#If I can’t reach you let my song teach you

[dandelionjack]

obsessed with how in episode 4 when the coven have to form an impromptu band to break alice’s curse, rio takes the percussion set. because no matter what, everybody eventually dances to the beat of death’s drum, she counts every song in

[safirefire]

i'm never getting over lorna wu and her being unable to break the generational curse on her family or connect with her daughter then becoming a famous singer and weaving a spell into her most famous song (lorna's version) so that everytime someone sings it her daughter will be protected

[criticalbeauregard]

i know we all knew she was death for weeks but rewatching the ep 4 scene with confirmation just knocked the wind out of me. the way agatha is looking at and holding and leaning in to kiss DEATH. the way she grabs her face so gently. i need to lay down for 10000 years.

[jubshead]

Will I haver listen to the Ballad of the Witches’ Road, Lorna Wu’s version, and not cry?

The answer is no.

[oceanusborealis]

Agatha All Along: If I Can’t Reach You / Let My Song Teach You – TV Review

TL;DR – What Agatha nails is that fine line between fun and concern. ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4 out of 5. Disclosure – I paid for the Disney+ service that viewed this film. Agatha All Along Review – There is a lot of space within the Supernatural genre for where you can locate your show. You can terrify all the way to making it a straight comedy. Well, Agatha All Along does fall mostly towards that…

[miss-carter]

#she kept the flower

AGATHA ALL ALONG 1.04 - If I Can’t Reach You / Let My Song Teach You

[mndvx]

PATTI LUPONE as LILIA CALDERU in AGATHA ALL ALONG — If I Can’t Reach You, Let My Song Teach You (Episode 4)

[marvelladiesdaily]

Agatha All Along If I Can’t Reach You Let My Song Teach You | 1.04

[lonelyzarquon]

Kathryn Hahn as Agatha Harkness 1.04 If I Can't Reach You / Let My Song Teach You

[solxamber]

hello here for the valentine event!!

Jade, Romantic, Suffering by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

first epic song of the event let's gooo

"Jump in the water" || Jade Leech

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Suffering by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 940

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Siren!Jade x Sailor!Reader

You are lost at sea.

The wind has betrayed you, the stars offer no guidance, and the waves push you further from home. It’s been days—weeks?—adrift on endless waters, and all you know is that if you don’t find land soon, the ocean will claim you for itself.

Then, you see them.

Ships. Empty ships.

Abandoned vessels dot the horizon, their sails limp, their decks silent. A graveyard of those who have sailed these waters before you, of those who heard it and did not resist.

Sirens.

You do not hesitate.

With swift, practiced hands, you rip strips of cloth from your shirt and stuff them into your ears. The world dulls instantly. The ocean is quieter, your own heartbeat louder. You grip the wheel and steel yourself as you push forward.

And just as you expected—

He is waiting.

A siren, perched upon jagged rocks, half-shrouded in mist. He is beautiful—unearthly and elegant, with scales that shimmer like pearls. His long, webbed fingers trace idly over the stone as he watches you, his expression calm, patient.

His lips move. You can’t hear him, but you already know the words.

"Come to me."

You shake your head, firm.

The siren tilts his head, undeterred. He speaks again.

You pretend to consider it, then say, “I can’t swim.”

The siren blinks. His lips curl, amused. “I will teach you.”

You shake your head again. “I’m scared of the water.”

His laughter is silent, but you can see it in the way his shoulders shake.

Then, he leans forward, fingers grazing the surface of the waves. “Then I will hold you.”

Your lips twitch, just a little. Persistent. You’ll give him that.

Then, just to see his reaction, you grin and say, “I don’t want my feet wet. Why don’t you come up here instead?”

It’s meant to be a joke. A final attempt to frustrate him, to force him to give up on you.

But to your utter shock—

The siren reaches out to you.

His webbed hand extends, open and waiting, his mismatched eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t.

And yet—

Before you can think, your fingers are wrapping around his, and you’re pulling him aboard.

He lands on the deck, water cascading off his tail, hands braced against the wood. He blinks up at you, utterly unreadable, before slowly shifting, his body morphing—legs, now, instead of a tail, seawater dripping from his skin, but still otherworldly, still not quite human.

You take a step back, breath heavy.

“You’re a siren.” It isn’t a question.

The siren smiles, slow and knowing. “And yet,” he hums, tilting his head, “you still pulled me in.”

You have no answer for that.

Maybe you did fall for his song, after all.

Jade—he says his name is Jade—does not devour you.

In fact, he does something even stranger.

He helps you.

He moves like he’s been aboard a ship before, like he knows the ocean better than any human sailor ever could. He studies the maps, adjusts the sails, tells you which direction to follow.

“Why?” you ask him, cautious.

Jade only smiles, pressing a finger to his lips.

You should be more wary. You should be scared.

But you aren’t.

Not when you catch him watching you, gaze unreadable. Not when he tilts his head, just slightly, as if trying to understand you.

Not when, after long days at sea together, you finally see land on the horizon.

Your homeland.

You exhale, relief flooding through you. “We made it,” you breathe, turning to him. “Jade—”

But when you look at him, he is not celebrating.

He is watching you.

Like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s already preparing to disappear beneath the waves before the ship reaches the shore.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach for him. “Come with me.”

Jade stills.

His lips part, caught off guard, the first time you’ve truly seen him surprised.

Then, slowly—slowly—he leans in.

His breath is cool against your skin, the scent of saltwater clinging to him. His eyes sharp, flicker to your lips, then back to your gaze.

His voice is softer this time, curious.

“…What makes you think I won’t drown you now?”

You meet his gaze, steady and sure. "You won't," you say, voice unwavering.

Jade’s expression flickers—something fragile, something hesitant, something almost human beneath the inhuman beauty of his mismatched eyes. He has spent his life luring sailors into the depths, pulling them under, watching them sink.

But you—you pulled him up instead.

His fingers brush against yours, tentative at first, before they lace together, webbed skin cool against your warmth. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the dampness of his borrowed clothes, the scent of the ocean clinging to him.

Then, finally—finally—he closes the distance.

His lips meet yours, soft and searching, like the tide pulling against the shore. His hand cups the back of your neck, tilting you to him, holding you as if afraid you’ll slip away like seawater through his fingers. But you don’t. You stay, leaning into him, letting yourself fall into the moment.

