#my wee space husband | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kikiiswashere · 3 months ago

Text

Four to Tango

As promised, part two of Waltzing for Three!!!

Thank you for helping me reach 200 followers for this little ol' blog of mine 🥰 And welcome to all the newcomers!

The idea for this ficlet was born of watching my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable help out a pregnant friend by lifting her belly off her hips, and it just sort of spiraled from there.

It's also worth noting that I myself am not a mother, nor have I given birth, nor do I wish to be a mom (husband got the ol' snip-snip). So why this fic? Good question 😅

That being said, I did my best to write about the labor process relatively accurately without getting into the super nitty-gritty of it 😂 So, please enjoy this weird little fever-dream of a fic, and please comment and reblog 💗

Tags for the interested parties: @luhmoon, @legendaryflowercheesecake, @thebeserkvernid, @miffysoo

Pairing: Established Silco x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Teen/Mature (brief reference to oral sex)

CW: Non-graphic descriptions of pregnancy and labor

Insistent cramping had woken you up in the wee-hours one morning, swelling and ebbing in a slow rhythm that sent your heart tapping, a loop of nerves coiling around your gut – little room that there was for it.

Silco had been a terribly light sleeper ever since Vander’s betrayal, ever since those early years on an under-tested Shimmer variant that left his brain unable to fully settle. So, the moment you shifted into a sitting position, he shot up as well.

“What’s wrong?”

Words got gummed up on fear and excitement in your mouth. There was a slight tremor in your fingers as they grazed over your belly. You had noticed it sitting even lower on your hips these past several days. While you were very done with being pregnant, you were still nervous and surprised to say –

“I think it’s time.”

With comical amounts of speed, but awe-inspiring grace, Silco flung himself from the bed, divesting himself of his eyepatch and pajamas. After changing into a simple set of trousers and an old button-up shirt, he fetched the stopwatch Jinx had invented to easily time your contractions, and wrote a tube prompting your midwife that she was needed. It had been decided early on that the babe’s delivery – barring any complications – would happen at The Last Drop. You, nor Silco, were willing to venture outside to a clinic when your family would be at its most vulnerable.

Too nervous to lay down, much less fall back asleep, you began pacing the large bedroom in your large sleep shirt. Every time a contraction locked up and spasmed through your lower belly and back, your fingers pressed the stopwatch’s clicker. And you breathed as the midwife had instructed. Silco kept you company, walking with you up and down the length of the bedroom, holding your hand and becoming an anchor to squeeze when contractions rolled through. Together, you both noted and kept track of their intervals. Their spacing and length suggested that the little one’s arrival was not imminent, but the consistency indicated that this was indeed labor.

The midwife arrived, ushered in by a half-asleep Sevika. You’d bribed her with an absurd bonus and several pre-paid sessions at Babette’s for her to crash in one of the Drop’s private guest rooms during these last days of your pregnancy. She was needed for security, and to stand-in for Silco when his attention and priorities would be elsewhere.

“Good luck,” she’d grumbled, barely glancing at you before shutting the bedroom door, and trudging back down the hall.

The midwife was a petite, wizened Vastaya who’d been selected for her services not only because of her field prowess, but because she was staunch loyalist to you and Silco. Shimmer had helped save more than one of her clients when the birthing process had begun to go sideways, and that was enough for her to hitch her wagon to your agenda.

She was also direct to the point of rudeness – a personality trait that was wholly welcome given the slippery, hidden, self-serving rhetoric you were used to having to deal with.

“Time?” she asked, setting her medical bag down on your dresser with a heavy thunk.

“Forty-five seconds to a minute, about every seven minutes,” you answered. Then gasped and doubled over as another contraction bent you.

The midwife hummed. “How long?”

“About an hour,” Silco said. He squeezed back at your hand as you rode out the current wave rolling through.

Clucking her tongue, the midwife shook her head, long ears slapping lightly against her horns.

“Early.”

Silco frowned. “You are being more than thoroughly compensated to show up whenever we ask.”

“Indeed. To the bed, miss. Let’s have a look.”

Once your legs were freed from the lock of the contraction, you shuffled to the bed. Silco helped you into position, and the midwife closed in. Her fingers were warm, but the tools were cold. The combination, along with your nerves, caused your lungs to shudder.

“Five,” she declared, drawing her head from between your thighs.

“That’s halfway,” you chuckled weakly. Silco brushed his thumb over your knuckles

The midwife hummed in agreement. “True. But as discussed, this process is not linear. And being your first delivery, it is very likely this will take a while. How is the pain?”

“Fine. Manageable.” It came out as a grit, but she didn’t seem to doubt you.

“You should eat and drink while you can. Is there anything else you want or need right now?”

Together, you and Silco walked to the small kitchen in your private quarters. You rested your forearms on the counter as the length of your spine hammocked behind you, hips gently swishing side-to-side. Silco kept the breakfast blissfully simple: toast with a light slather of butter, and a mug of warmed water with lemon.

Eating was slow going. Between the jitters and contractions, your appetite was seriously curbed. When you finally made it to the second piece of toast, Jinx shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. Her bedraggled demeanor did not last long though, as her whip-quick senses tuned into the energy of the space. Big, blue eyes tracked between Silco – unusually underdressed – and your strange posture. One could nearly hear the cogs in her head clicking and whirring.

“Is it time?!”

In a flash, she clambered onto the stool next to you, bright and tittering. Her exuberance washed over you in a relieving breeze. Reaching over, you ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

“Sure is, kiddo.”

“When will he be here?”

“Could be a while yet, Jinx,” Silco answered. He set a glass of juice in front of her. “What would you like? Toad-in-the-hole? Porridge? Pancakes?”

“Make ‘em have a face!” she crowed.

A hook of a smile pulled at Silco’s mouth as he turned back toward the stove.

Jinx settled onto the stool; legs kicking merrily beneath her as she sipped her juice.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like intense menstrual cramps.”

Her small face squished in a ponder. While you had had that conversation with her, Jinx had yet to broach into that aspect of puberty. Thus, she had no point of reference.

“Kinda like when you roof-run after eating, and your abs cramp up,” you offered. “Kind of.”

A contraction swelled upon you, and you grit your teeth, face pinching, head dropping. Silco stepped away from the stovetop, and placed a grounding hand between your shoulder blades. Jinx watched, eyes wide and worried. Timidly, she shifted toward you, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

The pain continued, but was temporarily numbed by the overwhelming love and gratitude for the two people on either side of you.

Your family.

It was never part of the plan when it came to your Silco’s ideas to lift Zaun up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And in a few hours, three would be four. Your heart beat big, tapping against your throat as the contraction passed. You clicked the stopwatch.

“That seems worse than roof-run cramps,” Jinx said suspiciously.

You chuffed. “Like I said: Kind of.”

Silco rubbed his hand up and down your spine a few times, before kissing your temple and returning to the stove.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked Jinx.

She fiddled with her hair, nodding. “I can come and go as I please.”

“Right. If you want to be with us, I want you to be there. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. You get to decide, and it doesn’t have to be right now.”

Jinx nodded again, eyes staring into the middle-distance. Reaching over, you brushed your fingers through her hair again. Her eyes snapped back to yours.

“Are you scared?”

You gave her a reassuring smile.

“No. I’m happy.”

It wasn’t a lie. But a few hours later, your happiness was thoroughly overshadowed by the pain of labor. It was staggering how it had intensified. How it was becoming near non-stop as the space between contractions shortened and shortened. Gravity felt impossible to contend with on top of everything else, so you sank onto your bedroom floor with a low, guttural growl.

Silco had been attentive throughout, anticipating your needs before you even voiced them. Ever your anchor, your source for steadiness. Even now, on your hands and knees, his own wide palms settled onto your hips and pressed in. It pulled an appreciative groan from your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my love.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Your eyes flicked to the bathroom door where Jinx was helping the midwife prepare a warm bath. You were proud of your girl. Admittedly, part of you doubted she would choose to stick around once labor became loud and more intense. When you could no longer keep yourself from crying out, hesitancy had flickered in her eyes, and her brows pitched in concern. But instead of dashing away, she’d reached for your hand and held tight.

“Is there anything you can give her?” she’d asked the midwife incredulously.

The female had smirked, impressed and moved by the girl’s protectiveness of you.

“I have mild pain relievers, but nothing that will fully numb – “

“Shimmer?”

The midwife’s black lips thinned. “That is only to be used in emergencies,” she explained. “It is too potent and powerful to be used for anything other than the most extreme circumstances. Which – “her eyes looked up at your haggard form on the bed – “does not seem probable. Her labor is progressing as it should. There is nothing to worry about.”

Jinx frowned, doubtful, and hunkered closer to your side.

“Seems like a dumb design that it hurts so much.”

“Agreed,” you wheezed.

“Come,” the midwife said, “let’s check you.”

She declared you’d progressed to eight centimeters. That had been three hours ago. And the pain just continued to climb and build.

A small sob burst through your teeth. Silco knelt at your side, quietly saying your name.

“I’m scared, Sil,” you admitted in a whisper. You were thankful Jinx wasn’t near to hear you back-pedal. Your breath hitched and words tumbled out: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He took your warm and tear-streaked face between his hands, and repeated your name.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, your tired and wet eyes focused on his face. He looked at you with fierce earnestness, thumbs sweeping across the apples of your flushed cheeks. Suddenly, part of you grieved that the baby would never know Silco without his scars. Or yours. Outside and in.

Silco called your name again.

“Look at me,” he repeated. Your eyes slid back to his. Blue and red pinned you in place. “You can do this. I’ve not met anyone more tenacious, nor strong, nor as spirited as you. Those are but a few of the reasons I fell in love with you so long ago.” His eyes softened now; his adoration made plain. “You’ve absolutely no reason to doubt yourself.”

A small hiccup bubbled from your mouth, and you pressed your face into the warmth of his palm, breathing him in deeply. Not having properly dressed for the day, he hadn’t put any cologne on. The natural terra-sweet scent of his skin filled your nose. You were grateful for his support, respect, and belief in your abilities. A sudden, silly thought flitted across your mind.

“Not my dance moves?”

A single amused breath huffed from his throat. That infinitesimal smirk – one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with him – appeared on his lips. His blue eye flashed; as it often did when an idea struck him. Silco lifted to his feet, and used a strong grip to pull you to yours. He guided your arms to loop around his shoulders and neck, while his went to your low back. A weary chuckle left you as you understood. Your cheek was a relieved, heavy weight against his shoulder. It had to be a strange sight, this dance configuration: with your body slouched against his, massive belly hanging between you two. Slowly, your feet began gently shifting side-to-side.

“Admittedly,” he murmured against your crown, “your dance moves leave something to be desired right now.”

You laughed, even as another contraction swelled within you. Silco’s hands firmed up on your body, holding you upright as it moved through your body.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you hissed as most of the pain subsided. It was such now that there was no longer any real relief.

“A dance and a suck job? Lucky me.”

Your fingers pinched Silco’s upper back, and you felt the tremor of silent laughter in his shoulders.

“Tub’s ready!” Jinx sang as she flounced out of the bathroom.

Managing to smile at her, despite another great, contracting swell that threatened to bring you to your knees, you took her hand. Silco kept a strong arm wrapped around your middle, and you followed Jinx into the humid warmth of the bathroom.

The water helped. Its heat soothed your pained muscles and aching bones. The irony was not lost on you that you found peace in it. After a few minutes of settling into the tub, you gave Silco a look that to anyone else may have seemed like nothing. But he caught the message in your eyes, and tucked himself close to the tub’s edge, taking your hand. Jinx huddled herself into his lap, nervously fingering the buttons on his shirt.

About an hour later, the midwife’s large ears flicked in your direction as the quality of your breath shifted, as the sounds leaving you turned deeper and more animal. Her deft hands slipped into the water and between your legs.

“Something changed,” you gasped, hunching slightly. “It feels like – “

“It’s time,” she said, pulling her hands from the water. Somehow, she’d also stripped your underwear off in the same movement without you noticing. “It’s time to push.”

Push. The word settled into your body with a deep, innate knowing.

Yes. That’s what you were feeling. The near uncontrollable need to bare down. An old, predetermined instinct washed over you. You could do this.

But you did not want to do it alone.

“Sil.”

The grit of his name and the way you shifted yourself forward spurred your partner into understanding. Swiftly, he stood, deposited Jinx onto the stool he’d vacated, and then stepped into the tub, sliding in behind you. Settling against his chest, your hand ferociously intertwined with his. His heart beat firmly against your back.

“You can do this,” he whispered into your ear.

“Give me your other hand, dear,” the midwife said. You did so and she guided it under the water, preparing you to feel and catch. “Push.”

“Push! Push!” Jinx cried, her little fists pumping and bopping in the air madly.

Gritting your teeth, you did just that. A sound you didn’t know you were capable of making burst from your lungs. When the air ran out, you slumped against Silco’s chest.

“Breath in,” the midwife demanded. You did so. “Push!”

You did again, a roar ripping from your chest. A roar that ended in a surprised yip as something into your hand.

“Again,” the midwife demanded.

And you complied, baring down with everything you had. With all the might and tenacity and power your body could exert. Another battle cry echoed off the bathroom tiles, and a solid weight slid into your hand. You ripped your other hand from Silco’s grip, and pulled a wriggling newborn from the water.

“It’s a boy!” Jinx yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat.

Her brother’s face squidged, and his pink mouth opened in an announcing wail. You joined in and pulled the babe to your chest. Silco went very still behind you, scarcely breathing. Then his hands appeared over yours, cradling the baby at your chest. Like on the night you’d taken in Jinx, he pulled his legs up around you both and held tight.

Later, once the placenta had passed (something Jinx was equally horrified and enthralled by) you were helped out of the tub, and cleaned. The midwife tied off the babe’s umbilical cord, and once some time passed, you watched with an incredibly full heart as Silco severed it.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen the expression on your partner’s face. A soft, careful, wonderous thing. Then it hit you all at once. You were watching Silco fall in love. The notion took your breath away and fresh tears welled in your eyes. Jinx clung to you, and you to her.

“Thank you for being with me, Jinx. It helped.”

The girl beamed up at you, holding on tighter.

“I think it is your turn for a shower, sir,” the midwife said, twisting off the umbilical nub.

Silco watched her hands like a hawk as she did. He slid in once she finished, and wrapped him in a blanket Jinx had decorated. It was a small thing, but you caught the tremor in his hands. Keeping Jinx tucked against your side, you came to stand next to him.

“He’ll be here when you get out of the shower,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah! Go get the baby juice off you!” Jinx ordered.

Silco’s expression of awe turned to one of bemusement as he glanced at your daughter.

“Yes. I suppose I should.”

Your own hands shook a bit as you gathered your son – your son! You wondered if the shock would wear off – and ushered Jinx to follow the midwife out of the bathroom.

With no small amount of effort, your body, beyond sore and exhausted, climbed into bed. The baby cooed and nuzzled and fussed against your chest as you settled into the pillows and duvet. Jinx climbed in on the opposite side, and snuggled close.

“He’s already sleeping!”

“It’s hard work being born. Don’t you remember?” you chuckled.

Jinx laughed, “No!”

A small smile curled the midwife’s mouth as she snapped her bag shut. She turned to you and bowed her head.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said, eyes on your boy. Then you lifted them to hers, and said again, “And thank you.”

She nodded again, horns catching the light in the room.

“It was my honor.”

She gave you and the baby one last cursory check over, and took her leave.

A few moments after she left, there was a knock on the door, and Sevika stuck her head in.

“Ogre!” Jinx cried. “I gotta brother!”

Even Sevika’s presence couldn’t dampen Jinx’s mood.

Silco’s lieutenant grunted, and stepped over to the bed. She stayed at a distance though, craning her neck to peer down at you and the baby.

“Yep. That’s a baby. Congrats.”

“Thank you, Sevika.”

Behind her, Silco emerged from the foggy bathroom in a fresh pair of slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Sevika tilted her strong chin in his direction and he nodded back.

“I’ll leave you all to it then,” she said.

Her poncho twirled as she spun back to leave. As she and Silco crossed paths, a metal finger tip whipped out from beneath the red fabric, and poked his bare belly. He jolted and shuddered. He sneered at her, but she just snickered and slipped out of the room.

Silco shook his head, damp hair beginning to curl at the ends. He rounded the bed, and climbed in, sandwiching Jinx between your bodies. He leaned over the girl’s head and kissed you.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Jinx pipped.

You and Silco exchanged a look.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” he added.

Immediately, Jinx began rattling off all her suggestions.

Before a name could be decided, you fell asleep. Jinx followed shortly after; her plump cheek pressed against your shoulder. Gingerly, Silco lifted the baby from your arms, and brought him to his bare chest. The boy tensed, and then melted, a small wispy sigh leaving him.

Silco melted, too; a foreign, near indescribable softness filling him up. He brought his hand to the boy’s back, its length and width nearly covering all of him. His son was so small.

His son. His son.

Emotions gripped him so intensely he nearly choked.

Elation, love, fear.

Grief.

There was grief that his child was born technically as a citizen of Piltover. But that anguish was small compared to the other one that had been tucked away in the scar tissue of Silco’s heart ever since you had told him of the pregnancy. A pain that he hated he harbored.

The secret grief was that Vander wasn’t here to see this. The grief that his Brother had ruined any chance of participating in this milestone. The grief of Vander’s death (justified though it was) was scratched open as Silco’s son lay on his heart. The grief that, had things gone differently, Silco would’ve named the boy after his Brother.

“Sil.”

Silco’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. Your beautiful, exhausted, beautiful face shone up at him. There was a smile on your lips that he wished to taste, so he leaned over Jinx’s head again and pressed his mouth to yours.

“I told you you could do it,” he whispered leaning back. You smiled and nodded wearily.

The baby grunted and shifted against Silco’s chest, and he pet the back of his head so, so softly. It broke your heart into a million pieces, and then they jumped right back together. Your eyes slid back up to your partner’s profile.

You felt his grief, because it was yours, too.

“I know, Silco,” you whispered. He looked over to you. Jinx snored softly between. “I wish it had been different, too.”

Silco’s eyebrow dropped, and his lips softened. He glanced down at the baby on his chest, and chuckled ruefully.

“I truly don’t know what to name him.”

You shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded. You sat in silence for a while, listening to your children breath. Jinx’s raspy breaths and the baby’s snuffling. It was music to your ears. You would never tire of hearing it.

Just as you were about to doze again, you felt Silco’s energy shift. Eyes sharpening onto him, you watched as he first gently ran his fingers over Jinx’s freckled cheek. Then, so carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest so he could look at his small face.

“You and your sister will have better than we did,” he promised. “Me and your mother will give you a nation.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered open and closed, the bud of his mouth stretching into what looked like a small smile. Your throat tightened horribly, and you tucked your nose into Jinx’s crown.

When you were sure you could speak without choking, you lifted your head and said, “We promise.”

I hope part two scratched the itch <3 If you enjoy my work and would like to support me (firstly, THANK YOU!) check out my Ko-Fi page!

ko-fi.com/kiki13

#silco #silco fanfic #silco x reader #dad!silco #soft!silco #jinx #big sister jinx #silco x afab!reader #cw: pregnancy #cw: labor #drive by appearance of sevika #sevika

676 notes · View notes

curiositydooropened · 7 months ago

Text

Hell Hound • Part One

Being FWBs with metal rockstar, Eddie Munson, is all fun and games until a dozen red roses show up at your door with a warning: Stay Away from The Devil or you will die. Despite your protests, Eddie appoints his personal bodyguard to keep an eye out for you.

Pairing: bodyguard!Steve Harrington x photographer!Reader, rockstar!Eddie x Reader

Wordcount: 10, 712

Warnings: unrequited love, slowburn, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, gore, weapons, fighting, death threats, stalker *This chapter also contains allusions of voyeurism, sex, drinking, recreational drug use, religious elements

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

The interior of the L never looked that beautiful, at least not through Steve’s eyes. Every experience he’d had was tainted by Bears fans or teenagers filming videos on their phone, or God, don’t remind him about St. Patty’s Day. No, the seats were too small for his shoulders, the windows too short, and the whole thing smelled like plastic bags.

Your perspective was vastly different. You were just the right height to catch the sunlight as it filled the train car with that golden glow. The city whirred by, a kaleidoscope of bright lights and reflections off the glass. You positioned poles and handholds just so with satisfying symmetry.

No, the city had never looked as beautiful to him as it had through your lens.

Steve said that to Robin once, and she wretched over the line and made him promise he’d never repeat it to you. He hadn’t, but he’d also never let one of your photos go un-complimented.

He enjoyed the roll of your eyes, the sink of your teeth into your bottom lip as you soaked in the praise and pretended to be shy, to be embarrassed, that you hated your craft.

He’d seen that look dozens of times tonight, timid gratitude that poured out of you and onto every surface in this little gallery space. You’d caught his gaze a handful of times, reassured him with a smile that you were okay, great even, oozing with sheepish pride. He’d just nod and go back to admiring another of your photos.

“You know, we used to live in that apartment…” An elderly woman told you, bony hand clung to your forearm.

