#mat brown pots

[viennakarma]

Alonso Shenanigans

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: Mamá has business to attend, and Fernando is left to watch his son and get a hold of his whereabouts.

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: female reader, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, dad!Nando, silly little slice of life, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Another bite sized fluffy Nando fic, because I think about that one thing he said about finding happiness in becoming a father at least four times a week. Comments and feedback are appreciated xx

“Are you sure, love?” You asked again, nervous, watching as Fernando carried Alejandro attached to his hip.

“Yes, I’m sure, will you be back later today?” Fernando asked, as Ale played with his father’s hair, mumbling a little lullabye.

“Yes, in around three hours,” you said, kissing the top of Ale’s head, then pecking Fernando’s lips, “I’m really sorry, this meeting came out of nowhere, I promise I’ll make it up to you when-”

“Amor, it’s ok,” Fernando interrupted, “Go, we’ll behave and wait for you.”

It was just media day, but unfortunately a last minute meeting at your company needed to happen, and you’d have to leave your husband and kid alone in the paddock so you could go back to the hotel to attend the meeting online.

“Love you two to the moon and back!” You said, scurrying off.

“Mamá!” Alejandro asked, suddenly noticing his mother’s absence, and getting fussy.

“Mamá had to work, we’re going to have a lot of fun together today!” Fernando said, putting him on the floor, and holding his hand.

He took Alejandro all around, when he went to talk with the mechanics about the last update to his car, when he went to take a few pictures, recording a few marketing stuff, here and there. Everyone knew Alejandro as “Little Alonso”, his tiny feet padding around, his head full of disheveled brown wavy hair, and eyes that were pretty much the same as his father. He was always around, pointing at his dad’s car, muttering gibberish half in spanish and half in english, he also liked walking to the engineers pulling on their shirts to get their attention so he could ask for a headphone.

At the age of four and a half, Alejandro was a known face around the paddocks, always asking questions and waiting to know about everyone’s business.

“Papá, I’m hungry!” Alejandro patted his own belly, which made his dad chuckle.

“Ok, we’re getting food, campeoncito,” Fernando muttered, leading his son to his room. Inside, he rummaged through all his bags, searching for his snacks and juice bottle.

He ended up sitting beside Alejandro in the cafeteria, the little boy munching in a pot of cut fruits, a bag of chips, and a mango juice. Alejandro talked about everything, asking about the people and the colors, and why everything was where it was.

Eventually, Fernando had a meeting, so he set a little playing mat to Alejandro on the floor of the meeting room, where he put his son’s toys, paper and crayons. 

“Papá, yo quiero inside your car!” Ale asked, as Fernando placed him on the little mat.

“I’ll take you to sit in my car as soon as we finish here, yes? Just sit tight and I’ll be really fast. Do you want to play with your toys, or paint a little? Come on,” Fernando took a crayon and started drawing, looking over his shoulder to see his engineers and strategists getting inside, sitting down, opening their laptops and notes. Nobody batted an eye to Fernando kneeling on the floor, convincing his kid to sit quietly. Everyone was used to the Alonsos’ shenanigans.

Finally, after making sure Alejandro was still on the mat, under his sight, Fernando went on and started the meeting.

It took something between 20 and 30 minutes until it was over, and when Fernando went to pick Alejandro, he noticed his little boy wasn’t there anymore, and the door was slightly ajar. Muttering every curse word he could think of, he bolted outside. Alejandro had become a little menace in escaping rooms now that he was tall enough to tiptoe and reach a door handle.

“Have you seen Alejandro?” He stopped a couple of the staff in the hall to ask. They just shook their heads. He went to the garage, and stopped the whole team of mechanics, his heart beating faster than it did when racing, “Have you guys seen Alejandro?”

“He walked past with Lance a few minutes ago,” Someone said, pointing outside. Fernando breathed again, ok, at least he wasn’t alone, roaming around and in danger.

Striding forward, Fernando kept looking for his teammate and his son, and eventually ended up in Ferrari. He walked inside to ask Carlos if he had seen the little boy, but he stopped short when he noticed a tiny hand print made with what looked like grease on the livery of the 55 Ferrari, and the letters “ALE” written sloppily with the very same black grease.

“Oh, mierda,” he whispered. Carlos noticed him, walking up to Fernando with a smile.

“Ale was just here with Lance, we talked for a couple of seconds, and when we looked, he had his hand printed on the car,” Carlos explained, as Fernando winced.

“Lo siento, Carlos. Do you know where they might have gone?” He asked.

“Well, Lance said he was going to wash Ale’s hands. So, back to Aston Martin, maybe?” Carlos shrugged.

Fernando went back to his garage, looking for Lance and Alejandro. Finally, he found Lance using a cloth to dry his hands. He smiled and waved at Fernando, who quickly went up to him.

“Is Alejandro with you?” Fernando asked.

“Oh, he saw George walking by, ran up to him and they both bolted together. I have no idea where they went. Sorry.” Lance muttered.

Fernando walked out again, going to the Mercedes motorhome to find his son once again. Honestly, everyone loved Alejandro way more than they loved Fernando, he was pretty sure, and the little boy was frankly a menace all around. If he found someone like George to match his energy, they would go around causing trouble to everyone.

At the Mercedes motorhome, he found Lewis staring curiously at a bowl of fruits.

“Hey, have you seen Alejandro? Lance said he and Geor-” Fernando stopped himself when he got closer to the table where the bowl of fruits sat.

“Well, for sure they’ve been here,” Lewis muttered, holding an apple, showing how the fruit had one single bite taken off. One little bite which Fernando knew very well who that dental arch belonged to. There was a bite on the apple, the banana, the pear, the peach and every single fruit there.

“¡Ay, dios mio! I’m sorry about this!” Fernando whispered, “I need to find them before him and George set the whole paddock on fire.”

Fernando walked out, knowing that George was probably going to look for Alex or Lando, who would probably support their little mischief around. He found Williams garage first, where he found a laughing Logan Sargeant picking up what looked like hundreds of little pieces of lego. And Fernando knew his kid, and knew he loved throwing things to the floor to make a mess.

“That’s Alejandro’s doing, right?” Fernando asked, wide eyed. Logan nodded and explained how the little boy had been there with George to taunt Alex after throwing his lego piece to the floor and scattering all the tiny pieces. Fernando helped Logan pick up the pieces from the floor.

“The three of them left, saying they had to prank Lando too,” Logan told Fernando, when they finished.

Fernando ran off, walking to McLaren, where he found Lando washing off his hair which was tangled in pink play dough, and George was trying to help him. Standing a little far behind, Alex had Alejandro sitting on his shoulders, the two of them giggling with Oscar.

“Alejandro didn’t do that, did he?” Fernando asked, worried and getting angry.

“No, no!” George was quick, “that was an accident on my part!”

“Yeah, little Alonso is innocent on this!” Lando added. Fernando squinted, not sure if he fully believed that, since Fernando himself had gone through something similar with Alejandro and his play dough.

“Look, any kind of oil will remove that from your hair,” Fernando patted his back, walking to his kid.

Alex gave him Alejandro, who Fernando decided was best to keep attached to him, not letting the little boy out of his sight again.

��Green! Verde, verde!” Alejandro was exclaiming to Alex.

“What is going on, pollito?” Fernando asked.

“He asked me to paint my hair green next time,” Alex explained, showing his blonde hair.

“And you agreed?” Fernando frowned.

“Yeah, whatever little Alonso wants, little Alonso gets,” Alex shrudded, laughing and pinching Alejandro chubby cheeks.

“You guys spoil him too much!” Fernando shook his head, waving goodbye and taking Alejandro back to his garage, “now I understand why mamá wants to buy a little backpack leash for you, little troublemaker.”

Alejandro held his face, looking into his eyes, then hugging him tight, which made Fernando’s annoyance from having to chase his son around completely dissolve, and he melted, hugging his boy. He could never get angry with his cute little man, especially when he reminded him so much of his younger self.

“Papá? Where’s Mamá?” Alejandro asked, looking around.

“Mamá is coming back soon, pollito,” he whispered, kissing his son’s cheek, “I’m missing her too.”

Fernando didn’t lose sight of Alejandro anymore, and when he had to leave for the press conference with other drivers, he left his PR manager to watch Alejandro while you had not come back. He was sitting on the sofa, answering questions but he still could watch Alejandro in a little chair on the opposite side of the room, beside the manager.

At some point, he noticed Alejandro getting fussy and pouty from staying in the same place alone for too long and looking fairly sleepy, Fernando could tell from one look.

“Alejandro,” Fernando called into the mic, the little boy looked around, hearing his dad’s voice, finally, he set his eyes on Fernando and jumped from the chair, “vente aquí.”

The boy took off, running towards his dad, eliciting a little “aw” from the journalists, and a lot of cameras following him until he got to his father, sitting on his lap, nuzzling into Fernando’s chest.

Fernando kept answering questions, and in a couple off minutes, Alejandro was fully asleep. Everyone started talking a little lower, as to not disturb the little one who was sleeping so calmly on his dad’s chest.

When the press conference was over, Fernando carried Alejandro inside his room, keeping his son on his lap, while he went through some data.

Finally when you came back, you found Alejandro on Fernando’s chest, his dad holding him tight while both of them took a little nap, looking so much like each other that it warmed your heart. You kissed both of their heads, running your fingers through Fernando’s hair to wake him up.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, so my pretty boys can eat and rest properly, yes?” You said, kissing Fernando softly, his eyes shining with so much adoration that he didn’t need to say the words, you could see the I love you. “Did you two behave?”

“Like angels!” Fernando winked, which told you that they probably had some Alonso Shenanigans today.

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ domesticity, könig

könig got off to watching you be a mother.

könig hated to admit it. the way he inevitably got turned on whenever he came home from long missions. the way whenever he’d walk through the front door of your home, muddy and dirty boots immediately being taken off by the welcome mat so he didn’t stain the innocence of your home with his trauma and duties from work—the bludge in his pants grew at the sight of how you lived such a domestic life.

he was sure his view was a sight that nearly every man wished for at some point in their life. he felt blessed. blessed that no one else at his base had the privilege to come home to this. with you holding a chubby baby full of fiery strawberry blonde curls—undoubtedly belonging to him—on your wide hips, so full from giving birth no more than two years ago.

your daughter was a bit on the paler side despite having beautiful brown skin, and you always wondered if your genes even fucking tried to show out for you when creating her. she looked and acted so much like her father, the only way to probe that she was yours were your shared lips and her having your hair texture. everything else belonged to könig.

“papa wird bald zu hause sein, kleine liebe,” you reassure your daughter of her father’s return home soon as she began to grow cranky, a daily sign of her missing him. you had just finished breastfeeding her, and that was evident in the way the majority of your tits stuck out like a sore thumb from one of your man’s thin wife beater shirts. hey, you were home alone with nothing but pretty trees and bush surrounding you.

könig couldn’t help but smile at the back of your head as you hummed her a little song as you stirred your pot of food. the way your braids were tied down in a bright pink bonnet, the way the fat of your grown woman body hung out of your booty shorts that did nothing to hide the swallow of your ass, and how your white painted toes filled themselves in your fur slippers. the primal hormones in him filled with testosterone practically rushed to the blood of his dick as he watched you dance around the kitchen with your pretty baby.

this how you got pregnant in the first place.

every day he was grateful he decided to snatch you up and take you back to his home country with him. the way you adapted to his culture the way he did yours—you made sure to teach your baby her two native languages, english and german.

no one knew where you were, and könig liked it that way. you three could play house in peace for the next few months, at least until his next deployment. it was the safest option for you. to take you both out the states where his personal life could possibly be exploited.

no one knew where in austria exactly könig was from, making it harder for anyone to possibly track down his pretty little family. you were able to work in peace without having to worry about someone finding about your husband’s real job and eventually figuring out where your daughter went to daycare. it was peaceful for you in austria. as far as the neighbors knew, your husband was in the military occasionally on long deployment missions.

not exactly a lie.

he was never 100% at ease leaving his two girls anywhere, but he knew that if you were at least living in a place that he knew like the back of his fucking hand, his anxiety would calm down just a bit while on missions.

you fall completely deaf to the sound around you as your daughter babbles in your ear while you cooked. the delicious aroma of your wonderful food fills your husband’s nostrils as he finally decides its time for him to finally come out the shadows.

your baby continued to babble things in german-english as you began to plate food only for yourself like you’d done for the past six months, completely unbeknownst to the masculine presence behind you.

“my pretty wife always manages to make such delicious meals,” the hoarse voice manages to startle you to the point where you drop your pot spoon on the floor. “been starved for a plate, lover.”

your daughter turns her head before you do, and immediately fights to be put down from your arms. at the sight of her father, she gives a bright two-toothed grin and opens her arms. “daddy daddy!”

könig wastes no time in ripping off his mask and plastering a big kiss on his baby’s cheeks. “meine hübsche prinzessin,” he greets, engulfing “been a good girl for mommy, yeah?” the ice blue eyes question as they falter over to you. you’re still standing in shock that könig chuckles at the innocence on your face. the same one he’s been in love with for years now.

he didn’t blame you though, you didn’t expect him back for at least another two months.

könig wastes no time in walking over to you, and of course the first place his hands touch are your wide hips. his pink lips smash onto your brown ones and he wastes no time in engulfing all of you into him.

he doesn’t miss the way that small tears fill his shirt. he knows you’ve been alone in a secluded area, in an almost foreign place where you hardly knew anyone. he knew how lonely you must of felt having to do all this by yourself. he was here for you now.

god, he missed you. his good, pretty little wife.

[unholyhelbig]

Part three of loan shark natty

Title: The Oversight [Part 3/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 3465

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, guns, blood, death, sort of dark nat if you squint, horrible grammar

[A/n: If you guys haven't picked up on it yet, this will be slow-burn. Also, thank you so much for the positive response to this story, it means so much!]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

It had been two weeks since the incident that you had deemed ‘the business proposal’, though, if you were being honest, you knew exactly what it was. The bruising against the side of your face, fading from a deep dark purple to an ugly muddy brown reminded you of the encounter. The faster you healed, the more your nerves started to prickle dangerously.

Each time the brass bell above the diner’s door would ring, your eyes would flick to the entrance. With bated breath, you’d study the tired businessman, the English major running on nothing but burnt coffee, or the single mother just looking for some reprieve. Much like yourself.

Clint Barton was the last person you expected and wanted to see. He was certainly the last person you wanted to see, despite the sheepish smile on his face. There was shame etched into his features and a strange softness to his eyes that starkly contrasted the man who had nearly broken your jaw.

His hair was sprinkled with droplets of water, a sweatshirt dotted from the persistent drizzle that seemed to plague the city. He dutifully wiped his feet on the mat and made his way over to you. Instead of his usual booth, Clint sat on the last stool and scratched the stubble on his chin.

He glanced at the menu as if he were going to order something different than his usual. Maybe he wouldn’t order anything at all. But, you had a feeling you weren’t going to escape the conversation at the tip of his tongue, nor the obscenities at the tip of yours.

You poured him a cup of coffee and set it in front of him without being asked. Clint could swallow down a whole pot of extra caffeinated without a second thought. For now, you urged him to pace himself silently.

“You got a couple of minutes?” He asked behind the rim of his cup.

The diner was mostly empty. It was the middle of the workday and had been a slow four hours thus far. There was only so many times you could wiped down the same table and replace the salt in the shakers.

The cook made eye contact with you as he poured alcohol from his flask into off-brand orange soda. You got a short shrug in response. Otherwise, the place was empty. Clint had timed his arrival perfectly.

“Sure. You’re not going to beat the shit out of me again, are you? Those cameras aren’t hooked up, but this is still a public place.”

“Look, I wanted to apologize for that. Bad information breeds bad reactions. I was doing what I was told. You’ll learn that that’s the only way to get anywhere in this practice.”

He stated it plainly as if you weren’t silently inducted into a criminal ring. You weren’t exactly sure what they did but if it was half as bad as what they’d done to you, it was trouble. Clint could sense your unease. He placed his mug down and lifted a bandaged eyebrow.

“Hold your grudge, y/n. I sure would. Natasha simply told me to collect you after your shift. So, you can sit here and glower at me like a grumpy little monster or you can make conversation and we can become friends.”

You hated how good the second suggestion sounded. He was charming in an annoying type of way. You’d never clicked with anyone in the diner before, certainly not the only other employee that stood behind the grill.

Clint was staring at you like he knew you’d already folded. He covered his smirk with another sip of coffee. You wanted to wipe the cocky grin off his face. He had effectively taken a shot at you, that much was true, but you had crumbled just as easily under Natasha’s wishes.

“Friends is a stretch.” You sounded out.

“Acquaintances, then.”

You conceded with a small nod and Clint smiled in a way that could only be genuine. He swallowed off the rest of his coffee and made small talk with you as you hustled around the restaurant. There was a small rush after classes at the community college let out. But you were able to carry on a conversation, learning a little more about him.

He’d been friends with Natasha for a long time. That much was clear by the way his eyes crinkled along the edges when he’d recall memories that stretched past their current affairs and into childhood.  

“We met when we were twelve. I’d just moved to town and was this scrawny, awkward mess of puberty and acne. An easy target is what I’m saying. A lot of neighborhood boys would target me, but I was faster than them. It usually worked in my favor, but there was one day when it had just snowed and it was impossible for me to get any headway.”

Clint regaled you as you filled up his mug for the third time. You lingered behind the counter, chin on your hand as you listened intently.  

“Six of them cornered me at a construction site. I didn’t even know how to begin to fight back. I was beaten close to death and then I heard Nat. She ran head-first into danger, tried to take on every single one of them. Of course, she got the shit kicked out of her too, she was just a kid there was no way for her to win. But that didn’t’ matter because she got back up every single time. Eventually they got cold, or bored, probably both.”

You didn’t want to admit that you were impressed. “Shit, that’s quite the meeting.”

“She’s tough, y/n. Not someone you want to fuck with.”

“So, this is a warning, then?” You smiled.

He shrugged his shoulders “A cautionary tale.”

He drove a 1970 Dodge challenger that smelled like cherry leather polish. It was the nicest car you had ever seen, that is, until he pulled up the iron-gated mansion on the outskirts of the city. There was a brilliant view of the harbor, the water a deep and dark blue that seemed endless, an orange sun casting delicious shadows against the docks.

The house was brick, built in a southern style with a large wrap around porch and a stone fountain in the center of a circular gravel drive. It was three stories of decadence, surrounded by large oak trees and the deepest green grass. This was the home of a Politian, or of someone who had one under their thumb.

Three black SUVs were parked in tandem outside. An equally pitch Corvette Stingray was parked directly in front of the steps. You struggled to muffle the thoughts of Natasha in the front seat. The vehicle suited her, and while you most certainly were not a car person, you knew the value of a ride like that.

Clint squirmed with pride, that same smile on his face. It was one that often accompanied him, you’d learn. He took the steps two at a time and waited to open the doors until you’d caught up. He removed his jacket and draped it over the coat rack just by entryway. You, however, were preoccupied by the elegance of the home.

The floor was a checkered black and white, stretching all the way down a corridor to open storm doors, letting in a crisp spring warmth. Light danced against art that cost more than your entire apartment building. White stairs clung to the wall and curved to the second floor. To your left, a dining room. To your right, a living area that had the softest white carpet, and a cream grand piano that your fingers twitched to run over.

There was a sour scent of bleach that reached your nose, and it was only then, did you realize the blood. It was distilled, a quiet pink color, that had been diluted by diligent scrubbing. The girl, the one that was often at Clint’s side herself, was on her knees a few feet away.

She held a scrub brush that looked like the ones used to clean the grout at the diner. Her forehead was damp with sweat, a few stray strands of dark hair falling into stormy gray eyes. The front of her shirt was stained in the majority of the blood. You failed to see how she would have much to clean from the floor. Yet, the bucket of water next to her was a frothy mess of red.

“An hour,” Clint tsked, shaking his head “I left you alone for an hour. I specifically said that I was coming back with a guest, and it was imperative not to freak her out.”

“I’m not freaked out.”

You were absolutely freaked out. But you were quick to realize whose home you were in. The scrubbing of a crime scene was startling, and you wanted to turn tail and run. However, you had seen worse before and your life had been spared once. You weren’t going to get squeamish now.

“You sound freaked out.” Clint turned his attention back to the girl “And its bad manners. If I were the police?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten through the gate.” She stood, dropping the brush into the bucket with a defiant splash. She was taller than you thought, the deep red of her collar harsh against her skin. There was a smile on her lips, and she reached out a hand to you. “I’m Kate.”