For the first time in his life, Jade Leech is not the one luring someone in

For the first time, he is the one being caught.

When he pulls away, his lips are curved in something softer than his usual smirk. "Well," he murmurs, tilting his head, "perhaps I will join you on land, just for a little while."

You laugh, tugging him in for another kiss, already knowing—he’s never going to leave.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[dancy-hugh]

AUBREY PLAZA as RIO VIDAL

AGATHA ALL ALONG (2024)

1.04 If I Can’t Reach You / Let My Song Teach You

[dreamandinsomnia]

Agatha Harkness + hands Agatha All Along s1e04 If I Can’t Reach You Let My Song Teach You

[winwintea]

stolen dance

PAIRING ↬ idol!park jisung x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ romance, fluff, they dance a bit, there is totally no angst, i would never lie!

SUMMARY ↬ jisung has been teaching you how to dance lately. but is it really to teach you or is jisung using these dances as a form of escapism to hold onto a deeper secret?

WORD COUNT ↬ 2.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ in classic winwintea fashion here is jisung's birthday fic <33 suffer.

PLAYLIST ↬ stolen dance - milky chance; show me the meaning of being lonely - backstreet boys

“Alright, alright, one more time!”

Jisung grins, as he claps his hands and beckons you to step back into the middle of the room.

The living room is bathed in the soft amber glow of a single lamp in the corner, casting warm shadows across the room. The faint hum of a speaker plays an upbeat pop track, its rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat through the air. A pile of mismatched socks and sneakers sits abandoned by the couch, proof of your long evening spent dancing. You groan dramatically, flopping onto the couch instead. “I can’t feel my legs anymore, Jisung. This is basically torture.”

“Nope, no quitting!” he says, darting over and tugging you up by the wrists. His hands are warm, steady, and they pull you effortlessly to your feet. “We’re not done until you can at least try to keep up with me.”

You roll your eyes but smile, letting him guide you into position. “I’m only doing this because you’re making me, you know.”

Jisung smirks. “And because you secretly love it. Admit it, you want to keep up with me on stage one day.”

“Oh, sure,” you laugh, stumbling a little as he begins to guide you through a spin. “Me, a world-class dancer. We’re talking about K-pop standards too. Totally believable.”

“Hey, don’t doubt yourself like that!” Jisung says, catching your hand to stop your wobble. “Besides, I’m a great teacher. You’ll be better than me in no time.”

“Better than you? Let’s not get carried away.”

He steps back, giving you a playful once-over. “Okay, fine, maybe not better. But decent. Maybe passable.”

You swat at his shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder.

The music shifts to a softer beat, and Jisung takes a step closer. “Alright, let’s try that one move again. Step left, then cross. No, your other left—”

You fumble the step, tripping slightly, and Jisung reaches out just in time to steady you. His arm loops around your waist, holding you close for a moment.

“Gotcha,” he says softly, his voice losing its teasing edge for a second.

You look up at him, breathless but grinning. “You know, for someone who claims to be a great teacher, you’re not very patient.”

His lips twitch into a smile. “And for someone who says they hate dancing, you’re not as bad as you think.”

The room feels still for a beat, the music fading into the background. Jisung’s dark eyes linger on yours, something unspoken passing between you. It’s the kind of gaze that makes your heart skip, though you can’t quite place why.

“Anyway!” Jisung suddenly blurts, breaking the moment as he steps back with a sheepish grin. “Let’s try again. I’ll slow it down this time, I promise.”

“Good. My feet are already filing a complaint,” you joke, shaking off the strange flutter in your chest.

He grins, taking your hands in his again, and the music picks up once more. The two of you fall into the rhythm, tripping over each other’s feet and laughing so loudly that it drowns out the sound of the song.

The days start to blur together, each evening spent in the same corner of the living room. The small space becomes your personal dance studio, the furniture pushed against the walls to give you just enough room to practice. Jisung shows up every time with the same excitement, the kind that’s so contagious you can’t help but play along.

“Step, step, and pivot—yes! That’s it!” Jisung exclaims, clapping his hands together as you nail the move for the first time. His grin lights up the room.

You beam, sweat dripping down your face, and collapse onto the floor. “Finally! That only took, what, twenty tries?”

Jisung flops down next to you, still full of energy. “More like thirty, but hey, who’s counting?” He nudges you with his shoulder, handing you a water bottle.

You take a long sip and gasp dramatically. “I didn’t sign up for this boot camp, you know. What happened to ‘just a fun dance session’?”

Jisung leans back on his hands, smirking. “This is fun! Besides, you’re getting so much better. Look at you, two weeks ago, you couldn’t even figure out which foot was your left.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpan, though your smile betrays your mock annoyance.

The next night, the routine continues. The two of you move in near-perfect sync as Jisung teaches you a new routine to a faster song. Your steps are cleaner, your turns sharper, and when you finish the sequence without a single mistake, you both cheer so loudly the neighbor downstairs bangs on their ceiling.

“Oops,” you whisper, covering your mouth to stifle your giggles.

Jisung shrugs, unbothered. “Worth it. You nailed that!” He holds up a hand for a high-five, which you give him, laughing at how proud he looks.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice how your progress isn’t the only thing changing.

One evening, as you struggle through a particularly tricky move, Jisung stops mid-step. His gaze drifts off toward the window, his body going still.

“Jisung?” you call, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Jisung?”

He blinks, shaking his head quickly. “Sorry, what? Did you say something?”

You frown. “You spaced out. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a too-bright smile, waving you off. “Just tired, I guess.” He grabs the remote and cranks up the music. “Come on, let’s run it again.”

You hesitate but decide not to press him.

Later, after another exhausting session, you collapse on the couch, panting. “I’m done. For real this time. My legs are basically jelly.”

Jisung sits beside you, his gaze soft as he watches you. “You’re really doing great, you know.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you joke, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“I mean it,” he says, his tone quieter now. “I just... I like seeing you like this. Happy. Laughing.���

You glance over at him, and for a moment, he looks... sad, though the expression vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared.

“You okay?” you ask cautiously.

“Of course,” he says, forcing a grin. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“Lucky me,” you tease, but his words stick with you as the night goes on.

