#i want to draw him staring at Buff Farmer doing Farm Work

[ratspider]

HE FUCKING HE

[captainsourwolf]

I had an email about a new Netflix movie:

And my brain immediately went the rhinky route.

Like, Rhett would be the wealthy charmer that’s been eyeballing the Neal farm (maybe a vineyard??) farther up north, around San Fran, and all its potential to make him even wealthier.

Link would be the hardworking farmer (vineyard grape picking person?? wine maker?? idk) that’s trying his best to keep the place afloat after his grandpa passes and his nana moves back to NC to live with his mom. So he’s the one running things and struggling with the upkeep and holding onto employees but he’s making it work.

Rhett first heard about the Neal vineyard after one of his potential clients brought him a bottle of their finest for dinner. He hears all about the eldest Neal getting sick and passing suddenly a few months ago and his one and only grandson—an engineer from LA—taking over. The story piques his interest because wine that good has got to be a big money maker. So he gets more info out of his client, finds out the place can’t hold down any employees since Neal passed, and he’s immediately sure of what he has to do to get the inside scoop to try and take the place.

Link sees an application for a fellow North Carolina man with experience in working on a farm and calls him right away. Rhett’s his name. He comes in for an interview and Link hires him on the spot. He’s also enamored right away the guy. Tall, legs for days, buff enough to crush Link if he wanted, kind eyes, and wild unkempt curls. He doesn’t flush when Rhett shakes his hand.

Rhett is all confidence in the interview, hiding what he really does and playing up his resume. The guy, Link, hires him on the spot. And Rhett doesn’t stare a little too long at the lock of salt n pepper hair hanging in his face, or the too blue eyes and the glasses and the broad shoulders and the tired but beautiful smile.

So Rhett starts working within the week. He moves into the house used for the workers with his minimal possessions. He isn’t looking forward to actually having to do all this hard work, but anything for his next big thing. He’s all about the money and the finer things in life after all. He fumbles through his first few days, hardly sees Link, but when he does he looks a little longer than he should.

The guy is attractive. More than he has any right to be for a struggling vineyard owner. He works in his office most days, and some days he’s out in the field with what few employees are left. In the fields he sweats under the glare of the sun, so much so his shirt clings to every dip and muscle. Rhett has to look away before he gets caught or finds himself in a situation. He can’t be attracted to the person he’s trying to sneakily buy out.

And Link, though he spends most of his days in the office, doesn’t miss Rhett when they’re in the field together or in the barn or wherever the man’s job for the day takes him. He doesn’t miss the way his biceps bulge when he’s lifting barrels of grapes onto the golf cart, and he doesn’t miss the way he shakes his hair out of his face when he’s hot, and he doesn’t miss the way the strip of tan skin between his jeans and shirt seems to stretch on for miles.

After a couple of weeks, Link finds himself alone in the office, in the entire house. He didn’t sign up for this, he didn’t sign up for a huge house and a vineyard and employees and just—the whole package. He’s not cut out for this life. If he could sell without losing everything he would. But his grandpa left it all for him to tend to and his nana couldn’t bear to be here anymore so he makes do. And it’s as he’s in the office alone that he hears a knock.

Rhett finds him. In the low lamplight, Link’s face is cast in shadow but his blue eyes and messy hair and tan skin still draw Rhett in. He swallows audibly and reminds himself he isn’t here for this and so he knocks to get Link’s attention. He doesn’t really remember what he was coming to talk to him about. He gets invited in and he sits.

They talk. About whatever. It’s stiff and awkward at first but after Link pours them a glass of their own wine, they loosen up. Share things. Both from North Carolina—Buies Creek, how bout that!—and both went to NC State. Went to the same schools, the same river, met up with their friends at the same spot in the same graveyard, how did they possibly miss each other so much? Rhett didn’t move there till third grade, Link was hiding in the bathroom from the John Carson’s every day and didn’t notice the new boy. Link was the shy and awkward kid, got called names so he made himself as small as possible, only had his mom and his grandparents and his one friend. And now here they are. Rhett a wealthy businessman and Link an unhappy engineer with a vineyard he was forced into.