“This is y/n and she’s not going to shake that.” Clint batted Kate’s hand away “Who was this?”

Kate rolled her eyes. It was an action that you yourself would never do. Clint may be a bit aloof, but you had seen him in action. Namely when he was three seconds from snapping the bones in your face. She had no fear of him, though. There was a cockiness, a charming attention, to her stance. He didn’t’ seem to mind, or he had gotten so used to her attitude that seeped into him instead.

“I don’t know. Yelena brought them in. If you’re so concerned about the mess, maybe you should take it up with her.” There was a grin that mirrored Clints. She knew she’d won. “I can go get her if you want.”

“No need. Where’s Nat?”

“Out back by the pool. It’s a lovely day.” She leaned close to you, smelling of cleaner, of tin and of the slightest bit of chewed mint. “It’s great to meet you, y/n.”

You were careful not to lose your footing on the slick floors. Clint nudged the bucket with his toe as he walked by, sloshing about the soiled water. Kate cut him a look that only you saw, but it was one that was almost playful. She shook her head and went back to her task.

There were two things you had picked up from the conversation; Clint was afraid of Yelena, and there was somewhere soundproof in this house that she had taken someone that had lost a lot of blood. You shoved both thoughts to the back of your mind when you exited onto the back porch.

Natasha was stretched out like a cat in the sun. She wore a black bikini that left very little to the imagination. You could feel the blush against your cheeks as you averted your eyes to anywhere else, though, you swore she arched her back from the chair at the sound of your footsteps.

Her hair, still slightly damp, was cascading down her shoulders. She wore a pair of sunglasses, a book that was marked halfway through rested on the table next to her. She had clearly given up on reading, instead fully devoting herself to the sun.

Clint didn’t acknowledge her current state, nor did he have an adverse reaction to it. Your mouth was dry, and you shoved your hands into your jeans to keep them from trembling. It was a mix of fear and attraction that caught you off guard on a mostly empty stomach.

She moved her glasses down the expanse of her nose as you approached. Her stare was a startling green, raking across your form. She quirked an eyebrow. The specter of a smile on her face. Clint had noticed something you didn’t, his body language changing into something unreadable.

“y/n,” Natasha purred your name. You fought back a shiver. “You’ve healed nicely.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“ma’am? What manners you have. That’s severely lacking around here.”

Clint rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut. You did the same, partly out of fear. But mostly, you were distracted by the scars against her stomach, on her arms and down her back. It wasn’t something you had noticed at first, nor did you permit yourself to stare. Whatever had been done to you when they’d first taken you was nothing compared to what Natasha had been through. Her body told a story, one that you longed to learn.

“Hey sharpshooter,” She turned her attention to Clint “I think Yelena might need your help downstairs. Y/n. Stay.”

It was a clear dismissal, and one that he didn’t’ take lightly. He patted you on the shoulder before entering the house once more. You listened to his footfalls for a few moments, holding your breath until you started to feel your vision falter.

You’d been alone with Natasha before. But this felt different. Heavier. The questions that you’d had these last two weeks were meant to be answered. She gestured for you to sit on the opposite chair, which you did carefully, body tightened to make yourself as small as possible. She removed her glasses entirely, a strand of russet hair falling into her gaze.

“You’re going to quit your job at the diner.” She said.

“I can’t do that,” Your response was automatic.

Natasha sat up, placing her bare feet adjacent to yours. Her knees were pressed against your own. She easily could have pushed your own open and she stared at you as if she contemplated the fact herself. Instead, she lilted her head and peered at you.

“What I mean, ma’am, is that’s my livelihood.”

“Oh, I understand. I wasn’t perfectly clear. You work for me, now. You’re on my payroll. I’m sure it’ll be quite an upgrade.” She leaned closer. “Do you know what I do, y/n?”

You swallowed hard and shook your head. There was an inkling. But it was just speculation. Someone with a home like this had a good handle on business. Natasha certainly conveyed fear, and commanded respect. So did the people who worked for her, willing to take a bullet in moment’s notice.

You weren’t there yet, but you were sure with a little persuasion, you would be. Part of you had felt slighted. They’d pulled you from your life, from your daughter, and threw you into this without any type of explanation.

“The harbor behind you is a center of trade. Whoever controls the harbor controls the city, and for generations my family has had a monopoly when it comes to what comes in and out. There is not a single freight that can dock here without getting past me. Recently, that’s been threatened.”

She sighed and worked a hand through her hair. Her stare flicked past your shoulder, focused on the expanse of water that had been a staple in your life. You’d walk along the docks, chat with the vendors on the way to work. It seemed like a friendly place.

“There are two prominent families in this city, Y/n. The Romanov’s and Danver’s. For the past three years they’ve been pushing back against the real leadership, getting creative. Looking for change. But we simply can’t allow that to happen. Things work as they are.”

You had a feeling that this was the core of her beliefs. Things how they were weren’t so bad. Each person had their own struggles but when it came to integral crime on the streets, in the boroughs, you hadn’t noticed anything and that was the way you liked it. Ignorant, maybe. But it was none of your concern. Not until now.

“A lot of people work for me, but my numbers are dwindling. It’s hard to find good help anymore. You know how it is.”

You didn’t.

“There’s something… in you that I admire. A perseverance to live and protect and you’re going to do exactly that for me.” Natasha stated this plainly. “The Winter Soldier will be predisposed. Not permanently. But I would like you to replace him.” 

There must have been disbelief written across your features because Natasha laughed, actually laughed, as your jaw fell open. It was a lovely sound; you must admit. Bucky was well known in the neighborhood. Even without being knee deep in mafia sludge, you had heard of him. You feared him. And the thought of stirring the same reaction seemed unattainable.

“I… what about Clint?” You asked dumbly. He seemed like the natural choice.

“He’s got his hands full with an heiress who, I’m sure you can tell, is a bit aloof. But extremely valuable. Much like yourself.” She quirked an eyebrow “if it’s experience, you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ll train you myself.”

She stood and tapped your leg with her fingers, arousal shooting straight to your core at the slight contact. Your body almost refused to move, but you were quick to snap out of it when she smiled wolfishly down at you. “Now, have you ever killed anyone?”

Your voice was pinched. “No.”

“We’ll have to change that, darling.” She started to saunter away, grabbing her silk cover-up from the back of a nearby chair. She slid it over her shoulders, and it hugged her form with just enough ferocity as the bathing suit. “Come, dear. I have just the person in mind.”

The basement was significantly cooler than the rest of the house, bathed by the sun. As you descended the stone steps, you fought the urge to smooth your fingers over your skin to quell the frigid air.

Natasha seemed unbothered. She led you into a large room that you assumed was soundproof. It was a fairly empty room, lit with artificial bulbs that reminded you much of the warehouse they’d kept you in for the weekend. This seemed more malicious though. Not something to extract information exactly. A form of punishment.

A man was strung up from a low hanging rafter, his feet barely touching the ground. Rope was tied around his wrists, his hands above his head. Blood dripped like syrup from his lips, from a wound against his side. His left knee looked unnatural and broken.

You fought back a groan at the sight, at the smell of him. One eye was swollen shut, his fingers curling when he noticed Natasha’s presence.

Clint’s back was to you, his fingers dancing over an array of tools. He hummed a Metallica song, stopping at a pair of pliers. Yelena had her arms crossed over her chest, walking a slow, predatory circle around the man.

“No,” Yelena took the pliers from Clint “He will need his teeth to talk.”

Your throat tightened. This was the same woman who had sat next to your daughter in the diner. The one who had complimented her art and your job at raising her. She was easy to have conversations with, charming in the purest sense.

She turned towards both of you. “Natasha, you shouldn’t wear open toed shoes here. It is unsanitary.”

The woman next to you was not admonished in the slightest. Not by the cold or the harsh words of Yelena. Instead, she studied the man in front of you. He was in rough shape. If he hadn’t talked yet, he wasn’t going to. That much was clear.

This felt like the first time you served without following around an older, more experienced waitress. Your fingers were trembling and there was a wild nervousness that was in the pit of your stomach. Eventually, you learned, and it was second nature. You wondered if that’s what Natasha wanted. For you to learn not to cringe away from things like this. Just like the Winter Soldier.

As if to prove your thought process, Natasha said “Which one of you has your gun?”

They both pulled them out of various places at the same time, without hesitation, to the question. It made sense that Natasha didn’t have a weapon on her, not with the outfit that she walked around in. The cover-up was too tight against her skin, too revealing.

Yelena was closer, so Natasha grabbed the weapon from her. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

“I have.”

Your second foster father was a deputy sheriff in Minnesota. On half-frozen nights, he’d return home from the local bar reeking of sour alcohol and sweat. The door to your bedroom would creak open and he’d drag you from bed, barefoot and in your pajamas.

Most of the time, he had cans set up on an old picnic table that had rotted through. At first, it was your job to set the cans back up and fight off hypothermia. But after three or four sleepless nights, he taught you how to shoot. His body was warm against your back and the first time the gun kicked you had nearly broken your nose.

You considered yourself a good shot when it came to cans, wild turkeys, and even the occasional buck. This was different. This was a human being that was taking in heaving breathes and fighting to pull himself up to give his bad knee a break.

“Do you know how to aim?” Natasha asked.

“It’s been years.”

“Okay,” She breathed.

You flinched when she moved behind you. Her warmth was all encapsulating. She smelled of sunscreen, and vaguely of the salt of the ocean. Natasha’s fingers pressed against your hip, giving you a small squeeze, signaling for you to take a step back.

Her other hand dropped the pistol into yours, heavy and warm. Her hand trailed up your arms, giving you goosebumps, fingers tightening around your own until you held the gun towards the man. The stranger.

Natasha’s chin was on your shoulder, her breathe hot against your cheek. Her voice came out in a whisper. “Right there. When you’re ready.”

She’d aimed the tip of the gun directly between his eyes. You could hear your heartbeat in both ears, vibrating through your body. It wasn’t hesitation, exactly. In this moment, it was his life or yours. Clint and Yelena watched you carefully, with intent.

You took a deep, shaking, breath and clenched your eyes before pulling the trigger. You expected some sort of blow-back. The same throbbing pain that you recalled from shooting at the cans. The scent of gunpowder mixing with cold.

None of those came.

Instead, there was a small click. The safety was on, and though you had squeezed the trigger with the intention to kill, it simply did not fire. You inadvertently slumped back into Natasha and the hand on your hip snaked around your middle, holding you close.

“You won’t have to kill often,” Natasha explained “But it’s good to know you’d do it without question if I tell you to.”

“Oh, Natasha, do not play with her. It is not nice.”

Smoothly, Natasha worked the gun from your hand and switched the safety off before you could blink. She fired two shots in succession, not releasing her hold on you. Your ear was ringing and the man in front of you slumped in his bindings.

“Okay. Very effective. You owe me bullets.” Yelena took her weapon back. “You are cleaning this up.”

“That means I’m cleaning this up.” Clint said.

Natasha hummed in agreement, finally pulling herself away from you. “I think this a job for two, don’t you, y/n?”

There wasn’t room to disagree with her. Not when you could only hear out of one ear, your skin still buzzing from her lingering touch. You could have sworn you felt her own heartbeat against your shoulder blade.

 But you’d never bring that up.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toocreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos]

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Idk if you’ve been asked this before, but what are your thoughts on the Gaunt family? Do you think they interbred a little too close (like siblings together, aunts, and uncles to nieces and nephews) because they seemed to be the only Pureblooded family (that I can remember) that is canonically unattractive and inbred-looking? And when you look up the Gaunt family, it says, “Due to their habit of marrying their own cousins,” but like all Pureblood families have done that/do that, so why are they attractive and “normal" looking (or, were they even? I can’t remember). Why were the Gaunt’s different? Did it just happen to run in their genes specifically because I remember Marvolo Gaunt being described as looking like an “aged monkey” and then his ancestor(?), Salazar Slytherin, being described as also looking "monkeyish"?

I definitely think they inbred too close to the sun. And actually, we don't see many other pureblood families that are that closely related. Even the Black family, the "always pure", aren't super inbred. In the (more or less) canon family tree that has 7 generations back, the only in-family marriage is between Orion and Walburga Black (Sirius' parents) and they are second cousins who had no inbreeding in their bloodline at least 4 generations back.

I actually did some research about inbreeding and when it starts to become an actual risk to the offspring. From what I've read, even marrying first cousins wouldn't be that bad as long as it's not every generation. To calculate an inbreeding coefficient (basically how inbred someone is) you calculate according to how close the relatives were and then multiply it with every generation the inbreeding continues. The thing about inbreeding is that the moment you introduce new blood, the coefficient goes down to zero and you start the counter again. So as long as pureblood families keep the familial distance to, at least, second cousins and make sure to keep a breath of two generations between these marriages they could get away with looking pretty normal and not harming their genes too much. Like, there are no major health risks, even though their breeding pool is still relatively small and too similar which puts them at a general health risk, and squib risk, but that isn't exactly an inbreeding issue, more a lack of genetic diversity in a small closed-off community issue (I talked about this here).

But the Gaunts are a different story. As you mentioned, the Gaunts are described as ugly:

The man standing before them had thick hair so matted with dirt it could have been any color. Several of his teeth were missing. His eyes were small and dark and stared in opposite directions

-Morfin Gaunt (HBP, 201)

An elderly man had come hurrying out of the cottage, banging the door behind him so that the dead snake swung pathetically. This man was shorter than the first, and oddly proportioned; his shoulders were very broad and his arms overlong, which, with his bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair, and wrinkled face, gave him the look of a powerful, aged monkey.

-Marvolo Gaunt (HBP, 202)

a girl whose ragged gray dress was the exact color of the dirty stone wall behind her. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, and was fiddling around with the shelf of squalid-looking pots and pans above it. Her hair was lank and dull and she had a plain, pale, rather heavy face. Her eyes, like her brother’s, stared in opposite directions. She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but Harry thought he had never seen a more defeated-looking person.

-Merope Gaunt (HBP, 204)

Magically very weak:

as Merope, who had already picked up the pot, flushed blotchily scarlet, lost her grip on the pot again, drew her wand shakily from her pocket, pointed it at the pot, and muttered a hasty, inaudible spell that caused the pot to shoot across the floor away from her, hit the opposite wall, and crack in two.

(HBP, 205)

And if we count Hogwarts Legacy, Ominis Gaunt was born blind, something that can be caused by inbreeding. I mentioned their magical weakness is also most likely the result of a lack of genetic diversity, something we actually see with two other wizards:

Crabbe and Goyle.

Both are also described as ugly, stupid, and magically weak. And, of course, pure blood. Basically, I think these two families have an inbreeding problem between cousins as well...

In general, not all Gaunts are as ugly as they are described. Isolt Sayre, who founded Illvermony and whose mother was a Gaunt is implied to look normal. So do her mother, Rionach Sayre (born Gaunt), and aunt Gormlaith Gaunt, who is a pure-blood maniac (and a general maniac) but isn't described as ugly in any way. Ominis Gaunt also looks completely normal in Hogwarts Legacy (though I'm not sure how canon I consider the game). This makes me think the inbreeding of the Gaunts is relatively recent. The fact that both Morfin and Merope are described with eyes looking in different directions but Marvolo doesn't again, suggests that Marvolo might have married a bit too close, even for pure-bloods.

I also checked the description of Salazar Slytherin:

It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor.

(CoS, 284)

Which is quite similar to Marvolo's description. So, in the case of Marvolo's ugliness, it's likely just the genes he got that were intensified by some level of inbreeding, but not anything worse than Crabbe and Goyle; as in marriage between cousins too often in the last 4 generations, but not something closer or something that has always been the case (probably not considering they aren't all infertile squibs). It's why he is somewhat more reasonable, stable, and magically capable than his kids.

Basically, I think Marvolo had his kids with another Gaunt that was too close to him genetically, be it a sister or first cousin who happened to share both sets of grandparents and great-grandparents with Marvolo. Something like that would definitely cause a quick decline. I'm leaning towards sister.

If we take Hogwarts Legacy as canon, the Gaunts, in 1890 are still a respectable enough family to be associated with the Blacks (as Ominis mentions his father is closely acquainted with Phineas Nigellus Black). But by 1926, the Gaunts are living in a hovel, dressed in dirty rags and the Blacks would likely be offended by the notion of knowing them. Marvolo acts like he remembers how important they once were and raves about it, but Merope and Morfin don't seem to know a life other than the one they are living.

So, my headcanon is that they were inbred more than the Blacks by the time Marvolo was born. They married cousins every generation in the past 4 generations, unlike the Blacks who made sure to marry other pure-blood families as I mentioned above. The Gaunts, like the Blacks, probably married other pure-blood families until the last few generations, like with Rionach Sayre I mentioned. But by Marvolo, their genetic diversity was shit as is. Then Marvolo was the one who married too close even by pure-blood standards. I think he "married" (quotation marks because I don't think it's legal in the Wizarding World) his sister and had his two very inbred kids with her. I think this, for pure-blood society was too much and caused the Gaunts to be pushed into the fringes the way we see them. I mean, Marvolo raves as if he can remember the times his family mattered:

“Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?” “I’m Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad,” said Ogden. “And you think we’re scum, do you?” screamed Gaunt, advancing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. “Scum who’ll come running when the Ministry tells ’em to? Do you know who you’re talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you? [...] “So!” said Gaunt triumphantly, as though he had just proved a complicated point beyond all possible dispute. “Don’t you go talking to us as if we’re dirt on your shoes! Generations of purebloods, wizards all — more than you can say, I don’t doubt!”

(HBP, 207-208)

He expects to be treated with the respect he likely wouldn't have received if the Gaunts were already in their hovel when Marvolo was growing up.

Hope this answers your question! 😊

[thatsdemko]

neighbor - m.barzal

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: mat barzal x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol + mentions of first round 2023 playoffs

a/n: feedback is always appreciated xx

he’s your neighbor for Christs sake, but you can’t help but stare. ever since the very attractive brunette across the way started opening his blinds more, you couldn’t help but feel your eyes gravitate more towards that window.

and how could you not? half the time he’s in an unbuttoned linen shirt and sweatpants walking around his apartment, while the other half he’s dressed to the nines in a suit and tie. needless to say, he’s quite nice to stare at.

he hasn’t caught on, but every so often he pretends to stretch a couple feet away in front of the window to stare at you. he pretty much knows your morning routine, how you get up in nothing but a sports bra and sweatpants, you start your coffee pot first thing, and usually play with your cat for the next thirty minutes before you disappear to work.

he’s seen you in your outfits for the bars to your next morning hungover pajamas, and he’s even seen you when you think nobody else can. it’s okay, he won’t say a thing but he does enjoy the show every so often.

it’s two in the morning when he’s awake, playoffs just about to start his mind can’t help to wander. it’s prompted him to slip outside, enjoy the fresh air to clear his thoughts.

“you look cold.” you say watching his head snap in your direction, you’re met with none other than his eyes. the ones you made bets about how pretty they would be in person, and you were right, they were gorgeous.

“oh,” he says looking down at himself, he’s in nothing but sweatpants and a pair of slides. it didn’t take him until you said something to realize the weather outside his apartment is actually unpleasant, and rather chilly for a man who’s not wearing a shirt.

“I’m y/n, I think my window looks at yours.”

he nods moving over on the bench allowing you to sit, “I’m mat, it’s nice to finally put a name to your face.” he watches you take a seat all the way at the edge, a nervous smile placing your face as you two listen to the sirens and faint voices of the city.

“so why are you awake?” he bites first, pulling his arms across his chest to try and stay warm. it’s too early to invite you back to his place, sit inside his heated space, he’ll just have to make due to keep warm until it’s the right time.

you shrug, “lots to think about, you?” you turn to him and he nods, you watch him run his fingers through his short brown hair. you remember the day he came home with a buzz cut, your friends practically mourned the loss.

“yeah works getting a little competitive I’d say.” he sighs, eyes looking upward at the stars, only a few shine bright in the cities skies. it makes him miss home, the amount of stars he’d see in the sky are much brighter and clearer than the clouded ones of New York.

“is that why you dress up sometimes? sorry, I don’t mean to sound weird I just see you—“

his laugh cuts you off, of all those times you’ve seen him laugh you never expected it to sound like it does against your ears. it brings a smile to your face. “kind of, although I’m supposed to dress clean for work, bosses demand.”

“so that’s why you got a buzz cut?” you ask moving a little closer to him, you can see the goosebumps that decorate his arms.

“that was my own doing.”

