#i’ve done that like maybe five times in the last four years

[youredyingthatsallthereis]

okay i had to take medication that made me excessively sleepy last night so i didnt get to do any embroidery OR post my other lil au concept but now that i actually got more than 4-5 hours of sleep in a night i can do both today!

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for telling my boyfriend’s coworkers that he’s lying about his body count?

I (35f) have been dating my boyfriend (32m) for four years. It’s honestly been the best relationship until last Friday when it all went down. I feel like I’m in the right, but now I’m wondering if I overstepped.

For context, my boyfriend has been a professional Slasher for about eight months now. He’s always really admired Cryptids, Monsters, and Nightmares so when his application was finally accepted, he was over the moon even if he was starting in a lower position than he initially applied for.

At his company, being a Slasher requires a lot of travel which we knew when he accepted the position. The end goal is for him to get a promotion to at least regional Nightmare (he wants Cryptid, but that position doesn’t have a lot of turnover) but to get that he needs to be in role for at least 12 months OR meet his goals for three months in a row. Once he promotes, we plan to relocate to his new region and “start talking about our future.”

(Side note: no this isn’t about him not popping the question yet. We are both in agreement that marriage comes after financial stability. I run a small business doing scare consults and, while it’s been growing, I wouldn’t call it stable yet. So neither of us are ready.)

I told him it’s completely normal for it to take a whole year before he’s ready to promote and he really should focus on adjusting to the company before thinking about next steps. I used to work for a competitor (I’ve been retired for five years now) and I know it can be hard to go from only taking the occasional human life to having to take over half a dozen a week. It’s not a light workload, no matter how easy it looks in the movies. One of my best friends Slashes part-time and she still only averages about five lives a week despite having done it for years. Especially these days, it can be really hard to meet quota. Humans are getting smarter, no matter what the Council wants us to think.

Anyway, boyfriend didn’t do as well as he thought he would in his first couple months. Totally understandable, of course, which I told him. I suggested he ask his boss if he could be put on a couple team assignments or even a duo until he got the hang of it. That was our first real fight. He thought I was doubting his ability to kill. He brought up how I told him it would take over a year to promote and how I said that this job wasn’t for everyone (His first assignment ended with a 0% kill rate, but that’s a different story). He said it felt like I didn’t believe in him and he said that if that was the case then maybe we shouldn’t be thinking about marriage so soon.

It got pretty messy after that. I felt like he was forgetting that I’d worked in the same field and, arguably, had a lot more experience (not to brag, but I averaged a 98% kill rate). Also, four years is NOT too soon to talk about marriage. He said I didn’t understand how he needed to focus on his career right now. I told him I thought he was taking Slasher too lightly just because it wasn’t Cryptid. He accused me of not respecting him and then things spiraled from there.

We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean and I’m embarrassed that it turned into a bit of a fang measuring contest. I ended up sleeping under the bed for a few nights until he coaxed me out to apologize.

It was a rough patch, but we talked it out. We agreed that, going forward, I wouldn’t offer advice unless he asked and he would try not to take so much of his frustration home with him. He took a weekend off and we went on a recreational haunting trip in the Montana woods.

Things did get better after that. I tried not to give him consults every time he came back from a work trip. He started bringing me souvenirs like roses and cursed puzzle boxes his work said he could have. It became easier just to hang out with each other and it felt like we were back to normal.

But then, four months ago, he came home super pissed because his boss put him on a PIP. (A performance improvement plan.) Apparently, boyfriend had not been doing better at work, he had just stopped telling me when he had a bad assignment. I saw the paperwork he got (he left it in the dungeon under the house, I didn’t go through his stuff) and he’s been missing quota by a LOT. As a junior Slasher, he was supposed to be executing at least 6 people a week, but he’d been lucky to be maiming half that.

Obviously, I had to talk to him about that. We rent our house and, even though I could have afforded the rent on my own, I didn’t want to jeopardize the investments I was making in my business (I was in the process of hiring an assistant to handle my scheduling). Plus, we agreed from day one that we would be 50/50 on rent and I would take care of the rest of the bills because I earned more. I felt that if his financial situation was in jeopardy, he needed to talk to me about it.

I tried to approach him a bit differently than last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. I told him about my slasher friend and how maybe she could give him advice if he didn’t want any from me. But he said he needed to figure stuff out on his own and that if he couldn’t get himself off the PIP then he would go back to work for his dad’s janitorial company.

I let it go. I was worried but I didn’t want to fight again just after patching the holes from the last blow out. It really bugged me that he thought I didn’t believe in him so I committed to giving him the benefit of the doubt. I said okay and asked him if he needed me to meal prep for both of us that week. He offered me grocery money, but I said it was fine since I’d had to deal with a lot of humans breaking in lately and I still had some leftover in the dungeon.

Fast forward a month. Boyfriend got off the PIP super fast. He worked his way off of it over Spring Break and started taking on a lot of extra assignments. In just four weeks he went to Miami Beach twice, New York City twice, and to three separate summer camps. I missed him and it was hard not having him around but I remembered how he said he needed to focus on his career and I tried not to nag.

It was hard not to nag though. With him gone, all the housework fell on me. We rent a 19th century manor, and its upkeep really does need two people. Doing all the chores plus running my business started to really drain me. Even when he was home, he forgot to banish the ghosts (my chore is to kill all invading humans, and his chore is to banish their ghosts) and he never took out the trash. I think he cleaned blood off the dungeon walls once, but then I had to basically redo it because he missed a lot of spots.

But still, I didn’t say anything because he was doing really well at work and I didn’t want to ruin that for him. Even when Humans started breaking in every week, I didn’t complain even though it interrupted my work day.

Last month though, I did ask him if we could move somewhere that needed less maintenance. There were just way too many Humans breaking in and I didn’t have the time to deal with them anymore. Even if I don’t do all the theatrics I used to as a Cryptid, killing humans through fear still takes a lot of time. He asked me if I didn’t appreciate the free meat, and I said I would appreciate it more if I wasn’t the only butchering it.

He said he didn’t want to move because he was really close to getting promoted to regional Nightmare and he didn’t want to take time off work to move. I was so surprised that I couldn’t hide how surprised I was. He saw and got offended. He asked if I still didn’t believe in him. I said that I did, but it was a huge jump to go from an 8% kill rate to getting promoted.

He got even more mad at me for bringing up his stats and he said that he had nearly 80% kill rate since being put on the PIP. I asked how many humans a week he was slashing and he told me I was being too nosy and that was proof that I didn’t believe in him.

I asked him if we could at least hire a ghoul then to keep the humans out of my office and he said he didn’t want to waste the money that we should be saving for our new house. I asked him what he wanted me to do then? I had to take phone calls for my consulting business and it was really hard to stalk humans all around the house while trying to sound like a professional to my clients.

He asked me to be patient for one more month. He said if he met quota for one more month, his boss said he’d get promoted. So I said fine and let it go.

Fast forward to now, almost a full month later.

Last Friday, I attended the Eldritch Conference. For those not in the scare field, the Eldritch Conference is the most prestigious event in our industry. It’s invitation only and is a chance to network with all the big players in the field. Mothman, the Jersey Devil, Bloody Mary and Bigfoot all spoke this year and both my former company, Grudge Industries, and my boyfriend’s current company, Forgotten Summer Solutions, were invited.

I was surprised to get an invite as a solo contributor to the field. However, my consulting firm has really been doing well and I did land a seasonal contract with the Yeti Co-op which I guess is how they heard about me. Plus, I’ve been a speaker before so I think the organizers knew I would behave myself.

I was planning on telling my boyfriend that I was going, but he was out of town on a co-ed sleepover assignment. He usually doesn’t have his phone on during his assignments, so I didn’t bother calling him. I just figured it’d be nice if we ran into each other at the conference if he made it back in time.

Which brings me to what actually happened (apologies for the long post).

So everything went great for my part of the day. I got to network with a lot of individual businesses and even got to reconnect with Blood Mary who I knew back in my Cryptid days. I told her I was dating a Slasher from Forgotten Summer Solutions and invited her to come with me to check out their booth. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner with her after since I assumed if my boyfriend was there, he’d be going out with coworkers which he often does. Plus, I admit, I was showing off a little. I don’t often get the chance to brag about my Cryptid days.

She agreed and we went over to see if my boyfriend was there.

I introduced myself to the people manning the booth. My boyfriend wasn’t there, but a few Slashers recognized my name and greeted me. They were definitely in awe of Bloody Mary (she came in full uniform) and invited us to look at their displays. They had portfolios for each Slasher on the desk as a sort of preview of what their services looked like.

While Bloody Mary looked through the portfolios, I chatted with my boyfriend’s coworkers. They said they were thrilled to work with him and that, even though he had a really rough start, it was impressive how quickly he started meeting his goals. Something about how they talked about his work kind of didn’t make sense. They were talking like he was killing a dozen humans a week, but he’d told me that he was at 80% on his assignments which typically only offer about ten humans each.

I asked them about it and they said that he’d been Slashing during After Hours which is a new goal supplement program his company launched a few months ago. Basically, anyone can sign up for After Hours and the company counts human kills done in uniform as part of their quota. I asked them if this was available to them while they were on assignment and they said no, it had to be done when they had down time. I asked them how my boyfriend was part of that when he was traveling all the time and they looked confused. One of them said that my boyfriend is still getting one assignment per week and is then supplementing his kill rate with After Hours.

At that point, I was even more confused. It sounded like my boyfriend had been lying to me then, because he told me that he was getting at least two assignments a week. If he was only getting one, then where was he going when he said he was traveling?

Bloody Mary interrupted before I could say anything and asked how their Slashers did their kills. They said that every Slasher at their company is required to use a standard issue weapon (like a machete or axe) for their kills to count. They said their company doesn’t count accidents as part of their quota (like falling or heart attacks).

Bloody Mary pulled me aside and showed me the portfolio she was holding. She said that she was going to give me a chance to explain without them overhearing and showed me the book. She said that a bunch of kills in it looked Cryptid kills. And she said, specifically, it looked like the kills I made when I was a Cryptid. I took the book from her and flipped through it and she was right, they really did look like Cryptid kills. Worse, I recognized a few of the Humans from the past few weeks. They were actually my kills!

Kill stealing is a major taboo in our industry.

I told her I didn’t know anything about this. She looked really relieved at that and said that even though I wasn’t a Cryptid anymore, it would look really bad for me if I was caught helping a Slasher cheat at their job. It could affect my business which she’d only heard good things about.

I’m embarrassed to say that I tried to defend him. He’s new to our industry so I thought it might be a mistake. He might not be trying to cheat, this could be a misunderstanding.

She said she didn’t think so because a mistake would be one or two of my kills mixed in with his, not the entire book.

I counted up how many photos were in the book and, all told, of the 146 kills, at least 100 were mine. I couldn’t really say it was a mistake at that point and I was just staring at his portfolio like an idiot. Bloody Mary asked me what I was going to do because, mistake or not, this looked really bad and could damage my reputation if it got out.

At that moment, another man walked up to booth and asked us if there was a problem. I knew that if I said anything, I would be jeopardizing my boyfriend’s job, but if I didn’t say something, I was jeopardizing my business.

I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count. I said I didn’t think that they knew he was doing it, but over half of the kills in his portfolio weren’t his and I suggested they remove it from their display before another Cryptid came by and realized it.

The other man thanked me for bringing this to his attention and asked how we knew. Bloody Mary said that she knew another Cryptid’s kills and I had to tell them that I was that Cryptid, though I was retired now. He asked me if I knew my boyfriend was doing this, and I told him no.

I told him I really didn’t want to get my boyfriend in trouble and suggested that maybe he didn’t know those kills didn’t belong to him because they happened in our house. I was grasping at straws and Blood Mary even looked sad for me. His coworkers looked skeptical but tentatively agreed. The man – who turned out to my boyfriend’s boss – said that they would investigate this thoroughly and apologized personally for his employee’s misconduct.

I was spiraling at that point so I thanked him and said I wasn’t mad, I was just looking out for both of our reputations. He promised to keep it between us and I agreed.

Then I apologized to Bloody Mary because I didn’t feel like eating dinner anymore. She said she understood and wished me well.

I went home and did a quick perimeter search of the property. Sure enough, there were human summoning stones ALL OVER the yard. Which means my boyfriend was intentionally luring humans to our house to get me to kill them so he could take credit. It wasn’t a mistake at all.

My boyfriend came home later that night in his work clothes. As soon he got inside he started yelling. He said he was suspended without pay and that all his hard work was for nothing.

I said I knew he’d been stealing my kills and he almost ruined my reputation. He said they still counted as his kills because he did all the work of luring the humans to our house.

I told him that wasn’t how it worked and he knew it. He said it was the same as setting a trap and I was taking this too seriously. I told him that, as a Slasher, he has to use a weapon to get his kills, not me. He said I was basically the same thing since I had such a high kill rate. I asked him if he was calling me an object.

(My parents exploited me by selling me as a haunted doll through a lot of my childhood and he knows I’m sensitive to being called an object.)

He backpedaled at that point and asked if I didn’t want to buy a house together. He said he was doing it for us and I should’ve understood and not said anything. I told him that when I was a Cryptid I had my pride and would’ve never done this.

He said I needed to tell his boss that he was the one who made all those kills. I said it wasn’t me who recognized them as Cryptid kills and now his boss knew too. He accused me of thinking I’m better than him because I have telekinetic powers and can move through shadows and can possess people, while he’s basically a human himself. I told him of course not and that I worked hard for those powers unlike him.

He got really mad at that and actually charged at me with his machete raised. I don’t think he was going to actually hit me, but I reacted like he was. It was all instinct. I disarmed him and I swear I heard a crack when I grabbed his wrist. I shoved him into the wall.

 He crumpled to the floor and started crying. He said sorry and sort of curled up around his wrist. He said he didn’t ever feel like he was enough for me and he didn’t even know why I was still with him. He called himself a bunch of names and said I would be better off without him.

I sort of awkwardly stood there for a minute. On one hand I wanted to assure him that he was enough and that I loved him, but, on the other, I wasn’t sure I could forgive him. He nearly ruined my reputation, and he embarrassed me in front of Bloody Mary. Plus, I still didn't know where he’d been going all those times he said he was on a business trip and apparently wasn’t.

So I ended up not saying anything. I went to our room and started packing a bag. He followed me. He was still crying as he begged me not to go. He said he would own up to his kill steals at work and he would make it right. He pleaded for me not to leave him and that he would give up slashing.

I told him I needed space to think. He tried to grab me, but I shadow walked out of the house. I heard him screaming from outside and I hurriedly drove away.

Now I’m at my friend’s house and I told her everything. She agreed I did the right thing walking away from him, but when I asked her what I should do she hesitated. She said that my boyfriend wasn’t right to kill steal but, as a fellow Slasher, she understood what he was going through. She said I wouldn’t understand the pressure to meet quota because I was always surpassing mine when I was in the field. She said that a Cryptid could never understand a Slasher.

She also said that nobody would have found out about his kills if I hadn’t brought them to his boss’ attention. She said the only time kills are on display like that is at the Eldritch Conference and by the next one, he’d have had kills of his own. She thinks that if I’d just confronted him at home, he wouldn’t be on suspension.

So now I’m worried that I overreacted when I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count.

AITA?

----

Thanks for reading! Several amazing supernatural citizens (aka my Patrons) gave great advice to our poor OP over on my Patreon! Please go check them out here (X)

(I will definitely be posting some of them here in the near future!)

My next supernatural AITA is already up to my patrons!

It's called "AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied about his human job?"

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[redocity]

kinda emergency request. Okay so I’m super sick right now but I also had a lot to get done this week so I pushed through and ended up collapsing. It was a whole thing and I went to the hospital for a few days. I hadn’t eaten cause I was nauseous or slept because I was in pain. Any way would it be possible to get a Evan Buckley x reader on that. Sorry it’s a lot I know! But thank you!

PUSH THROUGH — E.BUCKLEY

Being sick and being a firefighter were two things that should never exist at the same time. when you push yourself a little too hard and end up collapsing, buck gets more than a little worried.

WARNINGS: gn!reader, sick reader, mentions of nausea and wanting to throw up, reader faints

evan buckley x reader || hurt/comfort || 3.0k || requests open!

a/n: i hope you’re alright and get better soon!

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

Being a firefighter was hard. It consisted of long and physically taxing workdays, a lot of mental scarring, and most prominently, a lack of regular breaks.

Some days were okay, slow days where you only had three or four calls in a 12 hour shift, but on days like today, where you had spent a grand total of 35 minutes in the station in the last six hours —with the first 20 of those being before your shift even started— being a firefighter felt like you were living through your own personal hell.

“Hey—” Buck nudges you with his elbow, and you blink your eyes shortly before turning your gaze to him with a small hum, breaking yourself out of your dissociation of staring blankly across the lounge room.

“I’ve been calling your name for like a whole minute, are you okay?” Buck’s eyebrows furrow in an obvious concern for your well being, a dark line forming at the top of the bridge of his nose that you fight the urge to smooth out with the pad of your thumb.

You might have an unprofessional friendship with Buck, but even you knew what boundaries were unsafe to cross.

“Mhm, I’m fine,” Your voice is distant even to yourself, like there’s a layer of cotton coating the inside of your ears.

“You’re not though,” Buck presses the back of his hand against your forehead to feel for a temperature, and you swat it away lightly with a small shake of your head, something that does nothing in disproving Buck’s theory. “You’re all quiet and warm, and I can see your hands shaking,”

You clasp your hands together at the last part, interlocking your fingers and holding them securely in your lap so that they can’t move without your consent anymore. “I’m fine,”

He sighs at your continued dismissal. It was obvious that you weren’t okay, so why would you keep trying to pretend like you were? “Have you eaten anything yet? Maybe you should eat something, you know, replenish all of those nutrients or whatever,”

“Okay Dr Buckley, no need to treat me like a five year old,” You roll your eyes with a short laugh, and a small smile etches it’s way onto Buck’s face at the flicker of your usual personality shining through despite your current condition. “I’m not hungry right now—” Buck opens his mouth to argue, but you hold up your hand before he can get a word out. “—But, i’ll see about getting something after our next call okay?”

He lets out a short breath through his nose as he concedes defeat, leaning back against the lounge sofa dramatically. “Fine, but I will make sure of that,”

You hope he doesn’t.

You’d tried to make yourself a piece of dry, bland toast this morning to quell the growing ache in your stomach from how little you’d fed yourself over the last two days, but it ended up with you feeling so sick that you had to take almost ten minutes of your morning doing deep breathing exercises so that you wouldn’t throw it back up again. You didn’t fancy a round two of that.

“Yes sir,” You exaggerate your response through a mock salute, and he gives you a short laugh and a pat of his hand on your lower thigh, squeezing it lightly.

You take the end in the conversation to relax against the back of the sofa, but as soon as the back of your head meets the top of the cushion the alarm rings out and you curse your own downfall.

Buck gives your leg another pat as he stands, holding out his hand for you to take so he can help you to your feet, something which, although you would keep to yourself to stop him from worrying about you even more, you were grateful for in the wake of your staticed vision in the first few second of you standing upright.

—

It wasn’t the worst call in the world, some driver going 10 over the speed limit managed to swerve off the road, over a patch of grass, and land right into somebodies six foot hedge lining their yard. All you had to do was winch the car out and check that the driver didn’t have any injures. It took less than half an hour.

But by the time you climbed back into the truck you felt like you had absolutely no energy left whatsoever, your shoulders slumped and your head limply resting backwards against the headrest in fatigue.

You were just absolutely exhausted, probably not helped by the rough nights you’d been having because of the phantom pains that seemed to plague you whenever you moved so much as an inch.

You considered asking to stay at the station for the next call, or just asking to stay at the station for the rest of your shift entirely at this point. You weren’t sure you’d have the physical capacities to be of any help at all, and if you were to tag along you’d just be a nuisance to everybody else as they tried to do their jobs.

You didn’t have to make that decision yourself, your body made it for you.

Buck had been extra attentive to you on the call, and that didn’t end once the truck parked in the station, he climbed down the truck’s side ladders before you, turning to hold out his hand so you’d have an extra balance point if you needed it whilst climbing down, but instead he was met with your clouded gaze, literally watching the moment your consciousness seems to slip away from your body as your foot misses one of the steps and causes to stumble forward.

He catches your weight in his arms before you can hit the floor, a panicked “Cap!” echoing through the engine bay as he lowers you to lie on the floor with your head resting on his thighs, all colour drained from your face as your eyes flicker underneath your eyelids.

Hen and Chimney are at your side before Bobby is, but he’s not far behind as the rest of the team circle you in concern.

“What happened?” Hen furrows her eyebrows as she watches Chimney check your heart rate, tightening a blood pressure cuff around your arm.

“I don’t know they just collapsed—” Buck’s voice mirrors his expression it’s panic.

“105/70, alright, lay them down on the floor, Eddie, put your jacket underneath their feet,” Hen removes the blood pressure cuff as Buck and Eddie rush to follow her instructions, and her and Chimney share a nod as they both confirm you’re not in any medical danger.

“Are they okay?” Buck hesitates to lie your head on the concrete floor, so his leaves his hand as a barrier between you and the floor.

“They’re fine, it’s just hypotension, do you know if they’ve eaten or drank anything today?” Hen puts a comforting hand on Buck’s shoulder to help calm his panic as the adrenaline from your collapse slowly dissipates.

“I asked if they were hungry earlier and they said they’d eat something later,” Buck presses his lips into a line, feeling mildly guilty about not pushing you to eat something earlier when he had the chance to.

Your head twitches in his hand before he has the time to drill himself into a spiral over it, and soon enough you’re squeezing your eyes shut tighter before flickering them open.

“There you are, welcome back to the land of the living,” Chimney rubs your shoulder with his hand as you wake, and promptly pushes you back to lying flat when you try to sit up. “No, stay there, you’ll only pass out again if you sit up too quickly,”

“What happened?” You squint your eyes under the harsh overhead lights, covering them with the back of your hand.

“You collapsed on the way out of the truck, gave us all a scare there for a moment,” Bobby crosses his arms as he steps into your line of sight, tone carrying reprimand but his expression laced in concern.

