three request spots left - if you have anything you want me to write, get those asks in quick! you can send them to me here
You glance up from overtop your glasses and smile at the sight of him, nose scrunched up in concentration, pencil dangling from between his index and middle fingers. His long legs are covered by the grey knit blanket you two share, and your legs are resting on his with your feet sticking out the side of the fabric. Your bed is dipping beneath your combined weight and both of your backpacks are open with notebooks and textbooks spilling out onto your carpet.
“Do you need help?” Shawn asks quietly, shy eyes skittering up to meet yours. His hair is floppy around his face and his glasses are sliding down his nose but you can still clearly see the attractiveness in his features: his sharp jaw, his white teeth, his pretty eyes. And when you allow yourself the peek, his bulging arms aren’t too hard to look at either. “You just, you know, you’re staring so I was just wondering if maybe you needed help with your math or something.”
You blink back to reality and look down to your lap at the blank math worksheet in front of you. Your pencil is still tucked into your bag and your calculator is still in your backpack across the room; it’s obvious you’re not even trying. Shawn’s so kind hearted, so determined to give you the benefit of the doubt, that you say “I actually haven’t even started it, really. To be honest I’ve just been thinking about how good you look”
What about teenage Sam being so desparate to give Dean a blow job? For your daily Wincest.
John will be back any second, but that doesn’t stop Dean’s cock from jumping to attention the second Sam falls to his knees, floppy hair in his face, cheeks flushed, so fucking gorgeous with no idea of his appeal.
“Gotta let me, De,” Sam begs. “Please…”
The door has a deadbolt, so Dean allows himself to unbutton his jeans, safe in the knowledge that he can pull them up easily if their father comes back. He pulls his cock out and watches as Sam lights up, leaning forward greedily, so innocently bold, focused only on Dean.
“Fuckin’ perfect, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, rubbing the head of his cock over Sam’s pretty pink lips. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”
“Let me,” Sam begs again, opening his mouth and waiting.
Dean feels the happy sigh Sam lets out when his cock finally slides into that sweet mouth, like Sam’s finally getting a delicious meal after a few days of hunger.
And God, Sam knows how to savor a meal. Dean’s shaking in no time, watching his little brother, almost as tall as he is now, slowly lick up and down the length of his cock, gently suck the head, mouth around his balls.
Dean comes in record time, can’t help it, and Sam moans then, drinking down every drop.
“Bet I could get you hard again in seconds,” Sam whispers against Dean’s lower stomach.
He’s been watching her every weekend for the past month. Luke Hemmings. He’s mysterious in all the right ways, an asshole to everyone he doesn’t know personally, and the walking definition of relationship baggage. She sat in on the Modern Literature class that he’s taking once and he’s never been able to stop thinking of you since. He thinks she doesn’t notice but once he ran into her again at the bar that you bartend at he’s been trying to wrap his head around what makes this girl so enticing.
He spends weekend after weekend on end in the club just watching her, it becomes creepy, stalker-like, but it’s not something that he can help. His fascination with her leaves him questioning every inch of her, from her head to her toes and hanging on every word he can hear her say.
Now he’s been perched at a high table for a few hours and, despite the loud thumping club music, he’s dozed off. His head against the sticky table top, drool slightly lining his lips and the leather jacket that hangs on his shoulders acting like a blanket. It’s only when it get’s to 3am that he is finally woken up by the soft clearing of a throat.
“Huh?” he half grunts, his eyes slowly opening and hair falling floppy in his face.
“We’re closing up, so unless you want to be found here next Thursday when we open again then I suggest you find another table to be your pillow,” she sighs leaning against a broom.
He practically has to peel his face from the table, rubbing the now irritated skin as he stretches and stands up.
“Sorry,” he croaks. “I have an actual bed I usually sleep in”
“Hmm..” she hums in disinterest as she focuses on her job.
“I’m Luke by the way,” he tries to sound as disinterested as possible though fails majorly.
She gives him a look that seems to say ‘are-we-really-doing-this?’ and lets out a breath, “[Y/N]”
“Need a hand?” Luke offers without thinking.
She doesn’t look up from sweeping, “I can’t get you a job if that’s what you want”
“N-no, just, it’s 3am, I expect that you want to get home soon,” he shrugs.
With a last look of destain [Y/N] hands him the broom and walks over to the bar to start washing up.
Luke quickly sweeps the last of his area and makes his way over to the bar to help further, secretly hoping for a conversation with his mystery girl.