“a poor decision if I must say so.” you snap back, watching him roll his eyes in response. he mutters a couple words you can’t hear but you don’t press to figure them out.

“I must say, you’re judging me a lot for someone who wears the same clothes three days in a row.” he sends you a playful wink and you’re thankful for the night lights that don’t cast over your red cheeks of embarrassment.

“I think I’m going to start closing my blinds from you.”

—

he moves in front of his window, suit jack and button up shirt holding two different ties in each hand. holding them up, you move to the window from the kitchen to point at the one you like the most. you’re liking this new found friendship, ever since that late night on the bench, things have been awfully fun and exciting.

you’d go to your window, hold up whatever decision you had and he’d answer with his opinion. you’d see each other on the streets more often than you expected, and sometimes he’d even walk you to your office for work. he was becoming a friend rather than just some neighbor.

“then my friends and I were thinking of going to the bars, you’re more than welcome to come! I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” you nudge his shoulder with your elbow listening to him hiss at the burnt coffee that split over his hand.

“I’d love to but I actually have a date tonight.” he proudly smiles, it’s the first you’d talk about relationships. you always assumed he was single. having not seen a single woman over in his place, unless it was his mother, so it makes since the bachelor was getting lonely in his nice pad.

you’re just not sure why you feel your throat closeup and the saliva in your mouth make it impossible for you to start a sentence.

“but if I change my mind you’ll text me the address?” he stops in front of your office, and all you can do is nod before bidding him a quiet goodbye before rushing up the stairs to the big doors of your building.

when you finally get up there, you heave out a long breath finally feeling your throat clear and salvia dry your mouth. boy, did you have a story to tell your girlfriends tonight.

they were rooting for you two, saying it’s a perfect trope of boy meets girl and boy next door. and yeah maybe you were also rooting for it happen too, because as time went on you developed feelings for him that were more than just a crush. you began to enjoy his company more and more, you just wish maybe he enjoyed it the same amount.

—

when he enters the bar of the location you’ve sent him, it’s not hard to find you. your smile brightens up any room, and can easily be spotted a mile away. after a shitty date, seeing you was all he wanted.

he moves throughout the sweaty bodies, couple of them offer pats to his shoulders congratulating him on the playoffs achievements, but none of those matter. he’s more focused on getting closer to you, and when he does a man that had been blocked by other bodies comes into focus.

he’s got his hand on your hip, as he yells into your ear, whatever it was made you laugh, but nothing like how mat made you laugh. he had the ability to get your full unhinged reaction, your body leaning forward and a snort or two. he thinks it’s cute.

your attention shifts when you recognize that familiar body that’s standing a couple feet away, “mat, you came!” you exclaim, motioning for him to come closer and he does.

“no way you know mat barzal.” the guy you’re talking to is stunned as he extends a hand, mat gladly takes it assuming he’s fan, “I fucking hope the canes destroy you guys.”

mat quick to withdraws his hand from the other guys grip, you give the two a confused look having no clue what they are talking about, “mat barzal, islanders player? please tell me you watch sports.” he laughs. you shake your head slowly looking up at your neighbor, who’s nervously playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“hey man congratulations though!” the guy you’re talking to excuses himself, and you’re pretty sure he won’t be coming back, but that’s fine. mat’s here and from what you remember, it means his date didn’t go as planned.

“so you’re alone, it didn’t go well?” you turn to him and he shrugs a slight nod. he watches you play with the tiny straws in your drink trying to slurp the rest of the liquid.

“how many of those you had?” he chuckles watching you nearly chug half the drink before he jokingly pulls it away from your lips, “easy now.”

“I don’t know, they’ve all been free.”

he laughs watching you sway side to side from the music, but the alcohol that’s following through your body, “why don’t I buy you a glass of water and we can go home?” he offers, you happily nod heading to say goodbye to your friends.

once you’re out the doors of the bar, he drapes his coat around your shoulders and he offers for you to come inside his place. you’re eager to see the rest whether you’ll remember it or not, but you nod following him inside saying hello to his doorman.

when you enter his place most of it isn’t what you expected it to be. it’s minimal decorations, only a few decorative pieces of art work hang on the walls, and a hockey stick hangs above his dinning room table.

“Crosby’s stick. he gave it to me after my first game against him. I nearly cried.” he laughs watching you move across his floors taking in his space, you stop at the infamous window and look inside your apartment.

you can se the hallway that leads to your bedroom, the cat tree where you cat sleeps in, and the living room where you spend most of your time entertaining your boring nights.

“I didn’t realize how much you see of me.” you turn to him, he’s seated on his cream colored couch shaking his head.

“I look over yeah, but I know when to look away.”

“like when?” you dangerously ask, moving to sit beside him on his couch, he positions himself to look at you.

“okay like when you get out of the shower and you have on no towel, I know to look away. I’m not a pervert.” he scoffs having remembered the time his mother was over and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of you.

you gasp, hand covering your mouth, “do not tell me you’ve seen me in nothing but my underwear and bra?!”

he gives you look of confirmation without even saying the words, you hide your face into one of his pillows hearing that beautiful laugh ring your ears, “oh come on! it’s okay, I’m sure you’ve seen me in my underwear before.”

you pull your face away from the pillow with rosy red cheeks, “yeah but that’s different! you walk around in your shorts and nothing on all the time!”

he smirks, “oh so you do watch me?” watching you shove your face into the pillow of embarrassment once more.

“it’s okay, I like knowing it’s you watching me rather than some other girl. I was beginning to think you didn’t notice.”

you pull your face away from the pillow tossing it aside, “what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, and it’s his faces turn to light up red.

“isn’t it obvious?”

you shake your head, “it’s as obvious as you playing a sport!”

he laughs moving a little closer to you on the couch, “I wouldn’t be asking someone which tie to wear if I didn’t like them a little more than a friend.” he places a hand against your kneecap watching you lean back against his couch.

“you like me more than just a neighbor?”

“I guess it’s not as obvious as I thought it would be.”

you shake your head, “you’re horrible at making things obvious, but it’s okay we can work on it.”

[alsofortheb0ys]

DEPOWERED HOMELANDER × MALE READER

I LOVE DEPOWERED HOMIE! I WANNA SQUISH HIM 🤏🧍‍♂️Sorry, if the ending feels rushed cause it was lol. And I didn't proofread too also👍

John sat quietly on the floor maybe a little too close to the television for the good of his now human eyes. He wasn't really paying attention to the random Chopped episode, just giving his harsh feedback at the chef's mistake.

He had no right to given the fact that he has no knowledge of cooking. The box mac and cheese with undercooked noodles and chucky sauce that was still in the pot that sat in his lap that he was eating with an Ikea kids spoon.

Ever since losing his powers nearly a year ago, this was the daily occurrence for John. A constant cycle of depression that never went away.

His whole purpose, the reason of existence was stripped away from him. Vought quickly got rid of him without thought.

They took nearly everything. His apartment and other properties he had. Most of his money. Gave himthe excuse that the bank was a Vought account since he had no form of identification to open one.

Sure, they gave him enough to live out the rest of his life but it was pay for his silence that came with a NDA but they offered no mental treatment for all those years of manipulation and abuse they put him through.

Now he just sits at his and Y/N shared apartment waiting for his return. Y/N was his sole reason to keep going. His light that never stopped shining.

Y/N still worked for Vought, sometimes being gone for days or weeks. There wasn't much of an option to leave. They had trapped him just like John.

Even using John as bait for him to stay. He gets John, Vought gets Y/N.

John wasn't stupid, he knew Y/N wasn't staying by choice but still he felt betrayed.

Y/N always greeted John with the biggest smile and shower him with kisses and praise. John couldn't get his head around how he still loved him. Most of the time John didn't shower of days, still in clothes cover with sweet Thai chili sauce and sweat from his nightmares.

Powerless and useless.

Today would be no different. After getting to the last bit of his food, John hears Y/N's key jiggling as the lock turns.

"Johnny, I'm home!" Y/N says kicking off his snickers as he never comes home without changing out if his costume. Not wanting to risk their privacy and identities.

"You cooked something? It smells good!" Y/N said with enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I did that pasta and cheese thing in a box." John answered with a smile, slightly pride of himself for cooking and because he was happy to see his boyfriend.

"Give me a bite. I'm hungry." Y/N flopped down on the couch, placing his legs on either side of John.

"Is this a new episode?" Y/N says with a mouthful of noodles.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't wait to watch it with you. I wasn't sure when you'd be back."

Usually the two of you watched it together. It was silly but the show was a comfort, reminding him of you and it always eased his mind.

"It's okay. Just watch it with me again."

Y/N began kissing the back of John's short hair that was now brown as the dye wore off and John didn't bother to dye agian. John decided to shave his hair due to the fact it got matted and tangled due to him not bathing.

Well, he did it with your help. John cried while you did it. It felt like he was saying goodbye to who he was. He was no longer The Homelander. A god among men. But John. A weak mud person.

"Stop, Y/N. I'm dirty." John tried slipping away but Y/N's arms were quick to wrap around him, locking him in place. He felt shameful he didn't shower. If he had enough self well, he'd usually shower if he knew you were coming home even though it felt like a huge task.

"It's fine. Don't care. I just want to kiss you."

John gave in and signed. Truthfully, he didn't want him to stop. He loved it. Loved any ounce of affection Y/N gave him, even though he knew he didn't deserve it.

They sat in silence while finishing the episode. Y/N never stopped giving John kisses, just slowed down, giving them ever so often.

"Want to take a bath with me?" Y/N asked as the credits rolled.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. Let me just wash the dishes."

John went to get up but Y/N sat him down.

"Let me soak it and l'lI I deal with it tomorrow." Y/N grabbed the pot and ran to the sink before John could argue.

Even though the act was sweet, it upset John.

Validated he feelings of being useless. John felt tears prick his eyes but quickly blinked them away.

"Alrighty! Ready to go, baby?" Y/N bounced back into the living room, outreaching his hand for John to take.

John nods and stands to his feet, taking Y/N's hand into his. Without any warning, Y/N scoops John into his arms. His arms tuck under John's legs, their chests touching.

Instead of giving protest, John begins to cry uncontrollably. Y/N begins to panic while in his stops right in his tracks.

"Baby? John, you alright? Did I hurt you?"

Y/N tries to turn John's face to look at him, his right hand gently resting on his cheek but John doesn't move.

"No...no..no. P-please...I'm sorry." John wails, his tears soaking Y/N's shirt.

John felt so stupid in the moment. He was crying like a baby while being held like one.

What sets him off is when he remembers when he'd carry Y/N. To the bedroom. The bathroom. After a long day.

John loved being taken care of but he loved giving care. For most of his life, he made decisions based on his satisfaction but when he found Y/N, he felt selflessness. He gave love as pure as Y/N's.

But he can't do it anymore. He takes more than he gives. Y/N gives his all while John wastes away, taking and taking.

He's powerless. Just another thing added to the growing list of things he can never do again.

"No, baby. Don't be sorry. What's got you upset, puppy?" Y/N rubs small circles along John's back as he calms down.

John feels like he's cried all the tears he had. He just whimpers while chewing on the collar of the dirty shirt he was wearing.

It was a coping method Y/N taught him. For the longest time, when John had a panic attack or was overwhelmed, he would hit his fists against his head or bite his lip.

When he was a supe he ran no risks of hurting himself, but he wasn't any more.

He'd bite his lip bloody and bruises covered his cheeks for the first few months. Y/N was there every step of the way, whispering praise and sweet words as he cried himself tired.

Today was no different.

John sniffed, still chewing on his shirt.

"Puppy, you want to talk about it or we can later? But we're going to have too. It's important I understand what's going on with you. I need to know what's the matter."

Another thing that made John hate himself. To Y/N it was important he knew John's emotional well-being but John never paid attention to his.

He couldn't count how much times Y/N would come home stressed from Vought breathing down his neck or how times Ashley called during one of his very few off days.

It was because John didn't understand his own emotions let alone someone else's. He was never taught how to properly deal with them. Just left alone to bottle them up till he exploded.

But Y/N helped him even though John felt like he was going nowhere. Y/N was so patience and caring it almost makes him sick.

"Y/N...I'm useless. W-why don't you hate me?" John finally whispers out, slightly muffled by the t-shirt in his mouth.

"Oh Johnny, you're not." You gave a kiss to his temple. "I love you. Love you so much."

"N-no, y-you're lying. No one can love me." John could feel himself being to tear up again.

"No, baby. Look at me." Y/N gently takes John's face in yhis left hand, making him look at him this time. "I love you with powers and without."

"You sure?" John bearly whispers.

"Yes, baby. More than anything." You promise. "Now do you want to tell me what's up?"

John signs and snuggles his face against Y/N's neck.

He follows Y/N steady breath and feels their heartbeats almost in sync. The warmth of his skin against his.

"I just want to be able to care for you. To be strong for you." John sniffles, he wants to cry again. "But I can't. Feel so useless and weak.

"Aw, my baby. You're not. You're so so strong and I'm so proud of you. I know it's hard for you and can't even imagine how hard you've had it but I'm here for you no matter what."

"You promise?" John's voice was bearly auditable. He sounded like a child making his parent promise that there was no monster under the bed.

"Yes, puppy. I promise." Y/N seals the promise in with a kiss on John's forehead. "How about that bath? You have some cheese on your hair."

"Yeah. I'd still like that."

"Alrighty, baby. You wanna walk or you wanna be carried the rest of the way?"

"Carry. Please." John's words slurred slightly. It seemed that all the crying had suddenly taken all his energy.

"Ok, Princey. All that crying must have gotten you tired huh?"

John doesn't verbally answer but just nods againstY/N's neck. They make their way to the bathroom, Y/N humming a little tune; John closes his eyes and listens.

Y/N sets John on the side of the tub and fills the water, checking once in a while to see it the water's too hot or too cold. He added a bath bomb, a gentle scent of lilies.

Oncethe tub is filled, Y/N begins to take off John's clothes. He never really wore much. Usually one of Y/N's shirt and a pair of boxers.

John closed his eyes tightly. Lately he had a hard time looking at his own body. He was never as muscler as his suit used to show but he didn't need them with super strength. He was much more scrawny now and it made him once again feel weak.

Y/N's warm hands grounded John before he strayed more into his self consciousness. He had picked him up and put him into the warm water. John had opened his eyes to Y/N's removing his clothes.

John smiled. His boyfriend was gorgeous. He felt like he could stare at him for days just admiring his beautiful figure.

"Did I ever tell you you're handsome?" John said as he closed his eyes again. This time not to advoid seeing himself but relaxing into the bath.

"Lots, yes." You chuckle as you gently move John forward so you can sit behind him.

"Well, you are."

Both fell silent as they enjoyed their bath together. Y/N's wandered, lathering soap on John's body. His hair, his back, his shoulders, his chest, every part of him treated gently.

"Y/N?" John breaks the silence.

"Yes, puppy?"

"Thank you. For everything. I know I'm hard to deal with. I'm trying to get better. I promise. You stayed though you didn't have to. But you did. I want you to know I'm grateful." John teared up again, not out of sadness this time.

"It's okay, Johnny. I stay cause I love you. I know you're trying and you have been better. Just baby steps."

John did feel better. He had a ways to go but Y/N was with him and that was all that mattered.

[housethemd]

Good Morning

(Married House/Wilson, kid fic, takes place in the same universe as “Expect the Unexpected.”)

Wilson’s alarm goes off at 5:00am. Groaning, he rolls over to shut it off. He yawns, and runs a hand down his face. They stayed up far too late last night, but with three children age six and under the only time they get to themselves is after the kids are sound asleep.

Last night grown up time lasted until after midnight. Past Wilson hadn’t cared about the late hour as he made love to his husband, and while present Wilson is very tired he can’t quite bring himself to say last night was a bad idea. Gone are the days where they did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, so it’s always wonderful when they take the opportunity to connect.

He rolls over a presses a kiss to the thinning hair on the top of his sleeping husbands head. House doesn’t stir, and Wilson finally finds the willpower to pull himself out of their warm bed. The hardwood is cold beneath his feet as he shuffles over to the other side of the bed to grab the baby monitor off House’s bedside table.

Over the years they’ve worked out an arrangement that seems to work for them most of the time. House handles the kids during the night - feedings, diaper changes, requests for glasses of water or giving comfort after bad dreams. House is usually up multiple times a night anyway because of his leg and he insists that getting up and moving helps. It was his idea for him to manage the kids at night.

Wilson handles the kids after 5am until their nanny comes at 8:00am. He has always been a morning person, so it’s much easier for him to manage the kids in the early morning while House has a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Making his way into the kitchen he follows the smell of coffee. One of the best investments they ever made was a coffee pot with a timer, so now Wilson has freshly brewed coffee as soon as he wakes up every morning. Placing the baby monitor on the counter he pours himself a cup and takes a big sip, basking in the temporary silence.

Elijah, their nine month old, will be up soon. He is usually up around 5:30am, so Wilson wakes up at 5am to have a few minutes of quiet before the games begin. Shortly after Eli, Leah will wake up and trying to keep a three and half year old quiet so her other father can sleep is a monumental task every morning. Six year old Evan, love his heart, will usually sleep until someone wakes him up. Wilson will go in around 6:30am, or if House gets up around then and sees Evan’s door still closed he’ll go in and wake him.

Wilson looks around the house, the house they bought last year after the confirmation that they’d soon be a family of five. It took a lot of hunting to find a home that would suit their needs. They not only needed space for their family, but anyplace with stairs was an immediate no given House’s disability. In the end they’d found their five bedroom bungalow on the edge of downtown Princeton and now Wilson couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

The clock on the stove reads 5:21 when a cry comes from over the baby monitor, pulling Wilson from his reverie. He makes his way into Eli’s room, turning on the lamp on the dresser by the door when he enters. The cries stop when the baby sees his daddy, replaced by babbling.

“Dadadada!” He squeals happily from his spot sitting up in the crib.

“Hey Buddy.” Wilson coos to his son as he picks him up.

He presses a kiss to his son’s forehead, who grins up at him. His eyes are big and brown, identical to Wilson’s own. He still doesn’t have much for hair, but what he has is fine and brown.

A quick diaper change and it’s back out the kitchen for breakfast. His highchair is on top of a plastic mat that is supposed to be used for painting, but Eli has recently started feeding himself with a small spoon which is excellent for his motor development, less excellent for the cleanliness of the kitchen floor.

Today’s breakfast is oatmeal and mashed banana. The baby chews a teething toy from the freezer as Wilson prepares his breakfast. He babbles intermittently, which results in Wilson babbling back.

Eli is only half way through eating and spilling his breakfast down his bib, the tray, and onto the floor when Leah appears in the kitchen. She is slow to wake up, and always has the most adorable grumpy face in the mornings. She’s wrapped her purple baby blanket around her like a cape, and just stares at her father like he can read her mind. Something he swears she learned from House.

“Good morning Sweetheart.” He says softly.

“Want peanut butter toast.” She demands. Something Wilson also swears she learned from House.

“How do we ask nicely?” He responds gently.

“Want peanut butter toast, please.” She tries again.

He’ll take it.

By 6:30 the dishes from breakfast round one are in the sink, and he’s got Eli dressed and playing in his excersaucer in the living room. He manges to work through the daily outfit drama when dressing Leah (who knew a three and a half year old could be so picky about their clothes) before he hears the sound of Evan’s bedroom door opening.

He sticks his head out from Leah’s room to catch him on his way by while Leah fights with her socks.

“Good morning, I’ll be out in a sec to make something for you for breakfast.” He smiles at his oldest.

“Okay Daddy.” He says with a stretch and a yawn.

A shrill screech sounds from behind him, and Wilson turns rapidly only to see Leah throwing her socks across the room.

“Hey hey, if you are having trouble with something you can ask for help. There is no need to throw things or yell.” Wilson says softly but sternly.

He’d dreaded the terrible two’s when Leah had turned that age, because Evan had been a struggle at that age. However Leah had been more or less a pleasant two year old. He’d thought that meant they were in for relatively smooth sailing but then he’d learned a new term - threenager.

He loves his little girl more than words could say, just as he loves all his kids but mornings are hard with her right now. There is usually at least one tantrum and he has to try and calm her down before she wakes House while still teaching better ways of dealing with big feelings.

The sound of a cane hitting the floor in the hall mean he’s been unsuccessful this morning.

“The socks didn’t feel right.” Leah informs him, looking up with her big brown eyes.

“Okay, well next time how about you let me know right away, and Daddy will get you different socks.” He says, reaching into her sock drawer to pull out a different pair.