The dance sessions grow more frequent, his enthusiasm almost desperate. Every moment feels heavier, though you can’t quite figure out why. You catch him watching you sometimes, his smile softer, as though he’s trying to memorize the way you move, the sound of your laugh.

“What?” you ask one night when his eyes linger too long.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, spinning you around before you can press further. “Just... don’t stop dancing, okay?”

You laugh, brushing it off, but there’s something in his voice that makes you wonder what he’s not telling you.

The music echoes softly through the living room as you and Jisung move together, your steps slightly out of sync but improving with each pass. The rhythm feels effortless now, the usual fumbling replaced by a newfound fluidity. You’re laughing, breathless but exhilarated, when the sharp buzz of Jisung’s phone cuts through the song.

It vibrates insistently on the counter, the screen lighting up in the dim room.

“Hold on,” Jisung mutters, his usual smile faltering as he jogs over to check it. He picks up the phone and stares at the screen, his expression shifting to something unreadable.

You wipe your forehead with the hem of your shirt, catching your breath. “What is it?” you ask, noticing the way he hesitates.

Jisung’s thumb hovers over the screen, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, in a voice that’s a little too casual, he says, “It’s nothing. Just a friend checking in.”

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “Must be a pretty intense message to make you zone out like that.”

He glances at you quickly, forcing a small smile. “It’s not important. I’ll deal with it later. Come on, let’s not lose our momentum.” He sets the phone back down, face down this time, and crosses the room toward you.

Before you can say anything, he reaches for your hands and pulls you into a hug. It’s sudden, uncharacteristic, and tight. Tighter than his usual playful embraces. You blink, caught off guard.

“Uh, Jisung? You good?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he buries his face against your shoulder, his grip unyielding. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, almost fragile. “I’m just... really proud of you, you know? You’ve worked so hard.”

The hug lasts longer than it should, and something in his tone feels off. You try to pull back slightly to look at him, but he only holds on tighter.

“Jisung, what’s going on?”

He shakes his head against your shoulder and releases you just as abruptly as he hugged you. “Nothing. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” His smile is back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now, come on. Let’s run through it again. You were so close to getting it perfect!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you press, still watching him carefully.

“Of course I am,” he says quickly, bouncing on his toes to reset the mood. “Now, less talking, more dancing!”

You hesitate but eventually let it go, letting him take your hand and spin you back into position. Yet, as the music starts up again, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s more to the text than he’s letting on.

On the counter, Jisung’s phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up briefly before going dark. The message still sits there: "You ready to see her?"

The rhythmic click of Jisung’s shoes echoes down the hospital hallway, a stark contrast to the sterile silence that surrounds him. His hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets, clenched tightly as if to keep himself from shaking. The confidence and playfulness that had defined him earlier in the living room are gone, replaced by a hollow, heavy weight in his chest.

He pauses outside the door to a room, staring at the small plaque on the wall with your name printed neatly on it. His heart hammers in his chest as he exhales shakily, steeling himself before finally pushing the door open.

The fluorescent lights overhead hum faintly, casting an unforgiving brightness across the room. Machines beep softly, their rhythm steady and monotonous. And there you are. Completely motionless in the hospital bed, your face pale, your body almost swallowed by the thin blankets. Tubes and wires tether you to the machines keeping you stable, their presence stark and invasive.

Jisung freezes in the doorway, the sight of you knocking the air from his lungs.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice cracking. He steps closer, his movements hesitant and unsteady. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him feels deafening.

He lowers himself into the chair by your bedside, his trembling hands reaching for yours. Your skin is cold, unmoving, and his grip tightens instinctively, as though holding on to you will keep you from slipping further away.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m here, so… you can wake up now, okay?”

The only response is the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Jisung leans forward, pressing his forehead against the back of your hand. His shoulders begin to shake as tears spill over, falling silently onto the thin hospital sheet.

“You know,” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion, “I taught you how to dance. I mean, not perfectly, but we were getting there. You were laughing so much, and—” He stops, his breath hitching as the reality of his words catches up to him.

Because it wasn’t real.

The living room, the music, the laughter— it was all in his head. His imagination, his desperate mind, had conjured you up to fill the unbearable silence you’d left behind.

“I just…” His voice cracks again as he squeezes your hand. “I just wanted to see you smile. To hear you laugh. Even if it wasn’t real.”

The weight of the truth crashes down on him, suffocating and relentless. His mind replays every moment of the past few weeks—the way he had clung to the image of you, teaching you to dance, pretending everything was okay.

His tears flow freely now, soaking into the fabric of your blanket as he clutches your hand like a lifeline. The room feels unbearably quiet, the sound of the machines and his muffled cries the only noises breaking the stillness.

He sits there for what feels like hours, talking to you about everything and nothing—how much he misses you, how much he needs you to come back.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice raw, “don’t let this be the end. 

But you don’t move. Not yet. And Jisung can only sit there, crumbling under the weight of his grief, as reality continues to sink its claws into him.

“I thought…” His voice cracks, and he pauses, choking back a sob. He grips your hand tighter, as if that alone could anchor him in this unbearable moment. “I thought I could bring you back. Even if it wasn’t real—” His words catch in his throat, and he pulls his hands to his face, muffling the anguished cry that escapes him.

Tears stream down his face as he looks back at you, his expression one of complete devastation. “It felt real,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “You were laughing. You were dancing. It was like… like you were still here with me.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against your hand as he begins to unravel completely. “I just wanted one more dance with you,” he says, the words slipping out in a strangled sob.

The silence in the room presses against him, suffocating and unrelenting. His shoulders shake as he cries, the weight of the last few weeks crashing down on him all at once.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he confesses, his voice thick with grief. “You were the one who kept me grounded. When everything felt too hard, you… you were my anchor. You gave me a reason to keep going.”

He lifts his head slightly, his tear-streaked face staring at your still form. “And now…” His voice falters, his lips trembling as he struggles to find the words. “Now I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His gaze drops to your hand in his, his fingers tracing over yours with a tenderness that breaks his heart all over again. “Dancing with you, even in my head… it kept me going. It made me feel like maybe… maybe you were still with me.”

He swallows hard, the lump in his throat refusing to go away. “But they stole it from us,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “They stole our dance.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and final, as Jisung lets out another ragged sob. His grief pours out of him uncontrollably, raw and unfiltered, as he buries his face in his hands.

