Taz didn’t respond to the request from the next room as he leaned forward over the bathroom vanity to inspect himself a little closer in the mirror, his fingers lightly prodding several of the the marks that trailed down the side of his neck and across his chest. Those would definitely still be there in the morning.
“Taz? Come back to bed, baby.”
He heard his phone chime with an incoming message and stepped out of the bathroom and into the short hallway of his apartment, kneeling to fish the phone from the pocket of his jeans where they lay in a heap on the carpet, swiping his thumb across the screen once he’d found it to read the new message.
You up?
He bit his lower lip as he considered the text, and whether or not he wanted to answer.
“Taz?”
He shouldn’t respond. He knew that.
“Baby, did you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he answered, his thumbs typing out the same response and sending it before he could second-guess himself. “Yeah,” he repeated, “I heard you; I’m coming.” He snatched up his boxer shorts from amidst the tangle of his jeans and yanked them on as he made his way back into the bedroom, where Charity was curled up in bed, the comforter pulled up to her chin.
“It’s cold,” she said, giving him a mock-pout. “Come here and warm me up.”
He dropped his phone onto the bedside table and sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching for the edge of the comforter and weakly attempting to pull it away from her chin. She wrinkled her nose and playfully tightened her grip on the blanket, but her expression fell almost instantly as his phone chimed again from the bedside table.
“Who are you texting?” she asked, frowning as he reached for it.
“No one,” he answered, too quickly.
Can you talk?
“No one,” Charity repeated. Her voice clearly said she was skeptical.
“Sorry,” he said, and slid off the mattress, phone still in his hand. “I’ve gotta take this. Do you mind...?” He let his question trail off as he glanced over his shoulder at her. She was frowning, but made no move to stop him, and he took the opportunity to slip out of the room, down the hallway, and out onto the small patio of the apartment, his thumb already hitting the call button.
The phone had hardly finished its second ring when the call connected. “Hello?”
“Hey, what’s going on, babe? Everything okay?”
There was a weak laugh from the other end of the line. “‘Babe.’ God, you haven’t called me that in years.”
“Sorry. Old habits, I guess.” He tugged at the end of a pointed ear, embarrassed, and waited, but she didn’t respond. Nearly thirty seconds passed before he tried again. “So... is everything okay, or...?”
Gretta sighed, a rush of static through the phone. “I don’t know.” She paused again, for so long that for a moment, he thought the call had dropped. “Can I be honest?”
“That depends,” he teased. “How much wine have you had tonight?”
“A bit,” she admitted. “I just... miss you. Being over here all the time, I mean.” Another pause. “Would you mind -- could you come over?”
He felt his stomach do a backflip, startled by the request. “Come over?”
“Yeah,” she answered.
“I....” He faltered.
“Taz?” He glanced over his shoulder to see Charity standing in the patio doorway, a thin blanket pulled tightly around her bare shoulders to protect against the midnight chill. “Everything all right out here?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I’ll be back in a sec.”
Charity gave him a dubious frown, but disappeared back inside. Once the door had clicked shut behind her, he turned back to the patio railing, his attention returning to the phone pressed against his ear. “I’m sorry, Gretta,” he said.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Forget I said anything. I -- I shouldn’t have texted--”
“I’m glad you did,” he said, before he could stop himself.
“You can’t say that,” she said. “Charity--”
“Charity...” Taz sighed and looked up at the stars dotting the darkened sky above. “Can I be honest?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Gretta said, and it was her turn to tease. “Can you? Honesty was never really a strength of yours.”
“She wants me to meet her sister,” he said, ignoring the jab. “Family dinner, sister’s bringing her boyfriend, the works. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Yeah, of all days, right?”
“Of all days...”
They both lapsed back into silence for several moments. On the other end of the line, Gretta hiccuped, drawing Taz out of his thoughts and prompting him to glance over his shoulder, but Charity had disappeared back into the bedroom.
“I was going to visit Adia before I go over to Charity’s,” he said. “Do you want to come with me?”
“I have a date. I thought, you know, it might help take my mind off it... You don’t think there’s something a little twisted about going to see Adia before meeting Charity’s sister?”
“Maybe a little.” He paused. “I miss her.”
Another rush of static as Gretta sighed again, interrupted by another hiccup. “I miss her too, sweetheart.”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward in half a smile at the term of endearment, but he knew it was the wine talking. “I’ve gotta go, Gretta,” he said.
“Right, right. Is it weird if I tell you to say hi to Charity for me?”
“Yeah, that’s weird,” he answered with a short laugh. He paused. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m okay,” she answered. “I’m just -- I’m going to get some water and go to bed. I’m so okay. Really fucking okay.”
“...good night, Gretta.”
“Good night, Taz.”
He ended the call and ran a hand through his hair before turning and walking back into the apartment, with the distinct feeling that everything was about to change.
