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leslie-lyman · 8 months

Text

Menagerie

Part of the Euclidean Geometry ‘verse

Summary: Early on in their relationship, when everything is new and exciting and uncertain, Pero introduces their girl to his work as a glass artist.

Pairing: modern!Pero Tovar x Frankie x Jack x nameless!OFC/f!reader (written in third person, reader is only referred to as she/her, with no physical descriptors)

Word count: 3.9k

Rating: Explicit 🚨 absolutely no minors!

Warnings: smut; mentions of sex between everyone in this polycule (Frankie x Jack x Pero x reader), but the actual smut is just Pero x reader; unprotected PIV; completely unregulated POV switching; that thing where I write all the dialogue in italics instead of using quotation marks because it just feels right for this series for some reason?; everything your author mentions here about glassmaking she learned from YouTube/Google

a/n: look mom, I actually finished a fic again! Maybe my ability to write hasn’t abandoned me after all…?

Masterlist.

———

She notices the sculptures the very first time they take her home. (Though not, she must admit, until the morning after, having been awfully distracted the night before by the attention Frankie, Pero, and Jack lavished her with on the way to their bed.)

Three glass animal figures sit together in a proud display in the living room built-ins next to the fireplace: a falcon, wings spread wide and claws poised to attack; a rearing horse, tall and magnificent; and a bull, one hoof raised and head lowered as it prepares to charge.

They are Pero’s work. In his post-Army career he now runs a small but highly regarded workshop of glass artisans, all veterans like himself.

His talent is obvious. Each feather in the falcon’s wings is rendered in exquisite detail. The horse stands on just his back two feet, perfectly balanced. The bull’s pose denotes a gracefulness underlying all that brute strength. They feel alive.

It’s the three of them, they tell her.

Frankie, the pilot, is the falcon. Precise, controlled, deadly. Vigilant. Protective.

Jack, the cowboy, is the horse. Proud, independent, wild. Confident. Courageous.

And Pero, of course, is the bull. Strong, stubborn, fierce. Masculine. Powerful.

There’s evidence of his work elsewhere in the house the three of them now share. Their kitchen cabinets are full of mismatched glasses, bowls, and plates, many of them early versions of new techniques or designs Pero worked to master before offering them as options to clients. The base of an end table in the den is a cresting glass wave nearly three feet tall. Brilliantly colored vases that sell for thousands at the workshop line either side of the back deck steps, filled with impatiens and begonias carefully tended by Frankie.

Pero asks her to come to the workshop with him one day, and she can sense without being told that such an offer is significant. It’s still early on in…whatever this is between her and the three of them. Early enough that it hasn’t solidified yet, it hasn’t settled. She wants them, all of them, and they want her (all of her), but whether the fantasy can manifest as reality is uncertain. Can they all rearrange their lives enough to build something lasting, something real?

Pero has been the hardest to figure out. He is the quietest of the men, the least quick to laugh, the last one to betray what he’s thinking. He fucks like he wants to consume her, devour her, and yet he can be as gentle as Frankie or Jack when he’s done, silently cradling her to his chest as long as she wants as they come down from their highs. He’s much less forthcoming about himself than the other two are, and she’s far less sure about what he wants.

It’s a chilly Sunday morning when she meets him at the workshop. It’s the first time she’s spent any real time with him alone, her stomach full of an odd combination of excitement and nerves.

He takes her in through the gallery of finished works at the front of the building. Bright lights and mirror-backed shelves show off the many pieces, from large imposing sculptures to tiny coupe cocktail glasses that sparkle and glimmer. The middle of the space is dominated by a sculpture of a dragon-like creature larger than she is, its many-fanged mouth open in a roar and its skin a rich rippling green.

Pero doesn’t give her time to linger, however, leading her quickly into the back where the workshop itself is housed. A tension in his shoulders loosens when they enter, and she gets the sense that he isn’t interested in showing off his finished pieces. It’s the process of creating that he likes, that he needs.

If the gallery is bright and shiny and polished, the workshop is a dark, gritty warehouse-like space. Multiple forges line one wall, and it is clear each artist has their own space set up here. Pero’s space is near the back, tucked into a corner. Various tools and implements hang from the walls and rest on tables: blowpipes of every length, tweezers, pliers, clamps, paddles, torches, molds. It looks a little like a medieval torture chamber.

Despite the cavernous feel of the space, it’s warm inside; the forge nearest Pero’s corner is already lit and glowing. She sheds her jacket, leaving her in a soft chambray button-down shirt and black leggings. Pero gives her a gruff explanation of safety basics and insists that she wear a pair of enormous clear safety glasses.

Really, Pero?

Do not argue with me, querida.

The endearment is new, and makes her shiver.

You make all the girls you bring here wear these, hm? She says it playfully, but there’s curiosity behind it.

I have only brought two others here, and Jack and Francisco wore the glasses without complaint.

That pulls her up short, but Pero merely hands her the glasses and busies himself with his tools.

She’d assumed at first that this would be entirely a demonstration on Pero’s part, with her as mere spectator. Normally the idea of a date spent watching a man show off some skill to try and impress her as a one-woman audience would make her roll her eyes. But Pero isn’t boastful about any of this. This isn’t about his ego. He’s letting her in, showing her things that are important to him rather than telling her.

And, she quickly discovers, she’s hardly expected to sit idly by and observe.

Pero loads the tip of a pipe nearly as tall as she is with a glowing lump of molten glass the size of a softball.

Glasswork is rarely a solo endeavor, he tells her. Large pieces often require an entire team of people working in sync. Even small pieces necessitate a partner. It takes not only speed and skill, but also constant communication and trust to successfully bring a piece to life.

As he speaks, he rests his pipe against the edge of a table and rolls it back and forth, helping the glass to keep its roughly oval shape.

Give it a try, querida. He offers the end of the pipe to her.

It’s heavier than she’d anticipated, the heat of the glass sinking through her clothes like the rays of a tiny sun. Her first few rolls of the pipe are too fast, but after a minute she begins to get the hang of how to keep the glass from bending and morphing under its own weight.

Good, Pero says, and suddenly there’s a flare of heat in her stomach. Keep that steady turn all the while, and bring it over here.

There’s a large tray set out on the end of the table, filled with tiny squares of glass in shades of blue and green and milky white. Pero instructs her to roll the glass on the pipe through the squares like a lint roller until there’s a rough coating covering it. It’s an oddly satisfying sensation, the molten glass acting like putty or taffy that grows steadily less pliant as it cools.

Now we take it back into the forge, Pero says, and she gives him room to take the pipe from her, but he merely gives her an encouraging nod of his head toward the forge.

The opening into the heart of the furnace isn’t terribly large, maybe a foot or so in diameter. But the heat roars from it with a power she can feel, rather than hear. It throbs and beats at her like a warning.

She hesitates, but then Pero’s arms are around her, gently but firmly grasping the pipe on either side of her hands.

Like this, he murmurs in her ear as he guides the ball of glass into the belly of the forge. She’s intently aware of every inch of him pressed up behind her, the firm wall of his chest and his slightly softer belly, so close she can feel him breathe.

He likes to fuck her from behind, she’s found.

Every time they’ve had each other, in the handful of times they’ve been intimate thus far, Pero’s put her on her hands and knees, his impossibly big hands holding her down as he fucks her with his impossibly big cock. He likes to wait until Frankie and Jack are done and spent, their cum dribbling out of her or dripping down her skin, before rolling her over and sinking deep into her heat. His grip is firm and possessive, his fingers insistent at her clit. He never fails to make her come with a pace just the right side of too much, the other men soothing her with soft praises of good girl and you take it so well for him, sweetheart.

It’s an automatic response now, the fire that blooms in her belly when she feels him at her back that has nothing to do with the flames licking the molten glass in front of her.

————-

She somehow manages to concentrate on the tasks at hand enough to safely move through the rest of the process.

Fire the glass, roll it, shape it, fire it again, push, pull, fire, roll, shape, fire…

How did you learn to do this? She asks Pero, holding the pipe steady for him while he plucks at the glass with a massive pair of pliers.

My father, is all he says at first. She lets the ensuing silence be, lets him decide if he wants to elaborate. He does.

My father was a glassmaker. When I was a boy in Spain, I would spend every spare minute in his workshop. He taught me everything he knew. I would watch him craft beautiful things out of nothing, shaping and coaxing the glass to his will in an act of creation. He was like a god in my eyes.

She tries to square this information with the little she already knows about Pero’s life.

Why did you leave Spain?

He plucks the pipe from her hands and returns to the forge. His grip is so sure, his movements so fluid. When he returns to her, he passes her the rod and picks up the pliers.

My father died. I was fourteen. My mother moved us to America, and I was full of grief and teenage rage. A combination I was all too happy to let the US Army exploit.

This part she’s heard. Twenty years in the Field Artillery, operating mobile rocket systems and infantry support guns, leading men and their weapons into combat zones across multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. A life lived under fire.

But you found your way back to this, she says.

He looks up at her from where he crouches over the glass, now taking shape as a small vase.

It is the only other thing I know how to do.

She frowns at his modesty, but before she can respond he beckons her around the other side of the table they’re working at. He’s rolled and pulled the glass until no more than a slim column connects the bottom of the base to the pipe. He puts on thick heat-resistant gloves and cradles the vase, instructing her to tap ever-so-gently at the connecting sliver of glass with a small mallet.

With a barely perceptible chink the column breaks, freeing the vase. Pero then fires the bottom of the vase with a handheld blowtorch to smooth it out, and settles the vase into the bowl of a large round kiln for the final cooling process.

The vase stands maybe ten inches high, vaguely v-shaped with a flat bottom. The once bright orange ball of molten glass is now a brilliant turquoise, speckled with the tiny green and blue and white fragments she’d rolled it in. The rim is uneven, pulled and twisted by Pero’s pliers and it makes her think of the edges of a crashing wave.

She stands next to him and looks down at it before he closes the lid to the kiln. It’s small and simple and doubtless less polished than what Pero could have made with a more experienced partner, but it’s theirs.

We made that, she says, turning and giving him a shy smile.

His lips quirk up - not quite a smile, but there’s a softness to his expression that makes her breath catch.

A satisfying process, no? He asks. She nods. The moment stretches between them, the silence not awkward, but instead full of a warm, quiet intimacy.

Come on, pretty girl, Pero murmurs, reaching up to gently remove the safety glasses from her face. Let’s clean up.

Somehow she finds even the sight of him returning every tool back to its proper place, knowing exactly where each piece goes so that it’s ready for the next time he needs it, terribly attractive.

She catches his hand after everything’s put away, pulling his focus.

Thank you, she says, for this. Thank you for letting me in, for revealing this part of you, she doesn’t say, but hopes he knows that’s what she means. I’d…I’d love to do this again sometime.

He brushes his other hand across her cheek.

Anytime you like, querida.

She moves in to kiss him and it’s soft in a way she hasn’t felt from Pero before. He pulls her flush against him and simply holds her there, lazily exploring her mouth. He smells like sweat and heated metal, and she turns her head to lick the salt from the skin of his neck. A sound rumbles from deep in his chest, and the moment goes white-hot in an instant.

Touch me, Pero, she whispers. Put your hands on me.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides one hand to the back of her neck to yank her lips back up to his, the other disappearing into her leggings to grab a fistful of her ass. He swallows the pleased little gasp she makes, greedy for more.

He backs her up against the side of his workbench, moving to unbutton her top. Once he has access he pulls down the cups of her bra and turns his full attention to her breasts, kneading the soft flesh with his hands and laving his tongue over her nipples.

Her fingers run through his hair, longer than Jack’s but with curls less unruly than Frankie’s. His hips press against hers and she squirms against the bulge in his jeans, searching for friction.

Need more, baby? He coos up at her, a wicked glint in his eye.

Need you, Pero, she whines.

He straightens and turns her around to bend her over the workbench, curling his fingers in the waistband of her leggings to yank them down and expose her gorgeous ass to him…

Wait.

He freezes.

Could we…I want…

He runs a soothing palm over her hip.

What do you want, pretty girl?

She twists back around to face him. He lets himself be nudged backward until he feels the edge of a nearby chair behind him and sits. She towers over him now, and he looks up at her with one brow raised.

I want to see you, she says shyly, and his blood heats. He slowly spreads his legs in invitation.

She slips out of her shoes and shimmies her leggings and panties off, then similarly loses her shirt and bra. He reaches for her with a growl and hauls her into his lap. She goes willingly, wrapping herself around him as his hands rove over every inch of her skin. This time their kiss is messy and desperate, and when Pero trails a hand down her stomach and finds the soft hair of her mound to pet at her clit, she whimpers into his mouth.

You want it? He rasps. She nods frantically, their noses brushing.

Then take it out, pretty girl.

She undoes his jeans and frees the stiff length of his cock, pumping him slowly, drawing bead after bead of precum from the tip.

But then her grip falters.

This is okay, right?

Pero frowns at her, confused.

What I mean is…I know we talked about it, and you all said it was okay, that we don’t always all have to be together, but…

Ah, so that’s her concern. Something wild and beastly claws at his ribcage in triumph at the realization that he’ll be the first of them to have her all to himself.

It is more than okay, he reassures her, smoothing a thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. We told you we can each take our pleasure from the others whenever we wish, and none of us is a man who says things he does not mean. Least of all to those we care for.

He can feel her body relax at that, and he tilts her chin and draws her in for another kiss. Her hand starts to move up and down his cock again, the tip of him grazing the pillowy skin of her inner thigh with each pass, and a hiss leaves his mouth at the sensation.

This will not go the way you intend if you keep that up, he warns her. A newfound deviousness unfurls itself in her grin.

Maybe this is what I intend, she says. Maybe I want you just like this, hard and aching in my hands until I make you come all over yourself -

He cuts her off by crashing his lips to hers, stilling her movements on his cock and hooking one hand under her ass to push her up until his length prods against her entrance.

Perhaps, he murmurs, perhaps one day if you’re a very, very good girl, I’ll let you have such a way with me. But for now - he notches himself just inside the slick rim of her pussy - put me inside you.

She obeys, working herself down on him inch by inch. When he’s fully seated inside her she sighs as if in relief, a dazed look in her eyes. There’s a distant thought in the back of her head that despite the workshop being closed today, one of the artists could still walk in unexpectedly at any moment, but she can’t bring herself to care.

They make twin sounds of pleasure at the first swirl of her hips. As her body adjusts to his size she finds her rhythm, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she rides him.

And god, what a sight.

She knows what sex with Pero feels like. She knows what it sounds like, smells like, tastes like. But none of those things has prepared her for what it looks like. What he looks like, as they move together, face-to-face for the first time.

The clench of his jaw, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The tendons that pop and strain in his neck. The dewy sheen of sweat across his brow. And his eyes…

She could fall forever into the endless black abyss of his eyes, she could lose herself entirely in their depths and never look away and would be thankful for it. How could she not be, when he looks at her with such unrestrained want that she feels it like a physical thing…

She brushes a thumb over the scar that bisects his left eye, as if she could soothe the long-ago wound with present tenderness. She knows it’s far from the only scar he carries, and would that she could heal them all through sheer force of will.

Pero swirls his thumb around her clit, bracing his feet as he begins to meet her hips with thrusts of his own. Her movements stutter as her control over her body wavers. She becomes nothing more than molten desire in his hands, to be molded and shaped and consumed by flame as he sees fit. The pressure he puts on her clit is unrelenting, and this is familiar, the way he doesn’t coax an orgasm from her, but demands it. It builds and builds in between her legs and when she would close her eyes and tip her head back to welcome it he grabs her chin to stop her.

Look at me, he pants. Look at me when I make you come, querida. Look…

It starts as a command, but ends as a plea.

The tension bursts inside her, and her cry of his name and the way her climax tightens her pussy around him like a vice pulls him headlong over the edge with her. He cums with a roar, pulling her down on his cock as he empties himself as deep as he can inside her.

It’s a long minute before they both fully come back to themselves, breathing hard as their bodies milk every last drop of pleasure from each other. She collapses into his chest, and he’s content to hold her there for as long as she wishes.

We can do that again anytime you like too, he says quietly in her ear, and she smiles into his neck.

——————

There’s no big reveal, no fanfare or presentation when it happens. She simply comes home one day (and funny, how she’s started to think of it as home, how her apartment has become merely a place where most of her things are, including the vase she’d made with Pero, but not where she lives) and there it sits on the shelf, catching her eye immediately.

The falcon, the horse, and the bull, now clustered around a fourth statue.

A lioness.

She moves towards it as if pulled by gravity. The beauty of it steals her breath. The great cat is posed sitting, tall and elegant, her body at a three-quarters position but her head turned to look straight out at the viewer. Her tail is wrapped neatly around her, and her tiny delicate ears are alert.

What do you think? says a soft voice behind her. It carries an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty.

She doesn’t turn, doesn’t need to look to know the man behind her is the one who made this.

She’s gorgeous, she murmurs.

Pero hums low in his throat, and comes to stand over her shoulder.

You can ask, he says. I want to tell you.

Why a lioness? she whispers.

Pero is silent for a moment.

She is strong, and graceful. Clever, and brave. Loyal. Beautiful.

A tingling warmth floods her chest. It feels like too much, the implied praise too high.

They’re remarkable creatures, she replies.

They ain’t the only ones, darlin’, Jack drawls from the doorway. He’s flanked by Frankie, who has one arm wrapped casually around Jack’s waist.

I don’t know what to say. Tears prick her eyes as she turns to face them.

You don’t have to say anything, Frankie tells her.

Just be ours. Pero says it so softly she almost doesn’t hear him. As we are yours.

She pulls Pero in for a kiss, her answer whispered like a vow against his lips:

I already am.

———

Fun fact I learned about glassblowing equipment during my research for this fic that I wasn’t able to work into the story but absolutely need to share with you anyway:

Did y’all know that the furnaces like the one Pero uses here to heat the glass are called GLORY HOLES?!?!?!? Swear to god. Be careful googling that if you don’t believe me. 😂

#Pedro pascal #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #the great wall fic

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kirisslut · 2 years

Text

—I Can Treat You So Much Better w/ Eijirou Kirishima

—Cw: bestfriend!kirishima, cheating, phone sex, facetime sex, masturbation, toxic!partner, UNEDITED

—Summary: your partnet is toxic and your best friend, Eiji, thinks you deserve a lot better

—Author's Note: I got out of a toxic relationship roughly 2 monthes ago and I’ve unintentionally made it a new personality trait and I think about it everyday and it came to my mind while thinking of smut ideas and someone please help me I don’t want to think about that- anyway enjoy me self projecting to the fucking extreme :)) Also I tried to make this gender netural but reader is afab and i wrote it with my ex in mind so if I accidentally called the ex a boyfriend at some point I apologize- ALSO I HAVENT WRITTEN IN FOREVER SO SORRY IF THE WRITING IS BAD

—Please keep in mind that you must be 15+ to read this piece, thank you <3

Eijirou hated this, he hated everything about it. Eijirou has had feelings for you for a couple years now, ever since middle school. He hasn’t had to see you with very many partners before, there were a couple of few month relationships with people that he didn’t particularly like but they treated you well so he wasn’t too bent out of shape over it. But this was by far his least favorite relationship of yours. You had been dating this person for about six months now and he hated everything about them. First off, he thought you were way too pretty to be with this person. In his eyes, they were a one and you were an eleven. Secondly, they treated you horribly. They said mean stuff to you, upset you, made everything about them, didn’t respect your consent, and so much more. And on top of that, they were horrible in bed. They made the most bold and most wrong movements and refused to educate theirself on your body and what you enjoyed. On top of that, there was never any aftercare whatsoever.

And it pissed Eijirou off. You were perfect to him, how come you gave this person a chance and not him and let them treat you horribly? Well one night, he had enough, Eijirou finally snapped. This was the fourth time that week that you’d texted him, saying some along the lines of “i was hanging out w/ p/n and they really upset me because…”. And that was the last straw for him, he was gonna remind you of your worth.

Y/n: Eiji, they did it again. We were making out and it was kinda going further and they did something wrong and it hurt so I asked them to stop and they asked if I was just turned on too much-

Eiji: I’m sorry sweetheart, your partner sucks :( why don’t you facetime me?

Not even five seconds later a call was coming through and he answered it, smiling at the sight of your face.

“Hi, pretty, how’re you?” He asked, running a hand through his hair. You gave a small smile in return.

“Hi Eiji, not great.” You were laying in bed, one hand holding up your phone while you laid your head down on your arm, “I just wish they’d take the time to figure out what I like…y’know?”

“I know, love, I’m sorry they’re like that. You deserve a lot better than that, you’re gorgeous. Anyone who doesn’t wanna treat you right in bed is a total idiot.”

Your cheeks heated up a bit and you smiled at Eijirou, “Thanks, Eiji.” Eijirou was sitting up, his phone propped up on his desk, with a controller in his hands, you assumed he was playing a video game. He was wearing a tight gray shirt, it perfectly outlined his pecs and showed off how big his shoulders were. You started unintentionally staring, and who could blame you? Eijirou was hot. Even you, as his totally platonic, never gonna be anything more, best friend could see that.

“Sweetheart? Are you even listening to me?” Eijirou asked, looking straight at you. Your cheeks heated up more and you looked away.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just spaced out,” you replied.

“What were you thinking about, sweetheart?”

Your next reply took a moment, you were scared to say it. This was wrong, everything about this was wrong. You were facetiming your best friend who calls you every pet name under the sun, to complain about your boyfriend, and on top of that you were thinking about how hot he was. But you were desperate.

“..you.”

Eijirou paused, making eye contact with you, “What about me, pretty?”

“...I was looking at your chest…and thinking about how you’d treat me so much better than p/n.”

The smirk that spread across his face killed you. You might as well go get a new name and move to a completely new country at this point, because you were so embarrassed.

“Oh, you know I would, sweetheart. I bet you don’t even think about them when you two are getting into it, bet you just thinking about me, huh?” And he wasn’t exactly wrong. Sometimes you found your mind drifting to Eijirou when you were getting intimate with p/n. You didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened.