“Right… sorry,”

“Don’t apologise,” Bobby shakes his head shortly, “When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh…” You don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’ve just fainted, or the weird angle you’re currently at that’s making you slower than usual. “This morning,”

“It’s almost 4pm—” Buck’s voice announces you of his presence like he hasn’t been protecting your head from the concrete for the last five minutes with his hand, and you crane your head backwards to look up at him.

“I felt sick, I didn’t want to throw up everywhere that’s gross,” You groan slightly as your neck begins to ache. “Can I sit up now?”

“Slowly,” Hen takes your hand as she carefully pulls you to sit upright, and Buck remains on his knees behind you in case you need to lie back down again. “How are you feeling? Still lightheaded?”

“A little,” You rub the knuckle of your thumb over your forehead in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension lingering there, and Hen hums.

“Alright, it’s time for you to eat,” Buck places both of his hands on your shoulders as he stands, squeezing them softly before extending a hand out to help you back onto your feet, which you take without complaint.

“Okay,”

You let Buck lead you up to the open lounge with mild guilt written across your face. Guilt and embarrassment at the fact that you’d passed out in front of everyone.

“Okay, so we’ve got tomato and onion pasta bake, left over macaroni and cheese, uh…” Buck rifles through the fridge for what’s left of different Bobby creations over the last few days. “Ooh there’s lasagna in here, I might have to keep that for myself,”

He knows it’s not the funniest thing he’s ever said, but when he turns back to check on you, the way you’re sat blankly staring at the table doesn’t spell anything good.

“Hey,” Buck abandons his fridge endeavours with a small sigh, walking over to put his hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright? Really?”

You barely so much as acknowledge him, giving him a small hum as you rest your forehead on the palms of your hands. “I think I should go home…”

Your tone causes the worry to flood back into his features. “You have to eat something…”

“I don’t know if I can stomach it right now,” You close your eyes momentarily, slumping forward so your entire upper body weight is resting against your hands. “I still feel sick,”

He can’t really argue with you about that. Nauseousness was a pain in the ass. But that didn’t mean you didn’t need something in your body to help whatever deficit you were going through right now.

He takes a moment to think through his options, biting the inside of his cheek. “Uh… What about a protein shake? I’m pretty sure I left a few packets here somewhere—” Buck leaves your side to look through some of the kitchenette cupboards for protein shake packets he’d stoad hidden from the team.

“Ah,” He makes a sound of triumph as he retrieves them, holding them up above his head as he’s crouched behind the kitchen island so you can see them. “We have…” He turns the packets in his hand one by one. “Chocolate, banana, vanilla, strawberry, and… blueberry, take your pick,”

You give him a look that tells him you’d rather not have any of them, and a worry line forms in his forehead once more. “Come on… It’s like a milkshake, and you can drink it as slow as you want,” He walks back over to you slowly, the packets held out in his hands towards you so you can choose one. “Please? You’re starting to worry me for real now,”

You begrudgingly take one of the packets from his hands with a small sigh. His concern was appreciated, but it was also mildly daunting. You didn’t like the way his face furrowed when he was concerned about you, it didn’t suit him like smiling did.

“Thank you,” He takes the packet back from you once you’ve chosen which one you want, leaving the others discarded on the table as he prepares the drink for you. “Drink this and then go home and get some rest okay? I’ll drop by your apartment after the shift is over to check on you, and if you still feel really bad then we should go to the hospital,” His words are spoken unevenly as the exertion from shaking the drink canister reaches his vocal chords.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital Buck, I’m fine, i’ve just got the flu or something and pushed myself too hard,” You shake your head adamantly at his suggestion, and he mirrors it himself as he pours the drink into a glass and puts it on the table in front of you.

“Some people go to the hospital when they’ve got the flu and don’t push themselves too hard,” He points at the glass once it’s on the table. “Drink it,”

You oblige with a roll of your eyes, your first sip barely even considered one as you try and force yourself to swallow it through the invisible blockade in your throat.

“And maybe try and take a nap or something? You look exhausted,”

“Oh thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” a your voice is dripping with sarcasm, and it leaves a small smile on Buck’s face.

“You know what I mean,” He shakes his head lightly as he stashes away the remaining protein shake packets. “How much sleep did you get last night anyway?”

He asks you the question right as you go to take another sip of the shake, and you force yourself to swallow it uncomfortably to answer him. “Maybe like three hours? I had a really bad migraine and my lower back was hurting,”

Buck sighs loudly as he pulls out a chair to sit behind you, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

“I know I know, that’s not good, i’ll work on it okay?”

“That’s all I can ask,” He gives you a small smile with a shrug of his shoulders.

—

You didn’t have to think about complying to Buck’s suggestion of going home, and after a long hour of trying to digest the protein shake in front of you, that’s exactly what you did.

The station felt remarkably quieter without you there, but that was arguably because everyone was still shrouded in a combined worry for your well being that left them more solemn than usual, their usual banter getting lost in the process.

Once the shift was over, Buck kept his word in heading straight to your apartment, knocking the door with no answer.

He questions whether he got the number right at first, but he’s been to your apartment enough times to know that he hasn’t just stumbled to the wrong door. And the longer it stays shut in his face the more worried he gets.

So he tries the door handle, and it opens, meaning you’d left your apartment unlocked.

He calls your name a few times as he walks in, a small rush of adrenaline making its way through his veins at the slight possibility that something could’ve happened in the few hours since you’d been home alone.

A small breath of relief escapes him as he finds you.

You were circled up into yourself on your couch, TV left on standby as you slept in what Buck assumed to be an extremely deep sleep.

How you manage to make that tiny sofa look like the most comfortable place in the world he doesn’t know, but you seem to be more than happy wedged into the corner with a decorative pillow clutched tightly against your chest.

It’s a welcome sight after everything you’d been through today, and Buck rifles around to find a blanket to throw over you before taking a seat on the other end of the couch and settling in for an evening of watching random movies on your TV until you woke up.

Even if that meant him staying overnight.

[sapchat]

We Are Not Our Fathers

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You get summoned to your mate and Cassian whilst they are on a mission, only to find out there was a surprise at the end of it.

Warnings: mentions of a fight, children, and an argument between two lovers.

Words: 5k

Part 1: You are here! Part 2

Fun fact: this is technically my third fanfic now, cuz I’ve got a part one for something else and I’m writing part two, I just got this idea yesterday while listening to this playlist and was like “I need angst, azriel, his mate and a child.”

Azriel and Cassian had been at one of the Illyrian camps investigating rumors of… something. You hadn’t been paying attention when your mate told you why, he’d been getting dressed while telling. So, you could see the distraction at the time. It had been at least two hours since your mate had left and you got summoned down the bond, and a shadow seemed to tug at your hand.

So, following the bond you appeared in a typical Illyrian Steppes living room, with Azriel at the top of the steps.

“Hey, we uh, need you up here. We thought we were done but Cass found someone.” Azriel said meeting me at the bottom of the steps and grabbing a hand, rubbing his fingers on my wrist. He picked the habit up a few years into our bond, he says it keeps him grounded, especially after or during missions like these. Nodding my head, I followed the narrow steps behind him to see Cassian standing in the doorway of one of the rooms, there was a smidge of blood on the side of a wall, so I wasn’t sure what I was going to walk in on.

A little winged child was not what I was expecting. Cassian looked at me sheepishly then nodded to the side so the three of us could talk.

“So, I’m going to assume we didn’t know there was a child here?” I asked leaning against the wall.

“From what we could tell there were no reports of a child when we first started getting reports of the retaliation happening. My shadows also didn’t pick up on a child when we got here, so either he was just hiding really well because of the guests in the house, or he snuck in.” Azriel responded.

“Any idea how much he heard? Or what does his parental situation look like?” I asked, I needed to know how bad this situation could be. Especially if this child doesn’t have a family because of its father’s or mother’s choices.

“For the most part, some of them went easy. Only three of ‘em put up any real fight, hence some of the blood there by your head,” Cassian started.

“Ew, thanks for telling me that one.” I’ll just shuffle to the side.

“As for a possible guardian, he hasn’t answered any questions. He did call me a bastard though, so I guess he has listened to something while around them.” Cassian finished. He seemed almost more stressed than I. I assume because he’s become quite partial to being babysitter for Nyx in the last few months for Feyre and Rhysand to be able to go out.

“What do you think, he’s probably what four, maybe five. You have more experience in working with kids, and with Madja, what do you think his outcome is with what he’s been dealt.” Azriel asked, dragging a scarred hand down his face.

“All children are different. One could experience something awful like the death of a parent and not remember anything about it. Others could never recover from it and grow up acting out the rest of their lives. It’s just a matter of how they get help. And knowing this camp, they probably won’t get much mental help at all. You two should know that” It’s not what they wanted to hear I imagine, but it was the truth. “So, what’s the plan? I assume if you have summoned me here you want me to go talk to him?”

“Yea actually, that’s exactly what so thanks for offering that so we don’t have to ask.” Cassian states rubbing the back of his head. Little shit.

Sighing, I turn my eyes to my mates, who just shrugged. I’ve been left here with the two most awkward people when it comes to random kids. Such a surprise came from the man-child Cassian himself. I roll my eyes, but send something to calm down the bond, and turn to go into the room.

The child is on the smaller side, evidence of the winter that’s still in the mountains so it’s evident his family doesn’t have much money for food. He’s got some dirt on his clothes so he’s either been out playing today or he just doesn’t have many clothing options. His wings were on the smaller side for what we assume his age group is, so he either is just going to have slightly smaller wings, or he’s developmentally delayed for his possible age. Probably due to the lack of food and hygiene.

I step slowly into the room, trying to make my slightly tall frame smaller. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

The little boy looked at me with wide hazel eyes, a twinkle in it that I couldn’t tell meant he was scared or intrigued by my presence. “Hawthorne.”

“Hawthorne huh?” You ask, then tell him your name, “Are you okay Hawthorne?” I ask him, he sits up just a little taller, a twitch in his bat-like wing following after.

He nodded his head in response, and I nodded back in understanding. “I was wondering who you were here with buddy? It’s okay if I call you buddy, right?”

“I was with my daddy. and I don’t know if you can call me buddy. Daddy’s usually the only one that does. Daddy said it’s cause we’re friends, but I don’t know you.” He answers sheepishly looking around my body towards the end, telling me I have a shadow, likely two of them.

“Well, if I tell you something about me, and then you tell me something, then we would be friends, wouldn’t we?” He hesitates, thinking about the question then nods his head quickly.

“Okay, well you know my name already,” I say then move to sit on the corner of the bed and make it seem like I’m thinking about my fact, “One of my favorite things ever, is getting to go and watch the sunrise or sunset as it comes up or down, and it shine on the soft snow. It’s really pretty.” I say, his head perks up a little at what I tell him.

“I like that too! I also like it when it storms, 'cause that means I don’t have to go out and I get to stay inside with my daddy.” He says. I smile at his enthusiasm of getting to share something we both like.

“I’ll tell you another secret then.” His eyes get really wide, and I feel a questioning brush through the bond. “I also like it when it storms. Because that means I get to stay inside with my friends.”

“Are they your friends?” Hawthorne asks looking at Cassian and Azriel behind me.

“Yeah, those are my really good friends, Cassian and Azriel. They… came to talk to the people that were downstairs. Did you know them?” I ask, glancing at the two males behind me, who are trying to seem small, but with the size of Cassian and Azriel’s wings. They’re failing.

“It was my daddy and their friends. I heard lots of yelling. And that they called your friends bastards. So, I did when they came up here. Where is my daddy?” I looked at Azriel for an answer, he looked down and then at Hawthorne.

“We took your father somewhere so we could talk with them. Do you have a mother we could take you to? Or anyone else.” Azriel answered the child.

Hawthorne shook his head no, “Daddy says mommy died when I was little, even smaller than now. And daddy says I’m the only thing he has left. But I think that’s silly 'cause we have neighbors!”

I sigh and look at my mate and Cassian, I then look back to the hallway and back to the child, “Hawthorn I’m going to go talk with my friends really quick, are you okay here?” The boy nods his head and watches as the three of us leave the room.

It’s now my turn to rub my hands down my face. “What do we do with him? I assume mom either died in childbirth or from sickness. And now we’ve got dad where he’s going to probably be punished for what they’ve been planning.”

Cassian almost winces at the last part, “His father was one of the people to put up a fight. We’ve got him in Hewn City right now, one of the others said he’s the ring leader for wanting to try and get rid of Rhys, and ‘go back to the old ways.’”

“Gotta love males and their ever-needing reason to be on top,” Azriel said laying back against the wall across from me, one of his feet resting between my ankles.

“We asked Rhys what he thought. He thinks it should be up to you.” Cassian said.

I processed the question for a second. Thinking about the options that are available. If Hawthorne stays, he’ll be homeless, wandering the streets like Cassian did; and based on how he looks already, he probably wouldn’t last long. Or taking him with us. To Velaris and trying to find him a place there. He could stay in the House of Wind until we find somewhere or someone.

I look at Azriel and he nods, knowing what I’m going to decide. If I had it my way, there would be no children wandering the roads here in the camps. But the orphanage idea has been slow, Devlon the only one wanting to even entertain the idea.

“Take him with us. He’ll be better off in Velaris, and until we can find somewhere permanent, he can stay in the House with us all.” I say, Cassian nods knowing I’m making the decision based on what he’s told me of his past before Rhys and his mother.

“Looks like you’ll get a friend Cassian, I’ll be sure to set up playdates.” Azriel says pushing off the way and patting his brother on the back.

Cassian had a shocked look on his face, eyes following Azriel as he followed me back into the room Hawthorne was patiently waiting in.

“Hey, Hawthorne? How about you come with me and my friends for a little bit, until we can see if your father gets into trouble, okay?” I asked going in and sitting on his bed, angling my body to be eye level with the winged boy. He seemed to sit and think about it for a second, then spared Azriel a questioning look before looking back at me.

“Will I still get to do my training?”

My eyes widen just a tad. Training at five? I look over my shoulder to Cassian and Azriel in question.

“Yeah me, and Cassian can help with that. We’re both really going at flying so we can help you learn some.” Azriel told the child, putting a lot of emphasis on them being so good at flying. This seemed to make the boy happy.

“Okay then. I guess I’ll come with you. But I get to bring my toys!”

“We wouldn’t expect you to leave them behind buddy. Now where are your clothes?” I said standing from the bed and ruffling my fingers through his dark brown almost black hair.

Hawthorne jumped from the bed, his little wings flapping as he did, and ran to the dresser in the corner of the room. He pulled open a drawer almost at eye level and grabbed what little clothes sat in there. “Here they are!” He ran back over and handed them to me. He only had two shirts and another pair of pants, plus only a few pairs of undergarments.

I looked in the direction of my mate and he nodded at what I was thinking. We’ll have to get him some more clothes. I held my hand out and Azriel summoned a bag from the shadows and handed it to me. I usually use it for the farmers market, but I’ll just get a new one.

“Okay, bubs, come here and I’ll hold you while Azriel takes us back to the house.” The boy hopped over with a questioning look on his face.

“He’s going to fly both of us to your house?”

“Nope! He’s going to do something called winnow, which means,” I sat for a second thinking how to explain this to a child, “he’ll grab my and Cassian's hand, and then we’ll disappear and then reappear in the house!” Yeah, that was a great explanation.

Hawthorne seemed to question it for a second, then came over and all but crawled up into my arms. I moved the bag to my shoulder and then joined Azriel and Cassian. The three of us all looked at each other as if questioning what I’d decided.

And into the shadows we went, only for Azriel to then grab onto me tighter to glide us down to the balcony of the House of Wind. Hawthorne gripped my neck tighter looking around at all he could see of Velaris. And I knew I had made a good decision for the boy.

Feet touching the ground Hawthorne all but leaped from my arms to run and look over the balcony, pulling himself up by using his feet on the spindles to gain leverage to look out. Mouth opening by the second, I leaned back against Az watching the boy. He’s never seen so many people at once living in such a beautiful place.

“Hawthorne, wanna go get a quick snack before we get you cleaned up in a tub?” I asked leaving my mates front to join the boy at the railing. He looked up at me with wide eyes before looking back out towards the Sidra. “It’ll all still be here when we’re done. And if you’re not tired then you can even see it once the sun goes down. It looks even better.” He turned back with a slightly toothless grin and nodded enthusiastically, jumping from the side, and gripping my hand swinging from it.

Walking into the sitting room I walked the boy towards the kitchen. Already sitting on the counter was a little dinner for the boy, the House instantly knowing what was needed of it. I helped him up onto a stool he quickly dug into his dinner.

“Easy now, don’t want to eat too fast and make yourself sick,” I advised brushing a finger across his back. I walked around the counter and grabbed a small cup and filled it with water so he could drink as well.

Once he was done eating, he quickly gulped down the water and brushed his mouth on his hand, then proceeded to wipe the hand on his shirt. Boys. I grabbed him before he had a chance to run off and walked him up to mine and Azriel’s bathing room where Az sat pouring a few drops of bubbles into the bath.

I set Hawthorne down on the ground and allowed him to undress so he could climb in the bath and gave my mate a quick peck on the cheek in thanks. Admiration flowed down his side of the bond as I leaned over and started wetting Hawthorne’s hair. He splashed around a little playing with the bubbles as I washed the grime off of him.

Once I was done, I grinned and grabbed a handful of bubbles and placed them on his head. The little Illyrian quickly looked up at me and proceeded to grin. And without a moment's notice he flapped his wings in the water spraying water all over me.

We both sat in silence for a little bit, me in shock and him with a look that said, ‘Uh oh’. Then I started laughing, and Hawthorne quickly realized he wasn’t in trouble for getting water over me.

After his bath, and the fight of drying him off, and the battle of getting him dressed. I did as I had promised and walked him back to one of the balconies so he could watch the ending of the sunset and all the lights of Velaris come on. We sat quickly, him in amazement, me writing down some reports to send to Rhys in the morning.

It was in the middle of the night I was awoken to one of Azriels shadows, Azriel rousing from sleep himself and moving a wing off of me to see what was happening. Then I heard soft padding down the hall, and a shuffling of wings. I then heard the door move a bit as someone jumped and grabbed the doorknob, and the door quietly moved open.

Raising our heads, we were greeted with Hawthorne sniffling as he waddled into the room. He looked up at the two of us from the foot of the bed, glancing back and forth. I glanced at Azriel and silently asked if he’d allow the boy in the bed with us.

Azriel looked at me, then flopped back on his stomach and grumbled “Once you feed them and let them sleep in the bed, they end up staying. Look at Cass.”

I lightly slapped his arm and raised up more and nodded to my side of the bed. Hawthorne quickly shuffled over and climbed his way into the bed and my arms. “Wanna talk about it?” I quietly asked.

He shook his head and placed his wet face into my neck. I hummed an okay and moved the blankets back over us and went back to sleep, Azriel’s wing shifting back over as he moved around.

In the morning I awoke to an empty bed, not unusual with Az doing morning training, but I distinctly remember a little boy crawling into the bed in the night as well.  

Climbing out of bed, a shadow greeted me happily and started leading me in the direction of the living room; and was greeted by Cassian holding the boy in the air telling him to get ready, and Azriel sat in a chair drinking tea.

“If he breaks something Cassian, you get to tell Rhys.” I said, walking further into the room and joining Azriel on the armrest, his hand wrapping around my hip and patting it. Azriel tilted his head in a way saying, ‘That’ll be fun’ and went back to his morning readings.

“Hey, we learn to fly by being dropped from different heights, I figured you prefer it in the living room, where he could land on the couch.” The general replied, letting go of the boy and allowing him to flap-glide his way to the couch in question.

I let the two continue and looked down to my mate, “Wanna join me in the kitchen, so we could talk about H-A-W-T-H-O-R-N-E’s F-A-T-H-E-R?” He nodded his head and took my hand to lead me in the direction of said room. Already on the counter was my breakfast, courtesy of the house which I thanked, and a steaming glass of coffee.

“I went earlier this morning. He’s not wanting to give us anything. Rhys wants to make an example of them.” Azriel said going straight to the point. I looked up from putting jam on my toast, my eyes trailing to the sounds of the child’s laughter and Cassians' praise.

“What about Hawthorne?”

Azriel sighed, already knowing I wasn’t going to let this go without a fight. Either with him or our High Lord. “Rhys is going to leave that up to you. His recommendation thought was to find someplace around Velaris so he wouldn’t be in a camp where issues may arise in the future. When he’s older.”

I looked sharply up at what he said. “What is that supposed to mean?” I made sure to keep my voice somewhat low so as to not raise attention to us.

“We both know what he means. He’s just trying to cover future bases because he has Nyx now.” Azriel tried to calm down, resting a hand on top of mine. I pulled it back from him immediately.

“No Azriel I don’t know what you mean. He’s a child what are you two trying to say?” I was angry. He’s five, if that. What was there to possibly worry about to ‘keep an eye on him in the future.’

Azriel said your name then continued, “His father was plotting to get a group of people to kill Rhys. Maybe worse.” Azriel almost seemed angry at the position I had taken, in defending this threat against his High Lord. But the threat was a child.

I glared at Azriel and all but snarled when I said, “Sons are NOT their fathers Azriel. You of all people should know that.” I even pointed in his direction for emphasis on my statement, his hazel eyes going wide in surprise at it. Shock and hurt flowed down the bond, and I pushed my feelings of anger towards him.

Turning I leave my breakfast to go join Cassian and the deemed threat in the other room to watch him stretch his wings.

It was later in the evening, after playing with the child and having Cassian take us down to the shopping district so he could have more clothes that I had finally let myself think about the argument from earlier in the day. I had already put Hawthorne to bed almost two hours ago and was down in the kitchen sipping wine. Setting the glass down on the counter I ran my hands down my face in frustration, and then came some shuffling.

Turning my head, I expected Azriel but found Hawthorne. Bleary-eyed from what little sleep he got. “Hey, what are you doing back up, it’s late.”

