#( she just takes one look at avery and is like )

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (8)

previous | next

cw: poorly attempted accents

Soap offers to walk you back to the barracks after dinner, and you can't bring yourself to tell him no. You've put in more than a full 12 hours, and can't find a way to use your office as an excuse. When he suggests joining the others in the rec room, you tell him you'd prefer a quiet evening alone. You hope he understands and takes the message back to the rest of the team. He's given you a lot to think about, and all you want is some quiet to parse through it and your own feelings.

Three heads whip in his direction as Soap comes through the rec room doors. Gaz immediately notices he's alone while Ghost watches the door for another moment, hope in his eyes that's dashed as Soap shakes his head.

"Sit rep?" Price asks.

Soap shrugs and responds, "Tol' 'er Ah cared for 'er. She asked about las' night, about yoo and me," he motions between himself and Ghost, "bein' close, so Ah said Ah cared for ye too. She got a real funny look on 'er face, so Ah said Ah thought mah heart was big enough for more than one. Dinnae ken 'ow she took it cuz she went quiet after."

Price sighs heavily, running his hand over his face. "Well, it wasn't how we planned to tell 'er, but it was a good call, Soap." He eyes the other man. "Did ya mention me 'r Gaz when ya talked about yer big heart?"

Soap shakes his head quickly. "No' at all. Could see she was struggling wi' me carin' for her an' Si. Didnae wanna make it worse."

Price's head falls back against the recliner. He takes a deep breath and huffs it out. Then he looks at Gaz. "We're down to four days, Garrick. Don't know if ya wanna try tonight or wait, but we're still countin' on ya to close this." His eyes rake over his lover. "Soap laid the groundwork after last night's disaster, but it's up to you to make her see wha' we have an', more importantly, wha' we want."

One of the first emails you see the next morning is from Laswell. She's asking you to meet with one of her contacts at a location off base. You're glad John told you where to get the bus into town, but you don't know the town well enough to know where this location is. You debate trying to find one of your the boys for help, but between movie night and Soap's confession, you're not quite sure what to say to any of them.

You did some digging on your personal device, using untraceable proxies, to learn more about having multiple partners at the same time. You came across the phrase polyamory, which seems to fit what Soap was hinting at, but you're not sure. And you definitely don't feel confident asking.

Like any other problem you can't solve, you're putting this one off to the side for now to focus on other things. Like how to get to the meeting location.

In the end, you find Corporal Avery and ask her where you should go. She's able to provide you a rough map of town including where the bus will let you off and how to get to your location. She offers to accompany you, and when you worry she'd get in trouble, she says, "Can say it's part of my official duties per Captain Price's orders, ma'am." She smiles big, and you remind yourself to lean on her for company when the 141 are gone. But you decide to head to the meeting alone. You don't know who this contact is, and with Kate, their personal information might be classified or confidential in some way. You can't bring Corporal Avery for the safety of whomever you're meeting, a thought that leaves quite quickly when you step into the cafe two hours later to see it empty of everyone except the girl behind the counter and Kyle.

You look around, waiting for someone else, someone you don’t know, to make an appearance. Instead it’s simply Kyle who smiles big and waves you over. You stop just short of his table. “What are you doing here, Kyle?” You work to keep your tone level, curious, not accusatory.

“Asked Laswell for a favor. Needed ta see you, Oz,” he tells you. “You’re avoiding us.” There’s no pretense, no hiding. It’s unlike him to be so blunt.

“I’m doing my job, Kyle,” you say. “The one Laswell sent me to do to help you.”

Kyle stands and pulls out the other chair at his table for two, clearly indicating you should sit. “What yer doin' isn’t helping us, doll," he says softly.

You rear back. “Not helping?!?” you whisper hiss, sitting down. You lean over the table, masking your hurt with anger. “What the hell does that mean?”

Kyle quickly sits to join you. “Shit, no, that’s not what I mean,” he rushes out. He runs a hand down his face and mutters under his breath.

You shift back, annoyed, trying to get as far from him as you can while staying at the table. “Excuse me?” You cross your arms and don whatever armor you can for what seems like a rather unpleasant confrontation in the middle of the Costa. “If I’m not helping, maybe Laswell should send someone else.”

You can’t believe you’d been so excited about finally meeting your the boys. You refuse to cry, but this conversation needs to end quickly if you’re going to keep from balling your eyes out.

“Oz, doll…” Kyle trails off, mouth opening several times as he tries to pull his thoughts together. “This is harder than I thought it’d be,” he admits wearily. He tries to catch your eye but can’t match your glare. “We don’t want someone else. We want you.” He reaches for your hands, and despite how much you want to hold onto anger, you know it’s your heart you're trying to protect.

But that traitorous organ can't resist, so you timidly slip one hand in his. Kyle grips it like a lifeline. “We want you, Oz. No one else is better at this job than you.” You both know he’s stretching things a bit as Laswell is clearly better suited to this than you, but she can’t be in all places. It’s what she trusts you for.

You take a shaky breath. “I think I need you to explain it to me, then, Kyle. If you want me here, if you don’t want or trust someone else to do this job, then how is it I’m not helping?”

You know you must look ridiculous because you gape at him for several long moments in which he says nothing, does nothing. He waits for a reaction. You can see the tension in his shoulders, and he still has both of his hands wrapped around yours, but he doesn’t push, and he doesn’t clarify.

“Yer amazing at what ya do,” Kyle quickly replies. “But ignoring us isn’t helping us.” He must see the confusion on your face because he adds. “Yer helping the mission, but ya aren’t helping us.” He widens his eyes at the end, trying to tell you something, but you can’t figure it out.

You shake your head and are about to tell him you don’t understand when he squeezes your hand in his and asks you to look at him. “Doll, we want you. Not for the mission but for us.”

You think about what Soap revealed at dinner last night. About Simon’s outright declaration. About John’s not-so-subtle pick-up line. About Simon and Kyle and Soap practically cuddling on the couch. About John and Kyle’s kiss. The pieces are there, but your brain refuses to believe it. “Are you saying you and…” you trail off, not sure where this thought is actually going.

“Me and Ghost and Soap and the captain, yes,” he says, helping to refocus you.

“Are you saying you’re all together?” He nods. “In…in…in some kind of polyamorous thing?” Kyle admits he isn’t sure because he doesn’t know what polyamorous is, never felt like he needed a label for how he feels about the others. “So you’re all together together. And you all want me?” It’s almost too much for your brain to comprehend.

"Yes." Kyle says it so simply, as though his declaration makes every bit of sense. "'s been you fer us fer a long time. Only you."

He looks at the table where his hands are wrapped around yours and says the next so quietly you can almost pretend you don't hear it. "We weren't meant to be together. Not like tha'. We're supposed to be task force. A fighting force. A killing force." He shrugs, almost lost in his thoughts. "Somewhere along the way, tha' changed. I can't speak fer the others, but I never expected any of it. I never expected to be involved with my superiors. Never thought I'd love these men as anything more than Brothers in arms. But it happened. And now it's us. Us against the bad guys. Us against the world. Us watching one another."

He takes a deep ragged breath. And then he looks at you, looks right through to the very heart of you. "Then you came along. And you watched our backs. And you kept us company on those long, lonely nights. And you made sure we were safe. That we were making it back to one another whole. So yeah, it's you, Oz. We thought we were enough, but yer the peace we're missing. And if we're too much, if we read this wrong, then we'll just go back to what it was before. But we needed to let you know what we want before we go off on this mission where we might not all come home."

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 9

~~

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321 @lilynotdilly @eternallyelvish @viylikescats @erintaro @hidden-treasures21 @lil-writer-523

[byhawthorne]

Valentine's Day.

– Grayson Hawthorne x fem!xreader : she receives flowers for valentine's day but with a little puzzle

an : hi! This is my attempt writing a valentine's day special. it was supposed to be something short but i wanted to add a little something that would happen in the books and it ended up being 80% solving the puzzle. it's definitely not my best work, sorry!

Her first Valentine’s Day with a boyfriend… and she couldn’t even see him. At least, not for most of the day.

It felt like the universe had conspired to make it impossible for her to see Grayson that day. Even when she had stopped by the foundation, he wasn’t there. Sometimes, she just wanted to force him to take a break.

"Excuse me."

She turned at the sound of a voice behind her just as she was about to leave. A girl she didn’t recognize stood in front of her.

"Are you Grayson Hawthorne’s girlfriend?"

She felt like she could throw up right there and there, but she just nodded. She would never get used to it—to being called his girlfriend. It had taken her so long to open up to someone again, and he had been the only person who had managed to do it.

"There’s something for you."

She frowned in confusion and waited. Maybe an envelope, a folder she had forgotten. She glanced at the papers in her hands, but she was pretty sure she had everything.

A guy approached and placed something in the girl’s arms. A bouquet of her favorite flowers was in her hands seconds later. She looked at the girl, bewildered, but the huge smile on her face made her wonder if this was just some elaborate joke she was in on.

"It's from your boyfriend," the girl explained. She said something else, but the moment those four words left her lips, her ears stopped registering anything else.

Had Grayson left the flowers there? Had he sent someone? Called a place? How had he managed to do this so quickly?

She reached for the small note nestled among the flowers, noticing the florist’s logo. For a second, it seemed familiar. But when she opened the tiny card, something inside her sank.

It was blank. There was nothing written.

She sighed before turning around and heading toward the car that was waiting for her. That strange feeling in her chest lingered. She couldn’t believe they had forgotten to write a message. Maybe he hadn’t sent anything written, and the florist had made a mistake. Maybe…

The man holding the car door open for her frowned when she didn’t step inside. She just stood there, frozen, staring at the card in her hand.

Grayson Hawthorne would never send a blank card to her. There was something more.

It was the small, unusual glimmer before getting into the car that revealed the truth—it was invisible ink.

She hated invisible ink. Avery had used it for her last invitation to some kind of dinner she had organized. Why couldn’t the Hawthornes just use regular ink? Or a simple text message would work just as well.

The tip of her shoe tapped against the ground impatiently the entire way back to her apartment. The car dropped her off at the building’s entrance. She thanked the driver, and practically ran to the elevator. A mix of desperation and adrenaline rushed through her veins—she needed to confirm if she was right.

Ignoring her cat’s meowing was difficult, but she rushed to her room and started rummaging through her drawers, hoping to find a small ultraviolet light she had stored somewhere. She huffed when she didn’t find it and scooped up her cat.

“Luka, do you remember where I left the UV light?” she murmured, though she obviously didn’t expect an answer. She stroked the cat’s head while her eyes scanned the room. Until her eyes fell on a specific drawer.

The one Grayson had nicknamed the disaster drawer.

She set Luka down and walked over, making an even bigger mess as she searched through it. The ultraviolet light appeared in front of her seconds later. Letting out a victorious gasp, she hurried back to the living room, where she had left the flowers and the card.

Turning on the UV light, she held it over the card to reveal… nothing. Her brow furrowed, and disappointment flooded her chest.

Nothing.

Why wasn’t there anything? It had to be invisible ink. If it wasn’t…

She looked around, searching for something else to focus on. That’s when her eyes landed on the small lamp by the couch.

Her mother hated that lamp. She had told her to get rid of it because she always forgot to turn it off, and the bulb overheated too much. She had even recommended the ones that didn’t emit so much heat.

She looked at the card again. Then at the lamp.

Setting the UV light down on the counter, she walked over to the small side table, took a seat, and placed the card directly under the lamp.

She waited one second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

She waited.

She waited.

She waited.

The message slowly began to appear.

A smile stretched across her face as excitement bubbled up inside her. It wasn’t UV light—it was heat.

And the message was much longer than she had expected.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to read it carefully, without rushing. Maybe this was just another clue and not the final answer.

"I still remember the night of August 9th. 9 centimeters of distance, 6 seconds and more than 20 reasons to do it. Another 20 seconds that felt like an eternity, more than 19 thoughts in my mind, 19 wishes and 19 breaths. 11 seconds later and 5 wishes hoping you felt the same. 18 seconds later you said it and you were mine."

Her mind went blank.

She was trying to think at full speed, but at the same time, she felt overwhelmed and confused. It didn’t make sense… Her eyes scanned the card again, searching for something different.

Too many numbers.

Too many numbers.

She reached for a pen and some paper, but when she couldn’t find any, she simply began writing the numbers on her leg.

8, 9, 9, 6, 20, 20, 19, 19, 19, 11, 5, 18.

She stared at them. Over and over again.

They didn’t look like coordinates, a phone number, or a date.

She hesitated, wondering if she should include the eight or if that would ruin the puzzle. August was mentioned, and August was the eighth month of the year. In her mind, it made sense—it could either break the entire code or help her solve it. She’d find out in the end.

She bit the tip of the pen as the tip of her shoe tapped against the floor, trying to think. Her brain refused to turn its gears.

If it wasn’t coordinates, a date, or a phone number, then it could only be…

Something clicked. The gears in her mind finally started turning when she realized it.

It wasn’t coordinates. It wasn’t a phone number. It wasn’t a date.

It was a numeric cipher.

Five minutes later, with a little help of the internet, she had deciphered each letter:

H, I, I, F, T, G, S, S, S, K, E, R.

Now she had a new problem. The letters were scrambled.

She huffed, letting herself fall onto her bed while staring at the jumbled letters she had written down.

She had tried to put them in order, but there were too many possible combinations—and it was already getting late.

Valentine’s Day was about to end, and if she ruined whatever Grayson had planned just because she couldn’t arrange a few stupid letters…

Her eyes drifted back to the card. Every detail.

The barely visible letters.

The letters she had written.

The texture of the card…

The logo of the flower shop.

When she first received the flowers, it had felt familiar. And only now did her brain finally piece it together.

The night of their last date before they became a couple.

The flower shop they had stopped at.

The moment she told Grayson what her favorite flowers were. Then, he had joked that he should give her flowers on every special occasion—though not necessarily from that shop.

That date, that night.

The night of their first kiss.

11 seconds later and 5 wishes hoping you felt the same.

18 seconds later you said it and you were mine.

It wasn’t random.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed the pen again, rearranging the letters she had found. Her heart pounded in her chest, hoping with everything she had that she wasn’t wrong.

And when the words finally came together—perfectly—she felt like jumping with joy.

She had solved it.

THE FIRST KISS.

"A numeric cipher?"

The silence was broken by her voice. Grayson turned around—he hadn’t heard her arrive, but she was there. She had figured it out.

"You solved it."

"The flower shop clue was too easy."

She smiled as she walked toward him.

The place of their first kiss had been the answer, and she had found it.

She had already noticed the soft glow of the candles on the table where he had set up dinner for the two of them. She didn’t even bother asking when he had found the time to prepare everything. All she could think about was how perfect it looked…

Their first kiss.

If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the nervous excitement of that day.

"I knew you could unscramble the letters on your own, but I thought I’d give you a little help—otherwise, dinner would get cold." She let out a soft laugh as she finally closed the remaining distance between them.

"I thought you had work," she murmured.

"Well, there’s this girl who keeps telling me to take a break, so I figured I’d listen to her for once." She felt Grayson’s hands on her waist, pulling her closer and closing the last few centimeters between them.

"Happy first Valentine's Day," she murmured. She could feel his breath, so close to her.

Just like their first kiss. Grayson's fingers caressed her cheek softly. He was so close to her, until… his lips finally touched hers. She could feel her heart beating hard, Grayson's soft lips moved against hers slowly and gently, enjoying the closeness, the kiss.

Their first Valentine's kiss.

[adddddiiii]

can u do javery and lyrason as parents? but like teens kids and show how all the cousins bond and all

Javery And Lyrason Kids Headcanons

Every family gathering is a high-stakes event. Not because of business or some family drama — those days are long past — but because when Jameson and Avery’s kids get together with Grayson and Lyra’s, anything can happen

The Oldest Kids

Jameson and Avery’s oldest, Maya, is the ultimate instigator. She inherited Jameson’s love for risk and Avery’s strategic mind, making her a mastermind of thrill-seeking chaos.

Meanwhile, Grayson and Lyra’s oldest, Ethan, is calm, composed, and terrifyingly good at everything.

"Why do you always think you're so much smarter than me?"

"Because I usually am."

Cue an immediate competition; from poker games, parkour, anything. It's not like either can resist a challenge

The rivalry is fierce, but deep down, they trust each other more than anyone. When the younger ones get in trouble, these two are always the first to drop everything and fix it

The Middle Kids

These two? Agents of mayhem. If something explodes, gets lost, or somehow results in someone climbing onto the roof, they’re probably responsible

Xander is their favorite uncle for obvious reasons. He hypes them up, covers for them, and occasionally funds their more ridiculous ideas

"My mom will kill me," said Celeste, Grayson and Lyra's daughter.

Jameson and Avery's daughter, Wren, just grinned. "Not if we don't get caught!"

They never back down — until Grayson does the Dad Voice. Then they immediately say their apologies to everyone

The Youngest Kids

The youngest cousins look innocent. They’re not. They have mastered the art of deception and regularly outmaneuver their older siblings

Jameson and Avery’s youngest, Cassian, is the ultimate wild card. Sweet one second, launching into a reckless stunt the next

Grayson and Lyra’s youngest, Magnus? The true strategist. He lets his cousin take the spotlight while he works behind the scenes

“We could just go through that door over there.” “Where’s the fun in that?”

The Parents

Grayson tries to enforce rules, though it never works

"Nothing reckless," he said.

"Define reckless." Wren piped up.

Jameson actively encourages the chaos

"Remember to take risks, kids!"

Avery glared at him.

"...Within reason?"

Lyra just watches the madness unfold with a cup of coffee

Avery is the only one who actually stops things before they get out of hand. One sharp look from her, and everyone behaves temporarily

Despite the chaos, the rivalries, and stunts, the cousins would do anything for each other. They grew up together, built on a foundation of shared mischief, loyalty, and the undeniable legacy of being Hawthornes

[thechildofshadows]

A DAY FOR LOVE

Avery Grambs/Jameson Hawthorne - 2k

Alright!!! This is my sad, sad attempt at fluff, and I also haven't written since like June, so I've had about half a year to lose my writing skills to the mess that is social media. This fic happens between The Hawthorne Legacy and the Final Gambit. When we first see our OTP, they've just told the world that they're dating, and they're preparing for a charity gala. (anyone can read- I rated this General Audiences on Ao3) have fun!

T-MINUS FOUR HOURS (BEFORE THE GALA)

“You’re nervous.” The statement came from Jameson, who saw right through her rapid finger-tapping as more than just an outlet for boredom.

Out of all of the things Avery needed to do that day, filling out forms seemed like the least stressful- and yet, it didn’t seem to curb her anxiety.

She looked up from her desk, and watched Jameson lean his back against the doorframe, putting her in the center of his field of vision.

“Of course I’m nervous! The Hawthorne Foundation Gala is today, and for some reason I’m doing taxes-“

“-and for your pain and suffering, you deserve at least a year’s worth of chocolate donuts!” Xander burst into the room, bearing said chocolate donuts and nearly knocking over Jameson. He tossed his brother a donut before taking a better look at Avery. “I fear you may require a stronger source of sugar with the amount of stress coming from you.” he placed the donuts on her desk.

When Avery didn’t take a donut, he raised an eyebrow. “Does this have nothing to do with taxes and everything to do with an upcoming press release involving the two of you?”

Avery looked at him, seeming close to panic, and both of Xander’s eyebrows went up. “I will take that as a yes, leave this room, and strongly recommend you lovebirds speak to each other.”

Jameson left the door and stood against her desk, facing away. “Do you regret this, Heiress?”

Avery stood and braced herself on the desk. “Of course not. You know that, I know that, but does everyone else know?”

Jameson looked at her. “We’re doing this so that everyone knows. I don’t know if they’ll believe us, but they’ll be informed.”