You nodded, “You’re just so pretty, Eiji, and p/n can’t make me cum…bet you could. You have pretty hands..and I’ve seen the way your fingers move on your controller.” You started subtly rubbing your thighs together, trying to relieve the feeling forming between your legs.

“I definitely could, pretty. I’d eat you out so good if I could, bet you taste amazing,” Eijirou says, setting down his controller and turning his full attention to you, “Why don’t you take off your shirt, sweetheart? I wanna see what I would have to work with.”

This, you hesitated on, more so than the other stuff. Talking was just one thing, but to show Eijirou your body would be straight up cheating, absolutely no excuses.

“Well, I don’t know..I don’t wanna cheat on p/n.., I’m just upset at him right now.”

“Come on, sweetheart, when does he ever care about your feelings? You deserve so much better than that. Just this one time, honey, I wanna show you what you could have. And I wanna see what that loser is failing to make feel good. They’re so stupid, I bet you’re super sensitive, I could make you feel so good.”

Eijirou’s sweet sweet words got to your head and soon enough you were propping your phone up, sitting on your knees, legs spread a little with nothing but an oversized shirt and short shorts on. The shorts hugged your thighs and pussy. Eijirou could see the outline and you swear he whispered “fuck” at a couple points. Slowly, you took your shirt off and Eijirou’s eyes widened. No bra.

It made sense, you were home and nobody wants to wear a bra when relaxing in their own home, but he was just a little startled. He didn’t mind though, of course. A hand drifted down to his sweatpants, palming his half-hard cock through the fabric.

“Look at you, sweetheart, you’re absolutely gorgeous. Those are the best tits I’ve ever seen, you wanna show me some more? I bet your pussy is just as pretty.”

“Mm, can I see you first, Ei? Please? Just wanna see your abs please,” you beg and Eijirou smirks a little, taking off his shirt. He was so perfect, perfectly tanned skin that was so smooth, and his muscles were gorgeous. You bit your lip, looking at his perfect body.

“Now take off your shorts, sweetheart, I wanna see,” Eijirou said, and you happily obliged. You slipped your shorts and panties off, spreading your legs a little more, “Fuck, pretty, you’re soaked. Do you have any toys there with you? I bet you’re one of those little whores who needs to play with their pussy every night before they go to sleep.”

Your cheeks heat up, “Y-yeah, I have toys…do you want me to use some..?”

“Yes, pretty, it’s no replacement for my cock or my tongue, but it’ll have to do. After all, we’re just testing this out, right? No cheating.”

You nod, “Mhm, not cheating. Just testing it out.”

“Good girl.” You reach into your bedside drawer and pull out a little box, showing Eijirou the contents on the call.

“What should I use, Ei?”

“How about you use that wand vibrator and that pink dildo? I think that’d look cute stuffed in your pussy,” Eijirou says, returning to palming himself. He was so hard for you, you were just too hot. You removed the toys from the box, putting it back and resuming your original position.

Suddenly, you were shy, you’d never done this over the phone before. You took a moment, and Eijirou didn’t rush you and eventually you mumbled, “Can I see your cock first?”

Eijirou smiled, “Of course you can, sweetheart.” He pulled his sweatpants and underwear down a little and then you saw it, your eyes widening a bit. Eijirou was huge, atleast seven inches. It was so pretty, p/n was nowhere near that size, nor was it as pretty or well kept as Eijirou’s. Eijirou ran a hand up his length, watching you, “This is all for you, sweetheart, you’re so pretty. It gets me all hard.”

“..you’re hot too, gets me all wet..”

“How about you get something in that pussy then, sweetheart? Show me how you get off after your shitty partner fails to make you cum.”

You don’t hesitate anymore before sinking down onto your dildo, not bothering with the vibrator quite yet. Eijirou kept pumping his length, watching the way your pussy swallows your toy up. After adjusting, you started bouncing on your dildo, making yourself feel good. Strings of moans left your lips, getting off on the fact that your best friend was watching you pleasure yourself.

“Look at you go, sweetheart, you’re just so horny, huh? Not even thinking about p/n anymore, just thinking about cumming and my fat cock.”

“Fuck- yes Ei, ‘m thinking about your cock in my pussy, it’d stretch me out so so so good, d-don’t think I could take it,” you said as you reached for your vibrator, turning it on and pressing it to your clit. Eijirou stroked himself faster.

“Oh, you definitely could, pretty, I know you’d take it so good. Can already picture you creaming all over it. Shit- I’m getting close, cum with me.”

And that you did, you came around the dildo with no thoughts in your mind other than Eijirou and your orgasm. You slowly stopped, panting, and your phone buzzed. You glanced at it, at the top of the screen there was a singular notification.

My Love <3 : hey u busy?

“Mmm, that was so hot, sweetheart. Did you enjoy that?”

Y/n: yeah abt to go to bed, gn ily

“Yeah, Ei, of course I did…why don’t you come over?”

#jjs.going.to.hell #kirishima smut #eijirou kirishima #eijirou kirishima smut #bnha smut #bnha #mha smut #mha #eijirou smut #eijirou kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha eijirou #kirishima eijirou #kiri smut #kirishima x reader smut #eijirou kirishima x reader smut

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16eggsforxio · 7 months

Text

better than yourself

Joshua Rosfield x writer!Reader

1005 words, fluff

Short fluffy fic for Valentine’s. Happy Valentine’s Day! It’s the same reader as anecdotal inspiration, but you don’t have to read it to read this one (but I would be very happy if you did :))

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

You sighed, leaning forward and bumping your head against the book in your hands.

Opposite you, Joshua gave you a curious look. “Is something the matter?”

This had been going on for a while: you often spent your free time scrawling down children’s stories in blank notebooks, and when you had finished, put them up in a quaint corner in the library for the children to peruse. There weren’t many books suitable for the young ones at the Hideaway. You would never have dared to initiate something like this yourself, but with Harpocrates’ kind, homely encouragement that you would almost accuse as manipulative, your hobby had found meaning in one of the lowest shelves that any child could reach.

Then you had an unexpected patron—the younger of the Rosfield brothers, no less—and he was somewhat of a busybody, and he’d become particularly sticky to you after finding out you were the author of those stories in the tattered notebooks. But if anybody asked you if you minded it, you wouldn’t say you did.

You turned the closed book over in your hands. It was a random book on the history of Valisthea that you’d picked off the shelf in hopes of finding an answer. “I’m looking for a word, but I can’t remember it…”

“Have you consulted the dictionary?”

“I don’t remember what letter it starts with, so that’s not helpful.” …You hadn’t come across as rude, had you? “Um, but thanks.”

Joshua didn’t look ruffled in the slightest. He slid his own book shut and propped his elbows up on the table. “Then, would you like to describe it to me? I might know what word it is.”

He most definitely did. Although you’d done your own fair share of reading, it was hard to deny that Joshua was much more well-read than you, or anyone else at the Hideaway. Sometimes he’d dive into a monologue patterned with flowery sentences, but maybe you’d given him one too many confused looks, because he had pretty much stopped doing that with you. But those alone were enough to prove to you he had picked up far more books than you—although that was to be expected, considering he had been raised in royalty.

You let the book in your hands slide down onto the table, chewing on your bottom lip. “Well… it’s part of a castle.”

Joshua nodded attentively. “I grew up in one.”

Oh, you’d forgotten that. “It’s something like a tower..? I think? They’re usually along the walls—at least I think they are.”

“Are you thinking of a turret?”

Right—that was the word. “That’s—That’s the word. Thanks.”

“Delighted to be of help.” He leaned forward. “What did you need it for?”

“Are you asking for spoilers?”

He puffed his cheeks indignantly, almost like a child. “It’s been a fair while since you’ve published anything, so you will have to pardon me for being curious.”

Published was far too fancy of a term for you.

You glanced down, turning your wrist over experimentally. “Tarja said my wrist hasn’t been good, so I haven’t written much for a while.”

“Oh?” Faint alarm was tinged in his voice, despite him usually trying to keep a composed facade, something you had picked up on yourself. “What happened?”

Apparently, you’d been writing too much. It had prompted a cramp in your hand and after paying a visit to Tarja, who had suggested the most probable cause was your extended periods of time jotting away at your desk. Which you had initially found weird, since it had never happened before. Then after some reflection, you had realised in the past few weeks, particularly after a specific someone discovering your secret of writing those books, you had been feeling too motivated to settle down; sometimes you’d even forego a good night’s worth of rest to spend the time whittling away at words.

Not that you would ever say any of that out loud, so the long and short of it was: “I wrote too much—so my hand hurts.”

Joshua frowned. “Is it an injury?”

“Something like that… I think.” You hoped you weren’t wrong.

“I could heal you, if you’d like?” he offered.

Injured hand darting in front of your chest reflexively, you shook your head. “I couldn’t—you should save your powers for other… stuff.”

He didn’t seem to agree. “What better stuff would prevail over this?”

“People who are actually being useful on the field?” you tried.

This time he frowned at you. “Perhaps you don’t think your contributions are befitting of any reward?”

That wasn’t… “I don’t mean that, but…”

You weren’t sure what you were trying to say, either, so you trailed off. For a long moment, there was a stuffy silence between the two of you. Although you were terrible at conversing with others, Joshua always seemed to know what to say at every moment, so stretches of quiet didn’t happen with him often. Now that there was one, it felt gut wrenchingly nauseating and you contemplated excusing yourself to the toilet so you could retreat back to your bunk and shut the door and wither and die in a corner.

When he finally spoke again, it was soft. “I won’t do anything that you aren’t comfortable with. But as for your implications that your writing and your work aren’t important, those I can’t agree with. Reading your stories holds more importance than just a moment of respite for the children, and myself, as well—and if you allowed the others to peruse them, I’m sure they’d come to the same conclusion.”

Joshua held out his hand across the table.

“So, please don’t think any less of yourself.”

You stared at his outreached hand.

Slowly, from in front of your chest, to over the table, to the palm of his hand, you reached back out to him.

It was funny. You had never even said it out loud, and maybe you hadn’t even realised it yourself, so how, you wondered, did Joshua seem to know you better than yourself?

#joshua rosfield #joshua rosfield x reader #hes saving her from carpal tunnel #wrote this super fast i am sorry if it is not as good ;(

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 12

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: Mature! 18+ Word Count: 17.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Anxiety, accidental hurt, panic attack (symptoms based on my own personal experiences), intrusive/racing thoughts, physical symptoms of anxiety, hurt/comfort. *Author chooses not to disclose all warnings so as not to spoil a plot point! It has been spoiled in the tags if you would rather know ahead of time!* Summary: An impromptu trip with the girls leads to a lightbulb moment that you wish had never come. Notes: And you guys thought everything was smooth sailing after the proposal? Oh no...we can’t have that...

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

It was something of a joke the first time it got brought up. One night long after dinner service was over when you and Jack had Sophia and Tex over for drinks. You had sat out on the back porch refilling your glasses and chatting about weddings when Tex randomly asked a question.

“Ain’t there a tv show for that? For buyin’ wedding dresses?”

“You mean Say Yes to the Dress?” You had asked, laughing and leaning into Jack’s side. It had been almost the only thing you watched with your sister for months when she was engaged. “Yeah. Why, do you want to watch it?”

“Naw.” He has shaken his head pensively. “Y’all should be on it.” You had laughed. All four of you. Delighted by the silly idea of you and Sophia being on TV together. It had seemed like an idea that came and went like summer breeze. Two whole weeks ago and while you’d fantasized a little, you hadn’t brought it up again. It hasn’t been brought up at all before today.

******

When Sophia blows into a building, people know it. Her tendency to throw the doors open and yell seemingly fits right in with the Statesman group far better than she ever had with Kingsman. So when she bursts through the double door leading to your kitchen, no one on your staff even bats an eye. “Pack your bags, we are getting on the plane!” She squeals, nearly giddy with excitement.

The sound of banging doors hasn't bothered you in your entire life, considering you grew up with noisy siblings, so you are perfectly leaned over a soufflé plate to put the finishing touches on its presentation when Sophia appears in a tornado of activity. "Oh yeah?" You ask, raising an eyebrow that is meant for her but very carefully placing a quenelle of homemade ice cream on the plate to hand off to one of your waitstaff. "Where exactly are we going in the middle of my dinner service?"

“Kleinfield.” She’s smug as she smirks at you and reaches out to pluck a shaving of chocolate off the line to pop into her mouth. “They have a cancelation two days from now and you and I are taking it!”

The spoon you had in your hand promptly clatters to the counter as you stare at her, jaw nearly unhinging from your face in shock. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Would I joke about that?” She gives you a horrified look. “I have Tex’s credit card and need to burn a hole in it!”

“But he—I thought—it was just a joke?” A passing comment from your friend while drinking under the stars. Nothing more. But the look on her face is fully aghast and you shut your mouth for long enough to realize that she’s talking about your day off. “Two days?” You ask, knowing that no, she would never joke about this. As boisterous and excitable and unconventional as Sophia is, she would probably be perfect for Kleinfeld.

“You don’t want to do it?” She asks, knowing that some people talk about doing things and never get the nerve when presented with the opportunity. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

"No, I just...I'm honestly shocked they had an appointment available." The disappointment in Sophia's face is obvious, and you grab a dish towel to wipe your hands on before throwing your arms around her. "Maybe we'll get to be in a background shot of an episode if we linger by a camera long enough."

“Either way, we are going to drink champagne and try on wedding dresses!” The hug rejuvenates her and she’s immediately crushing you in a return embrace. “I want an emerald green Zuhair Murad. Unless I find something I love more.”

"Oh god, you even know what designer you want." If Sophia has faults, preparedness is not one of them. She's always fully informed and ready to go at a moment's notice. "I suppose I should actually look at some designs before we go, shouldn't I?"

“No.” Sophia decides, grinning at you. “Choose whatever dress speaks to you.” She holds up a credit card, sleek and shiny. “I’ve got Whiskey’s card and there’s not a limit.”

"You already went and got his card?" That has you doubled over laughing, so taken aback by her approach and yet you have no idea why. This is who Sophia is. And it's why you love her. The woman is unapologetic about her enthusiasm. "You know I have to work tomorrow, right? And the appointment isn't for two days." Regardless though, it earns her another hug. It might be good to go back to New York for a happy reason...try to form new memories there that have nothing to do with what happened last time...

She pouts at you, clearly wanting to go to New York with her friend now. “Fine but we are spending the entire next three days.” She warns you with a pointed finger. “I need to see the sights.”

"I have a restaurant to run, you know." You just shake your head at her with both hands on her shoulders, barely smothering another laugh and sighing happily. "I'll make it work. Pick out the places you want to see the most and I'll see if my brother is going to be around or if we can crash an event at his art gallery. How does that sound?"

“Perfect! Oh! I asked Diana about coming but she’s insisting she will stay behind and make sure that the restaurant runs smoothly while you are gone.”

"You thought of everything, didn't you?" She always does. It's not as if it's a surprise. "Alright." One more hug and you pull back, shooting her a knowing grin. "Are you staying for supper or should I pack up a to-go order for you to take home to your man?"

“Ohhhhhh dinner.” She moans. “Not having the hour long ‘what do you want for dinner?’ conversation.” She laughs. “Please. Whatever you want to pack up, I’ll buy.”

"The chicken pot pie soup is even better today than usual." And it's one that they haven't tried yet, so you immediately go to pour two to-go containers. "And the biscuits are fresh." You add two of the apple hand pies and a small container of whiskey caramel for good measure, wanting to make sure that they're well fed tonight. "I'll put it on Tex's tab."

“That sounds amazing.” She groans, rolling her eyes. “But everything you make is amazing. I’m just never cooking again.”

"Glad to be of service." The compliment is like a giant fuzzy blanket you can wrap yourself up in, and you hand her the full bag of food with your restaurant's logo on the side. "Now go home and make a list of everything you want to see while we're in New York."

“Don’t tell me that.” Sophia grins and leans in to steal another hug. “Or I’ll plan it like a mission.”

"I can think of worse things." Throwing her a grin, you shoo her toward the door with a laugh. "I'm gonna come by your office before my shift tomorrow and I want to hear at least three ideas, otherwise I'm dragging you to every museum I can possibly think of. Deal?"

“Deal.” Sophia turns back towards you with a grin. “This is going to be great. We are going to have so much fun and the added bonus is that we will drive the boys crazy wondering what we are getting into together.”

"You're the only person in the world who can give Tex a run for his money in the troublemaker department." With one last squeezing hug, you really do have to get back to work. "Go on, Soph. I'll see you tomorrow."

“Bye!” She shouts as she blows out of the restaurant just as eagerly as she came in. You’ve given her more food she hasn’t tried and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let it get cold.

******

Going home to Jack that night is basically falling into a lump on the couch beside him as soon as you walk in the door, but at least you're the happy kind of exhausted. "Good day at work?" You ask, sighing a little as you tuck into his side and steal a sip from his glass on the coffee table.

Jack rolls his eyes slightly. “Alright, but Champ has decided that I need to be tested, make sure I’m up for going back to the field after months away.”

"What kind of test?" It's a fair thing for his boss to insist on, but you can hear the annoyance in Jack's voice.

“Every-damn-thing.” Jack grunts, shaking his head. “Man seems to think I’m getting old. Got me trainin’ with the recruits.”

“I’m sorry I kept you out so long.” You know it’s at least partially because of the trouble you had with each other in the beginning, and you turn your chin to look up at him on the couch. “He’s just doing his job, baby. A boss had to be a boss, even to his best friend.”

“It’s just aggravating.” Jack admits. “The younger group doesn’t mind. But they are in awe.”

“Bask in their admiration then, my love.” That makes you grin, knowing that Jack loves to show off when the opportunity arises. “Have someone other than your fiancée coo over how impressive you are.”

He grumbles under his breath, but it seems to do the trick. Tomorrow’s training not seeming quite so bleak as it has been looking. “Sophia find you?”

“She came by during dinner service.” He seems mollified, and you pick up his hand to kiss his palm before grinning guiltily. “I thought we might talk a little about wedding stuff before she and I leave tomorrow night?”

“What do you want to talk about, sugar?” He had gladly handed over his card to Sophia and told her to make sure you bought whatever you wanted.

"Well...we haven't really planned anything yet." Other than convincing your mother that no, you really can't fit into her wedding dress without major alterations and knowing that he had mentioned a family veil in a conversation ages ago, you've just been too busy with the restaurant to bask in the glow of being engaged. "We haven't even talked about where to have it yet."

“Honestly?” Jack chuckles. “I had anticipated you wantin’ to have the wedding here.”

"Here as in the house, or here as in the Statesman campus?" Either one is fine with you, but you want Jack to be excited for the wedding, too. Just because this will be his second doesn't mean it should be less meaningful.

“I meant here at Statesman.” He corrects. “Or up with your family.” He offers. “It doesn’t matter to me, if I’m honest. As long as you are there and we are happy.” He winks and leans in to press his lips to yours.

"Here at Statesman, then." It's come to mean a hell of a lot to you as a place to live and work anyway, there's no reason not to celebrate it. And your lips twist into a grin that you can't deny at the thought of having the wedding back in New Hampshire. "We threw my sister's wedding at my parents' house. It was so much fucking work, I think they'd be glad to just show up to this one instead of throwing the whole thing."

Jack nods in agreement. “That’ll be a good thing. The whole crew will want to be there.” He warns you with a grin. “It’ll be a big party.”

"A big party, huh? Sounds like fun." It's just teasing, you know it will be. Everyone at Statesman loves Jack, and your extended family will make plenty of fuss. "Do you..." You bite your lip and sit up to actually look him in the eye. "Do you want to do it before or after we go to Montana? I don't mind either way, but I know it's going to be an emotional trip and I don't want you to feel awkward about anything."

“Sugar…” Jack reaches for your hand and he picks it up to kiss the back of it. “I want you to plan this wedding for whenever you want. If we were to do it my way, it would be at the courthouse next week.”

"I mean...we could do that, but you're the one who's gonna tell Sophia that the trip to Kleinfeld is off." You have to bite your lip again, but this time it's to keep from bursting out laughing at the stricken look of worry on his face. Jack clearly does not want to be the one to deliver that news. "I don't mind how long we're engaged, love. I just want us to both be happy. So...since you're being so terribly practical...how about I talk to Diana about what would be the best time once I find my dream dress and find out how long it will take to get? Since I hear those things can take ages to come in."

“That will work for me.” Jack murmurs indulgently. “So you’re plannin’ the weddin’ and I’m plannin’ the honeymoon?” He asks with a teasing grin. He knows you will want his input and he won’t be the type of man to let you take on everything yourself.

“If that’s what you want.” Leaning in to kiss him has you grinning. “I imagine you’ll be choosing someplace where I wear as little as possible?”

“It’s like you know me.” Jack jokes, actually thinking about making one of your dream trips possible on your honeymoon. While time in bed is a must, he also knows you want to see the world.

“I’m happy as long as you’re there.” You promise him. “Just let me know when you pick so I can pack accordingly.”

“Would you prefer Paris or Thailand?” He asks with a smirk. “Was thinking we could do a week in Bangkok and then set ourselves up on an island resort. Or we could do the classics.”

Eyeing him like you think he might be teasing you, you decide to just roll with it and see what he says. "Depends on when the wedding is. If it's winter? Thailand, no contest. But summer? That's Paris."

“Then I guess we better figure out if you want a winter or summer weddin’ then, don’t we?” He chuckles. “Somethin’ to be said for both times of year here.”

"Guess I better talk to Diana, then. And figure out a dress." Leaning in, you steal a small kiss and relax against him again. "You...you had mentioned a veil...a while ago. And I wondered if it might be something that I could...take to New York with me? Or at least see it beforehand? I would hate to pick out a dress that it doesn't look good with when you said it was important to you."

Jack squeezes your hand and gets up with a grunt. “Come on, sugar. The veil is in the safe. Let’s see how it looks on you.”

You set the security system and Jack shuts off the lights on your way upstairs, ready to settle in for the night. The safe is in your bedroom anyway, so there won't be any reason to go back downstairs. "I assume you'd prefer I pick something white?" There's teasing on the tip of your tongue as you climb the stairs together. "I mean...who knows what I could find while Sophia is looking for her green dress."