“Really? Which one?” You humored her.

“That one, just there, our first year of marriage,” the woman nodded. “Fifth floor.”

“Fourth floor!” Her husband corrected from your other side.

“It was the fifth floor, now don’t argue with me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man winked at you, and your eyes lit with mischievous delight. You nodded along, conspiratorially while the woman rambled on about the neighbors’ cat meowing and another neighbor practicing saxophone into the wee hours.

“It was so romantic,” she clutched your hand to her chest.

“It was so annoying,” the husband grinned back at you.

Fed up with her husband’s antics, the woman shot him a rueful look. Then, she patted your hand and told you how lovely your work was before asking for the powder room.

When she’d been properly directed, her husband leaned to your ear and asked how much for the photo.

Steve lingered nearby, waiting for the transactional handshake before he stepped in. “Mind if I inquire about this piece?”

You sucked your cheeks between your teeth and sidled up beside him. His bicep tingled where your skin brushed. “What questions do you have about this one?”

“Where was it taken?”

You shot him a look, and he tried not to let the smile split his face. The photo you were currently staring at was a portrait of a mom and daughter looking at their reflection in The Bean.

“How’s it going?” He elbowed you, glancing once more around the room at the patrons to your first gallery showing. He’d agreed to come run point for your opening, soft-pitching the idea for Munson to hit out of the park.

“Amazing,” you sighed, the delight on your face swooping at his stomach.

“Told you.” He grinned, and you swatted his arm and told him to shut up. He really could watch you for hours, the micro-expressions on your face prettier than any photo you could take, though your talent came up a close second.

“I thought he couldn’t make it,” you gasped, staring just past Steve’s shoulder and out the gallery’s front window.

Steve blinked once, twice. The rapid flash of headlights cast your cheekbones in shadow. He spun on his heel to find his employer and friend, Eddie Munson, slipping out of the backseat of a tinted-windowed SUV. He cursed under his breath and excused himself, shouldering through a confused crowd to meet the rockstar at the door.

“Harrington,” Eddie pushed his sunglasses through his curls, pupils blown, and flashed a wolfish grin.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” Steve responded, glancing down alleyways for any paparazzi. He knew once Eddie was spotted in public, they’d come in droves.

“And miss this? Nah, wouldn’t dream of it, Sugar.”

You’d followed Steve out into the rain, slipping through party guests to greet Eddie. The rockstar wrapped studded-leather arms around your slender waist and greeted you with something salacious whispered into your ear. Steve knew because of the shocked look stretched over beautiful features, and the way you’d swatted at Eddie’s shoulder as if he’d said something bad enough to curl your toes.

“We should get inside,” Steve grit his teeth. “Don’t want to alert the paps.”

“Come on, Sugar,” Eddie dipped into a low bow to let you enter first. “Give me the grand tour.”

—

“I think I’ll buy all the ones left,” Munson quipped with a lazy arm tugging you back into his chest.

You snorted, and shook your head. “Then no one else will be able to buy them, which is kind of the point of a gallery.” You gestured around at the carefully placed frames on carefully designed walls.

“Well, good. Maybe I want you all to myself.”

Steve’s eyes ached to roll. He collected plastic flutes and discarded trays of half-eaten vegetables and tossed them into large, black garbage sacks.

“Are you coming over tonight?”

“I just had my gallery opening,” you barked a laugh, pulling away to help Steve with the table you were leaning on. “I need to sleep.”

“You need to celebrate,” Eddie rationed, tugging you back into him. You yelped, your thumb going into a rogue slice of cake. With waggled brows, Eddie pulled your thumb into his mouth, licking it clean.

Steve thought he might be sick. He turned his back and held open the bag in front of him, just in case. Unfortunately, he could still make out your reflection in the windows out front. Your meticulously picked-out slacks hugged your curves, and Munson’s ringed fingers slipped over the breadth of your backside to squeeze you closer to him.

“Anything else you need help with?” Steve’s voice tasted awkward, a little too loud, too scratchy.

You separated from Eddie and dumped your haul into Steve’s bag. “I think that’s it. Thank you for everything, Steve. Really. And I’m serious about paying you.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” He said, twisting the bag closed with a knot.

You shot him another look and said, “Eddie, tell Steve to let me pay him.”

“You don’t take money from her, you don’t take money from me, pal.”

Steve did roll his eyes this time, and glared over your shoulder at the rockstar zipping and unzipping his leather jacket. “Yeah, we have a contract, dumb ass.”

“I’ll have my lawyer sue your lawyer.”

“Your lawyer is my lawyer.”

Eddie grinned. “He’s got me there, Sug.”

You scoffed and snatched the bag from Steve’s hand. “Fine, I’ll have to come up with some other way to repay you.”

Steve was thankful for mood lighting and the late hour. His face heated another twenty or so degrees, and he scratched at the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. “Eds, you need me to call you a car?”

“Would you mind, Stevie-dearest? Sugar, I gotta take a piss. Care to show me the can in this place?” Eddie stood up and adjusted the crotch of his tight jeans for show.

“You’re a class act, Eddie Munson. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” You gripped the hefty garbage bag in one hand and took Eddie’s hand in your other as you led him back into the office space of the warehouse. Before the heavy door closed, both of you made eyes at Steve, one friendly, the other randy.

Steve’s stomach churned, and he pulled out his phone to call a car.

Working with Eddie had been tedious, but simple. Call him a car, shield him from paparazzi and groping fans alike, bring him his hangover cure breakfast, ask beautiful women to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement before his plethora of one-night stands.

You were the toughest pill to swallow, a beautiful girl at a hometown gig.

Hometown gigs meant rowdy afterparties, venue-catered alcohol and executive-catered drugs. It meant too-lax security checkpoints and easily-bribed security detail, and after months on the road, Steve wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s bullshit. So he posted himself at the Green Room door, one eye on the metal detector, one eye on the front man who’d hired him, and prayed the ache between his shoulders would go away soon. Eight more hours and he’d be at home in bed for a long awaited and much needed vacation.

Eddie was two water bottles in, and his hand still trembled when he introduced himself to some recording mogul.

Steve snapped his fingers at some kid and told him quickly to hand Munson another bottle of water and get him a towel.

When the items had been delivered to a thankful rockstar, Steve turned back to the collection of items being tossed into plastic trays on the outside of the metal detector: a cell phone, keys with a neon carabiner, a leather wallet, a DSLR.

“Whoa, whoa,” he stopped the attendant from picking up the camera. “There’s no press on the guest list.”

“No press, just freelance,” you said from across the metal threshold. You wore a well-loved leather jacket, softened and faded with time and an expression that toed the line between compliance and try me.

Steve swallowed, shook the stars from his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sorry, this is a camera-free zone.”

You narrowed your eyes for a moment before stepping back over the threshold and against the current of waiting party-goers to fiddle with the camera.

“Here,” you cupped something in an outstretched hand, waiting patiently for Steve to accept whatever gift you had to offer.

With caution, he accepted the tiniest of SD cards, bright blue.

“Call it insurance?” You smiled, tongue behind your canine in a way that made him itch under the collar. “Find me before I leave and give it back?”

Munson had found you first, dragging Steve with clammy hands to meet his “dream girl”. He gave the signal for Steve to start pulling up the contract on his phone as he made his way down a long, concrete hallway.

You hadn’t flinched, just cocked a brow and signed your name on the dotted line with a, “Thanks, Steve. Have a great night.”

He kept your SD card. He didn’t even tell Robin that it rested on the corner of his dresser next to a picture of Dustin on his graduation day.

He assumed he’d never see you again, but Munson had grown a fondness for you, and soon you were a regular part of Chicago meet-ups. Every hometown gig became a room full of you.

Steve heard giggling from the office, that soft melodic bounce of your laugh against the bass of Eddie’s voice. This was the worst of it, catching you two in compromising positions around parties or Eddie’s ornate penthouse, and pretending like it didn’t kill him inside that it wasn’t him with his hands on you, making you laugh, smelling the warmth of your throat.

His phone buzzed in his hand.

Robin: How was the gallery opening? Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet? We on for our FaceTime date tonight?

Steve: Eddie showed up. Yup. See you in 10 hours.

Robin: Shit. I just sent you money. Buy yourself a fifth and we’ll drink it together.

A car rolled up outside, blinding him with strong headlights.

“Munson, car’s here!” He called, praying you could both hear him.

There was the shuffle of a few things in the back, and with the clack of Eddie’s boots, you both returned. You looked a little more windswept than before, and Eddie’s sunglasses has been pulled back over his eyes, despite it being nearly midnight.

“Steve,” you breathed, approaching him with arms outstretched for a friendly embrace. “Thanks again for all of your help tonight. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

He gave the tightest squeeze he could under supervision and let your hand fall into his to give you one more gentle squeeze. “Anytime. It was really no problem. Do you need a ride home?”

You shook your head, smile wedged between your teeth. “I guess Eddie wore me down.”

“Yeah I will.” He snorted, and you shushed him.

Steve nodded and started for the door. “Cool. Well, have fun, you two. Be safe.”

“Thanks, man,” Eddie knocked knuckles with his friend, rings sharp against Steve’s scarred fists. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

Steve swallowed and glanced over his shoulder to bid you one last, weak smile.

You waggled you fingers, and he stepped out into the cool night air.

—

“You are the most embarrassing person I know in real life.” Even Robin in lag was brutal.

Steve sipped his coffee and rubbed at tired eyes. He hadn’t slept much. Mostly, he scrolled and wondered exactly what you and Eddie were getting up to, wondered why it wasn’t him.

“You asked if she needed a ride home?”

“I was being polite,” he grumbled. He took a banana off its tree and began to peel. They had all begun to brown.

“You’re so sweet, Stevie. Like a little lost puppy dog.”

“Oh fuck off, Robin. Remember you and that girl in Buchapest?”

“Bucharest,” she corrected his pronunciation. “And she was merely a fleeting crush.”

“You cried over her for like three weeks.” He shot his best friend a look over the screen.

The lighting was horrible in her Istanbul flat, internet connection worse. Steve told her he’d pay for anything better, but she argued that he needed to quit babying her and let her live the nomadic experienced she’d always dreamed of.

“Okay, okay,” her connection stuttered in and out, face pixelated as she ducked out of frame and back. “So you’re going to be alone forever. That’s not so bad.”

“At least I have you.” Steve nodded, mouth full of squishy sweet banana.

He nearly choked when his phone began to ring in his hand, your name and photo popping up on the display screen. “Robin, it’s her.”

“What?”

“She’s calling me.” He held his phone to the camera on his laptop to prove a point.

“Speaker phone!” Robin squeaked.

With a sigh, he answered, phone pressed to his ear to respect your privacy. Robin glared.

“Hello?”

“Steve?” The worry in your voice had his heart kicking up in his throat.

“What’s wrong?”

Robin echoed his sentiments until he snapped his fingers and put his finger to his lips to quiet her.

“Nothing, it’s um… could you… are you busy?”

“Nope. Not busy at all,” he said. Robin threw a silent fit on her end. “What’s going on?”

“Could you just… come down to the gallery? I need your help with something.”

“Yeah,” he frowned, walked the rest of his banana to the garbage can. “Like, later today?”

“Or right now. Could you come right now? As soon as possible?”

His stomach dropped to his feet. “Yes. Yes, I will be right there. Keep the door locked until I get there.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He hung up and rushed to the door to get his shoes on. His keys and wallet were in his pocket before he heard another voice echo throughout his kitchen.

“Harrington!? Hello!? Earth to Dingus!”

“Shit,” he sidled up to his laptop. “Robin, I am so sorry.”

She managed a knowing smirk and a laggy nod. “Yeah, you owe me, big time Harrington. Text me everything that happens.”

“I love you,” he agreed.

“See you next week!”

“In real life!” He hung up before she had a chance to blabber on, and he was out the door.

—

The worry etched across your beautiful features was devastating.

Steve yearned to wrap you into his arms and promise he’d protect you, to kiss the frown lines from between your brows, to tickle at your ribs until you smiled again.

Instead, he stood three feet away, inspecting a bouquet of three dozen red roses that had been delivered to the gallery that morning with a note attached.

Roses are Red

Beauty is You

Stay away from the Devil

Before he kills you

A printed photograph was pinned to the card, a pap photo from a gala you and Eddie had attended together a few weeks ago. Eddie’s shoulders were squeezed into a rhinestoned blazer, flash reflecting off his sunglasses. Devil horns and a tale had been crudely drawn over his features in red ball point pen. You stood beside him, hand-in-hand, curves standing out in a black silk dress. One small strap was dangling off your shoulder. The same pen was used to etch slash marks through your exposed throat, so hard it had ripped through the page.

“Is this… like Eddie wouldn’t do this, right?” Your voice shook, hand trembling against your cheekbone. You balled a tissue into your fist.

“No! God no,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, Jesus, I hope not.” He muttered under his breath. “Have you called him?”

You shrugged, nodded. “I tried, and texted. He was still asleep when I left.”

Steve cleared his throat with a nod, remembering you’d gone home with the rockstar. You probably slipped out of black silk sheets and into the black and grey marbled shower. You probably toed around in front of the massive high-rise window, searching for various garments that had been removed on every inch of the house. Maybe you’d made yourself a latte, with a splash of lavender like you like it, wearing an oversized black hoodie that smelled of weed and cigarettes and some cologne Steve couldn’t afford.

“I can try again,” you fished your phone from your back pocket and dialed.

Steve plucked the card from the roses for any indication of a delivery service or floral company, but the card was blank, ivory, high-quality. “Who delivered these?”

“Old guy, balding, green vest,” you shrugged.

Steve nodded.

“Hey, Sugar,” Eddie’s voice rasped over speaker. “S’matter. Did you leave something here, or d’you just miss me?”

“No, um…” You changed your balance from one foot to the other. “Eds, did you send me roses?”

“Fuck, you want me to eat you out and send you roses?” The rockstar chuckled.

Steve swallowed and didn’t dare look at you directly. He felt the heat radiating off of you as you frantically turned off speaker-phone and held the device to your ear, covering your face with a hand.

“No, babe, Jesus. I got a delivery of roses today with a um…” Your voice trembled again.

Steve brushed delicate fingers to your arm and held out his hand to take the phone.

You gave it willingly.

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sighed.

“Harrington? What is going on? Am I still asleep?”

“No, dude, she called me when she couldn’t get ahold of you. Listen, there’s this big bouquet of roses here with a death threat attached. You didn’t have anything to do with this, right? It’s not some kind of prank?”

“A death threat? What do you mean? A prank? Jesus, how shitty of a person do you think I am? Is she okay? I’m coming down there.”

Steve winced around the shuffle of bedsheets and the sound of Eddie clomping around his bedroom.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, dude. Here, let me send you a picture.”

Steve took his own phone out to take and send a photo, rifling past a barrage of text messages from Robin.

You’d propped yourself on the reception desk, eyes darting between the flowers and outside. The morning light poured in, hollowing your cheekbones and painting your walls pink.

Steve reached for your elbow, running his thumb over the bit of skin there to pull your focus back.

You offered a sheepish smile and squeezed his wrist.

“Oh what the fuck?” Eddie yelled through the phone, startling you both.

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Steve agreed, rubbing at tired eyes.

“Is she okay? Let me talk to her. Wait, Harrington, do you think it’s Carver?”

Steve’s blood ran cold.

Jason Carver was a religious zealot from a small town with a vendetta for Eddie Munson and “demons like him”. Two years ago, his army of his cronies marched to a Corroded Coffin show in Milwaukee and set the place on fire. They managed to get everyone out of the bar before the roof collapsed. More Molotovs were thrown before the cops arrived.

Since Carver wasn’t in attendance and denied any involvement in inciting the riot, he received a slap on the wrist and no jail time. The band did manage an airtight restraining order, but Steve doubted that looped in contact with Munson’s hook-ups.

He cursed under his breath.

“Yeah, fuck is right. Let me talk to her. Don’t let her leave your sight. I’ll pay you triple if I have to. Twenty-four hour surveillance. You hear me?”

“Don’t worry about the cash, man,” Steve shook his head. “I won’t leave her. I’m going to call the delivery company and see if they can give me any more information on the purchase, and then I’ll call Joyce and see if she can’t get her written into the restraining order.”

“Thank you, man. I want you to take her home to get her stuff and then bring her over here. If it is him, he can’t get to her here.”

Steve hated that he was right.

“Put her on for me. Thanks again, bro.”

With a resigned sigh, Steve slipped the phone back into your trembling hands.

He overheard Eddie’s tone slip into something softer, “Sugar, how’re you doing? Are you alright? I’m so so sorry this happened to you, my sweet girl.”

You gave Steve’s hand one more squeeze before you wandered off across the gallery for some privacy in your phone call.

Steve opened his browser to began searching for the delivery company’s number with a pit in his stomach and an unfillable ache in his chest.

—

Robin: OMFG that’s so scary. Is she ok? Are you ok? Is Eddie ok? I’m going to be there in a week, plz don’t get murdered.

—

Your keys clicked in the lock, and you toed open the door to your little apartment. Light poured in through large windows, casting warmth on the small space that the dark hallway hid. You stepped in first, and Steve followed with trepidation.

He’d never been to your house, and when he walked over the threshold, he was overpowered by how you it felt. The whole place smelled of you, of your shampoo and the perfume you spritz on special nights. Your little kitchen table was scattered with stacks of old mail and rolls of film. A laptop sat open on a squishy futon sofa. Beneath your television were a handful of films he knew you loved.

“How long um… how much should I pack?” You squinted, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry,” you sighed. “This is a lot, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

Once again, he felt the ache to pull you into him, to whisper sweet words into your hair. Instead he gestured to a bar stool. “Take a seat. Take a breath. I’m going to check the house, if that’s alright.”

He winced as your face flooded with realization, and fear.

“It’s probably fine. I just want to be safe.” He tried to sound nonchalant, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You swallowed, nodded, gestured for him to go ahead. “Sorry it’s a mess.”

He waved you off with a knowing smile and started down the hallway, relieved when he turned to see you sitting as instructed. You’d been on your feet all day, making arrangements with the gallery owners to have someone take your shift for the evening and tomorrow. When you weren’t on the phone or emailing buyers, you were staring out the windows, a far-off gaze in your eye. You held that now, looking down your living room windows at the busy downtown street below.

Steve took the first door to the left and found a small bathroom. Some tiles in the corner were cracked, and the sink was scattered with the remnants of a makeup bag, a toothbrush. The bathtub’s curtain was pulled back to reveal a loofah dangling from the faucet.

Your bedroom waited at the end of the hall. His fingertips pushed the door open, breath shallow, face warm.

Sage green linens were crumpled on your bed with three overstuffed pillows. Dirty clothes littered your floor in piles leading to and from the closet. That black satin dress topped an armchair, the strap snapped.

Steve swallowed.

A hefty dresser sat to the right of the door, the top scattered with trinkets and photographs. He was surprised to find his own image scowling back at him, arms crossed, black t-shirt on, leaning against a concrete wall. The sun hit him just so, framing his eyes like a superhero mask, the rest of him cast in shadow. God, all of the world really was better through your lens.

“All clear?” Your soft voice startled him.

He cleared his throat, cheeks warm, to find you at the doorway, hugging your arms to yourself. He smiled. “Clear. I’ll just wait in the front room.” He gestured to slip past you.

“Actually, do you mind hanging out? It’ll only take a second.” You gestured for him to sit on the bed before you scampered about your room, picking up the dirty clothes and depositing them into the hamper.

He remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed like they were in the photo. “Get enough for a couple of days if you want, but we’re going to get this figured out.”

You wore your anxiety like a jacket, hunched shoulders and furrowed brow, a shell of the vibrant woman he knew.

He took a few steps forward, halting your frantic shoving of clothes in a backpack.

You blinked back up at him, eyes wide, hands trembling.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You laughed then, a manically sound that didn’t meet your eyes. “Steve, am I just insane? Or stupid? Am I the dumbest person in the entire world?”

“What?” He tried not to focus on the way your hair haloed around your face, light pouring in through gossamer curtains.

“I knew the novelty of sleeping with a rockstar would wear off eventually, but I was thinking like he’d cheat on me with a super model or maybe I’d get a curable STD, but not this.” It was the most you’d spoken all day, your old self sinking back into your voice.

Steve smiled, itched at the back of his neck, shrugged. “Eddie’s a very charming man.”

You rolled your eyes. “I mean, okay, Eddie’s good, but he’s not death-threats good.”

Steve felt a little surge of excitement at this knowledge, maybe a bit of competition sparking in him again. “Sure, but he’s a good guy. He really likes you.”

“I think he calls me ‘Sugar’ because he forgot my real name and got too embarrassed to ask.”

Your confession had Steve’s jaw on the floor, and when you laughed, he felt light as air. This time your laugh met your eyes, met your mouth, your cheeks. You swatted at his chest.

“Steve, you were supposed to tell me that’s not true.”

Steve snickered and merely shrugged.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” You pushed past him and to the bathroom to start collecting your toiletries. The anxiety was temporarily snuffed and replaced with the ease of routine, of being in your space surrounded by your things, and Steve felt himself relax a bit knowing you were comfortable.