Avery turned around, and leaned against Jameson. “They’re never going to believe or accept it. This community is weird, Jameson. They hate me enough as is, they’re never going to accept us together.”

Jameson raised an amused eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”

“What?”

“Look, you gave Alisa the picture and the caption yesterday. She posted it about two minutes ago-“

“-when the donuts came?” Avery’s shock was mixed with anger and relief and it caused Jameson to give her a small smirk.

“-yes, when the donuts came. I think you’re prepared for the worst, Heiress, but maybe not as prepared for the reception we’re truly receiving.” He handed her her phone.

Avery rapidly opened up Instagram and found her phone filled with notifications. She checked her latest post and found a picture of herself and Jameson covered in paint, from the day the two had built and painted her desk. In the photo, she gave Jameson a kiss on the cheek and it was captioned ‘first love ❤️❤️’.

It had over a million likes.

“Wait, a million?” Jameson leaned over her shoulder to look at her phone. It felt oddly domestic and she embraced the feeling. “Alisa said it had 10,000. It’s been less than five minutes, how is the app still running?”

Avery shrugged, a smile finding its way onto her lips. She opened up the comment section.

angel_face222 THEYRE SO CUTE

SONICSCREAMS people date this guy?

reply from lia-eliza dude imagine the kids 😍😍

HOT_TO_GO OPPOSITES ATTRACT CONFIRMED?????

      reply from SONICSCREAMS didn't she date his brother 😭 like that one interview

laffytaffyhappy does this mean he’ll stop being all law-breaky or will she start doing illegal shit.

my-name-is-slim-shaky wait, I lwk never imagined this, but they work so well together, it's my new OTP

theCALENDARRR oh to be young and in love.

      reply from I_is_calculator you're like 16

      reply from theCALENDARR shut up Jessica

      reply from I_is_calculator my name is Elena 😭

Jameson stopped her from scrolling further. "Look, the reception isn't all going to be puppies and chocolate donuts. But I think you're doing pretty good if Instagram thinks it’s not propaganda.”

"Jameson, that was five people out of-" she checked the phone again. "nine thousand comments."

Jameson shrugged. "I highly doubt they're the only five positive ones, Heiress, you would've had a harder time finding it otherwise."

Alisa, who Avery hadn't seen since that morning, walked into the room holding a large garment bag, followed by a makeup artist. "Congratulations, Avery. That's one of the most positively recieved posts I've ever seen on your account."

Jameson raised an eyebrow at Avery, giving her a look that said I told you so, and Avery let go of a breath she didn't even know she had been holding. "You're not joking?"

"Have you ever known Alisa to joke?" Alisa glared at Jameson, who punctuated the statement with a smirk.

Alisa turned to Avery. "About 95% of the general public reacted well, and out of that 5% that didn't, most were teenage girls."

Avery sighed. "As expected."

With the problem mostly settled, Alisa clapped her hands. "Okay, then, onto the rest of our duties. Avery, you have a gala in about four hours. Jameson, get out."

Jameson opened his mouth to protest and then decided against it, for he closed his mouth and dropped a kiss on the top of Avery's head before leaving.

Avery turned to Alisa. "You didn't have to kick him out."

Alisa closed the door behind Jameson, before ushering Avery to the bathroom. "Once you figure out how to get your makeup on while holding a conversation with him, he'll be allowed to stay. We need you both there on time, and you take significantly longer to get ready than he does."

T-MINUS ONE HOUR (Before the gala)

Jameson wasn’t exactly one to panic, but neither was Avery. He began tapping his foot and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.

Alisa had left him a selection of four ties and matching pocket squares, and Jameson assumed he was supposed to wear them with a tuxedo. He pulled out the garment bag containing the black one, and began slowly buttoning his shirt.

The sounds of Hakuna Matata filled the room while he tucked his shirt in, and Jameson sighed before picking up his phone. Xander had set his ringtone over two weeks ago; Jameson hadn't gotten around to hacking it yet.

"How are ya doin', Jamie?"

"You live three doors down, why don't you tell me?" he hung up the call.

Not two seconds later, Nash strolled into his room, wearing flannel over jeans and a band t-shirt.

"You look like a waiter. Didn’t Grayson ever teach you to dress yourself?” he took a look toward the rest of the clothing Jameson had set out to wear.

Jameson ran a hand through his hair. “I look the same. I wore this last week.” 

“And then someone asked you for champagne. And you socked them in the face.”

He then proceeded to walk into Jameson's closet -"There’s nothing wrong with what I'm wearing!" "People are gonna ask you for more caviar; Grayson told me to not let you leave the house like that."- and after rummaging for two minutes, found a waistcoat that he didn't even know existed. It was the exact color of the tie Jameson wanted to pick, but Nash procured a black tie and pocket square.

"I think this is the same color as her dress, but honestly, it's gonna be dark, who's gonna see?" Nash held up the waistcoat, as if the nonexistant light would help him see better. 

Jameson took it from him. "Have I ever worn this?"

"Maybe. You were also drinking a lot, so I doubt you or the news remembers." Nash sniffed the cloth. "You would never even know. It doesn't even smell like bourbon."

Jameson raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he began to put his tie on.. “Don’t tell me you’re being serious.”

Nash crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I couldn’t tell you whether it was true or not, Jamie, you wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said.”

Jameson buttoned up his waistcoat. “A wise man takes all truths with a grain of salt.” 

“Bullshit.” Nash drew out the first syllable.

Jameson gave his brother a smirk. “Don’t you know it.” He grabbed the suit jacket and left.

1.5 HOURS IN

“Oh hello dear!” The sound of posh over-confidence crept up behind Avery, who quickly turned.

“Mrs. Anderson!” The woman was one of the slightly pushy heads of a charity created to support budding culinary minds. While incredibly specific, the charity had sent over a thousand students to culinary school, who went on to open restaurants that were all doing pretty well. Avery didn’t mind the woman; she was a lot nicer than most of the attendees, and used her reach to benefit the people who needed it. “How are you, ma’am?”

“I’m doing great, darling, but we need to talk about that dress. You look stunning!”

Avery was draped in dark red silk, covering one arm, and hugging her body until it hit her hips, where it flowed in waves, just shy of reaching the ground. The asymmetrical neckline and bottom of the skirt were covered in minimal silver embroidery-visible when the light hit just so. Alisa had shoved her in a pair of black stilettos, and curled her hair, painting her lips with the same red as her dress. A silver choker was clasped around her throat, matching her earrings and the bracelets on her left hand.

She thanked the woman, handing her a glass of champagne, and asked, “Have you heard about the charity we’re sponsoring today?”

Avery and the woman chatted for a couple of minutes as Avery convinced her to donate thousands of dollars out of pocket.

“Cancer truly is a scary thing.” Mrs. Anderson smiled softly. “I lost my husband to lung cancer. I doubt the majority of these people consider the research worth funding.”

“They think they’re untouchable.” Avery said.

“Precisely, my dear.” The woman grabbed another glass of champagne before looking behind Avery. “Oh, I must add, you and Jameson Hawthorne are a beautiful couple.”

Avery felt her cheeks heat and she looked down, but Mrs. Anderson hadn’t finished. “The amount of love you two have for each other is simply incredible. Just being in the same room as you two makes me feel like an outsider; your bond is so sweet.”

Avery paused. Same room? She turned and saw an incredibly familiar face.

Jameson Hawthorne had finally showed up. He wore a dark grey suit-so dark it was nearly black, with a waistcoat the color of wine and silver chains. His tie matched his suit jacket and his hair was artfully arranged, neat with enough personality such that he still looked like himself.

Mrs. Anderson gave Avery a soft smile. “You two look at each other like a man seeing the stars for the first time in years. If this isn’t true love, I don’t know what is!”

Avery’s lips parted. “Really?”

“Oh trust me darling, you and Jameson are something that happens once in a lifetime.” The woman winked and walked away, exchanging greetings with Jameson, who was headed Avery’s way.

She motioned towards the side of the room, and he showed up a minute later with two wineglasses.

She leaned on a pillar and he stood her to her. “You look beautiful, Heiress.” Jameson handed her the wineglass as he said the statement.

Avery smiled. “And yet, you still upstage me by millions. How has this gala gone so far?”

Jameson grimaced and drained the wineglass like a shot. “All people want to talk about is the fact that I’m ‘off the market and it’s such a shame and won’t I please put in a good word for Grayson’ - if I hear another woman tell me any of that, I’m going through the old man’s whiskey stash.”

Avery suppressed a smile and switched their glasses. She doubted she would drink the wine, and Jameson seemed like he needed it more than she did. Jameson wasn’t usually this open, and she wondered if the wine wasn’t his first drink of the night. “You seem like you’ve had fun.”

Jameson shot her a smirk. “And you should be prepared for more, Heiress,” he clinked his glass against hers, “because I believe the slow dances just started.”

For the few hours, Jameson and Avery alternated between spinning around the dance floor and resting at the bar. Their routine was occasionally interrupted by a speech, a person or both, but by the end of the night, they had raised over a million dollars to charity. The venue closed, but they stayed for an additional thirty minutes to supervise cleanup.

  It took about forty minutes to get back to Hawthorne House and once they made it to Avery’s room, she tossed her heels into her closet and sat on the nearest chair.

Avery sighed. “I am never doing this again.” She stood up and began removing her jewelry, shedding her media persona for the sake of comfort.

Jameson unzipped her dress. “I highly doubt that.”

Avery shot him a look and she had to stifle a laugh when he mirrored it.

Once they were both changed and under the covers, Avery turned to Jameson and propped her head on a hand. “Do you know what day it is?”

Jameson’s eyes glittered and Avery knew he knew the answer. “The fourteenth?”

Avery rolled her eyes. “Valentine’s Day.”

Jameson smirked. “An astute observation, Heiress. And while one AM is a perfectly reasonable time to exchange gifts and other things, I don’t think you want to leave this bed right now.”

Avery nodded. “Definitely not.”

“Then Happy Valentine’s Day, Heiress, and I’ll see you when we inevitably wake up in six hours.”

Avery laughed and pulled him in for a kiss. When they broke apart, she whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jameson.”

And if she woke up the next day with several news articles focusing on the gala (or rather its hosts), well, she was going to ignore it all and spend the entire day with her amazing boyfriend.

fin.

Alright- 2.5 thousand words later, I wish you a happy Valentine’s Day!

(or just a happy Friday if you don’t have plans like me 😄)

(dividers are from @/cafekitsune)

please like, reblog and leave feedback in the comments. Or just throw tomatoes at me. Anything works.

I also realize now that im going to keep writing even if the reception is negative, so if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!

expect another fic in 1-2 weeks, more likely 2 than one.

[cherryhazee]

Lines That Blur | Luke Hughes

Warnings: Mature language and sexual references or implications.

wc: 3.1k

Part 7 of The Art of Loving series

Avery hadn’t thought this through. Kissing Luke had been one of the best moments of her life, she could still feel the warmth of his hand resting lightly on her back, the way he’d looked at her like the rest of the world had disappeared. It had felt perfect in the moment, but now? Now, it felt like she’d taken a step too far.

The bathroom mirror reflected her restless expression as she brushed her teeth. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, a few strands had fallen free framing her face. She stared at her reflection trying to figure out how to act normal when she saw him again. Luke hadn’t talked about it yet, and she didn’t have the nerve to bring it up. Maybe he wanted to forget it happened. Maybe it was just a New Year’s kiss for him.

She set the toothbrush down with a sigh, gripping the edge of the sink. Her thoughts swirled like a storm, one crashing into the next. It wasn’t like Luke to avoid things, he was steady, straightforward, and always tackled things directly. But since the party, he’d been... distant. Or was she imagining that?

Her phone buzzed on the counter, snapping her out of her spiral. Avery glanced at the screen and froze. Luke.

You free later? Thinking coffee or something.

Her heart thudded against her ribs. Coffee or something. Casual. Totally normal. Like nothing had happened. She chewed her lip, staring at the message until the words blurred together. Did he just want to hang out? Did he want to talk about the kiss? She typed out three different replies before finally settling on, Sure, what time?

His reply came quickly. Maybe 6? Same place as last time?

Avery’s mind flashed to the cozy coffee shop near her building, where they’d started meeting after she moved to the city. It had become their unofficial spot, a midpoint between the gallery in Manhattan and his rink in New Jersey. Back then, their conversations had been easy, free of the tension that now hung between them. Back before they kissed.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Sounds good. She hit send before she could overthink it once again.

By the time she arrived at the café, Avery’s nerves were even stronger. The place was comfortably crowded, the hum of conversations and the clinking of mugs filling the space. She spotted Luke in a table at the corner, his long frame sprawled in the chair, a baseball cap pulled low over his curly hair. His hoodie looked soft and familiar, one she was pretty sure she’d borrowed once or twice.

He looked up as she approached, a flicker of something, nerves? Relief? crossing his face before it smoothed into his usual easy lopsided grin.

“Hey,” he said, as she slid into the chair across from him. He nudged a coffee mug across the table toward her. “Got this for you. Figured you could use it.”

“Thanks,” she said, surprised, wrapping her fingers around the warm mug. She didn’t check what it was until she took a sip and paused. Her exact order down to the last detail.

Her stomach fluttered. “You remembered,” she said, glancing up at him.

Luke shrugged, a faint hint of color rising to his cheeks. “It’s not that hard. You always order the same thing.”

“Of course.” She tried to sound breezy like her stomach wasn’t in knots. “What’s up?”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I wanted to check in. We haven’t seen each other since the party.”

Avery’s pulse quickened. So he’d noticed. “Oh,” she said lightly, reaching for her coffee as if it could shield her. “I guess I’ve just been busy.”

Luke gave her a look. The kind of look that said he wasn’t buying it. “Busy, huh?”

She shrugged, taking a sip to avoid meeting his eyes. “Yeah. You know how it is. Also, I’ve been in talks with the gallery owner.”

Luke raised his brows in surprise. “Really? About what?”

Avery exhaled, setting her coffee down. “A promotion.”

Luke’s brows lifted slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Avery let out a small breath, her words finally catching up with the weight of reality. “I mean, it’s not official or anything, but she’s been hinting at it for a while now. More responsibility, curating my own exhibits, getting to work with bigger artists.” She shrugged, but she couldn’t quite keep the flicker of excitement out of her voice. “It’s a big deal.”

Luke’s expression shifted, something warm and unreadable settling behind his eyes. “That’s huge, Avery.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “It could be huge,” she corrected. “But it’s still up in the air.”

He didn’t push, just took another sip of his coffee, the warmth between them settling into something quieter. Avery exhaled, running a hand over her face.

“You know,” Luke said, breaking the silence, “if you take it, I’ll have to start calling you ‘curator Avery.’”

She huffed out a laugh. “Please don’t.”

“Or, better idea, I could just start introducing you that way to people. ‘This is Avery, she’s kind of a big deal at the gallery.’”

“Oh my God.” She shot him a look. “That’s actually the worst thing you could do.”

Luke grinned, unbothered. “I don’t know. Feels like I should be celebrating your almost-promotion.”

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest didn’t fade. “Let’s hold off on the celebration until it’s real, okay?”

“Fine.” He lifted his mug in mock surrender. “But when it happens, we’re celebrating.”

–

Avery shoved her hands deep into her pockets as they walked toward her apartment, the crisp winter air biting at her cheeks. The streets were quieter now, the bustle of the café fading into the distance, leaving only the muffled sound of their footsteps on the pavement. Luke walked beside her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his broad shoulders slightly hunched against the cold.

She stole a glance at him, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated briefly by the glow of the afternoon sun. It wasn’t fair how effortlessly he looked put together even in a hoodie and a baseball cap. And it definitely wasn’t fair how her chest tightened every time his arm brushed against hers.

“Cold?” he asked, catching her glance.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, though the shiver that followed gave her away.

Without a word, Luke stopped, shrugging off his hoodie. As he pulled it over his head, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing a sliver of toned skin just above his waistband. Avery’s eyes flicked to his stomach before she could stop herself, heat rising to her cheeks. Luke caught her gaze, his brows lifting slightly in realization. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but he didn’t say a word.

“Here,” he said, putting it over her body before she could protest. It was warm, the fabric carrying the faint scent of his cologne, clean, woodsy, and familiar.

“Thanks,” Avery murmured, clutching the hoodie around her shoulders. She wasn’t about to admit how much she liked the warmth, or the scent, but the slight upward curve of Luke’s lips suggested he already knew.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the quiet between them more comfortable than she’d expected. The chill nipped at her nose, but the hoodie shielded her from the worst of it, and somehow, she felt more aware of Luke than of the cold.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said eventually, her voice softer now.

Luke glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t seem like you were gonna ask.”

Avery let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “What, and let you hold it over me forever? Please.”

“You think I’m that petty?” His tone was playful, but the way his lips twitched betrayed his amusement.

“I know you are,” she teased, nudging his arm lightly with her elbow.

He grinned, a boyish expression that made her stomach do that annoying flip again. “Fair point.”

They reached her building before she realized it, the familiar exterior coming into view as they rounded the corner. Avery slowed her pace, pulling the hoodie tighter around her as they approached the steps leading to the front door.

“This is me,” she said, pausing to dig her keys out of her bag. Her fingers fumbled in the cold, and Luke stepped closer, his body radiating warmth. She finally managed to pull the keys free, but she hesitated, glancing up at him.

“You want to come up?” The words left her mouth before she could think better of them.

Luke blinked, caught off guard, but he recovered quickly. “Yeah, sure. If you don’t mind.”

Avery shrugged, playing it cool despite the sudden rush of nerves. “I mean, you did loan me your hoodie. Feels like I owe you at least an invitation or something.”

“Or something,” he echoed, a trace of a smile on his lips.

“After you,” she motioned for him to enter her place.

Luke stepped inside, taking in the space as Avery locked the door behind them. It wasn’t his first time here, but it still felt like stepping into a world that was distinctly her.

“Make yourself at home,” Avery said, toeing off her shoes and tossing her keys onto the counter.

Luke did, sinking onto the couch and stretching an arm over the back of it. She pulled off his hoodie, debating whether to return it but ultimately tossing it over a chair instead. “Want something to drink?”

“I’m good,” he said, watching as she grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV.

Avery scrolled through the options, glancing at him. “You up for a movie?”

Luke smirked. “Depends. Are we talking something decent or another one of your rom-coms where everyone meets in an adorably unrealistic way and magically falls in love in ninety minutes?”

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Excuse you, rom-coms are a cinematic treasure.”

Luke huffed a laugh. “A treasure,” he repeated, unimpressed.

“Yep.” She clicked through the options. “You just don’t appreciate the genre.”

“I appreciate movies that don’t have the same five plot lines recycled over and over.”

Avery shot him a look. “First of all, that’s completely false. There are at least seven plot lines.”

Luke shook his head, fighting a smile. “Of course.”

“And second, what’s wrong with a little romance? Some of us enjoy seeing people end up happy instead of, I don’t know, brooding in a storm or dying tragically.”

Luke sighed dramatically. “Fine. Pick your treasure of the night.”

Avery grinned in triumph and selected one of her favorites. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. As the opening credits rolled, she curled up on her side of the couch, sneaking a glance at Luke. He had that reluctant, I’m-too-cool-for-this expression, but she knew him well enough to catch the way his jaw twitched like he was already invested.

She smirked. “You’re gonna love this one.”

Luke groaned. “Doubt it.”

But when he didn’t protest any further she just smiled to herself and focused her attention to the TV.

They watched in easy silence, the glow from the screen casting soft light over the room. At some point, Avery stretched out her legs, resting them across his lap without thinking. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t move at all, actually.

She stole a glance at him, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the way his lashes cast faint shadows against his cheekbones, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth radiating off him.

Avery exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus on the screen, but the movie might as well have been background noise now. Every nerve in her body was attuned to Luke, how close he was, how easily she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to.