“Sugar, I want you to pick out whatever catches your eye and makes you feel like a Princess.” He murmurs as he leads you towards the bedroom. “As long as you don’t mind there being a cowboy hat on me and all my groomsmen, we’re good.” He teases.

"I'd be disappointed if you went without." The feeling of his large hand around yours is soothing and grounding so you turn down the hall at the top of the stairs. It's automatic now, having slept in that bed with him so many times even before you were officially moved in. "Have you decided who you're going to ask?"

“Tex is gonna be my best man– if you’re good with it.” He turns and watches you carefully, wanting to make sure that you don’t hide your feelings towards it. “I was kind of hopin’ you might consider Champ officiating?”

"What if we did...couples? Kind of?" The thought is worth chewing over, and you sit down on the bed while he opens the safe. "Champ to officiate and I'll ask Diana to be our planner? Tex and Sophia as best man and maid of honor. Astrid and my brother for your other groomsmen and Gabi and my sister for my other bridesmaids?" It's like a perfect split of your friends, and you had always said that you wanted your siblings to be in your wedding party if you ever found your soulmate. After all – you were in theirs. "Does that sound okay?"

“Anyone else you want to invite?” He asks, punching in the code for the safe and swings it open. He knows exactly where the veil is, packed away in a box for protection and safekeeping. He pulls it out and turns back around to face you. “Friends from before?”

"Maybe a few. But I brought a couple of them in for the restaurant, to be honest. My best friend from culinary school is my front-of-house manager, and my closest friend from the pastry circuit back home is my pastry sous. So...aside from my extended family, most people really are already here." It's something that actually makes you more comfortable than you had realized, and bringing in your friends to help you run your dream restaurant only made it all the better.

Jack nods. “Whoever you want. We can make sure that everyone comes, even if we have to set up huge reception tents outside.”

"Is that it?" The box in his hands is cradled with care, and you know it can't be anything else. There isn't much in the safe besides weaponry and a few valuables, and that box is the only thing you haven't seen yet.

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it.” Jack offers before he hands you the box. Despite what he had said about this being a family tradition, he wasn’t going to insist on it if you hated it.

"Unless it's a literal tablecloth, I can't imagine disliking it." And even if it were, you would still wear it if it was important to him. He looks nervous as you lift the lid, but the second you reveal the lace to the light you gasp in awe. It's simple and stunning - classic in the way the scalloped lace at the edges is full of beautifully woven flowers that ease into the body of the veil to give way to simplicity. When you lift it out you can see that it has an attached clip, encrusted with beautiful, crystal-clear rhinestones. "Jack..." You look up at him on the verge of another gasp. "It's gorgeous."

“You like it?” He asks, shuffling slightly and wondering if you are just saying that. He had family pictures going back generations with this veil and if you decided you didn’t want it, he would be disappointed but understand.

"I love it." You're practically in tears over it, and immediately stand up from the bed to go in front of the mirror and get an idea of what it would look like in your hair. The gold and rhinestone clip and floral lace are giving you ideas that you never would have imagined for yourself. "I'm going to pick something simple for a dress." Whether you're telling yourself or him is up for debate. "So this can be the center piece." Without having any family at all to invite, it's the perfect way to still have them with him at the wedding.

“It looks gorgeous on you, sugar.” Jack swallows, not wanting to compare you to his late wife, but you both look like angels wearing the family veil. It’s been a long time since he’s even looked at it. “Probably needs to be cleaned. But I’ve kept it as safe as I could.”

"I'll ask Diana. Something tells me that she will know a place that can handle something this delicate." It's silly, but you really don't want to take it off so quickly. But he's right, it's an heirloom and an antique, and should be handled with care. "I'm honoured that you want me to wear it, honey. It's beautiful, and a beautiful memory to have."

“I will admit.” He reaches out and touches the lace. “I was hopin’ you’d want to wear it.”

"I absolutely do." Leaning over a little, you leave a kiss brushed on his cheek and rub his arm gently. "I'm going to take some pictures of it, if that's okay with you? I don't want to risk something happening to it on the trip. It's more delicate that I had imagined."

“No, you take it with you.” Jack insists. “It’s a lot tougher than it appears. It’s been through more than most family heirlooms.”

“I’ll pack it up in something safe and padded,” you promise, already trying to think of your laptop case will fit the bill. Either way, you carefully take the clip out of your hair and wrap your arms around him as soon as the veil is back in its box. “I’m glad we have something of your family’s for the wedding.” You wish you could do more than that - find some way to have them there - but some things are beyond even your determined reach.

“She woulda liked you.” Jack admits in a quiet voice. “Woulda boxed my damn ears for how I treated you, but if there was some way for you two to be in the same time, she woulda joked about the two of you runnin’ me ragged.”

"If there was some way for us to be in the same time, I know she and I would have been friends." Though you don't really know how you know it, all of the things you've ever learned about Abigail Daniels all add up to the kind of person you would have loved to be friends with. "She'd give me shit about the whole thing with Tex, and she'd love Sophia to death just like I do. And..." You sit down on the bed with him again and pick Jack's hand up in both of yours. "And I hope that sometimes I remind you of her. Even a little bit. And that sometimes you're just like that cook from Boston."

“That might be what scared me the fucking most.” Jack whispers quietly. “You do remind me of her. That same spirit. Caring nature.” He lifts your joined hands and puts your arms around his shoulders. “But I love you. For you.”

"I love you, too, Jack Daniels." It always makes you smile, the way the sentence rolls off your tongue so naturally and makes him blush, pushing that lone dimple up into the meat of his cheek. "But I hope you know that giving Sophia your credit card means she is gonna make sure I come home with the most expensive wedding dress New York City has to offer."

“It’s why I gave it to her.” He pouts at you playfully. “You either wouldn’t have accepted it or resolved to spend as little as possible on it.” He grumbles, unsure of why you disbelieve the fact that he can afford to spoil you. “She’s under orders to have them remove the price tags from the gowns before you try them on.”

"Tex is convinced they're going to put us on camera." Later in the night he had texted you to thank you for dinner and excitedly gushed about how he was dead certain that if two ravishing ladies such as yourself walked up into that salon with fancy fiancés and unlimited budgets, they would be fools not to put you on the show. "I don't think it works like that, but I didn't want to dash his dreams."

“Hardheaded fool.” Jack shakes his head and sighs. “Sophia can’t be on the show.” He explains softly. “At least not featured. She’s an active agent.”

"She's the most special thing to him in the world and he likes to dream about it. It's sweet." His exasperation is endearing - brotherly, really - and you grin. "He's sappy and in looooove."

“Yeah. He is a sap.” Never one to turn down a chance to insult Tex good-naturedly, he chuckles. “He’s gonna cry when he gets the bill for her dress.”

"She's going to look spectacular." You know that without hesitation. Even if she weren't a statuesque beauty to begin with, her assuredness and vivacity would make her a knock-out no matter what. "It'll be the most unconventional wedding dress you've ever seen."

“The boy said she was wantin’ a green weddin’ dress.” He hums, looking at you curiously. “Are you thinkin’ something along the same lines or traditional?”

"I think the wildest I'll get is a flower pattern or something in the fabric. No colors or anything over the top for me." Somehow you have a feeling that Jack wouldn't say a word if you wanted to be untraditional, but he's hoping for white in his heart. And honestly? You never imagined anything but white on your own anyway. Maybe ivory - but that is hardly a stretch of the imagination. "My mom and my sister had these very elaborate dresses with lace and rhinestones and bows and stuff and I just...I don't know. I think I want to do something simple. And definitely something white."

“Simple is good.” Jack slides his hands around your waist and pulls you closer. “Simple lets the gorgeous bride shine. Instead of just looking at the dress, they will be lookin’ at you, sugar. Envious and wonderin’ how the fuck I got so lucky.”

Your immediate impulse is to protest that you’re the lucky one in this situation, but you know you’ll just end up going back and forth flattering each other. “We’re both lucky,” you insist, leaning forward to press your lips to his.

He can concede that, smirking slightly against your lips. Tilting his head and sliding his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss and groans when you immediately respond. The way Jack kisses you will never cease to thrill you. Reverent and wanting but always playful. It makes you smile into the kiss and ring your arms around his neck to pull him in closer. “I’m gonna miss you while I'm in the city.”

He frowns slightly and pulls you closer. “I’m going to miss you too, sugar.” He admits. He’s worried. Worried that you might not react to being in the city where you were tortured, but he’s not going to bring it up. If you aren’t thinking about it, he doesn’t want to put it in your mind. “But you will have a lot of fun with Sophia. You two are gettin’ along good.”

“She’s great.” You tilt your chin back to kiss the tip of his nose and smile, trying to wipe the frown off of his face. “And I know I’ll be safe with her.” It’s not as if you hadn’t thought about where you’re going. But you can’t exactly shun the city where your own brother lives for the rest of your life.

“You will be.” Jack looks down into your eyes seriously. “Please wear the bracelet and your earrings?” He begs softly.

“Cross my heart.” You nod earnestly, pressing another kiss to his lips. “And if I never go to Brooklyn again it’ll be too soon.”

He hums, tightening his grip on you slightly. “I would offer to come but I think there’s some rule about seeing the dress.”

"There's a very big rule about it, and I want you to be surprised." Although you can't deny that you always feel safer with him around, you know that Sophia will be able to take care of anything that comes up. If anything does at all, which it shouldn't now that Jack had taken care of the Rollins boys. "Unless...maybe Astrid could come with us? If she wanted to, and Gabi was okay with it? Then I'd have two of the baddest ass women I know looking out for me and you might feel a little calmer?"

“You take whoever you need to, sugar.” It’s sweet that you want to calm him down but he will always feel a little anxious when you aren’t in his sight. He’s already come to terms with that fact.

"It'll all be fine." You assure him, solidly reminding yourself of it as well. "We'll both be a little unsettled but I'll be fine with Sophia. And I'll wear my bracelet and my earrings so you can watch my little tracker dot circle around the dress shop a bunch of times and grin about it."

“I think you’ll find your dress in under an hour.” Jack predicts.

"You want to be more specific?" The idea of a little bet is intriguing to you and you pull apart from him to start undressing for bed. "Make a wager, maybe?"

“You know what you like and what you don’t.” Jack explains. “Even if you don’t have any particular style in mind before you go in, I wager an extra week on our honeymoon that you find your dress within an hour.”

"So if you're right, we add an extra week to the honeymoon." Tossing your socks in the laundry basket, the t-shirt you were wearing joins it next. "If it takes longer than that, which I think it will because I have no clue what I'm looking for other than 'not what my mother or sister wore', then..." You think through it, trying to think if there's anything you've wanted that he has ever said no to. Which of course, there isn't, so you go for something silly instead. "Then you and I are going to take an extremely silly engagement trip somewhere. Disney levels of silly."

Jack chuckles, knowing that it would seem extremely silly, but it would be worth it. “You’re on, sugar.” He hums happily, watching as you strip down and he starts to unbuckle his belt. “It’ll be great having you on the honeymoon for an extra week, but—” He points at you playfully and wags his finger. “You can only call to check in on your restaurant once a day.”

"Twice." You immediately pop up, turning to throw him a pout in protest. After all, pouting topless has never steered you wrong before - even if you're a little too anxious tonight to be thinking about sex. For the last several days, actually. "Once at the beginning of business and once toward the end of the night."

“One call, one text.” Jack haggles with you, smirking slightly although his eyes are squarely centering on your tits at the moment. Not sure if he’s smirking at the conversation or at the sight of your beautiful breasts.

"One call and one text. I can deal with that." You'll conspire with your sous chef later to communicate far more than that, but that's for later. "See something you like, cowboy?" It does make you smile, even though you're currently digging into the dresser to pull out an oversized t-shirt to sleep in.

“You can’t expect to pull out your tits and not have me stare at them.” He huffs dramatically, although he’s noting that you are already putting clothes back on, the universal signal for ‘not tonight’. To be fair, there has been a lot of sex and he doesn’t care if you want to have a rest. Instead of stripping down completely, he leaves his boxers on as he pulls back the covers.

"You're always allowed to stare at them, babe. Just like I'm always allowed to stare at your ass." Grateful that he doesn't seem to be fiercely ready for sex tonight, you crawl into bed beside him and snuggle up tight.

Curling his arms around you and pulling you into his chest, Jack presses his lips to your forehead. You seem perfectly content to let tonight be a snuggly affair and he’s perfectly okay when that, sighing softly at your warmth against his chest. The beating of your heart that he can just barely hear. “It’s a good thing you like it, cause it’s barely there. Better narrow your eyes to see it.”

“I’m gonna have to get a very powerful glasses prescription from Astrid,” you joke, giggling when you look up at him in bed and he frowns dramatically in response.

Jack reaches between you and pinches your nipple. “Brat.”

“Ow.” You’re laughing until you’re not, confused as to why the normally playful gesture hurts tonight. Jack must have accidentally pinched harder than usual. “Now I’m a pouty brat.”

“Shit, sugar.” He goes to rub your breasts to apologize but you twist away. Instead he strokes your back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He promises, feeling guilty for being too rough. He must have pinched harder than normal.

“S’ok.” You shrug, but also shrug out of his touch, slipping down beside him with a soft smile. “Kisses make things better, ya know.”

“I’ll give you as many kisses as you want.” He keeps his hands away from your chest, settling them on your sides as you lean in so he can kiss you.

“Sounds perfect to me.” Determined not to let your nerves about going to New York seep in, you just hope you get a good night’s sleep tonight. You’ve been restless lately – who knows why.

“Let’s get some sleep, sugar.” Jack suggests, unwinding one arm from around you so he can turn off the light. “You’ve got some big weddin’ decisions to be makin’.”

******

When you actually depart for New York it's early in the morning two days later, and you and Sophia have Gabi along with you for the trip. The idea of inviting Astrid was well-meaning for Jack's comfort, but since both of you had actually planned on asking Gabi to be your bridesmaid individually you had decided to make this trip a sort of event. The three of you sit over breakfast on the Statesman jet, talking over what Sophia wants to see and all the little things that you think you might look for in a dress or for your weddings. It's a calm flight, all things considered, but you still find yourself picking at your breakfast and wishing your upset stomach would subside.

“Are you good?” Gabi reaches out and touches your elbow. “I know the food isn’t as good as yours, but it’s not worth shredding the bagel.” She teases with a grin.

"I felt kind of off yesterday, too." You admit, looking between your friends with a sheepish expression. "I think I'm nervous."

“It’s okay to be nervous.” She promises. “I kept choking on my own spit the day Astrid and I got married. Broke out in hives.”

"Oh god..." As comforting as it is to know that even the happiest couples you know had plenty of wedding nerves, that just makes you groan in the moment. "Don't tell me that. Tell me everything's going to work out and the stuff that goes wrong will be little and unimportant and we'll laugh about it later."

“Everything turned out amazing.” She assures you with a smile that can only be from a person still completely besotted with their soulmate. “One of the best days of my life. And it will be yours as well.”

"Gabi's official role as bridesmaid for both of us is to be the calm one." Sophia jokes, sitting back at the table in the belly of the jet with her hands wrapped around her iced coffee. "Which reminds me," she grins, eyes flashing mischief at you before focusing on Gabi. "Hen parties. What did you and Ginger do?"

Gabi snorts and shakes her head. “Uhhhh….” Her grin is devilish and she shrugs. “We went to a male strip club.” She admits with a cackle.

"Seriously?" You almost do a spit take of your herbal tea, which would not help your stomach in the least.

“What?” She gives a shrug of her shoulders as if it was nothing surprising. “Just because we are desperately in love doesn’t mean we don’t like to look at dick.” She huffs playfully, dropping her voice on ‘dick’.

"So you like to look but don't want to touch men?" Human sexuality is such a fucking spectrum that you typically don't ask questions, but now you're curious. Plus, it's probably the first time you've ever seen Gabi blush. Ever.

“Ummm….” She shrugs again and gestures uselessly with her hands. “All of our kids were, uh, conceived naturally. So sometimes we do like to touch.”

"So..." This is breakthrough information that has you sitting up in your chair, practically giggling in delight. "Jack just...assumed you're a lesbian and no one ever corrected him? Because he definitely thinks you're a lesbian."

“To be fair, we are in a committed relationship and don’t really talk about anybody before finding each other.” Gabi defends lightly. “And we were very discreet with the fathers of our kids.” She giggles. “Plus, if Jack knew, he might have volunteered to get one of us pregnant and while I would have gone for it….Astrid would have worried it would affect their work relationship.”

"He absolutely would have volunteered." And rather than making you feel awkward in any way, you can absolutely laugh about it. "Well it seems I learned something about my friends today!”

Gabi shrugs and smirks. “So don’t feel bad about wanting a male dancer for my sake!” She jokes. “I’ll be upfront since it’s been a while.”

“Oh!” Shrinking back in your seat a little, you shake your head and laugh nervously. “I wasn’t planning on having a bachelorette party. No dancers or strippers or whatever for me.”

“What?” Gabi immediately shakes her head. “You are having a bachelorette party. Even if it’s just a spa thing with the girls.”

“No one’s saying we’re dragging you to Vegas for a Magic Mike show and endless rounds of cocktails by the pool.” Sophia waggles her eyebrows. “Although that does sound grand.”

“That’s what we’ll do for you, then.” That kind of party is much more styled to Sophia’s outgoing personality, and you’re definitely more up to planning something like that than being the focus of it. “Mine will be the low key version of things.”

Gabi nods. “Noted. Sophia wants naked men, you want pedicures.” She teases. “But you will stuff some dollar bills in a g-string if given the opportunity?”

“I promise to stuff at least two bills into two separate g-strings.” You snort, shaking your head at the very silly bargain.

“At least.” Gabi agrees with a grin. “Who knows, maybe Astrid and I will have the motivation to start looking for another donor for baby number three.”

“Your third baby donor and my brother’s second husband,” you half-joke, knowing full well it’s only half. If your brother knew you were going to a strip club he’d be there in a heartbeat. Sophia cackles at that, gleefully enjoying the image it brings to mind, and you snort a laugh that brings the whole table into a fit of giggles.

“So.” Gabi leans in and grins. “A little birdy told me that you and Jack have a little wager.” She hums. “I am to act as timekeeper.”

“Oh god.” Despite your embarrassed laughter, you do sit up and reach for your tea. “If I find a dress in under an hour, he’s adding an extra week to our honeymoon. If it takes over an hour, I get to be treated to a silly little engagement trip. He’s convinced I’m going to find one in no time.”

“So you win either way.” Sophia looks impressed, sore that she hadn’t come up with something like that with Tex. “Bravo.”

You shrug, knowing the compromise is really just a win for both of you, and it’s really just about when to have an extra week of vacation. “I know it’s going to take me forever, so you two will have to help me come up with someplace extraordinarily silly for him to take me.”

“Knotts Berry Farm.” Sophia immediately pipes up. “Or Disney World. And make him wear the ears!”

“If I bring that man to Disney World, I’m dressing him up like Woody and absolutely no one can stop me.” It would certainly qualify as silly, and your beloved cowboy soulmate would undoubtedly have you dressed up in something equally silly the next day as revenge. “And I would take so many videos.”

“You would have to!” Gabi laughs at the mental image and shakes her head. “There’s a snake in my boot!” Sophia cries out in an exaggerated imitation of Jack’s voice.

“Excuse me, ladies.” The flight attendant that welcomed you all on board and set out your breakfast comes over with a smile, having clearly recognized the impression Sophia was doing. “We’ll be landing shortly. If you wouldn’t mind buckling in, I’ll just clear this away. You’ll be on the ground in twenty minutes or less.”

Sophia looks giddy as the plane starts to descend, looking out the windows although the clouds still cover up the view. “Thank you for coming.” She says suddenly. “I am excited for this.”

“You made this happen.” Reaching over to hold her hand tightly, the way she grips yours back eagerly is full of excitement and anticipation. “We’re glad to be here for the ride. And I am also very excited about this appointment.”

“I am just here for the free champagne.” Gabi teases, honored that both women would include her in such a big event. Even better, she gets a mini vacation that is sure to rejuvenate her.

******

The ride from the airport to Kleinfeld is animated, with all three of you mashed into the backseat of the Statesman SUV that came to pick you up at the private airstrip. Apparently, having three agency soulmates fly into the city for a few days landed you some privileges, especially since Sophia is an active agent - and the best perk might actually be having a driver at your disposal.

“So Sophia already has an idea of what she wants. What are you thinking?” Gabi asks. “I know you have Jack’s family’s veil with you.”

“Yes, I do. And it’s non negotiable. If the dress doesn’t compliment the veil, it’s not the one.” The tote bag you’re carrying today holds any number of things, but your laptop case containing that veil is the most precious by far. “I just want something simple. As vague as that is.”

“Simple can always be wonderful.” The only married woman in the group insists. “Especially when on such a gorgeous woman.”

“Flatterer.” A sly grin in Gabi’s direction makes both of you laugh, and you reach for the front door of the bridal salon with a sharp intake of nervous breath. “Okay, ladies. Here we go!”

“Reservation is under my name.” Sophia turns towards you two before a woman in a tailored pantsuit walks up to the group. “Hello.” She watches as the woman seems surprised by the accent and smiles. “We have a reservation. Andrews.”

"Of course. Welcome!" The perfectly coiffed platinum blonde smiles broadly and waves you all over to the desk. "My name is Ellie, and I'm actually your consultant today so this was perfect timing to run into each other." She laughs, but instead of being put-on or polite, she sounds genuinely amused as she glances down at the computer behind the counter and back up again. "Now this is a double appointment, right? You, Sophia...and...?"

"And me." You put out your hand out to her and find yourself smiling in mirror to the woman – Ellie is one of the consultants frequently featured on the show but you would be hard pressed to actually say anything. She probably gets enough of that every single day from other brides.

“I already know what I am looking for.” Sophia announces, motioning towards you. “She is the one who isn’t quite sure what she is looking for. Although she has brought a family heirloom veil from the groom’s family that she wants to use.”

