of years; countless rounds of physical rehab will be needed and most likely therapy for mental health and addiction issues. But he’s already shown just how tenacious and strong he actually is; his will to live a lot more powerful than the agony he’s experiencing. With so much to live for, his desire to be with his family again is his main driving force, and she knows he’ll be willing to do whatever it takes to get back on his feet again.

Nathan may have been able to break his body, but he hadn’t made a dent in his spirit.

The burden she’s been carrying -the fear, worry, and uncertainty- had been lessened, and she’d been able to drift off; both body and mind allowing her to rest. So soundly in fact, that she’d only briefly stirred in the wee hours of the morning when Julie had come in while on her rounds. Merely lifting her head from the pillow; quietly observing as the nurse switched empty IV and medicine bags with full ones. Then she’d simply rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head, and easily drifted off.

Her sleep once again had been filled with dreams of the past. Millie’s first steps and how ecstatic and proud Tyler had been; never getting to experience many of Austin’s milestones because of deployments. How tearful he’d been the morning he’d walked into her room and Millie -who’d been standing up in her crib, excitedly bouncing up and down at the mere sight of him- had called him ‘daddy’ for the very first time. And the way he’d broken down in the delivery room when the twins had been born -even harder than he had when his daughter came into the world- and the nurse had given him TJ and said “Here’s your son”. He’d lost his first, and getting that moment again -a baby boy presented to him- had profoundly affected him A man that rightfully shouldn’t even have been alive. Who’d been given a second chance and at times didn’t feel as if he deserved it. There are still times he thinks that way. When the demons of the past resurface and play havoc on his brain; convincing him that the mistakes of a younger man and the amount of blood on his hands has turned him into a monster. It’s the nightmare of living with mental health issues and PTSD; those dark moments where he questions his mere existence and openly states that he doesn’t deserve the life he has now; a wife and children that love and accept him unconditionally.

It’s hard for people to understand. How a man that is so big and so strong -and often intimidating- can have those kinds of thoughts and vulnerable moments. But they don’t know everything that he’s battled. His childhood is one of his best kept secrets; only her and Koen know the full extent of his father’s behaviour, the abuse inflicted, and the long term damage it has caused. It’s not something he readily talks about; even with her. That toxic masculinity still gets the better of him at times. His father’s attempts at beating into him that a man -a REAL MAN- doesn’t show emotion; it means that he’s weak and there’s nothing more pathetic than being weak. And she’s tried to break him of it; years spent assuring him that he isn’t a weak man. A weak man would have given up in that storage facility. In the same way he would have given up on the Sultana Kamal Bridge seven years ago. And he certainly never would have survived the nightmare of his upbringing. Nor would he be so determined to be a better man; the kind of husband and father that a wife and kids can brag about and proud of. Who never have to live in fear of him ; cowering every time he raises his voice or even comes too close to them. Who know -beyond the shadow of a doubt- how much he loves him.

Tyler Rake is anything BUT weak. And he’d shown that the night before. Somehow finding a way to battle his way through this thick haze of multiple medications; gathering the strength to not only open his eyes, but actually think coherently and communicate. He was right. He DOES do whatever he wants.

When she finally wakes, it’s to the patter of rain against the window and the sounds of hospital life trickling through the half open door. Doctors being paged, the shrill ring of patients’ using their call buttons to summon for help, the loud rattle of gurneys being pushed through the halls. It’s a harsh reminder of her current situation; stuck in the ICU of a private hospital in Dhaka, thousands of miles away from her children and the comforts and security of her own home. She misses it. The sound and the smell of the ocean. The morning breeze and sunshine as she stands out on the back deck enjoying that first cup of tea, watching her husband as he helps Millie and the twins search -and dig, at times- for shells, rocks, and beach glass. Often wondering who is enjoying the quality time more; father or children. The dinners cooked on an open fire down by the water; the smiles brought to their faces -and that unconditional love and immense pride in his eyes- as they watch their children play and listen to those little voices and musical giggles floating on the air. And those strong, protective arms wrapped around her from behind as she sits between his legs. Her head resting against his chest as they quietly marvel at the sky; painted vivid shades of orange and pink as the sun sets.

It’s a life she had never even dared to dream about; a beautiful home in an even more even more beautiful place, amazing children and a husband that is faithful and loyal and only has eyes for her. All those things that she’d come to believe SHE didn’t deserve and had long ago given up on finding. How poetic in a way; two broken people coming together to make a slightly dented whole.

Sighing heavily, she rolls from side to back; eyes closed as she stretches and yawns The morning sickness has returned. With a vengeance. More than likely made worse by lack of food and the stress and worry that have accompanied the last twenty four hours. When she manages to quell the threatening nausea and brief spell of dizziness, she opens her eyes and sits up, finding a small paper bag sitting on the extra pillow beside her; name written on the front of it in black marker. And the contents bring the first genuine smile since yesterday morning; aside from Tyler’s brief period of consciousness. A bottle of prenatal vitamins, a small carton of chocolate milk, and an enormous blueberry muffin. Accompanied by a handwritten note from Julie; asking Esme to promise she’ll look after herself AND the baby, assurance that she’ll be back on in the evening, and her home phone number. The latter being offered as not only a ‘helpline’ if she feels overwhelmed and scared and needs someone to vent and cry to, but so she can give the nurse a list of some of her favorite foods. Julie vowing to bring a selection when she clocks in for her shift. It’s refreshing; having someone WANT to take care of her in that motherly fashion. Especially when her own has been anything but.

She shoves her feet into her sandals and climbs off the bed; returning it to its couch form. “Hey baby,” she greets as she stands at the side of Tyler’s bed; combing her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple. “Good morning. I hope you slept god. You didn’t snore, I know that much. That’s a first, huh? Me not complaining about your snoring? Must have been a really good sleep for you to be THAT quiet. You deserve it; that kind of sleep. Your face looks a little better, I think. Not as swollen. Pretty bruised though. And you’re going to have a couple wicked scars at the end of this.”

Her fingers gently touch the stitches below and above his eye.

“You’d probably joke about how it balances your face out; the right catching up with the left in the scar department. I think they’re going to make you even sexier. Which should be illegal, if you ask me. One man being that sexy? No wonder you’re a DILF. The thirsty ladies may drive me crazy, but I can’t really blame them. Right now I’m kind of mad at you though. I am so nauseous. And I swear, the bump is even bigger this morning...look…” she pushes her fingers through his, then draws their joined hands through the safety railing and places them on her stomach. “...bigger, right? You can’t tell me this is normal. None of the other ones were this size so soon. Not even Declan, and he was over ten pounds when he was born. And you better not be thinking multiples; one is all we can handle right about now. Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, alright? Six is more than enough. And speaking of babies, I’m going to ask Ovi to bring Addie here. She’s tiny still, Tyler. She shouldn’t be away from us this long. Especially me. She needs to be with her momma. And I think it would do you some good, too; having at least one of them here. So that’s my decision and you’re just going to have to live with it.”

She moves his hand back inside the confines of the bed, gently setting it on the mattress

“I love you,” she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You keep sleeping, okay? And I hope if you’re dreaming, it’s good things for a change.”

****

She gives a small start when she exits the bathroom and finds Koen sitting in the bedside chair. Sipping from a take out cup of coffee and freshly shaven; his face bearing its own fair share of bruises and a handful of butterfly bandages keeping small, superficial wounds closed.

“Morning, sunshine!” He cheerfully greets, and nods to the cup of tea and a bag of fast food breakfast sitting on the window ledge. “I finally get to see you in your sexy jammies.”

Esme gives a derisive snort. “You DO have issues if you find sweatpants and an oversized shirt sexy,” she says as she journeys over to the window “I was going to give you shit for scaring the crap out of me, but seeing as you come bearing gifts, I’ll let it slide.” She peers into the bag, a grin tugging at her lips. “Either it was just a lucky guess, or you somehow know that when I’m pregnant, I always crave breakfast burritos.”

“There’s a lot I know about you. Someone talks about you. All the time. Mostly about shit I don’t need to know.”

“Well I’m glad you listened. Because this is a very nice surprise. Thank you,” she lays a hand on his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. “And what’s up with this?” She lightly taps a hand against the side of his face. “All cleaned up. Smooth like a baby’s bum.”

“I thought there might be some hot nurses walking around. Want to put my best foot forward. Maybe you can hook me up; put in a good word for me.”

“Why would you want to hook with someone here? You’ll be going home soon.”

“Exactly.”

“Ewww…” she grimaces. “...I don’t need to know that you’re a ‘pump and dump’.”

“Considering the things I’ve had to hear from you and him?” Koen nods in Tyler’s direction. “What I said is tame. I’ve actually had to listen to you two….”

“I thought you were moving on from random hookups?” Esme remarks, and she perches on the arm of his chair and delves into one of the burritos. “I thought you were getting too old for that shit?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling old?”

“I thought Tyler was rubbing off on you. That he was some sort of inspiration to you and Rata; convincing you two it was time to stop sowing your wild oats and settle down once and for all. Didn’t you say it gave you hope? That if...and I quote…’someone can put up with the likes of him, that’s proof there IS someone out there for everyone’.”

“I did say that.”

“So what gives? Why are you looking for a random? You deserve more than that”

“Well if he was awake and could tell me where to find another one of you, I’d be all set.”

“Sorry. I’m limited edition. And I’ve already been claimed. A couple breakfast burritos just aren’t enough to make me divorce my husband and run away with you. It definitely takes more than that.”

“I knew I should have gotten you hash browns too.”

“That would have done it! Boy, did you ever blow that. I would have for sure ran away with you. Right this very second.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy our little banter, I don’t think I could handle you.”

“Oh, you definitely couldn’t. It takes a special breed of man, believe me. And I’m serious; aren’t you tired of NOT having someone to call your own? Someone to go home to at the end of the day? Someone that is your ‘be and end all’? Your ‘ride or die’?. You deserve to be happy. I WANT you to be happy.”

“I think Tyler took all the happy and didn’t leave any for anyone else.”

“When we get home, I am finding someone for you. I don’t care what it takes; I will put you on every dating site out there.”

“What about your sister? Or step sister. Whatever she is.”

“Riley? Are you serious? She’s twenty three!”

“And?”

“And you’re thirty years older than she is!”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I know you’re eight years older than Tyler. He’s almost forty two. So I lied; you’re only twenty seven years old than she is.”

“And?”

“And that’s fucking disturbing!”

Koen shrugs. “She’s cute”

“She is. You know who else finds her cute? Women. Who she is into. And she’s not a switch hitter.”

“Doesn’t take after her older sister, huh?”

Esme frowns. “He told you THAT, too?”

“He’s told me a lot of things, sunshine. You forget; he’s a chatty drunk. Until he’s a depressed and weepy drunk, that is.”

“There are many sides to him you don’t get to see. Sober sides. And don’t worry; my sister isn’t in contention, but I WILL find someone for you. And speaking of someone, where’s your sidekick?”

“He saw something downstairs he liked.”

“Really…” she playfully wriggles her eyebrows. “...blond or brunette?”

“Something in the gift shop. For the baby.”

“He knows?”

“EVERYONE knows.”

“Yaz has a big mouth,” Esme grumbles. “We weren’t going to tell anyone until we got home and found how far along I am. It’s what Tyler and I wanted.”

“I could gather a guess. About how far.”

“Sure you could,” she mutters. “And why do you keep looking at me like that? Why do you keep staring at my crotch?”

“I’m looking at your stomach. Where’d that come from?”

“It’s been there. I’ve just been hiding it because no one was supposed to know! Now that everyone does, I guess I don’t have to wear baggy clothes anymore. And it’s big, right? The bump? Bigger than any of the others?”

“How should I know? I only saw you pregnant with Millie and Addie. Never saw you with any of the boys.”

“It’s never been like this so soon! How big IS this baby?”

“Look at the size of the kid’s father. Maybe it’s taking after him. Or maybe there’s more than one.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you think it? Don’t put that out into the universe. There’s just one. That’s it. That will make it six. A nice even number.”

“Number six must be pretty damn big then.”

“You know what? You’re off my Christmas card list. There’s no way we’re running away together. You totally shit the bed. No second chances for you.

“What if I bring you chocolate?”

“Not even then. You just had to jinx the entire thing.”

Koen gives an over dramatic pout.

“Buddy, I have seen better pouts on a much bigger man. That won’t work on me. You have nothing on Tyler’s pout.”

“He doesn’t pout.”

“He sure as shit does. I’m going to prove it one day. I’m going to catch him doing it and take a picture. Then I’ll have the evidence. Tanner has the EXACT same pout; he mostly does it when he’s sleeping.”

“Speaking of pictures, I’ve got a little something for ya.” Koen reaches into the side pocket of his cargo pants, pulling out his cell and then thumbing through the gallery; choosing the image he wants and offering the phone to her. “Thought it would make you smile. The world’s a shitty place when you don’t. You got yourself a pretty nice smile.”

“You’ve been taking ass kissing lessons from the best, haven’t you,” she chides, then pops the last of her breakfast into her mouth and wipes her hands on her thighs. “Oh...my...god…” she breathes, and almost squeals in delight at the sight before her. Her husband long before the hardness and weariness brought on by his time in the military, substance abuse issues, and the dangers of the job. Before all of those demons took hold of him and he’d yet to go under a tattoo artist’s needle and no scars marred his body. Tall and lean; broad shouldered and bearing the start of the strong and solid physique of a soldier. A brush cut and a smooth, clean face; the smile -genuine and pure- making his eyes crinkle and sparkle.

“Back when he couldn’t even grow a proper beard yet,” Koen muses. “When he was still wet behind the ears. Nothing hard ass about that bloke in the picture, is there.”

“Where did you get this?” Esme can’t explain it; the tug at her heart and the emotion choking at her and the tears that well in her eyes. There’s something so surreal about it; seeing the person you love long before a hard and unpredictable life got a hold of them.

“Found a box of old pictures when I was going through some stuff back home. Meant to show it to him, but never got around to it. You mentioned before that you’ve never seen what he looked like before...well...before all of this.”

“I’ve only ever ever seen one picture of him. When he was five; with his mom on his first day of kindergarten. He doesn’t have any other ones; he says it’s not worth the grief he’ll get if he asks his dad if he has any. This is…I don’t know...it’s amazing. You have no idea what this means to me; seeing this. ESPECIALLY right now. This is everything. You can’t possibly understand what this does for me.”

“I think I do. I know how you feel about him. That you’re just as much a fool in love as he is.”

“I certainly am,” she smiles. “How old is he here?”

“Nineteen. Hadn’t been out of basic long; a couple weeks maybe. When he was a cocky little shit and as green as fresh baby shit. Cute, ain’t he?”

“Very cute. It’s weird seeing him like this. I’ve only seen MY Tyler. The one I’ve spent seven years with. I’ve never seen THIS Tyler. I know that sounds strange.”

“I’ve heard stranger.”

“Fourteen year old me would have had a huge crush on him.”

“What was fourteen year old Esme like?”

“Awkward. Geeky. Short as fuck and chubby. I had braces and jet black hair and I dressed like a goth. Big old Doc Marten boots that went up to my knees and everything.”

“Now THAT I’d like to see.”