The little dark-haired child rubbed his eyes, his other hand gripping a little black cat stuffed animal he begged to have. “I have trouble sleeping in the bed. It’s super soft.” His eyebrows furrowed together and then he said, “The shadows also keep me awake by playing with my hair.”

A few of Azriel’s shadows had taken a little liking to the boy, much unlike their master, it seemed. “Well. Since you’re awake, want some hot chocolate?” I asked, the boy seemed confused at my words and asked what hot chocolate was. “Hot cocoa?” He shook his head in confusion again.

“Come on, I’ll make us some cups and you can try it,” I said lifting him up to sit on the counter and wiped my finger at some of the dried drool on his cheek.

Turning to a cabinet, I grabbed two mugs to set beside him and continued to pull supplies out to make the cocoa. Hawthorne watched every move I made, measuring out the ingredients, putting them into a pot to warm up, and even helping stir every now and then. Once it was done, I moved it over to the side to allow it to cool a bit more before putting the drink into the mugs.

“Now here’s the fun part. I like to add some extra things to mine.”

Hawthorne seemed interested in whatever it was I was going to add.

“I like to take this white stuff, called whipped cream, and put it on top, then add this stuff here called cinnamon. Do you wanna try mine and see if you like it for yours?” I asked, Hawthorne seemed to think deeply about it, furrowed eyebrows, and all then eagerly nodded his head. I carefully handed him my cup and he took a little sip, whip cream getting on his upper lip and nose, then made a loud ‘ahh’ sound after gulping it down.

“I’d like some please!” The boy eagerly handed my mug back and watched me add it to his smaller mug.

We sat side by side sipping at our drinks, Hawthorne’s eyes drooping more and more as he drank before he set his almost empty mug on the counter and yawned.

“Ready to go back to bed?” He seemed a little hesitant and then said something that broke my heart.

“I don’t wanna sleep by myself, I’m scared someone’s going to come and get me.” He didn’t want to make eye contact.

I looked at him a little inquisitively, “Why do you think someone’s coming to get you?”

“Well, I really liked being with Daddy, even if I didn’t get much food. And then you guys came and took my daddy and me, because daddy was being bad. But you have been really nice, and Cassin has been helping me fly, and even though Azzie don’t like me he still lets me play with his shadows, and you guys have food and it’s warm-“ I stopped him before he could continue working himself up.

“Hawthorne, you don’t have to go back to the camp if you don’t want to. You know that right?” I said rubbing his hand in a comforting way.

He seemed sheepish as he nodded then asked, “I would get to stay here with you? And Cassin and Azzie?”

I sighed trying to think of an answer, “I don’t know if you’d get to stay with us. You could go to another place that would love you very much.”

Hawthorne didn’t like that answer. Tears forming in his little hazel eyes, lips wobbling, and I knew I needed to backtrack.

“Hey, how about this buddy?” He sniffed and ran a hand over his eye, “How about we pause this conversation, and me and you go sleep? Then we can talk when I get some answers.” Answers only the Inner Circle could answer.

It took Hawthorne only 20 minutes to fall back to sleep in his room and me another hour lying beside Azriel. It was early morning when I awoke to Azriel getting up himself.

“Think you could call a meeting about little bits?” I asked rubbing my hands down my face.

Azriel sighed and sat back in the bed beside me. “You shouldn’t get attached to him; you know that. And it’s not that I think that he’s going to become his father or that I hate him. I heard you guys’ last night, and what you both talked about.” He sat there for a second licking his lips as I cringed knowing he heard us, “I do like him. He’s a sweet kid, and I’m glad he’s had a better life than most Illyrians-”

I stopped him, “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I know you’re not your father and I should’ve never. Ever. Compared you to him.”

“I know. You were angry and believed you had to defend him. I’m proud of you for that. But if you really want to discuss what happens with him, then I think we should talk.” Azriel said, grabbing my hand and holding it as he laid back across my stomach.

I nodded, and we started talking. About all outcomes for Hawthorne. What would happen to him, how he’d be raised, all of it. Then we went to the River House. And I joined the Inner Circle as we talked about him. Rhysand’s concerns, Amren’s and Mor’s surprise, Feyre’s support in what would happen, and how it would all be dealt with.

At the end we had an answer.

It was later in the day that I asked Hawthorne if he wanted to go walk around town with Azriel. I was slowly walking behind as Azriel walked somewhat awkwardly with the boy, talking with him as Hawthorne was eagerly pointing around at different shops.

Hawthorne’s eyes widened and grabbed Azriels’ hand, the older Illyrian tensing up at the innocent little child grabbing his scarred hands and dragged him over to a bakery to press his face into the window and stare at the sweets.

“Can we go in there?” Hawthorne asked eagerly looking between Azriel and me. Azriel looked to me for some guidance, letting me control the situation. Nodding my head, Azriel led the three of us into the bakery and let the boy pick what he wanted and got me my favorite treat too.

I led Hawthorne back outside so we could eat, take in the sights, and talk to Hawthorne like we needed to.

“Hey Hawthrone, remember the conversation from last night? Can me and Azriel talk to you about it?” Hawthrone seemed more downtrodden at the reminder of last night but nodded his head.

“Hawthorne, I got to visit your dad before we left, and I just wanted you to know that he isn’t going to be able to come home. And because of that, we need to find you a good home.” Azriel started out, not telling the boy his father wasn’t going to come home. Rhys did have to make an example and couldn’t just pardon him because he had a son.

“Azriel and I have been talking with some people, and we’re wondering what you want to do,” I said, handing the boy a napkin to clean his face as he ate. He glanced between Azriel and me, then down at the table.

“Where would I go if Daddy can’t take me?” he asked shyly.

“Well, we could find you a loving home here, in the city. Where you would be cared for and get to learn all kinds of things with kids your age and everything. Another choice is we find you a home back at your camp, somewhere that’d be able to care for you, and you’d get to be with other Illyrians your age.” Hawthorne seemed to think the two options over. Then Azriel looked at me and I nodded.

“Or” Azriel started, “You could stay with us, and we could raise you. Then you’d stay with Cassian and us, get to meet the High Lord and Lady, and all our friends, while going to school here in Velaris. And in a few years, we’d take you to a camp called Windhaven and you’d train to be a warrior.” Hawthorne’s eyes got wider and wider as Azriel continued, looking back and forth between us two, his grin starting to match mine.

“So. Which would yo-“ Azriel didn’t finish as the tiny Illyrian lunged over the table into both of us.

“YOU I WANNA STAY WITH YOU!” Hawthorne yelled excitedly, gripping the both of us as I laughed.

Azriel looked at me, love flowing down the bond and him receiving the same back from me at the new addition to the family.

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part five

art by the incredibly talented @piaart!

author’s note: finally have this finished but man is it hard to be satisfied. i keep wanting to work on it and work on it but i also really wanted to get this out! also don't even know if this is good teehee. lots of awkward here. 4.9k words. part one/two/three/four. ao3 linky.

The date is going surprisingly well. You chose an Italian spot (ha!) and have had your fill of lobster ravioli and Cabernet Sauvignon all while you learned more about Dylan since he graduated high school. Went to a state school in the middle of bumblefuck, drank and drank some more, got overly into the college culture (emphasis on cult) and tipped a few cows in his time. It aligns perfectly with the slivers of information Catherine gave you through the years, though he’s mentioned nothing of the steady college girlfriend he supposedly had. Interesting. You laugh at his dumb jokes. You’re smiley. But it does feel like an act that’s partially fueled by alcohol and having someone’s attention on you.

He’s still talking but you’re admiring his small, button nose, how his brunette locks shape his face and his bright smile. You can’t help but think his face is a little too smooth, though. Has this boy been through anything meaningful? Has he suffered at all in his shiny little life? Your mind drifts back to Terzo’s rough hands and how they felt on you earlier that day. He forced you to your knees and it was clear that it wasn’t the first time he’s done so. You can still taste him on your tongue.

“You haven’t told me about your job! Aren’t you like an assistant?” Dylan snaps you out of it and you offer a shy smile.

“Yeah! I had to get out of that call center, man. It was like draining my life force. Not that this isn’t difficult but it’s nice to not be yelled at by some rando on the phone for hours a day.” You toy with your glass of wine.

“So, like what do you assist in? Is it just you?”

Huh. You’ve never really explained exactly what you do to anyone. Not even Catherine or Erica — you only really focused on Him. That won’t go over too well in this situation, will it?

“It’s just me and it’s mainly house maintenance right now. My boss’ place was a disaster when I started.” Perhaps the most watered down description of your job.

“So you’re like… you’ve cleaned it up?” There’s judgment in his voice that’s immediately sobering. He stares at you blankly.

“I guess I meant more like projects. The last big one was fixing up his yard. I had to manage the budget and scheduling of the landscapers and stuff.” Your voice is flat.

“Oh, okay gotcha.” Dylan nods and he is back to smiling. You’re seething on the inside. Was your answer acceptable to him? “What’s your boss like? Is he a guy?”

What the.

“Yeah, he’s a guy. He’s a little weird. Definitely eccentric. I’ve tried not to pry too much into his personal life, you know. Boundaries and all that, but when I first started he had me sort out some of his things and it looked like he used to be the lead singer in a band.” Another oddly phrased question. At least now you’ve been prompted to bring up the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Oh, shit! That sounds awesome! What band?”

Oh, do you hesitate. A long silence stretches between you two.

“I’m… I’m not sure I should say. I don’t want to blow up his spot or anything.” You’re sheepish suddenly and Dylan notices.

“Aw, come on. Who am I gonna tell?” A good question. You drum your fingers on the table, thinking about how you’ve never really told anyone who your boss actually is.

“Catherine will tell me if she finds out.” A warning, last one until the big reveal. Dylan nods enthusiastically, some of his hairs falling into his forehead. For a split second you think that maybe if you were younger with much less life experience perhaps he would be perfect for you. But you know too much and you know that he wouldn’t be able to give you what you want. “It was Ghost.”

“Oh.” He makes a face and leans back in his chair.

“Oh? Sorry, is that not impressive enough?”

“No, no. It’s still cool. They’re just… I don’t know.”

Do you continue this conversation? Do you care what he thinks? You don’t…but your curiosity gets the better of you.

“What is it, Dylan? Are they lame? I’ve tried to… you know, not dig too deep into it because I feel like that would affect my professionalism.” That and you didn’t want to completely pry into the man’s life.

“Oh, I get that. Uhhh, I mean they’re not REALLY metal. They say they’re metal but they’re not so it’s just a little weird.” He shrugs and crosses his arms. You knit your brows together because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“Right. Okay.”

“Yeah, I mean, they are basically like pop. Not metal, not at all.” He sounds so impassioned and you nod along but it feels inappropriate. Why is he so pressed? It turns you off even more and you do everything in your power to get this date wrapped up. You are done drinking and you’re too full for dessert. Responses shorten and eventually you’re out front on the sidewalk waiting for an Uber. Dylan has insisted on waiting with you and hovers just a bit too closely by your side. He seems a little oblivious to how this date has gone, bless his heart.

“Well, this is me.” Awkward, so awkward. You move to get into the car but Dylan stops you by your arm and leans in for a kiss. It’s truly over before it starts, a quick peck before he pulls away with a smirk. You are dying on the inside.

“We’ll hang out again soon, yeah?”

“Sure. Yes.” You lie and hurry into the Uber, wanting nothing more than this wretched day to finally end.

Terzo blinks awake. The cool air of the night pricks his cheeks. Leaves crunch beneath his soggy socks. He coughs, blood spilling from his mouth and splattering on his thick chest hair. A robe hangs loosely from his shoulders. Terzo’s eyes drift down to his hand to see he’s wearing his black gloves with sharp, golden nails. He squints and there’s something black stuck to one of the points. Gaze drifts to where he is. His driveway. A breeze rolls by that sends shivers down his spine as his eyes focus on your car.

He’s slashed one of your tires.

Terzo cackles wildly upon this realization. This is new even for him and his weird, otherworldly tendencies. Could be straight up mental illness. He takes a few lumbering steps forward before crouching to eye the tire, surveying the damage. Completely shredded with the rim touching the ground. There’s a familiar buzzing in his skull, a buzz that he used to get while performing. How far he had fallen. Still, he’s delighted with himself. A fitting punishment for the way you crushed him earlier. What hubris you had for leaving your car on his property. Rage shoots through him for a quick moment, the thought of you spending the night with your date crossing his mind. Would this boy drop you off in the morning? He could plan for that.

In his fits of unsatisfying sleep, ideas for being cruel sprang to his mind. He’s settled on ignoring you for most of tomorrow, to have you toil away waiting for any kind of attention but to no avail. Terzo would be watching you the whole day, of course, hidden away in dark corners and peering down from atop the grand staircase. He has always been the best at sneaking around undetected out of all of his brothers, having avoided so many moments where his father could have reamed him out due to this expertise. Primo and Secondo weren’t so lucky.

Sharp pang in his chest from thinking about them.

No, no. He must focus on you. He pushes the thoughts back to the void. You’ll be trapped here at the end of your workday because of this, wouldn’t you? That’s when he’ll reveal himself. He’ll torture you. Tease the information of your date out of you.

How well could it have gone when you are so devoted to him?

The house is cold without him, a shiver running down your spine every time you found yourself in a dark corridor. You try to keep your thoughts to a minimum and are somewhat thankful that the contractor was able to come today. He’s a quiet man but seems to enjoy your cheerfulness which breathes life into an otherwise miserable day. Between directions and answering questions, you would wander the first floor and hover by the stairs, listening for any signs of life only to hear silence. The last time you saw him flits through your mind — the pressure of the hand on your neck that forced you to the ground seconds after he angrily spat in your face seconds after he kissed you. What the hell. You should be furious at him for treating you that way, for leaping over the carefully placed boundaries the two of you have been dancing around for weeks.

But instead you sigh dreamily. You burn for him. Cheeks grow hot just from thinking about his rough hands on you. You hope he’s okay. And you’re sure he is, he’s a big boy.

The fact that you’re more worried about his feelings than you are about potentially losing your job over this is not lost on you. You’ve lived in constant fear of getting fired over the smallest mistakes since the start of this job but you are oddly calm about this situation. This feels like a natural progression. There was going to be a time where you had to confront this strange connection and you would rather it happen sooner rather than later with the way things have been going. As painful as it would be (emotionally AND financially) to say goodbye to him maybe it would be best for it be sooner rather than later.

The day goes by at a painfully slow pace with no sign of him. Anxiety builds and builds as you watch your clock tick down on your phone. You’ve taken to painstakingly wiping down every single mirror on the first floor (there is an absurd amount of them) because it takes up time and gives you something to focus one. After a while interacting with the contractor becomes painful for you, too heightened to be able to function in a normal social setting. You send him home early with a smile, being Friday and all, and you continue carrying out your mirror mission. This takes you to around 4:30 at which point you say “fuck it” and decide it’s time for bed! What is the point of even being here anymore when you could be under your comforter with a pint of chocolate chip ice cream as you ponder your existence?

It was an easy decision.

You meander out the front door, making sure not to slam it shut but have it at least be somewhat loud to announce your exit. Yes, you are stooping that low. A quick wave of relief washes over you because you made it. The day is over and while the issue looms you are at least out of his domain. Car keys jingle in your pocket. You make quick work of the walk from the porch to your car until the state of your tire stops you in your tracks.

“Oh my god!” You’re in disbelief. It’s like an animal chewed through the rubber. Your rim is on the ground. Tears start to well up in your eyes. This is it. This is the thing that’s pushed you over the edge today. A frustrated screech bubbles up your chest.

“Come back inside.”

You freeze as soon as you hear his voice. Spinning on heel, you turn to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, leaning against a column on the porch. His dress shirt is the darkest black you’ve ever seen, partially unbuttoned to show off thick chest hair and cut slacks show off his strong thighs. Did he get dressed up for you? His paint is crisp and hair is slicked back neatly. Fuck, he looks good*.*

“I can get an Uber?” A question as if you’re asking him permission, taking a few tentative steps towards him.

“Hmmm. No. I’ll call you a driver.” A rough response but you can’t help but feel warmth blossom in the pit of your stomach. “Get back inside.” Terzo growls, his gaze stern and pointed. He leaves you alone in his front yard. You feel silly by how hard your heart hammers in your chest but this is what you’ve been wanting all day. A moment passes by and you work up your courage to go inside and take your punishment. Thoughts of your shredded tire fade.

You walk inside the foyer and follow the sound of clinking glasses, finding him at the bar in the den. Terzo’s gaze falls to you then he directs you to the couch with his eyes. You silently follow the order and sit on one of the couch cushions furthest away from him. There’s a lump in your throat, fidgeting with your hands as you wait for him to join you. Eventually he turns around to face you with two drinks in his hand, one a red martini with a lime green umbrella and the other a pint full of something gross looking - not beer but still brown? His face is blank and you try to match his energy but it’s hard to keep your blush at bay. You reach out to take the martini from him but he pulls it back out of your grasp and instead presses the pint into your hand. The smell fills your nostrils: whiskey. Yuck. He runs a hand through his hair as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, allowing for plenty of space between you two.

“You’ve called the driver already, right?”

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes but you’re still not sure you believe him.

Terzo’s arm stretches across the back of the couch, gloves just brushing your shoulder. Your grip on your whiskey tightens. This isn’t his usual charming aloofness, there’s something cold and cruel bubbling beneath the surface. Still, you want nothing more than to speak to him, even if he’s obviously pissed at you. He lifts his other hand up to his face, admiring the sharp golden nails adorned to his leather gloves. Eyes slowly drag from them to settle on you, gaze so piercing and yet uninterested in you.

“So, you had him pick you up here, si?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Drink.” He points at your glass and narrows his eyes. Not playing around. You do as he says and take a sip. “Keep drinking.” Lip twitches in a faint show of satisfaction as you bring the glass up back to your lips and take a deep gulp. There’s delight in his eyes and you’re more than happy to play the game just to see more of it. Your eyes twitch and you cough once you set the glass, the whiskey burns your throat.

“It was convenient for him.” Words are rough from the sting of alcohol.

“Ohh, was it now?” Terzo growls and digs his nails into the couch, tearing into the fabric. The sound gives you goosebumps. You open your mouth but he’s too quick. “Finish your drink.” He snaps, daggers for eyes that sends a chill down your spine. You swallow thickly and toy with your glass with the tips of your fingers before bringing it back up to your lips. Head tips back, the room swirls and you swallow down the rest of the liquid.

“Gross. Ugh.” Grimacing as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “It’s less of a drive for him and I’m a pushover, okay?” You sigh, only partially joking. His eyes noticeably soften. You sink deeper into the cushion. “I said yes to this date because it was with my best friend’s older brother who I’ve known forever and I’ve always had a crush on him.” Terzo’s fingers shift from the couch to your shoulder, his nails just short of tearing through your shirt, his anger coming back up to a simmer just below the surface, but you continue on unafraid.

“I had to see what would happen. You have to understand… you build the thing up in your head as something perfect and special but then when you actually actually experience it…” You deflate and you eyes wander away from him, wanting to look anywhere else. “It’s never as good as you imagined it. Plus, he was a garbage kisser.” You immediately regret the words as soon as you say them. They hang heavy in the air and the air catches in your lungs. You feel him shift on the couch but you can’t bring yourself to look until his his hand curls around by back of your neck and forces you to look at him. Eyes sharp like knives.

“You let him kiss you.” A statement, not a question. Terzo makes you watch as he slinks closer to you. There’s like a current coming off of him right now that has you paralyzed even though you so badly want to protest. You whimper, words getting caught in your throat as he reaches for you. He grabs you by your waist with the tips of his claws poking against your skin, that delicious danger teasing you as always. “How did it compare?” Terzo trills, a charming smile with vicious edge. Hoo boy. Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“It didn’t compare at all.” You whisper as you try to sink as far into the couch as possible. Not because you don’t want to be close to him but you’re confused. Everything about this feels like a trap, like one wrong answer could set him alight but you’re not exactly fighting it. Instincts are telling you to run but you stay exactly where you are. Terzo’s hand drift up your sides, suggestively squeezing you in all the right places until he’s holding you by your shoulders. He’s smiling wider than before and there’s glee in his eyes — he’s pleased with you. A torrent of heat shoots through your core. He doesn’t say anything, merely taking in your reactions to his touches. His finger tips glide across your top, nearly clipping right through it until his hands settle around your throat. He squeezes just enough to make you gasp for air, then leans in to you, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel his hot breath on your lips.

Tease.

“I could hurt you.” Terzo muses against your lips, lashes fluttering and eyes wide. There’s a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. Silence passes comfortably between the both of you as you take in each other’s breaths and warmth.

“I know. I’m… afraid of that. But it’s why I’m here.” You feel drunk, the words just tumbling out of you but you don’t care anymore. He is so close to kissing you that you can nearly taste him but instead he pulls away with a wry smile.

“Your glass is empty.” Terzo snickers and then jumps up in a way that can only be described as cat-like, snatching the glass from your hands. You’re left hot and bothered as he turns his back to you to saunter over to the bar. Alone with your thoughts while you watch him pour you another generous whiskey. Oh no. Oh no. You can still taste it on your tongue and it is not for you. But when he turns around with the warmth and charm you’ve been wanting all doubts are gone. You’re going to be messy tonight and that’s just that. When he turns back to face you he’s at least given you half of what he did the first time, walking slowly over to where you’re sitting on the couch.

He looms over you as your eyes drift up to meet his gaze and he audibly growls. You suck in a sharp breath, your nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. Terzo lifts a hand up and brushes his thumb along your jaw before tilting your chin up. He brings the glass to your lips and tips it back. You part your lips, the whiskey burning as it spills down your throat. He continues to pour until you can’t keep up with it and it leaks out of your mouth and down your cheeks. You gasp and he flings the glass down onto the side table as he crushes his mouth against yours, unable to keep away from you any longer.

And you certainly don’t care that he all but purrs into your mouth, soft lips moving against yours. He cups your face with his gloved hands, leather thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he slips onto the couch beside you without breaking the kiss. Fingers curl around his wrist and you press in close to him, losing yourself in how he tastes. His velvety tongue probes your mouth as the kiss grows in intensity. Deep pants try to keep your feet on the ground but you’re off in space, exhaustion and comfort mixing in a way that has you floating. Terzo pulls away from the kiss and you can hardly open your eyes. He gently guides your head to his chest, stroking his fingers through your hair.