—

Joyce: Got it taken care of, sweetheart. Hop says he’ll file a report and to let him know if you need an extra hand. Dinner next weekend? Steak and potatoes? Take care of yourself.

25 Notifications

Mail

Calendar

Messages

Instagram

DoorDash

—

Munson pulled his ragged hair up into a bun with a hair tie he kept around his wrist. Steve often wondered if it was yours, or if the rockstar pulled it from the locks of some groupie on the road, long nights spent in truck stops and blues houses. The tie had lost some elasticity over the years, and tendrils managed to fall into the man’s eyes, and even still, he looked cool, casual, calm.

He was anything but calm. His knee bounced as he took a glass of water from Steve filled for him. “What did I do wrong, man?”

Steve sighed and sat across from him, back to massive windows overlooking the city lights. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to be caught in the middle of this tiff you were having.

“I mean, I just want to keep her safe. I’m the one that got her in this mess in the first place.” Eddie extended an inked arm toward his bedroom door. You’d been in there for over an hour now, having excused yourself to bed for the night.

You’d made a point that you were going to bed alone.

“Should I not have told her how I feel?”

Steve pinched at this bridge of his nose, eyes tired and struggling to focus in a room of black velour upholstery and gold trim.

The spat started when Eddie informed you he’d booked your ticket to join him in England for the next few months while Corroded Coffin records their next album. It ended when Eddie, on bended knees, hands gripping your ribcage, told you he loved you.

Steve watched the entire exchange awkwardly from the kitchen, trying to blend in with white marble countertops.

Apparently, today was a day for firsts. He’d never seen you as nervous as he had in the gallery that morning, and he’d never seen you as angry. You were the silent type, but he felt the rage radiating off of your frame, the clench of your jaw, the subtle brush of Eddie’s hands from your waist.

He caught your gaze when you exited the room, and your demeanor shifted to apologetic, embarrassed maybe. He managed a tight-lipped smile and a wave.

“Harrington,” Eddie snapped his fingers. “Come on, you’re good with women, right? Help me out.”

Steve snorted. He’d been good with women, sure, but not since you waltzed into his life with your SD card and that smirk.

“How do we make up?” Munson’s shoulders were hunched, face fraught with worry.

With another drawn out sigh, Steve shrugged. “Give her space, man. She had a really scary day. You remember your first death threat, right? She needs time to process and not for you to demand she be shipped off to another country for two months.”

Eddie nodded, too much, too exuberantly. “Okay, okay. You’re right. That makes sense. I just…” He lowered his voice. “I just don’t want to lose her.”

That emotion, Steve understood. It was a fear that prickled at the base of his neck anytime Eddie winked at another girl in the front row, anytime he had his arms looped over two women backstage, anytime his phone sat on the coffee table between them with Sugar blowing up the notifications, neglected. Didn’t Eddie know what he had in you?

“We won’t.” He shook his head.

Eddie nodded. “You’re a good man, Steve Harrington. I’m sure going to miss you.”

Steve frowned at that, arms crossed over his chest. “Miss me? The hell are you talking about?”

“When I’m in England,” Eddie explained, reaching forward for the tin lunch box he kept tucked under the coffee table. The lid hid the glass with a clang, and he reached in for rolling papers, a lighter, and a ziplock bag full of weed.

“Are you firing me?” Steve wasn’t following.

Munson snorted, rolled a neat joint, licked it closed. “Harrington, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

Steve warmed, as he often did when someone complimented him, and frowned. “Cut the crap. What’re you talking about?”

“You’re going to stay here, with her.” He nodded your direction and lit up, flame glowing in big, brown eyes while he took a drag. He held onto it for a minute, shoulders going slack, knee stopping its bounce. He tilted his head against the back of the couch and released a large billow of smoke skyward, casting the room in a sickly sweet haze.

“She’s right, man,” he continued. “It’s not fair of me to take her from her gallery. She worked too hard for this.”

He sat up, offered the joint to his friend. Steve declined, head already starting to spin.

Eddie shrugged and took another hit. “I need you to protect her.”

Steve nodded. That was the easiest thing his friend had ever asked him to do.

“While I’m away, think you could do me another favor?

More smoke billowed from the man’s pink lips, that familiar Munson charm tugging at the corners of his mouth until his teeth were bared in that irresistible grin he was so famous for. He leaned forward then, gesturing for Steve to meet him at the center of the coffee table.

Steve leaned forward, and then a little more when the gesturing didn’t stop, rolling his eyes. “What now?”

Eddie’s smile fell to something far more serious, concern etched in his features, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes big like a baby deer in the headlights. Steve had only seen him this scared a handful of times. “I need you to use those killer wingman skills of yours to make her fall in love with me.”

Steve’s mouth almost fell open. He had to clench his jaw to keep from doing so, blinking across the six-inch gap at his friend. He could taste the weed on the other boy’s lips, the sweat off his brow.

“Please, man. I can’t lose her.”

—

Robin: You said yes!? How much do you actually hate yourself, Harrington?

Steve: You don’t want me to answer that, do you?

Robin: Was it the baby deer eyes?

Steve: Obviously.

Steve thanked Becky at the front desk with a wink, desperate the ego stroke he got every time she smiled at him like he hung the moon on a string.

Mood boosted, he balanced the coffee order in one hand and his phone in the other and ducked into the nearest elevator that would take him to the penthouse.

Steve: What do we think of Front Desk Becky?

Robin: You leave that sweet girl out of this.

Sufficiently deflated by his wise best friend, Steve keyed in the code to Eddie’s penthouse and let himself back in. Your sneakers remained on the entry rug, camera bag discarded on a nearby table.

Eddie’s bedroom door was open, satin sheets crumpled and pillows stacked to accommodate one. Upon quick glance, the ceiling mirror reveled the room to be empty.

Steve frowned. He hoped he hadn’t woken you.

He pressed forward down the hall and into the open living space, setting the cardboard coffee carrier on the kitchen island before turning to find you pressed against the glass, silhouetted in pink morning sunlight. Eddie’s face was buried into your neck, hands unseen, and your eyelids were heavy, pink lips bowed in ecstasy.

Steve froze. He knew he should look away, leave the room, make a noise, but his gaze lingered on the soft skin of your thigh hitched up Eddie’s leg, the curve of your calf, the point of your toe.

He could hear his heartbeat thundering, breath held, desperate not to make a sound or to scream and run.

Eddie dipped to his knees, mouth finding purchase lower on your chest.

Steve caught your gaze. Your eyes widened, and you shoved Eddie away from you and scrambled to cover bare skin with an oversized black hoodie.

“Steve,” you breathed, and Jesus it was dizzying. “I’m so sorry. I thought you left.” You pulled the hoodie down in a vain attempt at covering your thighs, looking everywhere but at the bodyguard in the kitchen.

He felt his own face warm, tapping fingertips to the countertops. His throat felt tight, a loss for words. His pants felt tighter.

“I ordered us coffee, Sugar,” Munson recovered the quickest, taking your hand to help himself off the floor and lead you into the kitchen.

You resisted his pull, taking a few steps back to say, “I’m going to get ready.”

“Need help?” Eddie waggled his eyebrows, grinning like a dog. Steve tried to ignore how wet the man’s lips looked.

You shook your head, venturing a glance Steve’s direction and looking immediately away when you were caught. Then you slunk off back to the bedroom from whence you came.

When he finally heard the click of the door, Steve frowned at his employer. “Guess I should’ve knocked.”

Eddie waggled his brows at Steve, too, taking his cup from the carrier and managing a sip.

Steve was ready with an ice water to cool the man’s burned tongue. “Does this mean you made up?”

Eddie shook his head fervently, tonguing at his water like a dog. “Hell no. She told me she’s going to the gallery today because, and I quote, she ‘can’t be held hostage in this velvet prison forever’.”

Steve grinned over his own steaming coffee and shrugged in commiseration to his friend.

Eddie nodded, took a gentler sip of his own coffee this time. “Had to shut her up when she started telling me to ‘have fun in the UK’ and maybe I should look up some old friends while I’m there.”

Steve swallowed and nodded. “I mean, Lizzie.”

“Don’t make me pin you to that window, Harrington,” the rockstar warned, inked finger extended with a scowl.

Steve followed his point to the window, wherein he could just make out the smudges of four distinct handprints, two much smaller than the others. There was also the faintest of smudges where your ass had been pressed against the glass. Steve coughed at the saliva gathering in his mouth.

“Eds?” You called upon reentry, voice echoing off concrete floors. “I’m leaving. I’ll… call you or something.” You were dressed and you had a tube of lipgloss in your hand, uncorked.

Eddie scrambled for you, scooping you up in his arms.

You stiffened, glancing up at the bodyguard keeping watch in the corner.

Steve swallowed, made himself look busy.

“Sugar, Steve’s going to keep an eye on you, just until we figure this death threat thing out, okay?” Eddie cleared the hair from your face.

Steve glanced back up to see you roll your eyes.

“I don’t need a babysitter. No offense, Steve.” You held a hand up to him.

“He’s not a babysitter,” Eddie snapped, “and he’s going to keep you safe. I can’t lose you. You hear me?” He pulled your gaze back to him, cupping your small jaw in large hands. “I love you.”

“Eddie,” you winced, tugging at his wrists.

The rockstar dropped his hands, shoulders hunched in defeat, and he turned to give Steve a pleading look before he turned back to you. “Alright, Sug. I’ll see you in two months. I’ll call as often as I can.”

“Okay,” you nodded and allowed him to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

—

Your lipstick stained the lid of your lavender latte, peachy pink. Your nails were freshly manicured for the gallery opening, and you always wore that delicate gold ring on your middle finger.

You set your cup on the countertop and didn’t look up from your laptop to say, “If you’re bored, you don’t have to stay here. I promise I’ll tell Eddie I never left your sight.”

Steve smiled over his own cup. “I’m not bored.” To appear occupied, he settled onto the desk behind yours and pulled out his phone.

The first image on his feed was yours, something you’d managed to snap of the old woman and her husband from the opening. They stared at the portrait of their apartment building, hand-in-hand, and you’d taken it at just the right instant, when the husband was smiling down at his wife.

Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Jones • Chicago

The gallery opening was everything I’d ever hoped for. Thank you to all sponsors and patrons who attended and to everyone who helped pull this together. If you’d like to check out my work, please drop by the gallery and say hello.

Steve hummed to himself, double-tapping, and typed a comment.

sharrington: Best gallery opening I’ve been to.

“Steve,” you scolded, “quit commenting on my shit. I’m standing right here.” It was the first smile he’d seen since yesterday.

“Oh, sorry,” he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest again to say, “Yours was the best gallery opening I’ve been to.”

That beautiful smile tugged even higher on your cheeks, despite your eye roll. “It was the only gallery opening you’ve been to.”

“You don’t know that,” he feigned offense.

You cocked a brow, bursting his facade until you were both snickering a laugh.

“Okay, but come on,” he pushed himself off the desk and strolled out into the open gallery. Egg shell white walls were naturally lit by skylights and the fourth glass wall of the small space. “This place was packed with people obsessed with your work, myself included.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, but remained behind the shelter of your desk. “Which one’s your favorite?”

A bubble of giddy excitement kicked in his chest, and he turned to face your artwork. The sunlight reflecting off the lake was good, the streak of streetlights in the rain, a collection of big, red brick buildings: all of these were his favorite. You’d managed to capture his city in unique and beautiful ways.

He pointed at each one and glanced back to see you shaking your head, eyes brightening and mouth failing to hide that smile.

Finally, he found that photo of the L he was admiring that night and wrapped his knuckles near it. “This one. You managed to capture no plastic bags.”

You rolled your eyes, but let his gesture pull you from your desk. “You can’t see it, but there was one caught around my ankle when I took the shot.”

Steve laughed. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.”

You sucked your cheeks in a pout and glanced down the row at all of your photos, your accomplishments on display. “Steve,” you muttered. “Can I… vent for a second?”

“Of course,” he nodded, turning to face you, giving you his undivided attention.

You turned your body toward him as well, hands tucked under your arms. “It’s about Eddie.”

Steve felt his brow raise, but he nodded, miming the zip of his lips and extending you the key.

You chewed around another smile and extended your hand for him to place the invisible key into and wrapped your beautiful fingers around it. Then, you looked back at your photograph and chewed on your words.

Steve leaned forward to catch your gaze, pull your focus back on him.

You sighed, shrugged. “It’s just… Eddie’s used to having women fall at his feet and do whatever he says, isn’t he?”

Steve tried to keep his expression stoic, but it was hard when he thought of all the bras he’d kicked off of a stage, all of the groupies Eddie fingered in the wings, all of the women he’d had to call a ride share for to ensure they got home safely, too wobbly on their legs to drive.

You barked a laugh. “I know he is because I’m one of them.” You didn’t seem amused.

Steve frowned, shook his head. You deserve more credit than that. You weren’t like the others, not by a long shot.

“He came to my opening, right? He saw how important this was to me. Hell, he told you to help me run it because he had faith in me that it was going to be big.” You gestured around wildly as you spoke, frustration building in your tone. “And yet, he expects me to just pack up everything and fly to England for two months?”

Steve swallowed, chewing on his own words now.

“I know, it’s because he’s worried about me, and I do appreciate that, but it’s also like… I feel like he didn’t know what he had in me until he saw me get spooked, and now he’s trying to lock me down.” You frowned. “I can’t be broken. I’m not a horse.”

Steve nodded.

You paused a moment longer before looking into his eyes again. “If I ask you something, you promise to be honest with me?”

He nodded again, slowly. He’d do anything for you.

“Do you think he’s really in love with me?”

Steve’s heart shattered at the hope that lingered in your voice. He swallowed, remembered his promise to Eddie, and nodded.

You let out another strained laugh, as though you couldn’t believe it, and centered yourself before asking another. “Do you think he’s going to sleep with other women while he’s away?”

Again, Steve steeled himself with a deep breath, and shook his head. Eddie wouldn’t if he knew what was good for him, and what was good for him was you.

You cocked a brow, unbelieving of this answer, and toyed with another question in your mind for a moment. “Do you think I should go with him to England?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, gesturing around at your beautiful gallery. Two months with Eddie Munson wasn’t worth giving all of this up. If he was serious, and he really did love you, he’d prove it to you when he got back.

Your lips ticked upwards at that answer. “Hey, this zipped-lip Steve thing is kind of fun. I should have made you shut up a long time ago.”

Steve rolled his eyes and snorted at your delight.

You reached your hands out to grab his, swinging them back and forth between the two of you. Your hands were warm and and small and soft. “Hey, Steve, is there something you really, really want to tell me, but can’t? Because you can, you know.” You smirked. “This is a safe space. We’re all friends here.”

Sunlight poured in through the windows, casting your face in a golden glow. Your eyes sparkled, cheeks round, lips that soft, peachy pink.

There were so many things he wanted to say to you, he didn’t know where to start. So he caressed the backs of your hands with his thumbs and nudged you ever-closer.

The toes of your sneakers touched. Your eyelashes batted. You tilted your face skyward to look up at him. You licked your lips.

God, he wished he could kiss you. He wished he could taste the lavender of your latte and the length of your throat. He wished he could press you to the glass and let the world know you were his. He wished he could tell you every day for the rest of his life how beautiful you are, how talented you are, how perfect you are.

The smile fell from your face. You released one of his hands to brush hair from his forehead.

He held his breath.

You searched his gaze for something, your own features filled with worry, and you nodded. “You’re really scared about this Jason Carver guy, huh?”

Steve blinked. He’d forgotten entirely about the roses, the death threat, the reason he’d been paid to spend time with you, to watch over you, to protect you.

He cleared his throat and looked down at your hand in his. He brushed the back of it again with his thumb. His throat was tight, voice raw. “I just want to keep you safe.”

A bell rang, putting a few feet between you. You adjusted your hair and straightened your top before shooting him a ‘wish me luck’ look and stepping away to greet your newest buyer.

—

Hopper: No leads on that delivery. I’ve got Callahan asking around. Powell’s looking into Carver. Keep me posted on other developments.

Steve tapped nervous fingers to the deli’s glass countertops, craning his neck for a vantage on your gallery windows.

You’d practically forced him out, insisting this was your favorite sandwich place in town and nothing else would suffice. When he offered to pay for delivery, you reminded him how uncomfortable you felt with deliverers right now and promised you’d lock the door behind him. He wished he could have convinced you to join him.

“Dude, we’re going as fast as we can,” the sandwich artist snapped, cutting pastrami into thin slices.

Steve frowned back at him, confused for a moment, before taking his hand from the glass and shoving it into his jeans pocket. “Oh, sorry.” His foot tapped instead.

An 80s love ballad played over the speakers, and the whole place smelled of cold cuts. A small line had formed behind the counter of people going about their day-to-day.

Steve looked at each one of them as a suspect. Though, he was pretty sure Babushka in the headscarf wasn’t eliciting death threats to beautiful girls via three dozen red roses. She felt more like the cast-a-spell type.

He snorted and glanced back out the window just in time to see a black car pull up to the gallery. A man stepped out.

“Forty-five?” The deli employee called out.

Steve took a few steps toward the window, squinting against the glare to see a tall man with white hair approach the glass. He wrapped two knuckles on the front door. You met him there.

“Dude, your sandwiches!” The guy behind the counter called, and Steve cursed, grabbing them with a thanks and a nod.

He glanced up just in time to see you unlocking and opening the gallery door, and he began to run your direction.

“Hey, man! You forgot your pickles! Asshole…”

The wind whipped at his ears, and he nearly ran out in front of a moving vehicle. The driver honked and flipped him off, and Steve waited for him to pass before checking both ways and crossing to get to you again.

He made a mental note of the black car’s license plate: GCCF and swung open the gallery door with a ring of the bell.

The man stood beside you, tall and lanky, with broad shoulders and a haircut that hadn’t changed since the early 70s. He wore a grey suit, and a black tie, and a smile as he admired your photos.

You smiled at Steve from across the space and waved.

Relief warmed Steve’s spine, and he toed to the desktop to place the sandwich bag, careful not to make any noise so he could overhear bits of your conversation.

“That sounds like an amazing opportunity,” you said, even-keeled, though Steve knew you were bursting inside. “I’m honored for the invitation.”

“I’m glad you agree,” the man chuckled. “Your talent really is a gift to this city, and we’ll be proud to display your work in our halls.”

You were beaming. Steve’s stomach flipped.

“Now, our guests usually love to speak with the artists featured in the auction. Are you free Friday evening? Could I coax you to attend?” The man turned to face you now, reaching into his inside pocket for something.

Steve took two steps forward.

The man extended you a small, white slip of paper.

You read it over with a tight-lipped nod. Then you smiled. “I would love to go.”

“Excellent,” the man nodded. “It is black tie. Could I give my assistant the name of a plus-one?”

You swallowed before answering. “Sure, Steve Harrington.”

Steve felt his face warm, and he nearly tripped over a power cord stepping back behind the desk.

The man you were speaking to nodded with a knowing smile and glanced down at his watch. “Well, unfortunately I must be going. I have a lunch meeting to attend. Good timing too, it seems as if your lunch has arrived, and it smells delicious.” He ventured a glance Steve’s direction, and the bodyguard squared his shoulders.

“Thank you so much for dropping by, and for your business. I look forward to the event.” You smiled, extending a hand for the stranger to shake.

He reciprocated your gesture. “Thank you for your work, my dear. It is breathtaking. Expect that deposit by end of day, and we’ll see you Friday evening. Have a great day.”

“You too.”

Steve watched you watch the man walk to the door and get into his car. Your chest was still, breath held until the black car was started and began to drive.

Then, you began to jump up and down, screaming, like a teenaged girl who had just been asked to prom.

Steve frowned, shaking his t-shirt to dry the sweat that clung to his back. “What’s going on?”

You grinned and did an adorable little skip and hop back to your desk, sliding two pieces of paper across for him to read. Then, you broke into the sandwich bag.

Steve peered down at a stark white business card with grey lettering, and a matching invitation.

Martin Brenner

Founder and CEO

Gifted Children of Chicago Foundation

Annual Gala and Live Auction

“So, this guy, Brenner or whatever,” you explained, peeling the parchment paper from your bread, “just came in and bought my entire playground collection. Can you believe it? All nine photos. He said he’s going to hang them in the halls of his school.” The sound that came from your lips exceeded dogs’ hearing in pitch.

Steve bit back a smile to let you continue.

You took a huge bite of your sandwich first, olive oil clinging to the corner of your lips and dripping down the back of your hand.

Steve shook a napkin from the paper bag and handed it to you.

You thanked him, mouth full, and swallowed before mopping your face. “Then he says he wants to offer up another one of my pieces in their annual live auction.”

Steve snapped a photo of the two cards and sent them to his contacts in the police force for some background information, nodding to let you know he was listening.

“Do you own a tuxedo, by the way?” You asked, cheek chipmunked.

Steve frowned back at you. He’d been head of security for Corroded Coffin for upwards of six years. He’d been to more award shows than he could count. Of course he had a tuxedo.