“I don’t even have pictures of ME when I was that young. Tyler’s never seen old photos of me, either. I think the youngest he’s ever seen me was when I was twenty-three and just got into the Corps. It’s what happens; when your family is toxic and you’d rather not deal with them. Can you send this to me? I’d love to have this. And I’d love to show the kids. Especially Millie. She’d like to see her daddy when he was young and cute.”

“I’ll send it to ya. And when we get home, I’ll bring that box down and we can go through it. I’m sure there’s more you’d love to have. “

“Thank you.” She can’t hold back the tears. “You have no idea what it means to me. Even just having one picture. And I’m sorry; that I’m a whiny bitch baby. I would like to be able to blame it on the baby and my hormones, but it’s not those things. It’s just me. I’m not exactly having the best twenty four hours. I miss my kids. I hate being so far away from them. Especially Addie. But I can’t leave Tyler here. I just can’t.”

“I could stay,” Koen offers. “He wouldn’t be alone, you know that.”

“And I appreciate it, I do. But I need to be here with him. I didn’t leave him seven years ago, and I’m sure as hell not leaving him now. It’ll be better; when he gets sent to a hospital back home. Closest one is an hour from the house. It’ll be better than.”

“Well I’ll stick around as long as you need me to. Sort of made a promise that I’d take care of ya. I ain’t breaking it.”

“You’re all heart, Koen. You can pretend to be surly and hard ass all you want. I’m onto you.”

“Yeah, well I kind of like that giant, dumb ass bloke you’re married to. And you’re growing on me. So I figure I might as well step up and take his spot and treat like you like the queen you are.”

“You smooth talker,” she teases, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. For the picture. You really don’t know how grateful I am for it. And thanks for being here; for both of us.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

“And thank you for being with him yesterday. I could tell he was scared and in pain, and when I think what would have happened if he’d been alone…”

“Well he wasn’t. Alone. So don’t even think about that.”

“Thank you for getting him out of there. At least if he DID die, he wouldn’t have been left there. I don’t think I’d ever get over that; if I had to leave him here. I couldn’t cope with that.”

“Let’s not think about that, yeah? He got through it. He got out of there and it’s only uphill from here.”

“He really thought he was going to die, didn’t he.”

“Honestly? We all thought he was going to die.”

She releases a long, shaky sigh and blinks back tears. “I’m glad you were there with him. At least if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have been by himself. That is my biggest fear when it comes to the job; that if it DOES happen, he’ll be alone. I don’t know why it bothers me as much as it does. I just don’t want him to be alone...you know...IF…”

“Can’t dwell on stuff like that. You’ll drive yourself insane. Or give yourself gray hair.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already HAVE gray hair.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I appreciate you feeding my ego, but I know you can see it. And believe, every one of my gray hairs has Tyler’s name on them. Maybe TJ too. Go figure; the junior being a TRUE junior.”

“That kid is his dad through and through. Tough on the outside, all heart on the inside. And that Millie…”

“Female version of him.”

“Exactly. It’s fitting if you ask me; him having a girl first and her being just like him. Gonna have his hands full with her.”

“She called last night. Wanting to talk to him. She had a bad dream and he always makes her feel better after a bad dream. Daddy’s the one that chases all the monsters away. She has so much faith in him; she knows he’d never ignore her. She’s already questioning why she can’t get a hold of him. I have to tell them; I can’t keep lying to them. And I’d rather they hear it from me than someone else. They’ll take it better if it comes from me, I think.”

Koen nods in agreement.

“But on the bright side, he had a really good night. An amazing night, actually. He woke up. Twice. Once for the nurse, once for me.”

Koen frowns.

“What?”

“He woke up?”

Esme nods. “The first time, Julie...his night nurse…said he woke up and wanted to know who the hell she was and that he asked for me. And he even told her he was feeling sick and she gave him some meds for it.”

“Hmm…”

“Second time, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. Told me to not cry. He said he wasn’t in any pain and that he was just tired. And he asked if the baby was okay and he said he loved me. It was amazing; to see him open his eyes and hear his voice.”

“Are you sure? That this happened?”

“What do you mean am I sure? Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Thought the doctor said they weren’t going to bring him out sedation for a few days? At least.”

“Julie said it isn’t uncommon; moments of wakefulness and some lucidity. It’s just sedation, it’s not a medically induced coma like last time.”

“He actually woke up? After everything he went through during the day? All the surgeries, the amount of meds they’re pushing into him? He opened his eyes and talked to you?”

“That’s exactly what happened. Why are you questioning it? I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of sleep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t seeing things. He woke up, looked at me, and talked to me. It happened. It was real.”

“Esme, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe it was wishful thinking on your part and…”

“It happened,” she insists. “I was there. I witnessed it.”

“And I was there in that storage and in that van. I know what kind of shape he was in; I know how close he was to lights out. Permanently. And you’re telling me, after all the injuries, all the surgeries, all the meds, he just woke up? The same day?”

“I know it sounds crazy. And I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me either. But I SAW it. With my own two eyes. And you know how tough he is; how damn stubborn he is. Does it really surprise you that of all the people who would fight THIS hard, it’s Tyler? You know him; you know how strong he is. You know he’d do anything for me and the kids. So is that big of a stretch that he’d wake up like that? Even if it was just to give me some hope?”

Koen sighs.

“He woke up AND he talked to me. And you know what? It was incredible and made me feel better; to know his brain is working and that he’s not giving up. I needed that; some kind of sign that he’s going to be okay And he gave it to me.”

“So why isn’t he awake now?” Koen challenges.

“Maybe he used up all his energy last night and he needs to build it back up again.”

“If he’s got it in him to wake up last night, he should be awake right now. I’ve got some shit to say to him for scaring me as bad as he did. How come he’s not up now and talking to me?”

“I don’t know. I only know what happened last night. I only know…”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Tyler’s voice -weak, groggy, and slightly slurred by the effects of medication- pipes up. “Now shut the fuck up. You’re given me a headache.”

“See!” Esme smiles triumphantly. “I told you.”

****

When she returns from taking a much needed shower, she finds Rata outside Tyler’s room tightly clutching a gift bag from the shop in the front lobby and pacing at a near frantic rate. It’s odd to see him this way, clearly frazzled and nervous shoulders tense; chewing on his bottom lip and occasionally stopping and peering into the room. Normally he’s the ‘life of the party’; clueless in an adorable way, always acting far less intelligent than he actually is just to get a laugh. Possessing an air of confidence without an ounce of cockiness; quick with sarcastic comments and witty comebacks. The ‘uncle’ that always sits at the kids’ tables during Christmas dinner and then helps build lego sets and put together toy car race tracks instead of socializing with the adults.

“Hey you,” she warmly greets, and lays a comforting hand on his back. “You okay?”

He responds by wrapping her in a huge; strong, muscular arms noticeably trembling.

“You alright?” Esme asks, as she runs her hands up and down his biceps. “You don’t look so good. What’s going on?”

“I don’t like hospitals much. Especially a place like THIS in a hospital. Where people are really bad. EXTRA bad.”

“He’s a lot better than anyone thought he would be. Especially so soon And he doesn’t look THAT awful, I swear. He’s even waking up for a little bits at a time. A person who is ‘extra bad’, wouldn't be doing that, would they?”

“I just don’t know if I can go in there just yet. I mean, I was there. Yesterday. In the van. I saw what he was like; how bad he was. And I’ve never seen Tyler like that. I’ve seen him shot a couple times during our tours in the Middle East, but those were nothing. Just flesh wounds, you know? But that? Yesterday? Those weren’t just flesh wounds. And by the time he got back home seven years ago…”

“He was already somewhat on his feet and in rehab.”

Rata nods. “He was almost back to himself. It’s going to be a long while before he gets back to himself this time.”

“Yesterday was pretty awful, huh?

He releases a small, shaky sigh. “Wasn’t so much how he looked. All the blood and what not. I mean, that was bad, don’t get me wrong. It was fucking awful. Pardon my language.”

“I hear and say worse all the time. You don’t have to filter yourself around me. You’ve met my husband, right? You can’t be easily offended AND stay married to him. It just won’t work.”

“It was terrible. A fucking nightmare. To see a friend of yours THAT messed up. But the worst part? It was what he SOUNDED like. When he was talking to you. I’ve never heard him sound like that. Ever.”

“Neither have I,” she admits. “Not seven years ago, not even the two times he tried to...well, you know. He never sounded like THAT.”

“Like he was going to die.”

“Yesterday I tried telling myself he didn’t sound that way. That he was just tired and scared and in pain and he just needed it to end. I convinced myself that he didn’t sound THAT bad. Near death. Now I realize I was just trying to make myself feel better, know what I mean?”

Rata nods.

“He was a lot closer to it than I want to admit. I thought nothing could be worse than seven years ago. I was so wrong.”

“It was what he said to you. How he said it. He was pretty sure he was never going to see you again. That’s the only thing he was really scared of; the thought of not getting to be with you anymore. You and the kids. You’re his entire world. I didn’t think I realized how much he loves you all until I heard the things that came out of his mouth. Opened my eyes; made me see him a different way. A good way, just different. He’s lucky. He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them. That’s something I think we all want but never seem to find.”

“Sometimes I wonder what I ever did right to deserve him,” she confesses. “And he’s here because of you guys. You and Koen. You did whatever you had to go get him here alive. So thank you. I know it wasn’t easy; what you had to see and do. I was there myself. Seven years ago. I know how hard it is.”

“I feel like such a dick. For not being able to go in there. Like a total pussy.”

“You’re not any of those things. People handle stuff like this in different ways. But you should go in there. He’s really not that bad. And he was awake and talking a bit to Koen. I don’t know if he still is, but I do know he’d like to see you. I know how much he appreciates what you did to help him. I’ll go in with you if that would help.”

“It would. A bit. But first,” he offers the gift bag. “ I have something for you. And the baby.”

“The baby won’t be here for months. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Just a little something.”

She reaches into the bag, smiling at the stuffed tiger that she pulls out of its confines. “How did you remember the tradition? Every Rake baby gets a stuffed animal?”

“Just something that stuck with me, I guess.”

“It’s adorable. Thank you. Better not let Millie get a hold of it. That girl and her stuffed animals, I swear. You didn't have to do this. You didn’t…” her voice trails off, fingers reaching for the familiar object tied to the ribbon around the tiger’s neck. Eyes narrowed at first, then slowly widening when the realization sets in it. “Where did you find this? Where…?”

“I didn’t find it. Tyler gave it to me. Before we got to the storage place. He asked me to give it to you if something went wrong.”

“He did?” Esme unties the thin piece of fabric, sliding the ring off of it and then cradling it in her palm.

“He wanted me to make sure you got it. If he didn’t make it. Said it was important that you got it.”

“I thought it was lost,” her voice cracks with emotion. “I thought maybe he took it off beforehand and put it in his pocket and it fell out. Or that the ER staff misplaced it. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“I should have given it to you right away. Yesterday. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying because of what you did or didn’t do. I thought it was gone. Forever. And I know it’s not much; it’s not expensive or fancy or anything like that. But it’s his. All the dents and scratches that he’s on it over the years. Sounds weird, but they all mean something. I really thought I’d never see it again. And I didn’t think I’d be as torn about it as I was. But it killed me inside; when I couldn’t find it. It felt like a piece of him was gone and I was just waiting for all the other pieces to disappear too. Thank you; you have no idea how much this means to me. To have this back.”

She hooks the handle of the bag around her wrist, then reaches around to the nape of her neck and removes the necklace -the custom made piece with the beach glass Millie had found- and slips the ring onto the chain.

“I’ll do it,” Rata offers, and steps behind her. Large fingers clumsy and struggling at first, but then manage to secure the clasp.

Esme lays a palm over the ring, firmly pressing it into her chest. Feeling the smooth, cool metal with its many imperfections, the familiar weight of it against her. And the relief that simple piece of jewellery brings is profound, stifling sobs with both of her hands as she turns and tightly embraces her friend.

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

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bluelady-atla · 5 years ago

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Momtara & Dadko Good news and special days

Firelord Zuko’s ears are ringing, heart pounding a mile a minute, breath already becoming labored. He feels like he’s going to faint so he sits down on his bed, drops really, the thick opulent blankets billowing out around him under the force. The bed dips a little to his left and the weight of another settles next to him. He hears a voice calling his name, it sounds distant at first, becoming more clear with each repeat.

“Zuko? Zuko, did you hear what I said?”

A hand grabs his own, offering a gentle squeeze of comfort. Grounding him in the here and now, pulling him out of his panic.

“Zuko? Are you ok? I thought you would be happy. We talked about this. We’ve been trying for months now. Zuko?”

He turns towards the voice. Blue eyes stare back at him, the corners creased with concern and a hint of anxiety.

“I am happy Katara. At least I will be, I’m just… shocked”

He threads their fingers and squeezes back.

“I know we’ve been planning to have a kid” A sly smile draws up the corner of his mouth as he says, “trying very hard to make one.”

Katara shivers ever so slightly at the memory. His smile drops, as he casts his gaze to the floor

“It’s just... now that it’s real, now that you’re pregnant, I’m scared. The firelord doesn’t have a great history as fathers, what if I turn out to be like my father, I don’t know what a good father looks like. I don’t know how to be a father. What if I hurt them?” His voice breaking at the end

“Oh Zuko, you would never hurt them.” Katara cups his face, thumb tracing over the scar. She gives him a moment to lean in, watches his eyes close and the worry pinching his eyebrows melt away as it always does when she cradles his face. Then she tilts his chin so he’s facing her and waits until he opens his eyes holding her gaze.

“Zuko, you already know how to be a father. I’ve seen you. Do you remember, back at the western air temple, during the war. I remember watching you train Aang. You had such patience. Aang was struggling so much in the beginning, he’d refuse to focus, bouncing around like his over energetic self. Or he’d whine and fuss, about ready to give up whenever something was too hard to just get right away. And Yes, you’d get frustrated; I’d see it building in you, your shoulders tense, your first clenched. I watched you closely, expecting you to snap and hurt Aang, but you never did. Everytime you would be near breaking you'd take this deep breath and just let it out. With it your posture would shift and you’d tell Aang to take a break, divert his attention to something new, something that would hold his focus and wouldn’t be so hard for him. You could have snapped and yelled at him, but you were firm and patient instead, when he was struggling you would keep him for being discouraged. When he was bored, you’d find a way to engage him. Zuko, I need you really listen to me, you are already a better dad than you father ever was.”

With a chuckle and mirth in her voice “and that's back when you were an unbearably grumpy teenage still working on his anger issues.”

“You’re right, thanks Katara I really needed to hear that”

“Of course I’m right, I’m always right” she replied with gentle tone before she gives him a sweet kiss. “And don’t you forget it.”

Crown Prince Iroh the second, named for the wisest man in the fire nation (at least according to his father, little Iroh always though Grandpa was silly, but he smelled nice like his tea shop and would sneak Little Iroh sweets se he liked his grandpa all the same.) had just snuck away from his matron. Which is something he’s gotten rather good at at the age of 4. Mommy says he’s like his daddy in this way, but Daddy’s only allowed to teach him the very basics until he's 10. At first mommy was completely against it, but in the end it was a group effort of polar puppy dog eyes that swayed her.

Now Little Iroh is putting his lessons to good use.