"Oh wow." Ellie looks suitably impressed and waves the three of you toward the belly of the salon. "Well let's go and get you ladies set up, and we can talk a little about what we're looking for and what our budgets look like." She moves through the space with ease and the three of you follow easily until you're shown to a soft, blue loveseat in one corner of the salon. "Since we have two brides trying things on I have a seat here for our third friend, and two pedestals for trying things on. But for now," she grins and pulls up an extra chair. "Let's have a little chat. Fiancés, weddings, budgets, all that good stuff."

“Budget is no concern.” Sophia hoots, pulling out Jack’s card. “Her fiancé is the CEO of Statesman distillery.”

"And hers," you side eye Sophia with nothing but love. "Is Head of Security." Tequila's return Stateside and good work at Kingsman had come with a step up in his civilian job title, much to his delight. It corresponded directly with his accolades as a senior agent. "They're best friends, and close with our friend Gabi's wife. Who is also a department head at Statesman. We're a big work family. But, um...yeah. Our fiancés are footing the bill, and they said no budget."

"My goodness." It's pretty clear Ellie wants to swear but she's too professional and she nods along with what you're saying. "So let's talk weddings, then? And fiancés? Sophia, you said you already know what you're looking for so why don't you tell me a little about everything?"

“I am not traditional.” She flashes a sardonic smile. “Trying to throw off my Britishness.” She jokes, you and Gabi laughing. “My fiancé is a huge cowboy and his engagement ring for me is a good indicator of our whimsy. I have decided I would like an emerald green wedding dress and my bridesmaids will wear white tea length gowns. Emerald green accents.”

"Okay!" Ellie nods, obviously a little thrown off by that idea but ultimately undeterred. "We don't have a lot in the salon in green, but what I can do is pull dresses that I know the designers are willing to do in colours and show you a fabric sample of what that colour would look like. How does that sound to you?" If it isn't satisfying to this bride Ellie will have to pull out her Hail Mary very early in this appointment.

“I was hoping for a Zuhair Murad gown?” Sophia suggests. “If that’s possible?”

"It's definitely possible." The excitable blonde nods her head and looks around the group of the three of you conspiratorially. "He's actually here today. We have a trunk show of his gowns going on this week and he's in store to meet with brides and consult on some things. I definitely think it would be worth bringing him into this appointment so that you can get that emerald color you want. His coloured gowns are stunning."

“Are you serious?” Sophia looks positively star struck and she can’t nod quick enough. For her, the designer is the entire reason she had wanted to come here.

"In that case." Ellie's eyes flash and she turns to you with a grin. "Let's talk about you, my dear. What are you looking for? What kind of wedding are we thinking of having?"

"Our situations are very similar in most ways, but in some ways we're the total opposite of each other." You explain, laughing a little when Sophia shrugs unapologetically. "We're both marrying Statesman execs, both having our wedding on the Statesman campus. I think we're both going for a sort of elegant Southern vibe. But where Soph is vibrant and extroverted and more of a party girl, I'm definitely looking for something simple and classic. My worry, though, is that everything simple is going to end up being a little boring."

“Your friend said the veil was going to be a part of your look. May I see it?” She asks, eager to see what kind of style the veil is designed in.

"The veil is an heirloom." Carefully digging into your tote, you unzip the case you have it in and lift out the antique lace to show the consultant. "This is the only thing that is non-negotiable. I could walk out of here with the most expensive and elaborate dress you sell even though I came in wanting simple and chic, but it has to work with this veil. Every bride in my soulmate's family for the last hundred and twelve years has worn it."

“It’s beautiful.” Ellie’s eyes widen and she reaches out to examine the lace. “This is hand sewn.” It is much better quality than most veils brought in that were from the 70s or 80s and the bride's mother wanted them to wear. This piece is timeless. “Simple, you say? This would look magnificent against a satin bridal gown.”

“I’m open to trying anything.” It would be silly to point out that you’re not used to wearing gowns so anything she suggests to try would be new for you. You can’t imagine most women wear an excess of gowns in their lifetime. Some, of course. But not most.

"Do you have any preference for cut?" She asks, eyeing your figure. "I have a selection of gowns that would be gorgeously simple and not clash with the veil but rather work with it to give you a wonderful bridal look."

“I just want to be able to dance,” you tell her with a grin. “He’s an amazing dancer.”

Nodding, she gently lets go of the veil and smiles at the three of you. "I will get you set up with some champagne and then start pulling dresses for you to see." She promises as she stands up. "I feel like you both will find exactly what you want."

It's a few minutes before your consultant returns with a tray of drinks and shows you that your dressing rooms are the ones right beside where you're sitting. She disappears again with an excited grin, headed into the belly of the salon to the stockroom to pull some dresses. It seems like the three of you have barely had a few sips, though, when a tall man with dark features and an easy smile sidles up to your area. "Miss Andrews?" He asks in a thick Middle-Eastern accent, looking to see which one of you answers. "Ellie told me you were interested in one of my colored gowns for your wedding dress."

Sophia’s eyes widen and she is immediately standing, rushing to shake the hand of one of her favorite designers. “Yes.” She gushes happily. “I am in love with your designs.”

“The very highest compliment I could ever receive.” Murad smiles warmly and shakes Sophia’s hand with both of his. “There are a few gowns here that could be dyed. I will help Ellie pull those for you and we will see what you think of them. But,” he flashes her a grin. “If we do not turn up anything here, then we will come up with a design all your own, together.”

“The only thing that I care about is that the dress matches the color of my ring.” Sophia can’t help but grin back at the handsome man.

"A beautiful piece," he praises, letting the emerald catch the light and dance. "Your fiancé has excellent taste."

"Thank you." Sophia beams and twists the ring on her hand. "We were joking that I should have a dress to match and I absolutely fell in love with the idea."

"It is not a joke, it is genius." The designer flashes a grin at Sophia and then at you and Gabi on the plush little loveseat. "Let me see what is here that can be dyed, and I will come back with Ellie to see what you think."

Sophia giggles nervously and nods, turning back towards you and Gabi when he walks away. "Oh my fucking god! I cannot believe I just met him!!!!" She squeals, nearly apoplectic with glee.

"I think that was more than a meet, honey," you wrap a giddy Sophia up in a hug and let her giggle fit ride itself out naturally. "He just offered to custom design your wedding dress if you don't like anything on site."

"Oh god, he did, didn't he?" She's completely awestruck and nearly spills her champagne as she plops down on the cushioned chaise lounger. "I missed that. I just– oh my god, do you think he would find it strange if I invited him to the wedding?"

"I don't know if he would be able to come, but I think it would be a very nice gesture." She's completely overcome with the encounter and you can't help but laugh softly. "How about if I meet my dress's designer too, we'll both invite them. And then we can be weird together?" It's such a silly suggestion, but kind of a sweet one. Like a big thank you for a day that is already so wonderful.

"Maybe he can design something simple for you." She bites her lip and looks around in complete starstruck awe. "I cannot believe I am here. We are here. We are going to be getting married!"

“She’s gonna take off to outer space.” Gabi laughs, carefully extracting Sophia’s glass from her hand while you hug her.

“Can’t say I blame her.” There’s activity all around you, consultants toting dresses and other brides giddily browsing the pieces hanging in the sales floor, and you look around with a sigh. “It’s like bridal Disneyland.”

Gabi snorts and can't deny that. "It is bridal Disney, isn't it?" She hums, amused by the idea. "We need to see about adding a bridal boutique to the Statesman label." She chuckles. "Have it be an all in one wedding venue."

“If we had a bridal label we’d be unstoppable.” The very idea of it makes you grin, as if you don’t have enough on your plate already with the restaurant just opening and the event planning taking off at the same time. “Champ would either throw resources at us or realize he’s created a monster.”

"You don't think that man is aware that he has created a monster?" Gabi asks you, raising a brow even as she grins at you. "He's fully aware."

“Jack’s the one who keeps encouraging me to dream,” you shrug like it means nothing, but it’s honestly one of the more sincere and romantic things he could possibly do. “Champ’s just the facilitator.”

"Maybe one day." Gabi offers, leaning over to tap her glass to yours. "Lord knows our Statesman family is going to be growing."

“Still thinking about baby number three?” She had seemed to glow with the idea after joking about it on the plane, and you could definitely see Gabi and Astrid deciding to give Ricky and Carmen a little brother or sister.

“I kind of am.” She admits with a dreamy smile. “I know Astrid would let me carry the next one, so I just– I want to talk to her about it and see what she thinks.”

"You guys are the cutest parents. I'm sure she'd be excited for it." Aside from your sister and brother-in-law, Gabi and Astrid are the parents of young children that you've spent the most time around and that both makes you ache and anxious all at once. It would be wonderful to have kids, but you have no idea how you would be as a mother or how Jack would respond to the idea of being a father again.

“Are you okay?” Gabi’s soft smile turns concerned as she scooches closer to you. “You suddenly look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It hit you like a ton of bricks - the horror tinging your realization with fear. When was your last period? "I'm okay." Unfortunately it's a flat out lie, but you just smile and set your champagne glass back on the tray when Ellie reappears with her hands full of gowns. Gabi doesn't need to know. No one needs to know. No one needs to know that you can't remember the date of your period. Getting an IUD had never made them stop completely, only made them dramatically lighter. But it's...it's been months. Shit.

She doesn’t question you any more, but she side eyes you. Wondering if you are feeling nervous about the dress or if it’s something to do with children. “You know, I think Jack will be a wonderful father.” She murmurs reassuringly right as Ellie starts to talk.

"I have a few of our simpler gowns here in a variety of silhouettes so that you can get a better feeling for what style you might like, and we can go from there," she tells you with a happy smile before looking to Sophia. "And you, my lucky friend, Zuhair just pulled a few things from the stockroom. He's right behind me."

She is practically bouncing in her seat, excited, although she turns towards you expectantly. “Are you ready to find your dream dress and have an extra week of honeymoon?” She teases, having fully sided with Jack.

"We'll see." Forcing yourself to paint on a smile, you push out of your seat and follow Ellie into the small dressing room. Everything on the hangers is delicate and focuses on your body instead of obscuring details, and now all you can think of is how you might be pregnant and trying to do the goddamn math on your cycle.

"Do you have one you want to start with?" The bubbly consultant asks, but the best you can do is chew your lip in concern. "How about something classic?" She suggests when you look more worried than excited. "A simple satin ballgown for that princess feeling?"

"Sure." You nod, reminding yourself how, and start to slip out of your jacket. Focus. You need to focus.

Whisking you off towards the changing area, Ellie starts listing off the attributes of the gown in question, making up for your decided lack of questions. Something has changed but it’s not her place to ask.

The first dress you come out in is...large. It's a poofy princess dress if ever there was one, and with the terror that you're now feeling your mind has wandered to thinking about what any of these gowns would look like on a pregnant woman. "Let's see what they think," you suggest, instead of admitting that you don't like it very much. It's too big and you know that a baby bump would only make it worse.

The moment you step outside the little changing area, both women can tell you don’t like it. They each shake their heads. “It’s too…poofy.” Gabi offers politely and Sophia snorts. “You look like a cream puff.”

“Thanks, guys.” The way you roll your eyes at both of them is a half-assed attempt at humor, and you shake your head. “So ballgown is out? No Princess Sugar?” Humor is good, you tell yourself weakly. Humor will help.

“I think something sleek, more fitted, Princess Peach.” Sophia smirks at you with a wink.

“Now, I know who Princess Peach is,” Ellie laughs, helping you down from the pedestal in the gown that has been dubbed too much “But who is Princess Sugar?”

“Sugar is the nickname that Jack – her fiancé – coined for her.” Gabi explains, throwing you a smirk. “Very southern.”

“I own a restaurant.” Is the explanation you give, stumbling over your words like a nervous weirdo. “I was a pastry chef when we met…I make cakes…it’s a whole thing.”

“It’s sappy and adorable.” Sophia flutters her eyelashes dramatically as you disappear, but jumps off the couch immediately a second later as Murad reappears with three enormous dresses for her to try.

“Here are the ones that I think will be best, if you don’t like them, I can sketch a design.” He offers.

Sophia is giddy as she lets herself be swept into the second dressing room while you go to change into your second dress. Gabi can hear her cooing with glee behind the thin wall, but she didn’t miss the way you hadn’t had any light in your eyes at all when you came out in your first dress. Something happened, she just doesn’t know what or how.

“The dress can be dyed if it is not quite what you are imagining and I have taken the liberty of pulling all emerald green fabrics I have.” Murad calls through the curtain as Ellie helps Sophia into the first dress.

“Sounds like you’re in heaven over there,” you call out through the wall between dressing rooms, enjoying the gleeful sound of Sophia’s giggling next door. The second dress that has been pulled for you is a trumpet gown that you would probably have loved if you weren’t feeling a roiling stomach and the weight of the world on your shoulders. Sophia emerges from the dressing room with a strapless gown with all the most beautiful embellishments and a sweetheart neckline to die for, looking like an angel come down to earth. You remind yourself to smile again, not wanting to spoil your friend’s unbridled excitement.

“What do we think?” Sophia asks, biting her lip as she looks in the mirror at her reflection and dying a little inside as she sees herself.

“You look like a dream, honey!” Gabi squeals, sitting up on the sofa with her glass clutched in both hands. “Tex would lose his mind to see you in that dress.”

“Okay, so I love this, but….” She tilts her head and glances at Murad in the mirror. “There was one that was off the shoulder sleeves, right?”

"Are you thinking of the sleeves from that gown on this one?" He tilts his head at her like an artist considering their muse and grins mischievously. "Let me..." The thought trails off as he ducks out of sight, going to grab a veil from the nearest display and manipulating the long length of fabric in his hands. Each end is somehow magically transformed into a small, loose sleeve that hangs off her shoulder like an elegantly fallen strap. It falls just around the middle of her arm and makes the whole thing look positively refined. "Like this, you mean?"

"Yes." She nods, biting her lip as she stares at herself in the mirror. "That is what I am looking for. The way that it sits has always seemed so refined and luxurious to me."

You stand and watch, taking in the way Sophia’s face lights up and tears well up behind her eyes as she talks with the designer and customizes her gown. He shows her the shades of green he could dye the fabric and they coo over the design together, and you really feel like you might be sick as the room spins around you in anxiety instead of happiness. There have been times you’ve been sick lately - days you haven’t eaten because you’ve been sick to your stomach, extra headaches, back aches, cramping. There was the incident two nights ago with your breasts being overly sensitive… How long has it been? Two months? Three?

Gabi just happens to glance over at you to see the absolutely crushed look on your face. Setting her champagne glass down, she quickly stands and crosses the floor to where you are seemingly doing an astrophysics problem in your head and touches your arm lightly. "Honey, what is wrong? What happened?"

“Nothing.” The answer comes far too quickly and far too sharply, and even Ellie looks concerned on your other side, but you can’t just — oh god, you were drinking…you’ve been drinking alcohol this whole time…and so much caffeine… “I’m not feeling great,” you murmur finally, knowing that it’s half-assed but not daring to spoil Sophia’s moment.

"I have some Tylenol in my purse." Gabi offers helpfully. "Do you have a headache?"

“It’s — m-more of a stomach ache.” It’s an aching feeling everywhere of complete dread and fear, but you make yourself smile for Gabi as though it can be brushed off. “It’s okay. I think I’ll just…lay off the liquor until it subsides.” Or for the next six or seven months…

Highly skeptical, Gabi discreetly glances around the boutique to make sure that you haven't seen someone who has spooked you. You look scared, not like you have a stomachache. "Alright, but if you need me to call Astrid, I can. She can run a diagnostic of you in the Statesman truck."

“If it keeps up.” You nod like you would ever agree to that, even though the idea of being hooked up to anything medical on a Statesman vehicle makes your skin crawl with memories from a month ago. And that’s when it hits you - like a freight train coming right at a cartoon character. If something has gone wrong and you are pregnant? It can’t be Jack’s…

"Oooookay." Gabi grabs you as your knees threaten to buckle and she waves Sophia off. "Let's get you out of this dress and into the bathroom, okay?" Astrid has been concerned that memories from a month ago would resurface and cause issues and from the way you look like you are going to puke, that has to be it. "Okay, come on sweetheart. We can manage everything." She promises. "I have a Valium in my purse just in case something like this happened."

“Is that safe?” You ask in earnest, letting Gabi bring you back into the dressing room like you’re on the end of a set of leading strings.

"It's fine." She assures you quietly. "Astrid gave it to me just in case you had problems."

“I’m okay.” Getting out of the confining dress and back into your own clothes will help, so you don’t hesitate when Gabi shuts the door behind you. Your head is spinning too much which makes the room turn on its axis and the feeling of panic in your chest is making everything more urgent and terrifying.

Maybe that Valium isn’t such a bad idea after all — Astrid sent it because you were attacked here, why did you think this would be a good idea? Everything inside and around you is moving so fast that you don’t even realize you’ve dropped to your knees. Quick, sharp breaths are going to have you hyperventilating in no time but you can’t stop them, and the way your skin is crawling makes you want to scratch your skin clean off. You drag your fingernails up your forearms with purpose, and if you didn’t have short nails from decades of culinary work you might actually succeed in tearing yourself apart.

“Let me–” as a mother, Gabi always carries a bottle of water or a juice box in her purse. Grabbing the oversized bag had been a stroke of luck as she starts to rifle through it until she comes up with a small bottle of water. “Here, drink this.” She kneels down beside you and twists the plastic cap off to hold it up to your lips. “It’s okay.”

It’s a small mercy but still a notable one, mostly because you have to stop scratching yourself to hold the bottle. Gabi gently takes your other hand in both of hers, holding onto it to keep you from spiraling even harder as the tears start to fall and you swear you’re going to choke on the water you just swallowed.

“Come on. It’ll be okay. I promise. No one is going to hurt you.” She murmurs softly. “Our driver is an agent. Sophia is here. Say the word and we’ll have Jack here.”

"No!" The panic that you feel has nothing to do with what happened a month ago and everything to do with the position you would be putting Jack in if what you fear is true. "No–no, I mean...that's not necessary. I'm just..." You feel like an absolute nutcase, but you don't know how to tell her that without sounding silly. "I'm just not feeling well."

“Okay.” The best thing she can do for you is to calm you down. Agreeing with you makes you relax so she doesn’t hit the button in her bracelet yet. “Okay, we’ll just take a few deep breaths, sound good?”

"I'm sorry," you curl in on yourself, not having made it out of the sample wedding dress before the panic started, and wish you could make yourself disappear so you wouldn't feel so damn embarrassed.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Gabi tells you firmly, cupping your face in her hands. “Nothing at all. Do you understand?”

"I don't want to ruin this for Soph." Or ruin life for Sophia. For your friend. The last time you had your period was the week before your cousin's wedding...Isn't there some kind of old wives' tale about being extra fertile after your period? Or is that before? Shit shit shit.

“You won’t, she wants to be here for you too. She and Tex are so happy for you and Jack.” She insists.

"I'm okay," you insist again, despite it obviously being not true. The best you can do right now is force yourself to refocus. Force yourself to function. Pray that Sophia is so wrapped up in picking out her wedding dress that she never notices that anything was wrong with you in the first place.

“Here.” The small pill is offered to you. “Take this. It will help you relax. Short term.”

"I–um– thanks." Still a little shaky, you manage to take the offered medicine and have another sip of water without too much fuss, and breathe deeply as you stare at your knees. Could it be real? Are you really...pregnant?

It’s long minutes before you start to calm down. Your breathing returns to normal and Gabi takes the now empty water bottle and shoves it back into her purse. “You need another drink? I have a juice box.”

"Would you..." You turn to look at Gabi for the first time since this whole thing started, seeing the concern drawn on her face and the determination that you recognize from seeing her take care of her kids. "Would you just tell Sophia I'm okay if she asks? If she didn't notice then I don't want to worry her."

“I– you don’t think Sophia noticed?” She asks, shocked you would think that.

"Why?" It makes your head spin again in a way that jolts your stomach. "How long have we been in here?"

“Not long, but she’s an agent.” She reminds you gently. “And your mood went from happy to nearly frantic in an instant.”

"All the more reason to let her know that I'm okay, then." It's a miracle that you can think straight, if you're honest, but at least your skin has stopped crawling and you didn't do anything to damage the sample dress still clinging to your body. "I'm sure she has her dress sorted out by now. I'll just..." You blow out a breath that you hope sounds encouraging instead of wavering with fresh tears, which is how you feel. "Change out of this one and try the next. Since this one now has...questionable memories."

"It's not your style anyway." Gabi jokes, sending you a small smile as she stands and holds her hands out to you to help you to stand. After you get back to the hotel tonight, she will discreetly call Astrid and let her know that another therapy session would be good for you.

"Thanks, Gabi." You squeeze her hands before letting them go and refocusing yourself on the dresses that are hanging from the bar on the other side of the small dressing room. Thank god you elected not to wear make up today, or you'd probably look like a raccoon right now.

"This one seems more your style." Gabi offers, although you could never tell when the dress is on the hanger. "Do you want me to help you into it?" She asks quietly, willing to step out if you want.

"If I haven't frightened off our consultant, I'm sure she can help." It's less scary to have to face a near stranger with what's going on in your mind. Ellie doesn't know anything about what's happening in your life. She can't read you like a book the way your friends can. And she'll more than likely buy the story that you just aren't feeling well without pressing for more details.

"Okay." Gabi frowns but she is moving toward the door. "I will send her in."

Sophia is sitting on the loveseat in her regular clothes when Gabi comes back out, fidgeting with her sleeves and frowning heavily. "Is she okay?" She asks quietly once their consultant has gone back into the changing room. "She had an episode, didn't she?"

"Yeah." Gabi knew that Sophia would have noticed you. But she's happy that the other agent didn't push her way into the dressing room knowing it would have embarrassed you even more. "I gave her a Valium. Maybe we need to make it an early day?" She suggests softly. "Or maybe she'll be better once she's let the medicine kick in."

“She wants to keep going?” Sophia can’t tell if she’s surprised or not, knowing you to be both stubborn and usually fairly in tune with yourself. “No crazy partying tonight. Maybe a room service and a movie? And a museum tomorrow. She loves museums.” The laundry list of things she wanted to see can wait. Her best friend’s well being is far more important than anything else.