“You never called me a driver did you?”

“Oh no. Never considered it.” Terzo squeezes you in his arms.

Oh, he’s so warm. A rumbling groan falls from your lips as his wraps his arms around you, just holding you there. Your limbs relax and you sink deeper into his chest as he starts to rubs up and down your back. In that moment you know you’re a goner. A deep, sleepy sigh falls from your lips and in a matter of minutes you are out cold.

Terzo almost feels guilty for being such an ass. Almost. He feels for you, he can relate to realizing that something isn’t all it was cracked out to be. At least for you it was a childhood crush and not being raised for one person. But still, he was a tad mean wasn’t he? It was necessary and the tension… the tension had been so delicious. Watching you squirm under his intense stare. And you just did what he said, unquestioningly, even when had you drink and drink and drink. Adrenaline is pumping through him and he struggles to contain himself— he must not go any further, despite how tempted he is. He could get away with it. You’re so soft, so pliable and so wanting. Terzo can feel the heat radiating off of you, no doubt from the alcohol and your closeness. He could slip his hand between your thighs and give you exactly what you want.

But it wouldn’t be fair to you. Terzo wants you coherent and focused when he takes you. Plus you’re adorably snuggled against him right now, your soft breaths against his chest. He’s longed for this and you did not disappoint. Wait a minute. Are you sleeping? He is about to fall apart, his arms wrapping so much tighter around you. The urge to keep you safe, to keep you here and never let you leave overcomes him*.* He squeezes your hand that is clutched to his chest and then gingerly picks it up and places it back in your lap.

“Sleepy?”

You lift your heavy head to look at him and good god do you want to be asleep right now. A tender smiles breaks out across his face as he swipes some of your hair from your eyes. A stark contrast from how close he had just been to strangling you.

“Take the guest room tonight, puffetta. I will bring you some clothes.” Terzo pulls himself to his feet. “Meet you up there.” He’s so soft, so different than how torturous he was of you earlier. You’re sure he’s heard what he’s wanted to hear from you but he’s unpredictable. Something you liked about him. There’s an unknown darkness that lies beneath his charm and good looks and it calls out to you. You’ve never felt this way about anyone. How could you ever get away now?

You blink and realize that you’re alone. You’ve been alone. Oh shit. Scrambling off of the couch, you trip over your own feet with the effects of the whiskey hitting you hard.

Ah, the guest room. A cramped space with antique furniture that could use some time and attention. The overall theme of the room is… dust. You’ve brought up having the dresser refinished or even repainted and replacing the peeling wallpaper but it’s low on the list of priorities. You push the door shut and give a soft sigh of relief. Shoes come off. A lamp on the bedside table barely illuminates the room and a folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt are waiting for you on the bed. Eyes scan over the remainder of the comforter and pillows, wondering if anyone had ever slept here. You can’t help the feeling that you’re being watched but maybe the fact that you’re about to wear your boss’ clothes isn’t meshing well with the practically decaying room.

“Whatever.” You huff to yourself and undress with the grace of a toddler, kicking your pants off and throwing your removed clothes into a pile on the ground. Sitting down on the bed, you pull up the sweatpants and they are loose as they settle around your waist. The shirt slips over your head and swallows up your upper body. Did he purposely give you his largest clothing to make you feel small? It is so cozy, though. You wrap your arms around your body and flop back onto the bed, sinking into the softness of the blankets. Comfortable heat spreads across your skin from buzz of the alcohol. Limbs go limp and your eyelids grow heavy, a deep sigh falling from your lips. Fading fast.

The piercing ring of the rotary phone cracks through the air and you jolt upright and wide awake. What the? You don’t remember seeing it when you came in and it’s not like it blends in — it’s bright red with intricate black etchings along the base and the handle of the receiver. Not a speck of dust on it. The phone rings again, somehow louder and more harmful to your ears than before. You blink and suddenly you’re standing directly in front of the dresser with one hand curled around the receiver. Heart is pounding in your chest and ears. Something is calling out to you. Answer it. Answer it. Answerit. answeritansweritansweritanswerit.

You pick up the phone to silence. Then chittering. The receiver is hot on your cheek. Something pricks your ear but you can’t pull away. There’s a squelch. A screech. More screaming. It only gets louder and louder, needles in your ears, pain shooting through your brain. You can’t breathe. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers and shuffle your bare feet against the cold floor, the only thing you’re able to get your body to do other than press the phone so hard against your head. The closer you listen to the screams the more familiar they get, growing in intensity, pain and volume. Burning, the receiver is burning now and yet you can’t move, you can’t get any relief. The phone cord is nearly completely tangled around your wrist and you’re sweating, gasping for breath, and crying without even realizing it. The screams finally subside, replaced by a cold, dead silence.

You hang up the phone.

Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washes over you and you collapse onto the bed. The world spins as you sink into the soft mattress, the dial tone still echoing in your ears.

[xoxoladyaz]

It Hits Different This Time, Part 2

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie x Steve Harrington

TW: Mentions of alcohol, drug abuse

QUICK AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry that the last entry was so angst heavy, I promise this one provides some comfort! Eddie needed to take a big step here and he really, really does. Also, much love to everyone who commented, I've tagged you at the bottom of the post - let me know if anyone else would like to be notified of the next entry!

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

It was another five days before Steve heard from Eddie. Another five torturous days of radio silence, only this time, there wasn’t anything online. No new articles were popping up saying he’d been spotted somewhere, no new TikToks of him meeting fans on the street. The rest of the band was MIA too; Steve had thought about sending Jeff a text to check-in but ultimately decided to wait another couple days. Robin had been texting with Chrissy, after all, and if something bad had gone down, she would know.

When Eddie did finally call, it wasn’t from a number that Steve recognized.

“I’m getting a call from Malibu.”

“Holy shit!” Robin sat up on the other end of the couch and shot him a look. “Okay, just breathe dingus, okay? It’s going to be okay, I’ll be here the whole time.” She squeezed his ankle comfortingly. “You can do this.”

Steve accepted the call with shaky hands and brought his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey Steve.”

He shut his eyes and swallowed, trying to stop his voice from cracking. “Eddie.”

He heard Eddie let out a watery laugh across the line. “Do you, uh, have a minute?”

“Mmmm hmmm,” Steve hummed. He physically couldn’t get an actual word out. 

This was it. Eddie was leaving, he’d cheated, it was over – 

“I’m in rehab.”

Steve’s eyes shot open. “You’re what?”

Robin started rocking back and forth. “Turn it up!” She hissed, and Steve obliged, turning up his volume so she could just barely hear what was being said. (Was this a private conversation? Yes. Did Eddie know he’d probably immediately tell Robin everything? Also yes. 

Was this news big enough to warrant having Robin eavesdrop?

Absolutely yes.)

“Yeah, I’m, uh, at the Promises Treatment Center in Malibu,” Eddie continued. “We got back about five days ago and when I saw your note, I – 

“Look, Steve,” Eddie continued, and his voice was choked up, like he himself couldn’t speak, “I fucked up. I’ve fucked everything up. You are – you said in that note that you didn’t want me to give up on my dreams, and you’re right, making it big and getting famous for my music was my dream for literal years. Because I kept thinking “once I get a record out there,” “once I go on tour,” “once I win a Grammy,” “once I get a million dollars,” then I’d finally be happy. 

“But it turns out the only thing being famous has done is make me pretty fucking miserable,” Eddie let out a harsh laugh. “But I was so goddamn convinced that this was it, you know, that I’d accomplished my dreams so I must be happy that I started taking whatever I could get my fucking hands on to make me feel that way. The thing is drugs and the alcohol and the parties never made it fucking last. It just made every other second that I was in the public eye that much worse.

“But I’d still made it, you know? I felt like I didn’t deserve to feel this fucking miserable. And everyone back home was so fucking proud and I didn’t want to let them down - ” Eddie paused for a few moments to clear his throat before continuing. “I didn’t want to let you down. Because Eddie “The Freak��� Munson didn’t deserve you, but maybe Eddie “The Rock Star” could.”

Steve can feel his own throat closing up and he can barely see Robin’s face, his eyes are watering that bad. “Baby,” he sobbed. “I wish you’d told me.”

“Me too,” Eddie sniffled across the line. “I didn’t though, I just kept self-medicating and ignoring it, because that’s always worked,” he huffed sarcastically. “But then - ” Eddie cut off again, and Steve can hear that he’s trying so hard to hold back his own sobs, “then I came home last week and realized that I’d missed our goddamn anniversary because I was too fucking high and that you were gone and I just – I called Jeff and I told him to get me on a plane out here because you – you, Steve Harrington, you are the best thing in my goddamn life. And the only dream I want to chase now is the one where we get married and adopt some kids and grow old together.”

“Eddie,” Steve sobbed out again, and he heard Eddie start to cry too, and then suddenly they were crying together, even from hundreds of miles away.

“So I’m gonna be here for the next six weeks,” Eddie finally continued, his voice still full of tears. “I’m, uh, meeting with a therapist for a few hours every day and working through my shit. I wanna be a guy who deserves good things, baby. I wanna be a guy who deserves you.”

“What – what about the band?” Steve sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. A handful of Kleenex appeared in front of him. Robin must have gotten up to grab them at some point. He shot her a thankful nod and patted at his eyes; Robin nodded back and did the same, her face flushed that bright shade of red that accompanied her own tears.

“Murray wrote a provision into our contract where if one of us checks into rehab, then the band is instantly put on a two-year, non-negotiable hiatus.”

“But – what about your momentum, the label kept talking about it?”

“The label can go fuck themselves” Eddie practically growled over the phone. “Who do you think hosted the party where I first got my hands on the hardcore stuff anyways?”

“Babe - ”

“Murray said he was going to look into some sort of contract termination so we can sign somewhere else. And even if we didn’t have that thing written into our contract, we probably would have gone on hiatus anyways, or worse. That – the last leg was rough. Gareth was just as fucked up as I was and Jeff was fucking pissed. He kept having to pull Gareth out of orgies and shit while babysitting Phil and I too.”

“Did,” Steve swallowed harshly, “did - ”

“No, baby, never,” Eddie declared quickly. “Even when I couldn’t fucking see straight, you were the only one I wanted to be with. I honestly don’t even know who we were partying with at the end there, the label sent them for some PR shit, I don’t know. It’s just another reason why we want out.”

“Oh,” Steve murmured, “okay. Good. Or, well, not good. You know.”

“Yeah, baby, I do,” Eddie replied softly. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, just listening to each other breathe. “I, uh,” Eddie started up again quietly, “I’m wearing the ring.”

“Yeah?” Steve found himself smiling despite the fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice was just as choked up as before. “It’s perfect. You’re��perfect.”

“Eddie - ”

“Look, I know, I know I hurt you so, so badly and I’m never going to fucking forgive myself for what I did, but I – you’re everything I want, baby. If I had to give up Corroded Coffin tomorrow for you, I would do it in a heartbeat. And I – I know I can’t expect for you to just, like, forgive me after the shit I pulled, but – will you be there, when I get out? Can I – I want to come home to you,” Eddie finished, and Steve could hear that he was crying again.

Steve looked over at Robin, who was wiping more tears out of her own eyes. They looked at each other for a few moments.

It might be crazy, but I think I want to say yes.

I don't blame you. I mean, this is one hell of an apology, especially from Mr. “I’ll Never Need to Go to Rehab Ever.”

Yeah. And I love him.

And you love him.

“I’ll be there,” Steve murmured reassuringly, and Eddie burst into a new wave of muffled sobs on the other end of the phone. “Just do what you need to do and come home when you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting for home.”

“At home?” Eddie’s voice broke on a whimper.

“At home. I’ll even clean the bathrooms and everything,” Steve joked, and Eddie let out a loud laugh despite the quiet sobs Steve could still hear. 

“Really? You’ll be there?”

“Yeah, Eddie. I’ll be there. We can get through this.”

“Together.”

“Together. Because I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.”

“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie let out an incredulous laugh again, “I love you so fucking much, baby. I’m going to marry the fuck out of you someday.”

“Save the sweet talk for when you get home, okay?” Steve could feel his heart settling in his chest, and whatever tears he’d had left to cry were all gone now. There was just the twinge of missing Eddie, but that would go away soon enough. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eds.”

“Thanks, baby.” Eddie’s answer was soft now. “So I, uh, get a couple hours to call people every day from one of the site’s phones. Can I keep calling you?”

“Please,” Steve heard Eddie exhale in relief. “Every day sounds perfect.”

“Good, good. I’ll have to, uh, use some of my time to talk to Wayne, but the rest of it is yours, baby. And Gareth, Jeff threw him into a different center too. His check-in was much less voluntary though.”

“Shit,” Steve winced. “Is there anything Robin or I can do to help?”

“Take Jeff and Chrissy out to a nice dinner and use the Amex,” Eddie snorted, causing Steve to laugh.

“Consider it done.”

“Good." Steve heard the sound of another voice behind Eddie. Eddie replied something Steve couldn't understand, but it was in the affirmative. "Doc says my time is up for today. My, uh, talk with Wayne took up a lot of time,” Eddie returned, and his voice trembled as he spoke. “But I’ll call you tomorrow and I’ll see you in six weeks.”

“Yes you will.” Steve shut his eyes and imagined Eddie was standing right in front of him. Eddie with his riotous curls and holey graphic tees and tight jeans. Eddie with his rings on his fingers, with Steve’s ring on his finger. Eddie, standing across from him and smiling at him with that twinkle in his eye that had first caught Steve’s attention all those years ago. 

“I love you, Eds.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Tags List: @gregre369 @starman-jpg @skoomy-doompy @thequeenrainacorn @sleepyboosstuff @strawberrykore @paintsplatteredandimperfect @amoris-no-smut-allowed @steve-the-hairrington @iknewyouweremuggle @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sunfloweringstories @loverkasp @hyperfixationgoddess @steddie-as-they-go @zerokrox-blog @messrs-weasley @thelittleclare @lovelyscot

[itsabouttimex2]

A Brand New Journey:

Part Six

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six)

(Got requested to make a Shadowpeach bot, thought I’d drop it here. And speaking of bot requests, drop yours here!)

“C’mon, kiddo. It’s a simple question. I’m not gonna get mad, I promise.”

You take a moment to think. There’s… a lot to say, isn’t there? Having known the monkey for just over a year now, there’s not much of yourself that’s been unshared. How many times did you bare your heart to this man?

…and would one more really hurt?

Swallowing the last bit of a white chocolate and caramel mooncake, you set down the stained napkin it was held in and throw the pastry back with a sip of tea. Deep breaths, now.

You’ve been meaning to say it for a while now, anyways.

“…you’re the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man’s heart crack before.

But there’s an eventual moment there, after the initial jerk of his body, after the instinctive clench of his hand, after the flinch spurred by the mooncake’s insides spilling onto his lap… that Macaque softens.

“…I am?” Is the first question, and his voice is soft, feathery and wavering. This isn’t what he expected. This isn’t what he prepared for.

What you’ve said slides far past the realm of all his schemes and carefully curated words, all his fastidious planning.

How could he have expected this?

You were supposed to respect him! Fear him!

But what you feel for him is- is a word he hasn’t said for a very long time. It’s a word he hasn’t even thought of.

Hotter than hatred. Deeper than despair.

Love.

The word leaves his chest empty, his breath spent. God, it hurts.

When was the last time he was loved? When, without hesitation he was adored? When he was Wanted?

“…kid. C’mere.”

Macaque doesn’t wait for a response- he slings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you flush, the thrum of his heart speeding up at the closeness.

You’re one of the only good things he has. He’s lost or destroyed or driven away the rest, all that was or could have been. Macaque doesn’t like to think of his sins- it’s easier to play the victim card.

If he thinks of Sun Wukong as the bad guy, it’s easier to live with what he’s done. To live with manipulating and betraying and stealing and trying to kill. If he throws all the blame onto the Monkey King, then Macaque can pretend to be a good person.

Paint himself white. Paint Wukong black. Ignore the unevenly gray reality.

And he can live with hurting innocent people and destroying their homes and stealing their powers and trying to take their lives.

(But something deep down knows and burns with the knowledge that he’s more monster than man, that he lost all right to be loved with the worst of his unrepentant actions.)

(It aches a little more that uncaring and unregretted deception is what led you to him.)

(He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve anyone. And he knows that it’s wrong to utilize shrouds and veils to keep you in the dark, that it’s wrong to manipulate you, that it’s wrong to groom you into being his shadowy successor, into inheriting his selfish hatred.)

(But when has a villain ever cared about being wrong?)

Macaque rather quickly shoves you away , jumping to his feet with a fanged and glittering grin.

“Stay here, kid. I’m gonna grab you something I’ve been putting together, okay?”

With a curt nod you settle into place, taking the opportunity to stretch and yawn. You had been getting tired, and take this opportunity to reach for the lotus paste mooncake you had been nibbling on- only to find it gone.

Funny. You don’t remember finishing it.

And… there’s a blanket around your shoulders. Did Macaque put it there? You certainly don’t remember something like that happening.

Maybe things had just gotten so cozy that you drifted off for a minute or two, and he had left to fetch you the black and purple quilt.

That was probably it, yeah.

You shrug the weighty comforter from your shoulders, hoping to shake the supposed sleep from your eyes. In hopes of waking up a little further, you stride to the potted plants that had become a fixture in Macaque’s house.

Beneath the brilliantly blooming tansies and dahlias, red roses have begun to sprout and bud, colorful petals peeking from underneath their green sheathes.

Stuffing in a few spikes of fertilizer, you sprinkle the soil with a light dousing of water.

The thing that breaks you from the quaint task is the telltale chime of your phone, an old song playing loudly. But it doesn’t play very long- it seems your calls don’t hold for very long anymore.

———————————————————————-

Rumble and Savage don’t know much about the world yet. There’s a lot to catch up on, in this new world of neon and metal.

Little glittering rectangles that beam light through black screens and send sound miles away in an instant.

“Phones,” Macaque had called them, dangling yours by the bejeweled strap. Both items had been a gift from Mei, a girl you were well on track to becoming friends with. “Hit this button if it starts making noise. I don’t want anything taking the kid’s attention away.”

Seeing no reason to argue with their creator, both had wholeheartedly agreed to keep vigil over your electric-filled “phone” and hit the de-activating lever when it sounded.

Like this moment right now.

Together, they scrabble to unlock the phone, clawed fingers moving just out of sync as the two simians work to punch in your passcode.

Once it’s open, Savage rips the phone from his younger brother’s hands, boosting himself into your bed to put some distance between him and his junior shadow.

As Rumble tries to climb the bed himself in opposition to his brother’s lashing tail, Savage takes note of a little red dot in the bottom right corner of your screen.

An incoming call. From MK.

The elder of the two goes still for a moment, then snaps his claw against the power button harshly enough to leave a scratch through the metal nub. Angered by the mere sight of an enemy’s name, Savage slings the phone down and snags his little brother by the hair, dragging him into the shadows as Rumble squeals and struggles.

———————————————————————-

Right when you go to figure out what happened with your phone in the guest room, Mavaque rounds the corner with a bundle of neatly folded cloth.

“Running off already?” The simian lightheartedly asks, using his tail to snag your wrist. He doesn’t hesitate to drag you closer, pushing the outfit into your arms.

“Go get changed,” is the command he gives, before you can start asking questions. “Bathroom is that way, remember? Hurry it up!”

A push to the north, and you’re stumbling into the tiled room before realizing what’s happening. It seems sometimes as though your hands move of their own will and volition when Macaque gives you a command.

The garb is easy to put on, a black and yellow ru. Though you fumble the sash, the bandana comes easily around your throat. Black boots with gold brim. Red pants.

You look like a little “Mini Macaque”, or a very seasoned cosplayer.

“C’mon, kid! Hurry it up and come here!”

You stumble from the bathroom and into the living room once more, unsteady with the new gear. Macaque snags you close again and rights the sash, then flops back down onto his cushion.

He never been this excited before.

Something’s up.

“I want to tell you a little tale- come and sit with me, kiddo.”

Macaque pats the cushion nearest to his own, looking almost soft again. He’s already got the blanket in his hands, ready to unfold and drape it around your shoulders.

[nico-di-genova]

Rossi lore drop night!! Let’s go!!

He likes musicals and his favorite Christmas movies are (as an adult) Four Christmases, (as a kid) Miracle on 34th Street, and The Santa Clause. He watches Die Hard every year because of his friend group, and is on the fence about it being qualified as a Christmas movie (as he should be!).

Likes ASMR cooking videos

First vehicle was a Chevy Silverado (country boy, I love youuuuu)

Adding to the Rossi is an insane person who sleeps in frighteningly low temperatures - Alex has said that 53 degrees was the recorded lowest he’s gotten his house too, and liked it. Also, James mentioned staying at a place where the nest thermostat was locked, it could not be set below 72. Alex, in his own words, said, “do you know what I would have done? I would have gone to Home Depot, bought at 250 dollar nest, pulled theirs out and installed my own.” Just put him in a block of ice at this point, I think that is the only place he will find true comfort.

Go to meal at Applebees is the bourbon street chicken.

Doesn’t eat breakfast, but according to James does consume an “ungodly” amount of caffeine before races. Alex himself has said caffeine pills and Tylenol are often the only thing in his system during a race. Are we shocked? No. Are we concerned? Maybe.

Some local reporter at south by southwest last year introduced him as “Andrew Rossi, arrow McLaren team member”. They also mentioned he was “excited to experience the Indy 500 for the first time.” So anyway, people started calling Alex “Andrew” on Twitter and it really pissed him off. To which, James and Tim picked on him for a solid five minutes, because had he not said anything, most people wouldn’t have known about this and thus the lame joke would have died quicker. He is his own worst enemy 😭. Anyway, don’t call him Andrew, it’s not his name and he was legitimately getting pissed.