The walls of the hospital room seem to close in around him, the sterile brightness only amplifying the darkness he feels inside. He leans forward, pressing his lips gently to the back of your hand, his tears falling onto your skin.

“Please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me. I don’t care how long it takes. Just… come back.”

His words are met with the same unyielding stillness, the heart monitor’s steady rhythm the only response. And so he sits there, broken and lost, holding on to you as tightly as he can, afraid to let go of the only piece of you he has left.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from crying. He looks down at your hand, his tear-filled eyes blurring the sight of your still fingers. “I want to believe you’ll wake up, but… what if you don’t?”

The question lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating. He lets his head fall forward, his forehead pressing against your hand as his shoulders slump in defeat. “I’m so scared,” he murmurs, barely audible. “Scared that I’ve already lost you.”

For a moment, the only sound is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

And then it happens.

A faint movement—so subtle he almost misses it.

Your fingers twitch beneath his.

Jisung freezes, his breath catching in his throat. His head snaps up, his wide, tear-streaked eyes darting to your hand. “Y/N?” he whispers, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and disbelief.

He watches, his heart pounding in his chest, as your fingers twitch again—just the slightest motion, but enough to send a jolt through his entire body.

“Y/N!” he says again, louder this time, his grip tightening around your hand. He leans forward, his eyes darting between your hand and your face, searching desperately for any other sign of movement.

The heart monitor continues its steady rhythm, the faint beeping echoing in the room as the scene begins to fade.

“Please,” he whispers one last time, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[bo-kryzze]

AGATHA HARKNESS & RIO VIDAL 1.04 “If I Can’t Reach You / Let My Song Teach You”

[sserpente]

Magic Hands

Synopsis: Astarion teaches you how to use a dagger in battle. The sweaty training calls for a bath in the nearby river afterward and you can’t help but admire the vampire rogue in the pale moonlight, surrounded by the glistening water surface. He seems… tense. Perhaps you can repay him by giving him a gentle massage?

A/N: Why did this take me so long to write, oh my gods! :D

Words: 2038 Warnings: smut, mentions of sexual trauma

Your battle cry echoed across the entire campsite when you plunged your blade forward. Lae’zel’s makeshift mind flayer dummy was rendered with holes at this point, oozing hey from several rips in the old fabric she had used to craft it.

The impact had you sway to one side and you shifted your weight, your left arm flailing about clumsily.

“Good. Now try that again without losing your balance.”

You grunted, shooting him an angry glance. He had his sleeves rolled up, and his arms crossed before his chest. It was almost distracting. Almost.

You had been at it for hours. Granted, it had been your idea—if you were going to survive this involuntary adventure, you might as well learn how to defend yourself. You were surprised you’d even made it this far. And, since attacking from the shadows was much more your cup of tea than storming headfirst into battle like Wyll or Lae’zel, you’d kindly asked Astarion to help you out.

He was a tough and strict teacher, you had to give him that. But you were making quick progress too. Before today, you hadn’t even been able to hold a dagger properly.

You withdrew your weapon and returned to your original position.

“Ah-ah-ah. No, darling. What did we just learn?” His teasing voice went down like butter. That was even more distracting.

Astarion pointed at your left foot. You shifted in the dirt, creating a grovelling noise.

“There we go. Now try again.”

You did as you were told, lunging at the dummy once more. Astarion tutted at you when you lost your balance yet again.

“Hey, don’t tut me!”

“I see where the problem lies now. Go on. Get back in position.”

Grunting once more, you obeyed. What you were not prepared for, however, was that he would step right behind you and place his hands on your stomach and waist. You sucked in a deep breath, tensing up.

“Keep tension here. You’ll want to make sure that lovely core of yours keeps you on your feet.”

Memories from your night in the woods came flooding back, sending you down a spiral of pleasure and arousal. You cleared your throat.

“Okay. I got it. I think.”

The sensation of loss was nearly overwhelming when he let go again. You could have sworn you saw him smirk from the corner of your eye.

You got into position again, took a deep breath, and… struck.

“Good girl.” You would have dropped the dagger had it not been lodged deeply within the mindflayer dummy. “Again.”

Again. Again and again and again until Astarion was certain you got the hang of it. Your arms were burning by the time he clapped and finally let you off the hook for the day.

“Be honest, you’re enjoying this a little.”

The vampire smirked. “More than just a little, darling.”

Heat crept up your cheeks, forcing you to bite your lower lip. “Whatever. I should get washed.”

“Hmm, so should I.”

You offered him a smile. Making your way toward the lake, you walked past Lae’zel who was sharpening her sword, Karlach who was dancing to a song only audible to her, and Gale practicing little magic tricks. Wyll and Halsin were with Shadowheart, talking and drinking by the fireplace.

You sighed. It could have been peaceful if it wasn’t for the imminent threat of a tadpole turning you all into thralls.

Once you reached the shore, there was no hesitation in your movements. You stripped off your clothes, knowing the bushes would hide you from unwanted eyes. As for Astarion… well… there was nothing he hadn’t seen before.

The vampire followed suit though you did notice that he avoided your gaze as he undressed. You couldn’t help but watch him regardless as he waded into the water until he was submerged hip-deep.

“You look really fine in the moonlight, you know that?” you said, joining him swiftly.

“Of course I do, I’m a vampire, darling.” He swam closer to you, allowing you to wrap your entire body around him. Astarion’s hands found your behind, squeezing gently.

“That’s not what I meant,” you whispered. His lips were cold when you met them with yours, a playful kiss soon turning into a passionate display of affection.

By the time you finally broke apart panting, Astarion rolled his shoulders with a groan.

“Is everything alright? You seem even tenser than me.”

“Oh well, it can’t be helped. Must be the weight of being a hero on my shoulders,” he spat with dismay. Oh yeah… he’d made it clear his interest in saving the refugees was ridiculously small. You had your theories on that… yet there was no way in the hells Astarion was a terrible person but rather… a person terrible things had happened to. The scars on his back spoke for themselves.

“I could help with that if you want,” you said before you could stop yourself.

“Help? How?”

“This is gonna sound silly but I used to work as a massage therapist for a few years, back in Baldur’s Gate, I mean. I have magic hands. I know a lot of techniques to relieve back pain and back tension…” You trailed off, studying his reaction.

“Magic hands?”