And then, without fully realizing what she was doing, she shifted. Just slightly.

Luke’s gaze flicked to her, as if he’d been waiting for her to move. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.

Avery swallowed, pulse thrumming in her throat.

The space between them felt smaller now.

Tentative.

Waiting.

A beat passed, then another, before he finally spoke, voice lower than before. “You’re not even watching, are you?”

Avery’s lips parted, but no excuse came to mind. He wasn’t wrong.

Instead of answering, she tilted her head toward him, arching a brow. “And you are?”

Luke’s mouth curved, just barely. “Maybe.”

Avery hummed, not believing him for a second. The tension stretched between them, thick and unspoken, the kind that made her chest feel too tight, like she was on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

Then Luke moved slow, deliberate. He reached up, brushing his fingers lightly against her temple, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

Avery barely breathed.

His hand lingered for half a second longer than necessary before he let it drop.

Her skin burned where he’d touched her.

“Your hair was in your face,” he murmured.

Avery swallowed, heart hammering in her throat. “Right.”

Before either of them could speak, Avery’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, the sudden vibration slicing through the quiet.

She startled, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, before glancing at the screen. Her boss’s name flashed across it.

Luke’s gaze flicked to her. “Might wanna get that.”

Avery hesitated, pulse still erratic from whatever that just was, but she reached for her phone and swiped to answer. “Hello?”

“Avery! I hope I’m not interrupting your evening,” her boss said, voice bright and warm. “I just wanted to give you a call personally to say congratulations. The promotion is yours!”

Avery sat up straighter. “Wait- seriously?”

Luke perked up at that, brow lifting in question.

“Seriously,” her boss confirmed. “We’ll go over everything officially tomorrow, but I wanted you to know tonight. You earned this.”

Avery barely heard the rest of the conversation, barely managed to say thank you and confirm she’d be in tomorrow before hanging up. When she turned to Luke, her heart was still hammering, but now for an entirely different reason.

“I got it,” she said, almost breathless, barely believing it herself. “The promotion.”

Luke grinned, full and genuine, his entire face lighting up. “Hell yeah, you did.”

And before she could process it, he was pulling her into a hug—solid, warm, completely engulfing. She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, her heart still racing, but this time it wasn’t just from nerves.

His hands settled against her back, firm and steady, like he belonged there. Like this belonged.

When they pulled back, neither of them let go.

Avery’s breath caught. Luke’s hands still rested on her waist, his thumbs brushing lightly against the fabric of her shirt.

His gaze dropped to her lips.

Avery didn’t think. Didn’t overanalyze.

She just moved. So did he.

The moment their lips met, it was warm and certain, a quiet unraveling of everything they’d been holding back since New Years.

Luke exhaled against her mouth, deepening the kiss like he’d been waiting for this, like he wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.

And Avery?

She wasn’t planning on stopping either.

Avery found herself in his lap, her knees pressing into the couch on either side of him. They barely registered the shift as they moved, lost in the heat of it.

Luke’s hands settled on her hips, firm but hesitant, like he was waiting for her to set the pace.

Avery’s heart pounded as she looked at him, really looked at him. His flushed cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly like he was still catching up to what was happening.

She could end this right now. Pull back, laugh it off, pretend like this was just some adrenaline-fueled moment.

But she didn’t want to.

Not when his fingers flexed against her waist. Not when his chest rose and fell beneath her, each breath syncing with hers.

Not when he was looking at her like that.

She reached up, threading her fingers into his hair, and his grip on her tightened just slightly in response.

“Still with me?” she murmured.

Luke exhaled a short laugh, his hands sliding up her back, warm and steady. “Not going anywhere.”

Something about the certainty in his voice made Avery’s stomach flip.

So she kissed him again.

This time, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

Luke responded instantly, his hands skimming up her spine, pulling her closer, as if he’d been holding himself back and finally let go.

He murmured a soft fuck as he lifted her shirt. His breath stilled, like the world had pressed pause, the air had thinned around him, leaving only her. His gaze traced her slowly, committing her to memory, afraid to blink and miss the way she unfolded before him, breathtaking.

Goosebumps trailed all over her body as he lowered his mouth and began kissing every inch of her soft skin, gentle hums of approval coming out of her mouth.

Their breathing was unsteady as they finally broke apart, foreheads resting against each other, the warmth between them lingering. Avery let out a breathless laugh, still reeling, still trying to process the shift between them.

Luke didn’t go far.

Instead, he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth, then another to her cheek, then one just below her jaw.

Avery giggled, her hands still tangled in his hair. “What are you doing?”

“Being proud of you,” he murmured, dropping another kiss to her temple, then her nose, each one soft and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. “You worked your ass off for this, and now it’s yours.”

Avery felt warmth spread through her chest, a different kind than before.

Luke pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression full of something quiet and sure. “Can’t wait for the party. We’re gonna celebrate you properly.”

Avery arched a brow. “Properly?”

“Yeah.” His lips quirked. “You know, drinks, dancing, embarrassing speeches about how amazing you are…”

Avery groaned, dropping her head onto his shoulder. “No speeches.”

Luke just laughed, his arms tightening around her. “No promises.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. Because beneath all the teasing, there was something real in his voice, something steady and certain.

Avery melted into him, the world outside this couch, this moment, fading into nothing.

For once, she didn’t think about what came next.

She just let herself feel.

[luveline]

kbd —You gather the family consensus on a fifth baby. mom!reader x dad!Steve, 2k

The first baby you and Steve have is a ringer for him. She’s his copy down to the eyelashes, and she has his good heart. She’s a good sister, a beautiful daughter, and she’s a brilliant student. 

But growing up makes you curious.

“Mom, why are you in the bathroom again?” 

You laugh nervously. “What?” you ask, gaze on your hands. 

“You’ve been in here like ten times today! Are you okay?” 

She sound so, so cute when she’s suspicious. Her voice twists up and her concern feels too big. She knows it’s not normal to go to the bathroom this many times and she’s clearly not okay with this new development. 

She knocks the door hard. “Do you need me to get dad?” 

You open the door and pull her in quickly. She giggles, startled to be grabbed and put on the counter, her hair falling into her eyes the same wavy pattern as her dads. He’s got strong genes. Steve stamps the kids as Harrington’s, all except your Beth, who looks just like you. 

“Mom, what the heck is going on?” 

“I’m gonna ask you a huge question and you have to tell me your first answer. Don’t worry about anything else. Be honest, okay?” 

“Okay. You’re making me nervous.” 

You show her your pregnancy test. “You know what this means?” 

She wrinkles her nose. “Did you pee on that?” 

“I did. Babe, do you know what that means, though?” 

“You’re having another baby?” Avery guesses. You go quiet. She beams at you. “Wait! Wait, mom, are you having another baby?” 

“I don’t know yet.” One positive test and six negatives makes you think it was a mistake, but you’ve been pregnant four times before. You’re starting to feel like an expert. “If I did have another baby, what would you think?” 

She tips her head back. You put the test aside and take her smaller hands into yours. She’s so pretty, all your babies are beautiful, and they’re all so special, and maybe you do want another one. Is that crazy? 

You nibble your lip as Avery thinks. 

“Well, we need a bigger house.” 

You nod agreeably. “We do.” 

“I love being a big sister.” 

“You’re the best one there ever was.” 

Avery holds your hands back, still smiling. “Well, mommy, I think it’s good. Then I will have four sisters. That’s even more than Stacey K.” 

You look her dead in the eye, but it’s all love pouring between you both. “So if mommy wants to have another baby, that’s okay? You’d be happy?” 

Avery puckers for a kiss, which you give. You wrap your arms around her and push her head into your neck. “Have another baby if you want, mommy,” she says, laughing, “I love babies. Um, most of the time. More now you got us the sound machine.” 

“Avery… don’t tell anybody, okay? Can we keep this our secret? I don’t know if I’m gonna have another one yet. I need to make sure everyone’s happy first.” 

Avery pats your back. It’s adorable. “Sure, mommy.” 

You ask Beth, next. Stealing her away from her colouring sometime later that day, you pull your second eldest against your chest outside in the back yard and watch the clouds move in the sky as it changes from blue to carnation pink. “Bubby?” 

“Yeah?” Beth asks. 

“Can I ask you a secret question?” 

“Yes.” She looks away from the sky. “Why?” 

“Because I care about what you think, okay?” 

“I know.” 

You ask Beth if another baby would be too many. She says no. She says she needs a brother, maybe twins if you can manage it, but it’s fine if you can’t. You kiss her cheek and spend another ten minutes with her staring up at the changing colours.

The first test being positive rocked your world. You were happy, but shocked to find yourself grinning at the two pink lines, because you thought four was enough. There’s a few years between each of your girls and you’d never expect to be pregnant again so soon after the last —you and Steve had one good night a fortnight ago. Wren’s not even a year old. 

Why do you want another baby so badly? 

You kiss Beth again. You love your kids, and you finally, finally got that promotion at work, and you’d been thinking about moving anyway, because two of the girls are sharing a room. You didn’t bring it up in fear of upsetting your sentimental husband before it was necessary. All your babies grew up here. This is where you and Steve started your life, and it’s never perfect but it’s amazing, and he’ll not want to leave it. 

He would be much happier if you left to make room for another baby, though. 

If you ask Dove what she thinks, she’ll probably say yes and grumble, and then spill the secret, so you don’t ask, but you watch her carefully for a while when Steve demands you and Beth come back inside. 

You let Beth run off and sit down. 

“You’ll catch a bug,” he says, leaning over your seat at the kitchen table to kiss your cheek. “You’re already freezing.” 

“We were watching the sun go down.” 

“Watch from the window.” He squints at you, his arms wrapping around your front. “Something wrong?” 

“No.”

“Okay, liar.” He taps your chin until you lift it and kisses you soundly. “It’s a good thing you’re this beautiful. You wouldn’t get away with your shit if you weren’t.” 

“My shit.” 

He grins into another kiss. “Sorry,” he says, kissing you softly. “I’m kidding, I love you, don’t frown at me.” 

You entrap him for a skewiff hug. He couldn’t be more eager, nosing at your cheek, the baby and Dove giggling at something where they sit at the table eating skinny banana slices. 

“They’re like us,” Steve says, following your gaze, “best friends.” 

You push him away from you gently. “Shush. Don’t you have stuff to do?” 

“I bet you think so. But no, I don’t, I’ve done everything.” 

Four kids is a lot, and somehow you and Steve have gotten really, really good at being their parents. You have four healthy, happy girls, with all the food they could ever eat and more princess dresses than they could ever wear. Now it’s six thirty on a Saturday and all that’s left to do is watch some TV. 

Maybe you’re an idiot to mess this up. 

“I need to pee really badly, so watch the baby.” 

“Jerk,” you say. You do not need to be told to watch your own baby. 

He snickers as he leaves. 

It was the high of the test. That first positive test was just a shock, is all. Your life is perfect now, nothing needs to change, because Steve loves you more and more everyday, and you adore him —you’d do anything for him and your girls. You and Steve would treasure another baby, but some things aren’t meant to be. 

But– but you could have another one. So you’re not pregnant right now, so what? Steve would have another baby with you if you asked. He’d probably spin you around in circles and call you the best, sweetest woman alive. You could spend the next nine months on the couch and he’d still think that way. 

“Baby?” Steve calls. 

“What, dad?” Bethie asks. 

“Not you, baby. Mommy, can you come here?” 

Your system gets another shock. Shit, the bathroom. 

You grab Wren to her horror and Dove’s jealousy and chug her along to the bathroom. You could’ve left her in her high chair, but soft bananas are a scary task for an unsupervised baby who eats mash for every meal.

Steve’s waiting in the doorway. It’s a small bathroom, and you can see as quickly as he can the mess of pregnancy strip tests you left on top of the bathroom trash can. There’s two in his hand. 

“Steve, I was gonna tell you about it,” you say, frowning. 

He frowns back. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Really. I mean, obviously I would have,” —you tell each other everything— “but I was trying to work out how I feel, and the girls too. Avery always wants more sisters and Beth said she wants a brother and–” You smile. “I know I said we were done having babies for a while, if ever again, I know that was me, but when I thought I was pregnant again I got this rush of happiness going through me like a wave.” You shift Wren and her frowning higher up your chest. She’s appeased by a quick kiss pressed to the top of her head. “I don’t know why but I think I really want another baby.” 

He leans against the doorway, his arms crossing, with a strange expression playing on his mouth. 

“You can probably tell. I took like, twenty tests,” you exaggerate, embarrassed by your impromptu speech. “I kept hoping they’d come up positive. I got one positive first and the rest were negative, so I guess it was just a fluke.” 

“Ohhh,” he says, smiling around it. “Oh, that makes more sense.” 

“What makes sense?” 

“I think they just needed a little more time to cook, honey. They’re all positive.” He isn’t good at hiding how happy he feels. “You really want another one?” 

He’s achingly hopeful. 

You close the gap between you to lean on him and check the tests. “It must be super early,” Steve murmurs. 

“Well, it was only two and a half weeks ago,” you murmur back, seeing the double pink lines for yourself. Both tests are positive. “The ones in there, they’re…” 

“They’re all positive. When was the last time you had your eyes tested?”

“It was dark in there,” you joke, not sure what to say, even as a crest of pure joy begins to rise through your entire body. Your hands hum. 

“You want another baby?” he asks, pulling you tightly against him. “Then let’s have another baby. Let’s do it. You can have everything you want.” 

You stare at him. 

He nods. “We can do it. Let’s have another baby.” 

Heat in your eyes, the barest line of tears in your waterline as you give him a one-armed hug. “You want to?” you ask. 

He breathes out by your ear. “That’s a dumb question. And it’s pretty good luck, right? I mean, we weren’t trying, I didn’t even know you wanted another one, so for it to catch…” He does that groaning pleased thing where he buries his nose against the side of your face. 

“I didn’t know until the test was in my hand.” 

He laughs happily into your skin before he pulls away. He kisses you, he kisses Wren, and he flicks your tummy gently. “Holy shit, that’s a lot of Harringtons.” 

You get another loving kiss for all your efforts. “Steve?” you ask, eyes still closed, his face hovering just an inch away from your own. 

“What, honey?” He says it like light of my life, angel, sweetheart, all the devotion you're used to. 

“We’re probably gonna have to move.” 

“Are you kidding? I already figured it all out. We’re gonna convert the attic.” 

You laugh as he dots a kiss against your cheek. “We are?” 

“I got a quote a couple of months ago, I figured if Beth and Avery got too picky we could give Avery a new room upstairs. But it’ll still work, don’t you think?” 

You finally descend into giggly happy tears and Steve pretends he’s immune, but you hear him sniffing as you stroke Wren's chubby cheek with your finger. “What do you think, sweetheart?” you ask softly. “Do you want a baby sister? How about a brother? What are you thinking?” 

She gurgles her own laugh. “Da,” she says, pointing at Steve like he’s funny. 

“Do I get to decide?” Steve asks her, gasping happily. 

Steve has a lot more to say about it all later that night when the kids are sleeping, baby Wren on his chest, just for an hour before you both sleep too. 

He starts with asking if you’re sure, which you are for now, then the scary stuff, because you got really exhausted last time and it’s not going to be easier. He talks so much and you just lay there, in awe, because he means what he told you. You can have everything you want. Steve’s gonna make sure of it. 

“I’ll get you some prenatals in the morning, okay?” he promises, stroking hearts into Wren’s sleeping back. 

You shift over the pillow to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, H. I love you.” 

“I love you so much I don’t think you get it,” he says, tipping his head your way.

But you do. It’s why five kids feels like a gift, and not a curse. You get how much he loves you. 

[moremaybank]

Any Dad!JJ? You’re just one of the best at writing him.

dad!jj for the soul !!!!! i hope you enjoy, angel! i really enjoyed writing this one! 🤍

jj's elated when he sees his six year old babygirl, avery, walking out of her classroom. it's three-thirty on the dot, a time jj looks forward to daily when he picks up your daughter and takes her to work with him while they wait for you to meet them there after work.

avery reaches him, and he crouches down to her height so he can press a kiss to her cheek. "hi, babygirl."

"hi, daddy!"

he loves how chipper his little girl gets when she's around him. she lets it be known that she adores his presence, and that's what he's always dreamed of as a parent.

"mama killed it on your hair today," he says. he yanks gently at one of the braids you'd put into her hair earlier this morning. "look at these. phew. think my babygirl's a model."

she giggles at her father's affectionate words, cheeks heating with love. her squeals grow louder when jj scoops her up and makes his way to his truck. he buckles her into her booster seat, ruffling up the top of her hair playfully before shutting the door and getting into the driver's seat.

"hey, daddy?"

"'sup, aves?" he asks, pulling out of the parking lot and starting on the journey to the auto shop.

"what colours do boys like best?"

he arches a brow. "what d'ya mean, sweet girl?"

"dunno...like what colour do you like most on mama?"

"hmmm," jj says, pondering out loud. "that's a hard one, baby. i think your mama looks good in everythin'."

an adorable huff escapes her pursed lips. "daddy. 'm serious. you have to pick one."

the truck zooms down the road, passing by avery's favourite fast food joint. jj can't help but speed up just a smidge, hoping and praying that she won't look out the window and wrangle a chicken finger combo out of him. 'cause then he'd have to get one for her. he's never said no to his princess and he doesn't plan on changing that any time soon.

"mm, i guess i'd say red. i like when she wears that matching lipstick too."

jj looks up at the rear view mirror, catching the way avery nods before a presumable heat takes over her face. the dimple she'd gotten from him peeks through as she smiles to herself.

"what're you smilin' about?"

"nothing, daddy. i just think i'm gonna wear red for the dance tomorrow."

he arches a brow, but he doesn't push her on her answer. "whatever you want, babygirl."

˖ . ݁ 𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

jj hears the click-clacking of high heels against the floors of the auto-shop, and he doesn't need to wheel out from underneath the station wagon he's working on to know it's you.

"hi, mommy!" avery greets cheerfully, getting off the spinning chair jj had secured for her from the break room. she runs over to you as quickly as her smaller feet can manage, and you meet her with an equally thrilled grin. you pick her up and squeeze her into a tight hug.

"hi, baby." you smooth down some of her frizz. "how was school?"

"it was good. chrissy shared her chocolate bar with me, and kyle gave me a flower at recess."

neither of you can see it, but jj makes a face under the car.

kyle? who the fuck was kyle?

"he's a good best friend to you, baby," you tell her. "did you thank him?"

"yes. and he's not my best friend anymore, mama. he's my boyfriend."

this time, you do see jj's reaction. or, rather, hear it anyway.

"what?!"

something that sounds like a bang rings through the air, followed by a shit (to which your daughter snickers, always one to find her father hilarious). then, he rolls out from beneath the vehicle, rubbing his forehead to ease the sharp pain. his eyes find your daughter's, though, and he's as stern as you've ever seen him.

"aves— you can't have a boyfriend!"

"daddy, i'm six. i'm not a baby," avery reminds him, sounding every bit like a teenager instead of her actual age. the sass never failed to make you smile.

just like her daddy.

"yes, you are still a baby! my baby!"

"j—" you interject.

"nah. nope. no way."

"why don't you go back over there and colour, angel?" she nods, and you set her down, watching as she runs back to her chair. she takes a sip of her apple juice, bringing her attention back to her artwork.

deciding she's not at all bothered by jj's theatrics, you walk over to him and help him stand. you look up into his cerulean eyes when he towers above you. "babe, relax. she's six."

"exactly! she's a baby! she can't have a boyfriend. s'just not happenin'."

you give him a knowing smile, your arms looping around the back of his neck. "you were my boyfriend when we were six," you remind him. "don't think you found anything wrong about that back then."

he frowns, but pulls you in closer by your hips anyway. no matter what, any time he's around you without touching you, it just seems like a waste.