He thought he’d selected her current favorite socks, but apparently her favourite had changed. Once the new socks are approved and on her feet Wilson presses a kiss to her head.

“How about you go play in the living room? I’m going to go get Evan his breakfast, okay?”

Leah nods, and grabbing a couple toys from her room heads to living room with Wilson not far behind.

When he makes in to the kitchen House is leaning on the counter with Evan sitting on the countertop next to him. They are both eating pop-tarts.

“Hi Daddy. Papa let me have one of this pop-tarts!” The boy enthused.

“Did he now?” Wilson replies, eyeing his husband.

“Thought I’d give you hand and feed our oldest” House says, taking a large bite out of the corner of his pop tart.

Wilson can’t help but smile. They try not to feed the kids overly surgery breakfasts, on school days at least, but he can’t bring himself to be frustrated. In fact he wishes he had the camera close by. Watching House and his 6 year old doppelgänger smile and laugh over pop tarts is so blissfully domestic and mundane that it melts Wilson’s heart.

Wilson approaches to press kisses to both their foreheads.

“Run and get dressed when you’ve finished eating, okay?” He directs his son.

“And you, give me a bite of your pop tart.” He says to his husband, stepping close to wrap his arms around his middle.

“I’m sorry, this is my pop tart.” House says innocently, holding the sweet monstrosity as far away from Wilson as he can.

“Hmm yes and we are married. That means anything that’s yours is legally half mine, and I want my portion.” Wilson cajoled, reaching to try and snatch the treat from House’s hand.

There is a brief scuffle that ends in Wilson managing to snap a corner off the pop tart and triumphantly popping it into his mouth. House glares at him while he eats it, but once he’s finished House gives him that crooked smile and Wilson can’t help but lean in and press a firm kiss to his lips.

“You guys are weird.”

Evan, who is still seated on the counter after finishing his breakfast, eyes them warily. He wasn’t quite to the age where he was grossed out by his parents affection, but he had started commenting on their more unusual antics.

“Proudly! I hope someday you find a man and/or woman to be this weird with. Now, go get dressed before Wendy gets here.” House directs, moving around Wilson to lift Evan off the counter and safely back down to the floor.

“You know I can jump down, right?” Evan says when House has him under the armpits.

“Yes, I know. But it’s a little to early in the morning to give Daddy a heart attack, okay?” House says, ruffling Evan’s dark curls.

Evan laughed, “Okay Papa.” And scurries off to his bedroom.

“Man and/or woman?” Wilson questions.

“Yeah well, you never know what the kid might grow up to be into. Wouldn’t want to be heteronormative.” House jokes.

Wilson can’t help but laugh.

“Now, where were we?” House purrs.

House leans against the counter and grabs Wilson by his belt loops, pulling him to stand in the space between his legs. Wilson happily lets himself be guided and meets House’s lips with a deeper kiss this time. Wilson was about to introduce his tongue to the equation when a loud noise came from the living room, immediately followed by the piercing cry their nine month old.

Both Wilson and House were in the living room in a second. Leah stood with wooden blocks surrounding her feet, looking slightly guilty, and Elijah was in his excersaucer bawling his head off.

With a glance to one another, they made the silent decision to divide and conquer. Wilson went to Eli, scooping him up and bouncing him while making a litany of soothing sounds.

House went to Leah, pushing blocks out of the way so he could sit on the floor at her level.

“Sorry Papa. I wanted to build a really really really big tower but I knocked it over. I didn’t mean to make Eli cry.” She said, batting her eyelashes in a way Wilson knows House is weak for. Their little girl truly has him wrapped around her finger.

“I know you didn’t mean to, but mornings are for quiet play, right?” House says, attempting to be stern.

“My tower was quiet.” She said.

“Yes, right up until it fell over. That’s why we don’t make big towers in the morning, right? Because they usually fall down. You are lucky none of the blocks hit Eli, but you scared him pretty bad.” House gestured to where Eli was still whimpering in Wilson’s arms.

“I made the tower far enough away so even if it fell it wouldn’t hit him.” She informs House. God, was she ever House’s daughter.

“I’m glad you thought of that, but there is still a rule against big towers in the morning, right?” House says, shooting her a serious look.

“Right. I’m sorry.” She says, looking appropriately contrite.

Wilson smiles at the scene before him. It’s not that he enjoys his daughter getting scolded, but that House does it so gently. When he and House got married he thought he couldn’t possibly love him anymore than he did in that moment. But parenting with House, while at times difficult as parenting always is, has ultimately made him love his husband even more.

Eli had calmed down now, and while House helped Leah pick up all the blocks and put them away Wilson glanced at his watch. 7:45am.

“Shit, House, we are leaving in 15 minutes. Leah, sweetie, you’ll have to pick up your blocks yourself. Papa needs to get ready for work.” Wilson says, and shoos House out of the living room and down the hall to their bedroom.

Wilson manages to hold the baby and help Leah pick up the blocks because it is truly a lot of blocks. How he didn’t notice what she was doing when he went to the kitchen was beyond him.

He puts Eli in his swing and turns it on. Soon he’s going to be to big for it, Wilson laments. He puts on the TV, Blues Clues playing and gets Leah settled on the couch just in time for there to be a knock on the door before it opens and Wendy, their nanny, walks in.

“Hello Wilson-House’s!” She greets, and Leah runs over to her, as does Evan who has reappeared from his room dressed for school.

Wilson leaves her to greet the children and goes in search of his husband. He finds House in the bedroom dressed in faded jeans and a black Motley Cru t-shirt. He’s pulling a navy blue button up over it, his usual work outfit.

“About ready to go?” Wilson asked.

They are driving in together this morning, as this evening is Evan’s parent-teacher night. They make a point to attend these things together, they are already a unique family and they want to show they are every bit as happy and functional as any other.

“Yeah, ready.” House grabs one of his sport coats off the back of the door and picks up his cane from where it was leaning on the wall.

They walk out to the living room where Wendy has Evan and Leah on either side of her on the couch, and Eli is still happily batting at the toys attached to his swing.

They say goodbye to each kid individually, each getting a hug and a kiss and an “I love you, have a good day.” Wilson is endlessly thankful that they can do this without tears for the moment. Nothing prepared him for the heartbreak of having to leave his crying child while he went to work, and he knows House felt the same. He knows they are in for another period of it. There is a good chance when Eli gets to be a toddler he’ll go through a phase of not wanting Daddy and Papa to leave, but they’ll get through it just like they did with Evan and Leah.

They make it to Wilson’s Volvo. They both just breathe for a minute, taking in the silence. Wilson turns to House, placing his hand on House’s thigh.

“Good morning.” He says, for the first time yet this morning.

“Good morning to you too.” House laughs.

[queerdiazs]

there you are, sweetheart | 2.9k, teen

Buck fills the gnome mug up, drops six fat marshmallows in the top, and then sets it in front of Eddie. “Drink up, mi princesa.”  Eddie snorts. “Tomate.”  “Did you just call me a tomato?”  “Mhm.” Eddie wraps his hands around the mug, full-body shivering at the warmth. It hits a chill deep in his bones, one he sometimes can’t get rid of no matter how hard he tries. “I sure did.”  Buck balks, flaps his mouth like a fish on dry land, and then huffs as he spins around and starts back in on the few dishes still in the sink. The pot he warmed the hot chocolate up in sits on the stove, cooling off; another mug, taller and thinner, is pushed off to the side. Buck’s on, since it’s in his favorite cup.  Eddie delights in the heat in his hands a few moments before bringing it up for a sip. It’s sweet, chocolatey and creamier now than it was a couple days ago; the chubby marshmallows bump his nose, smearing whipped suds across his mouth. It’s delicious, warming Eddie’s tummy up better than a hot shower ever could.  He puts the cup down and flicks at a marshmallow. It turns over and over, wet and light brown from the chocolate; it’s the biggest of the six, though it’s melting just as fast, and he pops it in his mouth before it dissolves all the way.  In his chest, his heart burns like it’s on fire.  Wrapping his hands around the cup once more, he drinks from it nice and slow as he watches Buck from behind, taking in his wide shoulders and broad hips and thick thighs and big feet. Eddie’s so lucky he can feel it in the marrow of his bones, like sprinkled stardust or something.  He wants to keep this moment forever, the two of them at peace in the kitchen together. Tuck it into a snow globe, maybe, and set it on the table right next to his bed so it’s one of the first things he sees every morning he wakes up.  As if sensing Eddie’s eyes on him, Buck looks over his shoulder and wrinkles his brow. “Why are you staring at me?” he asks, chuckling.  He’s perfect. The fire inside burns and Eddie can’t hold it in any longer.  “Because you’re so pretty.”  The pair of forks in Buck’s hand clatter loudly as he drops them. “Eddie,” he hisses, a half-warning, and spins around to face Eddie so fast he slides sideways on the festive little mat beneath his feet. “What—” “I love you.” Eddie takes another drink of his hot chocolate, chewing up a marshmallow. There’s only one left. “Did you know that?” 

read the rest on ao3

[oh-saints]

Star gazing with ruben dias

stars

“pretty people should always be surrounded by pretty things,” rúben likes to say to you. and he stands by it, never giving you less than all the pretty things he thinks you deserve. up until the very end of your life.

rúben dias x you

word count: 2.1k

tw: implied talks about life and death

note: hi hi hi i’m back! finally managed to battle jetlag and post-breakup heartbreak and all the jazz… anyway the summary and the tw might indicate spoiler...👀 so proceed at your own risk. but as usual, i happen to write at dawn so ofc this is not proof-read.

“gatinha,”

you were perched on the stool on the opposite of the kitchen island, on the other end of where he was cooking, watching him stirring the pot that was hosting his favourite dish that night, legs dangling like a kid on a swing.

it was another friday for you two. on fridays where he didn’t have to go for an away match, you held the tradition to be civil and normal by ordering in dinner or he cooked for the lives of you both. the tradition included you indulging him the pleasure of being called with an affectionate portugese pet name, and he’d laugh at how badly you butchered the pronunciation.

and he was about to do just that—chuckling at your terrible but endearing effort—when you continued, eyes were casted down like your feet were more amazing that looking at his eyes.

that was when rúben realised something was off the mark. because you’d declared openly to him that you love his brown orbs so much to the point you didn’t think you could say no if he looked at you intensely with those eyes—the claim was still proven true until now without amiss, by the way.

“can we take the dinner to the backyard?”

with your pursed lips, rúben immediately noticed the nervousness that was hiding behind the strong front.

it wasn’t his first or second rodeo actually, seeing you nervous when asking something. one of the things rúben liked about you was how you almost never asked of him about anything, unless necessary. so different to people he’d met before, asking too much when they couldn’t give anything in return. and that was solidified rúben’s justification to date you already, despite being ordinary person compared to his superstar status, because you made him want to do anything and everything you didn’t ask for.

it started small, at first. trinkets from his away matches, then it grew into sending a bouquet of flowers every week to your small coffeeshop. and still, what you appreciated the most wasn’t the stuffs he brought to your table but the little notes he left behind for you because for you, it was always the thought that mattered.

the same reason you never asked for extravagant dinners, branded clothes and bags, or all these things rúben could’ve easily gotten for you. the same reason you only accepted him entirely into your life—after he sent you a hampers of flowers and fine china mugs, with a hand-written scribbles of pretty people should always be surrounded by pretty things.

so who was he to deny when you, for once in blood moon, asked something from him?

“anything you want, meu anjo,” was always rúben’s answer whenever you had a favour to ask, and he meant it without further question asked. as long as it was within his capacity and capability, he intended to make it real for you.

“thank you,” and you would always grin widely at him every time he responded to your silly requests, so wide it turned your eyes into a pair of sickle moons, and rúben had never looked at whatever orbiting the sky the same anymore since he’d met you. you paled everything else in this terrestrial realm the way the moon outshone everything else in its own reign.

especially when you smile, the way you were doing now as rúben laid down the traditional red picnic mat he’d kept from the last time he had the idea of doing a picnic nearby hyde park. you’re always genuine when you smile, to the point you would rather stir the conversation elsewhere if it required you to fake a reaction, so rúben knew every smile coming from you is precious and he swore he’d do anything to keep them alive whenever you were with him.

but for once, rúben had to question his eyes when he noticed the glint in your eyes faltered a bit, despite the smile still attached to your face, as you asked him, “do you think the stars are alive, my love?”

you were supposed to twinkle like the object in talking, so why did you look so tense?

“i truthfully don’t know,” rúben tucked the freshly-cut short hair behind your ears, so soft against his rough skin, while you laid down on the red fabric. “you tell me, meu anjo.”

“i think they do. it’ll explain why some are bright and some aren’t,” while the smile were still intact, your eyes shut down, and rúben missed them already, for they were so clear the stars could be reflected through them as if you were an extension to the starlit sky. “some are having good days and some aren’t.”

“then do they die, minha vida?”

“yes, i think they do. it’ll explain the fallen stars,” you patted the empty spot beside yours, silently urging rúben to lie down beside you and watch the night skyline together. “what do you think?”

rúben didn’t concede to your whim this time though, because he thought he was looking at his universe already. “why do you think they can die?”

“because sadly, in life, pretty things cannot last forever, rúben.”

however, when rúben was awoken by the loud sound of you crashing down the toiletries in your shared bathroom, only to find you collapsed lifelessly on the floor, things were slowly put into its respective place by Mother Nature.

things you were supposed to hide from him, that is.

it didn’t take a genius to figure out eventually that something had gone terribly wrong with you because you had never fallen down like a paper doll like that. the sight of you lying helplessly unconscious even terrified him to the point he was praying loudly to god—or whoever that might be listening—to save you, as he’d never seen your skin so pale and your lips so blue.

and he’d noticed the nervous, shaking baritone of the ER doctors that had come to your aide when they were about to explain their deduction of your condition.

but he never expected the doctors would be dropping a nuclear bomb on his head.

out of all things he could think of, a brain tumour at the most dangerous part of your brain was definitely not something in his cards. the position was too risky for an immediate surgery, especially with the humongous size you were having, so chemotherapy was what you’d been doing behind his back—and it was only now it made sense to him why you liked to wear scarfs over your head as of late.

but you were racing against time. as an early result, you were losing your hair and eyesight at the same time. the combination of the position and the weight of the deadly mound was slowly eroding your vision, and sudden blackout was actually expected if rúben had known earlier about it.

hell, had he known about it…

good god, he should’ve seen the signs. the scarfs, the constant ponytails around him, the recently short-cut hair… so weird when you know he loves your hair dangling down your back so much.

how could he think of the ridiculous number of meds you were taking as merely vitamins?

so stupid of him.

“i’ll convince her to take the surgery,” was all his response at the end of the doctors’ explanation. how could she think of delaying the inevitable, when her eyesight was what was at risk? when she was at risk?

but of course, he was met by a ferocious response from you. so fierce it actually scared the life of rúben, for you had never been so violent and abrasive around him. you were always calm and collected, the two of you made a rather cold couple from the outside.

“it’s a decision where my life’s at stake, rúben!” you cried out, desperation lingered in the air—rúben from wanting to have you back in pristine condition; yours from the freight of what you could lose entirely, should the surgery go south. “you can’t decide that for me!”

but who was he to deny when you asked something from him, when you’d asked nothing from him?

so rúben conceded to your whims of undergoing chemo. he’d made sure your monthly schedule was right up in his alley, on days where he didn’t have to travel for an away match, so he could be by your side without fail. he wasn’t about to let you go through endless post-procedure vomits alone without help, he would be the one holding your hand before and after the long-hours procedure had ended.

he wasn’t about to leave you behind when the waves were rough, when the most devilish demon in the form of insecurity came knocking on your door. he would be the one swiping your tears away and kissing you breathlessly to tell you that you were still beautiful in his eyes because you gave the meaning of the word entirely different since he’d come to know you.

only pep knew the reason behind his monthly absence, though, for rúben had promised you absolute secrecy from the world about your condition. albeit, still with a sworn commitment that rúben shall deliver every match he was starting.

despite your resilience throughout the whole procedure and diligence in participating every pre and post procedural events, your condition was beyond the chemo’s saving. it had taken rúben numerous days to hold you in his arms while you cried for your life, endless hours to say all the reasons to fight your firm belief you were on the losing ends rather than reaping the possible benefits that might come after the procedure, and abundance of word strings that was equivalent to how much rúben loves you, even if you couldn’t see him anymore.

the last one held the biggest contribution to your final decision to undergo the surgery, as suggested. rúben’s countless declaration of his love, regardless of your detoriating condition, pushed you to take the life-altering procedure because deep down, you wanted to become better—for yourself, for both of you, and mostly for him.

for rúben, who’d been nothing less than a perfect boyfriend you could ever ask for since day 1.

“come here.”

rúben kneeled forward without further ado, bringing himself closer to your arm’s length. your hands immediately reached for his stubbles, stroked the sharp edges along his jaw and cheekbones ever so slowly. your eyes traced where your hands went, and he knew you were back trying to memorise your favourite features of him.

he hated it, the depressing thought you were having—that this surgery might fail and this was your last chance to see him, feel him before complete blackness became your friend. you were one of the brightest, most positive person he’d come across and he hated that this disease were slowly taking the light away from you too.

“i love you,” and rúben didn’t stutter his words. his eyes zeroed down on you, unwavering like his words, and you smiled widely at that because you knew he knew the demonic thoughts you weren’t supposed to be having. had you had the energy, you would certainly laugh at your boyfriend for catching you red.

“i know.”

“good, because i’m going to wait right here, okay?”

you nodded with a rather meek smile this time, and rúben’s heart constricted at the sight because he knew you were mustering every energy left inside of you, yet you still looked so ethereally beautiful as if the disease weren’t eating your life away. “okay.”

“so you must come back to me, you hear me?” rúben brought your flimsy hand to kiss the back of your hand, your knuckles. “promise me that.”

“i will,” your hand slipped away from his, only to reach up to his face and pulled his lips towards yours to seal the deal. “i love you.”

the gentle breeze whispered against his lips were enough of an assurance at that time, for you said it with a tone as resolute as someone of your condition could do. so he let you go after one last kiss—a short one this time as he watched the stars in your eyes were slowly fleeting away, thanks to the meds kicking in—wheeled by the medics into the operating theatre, and already looking forward to see you again in the next couple of hours.

but rúben should’ve known that will was never a stronger word than going to when promising something.

for you never came back to him.

and the stars shone the brightest he’d ever seen that night since coming in town.

[kylobith]

Little Town Tails

Chapter 6: Something Fishy

Summary: A curious visitor comes to Emerald Grove.

Ship/Pairing: Halsin x Fem!Tav

Trope: Modern AU, Meet-cute, Little countryside town, Cosy

Word count: 4,831

Read it on Ao3 here

Listen to the dedicated playlist on Spotify here

‘Ah, Halsin, there you are!’

‘Good morning, Jaheira,’ he greets the florist back with a bright grin. He wipes his muddy shoes on the rubber mat outside until they are presentable enough to go in. Behind him, Scratch sits at the door, unleashed, waiting for Halsin to be done with his visit before heading home.

Jaheira grins at the white dog and whistles, calling him inside. The dog eyes his owner hesitantly, but when the latter gives him an approving nod, Scratch trots up behind the counter to be petted by his host. She grabs the banana she was snacking on and takes off a piece she offers him.

Halsin approaches the counter and smiles at the sight, always happy to see that his dog is accepted somewhere. While petting Scratch behind the ears, Jaheira looks at his visitor and smirks.

‘Walked around the forest this morning again?’

‘Indeed. The weather was perfect, but last night’s rain made the ground a bit soft, as you could tell from my boots.’

‘It’s always like that. At least they say that this spring will bring more sunny days than usual,’ she adds, chuckling as the dog lies down at her feet. ‘Anyway, did you happen to see Minsc at all? I’ve been trying to call him for two days because he ordered a fresh bouquet, but now the flowers are waning.’

He leans on his elbows and fidgets with one of her business cards on the counter.

‘I did, he was patrolling the area by the other bridge. Had I known, I would have reminded him.’

‘Oh, don’t bother. It’s always like that with him. He tends to forget what he orders on a whim. He’s always ready to support my shop since I opened but he never picks up his orders. He did, once, but that was a flower for Boo’s birthday and he ordered flax seeds. That was it.’

They share a laugh. Minsc certainly is quite the character, anyone meeting him can tell. Quite eccentric compared to the rest of Heawick, but he adds to the charm of the community. Whenever somebody needs help, whether when the flower shop was merely an idea sprouting into Jaheira’s mind or with Beaky’s incident with the bear trap, he never hesitates to lend a hand, even though it tends to distract him from his daily tasks and chores. Yet, there is no better forest warden.