Cannot remember if I’ve already shared this one to save my life, so here’s a potential repeat. Alex is the epitome of Christian girl autumn. He once spent the whole day with Becky (JUST him and Becky) where they went to the apple orchard. He tried an apple cider slushy for the first time and an apple donut. They then went and played cornhole in downtown Carmel. He paid for Becky the whole day and when he tried to Apple request James for the money James rejected it and essentially told him to fuck off. Anyway, he’s one of the girlies when it comes to fall.

[mightiermarvel]

Shawn Michael’s Playgirl interview ft a pretty good shot ;)

Transcript under the read more:

…on the road–and I enjoy every minute of it. Being the World Wrestling Federation Champion, traveling around the world and performing for lots and lots of people is everything I ever wanted. But someday, I would like to be married, have kids, and have somewhat of a normal life. I dont know how normal I can be, but maybe I can get pretty close. 

PG: How far down the road is this normal life?

SM: Realistically, four or five years. I’ve always said that as far as wrestling was concerned, I was going to get out of the ring full time by the age of 35. 

PG: Were you the proverbial “98-pound weakling” in high school? How did you end up doing this?

SM: No, I wasn’t. I certainly wasn’t the biggest guy, but I was the biggest on our football team. I saw wrestling for the first time when I was 12 years old–the first time I got to stay up late–and it hit me just like that. I knew right away. From that point on, wrestling never drifted away from my thoughts. I continued to play football until I graduated, but it was always in the back of my mind that I was going to be the WWF Champion–champion of the entire world. 

PG: Does the idea of somebody biting at your heels, the next WWF Champion wanna-be, ever worry you?

SM: You know what? I don’t think so. I’m just confident in my ability. I don’t sweat anybody. Nobody can wrestle longer than I can, nobody can make people yell louder than me for more. And if they can, I just work harder….

PG: Does that translate into the bedroom as well?

SM: Yeah! (laughs) I’m an athlete, for God’s sake. 

PG: Many of your fans are female. What’s the most outrageous thing one has ever done to catch your eye?

SM: That would be lifting up her shirt and exposing herself to myself–and the rest of the people in the building. It was a long time ago. 

PG: Where were you?

SM: I can’t remember the location. I just remember those two very “subtle” things.

PG: How subtle were they?

SM: (Laughs) Not very. 

PG: Were they gifts from Mother Nature or did they have gravitational help?

SM: No, these were from Mother Nature, actually. But either/or–Mother Nature or with help–is fine with me. I’m pretty liberal. 

PG: Do women approach you more these days?

SM: Yes, and I like that. I like someone else breaking the ice. If I mess up from there, it’s my fault. (laughs)

PG: Tell me the last pick-up line that worked on you.

SM: I won’t repeat it, but it was very direct. She just out and out asked me. 

PG: Did she ask you out or ask you for something else?

SM: She asked for the whole kit and caboodle. 

PG: A basic “I want you.”

SM: More direct.

PG: “I want to ‘bleep’ you?”

SM: That’s the one. 

PG: Was it a kind of fill-in-the-blank?

SM: That’s what made it even funnier. It was multiple choice. Which was nice, but….

PG: It sort of took the mystery out of it?

SM: Yeah, not a whole lot of adventure or wondering there. I prefer as [continued on next page]

Text over large Shawn in a towel picture: “At the last pay-per-view event, I pulled everything down and draped the belt across me….My mom didn’t appreciate that too much”

SM:...much mystery as possible. Slow is fine with me. I’m in no hurry. My life’s in too much of a hurry as it is, and I’m way past the romping-in-the-sack-just-for-the-fun-of-it stage. Though I was fairly wild from the time I was 19 to maybe 25, 26. 

PG: Did you sow a lot of wild oats?

SM: Not a lot.

PG: One acre, two acres?

SM: Let’s just say I put enough to put a dent in it. I was never under the impression that it was a contest: that one guy was supposed to score more than the next. I’ve just never been into that. It’s not me, it’s not my family, not the way I was raised.

PG: So what’s the first thing that attracts you to a woman?

SM: There’s a bunch of first things. Hair, eyes, brains. And for some reason, I may not be the smartest guy in the world, but I always go for smart girls. Which of course gets me in more trouble.

PG: If you’re so attracted to it, maybe you like being in trouble.

SM: No, I don’t think so….I think women are just smarter than men in general–especially up here on the East Coast. But women seem to be different all around the world. It’s hard to figure it out. You get to a point where you say to yourself, I think I’ve got a handle on this and then you go somewhere else, and you realize, I don’t have a handle at all. I had one back there, anyway. 

PG: Back to the physical. What kind of hair and eyes?

SM: Brunettes first and foremost. That seems to be the pattern. Eyes…not really a color–it’s just something about them, that there’s something behind them. It’s just one of those things that has to hit me immediately. That’s how everything important has been in my life. If I don’t get swept off my feet right away, I figure it isn’t all that real. 

PG: Being the WWF Champion makes you the best-known and most popular wrestler in the world, doesn’t it?

SM: (Modestly) Well, I’d like to think so. 

PG: How do you keep that from messing with your ego?

SM: I’ve been doing this for over 11 years now, so my ego was effected more than enough in the past. (laughs) I think that I’m old enough now that I can handle it without it consuming too much of my life…I hope. 

PG: But the persona of the Heartbreak Kid, from the costumes to the sexy stage moves, seems to be an attempt to turn women on. Is this conscious on your part?

SM: It really isn’t, and it certainly didn’t start out that way. I’m more conscious of it now because more people have made me aware of it. It began as just Shawn going out in front of the crowd and playing around, having fun, showing off–and having the nerve to do something on-camera, in front of lots of people, that he certainly couldn’t do in a more private setting. 

PG: You don’t often see some regular guy walking down the street wearing Spandex pants with a heart on the crotch and one on the butt. We might think that was a bit strange. 

SM: (Laughs) Probably, yes. The World Wrestling Federation provides a wonderful vehicle for me to do something like that, but it’s amazing it’s the only place I can really do it. I don’t go out and dance in nightclubs. I can’t be that way unless I’m in front of 20,000 people. 

PG: OK, so now we know about your public performances, we’ll get to your private ones in a minute…. Do you truly understand the effect you’re having on the women in the audience?

SM: I thought I did, but it seems to be getting bigger and bigger…more overwhelming. Not just with women, but with our fans in general. It’s getting bigger and bigger every day–which is wonderful. You just don’t realize how many people who you appeal to, or who notice you.

PG: It’s a given that women everywhere love you, but since you’re so much “larger than life” how do they react when they meet you in person?

SM: A couple of years ago I didn’t seem to be as intimidating to people as I am now…that is, without trying. But I think that’s just because of where my career has gone. It just sort of comes along with the territory. I was easier to approach before when I was just Shawn out there having fun. I’d hope that would still be the case, but it seems to happen less and less. 

PG: Are they afraid of the title?

SM: I don’t know if it’s that. I mean, I welcome everything that’s going along with this, but it does seem like it’s one or the other: Either they don’t care–which is also fine–or they’re a little nervous or apprehensive about coming up because they’re worried that I might be too busy to speak with them.

PG: Or maybe that you’ll put them in a headlock….

SM: I’d like to make it clear it’s not a fear of me physically. It’s where I’ve been placed in the media, this business and everywhere else. It’s wonderful, but there is the other side to it.

PG: Are you ever worried that people are going to start liking you for what you are rather than who you are?

SM: I figure a certain amount of that happens in this or any other line of work. You have to just be careful. 

PG: Do you have a good radar?

SM: I like to think that I’m pretty intelligent, or at least when it’s happening I know when it’s happening, and if I let it, it’s [continued on next page]

Mid Bottom page block: GET IN ON THE ACTION! PLAYGIRL Magazine and the World Wrestling Federation are giving one lucky reader four free ringside seats to an upcoming WWF event! 

SEE PAGE 103 FOR ENTRY RULES AND ELIGIBILITY 

[cevansbrat0007]

The Green Light

Summary: Full Story! Andy is over the moon when you finally get the green light to be intimate again after the birth of your babies. But how do you explain to him that you're not quite comfortable with your post-pregnancy body just yet? Check out the sequel: The Green Light Afterglow.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Light Smut, Daddy Kink, Insecure Reader, Discussions of Post-Pregnancy Body, Discussions of Intimacy, Slight Lactation Kink Reference, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: I know this took a while. Thank you all for your patience and I sincerely hope it's okay. Prompt courtesy of an anonymous reader. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. Warnings subject to change. All mistakes are my own. Please let me know your thoughts!

___

“Well, I’ve gotta tell you, my dear, by all appearances you’ve healed just fine.” You let out a sigh as Dr. Wilson, your OBGYN, removes the speculum. God, how you hated that thing. “You can go ahead and sit up.” You watch as he removes his gloves to make some notes on his mobile workstation. “Everything looks good. How have you been feeling lately? Raising four kids is no easy feat, especially when half of them are newborns.”

“Andy and I try to split the shifts as best we can. If he’s helping with the twins then I’ve got the older girls, and vice versa.”

“That’s good. One thing I’ve always liked about the two of you is that you believe in teamwork. You’d be surprised at how many couples don’t.” He makes a few more notes. “And how many hours of sleep would you say you get a night? Ballpark it for me if you can.”

“Um…” You have to think about that one. “Maybe five. Yeah, I would say about five hours a night. And I can occasionally squeeze in a quick nap during the day when the twins are sleeping. It doesn’t happen all of the time, but it’s better than nothing.”

The older man nods his head. “And how are Bianca and Katrina adjusting to the new additions? And by the way, don’t forget that you promised to show me pictures, because I certainly haven’t.” Dr. Wilson looks up from his computer and offers you a warm smile.

“I haven’t forgotten, don’t worry.” You tell him with a chuckle. “And they’re okay. Bianca loves to hold them all the time. And Katrina is enjoying being a big sister – she’s very helpful. She wants to play with them so bad, but she doesn’t quite get that they’re still a little too young.”

“I see. And is she still threatening to put A.J. outside?” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he struggles not to laugh just like he had when you’d first relayed your three-year-old’s initial reaction to your pregnancy reveal. 

“Oh, God. She’s only made that threat twice I think since we’ve brought them home. Once when he wouldn’t stop crying. And then again when she wanted to cuddle with me while I was in the middle of a feeding. Other than that, she’s been fine. He’s growing on her.” 

“Glad to hear it.” He mutters. “That’s usually how it goes. Give it a few years, and I bet they’ll be the best of friends.”

God, you sure hoped so. Just last night you had a dream about finding your little boy out in the woods. Except he’d somehow grown a beard, making him look like a baby mountain man. And, of course, he had been clutching that damn blankie too! 

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that I’m officially giving you the all-clear to resume any and all physical activity. If you have any concerns after we’re done here, you know I’m only a phone call away.”

Thank goodness! You couldn’t wait to start working out again. You were tired of rocking stretchy pants and maternity clothes. 

Your phone buzzes in your purse as Dr. Wilson finishes up whatever else he’s typing. It goes on for a while before it finally stops, only to resume buzzing seconds later. 

If you were a betting woman, and you were, you’d put your money on the person behind all the constant buzzing being none other than your husband, Andrew. You knew he’d been waiting for this day. Your man had been extra giddy this morning. So much in fact that you could’ve sworn he’d clicked his heels on his way out the door.

___

Twenty Minutes Later…

You wait to check your phone until after your appointment is over and you're safely back in your car. According to your phone, you have two missed calls from Andy Bear, along with three new texts.  

Andy Bear: Hey, baby girl. How’d the appointment go? Did we get the all clear?

Andy Bear: Can you answer your phone, please? I want to hear your sweet voice when you tell me the good news.

Andy Bear: C'mon! You’ve got me dancing on pins and needles right now. Call me.

You shake your head and then dial your man. He answers on the second ring. 

“There you are, sweetness! I was starting to get worried there for a moment.” The genuine concern in his voice has you playfully rolling your eyes. 

“Relax, Andy. Sometimes these appointments can take a while. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong, Dr. Wilson is just being thorough.” You check your appearance in the rearview mirror, noting that the bags under your eyes seem to look better than they have in days. “That’s part of the reason he’s been my OBGYN for so long, because he’s good at what he does.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s great.” You know he's not being dismissive on purpose, it’s just that he’s chomping at the bit to hear one key piece of information. “How’s your little body? Did we get the green light?”

Ahh, and there it was. Sometimes Andrew Barber was like a dog with a fucking bone. And only your husband would refer to your body as being “little” when you were still walking around sporting maternity wear.  

“I’ve been cleared for all physical activity. Which means I can finally start working out again and –”

“Fuck, yeah we did!” He cheers into the receiver, loud enough to make you wince. “Alright, baby girl, that settles it. BiBi and KitCat are going to my sister’s for a sleepover and the twins will stay at grandma’s. Meanwhile, I’m gonna leave the office early to pick us up some dinner. How about we celebrate with some surf and turf?”

“Oh my god, Andrew! We are not leaving our two newborns at your mother’s house for the night. That’s too much!”

“What if she already said yes?” You have no doubt that your unrepentant husband is smiling hard enough to crack a tooth right about now. 

“You didn’t.” Your head drops to the steering wheel with a light thunk. 

“Oh, I did.” The sound of an eager chuckle spills across the other line. “Ma and Bill are happy to keep Rory and Junior. She said you left them with enough formula and diapers to get ‘em through and that she, and I quote, would be positively heartbroken if you deprived her of time with her precious new grandchildren.”  

“Andy…I don’t know…” As tempting as the thought of a night of uninterrupted slumber was, you were on the fence about being away from your precious babies for that long. 

RoRo needed to be rocked to sleep, while A.J. needed you to pat his little tush and bounce him just so. And they both needed approximately 1,375 kisses every five minutes, otherwise they got fussy. 

“You must really want a good night’s sleep, huh, Big Man?”

“Baby, when I get my hands on you, I promise that sleeping will be the last thing on both of our minds. Now, I’ve gotta run. But I’ll see you home around 4:00pm.”

“Andy…” 

How did you tell your husband that you weren’t really feeling your post-pregnancy body right now? You’d even taken to changing in the bathroom lately. Thankfully he hadn’t seemed to notice that increasingly bad habit of yours…

At least not yet. But it was only a matter of time.

“Hush, sweetness. You just let Daddy take care of everything, okay? I’ve been dreaming of this day for almost two months now, and I plan to take my time loving all over every inch of your delectable body. And what’s more, you’re going to let me.” You can practically feel your nipples pebbling beneath the fabric of your shirt. 

God, how did he always manage to sound so sexy when he was telling you what to do? Handsome ass buttface!

“I’ve gotta head into this meeting, but in the meantime, get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” You respond with a resigned sigh. “I…I guess I’ll see you when you get home then.”

“Damn right. Can’t wait to lose myself between those luscious thighs.” Andy rasps, with a slightly roughened edge to his tone. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had a taste…” 

Oh good God…and it had been way too long since you had to deal with beard burn. At this point, you’d almost forgotten about what it felt like.

“Bye, Andy Bear.”

"Goodbye, little love.”

The call ends, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Putting the car in drive, you pull out of the parking lot and start thinking of every argument you could possibly make to talk your sweet, although slightly ogreish, husband out of sexy times and into sleepy times. But there was also something that told you that might not work.

Which meant it was time to come up with a Plan B. And while you were at it, probably a Plan C too.

___

Later That Afternoon...

“This makes me look like an apple with legs.”

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror trying your best not to give in to the overwhelming feeling of defeat. At this point, you’d tried on multiple sets of lingerie – all different styles, cuts, and colors. 

And this one had been the only thing that seemed to look halfway decent.

Well, the good news was that your ass was still there. But the bad news? So was your stomach. 

“Swear to God…I’m gonna find an ocean and throw myself in it.” You mutter as you stare at your reflection. You let out a resigned sigh as you do a little spin. “Knowing my ass can’t swim.” You gently smoosh your hand against your tummy in an attempt to flatten it. 

To be fair, you’d only given birth two months ago and the lingerie you’d purchased was kind of slimming so…

Maybe you were being too hard on yourself. Or, maybe it was still worth trying to convince your husband to settle for an evening filled with dinner and cuddles. You really weren’t in the mood to take your clothes off in front of him at the moment. 

Hell, who were you kidding? You could walk around wearing nothing but fishnets and tinfoil and the man would still find a reason to be into you. 

Sometimes your loving husband was a man of the hopeless variety. 

Plus, while Andrew Barber wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, he would definitely do everything in his power to persuade you. And he could be very persuasive when he put his mind to it. 

Yeah. You were probably fucked.

You take a deep breath and run your fingers through your thick hair, loosening and fluffing your curls. Although Andy would be home any minute, there was still time to throw on sweats and a t-shirt or something. 

“Fuck!” You hiss as your eyes well and your bottom lip begins to tremble. The other problem was that, while you were convinced that you needed more time, you also wanted to make your husband happy. But how could you when you could barely stomach the idea of taking off your clothes in front of him.

Just last week, some asshole at your favorite smoothie bar had the nerve to ask how far along you were – his intrusive gaze lingering on your post-baby body. His audacity had caught you so off guard that you were pretty sure that you’d given some unintelligible answer before snatching your drink and running towards the nearest exit. 

That one little interaction had practically eviscerated what little bit of self-confidence you had left. And while you hadn’t made specific mention of it to Andy, you might end up doing so – if only to plead your case. 

Which was that you were simply too large right now to be sexy, let alone feel attractive. Your skin was too loose, your stretch marks too prominent. And not only that, you were pretty sure that the only reason Andy wanted you right now was because he hadn’t gotten any in a couple of months. 

Once his itch had been sufficiently scratched, the haze would clear and then your husband would see your body for what it was. He would understand your need to undress behind closed doors, without an audience. And then he would give you however much time you needed to get yourself back into some semblance of shape. 

A lone tear slips down your cheek, which only serves to piss you off more. And although you’re quick to dash it away, another one is soon to follow. The last thing you needed for Andrew to notice you’d been crying. There was no need for both of you to feel bad about the state of things, you know?

With one last shake of your head you decide to throw on your robe and head downstairs to greet your man. 

“Let’s get this shit over with.”

___

Ten Minutes Later…

“Baby?” Your husband calls out as he enters the house from the garage. “Baby, I’m home! Where are you?”

“Kitchen!” You go back to busying yourself folding your brand new set of dish towels you’d purchased from Bed, Bath, & Beyond. That store was one of your happy places, second only to Target and Disney World. It also helped that there was one located almost directly across the street from the mall you’d stopped at as well.

Your pulse quickens as you hear him approach, his rapidly falling footsteps coming closer by the second.

“Ah, I found you.” Andy rounds the corner, grinning from ear to ear. “Hi, my gorgeous girl.” His smile somehow grows impossibly wider. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”  

“Well, here I am.” You cast him a demure glance over your shoulder. “Although, I’m afraid I’m probably not much to look at.” Noticing his hands are surprisingly empty, you attempt to change the subject. “I thought you were gonna stop and grab dinner on the way?” 

“I was.” He cocks his hip against the kitchen counter as loosens his tie. “But since you didn’t seem all that keen on the idea of surf and turf this morning I figured I’d hold off. Maybe see how we were feeling later this evening.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh? Is that all my baby has to say about that?” Andy tosses his tie onto the counter before unfastening the top three buttons of his light blue dress shirt. “Just oh?” 

“Uh, yeah. How was your day?” You were quickly running out of towels to unfold and refold. If you kept it up you were going to start looking like a lunatic.

“Too long for a man who’s been missing his wife the way I have.” His sensual purr is enough to make you weak in the knees. “It was fucking excruciating, Baby Girl.” 

Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye – fuck! Your dumbass just made fucking eye contact!

Your throat suddenly goes dry as the weight of his intense gaze threatens to overwhelm you. Andrew Barber always seemed to have this way about him. Only he had the power to unravel you in this manner. 

It was truly a skill that was his alone. But on days like today, it was also a major nuisance.   

“Come here.” The gentleness of his tone softens the command.

“Umm…” Instead of doing as you’re told you decide to shove those stupid towels you’ve been preoccupied with into a drawer. Which also happens to be the wrong drawer. Kitchen linens didn’t belong with the cutting boards. Anybody with some sense could see that!   

“Sweetheart…” Andy’s voice drops another octave. “Stop fussing with those and come here already. I’d really like to hold my wife.” His earnest plea has your eyes welling with tears.

“Yeah. Okay.” You sniffle out, before dropping the towel and making a headlong dash into his waiting embrace. He wraps his brawny arms around you then, tucking his chin into your thick mane of glossy curls.

The two of you stand there without moving. Holding each other close as your hearts beat in time with one another. Andy’s hand comes to rest on your lower back, his palm slowly rubbing in small, soothing circles. 

“What’s wrong, princess?” He hugs even tighter as you gently nuzzle your face against his chest, effectively wiping off what little bit of makeup you’d managed to apply earlier. “Tell me, please.”

Aww. Your sweet Ogre had even said “please”. 

“Nothing.” Which was also code for everything. 

Andy steps back to tenderly grip your chin, his thumb lightly smoothing across your bottom lip. “You know Daddy doesn’t like it when you lie.” And then he leans in to brush his mouth over your own. “Especially when you’re upset.”

“I know.” The words come out barely above a whisper. “And I’m fine. I just, um…” You go to pull away, surprised when he actually lets you. “I went and did a little shopping today. You know…cuz’ we got the green light. But – well, not the robe. Th–that isn’t new. But once I got it home and really looked at it, I um…” You throw up your hands as everything comes tumbling out in one jumbled mess.

“It just doesn’t fit right, okay? It probably didn’t even fit properly at the boutique when I tried it on and I just didn’t notice. Because the lighting was different and the mirrors are maybe a little more forgiving. Kind of like the ones you find in a funhouse. Except all of them were super flattering. Not like the one we’ve got in our bathroom here at home. Which…I mean that’s probably how they get ya, right?”

Your husband lifts a quizzical brow as you continue to ramble and slowly back away. You knew there was quite literally no possible chance you could manage to outrun your handsome attorney. But that didn’t mean you weren’t above giving it the old college try.   

“So, I’m just gonna go upstairs and peel this ugly thing off. That way neither one of us has to even bother looking at it.” You finish rather lamely.