"That sounds like the perfect, low key evening that we need." She nods and bites her lip. "What about you, hun?" She reaches out and touches Sophia's arm. "Did you find something that you like or are you needing to have something designed?"

“We made a few tweaks, but the first dress was nearly perfect.” She keeps her voice respectfully low, but clasps Gabi’s hands eagerly. “It’s going to be beautiful, and one of a kind. I just hope our girl in there isn’t so overwhelmed that she doesn’t get to enjoy this appointment. Or this trip.”

"She's a trooper." Gabi smiles, excited for Sophia. "I know she will find the perfect dress." She prays that whatever is going on with you doesn't spoil the experience for you.

A few minutes later you emerge again with red eyes looking tired but forcing yourself to smile - knowing that today is about more than you. You’re just going to have to make sure you read the return and cancellation policy on this dress very carefully in case the worst happens.

"Oh." The dress is stunningly simple and yet it is completely breathtaking. The way it drapes over your form brings the soft folds of the dress and shimmering of the satin. "It's perfect."

“Yeah?” If you’re honest, you barely noticed anything about the dress you put on. It’s comfortable, sure, and simple. But past that? You couldn’t tell what the silhouette was or anything about the details if you tried. Still, you like that they like it. “Gabi picked it.”

"Yeah, love." Sophia stands and walks over towards you with a soft smile and reaches for the package with Jack's family veil in it. "Let's see if it's as perfect with this as I imagine it will be."

It’s nerve racking to see the veil come out now. You’re scared and trying not to show it, like in the back of your mind you know something is wrong and that it might affect Sophia’s relationship as much as your own. Who the fuck knows what will happen if you turn out to be pregnant with Tex’s baby. It will turn your whole world upside down. And hers. And Jack’s. And Tex’s.

Sophia freezes, trying not to immediately demand to know what is wrong. She knows you will deny anything is wrong. Instead, she moves slowly as she takes the veil out and drapes it over your head.

It is beautiful. You can’t deny that even if you have trouble looking yourself in the eye in the mirror. The low cowl neck of the dress makes room for a necklace and the even lower back keeps the focus on the veil, and on any other day you would be gasping right along with Gabi and tearing up for a good reason instead of a stressful one. “It’s…” your hand drifts to the edges of the veil and you try to banish the question mark of what this dress would look like on a pregnant woman. “It’s beautiful.”

Sophia knows that something is wrong. She can tell, but she's cheerful, trying to be your support. "It is beautiful. I know, I know that you shouldn't be pressured and it's all about what you want, but this is the one." She gushes, fluttering the veil around you. "Jack will lose his mind when he sees you in this dress."

“It’s exactly what I said I wanted.” You won’t deny that, even if you’re barely looking at your reflection. Your eyes just keep going back to your engagement rings over and over again. Thinking of Jack and hoping that you haven’t completely ruined your lives with recklessness.

"Do you– do you not like it?" Sophia asks softly. "Because if you don't, Ellie can pull more dresses. We will find something that you love."

“No, I do.” Thinking as quickly on your feet as you can, you force a smile and touch the edges of the veil again. If this is the only time you’re going to get to wear it, you want to at least appreciate its beauty again. “It will need a good necklace. And you two have to tell me if the back is too low.”

Turning you around, Sophia whistles. "That is a sexy back, love. No, you should show it off and this is the perfect dress to do so." She hums and Gabi jumps up to chime in. "Oh it's just lovely. Perfect. What do you think?" She asks you seriously.

“I think it’s right.” If you were thinking with a clear head right now, you would be in happy tears. It really is exactly what you said you wanted in a dress and you do look great in it, but your mind is just too cloudy at the moment to recognize that. “And I think even Louisville is too cold for this dress to be at a winter wedding.”

"Spring or summer?" Gabi asks, not willing to mention that she has clocked you choosing the dress at fifty-two minutes, thirty-five seconds.

“Spring, I guess.” When you finally look up to find your friends smiling at you, you try not to pull in on yourself self-consciously. “Soph and Tex already called dibs on this summer.”

"A spring wedding." Gabi grins conspiratorially. "That will make Jack happy as a pig in sunshine."

“Engaged for a whole year?” Sophia grins, suspicious but trying to cheer you up from whatever is bothering you. Because you are bothered. “You’ll have plenty of time to plan and dream, mate.”

“I think so.” When you nod it’s slow, but definite. “I think this is it.” They like it. Right now that’s the best thing you have to base a decision on, because there’s no way in hell that you can be objective or make the choice with a clear head.

“Great!” Both women cheer, trying to interject as much enthusiasm into the event as possible. They don’t want Ellie to think anything strange, although Sophia knows she has seen plenty of drama.

"Did we remember to keep the time?" You have no intention of letting Jack know what kind of chaos happened here this morning. None whatsoever. So you turn your mind to things that seem normal. Like the bet.

“Under an hour.” Gabi admits with a shrug. “Although if you have your heart set on that engagement trip…” She breaks off teasingly. “I can be bought for the price of a Manhattan in Manhattan.”

"No...he won, fair and square." It would have taken even less time if you hadn't freaked out, and you're not about to lie to him about things that don't matter. There are too many things that do matter at stake.

“I bet if you give him that Soul Snatcher Three Thousand when you get back and ask him for the engagement trip, the man will dance towards Disney wearing the ears.” Sophia waggles her brows suggestively and barks out a laugh a second later.

“We’re going to Montana in fall,” you tell them both quietly and reach to take the veil out of your hair. You’re going to hang on to every bit of normalcy and every promise as hard as you can right now. “That’s sort of going to be the trip, I think. Though…it won’t be silly. It’ll be good for him.”

“Oh….” Sophia had been told the story, the real story in its entirety and she knows that it will be emotional for both of you. “If you need to talk to someone, I’m here for you.”

“It will be good.” Maybe if you tell yourself that enough times, it will be true. You can hope, at least. “His hometown does a big Labour Day festival every year, so we’re going to go for that.”

“That will be fun.” Gabi smiles. “Something fun to look forward to.”

“I’m going to get out of this so I can buy it,” you announce, hoping you sound excited. “Then we can go celebrate?”

“That sounds good.” Ellie ushers you towards the changing room and Sophia turns towards Gabi. “What are you thinking?”

“She won’t look us in the eyes,” Gabi murmurs sadly. “If I wasn’t convinced that that is the most perfect dress for her, I’d be insisting she wait to buy and we all go do something to distract ourselves.”

“She didn’t get a text, no one called.” Sophia looks around the room of mostly women and frowns. “Do you think something reminded her of the kidnapping?”

“I don’t know what else it would be.” Gabi admits with a sigh. “I gave her the Valium, and I’m going to let Astrid know what happened. But other than that? I’m not sure what to do.”

“All we can do is support her.” Sophia frowns, making a note to text Jack if you still are off kilter by dinner time.

“We’ll get her through it.” It’s as much of a promise to Sophia as it is to you without you even being there.

“Yes we will. And if we need to head back tonight, I will have the plane ready.” Sophia won’t put your mental health at risk. She won’t.

******

Your dress purchased and arrangements made for you to be contacted when it comes in so you can be fitted, Sophia and Murad exchange information to work on her custom made dress, then the three of you pile out onto New York’s streets. “Where to now?” Gabi asks, looping her arm through yours. “Anywhere you want to go.” She tells you.

"Sophia made a list." It's less deflecting than it is just angling to not have to think about much of anything - and that includes decision making. But Sophia isn't having it, and she shakes her head as the three of you pile into the waiting Statesman car. "Anywhere you want to go," she insists, keeping hold of your hand in the backseat. They're a stubborn pair when they agree on something, and you look between them with a sigh. "We could go to a museum?" It's your go to. Museums and food tourism. And right now you can't stomach the idea of food.

“Why don’t we do one of the smaller museums?” Sophia offers. “Near the hotel in case we want to go back and rest?” The unspoken part of it suggests that you might want to go back, to not participate and it gives you an out if you need it.

"I know you guys don't want to be dragged around the Frick Collection or some other intense little art museum." It's sweet that they're trying to be kind after what happened in the dress shop, but you really don't want this trip to be about you and you know at least half of Sophia's list. "Why don't we do Madame Toussad's? Selfies with wax people sounds like a silly as hell way to spend the afternoon."

“Yes!” It sounds like just the type of activity to get you out of your head so both women nod eagerly. “Let’s do that and we can decide what to eat afterwards.” Sophia decides.

“Times Square has tons of places. It will be great.” Gabi agrees, wanting things to go smoothly from here on out.

Each woman flanks you, wanting you to feel protected and surrounded by someone familiar. Each one believing that you are reliving the trauma of the last month. “Maybe we will find some inspiration for your menu.” Sophia encourages.

“We should take Soph someplace absurd and touristy. Super American.” You suggest, sitting back between both women as the car makes its way around Central Park. “Like Red Lobster or Margaritaville levels of absurd.” Silly will help, you decide, sitting on your hands so that they don’t move self consciously to your unchanged stomach. Silly is good.

“Ohhhhh we can get wasted in Margaritaville, right?” She grins. “Like that song?”

You’ll definitely be laying off the booze for the rest of the trip for necessary reasons, but you swallow it and add a smile as you nod. “Absolutely, Soph.”

“Great!” There’s practically nothing a little booze and girl time can’t fix, so she is immediately leaning forward to lower the glass to tell the driver to take you all to the Wax Museum.

******

Madame Toussad’s Wax Museum is plenty busy, full of families and groups of friends out for the same silly distraction that the three of you are. The staged dummies and their scenery providing just enough distraction to have you breathing normally and even laughing a little with your friends.

“This place is wonderful.” Sophia gushes. “Creepy, but wonderful.” She looks around at all the wax figurines. “We should do waxes of the agents.” She laughs.

“Tex would hide his all around the house to scare you.” Gabi snorts, thinking of how much fun the agent has been known to have, acting like an oversized child in some of his time off.

“God he would.” Sophia laughs, shaking her head. “Until I decapitated it and then he would pout.”

“You can’t cut off that beautiful face.” Gabi laughs, posing next to the model of actor Channing Tatum just like he’s Tex. They’re about the same size, so it works. “He’d be such a sad boy.”

“Tex’s ears are a little bigger but I swear they are brothers.” She huffs, stepping closer to examine the figurine of the man who looks just like her fiancé. “All that ridin’ I’ve been doing. Gotta hold onto somethin’.” She drawls, imitating a southern accent.

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy,” Gabi giggles, swinging her hips in an impromptu dance move that makes all three of you laugh. It is, after all, the unofficial Statesman motto.

“Speaking of…” Sophia smirks. “There’s been a lack of complaints around your house early in the mornings the last few days. Have you just decided to wear Jack out at night or did you turn the safe room into your sex room?” She waggles her brows outrageously.

“The restaurant starting up has changed our schedule a little.” You excuse, suddenly hyper focused on a speck of dirt on your hand. “And I’ve been a lot more tired.”

“I’m sure you are.” Sophia nods, reaching out and patting your hand. “Let me know if there’s something I can do. I did work my grandpa’s pub back across the pond.”

“Thanks.” Everyone here knows you’ll never ask. Not only do you have a great staff but you’re stubborn as hell. Still, it’s nice that she offered. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“Everything is perfect. Have you not read the reviews?” Countless food critics for the area have already been out to try the newest addition to Statesman and each one of them have come away giving rave reviews.

“Then being tired is worth it.” You decide, flashing them both that smile that feels a little more authentic with that encouragement.

“Ohhhh look! There’s Nic Cage!” Gabi squeals, darting over to the next display. “This is– is it a wax figure or does he come and pose everyday?” She giggles, poking the figure’s waxy face.

“It’s his Dorian Gray statue instead of a portrait,” Sophia laughs, dragging you with her to the next display. “If you move the clothes you’d see horrible disfiguration.”

You jump from exhibit to exhibit, Gabi and Sophia making sure that there isn’t a lull in the conversation or jokes being tossed out. Wanting to make sure you don’t have time to think about being upset. By the time you’re through the Creepy But Fun (as you all agreed upon) museum full of uncanny wax people, you’ve calmed down a little. But only in so much as the panic has turned into a slowly simmering dread in your belly.

“Where to now?” Sophia asks, grinning at your obviously more cheered spirits and links her arm with yours. “I’m famished.”

"Do you still want to go to Margaritaville for dinner?" The thought of alcohol makes you queasy but you can just have a virgin one and soldier on. The point is for Sophia to have fun.

“Unless you have some little hidden gem that we have to try?” Sophia asks with a grin. “Have you been holding out on us?”

"There's always..." You bite your lip and shrug a little, deciding that it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to have a little fun. There's been a plan slowly forming in the back of your head all afternoon and it will take care of everything. Or at least...it's the best idea you have for not ruining the lives of everyone you love. "There's two places. In Chelsea...both are great but one of them is inside the theater for this crazy play, so you kind of have to do both to get the whole experience."

“Tell me more.” Sophia cocks her head curiously, intrigued by the sound of it.

“The play has a restaurant and a bar in it and instead of sitting down to watch you get up and run around and follow the actors everywhere. And the audience all wears masks, and you can’t talk, and then after you find your friends in the bar and talk about what you saw.” It’s something you’ve done with your siblings a few times and always loved it. No two experiences are ever the same, but it’s exhausting. “If you want a quieter night, we can go to the Argentinian restaurant across the street. The wine list is killer and if we name drop my brother they might make us something special.”

“The play thing sounds fun.” Sophia admits with a grin. “It’s not something I have done before. How about you?” She turns to ask Gabi.

"I don't think I've been to a play outside of Louisville since Astrid was stationed here." It had been very early in her time with Statesman, but back then they had loved to go to Broadway. "I'm in for a weird play where you run around."

“Then it’s decided.” Sophia would sing karaoke in a shoebox if it meant you would be happy, so the smile on your face as you agree means the world to her.

"Let's see if we can actually get three tickets." You pull out your phone as you walk through Times Square between them, headed to your hotel just a block away. "We can have the driver take us, which is a miracle because walking there sucks." The times you had gone with your siblings, you had done the combination of subway travel and walking which was less than fun. Sophia has one arm through yours to make sure you stay on the sidewalk while your face is in your phone and you make a small noise of surprise when there are actually tickets available for tonight. "Looks like we're doing it. I recommend lightweight clothes and your comfiest shoes. We're going to be running all night."

“We have time to go back to the hotel?” Sophia asks. “Or are we running into Target and buying what we need?”

“We have plenty of time.” The hotel is just around the corner and the three of you pop straight into the elevator easily. “It’s not really traditional, but it is based in Shakespeare. But it’s dancing. A lot of dancing.”

“I always like dancing.” Sophia’s eyes widen suddenly. “Ooooooh!” She squeals, “can we go to the Coyote Ugly bar?”

“Tomorrow night,” you promise, laughing when she looks as excited about that as she did about shopping for her wedding dress.

“Always wanted to go there since seeing that movie.” She confesses with a grin.

“We can make that happen.” Gabi chuckles on your other side. She opens the door to your suite with her key and ushers you all inside. “But if you get up and start dancing on the furniture, I’m taking video.”

“Oh absolutely.” She had already anticipated that. “And send it to Tex, hm? Make him regret telling me that I wouldn’t have fun.”

“That boy honestly thought there was any kind of scenario you wouldn’t make fun?” The dismissive sound Gabi makes as she digs into her suitcase for suitable clothing for the night is accompanied by a sigh. “He really is a clown.”

“A rodeo clown.” Sophia had giggled over the few photos Tex had shown her. It had been something fun to tease him about when he was wearing dapper suits that he didn’t find comfortable at all.

"From rodeo clown to super spy." You shake your head as you dig through your suitcase for comfortable clothes to wear tonight. Everything that you had packed was reasonably stylish, but at least you had thought to tuck your good sneakers in the bottom of your case so that you could keep up with all the adventuring Sophia wanted to do.

“So I’m going to wear leggings and a cute t-shirt.” Sophia offers, tossing out her clothes haphazardly. “That sound okay?”

"That works. I've got a pair of jeans and..." The shirt in your hand when you lift it out of your suitcase makes you swallow back an emotional reaction. "Jack packed me his Creedence Clearwater Revival t-shirt..." It's such a small gesture but it has you breathing shakily as you inhale the scent of his cologne from the stretched and worn cotton. "I–I'm going to sleep in that, I think," you murmur almost to yourself, replacing it in the suitcase and pulling out the Louisville Slugger t-shirt that you had bought at the factory tour. If Sophia noticed the expression of almost heartbreak, she doesn’t mention it. Wondering if you are just in your feelings because of where you and Jack were when you were last in New York.

“I’ll call the restaurant to see if they have a reservation left. If not, we’ll go to the place across the street.” You can’t possibly excuse yourself fast enough, heading into the suite’s bedroom to change clothes quickly and make the call. There’s someone else that you definitely need to talk to - but that will be face-to-face.

“She seems better.” Gabi immediately moves towards Sophia and frowns at the closed door. “Don’t you think?”

“Looked like she saw a ghost when she found Jack’s shirt, though. Didn’t she?” Sophia chews on her lower lip. “Hopefully this play thing will take her mind off whatever it is that’s got her so fuckin’ upset.” She wishes you would just talk to them, but there are glimpses of you feeling better that have her hopeful.

“That Southern accent is coming along nicely.” Gabi teases playfully. Sophia had said she was going to work on making her English accent less noticeable much to Tex’s disappointment.

“I put in for a transfer,” she admits with a sly grin. “Champ just has to have the board sign off on it.”

“Really!” Gabi squeals happily, knowing that Tex will be happy about that. “Becoming a certified Statesman agent?”

“I don’t want to take the chance that they’ll transfer me after we’re married.” She reasons, knowing that anything is possible when their jobs and lives can be so unpredictable. “At the end of the day, I always want to be able to come home to him.”

“I can understand that.” Gabi offers quietly. “Your jobs are very unpredictable. You spend time where you can.”

“I don’t want to miss anything.” It’s less of a concern for you and Gabi because of your lifestyles, but for Sophia and Tex? It’s a very real concern.

“You won’t.” Gabi reaches for a quick hug. “Champ is very good about balancing work and home. He won’t let you two stay apart for long, even on a mission.”

"We have Diana to thank for that." If not for his soulmate and his son, Champ would be just as much of a workaholic as most American men of his age. Thankfully, having loved ones to come home to had softened his opinion of home life completely and Diana had taught him balance.

“I just hope that we are all happy as larks.” Sophia hums, the soft smile on her face reserved for when she is thinking about her fiancé.

"We will be." Gabi has made sure she is, and she knows that Sophia and Tex already are. It seems though, unfortunately, that there are still bumps in your road. If not with Jack, then just personal ones.

"Dinner reservations are in thirty-five minutes," you announce when you come out of the bathroom in your casual clothes to dig out your sneakers. "I pulled up the menu on my phone so we can look at it in the car."

“If you enjoy it; we know we are going to eat well.” Sophia shrugs off the idea of looking at the menu. Your tastes are exquisite and you wouldn’t bring them somewhere you didn’t enjoy.

"And drink well." The sneakers you packed are favourites, lovingly broken in and tatty with affection, but strong enough to stand their ground against a few days running around the city. You pull them on and stick a double knot in the laces for good measure. "Everything at this place is good, but the cocktails are on a whole other level."

“Ohhh then we are having some drinks!” Sophia declares, although she won’t drink too much. Maybe one or two cocktails. She wants to be mostly sober in case you have another issue. She doesn’t want you to feel like you have to deal with it alone.

"Everybody finished getting changed so we can get across the city!" Gabi urges, moving around the room with purpose now that she sees you starting to perk up again and Sophia getting excited.

"I'll be ready to go in a second," you promise, moving your essentials from the large purse you had been carrying today to the zipped pockets of your worn jeans. No purse at this place is better - and in no time the three of you are back on the elevator, headed down to the street to have the driver take you to the theatre house.

Your stomach is still in knots as the driver brings you through the crowded streets of the city, and you look out the window while Sophia and Gabi gush about something that you weren't paying attention to in the first place. The idea that you could be pregnant has consumed you almost entirely since it entered your mind this morning and while it's eating at you, at least you have a plan now. One that you can't say you're particularly proud of - but you would rather bare a private shame than destroy the lives of the people you've come to love so much.

Back in Kentucky, Jack frowns at his phone. Since going into the consultation, it’s been nothing but radio silence. He knows you are safe, he can clearly see the ping of your location along with Gabi’s, Sophia’s, and the driver’s. It was a friend of Rye’s that owed him a favor. He sighs softly, wishing you had at least teased him with how much he was going to love your dress, but he’s more worried. You’ve been….off. And you being in New York has him on edge. Shaking off his regrets, he opens your messages and types out one to you: Hey sugar, I know you and the girls are partying it up, but I wanted to check in with you. I hope you are having fun. The restaurant is in good hands but this house surely is a lot more lonely without you curled up with me on the couch. I love you.

The vibration of your phone is unexpected, stirring you out of your thoughts and pulling your lips into a conflicted half-frown when you see Jack's name pop up on your screen. Being afraid of hurting him had made you entirely shut down from even texting him. Hell, if it had occurred to you at home in Louisville, you probably would have shut off from your friends instead. But they're here with you in the car and Jack is at home, so he had gotten the blunt end of your fear instead. You swallow a sigh as you open the text, nearly in tears as you read it through twice before replying: We're taking lots of pictures, so I can show you some when we get home. We're heading to the theater so my phone will be off for a few hours. I love you.

Love.