“So uh,” he sweeps. “How long have you been-”
She cuts him off, “This isn’t going to end up like you want it”
“What do you mean?” he acts clueless.
“You’re doing the whole ‘nice guy flirting’,” she dries a glass.
“You are, and since you have some kind of obsession with me, I should let you now that I’m far from perfect,” she tells him.
“As am I,” he leans the broom against the bar, now certain he needs to justify himself as he shrugs his jacket off.
“Oh sure, because you’re definitely not a cliche, hard on the outside soft on the inside guy,” she sarcastically spins to face him.
“There’s no such thing as a saint, sweetheart,” a condescending tone appears in the air.
She puffs, “Oh please like there’s any skeletons in your closet”
“I have my fair share, everyone has secrets,” he sits at a barstool and leans back.
She turns away from him and a silence settles allowing a ringing to start in his ears.
He shakes his head and sits up, “Let me take you to dinner?”
“You don’t want that,” she wipes the same spot for the third time.
“Cause my life is like a pile of dirty laundry, you don’t want to know about what I’ve done,” she sighs.
“I could trip over your past a million times, I only care about what comes next,” he leans closer to her.
There’s a small silence until she breaks it with a cough, “You should get going before the owner sees someone is still in here”
He sighs and stands, picking up his jacket, “I’ll be back”
“I’m sure you will”
He walks to the door but stops to call back, “For the record..”
He woke to Sam’s startled, strangled cry, and he was on his feet with his Colt cool in his hand before he realized that his brother had been dreaming.
‘Sammy, Jesus Christ,’ he muttered, thumbing the safety back on before he put a bullet through the goddamned lampshade. Sam looked up at him from the other bed, sweaty-faced, wet-eyed, and then kicked free from the tangle he’d made of his sheets and ran for the bathroom; the light went on and the door slammed shut and a heartbeat later Dean heard him throwing up the little he’d eaten at supper—a shitty apple and half an egg-salad sandwich from the Kwik Stop on the highway, and a candy bar Dean had practically forced down his gullet, ‘cause his kid clearly needed protein, and Snickers had, y’know, peanuts.
He tucked the gun back beneath his pillow, scrubbed a hand across his hair and stood irresolute for a moment in the center of their room, then padded quietly over to the bathroom door. Rested his forehead and one hand against the thin cheap wood, didn’t open it. ‘Sam,’ he said. ‘You all right, man?’
One breath, two. ‘M fine,’ his brother managed, which Dean would have believed, sure, no problem, if only the kid hadn’t sounded like he’d been flayed open and left for dead on the side of the fucking road.
They worked a few cases, saved a few people, hunted a few things. Sam lost ten pounds and stopped sleeping anywhere save for the cradle of the front seat, with the road humming beneath Baby’s tires and his head tipped against the window, a pained furrow between his brows.
He still woke, always, from a nightmare.
He was, always, fine.
They were in western Indiana, one state line and 250 miles from a room full of shattered mirrors, when Dean opened his eyes, a little after midnight, to find Sam sitting on the edge of the other bed, head in his hands, sheets and blankets a messy tumble at his back.
‘Hey,’ he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘You all right?’
I’m fine, he expected, but Sam said nothing, and he came all the way awake.
In nothing but his boxers, shoulders hunched, feet bare, his little brother looked small, somehow, and painfully vulnerable. ‘ … I can’t sleep,’ he admitted, soft and young and lost. ‘I just … ‘ His fingers tightened in his hair. ‘Dean, I’m so tired, and I can’t—I can’t sleep.’
Dean’s heart clenched up, hard, behind his ribs, because he knew that voice, even though he hadn’t heard it in a dozen years: Dean, help, his baby brother had said, at seven, bringing him a dying bird with a broken wing; and But Dean I want to stay, he’d cried, at ten in West Virginia; and Dean and Dean and Dean, Sammy always so certain that he could fix it, that he could help, no matter how many times he failed him.
‘… I know,’ he said, quietly, because there wasn’t anything the fuck else to say, no matter how much he wished otherwise. ‘Sammy, man, the nightmares about Jess, they’re—they’re gonna get better, okay?’ he said. ‘They always do; it’s—’
Sam was shaking his head, slow and weary. ‘I’m not dreaming about Jess,’ he said, and Dean blinked at him, because what the hell? ‘I mean, I am, but not … not all the time.’ He pushed a hand back through his hair. ‘It’s always the fire,’ he said, softly. ‘But sometimes it’s … it’s Dad, on the ceiling, dying.’ A shuddery breath. ‘Most of the time it’s you.’