“And why exactly do you think I wouldn’t want to look at you? How about you explain that one to me, please?” Andy growls, jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers.                 

“Because I don’t like the way I look right now and I’m pretty sure that if I show you, then you won’t either.”

Andy stares you down, the muscle ticking in his jaw. But you were beyond caring at this point. Right now was about acknowledging the truth regarding your body and the level of comfort you had with it.  

“That’s bullshit, baby.” He rakes an impatient hand through his hair, moussing the auburn strands. “You know I love the way you look. I fucking adore you.”  

“And that last part may very well be true, Big Man.” You concede, toying with the material of your robe. “But I, um...” A lump forms in your throat, but you force yourself to press on. “I do believe you love the way I look when I’m pregnant, yes. So do I…mostly. And you also love the way I look when I’m not pregnant. As in, after I’ve lost a healthy chunk of the baby weight.”  

“What in the–? I mean, Jesus fucking Christ!” Your husband cuts himself off mid-sentence as he rocks back on his heels – as if stunned by your admission. 

“I’m saying this wrong.” Good lord, you needed to get a better handle on the direction of this conversation. “Fuck! I know I am. But I don’t feel very good about myself right now. I don’t want to take off my clothes. I don’t want you to see me in this lingerie. Because I am almost entirely convinced that once you do – once you see all that I’m currently working with – you will change your mind about wanting to sleep with me.”

“You don’t mean that.” Andy scoffs under his breath, which you ignore.

“And if I see that…if I see that switch flip behind your eyes when it finally clicks just how unattractive I truly am…I don’t think I could handle that.”  

As hard as this was, it was important for you to make him understand. And once you were finished, perhaps you could cook the two of you something for dinner.  After that you would simply settle in and enjoy an easy, child-free night.

“Meaning?” Andy grunts.

“Meaning, I’m not taking off this robe tonight.” You blow out a weary breath as your hands go rest on your hips. “In fact, I don’t even know why –”

“Are you finished yet, sweetheart?” Your husband finally interrupts, apparently having had enough of your tirade. “Or do you have more? Because I’ve gotta tell you, as nice as it is that you think you’ve decided all this shit for us, your Daddy has quite a bit to say. So, are you fucking finished?”

“Y–yes.” That strange lump in your throat is back. “But I –”

“Stop. If you’re going to be done, then be done.” Andy interrupts again, scrubbing a tired hand over his face. “Baby Girl…I know what you’re doing. Even if you don’t, even if you can’t see it. I do. And I’m going to put a stop to it right now.”

“I’m just telling us both the truth!” You cry before you can catch yourself. 

“No. You’re feeding us both lies. And I won’t stand for that shit. Not for another goddamned moment. I–I just won’t.”

The passion in his voice is enough to temporarily silence any forthcoming protests. 

“And what’s more,” Andy forges on, “you’re not giving me even a shred of credit here. Which, and I’ve gotta be real honest with you here, kinda pisses me the fuck off.” Now it’s his turn to sigh, although this one is filled with exasperation.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, looking down at your toes.

“Look. At. Me.” The authority in his tone has your head snapping up immediately. 

“Have I ever, and I do mean ever, in all the years we’ve been together, given you any indication that you are anything but beautiful to me?” He takes a step towards you, even as you take one back. “I quite literally worship the ground you walk on, sweetness. Which means that I occasionally notice things, even when you think I don’t.”

Your husband takes another step towards you, and then another. He’s getting closer, purposely crowding you with his big body – essentially trapping you like the predator that he was.   

“There has never been a time, not once, when I have been less than hopelessly attracted to you. I want you all of the goddamned time. And, you know, maybe I should seek professional help for this shit, but I don’t want to. I don’t need to. Because I love my wife. I adore every single inch of you.”

You jump when your back collides with the refrigerator, the cool surface of the stainless steel appliance piercing your skin through the thin fabric of your robe.

“So what is it, Baby Girl? What is that you’ve got under there that’s got you so convinced I’m going to be disgusted by what I see.” Andy levels you with a pointed look as his hands go to gently grip your biceps, caging you in. “What is it you’re trying to hide from me?”

You close your eyes when it becomes too hard to look at the man you loved more than anything - the man who was surely about to become your undoing.     

“While I appreciate your so-called brand of honesty, sometimes it hurts me when you talk about yourself like this. When you doubt yourself in this way. When you doubt me. Doubt us.” Andy briefly rests his forehead against yours before continuing. 

“How am I supposed to help you battle these insecurities if you won’t even let me in the ring, sweetness? Sometimes you make it damn near impossible to – fuck!” He hisses, breaking the almost tender embrace before reminding himself to pause. “Okay.”

“I–I’m sorry, Andrew.” This time you don’t bother trying to fight back the tears when they come. Instead you decide to let them fall, realizing that it might finally be okay to let your husband catch you.

Before you broke completely and shattered into a hundred-million little pieces.   

“Why on earth are you apologizing to me right now?” He cups your face with his hands as he brushes your tears away. “I’m not shaming you. I’m just…” He takes another calming breath. “I’m just talking to you. I thought we were expressing how we felt about things, weren’t we?”

“Yeah.” You give him a quick nod as more tears make their way down your cheeks.  

“Okay.” He presses a sweet kiss to your nose. “Then will you trust me to show you something?” Again you nod before allowing him to lace his fingers through yours and pull you in the direction of the hall.

“Wh–where are we going?”

“Hush.” 

He leads you down the hallway in silence, not stopping until you’re both standing in front of the full-length mirror located in the foyer. And then he reaches around to undo the knot on your robe, sliding it off your shoulders and letting it pool on the floor at your feet. 

“Well, would you look at you? Is this pretty little thing what you bought for me today?”

“Mmhm.” You breathe, resting your head against his broad chest while your man looks his fill. Andy smooths his hands up and down your sides, lovingly kneading your ample curves. “It was the only thing that I felt, um…like it might be okay.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Baby Girl.” Andy playfully nips at your ear. “You still trust me? Okay, good. Then let’s take this off, too.” He reaches for the skirt of your lingerie.

“But why?” You whine, attempting to wiggle out of his hold. Unfortunately for you, your Big Man refuses to let you go. “Wait!”

“I think I’ve waited long enough.” Even though he’s pushing you, you can tell he’s also trying to keep a lid on his patience. “We both have. You got to make your case back there in the kitchen, young lady. Which means it’s now time for your Daddy to make his, don’t you think?”

While you weren’t quite sure where this was going, you also weren’t sure if you were ready to use your safe word yet. If that particular rule even applied right now.

“I – alright.” You concede before lifting your arms so that he can help remove the flimsy garment, leaving you naked and bare to his gaze. Goosebumps rise on your vulnerable flesh as you shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

Safe to say, catching a chill was the last thing on your mind. You just wanted to get this shit over with, whatever it was, and then move the fuck on already.

“Be a good girl and open your eyes for me, little love.” Andy purrs, lightly running his fingers through your curls. “I want to show you what I see every time I look at you.” 

It takes you a moment, but eventually you’re able to do as you’re told. But instead of focusing on your own reflection, you choose to look at your husband – taking comfort in the warmth radiating from him.

You wanted to trust him. You really did.     

“Thank you. Now, I want you to do your best to hear me.” Andy begins as his hands come up to rest themselves on your shoulders. “You are gorgeous no matter what size you are. And I am consistently awed by the fact that you, my darling wife, just gave birth to two healthy babies a little over eight weeks ago. My babies.” You receive a tender kiss to the back of your neck.

Your lower lip begins to tremble of its own accord. But this time you don’t look away, instead you follow the path of his fingers as they trail their way down your body.

“It’s because of you, and your magnificent little body, that I’m lucky enough to have four pieces of heaven running around this house, making noise and causing chaos. Giving me both a reason to live again along with a few new gray hairs at the same time.” 

You watch as he lifts your breasts, hefting the erotic weight of them in his palms. He gently massages them, completely unfazed by the light dribble of milk leaking from your left nipple. Instead you’re treated to another roguish grin as his tongue darts out to greedily lap up the stray drops from his knuckles. 

“Fucking delicious. But stop trying to distract me, baby.” He rasps, his tone just shy of teasing. “We both know you’re not quite ready for me to feast just yet.” And then he winks at you, which suddenly has your legs feeling like jelly. 

Although you flinch when his focus shifts to your belly, the pads of his fingers tracing along one of your more prominent stretch marks. He keeps his touch light - bordering on reverent - as he marvels at the angry stripes painted across your skin.

The ones formed out of a natural bond built between a mother and her children. 

“I love this part of you. This part right here where you – aw, no. Please don’t look away from me, honey.” Andy moves to kiss away a fresh wave of tears. “Let me see those eyes.”  

“I…I...” Your mouth clamps shut as you stifle a hiccup. You grant yourself a couple of seconds before opening your eyes again. This time when you do, you gently place your hands on top of his. “I’m sorry. I know, you love this part of me because of the kids. And I get it, I do. But…” You shake your head and give up.

Because something tells you that perhaps you’d be better off just listening for right now. 

“Yes, I absolutely love this part of you because of our rugrats, but that’s not the only reason. It’s because, as much as I adore your tight little pussy and that spankable ass of yours, your belly has always been it for me.”

“What?” Now that has your full attention.    

“I’m not kidding.” He asserts. “I don’t think I’ve ever shared this with you, probably because I thought I’d run the risk of sounding dumb. But your belly has always been my favorite feature because it’s…it’s my anchor.”

Your husband’s heartfelt admission actually has the nerve to throw you for a bit of a loop.   

“I’m serious.” Andy continues, leaning down to press a hard kiss to your cheek. “There’s something about whenever the world feels like it’s falling apart all around me and then I reach for you, because that’s what I do. And you’re always there for me, my love. Always.” He gives you a light squeeze. “And without fail, you just let me hold you like this, wherever we are. And I just…I feel better.”

“Swear to God, I’m a grown-ass man, but this part of you brings me so much comfort. I understand the fact that you struggle with accepting your body the way it is right now, especially after welcoming the twins. But please believe me when I tell you that where you only seem to see your flaws, I see strength. I see incomparable beauty.” 

Andy takes that moment to fully envelope you, wrapping his arms tightly around your middle and burying his face in your hair. You allow yourself to stand there for a little while, drinking in the sight of your devoted husband holding your nude body.

You’ve never felt more loved. More cherished than you did right now.  

“Andy Bear…” You whisper, your voice filled with emotion. “I…I don’t quite see what you see. Not yet. But I do think I feel it now. More than I did anyway.” 

You let out a surprised yip when he spins you around. His intoxicating blue eyes bore into your own as his hands move to tease the globes of your ass.

“You should know that I wasn’t finished yet, princess. I just spent the last several minutes composing a sonnet dedicated to that greedy pussy of yours. Then there’s those luscious thighs, and that ass. I also never really had a thing for feet until I met you, but I’m particularly fond of those too. I’m prepared to wax poetic about it all because I want you to see what I see.” 

A laugh bubbles up in your chest. And when you decide to let it loose, it’s quite literally the most wonderful feeling in the world. You feel lighter than you have in days.

It’s enough to make you start crying all over again.   

“I love you, Andrew Barber.” You murmur, rising on your tiptoes to take his lips in a brief kiss. “And I know you had what I’m sure was one hell of a speech planned, and while I really hate to cut it short, I’m thinking I might wanna take you to bed now.”

“Oh?” His tone is rife with cautious optimism. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Giving in to impulse, you proceed to tickle his ears. He makes a show of batting your hands away as he playfully dodges your advances – much to your delight. Although he eventually puts an end to things by picking you up and holding you close.

“But can we maybe take it slow?” You ask as you snuggle into his chest, basking in the safety and security of his familiar scent. 

“Of course.” Andy murmurs as he spins on his heel and heads towards the direction of the stairs. “We have all night, my precious girl.”  

That was the moment you knew without a doubt. The moment you finally believed that everything he’d said, every word he’d spoken to you, had been nothing but the truth.  

And later that night, when you collapsed on the bed feeling completely sated with one another, you thanked your lucky stars that fate had led you into the arms of the one and only Andrew Barber.

END

For more about Andy and Reader's first time making love after welcoming their twins, be sure to check out the sequel, The Green Light: Afterglow.

[bloodyinkandquill]

Rocket and sibling Reader

ok it is a full week since i last worked on any of these, lets try and get like three done and post them all, we got rocket and singling reader first coolio, ok technically we have shuriken x knife reader then toxic yuri reader x scythe but i have no clue what to do for the shuriken x knife reader imma reach out to the requester if they didn’t request on anon and ill do the scythe after this because i kin rocket so i wanna do this first, even if i self ship with scythe

- Even if Pokémon doesn’t exist in the world of Phighting you and your brother are straight up Team Rocket Jessie and James, one of you spawned, hung around the spawn building for a little while when suddenly ‘you have a sibling here you go’

haven’t worked on this since the 21st it’s the 15th now, ok let’s do this shit i’ve got kesha playing for motivation it’s only 10:30 i got this… let me read his wiki real quick so this is as accurate as possible, alright let’s do this, chappell roan decided to play but im not complaining about good luck babe

- Even thought one of you is older by a few months, maybe a year at most, you just decide to say you’re twins, sharing a spawn day even if legally that is not your spawning day, while still in the spawn building’s care you get each other a small but heartfelt gift, either stolen, bought with stolen money, or hand made, you both kept every gift

- You both had explosive and dangerous gears, and with how violent Playground is you both end up angry and in a lot of fights, but the only demon either of you let your guard down around is each other, dressing the others knuckles with stolen gauze as they either boast about the fight they just won or grumble that they didn’t even try

- Since unless you’re both in private you don’t let your guards down if either of you wanna discretely say ‘I’m here’ you softly bump horns, almost in a pavlovian fashion both of you instantly calm down some

- You two only really had each other so you both were very clingy to each other, falling asleep in whatever shelter you could cuddling to conserve warmth, and it makes it easier to protect each other in case someone stumbles upon you two, usually thought you would take turns sleeping and the other would keep watch, Playground is fucking dangerous so neither of you felt too comfortable both sleeping at the same time, especially when you had no home, just abandoned buildings or dark forgotten alleyways

- Rocket is a bit more reckless than you, so you on probably four, maybe five separate occasions had to grab him and book it, a wrongly timed and placed rocket and people were chasing you wanting you dead, he’d laugh maniacally and you would join him, once you two were somewhere safe that is, but if you got hurt because of him he’d feel like shit, if it was bad he might even cry and beg for you to forgive him, but you could never stay mad at your brother, after all you only had each other

- When the incident happened that cost him an arm and a leg you weren’t spared, coming out with your own bad injuries too, you both knew, you had to get out of this place, it was too dangerous and you couldn’t loose each other, so you left once and for all, vowing to never come back

- -Skip to after Zuka adopts you i’ve wrote how i think that went down before for a creative writing assignment i don’t wanna do it again sue me

- You slowly began to relax, Zuka gaining your trusts slowly but steadily, giving you what you needed, space, a shoulder to lean on, a trip to a rage room, whatever, overtime you both calmed down more, redirecting your anger to pyromania, ok maybe not the best but fire and explosions were fun!

- One day Zuka called to you that you had guests, when you went to the living room the last thing you expected to see was a deity but his son was chill, the three of you got along great, slowly becoming amazing friends, when he recounted a time two years ago he dyed his horns green to match his dad it gave Rocket an idea

- From that day onwards Rocket had you or Sword help him carve his horns to look more like your adoptive father, you’d chat, gossip, smack talk, and bicker while shaving down the extra parts on your bother’s horns, it was during one of these monthly times that you jokingly suggested maybe you two could become phighters, fast forward two months later you were sneaking out to go sign up for the next phight, Zuka wouldn’t approve so it was easier to ask for forgiveness then to ask for permission

- Even as you two changed your relationship never really did, you two stayed incredibly close, still pretending you were twins and even if you were no longer alone you both knew you could rely on each other to hell and back

coolio hope this is good lemme work on the next one, it’s 11 if i keep up with this pace i’ll have the three finished before midnight then i can do the final request(s?) tomorrow morning since i’ve got classes

[babydollmarauders]

AUGUST PT 2 — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem!reader

THIS IS A VERY LATE PART 2 TO THIS FIC

summary: in which y/n has been in love with Quinn for years and now she deals with the emotional consequences of a summer situationship.

specific lyrics: “you weren't mine to lose.” and “i can see us lost in the memory, august slipped away into a moment in time. 'cause it was never mine. and i can see us twisted in bedsheets, august sipped away like a bottle of wine. 'cause you were never mine.”

warnings: underage drinking

notes: this is almost five months late…. better late than never, right? ummm….. i hope y’all enjoy 🫣

**SEPTEMBER 21ST 2018**

the last week of this summer passed by in a blur. my final seven days being spent with Jack and his friends, and my nights being taken by his brother. i never did confess my feelings to Quinn, and as a result, i now sit back in my bedroom at home, watching snapchat stories of him at a party. my focus zeroes in solely on the girl clinging to his arm in the most recent picture. he wears a smile on his face and in the hand not occupied by the girl, he holds a generic red solo cup.

i have no right to feel jealous. to be so upset. he was never actually mine, no matter how much i wanted him to be. we were never exclusive. our rendezvous last month were just good times for him, and i knew that. so why did it still hurt? why did it still feel like my heart was broken?

i suppose i could chalk it up to the fact that he never clarified anything. he never outright admitted that our escapades meant nothing to him, but he also never said they meant anything either. however, they meant everything to me. they gave me hope that maybe he felt the same feeling that i’ve harbored for four years. but then he left with a simple ‘goodbye’.

i foolishly hoped that he would call me when he got back to school, that maybe he was just too nervous to say anything to my face, but now it’s 3 weeks later and the only Hughes’ i’ve heard from are his brothers. Jack texting me random updates of his life every day, and Luke and i speaking on the phone when i wished him a happy birthday earlier this month.

and i can’t make the excuse of ‘he’s busy.’ because i see him on social media, partying after wins and hanging out with friends between classes. he surely has enough free time to call me or even send a simple text. but, i suppose he doesn’t care to contact me because it never meant anything to him; and i guess he assumed it wasn’t anything to me either.

**NOVEMBER 16TH, 2018**

a glass of wine secured in my hand, i’m sat on the couch, scrolling through social media. my parents went out for a date night, leaving me with a house to myself for the night, and i’ve taken advantage by cracking open a bottle of wine and actually leaving my room. it wasn’t much, but i was relaxed. my thumb swipes over my phone screen, scrolling down my instagram timeline, and i stop at a picture of Quinn.

His arm is around a blonde girl’s shoulders as she hugs his waist, a small smile gracing his lips while she wears a large, toothy grin. it’s been months since i’ve last spoken with him, yet it doesn’t make it sting any less to see him with another girl. tears well in my eyes at the remembrance of his easy dismissal of me. the way that he left at the end of the summer with nothing more than a ‘bye.’

maybe it’s the adrenaline pumping through my veins, maybe the fact that i’m over feeling worthless over a guy, or maybe it’s the nearly entire bottle of wine that’s flushing through me right now; but i’ve finally had enough. swiping out of instagram, i scroll through my contacts until i find the one i’m searching for, my thumb hovering close over the call button but too hesitant to actually press it.

“this is stupid.” i mutter to myself, hanging my head. it’s in that moment that my dog decides to come over, sniffing me and nudging at the back of my phone, resulting in the tapping of the button. “shit!”

it’s too late now, the damage is done. he’ll get notified that i called him, regardless of if i were to hang up right now anyways, so i bring the phone up to my ear, listening to it ring. once. twice. a third time, before it connects.

“y/n? what’s up?” his voice is raspy and i wonder if i woke him. it’s only ten at night, but if i remember correctly, he has a game tomorrow, so it doesn’t surprise me that he would be asleep this early. i take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the words that need to be said.

“you’re a shitty person, you know that?” i surprise even myself with the anger that comes through with my words. my honest feelings being spoken.

“i’m sorry?” he sounds confused, but it’s not an actual apology, it’s more of an ‘excuse me?’ if anything.

“you heard me. you’re an asshole.” i tell him, rising to my feet to pace around my living room, my dog following me like a shadow. “i wish i had never met you.”

“okay, ouch, hold on, what did i do?” he questions. i hear shuffling in the background and i assume he’s sitting up in his bed now. “we haven’t even spoken in like, what? two and a half months?”

“exactly! that’s the problem!” i’m acutely aware that i’m raising my voice at this point, but i just don’t understand how he doesn’t see the issue with this.

“you’re mad at me because i haven’t talked to you lately? i still don’t understand.” i halt my pacing at his words, my dog bumping into the backs of my legs at my abrupt stop.

“i’m mad because you strung me along this past august. i’m mad because you left me with nothing but a simple ‘bye’. i’m mad because i’ve liked you for the past four years and then you didn’t even have the decency to explain to me whatever it was that we were doing this summer!” i huff. “i would’ve understood if you just told me it meant nothing to you. that you just wanted some action or whatever. but instead you didn’t tell me shit! you let me believe that maybe you liked me back. that maybe we could have been something. and then you just left me with radio silence and i have to see you on social media with girls hanging off of you and wonder if i just wasn’t good enough. that’s why i’m mad.”

Quinn is silent for a few moments, maybe holding out to see if i’m done, maybe gathering his thoughts, but it’s eerily quiet. but then as quickly as the silence started, it ends.

“y/n.” he sighs my name, sounding exhausted. “if i knew how you felt, i would’ve tried to define what we were doing. i wasn’t sure what was happening, just that i liked spending time with you and i liked being close to you.”

“being close to me? or fucking me?” i ask him.

“both, y/n/n. is that what you wanna hear?” he’s getting frustrated, i can hear it. “yes. i liked fucking you. and i liked being with you. just us two. i’m sorry that i didn’t call you, i thought that’s how you wanted it. but, i see now that i should’ve talked to you about it instead of assuming. i didn’t realize that what we were doing meant so much to you. but you could’ve ended it at any point.”