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you and somehow, you knew exactly what was going on in his mind. Relieving a different kind of tension at your celebration with the Tieflings was one thing… having someone work his back and stroke every inch of exposed skin with skilled hands, right over the scars that had brought him so much torment… that was another.

“You want to… well… I…”

“If you want to?”

“Well… I suppose…”

You tilted your head. He wanted to accept, you could tell. But was that… concern glistening in his red eyes?

“You know, I’m, uh… I’m not offering this to have sex with you again. I mean… I really, really enjoyed myself, Astarion but… I honestly feel like that’s the reason you’re being wary, isn’t it? Along with me, um… touching your scars.”

His lips parted.

“I just want to help. And only if you’ll let me.”

“Alright… fine.”

You nodded, the tension you didn’t realise had been building up inside of you leaving your body.

“Then come find me in my tent later.”

You left him some privacy after your swim, returning to your makeshift home to find anything you could use as a massage oil. You settled for an ointment in the end, one that Halsin usually used to treat wounds. It would do. You could hardly use a bottle of grease after all.

You were rather certain Astarion waited until the others were asleep on purpose. When he parted the fabric of your makeshift door and crouched down a little to come inside, you patted your bedroll and smiled at him.

His coyness was adorable. While before his heart-breaking confession, every single word that had left his lips was a flirt, he was but a frightened young man now, intimidated by intimacy.

“Lie down, my love. And… Astarion?”

His red eyes met yours as he followed your request and removed his shirt, once again revealing those horrifying scars to you.

“You need to stop me if you’re feeling uncomfortable, alright?”

The vampire spawn smirked. “How could I possibly feel uncomfortable with your skilled hands dancing over my body, pet?”

“You know what I mean.” You grinned, relieved that his smarm was not lost on him.

“Of course.”

“Now lie down on your belly and close your eyes.”

Astarion sighed and did as he was told. You straddled him, trifling some of the oil on your hands and rubbing them together before eventually… placing your palms on his bare back.

Your fingers glided over the ridges of his scars, your thumbs digging into the muscles, looking for any tension. You found it all too quickly, working knot after knot out of his tormented back.

Soon enough, he relaxed. His sigh was so innocent you couldn’t help but lean forward and place a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades.

You pampered him for a while, making sure to massage each and every spot on his back. You did not fail to miss the faint moan when you asked him to turn over so you could work on the rest of his body. Gods, you were enjoying this even more than he was.

Astarion’s gaze was filled with repose and… hunger. And when your eyes travelled further down, your lips parted and you realised why.

He was hard.

“Do you… do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t… you… dare…” he muttered, eyes half-closed still.

You bit your lower lip, oily hands gliding over his chest. It wasn’t just him. You were as wet as the river you’d bathed in just a few hours back and now that you were aware just how much your sensual treatment affected him, the arousal was nearly unbearable.

Breathing heavily, you swallowed and paused.

“How about… I have an idea.”

He sat up a little, propping himself on his elbows. “Oh?”

His sly smirk caught you entirely off guard though you were unsure whether he was merely trying to hide his insecurity behind it. He’d told you he didn’t want you to think of him in terms of sex for now and you would respect that wish. There was no need for you to act on your own excitement even if it drove you insane. But if he let you… you wanted to make him feel good so badly that it almost caused you physical discomfort.

“I could… take care of… that,” you muttered, pointing at the growing bulge in his trousers.

Astarion raised his eyebrows, passion glistening in those red eyes.

“Let me pamper you. No sex. I might as well give you a… full body massage at this point. And if it gets too much, you stop me.”

“We… we could try.” He nodded, lying back down but keeping his eyes wide open as you opened his trousers with gentle movements and pulled his erection free.

Astarion flinched when your oily hand wrapped around his hardening length, fingertips teasing him tenderly.

“Okay?”

He nodded.

“I need you to tell me with words, my love.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “Okay. That feels… nice.”

One thing you realised very quickly was that he had never experienced anything like this before. Someone who wished for nothing more than to bring him pleasure, to make him feel good, without expecting anything in return. To give him back his sensuality where only he and his well-being mattered without his body being sexualised or objectified…

It must have been such a novel concept to him… biting your lower lip, you began to stroke him with firm yet tender touches, your thumb gliding over his slit and rubbing over his tip.

He squirmed, bucking his hips in response with a quiet moan. It was enough of a reaction to urge you on, your movements quickening and adapting to his rapid breathing.

You paused when he uttered your name with a start.

“No… no, don’t stop, my love… don’t you dare stop…”

So you kept going, driving him to the edge with hungry ferocity. Gods, he looked so delicious. So carefree and innocent all because of you…

“I… I… I will…”

Astarion thrust up into your hands, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Pleasure flushed his entire face, his lips parting. He tensed up, his thighs shaking and his fingers clutching at the soft material of your bedroll. He came all over your hands and knuckles, ropes of seed clear evidence of his release. You helped him ride it out, squeezing every last drop from his pretty cock until he was spent and panting, his body relaxing again bit by bit.

“You look so beautiful when you come undone…” you whispered, wiping your hands on some rags you kept nearby.

He chuckled. “And you do have magic hands. I might have to ask you to do that again soon.”

You smiled, cuddling up to him with a smile. Neither of you bothered to get undressed completely. You were perfectly fine with falling asleep like this.

“Anytime, Astarion. Always.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Oh Red may I please request little Eliza playing at drinking tea with her brothers and dad? Maybe she even puts make up on them and paint their nails too

Oh absolutely, my darling! Your wish is my command 😘

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: pregnant!reader

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Daddy?” Eliza sing-songs as she skips over to the couch. She doesn’t bother to wait for her father to take his eyes off the television before she climbs into his lap. 

“What’s up, sweet pea?”

“Will you play with me?”

He smiles down at her and grabs one of her small sock-clad feet in his hand.

“What do you want to play?” Eddie knows he isn’t going to be thrilled with the answer by the way the four-year-old looks up at him with her wide brown eyes and adorably bats her eyelashes. He makes a mental note to tell you to stop teaching her ways to use her cuteness against him.

“I wanna have a tea party,” she says. 

Eddie holds in his groan. Tea parties always had an air of pretension about them that Eddie didn’t like—even ones hosted by little girls. He blames his metal “lifestyle” growing up, but you’ve called him out on more than one occasion for just not wanting to do them because they’re boring. He has yet to admit you’re right. 