“Be like a Cat.” That’s what his daddy always says. “See that palace cat over there, it's sitting calmly a prim. It looks like it doesn't care for the world. But if you watch closely, you can see how it watches its surroundings, ears shifting at every sound. The cat may look at peace, but it is always listening, always aware. You have to be aware of your surroundings. Always keep your ears open.”

Now normally he’d try to be good and not sneak around when he should be napping, but little Iroh has been keeping his ears open and he thinks that today is special. Nobody has told him it’s special, but he’s been listening carefully and watching the people around him. And for the past week everyone has been saying “soon” “any day now” “she’s about ready to pop”. Then this morning mommy started making weird noises at breakfast and suddenly everyone was rushing around.

“Oh ho! Looks like its started. Don’t worry little sis, Suki had a much easier time the second time around with Kyo”

“See sweetness, this is why I don’t want to have kids, too much noise right from the start”

Daddy was especially frantic,

“you’re just as bad as you were with little Iroh”

“ha! Agni I hope not”

Then matron showed up out of nowhere like she always does and whisked little Iroh away. So nobody has told him yet, but he’s pretty sure today is the day he becomes a big brother. And he doesn’t want to miss it, uncle Sokka has told him it’s a big responsibility.

So now he’s using daddy's second lesson of the cat, “Today we will watch a cat as it stalks. See how it moves, low to the ground, you’ve already got an advantage there.” Zuko chuckled “It keeps to the shadows, hugging the walls and slipping from hiding place to hiding place. You have to move like a cat try to blend in and keep to the shadows.”

Little Iroh was currently slinking through the hall of firelords past. This way is a shortcut to his parents chambers. He slips from the shadows cast by each statue. Moving carefully when he hears footsteps approaching from the far end of the hall. Quickly he slips into a nook hidden behind the legs of one of his ancestors. Now it’s time for the third lesson of the cat.

“Today you will both learn from the cat and practice at the same time. See how the cat is sitting there quietly, not moving a muscle. You might think it's zoning out, but look at where it's watching. That is a mouse's hole. It is waiting. And today we will wait too. You must be patient, you must be prepared to be quiet and still for a very long time. I know it’s not as fun as sneaking, but it’s just as important.”

So little Iroh waited and listened from his hiding place, he heard the feet approach, then pass him a ways. Now he was just waiting for the sound of the door on the other side. So he waits and he waits and he waits, but the door never creaks. Thinking that he’s waited long enough and just missed the sound of the door, little Iroh slips out from the hiding spot and starts to slink away. Nothing but the little pitter-patter of his tiny feet. The final lesson of the cat is to walk as quietly as a cat. Not make a single sound as he slips along. Little Iroh has memorized all of the boards that squeak in this hall, but he still hasn’t mastered walking completely silently yet. He is still a toddler after all.

“There you are, I thought I’d heard you sneaking around” Fire Lord Zuko did not look much like a fire lord right now, hair slipping out of his top knot, only wearing his casual robes that he had been wearing at breakfast. “Come on, everyone’s been looking for you. It’s time for you to meet someone special.”

“Is it my little sibling?”

“Well looks like someone has had their cat ears on, yes it is. Come on they are with your mom”

Hand in hand Zuko leads Little Iroh into the converted bed chamber. Surrounding the bed is all of their friends and family.

“Oh she has Zuko’s nose” coos Grandpa Iroh

“Yes but she has my eyes, her mother's eyes” counters Gran Gran “Good strong water tribe eyes”

Little Iroh, weaved through the crowd until he was crawling onto the bed kneeling next to his mother. Fire Lady Katara look even less like a Fire Lady, tired and sweaty.

“Come here sweetheart” she says as she sweeps him into the crook of his arm, a place he settles into so well like its been worn down to fit him over the years. “Meet you little sister”

Little Iroh stared at the little wrinkly thing, skin stained pink, sleeping in the crook of his mother's other arm. “Iroh, say hello to your little Sister, Kya”

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zutara month 2020 #zuko #katara #momtara #dadko #steambaby #zutara month #zutaramonth #my work

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reginaldbelchhuggins-blog · 7 years ago

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The Short and Miserable Romance of Victor Criss

Pairings: Henry x Victor, with some side Butch x Mrs Criss Rating: M Warnings for this chapter: Violence against children, implied/referenced domestic abuse, period-typical ableism and attitudes Warnings for later chapters: Violence, homophobia, racism, and sexism that are all period-typical; canon-standard content; underage sex, smoking, and drinking; noncon elements (but no actual noncon); canonical character death; major character death; strong language Chapters: 1, [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7] Ao3: [x] Summary:

Told from Victor's perspective, each chapter details either a first or last moment of Vic's growing relationship with Henry Bowers as they navigate homophobia, mental issues, and the growing influence of It. The first two chapters are pre-1988, the middle two will be where the sex is, and the final two are where the romance goes south

Chapter 7 could act as a stand-alone told from Henry’s perspective

Story prompt: The first and last Meeting/Kiss/Time of your OTP

A/N: This is their first meeting. According to the book, they met in first grade, but I’ve got them around the age of 5 here:

July 1978

“Victor Andrew Criss, you get back here this instant!”

The tiny blonde was flying down the street. His little Harley Davidson boots never touched the ground. The woman chasing him – her husband’s leather belt tight in hand – hadn’t run since high school. That had been two and half Vic’s ago. Red-faced and panting, she was determined not to lose sight of him.

“Your daddy’s gonna whoop your ass red, boy!”

He ran straight down Jackson Street and hooked a left at Witcham. His boots slipped against the smooth cement, but he managed to stay upright. He kept track of his directions in his mind, knowing he’d have to go home some day. Maybe after a week, or a month, or even a few months. However long it took for his parents to realize that coming here was the worst decision they could have made .

Maybe he’d go back to Portland himself. Someone here must know how to get there and would be willing to give him a ride. He had two dollars in his pocket to pay for it.

But Papaw Criss had died, and now Vic’s dad decided they were going to be farmers. He didn’t care that Mama Criss had to leave her good job working in that office with the asshole boss (her words). He didn't care that they could no longer afford McDonald’s on the weekends. Papa didn’t care that their house was smaller, and smellier, or that there were rats in the basement. Papa didn’t care that it would take the entire family to work the land, and, frankly speaking, Vic didn’t want to. Papa Criss didn’t care about anyone but himself, and his sudden desire to recapture his youth.

Or at least that’s what his Mama told Angela Bartlett on the phone the night before the moving van arrived. Though Vic didn’t know what it meant, he agreed with it all the same. Because the way she said it, he knew it was something only an asshole would do.

“VICTOR ANDREW! STOP!” His mother’s voice sounded far away. He could hear the raw force in it, though. She was steamin’ mad, but he didn’t dare look back. He didn’t dare stop. As soon as he stopped, she’d be lifting him by one arm and whipping him with the other. So he lowered his head to fight the wind, and ran even faster.

Vic didn’t see the man until they were colliding. The child’s entire weight slammed into the back of the man’s knee, forcing it to buckle; but the man’s reflexes were fast. He caught himself on one knee. His hand swung out with deliberate force, curling into a fist only moments before it caught Vic above his right eye . Fire exploded across Vic’s face. The force of the punch knocked him off his feet. As the back of his head bounced off the sidewalk, the world went bright white for a few seconds, and then black.

Vic woke for a brief moment. Someone was carrying him, cradling him like he was a baby. It wasn’t his Mama, but someone with big, round arms, who smelled like cigarettes and barbeque. Vic tried to protest being carried , but his words came out slurred and messy. His Mama’s hand popped up from nowhere, petting his hair. She shushed him.

"Go back to sleep, baby. You’re alright.”

He might have tried to fight it, but his eyes were so heavy, and the world had gone fuzzy. He rested his face against the man’s chest, and drifted away again.

When consciousness returned in full, Vic was in bed, staring at the walls he'd wake up to every day for the rest of his life. Someone had removed his shoes, bandaged up his head, and tucked him in. He moved to undo all, but sitting up made the dull ache in his brain into a regular ache, and then it became a throbbing ache. His brain was thumping so loud against his skull, he almost didn’t hear the small voice asking him if it was alright.

“Huh?” Vic asked, turning so he could see who spoke.

Looking the same age as Vic, there was a boy sitting on a fold out chair beside the bed. He was taller than Victor by an inch, and had the sort of thin, hay-colored hair baby dolls had. He also had the face of a baby doll, with big blue eyes, and a small mouth. Boys weren’t supposed to be pretty, but Vic couldn’t think of another way to say it. The boy was pretty, and Vic couldn’t stop smiling when the boy looked at him. He liked it when the boy looked at him, but couldn't say why.

He was reading Vic’s comics and sipping from a Pepsi bottle with a straw in it. As he noticed Vic staring, he began to hold the Pepsi closer to his chest. Vic could see some second thoughts cross his mind. He held it out to Vic instead, turning the straw so it was easier for him to take a sip. It was the best tasting soda Vic had ever had.

“Butch got you good,” the boy said. His voice was lower than Vic’s, and already had a quality Vic would come to associate with drinking. “He said you might have a concussion.”

“Who’s Butch?” Vic asked, wincing as he remembered his headache. It seemed to make it stronger.

“My dad,” the boy answered, as if it wasn’t strange to call his dad anything other than some variation of father.

“Oh,” Vic said. The boy was straight forward and plain. It got Vic thinking that maybe he was wrong and that maybe in places other than Portland that was a normal thing. “What’s a concussion?”

“I don’t know but you’re probably going to the hospital,” the boy said. He seemed worried. He set the Pepsi down on the floor, and then held up some fingers, remembering something he saw on TV. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Vic counted them slowly, trying to not to aggravate the pain. “Three.”

“Okay, you’re good then. Just get some iced peas and a glass of wine. That’s what my mom does when Butch gets her good.”

Vic nodded. What the boy was saying didn’t make sense. How were peas supposed to help a headache? But he said it with such confidence that Vic couldn’t help but think he knew what he was talking about.

They sat in silence for only a few seconds, and then the boy’s mouth was running miles a minute. He showed Vic the comics he’d picked out to read. Even though they were Vic’s, he started talking to him about them like Vic wouldn't know anything. Vic hardly got a word in edgewise, and it was usually, “Oh yeah!” or “Cool.” But the boy had come alive, and his eyes sparkled as he pointed out some detail in the background of the page. Vic’d never seen anyone so passionate about something before. It had him charmed and mesmerized.

The boy was soon sitting on the bed beside him. The Pepsi shared between them, the boy went on about his comic book theories.

“He has to be in Batman’s brain because he always knows what Batman’s doing. Plus my dad has the same thing. He fought against the Vietcong and sometimes he thinks people are there when they aren’t.”

Vic didn’t know what a Vietcong was, but he’d heard Papa say that sometimes, so it was a thing that existed. It drew up some image of a giant monkey, though, so that's what he saw. He giggled at the thought of seeing one that didn’t really exist walking about. It made him remember the game he used to play. That was before Papa had backhanded him across the mouth and told him to grow up, of course.

"That game's for little babies and psychos," he'd said. Vic had started crying, even as he insisted he wasn't either one.

“Yeah, but you don’t see them because they’re ‘maginary,” Vic said. “Robin sees the Joker, too. So he’s real.”

“This is comic books,” the boy said, making a face like that answered everything. In a way, Vic supposed it did. They both started laughing at that.

“I’m Victor, by the way. Victor Criss.”

“Henry. Bowers,” the boy said, holding out his hand. Vic shook it, and when their skin touched, he felt something pass between them.

When Vic looked into Henry's eyes, he saw loneliness. He was like Vic: filled with passions and aspirations, looking for someone to share them with. But unlike Vic, he'd lost his boyhood innocence already. His arms were already sporting purple and blue marks from the lessons he'd learned so far. When Henry looked into him, he must’ve seen something too, because they both kept holding on.

Vic wondered if this is what it felt like to have a brother.

Lacing their fingers together in that way Vic sometimes saw in magazines, the two glanced at the door. They didn’t think they were doing anything wrong, but they’d also learned a long time ago their parents often thought different .

Henry’s voice dropped into a conspirator’s whisper: “Do you like firecrackers?”

Vic nodded.

The mischievous smile that took over Henry’s face made Vic feel very happy in a way he didn’t fully understand. So they were both grinning ear to ear as he crept closer to Vic, and revealed that he had a pocket full of them.

“Can I come over when you set them off?” Vic asked, his voice also very soft and very low.

“Fuck yeah. I got a bunch of crap toys I plan on blowing up after cartoons tomorrow.”

Vic smiled at Henry using a bad word, but the smile faltered when something occurred to him. “I don’t know where you live…”

“Oh, then I’ll come over here. Butch works until later and he can pick me up. I think he'd like to talk to your mom again. They've been talking in your dad's room for a really long time."

Vic blinked. Henry shrugged.

"I have some XMen comics in that box over there..."

Butch and Henry stayed for dinner. Mama had a dreamy look in her eyes as she served them sirloin and potatoes. Papa had bought that food for their anniversary. But whatever she and Butch had talked about put her in such a good mood, she must've forgot. Her cheeks were even a nice shade of pink, making her look like a little girl. The front door opened and Papa appeared. He had worked his last day at the supermarket, and the smile on his face match the one on his wife's.

"You boys go on and watch TV," Papa ordered, clapping Butch on the back. "Let us grown ups talk."

That was code for let us get drunk. The boys shot them curious glances, and then were out in the living room. They had no way of knowing Oscar "Butch" Bowers and Andy Criss Jr were once old school mates, but the laughter coming from the kitchen was loud and hearty, and they knew they wouldn't be interrupted anytime soon. Henry's hand crept over to grab Vic's, and Vic let him take it. They sat that way until Henry passed out. Vic undid their fingers and pretended to be asleep when Butch came to collect his son. He seemed less like a psycho when he cradled his sleeping boy then when he knocked Vic out. The potential was still there, though.

Mama and Papa saw them to the door. They didn’t move Vic back to his room. They turned off the television set and went about their evening unpacking. Vic couldn't make out the hushed argument they were having, but he could hear their tones and knew they were having one . It would be the first of many that ended with one of the other of them in the kitchen, and the other in the bedroom.

Pretending to be asleep became being asleep. Although he'd be waking up in that miserable house, Vic didn't mind it, anymore. He had a whole day of playing with Henry to look forward to. He would recall, years later, that they never did take him to the hospital. In fact, he could pinpoint that memory as the exact moment in time when his parents changed. It was subtle, at first, but they did change as all parents in Derry changed. They became less of a presence in his life, less invested. Almost like they had been preparing for his death from the moment it was decided they belonged there.

That day, Vic didn't know anything about it. So he slept peacefully, and dreamed of the day ahead.

#stephen king #it #it 2017 #the bowers gang #henry bowers #victor criss #fanfic #writing #romance #eventual smut #it prompts #henvic #henry x victor #victor x henry #henry/victor #victor/henry #vicry

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sinkat-arts · 8 years ago

Text

Title: Nothing More, Nothing Less Fandom: DDaDDS (Dream Daddy) Pairing: Robert/Dadsona(Seth) Rating: M (ish??) Notes: @sallyamongpoison wrote this cuteness for our dadsona, Seth, and Mat for the prompt “You can have me any way you’d like, baby.” Of course, I wondered how that would play out with Robert. Sooooo.... have a lil bit of hurt/comfort. Warnings: alcohol, pushy drunken attempt to initiate sex, depression

The doorbell buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed in rapid succession several more times before Seth managed to pull on his pajama bottoms, grab his phone out of pure habit, and stumble into the kitchen. Bleary-eyed, he squinted for a long, hard moment at the clock on the microwave, wondering why in the world it was blinking 5:40PM at him. It was clearly not 5:40PM. The sun was typically... a little more up at 5:40PM. He sighed and rolled his eyes in disgust – it was blinking the wrong time at him because he’d neglected resetting it after the last storm rolled through and knocked the power out. Damn, he was really falling down on the job now that Amanda was gone.