Dean’s throat closed up, hard. ‘Sammy,’ he managed, but the kid just shook his head again, looked up at him with desperate, pleading eyes.
‘I can’t—I can’t keep watching you die, man; not after … you’re all I got, and I can’t …’ His voice cracked, took something in Dean’s chest with it. They were quiet for a moment, the only sound the rumble of a semi passing by outside on the highway, and the low murmur of the TV from the manager’s office on the other side of the wall.
‘C’mere,’ Dean finally said. He scooted over in the narrow double bed. ‘Just … grab your pillow, all right? You ain’t gonna get any sleep over there.’
He could have sworn he saw his little brother flushing in the dark. ‘D-Dean, I … I don’t–’
He smacked the mattress, once. ‘Shut up and lie your bony ass down, Sasquatch. I ain’t gonna tell you again.’
It took a minute, but four years’ distance apparently hadn’t sapped all of his Big Brother mojo, because Sam finally crawled in beside him, hesitantly, mattress lurching briefly beneath his weight.
They lay quietly for awhile, both of them on their backs, shoulders close but not touching in the dark.
‘Hey, you remember that awesome diner in Georgia from when you were a kid?’ Dean asked. ‘With the waffles and the peanut butter pie?’
He didn’t think it was going to work for a moment, but then, softly: ‘The one with the big peach on the sign? Outside Savannah?’
‘Yeah. Dad and I ended up back there about four months ago, after we cleaned up a haunting in the city. They still got the pie. I was worried, you know? That they’d be sellin’, like, tofu cheesecake or somethin’ by now, but they still got it. Same dumb curtains, same dumb tablecloths, same awesome pie. Sweet potato fries are still good, too.’ He shifted a little, settling himself more comfortably. ‘What were you, twelve, when you polished off that basket of ‘em? The owner came out to take a picture.’ He didn’t mention that he’d found it in August, a Polaroid tacked up on the wall with three hundred others, Sammy sweet-faced and floppy-haired and shyly smiling, or that it was tucked safely now in the glove box, with the few other precious things Dean owned.
He could hear Sam’s smile, even if he couldn’t see it; could feel the tension starting to drain a little from his brother’s long body. ‘Yeah,’ he said. And then: ‘You got the recipe from the cook, remember? Tried to make them for me the next time we were at Bobby’s.’
‘Yeah, well. Not all of my plans are genius, Sammy,’ he said, and his brother snorted out a soft little laugh in the dark.
Dean talked on, softly, about nothing important: a diner he and Dad had found in Nebraska one Christmas Eve; a ski cabin in Maine they’d slept warm and safe in for a week; the massive, moss-covered oak he’d spend a night under on Jekyll Island, waiting for the ghosts of a slaver and his son. After awhile Sam rolled onto his side, curling up bit by bit in the space between them until his forehead was touching Dean’s arm and one bony knee bumping against Dean’s leg; a little while longer and there were long, hesitant fingertips settling soft against his ribs, like his little brother just wanted to make sure he was real, that he was there. Dean was reminiscing fondly about a burger called the Mac Attack he’d found in Boston when he heard the kid’s breath finally settle into the slow, easy rhythm of sleep.
He lay quietly for a long while beside his brother in the dark, and never knew when he tumbled headlong into dreaming.
He woke a little after 7:00, their room still dark, December rain coming down steady and cold outside. Sam was still sound asleep, sprawled across Dean’s chest the same way he’d slept as a kid, tucked in under Dean’s arm with his face hidden in the crook of Dean’s neck and one arm and leg thrown over him in a haphazard tangle of limbs. Warm to his bones, Dean shifted just a little to ease the cramping in his lower back; Sam snuffled and kicked and wound himself more tightly around him in reply. ‘D’n,’ he mumbled.
Dean settled a hand in his brother’s hair, and closed his eyes against the coming day.
Request - “Hey, I love your writing! Please could you do one where Jeff gets the
reader pregnant and how he supports her throughout the pregnancy/when
the baby comes?“
A/N: I’m sorry I kinda feel like I’ve already done this with Zach so it’s pretty bad…
Being pregnant in itself was uncomfortable enough, but sitting in hard plastic hospital chairs made everything worse. Lucky for you though, your boyfriend Jeff was here to support you. Besides, you were nearly up. Jeff had his hand in yours. He squeezed it lightly.