You love that man more than anything in the world. And that's why you're heading straight to see Astrid in her lab the second you're back on Statesman ground.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @lunarcatbun 118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088 @sunnygrey99 @lexinicolenix @lazyemisfandomtrash @curiouskeyboard @qualityearthquakes @spider-284748 @unnecesarysstuff @sgt-morgan @love-affair-with-fandoms @lunarcatbun @kstar770 @kykymarty @supergingerlocks @hell0kittybimb0222 @a-birds-fin @loidforgerishotashell @mythical-writer @ghostshalo @avengersimaginesfan @sccialcasualty @lordecult @petalo-dropsart @i-quite-like-eating-carrots @svudetective @hasta-la-pasta-bb @manicpixiedreamgirly @destinydog @skeppycarnation @anaisweird @critters-beware @fruityforcocoapuffs @linnnniie @spideyromantic @paupeach2024 @faithxyu @fxramir @legomyeggo @jjggdfvvy @hi-my-name-is-riley @kasaikawa @lost-ghost-thats-sleepy @callmegkiddo @2dead2function @generallysleepdeprived @failingclassesinmygucciglasses @thebeesknees42 @moonmoon007 @wi0na @cilliansangel @lostinsideourminds @angstismydrug @elvenmother @bilibiche @kettlekatie @preschoolispunk @djarinsstuff @generallysleepdeprived @love-affair-with-fandoms @jay-ghostly @wowieitbeme @fanofverymanythings @josephquinnswhore @this-harl0t-shant-be-unalive @djarinsstuff @justherebecausesafarisucks @cedricbitch @rebel-soldat @madisonred88

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfic #Pedro Pascal fanfiction #Jack Daniels #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au #Agent Tequila #Agent Tequila x OC #Agent Tequila x female OC #fear of pregnancy #missed period

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coldshrugs · 2 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️ (hi azia love u)

hi ells!!! love you!!!! sorry this took so long, i was rolling things around and trying to get to a place where i liked my writing again. but i think i'm here now!

these are in no particular order btw. just some recent faves :>

♥ triple play | io/estinien (modern au)

Haurchefant met Io at a Spring Break party in freshman year, where he spent far too much of the night watching her quietly hold up the corners of some upperclassman’s rented condo. He felt like he knew everything there was to know about her right away, a symptom of that bright melancholy distinctly found in art school girls, like she was only waiting on fate to catch up to her. Maybe the reality of her was less interesting than his half-baked conclusion, but god, her smile. He was so nervous to talk to her.

♥ pang | io/estinien canon (pre-relationship)

His stomach tosses, and he admits something to himself for the first time: he wants to kiss her. Something he hasn’t done often, rare even in his most eager of dalliances. She was looking at him in the way she often does, like he could tell her anything and she would not flinch, and maybe that’s the problem. He can think about more than a kiss without losing his head. It is the straightforwardness of the intimacy he desires that sends him reeling, and already she affords him something close. So he ran. The urge has been growing for some time. They catch their breath after a battle, and she’s bruised and radiant, and he shoves it down. They carry out some mundane task and Io pulls her hair back from her face, and Estinien endures a calamity. How often has he busied his hands to keep them from the simple act of tugging her to him and embarrassing himself?

♥ mustering | io/estinien canon (pre-relationship)

Io smiles patiently. “Your brother?” His eyes fall to the leaf-covered ground and he nods. “He would walk our sheep into the fold from pasture. He named them all. Even if they already had one, he’d change them to something he liked better–insufferable, really. Anyway… when one went missing, he’d beg me to join him in the search, make me scour the fields and nearby forest with him until we found whichever young, or old, or lame sheep had wandered off alone, staring up at us with that look of relief. And I was a bit bigger than him, so I would carry it home while he doted on Flopsy, or Custard, or whatever the fuck he’d named them–” he feels his smile spreading as he shakes his head, and the vacuum in his heart surrounding Hamignant shrinks, just a little. “I suppose what I mean is, he still holds me accountable.”

♥ tiebreaker | io/estinien (modern au)

The city doesn’t slow around them. Flashes of sound and color leak into the dim room, painting the wall in shifting light that disappears between drowsy blinks. Io wonders how all those passersby in taxis and on the street can go on like before, unaware a faultline has moved under their feet. Don’t they know? Didn’t they feel it? The quiet breaks abruptly. “Io, I’m not,"—his rough voice wavers. He pauses. She can almost see him turning over the words in his mind—"very romantic, if I’m honest, but I could be good to you.” His head on her chest is the only thing keeping her in orbit. “You’ve always been good to me. If you’re asking me for something…” “I’m asking.”

♥ flood | io/estinien canon (mature) ↓

His lips return to her neck, and one hand travels the length of her back to twist the strap of the bra. “Tell me, where did you get this?” Io gulps, eyes falling closed at his touch through the sheer fabric. The pale lavender lace barely covers her chest and leaves her nipples artfully exposed. It is the last remaining piece from the matching set; the bottoms and garter belt have long been removed in a racy attempt to undress. Now he fucks her without obstruction, not that they would stop him in the first place. “Shtola sent it. A gift to celebrate my finally sleeping with someone after such a long–” Estinien thrusts, hard, chuckling at the timing– “long time. Though it appears to be for you more than me.” “Then I shall have to thank her when we next meet.” The next moan comes unbidden as the hand on her back wraps into her hair, tied into a messy tail, and pulls. A short, quick jerk, and she can see half his face now, flushed red and smirking. Once more, he tests her, waiting for her reaction. Io smiles at him. “More.”

#asks #azia writes #tbh my faves are ever shifting #it really depends on mood and what i'm currently looking to improve or expand #but i've been thinking about most of these lately!!#thank you for thinking of me!! ^.^ this was fun!#long post

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 11 months

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Warm Soup

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober Day 18. Set after Httyd 2, the dragons never left. Astrid has been sick all day. So of course, it’s her husband’s job to look out for her.

Warning: Sick fic

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid, Toothless

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Words: 488

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: Fever, Warm soup, Vomiting

Whumpee: Astrid

Author’s Notes: Saw another opportunity for some married Hiccstrid~

Enjoy!

XOXOX

When Hiccup lays his hand on her burning forehead, Astrid startles.

“Hiccup!” She gasps, eyes fluttering open and her hands grasping for his.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were dozing off again,” he apologizes. He probably should’ve checked first instead of just diving in on her from behind, like a dragon spotting a delicious school of fish near the surface.

Astrid mutters something in response, but he doesn’t quite catch it. She holds his hand to her forehead. His skin is cooling to her, he hasn’t been home for very long, having stepped out to meet with Gothi. His cold hand helps numb her pounding headache.

Hiccup watches her lean into his hand, a worried expression on his face. He shares a look with Toothless who sits by the fire. The Night Fury shares his worry. Astrid hasn’t been this sick since the Scourge of Odin.

“Uh, Astrid, Sweetie,” that nickname is reserved only for special occasions such as this. Usually, it makes her go putty in his hands. “The soup is ready.”

With a sigh, she lets go of his hand and sinks deeper in her bundle of furs, freezing cold because of the fever rampaging through her body. Her hands are all that remain free as she reaches for the bowl of soup in his hands. He hands it over, making sure that her hands touch cloth first, lest she burn them.

“You can go ahead and finish that, take Gothi’s admittedly very fragrant concoction, and then you can go back to bed,” Hiccup explains.

“Oh Gods,” Astrid does not look forward to drinking whatever Gothi cooked up. Just the thought of it makes her stomach churn.

“She told me this one will make the nauseousness go away. It should help you stop throwing up,” Hiccup pulls a stool closer to sit on.

“Then shouldn’t I be taking that first?” She asks.

“You could, but it’s not done yet.”

“Still steeping?”

“Still steeping.”

Astrid sighs, then turns her attention back to her warm soup. She’s been throwing up ever since yesterday night, meaning that she hasn’t eaten all day. Fortunately, she’s as hungry as a newborn Eruptodon in a lava pool. Whether she can keep it down or not, her appetite remains unaffected.

She takes her first spoonful of the day. To her great relief, her stomach isn’t immediately doing flips and her gag reflex doesn’t reject the meal. So far.

“Hey Babe?” She looks at him with tired eyes.

“Yes?”

“Can you sit closer?” She asks and he does what she wants. He scoots the stool closer and leans over the armrest to wrap an arm around her. It makes for a mighty uncomfortable position with the arm rest between them, but he doesn’t mind sitting like this for a little while. Astrid leans towards him, head on his shoulder and bowl on the arm rest as she eats. Slow bite after slow bite.

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word-wytch · 11 months

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My thoughts on Flight of Icarus (so far!)

I finally got my hands on the book yesterday and also had time to read which hasn’t happened in a very hot minute.

These are just my first impressions, commentary, and takeaways from chapters 1-9.

More will come, but I am realizing that I have so much to say that I need to break it up ✨

I will start off by saying that I was skeptical, as all of us were, when this book was announced. Prior to reading it, I had been steering clear of spoilers and others’ reactions just so that I could go in completely unbiased and with an open mind and heart.

Within the first 10 pages, I was crying. Like, openly weeping. Something about Eddie talking first person about his childhood experiences and confirming what so many of us suspected hit me so suddenly. I was not prepared for the swell of emotions that bubbled over as a result of not only that, but reading his name printed on a real, hard bound book when I've only ever read it from a screen was something else as well. Something about it being officially licensed by ST and providing us with some concrete backstory (if we choose to take it) for so many things that we've been only speculating on for the last year and a half.

These are a few snippets that really had me going:

Anyway, I'm broken.

Onto the writing --

I genuinely think what I've read so far has been incredibly well-written. The first person narration sounds so much like Eddie, as does the dialogue. The insights and ways he describes things cleverly but also with that touch of dark humor that he deflects with so often is very present. I do feel like I'm stepping into his curly noggin and viewing the world through his bambi eyes. It's such a treat.

Also, I have noticed her using many words that he frequently uses in his limited dialogue on the show in her narration, the main one I can think of right now being "not exactly". It's touches like these that let me know how closely she's paying attention.

I am also impressed with the general quality of prose, how she seamlessly integrates setting and character description into the scene. Also clever and creative ways to describe objects that still stay very in character. This one stands out:

Also this. This hyper-awareness that his home life is different than his peers, something I try to illustrate in my own writing and appreciate that this author did as well:

As a writer, I learn so much from reading. I can honestly say that I am learning from this experience as well, and dare I say it, am inspired.

The chapter I am working on now for DSSCTM deals heavily with similar themes and questions that FOI covers, such as Eddie's motivations for staying in school, his relationship to his dad, and how he views himself. So I feel a lucky sense of coincidence that this book was released during the time I am writing it. I, like everyone else, invented my own backstory for his parents that suited the story I was trying to tell and will keep it for consistency going forward.

Characters that stuck out to me --

Gareth -- OH. MY GOD. BABY GARETH. Little fluffy ball of rage. I cannot. My heart is going to explode fr. Also the tenderness with which Eddie handles him is just too much for me.

Ronnie -- Stan her. You know, this character really makes me wonder how much of our fics the author has read because I feel like it is one of the most common and earliest tropes for our Reader characters to be best friends of his that grew up in the trailer park along side him. Maybe it's just an obvious trope? But interesting she included it. Also making her the book-smart one who's got a golden ticket out is another very common thing I see in our stories.

Chrissy -- I love the bit of backstory I've read so far and how sympathetic she writes her. I love that we get the whole scene of them before the talent show and them bonding for a short moment.

Al -- There aren't enough words for how big a piece of shit this man is. When he said this to Wayne I almost yeeted my book across the room. Nobody talks to Wayne Munson like this in my house. 😤

Paige -- Eh. Not sold tbh. Although I do appreciate reading through Eddie's first person narration about him having a crush on someone though. It's cute. Just the crush part, not Paige specifically. She's mid so far.

Principal Higgins -- I had to suspend my disbelief a bit for how strong he came on tbh. I mean, I think she made a somewhat believable case for his absolutely unhinged behavior but it still struck me as borderline unbelievable how Higgins spoke to Eddie like that. What it did confirm for me was something I had suspected from the beginning, which is that Eddie's dad never graduated high school. Also, I appreciate the question being asked about why he is still in school BUT my issue is that this question isn't as applicable in his first senior year as it is in his third. I think the author was trying to find a reason for Higgins to be asking it and had to dig a little to try and make it believable. It's a question I have asked myself, one that I had Teach ask him in the first chapter of DSSCTM, and one I will be exploring in ch. 16.

One final theme-related thing I noticed and appreciate:

How chapter 4 ends with his dad telling him to sleep on the idea of pulling off a heist with him and chapter 5 begins with "The question is pretty simple. At the end of the day, who do you want to be?" and proceeds to a scene of him building a character with Gareth. Likewise in real life, Eddie is figuring out who he wants to be, and I think using this as a metaphor is really clever and beautiful.

ALSO. A theory. Illian died right? Illian wasn't Gareth's he was Jeff's. What if this is alluding to the possibility of another character we all know and love who supposedly died in canon to be able to come back and re-invent themselves? 👀

Could just be my delusional ass reading into this way too much but it was just a thought I had.

Anyway, onward. ✨

#flight of icarus #eddie munson #stranger things #please tell me your thoughts!!#I wanted to just have a place to dump all mine but also want to start a dialogue!

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chrisbkdk · 1 year

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When asked this question in the past, my answer was maybe but probably not. However, at this point, I find it hard to believe Horikoshi hasn’t been planning on pairing Izuku and Katsuki for years, if not since the beginning of the manga. At the very least, there are major plot holes if Izuku doesn’t have romantic feelings for Katsuki. If Horikoshi isn’t planning on at least that much, he has written himself into a corner.

While there are many reasons, the biggest at this point is how Katsuki has served as Izuku’s trigger and Izuku’s response to that. While we have seen Izuku triggered several times now, specifically when he manifested Blackwhip he was told point blank why it happened. After being taunted by Neito (who insulted Katsuki on Hitoshi’s recommendation) Izuku manifested Blackwhip and lost control of it. He had to be brainwashed and ended up in the Vestige mindscape where the former Blackwhip user, Daigoro told him that it was responding to his emotions and that he needed to control his heart.

However, when he discussed it with Toshinori and Katsuki (chapter 217,) Izuku lied to them and told them he had no idea what could have triggered it, even going so far as to suggest that it may have been some external catalyst.

When you look at the other times Izuku has been triggered, the common factor pretty much always comes back to Katsuki. He saw Katsuki was the student the Sludge Villain had taken. He heard Katsuki was being targeted during the summer training camp and then watched as Katsuki was taken. He manifested Danger Sense when Katsuki took a hit for him and went absolutely feral on Shigaraki who, after impaling Katsuki, said his sacrifice was pointless. (Sharing images from that last one because, quite frankly, Izuku breaking the Rivet Stab blade with his teeth is freaking awesome.)

Again and again, it’s always Katsuki who sets Izuku off, and though being his trigger alone isn’t enough to prove that Izuku feelings towards Katsuki are romantic, the fact that he lied about it does. Izuku has never made secret how much he admires Katsuki. He has been laying on the praise since the very start of the series, both to others and to Katsuki. Moreover, at this point, most of the people in his life think he’s completely selfless and would sacrifice himself to save anyone. Heck, that’s why Toshinori chose him as his successor in the first place. All Izuku had to say in there was that he was upset over Neito insulting Katsuki, no further explanation needed. No one would have been surprised.

I’ve seen it suggested that Izuku didn’t want to upset Katsuki by bringing up the specific insult (that being that Katsuki had ended All Might,) but even that doesn’t really track. If it was only Katsuki he wanted kept in the dark, he would have told Toshinori later, “Hey, this is what actually happened, but I didn’t want to remind Kacchan…” In fact, that would have been the smart thing to do even if it wasn’t true, because then Toshinori, the only teacher he had at that point who knew about One For All, would know that Katsuki was his weak point. But Izuku lied to them and never offered either an explanation as to why.

In fact, around this same time, we started getting less and less of Izuku’s narration and thoughts. When the manga began, Izuku narrated a lot and we got into his head a lot. We were always getting his thoughts both in the moment and retroactively through narration. Now, we get almost nothing. We’ve had narration from Katsuki and Ochako, but Izuku’s internal perspective has been largely kept from us for quite some time. The only reason an author makes a switch like that is because whatever the character is thinking/feeling would spoil the story. The only thing that really makes sense with the pieces Horikoshi has played is for Izuku to have romantic feelings towards Katsuki.

Horikoshi’s writing thus far demonstrates a lot of careful planning and patience. He plays the long game with tons of foreshadowing, set up, and build up. Given how he’s handled other lengthy plotlines, I cannot imagine him leaving this massive plot hole. I can’t even imagine him having stumbled into it either. He’s not the sort of writer to write himself into a corner. Until proven otherwise, I have to believe this has all been intentional, and you don’t set up your protagonist like that in as hopeful a story as MHA is, only to have it fizzle out either. While there is plenty of evidence that Katsuki reciprocates Izuku’s feelings, the tone and themes of the story alone suggest the protagonist is getting a complete happy ending. In all likelihood, he’ll “defeat” AFO, he’ll “save” Tenko, and he’ll find out that the person he’s in love with feels the same.

And that’s all without touching on the dozens of additional romantic tropes Izuku and Katsuki have been written with, many of Izuku’s other telling behaviors, how the other characters respond to them, or any of the evidence as to Katsuki’s feelings for Izuku. Personally, I still don’t want to get my hopes up, because I’ve seen writers set everything up beautifully only to either lose their nerve along the way or for their publisher/network/producer/etc… to step in and force a change. However, at this point, I feel it’s impossible not to have at least a little hope that this has been the plan all along because if it is, this is one of the best written stories I’ve ever enjoyed.

Edited to add: With the latest volume release, I am now wholly convinced Horikoshi plans on Izuku and Katsuki as the endgame ship for the series. Volume 37 saw its Japanese release last month (Jan ‘23) and with it brought the biggest piece of evidence for the ship (ironically enough, rooted in Katsuki’s death.) During the volume, Katsuki dies fighting Shigaraki and the heroes remaining on the field work together to bring him back and hold off Shigaraki while Izuku continues to return to the fight. Specifically, Edgeshot is using his quirk and his own body to repair/replace Katsuki’s heart.

On the back cover of this volume is a message from Edgeshot telling Katsuki not to give up, that the guy he’s waiting for, Deku is on the way, and that he (Edgeshot) won’t let him die. While the whole message is quite romantic, it ends with “Connect yourself to your future where you dreamed of your ideal.” (Point of interest, “connect” in this sentence is Tsunaide, the same word used in Izuku’s description of a boyfriend during Himiko’s confession, and the same root for Best Jeanist’s name Tsunagu.)

Then, when you flip open the volume, this image is the title of the table of contents:

Here you see Edgeshot’s head and his body stretched out to spell the word “contents”. The end of his thread is wrapped around Izuku.

While the message and image are already very romantic, it takes on an additional level of symbolism when you consider the color of Edgeshot’s quirk: red. The Red Thread of Fate, also known as the Red Thread of Marriage is one of, if not the biggest and most explicit romance tropes in east Asia. Based on Chinese mythology, the belief is that Yue Lao (a god in charge of marriage and matchmaking) ties together soulmates with an invisible red thread. That thread then compels the two people together so they can find their true love.

The myths surrounding the red thread are ubiquitous in Japan and east Asia. There is no way Horikoshi is unaware of them and just so happened to include this imagery and language by accident. At this point, the only way I could see them not being confirmed canon by the end of the series, would be if Shonen Jump refused to published Horikoshi’s intended ending.

#mha bkdk #bkdk canon #bkdk #bnha bkdk #bkdk soulmates #bkdk quotes #bkdk ao3 #bkdk fanart #bkdk angst #bkdk winter au

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kiwiana-writes · 10 months

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HELLO :D AM HERE TO BOTHER YOU WITH QUESTIONS ‼️

(7 or 8, 14, 15, 28)

i hope you’re doing well!! 🥹🫶🏼

Well hello you! I'm doing well enough for a long weekend that's flown by far too fast lol ❤️

I just answered 8, so while I'm sure I could come up with another one, let's go with...

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Alex's sexuality musings from Puck It, aka the hockey boyfriend Henry fic:

Alex is aware that he might be bisexual in the same way he’s aware that he might be allergic to cats; there have been a few brief interactions to make him think it’s probably true, but so far it hasn’t had any impact on his life, so he hasn’t really had a reason to look into it and find out for sure. Now, faced with Henry’s clavicle and the sudden, vivid mental image of sinking his teeth into it, he’s not sure how theoretical it is anymore.

I'm just a slut for a good analogy and when I feel like I've nailed one I'm, like, cheering internally lol.

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

I'll preface this by saying I definitely don't think it's the worst writing advice for everyone; in fact for some people it's probably exceptionally good writing advice. But no advice is one size fits all, and for me, the ongoing and at times very firm narrative that of COURSE your first draft will be complete dogshit and if you're not embarrassed to show it to people you don't have a good sense of your own work and blah blah blah REALLY fucked me up as a writer for a long time. Because that is just... not my experience. I write clean copy and do minimal editing because 90% of the time my first draft is the story I want to tell! And I got very much in my head about that particular piece of advice and how it must mean that I was a really shitty writer or just had no sense of good writing, if I was reading my first draft and thought it was good, you know? Turns out we all create differently and, spoiler alert, not all advice is helpful for all people. It took me a while to get there, though.

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

I mean. It's gotta be the actor AU, right??? It HAS to be.

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Ugh, only three? This is cruel. This is, like, a fraction of a very long list.

Right.

@clottedcreamfudge - Has this particular flavour of "Alex is just ferally horny for Henry immediately' that I both adore and yearn to aspire to. Her college AUs are just so nice to lose myself in when I want to escape the bullshit in my own head for a little bit

@myheartalivewrites - Writes the richest, most gorgeous, completely fleshed out relationships between Alex and Henry, whether canon/post-canon or AU. Their love for each other just rings so true and I want to roll around in it.

@sparklepocalypse - Has this way of getting me a thousand percent on board with even the most off the wall pitches. Time-travelling threesome? Fucking sure. Henry as a cecaelia? Let's fucking go. Alex as a god? Nothing's ever made more sense, actually. One of those authors that could write literally anything and I'll be like "I don't know what I'm about to witness but I know I'll fucking love it".

[40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers]

#40 questions meme #ask meme response #anincomletelist

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madaboutmunson · 8 months

Text

Look through these blackened eyes You'll see ten thousand lies

I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Chapter 9

Ao3 Link

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Link to fic overview and all parts

Chapter Summary: Pumping with the adrenaline from their fight and with his permission, Eddie attempts to exact his revenge on Steve between the sheets. But is retribution all that is at play here?

Author Notes: This is a mature story, definitely 18+ only.

This is my first ever published smut chapter. I am sweating with nerves as I type this lol.