“I wish I could fix this.” | Nat + Ellie | 281 words
“I wish I could fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix, Nat.”
Ellie’s fingers brushed across her fiancé’s cheek, trailing over the light stubble on his jaw, drawing his eyes back to her. She was exactly as he remembered — petite and slim, her bright blue eyes watching him closely from behind her wire-rimmed glasses, her short ashen hair loose for once instead of pulled back away from her face in its usual tight bun.
“There is,” he insisted. “This — you — you should be here.”
“I am here,” she said gently. She cocked her head to one side at the doubtful look he gave her. She rose on her toes and kissed him, falling back onto flat feet a moment later and wrapping her arms around his middle, resting her head against his chest. “I’m here,” she repeated, quietly.
“The kids need you,” he said.
“The kids will be all right. They have you.”
“Your brother—”
“Will be fine.”
“I need you.”
Ellie drew back from him to look into his face, giving him a sad smile. “You’ll be all right, too,” she said. He made a move as though to kiss her, but she looked away from him, at the first rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon, the sun glittering on the water. “It’s almost morning,” she said.
Nat tightened his arms around her, already feeling her slipping away as he slipped back toward consciousness, the dream melting away. “I don’t want to wake up,” he said.
“The kids need to get ready for school,” she said. “They need you.”
“Ellie—”
But she was gone, the dream was over, sunlight was streaming in through his window, and Nat was alone.
It was the first time she had asked him to stay — he was usually the one begging for her to stay in bed in the mornings. She was always the early riser, getting up and making coffee while he stayed buried under the covers, sometimes until noon if they didn’t have any plans.
This morning something was different — Aspen had gotten out of bed and gone into the bathroom as always, taking a little longer than usual to brush her teeth and wash her face, but instead of heading downstairs to the coffee pot, she’d crawled back in bed and curled up under his arm, falling back asleep.
And now it was nearly two in the afternoon and they were both still in bed, but a growling stomach was chasing Fugue out from under the blankets, his wife’s green hand on his arm making him wait.
“Since when do you stay in bed all day?” he asked, swinging his feet off the floor and back onto the mattress to lay beside her again.
“Since lazy mornings are about to be a little harder to come by,” she answered. She grinned at the perplexed look that crossed his face, and rolled over to grab something from the night stand.
She handed the small piece of plastic to him, and waited while he looked closely at it, squinting to read the tiny printed word. “Does that say—?”
“Pregnant!” she finished for him, beaming, and squealed as he flung the pregnancy test away, showering her face and neck and every part of her he could reach with kisses.
It had only been a few weeks since they’d started dating – could they even call it that, really? – but something was different. Cadence had been positively giddy all night; even before she’d told him about the Windenburg Symphony, Nick had known something was up.
And now he was sitting at the piano, two glasses of wine sitting on the windowsill beside him while he waited for her to finish freshening up downstairs.
Nick’s fingers were flying across the keys, playing anything and everything that came to mind, playing riffs and arpeggios and everything in-between, fragments of songs and made-up melodies interspersed with chords and etudes and scales.
He didn’t hear her walk up behind him, but he wasn’t startled, even as her hands slid down his chest and along his arms to shadow his hands on the keys as he finished the final phrase.
He half-turned, sliding his hand around her waist, and was raised his eyebrows at seeing her in a silky negligée that didn’t reach her mid-thigh. “Well,” he said, failing to mask his surprise. “Look at you.”
He saw a burgundy tint creeping into her cheeks and she turned her grey eyes away from him, one hand attempting to tug the hem of the nightgown further down on her thighs. “Is it too much? It’s too much. I’ll go change–”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, catching her by the wrist. “Come here.”
Still blushing furiously, she allowed him to pull her down into his lap.
“You look amazing.”
“Amazing? Really?”
“Amazing,” he said. “Really. I mean, you always do, but…” He allowed himself a moment to really look at her. He noticed in addition to changing, she’d touched up her makeup and must have run a hand through her ashen hair to give it a careless sort of style. Her crimson cheeks were still tinted with burgundy, her teeth worrying away at her bottom lip as she waited for his verdict on her appearance. He couldn’t help but think that here, in this moment, just as in every moment, she was absolutely perfect. “I’ve got to say,” he said, changing tacks, teasing, “as good as this dress looks on you… I think it would look better on my floor.”
“Oh, is that so?” she gave him a sly smile. “Well, we could always test that theory.”
Now it was his turn to blush, and he felt heat rush to his face as he quickly tried to backpedal, stammering a half-apology. “Oh – I mean, I was kind of kidding – but I mean, if you want to – I know we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, but – I don’t want you to feel obligated – I mean, I really – you don’t know how much–” He broke off, grimacing, embarrassed, but she was grinning at him, her own embarrassment having fallen away.