"that's different. i was a nice boy."

you both realize avery's been listening quietly when she chimes in. "kyle's nice too, daddy. he kisses my cheek everyday at the end of school."

she says it like it's a fact. like kyle never misses out on what infuriatingly sounds like a tradition to jj.

jj thinks he's having a stroke.

"he's puttin' his lips on you, now?!" his forehead falls to your shoulder, and he slumps against you like the six-foot baby he is. "oh god, i think i'm gonna be sick." a beat passes, and then he distances himself from you. the sulk is still prominent on his face, and now, it's probably permanent. he pulls at his collar, shifting uncomfortably as he tries to fan himself off. "'m i sweating?"

avery hops down from her chair, strutting over to her father and tugging at the leg of his coveralls, silently requesting that he crouch down to her height. of course, jj immediately falls in line.

"don't be mad, daddy."

"wait, wait, wait— is kyle the reason you're wearin' red tomorrow?!"

"don't worry, daddy." she pats his cheek like he's the one who needs reassurance. to be fair, he clearly is. "kyle's nice. just like you."

and with that, she trots off back to her chair with a cheshire cat smile, clearly feeling accomplished.

"yeah. he better be," jj mutters bitterly, standing back up.

your hands reach out to grab a hold of your husband again, and it draws his attention back to you. your hands frame his face and you give him a smile. "you're gonna be a total nightmare when she grows up and gets a boyfriend or girlfriend for real."

"damn right, i will. like i said, she's my baby."

you raise a brow. "i thought i was your baby?"

his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and then his mouth forms into a smirk. "see now, she's my baby. but you're my baby." his hands migrate down to your ass and he gives you a squeeze. "you pickin' up what i'm puttin' down?"

"oh, i think i am."

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[despressoslatte]

not the zoey you wanted (three)

pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!

summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.

content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope

masterlist | < two

⟢a/n: if you want me to add you to the taglist for this fic, add yourself to this form: taglist

ᯓ⟢

When you get back to your on-campus apartment, you went straight into your room to take down the photos you had up of you and Zach, pulling a random old shipping box out from your recycled area to shove things into. 

The drive back to campus was pretty smooth. You blasted Gracie Abrams and Maisie Peters on repeat, and your mind went into autopilot. 

So, Zoey Miller was his girlfriend. That was pretty rich, considering you didn’t even realize when you stopped being his girlfriend. Didn’t even realize a guy as soft as Zach MacLaren had a mean bone in his body to be able to do something like this to you. You went to his house that morning half ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe something came up, maybe he lost his phone, maybe last minute his parents decided for it to be a family-only trip and took his phone from him in the name of “reconnecting with nature” and so he was never given the chance to inform you.

But then his mother said those words, she said that Zoey Miller was Zach’s girlfriend.

You had pulled most of his sweaters that you’d had from your closet, throwing them into the box, by the time there was obnoxiously loud knocking at your front door. You had no plans, no one who was supposed to be coming over, so you paused for a moment to see if maybe your roommate, Bree, was home or not. When you didn’t hear any movement from her side of the apartment and the knocking persisted, you let out a frustrated sigh, walking over to the peephole.

You rolled your eyes at the sight of him. What, he felt bad that he got caught and drove himself all the way back to school to finally have that talk with you in person. Between the few moments it took for you to open the door, your mind raced with all the different cliche breakup lines he could give you.

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t feeling the spark between us anymore.”

“Let me explain…”

“I didn’t mean for this to be how you found out.”

“It’s not what it looks like.” Yeah, as if his mother confirming that Zoey Miller was Zach’s girlfriend wasn’t exactly what it looked like.

And more and more, until you finally wrapped your hand around the doorknob, unlocking the top latch, and swinging it open to look at him. He towered over you, guilt etched into his face and a small cut on his lip where you could only imagine he had bit over and over as he contemplated how to let you down softly on his ride over.

You peered out into the hallway, half expecting Zoey Miller to be outside, looking at you with those same eyes of remorse, but you only saw Zach’s luggage by your door and redness under his blue eyes.

“What?” you asked, your voice coming out in a hushed, annoyed whisper, holding the door open just enough so that he can see you.

“Let me explain,” he pleaded, his voice raspy. So, we were going with the scripted breakup line number 2. 

He paused for a second, but when he saw that you weren’t going to step back to let him inside of your apartment, he locked eyes with you. One thing about Zach MacLaren? He was very good at making intense eye contact. He licked his lips and sighed, as if searching for what else to say with his excuse.

As you waited for his lips to continue moving, you thought of what he could say next.

“...it just sort of happened.”

“...I didn’t mean to fall for her.”

“...can we stay friends?”

But instead, what came out of his mouth was, “I got hit by a car.”

Your annoyed facial expressions dropped into a confused one, squinting at him in reaction to his words. Your chin moved closer to your neck as your head moved backwards in confusion. Your lips curled upwards, not in a smile, but in a bewildered grimace.

“I’m sorry, you got what by a what?” you asked, baffled.

He was staring back at you, so so so serious. He pulled a folded up paper out of his pocket, holding it out in your direction.

“My after visit summary from the emergency room on Friday,” he mumbled.

He got hit by a car on Friday? you thought to yourself, wondering how he was going to use his, “I got hit by a car” as reasoning for taking another girl as his girlfriend to a family ski trip that he had invited you on, first.

“Patient Zachary MacLaren is a 21 year old male who was brought in after a collision of a moving car with his bicycle occurred. At onset, he did lose consciousness for a few minutes, before regaining consciousness before the paramedics arrived. No sprains or broken limbs or joints have been sustained in the incident. Patient has some swelling to the left side of his skull. Tests and examinations are concurrent with a diagnosis of a concussion and anterograde amnesia.”

Anterograde amnesia, you learned that in one of her psychology courses last semester. Short term memory loss.

“Are you telling me you have amnesia?” you asked him, holding the paper up after you’re done reading it.

“Yes—No, had. I had amnesia,” he stuttered out while nodding his head.

“So you don’t have amnesia right now?” you asked to clarify.

He shook his head and rounded his lips in a pucker and put his hands behind his back, swaying a little. “No amnesia right now.”

You blink a few times, still lost on what and how this was connecting to him bringing a different girlfriend on his family ski trip.

“And did this amnesia make you lose your goddamn mind and bring some random girl with you to a ski trip?” you asked, trying to find the connection here.

Though, you do feel really bad he got hit by a freaking car, and then he got amnesia, that sucks. You wished you had been there to help him with that.

“No, no, see, what had happened,” he started to explain, putting his hands out to grab onto your upper arms and crouch a little down to your level so he could stare you in the eyes again. “I thought she was you.”

“Excuse me?” 

He licked his lips, turning his head to the side as if to say, “I know.” He sighed and continued with his story, “After I got hit with the car, she was there.”

“Zoey was there with you when you got hit by this car? Why was Zoey with you?” you questioned.

“She works at the bookstore.”

“The bookstore,” you repeat after him with a nod, trying to keep track of all the different ways this story was branching out. “The one with the book on Battletoads.”

“Well, no,” he shook his head. “I had to get her to order me a book on Battletoads for Idiots because they didn’t have any in stock.” Then, he shook his head again when he realized you two were getting off track. He let go over her, using his hands to motion around and talk. “Point is, I left my credit card.” He points to his side to emphasize leaving his credit card. “She came outside to give it to me, I turned around to look at her,” and he mimicked how he looked at her, peering over his shoulder. “And a car didn’t see me, I didn’t see the car,” he pointed to himself and then down, before making a hitting motion with his palm, “and bam! I go flying onto the pavement.”

You’re just nodding along with his entire story, waiting for him to finally give you that missing puzzle piece that could make it all make sense.

“And then when I woke up, she was there crouching in front of me. My brain was all mushy,” he made circular motions around his head. “And I knew her name was Zoey, and I somehow could remember that I called you Zoey a few times… and I… uh…” he looked more sheepish as he got to this part of the story. “In my moment of anterograde amnesia—that means short term memory loss by the way—”

“I know,” you said, and if this was any other time, you may have laughed at the way he over pronounced “anterograde amnesia” and looked so proud of himself for knowing the term, a small smile on his face.

“—I may have thought she was.. you,” he trailed off as he said this part, looking guilty. “I just… I don’t know how,” he put his hands up and them down in exasperation, practically breathing out his words. “I don’t know how I thought she was you, baby, I don’t. But then you came to my parents’ house, and I saw you drive away, and it all… I knew she wasn’t you.”

You just nod as you process the information. This sounded like some cheaply made romance plot, that one look at you and his amnesia would wear off. There was a lot of information processing that was happening at this point.

You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of footsteps, seeing a group of girls walking through the hallway, some of your various neighbors. They looked over at you and Zach, and you knew how this looked. The serious look on your face, the luggage, the pleading one on his. They probably thought they were watching a breakup between a tutor girl and the college’s soccer star. 

You opened the door wider, not wanting anyone to somehow overhear the conversation. You stepped aside for him. “Come in.”

He smiled, hopeful, and rolled his luggage and walked himself into your apartment.

You two went straight for the kitchen, him just following you as you said nothing back to his explanation. You went straight to the coffee machine, and as you brewed yourself some espresso, Zach went to your fridge, pulling out the creamer he knew was yours and not your roommates, you know, since he didn’t have amnesia anymore.

You stood there in silence for a little while, leaning against the kitchen counter as you sipped your latte, having made one for him after yours.

“So… you thought she was me…” you finally talk, and he’s standing across from you with a guilty nod. “Do we really look alike?”

“No! No! You’re like… a superstar, and she’s… not you,” he said with a nervous laugh, unable to insult Zoey Miller just to bring you up.

And that was fine with you. You didn’t need or want him insulting her. Just wanted to know if you two looked similar enough that he could mix you guys up in an amnesia concussion haze.

“So it was just because her first name is also my middle name?” you questioned.

“I know, it sounds stupid, I don’t… I don’t really know how to explain it.”

You nodded your lips forming a line.

“So… she just… pretended to be me?” you questioned, thinking about how insane that sounded. “For what? Revenge for hitting her in the end with that soccer ball?”

He laughed at your questions, the way you sounded so irritated at not being able to understand Zoey Miller.

You continued with your little rant, “I mean, I heard that girl is anti-romantic, so what? Did she have some secret crush on you or something? Had to strike while I wasn’t around, and you didn’t know any better?”

“She had a crush on Miles, actually,” he said with raised eyebrows. “Kissed him in the pool while I was sleeping and everything.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out an unbelievable laugh.

“And Miles just… let her? Thinking she was you girlfriend? And wait, what about Emily?” you asked, putting the cup down on the counter. Loving Zach was knowing about all of the people he loved, too, which meant knowing his cousin Miles was dating a nice girl named Emily. “Sorry, but your cousin’s an asshole! Cheating on her with the girl he thought was cheating on you while she was pretending to be me!”

Your voice kept raising as you got riled up on his behalf, and he couldn’t help but let a small smile stay on his face because of it.

The more information you got, the more insane this whole story sounded. But he smiled at your reaction, the way your facial features were showing less and less that you were mad at him. He really hoped you weren’t mad at him.

“Apparently, they’re poly.”

“Doesn’t mean you are,” you retort back, walking to where he was to stand next to him.

You let out a deep exhale, leaning your head against his arm as you two stood against the kitchen island. 

“It felt wrong, the entire time,” he said softly, squatting down a little bit so he could lean his head on top of yours as well. “Like I knew deep down she didn’t really like me. Like she didn’t even know me, and that I didn’t really know her. She said she was a computer science major and that made no sense to me, since we met because you were my English tutor. She had all these hobbies I don’t remember you ever liking. Wouldn’t let me hold her hand, spent most of her time with Miles instead of me since they could go out on the slopes and I couldn’t because, ya know, mushy brains,” he sighed. “And then, she found out about Emily and got mad at him. Then, she finally spent the day with me.”

Despite being upset that some other girl went on the MacLaren ski trip instead of you, you couldn’t help but feel bad that Zach spent the entire weekend with an inkling feeling that his girlfriend—or who he thought was his girlfriend—didn’t even like him.

He keeps talking, just expressing how the weekend felt and how things had gone.

“And it was sad coming back, you know?” he sighed. “I mean, I spent all of yesterday thinking I was having so much fun re-getting to know her, feeling like we were finally having a connection, feeling really good about it… just for it all to be a lie.”

You frowned and took your head off of his arm, making him move straight as well.

“You felt like you and Zoey had a connection?” you asked softly.

His face contorted in concern at his misstep.

“Wha—No. No, baby, no,” he moved to turn in front of you, his arms going to hold yours. “It wasn’t real. It’s not real.”

“But a part of you really liked getting to spend time with her,” you point out softly, looking away. “So much so that it was disappointing when you came home and it was… me that’s your girlfriend, and not her.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Zach said softly, shaking his head, trying to lead down closer to you to get you to look at him. “I’m not disappointed that I came home and there was you.”

“But you were disappointed that your weekend with Zoey was built on a fake premise,” you said back. “And not entirely because she lied to you, but because you felt a connection to her.”

“No!”

“Zach.”

“Okay, fine, yes. I admit that I was… feeling something towards her on this trip, but baby, I thought she was my girlfriend.”

“So, you’d date her?” you hated yourself for somehow twisting it the way you were, but a part of you was just hurt that this happened, hurt to know he spent the weekend falling for someone else, regardless of why and how. “In a different world where I don’t exist to you, you’d fall for her. Because you did. This weekend.”

A permanent frown etched into his face at your words.

“But you do exist in this world,” he whispered, pleading. 

“Did you kiss her?”

It’s not fair, you know it’s not fair to be jealous or upset. Zoey practically catfished and scammed and lied and pretended to be someone she wasn’t. But she didn’t pretend to be you in the sense of your personality. Zach said it himself, she sounded so unlike you, with a different major, different personality, different hobbies. And despite that, he liked her. 

“I thought she was you,” he reiterated, saying “yes” to your question without the word itself.

“You thought she was your girlfriend, not that she was me,” you denied, shaking your head and moving from your spot trapped between Zach and the kitchen island. 

The pleading in his eyes could haunt you.

“You didn’t think she was me personally. You just thought you were with her. And you liked being with her, for her personality and her hobbies and just her,” you said softly.

Every part of you was screaming at you to take your words back, to stop yourself from talking. You knew it was irrational to be upset at him for something he had no control over. He had amnesia for crying out loud. But there was no rationalizing this situation. 

There was no rulebook telling you how to react and respond to finding out some girl pretended to be your amnesia patient of a boyfriend’s girlfriend. There was no guide on how to take in and process him openly admitting that while she was so drastically different from you, he was starting to really like her.

“I’m sorry this happened, Zach,” you said softly, your bottom lip wobbling. “It’s not fair, and it really really sucks.”

He just stared at you, tears forming in his eyes as if he knew what you were about to say. His chin wobbled, and it pushed you over the edge, too. A string of tears fell from your own eyes.

“But I’m really hurt right now, and I don’t mean to be upset with you because I know… I know it’s not your fault. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen,” you admit, wiping your tears on the back of your wrists. 

He steps forward to try and comfort you. You step back.

“But I need time to…” you suck in a breathe and lick your lips as you try to figure out what it was that you needed from him. “I need time to process this all… process that you were starting to fall for someone else.”

“Baby…” he begged you not to do this with one single word.

“Please,” you pleaded back. “Just… please.”

And how could he deny you, the one he loved so much, the one thing you were asking of him right now?

“Okay,” he whispered and nodded, a singular tear falling down his face as he forced himself to listen to you. 

And that look on his face really felt like it could haunt you.

ᯓ⟢

four >

a/n: so i realized i have messed up the movie’s timeline, remembering that it started on valentine’s day, not december LOL, but soccer season for college is august-november for actual competitions and spring time for non-competition training and games… and I’m also from California so while I knew some schools have like “ski week” breaks in february (we always just called it president’s week break), it absolutely skipped my mind that that is a thing LOL. in this story it is a few weeks before holiday break lol.

taglist: @ursogorgeous13 @khiatonsx

[roosterforme]

Some Things Take Time | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob is a man well known for his patience. He never rushes things in the air, and he tries to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. You and he are both on the same page about welcoming a child into your home through foster care, but it's hard for him to watch you try to bond with her unsuccessfully. He soon realizes that Avery is a lot like him, and that some things are worth the extra time.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of infertility, mentions of foster care and adoption, Bob making all other men look like trash

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife!reader

Happy birthday @wkndwlff! Check my masterlist for more!

You were laying on the couch with your head resting on your husband's lap, spinning his wedding band around on his finger while you tried to put your thoughts into words. You could tell he knew you were on the verge of speaking, sending you several expectant glances as you and he both pretended to watch the movie he started an hour ago. But Bob would never rush you, and you were thankful for that, because you wanted to make sure you got this right. 

"We've been trying for a long time," you whispered, and Bob's blue eyes met yours as you looked up at him. "Almost two years."

He nodded once and smiled softly. "We have," he murmured, squeezing your hand in his larger one. You pressed your lips together as tears stung your eyes. Bob never seemed upset that he was pushing forty years old and in spite of trying and trying, you'd never gotten pregnant. He never put pressure on you to keep trying or to stop. You were convinced he never would, but you wanted to know what he was really thinking.

"What if we... stopped. Stopped trying. And just went with an alternative?"

"Honey, I already told you I'm happy with things how they are. We can stop trying if you want to, or we can talk about alternatives if you want to do that. But there's nothing wrong with just you and me. In fact, I'm really quite enjoying myself."

You closed your eyes as his fingers drifted along the curves of your side. It would be delicious to get back into the habit of having sex when you wanted to instead of when your cycle demanded it. You and Bob sharing your undivided attention with each other was something you were craving, but you still wanted something else, too.

"What if I said I wanted to look into fostering and adoption again?" you asked softly as you started to sit up.

He pulled you closer so you were straddling his thigh. "Then I would say we can call our lawyer on Monday and get some answers."

You smiled as you nudged his glasses with your nose and kissed his cheek. "And what if I said I'm not fertile today, but I want you anyway?"

Bob reached for the remote and turned the movie off as a soft blush rose in his cheeks. "Then I would say it's time we got in bed, Honey."

---------------------

Bob was a man who was well known for his patience. He never rushed things in the air, and he tried to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. He knew he wanted to marry you about halfway through the first date. He also knew you would have looked at him like he was insane if he admitted that to you halfway through the first date. So instead of rushing things, he took the time to make sure you were on the same page he was and that you were comfortable. He always tried to do that.

When a baby just didn't seem to be happening, he was more than willing to keep trying, but he was also completely content with the idea of no kids at all. It wasn't worth rushing anything as long as he had you in his life. But you had recently convinced him of a third option, and his lawyer helped the two of you smooth out the details. 

And this is how Avery ended up at Bob's house on a random Monday evening. She was eight years old and in need of a foster family, and you were adamant when you answered the phone call that you and Bob were more than ready for her to be dropped off even on such short notice. 

"I'm so nervous," you whispered as you held Bob's hand and watched through the front window as a van pulled up. 

"I'm excited," he told you with a soft laugh. When he thought about having kids, he always pictured a little girl. For some reason, the idea of reading princess stories and painting a bedroom a putrid shade of purple really appealed to him. As he watched Avery being led up the walkway, he realized she didn't look one bit like you or him. He also realized that having a child who resembled him was actually never part of his dreams. 

As the doorbell rang, you bounced in place and whispered, "She's here. She's really here." 

Bob pulled you in for a kiss as his heart thudded. He realized he needed to tamp down his excitement a little bit. The two of you were merely fostering Avery. Nothing was set in stone even though you told the lawyer you wanted to eventually adopt a child. But right now your eyes were glittering with hope and anticipation, and Bob couldn't take that away from you. 

"Let's make her feel welcome," he said as you both headed for the door. 