“You okay hon?” He was quiet, so as not to draw any unwanted attention to yourselves.
“Yes, fine thanks.” You gave him a reassuring smile.
His eyes were dry and crinkled, and his hair floppy over his face. You started to feel bad that he had to go through all this, but then you remembered that you’re the one with the actual child in your stomach. Nevertheless, it was definitely having an effect on him.
“Y/N L/N?” Called a nurse looking round for you. You gave a nod as Jeff helped you to your feet.
By now you were seven months, far along, and pretty large. Jeff still thought you were just as perfect as ever, if not more so.
The doctor put some cold jelly on your stomach and swirled the substance around.
“The baby looks very healthy.” She said. “Would you like to know the gender?”
“No, I’d like it to be a surprise.” You and Jeff said almost in unison. You smiled up and him and he rubbed your hand reassuringly.
The way in which Jeff stared at you with such adoration, and then equally so at the ultrasound screen, was everything you could ever ask for.
You and Jeff had only been together a little over a year when you’d discovered that you were pregnant, and the decisions that followed paved a long and difficult road, but one that you walked together the whole time.
Later, at home, you cuddled up to Jeff while he cradled your belly and ran his fingers through your hair.
“I love you.” you whispered.
“I love you, and I’m going to love this baby so much it hurts, maybe even more than you.” He chuckled. But you couldn’t help but grin. Everything was perfect.
The sun was steaming in through the gap between the curtains, softly lighting up the room. Magnus groaned, shifting slightly as his body slowly began to wake up. The covers wrapped around were keeping him nice and warm which only made it even harder to force himself awake, wanting nothing more than to just lay in.
A muffled noise came from beneath him and Magnus couldn’t help but smile softly as Alec began to wake up as well. He didn’t know how it had come about but when either of them woke up in the morning, the other instantly followed. It made it hard when Alec was trying to sneak out for an early start at the institute or Magnus with his meetings with other warlocks around the world.
His eyes flickered open, titling his head back slightly to look up at Alec, who had his eyes still shut and eyebrows pulled together slightly in a displeased frown.
“What time is it?” Alec mumbled out, voice rasp and making Magnus zone out for a brief second before he snapped himself back to reality, realising Alec had actually asked a question.
“Six,” Magnus said after glancing at the large modern clock on the opposite wall. He got a groan in response and then tightening of the arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer to his boyfriends chest.
“Stay,” Alec said and Magnus sighed happily, resting his head on Alec’s pillow and burying his head into the man’s shoulder.
“I wish I could,” Magnus mumbled softly against Alec’s shoulder, sending a small shiver down Alec’s spine. “Sadly, the English wait for no-one,” Magnus replied, having to get up to meet a few warlocks in London in an hour.
Alec groaned loudly, pulling at Magnus’ waist to make him stay, causing Magnus to let out a soft laugh before placing a kiss on Alec’s collarbone.
“You do this every time,” Magnus said to which Alec finally opened his eyes.
He caught site of Magnus and his chest went tight. The sun hit the side of Magnus’ face, catching him just right and making him light up. He looked gorgeous, his hair was floppy and face fresh from sleep with his eyes twinkling in the sunlight and his smile which cause Alec to pause for a second and simply stare, his own soft smile forming on his lips.
“You look gorgeous,” Alec whispered and Magnus’ breath caught in his chest for a brief second before he managed to calm his heart beat and smile down at his boyfriend.
“Not as gorgeous as you,” Magnus finally replied, leaning down to kiss Alec on the lips.
Alec’s hand drifted down and Magnus couldn’t help but smile as he pulled away slightly.
“So eager,” Magnus said.
“Can you blame me?” Alec teased, which Magnus chuckled at before suddenly rolling away and climbing out of bed, leaving Alec disappointed from the suddenly loss of warmth against his bare chest.
He let out a heavy sigh, flopping back down into the pillows and tucking an arm under his head to be able to watch Magnus get ready.
He wasn’t suppose to be at the institute for another two hours after a late shift that had him sneaking into the apartment at midnight in hopes of not waking Magnus up. He failed at that, Magnus waiting for him in bed.
Magnus got dressed, wearing a burgundy silk shirt under a grey waistcoat with matching grey trousers. His fingers were covered in rings seconds later and the chains hanging from his neck caught the sunlight as Magnus moved around the bedroom getting ready.