That thought twinged a little - it’d been a few months now, and it wasn’t any easier to remember that her room was empty and he was on his own for the first time in... well, forever. No time to reflect on that right now, though. The damn doorbell was still going off, and if he didn’t know for a fact that Amanda was 100 miles away and snuggled safely into bed, he’d be more concerned and less annoyed.

Well, wait a minute. She was 100 miles away, right? He’d just texted with her, what, around 11:00 that night? Still, something could have happened. Oh lord, what if something had happened? What if it was so bad, she had to make the two hour drive home in the middle of the night? Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Much more awake now, Seth pulled his phone out of his pocket, saw that the message indicator was blinking – she’d sent him messages after he went to sleep, surely - and made a panicked dash to the door. He was fully convinced - it had to be Amanda. She’d had to leave so suddenly that she forgot her key. She was in trouble, clearly. His Manda Panda was out in the cold, ringing the doorbell to her own home, and Seth had been lollygagging about, berating himself for not resetting a clock on a microwave. For shame.

Quick steps took him to the door where he unlocked the it and turned the deadbolt. Just a few seconds, a twist of the knob, and Amanda could come inside and be safe and warm. Seth pulled the door open, face tense, and prepared to receive his daughter. Except…

Well, that wasn’t his daughter. Her name died on his lips as his face went slack and his head tilted to the side quizzically. It took a bit, shifting gears, when sleep was interrupted far too soon and your mind was full of cobwebs and adrenaline, but it finally clicked.

“Took you long enough,” the man outside his door complained. “I was about convinced you’d gone to Musclehead’s for the night.”

“Robert?” Seth asked, eyebrows raising.

“In the flesh,” he grinned, but there was something off about it. There was something off about this whole thing. Outside of the fact that it was the dead of the night – no, that was pretty in character for the man, if Seth was being honest with himself – Robert looked… like he’d been drinking too much and sleeping too little. Smelled like it, too. His eyes were dull and bloodshot, his cheeks were sallow, his hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in several days, and his grin was… a little unhinged.

Fuck. All signs pointed to some kind of relapse.

For a moment, Seth considered calling Val, but then Robert was pushing his way inside, bringing the cold of winter with him. Shivering, Seth closed the door and turned… only to find himself pinned, back smashed against his own front door, breath crushed right out of him as insistent hands gripped at his hips and hungry lips crashed into his. Robert.. he smelled like sweat and whiskey and tasted like cigarettes.

How many times since Amanda’s graduation party had Seth dreamed of Robert resolving his issues? Coming to him with arms open, smiling and saying he was finally ready for them? Fuck, he’d smiled and hugged Robert - supportive, always supportive - when the man had asked to cool things down for his mental health... but that night, despite how proud he really was of Robert, Seth cried a little for it. And had cried for it since. He respected the decision, would support the man however he could, but truly, it had broken his heart a little to back off... and it left him lonely, so lonely, once Amanda had gone off to school.

So the temptation was there to just go with it. Later, if things got weird, he could claim being half asleep as an excuse, maybe. That could work. Or maybe this meant Robert wanted to try for romance while he worked on himself. That wasn’t too farfetched was it?

Yes. Yes, it fucking was, and Seth damn well knew it.

“Whoa, whoa,” Seth gasped, trying to escape from the onslaught… but there really was nowhere for him to go. Back’s against the wall, he thought and then corrected himself, no, the door. Back’s against the door. “S-slow down, cowboy.”

“You want it slow, huh?” Robert murmured, and Seth winced at how deeply slurred his words were. “That’s ok.” Robert pressed harder, rolled his hips and groaned. “You can have me any way you’d like, baby.”

What… what was that? That didn’t sound like Robert. And this… this wasn’t like Robert, either. Even that first night in town, when Seth had gotten a little too tipsy at the bar and followed Robert home, the man had asked permission. It was gruff and crude, but it was still asking for consent. And then he’d dropped it when Seth had declined the offer… no grousing, no pushing. But this… this was nothing like that.

Robert ducked his head, angling for more of those clumsy, wet kisses, but Seth… he couldn’t let this go on. No matter how much his heart had yearned for something like this, it had also wanted it to be right when it happened. This was… the farthest thing from right. It felt pretty fucking left to Seth, so he raised a hand and placed a single finger over Robert’s lips.

“You stopping me?” he asked around Seth’s finger. If it hadn’t been such a bizarre and potentially terrible situation, the effect would have been funny. As it was, it just made Seth’s heart ache.

“You’re drunk, Robert.”

“And? Do you want me or not?”

Well, that was a question he couldn’t answer truthfully, at least not without an explanation a mile long.

“No.”

That did it. Robert’s bloodshot eyes opened wide and there was something like heartbreak written on his face before the familiar old haughty, impotent anger took over. That… that was an expression Seth hadn’t seen since Robert had decided to go to therapy, to clean up and fix things with his daughter. It was the old Robert. The self-destructive asshole who may have been hiding a vulnerable and wounded heart, but was an asshole nonetheless.

“You don’t... So, what? Someone else? Craig? You’re really fucking Craig, then?” Robert accused, jealousy fueled by whiskey. Eyes narrowed, he took several steps back. “Brawn over brains, huh? That fucking empty-headed jock do it for you... bro? I bet he moans that in your ear, huh? Oh, bro, that’s so good, bro.”

A spike of anger shot through Seth’s chest. Craig was one of his oldest friends, and despite his penchant for bro-ing it up, he was hardly empty-headed. The man was raising three daughters and running a successful company all on his own. He was a good man with problems all his own. What had Robert been doing that made him so superior? In what productive way had he contributed? What gave him the right to judge... anyone?

But this wasn’t about Craig. Not really. Seth took a deep breath, closing his eyes on the exhale, and willed that anger to die down. It was defensive and small, and while he had every intention of dressing Robert down for being cruel to his friend later, doing so right now would harm far, far more than it helped.

“I am not,” Seth answered in a level tone, eyes opening to meet Robert’s. They were shining. There were… were those tears? Robert’s face was still screwed up with anger, but his eyes… that was pain. “Craig is my friend. You know that,” he explained, voice going softer as he took a slow step towards Robert and reached up to squeeze Robert’s shoulder. “We go way back, but it’s not like that.”

An odd mix of emotions washed over the other man’s face. Seth thought one of them might have been relief, but it resolved itself back into stubborn anger as Robert shrugged Seth’s hand off his shoulder.

“So, what? Doesn’t matter to me. It’s just a fuck, after all,” His voice was lower, touched with petulance and under that… sadness. “Doesn’t mean anything. But if you don’t want me...”

Another deep breath. It really was too fucking late – or early – for this. But when did the big stuff ever wait until you were well-rested and ready to face a challenge? Never, that’s when.

“I don’t want you… like this, Robert,” Seth explained, then raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “This… these aren’t the terms you set for yourself, and you know it. This... this is where you were three months ago.” Seth shook his head and then ventured to place his hand on Robert’s shoulder again as he lowered his head to catch the man’s eyes, heartbreaking for the hopelessness he saw there. “What happened? You seemed… things seemed better?”

For a moment, Seth thought he’d be shrugged away again, that Robert would dig his heels in and keep arguing… or worse, leave to go continue destroying himself alone elsewhere. Seth held his gaze, even though it hurt, and after a tense few moments, Robert softened. Thank god, Robert softened.

“Nothing ever gets better,” he mumbled and lowered his head, “Doesn’t matter what I do. I can’t… I can’t fix the past. Val says she forgives me, but... I’m… I’m a shitty, selfish person. Broken. A permanent fuck up. There’s no point in trying any more.”

“Yes, there is…” Seth started, but Robert cut him off.

“No, there fucking isn’t. The therapy isn’t working. It’s… it’s too much. I can’t do it. And I’m…” His voice caught in his throat, his jaw worked as he fought to contain whatever emotion was threatening to force its way out - a fight he ultimately lost. The tears that had made his eyes bright and flashing earlier spilled over dark lashes and his voice came out in a raspy, slurred whimper. “I’m so… lonely.”

Those words, spoken in that small, lost voice, struck Seth square in the chest, visceral, like he’d been punched, hard and fast. This man… the man before him… he’d shouldered so much. He felt so much. He held on to the burden of his past and punished himself for each and every time he’d fallen short. He’d been his own judge, jury and executioner. And it hurt. A burning ache in the chest, a strangled feeling in Seth’s throat. Heartbreaking to know that this whole time… this whole time, Robert hadn’t been better… he’d just gotten better at hiding his depression. And he’d been… alone. Lonely, as Seth had been, only worse because Robert had demons to fight… and they apparently weren’t ready to give up yet.

“Oh, my darling,” Seth breathed, closing the gap between them and collecting Robert into his arms without a second thought for what it would mean or how things might change. “I’ve got you. You’re alright. You’ll be alright.”

Robert cried as Seth held him, sobs that shook his whole body... and Seth wept, too, silent, hot tears of his own trailing down his cheeks. They stood like that for… well, it was hard to tell. Time stopped at a certain point, got weird sometime between midnight and the crack of dawn. All he knew was that he’d stand there, one arm wrapped tightly around Robert as his other hand stroked through his hair, for as long as he was needed.

There wasn’t much more talking, not for a while. Robert was too drained and too drunk, and Seth was too exhausted to form coherent thoughts. When Robert cried himself out, he tried to pull back, embarrassed… but Seth held him firmly, wiped his tears away, and kissed his rough cheek.

“I should go…” Robert finally said, though it was clear that he was barely holding himself together. If Seth hadn’t been holding him up, he suspected Robert would have crumbled to the floor long ago.

“No,” Seth answered, “You won’t be alone tonight.”

Too gone to protest, Robert let Seth lead him up the stairs. He was pliant as Seth peeled him out of his clothes. Obedient as he was herded into the bathroom for a quick shower. Dry and warm in bed, he curled into Seth’s chest without complaint, pressing in close like he was desperate for this kind of touch. Tenderness. Something soft and gentle. Seth supposed he probably was.

“I fucked up,” he finally said, his voice pulling Seth back from the sleep he’d nearly fallen into.

“You did,” Seth agreed.

A heavy, sad sigh from Robert was his response.

“You fucked up,” Seth went on, one hand rubbing a slow path up and down Robert’s back, “But who hasn’t? You’re healing, man. It’s… it’s a set back, not the end of the road.”

“Feels bigger than that…”

“Right now it does, yeah,” Seth murmured, then tilted his head to press a kiss into hair that was still damp from the shower. “Might still feel bad tomorrow or a week from now. That’s ok. The important thing is… don’t beat yourself up for it. Pick up from here and go, Robert. Don’t… don’t stop, please.” Seth’s voice cracked, either from emotion or exhaustion. Likely both. They fell into quiet again, and Seth’s eyes slid closed, lulled by the slow up and down rhythm of Robert’s breathing.

“Thank you,” came Robert’s voice, and Seth’s eyes fluttered open at the sound.

“Didn’t do anything…” Seth murmured, eyes already closing again.

“You… you still want me,” Robert answered, “That’s enough.”

Seth hummed in response, a sleepy smile crossing his face. “You said I could have you any way I want, remember?”

He was rewarded with a chuckle in response. A good sound. A very, very damn good sound. Wonderful even, enough to get Seth’s eyes burning with the good kind of tears.

“I did say that…”

“Then I’d like you as you are, please,” Seth answered, a little thickly, “A good man just trying to be better.”

“Oh come on, I’m an asshole,” Robert returned quickly, an attempt at a contrary joke... but his voice was just as thick.

Seth grinned and let out a chuckle. “Then I lay here, corrected. A good man who is also kind of an asshole, but is trying to be better. That’s how I want you. As you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s not a lot. You deserve more than…”

“Those are my terms,” Seth answered, cutting Robert off before he could cut himself down.

“Alright, then.”

“Alright.”

Sleep took them both not long after, and for the next several hours, everything was warm and perfect in their cocoon of blankets. They slept soundly now, both knowing there was hard work ahead. The next morning would be full of coffee and ibuprofen and tentative affection. The next evening would be full of careful conversation, feeling each other out and deciding how they fit together moving forward. Trying to, anyway, and… and if the end result was that Robert still needed a friend more than a lover, Seth would understand. He knew he’d be there for Robert, however he could help. Whatever was in his power to do, he’d do. Even if sometimes it hurt a little, it would be worth it to see the man really smile. To see him healing. To see him find happiness.To see him be... himself. Robert - healthy and secure.

Seth would accept nothing more and nothing less than that, after all.

#dream daddy #robert small #dadsona #seth #holy shit I wrote a thing #I have a weak spot for robert I must admit #I just want him to smile #and have all the happiness in the world #and also for him to forgive himself #it's 5am why am I up writing dating sim fan fic?????????#alcohol #drunk #depression

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aurycula-writes · 7 years ago

Text

A Hint of Vesperan Intuition

Albaer Lamont, heir to Lamont Industries, should not have magic.

Yet here he is, stranded in Vesper with no idea how he got there. To survive a country that enslaves magic users won't be easy without his father's influence to support him. If he doesn't want the Magia Taskforce to capture him before he reaches home, Albaer must figure out how to use his magic quickly, avoid those that would use him for their own gain, and befriend those with the knowledge and abilities that can help him.

Even if that help comes in the form of a pair of the strangest orphans he'll ever encounter.

Introducing the first story of the Eudaimonia series. You can find the first chapter here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417432/chapters/35783445

The next chapter will be posted same day next week. Feedback is welcome!

If you don’t mind reading it here, it’s under the cut:

Chapter 1: "I suggest you go back to wherever you came from soon."

18 Herba 1690 An unfamiliar street corner 5:08 p.m.

Albaer blinked as autos sped by the road in front of him. People bustled all around him, brushing past him without a second thought. Some of the ruder ones snarled at him in rough Vesperan to get out of the way. Too overwhelmed to respond, Albaer moved out of the flow and into the adjacent alley.

Judging by the rude behaviour and unattractive attire of passersby, Albaer assumed that he was in one of the unwanted districts of the city, but he didn't know if there was a part of Eudial where the majority spoke Vesperan. Leaving that line of thought, he still had to deal with the issue of how he got there. He couldn't explain it – a few seconds ago, he was in his room in the Lamont Estate far away from the downtown area. How could he have–

"Look who dropped by our alley, boys!" A rough voice called from behind him.

Albaer whipped around and saw three boys swagger forward. He noted that all of them were bigger than him, both vertically and horizontally.

"Miles, that looks an awful lot like a richie," a rat-faced boy said.

The largest of the boys laughed. “That's right, Barnes. What, you wanna medal for bein’ Captain Obvious?” The rat-faced boy responded with a scowl and a vulgar gesture. He and the other ruffians stepped closer to Albaer.