Talking leads to quiet contemplation over another glass of wine. Third glass? Maybe. Rhett stares at Link, at the way his long fingers delicately hold the bottom of the glass, at the way his eyes droop the more he drinks, how blue they are in the lamplight. And Link watches Rhett. Watches the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way this one lone curl frames his ear, the way his neck flushes down his chest and into the unbuttoned V of his plaid shirt. He has to take another drink and doesn’t notice the way Rhett is gulping down the last of his, too.

Link starts talking about the vineyard and wanting to sell if it weren’t for the fact he’d lose everything. Rhett’s suddenly reminded of why he’s here and he clears his throat, shifts awkwardly in his chair, finally stands to leave. But a hand closes around his wrist across the desk and he sees Link standing, too, firm grip holding Rhett in place and blue of his eyes making him freeze.

Maybe it��s the wine, maybe it’s the rush of guilt, maybe it’s the time of night and the quiet of the office, but Link lets him go and Rhett meets him halfway and pins him against the edge. Something clatters to the floor as Link bumps into the desk and Rhett gets two big hands under his thighs to hoist him into the surface. It’s most definitely a mistake moving forward but Rhett can’t help it and neither can Link. Rhett’s hand are huge and warm and feel good around his hips, and the noises Link makes are sweet and filthy all at once and make heat curl in Rhett’s belly.

Doesn’t take much to get each other off. Link laid out across the desk while Rhett plants kisses and bites along his neck and throat and all over his torso and jerks his cock in tight strokes that have him moaning too loud. He cums first with a gasp and a moan and spills over Rhett’s fist hot and fast. Then he’s slipping off the desk much smoother than someone three glasses of wine and post orgasm should be able to manage. He gets on his knees and sucks Rhett off so good Rhett sees stars and hunches over palms flat on the desk when he groans and cums down Link’s throat. Rhett cleans them both up and they say goodnight, awkward and fumbling, still a little tipsy.

After that it’s awkward baby steps around each other. Link knowing he’s crossed a line with an employee and Rhett knowing he’s about to take everything out from under Link, and both knowing they want more. For a few days they only speak in employee/employer terms. Of course it breaks by the weekend and Link finds Rhett at the barn cleaning up from the day and can’t help but crowd him against the barrels to jerk him off (and Rhett can’t help but make some joke about the reason the wine is so good is because it has the secret ingredient.)

It becomes a thing. They seek each other out often. Mostly to screw around, sometimes to drink, sometimes to talk, and always to just be near each other. Rhett is slowly feeling guiltier and guiltier about why he’s here, why he’s lying to Link, his purpose for doing this in the first place. And Link is slowly realizing just how much he likes Rhett. How much he’d give up to be with Rhett. So they seek each other out, they fuck, they talk, they kiss, they work.

Of course nothing good can last. Link finds out about Rhett, who he really is, what he’s doing here. And it breaks him. Here he is, wishing he could sell, could be out from under this vineyard, falling for someone, and it’s all just been a lie. A big fat lie! He gets mad, he breaks a few things, he finds Rhett and confronts him, tells him he knows everything. Tells him he knows now he was just getting close to Link to sweep the rug out from under him and get richer quick before running off back to his cushy life in LA.

Rhett argues. They both argue. It’s explosive and Link leaves. When he comes back the next day Rhett is gone. All his things are gone and just like that, after just a few weeks, Link’s left feeling emptier than he did the day his grandpa died.

Time passes. Rhett finds other avenues to make money in LA. Doesn’t flinch when, three months after he leaves, he sees something about the Neal family vineyard going up for auction. The grandson finally caved and sold to the highest bidder, took the money, and left everything except his most prized possessions. Rhett ignores it and moves on despite the ache in his chest seeing the hollow look on Link’s face in the picture, his hand clasped in another’s as he makes the deal. He did this to Link, he supposes.

One day a bottle of wine shows up on his desk. It’s got the signature Neal family vineyard label, the year, and a special label advertising the secret ingredient. And then there’s Link. He looks defeated and sad. But he smiles when he sees Rhett and shrugs, gesturing to the offering.