“What?” You feigned innocence, cracking into one of the sodas you’d pulled from the vending machine while you waited for Steve to return. “If you have to be my new bodyguard, I can’t go to this gala alone.”

He sighed and began to neatly unfold his own sandwich, lettuce falling every which way. “Yes, I have a tuxedo.”

“Really?” You grinned. “I should bring my camera.”

He shot you a look. “You going to tell me why you unlocked the door for a random stranger while I was picking up your lunch?”

You swallowed. “He sent me an email?”

Steve maintained eye contact while he popped the tab on his own soda, shoulders squared. He felt like a dad every time he interrogated Eddie for late nights out with no correspondence. The stance didn’t translate well to Robin over text.

“I figured I could take an old man,” you shrugged.

Steve cocked an eyebrow.

You sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Satisfied, for now, Steve took a bite into his sandwich and stared back down at the business card on the tabletop, hoping this guy didn’t have any ties to Carver or whoever it was that sent you that note.

“No pickles?” You frowned, peeking into the mostly empty paper sack.

—

1 Voicemail

Hey, kid. It’s Hopper. Brenner’s one of Chicago elites, but as far as we know he’s harmless. He runs that school for gifted kids. Real pillar of the community type. Could be mob ties, but who the hell in this city doesn’t have mob ties?

Couldn’t find anything on the delivery company, and no florists in town filled orders that big. Something’s definitely off. Powell spoke to Carver’s assistant, but he was out of the office. Keep an eye out.

Joyce wanted me to invite you and the girl to dinner. Stay safe, kid. Let me know if anything else comes up.

Lucas: All safely on the plane and ready for take off. England won’t be the same without you, man. Take care.

Eddie: Ready for take off. Thanks for taking care of my girl, big man. See you in two months.

Robin: You’re sitting in your car watching her apartment? You’re a creep, Harrington. Please tell me you don’t know the color of her bra tonight.

Steve groaned and rubbed at tired eyes.

He hated that he knew your bra was a soft, stone grey. He’d seen the strap slip down your arm. You’d caught it and pushed it back up, mid-conversation with a browser this afternoon.

He glanced up from the glare of his phone at your open front window. He couldn’t see anything substantial from this vantage, just the shadows cast on dimly lit ceilings as you moved around your home.

Maybe Robin was right, maybe he should go home and rest. No more threats had been issued today, that he knew of. You seemed to be less afraid than you were the day before, and with Eddie gone, maybe you weren’t in as much harm as you had been. Still, something gnawed at him.

Steve startled when his phone began vibrating in his hand. Your name, and a photo of you grinning back at him, filled his little car with light. He answered. “Hello?”

“I can see you.”

Steve gulped and shifted to look back up at your window. You stood there in an oversized sweatshirt, waggling your fingers.

“Come inside, please.”

“What?”

“Bring your fedora and binoculars and come on up. I’ll buzz you in.”

You met him at the door in baggy clothes with two glasses of wine in your hand. You waited for him to step out of his shoes and shrug off his jacket before handing him one glass, and then you led him to the little futon propped up into a sofa near a loved coffee table.

A few candles burned, casting everything in flickered shadows. The place smelled of lavender and honey and smoky amber.

“So,” you raised an eyebrow, sipping from your glass. You pulled your legs up to be crossed and tilted yourself to face him. “Tell me about this Carver guy.”

Steve frowned, stretching an arm across the back of the couch to appear comfortable.

“Well, if it’s serious enough that Eddie’s got you staking out my apartment, I need to know who I’m up against.” You frowned, taking another sip from your glass, the legs spilling from your sweet lips and back into the liquid.

Charity events attracted a diverse crowd, metal bands and church groups converging for the greater cause, their own positive PR. Knocked elbows at the start of the night often led to knockouts once the open bar started flowing. The mob made connections and burned bridges and somehow, the world kept turning.

One such event, Steve had eyes on Munson from across the room. The rockstar was flirting with some senator-to-be or another, a good friend of the Obamas, if he remembered correctly. Sinclair had eyes on the other band members at other tables. They all seemed happy, buzzed, low-key despite studded tuxedos.

Steve clocked the approach before Eddie had. A blonde man in a white suit caught sight and B-lined from near the stage.

Steve crossed to intercept him, stopping the young man with two fingers to his chest before he could get around the final linen-covered table. “Can I help you?”

The stranger’s face split in a menacing grin that sent chills down his spine. Never in his life had Steve felt something so cold. All his instincts went on high alert, fight or flight. One fist clenched at his side.

“I was just hoping for a little tête-á-tête with Mr. Munson,” the man gestured a hand out.

Steve dropped his hand, noticing the steel tie pin in the shape of a cross. “He’s busy at the moment, but let me take down your information, and we’ll see if we could find time for you at a later function.”

“Are you his secretary or his babysitter?” Still with the grin, dead between the eyes.

“Why? You looking for a playdate?” Steve squared his shoulders, inches taller than the other man.

“I’m just looking to ask one question.”

“Shoot,” Eddie approached from behind Steve, shoulders squared in the same manner as his bodyguard.

The other man tucked his hand into white jacket, and Steve stuck his hand in front of Eddie, just in case, until Carver retrieved his business card and handed it over. Sleek, white, with grey lettering.

Reverend Jason Carver

Faithful Servant of Christ

“Do you, Mr. Munson, take responsibility for casting yourself and all of your followers to the very depths of Hell to burn for an eternity?”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of Carver, but he could feel Eddie’s grin growing beside him.

“You’re damn right I do.”

Carver seemed just as pleased with this answer as the rockstar had been. He nodded, an odd twinkle in his eye, and said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Munson. I hope you and your hell hound have a lovely evening.”

That was the one and only time Steve had met the man, and he’ll never forget the weight of his presence.

You’d set your wine glass on the coffee table beside his, and you were curled closer now, frown creasing your sweet brow. “And then he burned that place down in Milwaukee?”

Steve sighed, playing with a loose thread on the futon, fingertips dangerously close to your shoulder. He wished he could sweep your hair back, kiss the crease from your forehead, reassure you he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

“Well, first, he had all of the funding pulled from that almost-senator, set her up for public exposure, basically ruined her entire life. When asked to comment, he said ‘jezebels and harlots get what they deserve’. Fucking asshole.” Steve scoffed.

There was a far-off look in your eye, like you were considering the weight of those words when compared to you.

Without a second thought, Steve brushed his knuckles against your cheek, pulling your focus back to him. “Hey, you know I’ll never let anyone hurt you, right?”

You surprised him by leaning into his touch, nodding. You released a shaky laugh, your voice caught in your throat. “I was really trying to be brave.”

Steve smiled, and opened his mouth to tell you you were, to tell you you were beautiful, to tell you he’s been in love with you from the moment he met you because you were all of those things.

Your phone began ringing, loud and incessant, a vibration from the coffee table that lit up the room with a photo of Eddie’s face.

You ducked away from Steve’s touch and patted at warmed cheeks, reaching for your phone. “I should probably get this.”

Steve nodded, cleared his throat, reached forward to take a long swig of alcohol. It went down dry.

“I actually think I’ll go to bed.” You silenced your phone and stood up, backing slowly from the living room. “You don’t mind the futon, right? Here are some extra blankets and a pillow.” You gestured toward a little wicker basket beside the sofa. “Use whatever you’d like in the bathroom.”

Steve stood to mirror you, hoping his smile seemed more reassuring than he felt. “Sleep tight. If you need anything…”

You nodded, smiled. “Thank you. Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night.”

Halfway down the hallway, you answered your phone, sweet nothings murmured for someone else.

---

Moodboard • Fic Masterlist • Part Two

[A/N: So yeah, this just kind of... came out of me. It's been cooking since February, but I've sat down like three times over the last week and spewed out 10k. And I got too excited to wait to post it, so here you are. Please give me all your thoughts and feelings. Is bodyguard!Steve my new favorite Steve? Is rockstar!Eddie my new favorite Eddie? Maybe so. xoxoxo]

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #bodyguard!steve harrington #rockstar!eddie munson #steve harrington #hell hound wip #hell hound fic

184 notes · View notes

daisies-daydreams · 2 years ago

Text

Husband/Papa Ghost Headcanons

Pairing: Simon (Ghost) Riley x Wife!Reader Category: Fluff Warnings: Suggestive Content, Swearing, Descriptions of Labor/Contractions

Author's Note: This is a continuation of this request (WARNING: 18+). Enjoy!

Simon would be a proud papa, that's for sure.

He didn’t use his phone that much before, only to text or call people. But his storage space began to run out pretty quickly with all of the photos and videos he took of your daughter, Lily.

“What are you doing, Si?” you giggled. Lily banged on the toy piano while your husband was crouched down, phone camera rolling.

“Filming Lily’s performance,” he replied matter-of-factly. You chuckled and kissed the top of his head, ruffling his dark brown hair. Your two-year old daughter cheered when she finished her song, face lit up and arms stretched above her head in triumph.

“All done!” she beamed with a wide smile. Both of you clapped.

“Good job, Lil,” Simon chuckled.

Simon nearly passed out when you told him you were pregnant with your second baby (not that it came as a surprise to you both👀).

Just like your first pregnancy, he’d try to be there for you as much as he could. It was different now with Lily in the picture, but she made many of your days full of joy and laughter.

I can see him being a stern yet reasonable dad. He’d discipline his kids yet never intentionally hurt them.

Lily’s lower lip pouted as she avoided his gaze. Simon’s arms were at his sides as he eyed the blue stains on her face and the empty candy jar on the floor. He lowered himself to be at her eye-level.

“Lily, baby, did you eat the candy even though Mommy told you not to?” Simon asked, trying to keep his voice soft and steady. Lily burst into tears, rubbing her eyes with her little, sticky hands.

“I sowwy,” she sniffled. His heart ached, but he knew she had to learn to listen to her mom.

“I know, baby,” he sighed as he pulled her into a hug. She cried into his chest. “Candy tastes yummy, but it’ll hurt your tummy if you eat too much,” Simon explained. Lily sniffed, snot dripping from her button nose and onto his shirt. He pulled her back and looked her in the eyes. “No candy for the next three days, okay? Then you can have it again,” he explained while holding up three fingers. She puffed out another sob before nodding her head.

“Okay, Dada,” she sniffled.

Your second pregnancy was more difficult than the first. You had more health complications, which worried Simon half-to-death. He couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to you while he was thousands of miles away on a mission.

All of 141 were like family to you. They'd pop in every once in a while, especially Lily's godfather, Soap.

"Unk Nee!" Lily squealed. Soap grinned ear to ear at the attempt of his nickname ("Uncle Johnny"). She giggled as she ran into his open arms. He spun her around as you walked in from your bedroom. You gave a tired smile, leaning on the wall and rubbing your swollen belly. Simon was still working on his car in the garage, yelling out that he'd be there in a moment.

"How's my wee firecracker doin'?" Soap beamed. Lily ducked her head into his shoulder, her small dirty blonde curls bouncing. Both of you laughed. "Gettin' shy now, are ya?" Soap chuckled.

"You know how kids are," you waved. Soap smiled as he set the toddler down. She rushed back over to you, hiding behind your legs. You patted her head gently.

"How you doin', lass?" Soap asked as he stepped further inside. You sighed, Lily clinging to your maternity pants.

"This pregnancy's kicking my a-butt, it's kicking my butt," you quickly changed your wording. Soap snorted as Lily cackled behind you.

"Mama said 'butt'!" your daughter sang. You grumbled and collapsed your face into your hands.

"Sounds like she's got quite the potty mouth, huh Lily?" your husband chuckled beside you. You felt him snake his hand around your waist. He pecked your cheek, his skin coated in a sheen of sweat from his hard work.

"Why don't you give me a spanking later to teach me a lesson?" you whispered lowly into his ear. Red immediately flooded his cheeks as his hand gripped your hip. Before he could retort, another figure walked through the front door. Lily peeked from behind your legs and gasped as Price entered the room.

"Grandpa!" Lily cheered while pointing her finger at the captain.

You've never heard a room grow so quiet in a single second.

Both of you explained that Price was most definitely not her grandpa, yet she was insistent on the terminology. The captain teased Simon about it constantly.

"I think you taught her to say that," Price chuckled.

As the due date approached, Simon's heart was shattered. He was being sent away on a longer mission, and it required that he made no contact with you. Your husband assured you that he'd be back in time for the delivery, and spent as much time as he could with you and Lily before he left.

A few weeks later, Simon was sprinting through the hospital to get to your delivery room.

Simon’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hall as he whipped around the corner. A blonde nurse shot an incredulous look at the masked man as he sprinted to the counter.

“WHERE’S DELIVERY ROOM 109?!” Simon boomed. The poor woman's face went pale as she pointed a shaking finger down the hall. His head snapped as he shouted a ‘thank you’ behind him. Simon rushed past several nurses and doctors, the door getting closer. He could hear your wailing pierce through the hallway. Simon nearly crashed into the doctor when he stepped out into the hall.

“MR. RILEY!” the doctor gaped with wide eyes. Your husband’s chest rose and fell as he panted. Another harsh cry broke out through the room. “Quickly, she’s about to start pushing,” the doctor rushed him inside. Simon's eyes grew wide as they locked with yours.

"Si," you called softly. Your face was pale, sweat covering every inch of your tense and aching body. Simon rushed over, immediately clasping his hands over yours.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” his dry voice croaked. You gave a weak laugh before jolting forward, another strong contraction ripping through you.

“B-Bullshit,” you tiredly chuckled through gritted teeth. The doctor and nurses came closer to your bedside.

“Okay, Mrs. Riley. It's time to start pushing. Are you ready?” the doctor asked. You swallowed thickly, your entire body shaking as it was wracked with waves of pain. Simon squeezed your hand and lifted his skull balaclava to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

“You’ve got this, love. I’m right here,” he assured. You nodded before sucking in a deep breath.

Not long after, your baby boy, Thomas, was born.

His throat grew tight when you suggested his late brother's name. You were afraid you'd overstepped, but he quickly kissed you on the lips and told you it was the perfect name for the newest addition to the Riley family.

Simon stared in awe at the small baby swaddled in his arms. You were fast asleep in your new bed, exhausted from the long, grueling day. Thomas' plump, rosy cheeks glowed softly as he yawned. Your husband beamed when two small, dark eyes just like his own gazed up at him.

“Hi there, little Tommy,” Simon breathed.

Both of you were unsure as to how Lily would take to her new baby brother. However, when her eyes lit up and she squealed when she saw him for the first time, Simon knew she’d be the best big sister.

Simon would make it a goal to read to Lily and Tommy every night. It melted your heart when you sat with him, Lily in her bed and Tommy in his crib listening to his low voice lull them to sleep.

While most date nights were spent inside your home nowadays, he was just happy to spend any time he had with you.

Simon would leave little gifts or notes around the house, letting you know what an amazing mother and wife you are.

If you feel insecure about your body after giving birth, he'll do everything in his power to remind you otherwise.

Your eyes widened as a sudden slap streaked across your ass. You whipped your head around. Simon's eyes were trained on the TV, though the hand draped over the arm of the couch said enough. You crossed your arms, thankful that Lily was playing in the adjacent room and Tommy was fast asleep in his crib.

"Got something to tell me, Si?" you said with a quirked brow. His lidded, chocolate-brown eyes flicked over to you, his hands reaching over to pull you on your lap.

"Simon!" you gasped. Laughs spilled from your lips as your husband bombarded your neck with kisses, his large hands reaching down and squeezing your bum.

"Can't help myself, sweetheart. Not when you're walking around with this cute arse of yours," he mused. You bit your lip and wiggled in his lap. He nibbled on your ear, his voice low and husky as he whispered into it.

"Tonight, after the kids are asleep, why don't I show you just how irresistible you are?" Simon groaned.

Tommy was a much more of a fussy baby than Lily. He’d keep both of you up constantly. You called your/Simon's relatives or friends over every so often so both of you could have a break.

“How are you feeling, love?” Simon asked. Both of you were lying in the hammock in a park, the summer breeze rocking you back and forth. Your best friend was at home watching your children. Heavy bags rested below your eyes as you stretched.

“Fucking exhausted,” you sighed. Simon chuckled, brushing your hair from your forehead and planting a kiss over it.

“I know, hun. Why don’t you take a nap, yeah?” he suggested. You nodded, letting sleep quickly overtake you. He breathed in through his nose, his mind wandering too much for him to fall asleep. Instead, he took in the sight of his beautiful wife wrapped in his arms as the rest of the world melted away.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

(Writing these melts my heart ngl. We love Papa Ghost in this house).

1K notes · View notes

lisbeth-kk · 3 months ago

Text

Sherlock fandom.

Silvery Witchcraft

It is of course not a secret. Not per se. I don’t hide my true identity. It has more to do with what people observe. Or believe, I suppose. Coming to terms with the fact that the paranormal is real doesn't sit well with most people. Therefore, I always find it amusing when someone calls me a witch. Little do they know…

I took my time when I got to choose my appearance and colours. An image of an elderly, fragile-looking lady filled my mind. She fit my favourite colours perfectly. Purple and silver.

My place of residence had already been chosen for me. 221 Baker Street, London. Such a pretty place. Victorian. Reminded me of my childhood. I immediately set about furnishing the place. 221A would serve as my quarters. I decorated it as a woman my supposed age would. Lots of lace curtains, antimacassars, velvet cushions, a Persian carpet, and mahogany furniture. I hid the modern kitchen appliances in old, almost ancient ones. My cooking and baking would not suffer because of an unpredictable oven, thank you very much!

I didn’t bother with 221C at first but moved upstairs. 221B was going to be rented out. I needed to earn a living. Keeping up appearances and all that nonsense. The flat was quite spacious and had two bedrooms. The empty space got my full attention, and I chose carefully. My intention was for it to look as if the previous tenants had left it fully furnished.

The walls were covered with creamy-coloured wallpaper and a black lily pattern. Two mismatched chairs, one in worn, but exquisite leather, the other a faded red upholstery one, were positioned by the fireplace. Although they looked old, they weren’t.

I used quite a few moments to get the bathroom and kitchen just to my liking. The space was scarce, but by using my silver sparks, my secret weapon, I got everything to fit without it seeming cramped. Letting the rooms expand unnoticed by the users, was quite a challenge.

***

My first tenant was Mycroft Holmes’ little brother, Sherlock. Witchcraft is surprisingly fully recognised by the British government. Not publicly, of course, and only a handful of ministries are aware of its existence.

Mycroft summoned me to the Diogenes club, and almost begged me to save his brother.

“He won’t listen to reason,” he sighed. “I have tried everything. You are his last chance, or he will end up dead under one of London’s bridges.”

Mycroft Holmes is just as much of a drama queen as his brother, but this time he wasn’t far off. I saw it in the lines around his eyes and mouth.

Arrangements were made, and I literally served my fake mafia husband to Sherlock on a silver plate. We got on like a house on fire after that.

Sherlock immediately fell in love with 221B, and he moved in the day after we returned from Florida and the execution. I hadn’t felt so alive in centuries!

“You will need a flatmate,” I told him after a while. “It’s too lonely for you. Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man. I hear you during the wee hours. Playing your violin and pacing. A loyal companion is what you need.”

“Who would want me for a flatmate, Hudders?” he asked.

My heart nearly broke at that. Sherlock had become like a son to me, and I hated to see his loneliness. Few people were able to look behind his haughty façade. Greg Lestrade, Mike Stamford, and Molly Hooper being the exceptions. And me and Mycroft, obviously.

“Talk to Mike Stamford,” I urged him. “He will keep an eye out, and he certainly won’t pull someone like Sebastian Wilkes out of his sleeve.”

***

Before Sherlock left for Barts on January 29, I sent some silver sparks after him. For a moment, too brief for the human eye to discern, it lit him up, making him appear even more handsome. Not that he needed it. It was more for good luck, which he might have needed. It was difficult to use my magic on him due to his unpredictability and that monster of a brain.

The moment I laid eyes on John Watson, after Sherlock’s unprecedented hug, I knew he was just the one to share 221B with the genius detective. I didn’t even consider using my magic on him. He was already perfect for Sherlock. I just had to make sure that Sherlock didn’t push John away when he made his move to inquire about his romantic life and orientation.

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

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie

@7-percent @lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12

@jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @willamholmeswatson @whatnext2020

@mydogwatson @redmondcollege @thegildedbee @ilovegayangels @elizabethhood

@xmengal03 @riversong912 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @couldbecannibal

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #mrs hudson #sherlock #mycroft holmes #john watson #bbc sherlock #johnlock #magic #FFF277 #silver sparks

82 notes · View notes

tswaney17 · 10 months ago

Text

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 49

It's here!!! The final part of this massive fic. 😭 I can't believe we're finally at the end. I'm still in shock that I get to close the door on this fic that has taken up the last three years of my life. I have so many emotions running through me right now. 🥺

The epilogue will be posted during @elriel-month in addition to a little surprise I'm so excited to share with you. Stay tuned!! 💜💙💚

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

This part also features descriptions of birth and complications from it.