Once Magnus was dressed and after a quick glance in the mirror, he turned back around to look at Alec, sensing the shadowhunter watching him with a small smile on his face.
“Shall I make breakfast?” Magnus asked, walking over to Alec still laying in bed.
“I’d much rather sleep,” Alec said before he tried muffling a small yawn.
“Nothing else you’d rather do Alexander?” Magnus smirked down at his boyfriend who sent him a playful glare.
“Don’t tease Magnus, you know I hate that,” Alec said before Magnus bent down to place a kiss on Alec’s lips. Before he knew it, he was straddling Alec, their lips locked together while Alec tried unbuttoning Magnus’ waistcoat.
After a brief loss of concentration Magnus managed to regain his sense and pull away from Alec.
“I can’t be late,” he said and Alec just groaned, gripping at Magnus’ waistcoat yet with little actual effort in pulling Magnus back down to the bed.
“I’ll miss you,” Alec said as Magnus walked to the bedroom door. He paused at the doorframe, twirling around to catch his boyfriends eye.
“And I you,” Magnus replied before winking at Alec who rolled his eyes and flopped back down onto the bed.
“Don’t forget you’re cooking tonight!” Alec called after Magnus who smiled as he created a portal with his magic.
“Well I can’t let you cook now, can I,” Magnus said.
“One time I burn the food and now you don’t trust me,” Alec said and Magnus simply laughed before stepping through the portal.
Special shout out to @ladylorelitany and @magikat409!
Holding her stuffed bunny rabbit by the ear, little Eleanor “Ellie” Lail shuffled her way down the hall.
She looked around, making sure that no one was out and watching her.
Eleanor had a plan brewing, one that would help her Aunt Y/N Knowles in the best of ways.
Eleanor had been at school, the whole Kindergarten class outside for fire safety week.
There, she had seen a tall, handsome fireman by the name of Patrick. He had dimples and Eleanor knew for a fact that her Auntie loved dimples.
Shoving her bunny into her overalls, Eleanor looked around one more time.
Reaching up until she was on her tiptoes, she hooked her fingers onto the white latch and dropped down to the flat of her feet, using her weight to pull down hard.
Immediately the bell sounded. Eleanor took off in a run towards her Aunties apartment, her little legs moving quickly and her pigtails bouncing.
I shot up off of the couch, hearing the fire alarm once again and the front door slamming.
“Christ, another one!?” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes.
“Ellie baby?” I hollered, searching the hall for her.
“I’m wight here, Aunt Y/N!”
I looked towards the end of the hall to find Eleanor breathing heavily, Mr. Floppy tucked into her overalls.
“Where were you?” I asked her, picking her up.
“Over at Chawies. We was playin’.” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck.
I carried her out the door and down a flight of stairs to go outside and wait for the fire department to show.
As we waited, I found a place on the brick wall to take a seat. My body ached from working so many hours, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.
Ellie was my responsibility now… My sister had passed away about a year before hand and she had left me as the sole caregiver of Ellie.
I made sure that she never hurt for anything; her happiness and well being was my number one focus.
I had nearly fallen asleep sitting up when Eleanor tugged on my shirt, “What Hun?”
She pointed at a fireman, a smile on her face,”Lookit, Aunt Y/N! That’s the fireman that came to my school!”
I couldn’t get a good look at him and that’s when I realized that I didn’t even have my glasses on.
Gah, I hoped that the building wasn’t on fire.
The visit from the men didn’t last long, but some seemed quite pissed.
“Mistur Patwick! Mistur Patwick!” Eleanor called out, flailing her arms.
The man looked over and smiled as he came closer to where we were sitting.
“Well, well. If it isn’t little Miss Ellie, right?”
Eleanor gasped, her eyes wide, “He remembured my name!”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he chuckled.
“Dis is my Aunt Y/N!”
I squinted at the man; he was still slightly blurry.
He held out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Y/N,”
I shook his hand, blushing when I saw his dimples, “Likewise,”
“Hey Patrick! We gotta go, man!” one of the men by the fire truck yelled.
“It’s safe to go back in, but we’ve been asking that everyone keep an eye out; see who’s pulling the alarms.”
“Sure, thank you for coming out.”
“Not a problem. Ladies,” Patrick nodded his head and walked off, his boots thudding on the cement.
When I turned around to pick Ellie up, I found her with her arms crossed and a pout on her face.