They make up over that bottle of wine, Rhett tells him the truth about everything, Link forgives him because in the end he didn’t want the vineyard anymore anyway. He made a pretty penny selling in an auction, didn’t lose as much as he thought he would, and now he’s got enough to do what he wants for awhile. They make up some more when Rhett lays Link out across the couch in his office and does what he tried to convince himself he wasn’t missing all these months.

Eventually things even out. Link doesn’t sting whenever he sees something about his former family business and Rhett stops feeling so guilty. Everything works out in the end.

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  IM SO EXCITED WHEN I SAW YOU WERE WRITING FOR THE WITCHER IM FUCKING PUMPED. Would you do one where Geralt’s fighting monsters and being a general badass but working himself to exhaustion and jaskier makes him stop and take care of himself

I really really like this prompt, @this-is-whump-dammit !!

It’s been four days since Jaskier’s frightening mishap with a lone werewolf.

While accompanying Geralt through the woods, he stumbled upon a single werewolf, a rarity as they often run in packs. He had just enough time to whisper Geralt’s name, voice trembling as hard as his knees, before the werewolf lunged at him, knocking him to his back with a loud thud that’s masked by a booming growl. The werewolf’s teeth were mere inches from his face, and Jaskier took a second to consider how great of a song this would be if he lived before Geralt swung his sword, knocking the werewolf’s head to the ground in a single, shaking swing.

He was fine, only shaken to the core, but Geralt insisted they stop at the nearest town so he can rest by wordlessly packing up their small camp set up and grumbling “let’s go,” leaving zero room for argument.

Four days, and Jaskier’s fine. While he’s not complaining at sleeping in a real, warm bed inside... with Geralt because double-bed rooms can get pricey, he knows Geralt is anxious to get back on the road, never wanting to stay in a single town for too long because of the shouts and looks that come each time he steps out in public. At least, that’s what Jaskier’s perceived as the primary reason for Geralt’s wandering lifestyle.

When Jaskier wakes on the fifth day, Geralt’s, once again, already gone. Though, upon closer look, Geralt’s side of the bed looks untouched, the sheets only lightly rumpled thanks to Jaskier’s almost constant moving in his sleep after an incredibly unpleasant dream about werewolves. He smooths a palm across the empty side of the bed, frowning at the cool, soft touch. Come to think of it, he can’t remember Geralt ever coming to bed.

Jaskier remembers having a little too much to drink at the local tavern. He remembers slurring songs out on his lute, and he can faintly remember being tossed over Geralt’s shoulder and hauled back to the inn. After that, everything’s a faint blur of vomiting, being far too hot, giggling, and then blacking out.

He runs a hand through his hair, attempting to make some sense of the many strands sticking out at all ends. He spares a glance to his crumpled clothes on the floor, and he groans, swinging his legs over the bed and getting to his feet. A dull throb clings to his temples, and he feels a little sluggish, but otherwise, he’s ready to take on the day, which apparently, he thinks as he drags slow eyes around the room, is tracking down this dumb Witcher.

He dresses and makes his way to the tavern, groaning at the shouting and singing that assaults his ears the second he steps into the building.

“Oh, the Witcher is buff! The Witcher is strong! The Witcher travels far! I follow along! He fights all the monsters, clean and quick! I can’t help but watch for I want his sweet--”

“--I did not sing such an inappropriate song!” Jaskier shouts, though the flush creeping hot at his cheeks says otherwise. He shakes his head with a low huff, ignoring the shouts and catcalls as he makes his way to the bartender.

“Rough night?” he asks Jaskier, raising his brows.

“My night was perfectly fine, thank you,” Jaskier ignores the low comment “I bet it was” in favor of scanning the tavern for familiar long, white hair. He comes up empty, shoulders slumping as he turns back to the bartender.

“Have you seen Geralt?”

“A saint he is,” a woman sitting at the bar says, and Jaskier pulls his attention toward her, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“He stopped by very early this morning and asked if anyone needed help with anything. We’ve had these pesky giant centipedes causing a ruckus on our farm. He came back an hour later with the head of one, but he wouldn’t accept our payment.”