Word Count: 7,225

Elain had spent a good portion of the late morning getting ready for the baby shower scheduled for noon. At just over eight months pregnant, they were cutting close to the wire of the twins’ arrival.

She was beyond exhausted. Growing the babies was work enough, but she ached everywhere at this point. Her boobs, her hips, her ankles. Her back…that hurt the worst. She looked like she swallowed two extra large watermelons. Elain hadn’t seen her feet in two and half months and she was praying that her toenails looked well enough for sandals today.

On top of her aching body, she also slept like shit the night before, having woken up in the wee hours with Braxton Hicks contractions that seemed to never want to go away. They were getting obnoxious at this point.

Oh! And her boobs had already started leaking. Aside from the contractions, Elain also woke up to a soaked sleep shirt and an attitude that poor Azriel was desperately trying to keep calm. She felt bad that her irritation got directed at him, but he took her mood swings in stride, giving her the space when she needed it, and focusing on taking care of Kaden and getting him ready for the party.

Her husband knocked lightly before entering their bedroom, shutting the door behind him and locking it when he saw her standing there in an ugly pair of panties and a strapless bra—which she had no idea how it was going to hold up her tits, but here they were. “Hello, my love. How are you doing?” he asked, striding further into their room. He was already dressed in black slacks and a white button-down rolled up to his elbows. It was one of her favorite looks on him. Casual but classy and sexy as hell.

“I’m all right. Better than this morning,” which was true. In the time she took to get ready, she felt her irritation slowly dissipate. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

He gifted her a soft smile he reserved only for her and their children. “El, you’re carrying two babies. You’re allowed to let out your frustrations. I’m here to spar if you need it, you know that.”

She knew he meant spar as in letting her yell and shout and hiss words until she felt better while he just took it. Gods, he really was the perfect husband. Elain held out her coco butter lotion towards him. “Do you mind rubbing this on me and helping me dress?”

Azriel took the bottle from her outstretched hands, dropping a sweet kiss on her plump lips before squirting some into his scarred palms and gently rubbing it all over her swollen stomach. He knelt before her, dutifully getting every inch of her covered. “You are so beautiful, Elain,” he murmured, kissing her at the fullest part of her belly.

She snorted. “I am a beached whale who ate too much.”

“You are a gorgeous woman carrying life inside of her womb. That will always be beautiful, sweetheart.”

How he always knew what to say was beyond her, but she tugged him up off the ground to kiss him thoroughly. It should’ve annoyed her with how just a few sweeps of Azriel’s tongue had every concern and irritation simply melt away. He knew when to play that card and fuck did he play it well.

But even his tongue couldn’t stop the hiss of pain as another contraction wracked her body.

He immediately pulled back at the sound, eyes scanning her face. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern etched into the tone.

She breathed through the wave that tightened in her abdomen. “Braxton Hicks contractions,” she said as an explanation.

His brows shot into his hairline. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

Elain reached up to cup his cheek in her palm, her thumb swiping over the stubble there. “No, it’s a normal thing this late in the pregnancy. I’ve had a few this morning starting before dawn. It’s why I was grouchy.”

Understanding lit his face and he carefully ran his hand down her stomach again. “Why didn’t you wake me this morning?”

She huffed a laugh. “Because I knew you’d go into full-birthing-dad-mode and neither one of us would’ve slept any longer.”

Azriel shot her an unamused glare. “You will be thanking me for that birthing-dad mode when you’re in labor and I have everything packed up within minutes.”

This time Elain laughed loud and joyfully. “Yes, you’re probably right.” She nodded to the dress on the bed. “Help me slip that on?”

He grabbed the fabric, bunching it in his large fists, and pulled it over her head. It was an off-the-shoulder, loose, pale pink cotton dress, decorated with roses. It looked vintage, gathering just under her bust, with oversized puffy sleeves that sat off her shoulders, over her biceps. Ruffles accentuated the bottom hem, emphasizing the vintage style. It was the perfect spring dress. When Elain first saw it at the store, she knew she had to buy it for the shower.

Azriel tugged her loose curls from the back of the dress, letting them brush against her spine. He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder before grabbing the rose-pendant necklace he bought to go with the dress and draping it around her delicate neck. “Perfect,” he murmured onto her skin, his smile pressing against her neck.

Elain sighed softly, reaching up to thread her fingers through his dark hair. “How am I still horny for you?”

He nipped at her throat, a rumble shaking his chest. “Because you know I can deliver what you need without even blinking.”

This time she laughed, letting his hands run across her body in possessive little touches.

Azriel brazenly cupped her sex through the dress, growling as she let out a mewling sound and began to writhe against those skilled fingers, searching for the friction she desperately craved. “Would you like to fuck my hand, love?” he murmured, mouth grazing her jaw.

Elain fell slack against him, letting his strength hold her up. “Az,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut as he began to rub her in earnest. “Please.”

He nipped the curve of her ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth. “You beg so prettily, El.” Bunching up the dress in a fist, Azriel slid her panties aside, swiping his fingers over her soaked pussy. “Fuck, baby. You’re so wet for me. Always desperate for my touch.”

She gripped him, nails digging into his exposed forearms. “I need—I need,” she panted out, wiggling in his hold. “Please, Az.”

Giving her exactly what she wanted—needed—Azriel sunk his middle finger into her aching cunt, pumping once before adding a second digit. “Such a good girl,” he whispered, thrusting in and out of her. The heel of his palm grazed her clit sending bolts of pleasure up her spine.

Elain bit her lip, stifling the moan that threatened to burst from her. His fingers scraped along that special spot inside of her, building her up and up and up until she teetered on the edge of bliss.

Barely conscious of her surroundings, Elain caught the sound of the door handle jiggling, followed by a “Momma!”

Azriel clapped a hand over her mouth as he continued his machinations. “Momma’s getting dressed, Kaden. We’ll be out in a minute,” he called out, pressing his palm firmly on her clit and sending her spiraling into her orgasm.

Too far gone to care, she tumbled into sweet oblivion, coming hard on his fingers. Elain moaned, only quieted by the muffling against her husband’s scarred hand.

He worked her through her release, slowing his movements when she started to come down from her high. Az peppered her skin with sweet kisses, removing his fingers from her pussy and readjusting her panties back into place before letting the dress fall back down. “Better, my love?”

“I’m gonna have to change my underwear, but yes.” She twisted in his arms, catching him sucking his fingers clean. Elain brought his mouth down to hers, tongue licking the drop of her release dotting his bottom lip. “Thank you, husband.”

He smiled into their kiss, deepening it once more. “I’ll go check on Kaden while you finish up. We’ll head out when you’re done.”

Twenty minutes later, they were in the car on their way to Rhys and Feyre’s place. It was a gorgeous day full of sunshine, the air warm with the oncoming of summer. It was as if even the Mother wanted to grace her presence on that day with her radiance. They really couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day for a baby shower.

“Momma?” Kaden called from the back seat. “Where are we going?”

His speech had improved so much since they first brought him home that the therapist they hired had told them after the end of the school year, that he likely wouldn’t need to continue seeing a specialist to catch him up. He was reading and writing the way a five-year-old should be and was on track to pass kindergarten with flying colors.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Remember how we talked about going to Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys’s for the baby shower today.”

He seemed to think about that. “What’s a baby shower?”

Her lips quirked up at his curious mind. Thankfully, he hadn’t asked about where babies came from again. “It’s a party to celebrate the upcoming arrival of your brother and sister.” Her hand came to rest on her belly instinctively.

His face scrunched up. “Will I have to take a bath again?”

Azriel let out a snort, glancing at her. “It’s a fair question.”

She laughed. “No, sweetheart. Not that kind of shower. To shower with love. The party is just to celebrate the babies before they arrive.”

“Will there be cake?” he asked, excitement lighting up his face at the prospect of sweets.

“For my sister’s sake, there better be.” Elain’s late-stage pregnancy craving was anything sweet. Cookies, cakes, pastries, whatever she could get her hands on, she was eating it. Azriel was barely able to keep the pantry stocked with desserts for her to snack on.

Her husband chuckled. “If she doesn’t, we’ll stop by a bakery on our way home and get each of you a cake. How’s that sound?” he asked, grasping her hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles.

She grinned. “You spoil me.”

He looked at her then. “You deserve to be spoiled.”

They were fashionably late to their baby shower, and Elain completely blamed her husband’s morning sexual charade for the delay in their arrival. Not that she minded at all. She had another Braxton Hick contraction in the car, Azriel eying her with worry and once again asking if they should make a pitstop at the hospital just in case.

But that would’ve made them even more late and Elain knew it was unnecessary.

All of their friends and family were waiting for their arrival. And she hated being late.

“What am I going to do with you gone for six months, Elain?” Thesan teased, taking a sip of his beer.

She shot a devilish grin at the head nurse sitting on the couch across from her. “I’m sure Viv would love to pick up all the slack.”

Viviane squawked in outrage and pointed a menacing finger in her direction. “Don’t put your work on me while you’re enjoying your babymoon, Elain Archeron-Knight.”

The group laughed as she pushed herself up off the couch. Another contraction hit her and she winced, catching the attention of the sharp-eyed nurse. But before she could ask, Kaden came bounding up to her, tugging on the skirt of her dress.

“Momma, can I have a cake pop?” He looked up at her with those damn puppy eyes he knew she couldn’t resist.

Elain ran a hand through his hair. “Sure, sweetie. Only one. You don’t want to spoil your appetite for Uncle Cassian’s good barbeque.”

Said uncle was out in the backyard tending to the grill with her husband, Rhys, and the Moonbeam brothers because, apparently, that’s where men gathered. Aelin and Rowan had joined them, the former getting an eyebrow raise from Azriel at her company’s appearance.

She made her way to the kitchen, hoping to perhaps score one of those cake pops herself—she was the guest of honor, surely she could snag one too. Feyre, Nuala, and Cerridwen had been busy putting together the final touches for lunch and were just waiting for Cassian’s proteins to serve food.

But just as she reached the breakfast bar, a wave of excruciating pain washed over her. Catching herself on the counter, Elain gripped the side of her stomach, groaning loud enough that the other room went silent. And then she felt it. Liquid surged between her legs, puddling the floor beneath her.

No. No, it was too soon. They couldn’t be coming already.

Viviane rounded the corner from the living room as Feyre and the twins approached her.

Somebody breathed her name, but she couldn’t decipher who it was over the blood rushing in her ears.

More footsteps sounded as her friends and family came from the living room to see what was going on.

“Elain.” It was Feyre’s voice that broke through the fog of fear that had clouded her, but she was too numb to respond. Too nervous. “Somebody get Azriel!”

Her panic grew and her breathing turned shallow. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready, wasn’t prepared enough. The anxiety of giving birth hit her like a freight train.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t.

~~~~~

Azriel took a swig of his beer, rolling his eyes at the cad comment Rhys made. His tanned skin warmed in the sunlight even with the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to his elbows. With a glance at the large window, he caught Elain rising from her spot on the couch, Kaden gripping her dress to speak with her.

Gods, that fucking dress. Elain looked like a maternal goddess in it, emphasizing her swollen belly, brimming with the life of his children. Az never realized he had a breeding kink until he and Elain got back together. His desire to fill her with his seed, to watch her grow with life had him hardening in his pants.

Now at eight months, she had reached the stage where little things irked the hell out of her. Honestly, her temper was cute as hell, but he tried to be considerate of her exhaustion and short-fuse, offering himself up to take the heat of her ire. It was only fair—he’s the one that got her pregnant.

It may have made him a primitive, alpha-douchebag, but fuck did he love to see her waddling around, pregnant and barefoot in their home. She was already such a wonderful mother to their boy, Kaden. Cassian had been right. He was so incredibly grateful for Elain’s maternal instinct.

“Something caught your eye, brother?” Cassian taunted, grinning. His brother knew exactly what he was looking at. Or whom.

He shot him a dry look that had Cash chuckling.

“If she wasn’t already pregnant, I’d say that look alone could’ve knocked her up,” he teased. “Who knew you had such a kink, Az.”

Azriel opened his mouth to retort, but the sliding glass door opening caught his attention.

Nuala peeked her head out, a worried look on her face that had his stomach tightening in knots. “Azriel! Get in here now!”

But he was already moving, dropping his drink on the table and running after her into the house, his brothers and friends hot on his heels. He froze in the entryway of the kitchen, taking in the scene for a split second before his eyes settled on Elain bent over the counter, a puddle of clear liquid beneath her.

His feet ate up the space between them in three long strides, her name falling from his lips as he cupped her face and forced her gaze on his. Azriel prided himself in knowing exactly what Elain was feeling, what she was thinking by just the look on her face. He read her better than he did himself. So, seeing the blatant apprehension and worry written as clearly as a tattoo on her forehead had his heart racing in his chest.

Her eyes were wet with the tears he could tell she was trying to hold back.

“Love,” he said quietly, unsure how to proceed at the moment.

She blinked like hearing him cleared a bit of the fog that had washed over her. “Azriel.” Her voice cracked.

He folded her into his arms, trying to soothe whatever worries were troubling her. “You’re okay, my love.”

Elain seemed to melt in his embrace, her tension slowly ebbing away the longer he held her. He gave her whatever time she needed, ignoring the audience they had around them, but it was long enough for another contraction to hit. She cried out, gripping his hand in hers and squeezing tight.

Viviane snapped into action at that. “Azriel, her contractions are about nine minutes apart now. She’s going to have at least two more by the time you reach the hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Elain growled.

That had him pulling back to look down at her. “El, the babies are coming—”

“No. Hospitals.” He could see the wavering in her face. “I—,” she paused, hesitating. “They’re not ready. It’s too early. Too soon. They can’t come out yet…” Her head fell until she was looking at the wetness still sitting on the floor. “I’m not ready,” Elain whispered so quietly, that he almost missed it.

Azriel knew that was nerves speaking. While Kaden made them parents, the idea of giving birth to the twins was the primary source of her fear. The books he read said that many expectant mothers experienced this type of anxiety right around the time they went into labor. If they were going to have any success in her having a smooth birth, Azriel needed to get her to calm down. He glanced at Cassian. “Can you get her a chair?”

His brother grabbed one from the dining room, setting it out for Az to carefully guide Elain into. He knelt in front of her, keeping her hands clasped firmly in his. “Elain, sweetheart,” her dark eyes latched onto his, needing to hear his reassurance. He kept his voice low, wishing they didn’t have to have this conversation in front of their friends and family.

Rhys seemed to sense that and began ushering people out of the room. “Let’s give the couple a few minutes.”

He shot his brother a grateful look before returning his attention to Elain. “Sweetheart, I know you’re scared. I know it’s earlier than we were expecting. But if there is one thing that I am certain of is that you can do this.” He squeezed her hands in comfort. “You are the strongest person I know. You’ve been through so much that once all is said and done, you’re going to look at me and tell me that this was the easy part. I promise you that if anyone can do this, it’s you. And I will be right by your side for every step, holding your hand, giving you ice chips, and bearing whatever you need me to bear to bring our children into the world.”

She sniffed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re sure?”

“Without a doubt, Elain. You can do this.” He brought their joined hands up to his mouth, kissing her fingers and letting her absorb whatever confidence she needed. “So, what do you say? Are you ready to have our babies, love?”

Elain huffed a laugh, his words settling the nerves she had. “Yes, let’s go have our babies,” she breathed, her grin taking over her entire face, lasting all of thirty seconds before a look of panic took root once more. “Az, the birthing bag is still at the house.”

He let out an undignified snort. “Do you think after having that contraction in front of me this morning, I’d leave the house without having absolutely everything packed and ready to go? Come on, baby, you know me better than that. It’s all in the back of the car.”

She blinked in surprise. “The birthing bag and my pillow?”

“In the car,” he confirmed.

“Kaden’s overnight bag?”

“In the car.”

“The car seats for the twins?”

He scoffed. “You know I installed those weeks ago, try again.”

Her lips quired up at the corner. “What about the slippers I was wearing this morning?” she asked, thinking she had him.

Az rolled his eyes in playful exasperation. “I grabbed them when I snagged the birthing bag.” He kissed her hands again. “I’ve got you, love.”

And then she was leaning forward, kissing him with so much love and devotion, he felt it down to the soul she brought back to life. The sound of their family’s cheers forced them apart, a pretty blush dusting the tops of Elain’s cheeks, but she didn’t dare look away from him.

Without looking away from her, Azriel reached into his pocket, pulled out his keys, and tossed them to Rhys. “Can you grab Kaden’s bag from the trunk? The one with dinosaurs. And then Elain’s purple one as well.”

Elain’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Why is he grabbing mine?”

His lips pulled up into a knowing grin, brushing the shell of her ear as he leaned forward to whisper, “I thought you might like to change your underwear and put on a maternity pad for the ride to the hospital.”

Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, but she nodded in agreement.

A little body shuffled closer. “Momma?” Kaden murmured, looking so very worried over the state of his mother.

She held her arms out, motioning him forward. “C’mere sweetheart.” Elain tucked him into her chest, kissing the top of his head. “You’re going to stay here with Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys while Daddy and I go to the hospital to have your brother and sister.”

He looked up at her with those puppy-dog eyes and damn, the kid knew how to work them. “But I want to go with you!” His lower lip quivered and Azriel could tell he was on the verge of tears.

But his wife took it in stride, cupping his little face in her palms and swiping her thumbs across his cheeks. “I know, sweetheart. I know you do. But you’ll have a much better time here with your aunt and uncle. Momma’s not going to be fun to be around until your siblings are here.” She kissed his plump cheek. “But I promise that you will be the first to see us once they arrive. Okay?”

Feyre stepped forward, reaching out a hand for their son. “Come on, Kaden. We’ll have lots of fun eating all the desserts left over.” She shot them a wink when he finally relented, taking her fingers.

After cleaning her up as best as he could and getting her a maternity pad from her bag, he and Elain were in the car on the way to the hospital. As Viviane predicted, she had two more contractions on the way, grabbing his offered hand and the “oh shit” bar as she groaned her way through it. And then promptly went into a third one right as they arrived.

Az timed them out, still sitting about nine minutes apart. “Breathe, baby. Good, love. Just like that.” His thumb grazed the back of her hand. Her grip was tight, on the verge of painful, but he didn’t dare let his face flinch or show an ounce of discomfort. She needed his strength and that’s exactly what he was going to give her.

They were immediately escorted to their private room and Elain’s vitals were checked over. She was sitting at only two centimeters dilated, which meant they were looking at being there for a bit.

Between her contractions, he swapped out his clothes for a fitted black t-shirt and grey sweatpants to get more comfortable and then sent a text to their siblings to notify them that they were in and settled, but it would be a while before they would have any progress.

“Can you check in with Kaden?” Elain asked, taking a scoop of ice chips from her cup.

The corner of his lips curled up at the question. “I already did. Feyre said he wouldn’t leave the front window for a while and had to persuade him with his baby cousin and a lot of sweet treats.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “He’s going to have a mouth full of cavities before we get home.” Elain twisted to look at him. “Do you think we made the right decision by not letting him come with us? It sounds like he’s waiting for us to return. I know that some families let their little ones be present for the birth of their siblings and we discussed it—”

He interrupted her train of thought. “I think we made the right call, love. We’re going to be here for a while and we both know that things can upset him. I don’t know how well he’d handle watching you go through that.”

She nodded but didn’t look very convinced.

Azriel reached for her hand, covering it with his own and squeezing her fingers. “He’s safe and well-cared for. Remember that while we focus on bringing his little brother and sister into the world.” He brushed his lips over her knuckles in a sweet kiss.

Elain smiled softly at him. “Okay.”

And so, they waited.

Per his wife’s birthing plan, she wanted to attempt to go natural. Azriel admired her strength and resilience in doing so. But after over sixteen hours of hard labor, he could see her resolve fading.

He stroked her cheek, fingers brushing hair behind her ear. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Dark circles already lined the underneath part of her eyes. She looked so weary. “I’m so tired, Az.” Her voice came out nearly broken and fuck if that didn’t just rip his beating heart from his chest.

Kissing her forehead, he murmured, “Do you want to get the epidural? It’ll help you get some much-needed rest before the delivery.” As of now, she was only at seven centimeters and the doctor had said it could still be a while longer until she reached a full ten.

Her chin dipped in confirmation. “Please.”

Azriel didn’t waste time calling for the nurse. Within ten minutes, he watched as a grossly large needle was inserted into her back, sending that relief washing over her. He peppered her face with kisses during the procedure, murmuring words of praise and comfort in her ear as she gritted her teeth through it.

Elain spent the next eight hours in a fitful sleep, dosing off and waking up not long after each time. Azriel didn’t bother to try and sleep, not when she wasn’t really getting much at all.

But finally, after just past nine, she was fully dilated and ready to push.

His wife pushed and pushed and pushed for a half hour with nothing to show for it. She was in tears, frustrated, and so exhausted he was practically supporting all her weight having slid an arm around her shoulders to keep her upright.

“I can’t, I can’t,” she sobbed, half burying her face into his chest.

“You can, love. You’re so strong. Just a little bit more,” he tried to reassure her. It fucking killed him to see her like this.

“Can’t you do it for me?” she pleaded, looking up at him with wild, desperate eyes.

He gripped her cheek in his palm, kissing her temple. “You know I would, El. I would give anything to switch places with you right now. But I know you can do this. Just a few more pushes and then they’ll be here.”

Whatever she read within his words seemed to do the trick, her brows furrowing with a determination he hadn’t seen since they left the house. Elain pushed herself up, trying to get into a kneeling position, and he was right there, sliding behind her and supporting her weight.

The nurses squawked, muttering something about hospital policy, but frankly, he did not give a fuck, snarling, “Her body is telling her to push like this. Listen to your fucking patient.”

Changing the position was exactly what she needed because their son was born within the next two contractions, entering the world with a healthy set of lungs.

They sagged back against the pillows, his face wet with tears as they placed their new baby directly on Elain’s bared chest. He couldn’t stop himself from tipping her head back to kiss her softly on the lips, pausing the savor the moment.

Az traced the pads of his fingers over the curve of their boy’s cheek, just needing to touch him to prove he was here with them. Even covered in fluids, he was so beautiful. The perfect blend of the two of them.

The nurses gave them just a few minutes with the first baby before Doctor Chen said that she needed to start pushing again. She took their boy from Elain’s arms, promising to bring him back for Azriel after he was cleaned up and their daughter was born.

Delivery of their little girl went easier than with their son. But whereas their boy came out crying, their daughter came out silent.

Azriel knew something was wrong just by the silence, but it only grew the anxiety in his stomach when the doctor turned her back on them, taking their little one with her to work on.

“She’s not crying,” Elain breathed, worry clouding her voice.

He could only squeeze her shoulders in comfort, watching as they shoved things into her nose and mouth.

“Suction,” Chen ordered.

“Azriel, why isn’t she crying?”

“She’s going to be okay, love. They’re helping her. She’s okay.” The words passed his lips even as his heart dropped into his stomach when they started doing compressions on her tiny body.

No.

This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t lose her. It would kill him to lose his little girl, but Elain, fuck, he couldn’t even begin to fathom the devastation she would face at this loss. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t pay to fix this or threaten someone to save their baby girl.

So, he did what any father would do.

He prayed.

He prayed to every god, every deity, everything, and anything he could think of to keep his little girl safe and bring her back to them. To take her place if they demanded it. A life for a life. He’d pay it for his child, his family. “Come on,” he murmured. “Come on, baby. Come on.”

Elain curved her face into the side of his chest, howling in a way he’d never heard from her before.

His arms went around her, that dreaded feeling turning his blood cold. The terror he felt of their little one dead before she lived was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. But still, he did not stop praying, clutching Elain’s shaking body to his. “Come on, little one. Come on!” he chanted. “Please.”

And then, a rattled cough tore from her tiny body, followed by the sweet, beautiful sound of her cry.

Elain’s wail turned into relieved sobs, as the doctor walked over their bundled little girl and placed her into his wife’s awaiting arms.

“Somebody was just so excited to meet you, she took a breath a little too early, but we cleared out her passages and lungs and she looks good now.”

His wife tucked their daughter into her chest, kissing the top of her head. “Hi sweet girl, Momma’s here,” she whispered, tears still falling down her cheeks. Tears that matched the ones running down his face.

She was here. His baby girl. Fuck, she looked just like him, with dark hair and tanned skin. He hadn’t gotten a look at her eyes yet, but already she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Here you go, Mr. Archeron-Knight,” one of the other nurses said, pulling his attention from his wife and daughter as she handed him his son, cleaned up and wrapped in a soft blanket.

The small bundle was gently laid in the crook of his elbow. Azriel didn’t think he’d ever feel the amount of love he did on Kaden’s adoption day, but sitting here with his gorgeous wife, holding their newborn twins, he felt his heart soar in his chest.

Sweaty and fatigued, Elain glanced up at his face, the sweetest, exhausted smile pulling on her lips. “I love you,” she murmured.

He let out a sound that was a cross between a chuckle and a sob. “I love you more.” And then he kissed her, sealing that moment in time with his undying love for her.