Jaheira flips through the pages of her logbook and finds Halsin’s recent order.

‘So, the spider plant, was it?’ she says absent-mindedly. ‘Found a gorgeous one for you. Fluffy, in good health. Perfect for your counter.’

‘Eager to see it!’

She chuckles and heads to the back to fetch the plant. She returns with precisely what she promised him, setting it down on her counter for him to examine. He touches the long leaves between his fingers, sensing the freshness of their greenish white stripes and admiring the way that they curve elegantly around the gold-painted bucket serving as its display pot.

‘What a beauty!’ he coos, his eyes sparkling in awe. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Eighteen gold coins.’

‘Perfect, thank you.’

He takes out and begins to rummage through his coin purse, which takes Jaheira by surprise and causes her to smile. Shaped like the head of a teddy bear, its fur is made from light brown fleece, and the eyes and nose are embroidered in black and pink thread. He bought it at a flea market a few years ago on one of the rare holidays he allowed himself to take. Many raised an eyebrow to see a grown man buy it for himself, but even though he is far from materialistic, it is one of the few objects that he has grown particularly fond of.

He places the eighteen gold coins in the palm of Jaheira’s hand and slips two more into her tip jar.

‘Thank you,’ she says with a brief bow of her head. ‘Don’t forget to repot it from time to time, the roots tend to grow fast. And water it once to twice a week. It’s usually alright if you skip a week, as long as you don’t do it for a month straight.’

The veterinarian laughs and watches the florist remove the plant from the yellow pot. He purses his lips and tilts his head.

‘How much for that pot? It suits the plant quite well.’

Jaheira stops and eyes the bucket.

‘Oh, this? Ah, just take it. On the house.’

‘Certainly not,’ Halsin protests, unzipping his coin purse again and counting the coins in it. ‘Name your price.’

‘I insist, take it. I bought it years ago but it doesn’t suit my home, I use it for visualisation most of the time… Or as a pencil pot.’

She nudges it towards him with a wink. With a sigh and a heavy blush, Halsin slips ten gold coins into the tip jar and winks back. Once the plant is back in the bucket, he calls out for Scratch, who seeks one last pet from Jaheira, then rushes to his owner’s feet. The veterinarian and the florist exchange cheerful goodbyes, and the former exits the shop with his dog in tow and the spider plant tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Halsin whistles a tune as he crosses Heawick with his free hand buried in his pocket. He nods politely at everybody he sees with a smile and continues his walk back to Emerald Grove. The town is still awaking from its slumber and some of the shops are only just opening. Sometimes it still surprises him that Jaheira decides to open hers this early, but as she once said to him, she prefers to tackle her daily routine in the early hours, then close one or two hours before most shops so she can enjoy the town herself and have a longer evening to relax or meet up with her friends at the old pub on Westway Street.

Come to think of it, it is not such a bad idea. Shop owners and employees seldom have the opportunity to shop for themselves, unless they work half shifts or rely on partners who have the time to buy everything they need. More often, their only occasion to do so is on Saturdays, but the busy aisles deter quite a few. Since Heawick has a wider variety of establishments of all the nearing towns — not counting the city, of course —, its streets bustle with visitors on that particular day.

As he turns onto his street, he switches hands to hold the plant and fumbles through his pocket to find his keys. When he pulls them out and looks up to make sure that he does not walk too far, he notices the figure of a man peering through the windows of the practice. Dressed in black from head to toe, matching with his silky and spiky raven hair, the man does not seem to have come with a pet and does not seem particularly eager to enter.

‘Good morning,’ Halsin greets him with an eyebrow raised. ‘May I help you? Do you have or need an appointment?’

The man is startled despite the veterinarian’s soft tone. He straightens up and looks over at Halsin, seemingly analysing him in detail. The stranger rubs his index and thumb together and scowls at Scratch, who does not dare approach him at all. His demeanour already betrays the fact that he comes from the richer quarters of the city and is not used to visiting the area at all. There is a haughty air to him in the way that he carries himself, as if the word ‘peasant’ is about to slip off his tongue at any moment to describe Halsin and his shockingly unleashed pet.

‘No,’ he replies in a honeyed tone still tinted with firmness. ‘But I will come back later.’

Without uttering another word, the man spins around on his heel and walks away, leaving Halsin utterly confused with his key in hand. What a strange character.

The veterinarian shrugs it off and enters the dark practice, ushering Scratch inside before closing the door again behind him. He walks over to Karlach’s counter and finds a suitable spot for the plant, making sure to stand on both sides of the desk to ensure that the view is not obstructed for neither his assistant or a patient’s owner. But in the end, he finds that it does not quite fit there with the cards and flyers and tip jar, so he carries it over to the small coffee table in the centre of the waiting room. At least, if the anxious pets munch on the leaves, they will not be sick from it.

After a brief shower and a change into scrubs, he lets Scratch rest upstairs and heads back to the practice to follow the daily opening routine. As he takes a minute to make himself a cup of fruity tea — a bold decision considering how often he drinks his signature mint and honey infusion —, his mobile phone pings. Karlach’s name appears on the screen.

‘Morning doc, sorry but I’ll be late today, Vixen just won’t start! I’ll be there ASAP, promise promise!’

Halsin grins and immediately types back as he flicks the light switches on and shuffles towards the front door without paying much attention to his surroundings.

‘It should be quiet for the first hour, hopefully you will have found a way by then. Good luck finding an alternative! Perhaps you can ask Gale? Halsin. PS: I hope that Vixen will be alright. Too bad that she is not the type of vixen that I would treat at the practice :-).’

His wrist flicks to unlock the door while he re-reads the message to correct any typos he might have made. Eager to let some fresh air in, he opens the door wide.

‘Morning, doctor!’

Halsin nearly drops his phone when he jolts in surprise, not having expected that somebody might have already arrived. After all, he does not have any appointment planned before an hour. Outside, wiping her feet on the mat, Tav smiles at him with twinkling eyes and a light flush from noticing that her sudden greeting startled him.

His heart instantly leaps inside his chest and his lips mirror her grin.

‘Oh, good morning Miss Ashguard! I apologise for my reaction, I did not expect such an early visit. Is everything alright?’

Tav quickly combs her fingers through her freshly-cut curtain fringe. It suits her incredibly well, he catches himself thinking. The way that it sweeps across her eyebrows, its colour only highlighting the deep blue of her irises… It nearly steals the breath from his lungs.

‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine!’

He steps aside and invites her inside. As she passes him by with a light step, he closes his eyes for a second, savouring the aroma of her flowery perfume. As he realises what he is doing, he clears his throat and follows her to the reception.

‘Do you need anything more for the case against Mr Bongle? Perhaps I have forgotten to include some information in the report?’

She leans her elbows on the counter and does not seem able to eff the smile across her rosy cheeks. The sight, however sweet and pleasant, does stir something within him and he curses himself internally for reacting the way that he does.

‘No, not at all. The lawyer said it was quite complete, actually. She’s revising the case and I just have to wait now,’ she chimes with a shrug. ‘I’ve come here because there’s a stray cat in my street that’s been going around for a while but lately he’s been looking quite thinner. The old lady who used to feed it everyday died a few weeks ago, and I’m not sure anyone feeds him anymore.’

Her gaze wanders over to the rows of kibble bags on the display shelves.

‘I’d like to buy some food for him just to be on the safe side, and since I don’t want to risk giving him the wrong stuff, I thought I’d buy it here.’

‘I see,’ he responds with a nod. His eyes brighten up at the thought that she cares for an animal that is not hers. Most people he has seen refuse to approach stray animals out of fear that they might catch diseases or fleas, and while some caution is always advised, too many of them end up suffering all sorts of infections that go untreated and only cause them agony. Knowing that there is someone like Tav out there caring enough to notice the change in the cat’s weight gives him hope.

Halsin steps back to peruse the selection he has got, heading straight to the cat section.

‘Do you know how old the cat is, approximately?’ he asks.

‘Mmh, he doesn’t look too old. Hears and sees properly from what I know, his fur isn’t too patchy. Some neighbour said the old lady fed him for about three years.’

‘Then let us take one for adult cats to be on the safe side. I suppose that you do not happen to know what type of kibble she gave him?’

‘Not at all. Sorry.’

He nods and asks her a few more questions about what behaviours she has noticed from the cat in general. Once he is able to define a clearer profile of the animal, he picks a bag and sets it down on the counter, pointing at the information written on it with his pen.

‘This is food that is perfect for a cat used to the outdoors, aged five years or more. If it turns out that he is slightly younger, that should not cause any trouble. Since you said that he is on the lighter side, I would recommend thirty grammes of kibble per day. See how much he manages to eat and add a little more if he starts gaining a bit of weight again. But do not give him more than forty-five grammes, since it is likely that he hunts mice or birds on the side.’

‘Noted!’

Reaching into a cabinet behind the reception, he takes out a measuring cup and places it next to the bag.

‘This should help you measure the food without a kitchen scale.’

‘Practical. Alright, let’s take it!’

Halsin smiles and circles the recommended doses on the bag so she does not forget the amount he has told her to give the stray cat. He signs in to his software and enters the right reference to log the sale.

‘Would you like me to add it to your patient account in case you need to buy some new kibble later on?’

‘Gladly,’ she responds cheerfully, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand while watching him typing on the keyboard.

‘Done! That will be twenty-two gold coins, please. The measuring cup is free.’

Tav takes out her credit card and pays for the bag. Once her wallet is stored away into her small cross-body bag, she carries the dry food under her arm and holds the measuring cup between her fingers.

‘Thank you very much, doctor.’

‘You are most welcome. If anything, I should thank you for caring for the cat.’

She returns his smile and tucks her hair behind her pointy ear, whose tip is reddening. Before he starts staring at it, Halsin drums his fingers on the counter.

‘Oh, before I forget, I beg you not to leave out milk for the cat, because—’

‘— because cats are naturally lactose intolerant,’ she completes his sentence with a smug expression that can be likened to this of a pupil who is proud to show that they have learnt their lessons by heart.

‘Indeed,’ he chuckles. ‘Well, it seems that the cat is in most capable hands, I can sleep soundly at night.’

Tav laughs and readjusts her grip on the bag.

‘When I’m released into society, I’m the type to always bring up that fact and everyone gets annoyed,’ she laughs.

‘At least you are spreading the good word out there. I did not know that you were doing public service on top of jingle compositions.’

‘I’m full of surprises, doctor.’

They share a playful grin, which lingers perhaps a bit longer than it should. His heart stirs when he notices the twinkle in her eye and the subtle reddening of her cheekbones. When her fingers unconsciously loosen around the measuring cup and it slips out of her grasp, he skilfully catches it before it bounces on the floor and hands it back to her.

‘Oh, thanks,’ she mumbles bashfully, tucking it under her free arm. ‘If anything goes wrong with the cat, can I try and bring him here?’

‘Of course. I will be happy to help.’

‘You’re the best! Thanks again. Have a lovely day, doctor.’

‘You too, Miss Ashguard. If you have any doubts, you can always contact me.’

‘I will!’

She waves at him and walks out of the practice. His eyes follow her as he sighs dreamily. However, his distraction is quickly cut short when he finds himself face to face with Astarion stepping inside with a cup of blood from the butcher.

‘Morning.’

‘Ah, good morning, my friend! Could I ask you a favour?’

The vampire grunts and slides his sunglasses up, letting them rest on top of his head. His ruby irises scowl at the veterinarian. Favours are never good in the younger man’s book. Or rarely.

‘I suppose I don’t have a choice,’ he mumbles. ‘What do you want?’

Halsin crosses his arms. No matter how much he tries to connect with him, even if just on a superficial level, Astarion always keeps his guard up and his distance. Honeyed words sometimes ornate his speech, but they never feel genuine, merely a façade that shelters him from others. He does not need to befriend him, of course, but he wishes that they could get along as well as he and Karlach do. But again, everything is easier with her. Sometimes, she might be too social and kind in a world that does not always value such qualities.

‘Karlach’s motorcycle broke down this morning, so she will be late. Do you mind working the reception until she arrives?’

Panic fills Astarion’s eyes right away. He furrows his brow and tries to act nonchalant, but his hesitation clearly stands out.

‘Wh— I don’t even know how any of this works!’

‘Do not worry, I am not saying that you must do all her tasks. If you could keep an eye on the appointments list and welcome the patients, that will help tremendously already. If the phone rings, answer it and write down the names and numbers, I will call them back between consultations. If it is urgent, do not hang up; call for me instead.’

‘Mh. That sounds doable. Alright.’

Astarion walks to the kitchen to drop his jacket and sunglasses, then comes back to the reception. He sits behind the desk and Halsin shows him everything he needs to know. Then, the veterinarian walks into his office and logs in to the general inbox and answers some emails himself.

Soon enough, the first appointment of the day arrives and Astarion directs them to the waiting room, where Halsin eventually comes to call them in. The consultation goes smoothly despite the very reticent puppy howling dramatically at the prospect of receiving one of her first shots. When he is done, Halsin guides the owner and the pet to the reception and registers the payment himself, before offering a treat to the brave puppy.

When they walk out, Halsin’s phone pings again.

‘Found a way, Dammon is bringing me. Be there in ten. Btw, doc, did you just make a joke?? And use a smiley??! Who are you and what did you do to Doc Halsin???’

Halsin laughs and updates Astarion on Karlach’s estimated time of arrival. Before the second consultation, a grumpy customer enters and asks for an anti-flea treatment suitable for a corgi. Once he has explained how to apply the solution efficiently, the veterinarian slithers back behind the desk and Astarion rolls a few inches away with his chair to give him enough space to deal with it all. 

‘Do you already have an account?’ Halsin asks the amber-eyed tiefling, whose tail is whipping around behind him in annoyance.

‘This little shit is not my dog, thank the Gods!’ the customer answers with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. ‘He’s my sister’s.’

‘I see. Does she have an account?’

‘Listen, can I just buy the treatment and go? I feel like I’m being devoured by fleas myself as we speak!’

‘Of course.’

Without protesting, he processes the sale and gives the little pipettes to the young man, who turns around with another scoff and leaves as fast as he can, scratching his head harder than he probably should.

Eyeing the man with concern, Halsin leans towards Astarion.

‘Do you think the dog is at risk with him?’

Much to his surprise, the vampire laughs while filing his nails and admiring the result.

‘Most likely. I know him. Well, know is perhaps a strong word, but I’ve spoken to him a few times. As you can clearly tell, he’s from the city. He’s one of the most arrogant pricks I’ve talked to, and it takes one to know one. He owns a bookshop specialised in academic publications of all sorts, and my husband happens to love the place.’

Could it be? Is he actually opening up by accepting to gossip with him? Not that Halsin particularly likes hearsay and talking negatively about people in their backs, but this exchange already brightens up his day.

The vampire carefully taps his glass nail file on the edge of the bin under the desk to rid it of dust, then tucks it away in its little sleeve.

‘But don’t worry, Rolan’s all bark and no bite, he won’t hurt that pup,’ he continues while shoving the file inside his shirt pocket. ‘You know, he’s clever and all, but Gale took him down a notch a couple of times. You know what? I think my husband’s at his hottest when he gives arrogant people a reality check.’

‘That is good to know, I suppose.’

‘Trust me, doc, I think your next appointment’s here.’

Indeed, the next patient comes in and Halsin welcomes him warmly. Halfway through the consultation, he hears the faint sounds of the sewing machine upstairs, and he concludes that Karlach must have arrived in the meantime and relieved Astarion of his temporary duty.

Halsin does not see her until he finishes the next examination and logs everything into the computer. His assistant pokes her head in when the patient leaves and speaks in a hushed voice.

‘Morning, doc! Uh… There’s an odd chum lurking around in the lobby, doesn’t have a pet or anything and he keeps ignoring me when I ask him if I can help him.’

The veterinarian turns around with an eyebrow raised and instantly rises from his high stool.

‘Go back to the reception, I will talk to him.’

Karlach nods and does as he instructed her, sitting back on her chair and anxiously browsing playlists for something that will calm her nerves while being acceptable to play from the practice’s speakers. Situations like this one is among those she has been dreading most about working at Emerald Grove. Owners losing their pets and leaving without their furry or feathery friends remains the worst of all, but weird and creepy people are close.

In previous jobs, she had her fair share of lurking visitors and customers who made her feel uncomfortable, but the employee handbooks always stated that she could not shoo them away outright. Either a manager or security had to do it. Sadly, it often left her feeling incapable of fending for herself and infantilised.

Soon enough and much to her relief, help is on the way and Halsin arrives, clicking a pen. Without making himself look menacing either, he puffs up his chest slightly. If anybody seeks trouble, he is hoping that his size and his brawn will dissuade whoever stands before him. But as he catches a glimpse of the man in question, his stomach tightens. Intent on not showing his discomfort to Karlach, he smiles and speaks as naturally as possible.

‘Good afternoon, sir. I believe we have met this morning, you were looking inside the practice before opening time?’

The man turns around with a smug smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes so dark that one cannot quite pinpoint their colour. Now that Halsin is closer, he can discern the man’s outfit more clearly. Tucked into high-waisted trousers, his tailored black silk shirt with the top five buttons left undone allows his black chest hair to peek out. His overcoat adorned with golden embroideries has its collar upturned, completely covering the back of his neck. If anything, it gives him a menacing look, as though he is the villain of a fairytale come to life, but dressed as a model.

‘You are the veterinarian who owns the practice, aren’t you?’ the man answers at last with a brief squint of his eyes.

‘Indeed, I am. May I be of any help?’

‘Oh, I am merely looking around.’

As he says so, the stranger buries his hands into his pockets and paces around, inspecting the walls and the layout of the reception and the waiting room. Karlach sneaks a glance towards her boss, wondering how he is going to handle this most peculiar situation. Without blinking, Halsin steps forward, tucking his pen into the breast pocket of his scrubs.

‘May I know what you are looking for, sir?’

‘This is a beautiful working space you’ve got here. Most impressive.’

Before he can press him on, the stranger faces Halsin with a smirk, rubbing his fingers together in the same unsettling way that he did earlier this morning.

‘Tell me, have you ever considered selling this practice?’

Halsin crosses his arms. This time, he has no intention to behave in the same friendly manner. While he knows that escalating such a ridiculous situation would be useless, he knows now that he does not want this man lurking around anymore.

‘No, sir. We have only just opened, thank you very much. Now, if you do not wish to make an appointment or buy anything for a pet, I kindly ask you to leave. I must soon tend to another patient.’

‘Oh, that’s a bloody shame. Well. I’ll see what I can do.’

The man reaches into his inside pocket and takes out a business card, which he hands the veterinarian by tucking it between two well-groomed fingers.

‘In case you change your mind, I would be very happy to discuss it with you. Here’s my contact information. The name’s Enver Gortash.’

Without as much as a goodbye, Gortash walks out of the practice, leaving a dumbfounded pair at the reception. Karlach stands up from her chair, her gaze shifting between the door and Halsin.

‘What in the hells just happened, doc? What the fuck was that about?’

Her boss examines the business card he is holding with a deep frown.

‘I have no clue, Karlach. I am quite at a loss, to be honest with you.’

‘What did he say his name was?’

Halsin hands her the business card. Before she even gives it a look, she sits back on her chair and drags her keyboard towards herself, instantly typing the name in her browser. His curiosity piqued by the results, he joins her behind the desk and leans in to read what comes up on the screen. Karlach clicks on a biographical article from a business-centred media website and begins to skim it.

‘Fuck me, Gortash’s quite the big guy,’ she mumbles pensively. ‘Owns a big company that owns lots of brands itself. Apparently, he’s known for gentrifying the shit out of many neighbourhoods in several cities already. He’s kicked out independent shops to establish a coffee chain and turning flats into offices.’

His eyes scan the same words and the more they read, the tighter the lump in his throat feels. Karlach hands him the mouse so he can peruse the article himself and open others. He checks several sources, and much to his dismay, the information they read in the first article seem to be confirmed through others.

‘I do not like how that sounds,’ he whispers.

‘Me neither, doc. But now that you told him off, he’ll lose interest, right?’

‘Mh. I doubt it. But now I wonder if he has shown interest in other places in Heawick. There is only one way to know.’

The assistant looks up quizzically as he sighs heavily and crosses his arms.

‘If anybody in Heawick knows anything, it is Melly.’