Jaskier stares at the small satchel of coins lying untouched on the table, brows furrowed. “He didn’t take the money...?”

“He didn’t take mine either,” a young farmer boy interrupts, and soon, others in the tavern are crowding around and joining in, telling their own accounts of Geralt providing his services for free.

Jaskier listens, frown growing deeper, more prominent, with each story, and after a good ten minutes of storytelling, he interrupts the crew.

“Hold on, how many requests has he taken?”

“Hard to say,” the bartender admits, wiping down a mug. “He came back a few hours after dropping your sorry, drunken ass off at the inn and started demanding requests.”

“You mean to tell me,” Jaskier draws out, heart beating a little too fast against his ribs, “that Geralt has been taking requests all night?”

“Sounds like it,” the bartender answers as others chant their praises for the Witcher.

“Well,” Jaskier starts as he slides off the bar stool. “I guess I should go and find him--”

“--go east toward the edge of the woods,” a woman supplies. “There’s an old cemetery. I heard a man tell him some fleders were spotted in that area.”

Jaskier’s heart stutters at the mention of such a dangerous threat, and he offers a thankful nod toward the woman before hurrying out of the tavern. To his surprise, Roach is still tied to a post near the inn, and he approaches the horse with defensive, raised hands.

“Easy, Roach. I’m a friend.” He’s pleased to see that Roach is tolerating him today, and after a few minutes and a lot of falling, he’s finally able to climb onto the back of the horse. “Well, then, let’s head east.” He waits for Roach to move, but the horse, as stubborn as his owner, remains glued to his spot until he presses his heels lightly into his side.

Roach starts at a light trot east toward the edge of the woods, and Jaskier takes this brief moment of solitude to address the urgent sense of panic gripping at his heart. This, he thinks, is unlike Geralt. Taking this many jobs for no pay? It doesn’t settle right in his chest. He can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong, something’s off, and he just hopes that Geralt’s still breathing when he finds him.

It takes an hour to get to the cemetery, but his relief at seeing Geralt alive is short-lived when the Witcher turns toward the sound of the horse approaching. Jaskier sees the dark, cold eyes looking back at him, eyes pulsing and plagued by a strong liquid. There’s a small, empty bottle on the ground beside a dead fleder, and Jaskier frowns sharply at it as he swings his legs over Roach’s back and slides off the horse. He hits the ground, staggers, and falls backward, but he’s quick to get back on his feet.

“Geralt,” he calls out carefully. “What are you doing?” He starts to step forward, but then a fleder flies at him, and he’s sure he sees his life flash before his eyes before Geralt’s large body crashes into him, sending the two falling to the ground.

“Go,” Geralt growls to him, face just inches from Jaskier’s, before he jumps to his feet, sword raised and ready as the fleder flies back toward them.

Jaskier slowly gets to his feet, watching with wide eyes as Geralt takes a long, shaking swing in perfect time with the fleder’s movements. Geralt’s blade makes contact, and the Witcher puts force behind his sword until the fleder is falling to the ground.

The only sound to follow is Geralt’s harsh, ragged breathing, and he jabs his sword into the ground to brace himself against it when he stumbles slightly. Jaskier watches, lips curled into a deep frown, brows furrowed, and he approaches Geralt slowly.

“Geralt,” he repeats. “What’s going on?” He can see the Witcher’s shoulders tense at the question, but Geralt doesn’t turn to look at him. Jaskier takes a few more steps toward him, stepping over a fleder body with a grimace pulling at his face.

“Why have you taken so many requests without accepting pay?” The closer Jaskier gets to Geralt, the easier it is to see the general, curved slump of Geralt’s posture and the tremble of Geralt’s hand that’s gripping the hilt of his sword as if that’s the only thing keeping him upright. Jaskier starts shifting around until he’s facing Geralt just as the potion wears off, dark eyes fading to tired, amber ones.

“All night, I might add,” Jaskier presses, and Geralt slowly lifts his gaze to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier sucks in a sharp hiss of a breath at the clear exhaustion pulling at Geralt’s features, but he opts to remain silent and wait until Geralt’s ready to speak.