“Hey, richie!” Albaer backed away. He didn't want their filth to touch him. A quick glance behind him told him his back was on course towards a brick wall. “Give us your money and we promise we won't hurt you!”

Albaer's eye twitched and his hands tightened into fists. He stopped backing away.

“I don't have any money to give to the likes of you!” he snapped in their language. He didn't know what he would do, but he certainly wasn't going to let these – these peasants push him around. “So why don't you and your goons get lost before I make you regret speaking to me?”

The boys burst into roaring laughs. Albaer frowned. Weren't they supposed to do as he said? Father said they would be intimidated by his superiority and run away.

The large-framed boy and the rat-faced boy caught him by his arms and forcibly held him back. Albaer struggled under their tight grip.

"Unhand me, you filth! When my father hears of this, you'll be lucky if you're ever allowed to show your face in this city again!"

The trio did not let him go like he ordered, but laughed harder. Albaer seethed. When he arrived home, he'd ensure they were all punished for their insolence!

The medium-sized boy sneered. “You know what, Flynn? I'm a little scared.”

"Yeah," the assumed leader said with an overacted shudder. "The richie's papa's gonna do somethin' so scary to us that he won't even tell us what it is."

The boys around him sniggered again, drowning out another one of his threats. How were these peasants holding him down so well?

“Hey, boss! If his daddy's gonna punish the guys who hurt junior here, he'll probably have lots of rewards for us for bringin' 'im home," the rat-faced one added.

"I say we take our starting payment.” The large boy stomped hard on Albaer’s foot.

Before the throbbing in his foot could sink in, an elbow collided with his side. Their leader landed his fist into Albaer's face with what felt like the force of a train. He could taste blood after his ears stopped ringing as much. Another blow connected with his midsection. And another. And another. He couldn't even curl up because the other boys' grip on his arms prevented him from moving. He could already feel his arms bruising.

"How much do you think the richie's daddy'll give us for savin' the little tyke from the scary boys who beat him up?" A kick to his shin.

"I dunno, boss. Maybe we should ask the kid." Another kick rammed into his midsection. Now he was kind of glad that he missed breakfast, he noted in between hacking coughs, watching saliva and blood dribble from his lips.

"Though he probably can't answer." Another round of grating guffaws.

If commoners were supposed to be stupider, lazier and weaker than him, then why hadn't they run away from his threats? Why were they capable of beating him without fear of his family's wrath? At least Father wasn't here to see him like this. Albaer didn’t know how well he hid his shame as he tried to glare at them as best he could with a half-swollen face. Judging by the almost painful volume of their amusement, not so much.

"What's your papa gonna do to us if I do this?" A fist impacted the left side of his ribs. Albaer wheezed.

“Okay boys, save the rest for later. Don't wanna break any goods the kid’s hidin’ by roughin’ him up too much, do we?” The boy they called boss grinned and approached Albaer, grubby hands rummaging through his vest and trouser pockets.

To think that these peons brought him down to this pathetic state. As with adding oil to fire, the thought set off Albaer's already burning anger to the point where he mustered the strength to spit on one of his captors' face. The laughter ceased. The leader's grin grew. Wiping his cheek with the swipe of his sleeve, he swung another fist at his face. Albaer met the boy's bloodthirsty sneer with what he hoped was a bold glare of his own.

In that moment, he couldn’t understand the abrupt rush of power that flooded his body. He tried to move his arms out of the boys' hold once again. Albaer's eyes widened as he saw streams of flames shoot from his hands. The boys released their hold on him to back away from the fire.

Albaer fell back to the wall behind him, pushed off from it and shoved past the boys, bolting out of the alleyway and onto the crowded street. He heard a succession of footsteps in pursuit, spurring him on faster until he heard them fade away. Even then he ran, looking for a place to hide as thoughts thrashed in his head.

He had magic.

His throbbing stomach curled in on itself as he took a left to an emptier street. That explained how he was transported downtown, but what would Father think? No one in the Lamont family had magic. The kind of people to have magic were too lazy to do anything productive. If they weren't layabouts, they were walking disasters. Their horrid powers levelled whole continents during the Warring Era. All the books he received from Father's fourth mistress Enid involved magic users being defeated in some way – did that mean he would become one of those villains?

Albaer's pace slowed to a walk as he surveyed the possible shops he could hide in. Where, why, how could he have possibly have magic? The only magic user he knew that was related to his family in some way was–

The images of a flash of red hair, almost luminous blue eyes and the sounds of warm ringing laughter stopped him in his tracks. Shaking the memories out of his head, Albaer looked up to where he stopped when his injuries started hurting again.

The storefront made up a small section of a larger unit. Mottled grey curtains blocked its display window. A freshly painted medium-sized sign made of wood read, 'CAUTION – WATCH WHERE YOU STEP' and covered the top half of the door. A larger wooden sign with the words, 'Lyon's Discount Bookstore', spelled in a faded black font, hung above the window. The black words and the deep green background peeled in some spots, revealing the grainy wood underneath. He knew, or rather hoped, that his pursuers wouldn’t think to find him at a wreck of a store like this.

Albaer pulled the door open, triggering the ring of a bell. The inside of the store was dim, smaller than the front suggested and smelled of dust and old books. Albaer heard the distant ticks of a clock, but nothing else. Books that weren't crammed into rickety shelves were stacked on every available surface, leaving empty narrow pathways between shelves and to the counter (also covered in book stacks). On a whim, he trudged in the direction of the counter at the back that was previously blocked from sight by a tall heap of encyclopedias. There, he saw a boy and a small girl reading books behind the counter. They looked a little young to be working at a bookstore. But they were also the only ones present, so they were at least allowed to be here.

The boy's pale grey-blond hair was short and tousled except for the long bangs that curtained the left side of his face. He wore the store's deep green on an apron that covered a slightly oversized white shirt. Sitting next to him, the slim little girl wore a blank expression and a dull blue dress that barely covered her knees and frayed at the sleeves. Her dark brown hair, straight with roughly cut bangs, ended at her chin, shorter than any respectable girl he'd seen wore theirs.

The sight of the bookstore occupants distracted him, his knee almost knocking down a nearby stack on the floor. He couldn't say the same for his shoulder that toppled the pile of books on the desk – all of which landed on the reading boy's lap with a chorus of thumps and the rustling of paper.

Needless to say, judging by how the blond glared at him with his one visible eye and the mound of books on his lap and at his feet, Albaer had a feeling that he wouldn't stay long.

Lyon’s Discount Bookstore 5:47 p.m.

'…At that very moment, when he heard the melody, information poured into his head – of the world that took his family away, of the being who composed this music, of his intentions for the world, of who these Knights wanted him to be. And why shouldn't he be that person, be the Dusk King they wanted to be led by?

Why not... play along?'

The telltale sounds of a falling horde of books interrupted the prose and a particularly thick tome knocked the novel out of Léandre's hands. Immediately following that were twenty more volumes of that gods-awful Age of Heroes saga right onto his lap.

Despite his past half-year of employment in the cluttered bookstore, Léandre hadn't had many impacts with the books until this moment. Now that the most chilling moment of Playing Along so far was ruined, he had to deal with newly acquired bruises and clean up all the fallen books. Ceres knew better than to interrupt, and she sat near the right side of the cashier counter, far from the fallen books. Instead, he aimed his irritated glare in front of him, where a clumsy, disruptive boy stood with a flushed expression.

The boy looked about his age. He had a black eye, swollen cheek and less than stable stature. The boy's rust red hair was longer than average, enough to be tied into a small ponytail. He was taller than Léandre, all made up of gangly limbs. His black trousers looked a bit worn. But Léandre could tell, despite the wrinkles and slight singes on the boy's white shirt, black vest and slate grey jacket, that they were tailored to his exact height and made of fabrics worth more than five years' salary. No wonder the local oafs took an interest in him.

"Sorry," the boy said gruffly in response to his irritated staring. His pronunciation was stiff, and his accent rang with a hint of another language, just slight enough for Léandre to be unable to identify it. The ponytailed boy made no move to clean the mess he made, thus confirming his status even further.

Léandre stood up from his seat and picked up the fallen books, choosing not to respond to the half-assed apology. Ceres did the same. He watched the boy from the corner of his eye. The redhead hadn't left and his frown deepened. The silence mounted for a few moments until the boy broke it again.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything back? I apologized!" the boy snapped, hands on his hips.

Léandre re-arranged the books. "Your apology doesn't fix the mess you made."

"So what if you got a little hurt? At least you didn’t get assaulted today."

Léandre slammed the Standard Rozenite Dictionary hard on the counter right in front of the little upstart, but not enough to disturb any of the book stacks.

"Aw, the little rich boy got a taste of the real world today," he simpered. "Does his highness need his silk hanky to clean his face?"

"Why, you–" A fist knocked down another pile of books. "Members of foreign peerage fight for the chance to speak to me. How dare you, a mere commoner, speak to me so rudely?"

"Very easily, genius. Oh, and do all those rich brats a favour and tell them they aren't missing out. I've had more compelling conversations with five year olds." The loud boy growled as he moved to lift his knee on top of the table. "Oh, did I hurt your poor maiden heart, Princess?" Léandre held his hands up in surrender. "My most sincere apologies!"

Before the redhead could force his way over the table, Ceres stepped closer to the boy and laid one of her hands onto his forearm. The boy stopped in his tracks. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

"Tell us why you're here. If you don't, or if you're here because you want to hurt my brother, please go home."

Her words reduced the boy's snarl to a scowl. He stepped away from the desk and her grip, muttering, "Stupid little commoner girls," in Rozenite.

"Answer her or get out, richie! Before I throw you to the group that mauled you!" Léandre barked in the same language. The boy raised his brows, but quickly changed his expression to a blazing stare that he willingly returned. He half-expected him to continue the argument where they left off.

Instead, the boy took a deep breath and said, "I was going to stay here for a while to hide from the buffoons that ambushed me. If I didn’t cause the commotion, I would have asked you for directions back to the Lamont Estate. Barring that, at least the higher end of the city."

"There is no Lamont Estate in Baskerville," Ceres answered with a more believable serenity, crouching down to pick up the books the boy knocked down. Léandre moved to help her, thanking whatever existing deities for the moment of silence. As he reorganized the fallen books, he snuck a glance at the stunned boy who just wouldn't leave. The frozen, gaping surprise stayed on his face long after Ceres' words.

" …Some sort of magic transported me from my room all the way across the ocean to some backwater city in Vesper?" He groaned, running one of his hands through his hair. "Ugh, this is the worst day of my life!"

Léandre felt like groaning too. He didn't want anything to do with the spoiled brat, so he rolled his eyes instead. "My heart goes out to you, Magic Boy."

"Drop dead, scum!" the boy growled. Léandre watched him carefully as the other's hands balled into fists again. "I am not in the mood anymore."

"Oh, no! You're in a bad mood?" Léandre looked at one of many book lists rather than look at him. "Now I'm too intimidated to answer!"

Ceres interrupted the boy’s growl, shoving a book in his hands and turning to place another stack on the counter. The idiot fell silent. She nodded in what Léandre recognized as gratitude, taking away the book. The boy quirked an eyebrow at her and watched her turn around again to place the tome into a nearby shelf. He opened his mouth to say something again, but squawked when she pulled him into her seat.

"I can take you to the nearest train station."

"What good would that do? It's not like it can cross the ocean and take me back to Rozen." His tone, still gruff and confused, was a touch more polite than before.

"The train will take you to Vessalius. My brother told me once that they have a place called an embassy that can help you." The boy avoided her expectant golden-eyed stare. With nowhere else to look to avoid her gaze, the boy gave Léandre a questioning look tinged with more than a little plea for help.

"She's waiting for you to accept her offer." He moved towards Ceres, placing a hand on her shoulder to turn her attention to him. "But she hasn't considered that I may not let my eight-year-old sister escort an older boy to the far end of the country on her own."

"Come with me, then."

Léandre's eyes narrowed. Why did she always have to offer help to random strangers? He supposed the faster they helped him, the faster he would be out of their lives, but that wasn't her motive for doing most things. Whatever her reasons, he knew the one thing that would dissuade her from following through with her offer was if the boy refused it himself.

He gave her a small, resigned nod before aiming his gaze back at their current problem. "So? Do you want her help or not?"

Ceres hadn't heard Léandre speak this much in years. She never expected to hear most of the talking in insults as he sniped back and forth with the boy she wanted to help. The insults stopped with her offer and going by the boy's frown, he would reject it. But before he could answer, Léandre's boss returned from his meeting with the workers who would help renovate the shop.

"Welcome back, Mr. Lyon," Léandre said in a low tone.

Ceres glanced over to the boy, who looked at Léandre's show of respect with wide eyes and a partially open mouth, like he didn't think her brother capable of it. She’d always found it odd, how people assumed they knew everything about a person they’d known for –she glanced over shoulder at the clock between the shelves– not even ten minutes. Léandre was capable of deference, but only to people he knew that could worsen his situation beyond his ability to maneuver out of it if they found reason to dislike him. It was a useful skill that reduced the number of times she had to step in.

She turned to the old bookstore owner to watch his response to Léandre's conversation with the newcomer, and made note of his raised eyebrows. It didn't look like an unhappy kind of surprise, but more like the good kind of surprised.

"Good work as always, Mr. Bellamy," he said softly, his smile growing. "Now, who's your friend over here? Will I be seeing him around here more often?"

"Oh no, this idiot –er, boy isn't a friend. We just met him today," Léandre hastily said. "He isn't even a customer. He hasn't bought anything."

The boy scowled again, which lessened when he spoke to Mr. Lyon. "I'll have you know that I'm no mere boy oridiot. My name is Albaer Lamont, rightful heir to the Lamont Family and its associated industries."

"Ceres insisted that we assist him in something," Léandre cut in a slight note of worry colouring his tone, "so may I please have four days off starting tomorrow? I apologize for asking this of you, sir. I know you need the help for renovations soon and that what I'm asking of you is impossible. But if I don't agree to do this, my sister will try to help him without me, and–"

Mr. Lyon stopped her brother's rambling, placing a hand on his shoulder. Léandre flinched. She dropped her gaze to the floor when she felt her stomach drop. Ceres knew firsthand that Léandre would rather chop his own hand off than lead her to do something she didn't want to do on purpose. That didn't stop her from feeling guilty with every action he’d done for her sake, no matter what it cost him. She didn't realize that travelling to the capital would take two days one way. Léandre couldn't lose his job – his longest held job, and with Mr. Lyon as his boss, of all people! – because of her.

The greying bookstore owner didn't respond to the flinch. Instead, he glanced at the three children before him and gave her a very quick wink.

"I understand, Léandre," he said in the same gentle voice, and she couldn't help but think that he was saying that to her too. "It won't be easy, but I can wait for you for those four days. If you don't make it back within that time, I will have no choice but to give your job to someone else."

Now it was Léandre's turn to wear the good-surprised look.

"Thank you, sir, but why...?" he trailed off.

Ceres wondered how the bookstore owner could look so sad even though he was smiling. "At your age, my children and grandchildren have always had time to enjoy their childhood. And that is why I will do my best to give you that same chance, before the two of you grow up too quickly."

“Thank you, Mr. Lyon,” Léandre said, bowing his head.