Avery stood there with an unreadable expression on her adorable face, and Bob noticed right away how the case worker seemed to rush through everything. There were papers to sign and a schedule to keep, and even though all of it pertained to Avery, she ended up sitting quietly at the kitchen table while everyone else talked about her.

It was late by the time you and Bob were alone with her, and now her unreadable expression looked something like sadness. "Avery," Bob said softly. "Do you want to see your bedroom?"

She looked up at him and nodded without saying a word, and then you helped her down from the chair. You had taken the time to freshen up the extra bedroom and buy a pink glitter toothbrush and a pair of pajamas in her size. But Avery just sat down on the edge of the bed with her bag and asked, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

"Yes," Bob replied with a smile. "I'll drop you off on my way to work, and then I'll pick you up in the afternoon."

When she didn't respond, you asked, "Is there anything you want? A bedtime snack or something to drink? I could make you some hot chocolate or get you a cookie. Bob makes the best oatmeal cookies, and there are a few left from the weekend. Maybe you can help Bob make the next batch." You were rambling now, and Bob reached out to squeeze your hand as you said, "We're just excited that you're here."

But Avery shook her head and told you, "I'll just read my book. Thanks." Then she untied her shoes and took a well worn copy of The Secret Garden from her bag, but she sat on the bed with rigid posture, not looking at either of you.

Bob wasn't quite sure what to do. You'd already shown the child where the bathroom was, and she seemed to have all of her essentials. He swallowed hard, deciding not to rush Avery even though he could feel your disappointment radiating off of you. He cleared his throat and said, "We'll leave our bedroom door open in case you need anything. And we'll get you up around seven for school. Good night, Avery."

She just nodded and squinted down at the tattered book cover like she was going to cry. Bob led you down the hallway, through your room and into the en suite bathroom where he gathered you in his arms as tears filled your eyes. "I don't think she likes us," you gasped before you buried your face against his neck.

Bob kissed the top of your head and whispered, "I just think she needs some time. Let's not rush anything." 

-------------------------

You cried yourself to sleep the first night. You knew that your response wasn't fair to Bob or Avery or even to yourself, but you'd imagined meeting a little girl who was at least a little bit more talkative if not upbeat. You had your hopes set on fostering a child who at least gave the impression that your home was better than another alternative. You'd been given a vague picture of where Avery had come from, and you wanted her to be comfortable here, but now you felt stupid for buying the glitter toothbrush and the Minnie Mouse pajamas. 

Bob's hand drew lazy circles on your back as you turned away from him and cried softly. "It's just the first night," he reminded you in that sweet, even tone that you loved so much.

"I know. I just wanted this so desperately," you admitted between shaky breaths. His hand on your body helped you eventually fall asleep, and the next morning, Bob was up before you, making breakfast. When you tapped on Avery's door which was ajar, you poked your head in to find her once again sitting on the bed reading.

"Did you sleep okay?" you asked, and she nodded in response. "That's great!" you said in a tone of forced excitement. "Do you need help getting ready for school?"

"No," she said softly, setting the book aside.

You took a deep breath and said, "Bob's making breakfast. Do you want to come downstairs and eat?"

"Yes."

That was the last word you heard her speak before Bob led her out to his car in his uniform. He smiled at you over his shoulder as he told you to have a good day working on your true crime novel, but you knew you weren't going to. You spend two hours trying to write, but you ended up with three and a half new sentences. Instead, you spent most of the day thinking you'd made a huge mistake and hating your own body. Avery would probably last two weeks tops with you and Bob before she was begging to go somewhere else. You didn't even know if you could stand to see her melancholy little expression when your husband brought her home from school today, but you didn't want to call her case worker for help yet.

In the afternoon, you bought everything you needed to make oatmeal cookies along with the rest of your usual groceries. You paused next to the checkout line where there was a display of children's books and grabbed a few of them. Avery appeared to like her book more than anything else, so maybe she would appreciate these ones, too.

But when Bob brought Avery home with him after school, she barely spoke. She didn't want to help make any cookies, and after dinner, she went back to her bedroom. Bob tried to help her with her homework, but she told him it was easy and she already finished it. When you dropped off the new books, she told you she already had a favorite. 

"Oh," you said, standing in the doorway with your hands full of the unwanted books. "That's good... that you have a favorite. I have a favorite book, too."

She looked up at you and nodded, but soon you were backing out of the room and trying to hide your tears from Bob. "It takes time," he reassured you as you balled your hands into fists and cried on him again.

You knew you needed to be as patient as he always was, but you just weren't like him. And you started talking before you could stop yourself. "If we could have gotten pregnant, we'd have our own child," you sobbed. "One that we raised from day one who would love us and bake cookies and read new books."

Bob kissed your ear and whispered, "Nothing is easy, Honey. But sometimes the harder something is at first, the more rewarding it is later on."

You cried yourself to sleep again.

------------------------

Bob tried his best for that first week. He watched you start to pull away and retreat into yourself the more Avery kept to her bedroom. Every day when he dropped her off and picked her up, she thanked him for the ride. When he asked if she would rather start taking the bus, she told him it didn't matter. When he asked if there was something special she wanted to eat for dinner, she said she wasn't picky. 

And all the while she just squinted down at her book. Just The Secret Garden even though you brought home some others. When he pulled up to the curb in front of her school one morning, he said, "Avery, would you like me to take you to the library one day? Or maybe a bookstore where you can pick out what you want?"

She looked at him as she grabbed her backpack in one hand and her book in the other. "Maybe." Then she climbed out of the car, and he waited to pull away until she was inside the school building. That was the most promising answer he'd received yet. He drove to work thinking about signing her up for a library card, and when he got there, he was in a much better mood.

Natasha was the only one who knew that Avery was under his care. He didn't want to give anyone too many details, but she sweetly asked him the same question every morning after they got to work. "How are you and the Mrs. making out with your houseguest?"

And this morning, he said, "Maybe a little better today, Nat. I'm just trying not to rush it."

She patted him on the chest and smiled. "You never do, Bob. You're a man of details."

She was right. He spent the day thinking about all of the details that he knew about Avery. She was eight years old and very quiet. She only wanted to read one book even though you offered her more. She seemed to find the most comfort when she was alone. She was honestly a lot like Bob.

When he picked Avery up from school, he watched as one of the teachers patted the top of her backpack and sent her on her way. She squinted toward his car before trudging over in his direction with a frown on her face. Bob sighed as she climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in. "How was your day, Avery?" he asked as he shifted into drive. But today he got no verbal response at all. Instead he heard her crying.

Without another word, Bob pulled his car around and into an empty parking spot before killing the engine. He opened his door and closed it before taking a few deep breaths, and then he climbed in the back door and settled in next to the crying child. He let one hand gently rest on her shoulder, giving her a small squeeze before asking, "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

She just shook her head as tears flowed down her cheeks, and she stared at her feet. "It's stupid."

Bob smiled slightly. "You might think so, but I'd probably find what you have to say fascinating."

She turned her head to look at him, examining his face to see if he was being honest. But of course he was. He just wanted her to tell him what was on her mind. It took a few minutes before she started to settle down, but eventually she said, "I failed my eye exam with the nurse today." She unzipped her bag and pulled out a yellow sheet of paper and handed it to him. "She told me my eyesight is terrible and that I need to get glasses."

Bob looked at the page and had to hide his alarm from her. Avery failed her eye exam spectacularly. It was a wonder to Bob that she was even able to see in her classroom. But now her squinting and her preference for one, well worn book were starting to make sense. As he filled in the blanks in his mind, he said, "Glasses aren't so bad," while he tapped his own silver frames. "They certainly make my day a lot easier."

She kind of rolled her eyes and said, "But you're an adult. People aren't going to make fun of you for wearing glasses."

"You think you'll get made fun of?" Bob asked softly, folding the yellow paper in half.

"Yes," she replied immediately as she wiped at her tears. "I already do. Glasses will make it so much worse."

Bob wanted to press her for more details, but he didn't think this was the right moment. Instead he asked, "Is that why you only like to read The Secret Garden? Because you already know most of the words by heart?"

Avery looked at him like she couldn't believe he solved a very complex riddle. "Yes."

He nodded and asked, "Would you like to be able to read other books, too? Because glasses would definitely help with that."

She shrugged and sniffed as she said, "I like books about gardens and flowers and fairies. I don't know of any other ones I would like anyway."

Bob patted her on the shoulder one more time and said, "I like those kinds of books, too. And I think I can help you get glasses that look cool and help you pick out more books. If you'll let me."

Another partial shrug was his only answer, but at least she wasn't telling him no. As he climbed back into the driver's seat, he sent you a quick text telling you that he and Avery were fine and to go ahead and have dinner on your own. Then he drove along to his optometrist's office, hoping they would squeeze an extra appointment into their schedule.

"You're in luck," the receptionist told him when they arrived. "There was a last minute cancellation. Have a seat, and we can take you back shortly."

The rack hanging on the wall was filled with books and magazines for people of all ages, but Bob watched Avery squint as she took a seat empty handed. He skimmed a magazine and offered to read an article to her, but she said no. When ten minutes had passed, Bob asked her, "Are the kids at school mean to you?" 

He was already considering other options that might make her feel more comfortable when she said, "I just don't fit in. Everyone else has parents or grandparents. Everyone else is loud, and I like it better when it's quiet. Everyone else already made friends."

Bob nodded his head. It was like she was living his own childhood in many ways. "I like it better when it's quiet, too. So does my wife. And making friends can be hard at any age. I still struggle with it."

"You do?" she asked him, eyes wide and interested.

"Absolutely. Sometimes I still get nervous and stumble over what I want to say, and I'm thirty-nine. And you know what?"

"What?"

"There's nothing wrong with that."

He watched Avery take a deep breath and look down at her hands before both of their names were called. Once they were in the exam room, Bob got to witness her fail the test for the second time in one day, and then her tears started up again. The crying was only made worse when the receptionist popped in and tried to quietly tell Bob that Avery wasn't approved for any vision insurance. 

The child was clearly smart as a whip, and if she was having a hard time fitting in at school, he didn't want to make it worse by making her feel like she didn't fit in with you and him either. "I was planning on paying out of pocket today," he told the receptionist who just nodded in response. Then he turned to Avery and said, "Looks like the nurse was right. How about we pick out some glasses?"

She looked at the displays while she wiped at her eyes with a tissue, but she wouldn't tell Bob which ones she wanted to try on. "Which ones are the cheapest?" she asked softly.

"I have no idea," Bob replied easily. "What's your favorite color?"

"Purple," she whispered, and Bob followed her squinting gaze to a purple frame sitting on a shelf above her head. 

"I like purple, too," he said as he reached them down and handed them to her. She held them for a couple minutes, and Bob decided not to rush her. She finally slipped them on and looked in the mirror, and he told her, "I think they look cool."

She nodded a little bit. "They're pretty good. But nobody else at school has purple glasses." 

As she removed them and tried to hand them back to him, Bob quickly looked at the adult sized frames. There was one pair that came in a deep purple, and he kind of liked them. "Just hang onto those for a minute. I need help picking out new glasses for myself, okay? What do you think about these?" 

When he removed his wire frames and replaced them with the purple plastic, it seemed like Avery couldn't help but smile. "I like them."

He nodded once. "Then I'll get them. That way we can match since we both like purple. Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," she replied quietly, looking at the glasses she was still holding before handing them to Bob.

He took both pairs in his hand before nodding toward the door. "I'm feeling like it's a good day to get ice cream for dinner and look around the bookstore. I can think of at least two more books that you might like to read once your glasses are ready for you to wear. Sound good?"

"Yes."

--------------------------

You didn't know what to expect when Bob brought Avery home after seven o'clock on a school night, but you definitely weren't prepared to hear her laughter for the first time. You'd barely made any progress on your novel since Avery arrived a few weeks ago, merely existing in your own funk all day long. But the sound of Bob's voice followed by her light giggle as they walked inside left you feeling better than you had in ages.

"Hi," you said, your voice dripping with optimism as Bob headed your way with a shopping bag in his hand. 

"Hi, Honey," he replied, kissing your cheek while Avery took her shoes off.

"How was school?" you asked her. 

"Terrible," she told you with a smile aimed up at Bob. "I failed my eye exam."

"Oh," you gasped, already making a mental note to call the eye doctor first thing in the morning so she could get some glasses. "We can take care of it for you."

"Already did," Bob said as he squeezed your hand. "Stopped on the way home and picked them out. Should be ready next week."

"Really?" you asked in surprise as he pulled two books out of the bag. Both were covered in vines and flowers, but one was clearly a novel for an adult while the other was much slimmer and looked like it was for Avery's reading level.

"Yes," he replied softly. "Now, on the drive home, I told Avery that you're a writer, but that you're also really good at reading books out loud." When you nodded and looked at her, she was squinting up at you. Bob handed you the smaller book and said, "I didn't get to take a shower before I left work, so I need to go do that now. But I promised Avery that you'd read a chapter to her after she gets ready for bed." He patted her on the shoulder and then made his way upstairs.

Your head was swimming with information. New glasses and new books and a child who was looking up at you with hope in her eyes. A husband who set up some time for you to spend alone with her. Tears stung your eyes as you said, "I love reading books out loud. Do you want to change for bed and brush your teeth now?"

Ten minutes later, you were sitting next to Avery on the spare bed, reading to her about a magical garden filled with flowers that turned the characters into superheroes. You read all sixteen pages of the first chapter, and then she asked you to read more. 

It was a little bit past bedtime when you finished the third chapter, and she was yawning. "How about I go get you one of my bookmarks from my office? And we can read more tomorrow night?"

"Okay," she replied easily, and when you returned a minute later with a bookmark that had a purple tassel, she smiled. "I like this book so far, but I think I'd like it a lot better if there were fairies, too. Thank you for reading to me."

"You're very welcome," you told her, barely shutting off the light in time for a tear to slide down your cheek. "Goodnight, Avery."

When you rushed into your own bedroom, Bob was in bed reading the other new book. "How did you do it?" you asked him, quickly climbing under the covers with him. "How did you get her to open up a little bit?"

He set the book down with a soft smile. "She just needed some time, Honey. She's a lot like me. She can't be rushed."

"No," you said, pushing your fingers through his hair as you cried a little bit. "That's not it. I think you're actually magical."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But her vision is so bad. That's why I think she kept reading The Secret Garden. She probably has it memorized and didn't want to tell anyone she couldn't see."

"Poor thing," you whispered, realizing that most of Bob's magic came from his patience as you fell asleep in his arms.

-------------------------

A week later, Bob noticed you were exhausted, but you seemed a lot happier, because Avery seemed a lot happier. You had successfully read two books to her, and she was starting to become more vocal around the house. He was hoping she was having an easier time making friends at school now, too. But he was a little bit concerned with how late into the night you'd been working.

When he got a message around lunchtime letting him know both pairs of glasses were ready, he smiled. Pretty soon Avery would be able to attempt reading a new book on her own. He sent you a text letting you know that he'd be home with Avery after a quick stop back at the optometrist's office. And when he picked her up from school, she squinted at his car before climbing in the backseat. 

"Ready to go get our new glasses?" he asked before pulling out onto the road.

"Yes," she replied softly. "I've decided that wearing glasses is a better alternative than not being able to read new books. At least until I can get contacts."

Bob chuckled. "A wise choice."

A few seconds later, she asked, "Will you take me to the library this weekend? There have to be more books there that I'd like."

"Of course I'll take you to the library. We can ask the librarian to help you find you as many books as you want to read."

He hoped that would make the new glasses an even easier decision for her. He parked and led her inside where the eye doctor got them both fitted correctly before handing them a mirror. "What do you think?" Bob asked as he smiled at Avery. "I think they look cool on you."

She shrugged. "They're okay."

"Can you see better?"

"Yes," she whispered. On the way outside, she said, "Thanks for getting new glasses with me. I like yours, too."

Bob checked himself in the mirror before he backed out of the parking spot. "I think it's kind of my color."

You were waiting in the living room for them when Bob opened the front door. The house smelled like dinner cooking, and you had a stack of bound pages on the couch next to you. When you jumped to your feet, you said, "You both look great!" as you bounced in place a little bit.

"Purple is kind of our color," Avery said, making Bob laugh as you covered your massive smile with your fingertips. 

"It really is," you replied, wrapping Bob in a quick hug before cautiously placing your hand on Avery's shoulder for a beat. "I have something I wanted to show you. I was hoping to get your opinion."

"Me?" she asked, looking up at you, eyes wide behind her purple frames.

"Yes," you told her softly. "I've been working on a new story for the past week, and I really think you'll be able to help me with the ending."

"What kind of story?" she asked you, and Bob slowly made his way into the kitchen where he could still hear the two of you talking. 

"Well," you told her as she joined you on the couch, "it's about a fairy who gets invited to live in a magic garden. And she starts to learn how to use magic herself while a friendly witch and a kind wizard supervise her. And the garden is really pretty, and she loves it there and starts to make friends with the other creatures. Do you want to take a look at it?"

"Okay."

Bob hovered in the doorway and watched you hand the bound manuscript to the little girl next to you while you chewed nervously on your lip. He knew you wanted this to work out; he did too. He was also very surprised that you'd been working on this for the past week without sharing your secret even with him. But it truthfully wasn't really for him. It was for her. And you.

The child looked up at you and whispered, "You named the fairy Avery."

You just nodded and smiled. "Your name is so pretty, and you remind me of the kind of little girl who would have magic inside her."

Avery turned back to the page in front of her and snuggled in a little bit closer to you. She started reading out loud, and after a few pages, handed it over to you for a little bit. The two of you went back and forth like this for an hour before Bob carried in two plates of dinner and set them on the coffee table. 

"Even magic fairies get hungry," he said softly before leaving both of you to the story.

---------------------------

When you woke up a few weeks later on Avery's ninth birthday, you were beyond exhausted. The past few nights had been late ones for you as you tried to finish up and edit the story you'd been working on. The title that the two of you came up with was The Littlest Fairy in the Garden, and you were just as proud of this as your true crime releases. 

Then you realized that there was actually a reason why you woke up. You could hear Bob talking. It sounded like he was on the phone even though it was barely eight o'clock. You climbed out of bed and stretched before finding him sitting on the floor in the walk-in closet talking softly on the phone in his pajama pants, undershirt and purple glasses.

"I'm sure she's going to agree with me. We want to move forward if that's what Avery wants, but I'll call you back in an hour or two. Thank you so much."

He ended the call right when you asked, "Who was that?"

Bob jumped a bit as he looked up at you with a tentative smile. "Our lawyer," he whispered. 

"What did they say?" you whispered back as he got to his feet and wrapped his arms around you. 

When Bob's lips found your ear, you shivered at his words. "It was just a preliminary conversation, but they asked if we would be interested in pursuing adoption."

"With Avery?" you gasped, and he nodded against you. 

"Yes. With Avery."

Tears filled your eyes as you clung to him. You thought about all the books she'd been reading with you and the birthday cake waiting in the kitchen. You could practically still smell the oatmeal cookies she and Bob made a few days ago. You could picture her smile and imagine her laughter, both of which were coming more easily with each passing day. "I want to adopt her. She belongs here. With us."

"I think so, too," he replied immediately, and you could hear the unshed tears in her voice. "I think we should have a conversation with her about it today. The process could take a little time, but I want to be sure it's what she wants as well."

You nodded, a jerky motion against him as your heart pounded faster and faster. "Let's talk about it when she wakes up."

Bob led you downstairs to the kitchen, his fingers laced with yours, and he started to crack some eggs while you made coffee and fresh orange juice. Avery had picked the menu for each meal today for her birthday, and the plan was to take her to the zoo after lunch. There was currently a purple banner with flowers and fairies on it stretched across the kitchen along with a large assortment of balloons. You couldn't remember being this excited about something in such a long time.

"Good morning," came a soft voice from the bottom of the stairs, and you nearly dropped a mug on the floor as you turned to look at her.