“why would you think i would do that? that i would end it? i’m literally telling you right now that i wanted more.” i heave out a breath, dropping back onto the couch and pulling my legs up to my chest. “Quinn, i just wanted you to call me. to say something, i don’t know! say you had fun this summer, say you can’t wait to see me next summer, say you like me, say you hate me, anything. just don’t go silent on me and make me think i’m insane for thinking you like me as much as i like you.”

“i’m so sorry, y/n.” he mutters, i quiet and slow. “i should’ve talked to you. i should’ve told you that i felt the same. i should’ve thought about how you were feeling and not just me. but now that i know, i’d really like to try.”

“you would?” i inquire, keeping my antsy fingers busy by picking at a stray string on my hoodie. “how?”

“maybe… maybe you could come to one of my games? and we could go out to eat afterwards?” he sounds unsure, like maybe he���s afraid i’ll say no.

“like a date?” i ask meekly.

“yeah,” Quinn chuckles and my heart picks up at the sound. i’ve always loved his laugh. “exactly like a date.”

i’m quiet, my bottom lip captured between my teeth, holding back a squeal.

“what do you think?” he pipes up again, once again seeming nervous.

“i think, i’d really like that.” i confess before burying my face in a throw pillow beside me, muffling my excited scream.

when i raise the phone back to my ear, Quinn is laughing; apparently the pillow didn’t cover as much of noise as i thought it would.

“next friday, i have a game against Wisconsin, does that work?”

“sounds perfect.” i grin, nodding my head, even though he can’t see me.

“okay, i’ll see you then?”

“i’ll see you then.” i confirm.

“goodnight, y/n/n. i can’t wait to see you.” he tells me and i repeat a ‘goodnight’ before we hang up.

i look down at my dog, who stares at me with his head tilted.

“Ollie, you are a matchmaker.” i coo, scratching behind his ears. his mouth drops open, his tongue falling out in content as i dote on him.

**November 23rd, 2018**

today is the day.

i spent all morning getting ready; my hair is done, my makeup perfected, and i tried on about six different outfits before my mother told me to stop worrying and just go.

and after a three and a half hour drive, in which i had to pull over twice to shake myself out and get my jitters out; i’ve pulled into Yost Ice Arena with 10 minutes to spare before the game starts.

Quinn and i have texted non-stop since we planned tonight, and he assured me last night on the phone, that there’ll be a ticket waiting for me at the front.

pulling the keys from the ignition, i grab my purse and do a once-over of my face in the rearview mirror before exiting the vehicle. stretching my legs, i make my way inside the arena, stopping to get my ticket before i head in towards the seating.

i’m sat towards the middle, a perfect view of the ice. my legs shake in anxiety as the crowd roars, the players filing on the ice and getting faceoff position.

it’s amazing how much i’ve learned about hockey in the past four years of knowing the Hughes’.

it’s a rather uneventful first period, neither team scoring. the second isn’t much better, Wisconsin scoring once mere minutes into the period, but that’s the only goal. Michigan ties it up in the third, with Quinn landing an assist on the goal, and i’m shaking in nervousness as i hope for a second Michigan goal. but it never comes.

moving onto overtime, neither team scores, resulting in a tie. but the teams still go on, starting a second overtime of three-on-three to determine who gets the extra point. it’s not even a minute into the second overtime when Quinn passes the puck to Josh Norris, who i’ve met once or twice at the lake house, and Josh lands the puck in the back of the net.

the crowd goes wild, me included, jumping up to our feet and cheering as the guys celebrate.

both teams file off of the ice relatively quick, and in result, the crowd begins to fan out. fans leaving the arena. but i stay back.

Quinn told me to meet him out front of the arena in half an hour, so i opt to lounge here for an extra few to kill time, scrolling through instagram and reading Jack’s texts; asking why i’m in Ann Arbor and if i plan to come see him before i leave. stupid Life360.

i call him rather than text, making my way out of the arena as he picks up.

“what are you doing in Ann Arbor?” he cuts straight to the point, not bothering with any catch up.

“well hello to you too.” i chuckle, rolling my eyes.

“yeah, yeah, hi. what are doing in Ann Arbor?” he repeats.

“i came to see Quinn’s game. i promise, i’ll come and see you tomorrow morning before i drive back home.” i assure him. “wait, are you even gonna be back from Illinois in the morning?”

“yeah, we’re on the bus back now.” he assures me.

“okay, good. i saw online that you got an assist! congrats bub!”

“thanks. we still lost though.” he tells me, his voice full of dejection.

“you’ll get ‘em next time!” i reassure, pacing outside Yost, pulling my jacket tighter to my chest to keep myself warm in the cool Michigan air.

“yeah.” he breaths. “so why are you at Quinn’s game?”

his tone is teasing, as though he doesn’t actually believe i’m here for Quinn.

“we’re going on a date.” i admit, preparing myself for his response.

“oooh! you’re finally getting out of the friendzone?!” he exclaims, and i can hear Trevor’s voice chime in from beside him, telling him to quiet down. which i find ironic, considering Trevor is ever the loud mouth.

“what?! you knew i liked him?!” i question, making him chuckle.

“uh, yeah. it was so obvious.” he replies through laughter. “i also know you were hooking up with him this summer. you weren’t very subtle.”

my jaw drops in astonishment.

“we were so subtle!” i shout, and i can hear Trevor piping up again on the other side of the phone.

“who? y/n and Quinn? oh yeah, everyone knew.”

“shut up, Zegras!” i yell, and i can hear both boys bark out in laughter.

“why didn’t you say anything?” i ask.

“who was i to say something, when you were trying so hard to keep it on the down low?” he teases.

i look up from my pacing feet when i hear footsteps, locking eyes with Quinn, who smiles at the sight of me, nearly taking my breath away.

“i gotta go.” i breath out, and Jack lets out an immature ‘oooooooh’

“have fun with my brother!” he calls out and i groan.

“shut up. i’ll see you tomorrow.” i sing, before hanging up.

“my brother?” Quinn questions, as if he already knows the answer.

“yeah.” i nod. “apparently, i found out, we weren’t as subtle as we thought, in August.”

“we were so subtle!” he exclaims, making me giggle.

“that’s what i said!” i tell him. his hand reaches out towards mine, and i anxiously intertwine mine with his. “so, where are we going?”

“there’s a really cute diner, about a fifteen minute walk from here.” he explains, as we begin walking. “i figured we could go there.”

“sounds perfect.” i breath out. his eyes are glued to the cement, watching his feet, but i watch him. “congrats on the assists! i know a tie wasn’t really the outcome you guys were hoping for, but it was a riveting game.”

he laughs, his head dropping back, and a bright smile overtakes my lips at the melodious sound dropping from his.

“babe, there were only two goals in a full hour of game play.” he reminds me.

“babe?” i question, and his hand tightens around mine for a second.

“yeah.” he shrugs, attempting to seem nonchalant, but i can tell by his face, when he turns to me, that he’s nervous. “you’re my girl now.”

“i’m your girl?” i smirk. “i like the sound of that.”

“me too.” he brings us to a halt, turning his body to mine.

his hand rises to cup my cheek, his face lowering to mine until our breaths mingle together. my eyes flutter shut, slowly, and the next thing i know, his lips are crashing against mine in a deep kiss.

and i know, in this moment, i’ll do anything to keep him. because now, he’s mine to lose.

[strangelittlestories]

It was somewhere around a year into the apocalypse when the Lion and the Lamb found what they had long been looking for: a very remote (and thus largely unpillaged) and *very fancy* hotel.

(Lion and Lamb were the names I knew them by, at least. We met at a wedding - always a strange event in the end times - and they did not give me their true names. This was, honestly, a wise move given the kind of entity I am. But they did gift me with this anecdote, which perhaps reveals more about them than a simple name could.)

After scouting the place out - and bloodily evicting a small pack of ghouls that had gotten separated from the horde and (hopelessly lost) wandered into the hotel spa - the pair climbed the many steps to the building’s palatial penthouse suite.

There, they found many wondrous treasures. Fluffy bathrobes. Tiny sachets of shampoo. A bed so large it should probably have been illegal.

And, of course, a little peace and quiet.

---

“What do you think the thread count on these sheets are?” Asked Lamb.

“Do I look like the kind of person who understands thread count?” Lion was already lying in the bed, starfishing her limbs out across the pillowy expanse.

“It’s just…this might be the softest thing I’ve ever felt. This has got to be four hundred. Maybe even five?” Lamb’s brow wrinkled for a moment. “Hey - would you mind if I take this with us when we leave?”

“What’s the matter? You already afraid to go back to scratchy blankets and sleeping bags?” Lion grinned, while twisting the top off a little bottle of Jack Daniels. A small pile of tiny liquor bottles lay beside her; across the room, her axe rested against the sundered mini bar.

“No, I uh-” Lamb looked sheepish. “I was thinking it’d make for good bandages.”

Lion paused with the mini bottle of Jack on her lips. She made steady eye contact with Lamb as she downed the bottle, then threw it casually to one side.

“You want to take the sheets off this bed.” She sat up and calmly took hold of Lamb’s arm, pulling him close. “This bed that may as well be made of clouds. These covers that were probably hand spun by gods or artisanal Shoreditch arseholes. This bed that may be the last gift from a now-absent god, and which - by the way - we have not even hugged in yet…”

“Well, when you put it like that-”

“You want to take the sheets off this bed - this bed that is larger than some countries - and tear it up for stab wounds and bullet holes?”

“I just-”

At this point, Lion yanked on Lamb’s arm and he tumbled awkwardly into the aforementioned bed, rolling over Lion and landing nestled snugly in the crook of her shoulder. It was somewhere between a cuddle and a headlock and, if we’re being honest, Lamb really didn’t mind that.

Some time passed. We need not discuss how it passed, let us simply say that it did and that, for the Lion and the Lamb, its passage was necessary, healing and only mildly bruising.

Lamb sighed happily and said:

“I just thought. Y’know, about the bandages. That … well, dangerous shit happens to us so often. It’s really easy to get used to being scared. To being hurt. So I figured it might be nice, y’know, if when we were patching each other up, we had something soft to do it with. So that even when it hurts the most, we can *practise* being soft. And it’d be something that reminded us of this. This perfect day we stole for ourselves. A happy memory to literally bind up the hurt with.” Lamb looked shyly up at Lion. “It probably sounds silly. Or soppy. But, well. I am those things sometimes.”

Lion leant down and gently and carefully kissed Lamb on the forehead.

“Okay.” She said, in a voice roaring with love. “We can destroy the sheets when we’re done.”

“Thanks.” Said Lamb. “I knew you’d cotton on.”

And, even despite the pun, Lion could not have been happier.

[differentclasss]

Christmas One Shot ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Neil Lewis x Reader

pairing: Neil Lewis x reader

summary: Neil throws a party at Gumshoe and admits his feelings towards y/n.

warnings: smut 9 (a handjob) and not really proofread writing. Neil is a little cringe in this lol. Probably not in character

a/n: I wrote this so quickly but I just wanted to get something out for the holiday! Also, send me requests! I have some free time so I'll probably start going through those again.

Honestly, you would’ve spent Christmas alone if it wasn’t for your friend Neil deciding to throw a last-minute watch party of It’s a Wonderful Life at Gumshoe Video that day. It was the most in spirit of the season activity you had done that December with the whole idea of Christmas spirit being a little lost on you recently. You didn’t know why you lacked the usual zeal compared to Christmases of years prior but the whole month of December just seemed like any other month. It was true, you were getting older but even so, you normally had at least a little bit of enthusiasm for this time of the season. You pushed these thoughts away, however, telling yourself you would at least have fun at the small gathering at Gumshoe. You would work for free every once in a while too at Gumshoe, when your schedule was free, so you knew everyone there. It would be fun, the same ensemble as usual all planning to go.�� Neil was the planner of this whole thing too, which truth be told was the entire reason you were even going. You had a small crush on Neil, he was cute, and it was hard for anyone not to find him cute. He was the type of cute that would make you do something really stupid if you weren’t careful, which is why you admired him from a distance, only ever playfully flirting with him but all around keeping it pretty friendly. 

Christmas day came and you slept in, no reason to get up early with your work being closed that day and the watch party being at six in the evening. Eventually, four rolled around and you spent a bit of extra time getting ready, you told yourself you just wanted to dress up for the holiday but deep down you knew that attention-seeking part of yourself wanted to impress Neil, even in the slightest. Off you went, donning what you considered a festive outfit and grabbing a bottle of wine as a party gift, not wanting to show up empty-handed. When you got to Gumshoe you took note of all of the decorations in the windows. There were twinkling lights and a few cardboard cut-outs with those cheap Santa hats draped over their heads. You thought if anywhere could offer you single-use Christmas spirit, this would be the place. 

After making your rounds of brief catch-ups with some of your fellow regulars, you spot Neil. He’s over by the television, fussing with the VHS player. He curses under his breath as he clicks the on and off button a few times and waits for something to happen. 

“Is it broken?” You ask, appearing over his right shoulder.

 

“I hope not.” He mumbles. “Before you ask, I already unplugged it and plugged it back in and I’ve been pushing the on-off button for five minutes now.”

“It’s old,” You say and crotch down to the player's level. “You try hitting it yet?”

“What?” He asks, looking at you with a bewildered face. 

Without another beat, you lean over and hit the top of it with your clenched fist. Neil looks a bit shocked, maybe a bit afraid that you just broke it completely, but then it turns into a happy grin as the VCR turns on.

“It’s a Christmas miracle.” He says in his charming boyish way. 

“I just earned my wings from that.” You joke back and stand up, then hold the bottle of wine out in front of him. “Oh, here. I wasn’t sure what kind of wine you liked so I kind of eyeballed it but… Yeah. Merry Christmas, Neil.”

“Oh, thank you. Red?” He says with a small grin as he takes it from your hands. “It looks nice… Thank you. Oh! I have a, uh, gift for you too. You’ll like it, come on.” He nods his head to the office and walks in front of you.

 

His office was lightly decorated with a small Christmas tree on the corner of his desk. You watch as he opens a drawer and shifts through it for a minute. He pulls out a crudely wrapped small box, the same shape as a VHS, you can’t help but blush at the gesture. He hands it to you and you take it, looking at his poor gift-wrapping abilities. It’s sweet though, making you feel a little guilty about buying him a meager bottle of wine. He tells you to unwrap it and you do, pulling the wrapping apart revealing a tape of Vivre Sa Vie, you had been looking for it for months now and that pesky blush just got worse from the sentimental gift.

“Neil,” You say and look up at him. “You didn’t have to do this… Thank you so much. I’ve wanted for this ages now.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waves his hand. “I know you’ve been looking for it and you’ve been such a great help here lately.”

“Thanks.” You say again and smile. You want to lean in and kiss him on the cheek but you decide against it. “Well, we should probably go out there and start the movie, yeah?”

He nods and you both take your leave into the main floor of the shop. You sit down on the couch and watch as Neil does a small introductory to the movie like he always does at events like this. After he starts the movie, he opens the bottle of wine pours a glass for himself, and then pours you one. After he hands you the filled glass, he sits next to you and you feel his thigh against yours, making it hard to concentrate on the movie.

Somehow you managed the whole two-hour runtime without dying from some sort of sexually frustrated-related stroke. The wine didn’t help either. You were a little tipsy, Neil having poured too much in your glass, and being near him for so long made it clear to you that you liked Neil a lot more than you originally thought. When the characters Mary and George in It’s a Wonderful Life kiss like they need each other, you find yourself looking at Neil through your peripheral view. Once the credits were rolling, people were starting to get up and either leave or refill their glasses. Neil stood up to say goodbye to some people who were leaving and you could breathe for a moment, not having to feel his thigh against yours. After a moment of contemplation, you decided to leave, it would be the best option with how you were feeling. You knew that he was cute enough to make you do something stupid and with the right amount of wine, you would probably act on it.

“Leaving already?” Neil asked as he saw you put on your coat.

 

“Yeah, it was fun but… I should probably go home and get some sleep.” You said.

“Aw come on, it's not even nine yet…” He said with his best puppy dog eyes. “We were gonna Eyes Wide Shut next. You should stay. What else are you going to do?”

You went back in forth in your head for a moment, but in the end, you knew you were going to stay. How could you deny his pretty blue eyes? He was right, after all, you would go home and probably just watch a movie by yourself. 

“Alright,” You say with a small grin and shrug off your coat. “Just one more movie…”

“Great.” He says and then takes your empty glass. “I’ll get you another.”

You wanted to say no thank you but he was already grabbing the bottle and pouring another, thankfully not overfilling it like last time. Those who were staying, which weren’t many, all retreated to the couch and Neil sat back down next to you after putting the next film in the VCR. You tried to focus all your thoughts on the movie this time but your mind still wandered. You thought of his lips and his hands instead of the movie. 

This film was just as painful as the first, all because of Neil. You swore he moved closer to you while the picture played out. You finished the glass halfway through and decided against another, feeling a little hazy. Amid your hazy and lustful thoughts, you realize more people are leaving and get up to say goodbye. After you say your farewells, you realize it’s just Neil and you in the store. You feel awkward and grab your coat.

“Wait.” He said quickly, making you stop what you were doing. “I hate to ask but… Uh, could you help me clean up the place a bit? I just don’t want to have to deal with it tomorrow morning.”

You agree and set your coat down. After all, this will probably only take an extra half hour. You don’t mind spending more time with Neil either, you’re just worried you’ll ruin the friendship, despite not knowing him that long. You start by picking up any cups and he starts to sweep. You offer to mop but he says he’ll do it tomorrow. It ended up only taking twenty minutes and you both are okay with the results. It’s not spotless, but it will do for now. You stand next to him after you finish and then look up at him.

“I had a great time tonight, Neil.” You tell him. “And thanks for the tape. I don’t have to return this one, right?” You joke.

“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head. “I hope you like it.”

“I will, I’m sure of it.” You say. “Well, goodnight.”

“Wait.” He says and lightly grabs your bicep as you start to walk away. “I don’t know if it's the wine or the whole "sentimental-ness" of this holiday but… You look pretty and I was hoping I could, uh, kiss you.” The way he phrases it makes it sound like a question and you blush at the request. 

“We can chalk it up to the sentimental nature of the holiday and dissect it another day.” You say teasingly and walk up to him. “You’re in luck though, I’ve been thinking about kissing you for a while.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He puts his hands on your waist and kisses your lips at first softly, but then much rougher as it goes on. You both stumble for a moment as you try to find a solid surface to lean on. He lands on the back of the couch, leaning on it as he pulls you closer in your kiss. You try to keep up his kisses but they seem too quick to try to find a tempo. He squirms as he kisses you sloppily. His hips rut against you as one of his hands holds the small of your back and the other settles on the back of your neck. 

“You’re so pretty.” He mumbles between kisses. “Ever since I met you I wanted to kiss you like this.”

You can’t think of anything to say except little moans of praise. Your hand slinks between the two of you and finds his fly which you unzip and sneak your hand into. He grunts as you palm him through his boxers and eventually, pull him out. Your hands send shivers down his spine. He had thought about this for ages, how you would be in such an intimate moment. He never thought you would be so willing and so open to the idea of pleasing him like this. He keeps grunting into your mouth as your hand works up and down his cock, pre-cum spilling from the tip and on your hands. Based on how sloppy his kissing is getting, you don’t think he’ll last long. 

You kiss him harder and apply more pressure to his hand job, making him whine as his breathing gets shallower. His hips start to buck into your hand, wanting to get as much pleasure as he can through you. You think for a moment to bend down and replace your hands with your mouth but you like how he kisses you much more. You don’t notice his grip on you tighten before he bites down on your lip and muffles his moan. You feel something hot on your leg through your tights. His breathing slows and he comes to his senses.

“Shit,” He says and pulls back, looking down at the sheer tights you’re wearing. “I’m sorry. I can buy you new ones! I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine.” You giggle and look down at your now-ruined tights. “They were like, two dollars. Don’t worry about it. Just a little gross now.”

“A little?” He asks with an embarrassed laugh. “I’ll make it up to you. How about we go get dinner together this week? I’ll pay, obviously.”

“If you wanted to take me out to dinner, you didn’t have to come on my leg. You could’ve just asked.” You tease and then lean in to peck him on the lips. “I’d like that a lot though. I like you a lot too.”

“I like you too.” He says, blushing at the elementary confession. “Let me get you a towel. I’m sorry.” He adds and retracts from you to go find some way to clean up his mess.

It is probably the weirdest Christmas you’ve had, never before experiencing a love confession or for that much, getting your tights ruined by a guy's cum, but you feel hopeful weirdly. You feel hopeful because of Neil, come this time next year, you’ll be with him you hope. Maybe it’s not the perfect way to start a relationship but it is the start of one. One you’re optimistic about. 

[hannahssimblr]

Night descends upon us and yet, as usual, the stars don’t shine brightly the way that they did last summer when our bonfire roared under clear, sparkling skies. I think of that night now as I sit on a patch of cool earth in the dunes above Dollymount Strand surrounded by rusting cans and the sun-bleached wrappers of discontinued chocolate bars.

I remember the balmy air of late July, how I didn't even heed it until now when the night is still too cold to sit out in yet we all pretend it isn't. Anyway, it’s too late to point it out to the crowd that's already gathered here, drinking and playing music from a speaker that crackles every time the bass gets too loud, so I sit as close as I can to the flames without climbing into the pit with them, and let their heat lick over my skin. 

I share a few beers with a big, severe looking boy next to me for a while. He's got silver spikes protruding from his lip, and high cheek bones that make his face look kind of gaunt and hollow like a Tim Burtonesque character. We called him Lurch at school, because he’s also about six foot five and rake thin, but tonight I learn that Lurch’s real name is Rob, and actually, Rob is a very nice person.

He talks to me about music for ages, about his drum kit and how the neighbours keep complaining to his parents about the noise. I tell him that I’ve always wished I was musical but I have absolutely no sense of rhythm. I’m kind of a loser like that, despite my dreams of being that guy with the guitar who impresses all the girls, but I have long since accepted that I will settle to be a humble music-recommender instead. Jen still keeps all of the silly mix tape CDs I made for her in primary school in her room, and it gives me an inexplicable sense of worthiness whenever I spot them.