Taglist: @emmanuellececchi @reignydeys @cakenpiewhyohmy @beardedladyqueen

[domoz]

Prompt: TobiIzu & Mission Gone Wrong, if you fancy? Maybe some whump, something with capture and/or torture? :]

Cw: Aftermath of torture, eye trauma

Tobirama limps through the door with someone's robe in one hand. Izuna doesn't look up from where he's watching the pot of water boil. 

The only reason Izuna had let him go retrieve it was because he hadn't been able to stop him. Logically, he knows that between the two of them, his wounds are worse; that they should be treated first; that Tobirama is more trained to deal with them than Izuna is. But logic has no bearing on the weight that sits, dark and heavy and burning in the center of his chest.

Tobirama works silently next to him, cutting the stolen clothes into long strips and boiling the fabric with all the efficiency of a battlefield medic.

"Let me see." He says as the last rag goes into the pot. Izuna wordlessly slides his own thin clothes off his shoulders as far as they will go before the dried blood sticking it to his skin stops it from going further. Tobirama is gentle with the first passes of warm water across his back, slowly pulling fabric apart from skin until the whole flayed mess is exposed.

Izuna didn't so much as flinch at his wounds being touched but he shudders at the chakra that flushes through his system. Even in healing, Tobirama's chakra is intense enough to make Izuna break into goosebumps. Tobirama ignores the reaction pulling his chakra back and forth in a way thats slightly nauseating in order to give Izuna  as close to an approximation of stitches as can be done right this moment. The bandages, when he starts wrapping them around Izuna's chest, are already dry. No doubt that moron used suiton to do it, like he has the energy to spare.

Tobirama says nothing more as he secures the bandages and moves to start cleaning his own wounds. And not the important one, Izuna notes with disgust watching out of the corner of his eye.

"Tobirama." He forces himself to speak up. His voice is already rough from abuse, so there's no way to read any emotion into it being that way now. "Let me look at it. Everyone in my clan is trained on how to deal with-- with injuries like that."

"...If you want." Tobirama says after a moment. And so Izuna swallows harshly, and forces himself to turn and look.

One red eye watches him sharply. The other remains closed, lid fluttering uselessly over an empty socket. 

Izuna's lips tighten into a thin line, but he doesn't let any more show than that. He grabs a rag from the rapidly cooling pot, rings out the excess moisture, and with only a enough hesitation to swallow dryly, reaches out to hold Tobirama's jaw steady with one hand as he starts wiping away the blood that has dried on the other side. It's smeared and blended in with the marking on his cheek -- less strikingly now than it had when it was fresh-- and matted into a good chunk of his hair. Izuna washes that out too, as best as he can, rust brown flaking off onto his hands as he works. Until all that's left to deal with is--

Tobirama's remaining eye meets his. There is no judgment there, nor is there any sympathy.

"If it's not still bleeding, there's not much to do, is there?" He says.

"Clean it." Izuna bites back immediately,"Disinfect the socket. Infection halves the chance that it will heal when we--"

Izuna nearly chokes as he cuts himself off, his barely healed wounds protesting at the sudden tautness of his spine. Tobirama won't be getting his eye back. There hadn't been enough left to recover when they'd found it.

Tobirama graciously ignores Izuna's slip up, choosing instead to reach up and do what Izuna couldn't bring himself to do and probe at the socket with his fingers. Izuna watches in sick fascination-- There's already cloth stuffed in there from where their captors had made a token attempt at stopping him from bleeding out, but it wasn't done cleanly or kindly. With the supplies they have, Izuna won't be able to do much better. 

He swats away Tobirama's hand and forces himself to try, regardless. Tobirama bears the cleaning and repacking of his wound silently, the only indication he gives at how painful it must be is the twitching of his fingers where they rest in his lap. He even bows his head to allow Izuna to tie on a makeshift mockery of an eyepatch.

When that's done, Izuna's hands hover around Tobiramas' head for a long moment before he lets them drop. Fingers tighten into fists, his throat still tight with a mess of emotions that are worse than useless right now.

"What were you thinking?"  Izuna rasps, when the silence becomes too much to bear. Tobirama meets his furious gaze coolly -- with one eye, which only makes Izuna's throat constrict tighter.

"That they were easily fooled, and that I don't have any visual prowess to be stolen. It seemed like a sensible trade to make."

One Izuna hadn't had a choice in. When they'd been captured and thrown in separate cells, it was only the luck of how they had been placed that allowed Tobirama to overhear their captor's conversation. Something he'd heard had made his eyes go wide, then calculating, and finally he'd locked gazes with Izuna, trying to convey something.

"Then they would be fools." He'd said suddenly, too loud to be meant as a secret. "Your eyes are darker than mine, they won't even bother with yours."

"What?!" Had been Izuna's response, somewhere between baffled and offended. He hadn't understood, not until after they'd dragged Tobirama away.

"Sensible?" Izuna hisses, "It was your eye!"

"Yes." Tobirama agrees, "And it wasn't one of yours."

Angry heat burns down Izuna's whole body. "I didn't ask you to do that. We could have--"

"Izuna." Tobirama cuts him off sharply, "I don't regret it. I will not regret it. I would make the same choice again."

Izuna's eyes burn, and it nothing to do with the sharingan. His fists curl into Tobirama's shirt to hold him still as he bows his head, the acid bitterness leaking  out of him.

He and Tobirama are alike in too many of the same ways. Both are responsible for protecting those behind them, both of them take that duty far more seriously than they will ever admit. And because Tobirama made the choice that he did, Izuna has failed.

At least he'd made it hurt.

"Of course you can't get it to work." Izuna had spat in the man's face. "I bet you don't even have the chakra stores to activate it" 

A half truth, built off the lie Tobirama had already spun. Meant to buy more time, but it worked even better. His incompetent interrogator snarled and stepped close enough for Izuna to get the tips of his fingers on one of the tools in his belt. He'd lost his guts, for that.

Tobirama's hands settle on his shoulders-- an awkward but earnest attempt at comfort. It doesn't make Izuna feel any better.

"...You should rest" He says when Izuna doesn't indicate he's even noticed, "I will.. Keep watch."

The sound that bubbles out of Izuna's mouth is too wretched sounding to be considered a laugh.

"That's not very funny." He means it, but despite his words, Izuna feels like he might burst into giggles.

"I wasn't trying to be," The Senju responds, deadpan. He pulls his hands back to himself, leaving Izuna feeling even less grounded. "I was only stating a potential plan. If you're worried about my capabilities, know that my sensory abilities are unaffected."

A giggle does force its way out of him now, though Izuna cuts himself off with a snort before it becomes too obvious. 

"Not what I meant " He waves off as soon as he trusts himself to speak again, "I really just think you should be more worried about this. Are you in shock?"

Tobirama glares at him, no less sharp for having only one eye to do it with. "And what's worrying going to do? All that can be done is move forward."

Maybe Izuna shouldn't be surprised; Tobirama would probably say the same if he had lost a limb. Izuna sighs and slumps forward, until his face is pressed into Tobirama's shoulder. The Senju curiously allows it.

"And how." Izuna asks, muffled, "Do you move forward from that."

It's mostly rhetorical, but Tobirama of course already has an answer. He's a practical man, and he's had days of captivity to think on it.

"Well." He starts, as if gathering his thoughts, "There are craftsmen in your clan capable of making chakra conducting glass, yes?"

Izuna tilts his head up to squint at the Senju, unsure of where this is going. "...Yes."

Tobirama nods.

"With the correct seals, I think a glass eye could connect directly into my nervous system. I don't think I could replicate sight as we know it, but I wasn't intending to. The possibilities of such a thing are larger than that."

...Of course he would.

 Izuna stares for a long moment, then breaks into giggles again. More genuine this time, but no less hysterical.

It's considered something of a sacrilege to replace a lost sharingan with a fake, and even those in their clan without the doujutsu follow suit. But Tobirama is not an Uchiha, and he hasn't lost a sharingan.

The Senju in question looks down at Izuna dubiously.

"Will that be a problem?"

"No." Izuna says at once, heart pounding harder, yet somehow easier. He may not have been able to stop the injury, but this much? He can do."There won't be. I'll make sure of it.”

[glowingvoid]

The first chapter to a Rain World Artisaint fanfic that I'm working on

CW: Some gore, violence, one uncensored swear, and child death

Words beneath the cut

The Artificer sat upon his dusty throne high in the air. His bloodstained mask that marked his life as a chieftain was put right next to him. The Artificer watched the air move through the large dome while a pale white light shone on his face from outside. 

Ks, ks, ks, ks

The sound of an elite scavenger trotting into the room didn't surprise Artificer at all. In fact, the only recognition on his matted furry face of the scavenger entering the room was a quick glance. The scavenger reached the bottom of the Artificer's tall wooden throne and kneeled and bowed. The Artificer watched the brown furred elite with a glare that seemed to say, 'state your reason for disturbing me or die'. 

"Uh- uh-" The young scavenger apprentice stuttered a bit too much for the chieftain to spare it. A bomb was dropped nonchalantly from the Artificer's hand onto the stunned creature's masked head. 

"Uh oh, somebody didn't have a reason to disturb me," Artificer said in a mocking voice before leaping down from his throne, creating dirt clouds when he landed, and gripping the bloody scavenger body. Unfortunately, the Artificer's expression was almost always that of a neutral one. His face had suffered too much damage to create expressions like a normal slugcat would. Artificer dragged off the body into his den for later. Perhaps as a snack.

Being a chieftain was a bit boring, the Artificer thought. However, it was balanced out by the fact that he got to have power over a nation. He got revenge, and it was more than he could have ever hoped for. The Artificer's den was pretty small and humble for a terrorist as strong as himself. Vines hung from the ceiling and some blue-colored grass taken from the Outskirts was planted in the floor. Despite the Artificer's aggressive personality, he enjoyed taking care of things. This was made evident by the abundance of potted plants, vines, and grasses in his cozy den. 

The Artificer took a while to come to terms with the fact that he was a caretaker. The number one terrorist was a caretaker. It sounds a bit absurd. 

Arti sighed as he laid down on the soft grass. His fur was brushed by the grass as it licked him. There were some round windows made of glass letting some light yellow sun rays in the room. The rays lit up the Artificer's fur. Suddenly, Arti was hit with a strong urge to become a denmaker again. To take care of small pups again… He knew that he had taken care of some pups before, but he didn't have any memories anymore and his dreams were now about taking care of the scavenger empire instead of his days as a father. 

"Mmmm…" Artificer hummed and looked out the window. There were no more slugcats alive other than him anymore. He was pretty sure of this fact because normal slugcats don't have any fur or lanterns to keep them warm. Snow glittered in the air and on the ground with the golden rays of sunrise. It was beautiful to gaze upon the world, but also a tad bit depressing to know that this used-to-be warm world had plunged into an eternal ice age.

Artificer would never become a denmaker again. There were no other slugcats in this frozen land. The era of the slugcats was over, and the Artificer was the last one. If only he could find just one female to have pups with. If only he had a chance.

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

"Hello, Chieftain Artificer." He recognized the voice as Melting-Shore, one of the most trustworthy elites, and the one that he got along with the most. Melting-Shore's coat was long and shaggy, with white and orange spots. 

Artificer turned around with a growl out of instinct, but then apologized when he realized his mistake. "What are you here to tell me?"

"Are you aware that a fucking juvenile's body is sitting outside your den? I would say to keep it there as a warning, but it may upset the other scavengers." Melting-Shore always had a unique tone to his voice, and a unique amount of curses he used. The Artificer swore that Melting-Shore cursed in every sentence that he spoke.

"Yes, now could you please go away so that I can cook and eat it in peace?" Artificer chuckled as much as he actually could, knowing that he could crack jokes with Melt without upsetting him. 

"Well, I'll see ya later!" Melting-Shore hopped like a strange monkey out the den. 

The Artificer sighed and hauled the dead scavenger's body into his fireplace, where he used a bomb to start cooking the meat until it was nice and full of ashes, just as he liked it. Arti almost fell asleep on the grass from a combination of the warmth and the satisfaction of cooking his own meal.

Cooking was something that the scavengers had learned to do in the past few decades. It was a necessary skill after the ice age hit. It also made meat taste much better. Recently, the scavengers had figured out the magic of sauces and seasoning, with full-on restaurants opening. While the Artificer would love to go to a restaurant one day, he was completely content just sitting by the fire as his meal cooked. 

When the food was ready, Arti pulled the corpse off the fire and onto a large shelf that he called 'The Eating Shelf'. It was a clean shelf of bricks that the Artificer used to eat on.

Bringing his jaw close to the food, the Artificer chowed down on the smokey flavor of scavenger. Scavenger meat was stringy, like some kind of chicken, but tasted more like pork. It was a near-black red color. The smell of scavenger wafted through the den and out into the throne room. The Artificer was content, and would have smiled if he could.

[midnightponderingsblog]

What we once were. Part 1.

(Set after the Prisoner of Azkaban)

After Buckbeak landed deep in the forbidden forest, Sirius dismounted the magnificent creature, approached his hiding spot, and waited for Remus to appear. To take him home.

Remus told him via owl to wait in their hidden spot, a hidden cave tucked deep inside the forbidden forest. A place they had frequented then they initially began…whatever their relationship had been back then. A relationship full of secret touches, stolen kisses and midnight visits.

He waited anxiously for Remus to come, night turned to day, and then to night again. Just when he began to fear Remus would not come, there it was, the crack in the night air to announce Remus’ arrival through apparition. Their reunion was brief, Remus scanning his face searching for something, he must have found what he was looking for as he confidently stated “come on Pads, let’s take you somewhere safe.”

He tentatively took Sirius’ hand, and with a crack, both men stood outside a small cottage nestled in a rolling set of green hills. The smell of grass and something distinctly earthy rolled over the pair, the wind creating a sharp chill in the evening air and the sound of long blades of grass rustling due to the weather surrounded the men. Remus pulled his cloak tighter around himself and quickly glanced at Sirius, concern evident on his face due to the temperature and him being dressed in tattered prison robes.

Remus opened the door of the cottage and both stepped into a small hallway, immediately Remus flicked his wrist, using his wand to alight the candles in the hallway.

To the right of them, a small front sitting room in brown and red hues, the walls covered in bookcases. A small brown sofa along the far wall, with a maroon armchair to the left of the door. On the wall on the right, a small window with old brown curtains and a pinboard adorned with photographs.

To the left of the hallway a small staircase led upstairs, Remus hung his old cloak over the end of the stair banister.

Remus led Sirius to the end of the corridor, into the small yellow kitchen. White cupboards that needed a fresh lick of paint ran to the left and straight from the kitchen door. Plants littered the windowsill, upon closer inspection Sirius realised they must be used for cooking? Basil, Thyme, Mint and many others where the neat, handwritten labels had worn off through watering and repotting. A pair of pink scissors sat in a small metal pot at the end of the windowsill, he remembered buying them for Remus over a decade ago, he thinks?

“Tea?” Questioned Remus.

With alarm, Sirius turned to face Remus, surprised at the question that had pulled him out of his thoughts. Memories of happier times he had so carefully shoved deep down suddenly were at risk of bubbling to the surface.

“Of course, I haven’t changed that much Moons” Sirius retorted, anything to force a sense of normalcy between the two.

God he had missed his Moony. His beautiful, kind, compassionate and caring Moony.

Remus carefully set two steaming mugs of tea on two mats, on the blue wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. He waved his arm encouraging Sirius to sit next to him. Sirius’ stomach began to churn, he realised then that all he had eaten on the run were small mammals his animagus form had caught. And that was days ago.

“Small sips darling,” Remus murmured, his hand on Sirius’ right arm. Remus turned a deep shade of red as he pulled his arm back in embarrassment.

The warm liquid rolled across his tongue, heating him from the inside out. Sirius took this time surveying his Moony, although 12 years older, he was as beautiful as ever. A constellation of freckles across his face, warm reddish-brown curls across his head and silver scars across his face and neck disappearing below his collar. New lines, new freckles, new scars, new signs of ageing. But the same old Moony, his warm and comforting Moony.

“Pads, you need to eat. I have chicken soup or…”

“Soup sounds amazing Moons, Merlins beard I’d eat that plant on the windowsill if you’d let me!” Sirius moaned.

As the soup bubbled away on the hob, Remus swayed his hips listening to a slow, classical song on the muggle radio and rain that was pattering on the rattling windows. “Eat Pads,” Remus stated as he thrust a bowl of the steaming liquid in front of Sirius, before taking one for himself.

Once the soup had gone, and both men were fed and full Remus looked Sirius in the eye and sniffed. “Pads, you need a wash. The smell is repulsive!” Sirius rolled his eyes aghast, “Rem you have always found me irresistible don’t deny it” before shooting Remus a wink.

Remus took his hand, guided him up the wooden creaking stairs and guided him into the bathroom upstairs opposite the top step. “In” Remus stated before shooting him into the room and closing the door behind him.

Sirius turned on the shower, and stripped off his tattered, grotesque prison uniform. He shot himself a tentative glance in the mirror. Tattoos littering his body, matted black hair tumbling from his head and Merlin’s beard his physique. His arms thinner than ever before, his stomach concave inwards with ribs sticking out of the side. Collar bones pushing forcefully out of his skin and the muscle that once bulked his body out long wasted away.

Sirius stepped under the warm spray and watched years of grime disappear down the plug hole, the water ran black, then brown and finally, clear. The minty smell of his Moony’s body wash surrounded him as he scrubbed until his skin felt raw. Uncapping the pineapple scented shampoo, he massaged the foam into his scalp. Finally, he stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a navy fluffy towel revelling in the comfort of the fabric. Remus must have slipped the door ajar as he was washing, a neat set of flannel pyjamas lay just inside the door, under the pile was the large knit jumper Sirius used to wear on the cold winter evenings up in the dorm tower.

The clean, warm fabric clung to his body providing well-needed comfort. It almost made Sirius want to cry, bile filled his mouth and his heart began to race. Sirius wiped his eyes and took a deep breath deciding to search for something to wash his mouth out, he found a new blue toothbrush under the sink and used Remus’ toothpaste, the mint assaulted his tastebuds, revelling in the cleanliness Sirius washed his teeth again before placing the toothbrush next to Remus’ in the pot.

Finally, he pulled on a pair of blue fluffy socks that he must have missed when changing and, with a deep breath, went to open the bathroom door.

[suddenly-stickmin]

It Wasn't My Fault.

A heavy sigh filled the dimly lit kitchen of a shared apartment. A shared apartment that was filled with the bare minimum; a microwave, a worn down welcome mat with its words long since scraped off, a couple of mugs, old towels that hung from the fridge’s handle, the sort of items that should’ve been thrown out long ago, but yet they remained. It wasn’t like the occupants could afford to replace them.

They couldn’t even afford a proper ceiling cap for the lightbulb in the middle of the kitchen. It stuck out from the gray ceiling like a sore thumb. Its occasional flickers and its hum were a tad annoying, but it’s what made the apartment feel like home, unfortunately.

Dave Panpa sat at the round, crooked kitchen table surrounded by his… Friends? Could he call them friends?

He brought his head up, looking away from dark brown wood of the table to the man who sat next him, Johnny Panzer.

He's someone Dave's worked with for a couple of years now. They’ve never done anything too thrilling together, mostly just training sessions where Johnny showed him how to prepare for certain emergencies, and how to defend himself from criminals. Great information that Dave could’ve put to good use had he not lost his job over forgetting to check a prisoner’s box.

Johnny shifted around on the black folding chair he sat on. His posture wasn’t stiff, but it didn’t seem relaxed either. He adjusted his blue police hat, the dim, white light from the bulb bounced off his golden badge and made it shimmer. He then put his focus back on the day old newspaper in his hands.

He’s already read through that paper twice. Surely it couldn’t have been that interesting.

Or maybe it was.

Or maybe it was Johnny’s way of avoiding Dave’s stare.

Dave felt his face get hot. He has been staring for a while, hasn’t he?

He went back to looking at the table again, feet digging into the cold, dusty beige, tiled floor as he listened to the hushed cusses of Rupert Price.

Dave didn’t feel like looking at Rupert.

He never did.

And Rupert didn’t like it when Dave stared at him, so it worked out for the both of them.

Regardless, Dave didn’t need to glance at Rupert to know what he was doing. It was the same thing he did every evening after a long day at work: Make a pot of coffee.

He could never make a pot of coffee normally though, no. He could never just turn on the machine, chat with the two people who lived with him as he waited, then pour himself a cup, no. His ritual consisted of stomping through the kitchen, throwing open the few wooden cabinets they have as he complained about his day at work, then when he’d finally find his bag of coffee, he’d then rant about how dingy their apartment was.