“Doesn’t Mommy want to have a tea party with you?” He has no shame in pawning this off on you. In his opinion, you fit in better with the pink frilly tablecloth and the teddy bears wearing lacy hats than he does.

“Mama’s sleeping,” Eliza says, sadness evident in her tone. Your daughter has noticed you’ve been doing that a lot lately. Both you and your husband explained to her that you get tired easily since your body is growing two babies, but it’s not something a little girl so young can easily understand. All she knows is that her mommy doesn’t do as much with her anymore. It tugs on Eddie’s heartstrings, and he can’t bear to deny her.

“Okay, let’s have a tea party,” he says.

Eliza claps her hands together in rapid succession before leaping off her dad’s lap and running down the hallway to her room. It’s impossible for Eddie not to smile as he turns the television off and pushes himself up off the couch. By the time he reaches her room, Eliza has her table and chairs set up in the middle of her room and is digging her Disney Princess tea set out of her toy box.

Once it’s clutched in her little fists, Eliza turns around and disapprovingly looks over her father’s outfit.

“Daddy, you can’t wear that to a tea party,” she says, walking forward to set the tea set on the table.

Eddie frowns as he looks down at his black jeans and faded Black Sabbath tee. 

“Why not?” he asks.

“It’s too dark!”

“Well, I don’t own any pink clothes, Your Highness.”

“Fine,” she huffs, conveying her disappointment. But she quickly perks up and runs back to her toy box. “I got an idea!”

“What might that be?”

The top half of your daughter disappears for a few moments as she dives headfirst into her toy box. Objects clank and bang around inside as she pushes them around, looking for one item in particular. 

“Aha!” Dark curls bob back into view as she stands up straight, brandishing a pink and white box that fills Eddie with dread. Eliza walks towards him, showing him the Barbie makeup kit she had gotten from Santa this past Christmas. 

“Liza…” Eddie says. He’s not able to get another word out before she gives him those puppy dog eyes again, though. 

“Pleeeeease, Daddy? You have to look pretty when you go to a tea party.”

“I’m not pretty?” Eddie asks, cocking an eyebrow and resting his hands on his hips. 

The way that Eliza’s nose wrinkles up as she looks him over says it all. 

“No,” she answers with a shake of her head.

“Pfft,” Eddie scoffs as he walks over to sit down on his daughter’s bed. “Mommy thinks I’m pretty.”

“Because she loves you,” Eliza replies, absent-minded, as she sets the makeup kit down next to Eddie and begins to open it up. He has no time to be offended before she asks, “Can I paint your nails?”

Eddie lifts a ringed hand up and looks over his short, stubby nails. It wouldn’t be the first time they were painted, honestly. In high school they’d sometimes be painted various shades of black, blue, or green courtesy of Brittany. He internally cringes at the memory. It’s definitely time for a much better girl to paint his nails.

“Sure, kid,” he tells her.

Eliza grins and picks two small bottles up from her kit. She clicks the glass jars together before she holds them up for her dad to see.

“Red or pink?”

“Uh…” Eddie wrinkles up his nose as he inspects the two bottles held in her small hands. The red is nice and dark while the pink is full-on shimmery and sparkly. “Red.”

Eliza nods once and puts the pink polish back in its case. 

“Turn,” Eliza says, hoisting herself up on her bed and patting the comforter between her and her dad. Eddie twists, tucking one leg beneath him so he’s able to face the little girl properly. 

The room is notably quiet as your daughter opens the bottle, holding the cap and brush in one hand, and setting the bottle down on the Barbie kit with the other. An involuntary smile quirks Eddie’s lips as he watches Eliza get to work. Her round little face squishes up as she situates Eddie’s larger hand on the lid of the makeup kit and sticks her fingers between his to spread them open. As she leans in and presses the tip of the brush to his nails, Eddie notices how Eliza sticks her tongue out–just slightly–as she concentrates. Whatever gene Eddie inherited that gave him that quirk is strong; he’s given it to all three of his children so far. Silently, he wonders if the twins will do it as well. 

As expected, Eliza paints most of the skin surrounding Eddie’s nails along with the nails themselves. It feels cool and sticky against your husband’s skin and he wrinkles his face up almost identically to how the little girl did just minutes ago. 

“Okay, switch hands.”

Eddie does as he’s instructed, bringing the freshly painted one up near his mouth so he can blow on the wet polish. The last thing he needs is to smear the red on something, forgetting it was there. 

“What’s going on in here?”

Luke leans against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest as he takes in the beauty parlor in front of him. 

“Gettin’ ready for a tea party,” Eliza says, not lifting her head from her task. She switches to Eddie’s ring finger and glances up at her brother. “You wanna play, too?”

Normally, Luke would flat out decline. But he spies the makeup sitting between his father and sister and his mischievous mind starts concocting. 

“Sure,” Luke says, taking one step into the room. “On one condition.”

The look that Eddie gives his middle child warns him not to start anything with his sister. 

“What?” Eliza asks.

“I’ll come to your tea party if you put some of that makeup on Dad’s face.”

Eliza sits up straight, eyes widening in excitement as she looks between the two men in the room. Her eyes turn pleading as she leaves them on her father. 

“Pleeeeease, Daddy?” she begs. “A tea party is more fun with more people!”

One look at the various colors of eyeshadows and lipsticks is enough to make Eddie cringe. But the look on little Eliza’s face is so hopeful and Eddie can’t bear to crush it.

“Only if Luke gets Ryan to join, too,” Eddie compromises. 

“Luke?” Eliza bats her eyelashes at her older brother, who, admittedly, isn’t as susceptible to them as Eddie is. But they’re still pretty damn convincing.

“Oh, he won’t want to miss this.” Luke smirks and slips back into the hallway to go find his brother.

“Yay!” Eliza cheers as she goes back to finishing up Eddie’s hand.

The two brothers come into Eliza’s room just as she’s recapping the red nail polish.

“What do you think, Lize?” Eddie muses as he rests his freshly painted hands on his thighs. “Think your brothers need to be made prettier for the tea party, too?”

Eliza nods, looking over the two boys. “Oh, yes.”

Eddie chuckles, somewhat evilly, as he stands from the bed. 