Never once during my conversation with Rob do I tell him about the Lurch thing, though it crosses my mind several times. What seemed so funny once in the confines of my little group seems kind of obviously mean now, but I suppose I never took the time to think about it before.

Katie is nice too, the girl with a stammer who snorts when she laughs, which is often once she joins in our conversation, because she seems to think my stories are very funny, as does Rob, and I have to tell them not to laugh so hard because it only encourages me to put myself in more situations that might be entertaining to retell later on. They think that's funny too, but actually, I am being serious.

Still, I know they’ll love that one about the time I was using the desert as a toilet and a military helicopter flew overhead, convincing me that my great aunt’s busybody neighbour had called the FBI to report me for public urination, so I make sure to tell it in the most energetic way I can. It’s easier and way more fun to reveal embarrassing things about myself when I’m drinking, and by the time I have finished telling it, I toss my empty bottle to my feet where four others already lie. I hadn’t even realised I had drunk that much, but who cares when I feel this good.

“Jesus, you’re so funny,” Katie says once her giggles have subsided, “I can’t believe we all thought you were an arsehole.”

“You thought that?”

“Not really,” Rob assures me, “We just thought you were… like, a bit…”

“...of an arsehole,” I finish, and he’s clearly being polite so he denies it, but he shouldn’t bother, really, because I already know how I am. I'm aware of the things I’ve said and done to other kids for the sake of relieving my crushing, constant boredom, never really thinking about the consequences beyond ‘it will be funny’. Maybe I should say I’m sorry. 

“Nah you’re right, I’m kind of a horrible bastard,” and I laugh at myself, which gives them permission to do so too, albeit awkwardly.

“You’re not, you’re not,” Rob assures me, “You definitely weren’t the worst of the guys in our year…”

I want to ask him who is the worst, purely for the satisfaction of hearing him say that it’s Fitzy, or Murphy or Breener or any of those other awful, rugby wanks, but I don’t because someone coming through the grass has derailed my train of thought. 

“What’s she doing here?” 

I have interrupted Rob and now he’s blinking in surprise as he turns to where Leah, fucking Leah, is approaching us. 

“Uh, she comes to talk to Evan sometimes,” he explains, “just for like, a few minutes usually and then she heads off. Do you know her?”

“Yeah.”

I watch with a clenched jaw as she and Evan disappear into the darkness for a few minutes, and pop open a brand new beer bottle as Rob and Katie chat as I sit between them having lost all of my sense of fun in an instant. I’m also drunk, if not very much getting there judging by the slightly blurry flames that dance exotically in front of my eyes. I have a dim thought that it’s probably a good idea to stop drinking if I plan on seeing Jen later. I doubt Michelle’s parents will be too pleased if I show up steaming drunk at their door…

“Oh my God, Jude, I didn’t expect to see you here!” Leah is back and standing right over me. I don’t even bother to look up at her face, and instead just stare at her ratty Vans that I’m almost certain are the same pair she wore when we used to hang out two years ago, and they were ratty back then.

“Yep,” I say. She sits down so closely to me in the sand that I can smell her distinct, Leah smell. She doesn’t smell bad, just like an unpleasant sensory memory. 

“How are you?”

I clear my throat, “Are you buying drugs from teenagers now? Is that what it’s come to?”

“Oh, I thought you already knew how Evan and I knew each other.”

“No.”

“Well, mister policeman, it’s just weed,” she pulls the baggie I saw earlier out of her jacket pocket, “We can even smoke some together now if you like.”

“Weed makes me sick.”

“I remember that! Ha!” She offers it to Rob and Katie who both decline and exchange alarmed looks over our heads.

“Are you going to sit here all night?” I ask her, and even to my own ears it’s unbelievable how rude I am to her, but I don’t care, she deserves it, and it’s not like she even seems to register my tone anyway, she’s always been completely oblivious to what people think about her. She’s that person who hangs around at the party for way too long and keeps bringing up conversations that everyone stopped talking about ages ago. 

“Jude and I go way back,” Leah explains to Katie beside her, “I met him when he was, what,” a nudge to my arm, “thirteen?”

“Twelve.”

“We used to be friends, back when he was fun.”

I scowl and she drapes herself over my shoulder with an effortless laugh as though she somehow believes this is our usual banter, “I’m joking, he’s still so fun! And cute!” She tries to grab my face and I shake her off insistently so she settles for fisting a hand in the front of my sweatshirt to hold me hostage instead, “Isn’t he, though?” she presses poor, sheepish Katie who explodes in a ferocious blush. “Would you say he’s the cutest boy at school?”

“I- I don’t know,” Katie stutters. 

“Well guess what! I got to be the lucky girl who took his virginity!”

I rip her off me but she comes back at me with more grabbing hands and tickling fingers, “Ooh! It’s true, isn’t it? Isn’t it Judie? Oh, isn’t it?”

I wrench her off me with finality and clamber to my feet, my heart beating, my stomach queasy, “Leave me alone, okay?” I bend down to swipe my beer bottle out of the hollow I made for it in the sand and even then she tries to touch my hair. It infuriates me. “I’m serious! Piss off!” I spit.

“Oh God, mister grumpy!” She says as I stagger around the bonfire to get away from her and everything that she represents. I’m definitely drunk now, it's in my sluggish movements, the way my eyes drift unfocussed from person to person, but being drunk is preferable to remembering Leah as vividly as I would if I were perfectly sober. Right now, it is just snippets of an evening three years ago that play through my mind. The week I turned fourteen, and the hard, frozen November ground by a swing set. The things I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to do but thought knew I should by then, and Leah, and the heat of her skin, the smell of her sweat, the hyper fixation I had on that piece of bark mulch I felt tangled in her hair which somehow became the strongest memory of all, something that I still associate with her when I feel the sharp dig of something in my palm.

When I don't see her I don't think of these things, so I circle the bonfire until she is invisible, obscured by the roaring flames and swallowed by the darkness.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[mangoshorthand]

Hii againn, first off I seriously love love LOVE the lucky fucking pillow you did from my first request thank you 🫶 I think this counts as my second request? (I hope it's okay to req again🥺) fluff rather than a smut hehe, this happens after five retired and they live together and reader comes home with a senior cat she decided to adopted (bc it reminded her of five) then he soon comes to love it so much, and up to you! pls a bit of angst. THANKIEE SMM I really enjoyed my first request!! 🩷🩷🩷

You're welkiee again! You can request as often as you like (but I am on hiatus after posting this to work on one or two longer projects). I've saved this one for a bit because I really wanted to do it justice. Sorry it took so long.

Two Old Men | Five Hargreeves / GN Reader Words: 3.3k, rated G

At last, retirement suited him. 

He tried first when he was fifty eight and his body was in its teens, but destiny pulled him kicking and screaming back into the chaos. After all that was all done, he tried again, but it didn’t take.

As it turned out, people don’t retire just because they’re mentally tired, they retire because they’re old, and Five’s body and brain tissue being physically young had left him too full of energy to live a life of idleness.

But now, with his body in its early fifties and his consciousness well into its nineties, he felt the body slowing down enough to allow him to take it easy

So, a year ago, you and he bought a few acres of land in Tompkins County. Five was someone who didn’t like to gush- in fact, he tended to find fault if there was any- but even he had to admit it was perfect: it was near enough to Ithaca to access all the restaurants, shops and bars you enjoyed together, and rural enough to satisfy him in his insistence that you retire somewhere where nightfall brought a view of the cosmos unspoiled by city lights.

The farmhouse was small enough to mean it would be easy enough to keep clean as you both aged, but commodious enough to play host to two or three family members at a time.

For New Year, you actually managed four, but that had involved Klaus staying on a blow-up. He'd insisted that his powers kept his body in tip-top shape but it became apparent the following morning that he'd been talking out of his ass: his elderly back could no longer tolerate such treatment, and Five had wrenched his own in pulling him off the mattress.

No, Five couldn’t complain: he had a couple of project cars to tinker with in the barn, and next year you were planning to try planting a little orchard and vineyard to try your hands at making organic wine. His days were filled with pleasant walks, naps and hobbies, and his nights were spent warm in bed with you: what more could a man want from his retirement?

Now, he stretched out on the veranda, hat shading his eyes and sun warming his limbs. He wondered vaguely whether it was worth adding just one more bedroom. He sort of missed having a house full of guests. Or, even better, maybe he could build himself a better place for the cars (his precious Corvette was vulnerable to rust in the barn right now), and then convert the barn into its own little self-contained-

“Five?”

Your shout came to him on the breeze. He put down his book entirely and squinted at your approaching figure, returning from your afternoon walk. He’d left his glasses inside, so he could only see an indistinct shape in your arms. Your gait seemed unusual. Were you hurt?

“What’s up?” he called back, ignoring the slight twinge in his pelvis as he stood. 

“Look what I’ve found!”

Not hurt: just slightly urgent. He approached curiously, walking off the little stiffness caused by the twinge. He knew there would probably be a point when it was easier to blink to his feet than heave himself up- he could sense it coming the last time his body was in its fifties, but he was damned if he’d do that until his joints were at least pushing eighty.

You came into view.

Apparently, you were wrestling with your sweater.

It writhed in your arms, wriggling and snarling so fiercely that you nearly dropped it on a couple of occassions.

“What the hell?”

“Open the door for me. I found a cat.”

“A cat?" he said, as if he'd never heard of such a creature.

And, sure enough, a pair of bright green eyes glared out from where their owner was bundled up in the sweater: a tightly- wrapped burrito with murder in its heart.

“I don’t want that thing in the house!” he said, as the burrito gave a threatening growl.

“He’s ill, Five.”

Thirty years together had taught him when you meant business. Your tone was conclusive, so he reluctantly opened the front door.

“Put it in the laundry room,” he said, resentfully, “I don’t want it pissing on the furniture.”

“He, Five.” you said, pointedly.

“Yeah, wouldn’t wanna misgender a goddamn cat,” he mumbled, but he opened the laundry room door and stood aside so you could enter before closing it behind you both.

“Okay- stand back,” you said, lowering the writhing sweater onto the tiles. 

Five did step back. He liked dogs, but cats he had no interest in. Let alone one that sounded like it intended them both serious bodily harm. Its constant growls and furious yowls made him feel like he was in the presence of a live grenade. 

For a moment, the bundle wriggled, throwing itself around until the cat finally extracted himself. His long fur was a dark gray black, and those jade eyes peered out threateningly from underneath weeping mange-sores. Immediately, he backed off into a corner, fur all on end and spitting at you both with hackles raised. Though he was doing his level best to appear larger, he was rather small and skinny.

Five looked at you, incredulously. There you were, eyes glistening in adoration as you looked down at the brewing hurricane of claws and teeth. It was the same face he fell in love with. You were slightly older than him physically, but you didn’t look it, especially now that your eyes were filled with an excited gleam: you looked young again. 

“Look at him, Five!”

Suppressing a loving smile, he looked back at the cat, now growling again.

“He’s kinda gross.”

“No he isn’t!” you said, indignantly, “he's an old man and he’s sick.”

You paused for a moment. 

“A bit like you, actually. You’re a sick old man if ever I met one.”

You eyed him knowingly with a little twitch of your eyebrows. Five scowled, but you continued, laughing, as the parallels came upon you one by one.

“He is like you! That must be why I had to bring him home! He’s tiny and old and grumpy and-”

As you said it, the cat let out an indignant, snappish ‘Nyaah’.

“-and he even sounds like you!” you finished, grinning. 

“I’m not tiny,” Five said, grumpily, “I’m only an inch or so shorter than average.”

“Look!” you said, pointing between him and the cat, “you’re pulling the same face.”

“God, I married an idiot,” Five replied, schooling his expression back into neutrality. He looked back at the cat with its teeth bared in a silent hiss.

“It looks like it wants to tear our throats out.”

“I know!” you said, rapturously, “he’s so cute!”

Five shook his head at this absurd non-sequitur.

“Whose is it?”

“I found him near the old Montgomery place. I think he must have belonged to Judy.”

His mouth pulled downwards. Five had known Judy to wave to. She was a nice old lady who lived a few farms over. He’d been sorry to hear of her death.

“That means he’s been surviving on his own for two months,” you said. 

He looked down at the cat, looking rapidly around itself for a route of escape and finding none. It seemed to try to line up a jump onto the counter, but looked wobbly on its back legs as it did so, so it gave up and went back to eyeing them with those lamp-like eyes.

He really was old.

“Well,” Five said, begrudgingly, “you’re gonna have to take him to the vets. See if he’s chipped and get that shit on his face sorted out.”

“Okay!” you said, brightly, looking around the laundry room with a thoughtful look, “can you blink and get me some twine from the kitchen so we don’t have to open the door.”

“Twine?”

“You just watch.”

***

With many claw marks on your forearms but still smiling like an idiot, you drove the cat to the vets with it trapped in a plastic laundry basket with an identical one on top secured with twine. Five watched you down the drive with a fond shake of the head and returned to his book. There was still a good hour or so of warm, early-afternoon sun before he’d have to go inside and get a jacket.

He spent the afternoon peacefully, sipping a cold beer and occasionally letting his book rest on his chest while he watched the thick cirrocumulous cloud cover crawling gradually by.

When he was forty, he only barely lived through the worst apocalyptic winter. Fuel was low, and he'd been prevented from finding more or seeking shelter elsewhere by the deepest snow drifts he ever experienced.

Out of one of these, he’d dug himself and Dolores a little snow-shelter. He distinctly remembered trying to dry his soaking gloves over the smoldering embers of his last burnable supplies and looking down at his red fingers.

'If I survive this,' he thought then, 'this will all be a memory one day. I can look back on this when I’m warm and comfortable. I can sit in the sun and remember how lucky I am to be there. This is good, actually, because it’ll teach me to be grateful.'

And, although he’d only thought that way to get him through that night, it had actually worked, because Five remembered it now. He remembered the pain in his joints from the physical labor and the burning of his frostbitten fingers and toes. He took a moment to glory in the contrast between then and now.

Back then, he’d only been thinking about surviving until the thaw or the following summer, but now he had more happiness and more comfort than he ever dared to imagine then. He was warm, he was safe, he was home, and he would fall asleep tonight held tight in your arms. 

With a warm feeling in his chest, he closed his eyes. 

He only awoke from the slight doze at the sound of the car pulling up.

“Hey,” he said, without opening his eyes, “is it all done with? Cat at the shelter?”

“Nyyaaahhh!”

The truculent noise was more than enough to answer his question. Damn cat couldn’t even meow right.

He opened his eyes to see you standing there with the cat in a brand new carrier and a huge bag from the pet store in another.

“Woah, hey!” he said, dismayed, “We didn’t talk about this!”

“Please, Five,” you said, wheedling, “he has nobody else. They read his chip and he was Judy’s. The vet said he’s too old to get adopted and he’d probably die at a shelter.”

“No, I am not keeping that thing in the house,” he protested, “I got this strange liking to having both my eyes!”

He relented slightly at the sight of your pout.

“Fine. He can stay, but he can live in the barn.”

“You go live in the barn,” you said, resentfully, taking the cat and the supplies into the house despite his protestations.

An argument ensued, an argument that didn’t settle down until you both turned in for bed.

When the cat was shut downstairs for the night, fed, bedded and given the run of the kitchen and laundry room, you slid into bed beside Five without acknowledging him. 

Five sat there for a minute or so with his arms folded and a scowl on his face. At last, he spoke:

“Fine,” he said, “he can stay in the house, but I got two conditions.”

You gave a small squee and kissed him full on the mouth, squashing his mustache with your fervor. You knew that the thin end of the wedge was embedded. Whatever Five’s conditions were, the cat would find his way around them in time.

“All right, all right,” Five said, from between your hands on his cheeks. Though he was trying to sound stern, suppressing his smile was difficult.

“Number one,” he said, holding up a finger, “he doesn’t get to go beyond the kitchen. I don’t want him ruining our stuff. We’ll get a cat door and he can go out and do whatever cats do during the day, and he can sleep and eat here.”

“Okay,” you said, though with no intention of sticking to this agreement. 

Five put up a second finger.

“And two, I get to name him.”

“He already has a name,” you said, bemused, “Judy called him Mr Cuddles, I think.”

“That’s a dumb name,” Five grumbled, “I’m calling him Timothy.”

“Timothy?”

“Timothy.” he said, decisively, “take it or leave it.”

“Can we call him Tim?”

“Nope,” Five said, obstinately, “Timothy.”

***

Timothy didn’t like to be touched. It took him six weeks to tolerate you petting him without tensing up, though it was clear he didn’t really enjoy it. Being picked up was still an absolute no-go, as that would necessitate touching his tummy. That, you were learning, was a guaranteed bite. 

Despite this, things had improved for Timothy since he arrived. His mange was gone and he’d grown in confidence, greeting you each morning with a polite ‘Nyah’, and even conferring the odd friendly chirrup upon you now and again.

You spent hours in the kitchen with him, just sitting there, drinking tea and tempting him towards you with treats. You were getting on fine, and Timothy clearly already felt like he owned the place, coming and going as he wished and sunning himself on the veranda.

You were besotted, and Five was happy for you, (anything that made your eyes light up that way was fine by him), but mostly he ignored Timothy, carrying on just the same as ever. 

One afternoon, however, Five was in the barn, lying on his mechanic’s creeper under his jacked up 1967 Pontiac. There was a worrying leak coming from somewhere, and, having got so far fixing her up on his own, he was hoping to avoid having to take her into the shop in town.

So intent was he on inspecting the engine bay, he didn’t notice that he wasn’t the only one beneath the car until Timothy was less than an inch from his face. 

“Nyaaah?”

Five startled, dropping his flashlight and cursing. 

“Shit!”

Timothy’s ears flattened against his head, and he backed off rapidly, stopping a few feet away before hissing at Five, ill-naturedly.

“Stupid cat,” Five muttered, composing himself and returning to the job at hand. 

As he continued to work, he stayed aware of Timothy stalking around the car. At one point, he heard a small flump that meant he’d jumped through the Pontiac’s open door. 

“Watch the the interior,” Five grumbled, “that’s the original naugahyde. You know how much I paid for her?”

“Nyah.”

“Yup,” he said, “and if you scratch up or pee on any of it, I’ll replace it with catskin. Understood?”

“Nyah,” Timothy repeated.

“Good.”

He became absorbed again, listening to Timothy’s paws pattering around on his precious upholstery. The leak was hard to identify. He chewed at his lower lip and considered before muttering to himself.

“It was brown, so that’s gotta be transmission fluid, right? Maybe brake fluid? Hell, maybe it’s just oil.”

“Nyah.”

“Could be a lube oil leak, I guess,” he said, as if Timothy had suggested this, “but it doesn’t smell bad.”

Timothy landed with only a slight stumble when he jumped down. Five felt the cat butt up and rub himself against his feet where they stuck out from underneath the car. 

He tinkered for another fifteen minutes to no avail. He could feel his joints starting to stiffen, so he wheeled himself out from under the car to find Timothy watching him, sitting neatly in a shaft of sunlight at the barn door.

He gave Five a slow blink. 

Five wasn’t au fait with cat communication, but the gesture seemed friendly, so he nodded slightly awkwardly at him in acknowledgement. 

***

Over the next week or so, Timothy honored Five with his company whenever he worked on the Pontiac.

Five supposed it was a hangover from his life with Dolores, but he found he worked better when he had a presence with him to talk to. Verbalizing his thought processes nearly always helped him problem-solve.

It took him a few days to identify the problem and, just as he was starting to fix it, a sound like an idling Harley Davidson made him look around confusedly for the source. He thought for one, wild moment that the key had been turned in the Pontiac’s ignition but apparently not: as it turned out, this was just how Timothy purred.

He was sitting a few feet away, watching Five work under the car and purring in the warmth of the sunlight. When he saw Five looking, he gave another of those contented slow blinks.

That night, Five didn’t shut Timothy in the kitchen when he went to bed.

***

It was a balmy summer afternoon. You and Five were sitting on the veranda on the twin loungers, drinking iced tea and talking in an idle fashion about building another bedroom. 

You favored converting the attic, while Five wanted a full barn conversion.  He talked convincingly about how nice it would be to have his niblings and their families over to stay for a few weeks at a stretch, but you suspected it actually had much more to do with the opportunity to build himself a proper mechanic’s shop on the property. He talked about how nice it would be to spend more time with the kids, but you could see the ghost of a hydraulic vehicle lift behind his eyes: there would be no more lying uncomfortably on the creeper then.

But, the decision left unmade, Five had talked himself into a nap. His hand had long since dropped from where you’d been holding it between the two loungers, and he was now sound asleep with his hat over his face.

You were engrossed with a book, relaxed and listening to Five’s soft little snores. It was good he was having a nap now, you thought. Tonight, you’d planned to wait up until it got dark out and stargaze on a rug spread in the back field, like you did when you were younger.

“Nyaah?”

Timothy padded into sight, piercing green eyes x-raying you with assessment. This was another similarity to your husband: even after all these years, Five regularly looked at you as if he were still making up his mind about you. 

You patted your thigh, hoping to encourage Timothy onto your lap, but he declined the offer and wandered over to sniff Five’s empty glass instead. Apparently finding nothing to his liking, he looked up at Five.

You watched, shocked, as Timothy first gauged the jump, then decided it was within his capabilities and finally shuffled backwards to line himself up. In a mildly ungainly fashion, he made the leap and walked confidently along Five’s chest until he reached the softer padding of his belly. There, Timothy kneaded him gently before he settled down, turning around and around in a circle before curling up neatly.

This was just typical, you thought, as Timothy began to purr loudly. You’d worked your ass off to get this cat to like you and he still barely tolerated you petting him. All the while, Five had treated Timothy with indifference bordering on dislike and this is how he responded?

As you watched, trying hard not to feel slightly offended, Five stirred and muttered something in which only the word “cat” was discernible. His arms came sleepily up, his fingers laced together and his hands laid themselves across the cat’s abdomen. 

Timothy stiffened and made a small, slightly unhappy noise at the unexpected touch, but, after a moment of evaluation, apparently decided to tolerate it. He lay his head back down and closed his eyes.

For a moment, you shook your head and watched the two crotchety old men sleep. Then, smiling, you returned to your book.

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