“Nick,” she said, “I want this. If – if you do. Do you?”
He blinked at her for a long moment, hardly daring to believe the words she was saying. “You have no idea,” he said finally. “Now come on, let’s go see how that dress looks on my floor.”
Nat glanced over his shoulder to see Jefferson sauntering into the kitchen, looking, as usual, like he was up to no good. "Are you going to say that every time you see me in the kitchen?"
"Not every time," Jefferson said, sliding up beside Nat to peek into the mixing bowl. "Only when you're actively cookin'."
Nat elbowed Jefferson out of the way. "You're ridiculous."
"...ly cute, right?" Jefferson grinned and dodged a playful swat from Nat, dancing just out of reach, ducking under his arm long enough to drag his finger along the rim of the mixing bowl to get a taste of whatever it was Nat was cooking up. Sticking his finger into his mouth as he hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter (and ignoring a frown from Nat -- "I prepare food on that counter, you know"), Jefferson grimaced at the taste. "Ugh, that's awful."
"That's because it's not done, chou," Nat said, snagging a dishrag off the counter and popping it in his partner's direction.
"Yeah, but what is it?" Despite himself, Jefferson's curiosity was getting the better of him and he found himself reaching out for another taste of the batter. A swat on the back of the hand from Nat's wooden mixing spoon kept Jefferson's fingers out of the bowl. He frowned, looked at the batter on the back of his hand, and gave it a hesitant lick before grimacing again. "Still gross."
"I haven't changed anything!"
"Don't the spices like… percolate or somethin' while they're sittin' there?"
"Percolate?"
"Yeah, you know. Percolate."
Nat laughed and swept the bowl out of Jefferson's reach as his fingers made another attempt at another taste. "Apparently it can't be too bad, since your fingers keep percolating in my batter--"
Jefferson pouted and folded his arms across his chest, sulking. "I'll show you percolating in your batter," he muttered, but his sulky mood quickly dissipated as Nat began dumping more spices in the batter, and he sat up, trying to peer into the mixing bowl, once again interested. "So what's that you're puttin' in?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Does matter." Jefferson slid off the counter and crossed the kitchen to investigate properly, standing behind Nat to wrap his arms around the other man's waist, looking over his shoulder. The batter was still an indeterminate brown color, the same consistency was it was before. "I get another taste, right?"
"When it's done," Nat answered.
Jefferson pressed his chin into Nat's shoulder, inhaling the scent of his chef's coat. It was comforting -- not something he'd ever imagined himself coming home to, really, but now something he couldn't imagine not coming home to. It was filled with the scent of spices and and seared meat in the kitchen, and the sweetness and tartness of the baked goods that had become the latest Big Thing at the restaurant, and another smell that was indescribably Nat that was intoxicating and wonderful.
Nat flinched at the feel of Jefferson's breath on the side of his neck. "All right, now," he said. "I see what you're trying to do."
"Mm? What's that?"
"Get something started."
"Maybe I am." Jefferson kissed Nat's neck right above the collar of his chef's coat, in that spot just below his ear that he knew drove him crazy, crazy.
"Chou, I've got to finish this." Another half-hearted swat, a feeble attempt to push Jefferson away, but Jefferson only tightened his grip around his waist, grinning as he continued kissing at Nat's ear. Despite himself, Nat was grinning, and found himself setting the mixing bowl down on the counter, turning to face Jefferson, immediately finding the other man's lips on his.
When the kiss ended, Nat gave Jefferson a mock-scowl. "Jefferson Maguire, you're the worst, you know that?"
"Yeah, I know," he answered, and leaned forward to kiss him again.
Taz frantically tried to placate Gretta as a handful of people in the nearby vicinity turned their heads to look in their direction. “Shh, babe, I told you, don’t panic—”
“Tzuriel Dekresh, you’d better start explaining right now, or—”
Taz shushed her again and began frantically trying to steer her out of the middle of the crowded food court as a few more heads turned in their direction. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said. “I promise, it’s no big deal—”
“No big deal?” she spluttered. “No big deal? Our three-year-old is missing—”
“No, no, not that child. He’s fine. See? Right here where I left him.” Taz gestured at the ashen-haired toddler happily riding a coin-operated badger.
“Oh, good, so it’s just our twelve-year-old that’s missing. That makes it better.”
“No, no, she’s fine, too. Look, right there with her GameBoy.”
Gretta frowned, looking at her two children. “So, wait — which one did you lose?”
“Our first child.”
“Taz. She’s sixty-nine. How in the hell did you lose her?”
Taz threw up his hands helplessly. “I don’t know, she just — wandered off with that musician!”
Gretta clapped a hand to the side of her face. “Taz. His name is Nick. You’ve known him for fifty years.”
“That doesn’t mean I want him trying to cop a feel every time—”
“They’re married.”