“Red or pink, gentlemen?” Eddie asks, offering his previous seat to them.

“You said he would be getting makeup put on,” Ryan grumbles to Luke.

“Nail polish isn’t really makeup,” Luke argues with a shrug.

“Yes, it is,” Ryan and Eliza reply simultaneously. 

Ryan gives his younger brother a gentle shove towards the bed, leading to the fourteen-year-old stumbling over to Eliza’s bed.

“Why are we having a tea party, Liza Bean?” Ryan asks as Luke takes a seat.

“Cause I wanna,” Eliza answers, picking up the two colors of polish for Luke to see. “And Mama is always tired, so I haven’t had one in a long time.”

Both Munson sons share a look, and Eddie can see the resignation in their gazes, hearts once again gripped by Eliza. 

Luke takes a deep breath as he turns back to his sister.

“Pink,” he says.

Ten minutes later, Luke has sparkling pink nails, and Ryan has dark red ones to match his dad. 

"I think red is my color," Ryan comments as he takes a seat at the small tea table set up in the middle of Eliza's room. The chairs are comically small for everyone in the family but Eliza, but she is quite happy about that. It always makes her giggle to see her parents or brothers attempt to situate themselves on the tiny pink wooden chairs. 

Luke takes the seat next to Ryan and leans over to inspect his nails.

"That's too dark to be red," Luke says.

"It's not purple," Ryan scoffs.

"Or pink!" Eliza adds.

"Why am I the smartest Munson?" Luke groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Excuse me?" Eddie grumbles.

"You're excused," Luke says before turning back to his siblings. "It is red, but it's more of a maroon or scarlet."

"Was that crayon you ate when you were five maroon or scarlet?" Ryan quips.

"It was just red, thank you very much," Luke says, sitting up straighter. 

"Alright, about Dad wearing this makeup now..." Ryan smirks, eyes darting between Eliza and Eddie.

"Okay, fine, let's do this." Eddie grabs one of the small pink chairs and drags it over to the side of Eliza's bed. He plops it down backwards and takes a seat on it. He tilts his face up and closes his eyes. "Let's see what you've got."

"Hmm..." Eliza hums, looking over the different colored powders awaiting her use. They all look so tempting, it's hard for her to choose. "Should I use blue or green?"

"Use blue on Dad, green on Luke," Ryan suggests.

"Okay!" Eliza chimes.

"W-Wait, what?" Luke stammers.

Ryan smirks and claps his little brother on the shoulder. 

"Gotta make you look nice and pretty, don't we?"

"That includes you too then, smartass," Eddie calls over.

"Nah," Ryan says, shaking his head. "I'm pretty enough."

"Uh, no," Eliza says, causing Eddie and Luke to burst out in laughter. "Don't worry, I'll find a color for you too, Ry-Ry."

Now it's Luke's turn to smirk and shake his older brother's shoulder. 

Eliza picks up one of the pink sparkly brushes that came with the Barbie makeup kit and jabs it into the blue eyeshadow, creating a cerulean cloud that floats up around her face. With one tiny hand, Eliza holds Eddie's chin still. With the other, she reaches up and brushes the blue dust gently across her father's eyelids.

"Ooh, it looks so pretty!" she cheers before doing the same to the second eye. Not only do Eddie's eyebrows get the royal treatment, but his eyebrows, under eyes, and even the bridge of his nose end up covered with the sky-colored makeup. "Now blush!"

Eddie cracks one eye open to watch as Eliza digs through the makeup kit. She tosses tubes of lipstick out of the way and shoves eyeshadows to the side before she finally pulls out a large blush palette with cartoonishly extreme colors. Your daughter picks up a new brush and flips the clear lid off the palette. Lacking the finesse that only comes with age, Eliza dunks the brush against the brightest pink possible. Eddie internally cringes before he closes his eyes again, preferring not to see how much she's going to cake onto his cheeks. 

"Wow, Dad's looking real pretty," Luke comments, the sarcasm clear as day to his father. 

"I can't wait to see how pretty you're going to look," Eddie mumbles back.

"No moving," Eliza instructs.

"Yeah, Dad!" Ryan echoes. 

Eliza hums in thought, tilting her head from side to side as she inspects Eddie's face. Her chocolate curls tumble and brush against her cheeks with every movement. Deciding she's done with the blush, she sets that brush down and picks up a golden tube of lipstick. Ryan and Luke watch as she pops the cap off and twists the bottom until a magenta head pops into view. Her dark eyes stare at the color for a moment, silently determining if this is the shade she wants to apply to Eddie's lips. Evidently, she decides she likes this one as she sets the cap down and grips her father's chin once more.

"Pucker!" Eliza instructs.

"Huh?" Eddie asks.

Eliza rolls her eyes, thinking that she needs to teach her father everything when it comes to makeup.

"It means do your lips like this! Like a fish!" Eliza puckers her lips up in example.

Eddie blinks his eyes open and quickly moves in to peck a kiss to Eliza's lips. The little girl giggles and swats her dad away.

"Daddy!" she whines.

"What?" he asks innocently.

"No kisses!"

Eddie pouts, but puckers his lips, nonetheless. 

Just like with the eyeshadow, the lipstick does not strictly stick to the part of the face it's meant for. A pinkish purple line goes down towards Eddie's chin and a dot even gets on his left cheek. Eliza nods her approval as she recaps the lipstick and lets it roll from her hand back into the box. 

"Done!" she announces. 

Eddie pushes himself out of the chair and takes a deep breath. Part of him doesn't want to turn around and look at himself in the mirror hung next to Eliza's closet. But, he knows, the boys are going to make fun of him regardless of if he knows what he looks like or not. He twists towards the mirror and hears both of his sons snicker as they get a full look at his face. Eddie takes in his made-up appearance in the princess-themed mirror and can't focus on one single aspect of the makeup. He looks like a mix between the band KISS and The Joker, he thinks to himself. 

"I look pretty," Eddie finally says.

"You do!" Eliza cheers, clapping her hands together. "Ryan, your turn."

With only a minor sigh, Ryan stands up, ready to accept his fate. He walks past his dad, pausing to clap the man on his shoulder.

"Really hoping one of those babies is a girl now, aren't you?" Ryan mumbles softly. "They could give each other makeovers."