"Happy birthday!" you and Bob replied in unison, and then all three of you started laughing. 

Without another word, Avery made her way into the kitchen in her Minnie Mouse pajamas and gave you a hug around the waist. You gasped softly as you hugged her back, her purple glasses pressing against you. Then she tucked herself against Bob's side and hugged him right after that. "Thanks for all the birthday stuff. And thanks for being so nice to me and getting me glasses and everything."

You and Bob shared a look over her head as he rubbed his hand along her shoulder. "It makes us happy that you're here, Avery," he said softly, and you had to swipe at your tears. "Let's have your breakfast, and maybe we can talk about making this permanent."

"Permanent? Like me staying here for a while?" she asked softly as she looked up at him.

"Like you staying here forever."

--------------------------

This is a little birthday treat for @wkndwlff! I hope you have a great day, Taylor! I set out to write a nice little story based on this mood board, but somehow it turned into this angsty thing instead. Thanks to @sylviebell @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

@thedroneranger

@theamuz

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@yuckosworld

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-magnolia

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@sio-ina-bottle

@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@novastories

@xoxabs88xox

@rileyanntoinette

@mannsachds

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

@paintlavillered

@seitmai

@noonenuts

@amiets2

@imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

@lonelysoul50

@sweetwhispersofchaos

[crescenthistory]

steady me, guide me, love me

Pairing: Barty Crouch Junior x Reader

Summary: After yet another fight, you have a serious talk with Junior about being careful, and he allows himself to be vulnerable with you.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: not proofread, references to duels, blood and bruised knuckles, hurt/comfort, reader is anxious and stressed for barty, talks of dying, reader is not matching barty's freak but it's because she loves him and wants him to take a breather, barty and reader have an emotional disagreement but i would not classify it as a "fight", kissingggggg, like one innuendo

Notes: this was originally going to be an entirely different fic and not at all this emotional, but then barty had a mind of his own and took over my writing. so i am simply not to blame

***

The torches lining the Slytherin common room flickered in the dim light of the early evening. A faint breeze swept through the castle, carrying the scent of damp stone and the promise of rain. The common room was unusually quiet for a Friday night – students scattered in clusters, engrossed in studying or murmuring in low tones about the latest drama from their shared classes.

Barty was not among them. 

You sat on one of the far couches, attempting to focus on your homework but mostly letting your mind wander. It wasn’t unusual for Barty to disappear, but you hadn’t seen him for hours now, and the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened as time ticked by. You knew him too well. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t good.

The door to the common room burst open with a loud thud, shaking the portraits on the walls. The students nearby jumped, startled, while your heart only jumped in recognition. Barty, his hair windswept, his tie undone, and his eyes gleaming with that feral, maniacal delight he wore like armour, strode in like he owned the place.

Trailing behind him, a faint scent of burnt fabric and… was that blood?

Your stomach clenched, and you shot up from the couch, abandoning your parchment as you hurried toward him. 

“Barty–” you began, but before you could even reach him, Barty’s voice rang out, sharp as ever.

“That was brilliant!” he declared, a wicked grin splitting his face. The students in the room shot wary glances at him before quickly looking away, clearly unwilling to be caught up in whatever this is.

You stopped in front of him, hands crossed over your chest, trying to keep your voice steady despite the surge of concern rising in your throat. “What did you do?”

His eyes flicked over to you, and for a brief moment, something in them softened, only for a moment – Barty wasn’t one to linger on emotions that exposed him.

“Oh, hi, dollface,” he drawled, closing the distance between you in two strides. He leaned down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, the smell of singed air and danger still clinging to him. “You should’ve seen it. That prat, Avery, dared to insult us–”

“Barty, what did you do?” you repeated, your voice firmer this time. You gripped his arm, pulling him slightly away from the curious eyes in the room, off to the side.

His smirk widened, unbothered. “We duelled. A proper one. Out by the forest. Let’s just say…” He waved a hand dismissively, as if the details didn’t matter. “He won’t be insulting anyone for a while. Got a good lesson in fear.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. There was a faint smear of blood near the collar of his shirt – not his, you hoped – and his knuckles were bruised, like they’d been cracked against someone’s jaw. Clearly not just a magical duel. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, wanting to ensure he was good before you rip into him for putting himself in harm’s way again.

He half-scoffed at you, waving any concern off. “I’m here, ain’t I? I’m fine, Avery’s not the worst I’ve seen.”

“Barty, you can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, eyes darting toward the others in the common room. You lowered your voice even more. “You can’t keep getting into fights just because someone runs their mouth.”

“Can’t?” he repeated, his expression twisting into a mocking smile, though you could see some uncertainty in his eyes. “You know damn well I can, baby. I will. If some filthy coward thinks he can throw my name – our name – in the dirt, I’ll break him.”

“You’ll get yourself expelled, is what you’ll do,” you shot back, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Or worse – someone’s going to get seriously hurt. You can’t just throw yourself into these things because– because–”

“Because what?” Barty interrupted, his voice sharper than he usually was with you. His eyes bore into yours, demanding something you weren’t sure you could give him. “Because I care too much? Because I won’t let anyone talk down to us?”

There it was again, that us he always slipped in when talking about you and him. It made you stutter in more ways than one.

You sighed, staring at him for a minute. Your heart ached. You loved that Barty cared, albeit too much sometimes, but his obsession with proving himself, with protecting what he thought was his, was going to destroy him. You could see the cracks forming already.

“Come with me,” you said quietly, pulling on his arm again. This was not a conversation to be had here, not with a dozen of already too curious eyes watching. You needed to get him away, alone, where he could let down his guard fully and you could hopefully talk some sense into him.

His gaze flickered around the room, but he didn't put up a fight, he never did with you about these things. “Fine,” he muttered, letting you guide him out of the common room.

The hallways of Hogwarts were mostly deserted at this hour. The faint echo of your footsteps bounced off the stone walls as you led him down the stairs to a more secluded corner near the dungeons, where the stone was colder and the shadows thicker. Barty, as always, followed with a mix of curiosity and defiance in his eyes, the corners of his mouth still turned up in that maddening half-smile.

Once you were out of earshot from any stragglers, you stopped and turned to him. 

“Let me see,” you said, reaching for his hand.

Barty raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pull away as you gently lifted his bruised knuckles toward the dim light of a torch. The skin was split in a couple of places, dried blood smeared along his fingers. You swallowed the knot of worry in your throat, your thumb brushing against the cuts.

“What did he say?” you asked quietly.

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters to me,” you insisted, not looking up from his hand.

He sighed, his free hand coming up to run through his dishevelled hair. “Something about my father. About how I’m ‘just like him,’ bound to be a disappointment. Then he said something about you. Called you…” He trailed off, anger clearly still knocked fully out of him. “Well, I don’t think I need to repeat that.”

Your stomach twisted. Avery was known for being a bully, but dragging you into it, using Barty’s relationship with you as some kind of twisted insult, was beyond cruel. Not to mention, beyond stupid.

No wonder Barty had reacted the way he did.

You stopped your inspection of his hand, instead interlacing your fingers with his as you leaned back against the cold stone wall. “You can’t keep doing this, Barty,” you repeated, your voice softer now, the fight draining out of you. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand, really I do. But you can’t just… lose yourself every time someone says something cruel.”

He stepped closer, his intense gaze locking onto yours. “I’m not losing myself,” he said, his voice low, the words a steady pulse of loyalty. “I’m doing what’s necessary. What no one else will do. I’m keeping us safe.”

You shook your head, blinking back the frustration building in your chest. “And what if next time, it’s not just a duel? What if next time you really hurt someone and get in serious trouble for once? Or, gods forbid, they hurt you?”

Barty laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “They can try. But they’ll have to be a hell of a lot smarter than Avery.”

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, pushing off the wall and closing the space between you. You grabbed the front of his shirt, your fingers tangling in the fabric. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day, and I can’t–” Your voice cracked, the weight of your worry pressing down on you. “I can’t stand it.”

His smile faltered, and you saw the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. It was brief, but it was there, like a flash of lightning in a storm, gone before you could fully grasp it. 

His hands moved to your wrists, gently prying your fingers away from his shirt, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he held your hands in his against his chest, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow circles, grounding you in the moment.

“You worry too much,” he murmured, his voice softer now, as though the fight in him had dulled with the weight of your concern. ��I know what I’m doing.”

“You think you do, but you don’t,” you whispered back, your voice almost breaking. “You think throwing yourself into danger is some kind of answer, that it’ll make you feel something, or prove something– either to them, or to yourself. I don’t know, but one day, Barty, it’s going to be too much, and you–”

You cut yourself off, biting down on your lip to keep your voice from shaking. You weren’t sure how to finish that sentence. Thoughts often consumed you of a world where Barty’s recklessness finally caught up to him, your own unhealthy way of coping with your feelings for him. He had his fists, you had your thoughts, and you both had your spirals. The thought of losing him scared you more than anything else.

His fingers tightened around yours, and his eyes flicked madly between yours and your lip you realised had quivered ever so slightly. For a moment, you thought he might agree, that he might actually take what you were saying to heart, but then that familiar smirk curled back up on his lips, and his mask slid into place again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice low, smooth, with that edge of defiance you knew so well. “Not unless you’re coming with me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribcage. The way he said it, like it was so simple, like the idea of you not being by his side was unthinkable, made your chest tighten. But it didn’t erase the fear that gnawed at your insides, the knowledge that Barty didn’t care about consequences in the same way you did. He only knew how to burn, and he didn’t care if he burned out in the process.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “You can’t keep fighting for me, Barty. I don’t need–”

“Don’t,” he cut you off. His eyes flashed, something dangerous sparking behind them. “Don’t tell me I can’t fight for you. Don’t tell me to sit back and let people say whatever the hell they want. You are mine to protect, love, whether you like it or not.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. There it was again — that raw, possessive streak that ran through Barty like a current, so powerful it was almost overwhelming. The way he looked at you, like you were the one thing in the world that made sense to him, the one thing he could claim as his own, made your heart race. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this– something that hinted at what you both knew was there between you.

He never said “I love you,” never asked for anything, but this– this was his way of showing it. He’d destroy anything, anyone, who threatened what was his.

“I am,” you relented softly. “But I usually don’t need protecting. Not like this.”

Barty’s jaw clenched, and he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, the scent of smoke still clinging to him.

“Maybe not,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a growl. “But I need to protect you. Please understand.”

You froze at that, blinking up at him. His eyes were locked onto yours, and for once, there was no smirk, no playful deflection. Just raw, unfiltered passion. You could see the truth of it there, in the way his fingers held yours so tightly, like he was afraid to let go. 

In his eyes, you understood this part of him more closely. This was the only thing that made him feel like he was in control, like he had some kind of power over the chaos in his life. His father’s expectations, the pressure to be perfect, the constant disappointment looming over him. It all faded when he was with you. With you, he wasn’t a failure. He was needed because he was yours.

Heat rose in your cheeks, the air between you thick with unspoken words, unspoken feelings. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, sending shivers up your arm. You closed your eyes, trying to find the words, but they stuck in your throat. 

“Barty,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I… I do understand. But for the same reason, I need you to be safe.”

He swallowed and nodded briefly, his hair falling into his eyes, and consequently yours, black and green strands filling your vision. You laughed a bit, tension clearing for half a second, as you freed one of your hands to push his hair away. You let your hand trail down to ghost across his cheek and jaw.

“Stop treating yourself like you don’t matter,” you whispered.

Whatever remnants of a self-assured smile he had clung to were wiped from his face. He just stared at you, his eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to say. Slowly, as if he was unaware his body was moving, his shoulders slumped, and he leaned further into you, allowing the wall you were leaned against to keep you both upright.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Yet you could read his lips – a soft do I? – and you let your hand hold his jaw more securely, as you whispered, “You do, Barty. You do. To me.”

Barty didn’t look at you. His jaw was clenched, his eyes staring down at the stone floor as if it held the answers to everything. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, retreat behind that mask of bravado and chaos that he wore so well, but then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, and the raw pain in his eyes nearly took your breath away.

“You really are all I have,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I lose you because of some tosser–”

“You won’t,” you cut him off, flattening your other hand over his heart, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “You won’t lose me, Barty. I’m not going anywhere. And neither will you, because I’m not letting you. Wreak havoc as much as you please, but I beg you to be careful.”

Barty’s eyes softened, and he mustered a small smile for you, the one you loved the most. “Well, you know I love it when you beg,” he teased, smile widening when you rolled your eyes and joke scoffed at him. You couldn’t hide your grin – exactly what he was aiming for.

“Very funny, Junior, but I do mean it.”

“I know you do,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. Then, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it: “I’m sorry.”

Before he could say another word, you shook your head, humming in disagreement. “Don’t apologise, love, not for caring.”

“No, no. Just sorry for worrying you, s’all.” His eyes remained shut, and your heart ached in acknowledgement of how hard that must be for him to say.

“All I need you to do is be a bit more careful in your chaos and mischief, ‘kay?” You moved your face tentatively closer to his, admiring his features when his guard is down.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, opening his eyes to look into yours with a small smile playing across his lips. His hands came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and affection. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “Just… stay with me.”

For a moment, there was silence. The flicker of the torchlight cast long shadows on Barty’s face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his lips parted like he was about to say something but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

His hands were still on your face, warm and grounding, and you leaned into his touch, feeling the heat of him against your skin. Your nose barely brushed his as you did, and you could swear his breath hitched. With so much raw emotion in the air between you, you let your heart dictate your actions, and you closed the small gap between you, kissing him tentatively.

It was far from the first kiss you and Barty shared, but it was much softer than the others. This was not a drunken party kiss, neither of you were aiming for distraction or entertainment. It felt oddly pure as he kissed you back passionately, but slowly, allowing it to hang between you. This was him letting you in, letting himself be intimate and vulnerable.

“I’ll stay with you,” Barty finally whispered once you separated ever so slightly, his voice so low it was barely audible. “Always.”

He said it with such conviction, such raw honesty, that you knew he meant it. The knot of anxiety that had rested strongly in your chest loosened at his words, reassurance and safety washing over you. 

“Then stop fighting like you’ve got nothing left to lose,” you said softly, your fingers tracing along his neck. “Because you have me, and I'm not letting you go.”

“I have you,” he repeated, looking as if he was deep in thought. His hands tightened on your face, expression hardening for a moment. 

“I want you to know that I’m not on some ego power trip, I’m not like that.” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as if he couldn’t quite find the right words. “It’s about making sure they know I’m not weak. That we’re not weak. It makes me feel, I don’t know… safer.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, smiling to reassure him. “I know you’re not. You’re… scared, which probably feels even worse. But we are okay, we’re fine.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with something – doubt, maybe, or fear. It was rare to see him uncertain, for a boy who usually lived in absolutes and extremes. You knew how hard it was for him to let anyone see the cracks in his armour, even you, but there was a part of him, the part that clung to you like you were his lifeline, that wanted to believe you. The part you needed to foster.

He let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly again, and for a moment, you both just stood there, the tension between you shifting into something more intimate. His hands slid down from your face to rest on your shoulders, then your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, entirely flush against one another.

“I’m not scared,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. It was like he was speaking to himself more than you.

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Liar.”

A huff of laughter escaped his lips, though it was tinged with exhaustion. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his tone softening in a way it rarely did with anyone but you. “Can you blame me?”

“I never blame you, love.” You leaned down to rest your head against his shoulder, feeling his breathing move you. He hummed at that, but didn't move to say anything else.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Barty,” you whispered, playing with his hair. “I just need you to stop tearing yourself apart. I just need you to let me care for you like you care for me.”

His arms tightened around you, and you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was still fighting some internal battle you couldn’t fully understand.

“You make it sound so easy,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“It’s not,” you said quietly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his back. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Barty was silent for a long time, his arms still wrapped around you, his breath slow and steady against your hair. You could feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on him, the years of anger and frustration and fear that he’d carried with him for so long. Then, you felt him press a hard kiss to the crown of your head.

“You’re the only thing that makes me feel like… like I’m not falling apart,” he admitted, his words barely above a whisper. Your heart clenched at his confession, and you lifted your head to look up at him. 

“You’re not falling apart,” you said softly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Not while I’m here, I won’t let you.”

Barty’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite name, and before you could react, his lips were on yours again, soft, tentative, but full of the intensity you had come to expect from him. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel the raw desperation in his kiss, the way he was clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

When his lips left yours, his face barely moved, noses still touching and his breath fanning your face. The both of you stood breathing heavily in the quiet hallway, and you came to realise how grateful you should be no one had walked past yet. His eyes searched yours, as if looking for some kind of confirmation that you were still there, that you hadn’t disappeared.

Barty’s lips curled into a small, tired smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a flicker of peace in his eyes.

“I’ll be good. Just… stay with me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Always.”

[wendichester]

hi!! could i request a sam x reader where he notices that the him and the reader are almost inseparable, not bc they’re besties but bc they work so much together (research together , hunt etc) and he notices she’s taken a lot of his mannerisms, picking up on the way he dresses (like layering flannel shirts with leather jackets etc) and she takes one of his flannels just to chill in in the bunker bc it’s cold & he admits he loves it when she’s picking up on his stuff? maybe in the end they admit they both have a crush on eachother? thank you!!

˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧ the sam winchester vibe,

summary. you've picked on some of sam's habits.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 464

The bunker is quiet, save for the soft rustle of papers as you flip through an old tome, your brow furrowed in concentration. Across the table, Sam glances up from his laptop, his gaze lingering on you.

It’s not the first time he’s caught himself doing this—watching you. But today, something about the way you look stops him in his tracks.

Your outfit is almost identical to his: a flannel layered under a worn-out jacket, jeans, and boots. It’s practical, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s his style.

Sam’s lips twitch into a small smile. He remembers when you used to dress differently—brighter colors, more carefree. Now, your wardrobe mirrors his, and he knows why. You’ve been inseparable for months, spending nearly every waking hour researching, hunting... everything together.

He notices the little things, too. The way you chew on your pen when you’re deep in thought—just like he does. The way you’ve started taking your coffee black, despite swearing you hated it that way. Even the way you sit, hunched slightly over your work, mimics his own posture.

And then there’s the flannel you’re wearing now.

His.

You’d grabbed it from his room earlier, muttering something about the bunker being freezing. He hadn’t said anything at the time, but now, seeing you in it, something warm blooms in his chest.

“You know that’s mine, right?” he says, breaking the silence.

You look up, blinking in surprise before glancing down at yourself. A sheepish smile spreads across your face. “Oh. Yeah. Hope you don’t mind. It’s warm.”

Sam shakes his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. “I don’t mind.”

You go back to your book, but he can’t stop staring. After a moment, he closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair.

“You’ve picked up a lot of my habits,” he says, his tone teasing.

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him over the rim of your mug. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, the flannels, the coffee, the whole…” He gestures vaguely toward you. “Sam Winchester vibe.”

You laugh, the sound light and easy. “Guess that’s what happens when you spend all your time with someone.”

He hesitates, his smile softening. “I like it.”

You tilt your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “You like what?”

“That you’ve picked up on my stuff,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “I like… having you around.”

Your cheeks flush, and for a moment, you’re both silent. “I like being around you, too,” you say finally, your voice just as soft. “More than I probably should.”

Sam’s heart pounds harder in his chest. He leans forward, his gaze locked on yours. “What if I told you I feel the same way?”