After a few, silent minutes that drag on and on, Geralt finally sighs, deep, long, drawn out. “I’m doing my job.”

“You are seeking out work as if you are hungry for a death wish,” Jaskier clarifies, voice sharp yet concerned.

“It’s dangerous out here--”

“--well of course it is,” Jaskier interrupts. “That doesn’t mean you have to go running toward every beast that crosses your path for hours on end with no sleep. You are exhausted, Geralt.” He stresses each word, dragging out the syllables, and Geralt’s face falls. Conflict colors his eyes, a look Jaskier’s only seen once or twice.

“I’m,” Geralt pauses, eyes falling closed in a slow blink. “I’m doing it for you.”

“You’re... what?” Jaskier’s heart skips a beat. He locks eyes with Geralt, and the concern bleeding through his body is mixing with muted confusion, and something else he can’t quite put a finger on.

“Last night. Your sleep was fitful--”

“--I was drunk--”

“--you were afraid,” Geralt’s voice is sharp in a way that Jaskier can’t find a word to interject.

“You shouted about werewolves,” Geralt presses with a sigh.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier tries to assure, but Geralt shakes his head.

“Physically, yes, but...” Geralt’s grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. “It’s dangerous for you.” He makes to rip it from the ground, but Jaskier closes the short distance between the two and drops his hand atop Geralt’s.

“Just as it is for you,” Jaskier whispers. His heart is threatening to leap from his throat. It’s working in overtime, and he knows his face is blushing like mad, yet he keeps his voice soft, cool, but demanding. “But you won’t do us any good if you collapse.” He holds Geralt’s gaze, the two sharing a silent conversation that Geralt breaks with a low groan.

“I am tired.”

“See?” Jaskier says, a small smile flicking across his lips. “Now, how about we head back to the inn so you can get some much needed rest? I’m sure Roach can carry us both, right?”

Geralt only grunts, and the two struggle onto Roach’s back. Roach grunts a little, but Geralt’s hand smoothing over his neck eases him, and with Geralt behind Jaskier, he reaches around for the reins, trusting Roach to lead them back safely without much guidance.

The ride back is silent. Jaskier wants to fill the silence so that there’s no risk of Geralt catching onto his rapid heart, but Geralt’s chin is is resting atop his shoulder, and the Witcher’s eyes are shut. Jaskier’s afraid to move, to jostle Geralt, so he remains stiff as a board until one of Geralt’s hands drops the reins and slides to Jaskier’s thigh.

“Relax. It feels as if I’m resting on a rock.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier squeaks out, but he obliges, huffing out a shaking sigh and willing his muscles to loosen. It works, he supposes, because Geralt lets out a low, pleased hum that squeezes hard at Jaskier’s heart.

By the time they’re back at the inn and Geralt’s bathed and in bed, Jaskier feels as if he might faint from a rapid heart. He grabs his lute and starts toward the door, freezing at the low growl that comes from the bed.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?” Jaskier turns around.

“Lie with me.”

“I don’t want to disrupt your sleep--”

“--you won’t,” Geralt responds sleepily. “I need to make sure you are...”

“Safe,” Jaskier whispers, finishing Geralt’s sentence as the Witcher struggles to keep his eyes open. He moves toward the bed, climbing atop above the covers until his back is pressed against the wooden headboard.

“Will you sleep?”

Jaskier breathes out a shaky laugh. “I’m far too strung to fall asleep, I’m afraid. Plus, I’ve had a full night’s sleep unlike you.”

Geralt hums, rolling over until his hand is resting atop Jaskier’s thigh. “Good. I cannot protect you from your dreams.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier starts, but Geralt interrupts with a gruff voice.

“Sing something.”

“My lute’s over--”

“--no chords. Just your voice.”

“I thought you hated my singing.” He meets Geralt’s half-lidded eyes, and Geralt narrows his slightly.

“Sing.”

“Fine,” Jaskier huffs. He tilts his head back until he’s staring at the ceiling and clears his throat.