~~~~~

Elain woke to the sound of a whimpering cry, swiftly followed by Azriel’s low voice.

“Hey, sweet girl. What’s wrong, huh?” She heard some shuffling as her husband lifted their daughter from the nursery bed. “Momma needs her sleep so we need to be quiet.” He kept his voice low enough to not disturb her—fuck she loved him so much—but she was already awake, rolling over in the hospital bed to face him.

Azriel holding his children was, hands down, the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. How she could even feel the need for him after pushing two babies out of her currently aching and severely injured body was beyond her, but just watching him bounce their fussing daughter made all those desires come roaring to the surface.

Almost as if he could sense her presence, hazel eyes slid to hers. “I’ve got her, love. Go back to sleep.” His voice remained soft as night as if anything louder would disturb her.

She curled up on her side, watching him. “I think we should get used to no sleep now.”

He huffed a laugh, patting Rosalie on her back as she further settled into the crook of his elbow.

Their daughter was almost two pounds smaller than her brother, coming in right at five whereas Ryder was a healthy six pounds, fourteen ounces. The doctor was a little concerned over Rosalie’s lower birth weight, but Elain had managed to get both babies to latch and feed earlier and she ate well, so they were mainly playing it by ear.

Because of her smaller size, Azriel already placed an order for some preemie clothes and sent a photo of her with the twins to their siblings. They asked to give them a day to recuperate before coming to the hospital in the morning. After the scare with Rosalie, both she and Azriel wanted to take some time to spend with the babies. Plus, the medical team was in and out of their room, taking Rosalie for some additional tests just to be sure everything looked good.

It was just after seven that night, and they were settling in for the evening. Tired of hospital food, Azriel ordered hamburgers from DoorDash for them to eat. Elain was starving and it sounded so good that she drooled when she suggested it to him. Both babies had been fed only an hour earlier and she anticipated not having another feeding till late evening or early morning.

Elain grabbed whatever sleep she could, knowing she’d need it when they were released in a couple of days, but she was sure Azriel hadn’t slept a wink since she’d gone into labor.

She pushed herself up, reclining on her pillows. The nurses cleaned her after the delivery and stitched her up from tearing, but Elain couldn’t wait to get home and take a proper shower. “Does she need to be changed?” she asked, nodding to the now-sleeping baby in her husband’s arms.

Azriel shook his head. “No, I think she was just fussing.” His dark hair was still mussed up from when he stripped out of his shirt earlier, taking time for skin-to-skin contact with each of the twins.

Elain had to rein in her laugh at how the nurse blushed as he revealed miles of gloriously tanned, tattooed skin and corded muscle. Her husband was a fine specimen, but he never flaunted it, so seeing another woman react to it was humorous especially since he didn’t even seem to notice her blushing, stammering state.

“You should sleep too, Az,” she said instead.

He looked at her, his lips curving up. It had been doing that a lot since the birth of the twins. The sweetest, smallest smile that crept up the corners of his mouth. Almost as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It was utterly adorable and made him look younger. “I’ll rest later. You need it more than me.”

Her shoulders shook in amusement. “You know, we can sleep when they do.”

“I just don’t want to miss a second of them.” His attention returned to his little girl who already had him wrapped around her finger. To be fair, all of their children did. “Fuck, I can’t believe they’re here already. It seems like it was only a month ago you found out you were pregnant.”

“I can’t believe our first anniversary is coming up in just a handful of weeks.”

At that, he laughed. “I guess a trip for our anniversary is out of the question?”

She grinned. “Not unless all our little ones are coming with us.” Because like hell was she going to be able to leave them so soon. Plus with her nursing, it just wouldn’t be ideal.

He seemed to consider her. “We could take the jet to the Summer District. Kaden will be out of school then and we’ll both still be out on leave. Just a thought.”

Gods, he was fucking perfect. “That might be nice.”

A knock on the door interrupted whatever he was going to say. He frowned in confusion, looking at her.

Elain shrugged, sitting up further on her bed. “Come in,” she called out.

She thought it might be a nurse or a doctor, coming to check on her or the twins. What she didn’t expect was for Rhys to peek his head into the room. Surprise lit her features and she glanced at Azriel, who looked equally as bewildered at the sudden visit from their brother.

“Hey,” Rhys said. “I apologize for dropping by unannounced, but somebody really couldn’t wait till tomorrow to see you.” He opened the door slightly, revealing Kaden clutching a teddy bear, eyes puffy and red from crying.

Her heart ached at the distress their son must’ve been in for Rhys to come all the way here. “Hello sweetheart,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “Come here, my love.”

He took a small step further into the room, Rhys’s hand guiding him at the backside of his head. Kaden took slow steps as he approached the side of her bed. “Momma, are you sick?”

She reached out to cup his cheek in her palm. “No, baby. I’m not sick. Your brother and sister decided it was time to come out of my tummy.” Her eyes found Azriel’s as he rose from his seat on the couch, moving toward them. “Would you like to meet them?” she asked, returning her gaze to Kaden’s.

His head dipped in confirmation.

Elain pushed herself back even more. “Rhys, can you help him up and then grab me that flat pillow over there.”

He set the boy on the bed between her spread legs, Kaden shuffling backward and bumping into her sensitive lower area.

She hissed out in pain before she could stop herself. A wave of agony washed over her with enough intensity that her stomach curdled with nausea.

Azriel reacted immediately. “Easy, buddy. Momma’s going to be sore for a while and we need to be extra careful with her.”

“I’m okay,” she spoke quickly, not wanting to upset Kaden any more than he already was, and kissed his plump cheek as she breathed through the pain. “Okay, Rhys. Place the pillow over our laps.”

Adjusting his arms in preparation, Azriel gently lowered their daughter until she comfortably rested on the nursing pillow.

“Kaden, this is your sister, Rosalie,” he announced, letting his finger stroke her rounded cheek.

Elain couldn’t see his face directly, but she did catch his eyes widening as he stared down at her, his fingers carefully tracing over her delicate features just as his father did.

“Rosawee,” he said, not quite catching the ending syllable. It would be something they would have to work on. When she kicked a leg within her swaddle, he pulled his hand back, startled.

She laughed, feeling the bed dip as Azriel sat down next to them, bringing over their son. “And this is your brother, Ryder.”

He reached out to trace the outline of his brows, the touch gentle and exploratory. “I’m a brother?” he asked, turning his head to look up at her.

“That’s right sweetheart. You’re their big brother, and they’re going to love you so much,” she told him, kissing the top of his head.

Elain took in her family, her incredible husband, and three beautiful children. It sounded so wild to even think about. She was a wife and a mother. Thinking back, she remembered the day that had changed the trajectory of her life forever. The bank robbery a few years back. It was crazy to think how such a terrifying moment altered her life in the best of ways. It brought her back to the love of her life.

It put her on this very path.

She’d face every one of the moments since then tenfold as long as it brought her to this point in time, sitting here with her gorgeous little family.

“Perfect.”

She looked up at Rhys, catching him with his phone out.

“Your first family photo.”

Her lips turned up and silver lined her eyes. “Thank you, Rhys.”

He waved her off. “Do you want me to take Kaden back with me?”

“No,” Azriel said, ruffling his eldest son’s hair. “He can stay here with us tonight. Can you put his booster seat in our car? The keys are in my bag.”

“You got it.” He grabbed the keys but paused on the threshold. “And congratulations you guys. Rosalie and Ryder are beautiful.”

Azriel leaned further into her side, kissing her temple. “Thank you, brother.” Once alone, he turned her head toward his, bringing her mouth to his for a slow, sweet kiss. “I love you so damn much, Elain.”

His smile was infectious, making her lips turn up at the corners. “Thank you, Azriel, for giving me this life—these babies. You have made me the happiest I could ever imagine. I love you.”

“Momma! She’s got my finger,” Kaden’s giggle interrupted their moment.

They laughed, looking at their three beautiful children.

Elain knew that this perfect moment was just the very beginning of the rest of their lives.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved most of my fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist:

@nikethestatue

@reverie-tales

@123moiaussi

@duskwhisperer

@zdenkah

@nyxreads

@shedoessoshedoes

@athena-85

@jasmineandshadows

@nightcourtseer

@nivem565

@debramclaren

@illyrianvalkyriecarynthian

@secretpuppyflower

@justreallybored

@ultadverb

@the-regal-warrior

@roseandshadows

@tcursebreaker

@kingravinger

@mis-lil-red

@eloeloeheheh

@fawnandshadows

@swankii-art-teacher

@miss-bee-cat

@bookhhrelaz

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@elrielbaby

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@thoughtsaboutshows

@britishwings

@aelin21galathynius

@saz-griffin

@azrielslight

@bookstaninthesoul

@curiositywoman

@karsyn-b2

@elainsweetcobalt

@emilyondemand

Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

89 notes · View notes

darkmodepls · 7 months ago

Text

Selfish Heterodynes

And why that's a good thing for their people

One thing that is commonly known about Sparks is that they have extremely self centered worldviews and motivations.

Sparks find it very hard to care about other people, and when they do, they often treat them more as an object or a pet than as a sapient being.

It's the main reason why non-sparks are so afraid of them. If you are just another object, what's stopping the Spark from using you for spare parts.

So. What is it about Heterodyne selfishness that makes their people so fanatically loyal

to start with, Heterodynes are selfish about their people because they are people.

Any time Agatha is introduced to a new group of people, she goes out of her way to learn their likes, dislikes, and histories. While there is a Doyalist explanation for this (the audience needs the exposition) I believe the Watsonian explanation is that this is part of being a Heterodyne.

Heterodynes that grew up in Mechanicsburg probably knew the names and life histories of more than half the town. They would drink with their men and participate in festivals. *Even if part of the festivities included being chased by an angry mob.*

Because they care about the person, they care about their personality and goals. To damage a mind is almost sacrilegious to a Heterodyne.

One of the defining traits of Heterodynes is that they are vehemently against brainwashing and mind control. While part of it is the fact that such methods undermine any genuine loyalty, It could also stem from the way such things interfere with who the victim is as a person.

Think about how Agatha's horror over Dr. Vapnoople differed from that of other Sparks. They were mainly concerned with how it kept Dimitri from expressing his Spark, while Agatha was upset by what it did to his personality.

Heterodynes make space for their people to achieve their goals.

As small as Mechanicsburg is, it's divided up into a variety of districts where all sorts of industries take place. From medicine, to constructs, to engineering, and trade, if a citizen wants to work in a certain field, the town can accommodate them.

Additionally, the people have no fear showing their work to the Masters. The moment Agatha started Heterodyning, she had a crowd of people clamoring to offer her their skills and talents. There wasn't a any hesitation to brag about this skill or that talent or offer these services to their Master.

Why would there be? it was probably a very common sight to see a crowd of townsfolk proudly share their latest creations with the Masters, and the Heterodynes probably took great delight in their people's ingenuity.

Because the People, their Personality, and their Skill belong to the Heterodyne, any Outsider trying to harm a citizen is trying to Steal from the Heterodyne.

to the Heterodynes it's never just a servant or just a gaurd, or just a farmer. They know that the servant was named Molly and had 2 nieces and preferred cake to pudding. They know that Grant had been a Jaeger for 200 years and had been best friends with their grandfather's sister's husband. They knew the Farmer Mac was a minor spark who had been secretly crossbreeding orange petunias as a gift for their wife.

Every loss is personal, so that makes it vital that they protect their people with everything they have.

The core of my idea can be summarized with this Discworld quote:

"All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany’s Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine!I have a duty!"

Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men (Discworld, #30; Tiffany Aching, #1)

All that a Mechanicsburger is belongs to their Heterodyne, and the Heterodynes will protect them from all threats the way a dragon guards its horde.

#girl genius #The Heterodynes #worldbuilding #agatha heterodyne

49 notes · View notes

unanswered-stars · 5 months ago

Text

Thank you so much for tagging me @jules-writes-stories @highlordofkrypton @achaotichuman

1. How many works do you have on AO3? I'm a but a wee babe in the ao3 world so just 7 but I have several WIP's that are on pause currently. I had originally had a fic planned for each day of Eris week but haven't been able to write in awhile so might be some time before those are published but once I start posting again you can expect Eris chaos to reign.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 36,487 I struggle to write long chapters and most of my works end up being around 2,500.

3. What fandoms do you write for? A Court of Thorns and Roses

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Shadows of Regret and Redemption| Azris - My first published work. A oneshot that grew legs and started to run. I am not completely happy with it thus far but I have the end plotted and I'm excited to eventually bring that to life.

Daughter of Autumn | Azris - Now this one absolutely shocked me with its popularity. Started as a fun little drabble for Gwyn Week 2024 and of course turned into Azris central.

The Beginning and End of Friendship | Azris - So many people screaming in the comments at me on this one. More screaming to come when I post part two I’m sure.

Two Souls Entangled| Azris - A tiny part of my soul via a short poem for Azris Week 2024.

Heaven Help the Fool Who Falls In Love: The End | Azris - This is the first piece I wrote for fanfiction and it is my precious baby. Only one chapter posted but I have several in need of editing before I publish the remainder. It's very heavy and I haven't had the mental space to read through it again.

5. Do you respond to comments? Every single one! They bring me so much joy. I have currently stayed away from my comment section for my own mental health but when I start posting again I will get back to everyone's comments, promise.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? All of my works are fairly heavy on the angst. TBaEoF comes to mind but I think for published works I’ll go with The Ending of Darkness which is a short little piece about @jules-writes-stories OC Mithras x Sylvan which I have a part 2 almost completed which is equally as angsty (sorry). Unpublished works definitely The Burning of Leaves and The Death of Shadows which are two fics I had planned for Eris week but are currently on pause (poor Eris I was really putting him through the wringer for Eris Week).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Daughter of Autumn. Mostly because Cassian has the closing line and he just always says the darndest things.

8. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I have not, nor do I plan on it. Please don’t hate me 😅 Just not my writing jam. I love finding unique ways to explore a relationship and conveying those same emotions and feelings without the smut. That being said some of my favourite stories and authors use smut as such a wonderful exploratory storytelling device and it is delightful. I love reading others contributions to the smutsphere. So so many talented writers out there giving us all our smuttiest dreams. I truly do not think that my smut contribution is even necessary when you have things like To Become a Vanssera by @acourtofladydeath and Why Not Me by @thomasisaslut both absolutely rife with smut and use it beautifully to convey their story (albiet in very different ways).

9. Do you write crossovers? Not yet, and probably not ever because I can hardly keep up with writing ideas I have for one fandom.

10. Have you ever had a fic translated? No.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but it sounds delightful.

12. What is your all-time favorite ship? Azris most definitely for writing. I definitely have a big soft spot for Samwise and Rosie from LOTR (my husband is Samwise reincarnated and I am irrevocably in love with him). I have a WIP for Thesan and his lover and that dynamic and storyline has been so incredibly fun to explore as well.

13. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I started writing a Tarquin UTM oneshot that is incomplete and while I am still in love with the story I really struggled with writing the voice of Tarquin. This one will only ever get finished if I can finally figure out the right tone for this man’s internal dialogues.

14. What are your writing strengths? I have been told my writing reads like poetry which is one of the biggest compliments you could ever give me. I also love writing parallels but there’s definitely a lot of room for improvement there.

15. What are your writing weaknesses? Editing haha. But actually, I find that my characters voices don’t feel very distinct and that there is a lot of overlap in the way they speak and think and it can be hard to distinguish who’s talking/thinking. I feel like my characters resemble a cookie cutter suburban neighborhood where the walls and trim might be a different colour but they’re all built exactly the same. If anyone has some tips please feel free to comment or message me!

16. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I absolutely love reading it but unfortunately the only other language I know isn’t really a language at all. Pidgin, which is basically just native slang. I was playing around with it in my Tarquin fic a bit but seemed a tad too niche.

17. First fandom you wrote for? LOTR in middle school. I have a printed multi chapter booklet that is a rewrite of Sam and Frodo’s journey through Mordor that I made for my English class one year.

18. Favorite fic you’ve written? My favourite multi chapter by another author is undoubtedly A Court of Shadows and Ashes by @futurehunt Mother Save Us From Your Twisted fate by @chunkypossum which got a stunning part 2 for Eris Week this year! My favorite of my own published works is either HHtFWFiL:TE or The Ending of Darkness. Of my unpublished works honesty The Burning of Leave or The Death of Shadows are both strong contenders. For non Azris I have a Beron fic WIP for @sjmvillainweek day 1 that will probably get prioritized over the other two.

No pressure tags (and sorry if you've already been tagged): @the-darkestminds @born-to-riot @chairofchaos @thomasisaslut @chunkypossum @acourtofladydeath @shadowsandlint

#tags with stars #tag game #acotar #azris #gwynweek2024 #erisweek2024 #azrisweek2024 #eris vanserra #tarquin acotar #thesan acotar

21 notes · View notes

cherrycola27 · 1 year ago

Text

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and full smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 17: Something Just Like This

Space. A place in this world to call your own. It's something you had always wanted—something you craved.