I have a few bang event projects to finish up, so this story will have to take a short break. Though the next few 5 chapters are already written then need to be edited, which takes me a lot of time. Sorry :(

Tags/Warnings: rockstar!AU; band; touring; music industry; alternate universe; drug usage; alcohol abuse; performing; enemies to lovers; road trip; stobin; platonic stobin; platonic with a capital P; canon typical violence; angst; masochism; fist fight; smut

Word Count: 10.5K

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I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Part 9 - Eddie POV

Even in his wildest dreams, Eddie couldn’t have possibly imagined this because nothing about this moment in time makes any sense to him at all.

Hasn’t he loathed this man for years now? Didn’t this guy ruin his life? Hadn’t this guy just seconds ago tried to beat him down verbally and physically? Eddie realises it’s a resounding yes to everything, yet he feels a pulsing energy around them—something teetering on a cliff edge.

He didn’t know why he’d answered that way. It just fell out of his mouth, Only everything.

And he did want that. He wanted to steal everything from Harrington, just like he’d stolen everything from him, but he knew that wasn’t just revenge talking. Although that feeling is still very present, another looming entity is in the room. Lust. He could feel its selfish, irresponsible form like some gelatinous ooze was creeping all over him. Seeping into every recess of his brain, turning off logic centres as it passes, only leaving primal things in its wake. The only reason he lets it continue its pilgrimage into his very being is because it’s evident he isn’t alone in this.

Harrington’s lips are still at the shell of his ear. The last thing he’d heard from them was a whimper at his reply as his entire body weight rested on top of him. Eddie is in semi-thoughtful, mostly impulsive deliberations with the ornate ceiling above them. Then there is the delicate brush of stubble as Harrington pushes his head further over his shoulder until his lips press against his ear, “Then take it.” He whispers like silk, and Eddie is not god’s strongest soldier, or anyone's for that matter. His eyes roll back as the words and all their potential implications ignite every neuron in his body. Surging to the tip of his tongue for the next thing to say. Rocketing to his fingertips for the next thing to touch. His heart thumps powerfully in its skeletal hideaway, but not for love, for an imminent frenzy. For the thrill of finally getting something over the man who’s haunted his every waking day, every nightmare-filled night, and the poor wretch is offering it up to him on a silver platter. Take it.

Eddie never considered himself an angel, but he had principles and morals that kept him on the right side of judgement from himself and maybe others, but this might be a temptation too far. Harrington was correct. He had been a fan in the early days, at least. Perhaps even up until everything fell apart. Recalling his world imploding, he feels his grip on Harrington tighten again like he wants to squeeze the breath right out of him, but he resists when he hears that gentle groan in his ear.

He feels like he could both give in to something basal and still satisfy the need to get one over on Harrington if he follows the path his hormones are gouging out for him. He feels his accomplice's hands shakily run up his sides. The breath at his ear is now against his cheek as Harrington turns to face him, head still heavy on his shoulder. Maybe he was exhausted? Perhaps he’d already given up?

Eddie has to decide. Morally, this was bad. Professionally potentially the worst decision ever, but personally, maybe the sweetest fucking revenge. The holy grail of blackmail, or perhaps no one would even believe him if he told them. No one would think that Harrington, who walks the red carpet with his doting wife, or Harrington, who gets papped with his tongue hanging out for some harem of female groupies to hang off by sucking on it, would forgo them all to fool around with an average joe, like him. A nobody. A nobody who was, at one time, on the cusp of being a somebody.

And maybe that’s what seals the deal for him. He violently pushes Harrington off him, hoping to press against one of the many bruises currently developing, and he must because he hisses as he meets the carpet with a thud.

Eddie gets to his knees, and before Harrington can let any more spiteful words leave his wretched mouth, he grabs a fistful of hair and yanks him up until they are face to face. But Harrington isn’t struggling; he lets himself hang limp in Eddie’s grip. The previous violence has begun plumping parts of his face, the red marks deepening as burst blood vessels spill under his skin. His mouth hangs open slightly, “Take it,” he mumbles a reminder through swollen split lips.

Eddie’s other hand rapidly finds its way into Harrington’s obnoxious, luxurious hair and closes the gap between them with a clash of teeth. Their lips meet brutally. He can feel the hair strands fall between his fingers as his grip tightens, pulling it out from the roots. There is no polite request for entry when Eddie’s tongue forces its way into his mouth, but he’s not met with any resistance, only moans of pleasure.

Initially, Harrington is a malleable thing in his hands, bending to his will, letting Eddie cruelly bite and drag his teeth over the wounds on his lips before kissing his hisses and whimpering back into his mouth, like he doesn’t want to hear them. And he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to hear or see anything that might induce him to be merciful. Soon enough, Harrington springs to life, grabbing fistfuls of a T-shirt at Eddie's waist, twisting it around his fingers until Eddie feels it pull tight across his back. With a grunt pushed into his mouth, he finds himself yanked flush with Harrington. The heat and pressure from another makes the skin in all the places their bodies meet feel like embers of something long forgotten, but as they move together, the sparks find their fuel and ignite a searing wildfire across the surface of his skin. He can feel his heart pounding. He can hear it in his ears like a bass line to the wanton melody of noises between them.

He feels a shift again. Harrington’s knees bracket one of his own, forcing them closer together. Another sigh spills from out Harrington, and Eddie consumes it hungrily. Like he’s trying to capture everything. He would let the night have nothing. This was all his. Every sigh, moan, whimper and groan. He would gorge himself on everything he was pulling out of Harrington until he was sick from overindulgence or until Harrington had no more to give.

Then, just like he’s acclimatising, nothing further happens between them below the belt line, but Harrington’s hands find their way up and under Eddie's shirt. Calloused fingertips but soft palms glide over his back, urging him closer, even though it is physically impossible, but the gentleness is distracting and has no place here. Eddie drags his teeth over Steve’s tongue as he pulls away, only to have his mouth adorably chased by the man opposite him, who looked starved for it, even though they’ve been clamped together for who knows how long. Eddie ignores it, licks along Harrington’s jawline, and bites down on the hinge of it with his teeth, a helpful reminder of what is happening here.

He gets the message.

Harrington’s hands raise to his shoulder blades, rough fingertips press into his skin there, and then excruciatingly slowly, he drags his blunt fingernails down Eddie’s back. A gasp fights out and into his ear, causing a reactionary hip buck into his thigh from Harrington, whose fingers soothe their way back up the fresh scratches.

Harrington, for the first time, leans back, his spit-wet mouth slightly parted as he observes Eddie through barely open hooded eyes before raking his nails down him again, faster this time, making Eddie’s back arch towards him with a yelp from the stinging pain melting into a sigh caused by a wave of endorphins rearing up and crashing down on him. Involuntarily, he closes his eyes, maybe to savour the sensation of the burning strands of heat trailing over his back, perhaps to not look at Harrington. He isn’t sure, but he soon finds himself pulled into a more comfortable measured distance of zero. But no lips meet his. A hand grasps his jaw tightly and tips his head backwards. He feels a breath at the base of his throat, the moisture evaporating so quickly from him there is a coolness for a second before Harrington’s tongue drags up the column of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Wait here,” he’s instructed as Harrington leaves, and he finally dares open his eyes, tries to catch his breath, palms at the bulge in his jeans for a second of relief, and relaxes back on his heels.

He watches Harrington busy himself with a door handle sign, and he opens the door a crack. Immediately, Buckley’s face appears in it.

“Jesus Christ, Steve!” She exclaims quietly, but he’s already trying to close the door again after hanging a do not disturb sign.

“Relax. We’re not fighting anymore.” He says and slams the door.

“Then what are you doing in there?” She yells angrily through the door.

Steve yanks the door open again, “I dunno, fucking hopefully,” she’s about to say something else when he slams the door shut and locks it again.

That makes Eddie spring to his feet, and his brain feeds him a million reasons why he really should leave, but the problem being he still has a reason to stay, and he’s still horny as hell.

Harrington slinks his way back and leisurely looks Eddie over, “What happened?” He smirks, “Didn’t wanna be on your knees when I got back?” Harrington reaches over and takes his arm, runs his hands over it, inspects it, leads him to the couch, and sits them both down. He waits for a second before crawling towards Eddie. He looked more creature than man. Almost under a spell, Eddie feels himself doing one thing but saying another. He reclines back on the seat, coaxing Harrington into his lap, saying, “This is a terrible idea, Harrington.”

“Oh, the absolute worst, for sure,” Harrington smiles slyly as he straddles Eddie’s thighs, “And I think it would be even worse for me to hear you call me by my name and not my brand.”

Eddie’s chest heaves as he is manhandled to make him a more comfortable seat, “Yeah, that would be a really dumb thing to do, wouldn’t it, Steve?” And he watches as Steve’s eyes shoot to his and shift from something amused to something all the more sultry. He tilts his head a little like he didn’t hear correctly, eyes firmly fixed on Eddie, who thinks he knows what he’s being asked to do, “Did you hear what I said,” Eddie lets his eyes fall to his lap and drags them unhurriedly back to meet the blooming dilated pupils of the man seated on him, “Steve?”

Like his own name is the shot of a starting pistol, Steve launches himself at Eddie again, with force enough to rock the furniture.

Within seconds, things start to feel almost competitive. Every kiss was returned with a more forceful one, every grip on the other's body was returned with a harder, more cruel squeeze, and every needy grind down was met with a hard thrust upwards.

The one-upmanship leaves Eddie intoxicated. He’s trying to think but can’t. He’s overwhelmed by sensation. His primitive brain just hungers for more. To take everything until all that is left is a carcass of the man huffing and panting in his lap. For a second, he doesn’t think he has ever seen anything more gloriously desperate as Steve. He wants Eddie with abandon of everything else. His persona seemed shed. He seemed real. Human. Not a nemesis. Not a celebrity. Not an object to covet. Just a guy. A hot as sin, ravenous, wild, hazardously beautiful man.

Something threatens to bloom inside Eddie’s chest, and a fresh urgency springs to life, like a survival instinct almost. He reaches for Steve’s shirt and begins unfastening it. His fingers feel their way clumsily over the buttons as the rest of his body is otherwise occupied. He finds his hands grasped and pushed down to rest on Steve’s thighs as he leans back for a moment to pull the shirt over his head, and he finds his hands placed back on his torso, and that feeling of much softer than expected skin under his fingertips is tantalising but as he caresses over his body, it’s when his fingers meet the stubble at his chest or the trail down his abdomen that really sends Eddie into a spin. It overheats him. He feels like his own clothes are suffocating him. That they are needlessly in the way. He craves to feel this against his own skin and reaches behind his head, leaning forward to shed himself of some of it, but a hand on his chest pauses him.

Eddie looks up to find Steve toying with one of the many long chains draped around his neck, but instead of asking any questions, his eyes force him on a mini visual expedition of what his hands had been trailing over. A short, stunted breath leaves his mouth. This was crazy. He’s seen this body a million times in magazines, adverts, album covers, billboards, through his own camera lens and eyes, yet it feels like he’s never seen anything like it before. Littered with tattoos, a visibly heaving chest, ribs that appear and disappear as he breathes, muscles that flex and pulse as he writhes his body, but eventually, he hears him.

“Does it hold any sentimental value?” Steve rasps, his eyes trailing over and grasping onto his T-shirt.

“No,” he replies with a pointless, unseen shake of his head. Steve immediately yanks a necklace from his neck with a grunt of effort, and he slides that under Eddie’s shirt. The chain still attached slides along his skin. Some links are still heated from Steve in parts. Others were cool enough to almost make him want to jerk away from them.

The safety-conscious part of Eddie is urging him to look at what might be happening under his shirt, but the hedonist who has clawed his way from the depths to the surface only wants to feast on what it wants to store for future reference.

It’s innocent enough to start with, taking in how engaged he is with his task at hand, how his eyes that, naturally slope into a sadness, are wide and alive with anticipation. The way his bruised lips are pressed together in concentration and occasionally bite back into his mouth. Then his eyes trail further down to the sizeable bulge in his jeans, how it’s pressed against his own. He can’t stop his hands from sliding up to his hips, running his fingertips over the bone he hopes to be more intimately acquainted with as soon as possible. He settles on gripping them tightly, rocking his hips upward impatiently. A series of tuts raises his eyes to Steve’s face again, noticing a small smile growing, “Patience, baby. Patience.” He barely mutters out, his eyes still focused on the job at hand until his hand stills high up on his chest, the pendant still gripped in his fingers, “Hold still.” He says with an audible metallic click. Eddie dares to look down but can’t quite see what’s happening until Steve raises his other hand, splays his fingers in a V-shape, pushes down on the material, and the small blade pushes through.

Panic sets in, and a new adrenaline wave surges through him. He should leave immediately. This was fucked up. The fact he had a knife on him this whole time was terrifying, regardless of how little damage it looked like it could do. As he takes a panicked gasp of breath, he looks up at Steve, who is almost chewing on his bottom lip, his heavy-lidded eyes focused on the metal, and he makes a sound of appreciation before rearranging his hands so that he can hold the material taught and pull the blade down. It slices through easily, the fabric falling open, exposing him as it glides down. Eddie’s still breathing hard, but his heart isn’t thumping so much with fear anymore as the knife cuts through the hem, and Steve retracts the blade and tosses it somewhere into the room. His fingers grip the top of the slit, roughly yanking it apart to rip open the collar with a grunt.

Eddie stays entirely still and simply observes Steve. He wishes he had his camera to hand, as it’s quite a sight to behold. He can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like this, not just lustfully, but like he was the most spectacular thing they’d ever seen. Steve’s large hands smooth over his skin and delicately push back the material. A yearnful noise emits from Steve like he can’t have what’s laid out in front of him as he presses into his skin, exploring it with his fingertips, his eyes trailing after them.

So Eddie reminds him that he can. He surges forward, capturing Steve in his arms, pulling him in tightly, pressing them together, and capturing his mouth with his own. It’s a mess of lips, groans and saliva topped with wandering mouths, causing careless, hurried nips of cuts and bruises. But the apologies are wordless. A hiss of too much from one is answered with a pleasurable pinch or caress elsewhere by the other.

Suddenly, Steve’s thighs clench hard around Eddie, and it doesn’t need explaining, but an excited smile sweeps across his face mid-kiss. He grips the back of his thighs and moves them up to wrap around his waist. Denim drags against denim, and he finds his arousal pressed up against something a lot plusher, and at the same time, Steve’s is now pressed into his abdomen, and he resolves these clothes have got to go now. He shuffles to the edge of the sofa, one arm holding their bodies together, the other draped under Steve’s legs, holding him up, simultaneously copping a feel of his ass.

And this must be where their experiences differ because Steve pulls back and looks unsure. Eddie smiles, “Better hold on to something, sweetheart.” He realises his mistake as soon as the pet name leaves his mouth, but he’s not gonna apologise awkwardly over words right now. He pushes himself up to standing, and Steve’s arms urgently wrap around his neck. Eddie checks in on him. Just a glance, he tells himself. Expects to see an almost comical face of panic, and he does for a second until he hears the thick swallow from Steve’s throat and watches his eyelashes bat slowly in a dazed blink at him.

Typically, Eddie knows he would have settled for the couch, but like he said, he wanted everything, and one of the things he wanted most right now was to see Steve an absolute mess under him.

He pushes adjoining doors open until he finds a bed. He stops at the edge of it, peels Steve’s arms from around his neck and unceremoniously lets him go so he lands on it with an oof and a bounce. Then Eddie’s hands quickly find his own belt buckle to finally get out of the remainder of his clothes. Steve doesn’t interrupt him. He just looks him up and down as he rests back on his elbows, his legs dangling off the edge of the bed, wetting his lips in anticipation.

He lets his jeans drop to the floor and kicks off his sneakers. As he bends down to remove his socks, he looks up and finds himself level with Steve’s knee, and his eyes trail up to his crotch, but from this angle, it’s easy enough for Steve’s eyes to capture him again and as he does Steve spreads his knees apart a little more and bites his lip temptingly.

That’s when Eddie acts out of sorts. Usually, he’d just let the other guy give him a show, but he reaches for Steve’s boot, unzips it and removes it for him, and the sock and the other set in turn. Like he’s saving him then trouble. Then clasps onto Steve’s calves, kneading into them through the denim as he works his way up over his knees until his hands glide over his upper leg. Steve’s mouth drops open a little with hope as he glances between Eddie and himself, but Eddie's nimble hands skirt around the place Steve wants him most to undo the fly of his jeans, but once he removes the belt and buckle from the equation he doesn’t find one. He sees where a zipper should be, something akin to the back of a laced corset. Metal eyelets with a black cord running crisscross through them. He tugs at one end, and the ties fall apart easily. His fingertips wander into the waistband of them. He anticipates feeling the fabric of some designer brand briefs, but he finds none. Only the softness of skin. Of course, he’s not wearing any underwear. Eddie almost laughs as he stands to get a better grip on removing his pants, but he’s interrupted.

Steve, obviously not happy about anything slowing down, has sat up, pushed Eddie’s hands out of the way and is currently mouthing at him through his underwear, and Eddie wants it not to feel this good, but it absolutely fucking does. He looks down to meet the hungry, longing eyes already looking up at him, planting eager kisses and licks over the material that is gradually getting soaked through. Steve’s chipped, black, polished fingertips crawl into the band of the Kirkland signature briefs. Eddie wonders for a second how much more expensive the nail polish is compared to them before nodding and Steve pulling down his underwear so he can finally spring free of its oppression.

Steve stops. He stares and goes a little cross-eyed before looking back up at Eddie and running his tongue over his bottom lip. This is different from how he wanted this to go exactly, but who is he to say no. Nobody says no to Steve Harrington, right?

He watches himself taken in ringed hand, fingertips running down his length are soon accompanied by the flat wet expanse of Steve’s tongue dragging up it until it’s rolling around the throbbing head of his cock, and as his lips finally wrap around him, he looks right back up at him again, Eddie has to look away. He puts his hands in his hair, lolling his head back and groans with delight. Not solely because of the fact he’s getting his dick sucked, not just because it’s someone famous, but because it felt like, finally, the tables had turned. Finally, he’s in charge.

Steve’s hands urge him closer, but Eddie plants his feet and steps back even. He looks back down to watch himself pump in and out of that pretty pink pout. and it’s so good, but he needs more. He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair, which gets his attention. Their eyes meet again, and this time, Eddie makes himself gaze back. His hand falls to the side of his face as his head bobs rhythmically. His thumb brushes over his cheek, his fingers cradle his wide-open jaw, and it feels like Steve leans into his palm. Eddie shakes his head quickly, moves his hand back into Steve’s hair, and holds onto it. And it brings the current events to a slower pace.

Steve opens his mouth wide, extends his tongue out, and laps at the underside of the head of his shaft in a sort of come hither motion with the tip of his tongue, but Eddie does something else. He grips more tightly onto his hair and drags Steve towards him and off the bed until he’s on his knees. Steve doesn’t complain. Smiles even, with his tongue still hanging out, desperate for its next taste.

With a firm grip, he tilts Steve’s head back a little so he can see his face as he tugs hard on his hair, pulling him towards him forcefully until he gags and pulls him back off again. Looks down at him and raises an eyebrow in question as Steve catches his breath. He smiles up at him and drops his mouth open again, letting his tongue hang to his chin. Eddie slowly drags him by his hair up and down, repeatedly, occasionally forcing Steve’s nose to be pressed hard into his thatch of curls and held there, choking, his throat squeezing around Eddie as he does before he’s forced off of it again. He lets Eddie wield him like a plaything. And soon, that’s not enough either. Eddie finds himself gripping the sides of Steve’s hair, observes the grey tear stains rolling down his face, the drool pooling at the corners of his mouth, and by the gods, Eddie wishes he had his camera right now. And he thinks about it, about pounding himself into Steve’s face until oblivion, until he’s spent, leaving Steve hard and unsatisfied, but he finds his hand trailing over his face again. Whatever he was trying to prove, he felt like he’d just done that. Now, he wants something else. He wants to hear Steve fall apart.

He cups Steve’s jaw gently, encourages him to stand, and once up, he wipes at his face a little. He wants to ask him if he’s ok, but he knows he shouldn’t. He smooths his hands down his back until Steve takes matters into his own hands. He swiftly turns them around, deeply kissing Eddie as he does so, walking him back towards the bed. He feels the back of it hit his knees and sits down as Steve finally frees himself of his pants but doesn’t give Eddie much of a show about it all. Before Eddie has even had a chance to perceive how perfect his dick might be, Steve has clambered onto the bed too. He crawls up Eddie until their mouths slot together again, as one of Steve’s hands presses against his chest, encouraging him further back until he hits the headboard.

He finds himself caged between Steve’s arms, pressed against one another without a safety barrier of fabric. Desperate kisses move south to become more languid and wet at his throat, which chills him when Steve intermittently huffs out a breath over the sites of desire as his hips roll down into his own, causing delicious friction between them.

Steve moves lower but scoops his arm behind Eddie’s back, arching his chest upwards to dip his head and trail his tongue, which he wields like a demon, over it. He mouths over his stiffened nipples as he finds them, kitten licks them, chances a drag of teeth over them, as his lower position has him slowly thrusting against Eddie’s thigh. With each roll of hips, Eddie watches him slowly coming undone. Controlled deliberate kisses turn into him sucking down on Eddie’s skin, placing fresh areas of burst blood vessels next to the less recent ones. Ones from pleasure next to ones from pain. Calculated nips at his torso become full bites that linger to quieten his moans as they seep under Eddie’s skin.

Whilst it’s thrilling to watch Steve fall from grace as he uses Eddie as a means to get there, and it feels fucking fantastic, he wants it to be him that does it. He wants it to be him that pushes Steve over the edge. Up until the fight earlier, he’d been entirely sure that this guy was as straight as they come, but from what Eddie had witnessed so far, that was absolutely not a possibility. He’s done this before. Maybe countless times. Maybe with other guys like Eddie? Maybe with guys more like himself who both have to keep it quiet? Something hideous squirms inside him unpleasantly at the thought.

He captures Steve’s chin on the knuckle of his index finger, lifts his head, and receives a dopey smile. Eddie hasn’t seen him take anything, yet he looks pretty out of it, “You ok?” He asks, even though he knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t want to be doing any of this with someone out of their gourd.