“One’s heart’s too loud, screaming for something more. Screaming for nothing more than to scream for what he shouldn’t adore.”

[marmelade-sky]

Coming out to college friends (pynch)

I needed something cute and domestic, so here you go, guys! :) enjoy ♥

you can prompt me Raven Cycle stuff atm! AFTG prompts are pausing right now, but will most likely be reopened very soon. Thank you.

Read here on ao3/if you’re on mobile

It takes Adam a while to become friends with people at college, but it doesn’t take people very long to become friends with Adam Parrish, because Adam is the kind of person people are drawn to: polite and nice, calm and intelligent, with just the right bit of mystery to him. 

Of course none of his friends can compare to his friends back home. Noone ever could. But they’re alright. 

So, after the first semester is over, Adam has several friends. For one, his roommate Dave, who’s a bit of a nerd, a bit awkward, but genuinly nice, too. Also, Ava, who sits next to him in three of his classes and who would probably get along perfectly with Blue (she’s a vegan and only wears second hand clothes). Then, there’s Other Adam from weight class who Adam is friends with because, after realizing they share the same name, it had been inevitable to become friends. 

All of Adam’s friends have more friends, and so Adam ends up going to parties and meeting so many people. He even talks to them, too. Blue tells him how proud she is on the phone. “Look at you! Going out, meeting normal people! Good going!”. Adam tells her how they’re still his best friends and will always be, and he knows she’s just a little relieved to hear that.

The subject of Ronan Lynch comes up with Adam’s college friends, too, of course. 

“Who’s that?”, Dave asks when Adam puts up pictures of his friends next to his plants. 

“My friends.” 

“That one looks like he’s in a punk band.”, Dave replies with a grin, coming over to Adam’s side of the room to get a closer look. He points to a picture of Ronan. 

Adam smiles. “You think so?” He casually puts up another picture. It’s of him and Ronan and Opal and Chainsaw, and it’s what Blue refers to as their “happy family picture. It’s been taken in front of the Barns, with cows grazing in the background. In it, Ronan hugs Adam from behind while Chainsaw perches on Ronan’s shoulder and Opal, wearing a huge jumper and neon green rain boots, holds both of their hands. They all smile for the camera. It’s a nice picture. 

Adam thinks it’s funny to wait until Dave manages to piece all the clues together. “Wait a minute-!” He looks at Adam with big eyes, “...is that your boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” Adam notices that he’s never had a real coming-out moment before this. With Ronan back home, there had been no coming-out, just facts. 

“Oh!”, Dave replies, surprised, but obviously trying to keep his voice light, “that’s cool! Cool! He looks... nice! What’s with the kid...and the bird?” 

“That’s his pet raven. Chainsaw. And his kid.” 

It’s very amusing to watch Dave squirm. 

“That’s cool, really cool.”

“Dave, can you stop saying cool, please?”

-

“I’m gonna drop out and become a famer.” Ava puts her head on her desk next to Adam. It’s cold in the class room and the lecture is equally as boring as it is hard.

“My boyfriend’s a farmer.”, Adam replies casually, and then wonders when he has started mentioning Ronan so off-handedly in conversations.

“Oh, really?” Ava lifts her head again, interest perked now. “Is he really buff? What kind of farm does he have?” 

Adam cocks his head slightly, considering. “...he’s a little buff, I guess.” He thinks of Ronan’s arms and the room doesn’t feel so cold anymore. “...cattle, mostly.” And dream things. 

“Alright, awesome. Organic, I hope.” Ava narrows her eyes playfully. 

Adam chuckles. “As organic as it can be.” 

“Nice. Maybe he needs an assistent, then please tell him to consider me.” Ava drops her head again with a dramatic sigh. 

-

He’s on the treadmill, Other Adam next to him, working out together. Adam usually listens while Other Adam talks and provides the occasional smart comment. Sometimes they don’t talk at all. It’s a really manly friendship. 

“...I swear, she’s the most amazing person ever. Really. You should meet her. You could bring your girl, too!” Other Adam grins over at Adam, but then he furrows his eyebrows, grin dropping slightly. “...do-.. do you have a girl?”