Ceres did the same, unsure of whether bringing Albaer Lamont home would be as pleasant a childhood memory as Mr. Lyon made it out to be. She hoped it would, but that wasn't why she needed to do this.

Albaer watched in bewilderment as the two siblings bowed their heads in gratitude, feeling more confused by the minute. The elderly man couldn't possibly pick up the slack on his own. So why was their employer being lenient? Everything he'd allowed with no complaint, from his and Bellamy's argument to giving him four days off, was unheard of! He should have fired Bellamy for his audacity, not let him run off to do something he wouldn't even specify! Not that Albaer didn't appreciate his unbelievable lenience, but he saw no reason why the store owner would let it happen.

Surely Father was aware of his disappearance by now. No doubt that if he did, there was already a reward to bring him home. They all must have agreed to help him because they hoped to gain favour from his father. He was an idiot for giving away his name so easily! It was as Father said – he was with these peasants for barely half an hour and they were already eager to take advantage of him! Albaer had half a mind to storm out then and there.

But he couldn't help but watch the bookstore owner fuss over the two commoners as they discussed final arrangements before they left for the nearest train station. The older Bellamy was stiff and his replies curt as he removed his apron. The younger showed no outward reactions, merely responding to the questions with as much enthusiasm as Albaer imagined a rock would have.

All things considered, he remembered Enid's words – he could dislike the help all he wanted, as long as he accepted it. One way or another, he'd at least learn something from it. Despite the growing possibility of his escorts-to-be being backbiters, they were also different from what Father said peasants would be like in their specific personalities. They weren't snivelling cretins, and they weren't stupid. Bellamy's fluency in Rozenite proved that much. He only spoke two sentences, but it was lightly accented and used expressions, however insulting, that a beginner wouldn't know.

If he was being honest, they weren't like anyone he'd ever met or read about before. In The Age of Heroes, girls wanted to play princess or go flower picking, trailing after the knights who would humour their requests during their rounds in the kingdom. Ceres Bellamy wasn't the type to know what playing or happiness even was. He supposed, in that way, Bellamy's employer's words about them not having a childhood made sense. Maybe all commoner girls were like that. That was what decided it for him.

Albaer resolved to use their greed for a reward to bring him home. It wasn't like Father pandered to the demands of parasites anyway.

"Hey, Magic Boy! You're not going to get home in the back of the shop gaping like you've lost your brain. We'd love to help you find it, but we're on a tight schedule."

Albaer opened his mouth, a retort ready on his lips, only to find them already waiting on the other side of the open doorway. Gnashing his teeth together, he stomped as best he could around the books to catch up to them.

"Ah, young man?" A voice called from behind him. He stopped and turned to face the old shopkeeper, whose stare examined him from head to toe. It was different from the gentle looks he gave to the Bellamy siblings – it made Albaer feel uneasy, so he didn't sound as confident as he intended to.

"W-what is it?"

"Please cherish what is given to you," he said. "From those that have little, appreciation is the most they might ever receive."

Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, Albaer was about to ask him to clarify.

Bellamy, however, was no longer in sight of the doorway when he cut him off, sounding much farther than he was a few moments ago. "Any day now, Lamont!"

"Keep your hair on, Bellamy, I'm coming!" he snapped back before nodding to the bookstore owner and running the rest of the way out of the store.

By the time he caught up to the siblings, they were waiting for him again with varying levels of patience at the end of the street. Miraculously, Bellamy only gave him an aggravated glance and strode forward at a quick and light pace. If Albaer wasn't taller than him, he wouldn't have kept up with him, so it was a wonder how the younger Bellamy managed. The ash blond wore a ratty black coat with a hood over his head and a drawstring rucksack slung over his shoulder. His body language was coiled, yet was as busy and nondescript as the people around them.

Turning his attentions to his surroundings, Albaer surveyed the streets. The first thing he couldn't ignore was how everything and everyone behaved as if the word enthusiasm didn't exist in their language (it did, he checked). The streets were so dusty that he could taste mud in his mouth, the buildings and shops they passed were a dreary grey with grime, display windows were as dirty as the streets around him, and the sky refused to remove its filthy overcast. Albaer didn't even know why the sky looked like that in the first place. It was already mid-Herba, where was the sunny day and fresh breeze?

No really, he needed a breeze right now. Albaer knew what the townspeople did with their garbage –he almost vomited in his mouth when he stepped in something that resembled a spoiled, half-eaten meat pie– because they tossed it onto the streets without a care. They passed a man with a pungent, sour reek puking in an alley. Anything that didn't smell rotten or like it belonged in a toilet gave off the stench of smoke. As for the locals, don't get him started. They all wore baggy clothes that were either varying sizes of too big or too small. Everything they wore either tried to blend in with the dull scenery or were a mash of faded patchy colours that clashed with the residents’ red, black or brown hair.

Those who weren't trying to get somewhere or working in stores either lurked in alleyways and watched passersby or begged in the streets. His face tightened in distaste as he narrowly dodged a woman wearing too much makeup staggering past them. At least Father was right about the rest of the commoners being too lazy to do anything productive. Maybe Albaer had the luck of encountering the few that weren't.

"Magic Boy–" Bellamy began.

"Try and speak louder, will you? I think there are a few people on the other side of town that couldn't hear you," Albaer hissed.

"I trust that you're capable of paying for your own ticket," he said as if Albaer didn't interrupt. Albaer didn't retort right away, his face wiped blank as if the realization that he wasn't carrying any money on him was a crash landing airship. He seldom went into the city, so there was never any need to bring money with him. Besides, the servants or Father would always be the ones to pay for whatever he wanted.

Albaer's cheeks reddened as Bellamy stopped and turned around to face him when he didn't answer. He felt his face heat up even more when Bellamy's face took on a look of exasperation as he sighed. "I don't know what I expected."

Albaer spluttered. "You didn't even hear what I had to say yet!"

"Please." Bellamy rolled his eyes, moving forward once again. "As if it wasn't obvious. I shouldn't have asked a person who got mugged."

"I wasn't mugged."

"Oh?" The dryness packed into the single syllable could have peeled paint. "So you richies are so bored with your lives that you've finally turned to self-inflicted injuries as a form of entertainment? Consider me impressed."

"It's not that! It's more like...they couldn't steal what I... don't have," Albaer muttered, looking anywhere but at the hooded boy in front of him.

"So sorry Magic Boy, but would you mind repeating that again?"

Albaer barely held back a sudden, burning desire to punch Bellamy's face. "What kind of businessman holds his own money when there are servants who do the paying for them?"

"One that can pay for his own train ticket when he's stranded in a foreign country," Bellamy answered, not missing a beat.

Albaer growled. Not that it fazed the other boy. "I suppose you're too poor to pay for your ticket either, peasant. Even worse, you have to pay for your sister on a store clerk's wage. How many years' salary is it going to take to pay for the two of you? Or are you too proud to admit that you scammed the money out of your boss?"

Before Albaer could say anything else, Bellamy pushed him against a brick wall by his collar. His visible brown eye and snarl chilled him all the way down to his toes. The girl-Bellamy stood by his side, her body tense and her expression as blank as ever. If he didn't know any better, Albaer would have suspected that she would step in if they got out of hand.

"We could leave you here, you know," Bellamy hissed. Albaer met his cold fury with a fierce glare. He tried to struggle out of his grip, to no avail. To Bellamy's credit, he didn't seem to have noticed. "I didn't have to risk losing my job and Ceres didn't have to go out of her way to make sure you safely arrive to the Rozenite embassy. We could just leave you out here to fend for yourself."

"I would be fine without your help anyway!" He had a better shot than he thought he did before. Albaer could still remember the sensation of flames bursting from his fingertips and grudgingly wished he knew how to use it now.

The defiance in him faltered when Bellamy's expression twisted into a cold smile. "You don't get it, do you?"

He motioned with his head to the street beside them. Five servants inched by, levitating a first edition Cristo grand piano. Only two servants were Renan, indicated by their white hair and red eyes, but all of them had a bold red M on their left cheeks. Their faces shined with sweat. Trailing behind them was a man who wouldn't have been out of place at one of Father's business meetings. Their presumed master frowned and touched the signet on his ring. Albaer heard sizzling as the marks on their faces glowed red. They shuffled along faster.

Albaer forced himself to look at Bellamy again, whose smile seemed bitterer than it did before. "They don't only do that to Magias, you know. They do it to it to Renans, criminals, illegal immigrants. Imagine what they would do if they caught you." He released his grip on him and held out his hand. "I suggest you go back to wherever you came from soon, and the best way to do that is through our help."

Albaer always thought that Father, a native of Vesper, hated magic for personal reasons, and maybe he did. But Albaer suspected that growing up with sights like what he'd just witnessed had something to do with it too. His newly found magic, he concluded, would unquestionably have to be another secret he had to hide from Father.

Not to mention, the Bellamy siblings chose to help him. Bellamy didn't spare a moment to show him he'd have rather worked at that shabby bookstore than help him in hope of a reward. But then why were they helping him? Maybe it wasn't the right time to ask them. Maybe if he accepted their help, he might learn the answer along the way.

Albaer accepted the outstretched hand. "You'll be having me then, if you really don't mind."

“Don't kid yourself; of course I mind.”

“Well, you aren't the only one, you b–"

#original fiction #industrial fantasy #AHVI #original work

0 notes

toogaytowrite · 8 years ago

Text

I Met The Devil

So, I work at this rinky dink hole in the wall bar in Texas. Everyone just calls it the Spur. Even I don't know if it has a real name beyond that. When I say this place is in the middle of nowhere, I mean the middle of the flatlands, where you can drive for an hour and see nothing but pump jacks. Oilfield worker is about the only job you can get out here, so the patronage is comprised of rowdy good ol boys, coveralls stained with black oil and stinking to high heaven. Sometimes they bring their wives, most of them come here to avoid their wives.

It gets busy on the weekends- it's the only place to get a drink for miles after all. Other times its basically empty. Very few people will drive out here on a Tuesday evening to drink alone. I've spent a lot of my shifts just flipping through the channels on the tv above the bar or dumping spare change into the jukebox. Just me and the bright blinking light outside. Thing gives me a headache, but when it goes dark for a few seconds, rotating through the light bulbs, the outside is pitch black. You pretty much rely on the thing to see at night, so you're thankful for it when you're trying to find your car keys.

Anyway, it was a Monday and everything had slowed to a complete crawl, compared to the ruckus of Saturday and Sunday night. Just me, once again, sitting behind the bar, with no one but the late night televangelists to keep me company. Some old guy just reading bible passages and explaining them. It was either that or infomercials, even the television nightlife is non-existent here. Why the owner keeps the place open on weekdays, well, your guess is a good as mine. We barely make enough money to keep that big ass light outside on.

Normally, you hear the cars pull up before the tinkle of the bells on the door. Again, we are in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and the nearest house is several miles away. Way too far for anyone to walk. The purr of engines and tires on gravel are the warnings I get that a customer is coming in. It gives me a chance to put on my bubbly bar girl face, otherwise I'm thoroughly checked out.

I heard the bells first. I didn't think that was much cause for alarm, just that I must have been having one of my boredom induced out of body experiences and missed the car noises. That, or after three years working here, I'd finally found the man crazy enough to walk ten miles of dirt road to get a stiff drink. The guy that came in was a face I hadn't seen before. Late forties, a little salt in his pepper, he looked like the older men in those commercials for 'enhancement' pills.

Anyway, he wasn't half bad looking. I've never been into the Dukes of Hazzard types that occupied the bar, and having some minor daddy issues has contributed to my major kink in older guys. He took a seat at the bar and I fumbled to look like I wasn't a slob, tuck my hair back into a ponytail, stuff my shirt back into my jeans, casually give myself a sniff to make sure my twelve hour melon scented deodorant was still doing its job. I smelled something weird, but I couldn't tell if it was me or the new guy. Must have been him.

He ordered a scotch half a second before I asked what he'd like. I wasn't even sure if we had any top shelf stuff like that, considering most of our income was made off of shitty watered down beer. We did, and he thanked me when I set his glass on a coaster in front of him. At this point, the preacher on tv had reached the part of his sermon where he demonized “heathen sodomites” and the crowd were shouting amens. I asked if he wanted to watch something else (as if there was anything else to watch), he just smiled and shook his head. Told me it was fine and called me darling. I muted it anyway- the preacher's flapping jowls were getting on my nerves.

“You know he touches kids.” His words caught me a little offguard, but as I possess a notoriously dark sense of humor, I laughed anyway. Partly because I found it funny, mostly out of surprise for the out of the blue statement.

“Yeah, they all do,” I said. He gestured with his glass to an alter boy on the corner of the stage, who the camera never lingered long on.

“He takes that one up to room, has him sit naked on the bed. Thinks as long as he doesn't touch himself then it's not an affront to God.”

I chuckled- I wasn't sure what else to say to that other than, “Yeah. Heh.” and pretend like I had work to do. I ducked behind the bar, acting like I was grabbing a drink so I could let my mouth hang open in shock, mouth “oh my God” to myself, then took a moment to regain my composure before I came back up. How does someone even react to that? That was too dark, even for me. When my head poked back up, he'd set a few bills on the counter, and was smirking at me. Thinking about that look still makes my hair stand on end.

“Share a drink with me.”

I reached for any excuse I could think of, and there were quite a few I could have given. It was against the rules to drink on the job, for one, for two, he had seriously thrown me with the kid diddling anecdote, and for three, I don't share drinks with guys I just met. But he moved his hand a little, and it was then I saw Benjamin Franklin's pursed lip stare looking up at me from the face of a hundred dollar bill. I've done a lot worse for a tip that big. I popped the cap off the least alcoholic beer I could find and our glasses clinked together. He drank deeply from his cup, I only took a cautious sip of mine.

We talked. He seemed nice, a far cry from the types I'm used to around these parts. He didn't once slip into a rant about Muslims, spit chewing tobacco down the neck of my bottle, and I got the impression he didn't have a single Confederate flag bumper sticker on his car or “Pro Life, Pro God, Pro Guns, Palin for VP” shirt in his wardrobe. He was downright charming. I even made him laugh a few times.

I'd almost forgotten about the preacher comment by the time he turned his attention back to the television.

He was still yapping about something, literally thumping his bible as he lectured on the evils of the world. Whenever his gaze ventured off camera, I had to wonder what he was looking at- was it a member of the audience or the little boy, standing motionless as a statue on stage with him?

The next words out of his mouth were, “What do you think is a good punishment for child molesters?” I nearly shot beer out of my nose. I covered my mouth before I sprayed it all over his face and forced myself to swallow. I asked why he wanted to know. He simply shrugged. “Curiosity. Humor me.”

I didn't have to think about it long. “Chemical castration has always been a favorite of mine.”

“Even that's too good for them,” he said. Those were pretty much the exact words I had in mind, but didn't want to say, on the off chance they made me sound bitter or spiteful. Which I'll admit, I am.

“Short of spending their entire lives in prison, getting their salads tossed by someone bigger than them, the only truly fitting punishment I can think of is if they eat a bullet. He could fall off stage right now and break his own neck in front of his flock. My mom used to say they deserve to get a railroad spike driven through their dicks and pushed backwards.”

“Kary must have a colorful imagination.”