“Ummm, okay… Let’s go inside and get you some dinner made,”
For the rest of the night and well into the week, Ellie was in a sour mood.
It was a Thursday night when I had come home early and had all the household work done, that I had decided to follow Ellie to see what she was up to.
That was when I found out it had been her that had been pulling the alarm.
Just as she reached up, I hollered at her, “Eleanor Rose Lail!”
She screamed when she spun around. Her bottom lip began to quiver and her eyes filled with chunky tears.
“Young lady, just what do you think you’re doing!?” I demanded.
She started to hiccup cry, “I- I- I just wanted you to be happy!”
My brows furrowed. I didn’t even know whether to be mad at her or not.
“Ellie,” I sighed, kneeling down.
“I’m sowwie!” she cried, cuddling Mr. Floppy to her face.
I gently took her hand and led her back to the apartment.
“Awre you mad?” she hiccuped.
“I’m not exactly happy, Ellie, but we’re going down to the fire station and you’re apologizing to those men whose time you wasted.”
She sniffled, taking the sleeve of her shirt and wiping her nose, “Yes Ma’am.”
The wind was sharp and cold as we walked to the fire station. Ellie had been quiet the whole time.
As soon as we neared the station, we saw a few of the men were outside washing one of the trucks.
I cleared my throat to gain their attention, “I’m looking for Patrick?”
“Yo, Patrick! Broad out here to see ya’s!”
I pushed my glasses up my nose, finally able to see the dimples clearly as Patrick smiled.
“Hey Ellie, Y/N.”
Ellie immediately teared up as I nodded, “Can I speak to you, privately?”
The smile slipped from his face, concern taking place, “Yeah, sure. Come on in Sweetheart.”
Patrick led us inside where it was warm. The kitchen and living room were practically one room.
“You alright, Y/N?” he asked, folding his arms over his broad chest.
Eleanor looked up at me. I gently nudged her, “Go on,”
She played with her bunny’s ears, her lip quivering, “It was me Mr. Patwick,”
Patrick knelt down to her level, “What are you talking about Ellie?”
“I pulled da fire alarm,” fat tears rolled down her rosy cheeks.
Patrick sighed, scratching his brow with his thumb, “Ellie, Honey, you can’t be doing that. Why would you do it?”
“Because I wanted Aunt Y/N to be happy…”
He looked up at me slightly confused, “I’m not following,”
“You can make Aunt Y/N happy. She takes vewy good care of me! She needs someone take of her too and she’s vewy bootiful!”
“Okay, okay… One thing at a time, Ellie. I’m gonna have some of the guys show you around and teach you a few things okay?”
Ellie nodded and wiped her nose, “You’re not mad?”
Patrick smiled and tucked away a loose curl, “No Honey, but you can’t pull the fire alarm anymore.”
Patrick called one of his coworkers over and had him show Ellie the ropes.
I stood by the couch, staring at my sneakers. When Patrick came back over, he touched my arm.
“I’ll pay what ever fines, just send me a bill.”
“Don’t worry about that. Come sit down.” Taking me by the elbow, he led me to the couch where we sat at the same time.
“It seems we have a little Cupid in our midst,” he chuckled.
I blushed, playing with my fingers, “Yeah… I’m really sorry about the trouble that Ellie has caused,”
“She’s just a kid and she means well, Y/N,”
“Thank you… for being so understanding,” I said, my voice breaking at the end.
Patrick’s brows furrowed as he leaned closer and placed a hand on my knee, “It’s no problem, Sweetheart, really.”
I cleared my throat, not knowing what possessed me to spill my guts, “My sister passed away in a car wreck about a year ago,”
Patrick’s other hand rubbed my back, “Ellie’s mom?”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N,”
“Eleanor means well… I guess, maybe I should let go of a few hours at work so that I can be home with her more… I just don’t want to drown in bills,”
We fell in a comfortable silence as Patrick continued to gently rub my back.
“Listen, Ellie did get something right,”
“You are very beautiful,”
I snorted, slapping a hand over my mouth after the noise escaped me.
He did have some amazing dimples when he smiled.
He licked his lips and smiled, “Let me take you out, on a real date.”
“Oh I don’t-”
“C'mon, just one and if you don’t wanna go out again, I’ll take it as it is. Please?”
I stared into his eyes, seeing the genuineness there. Nodding, I decided to live a little, “Okay,”
“Yesss!” Ellie screeched, making us both jump at the high pitched sound.