You smile, your cheeks still pink. “Then I’d say it’s about time, huh?”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr

[frost-queen]

🅰🅵🆃🅴🆁🅼🅰🆃🅲🅷 // part 8 (Reader x Young-il / player 001)

Tag: @slythetic, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @bitchybananaflower, @anjautembear, @noiyaaa, @filmedbyharkness , @uniquecutie-puffs, @r3va-dwme, @annasnape7, @starkeyszn, @bonelessghoul, @carrotjuicepdf, @imenekiki, @gay4hotmilfs, @yummycement, @sooyasya, @nerdytif, @hollxe1, @venavanup, @love-zami, @formula1love, @coruja12345, @ingstadstarlight, @samanthadegaro, @sweetheartlizzie07, @enhasrii, @lokiscure, @esposadomd, @hanta-seros-wifey, @verouys , @p1ckld3r, @thelastemzy , @Iglily, @hanakokunzz , @lovelifeyolo18 , @dumbestchaos, @watasinekoru , @bloooooopblopblop, @mrsyixingunicorn10 , @kyxmlii , @angelofthorr , @carolinevoight , @ooddiieesblog, @reka13, @solarpotato, @fallout-girl219, @avery-043009, @colorwastaken, @kiss-themoongoodbye, @metalbaby2

Summary: When friends are eliminated, you catch yourself losing it all. Cursing at everything around you for your loss. With a group strong, you are not left alone. Friends gathering to seek support for what is yet to come. [series]

The two pink suits neared. Coming down the steps. Gi-hun in absolute distress. Squirming against their grip. Unable to stop looking behind him. Grunts of devastation echoing through the room. The pink suits let go of Gi-hun. Dropping him or rather tossing him to the ground. He stumbled through his knees, flat forwards making you run up to him.

Kneeling down in front of him, you took a hold of his chest. Pulling him more up. Feeling Gi-hun’s hand pierce firmly in your shoulder. – “Gi-hun… where is Young-il? Jung-bae?” – you asked with desperation. Gi-hun let out a cry. Grabbing you firmer. Letting his head fall onto your shoulder.

Crying loudly as it made you swallow hard. Gaze staring in front of you. Watching the pink suits leave, yet you weren’t looking that clearly. Vision blurred with a deafening emotion. Gi-hun was tugging on your shirt, wailing as his arms wrapped around you.

The realization slowly sinking in. The reason why he had returned on his own. Young-il. Jung-bae… were no more. Eliminated. You weren’t dead, but you could feel yourself bleed out with pain. Body beginning to shudder. Shudder with grief. Gi-hun felt your sudden shudder against his chest.

Making him cup your cheeks, lifting your head up to meet up with his eye-level. Seeing how close you were at the brink of breaking apart. – “Y/n.” – he breathed out, wiping some hair out of your face. – “Mianhae.” – were the only words he was able to get over his lips. – “Mianhae Y/n.” – he kept repeating with tears.

The mission was impossible to begin with. Yet you had hope that they would succeed. You had faith that Young-il would return to you. He was untouchable. Invincible. You never thought a mere bullet would take him out. He was Young-il. He couldn’t die. Not like this. Not when you begged him to come back to you… alive.

You felt people move closer to you. Two gentle hands settling on your shoulder. – “Y/n, gaja.” - Hyun-ju said softly. Nodding numbly, you allowed her to help you up. Geum-ja walked past you, taking Gi-hun by his shoulders. Telling him to get up as well. Gi-hun kept crying unable to compose himself.

Hyun-ju’s arm moved around you, keeping you upright. Knowing if she let go, you’d just collapse under the weight of grief. She turned with you, making her way back to the beds. From your side, you noticed some people coming closer. One particular stepping to the front. Releasing himself from the group.

“That’s what you get!” – the older guy shouted. Pointing strictly with his finger around. – “Thinking you can outsmart the games.” – he added making you slow down. Turning your head slightly to the O side. Another particular guy stepped forwards. Feeling extremely smug. – “I feel bad I wasn’t the one that killed him, but I’ll gladly take his money.” – Nam-gyu laughed out.

“Ya! Jugeullae?!”– you screamed out, breaking free from Hyun-ju’s grip. Nam-gyu moved back as you were ready to attack him. – “Y/n!” - Hyun-ju called out rushing up to you. Wrapping an arm around you to hold you back.

You kept protesting, forcing your way forwards to give him a piece of your mind. – “Mi-Chin-Nom!” – you cursed out swaying your arm forwards. – “Dae-ho!” - Hyun-ju shouted for back-up. She felt how she couldn’t keep you at bay. Dae-ho came joining in, taking you by the other arm. – “Y/n, gaja.” – he said telling you to not let him get under your skin.

You screamed loud in protest. Every fibre in your body shuddering. Leaving a bone-chilling feeling through-out the room. Screams dying out in tears. Loud sobs as your feet gave away under you. You had cracked. Grasping for air. Feeling yourself choke on your tears.

“He won’t save you now!”  - Nam-gyu called out. Hyun-ju turned sharply at him. – “Shut up before I silence you!” – she made clear with a glare. Nam-gyu swallowed, tugging his hands in his pocket. Sniffing loud as he moved back. Trying to make it as subtle as possible. Dae-ho and Hyun-ju helped you back to the beds.

Gaem-ja having comforted herself over Gi-hun. Jun-hee neared but could only stare saddened at the ground. Hyun-ju and Dae-ho helped you sit down. – “Y/n?” - Hyun-ju asked as your cries had silenced. Tears streaming down your face. Voice swallowed in. Having crawled back in your shell. Nothing but staring in front of you from shock. She came sitting in front of you slowly.

“Leave her be.” – Gaem-ja spoke when you didn’t respond to Hyun-ju. Hyun-ju looked over her shoulder to her, shaking her head. – “She needs time to grief.” – Gaem-ja continued. Sounding all motherly. Trying to comfort things over. – “I will not let her grief alone!” - Hyun-ju called out with trembling cheeks.

Angering herself that Gaem-ja was asking her to shut herself out from you. To distance herself from you when she wanted to be close. Hyun-ju looked confused back as she noticed you got up. Watching you with wide eyes. Wondering what you were going to do. Hoping you wouldn’t do anything reckless.

She watched as you moved further up the platforms. Crawling onto a bed. A bed that was not yours, but Young-il’s. Taking the pillow from behind you and holding it against your chest. It made her exhale soft, feeling your pain. You cradled his pillow close, pulling your knees up. Allowing your chin to settle in the softness of his pillow.

Smelling his scent as it painfully reminded you of him. More tears streamed down your cheeks. Sinking your face in the pillow to hide yourself. Hide for you not wanted to be here anymore. All felt empty without him. Without Jung-bae.

Gaem-ja grabbed Dae-ho by his shoulder. Shaking her head to not approach you. Dae-ho came sitting back down with a hard swallow. Jun-hee came sitting by his side. Allowing her head to lean against his shoulder and slipping her hand in his. Dae-ho shuddered out a breath, taking her hand firm.

Dae-ho felt tears come up, making him look up. Blinking rapidly to keep them at bay. Jun-hee sniffled quietly at his side. The room dimmed. Yellow lights illuminating the ceiling. Knowing what was about to come, you pressed your face deeper into his pillow. The piggy bank lowering. You didn’t want to watch it. Hating it. Hating the money. Hating the games. Hating the pink suits. Hating the game master for being so cruel.

The voice came through the speakers. Announcing the players that had been eliminated. You pressed your fingers firmer into it. Player 390 eliminated. Your muscles contracting. Player 001 eliminated. Body shuddering as you started sobbing loudly in the pillow.

The money dropped into the piggy bank like a lottery win. Flashing lights and music to make it exciting. To making it thrilling and appealing. The yellow lights dimmed as you knew the piggy bank was getting pulled up. The room briefly dimmed till the bright lights flashed back on.

After a while your tears dried out. Having none left to cry. Young-il’s pillow stained with your salty tears. Deepened with your touch. A sudden weight joining you on the matrass made you slowly lift your head. Gaze going higher to meet up with Gi-hun’s. Gi-hun staring saddened back at you. Lifting your head a bit more up. Gi-hun’s gaze fell upon the wet-stained pillow.

It made him reach out for your hand. Taking it in his. Pulling your hand slowly towards him. Your upper body, leaning forwards from his tug. – “Mianhae Y/n.” – he let out in a hushed voice. Young-il’s pillow lowered to your lap as you got pulled closer to Gi-hun. – “I couldn’t save him… I couldn’t save them.”

He gave you one last pull, moving his arm behind your back. Pushing you against his chest. Wrapping his arms around you. You let your chin rest on his shoulder feeling how his body started to sway. Sway from side to side. Rocking you in his embrace. At first it made you press your lips together.

Then you loosened up. Feeling how his gesture loosened you up. A soft laugh escaping your lips. A brief moment of joy. To allow yourself to relieve the burden of the games. Just Gi-hun and you in this moment. Another laugh came from you, hearing Gi-hun let out one too. Blinking thoughtfully, his swaying slowed.

Rocking you in his embrace fading out to a stop. Breathing out deep, you moved your arm around his shoulder to put your hand under your chin. Even if it was for a moment. Gi-hun had brought some light back into you. A light you had sniffed out for good. – “Gomawo.” – you whispered to him.

Feeling another touch on your shoulder, made you pull away from him. Hyun-ju staring with teary eyes back at you. You nodded with teary eyes back. She leaned down, wrapping her arms around you. Dae-ho and Jun-hee nearing as well. Hugging them as well. Lights blackened out, leaving everyone in darkness.

Except the vivid red and blue glow of the ever so present X and O on the floor. Everyone returned to their beds. You remained. Staying in Young-il’s bed. Cradling his pillow as comfort to your chest. Needing an embrace for the duration of the night. Knowing he wouldn’t be there when you wake up.

What felt like too short, was so. The lights beaming on. The voice announcing the next morning. You had no idea how you had closed your eyes, but somehow they had. Laying on your side, pillow against your chest. – “Y/n.” – Gi-hun came kneeling beside Young-il’s bed. – “It’s time to get up.” – he said. You nodded as he made way for you to get out. Gi-hun joined the others down as the doors opened.

Pink suits entering. Triangles up front. Parting as circles rolled in the voting machine. Ah yes. Due to a tie, there would be another vote in the morning. Sighing loud, you left Young-il’s pillow on his bed. Already missing the comfort of it. Going down the steps, your eyes fell on the walls once more. Now that some amount of beds had been cleared out, it became clearer.

The figurines. Showing red light, green light. Furrowing your brows, you turned your head to the side. Seeing another set played out by figurines. Six legs. Another one. Mingle. Turning around you narrowed your eyes on a set that had not been familiar yet.

Then another one and another one as it gave you a sense. A sense of hints to what was to come. – “Y/n.” – Jun-hee called out. Pulling your gaze away, you ran down the remaining steps. Everyone gathered to vote. It seemed pointless at this point. You had lost too many X voters last night. You were outnumbered. The O’s knew it. The X’ers felt it.

Whatever hope they had left, gone. Crushed within a few moments. The voting started. You watched as the O count went up. The X count barely. “Player 400” – you stepped forwards. Pressing hard on the X button. Taking little time to vote. What did it matter anyway. You couldn’t escape another game.

Looking back at your friends, it made you swallow painfully. Then your gaze went up to the walls. Observing the hints of games. You weren’t able to rely on anyone else anymore. You needed to find strength within yourself. Strength to undergo all this. This time Young-il couldn’t keep you save.

The score settled. O voters winning with pride. They celebrated and cheered on their side. X side staring gloomy and moving restlessly around. Some pink suits leaving with the voting machine. Others entering, rolling in breakfast. You lined up, receiving yours. Silently you followed your friends back to the beds.

“Y/n?” – Gaem-ja asked seeing something in your eyes. With one look back at her, she saw enough. A lust to fight burning deep into the pools of your eyes. Contemplating. Brooding. Waiting for the announcement of the next game.  

----------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[impish-baby]

A few glimpses into 'both arms cradle you now' reader's childhood in no particular order

"Why do birds suddenly appear evertime you are near.." The wet tears running down your cheeks are gently brushed away, whatever nightmare plaguing your sleep seems so far away now that your dad is here. "Just like me, they long to be close to you.." Damien hoists you into his arms, still humming that familiar lullaby as he carries you to the kitchen.

"Why do stars fall from the sky every time you walk by.." You're set on top of the counter, Damien ruffling your hair softly before walking over to the fridge to fetch a carton of milk. "Just like me.. they long to be.. close to you.." The warm glow of the stove makes the quiet night more cozy, the shadows along the walls retreating as well as any lingering fear.

You can feel you eyes start to droop, a small yawn leaving your lips making the man chuckle fondly. "One sec, ok? Daddy has some angel milk for you so you don't have anymore bad dreams, then we'll get you tucked back into bed."

-

"Do you want to hold him, sweetie?" Not really, but a nudge to your shoulder has you taking a reluctant step forward anyway. You're not sure how to feel about him, he's your dad's but not your mom's.

Mary scoots over a little so you can climb up on the hospital bed next to her, a tired but kind smile on her face. "Here, it's ok, you just need to make sure you're supporting his head.." She helps guide your arms into the right position, placing the tiny buddle into them, a pair of equally tiny disgruntled blue eyes soon staring up at you.

When you were first told that your stepmom was pregnant, you tried really really hard to just be happy for them. You promise. The sinking dread never went away though, no matter how much you berated yourself for feeling that way.

Babies are a blessing, but the announcement only cemented the fact that the world as you knew it was ending. Your dad isn't just your dad anymore. Even then, he hasn't acted like one to you in a while. Maybe you were just denying the inevitable.

"Ohh, I think he likes you.." Mary's head rests on your shoulder suddenly, distracting you from your sullen thoughts. "See? You're a natural with little ones!"

"He's glaring at me.."

She laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as she sits up. "No, he's just getting used to the world, darling. He loves you, he knows he has the best older sibling he could ask for."

-

"What's even the point?" You're both supposed to be sleeping even though it isn't a school night, Aunt Lisa is strict when it comes to things like that. What she doesn't know won't hurt her though.

"Because they look cool," Avery shrugs, carful of the fact you're currently snuggled under one of his arms. "And you get bragging points for catching them." You still don't get it, they're the same thing just a different color. "You've watched me play for like an hour, and now you're bored?"

"You were actually doing stuff before.." You huff, "You've been going around in a circle for fifteen minutes."

You scoff at his comment, now filled with spite to actually beat the game. You've barely moved an inch before the battle music plays, a black and purple pumpkaboo greeting you. "Oh, um..

"I

Well, excuse me," Avery sniffs playfully, "You play since I'm not entertaining enough." The console is handed over to you, the older boy simply holding you closer. "I bet you lose the first match you try."

"Huh?" Avery sighs, quickly pouting when he looks back at the screen. "Seriously? Damm, you're lucky." He pokes your cheek, "You catch it for me and I'll buy you some fries tomorrow."

-

"You're so annoying!"

With how hard you hit the ground, you know you're going to bruise. You weren't even talking, you just wanted to hang out with them.

"Seriously, who even wanted you to come over? I sure didn't!" No matter what you do, Lizzie doesn't like you. Doesn't matter if you're as friendly as can be or give her some space, you're always doing something wrong. "You're wasting good air, you know?"

"M' sorry, didn't mean to bother you." You won't cry, you're too old for that. "Liz-"

"You didn't mean to? Yeah, right!" Lizzie scoffs, kicking dirt into your face. Dust immediately stings your eyes. "You're a pest! No wonder everyone calls you bug, you're clingy like a tick, a parasite."

Your feeble attempt to rub the dirt away isn't really helping, you can barely hold your eyes open enough to look up at her. Miles isn't going to do anything to help either, silently supporting his sister.

"No wonder your dad left you! And your mom, she must be insufferable if you're her kid-"

You don't know when you managed to get up on your feet or when you grabbed a handful of Lizzie's hair. On the bright side, it makes her shut up.

"Hey!"

Your dad emerges from the house, miles trailing behind him. Of course.

"What has gotten into you?" You've let the older girl go at this point, she wasn't even crying until he came outside.

"Ow, dad.." Lizzie hides behind Damien, flashing you a smirk. "I wasn't even doing anything and they decided to be mean.."

Any inking of doubt you had evaporates in an instant. You don't have a dad anymore, you haven't in years.

"God.." He crosses his arms, the stern look would have made you wince if you weren't already shaking. "Don't even try to give me any excuses, Miles told me what happened. You can wait out here for your mom to pick you up since you can't behave yourself. I thought you knew better."

-

"Can you at least try to eat half, please?"

Your plate sits almost entirely untouched, having just been picked at over the course of dinner. Your mom's worried frown won't leave her face. "You're still a growing kid, I don't like how many meals you've tried to skip."

"I'm not hungry." You really aren't, there's always a nauseous feeling in your gut these days. "I'll eat a snack later, don't worry, mom."

"Baby.." She pinches the bridge of her nose and you feel a pang of guilt for how stressed she must be. "Please? For mommy? Or at least talk to me about what's going on.. i- it hurts seeing you so sad all the time."

What are you supposed to say to that?

Against your will, there's tears starting to drip down your cheeks. You don't think you've ever seen the women move so fast, her chair clattering to the floor in her rush to go to your side. "Oh, my baby.."

"I- I'm sorry.." For what you don't know, maybe the fact that she's stuck with you. "I- I'm so sorry, mom-"

"Oh, hush.." You're too big for her to carry, you both know, but she still scoops you into her arms. "There's nothing in the world you need to apologize to me for."

You sniffle, tucking your head under her chin. "I- I don't want to see dad anymore.. or.. or hear about him or-"

"Shhh.." She runs a hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you, "you don't have to, alright? We'll figure it out. If that's what you want, you won't ever have to see him again."

(a/n: some ramblings while I start writing the second part to the series..reader will continue to go through it)

[ifwdominicfike]

record store date with guitarist!matt and girly girl!reader !!

── .✦. ──

“oh my- matt look, look, they have bea here!!” you gasp and scurry over to pop album section, matt looks up and finds you picking up multiple records at a time. he laughs and makes his way over to you. “my love, let me see those, y’gonna drop em” he takes the stack from your hands and shuffles through them. “really? don’t you already have like her whole discography?” he squints his eyes at you while holding up a different variant of a taylor swift album “yeahh but come on, it’s pink!!” you say showing him the 1989 vinyl with a big smile.

“you’ll get anything pink huh?” he teases, nudging at your side, making you giggle. “shut up, its adorable it’ll go great with my room, don’t you think..?” your cheeks starting to hurt from the amount giggles and smiling.

“oooh they even have clairo!! look our favorite!!” you say picking up the cover labeled ‘charm’. ever since it had came out, you and matt have been listening to it nonstop. “sweetheart you’re killing me here — im already holding what? six- seven records here” he says chuckling. “ok ok fine i guess im okay for now — but i don’t promise anything when we go to that antique store, the second i see anything bunny related, its mine.” your finger pointing at him, which meaning your ‘serious’.

you had decided to slip the records inside your tote bag, saving matt the sore arms and red marks scattered across them. after that he drags you over to the section he’s been waiting to visit, the scattered albums going from ‘mac miller’ all the way down to ‘the smashing pumpkins’. this was basically matts heaven — his excited eyes scanning over everything like a kid on christmas.

he picks up a record labeled ‘siamese dream’ by none other than the smashing pumpkins, easily one of matts favorite bands. you had only know about that album because he had mentioned a song called luna on there reminded him of you. before you could ask him something else he’s already picking up another record, this time being ‘kiss me kiss me kiss me’ by ‘the cure’ which was another favorite, matt had even dedicated the song ‘heaven’ from that album to you.

twenty more minutes had gone by and matt was close to buying damn near that entire shelf, but ended up leaving with four vinyls and a big bright smile on his face. “matt i can’t believe you spent almost 150 dollars for all of this! i could’ve paid for myself you kn-“ he cuts off with a gentle hand over your mouth. “nuh uh — none of that hun, m’treating my beautiful girlfriend because she deserves it, yeah?”

your face turns bright pink at his praise as you sarcastically roll your eyes at him. “fuck i love you so much” you pull him into a kiss, leaving crimson red smeared across his lips. you giggle as you motion to his mouth. “y-you got a little something..” he wasn’t really paying attention so he hadn’t heard you. “i have what?” he asks obliviously. “you know what.. its nothing! now onto that antique store right??”