Now, my mother's name is Karyn. Everyone calls her Karyn. She's got a hardon for authority and being in control, so she makes sure everyone practices the formality of calling her Karyn. The only people in this world who call my mother Kary are my father and the friends she's had since high school.

Naturally I wanted to know how he knew this.

“Because I'm the Devil.” He said with such casual sincerity, I could only stare blankly at him. When no chuckle or “aha gotcha” moment came, I could only scoff something that almost sounded like a laugh and pull my beer closer to myself. He didn't seem the type to slip something into my drink, but if those kinds of guys looked like the date rapists they were, they would be a hell of a lot easier to avoid. Anyone who just claimed to the Devil had to be some kind of crazy, right? My paranoia was pretty damn merited I think.

“Yeah, and I'm a Mesopotamian death goddess.”

“Well, it's nice to formally make your acquaintance, Nergal.” He downed the rest of his scotch and stood. Let me just say, claiming you're the Devil is not the weirdest thing a drunk guy has told me in that bar. Doesn't even crack the top ten. Of all the drunk sputum I've overheard in my years working there, this, while unsettling, was not that bad in comparison to the time a guy started crying over a bowl of salted pretzels because of something to do with bread yeast. I was fully prepared to brush it off as just him screwing with me, but I don't know. Something in his eyes made me question it. Now, whether I believe in all that fire and brimstone crap, I have to wonder.

He took my hand and shook it. “You're a good kid, Laura. Thanks for indulging me.”

I don't wear a nametag. I hadn't told him my name either. If he knew my mother's nickname, it wasn't that much of a leap to think he might know mine as well, but I instantly prickled. I thought he must have stalked me to learn these things. What other explanation did I have?

As he turned to leave and I opened my mouth to speak, the TV's sound came blaring back into existence, at a much higher volume than when I'd muted it. The sound hit my ears like speakers screeching on either side of my head. I dove for the remote to turn it down as the preacher pounded his bible on the podium with the force of a judge banging his gavel.

“We are all sinners!” He cried. “We are unworthy of God's love, we have not earned it! We do not seek it! On this planet of six billion lives, do you think the almighty cares for you ants? You spineless microbes? There is only one force on this earth that gives a damn whether we live or die, and folks, I would like to introduce you to him tonight.” It sounded, it looked nothing like the man I'd been watching only an hour ago, before the stranger arrived. There was the same feverish passion, but the way he moved. No longer was he strutting the stage with that Man of God swagger, like nothing in the world could harm him because he had God's love protecting him. He sloshed around like a drunk. Like a doll on the strings of a careless puppeteer. And he laughed.

He wouldn't stop laughing- this high pitched, hyena laughter that settled a chill in your bones. I've never heard a man make that sound before or since then. He threw his back in an almost grotesque contortion as his entire body shook with laughter. I heard something that, looking back now, I think might have been his spine popping into the mic. He drew in one long breath at the end of this laughing fit. He exhaled. There was a moment of stillness, where even the crowd's murmurs hushed.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. It wasn't his voice either. It was no one voice. It was like a dozen speaking in perfect unison. He calmly reached up to his mic stand and with one sharp twist, unscrewed the microphone and the clip holding it in place, leaving the metal exposed. “I'll see you all in Hell.”

He dropped the microphone and drove the pipe straight into his skull. The wet squelch as it skewered through his left eyeball and sunk deep into his skull grew distant when the mic fell and thumped to the floor. It was only there for a millisecond, but its a sound I'll never forget.

The camera twisted off kilter, the crew rushed the stage, the silhouettes of the crowd as they shot out of their seats in a panic obscured most of the scene. And he was laughing. Even as he collapsed to the ground, fingers still white knuckled around the metal, he was laughing. I felt nausea hit me almost instantly. Blood pooled around his head, but I could only see flashes in between all the people flocking to his side to tend to him. Like they could do anything to help. He laughed, he thrashed, he went still. I could no longer hear laughter behind the screaming crowd pleading for God, God help him, oh Lord why. The bells pulled me away from the screen long enough to see the stranger's back vanish through the door. I ran after him, your guess is as good as mine what I could have done if I caught up. Though I was little more than a few feet behind him, by the time I wrenched the door open and threw myself outside, he was halfway across the parking lot. He was near the road. The eyesore lights burned brightly, reaching their peak, then went dark at the single most inopportune time. In that short beat of complete darkness, all I could hear was that gut wrenching off air shriek as the televangelist's channel cut the feed. When the lights flicked back to life, he was gone. There was nothing but miles of flatland and the few distant dots of pump jacks.

The next day I saw the preacher's face gracing a newspaper at the gas station. The local paper had only good things to say about him, calling his death a tragedy, calling him an inspiration of faith, but a cursory search online found several articles citing the discovery of his child pornography ring as the possible reason for his public suicide. Turns out the police found an external hard drive in his office with well over a thousand pictures of kids in compromising positions. Twelve victims, reports said. Obviously they can't release names, but I can't get that alter boy's hollow eyes out of my mind. I'm almost sure he must have been one of them.

Haven't seen Mr Devil since then. No one at the Spur believes me, and my mom just wrote him off a crazy person when I spoke to her about it. Hell, if I didn't have the news clippings to prove at least part of it happened, I would think I nodded off on the job and had some crazy dream. It happened. And sometimes, when I sit and turn over everything I saw that night, (which is often) I can smell that odd scent again. It goes right to my head as if he was standing right in front me. I couldn't place it then, but the more I think about it, the more I start to realize that the stranger in the bar that night smelled like something burning.

I can't say what. I'm not sure I want to know.

#this was supposed to go up on r nosleep but i fucknkmgs chickened out #writers on tumblr #short story #horror #the gay writes stuff #tw child abuse #tw alchohol mention

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 60

Warnings: none

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

When she finally wakes, it's with sunshine streaming through the bedroom windows and the digital bedside clock advertising that it’s 10:35. The latter nearly sends her into a blind panic; bolting into a sitting position, eyes still blurry from sleep and her brain groggy as it tries to orientate itself with the unfamiliar surroundings. Momentarily oblivious to the fact that she isn’t at home. Briefly not only forgetting that she’s actually thousands of miles away, but just WHY she is.

She’d spent the last nine hours in a deep and peaceful slumber; a feat she hasn’t managed to achieve once in the past six years. Worn out not just from the lack of adequate rest over the course of the last month and a half or from the gruelling twelve hour flight from Australia, but the hours after the conversation with Tyler that she’d spent dwelling over the pain and the worry that not only tinged his words, but dripped from his voice. He’d never admit just how things are; preferring to suffer in silence under the misconception that he's somehow a burden. It’s a hard habit to break someone of, if not entirely impossible. She’s been working at it for almost seven years now; attempting to not only break down that final barrier he’d long ago built up around himself, but convince him that the second they decided to have a life together, his issues and problems stopped belonging to JUST him. But he’s ferociously stubborn, and years of being raised in an abusive home by an extremely toxic and volatile man, followed by military life, has done a lot of damage. The last effects and scars from physical injuries left behind, but the deepest and most painful wounds festering just under the surface.

She casts a furtive glance towards the cradle at the side of the bed; appreciative of the fully furnished and exquisitely decorated nursery that Anil had provided, but needing the baby as close as possible, at least for the few nights. And her eyes widen and her heart immediately begins thundering in her chest when she finds Addie’s bed empty; devoid of even the stuffed koala -which had once belonged to Millie when she was just newly born- that had been tucked into the corner of the cradle. And she’s ready to toss off the blankets and jump out of bed when a tiny voice pipes up from beside her and puts her worst fears to rest.

“She’s downstairs. With Prisha.”

Esme frowns. “Who’s Prisha?”

Tanner shrugs. “I dunno. I think she’s a nanny or something. But she’s old. Like grandma and Nana Bonnie. Why are there so many people living here? Why do they all do so much work? They clean, they cook, they watch kids. At home, you and daddy do all that stuff.”

“Because Anil has a lot more money than we do and he’s so busy, that he needs to have people taking care of things around the house. Which is bigger than ours. WAY bigger. And when you have a place that’s this big, you need help keeping up with it.”

“Our house is big.”

“By most peoples’ standards. But compared to THIS house, it’s tiny.”

Tanner shrugs. “I like our better, anyway.”

“You don’t like it here? I thought you’d find it pretty cool. TWO pools, a home theatre, all kinds of awesome animals…”

“I like home better. Because it’s home. Because all our stuff is there. I don’t want new stuff, I want OUR stuff. And the beach is there and the smell of the water and the sound of the waves and none of that is here.”

“And it will all still be there when we get back,” she assures him.

“What if we never go back? What if we have to stay here? I don’t wanna stay here. I wanna go back to our house. I wanna go back to our furniture and eating OUR food and sharing a room with TJ. I don’t like not sleeping with him. I’ve always shared a room with him. And I was with him in your tummy too.”

Esme lies back down and rolls onto her side, watching him. One his stomach beside her, knees bent and his bare feet slowly kicking back and forth. Brow furrowed in concentration as he uses a pencil to carefully circle things and fill in blank spaces in the workbook open in front of him. And she reaches out and pushes his hair out of his eyes and off his forehead, then runs a fingertip down the bridge of her nose and taps it against the tip.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re really cute?” she asks,

“There’s a couple girls in my class that say it all the time.”

"Really?"

He nods. “But I told them I can only be friends because I don’t like girls in THAT way yet. I told them I only love one girl, and that’s mommy.”

“No wonder you’re my favorite. Sweet talking me like that. What are you doing?”

“Homework.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I want to.”

“Let me see…” she pulls back the corner of the cover to read the title. “Where did you get this? It’s for kids in grade three.”

“Daddy bought it for me the last time we were in town. ‘Cause he said the stuff at school is way too easy for me”

“And you actually understand what you’re reading?”

“Ummm...yeah…” Tanner gives a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. “...of course I do! I’m not stupid. Besides, daddy made me read some to him and made me answer some of the questions before he’d buy it. He said I have a huge brain pan, whatever that means.”

“You honestly can read it and understand it?”

“Mommy, I’m smart like you. Just ‘cause Millie and TJ as dumb, doesn’t mean I am,”

“Okay first off, that’s a little harsh. You brother and sister are not dumb. Far from it. But you? You’re insanely smart. Scary smart. You’re also very grumpy this morning.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You ARE. And I have seen that exact frown and those lines in your forehead and those serious eyes a thousand times. You are sounding and looking more like your daddy every day. He gets that same look on his face when he’s grumpy. And what are you wearing?” She tugs at the sleeve of the black and gray Emery t-shirt he sports; miles too big on his slight frame.

“It’s daddy’s. I asked him if I could have one of his shirts before he left and he picked this one and packed it in my bag for me. I wanted something that smells like him ‘cause it helps not miss him so much.”

Tears sparkle in her eyes. That honesty; so pure and so innocent. A little boy that possesses such huge emotions and loves so fiercely. “Oh little nugget…” she tousles his hair. “...you have such a big, sensitive heart. Come here; let me make it so it fits better.”

She gathers him into her arms and rolls onto her back, and he sits crossed legged on her stomach while she gathers the bottom of the shirt and draws it around his waist; securing it in a knot before doing the same with each shoulder. “We’ll have to buy daddy a new shirt. Something tells me you won’t give him this one back.”

“Imma keep it,” Tanner says, then wraps both arms around her neck and stretches his legs out; pressing himself tightly against her, face nestled against the side of her neck, feeling the soft tickle of those ridiculously long lashes against her skin when he closes his eyes.

Despite how much he hates hearing it, he IS still so very little. Four inches shorter than his brother and at least fifteen pounds lighter; limbs not as long and shoulders much more narrow. But it makes for good cuddles, and she can still pick him up relatively effortlessly and carry him if she has to. And his personality matches his appearance. Softer and more tender hearted than his twin; affection and loving and breathtakingly sensitive and heartbreakingly wise. An old soul in such a little boy. And while TJ is rough and wild and carefree, Tanner is more cautious. Wary, almost. Fiercely protective of his own self. And her own eyes close when she wraps both arms around his slender body and drops a kiss on the top of his head.

“I don’t want to be the little one,” he laments.

“Where did THAT come from?”

“I want to be the big one. I want to be tall and strong. Like daddy. How come I have to be the small one?”

“You’ve always been small, nugget. Even when you were a baby. There’s nothing wrong with being small. I’m small.”

“But you’re a girl. How come I had to be the sick one?”

“It’s just the way it worked out. Sometimes things go wrong when mommies are having babies. And we didn’t know you’d be sick; it just happened. You guys were born too early and you ended up being the much smaller one.”

“And why couldn’t I come out first? I wanna be named after daddy.”

“What does it matter?”

“‘Cause it does. I want daddy’s name. It’s a good name.”

“You don’t like being named Tanner?”

“I’d rather be named Tyler.”

“I have a secret to tell you,” Esme says. “But you have to promise to never tell your brother. Because it would hurt his feelings and we don’t want that, right?”

Tanner nods.

“When you were in my tummy? When daddy and I found out it was two babies and not just one? We decided that I’d pick one name and he’d picked the other. So when we found out we were having two boys, I said I would name the first that came out and daddy would name the next one. And I decided that I wanted the first to be named Tyler.”

“It was your idea?”

“Yep.” She combs her fingers through his hair and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Daddy didn’t want either of you named after him, but I got my way. And he picked the name Tanner. So you know what that means? You have the name you do because that’s what daddy chose. He wanted you to be named Tanner.”

He raises his head to look at her. “Really?”

“Really. He picked your name. That’s how much he liked it. That’s what he wanted you to be named. And you know what else? You were so sick when you were born, that daddy was the only person allowed to hold you before they took you to take care of you. And he stayed with you for two whole days in the NICU. He slept in a chair beside your bed and he never left; he didn’t want you to be alone and I was too sick too and I wasn’t allowed to see you yet. So it was just you and daddy for a whole forty eight hours.”

“Just us?”

“Just the two of you. And you remember what the doctor told us to do with Addie? When you place her against bare skin? Do you remember? What animal is it named after?”

“A kangaroo. Kangaroo care.”

“That’s it. Well daddy got to that with you, too. Even though you were hooked up to all kinds of wires and tubes, he still got to hold you like that. And the nurses said that was the only time you were nice and calm and never cried.”

“Never?”

“Never. And daddy was really, really sad. Because he was so worried about you. But stayed there with you the whole time because he already loved you THAT much, and he would have stayed even longer, but someone needed to take care of Millie and TJ and I wanted to spend time with you. But see? Daddy’s always loved you. IT doesn’t matter how small you are or what your name is. He still helped make you. And that’s what matters, right?”

Tanner nods.

“He loves you so much, nugget. Right from the beginning. Right back to when you were still in my tummy and he used to talk to you guys and you’d both kick like crazy whenever you heard his voice. And you were strong even then. You kicked HARD.”

“I did?”

“Daddy would always say that you were going to be a professional soccer player. Or an MMA fighter. That’s how hard you kicked! And you’re still strong; even stronger than your brother. You’re small, but you’re mighty.”

“Like you. And Addie.”

“Well maybe not THAT small. But you’re probably going to have a growth spurt when you’re fifteen and end up as tall as daddy. I want you to stay small, though. It’s easier to cuddle you. I LIKE cuddling you. What if you grow big and strong and you don’t want to cuddle me anymore?”

“I will always want to cuddle with you. You’re my mommy. No one gives better cuddles than mommy. No one.”