The lights were never bright enough for him, the beige counters were never spacious enough for him, nothing in this apartment was good enough for him.

Dave would be lying if he said he didn’t understand where the hatred for this apartment came from, but it’d be nice to hear something positive from Rupert every now and then, or at the very least, a neutral observation.

“Here.” Rupert’s voice cut Dave’s thoughts off. He sounded exhausted, more so than usual. His voice was a bit more hoarse, and there was an extra ounce of bitterness to it that Dave didn’t like.

Rupert slid a cup of coffee in front of Johnny before walking over to his own seat, the pistol in his black holster clicking with each step he took. When he sat down, Dave gripped onto the edge of the table.

Johnny lowered his newspaper and stared at the white cup before him. He then glanced over to Dave, his eyes lingering on him for a moment before he set the paper down and pushed himself up.

Dave listened to Johnny open a cabinet and rummage through it. He grabbed a cup, filled it with coffee, and placed it by Dave, giving him a small nod of acknowledgement.

Dave nodded back, thankful yet embarrassed.

Rupert grumbled.

“What’s th’matter?” Rupert asked, “Legs broken? Can’t move your arms?”

Dave curled his fingers around the lid of his black security hat and pulled it down, trying to block Rupert from his vision as much as he could, “Sorry, I was gonna get it myself, but John--”

“I know what Johnny did. I know. I’m right here. I saw him.” Rupert scoffed as he flicked up his swamp green army hat, it’s golden badge not nearly as polished as it usually was. “You think that sad face is gonna do you any good? You think that’s gonna constantly get you outta trouble? Just cause it works for Johnny over here, does not--”

Johnny suddenly put his hand in front of Rupert, silencing him.

Dave glanced up to see the stern, disapproving head shake Johnny was giving, all while Rupert wore a look of confusion and annoyance.

Rupert let out a ‘Tch’ and took a sip of his coffee. Johnny finally put his arm down and went back to the paper.

Dave brought his cup to his face and hesitated.

Black coffee.

He couldn’t help but frown.

He didn’t have anything against it, but he missed sugar and cream.

Maybe when they have enough money again, they could buy some.

Dave peered past his cup, and when he locked eyes with Rupert, a spike of fear shot through him.

He forced his head to the left.

He stared at the living room instead, studying every inch of it as if he hadn’t seen it a million times before. He stared at the beaten up red couch that was pushed against the rough, dark gray wall. Its cushions had a couple stains on them from the times Rupert got upset and--

Dave shook his head. Don’t think about Rupert.

He looked over to the TV that sat a couple feet away from the couch.

They didn’t have a coffee table to fill in the space between the TV and the couch, so there wasn’t anything to place cups or snacks on, save for the armrests and the cardboard box on the left side of the couch that Johnny loved to use.

Something was playing on the TV. A show, a movie, who knew, but the quality was fuzzy, and the volume was so low that Dave couldn’t make out a single word. The screen provided just enough light to illuminate the couch and the old black rug under it, but the rest of the room had been shrouded in darkness.

“Had a crappy day at work, by th’way. Thanks for askin’.” He heard Rupert say.

He wasn’t sure if that was directed at him or Johnny, but he felt a twinge of guilt hit him.

“Had to stand around all day in front of some stupid tent. General said he was worried bout intruders, but--” A bitter laugh left Rupert’s throat, “We’re at a secret base—like, it isn’t called a ‘secret’ for nothin’, right?” He gave a playful nudge to Johnny, only to get an unamused glance in return.

Dave just kept staring at the living room, trying desperately to look through one of the two windows on the far back wall, wanting nothing more than a comforting glimpse of the outside world, but it was too dark.

Rupert slumped over and combed his black hair with his fingers before he went on, “I swear, I think they’re givin’ me the easy stuff on purpose. They know I can do more than stand around, they know it, but they won’t let me.” He took another sip of his coffee, “I’m not built to stay in one place—I’m just not! I need to do things. If I see a problem, I wanna take action.” His hands curled to fists, “Johnny, you remember what I was like back when we worked at that prison, don’t ya?”

Johnny just raised his brows before turning a page of his newspaper.

“Do you remember that one big prisoner who escaped? The uh, the--” He snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the prisoner’s name, but he gave up and swatted at the air, “The big guy! He had a big scar across his face and that eyepatch! Do you remember who was the first person to chase after him? Do you remember who fired the first bullet at him? Me.” Rupert brought his cup to his chest, spilling a bit of coffee across the table.

Johnny quickly moved his paper out of the splash zone.

Dave wasn’t sure if he was allowed to speak or not, so he took a sip from his cup. His face scrunched when he felt that bitter beverage spread across his tongue and trickle down his throat.

“And it didn’t stop there…” Rupert went on, “Anytime there was a bank robbery, or a hostage situation, or the chief needed someone to patrol a dangerous part of the city, I was always the first one to volunteer. Eventually, I didn’t even need to ask bout any of that, I’d be the first person the chief would turn to for help.” For a brief moment, Dave heard nostalgia weave itself between Rupert’s words instead of frustration, and though he couldn’t see him, he knew there was a smile on his face.

Rupert gently set his cup down, “I had a perfect record.” He said with a pleasant sigh, “I was getting recommended to the best of the best, everyone was relyin’ on me, and I was one of the youngest there, you know.” Despite the lack of response from the other two men, he kept going, “Chief told me I had a bright future, that I was one of the hardest workin’ men he’s ever seen.” His voice dwindled, “And then I got fired. By somethin’ that wasn’t even my fault.”

Dave stiffened.

He didn’t move. Even with the hot coffee burning his lips, he didn’t want to move.

The impatient tapping of fingers started to make him sweat.

The longer the silence went on, the faster his heart got.

There was an uncomfortable rustle of the paper from Johnny.

Dave finally tore the cup away from his face and looked at Rupert.

“Do you remember how I got fired, Dave?” Rupert asked with a scowl, “Because—it’s funny—I’m strugglin’ to remember. I know it was over somethin’ stupid.” He hissed as he leaned closer.

Dave shakily set his cup down, “Yeah, no, I was—It was something stupid. Yeah, it was real stupid.”

He hated how his voice sounded. He hated how much it shook. He hated how it cracked. He hated how Rupert looked at him.

“Right.” Rupert nodded, “Do you remember anythin’ bout that incident either?”

Dave’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

His eyes darted over to Johnny for help, but Johnny had buried his face deep into the day old paper, bracing himself for the argument he’s heard a thousand times.

“I—” Dave started, “It was so long, you know? And—and I think if—I remember--”

“Hey, you know what, I think some parts are coming back to me.” Rupert forced a grin on his face.

Dave shrunk back. He turned his body towards the kitchen and forced down another sip of coffee.

“I remember workin’ at the West Mesa…” Rupert said.

Dave stared at his warped reflection in his drink.

“...I remember I had a partner with me…”

His gripped on the cup’s handle tighten.

“...And I remember he brought in a box for a certain prisoner…”

His hands started to tremble.

“...And when I asked him if he had checked th--”

Dave immediately got out of his seat, catching both Johnny and Rupert off guard.

“I need to--” He looked over to the two, “I’m… I need a refill.” He plastered on a weak smile as he pointed to his cup. It wasn’t even half empty.

He shuffled over to the kitchen and set his cup down on the counter. He heard Rupert huff.

Dave fiddled with the coffee machine, he kept shifting his cup a few inches back and forth, he did whatever he could to seem ‘busy’ just to avoid sitting back with Rupert.

Rupert wasn’t done though.

“You know what else is funny, Johnny?”

Johnny pressed his lips together and flipped another page.

“It’s funny that—even though it was my partner who brought in that stupid box, and it was my partner who didn’t follow any basic safety procedures, or at least check the dang thing, we were both fired. Isn’t that a knee slapper?”

Dave grabbed the coffee pitcher and ever so carefully refilled his cup.

“It’s also funny that even though I wasn’t the one who forgot to check what was in the box, the chief told me the reason I was getting fired was for being ‘careless’.” He slammed his fist on the table as he let out a cruel laugh.

Dave wrapped his hands around his cup. It was burning.

“Like, c’mon, how was I careless? Was I careless for trusting my partner? For thinking he had half a brain and could actually do his job correctly? should I have ripped the box out of his hands and checked it for him?”

Dave turned to the old, stained microwave that was shoved in the far back left corner of the counter and swung its door open. He slid his cup inside, not caring for the splatters that hit his hand, then he slammed it shut, momentarily blocking out Rupert’s voice. He turned it on for a minute.

“And you know what turns that situation from funny to hilarious?” Rupert leaned close Johnny, a smirk on his face.

Johnny looked back at him with a twinge of worry.

“It was the fact that I had to explain that stupid incident to every place I applied to.”

The hums of the microwave started to merge with Rupert’s words.

“I had a perfect record—I had it. I had the recommendations, I had the training, I had all those missions I excelled at and more…”

The coffee started to bubble.

“But when it came to those interviews—those stupid interviews—you know what they always asked me?” He got even closer to Johnny.

Johnny raised the paper in an attempt to make a barrier between him and Rupert.

“Why aren’t you a part of the police force anymore?”

Dave watched as his cup started to shake. Drops of coffee started to sputter out.

“I mean, no one would wanna leave the West Mesa of all places—especially when they were at such a high rank like me.”

Johnny watched as one of Rupert’s hands slipped underneath the table.

“So I’d tell them. I’d be honest, because that’s what good people do. I’d tell them that my partner and I failed to check a box, and that lead to a prisoner escaping.”

Dave’s breathing got faster. More coffee spilled out.

“Then—then! They’d tell me ‘Oh! I heard about that on the news. Wasn’t Henry Stickmin the prisoner? Didn’t he nearly tear that place apart?’ Then they’d tell me that they couldn’t hire me, because if I can’t check one stupid box, why would they trust me with anything else?”

Johnny heard a click.

“Even though it wasn’t my fault. Even though I wasn’t the one who brought that box in.”

As the microwave reached its last few seconds, Dave grabbed its handle.

“But apparently it doesn’t matter! Apparently, I’m just some incompetent, lowlife idiot who can’t do anything right! Apparently I deserve to have all my hard work and all those amazing opportunities ripped away over something that wasn’t my fault--!”

Right as the microwave beeped, Rupert kicked himself out of his seat and tore his pistol from its holster.

He aimed at Dave, finger curled around the trigger.

And just as he pulled it, Johnny shot up and grabbed Rupert by the arm, throwing him aside just as the gun went off.

A loud BANG filled the air.

Dave covered his head.

Rupert screamed.

The bullet hit the microwave—bright, orange sparks flew.

Then the power went out.

And then it was quiet.

Dave never took his hands away from his face. He just stayed there, hunched body pushed against the counter as he trembled.

The kitchen light started to flicker.

The room was lit again.

Dave peeked through the cracks of his hands, Rupert’s face framed between his fingers.

He was on the floor now, his hat beside him. Johnny kept a foot on his chest as he pried the pistol from his hands. The only sounds coming from Rupert’s mouth were nothing but grunts and quiet curses as he tried to keep a hold on the gun.

Once Johnny tore the pistol away, he stepped off of Rupert and kept it held high into the air.

He unloaded it. He was quick, sloppy, but he didn’t care.

The golden bullets scattered across the floor. Rupert cussed and pushed Johnny aside, scrambling onto his knees and picking up as many as he could.

“You…” Dave finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny and Rupert looked to him.

“You just—you tried to—” He felt like he was going to throw up.

Rupert tossed the bullets into his hat and held it close, “I didn’t.”

“You were aiming at m—”

“I wasn’t.” Rupert hissed.

Before he could take a step closer, Johnny grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back.

Rupert didn’t protest.

Johnny adjusted his cap and turned back to Dave, whose eyes were still wide, and his body still shaking.

He reached out to Dave, whether it was to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder or pull him into a hug, neither of them knew, but Dave flinched at the motion and stumbled back more.

His head went from the door then back to the two men.

“I need to…” Dave stared at the ruined microwave, watching as small sparks spilled from the wires and darted across the growing puddle of coffee.

His throat tightened, “I need to pick up some sugar for the…” He pointed to the puddle, “I’m…”

He swallowed.

He hurried over to the door, slipped on his shoes, and left the house.

With nothing more to do, with nothing left to say, Johnny stormed to his room, pistol held firmly in his hand.

Rupert got to his feet and went back to the table.

He sat back down and placed his hat in his lap. He took a sip of his coffee, resentment brewing within him over what Dave made him do.

[hellfirestxnes]

Imagine Us

Chapter One

eddie munson x f!reader

word count: 3k+

warnings: 18+, female!reader, dad!eddie, eddie is in his 30’s, divorce, swearing, infidelity (if there’s any tags missing please let me know!)

notes: i didn’t edit this! but it’s the first part in this new fic. i haven’t written in ages and feel pretty rusty at it, so please be easy with me. i hope you like it!

Eddie rubs over his face, wishing the grogginess of a Monday morning would wash away as his alarm begins to sound for the third time this morning. It’s loud and sharp. The noise he’s always found to be obnoxious, shoots a pain through his skull with each ring, he reaches over to hit the snooze button once more before rolling out of bed. His bare feet hit the carpet of his bedroom before he takes a deep breath. Barely any sleep, but he’s gotta get the ball rolling. Moving with ease, he’s sliding into the cleanest set of coveralls and socks he has. Soaked in oil stains that won’t come out no matter how many times he’s washed them. A once over in the mirror hanging above the dresser has always been long enough to sort his bangs out. And then he’s off, padding down the hall, he stops at the second bedroom door. The only other occupied room in the trailer he’s been calling home since leaving his Uncle’s.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, he peeks inside, seeing the tops of two heads of dark brown hair cuddled up with one another. Both on the bottom bunk. He smiles, pulling the door shut as he works his way into the kitchen, turns on the coffee pot. He catches sight of the manila envelope with the papers he’s been itching to sign and return inside. And that might’ve pulled a smile to the corner of his lips. Soon he wouldn’t be tied to her. Soon he won’t be a married man. And he couldn’t wait— not to say he hasn’t been on a few dates here and there, but a single dad? his kids are only away from him two weekends out of the month, when does he have time to start anything new with anyone? He remembers ten years ago when he met her, a freshly turned 22 year old, getting out of Hawkins for the first time in his life. He remembers the way her hair fell in curls that framed her face, the way her sweater was worn and had a hole in the sleeve, how she yelled her name over the music. Laura. He remembers how she hung on his arm and whispered good luck to him and pressed a kiss on his cheek. A girl he’d just met, a girl he married a year later. A girl he settled down for.

He forces every pleasant thought of her away when he remembers just what tore them apart— Eddie pushing in the door of their trailer. Her dress on the floor, another man’s shoes on the mat. His daughter’s were asleep in the room next door when he caught them. His wife fucking someone who he couldn’t even remember the name of, he doubts that she does either, in his bed. Eddie saw red then. How could his wife, the mother of their children, let another man into their home for a quick lay with them asleep through the thin walls. He can admit, maybe he wasn’t the most attentive to her feelings, maybe he worked longer and harder than he should have. Maybe he didn’t love her the way he did in the beginning. Things got distant between them. But he always showed her he cared in the ways that naturally came to him. He sat a glass of water on her night stand every night while she was in the shower, he had her coffee ready every morning before they went to work. Always a kiss on the head, squeeze of the hand, and a rushed, “I love you.” as she would rush out the door to get their oldest to school on time.

Eddie’s eyes catch on the flashing green numbers of the microwave clock and he’s sighing, walking over to the girls’ bedroom. He leans down, his spine creaking with each move, reminding him just how much strain his job and age is putting on his 32 year old body. He shakes the thought and twists on the little pink lamp on the bedside table. “Girls? Time to get up.” His voice is softer, lighter than anyone in this town that had ever known Eddie could imagine his voice being. He smiles down at the brown eyes peering up at him— hair every which way. If he was any other parent, he might’ve gotten choked up at the thought of it being his five year old’s first day of school. “Jane.” He says again, the lightness of his tone beginning to melt away, replaced with something a bit more stern— with more urgency. They’d be late if they didn’t get a move on. And that’s the last thing he needed, to give her another reason as to why he shouldn’t have custody of them.

His eight year old, Jane, sits up slowly. Who he can soon hear a groan of annoyance coming from and he knows he’s done his job. He can hear Alice, his youngest, squealing as she gets dressed— too excited for her first day. He smiles at that. He quickly pops a few pop-tarts into the toaster, darting into the bathroom himself to finish getting ready for the day as quickly as he can. He reaches into the jewelry dish on the back of the sink and slides his rings on— except for the one he loathes to see but can’t bring himself to get rid of. He couldn’t throw ten years down the drain like she could. “Daddy, can you do my hair?” Eddie looks down next to him where he hears Alice’s voice. Her smile stretched wide across her face, revealing that she had lost one of her bottom front teeth. Eddie nods, setting her up on the edge of the sink. Her legs are folded neatly in the bowl as he grabs her hair brush and a ponytail holder. He brushes her hair quietly, seemingly lost in his own head. He can hear the quiet hums coming from Jane across the hall as he braids Alice’s hair quickly. It turns out to be a very messy end product, but the smile on her face tells him all that he needed.

The toaster pops up just as Jane stops at the counter. Eddie is ushering Alice to the table behind her. “All set?” He asks softly as he’s shoving his wallet off the counter into the back pocket of the coveralls.

Jane smiles, quietly eating her pop-tart as her sister tiptoes to reach the other. “All set, dad.” Her voice has always reminded Eddie of himself. Something he used to wish she would’ve gotten from her mother, but here he is now so thankful she holds a piece of him. Jane grabs her backpack, holding Alice’s up for her and Eddie’s grabbing the keys. He pauses at the door for a moment, as the girls climb into the car. His eyes fall on that manila envelope. He’s quick, stepping back into the house to swipe it off the dining table with a pen, pulling them out and scratching a signature across them. Deciding he’d rather get this done sooner rather than later. Climbing into the car, tossing the envelope into the passenger’s seat, he’s hoping that he’s got the energy to deal with his ex-wife at drop off.

*****

Jane is quick to find her classroom, not needing Eddie’s help. She’s as independent as they come, Laura used to say to him. But Alice? Alice holds onto his hand, begs him to walk her to class and he just can’t say no. Not even when he sees Laura and her newest beau standing outside of her classroom, waiting on them. Alice perks up, letting go of Eddie’s hand to run into her mother’s waiting arms. Laura lifts her up with a grin, eyes meeting Eddie’s. “you’re late.”

“It’s three minutes, let it go.” he sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose. The man next to Laura extends a hand to him and Eddie pauses. His eyes flick up to his, dropping his own hand from his face to shake gently as he introduces himself. Eddie looks skeptically, he can hear and see the other parents inside and his blood is already boiling at the thought of this guy spending the first day with his daughter instead of him. But, he has to pay the bills— has to get to work. His attention turns to Alice and Laura moments after dropping the handshake, “are you good to stay with her?” he asks, the need to leave pushing at the base of his skull.

“No, daddy! Stay, please.” Alice pouts at him after her short shriek, hands starting to fidget nervously. Before Eddie can respond, a kind face is popping into the doorway. He isn’t sure what comes over him in that moment, he feels stupid and dumb, and 22 again. The back of his neck is hot, something he hasn’t felt like this in years.

“Well, you must be Alice Munson.” You smile at the little girl, taking in the appearance of the pale blue smock dress and black shoes buckled neatly. You introduce yourself to whom you can only assume to be her mother, learning her name to be Laura. You extend your hand to the man beside her, “and you must be Mr. Munson?”

Eddie clears his throat, reeling from the most innocent two words in this conversation, two fingers popping up with his slightly raised hand, “no, that would be me.” He gestures so casually you almost miss it, as he tries to push down the rising embarrassment. But Laura can, and maybe she has an eyebrow raised as Eddie shakes your hand to be polite. Alice is quiet, shy, reserved, and sticks next to Laura as she and Beau walk her into the classroom.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Munson, I just assumed—” you start to explain yourself, feeling that hot rush of embarrassment beginning to take over.

“Oh, please. It’s just Eddie.” He replies with a kind smile, silver clad hands shoving deep into his pockets. “Pickup is still at three, yeah?” You hear his question as you study how deep the dimples of his cheeks are, how there are a few strands of hair that curl just under his jaw.