Adam looks over to him and wipes sweat out of his eye. “...I have a boy.” 

Other Adam’s grin makes a reappearance. “Well, bring your boy, then.”

“He’s not good with people, but I’ll ask him.” Adam tried imagining Ronan meeting Other Adam. Nah. Maybe he wouldn’t ask him. 

“Really? What’s he good with?” 

It’s quite clear that Other Adam is aiming for an innuendo here. 

Adam shrugs. “Animals, I guess, and cars. He used to street race when we were younger.” It feels weird and nice to be able to share such information openly, to have friends to share it with, and who to brag about his boyfriend to. 

“Nice.”, Other Adam just replies, and then they go on about their workout in manly, comfortable silence.

 -

It’s Adam’s birthday, and Ava and Dave manage to surprise him with a picnic. It’s nice and sweet, they brought a blanket, some wine and snacks and even a birthday cake that spells “Hapy Birtday, Adam” since Dave had been tasked with the writing. “You could have told us you’re dyslexic!”, Ava laughs when they reveal the cake. 

They’ve invited some more people from their classes and their circle of friends, their dorm neighbours, and Other Adam’s girlfriend, too. It’s nice, and Adam has a bit of a hard time believing that all those people are there to celebrate with him. They even give him gifts, and it’s really sweet. 

Adam is busy unpacking Ava’s gift, a marroon sweater she made herself, when someone casts a shadow over him from behind. 

“Hey, Nerdboy.” 

Adam startles at the familiar voice, and turns around, squinting upwards. Ronan Lynch stands behind him, hands in his pockets, smirk on his face. 

“Um, excuse-”, Ava starts, obviously ready to defend her friend, but before she can go on, Adam is on his feet and throws his arms around Ronan. He doesn’t care that everyone’s watching them now. Ronan wraps his arms around Adam, too, and holds him so tightly, so perfectly, wonderfully tightly. Adam inhales his familiar scent, motor oil and hay and Ronan. 

“Happy birthday. I wanted to see you.”, Ronan mumbles into his ear, and Adam thinks he can’t ever let go of him now. 

“Ronan...”, he says, and notices that his voice is rough around the edges. 

They finally break apart, and Adam, cheeks heated up, turns around to face his friends. “So... guys, this is Ronan.”

They all stare. Ronan’s hand tightens possessively on the back of Adam’s belt. 

“That’s Ronan?!”, Ava’s mouth hangs open. “I thought he was a farmer!”

Dave blinks rapidly behind his glasses. “I... I thought you were older.” He addresses Ronan directly, at least, “-I mean, no offence, dude, but Adam told me you had a kid.” He shrugs.

Ronan starts grinning beside Adam. Adam starts grinning, too. 

“A kid?!”, Other Adam asks from behind Ava, “I thought he was a race car driver!”

Now Ronan turns to Adam, smirk on his face self-assured and what other people might think of as arrogant. “I see you’ve been talking about me and my many talents.” 

“Well.” Adam shrugs and pats Ronan’s chest, “How could I not?”

Ronan laughs. It’s so good to hear him laugh, especially with strangers around. It’s so good to see him at ease like this now, this new Ronan, who doesn’t hate as much as he used to. 

They sit back down, and Ronan gets some of the birthday cake. 

“Before I forget, the brat wants me to give you this.” Ronan reaches into his leather jacket and produces a framed crayon drawing. It’s a replica of their ‘family photo’ that Adam has in his room. 

“Wow, it’s a masterpiece.”, Adam jokes, but his heart warms up as he looks at the framed drawing. A little heart hovers over their heads, and next to them, Opal’s kid-scribbles read “Kerah + Adam + Opal + Chainsa    W”. The W is written in Ronan’s handwriting and black marker, obviously added as a correction later. 

“Tell her thank you.”, Adam says, and his voice is soft and it’s cheesy. 

“Will do.”, Ronan replies and then stuffs his face with cake. 

Adam looks at the drawing once more, then at his new friends, who all smile at him broadly. 

His new friends, and his old family. He thinks he can get used to that.