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

i feel like its been so long since i posted a fic.. im so sorry i’ve literally just been lazy and avoiding my drafts 😭😭, but here’s some adorable guitarist!matt and girly!reader for you!!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @http-bellaa @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem @strnilolover @cayleeuhithinknott @cherrynflowergarden @sturnsmia @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @chaossturns @emely9274 @sturn777 @sturns-mermaid @st7rnioioss @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13

[megameatymatt]

dad!matt and dad!chris is all i want in life

A Day with Dad - Chris Sturniolo

Summary: Chris is left at home with his two daughters

TW!: none really

Requested?: yes

A/N: feedback, interaction, and requests are appreciated! ( im also very sorry if this sucks i don't read a lot of dad!chris or matt fics😭)

--------------------------------------------------------------

You and Chris have finally started building the family you've dreamed of for so long. You have two daughters: Avery who has just turned 4, and Scarlet who is 1 year old. You and Chris couldn't be happier living this life, but Chris noticed you've started to become more tired and tense, so during summer break, when the kids were home. He planned a day out full of activities for you and your friends.

It was 8:30 in the morning and you were leaving the house to get to the Breakfast place Chris put in a reservation for. "I'll see you soon," you say as you grab your house keys. "Have fun baby" Chris says as he grabs your chin and kisses you. "I'm gonna miss my girls," You say thinking of their cute chubby little faces. "They'll be with the fun parent, they won't miss you one bit," Chris says with a sense of pride. You roll you're eyes and laugh. "Whatever, Chris, I love you." "I love you more baby", and with that, you're stepping into the car and driving off. Chris waits outside until the car has fully left his sight before heading back inside.

As soon as he steps inside, he hears crying. "Scarlet" He mutters under his breath before running up the stairs and into the girls' room. He turns on the light and lifts Scarlet out of her crib. As soon as she's in his arms, she quiets down.

"Good morning sunshine, how are you?" Chris' presence wakes up his second daughter Avery. "Daddy!" Avery squeaks, wrapping her arms around Chris's leg. "Hey, bunny. You're pretty happy today!" He says, setting Scarlet back down in her crib. "Ok girls, Mommy went out today so guess what? You're gonna be spending the day with the best dad in the world," He says pointing both his fingers towards him. The girls cheer and Chris laughs. "Let's start by making some chocolate chip pancakes!"

It didn't go as planned. Chris ended up burning the pancakes. So now the 3 of them sit in the Mc. Donald's drive-thru picking out items from the breakfast menu. "I can't believe we are having Mc. Donalds for breakfast, this is the best day ever!" Avery says, waving her arms in the air. "Technically, they're breakfast foods so it's healthy. Also please don't tell your mother" Avery laughs as Chris picks up the food from the window and drives back home.

It's 4:40 in the afternoon. Chris got Scarlet to take her nap, and somehow he ended up sitting in front of Avery while she braids his hair into pigtails. "Done!" she says, grinning ear to ear as she hands Chris a mirror. "Wow sunshine, I look amazing," Chris says holding back a laugh.

"Now tell me, what would you like for dinner?" Chris asks handing her back the mirror. "Pizza, pizza, pizza!" Avery says jumping around. Chris sighs, "You sure you don't want something healthier sweetie?" Chris asks. "Healthy food sucks," Avery says crossing her arms. Chris lets out a chuckle. "How bout' we get pasta instead, huh sweetie. We've had a little too much fast food don't you think?" "with meatballs?" Avery asked. "With as many meatballs as you like princess," Chris says as he tickles Avery. Almost right after, Chris hears Scarlet cry again.

It's 11:30 and Chris and Avery have fallen asleep on the couch. Scarlet is in her crib, and Moana still playing on the TV. Keys jangle at the door before it finally unlocks. You walk into the living room and see Chris and and Avery snuggled up on the couch asleep, you smile and pull out your phone to take a picture. You tap Chris on the shoulder and he jolts up, then falls back down when he realizes it's just you. "hey baby, you're back" he says, flashing you a tired smile. "I am. How'd it go" "Let's just say i'm the favourite now" You laugh before taking a closer look at him. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

[luveline]

oh I think about kbd daily

—Steve has a small surprise for you after dinner. mom!reader, 3k

“What’s wrong with Dove?” you ask. 

Dove lays on the floor. Avery sits beside her, rubbing back with eyes trained on the TV. “Daddy told her no. She wanted to climb on the counter in the kitchen. Then she bit him.” 

You sigh. It’s not the best scene to come home too, but you can make it work. “I got the cherry pops,” you tell her. 

Avery grins. “Awesome.” 

You cross the room and squat in front of them. Avery accepts a kiss on the forehead, but Dove whimpers when you touch her. “Are you sulking, Dovie?” you ask. 

She makes an annoyed sound. 

“You’ve been biting poor daddy?” you ask her. 

“No.” 

“Are you lying to me?”

She cries. You smile ruefully. “I’m just asking if you bit him, baby.” 

“I didn’t.” 

You don’t believe her, but sometimes, sometimes, it’s better to agree with a sulking child rather than tell them off. You don’t want to make a spoiled kid, but you don’t want to make the whole thing into a big scene when Avery’s just trying to watch TV. You’re sure Steve gave Dove his own warning when the bite happened initially. 

You rub her back. 

“How are you, Avery?” you ask softly, looking at your eldest with a fondness yet to waver. Long years of loving her have passed in the blink of an eye.

“I’m okay, mom.”

“Did you have a good day?” 

“It was good! Daddy put those rolled up sandwiches in my lunch and everybody was jealous. And we made paintings, but mine was still wet at home time.” 

You give her a proud kiss. “Good, baby, that’s good. Where’s Bethie, do you know?” 

“In the kitchen.” 

Dove whines. 

You slip a hand under her soft belly and turn her onto her back. She glares at you through pink eyes, clearly tired and not coping with it very well. “It’s okay, honey. I missed you, I wanted to see your beautiful face. Can I make you a buppy?” 

Dove likes the sounds of it, finally sitting up where she’s been lounging on the floor. 

You give Avery another proud kiss. “Thank you for rubbing her back,” you say. 

Avery grins, her hands reaching for you before you can stand for a quick hug. You pat her skinny shoulder, wondering to yourself if she needs to be eating more snacks. “I missed you, too, mom.” 

“Oh, I missed you,” you tell her. She’d never understand just how much. “Do you need anything from the kitchen, mm? Maybe a yoghurt or something?” 

“Dad says dinner is nearly ready.” 

“But do you want yoghurt?” 

She nods her head. 

Pleased with your first assessment of the evening, you dump your keys and handbag and remember to take your shoes off, shoving them half-heartedly near the door. They send a foam soccer ball tumbling toward the corner of the room. 

You drag yourself to the kitchen and press open the ajar door. Steve is not where you’d assumed, but Beth is there at the kitchen table with her unicorn stuffie, it’s purple fur shiny but scruffy under her hand. She’s talking to him, and seems shyly caught when she sees you. 

“Hi, baby. Hi, Snuffles.” 

Beth smiles. “He says hi.” 

You open the cabinet by the fridge and pull out a clean bottle. It isn’t sterilised but it doesn’t need to be for Dove. She isn’t drinking formula, either, just cow’s milk straight from the jug. You grab a yoghurt for Avery while the fridge is open, then remember the box of cherry ice pops in your handbag and double back for them before they can melt. As soon as they’re in, you go back to the fridge for the yoghurts. 

“Beth, you want a yoghurt?” you ask. 

“Dad says dinner’s nearly ready.” 

“I know, but they’re only small. Peach?” you offer. 

Beth reaches for one. You give her a yoghurt and a little spoon, pressing your nose into her hair for a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back to ask about your day, okay?” 

“Okie dokie.” 

“And Snuffles’, too!” 

Beth giggles as you leave. You give Avery her own yoghurt and a spoon, and you give Dove her bottle. She shoves it in without looking and from that moment on her eyes are locked onto the screen. 

There. Complicated, but done. 

You press a hand to your head and think after your husband. He isn’t usually quiet or unseen. Most days you get home to him in the kitchen trying to make dinner, or sitting on the couch with one or three kids in his lap. There are no signs of him, besides his jacket on the hanger by the door. He’s still in the building, you think to yourself with a laugh. 

You turn out of the living room and find him rushing down the stairs. 

“Hey!” he says, scraping wet hair back from his face, his arms already open for you as he reaches the bottom step. 

“Hey!” you say back, smiling, not expecting his arms as they wrap around you. Nice arms. Nice husband. Smells like himself, almost a decade of familiarity in the way he covers your back with his arms. “You’re in a good mood for a chew toy.” 

“Fucking–” Steve laughs and squeezes your waist. “Yeah, I’m in a good mood, my girl’s home.” He gives your head a kiss and peels away, offering his arm out, evidence of little teeth in fat of his forearm. 

“How’d you handle that?” 

“Well, I shrieked like a kid and I did raise my voice, you know, like a super jerk, but she did try to bite through my skin.” 

One of the teeth marks is a puncture, and the rest of the bite will be a purple bruise by tomorrow. 

“I think that’s alright,” you say, touching his bruise, then his chin with the back of your hand. You stroke to his cheek. 

“You’re obsessed with me,” he says. 

“No.” 

“You are. This is sad. This is a level of obsession you should be ashamed of.” 

“No way.” 

“It’s sad,” he whispers, angling his head down to yours. 

You must’ve done something right today, the way he kisses you. Must look cute, or must’ve said the right thing, touched him the right way, his kissing long and gentle and loving, warming, tipping into steadiness as your lips part under his. Honestly, it’s a little shocking how deeply he kisses you, like a window into one of your more tender moments, right there in the middle of the hall. 

When he pulls away, you take his hand. “Are you okay?” you ask. 

“Fine. Just missed you.” 

“Huh…” You press his hand to your stomach. “Long day?” 

“No, it’s been okay, really. Apart from Dove turning cannibal, I have no complaints. Avery’s Avery, and Beth’s Beth.” 

Which is to say, Avery’s a sweetheart and Beth her quiet companion. The girls are actually, somehow, well-behaved, and you don’t have a clue how it happened because Steve aggravates and you think every problem can be solved with a cuddle. Dove seems more accurate to what you’d expected from one of Steve’s children, honestly, which isn’t to say she isn’t lovely or sweet or beautiful, you expected all of that too, but wow, can she get wound up. 

His good mood is too good, though. Yes, your kids are nice, yes, you have a lot to be happy for, but he’s practically beaming as he slips his hand behind your back and guides you to the living room. 

Dove sees her father and goes limp with guilt. She pulls the bottle from her mouth and pouts at him, her eyes silver at the waterline. “Daddy, I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “Are you mad?”

He rubs your back. “You know I’m not mad, it just hurts when somebody bites you, it surprised me. It really hurt, honey.” 

“I’m sorry.”  

“I know,” he says, “wanna kiss it better for me?” 

Dove abandons her bottle on the couch and struggles down to the floor. Even that turns his heart, you can tell, so it doesn’t surprise you when he takes her up into his arms the moment she’s close enough and kisses her cheek. “Me first,” he says. 

“Sorry I bit you,” she mumbles. 

“Daddy’s not mad,” he mumbles back, “it just hurt, that’s the thing. I don’t like being bitten.” 

“I won’t do it again,” she says clumsily. 

“Good! Thank you,” he says, grinning at you as she kisses his cheek, like, look at how freaking adorable she is. “Mom made your buppy? Are you gonna have dinner, honey, or should we sit down for a nap?” 

Steve ends up sequestered with Dove for a nap in the corner of the couch. He looks good, arguably at his finest with Dove tucked under his chin and his hand spread out across her back. She dozes and sniffles. He smiles against her hair. 

You spy on them from the kitchen doorway, sipping a cold glass of water. Dinner’s done, cooling on the counter on sheet trays. Steve’s made the usual, a big tray of buttered, roasted veggies and pot pie. There are pork chops for Beth and a few extra in case anyone wants their own, and there’s a bowl of peas because Dove loves them. He’s such a good guy, you think. You each have jobs to do, he has to make dinner, you have to wash the dishes after, but it doesn’t make it feel less true. He makes coming home the best part of every weekday. 

Another ten minutes and he’s kicked the big bean bag into shape, laying Dove down for a nap there. He spreads her pink baby blanket over her and fawns when it fails to cover her feet. 

“She’s getting so big,” he says, scratching his hand through his hair as he makes his way to you. 

“And so vocal,” you say. 

“I noticed that too, she’s saying more words at one time.” He puts a hand on your waist for no reason at all. 

“Maybe ‘cos Ave was home.” 

“You remember that day she woke up and all her pants didn’t fit anymore?” he asks. “It’s like that.” 

She would have only been four. Beth was still a baby. You’d made your way into Avery’s room as Steve gave a grizzly Beth her bottle, and, upon getting her dressed, discovered all of her pants were now too short. Her legs must’ve grown overnight. She hadn’t felt a thing. 

Beth gets growing pains something awful, but Avery keeps on shooting up without complaint. You’re sure she’ll be taller than Steve by the time she’s in high school. How beautiful she’ll be then. 

“What?” Steve asks you. 

“Nothing, just thinking. Time moves fast.” 

“If you don’t stop and look around–”

“Thanks, Ferris.” 

Steve moves you into the kitchen, tipping your head aside to kiss the line of your neck, and then splitting for the cabinet where you keep the plates. “You’re welcome.” 

You plate dinner. The oldest girls wander in and sit in their seats. Steve fills a carafe with lemonade and laughs when Avery makes a face, her first sip sour, cold, and carbonated. “It’s fizzing,” she says. 

“It’s soda,” Steve says. 

“You should warn me, dad!” 

“Is that okay?” you ask Beth, having cut up her two pork chops into small pieces. “Yeah? Do you want some more broccoli?” 

“Mommy, no one wants more broccoli.” 

“Don’t be like that, you know daddy makes the best broccoli, it’s got honey and salt and pepper–”

“And garlic butter,” Steve says. 

You sit in the chair beside Beth’s and drag your plate in front of you. “I’m gonna have more.” 

“Okay, I will have more too,” she says. 

“Want some green beans?” you ask. 

“Um, no. Just broccoli.”

Avery stabs at her green beans enthusiastically. She eats every bit of food on her plate no matter the colour, and she asks Steve for seconds, which he plates up for her immediately, despite being mid-mouthful. Under the table, he pushes his ankle against yours. It’s a quiet, normal dinner. Even Snuffles gets a bite of pork. 

“That alright?” Steve asks you. 

“Amazing, honey, like usual. Really good, I don’t know how you make vegetables taste unhealthy.” 

“All the butter,” he says, rubbing his ankle against yours. 

“Are you done?” you ask. 

He pushes the serving plate of veggies toward you. “Go ahead, beautiful.” 

You take what’s left of the veggies. Avery gets another slice of pot pie. Beth finishes all of her pork and a few of the potatoes. The broccoli, despite her wanting more, go mostly untouched. All in all, everyone’s fed. 

“You did make a plate for Dove,” you ask suddenly, worried you’ve been greedy. 

“Yeah, I did, don’t worry. I made her enough peas to feed her three times over. And I can make more, if you want more.” 

You try not to flush. It’s not like Steve’s unaware of your appetite, and he doesn’t expect you to survive off of salad and saltines, but you’re still embarrassed enough to shake your head vehemently. “Yikes.” 

“Stop, you’re fine.” He takes a square of roasted potato off of your plate, wipes his hands in a napkin, and squeezes you by the shoulders. “Just gonna check Dove.” 

Beth scrambles off of her seat at the first opening. “I’m done.” 

“Can I make you a PB–”

“No!” She grins at you. “No thanks, I’m full.”

“You gotta have oatmeal later, then.” 

She nods like this is fine. “Yes, thank you.” She leaves for the living room. You hear her shy, “Thanks for dinner, daddy,” and Steve’s adoring, “You’re so welcome, thank you for eating it. Come here, let me give you a kiss.” Giggling and the sound of smacking pecks follows. 

Avery sits up. “Can I have another drink?” 

You cram the last of the broccoli into your mouth and stand. You pour her lemonade and start stacking the plates to carry them over to the sink. 

“No, I’ll help!” Avery says. 

“Baby, it’s okay. Drink your drink and have five minutes. You don’t wanna get sick.” 

“You haven’t had five minutes.” 

You laugh. “My body’s bigger than yours, so it only needs the one. It’s really okay, just finish your dinner and you can help me dry the knives and forks. I’ll save them for last.” 

Steve returns. “Girls,” he says, tucking the chairs under the table, “I didn’t expect you guys to be so hungry, I forgot about the secret.” 

You scrape what’s left on your plate into the trash. “What secret?” 

He beams again. 

“I knew there was something up,” you say, dumping your plate in the sink. 

“I made something else.” 

You lift your head in a rush. You know exactly what he’s gonna say before you ask. “You made–”

“Your favourite,” he says cockily, crossing his arms over his chest. “No biggie. Ave, you got room for dessert, babe?” 

“I think so. You might have to do that thing to my tummy.” 

Steve is a professional at post dinner tummy rubs. What is it about kids and their tummy aches?

After everything —Avery finishing her dinner, washing the dishes, drying and putting them away, turning on the heat for the night, gathering a load of laundry for the machine— Steve sits down in the armchair, and you sit in his lap. A bowl of dessert with two spoons on your chest. 

“If I’m too heavy,” you say. 

“You’re never too heavy, I hate when you say that shit.” 

“You always try to get me in your lap, that’s why.” 

“This is where you’re supposed to be.” He cuts into the ice cream with his spoon. “You’re not heavy. If you ever get too heavy for me, I’ll just get bigger.”

“I’d like to get smaller eventually.” 

“Stop it. You’re perfect.” 

You let your face rest above his shoulder. “Shut up.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, shut up.” 

“I’m never shutting up.” He offers you his spoon. The point of two was to make it so he didn’t do this, but he does it anyway, wiping the corner of your mouth when you pull back. “Messy.” 

“I can’t believe you made this.”

“I knew it’d make you happy.” 

You turn his face and kiss his cheek softly. A lingering kiss, trying to press affection into his every pore. “I love you.” 

“I know.” He shifts your weight, as though hoping to pull you closer despite a lack of space. This close you can see the freckles under his eyes and across his nose, just a couple, light brown and sparse. His eyes are relaxed, his eyelashes long in the corners and tangling with the ones at the bottom. What use does he have for such nice eyes?

“What are we gonna do with the rest of the evening? You’ve already showered,” you say, gaze back to your dessert. 

“I gotta give the bathroom a clean, and then nothing.” He puts his hand to your face, the very side of his palm against your cheek, framing you. He turns his hand completely and rubs your chin with his thumb. “I think I had one of those days where I really missed you.” 

“Like I’d been gone longer than I was.”

“Exactly.”

You hum with the pleasure of being liked so much and close your eyes. Predictable, Steve leans down to kiss you. It’s all he seems to do lately, a hundred kisses a day. 

“Okay, help me eat this so we can snuggle,” he says. 

“I’m not snuggling with you.” 

“Cuddle?” 

“No, don’t think so.” 

“A hug where we’re both laying down?” he suggests. 

“That’s far more reasonable.” 

He laughs, picking up his spoon again. Your face is cold without his touch, the other hand slipping down to your hip. 

When the dessert is done, he sets the bowl aside and pulls you against his, majority of your back to his chest, his face a heat at the side of your own. He crosses his arms over your stomach and holds it. 

“I wouldn’t mind doing this forever,” he says. 

“But who will look after our poor children?” you ask, letting your eyes slip closed in bliss. 

“If we have a couple more they can look after each other.” 

You like the sounds of that. The first part, not so much the second. “Just a couple,” you say. 

—

kbd au