Eddie chuckles and turns to face his eldest. "You think that would get us out of this? Ry, we'd just have two girls painting our faces."

Ryan winces as he absorbs his dad's words. "Oh God, you're right."

Eddie laughs and gives Ryan a push in the direction of the chair he just vacated. 

"Alright," Ryan says as he takes a seat. "Glam me up, baby."

Once Eliza has finished with Ryan, he has pink bubblegum eyeshadow, ruby red blush, and coral lipstick. Last but not least, Luke ends up with forest green eyeshadow--which he complains clashes with his blue eyes, pinkish orange blush, and wine red lipstick. 

"Now," Eliza declares as she packs up her makeup kit, "time for tea. Everyone sit." She wipes her hands off, clapping them against one another, as she walks up to the table to join her guests. "Oh, no! I forgot we need tea. Daddy?" She grabs the large pink teapot in the middle of the table and holds it out towards Eddie. "Can you put water in this?"

"No real tea?" Luke complains, jaw dropped in mock shock.

"Real tea gross," Eliza tells him.

Eddie goes off to fill the pot with water, and Eliza takes her seat next to Luke. The little girl swings her legs beneath the table and smooths out the skirt of the overall dress she's wearing. Footsteps approach the bedroom and Eliza kicks her legs faster in anticipation for the imbibements' arrival. But when it isn't Eddie that enters the doorway, but you, Eliza gasps and runs over to give you a hug.

"Mama!"

"Hey, sweet pea." You reach down and rub her back as she wraps her arms around your hips. "What've you got going on in here?" You look up and see Ryan and Luke's faces for the first time. A snort of laughter escapes you before you manage to press your lips together to keep it in.

"We're having a tea party!" Eliza tells you.

"I see," you say, struggling to keep your laughter inside. "May I join you?"

Your daughter's eyes light up and it pangs your heart that you haven't gotten to play with her as much lately. 

"Yes!" Eliza squeals. She takes your hand and drags you over to the table in the middle of her room. 

"Why doesn't she need makeup?" Luke asks as you forgo a small pink chair and opt to take a seat on the floor.

"Because she's already pretty," Eliza says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh, Eliza," you say, placing your hand on her arm as you make yourself as comfortable as possible. "Can you go into my nightstand and grab my camera?"

"Okay!"

Eliza speeds out of the room and you turn to look at your sons again. This time, your laughter flows freely.

"Really?" Ryan asks, glaring at you. "A camera?"

"What?" you ask, putting on an innocent act. "You two look so handsome."

"This is your fault," Luke says. "We had to fill in for tea party because somebody is too busy carrying twins."

"Hey," you say, leaning back on one hand as the other comes to rest on your bump. "It takes two to tango, kid."

"I don't need to think about you two tangoing," Luke says with a shudder. 

"Got it!" Eliza exclaims as she runs back into the room.

"Thank you, baby," you say as you accept it from her. 

Both boys groan as you turn the device on and hold it up to take a few pictures of the two of them. 

"Alright, alright, here's our tea," Eddie says as he strolls back into the room. He stops short when he sees you sitting on the floor, holding a camera. Some water sloshes out of the spout of the tea pot and splashes on his socked-foot, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

Before you can get the camera up to snap a picture of your husband, you take in his blue eye shadow, pink cheeks, and purple lips. Cackling laughter breaks forth from you and you roll backwards, flopping flat on your back on the sandy-colored carpet. Tears start to roll down your face, both hands holding your bump as you lose all control of your laughter. Eliza, just as much your daughter as she is Eddie's, swipes up the camera and takes a few shots of Eddie before he can move or protest. Once she's succeeded in capturing the evidence, Eliza begins to laugh as well, mostly due to your own reaction. She lays down on the floor next to you, giggling wildly as she rolls over and buries her head in your shoulder.

"I don't know what's so funny," Eddie says, recovering enough to walk forward and set the full teapot down on the table. He retakes his seat in a small pink chair and turns his nose up. "I think we look rather ravishing."

It's impossible for you to reply since you can't catch your breath. Both of your sons can't help but smile at your boisterous laughter either. They let you get it out for a few minutes, sitting there silently as you girls roll around on the floor. Finally, it begins to subside within you and you're able to catch your breath. Tears leave tracks down your cheeks, and you reach up to rub your eyes. 

"Oh my God, that was great." you say. 

Eliza pushes herself up off the floor and plops down into the remaining pink chair. She smiles at you as you try to push yourself back up into a sitting position. Only...you're not able to. Your bump makes it impossible for you to get back up without any help. Of course, Luke notices this.

"Oh, does someone need help now? Now that she's done laughing at us?" he asks.

"No," you say with a shake of your head. "I've got Liza."

Your daughter nods and slips from her seat. She walks behind you and tries to help by pushing on your shoulder blades. As strong as she is for such a tiny girl, Eliza isn't able to help upright you.

"Come on, you," Eddie says, sliding out of his chair to kneel next to you.

"You're gonna help her?" Ryan asks. "After all that laughing? And those blackmail photos?"

"Yeah, I kind of promised something about helping her off the ground if she's stuck during our wedding vows and all," he answers. 

You grab your husband's hand, and he uses his other one to press against your back, easily rocking you back up to a seated position. You take a deep breath and nod your head in thanks.

"Thank you, my pretty husband."

"You really want to thank me?" he asks. "How about a kiss?"

A shrill squeal that could rival Eliza's escapes you as Eddie begins to press magenta-smeared kisses all over your face.

"I'll save you, Mama!" Eliza calls. She tries to force herself between you and Eddie but only manages to get her own face full of colorful kiss marks.

"Daddy!" she squeaks. "I said no kisses!"

"Aw, come on!" he says. "I'm just trying to share my makeup with you!"

"It's time for teeeeeea!" she yells.

"Okay, okay," Eddie says, ceasing his attack on the two of you. With a deep breath, he hikes himself back into his little pink chair.

Eliza attempts to wipe some of the smudged lipstick off your face as you try to do the same for her. Neither of you succeed, only managing to make bigger messes of one another.

"Oh, well," you say with a chuckle. "We'll be pretty like the boys for this tea party."

Eliza nods and puts herself back in her chair. She shakes her hair off of her face, frizzy brown curls falling to the sides to reveal her pink-purple face. With small hands she smooths back some stray pieces that won't cooperate.

"So pretty."