For a while, you had that here in your apartment with Hydra and Cerberus, and now Bradley. And you had loved the space you shared with them. Until she came along and contaminated it. Your home, the place that was supposed to be your safe space, had been desecrated.

Maybe that's why, when you woke up in the wee hours of the morning on Tuesday, with Bradley still fast asleep, you found yourself scrolling through real estate sights looking at houses. You hadn't lived in an actual house on earth, ever.

The thought of having one never crossed your mind. Buying a house meant staying somewhere. It was a physical representation of permanence. Something you never had before.

But now, with Bradley, your husband, you wanted a place for the two of you. A place to raise your future family because you were done running. You'd found your place in this world.

You scrolled and scrolled until you found the perfect house. It was a four bedroom colonial. Two stories, fenced in backyard, and a large front porch. It had a pool, which you weren't thrilled about, but you knew Bradley would love.

It was in a quiet neighborhood in Coronado. The house had hardwood floors throughout, and the listing said it had been newly remodeled, which was evident in the pictures.

The outside had beautiful landscaping, which complimented the lime-washed brick of the exterior. The only drawback was the price. For most, it would deter them, but for you, who'd spent over a thousand years saving and investing on earth, it was a drop in the bucket.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you filled in your information to set up a meeting to tour the house at ten in the morning. You didn't want to tell Bradley because it's not something the two of you had talked about, but it felt so right.

So, in the morning, you told him you had some errands to run and a surprise for him when you returned.

When you came back home around two that afternoon, you were giddy with excitement. "Love, pack a bag." You announced to Bradley as you came through the door.

"For?" He asked you with a raised eyebrow.

"For Virginia Beach. I figured we might as well take advantage of this time off that we have. I know you've been wanting to go home for a bit, and I'd love to see where you grew up. So, I made a few calls, worked out a few things, and I booked us two first class tickets. Our flight leaves at five. You announce proudly as you go to your bedroom and pull out some suitcases and start packing.

"Woah, babe, slow down. What about Hyrda and Cerberus?" Bradley asks as you toss clothes at him.

"Penny agreed to pet sit for us." You tell him.

"Well, what about a place to stay? I normally stay with my aunt, but I can't just spring this on her." Bradley asks you concerned.

"Bradley, it wounds me that you don't have faith in me." You mock him as you turn around to face him for the first time. "I got us a hotel. Everything is taken care of. Now start packing!" You scold him as you return to your suitcase.

Bradley exhales, knowing that it's fruitless to argue with you. So, he relents and starts packing alongside you.

An hour and a half later, the two of you are being dropped off at the airport. You decided to Uber rather than leave either of your vehicles there.

The moment you get your bags out, a young man greets both of you. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw. I can take your things for you, and then you can follow me to the lounge."

Bradley looks a little surprised but hands your luggage over. The two of you follow the steward to the first class lounge and take a seat before getting a drink.

Bradley looks around as he settles into the plush chair with a glass of expensive scotch. "This is something else." He remarks. "Have you never flown first class?" You ask him.

"Never. When I fly commercial, I always try to upgrade to business because I'm too big to fit comfortably in economy." He shrugs his shoulders and continues to look around.

"You know, I sometimes forget that you're like, wealthy from being around so long. But then you buy me fancy watches and first-class plane tickets and I remember." Bradley chuckles.

"Bradley, Love." You lean forward in your chair. "I'm not wealthy. We are wealthy. You're my husband. For better or worse, what's mine is yours." You remind him.

"If you say so—still—it's a lot to take in." He sighs as he checks the time on his aforementioned expensive watch that you bought him.

A little while later, the two of you are on the plane tucked into your first class suite with all the bells and whistles, complete with lie-flat seats and a door.

Bradley is engrossed in finding out what all the buttons do when a flight attendant comes by with two glasses of champagne as you wait for take off.

"We didn't order these." Bradley says, but you pat his shoulder and chuckle. "They are complimentary. Perks of first class." You smile at him before grabbing the glasses and toasting. Minutes later, a dinner menu appears, and Bradley marvels at all of the choices, unable to decide.

You lean back in your chair and watch him over the rim of your glass. He's like a kid in a candy store. It warms your heart that you are able to give him all of this. You thought maybe completing your quest for worthiness was your purpose in life, but looking at your husband, you realize loving him is your true purpose.

The roughly six hour flight goes smoothly. After dinner, your suite is converted to a bed so you and Bradley can get some sleep. However, the two of you decide that joining the mile-high club was a better idea. You came with Bradley's hand firmly covering your mouth and his chest pressed against your back with him whispering absolutely filthy praises in your ear about how you were such a good girl for him.

By the time the two of you made it to your hotel late that evening, you were both thoroughly exhausted. You took a quick shower together before curling up to get some much needed sleep before meeting his family tomorrow.

....................

You woke up the next day extremely nervous.

Today, you would meet Carole's sister, Bradley's Aunt Marsha, her husband Tom, and their three children.

While the two of you were getting dressed, Bradley could sense that you were worried. The entire drive there in your rental car, he assured you that they would love you, and everything would be fine.

You felt nauseous as he pulled into their driveway. His aunt and uncle had a lovely home, and Bradley told you that they were great people, but this was all new to you.

You held his hand tightly as you climbed the couple of steps that led to the front door. Bradley rang the doorbell, and the two of you patiently waited for someone to answer. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze just before the door opened, and a lovely middle-aged woman with short blonde hair opened the door.

"Oh my goodness! Bradley! What are you doing here?!" The woman, who you knew had to be his aunt because she looked just like Carole, exclaimed as she pulled him in for a hug before cupping his face. She hadn't noticed you yet.

"Hey, Aunt Marsha! I had a few days off, so I thought I would fly out here and surprise you. I also wanted to introduce you to someone." Bradley said as you pulled you closer to him. "Y/N, this is my Aunt Marsha. Aunt Marsha, this is Y/N, my wife." Bradley smiled.

Bradley's aunt stood there silently for a moment before a wide grin spread across her face. You turned her head over her shoulder and called into her home. "Tom, Conner, Alyssa, Maddie, meet me in the living room. Bradley is here, and he brought his wife!"

Marsha ushers the two of you inside and directs you to her living room, where you sit down on the sofa.

"Marsha, what are you going on about?" And older gentleman, whom you assume is her husband, comes into room holding a cup of coffee before stopping in his tracks when he spies you and Bradley sitting on couch. You aren't sure what to do, so you shyly wave at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything, Bradley's cousin burst into the room. "Mom, what do you mean Bradley brought his—" a tall boy who has blonde curls similar to Bradley's stops short when he sees the two of you. "—Wife." He finishes in a choked tone. The two girls stand there silently, each mirroring their father's shocked expression with wide eyes and mouthed slightly agape.

Marsha stands up and scolds her husband and children. "Don't just stand there, introduce yourselves!"

All at once, the four of them move toward you. You and Bradley both stand up, and you shake hands with his Uncle Tom and his cousins Conner, Alyssa, and Maddie. You a sit back down, and there is an awkward silence in the room.

"Well, Y/N, tell us about yourself, honey." Bradley's aunt breaks the silence as she brings in cups of coffee for all of you. You take the mug and take a deep breath.

"Well, I'm a pilot like Bradley is, I'm originally from North Carolina. I'm thrity-one. I'm Greek. I have a dog and a cat, my rank is Commander, I graduated from the Naval Academy, and my parents passed away when I was nineteen. Oh, and my call sign is Hades." You say, telling them what you'd practiced on the drive over here.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry to hear about your folks." Marsha says. "It's fine, Mrs. Edwards." You shrug your shoulders. Bradley's aunt shakes her head.

"Mrs. Edwards is my mother in law. I'm Marsha or Aunt Marsha, whichever you prefer. We are family now." She smiles at you coming to sit by you on the couch and resting her hands over yours.

"Aren't you just the most beautiful woman. If there's one thing those Bradshaw boys can do, it's pick a beautiful wife. My goodness Bradley, she is gorgeous." Marsha compliments you. "Thank you." You smile back at her. "And she went to the Academy and is a Commander. That means she outrank you, doesn't it?" Marsha asks him.

"She sure does." Bradley chuckles. "Beautiful and smart. No wonder you couldn't stop talking about her when you came out to Maddie's graduation!" Marsha laughs, and Bradley blushes. You turn to him a quirk an eyebrow.

"Oh, honey, you should have heard him. He wouldn't stop talking about you!" Aunt Marsha says. "So, tell me the story, how did you two meet and all that jazz?" She asks you.

"Bradley was assigned to be my wingman, and we became friends and found out by accident that we were neighbors. We kind of danced around the fact that we liked each other for a while until Bradley asked me out on a date on my birthday. We went out the next day. Dinner and the boardwalk amusement park. He won me a stuffed shark!" You cheer as you tell them.

"Then Bradley got hurt, and I convinced him to move in with me, and last week, he proposed, and we eloped on the beach." You say, leaving out some of the more supernatural details before showing her your ring.

"This was your mother's ring, wasn't it?" Marsha asks with a few tears in her eyes. "Yes, yes, it was." Bradley says to her.

"She and Nick would have loved you." Marsha smiles at you. "You know, I never met two people who were more perfect for each other than my sister and Goose. You know he proposed after four dates. I guess when you know you know. I know Carole never loved anyone else after him. I hope they found each other in the afterlife and are happy together." Marsha sighs.

"They are." You sigh, and she looks at you confused. "I mean—I'm sure they are. Bradley has told me so much about them." You recover quickly. Marsha sighs before getting up to take your coffee cups. You offer to help her and follow her dutifully into the kitchen. You set the mugs down on the counter and turn to ask Marsha if she'd like help washing them.

But as you turn, your elbow catches the handle of one, and it crashes to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. "Oh no! I'm so sorry! Let me clean it up!" You drop to your knees to grab the broken fragments of ceramic. A sharp piece catches your index finger and you wince, drawing back at the pain.

You bring your finger up to examine yourself and notice the fresh, crimson blood leaking out of the cut. Your eyes go wide with shock. This isn't supposed to happen.

"Are you okay, dear? Here, let me get the broom." Marsha says as she scoops you to your feet and sweeps up the mess. "I'm so sorry." You say to her again.

"Oh, honey, don't you worry. There's a hundred more where that came from. Do you need a bandage? Come over to the sink and grab a stool, I'll clean you up." She says.

"I'm fine." You assure her as you wash the blood from your hands.

Hours later, you and Bradley's family, well, your family now, are gathered around the dining room tabled eating. The cut and dropped mug from earlier long forgotten.

The atmosphere is warm and welcoming and it's nice to sit down and have a family dinner where everyone wants you around.

It's nice to have a real family.

That night, when the two of you leave, Marsha and Tom insist that they have enough room for the two of you to sleep over, but Bradley tells them you already have a hotel room. His aunt makes you promise to come over again before you leave so she can show you some photo albums of Bradley through the years. When you return the next day, you spend hours flipping through them with her. Bradley blushes every time Marsha shows you one that he deems embarrassing, but you love every minute of it.

The two of you spend the next few days exploring. The day before you're set to leave, Bradley takes you to the graveyard where his parents are buried.

As you drive into the cemetery in your rented car, you hold tight to Bradley's hand. Afraid of what might happen if you don't.

He drives up a hill and stops at the top, pulling the car over to the shoulder and shutting off the engine. You both unbuckle, but you reach for his arm before exiting. "Bradley, wait," you say, catching him by the elbow.

"What's wrong, Angel?" He asks you with a soft expression. "I just—I just need to do something before we go out there. C'mere." You say to him as you pull him closer.

You lean over the console of the rental car and thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of Bradley's neck before pressing your foreheads together. You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths hoping that your idea works.

You break apart and look down, and a smile graces your features as you see what you were hoping to see.

"What was that about?" Bradley questions you. "I was seeing if we were tethered." You tell him. He cocks an eyebrow, still unsure.

"Graveyards and one of the places that I can easily travel back to the Underworld. When I'm in my true goddess form, I can see the portals inside them. But when I'm in my mortal form, I can't. If I would accidentally pass through one, I don't know if I would be strong enough to make it back. But if I'm tethered to you, I have something connecting me here to the mortal world. It keeps me safe." You explain to him.

"How do you know we are tethered?" Bradley asks. "Look at your ring. You should be able to see it." Bradley looks down, and there's a gold string running between the two of you. "Holy shit." He breathes out. "How—how is that possible? How can I see this?"

"Because you're the King of the Underworld. And as much as I never thought they existed, Bradley, you're my soulmate. Only soulmates can be tethered. It's how they find each other in the afterlife." You explain to him.

"But, but I thought you said we couldn't be soulmates. That our marriage could never be real?" Bradley shakes his head.

"Ancient laws are tricky. But I think you made it real, Bradley." You say as the pieces fall into place in your mind. "How?" He retorts.

"Because you made me an alter the first time we made love. You said you would worship at my hips, worship me. You made me an alter, and so when we got married—"

"We married at an alter of the Gods, an alter for you." He finishes. "Exactly." You smile. "So what does that mean, Angel?" Bradley presses further. "It means they can't take you from me. Gods can't tear apart soulmates. Looks like you're stuck with me." You chuckle.

Bradley smiles and kisses you before stepping out of the vehicle and coming to open your door. You slip your hand in his as the two of you walk to the headstone that marks his parent's resting place.

The two of you walk up, and Bradley introduces you as if they were actually standing in front of you. He starts talking about you to them, and you can't fight the tears that slip down your cheek at his one-sided conversation.

It's moving to watch him talk about your love and your marriage to his parents. He does it in such an enthusiastic manner that it makes your heart swell. Bradley wraps an arm around you and pulls you close after a few minutes and the two of you bask in the silence.

"I've met them." You say after a few long minutes. "What?" Bradley whispers as he looks down at you.

"I've met them. In the Underworld. The day your mother passed. I was in the Underworld trying to figure out a way to stay. She walked into Paradise asking about "her Goose." I thought she was talking about a pet until she explained that Goose was he husband's call sign. I got to see them reunite. It was— beautiful." You say to him.

"So they really are together. You meant it when you said that at Aunt Marsha's house?" Bradley tears up.

"They are together and happy and still in love. I'm sure you've heard this before, but you really do look so much like your father." You say as you cup his cheek. Your thumb brushes away some of his tears.

"I'm sorry I never told you before." You apologize. "It's okay. I understand why you didn't." Bradley says as he places his hand over yours. "I'm also sorry that I can't take you there to see them. If I was stronger—if I had my full powers—I could." You sigh, angry at yourself.

"It's okay, Angel. I know you could if you would." He whispers before kissing your forehead and pulling you in for a hug. The two of you stand there for a moment before you ask Bradley the question that's been on your mind. "Bradley, where do you want to be buried?"

He pulls back and thinks for a moment. "I never really thought about it. I always figured I'd either burn in, and there wouldn't be anything left of me or that I'd die alone and get boxed up and put in some military graveyard. But I think— I think I'd like to be buried here, with my parents. I'd like to have this view forever." He says as the two of you watch the hues of red and orange paint the evening sky.

"I think I can make sure that happens. Right here is going to be the perfect spot to spend eternity with you." You say. Bradley shakes his head. He doesn't say it, but he knows that he's going to die before you. But you've already promised him that you won't let him go without you. He just hopes you're both old and have lived a full life with that happens.

The two of you say goodbye to Goose and Carole with a promise to visit again soon before leaving.

Your flight home the next day is uneventful.

It's mid afternoon by the time you make it back. The two of you Uber back to your apartment before going to pick up Cerby and Hydra from Mav and Penny. You insist on driving to go get them. Bradley makes a fuss about it but ultimately gives in and hands you your keys.

"Angel, this isn't the way to Mav and Penny's." Bradley remarks as you make a turn. "I know." You hum back. You drive for a few more minutes before you pull into your final destination.

"Honey, who's house is this?" Bradley asks you as you pull in the driveway. "It's for sale. Let's go take a look." You say before hoping out of the car and bounding up the steps to the front door.

"Angel—baby—Hades, wait! We can't just go in a house that's for sale. We don't know if someone might be here!" Bradley scolds you as he follows you up the steps.

"No one is home, and we can go in if we have the key." You reply as you hold up the shiny piece of metal before unlocking the door. "How did you get that?" Bradley interrogates you as you step inside. "I have my ways." You laugh. "C'mon, Bradley, look around with me. Don't be such a kill joy." You tease him as you begin to flit throughout the space.

The bay windows along the back wall let in tons of natural like, and the floor plan is open concept with the kitchen, living room, and dining room flowing into one another. Gorgeous amber colored hardwoods run throughout the house and there is a fireplace along one wall.

The kitchen has beautiful light grey cabinets with white counter tops, and all the appliances are stainless steel. Bradley follows you up the stairs as he takes in all of the bedrooms before you lead him downstairs to the back patio and outdoor kitchen and the pool.

"Isn't this place amazing, Love?" You say to him with starry eyes.

"It's great, but—"He says hesitantly. "But what?" You ask him as you wrap your arms around his middle. "This is an expensive neighborhood and I know that you have money—"

"We have money." You correct him.

"We have money." He sighs. "But I don't want to spend so much of it. You earned that, and it's not fair."

You chuckle. "Bradley, I can't take it with me. And I've never had a reason to have a house until now. I mean, think about it. The yard would be perfect for Cerby and later on some kids. I mean, this would be the perfect home to raise our family in. You could teach them to swim in that pool while I make snacks in the outdoor kitchen. We could have our friends over. Heck, your aunt and uncle and cousins could come visit us. This place would be the perfect home for us!" You try to reason with him.

"I guess you're right. A place like this would be perfect for us to have a family. I guess we could talk to a realtor." Bradley laughs as the thought of you standing in the kitchen round and pregnant with his child while a toddler is running around the back yard with him creeps into his mind.

"We don't have to talk to a realtor, Bradley." You tell him. "I'm pretty sure we do, honey." Bradley chuckles.

"I'm pretty sure we don't. When we pulled up, you asked me whose house this was. Well, it's our house, Bradley. Welcome home." You say as you take a step back and dangle a key in front of him.

"You—you bought us a house? When? How?" He stammers, taking in your words. "The morning we left for Virginia. You'd be amazed what you can get done for the right amount of money.

"So you, you own this?" Bradley sweeps his hand around.

"We own this." You smile.

Bradley is silent for a moment before he picks you up and spins you around and carries you out the front door and onto the porch.

"Bradley? What are you doing?" You laugh. "I'm supposed to carry you across the threshold. It's tradition." He says with a matter of fact tone before doing just that. You break out into a fit of giggles as he sets you down and starts going through your home in earnest.

.................

Two weeks later, the two of you are all moved in. Your furniture fills the room, your photos and decor fill the walls and shelves. Your dishes sit in the cabinets, and Hydra and Cerberus have settled in nicely.

You've just come out of your huge new shower and are doing your nighttime routine when you notice a bruise from when you hit the corner of the kitchen island when making dinner, but you shake it off. As you apply some lotion, you notice the small scar on your hand from the mug you broke in Virginia.

When you go to inspect it further, you suddenly realize just how tired you are as you let out a yawn. You don't dwell on it because Bradley is calling you to come to bed, and the idea of being wrapped up in his big strong arms is the only thing you can be bothered to think of right now.

Taglist: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @asshlyyyy @inkandarsenic @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @skipchat @sunlightmurdock @princess76179 @supernaturalvikingwhore @schoollover @cheyrenee @briseisgone @angelbabyange @marvelouslyme96

#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #tgm #top gun rooster #rooster smut #bradley bradshaw smut #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction #top gun 2 #false god #Spotify

93 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 10 months ago

Text

The Backseat: Jack Hodgson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

When Jack first meets you it’s alongside a dead body on the beach. You’re eight months pregnant and he simply can’t take his eyes off you. You have this glow about you, a rosiness in your cheeks and brightness in your eyes that he can’t help but fall in love with. He has to help you up off the sand because once you’ve crouched down you can’t get yourself back up.

“First one?” He says to be conversational.

“My sister’s.” You explain, your palm coming to rest on the space where your nephew resides. “I’m a surrogate for her.”

It’s an open secret with the people you work with. There’s a running joke that you did it just for the maternity leave. The time off and none of the hassle but the truth is you’ll kind of miss not having him with you. You already know how tough it will be to hand him over despite the fact Diane and Ethan will make wonderful parents.

“That’s commendable.” Jack says as he helps you to your feet. “Not long to go now until you meet the wee fella.”

You end up in his immediate proximity, stomach bumping lightly against his as his firm hands come to rest on your shoulders, steadying you. You have the most beautiful eyes, he thinks as he looks down at you. For a moment he’s completely captivated and then that he realises his shoes are wet.

“Did your water just break?” He asks you as you look down at your damp trousers.

“Well you didn’t get me excited enough to wet myself.” You say with a sigh before unzipping your fleece and tying it around your waist to hide the staining.

“What are you doing?” He asks you as you remove your official notebook from your pocket and write something down. “We should be getting you to the hospital.”

“I’m not in active labour yet.” You reassure him, before taking out your phone and typing out a text to your DCI. “It’ll be at least an hour before they send someone along to relieve me, they’re short staffed as it is and we’re starting to lose the daylight.”