“—just trying to get our daughter into bed with him—”
“They have two kids.”
“—kids these days—”
“They have three grandkids.”
“—no respect—”
“They have a great-grandkid.”
“—gonna show that curly-haired asshole what’s what—”
“Sweetheart, I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. Cadence is with Nick. She’s fine.”
“Who’s fine?”
Taz and Gretta looked up to see their oldest daughter and her husband standing with ice cream cones in their hand, Nick managing to carefully carry four cones at once, but quickly passing off the smaller two to his wife’s younger siblings.
“I think your father was trying to be funny,” Gretta said, accepting an ice cream cone from her daughter.
“Oh, then no one’s fine,” Nick said, grinning.
“We just didn’t know where you two went,” Taz said, frowning. “You just disappeared.”
“We came back with ice cream,” Cadence said, shrugging. “That’s what matters, right?”
Taz’s frown deepened and he narrowed his eyes at Nick, who gave him a large wink that Cadence didn’t miss.
“Oh, stop it,” she said. “We got ice cream for everyone, that’s it. Even if it wasn’t, I’m not discussing that with my parents.”
“Cadence,” Gretta said, “weren’t you wearing a hat earlier?”
Her daughter’s eyes widened and one hand flew to the back of her head where, sure enough, her favorite hat was missing. “Oh, it must have fallen off while we were—” She stopped abruptly.
“Buying ice cream, dear,” her mother finished for her.
“Yeah. That.”
Nick stepped up beside her and put his free arm around her waist. “We should probably go look for it, Cay. Don’t want someone else to run off with it, right?”
“Yeah, we should go look,” she said, and they walked off, Nick glancing back briefly to mouth round two at Taz and give him another large wink.
Taz turned helplessly to Gretta, his mouth open in a sign of silent distress.
“You know he only does that for your reaction,” Gretta said with a shrug, licking her ice cream.
“By that do you mean our daughter in a mall bathroom?”
Gretta shrugged again. “Like we’ve never done it in a mall bathroom—”
MAAAAAADI. “You can lie to yourself but don’t lie to me.” - For Nefferson... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Nefferson | High School AU | @storylegacysims
“You can lie to yourself, man, but don’t lie to me.”
“Who said I’m lying?”
“You always pull on your left ear when you lie.”
“I do not.”
With no small amount of satisfaction, Jefferson smirked as Nat’s hand automatically flew to the left side of his head, tugging at his earlobe as he frowned. The redhead, suddenly aware of the tic, dropped his hand and shoved it into his pocket.
“Do, too,” Jefferson said. He pushed himself off the wall they were leaning against and swung himself to face his friend directly, folding his arms across his chest with a triumphant grin. “And you always chew your lip like that when you’re caught at it.”
Nat swore and folded his arms across his chest, frowning deeper. “Fine,” he said. “I lied. I don’t have a crush on Mina.”
“So…?” Jefferson prompted, grinning broader. He waited, but was met only with a silent frown. “Who do you have a crush on?”
Nat grumbled and slouched a little lower against the wall, his scarlet eyes breaking away from Jefferson’s blue ones to glance over the other boy’s shoulder. “Your sister,” he grumbled, unfolding his arms to allow his left hand to creep up the side of his face.
Jefferson reclaimed his previous spot against the wall and glanced out at the benches lining the edge of the playground. Sure enough, he spotted Ellie sitting on the closest one, her nose stuck in a book. “My sister, huh?” he asked, turning his head to give Nat a pointed look, but his friend was determinedly looking in the other direction.
“Yeah, your sister.”
“Uh-huh… well this—” Jefferson reached up and grabbed Nat’s hand, pulling it away from his ear. “—says you’re still lying to me.”
Nat dropped the hand to his side as his bottom lip found its way between his teeth. He looked down at the hand his friend was still holding, his gaze following the length of Jefferson’s arm until he was looking at the other boy’s face. He let his fingers slip between his friend’s and gave his hand a squeeze. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe not your sister.”
“Yeah, didn’t think so,” Jefferson said, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to his friend’s. As quickly as the kiss began, Jefferson pulled away, keeping a firm grip on Nat’s hand. “Ellie!” he yelled. “I was right! It’s me! You owe me twenty bucks!”
His sister responded with a rude hand gesture without glancing up from her book.
Jefferson turned back to Nat, grinning, only to be met with an incredulous look from his friend. “You two had bet going on who I liked?”
“Yeah, ‘cause I knew I was right,” he said. “‘Sides,” he went on, “this way I’ve got cash to buy popcorn on Friday.”
“…popcorn?”
“Didn’t you wanna go see Spider-Man? I was gonna take you — I mean, if you wanted to.”
Nat grinned at Jefferson as the bell rang, signaling the end of their free period. “Sounds great,” he said, and the two walked back to class, hand in hand.