You finally manage to respond, nodding your head, “I’m sorry, excuse me, didn’t mean to zone out on you there.” you clear your throat. “Yes, pickup is at three, Mr. Mun— Eddie.” Your smile is just as kind as Eddie’s was, something that sent a shockwave through Eddie’s core. He nods, afraid to say anything else. He peeks into the classroom, waving at Alice before he’s turning on his heel to walk down the hall and out of the front doors. You take a deep breath, collecting yourself. You’ve never felt so shaken simply by someone's presence. You catch your eyes drifting to Alice and Laura throughout the morning as they settle in. She seemed to need a little extra help in opening up, feeling comfortable in her own space, but she easily bids her mother farewell when they stand to leave. Something you weren’t expecting after noticing how she reacted to Eddie having to leave.

Laura stops at the door where you were standing to thank parents for coming and she passes you a small sheet of paper. “This is all of her emergency contact information. Eddie sometimes forgets to add me to the forms.” You nod in response, “if he’s late for pickup, which I’m sure he will be, please give me a call?” She smiles again and you try to keep your expression calm, collected.

“I’ll pass this along to the secretary. She handles all of the emergency forms.” You fold the paper, holding it in your hand as Laura sends on last wave to Alice before leaving. You take a deep breath, already putting together that she’s going to be a handful to deal with throughout this school year. With a turn on your heel and a chipper call to your students, you file the emergency contact information with the things to take to the school’s office on your planning period. Today is the day where you’re determined to learn all of their names, to see their faces light up when you remember the fun facts they’ve told you. But with each activity you do and game you play, you notice little Alice Munson off to the side, watching with a smile as big as her father’s, but not interacting with the other children. And no surprise to you, you find her eating her lunch alone at her desk instead of the scattered tables around the back of the room.

You decide to take a seat at the desk in front of her with your own lunch, offering her some silent company. And she appreciates it, you can see the way she straightens up, smiles. You watch as the gears start turning in her head, wanting to start a conversation with you. “How is your first day going, Alice?” You ask, taking the pressure off of her slightly.

She picks at the sandwich in front of her before looking up at you. You see so much of her father in her eyes— and you start to reprimand yourself. You don’t think about other student’s parents this much? Why is Eddie Munson so different? “It’s okay. I miss my daddy.” She shrugs a bit.

“Yeah?” You can feel the way that one sentence starts to tug at your heart strings. “I know that can be hard. But, you’ll see your daddy soon. Yes?” You reassure her, eating a bit of the oatmeal you had brought. You notice how she sinks back in her seat, embarrassed for the moment of vulnerability. “You know, sometimes I miss my dad too.” You push the oatmeal around, pausing to check her reaction. And fortunately for you, it’s a positive one.

“Really?” Alice grins, enthusiastically.

“Yeah, really. It’s good to miss the people we love. I’m sure your daddy misses you just as much.” You explain to her, just as the bell rings for recess— with the recess monitor lining up the class by the door. You smile, nodding your head at Alice to go on and she listens.

*****

You spend the rest of the school day chasing after 28 5-year-old’s, smiling as they give you flowers and rocks they had found outside on the playground. You display them each proudly on the edge of your desk, knowing by the end of the year, if this keeps up, you’ll have many dried flower bits and rocks to add to the basket in the bottom drawer of the cabinet. When your eyes drift to the clock and see the time getting closer and closer to three, your stomach starts to turn in knots.

The last bell of the day is right on time at 2:55. Parent after parent filing in to fetch their small children, smiles on their faces and rambling all about how fun their first day was. But at 3, Alice sits in her seat, quietly coloring on a page in her journal— almost like she thought she’d be sitting for a while— as another little girl peeks into the room. You share a confused look between the two of them, but realize with how much they look like Eddie, they must both be his daughters. You stand up, offering her a seat next to her sister.

Eddie’s really trying. He pushed around his schedule, he made sure he covered the rest of the work that needed to be done. He had to be there on time. He can’t just give her anything to use against him on a silver platter. His eyes flick from the speedometer to the clock on his dashboard. He’s got ten minutes. If he can make it in ten minutes, he’s got it. Nothing to worry about. He can just hear Laura now, telling the court just how much he doesn’t deserve them— just how big of a screw up he was. How she wished she picked literally anyone else to procreate with. Eddie’s heart stings. He remembers that fight, how she attacked the one thing he’s proud of. The one thing he’d give everything in his life up for. The moment he became a father was the moment everything changed for him. When he checks the clock again, he’s got five minutes to get there. Then three as he whips into a parking space away from the line of cars waiting to pick up their kids and he bails out, barely getting the car in park before he’s running inside. He comes running up the hall, chest heaving as he breathes heavily, “I’m here!” He’s got oil stains drenching the coveralls, oil smudged onto his cheeks.

And before you can say anything to him, Alice grins as she stands, abandoning the journal as she runs to greet her father. Eddie leans down to hug his daughter tight, neither of them worried about the oil stains or smudges. You notice the older of the two gathering Alice’s things and Eddie presses a kiss on her head gently. “Did you guys have fun on your first day?” he asks softly before he notices you watching them. He feels his cheeks starting to turn red and he nods in your direction before he ushers the kids out to the car.

As he climbs into the driver’s seat, his forehead hits the wheel for a moment. He takes a deep breath and breathes out slowly. He’s trying to get a grip. No one has ever had that kind of grip on his emotions. Not even Laura. Eddie has never been one to believe in soulmates, but he thinks he can get behind love at first sight. It’s happened to him twice. Twice. Jane is the first to speak up, “Allie’s teacher seems nice.” All he could do is nod as he sits himself up, puts the car in drive and takes them back to the comfort of their home.

————————

Chapter One || Chapter Two ||

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tags

@peachyproserpina

[lavendercrow136]

https://www.tumblr.com/lavendercrow136/739277744287940608/i-will-love-you-through-it-all

Tell me this isn't goodbye love part 6

Two years Later:

Life had fallen back into a routine after the twins were born, Tristan and Oliver became our whole world,we still made it a point to try to have our weekly date nights and my Mother or Wednesday and Enid would baby sit, but with Larissa going back to work,going out for date night, and the twins beginning to teethe and sleep training them it had become harder to find time for us. That work ,kid, life and us balance that was dangling by a thread had become entirely difficult to keep intact.

I awoke to discover Larissa gone for the day already at work, and stretched, with the twins still asleep I had time to clean up the house. They would not be awake for at least four more hours, I sighed putting a pot of coffee on the burner and let it brew while I began to clean. By seven am, the house was clean and I was folding laundry,the baby monitor on the table infront of me, my ears alert for any sounds of the boys stirring. I quickly fed Oscar our first baby who was now all grown up and sunning himself, I scratched his ears and smiled. I then put away Larissa’s laundry and my own before carefully and quietly making my way to the boys room. I set out new diapers and the wipes, diaper powder and their clothes for the day, while I ran the tub, so it would be less of a struggle for me while I carried them.

I went back to their room to discover they had already begun to wake up standing there small cherubs faces rosey from sleep, Ollie's platinum blonde curled stood on end in utter disarray and Tristan with his brown, blonde streaked hair rubbing his eyes. I scooped them up, and kissed their heads, I fed them their bottles. They were old enough to hold it on their own now with minor support from me. When they had finished their breakfast, I carried them to the bath I set them down gently changing them out of their clothes,and wiped them off before setting them in their bath seats. I smiled watching them splash in the water while I delicately washed them. I picked up the no tears shampoo and they instantly scrunched up their faces to cry, no tears my ass I thought.

I comforted them speaking soothingly,

"Shush , it's okay Mommy's got you, we're just going to get all cleaned up, and then we can watch some cartoons and then later we are going to go see Mama at work for a little bit, okay?"

Oliver looked up at me and in a small sleepy croaky voice whispered,

"Mama?"

I nodded, gently pouring water on his head while his little face was tilted up. He loved Larissa so much he was definitely her boy, he would cry every time she left for work and every time she grabbed her purse. That's why Larissa had taken to leaving before the twins were awake, I rubbed the soap into his hair and he smiled.

"Yes, we are gonna go see Mama, and your gonna get to play with your brother before we go and watch cartoons, does that sound nice?"

Ollie nodded as I rinsed his hair seemingly reassured, he sat in the tub playing with a toy while I took care of Tristan, when the boys were done I wrapped them in a towel and carried them back to their room. I dried them off and put them in new diapers rubbing lotion on them and powdering them so they wouldnt get a rash. I kissed their foreheads slipping them into little Nevermore flying Ravens sweat shirts and pants and putting socks on them. I scooped them up and carried them downstairs,I set them on their play mat with a few pillows and toys, Tristan looked up at me with those beautiful blue eyes,

"Mama we watch Bluey"

I smiled turning on the twins favorite show and went and gathered up some snacks for their trip to see Larissa at work, I put it in the diaper bag and a few of their favorite car toys.

When it was finally time for their nap, I fed them both another bottle and tucked them into the play pen with a blanket.

I had exactly an hour to take a shower and let Larissa know we were coming to visit, I put the baby monitor next to me in the shower and quickly washed up, I did my hair and makeup and through on some warm clothes. I grabbed the boys hats and coat, and their camping chairs and blankets, and loaded up the car. I called Larissa, she answered almost immediately,

"Hello Darling, are you bringing the boys to the game today to support Wednesday and Enid?"

I laughed,

"Yes, love as soon as their nap is concluded we will be on our way.Did you need me to pick up anything for the team?"

Larissa smiled,

"Anything you want love, but please make sure it's not just sugar, I don't need any of the girls out of the game due to an upset stomach, or heaven forbid cramps"

I tried to keep the conversation going and light,

"Of course not darling, some fruit and granola bars and Gatorade and water and...?"

Larissa smiled a hint of a seductive purr in her tone, I supplied the answer she was looking for,

"My lucky underwear, not to mention the massive first aid kit you left behind"

Larissa slapped her hand against her forehead,

"Shit, yes please bring that with you"

The twins began to cry, and Larissa immediately whined,

"My poor boys, please give them love for me darling"

I smiled softly sad our call had to end so soon,

"Of course love, Mommy's coming boys"

The call concluded and I rushed in to the living room and immediately scooped them up kissing them and rocking them soothing them, they calmed down. And Tristan held his mouth,

"Hurts Mommy, hurts"

He supplied while Oliver tried to bite my hand to soothe the ache in his budding teeth. I kissed them and sat them in the chair,

"Stay right there, Mommy will be right back"

I grabbed two cold teething rings from the fridge and handed them to them, while I measure out some liquid children's Tylenol. I administered it to both of them, gently placing it sealed in my purse.

I brushed their hair, checked their diapers and put them in their hats gloves and coats, and walked out to my Subaru with the twins in toe. Tristan was carrying his soft foam soccer ball and Oliver was carrying his Nevermore foam finger.

I smiled, double checking that I had everything I needed, I had the camping chairs the cooler, the teams cooler, Larissa’s first aid kit and the diaper bag. I set the extra teething rings into the cooler along with the medicine, and buckled the boys into their car seats. I locked the house and climbed into the vehicle, I drove to the grocery store and loaded the boys into one of those grocery carts with the car on it. And we went and got some snacks for the team, waters and Gatorade, all different fruits and granola bars trail mix Dixie cups and zip lock bags. Oliver screamed and I stopped the cart, earning a few stairs from other mothers shopping with their children.

"Sweetheart what is it?"

He pointed at the flowers,

"You boys wanna get flowers for Mama?"

I sighed and helped them out of the cart smiling, and let them pick the flowers, afterwards they climbed back into the vehicle and I went to checkout. We purchased the snacks for the team and Larissa’s roses, and ice and made our way out to the vehicle. I hooked them into the seat, when a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks as I was loading up the vehicle. I looked up to see Sheriff Galpin, he smiled at me my mother on his arm,

"Let me help you with that, your headed to the big semifinal before the championship game with the boys aren't you?"

I smiled and nodded, a lot hand changed in two years my mother divorced the slayer loser and had fallen for the Sheriff and moved in with him.

"So are we, are the boys in the car?"

My mother asked while Galpin helped me load up the vehicle. I nodded and she went in to surprise them, I could hear their excited giggles as we filled the cooler and snacks up. Galpin smiled at me,

"So did you and Larissa ever talk about you returning to work partner?"

I sighed I knew this question was coming, I smiled politely,

"I can't right now, it's not a good time, the boys need me and Larissa just went back to work. I don't want to put them through that, they barely see her as is let alone to take me away from them to would be torture"

He nodded in understanding,and hugged me,

"Karen honey let's go, we can meet up with them at the game"

My mother poked her head out the vehicle and kissed my cheek,

"Alright Donny, see you soon sweetheart"

I climbed into the front seat, and Oliver looked at me quizzically Tristans face mirroring his brothers,

"Mommy whose Donny?"

I smiled giggling,

"That's grandpa Donovan Tris, you boys know grandma's boyfriend"

Oliver smiled in understanding and Tristan laughed,

"My silly boys"

We reached the academy, I loaded up the stroller, and my mother and Donovan stepped out. He grabbed the cooler and Larissa’s first aid kit for me, while my mother grabbed the chairs and I pushed the boys towards the soccer pitch. Larissa was running the girls through some warm ups when we arrived, I set up the table for the team and the boosters club table quickly. While my mother and Donovan sat up the camping chairs and theirs, Larissa turned around to see me with the boys and smiled, she kissed me passionately and hugged me tight before turning her attention to the boys. They passed her the flowers and she smiled tears in her eyes she kissed them both, and smiled at me,

"Thank you boys, these are wonderful, so pretty and perfect just like your mommy"

I smiled, and Oliver supplied Larissa a response I would give down to the little stutter when he said it,

"A-and you Mama"

She smiled and kissed them both again, before turning her attention back to the girls, Tristan and Oliver toddled over on unsteady little legs and tried their best to warm up with the girls. Who try as they might were distracted by their cute, little awkward imitations. I smiled, and sat down at the boosters club table, Larissa ran the team and I ran the boosters club for the team events it wasn't exactly quality time together but it was a way for me to see my wife more often. I sold baked goods and snacks and team apparel to students and parents that attended the games.

When the other team finally arrived and the girls were fully warm Larissa brought them in for a team huddle, and as always she let the boys in. I watched the other team the dragons, and couldn't help but notice most of the girls on the other team were taller and more muscular then our girls I bit my lip. The boys played on the side with Donovan while I watched the game and earned money for the booster club. It was the end of the first quarter and the ravens were winning by 5 points, when a particularly tall brute of a girl swiped Enids leg causing her to tumble and fall hard and the ball went rogue flying at my son's. I was trapped behind the table and had no time to react, Larissa was on the opposite end of the field Wednesday charged after the ball, blocking it with her chest and knocking it back into play when the ref blew the whistle and through a penalty on the play for the girl on the dragons team. A silence befell the pitch, like an air vaccume Wednesday got up and rushed over to Enid. Enid was rolling on the ground clutching her leg, she screamed and Wednesday looked over frantically at Larissa. Larissa rushed in and I grabbed her medical bag.

When I got over there Wednesday was supporting Enids shoulders, and Yoko and Bianca were holding the poor girl still,

"Can you move it all?"

Larissa asked, and Enid groaned shaking her head.

I gently peeled off her shin guard for Larissa, and Wednesday made Enid hold eye contact. She had a compound fracture in her shin, Larissa looked at me horrified, and I motioned Donvoan over and he immediately called an ambulance.

Enid tried to look down and Wednesday tilted her head back up,

"Don't look, don't look, look at me baby"

I quickly set the bone in a splint and when the ambulance arrived Enid road with her father to the hospital. I washed my hands, and kissed Larissa’s cheek. The pulled the girl who had slipped the leg from the game, and the game continued. At the half the girls were all but ragged on both sides, Larissa had them stretch and do breathing exercises, while I gathered up their snacks.

"Have we heard anything from Enid or her dad yet?"

Wednesday asked her voice shaky, I shook my head no. And she stood up, pacing nervously. Oliver and Tristan immediately went to Wednesday and hugged her and she hugged them,

"Enie be alright Wen, gotta win for her"

Wednesday cried and hugged them and smoothed their hair, and nodded. Larissa kissed my cheek, and the girls regained some energy with the snacks I bought. The next fourty five minutes were nail biting and suspenseful, as Dragons and Ravens duked it out for the ball, but ultimately the Ravens won when Wednesday scored the final goal. Her team lifted her up, and she laughed, the girls shook hands with the other team and just as they received their finals information and semi final trophy Enid returned on crutches. The boys rushed her and she knelt down and hugged them, when the wrest of the team ran over flocking her Wednesday passed Enid the trophy. Enid smiled, I snapped a few pictures with the team and the boys and had Larissa join them. We treated the team to pizza and ice cream, the boys happily ate cookie dough vanilla ice cream all over their faces, the girls laughed. It was a happy moment, Larissa’s phone rang and she answered it her tone and posture shifting to one that told me she had work to worry about. I sank,

"Girls we need to get back to the school, somethings come up that needs my attention"

The girls loaded back into the bus and the boys waved goodbye, Larissa kissed their cheeks and then mine,

"I should be home by 6pm darling,I promise, I'm sorry we didn't get more time"

I kissed her,

"It's alright darling, go"

She boarded the bus and was gone, I loaded the boys into the Subaru along with all of our other belongings and made the drive home. I let them sleep while I cooked dinner, and I kept an eye on the time. Five thirty rolled around and their was still no sign of Larissa, and then six and then seven the boys bed time.

"I'm sorry boys Mama is not home yet, we had fun today though, and you got to see her for a little while, that counts right?"

They nodded sleepily and I kissed then goodnight, I returned to the kitchen and I ate my dinner, I began cleaning up the dishes and wrapped Larissa’s food in tinfoil. I sat at the table till about midnight, and was finally making my way upstairs turning off the lights and settling into a bath when Larissa came home. I heard her take off her heels and hang her coat muttering a barely audible,

"Fuck"

She heated up her food and ate quickly joining me with two glasses of wine in hand. She set them down shyly, still in the doorway. I didn't say a word my face turned away from her,

"Y/n darling, I'm sorry, I had a meeting at work and I couldn't miss it and it just sort of ran late and then I got stuck planning for the Rave'N...I'm sorry darling"

She approached me quietly tilting my head so I'd need her gaze, hot thick tears fell from my eyes, and I saw such a massive wave of guilt cross her face. I looked away from her, I was allowed to feel hurt and angry, she spoke softly her voice choked by emotion,

"I promise I will do better"

This wasn't the first time she had promised me she'd be back on time, to spend time with family. I shook my head, an ugly scoff escaping me. I shied away from her touch,

"You know you can break promises with me, and I forgive you because I'm used to not being a priority, but don't look at our boys and promise them you'll be back on time... you know how much they love you and need you, and yet you just aren't around"

Larissa looked at me as if I had slapped her,

"Darling I told you it was an accident I didn't mean to let you or the boys down, let me make it up to you, to them, let me wake them up so we can spend time together"

I shook my head, and sighed,

"Larissa it's almost one in the morning, we can't just disrupt their schedule because you were late, because then they are cranky and irritable and everything is off balance and I am the one left to get them back on track"

Larissa climbed into the tub and held my face in her hands sobbing tears in her eyes, she kissed my forehead.

"Please forgive me darling I'm so sorry. I will try to be better, I'm so sorry, I'm so so so sorry.let me make it up to you I'll take you out to dinner somewhere for the weekend somewhere nice just you and me, and then the day after we can take the boys somewhere fun, please my love?"

I cried softly tears rolling down my face, she smoothed my tears away and I nodded softly she kissed my forehead and held me tightly. I helped her remove her clothes so we could bath together, she snuggled into me and I massaged her shoulders. I helped her to bed and kissed her cheek, climbing in next to her I spooned her close to me.

I awoke to find Larissa out of bed, it was noon, fuck,-God damn it. I scrambled out of bed and threw on clothes, I went into the boys room to find their cribs empty, I rushed downstairs and Larissa sat feeding the boys in their high chairs I relaxed instantly.

I smiled watching her make faces as they ate, she noticed my presence in the kitchen and I leaned over and kissed her.

"I'm off today, I hope we are okay? After last night"

She sounded so unsure and worried, I nodded and kissed her on the lips. I poured myself a cup of coffee, while she sat the boys down to watch bluey, she rubbed my shoulders and kissed my cheek making me chocolate filled crepes with strawberries and whipped cream on top, with eggs and sausage. I smiled and took a bite of my crepes, she ate her own breakfast and held my hand,

"What was the meeting about anyway darling?

I asked, Larissa inhaled sharply nearly choking on a bit of sausage. She took a sip of her coffee, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, she swallowed thickly. She turned to me slowly, and placed her hand on mine,

"We need to talk"

End of part 6

I hope you enjoyed this part and I have decided it will continue. I hope you will continue to follow along and that you will enjoy new content as it is posted.

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