“So we’re just going to work until the baby makes an appearance?” He questions you as you gesture towards the corpses behind you.

“I told you I’m not in active labour, we’ve got some time.” You say mildly and Jack thinks you must be the most dedicated woman he’s ever met because anyone else would be losing their mind right now, especially with their first baby.

It takes an hour for Nikki and Velvy to get onto the scene and by that time your labour is well on the way, you’re having contractions every few minutes.

“I’m taking her to the hospital.” Jack tells them, handing over the forensics to Velvy. “The baby’s coming quicker than we thought.”

He doesn’t know when it became a ‘we’ but over the past hour he’s become highly invested in you and this baby. He thinks it was the moment you gripped his hand so hard during a contraction you almost broke his fingers. He knows that you’re alone right now, your sister is away in Belgium with her husband, a mini break before the baby arrived because Joshua, he’s due next month.

You don’t make it to the hospital. Jack ends up delivering baby Joshua on the hard shoulder of the motorway in the backseat of his car. Oddly it’s not the first baby he’s delivered but he hopes it’s the last.

“I thought we’d at least have to wait until the third date until we got to this point.” You tell him as he kneels between your legs and pulls on the spare set of latex gloves from his kit.

“This is one way of getting all that awkwardness out the way.” He says with a knowing smile. “There’ll be time to get to all that fun stuff later.”

“Would this be the weirdest first date you’ve ever been on?” You ask him through gritted teeth as another contraction takes you.

“This is more like a work outing.” He remarks as he peers under the blanket he’s draped over you to preserve as much of your modesty as he can. “I’m going to need you to push with the next contraction, I can see the baby’s head.”

It’s all over and done with by the time the paramedics arrive. He follows the ambulance to the hospital, wondering how much it’s going to cost to get the back seat upholstered.

When he stops by your room it’s with a bag from the gift shop, a bunch of brightly coloured flowers and a helium balloon ‘that says it’s a boy’.

“Jack…” You say softly because you have the baby, resting against your chest. “You’ve already done enough.”

“Yea well, maybe I wanted to see this little guy again.” He tells you, chucking the babies chin. “See if I can persuade you to give him my namesake.”

“Sorry but my sister is firmly fixed on Joshua.” You murmur as the baby shifts against you. There’s a moment of silence before he says.

“It’s going to be hard for you isn’t it? Handing him over.”

The edges of your mouth tip up into a sad smile as you look down at the baby in your arms.

“I wouldn’t be much of a mother.” You tell him, your thumb smoothing over the baby’s cheek. “I’ve been on the job too long, seen too much, done too much. The best I can do is be there for this little one if he needs me.”

“It’s the same way with my niece.” Jack tells you. “This world…”

The two of you have seen the worst of it, he doesn’t need to say anything else.

“After this…” Jack says gesturing to the hospital bed. “When you’re feeling better, I’d like to take you out, get to know you with your clothes on.”

You laugh then and it truly is just the most wonderful sound.

“I’d like that.” You tell him, your eyes flickering up to meet his as the baby starts to grumble. “I’d like that a lot.”

Love Jack? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#jack hodgson #jack hodgson x reader #silent witness #david caves #silent witness jack

36 notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 4 months ago

Text

From Paper to Reality

Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: pranks & practical jokes, established relationship, haunted houses, festivals, married couple that still flirts, fluff

Word Count: 820

A/N: Requested by @protosslady for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Haunted House)

Thorin brings your idea to life.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

"You're terrible, Thorin."

"It'll help them grow their beards."

You smile at your husband, and at the parchment on the table. When Thorin came to you with the idea, you thought it silly. But after plenty of convincing, you agreed to help him, but only with the planning. Your design is perfect, but it's Thorin's job to execute it.

"The lads are always teasing each other about the ghosts in the Mines. Daring each other to go in when the workers leave. They claim they aren’t afraid.”

"You're terrorizing children now?"

Thorin shoots you a look and you grin, knowing you've caught him.

"Just a bit of fun," shrugs Thorin.

You nod. "It'll be open to everyone. It is a festival."

"Yes. But I want them to go in together. If they're to eventually brave battle, they need to face their fears."

"By scaring them, Thorin?"

"Hardly."

You hold your hands up in a placating gesture. "If anything goes wrong. It's on you."

"Nothing will go wrong. If anything, they'll come out the other side a bit braver than before."

"Children grow by trying through failure and encouragement," you reply. "Scaring the wits out of them seems a bit...excessive."

"They might be children but they're hardly wee lads anymore. A bit of fear isn't so bad."

"They're your nephews, Thorin. Is Dís aware of this?"

Thorin shrugs, but doesn't exactly look you in the eye when he answers. "My sister knows."

You're not going to shove yourself between siblings. Thorin loves Dís. Adores her. And he adores his nephews, but he isn't a father. At least, not yet. Not that the two of you haven't been trying.

"I'll leave you to it," you reply, backing away from Thorin's desk.

His personal office in your shared chambers is spacious, full of books and scrolls along with tools and weapons.

"Don't want to stay?" he asks with a sly smile.

You know his meaning, and warmth floods your cheeks. "I have things to do, Thorin."

"Am I one of those things?"

You laugh and smack at his chest. Thorin grabs your wrist and pulls you in, stealing a kiss.

"Show me when it's done," you say, departing.

"This is...amazing!"

Your layout and ideas have completely come to life. You’re in awe of it, and of how quickly Thorin put it all together.

Thorin beams with pride. "Can't take all the credit. But I'd like to."

"Will you walk me through?" you ask, grasping Thorin's bicep.

"Want the full experience?" he asks.

"Yes!"

Thorin turns and nods toward two dwarves standing nearby. One pulls a lever. You hear clanking and then fog rolls out from the entrance.

Whenever harvest season ends for the citizens of Dale, a large festival is held. The dwarves participate, often doing their own activities. While food and drink are largely consumed, it's mostly a time to reflect on the coming colder days that are shorter and darker. In Dale, there is always some sort of maze for spooks and scares. Couples typically venture in, but it's usually enjoyable for everyone.

Thorin wanted to make his own this year simply to tease his nephews.

"You've outdone yourself," you say to Thorin.

"Haven't even seen inside yet."

Wrapping your arm in his, Thorin guides the two of you inside. At first, it is dark, but small lights illuminate the floor, giving you just enough light to see the path. The rest is in shadow.

A brief bout of anxiety grips your chest as the two of you round a corner. Before you is another corner. A tight turn. The space is narrow, the makeshift wall rubbing against your arm as the two of you take the turn.

At the next turn, the light dims, and the fog increases. Something moves in the dark, and you instinctively move closer to Thorin.

"Watch," he murmurs, as two glowing red eyes appear and then disappear back into the dark.

"What is that?" you whisper.

"Two rubies lit in a lantern. It's on a gear that covers the light when it hits a certain groove."

"Impressive."

Thorin guides you through the rest. At each scare, Thorin pauses to explain to it. The fake skeletons were all casted with clay, and the rags came from donations. The hanging vines and branches were all collected and strung together by some of the miners’ wives. There are plenty of straightforward frights, and others that are more thought out and subtle.

By the end, a tingling thrill radiates throughout your body.

"Thoughts?" asks Thorin as you emerge back into the light.

"I think you'll scare them."

"Think?" Thorin observers you, his gaze roaming up and down your body. "Look at you. You're clinging to me," teases Thorin.

"Hardly," you retort, loosening your grip on his arm.

Thorin laughs and pulls you right back. "Tell me your thoughts."

"I think you'll scare more than your nephews."

taglist:

@glassgulls @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @glitterypirateduck @foxxy-126

@km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei

@cherryofdeath @ferns-fics @ninman82 @eternallyvenus @beebeechaos

@smileykiddie08 @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41 @waves-against-a-cliff @thewulf

@thetaekwondofeline @mrsdurin

122 notes · View notes

cryptid-killjoy · 4 months ago

Text

@orleans-jester

Valerie still told her dreamless husband all hers so he would never be without. She loved sharing. If mornings were busy or he was still asleep she wrote them down. After this particular dream she wasn't sure how she felt about just writing it down and leaving it there to be read through like some pop up surprise. She felt nervous about speaking on it though. It was a subject she didn't like to bring up. It didn't feel like a bad dream though and that was the strangest part of it all. It felt like a very good dream. Thomas always told her not to feel shy about talking to her about anything. It was still hard to bring it all up when it felt like it was all so far away and finally under their belts to the point it wasn't a concern. Then boop. Surprise dream. She didn't get to choose it either. She supposed if she got infiltrated it was only fair to share. Plus, she promised about her dreams, to share them all.

She turned and when he'd wake she'd say, "I had another dream. I'm a wee nervous about this one." Might as well admit it.

"My dream was of all three Flowers family members all together waving at us. Mom, Dad, and daughter. It was NOT Dug the Hellhound, It was Dug the mentally challenged boy. Rapunzel, Dug, and Summer. They were all reunited again.

"Punz even apologized to me which was weird, closed mouth, quiet, but it was there. No real words spoken out loud. The whole dream was quiet. That's what makes it feel so real. There's spaces like that on the other side. But, that was the dream mostly. Then Hellhound Dug, our Dug, you and me went on our way after we waved back. We were walking back to our family and the Flowers went on theirs as maybe it always should have been? We were all smiling. Them. Us. Oh and I was in Flotsam shape. It felt like everything got set right again like there was balance put back in the world somehow.

"After all the apologies, amends, and accountability I've taken with Maleficent, Oogie, and others along the way, some not even wanted when I tried, what a world it'd be if I ever got one of the apologies I actually deserve for once and Punzel made amends with me. The other side is strange that way. There was a weird little part of me that wondered if I saw her on the other side if she'd ever give me that justice? It almost made me wonder if it was real. It felt so vivid, so lucid, like the other side tapping in. But, we don't even know if the youngest is gone or not. I'm assuming Dug's still in the hound? His body sure is. What do I know about his soul? There's a weird part of me that thinks it's prophetic and I wouldn't even be mad at it if it were, but it's probably not, maybe just wishful dreaming?

"Anyway, yeah... you think it means anything? I feel a little stupid and self conscience dreaming it after all this time."

She fidgeted a lot as she spoke, more like a messy Flotsam than a composed Valerie.

#valeriexthomas #random morning #dream journal entry

8 notes · View notes

theladyofdeath · 2 years ago

Text

Lady Death's Lover {I}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: Please be sure to read the trigger warnings before reading the chapter or any chapter from this story! I hope you all enjoy reading these chapters as much as I've enjoyed writing them. Writing this fic has been a coping mechanism of sorts. Please like, drop a comment, or reblog if you wish. x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

My Dearest Sister,

I must apologize for Feyre’s absence in this letter. She is angry with you after your previous words and says that Isaac Hale is more of a man than you will ever realize. Now, I know nothing of their relationship so I cannot chime in, but even with her in a bitter state, I wanted to reply to your kind and loving words.

I’m so pleased that your life with Tomas is so grand. It’s like a fairytale, one we read of when we were young. You’re like Cinderella, saved by a prince that could give you the world. I can only hope that I, myself, find such a happy ending one day.

You were right in your speculations. Greysen and I are no more. He’s promised to another, in fact. They shall be married this season and although I understand - she is a beautiful lady of society, you see - I have still cried myself to sleep each night for a month. There is no need for you to come protect my honor. He has made his choice and it is one that I must live with. By the Mother’s grace, I shall move on.

Do you think that there is a time when I can come visit you? A ball sounds so exciting. What are they like? I imagine lovely treats and drinks and magnificent dresses. Oh, and lovely music where couples dance until wee hours of the morning. I’ve been practicing my dances, although I have very few opportunities to use such knowledge around here. I hope to attend events this season to show my newfound skills. My favorite is the waltz. How romantic!

Tell Tomas we say hello. Feyre, although angry, sends her love. So does father. We miss you, dear sister. I hope to hear from you soon.

Your sister,

Elain

Nesta

“Undress.”

I notice my husband comes into my room but he waits ten minutes before saying a word. Of course, the first word he says is demeaning, but I do not have the right to refuse him. Even so, I pretend to read my book for another moment, although there is no use in reading. The air is too thick when he is present to read. Even my escape becomes nonexistent.

“Nesta.”

My name on his lips feels wrong. There is no awe in it, no love. There is only a hint of annoyance. Reluctantly, I place a ribbon between the pages of my novel and close it shut.

“Apologies, my lord,” I say. I hardly recognize my own voice. “It is hard to put down a story so captivating.”

“Ah,” he says, chuckling, and the sound sends a shiver down my spine. “I should have known, my headstrong wife. Come. Undress.”

I am only in my nightdress, and it hardly hides a thing, but I don’t say as much. What’s one more layer gone?

When I stand, I feel I am no longer in my body. I feel like an outsider, watching myself from a distance with an empty space where my heart should be. I hardly notice his eyes on me as I slip my shift off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I stand before him, bare and unfeeling, glad he is only looking and has yet to touch.

I know the peace will not last long.

He approaches me.

As he begins stripping off his shirt and trousers, I lay back down in the center of my bed and wait. I find a spot on my ceiling, a spot next to the golden trim where it seems a spark flew too high out of the fireplace. I focus on the spot, then my breathing, and as my husband crawls on top of me, I force my body to relax.

As he pushes into me, that spot becomes my anchor.

I did not want to marry Tomas. The truth of the matter is that I would have married anyone, and I probably would have hated every man pushed in my direction just as much as I hate Tomas. I have yet to meet a man worthy of anything other than disdain that has a title to his name and although me marrying a man with a title, with money, was necessary, I know that I would’ve been happier marrying a man that had absolutely nothing.

I’ll never know.

We were wealthy once, when my mother was alive, but after her death everything seemed to fall apart. My father made a series of poor business decisions and it left us with nothing. It wasn’t until Lord Tomas Mandray visited our village for a weekend last Autumn that our luck changed. We were in the right place at the right time and he took notice of me. My father negotiated our marriage and that was that.

I had no say in the matter. Yet, I would stand by every time, would let it happen all over again if given the chance. My sisters are cared for, thanks to my husband’s generosity. As is my father, but I could care less about his happiness, if I may be so blunt. He has never given a damn about me. Why should I feel any differently?

Above me, Tomas grunts. It’s a horrible noise, recurring, until his body grows tense, releasing inside of me. I keep still. The stiller I am, the quicker this ends.

He collapses on top of me and catches his breath. I lay there, flat on the mattress until he rolls off of me and rises from the bed, redressing. I do not move until he’s gathered all of his garments and walks toward the door, his exit.

“I’m going to the club,” he says, and that’s it. The door shuts behind him and I’m being enveloped in the silence. For a moment, I cannot move. I continue to stare at the spot on the ceiling, its grand display becoming a comfort to me. I let Tomas’ release drip out of me, unsure if I want to become with child or not. A child would be a blessing, an heir, my duty, but it would also be Tomas’s, and there is a part of me, a selfish part of me, that does not want to progress his bloodline. Perhaps a man as brutal, as demeaning, as execrable as him should not reproduce. I know that children are not their parents, but I also know Tomas.

The air suddenly becomes brisk against my bare skin but I can’t bring myself to move. When I move, I’ll have to get up, I’ll have to clean myself, I’ll have to redress and pretend as if everything is fine.

Nothing is fine. Fine is irrelevant.

The spot on the ceiling begins to blur and I cannot tell if I am crying or my eyes have simply given up. Either way, I feel nothing. I’m not certain how long I lay there, how many minutes or hours pass, but the sky outside remains dark as time goes by, dismissing my emptiness into nothingness. I pray to the gods, the Mother, the Cauldron, anyone who is willing to listen to give me an ounce of strength.

I’ve no clue what time it is by the time I finally convince my feet to move, finally convince myself to rise and cleanse the remnants of my husband’s seed from my body. When I lay down again, I close my eyes and pretend to fall asleep until it finally claims me.

~.~.~

Cassian

The numbers are not where they should be.

I’ve gone over this month’s pages twice now and I feel a sense of panic rising up inside of me so I pour a drink, then another, until the numbers no longer scare the shit out of me. I’ve only started feeling the joyous buzz when the door to my study bursts open and my two closest friends, my brothers, stride through the door, unwelcomed and not caring.

“Get up!” Rhysand says, grinning in that way that I equally love and hate. The grin that says something terrifying is about to take place. “We’re going out.”

“I don’t want to go out.”

“You work too much,” Azriel mutters, plopping down on a settee against a far wall. “And that’s coming from me.”

“I’m trying to build an empire to pass onto my children,” I defend.

Rhysand barks a laugh. “What children? First you need a wife and you won’t find that sitting on your ass alone every night.”

“It’s late,” I say, but it’s more of a groan as I let my face fall into my hands.

“It’s not even midnight,” Rhysand mutters, shaking his head. “What happened to you? You used to be the fun one.”

“Yes, well, I’m nearly thirty. The fun had to end eventually.”

Azriel whistles. “Someone’s feeling morbid.”

“Hardly made a profit this month.” My words are muffled by my hands. “I think I’m going to have to raise the rents. Again. It’s been a shitty spring in the fields. Hardly anything’s been produced.”

Rhysand sighs, sitting next to Azriel and tossing an arm around his shoulder. “You’ve some money set aside, yeah? Look to invest. My investments bring in far more money than anything else.”

My hands fall from my face and land on top of the papers that are scattered across my desk. I nearly knock over a candle. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Sounds like a lot of work that I’m not prepared for.”

“Yeah, work that’ll pay off. Quickly.” Rhysand jostles Azriel’s shoulder.

Azriel sighs. “Are we getting a drink? I need a drink.”

“You two go,” I say, attempting to straighten the scattered papers. “I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.”

“Know who you should meet with?” Rhysand asks, paying absolutely no attention to the words coming out of the rest of us. “Tomas Mandray. I hear he’s gotten a hold of a few profitable mines up north. Always looking for investors. Easy money.”

Just the name of that asshole makes me feel sick. “That guy’s a prick.”

“Yeah, a successful prick,” Rhysand says, and Azriel snorts. “You meet with him once a year and get a good payout every month. Surely that’s worth it.”

“Leave him alone,” Azriel says, eyeing the half-full bottle of brandy on my desk lovingly. “If he wishes to dismiss solid business opportunities, let him.”

“So you agree with Rhys?” I ask, picking up my empty glass only to realize there’s nothing in it.

Azriel’s lips thin. “I don’t care what you do, as long as it involves me getting a drink at some point.”

I lift a brow. “Something the matter? Seem agitated.”

“Az is always agitated.” Rhysand claps Azriel on the shoulder yet again, to his dismay. “I’ll set up a meeting. Go if you want, don’t if you want to keep crunching numbers until you fall asleep on your desk. Come. Az needs to be drunk.”

Azriel didn’t deny it. I suddenly feel a sense of selfishness, worried I’ve missed what’s been going on in both of their lives. Clearly something’s wrong with Azriel, something I should know about but don’t. I’ve been too engrossed in this shit. Abruptly, I stand up from my desk and try to smooth out my rumpled shirt. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Rhysand frowns and Azriel lifts a brow. The former asks, “With you looking like that?”

I sit back down. “You’re right. I should stay here.”

With a curse, Azriel stands and hurries out the door, leaving Rhysand and I alone.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask, quietly.

Rhysand shrugs. “Won’t say, but I know it’s bad. He needs us. He needs entertainment.”

I sigh, fully aware I’m losing this battle. I realize that his carefree attitude tonight has been for Azriel’s benefit alone. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off.

“I know Mandray is the last person you want to spend your time with, but he’s honorable. In business, anyway. It’ll be worth it. I mean it. I’ll call for a meeting.”

I stare at my brother for a long time, knowing he’s the only person in this city more stubborn than myself. “Fine, but if this comes back to bite me in the ass, you’re paying for it.”

His grin tells me that he doesn’t give a damn. “It won’t. I’ve been doing business with him for years.”

Azriel comes back into the room at full speed, tossing a jacket and hat on my desk. “It’ll cover your wrinkled shirt. Come now.”

This time, when he rushes out of the room, Rhysand and I are following him. I’m not certain where we’ll find ourselves, in an opium den or brothel or a common gentleman’s club, but I must admit that as we walk out of my townhouse, into the cool night air, I feel a little bit lighter.

If there is one thing I can count on, it is the company of the two men before me. We’ve known each other since we were children and they are the closest thing I’ve ever had to a family.

My father was a man of nobility but my mother worked in a brothel. Being his only son, my father recognized me as his heir but never named my mother. I used to think it was a curse but after my father’s death I saw it for the blessing it was. I don’t know if I’ll ever marry, but if I do…and if I have children of my own…they will be well cared for.

Financially. Morally. All of it.

When that day comes, if it comes, I’ll consider myself a lucky man. But, for now, I follow Rhysand and Azriel from one side of town to the other to be the fun, young bastard I once was.

I’ll need it, especially if I’m getting into business with Lord Tomas Mandray.

#fanfic #acotar #fanfiction #nessian #acowar #acomaf #sjm #period au #19th century au #nesta #cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta

102 notes · View notes