“So when you are six foot five and weight two hundred pounds and you ARE a bad ass MMA fighter, you’re still going to want to cuddle mommy?”

“Always,” he promises, and presses a kiss to her lips before settling his face against the side of her neck once more.

“Is everyone else downstairs too?” Esme asks.

Tanner nods.

“How come you’re not down there?”

“I was. But I left and came back upstairs.”

“Why?”

Because Anil is trying to be daddy and I don’t like it.”

She frowns. “Trying to be daddy? How…?”

“He made breakfast for us. But nowhere near as good as daddy’s. And he let us sit outside while we ate and he told us cool stories and talked all about the animals he has and told us we could go swimming later. All the stuff daddy does with us, but not as fun. With daddy it’s different. It’s more fun. We get to go surfing and we walk on the beach and collect rocks and shells and stuff. And he’s nice and all that, but he is NOT daddy and I don’t like that he’s trying to be.”

“I don’t think he…”

“I don’t want him taking daddy’s place. I don’t want him thinking he can steal you away from daddy. ‘Cause I like him and all that, I don’t want him to be my dad. I already have a dad and he’s the best dad ever, so…”

“Okay, you know what, nugget? You and I need to have a talk. Sit up. I want you to look at me when I talk to you, alright?”

Tanner nods, then sits up and settles himself between her splayed thighs when she does the same.

“Now listen to me, alright?” She pushes his hair off his forehead, then places her hands on his shoulders. “No one is taking daddy’s place. Because for that to happen, I’d have to be okay with it. And that’s something I will never…ever...be okay with. I don’t want anyone taking his place. Because you know what, your daddy is perfect the way he is. He’s perfect for me and you guys and...”

“But if he dies…”

“Tanner, listen to me. He is NOT going to die. And even if he did...and that’s a huge if...I still wouldn’t be okay with someone taking his place. No one could ever do that. If something happened to him, it would me and your brothers and sisters. That’s it. Understand?”

He nods.

“Your daddy is way more than just your daddy. He’s my husband AND he’s my best friend. And I love him more than I even love myself. And there’s no one earth that could take his place.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. Anil is NOT trying to be your dad. He’s not trying to take anyone’s place. He’s a friend of daddy’s and he promised daddy that he’d give us a nice, safe place to stay while he works. And it’s a really awesome place isn’t it.”

Tanner nods.

“Daddy trusts Anil to look after us because he can’t right now. Anil’s just trying to make this easier on your guys. Because he knows how sad you all are and how hard it is to be away from home and away from daddy. He’s just being nice and trying to make us feel comfortable and welcome. That’s it. Understand what I’m saying?”

“I understand.”

“So stop worrying so much about all this other stuff, okay? Daddy’s not going to die, no one is going to take his place, and eventually we’ll all get to go home. You believe me, right?”

“I believe you, mommy. But I still don’t want to go downstairs without you. It’s bad enough I can’t do things with daddy. I don’t want to do things with you EITHER.”

“Well can I least go pee and put on something other than pjs first?”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose, do you?” She smothers his face with kisses until he’s shrieking and giggling, then tousles his hair. “You want to call daddy? I told him I’d call when I got up. You want to talk to him first?”

Tanner nods enthusiastically, then scrambles across the bed on his hands and knees to retrieve her phone from the night table. “Can I dial it?”

“You know his number?”

“Mom, I know how to get into your contacts. I’m five. I know this stuff.”

“You are way too smart for your own good,” she declares, then presses a kiss to his temple as he settles himself between her legs, back against her stomach.

****

Tyler excuses himself from the team briefing when his cell phone vibrates against the tabletop and his wife's name appears on the screen. When she’d promised to call when she woke up, he’d expected it to be a lot sooner; mornings come quick with five, especially with an infant. With the lingering uneasiness from last night’s confession and subsequent conversation, it had been easy to let his paranoia and worst fears get the better of him; growing more and more concerned with each passing minute, yet resisting the urge to call incessantly and left umpteen messages. He’d KNOW if something was wrong. Nik is there. Anil had even gone personally to make sure that everyone is settled and comfortable and being treated well and to check that things are running smoothly. Had something gone down...IF they were in any danger...he’d be the first one to find out.

He snags his half full take out cup of coffee from the table before heading into the central courtyard; blinking against the harsh, brilliant sun, and groaning inwardly when two of Anil’s people -heavily armed- followed closely behind. None of the rooms that overlook the area have balconies OR windows that open; the only real threat could come from the roof, and that’s sixteen floors above and Anil has even more guards stationed up there. And he grimaces as he takes a seat on one of the concrete benches; an ache across the small of his back and stiffness in his knee.

Nothing a couple of hours in the gym won’t solve; working up a sweat and getting all the kinks out.

“Hey,” he says as he answers the call. “You sleep in or something? ‘Cause…”

“Hi daddy!” Tanner cheerfully greets, and a smile immediately plays on his lips. Six months ago he would never have been able to tell the twins apart on the phone. Now it’s more than obvious who is who; Tanner’s accent coming in much thicker and more pronounced.

“Hey, mate. What’s going on? What’cha up to?”

“Mommy said I could call you. Are you busy?”

“I’m never busy when it comes to you.”

“You’re not beating up any bad guys?”

“Not yet. Later. Once you go to bed. You okay? Sleep alright?”

“Not really,” Tanner admits. “I didn’t like sleeping without Teej. The room is nice and all that and the bed is huge, but I’ve been with Teej for forever. Even when we were in mommy’s tummy. I don’t like being without him. I can’t sleep proper.”

“Well maybe tonight, just go in and sleep with him in his bed,” Tyler suggests. “He won’t admit it. But he’s probably missing you too. He’s used to you always being around. You having fun? What’s the house like?”

“Alright, I suppose.”

“Just alright? Your mom made it sound pretty awesome. Lots of cool stuff to do there, yeah?”

“I guess. I don’t know. I miss home. I miss our stuff. I miss the beach. I miss you making breakfast and waiting for the school bus with us.”

“When this is all over, we can go back to all that stuff.”

“How long?” Tanner asks. “Until it’s over?”

“I don’t know, mate. Not too long I hope.”

“We don’t have to stay here forever, do we? I don’t want to stay here forever. It’s nice and all that not, but it’s not as nice as home. Everything I know is at home. I don’t know any of this stuff. And there’s too many people here. I don’t like lots of people around.”

“I know it sucks to be away from home, but I need you to do me a favor. I need you to at least give the place a chance. I know you miss home. I miss it too. But this will all go a lot faster and easier if you try to enjoy it. Can you do that? For me? At least try?”

“Just for you,” Tanner promises. “And I don’t want another dad.”

Tyler laughs, coffee cup poised against his lips. “What?”

“I don’t want another dad,” his son repeats. “Anil’s a nice guy, but I don’t want him as my new dad.”

“Tanner,” Esme sighs in the background. “We talked about this. Stop.”

“I’m telling daddy about it. He should know if someone is trying to take his place.”

“No one is trying to take his place. We JUST talked about this.”

“Anil is trying to be you,” Tanner explains. “Not you, exactly. But a daddy. He’s trying to be a daddy. MY daddy. And I don’t like it. I already have a dad. I don’t need another one. Can I come stay with you wherever you are?”

“I don’t think he’s trying to do that,” Tyler says. “I think he’s just trying to be nice.”

“What if he tries to steal mommy from you?”

“Well if he wants her that bad…”

“I can hear you,” Esme pipes up. “He has you on speaker phone.”

“No one is going to steal your mom away,” Tyler assures his son. “Or even try. Especially if they know what’s good for them.””

“You’ll beat them up?”

“I was thinking they wouldn’t be able to handle her cooking. But if you rather I beat them up…”

“You’re both on my shit list,” Esme declares.

“Anil isn’t trying to be your dad,” Tyler says. “He’s trying to be dad like, but not A dad. Know what I mean?”

“Not really,” Tanner admits.

“He’s trying to do things for you guys that a dad would do. So you’ll be comfortable there. So you’ll be happy. That’s all. He’s not trying to be your dad or take my place. And unless your mom is planning on getting rid of me, you’re kind of stuck with me.”

“But what if you die?”

“Tanner!” Esme scolds. “What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s a valid question, mom. What if daddy dies? Then what? Then I have no dad.”

“Well then your mom would have to find you a new one, I guess,” Tyler tells him.

“No frigging way! I’d rather no dad than a new one. I don’t want some shitty new dad.”

He can’t help but chuckle. “How about you stop worrying about this kind of stuff? You’re five. You’re way too young for gray hair and an ulcer.”

“I can’t help it,” Tanner laments. “It’s how my brain works. I worry. It’s what I do.”

“You sounded so much like your mom just then. Why don’t go and be a kid? Go swimming. Watch a movie. Go see the animals. There’s all kinds of stuff to do there. Go do one of them.”

“Nothing’s fun without you, though. It’s boring. You do cool stuff with us and now it’s boring as shit!”

“What did I say about giving things a chance?”

Tanner sighs. “Fine. I’ll try. But I’ll hate every second.”

“You’ll be saying that same thing when you’re older and you have to work for a living.”

“Not if I do your job. I’d like to beat up bad people.”

“Well there’s more to it than that and I’d rather you NOT do it. For now, you’re only five. Be a five year old, yeah? Leave worrying about adult shit to actual adults, hear me?”

“I hear you. And I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Let me talk to your mom, okay? You go be a kid. I love you.”

“I love you, daddy. Will you call me later? Before you go beat up the bad guys?”

“I promise I’ll call you. Try and have fun. Please?”

“I’ll try. But it won’t happen…”

“Tanner…”

“I’m nothing if not honest.”

“You’re grumpy is what you are. I’m serious; be a kid. Leave adult stuff to adults. Try to have fun. I’ll see you in a few days, alright?”

“Can you stay when you come? Even just for a couple of days?”

“I can’t. I want to. But I can’t.”

“Just for ONE day?”

“Not even for one day,” he reluctantly admits.

“Can you stay overnight at least? Then you can make breakfast in the morning before you go?”

“I’ll see, okay? I’ll find out if I can. I’m not making any promises, though. But I’ll find it. Let me talk to mommy. And NOT on speaker phone.”

“She’s in trouble, isn’t she.”

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

“What are you talking about? I’m the good one.”

Tyler smirks. “Tell that to the fifteen bucks you scammed out of me.”

“Listen, I did that fair and square. Not my fault you fell for it.” His giggling stops and he turns seriously once again. “I miss you, daddy. My heart is sad.”

“Mine is too, mate. But I’ll see you soon. I promise. Now let me talk to your mom and you go be a kid.”

“Fine.” Tanner huffs. “But I still don’t want another dad.”

“Go downstairs,” Esme gently orders. “And be nice. Quit being such a grump. And don’t give me that look because I don’t put up with it from your father and I sure as hell won’t put up with it from a five year old. Just go. I’ll be down in a minute. I swear…” she sighs into the phone. “...he is five going on fifteen. Hi, by the way. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. And what the hell is going on over there that he’s got it in his head that he’s getting a new dad?”

“Nothing. Nothing is going on. I haven’t even been downstairs yet. I don’t even know where downstairs is and if I can’t find it. I need a map or a GPS to locate the kitchen. And you know what Tanner is like. He worries about things that aren’t even happening and probably never will. He IS going to give himself an ulcer. And you say he’s not like you?”

He sips his coffee. “What about the other ones?”

“They’re fine. I mean, as fine as they can be. They’re at least embracing the whole thing and making the best of it. But I don’t know how much of this I can take. All these people around; maid and cooks and nannies and all that shit. I woke up this morning and Addie was gone. I almost had a stroke. I guess one of the nannies came in and got her.”

“It’s what he’s hired all these people to do,” Tyler reasons. “To take care of you guys.”

“She could have at least said she was taking her instead of just coming in and doing it. And I don’t need people watching my kids. This isn’t my first baby; I’ve taken care of four other ones, including two at once. It’s just weird. I don’t know how people live like this.”

“And you call Tanner grumpy?” he chides.

“I don’t like strangers just up and taking my children. I’m used to it being us. Not twenty different people I can’t even communicate with. And I’m sorry; I didn’t call to bitch at you, I swear.”

“I’m used to it. It’s been seven years. Nothing new to me.”

“You're such a smart ass,” she mutters, then turns serious. “Are you okay? Did the night get any better?”

“A little.” He won’t tell her about the bottle of whisky he’d polished off, or how guilty he feels about it now. Some things are better left unsaid.

“Do you want me to come there?” Esme asks. “I could stay for a couple of days. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

“That’s horseshit and you know it. If you want me to come…”

“It’s not that I DON’T want you to. It's that I also want you to say with kids. Where I know you’re safe.”

“I’m safer with you. I trust you. These people are strangers and I can’t just blindly trust them. I at least know...one hundred percent...that I’m safe with you.”

“They’re not all strangers,” he argues. “Nik’s there.”

“Nik isn’t you. Seriously, if you want me there…”

“I do. You have no idea how much. But I want you to stay with the kids. MY kids. Bad enough I’m gone; they don’t need the two of us taking off.”

“And you’re going back out tonight?”

“Yeah,”

“Alone?”

“Don’t start.”

“How dangerous is it? Is it something you should be doing alone?”

“On a scale of one to ten? Maybe a three.”

“I don’t trust your scale. What you can handle and what a normal person can handle are two entirely different things. How many people this time?”

“Four.”

“Four? By yourself? Tyler, what the fuck?”

“It’s not hands on. Sniper work. It’ll be easy. Four shots and I’m done. Nothing to worry about.”

Esme sighs heavily. “I think you just gave me a hundred more gray hairs. This is insane. Four people? By yourself?”

“I just told you…”

“I know what you told me. I think it’s too much. Even for you. Take someone with you. Please? For my own peace of mind.”

“Esme…”

“Tyler…”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Now is NOT the time to be stubborn. I’m just worried. You know that.”

“I do know that.”

“And I know that you won’t take anyone with you. Just be careful, okay? These people are smart. And that makes them even more dangerous. Just be careful and be safe, okay?”

“I will,” he promises. “I gotta go. I walked out in the middle of a team meeting.”

“You could have just said that at the beginning and you could have called me back.”

“You’re more important than any meeting. And I needed to talk to you. To hear your voice.”

“I needed that too,” she admits. “Maybe later you can phone and I can hear it again. This time saying more ADULT stuff.”

Tyler grins. “I could do that.”

“Oh I know you can. I know the filth that is capable of coming out of your mouth. I better go; before Tanner starts planning my wedding to Anil.”

“Well he could give you a better wedding than I gave you” Tyler reasons.

“Ours was perfect. It was small and it was quaint and it was very us. I love you. We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah, we will. And I love you, too.”

“Be safe. Call me as soon as soon as it’s done. So I know you’re okay.”

“I will,” he promises. “Let me know where you’re registered so I can get you and your second husband a wedding gift.”

“You’re not funny. In the slightest.

“That’s ‘cause I’m fucking hilarious.”

“In your own mind, maybe. Talk later.”

“For sure,” he says, then presses end on the phone. And he sits there for several minutes; eyes fixated on the blackened screen of the cell clutched tightly in his hand. Attempting to control the profound ache that settles deep in his chest. That overwhelming loneliness. And impending sense of doom.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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