“Mmmhmmm,” he nods on the crook of Eddie’s finger and smiles lazily.

“Did you take something?” he asks plainly, scanning him for clues.

Steve shakes his head and crawls forward so their noses brush against one another, “The only thing I want right now is you,” his voice trembles as he leans in for another kiss. Eddie's stomach flips, which he can’t help feeling is very inappropriate.

That isn’t what this is, he reminds himself.

He pushes him back to break the kiss and runs his fingers over Steve’s lips, cuts and bruising included, before hooking two of his fingertips inside his bottom lip and gently pushing them further into Steve’s mouth. Eddie almost shudders at how obediently he opens his mouth wider with a nudge of his hand. He doesn’t even have to ask. He adds fingers, letting Steve suck down on them until he feels it’s enough.

He lowers his saliva-soaked hand between them and reaches for Steve first. Rolls his palm over the head before sliding his fingers easily down the shaft until he has him in his grip. At first, his strokes are slow and soft, not for Steve but for himself. He watches Steve’s eyes close, his breathing deepens and shudders, still on all fours hovering over Eddie, his fists clenched against the bedding, as his head drops forward against Eddie’s shoulder. He quickens his pace and tightens his grip until Steve is just a series of cut-off guttural noises in his ear. Then he lets go, takes himself in hand, and lazily moves his hand up and down. Their proximity means that the back of his fingers occasionally bump against Steve’s shaft. Maybe sometimes he stretches his fingers out so the contact is for longer, just so he can hear those whimpers in his ear again that are swirling around his head, disorienting him from his goal. He hadn’t realised how much faster he’d gotten, like Steve’s delicate whispered exhales reverberating through him were speeding him up. Soon enough, he finds his own moans intertwining with Steve’s.

“Fuck, you sound good.” Steve manages, and his first instinct is to quicken his pace further, let Steve’s voice ring in his ears as he succumbs to pleasure himself, but somehow he resists. Turning his attention and hand back to Steve, and the gasp in his ear, he’s sure he’ll be able to recall until the day he dies because his name is whispered out immediately after.

He must have heard Steve’s voice in his ear hundreds of times before, listening to his music and interviews before everything went wrong. He remembers how thrilling it had been to hear his whispers on record or the bits a live recording would catch before and after a song, and now Eddie was collecting his own, all just for himself, never to be released or shared with anyone else.

From the corner of his eye, he notices Steve’s arm shaking, the one Eddie had to beat his way free from. He sits up a little, taking the weight from his arm upon himself, and maybe it’s an act of compassion too far. Perhaps he should have waited until he’d collapsed because he feels his eyes on him again. He can’t help but glance, and he’s greeted with a snapshot of brutalised perfection. His lips, cheek, and one eye are swollen and reddening, but his jawline is still perfectly angular, the beauty marks still decorate his skin, his long lashes flatten out against his cheek when he blinks dumbfounded, maybe even a little surprised, mouth dropped open letting stuttering breaths pass freely. Eddie takes a mental snapshot. A pang of fleeting guilt runs through him, but entirely by chance, it’s interrupted.

Steve’s hands quickly reach out to clumsily hold Eddie’s face. His palms on his cheeks almost squeeze a little too hard, pulling him towards him, but the fingertips in his hair, caressing his scalp and the lips that ravenously meet his, make him forget to breathe.

The sea of sin Eddie had been cannonballing into and happily disrupting the surface of suddenly didn’t feel like his safe space anymore. Occasionally a shadowy something below the surface reaches out. Threatens to drag Eddie down with it. He wonders how long he’ll have the strength to escape its grasp.

Eddie adjusts his position a little, doesn’t pull away from Steve, gets closer so he can take them both in hand, slides his hand over them both, takes his time, and thumbs over the top of them for any droplets of added lubrication he can find. The moans passing into his mouth grow louder. He opens his eyes to see Steve’s brow knitted together, his eyes no longer softly closed but screwed shut. Eddie moves faster, and Steve pulls back. A string of curses leave his mouth, “Shitshitshitshit.” He quickly moves out of Eddie’s grip with a hiss, “Fuck!”

“Something…wrong?” Eddie teases a little. Steve shakes his head, looks down at himself, wipes his hand over his face, and laughs a little. “If you wanna stop, put your big boy pants on and say so, Harrington.”

Steve’s smile fades, and his mood switches. “I never fucking said that. If you…” he starts, and whatever was about to leave his mouth makes him cower back down, “I-I didn’t say that, that’s all.”

Eddie can’t guess what he wants to say but wants to know, “My mistake.” He offers, and Steve looks up at him again, hopefully. Eddie hops off the bed and retrieves the wallet from his jeans. On return, he props himself up with pillows, tips out a bunch of lube sachets and condoms from his wallet and then tosses it onto the floor somewhere.

Eddie tears open a lube sachet with his teeth and squeezes it over his cock and hand. The cold sting of it makes him bite down on his lip to hold in a reactionary noise. He hitches up his knees and makes eye contact with Steve as he pleasures himself. The slick glide soon has him breathing more heavily, and like a moth to a flame, Steve is soon stalking his way back up the bed, looking between Eddie’s face and his display. Eddie stills his hand, sighs, and looks expectantly at Steve, “If I what?”

“If you…” Steve starts, and Eddie starts pumping his fist again. “If you hadn’t got laid in this long” He catches on pretty quickly as Eddie quickens his pace, lets his growling moans out freely, and watches how it makes Steve’s dick twitch when he does. Maybe he over-performs a few to wind Steve up further. He then exhales slowly as he squeezes the base of his shaft and stops again.

“What are you just playing Yahtzee with your friends in your playroom, Harrington? Is that it?” Eddie chuckles, and Steve looks a little conflicted.

Steve takes a hard swallow of what must be his pride and talks directly to Eddie’s glistening dick, “I might as well have been,” he starts, and so does Eddie, “I haven’t been able to, um, you know” Eddie pumps himself faster, trying to make the most lurid noises with the lube and an occasional exhale of a moan from his mouth. Steve is silent, quietly inching his hand towards himself. Eddie slows again, raises an eyebrow at Steve when he looks at his face, “Fuck, I mean, I thought it was gone for a year or something. Until…well, tonight.”

And now many pieces are slotting into place for Eddie, why he’s so desperate and needy. Letting Eddie use him, why he pulled away, he doesn’t know if this is a one-off or not, and not just with him but his own body too. He wants the works, and though Eddie really shouldn’t have any pity for him, he feels a spark of it.

“Lie back,” Eddie says, and Steve double-takes.

“What?” He frowns.

“Don’t what me, asshole. Come up here, and lie fucking back, Steve!” Eddie performatively snarls, and he sees the corner of Steve’s mouth twitch up as he ungracefully hurries to obey.

He straddles Steve’s thighs, pinching them closed between his own and transfers most of the lube still on his hand onto Steve’s thigh ungraciously. Nothing too exciting for him right now, not yet.

He leans over him, careful not to create too much friction between them. Brackets Steve's broader shoulders with his arms and returns to how they started. Urgent kisses, wandering hands, teasing tongues. Walks a series of gentle bites along his jaw, licks at his throat, and sucks down onto his skin, leaving his mark as he travels down, making a kiss or lurid lick pitstop at every beauty mark and tattoo he finds. Pulls gently at the nipple piercings with his teeth and soothes over them after with the wetness of his tongue. Traces over every muscle dip until he gets to those hip bones he’d promised himself earlier. Steve writhes like the reptile he is under him as he mouths over them. Eddie might be getting a little too into it and reaches down to give himself some much-needed touch before moving down further, resting his chin on Steve’s thigh and looking up at the dewy-eyed, breathless creature above him.

Eddie observes him and waits for his attention before blowing gently on the moistened tip of Steve’s dick. He watches Steve’s craned neck release and throws his head back into the pillows, “Jesus!” he breathes into the air above him.

Eddie waits a little while until his breathing slows before hitching up Steve’s knees and separating them so he can lie between them. He trails a mixture of wet kisses and teeth drags along the inside of his thighs, watching his body constantly, ensuring it’s enough to keep him in that sweet spot but never too much.

He tests a slow trail of kisses along his solid shaft, which, on closer inspection, as Eddie had predicted, was indeed as perfect as the rest of him. It would almost be annoying if Eddie wasn’t having such a good time.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Steve moans as his hands grip onto the bedding. Eddie smiles. This is what he’s after, keeping him right here until Eddie decides to push him across the line. He wets his lips and pushes himself onto his elbows, admiring the gift before him as Steve settles down again. Then, he licks a fat stripe with the flat of his tongue from base to tip, and Steve jolts. He flicks the tip of his tongue along the slit to collect what is pooling in it and watches Steve’s back arch off the bed. Gods, Eddie wishes he hadn’t done that. He tastes delicious. So fucking good, Eddie is trying to spread the tiny droplet around his tongue so he can savour every aspect of it, and that makes Eddie lose sight of what he’s supposed to be doing. His hand rushes down to fuck into his own fist as he takes Steve wholly into his mouth until the tip of it threatens his throat. He just about hears Steve’s broken-off ahs and chanting of his name over his own guttural moans caused by hollowing out his cheeks and letting his tongue massage the underside of the throbbing cock in his mouth. Strong hands grip his shoulders, pull him out of his trance, and he releases him with an audible pop.

Steve’s chest and face are sweetly flushed as he’s gasping for air, and then the knitted brow falls into a content expression once he’s calmed again.

Eddie reaches over him to grab a few more lube sachets and a condom, but as he does, Steve desperately grabs at him again, pulling him in for another kiss, and Eddie isn’t sure it’s because he’s so damn close himself, but it makes his head spin, almost drops what’s in his hands. It’s not a hard, rough kiss like before, but it has passion and want all the same.

“Turn over,” Eddie says gently as he encourages him back down to the bed. Steve stalls for a second. Eddie figures he’s misheard, “Turn. Over.” he repeats softly, and this time he meets the request, “Just so I’m clear, this past year, you haven’t fucked anyone but has anyone fucked you?”

“No,” he answers quickly, though the pillows slightly muffle it, and Eddie has to bite his lips together to not whimper with anticipation as he sits behind Steve, rips open another packet of lube, and observes this new angle. The huge wolf tattoo he’s seen plenty of times, and the text stamped at the base of his spine he’d seen twice before partially, but now Wild Thing had an entirely different meaning.

Sachet, still hanging out his mouth, Eddie has an idea. He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him onto his knees so his peach of an ass is raised in the air. He runs his hands up Steve’s back and out to the sides so he can hold his arms. Trails his fingers down them until he has hold of Steve’s hands and brings them around so he can spread himself for him, and he wordlessly obeys as Eddie takes off his rings.

He generously applies the lubricant to Steve and himself, secretly relishing in every exclamation or body spasm from the man before him.

He touches the pink puckered flesh, circles it gently, listens for the melody of moans he’s conducting and feels infinitely harder with each one. Waits for that magic moment when Steve backs up towards him, eager for it. Eddie pushes his finger inside and holds it still for a while as Steve’s body tenses, accompanied by a hiss until he finally relaxes. Relaxes might be a strong word because the way he’s clamped around Eddie’s finger makes him wonder if this would be possible at all.

Steve pushes back again, taking him deeper, and honestly, Eddie is impressed with how keen he is but does a quick glance of a check anyway. Steve’s face is side on, pushed into the pillows, panting heavily. He thinks maybe it’s enough. He’s had his fun, he’s already a mess, but Steve catches him looking, “What’s the holdup, stud?” he mumbles out, pushes back again, and that pisses Eddie off. Fine. He was just trying to be courteous, being fond of switching it up himself. He knows how it feels on the other side of things, but fuck it, right? Steve doesn’t give a shit.

Eddie does, however, and he’s not letting this debauched freak drag him down to something he’d regret. So he continues loosening Steve up, sometimes, to be spiteful, excruciatingly slowly, delighting between the switching Steve’s whines of frustration and groans of ecstasy as his fingertips meet the spot he knows is making him see stars.

When he’s primed to Eddie’s satisfaction and squirming in the hotel’s bright white sheets, a pathetic begging mess of a man, Eddie reaches around and quickly gives him a few firm strokes, making him huff out into the pillows. Eddie returns his fingers to his mouth for another taste, like an amuse-bouche before the main event.

He taps the sheathed head of himself at the tight entrance, pushing Steve’s hands away, and amuses himself by sliding over it a few times because it feels exquisite and drives Steve insane. He waits like a predator stalking his prey, waiting for Steve’s frustration to reach its peak. He waits for Steve to turn around with a frown, pushes the tip of himself inside as they lock eyes, wipes the scowl right off of it, and takes his breath away.

Eddie would love to smugly smile back, but he’s gripping Steve’s sides for dear life. Jesus Christ, he was tight. He stays perfectly still. Which alone is making him start to sweat. He pushes himself deeper. Another x-rated groan from Steve and clenching around him almost has him retreating entirely. A strange jealousy sweeps over Eddie. All those noises from Steve were supposed to be his. He wraps his arms around Steve’s torso, coaxing his back to press to Eddie’s chest. Steve almost panics when he realises his weight might slide him down quicker than he wants, but Eddie holds him tightly until he’s found a comfortable squat, “There you go, sweetheart, take your time,” he croons slyly in his ear.

And Eddie expects this evident pain slut to impale himself on his dick, but that isn’t what happens. His arms that are wrapped around his torso are mapped over by Steve’s, their fingers become intertwined, and as he turns so, they are face to face again. The grey streaks of eyeliner-saturated tears and tenderness take Eddie entirely off guard and snap him out of his attempted cruelty. He couldn’t figure this guy out at all.

This close, he can see that no photograph would do his eye colour justice, not without editing, and where is the reality in that. Eddie gets lost in the pigments, getting bullied to the edges of his iris by his dilated pupil or looking at the beauty marks on his face that aren’t hidden by the blemishes he caused.

Before he can say something clever or push him away, he finds his bottom lip trapped between Steve’s teeth. He pulls and drags his teeth over it as he sinks down a little more. It’s released when a groan threatens to escape Steve, which Eddie swallows down in a kiss and feels the fingers intertwined with his squeeze tightly.

Eddie senses the danger now, but it happens in fits and starts because, in between the warning signs, his pleasure centres are blocking out any logical functions. Eddie knows he’s treading water, the shadowy thing licking at his heels, making its presence known but never quite revealing until it disappears again. He wonders if Steve feels it, too. If he feels like there isn’t just hate and lust here. He hopes to any deity listening that it is simply his hormones talking nonsense. That he’s merely just in the heat of the moment.

Steve pushes down again, and Eddie is in to the hilt. He’s clenched around him tightly and overwhelmed by sensation, and Eddie gives in. He softly sighs into another kiss and almost forgets why he’s doing any of this in the first place. Almost. It’s the roll of Steve’s hips and the whimper of “Fuck Eddie. You feel so fuckin’ good.” That pulls Eddie entirely out of his trance, reminding him of the aim here,

“Good.” he purrs in his ear before untangling their hands and pushing him back down to the bed.

Initially, the pace is slow, deep and deliberate as his fingers grip tightly onto Steve’s hips, and Eddie is just enjoying watching himself disappear inside him when Steve decides to say something stupid.

“Is this how you fucked that guy at the hotel?”

And in that one question, everything comes flooding back to Eddie again. The reason he’d stayed at the hotel, the reason he had to come crawling back to work with Harrington, everything he’d lost.

With an absence of a reply, he tried to jog Eddie’s memory, “The one that looked like I used to?” As if implying that Eddie fucks so many people in hotels he’d not know which one he was talking about. It makes Eddie's lip twitch into a discrete sneer.

“No, but I probably should, shouldn’t I? Treat all you sluts the same, right?” Harrington’s body tenses under his touch as he pushes him around, making him arch more and his legs spread wider. He grabs his wrists and pulls them behind his back, landing him face-first into the bed again. Eddie tugs on his wrists, pulling him into a stretch almost. He starts thrusting again much faster this time, enough to make Harrington’s groans waver with each one, “He was beautiful, wasn’t he? Actually had some meat on his bones, something to really dig my teeth into. Something that I thought about for days later, and thank the gods for you bringing him up now, Harrington, because I get to think about him all over again whilst I fuck you wide open.” Eddie goes for broke and wants to make Harrington feel like dirt, like nothing, that he's lost it all in this moment.

Eddie sets a relentless pace. There is no talking now, just the sound of skin on skin, an occasional curse word from Eddie and Harrington’s muffled groans as he bites down on a pillow. With every noise, he fucks into him harder to shut him up until he’s just a set of stunted breaths, and Eddie becomes a sweaty grunting mess.

Harrington’s noises go up an octave as Eddie lets go of his arms and adjusts his position. And soon Eddie, hearing his name chanted again in a mixture of curse words and blasphemy, knows he’s got him where he wants him.

“My god, Eddie, fuck,” Harrington babbles. “I’m so close, Eddie, please” And fuck does he think about stopping right there, but he’s achingly close himself. Only a staring competition between this fucking giant wolf on Harrington’s back was helping.

Eddie spits in his hand, reaches around to spread it over Harrington’s length, and takes one of Steve’s hands and places it there, “Go ahead, Harrington, make a mess of yourself,” Eddie says with a slight mockery in his voice.

Harrington doesn’t need telling twice. Eddie watches his arm move in time with his thrusts and with a screwed-up face and a strained “Jesus. Fuck” Harrington spills with a loud exhale, and Eddie slows to a stop and pulls out as Harrington’s body stutters before it goes limp. He’s desperately near cumming himself, but he wants the full view. He rolls Harrington over so he’s lying in his own cum, picks up some on his fingertips and decorates Harrington’s lips with it whilst he’s trying to catch his breath. He then repositions himself between his legs and hooks them over his shoulders.

Harrington looks down but can’t form a response. He just slams his head back into the pillows behind him in blissed-out exhaustion. Eddie reinserts himself easily and leans right forward, bringing Harrington’s knees nearly up to his shoulders and leans down to messily lick over his lips as he rears his hips back only to slam them back down, a guttural winded noise leaves Harrington, and Eddie grins, looking down at this picture perfect fucked out freak underneath him.

Eddie wedges a hand between them and runs his fingers over his length to see if he’s got anything left or just to overstimulate him. He gets the latter, some amiable noises, turning into things on the edge of expressing pain, but he’s not doing a single thing about it. He slams into him again, and this time, the gasp comes with a sigh of enjoyment. Eddie continues to pick up the pace as he watches Harrington’s face contort underneath him.

And Eddie starts to lose himself. He closes his eyes as they roll backwards at the pleasure he’s feeling course through his body. He whimpers and moans, curses the gods, curses Harrington. The sweat is dripping from him as he closes in on the finish line. Steve’s hands on his face make him finally open his eyes. He’s brushing the curls and sweat from his face between huffed-out noises from Eddie’s jackhammering.

“You’re so fucking, hot, Eddie,” Steve sighs out as one of his hands reaches in between them. Finds Eddie’s hand to jerk off Steve together. “Are you gonna cum for me?” He manages before his brows push together, and he moans loud and long. In his pre-climax state, Eddie leans forward to capture his sounds for his own.

“Mine.” He growls through gritted teeth as his hips rut faster into Steve.

Steve’s unoccupied hand cradles his jaw, “Yours,” he whimpers out, and Eddie’s insides, already buzzing with adrenaline and imminent climax, completely somersault. “That’s it baby, cum for me.” he urges Eddie on, and stupefied by hormones and sensations, Eddie wholeheartedly agrees.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard for you, sweetheart,” Eddie pushes through his teeth.

And that has Steve in a real mess, his arm moving much faster. Eddie watches him babble incoherent things, his eyelids flutter, and tears spill out as he cums again between them.

This was everything Eddie wanted. He had finally broken Steve Harrington, maybe not in all the ways he wanted, but certainly in an unforgettable way.

As Eddie's most satisfying climax is seconds away, a broken Steve paints Eddie’s lips with his cum covered fingers, “Mine,” he hiccups as the tears spill out of his eyes, and he reaches up for a kiss as Eddie's hips stutter against him and he careers off the edge into complete euphoria.

As Eddie slowly comes down, he finds himself repositioned, held in Steve’s arms, fully collapsed against him, slow kisses being gently applied all over his lips and a hand in his hair.

Still catching his breath, Eddie raises his eyes to his. With their chests heaving, for some reason, they both laugh, and Eddie sees a side of Steve he’s not encountered before that maybe he’s seen glimmers of. When he laughs, he holds on to himself, and his eyes almost completely disappear from view because the apples of his cheeks are pushed up so high, even though there isn’t much to them these days. There is only silence or the sounds of their breathing for a while.

Eddie finds himself back where this started, staring at another ornate ceiling. His heart still thudding in his chest, he chances another glance over at Steve, only to look away quickly because he was already being observed. Steve’s hand gently plays with his hair, “We should probably clean up before they get here. Make it just look like a fight.” Steve’s voice is quiet and rough, but Eddie thinks he can hear a little sadness, too.

“Before who get here?” Eddie asks in confusion.

“Whoever the label sends when they get wind of this.” He sighs, “Damage control. To make sure you aren’t gonna leak anything. To remind me to behave myself, maybe teach me a lesson,” Steve pats him, sits up, takes the condom off Eddie, ties it up, and then starts gathering the wrappers before heading to the bathroom. Eddie hears a flush before he returns, “Come on, get up,” he says kindly with a smile, “gotta get this in the laundry shoot asap.”

Eddie can see him favouring one arm over the other as he tries to gather up the bedding. He winces occasionally but makes no sound of pain. He just tries to bundle everything up as Eddie watches the melancholy work its way over him. The Harrington of it all makes Steve disappear again. “Here, let me do that,” Eddie pretends to be annoyed as he bumps Steve out of the way to take over, “Goddamn rockstars got no clue about chores, obviously” he bundles everything up in his arms, “Where is it going?” Eddie looks at him like it’s the biggest inconvenience in the world, but Steve just stares for a second before silently pointing him to the private shute. Eddie heads towards it, calling back, “Let me know when you're done in the shower.” as he shoves the material down.

But the reply is closer than he expects, “You can wait if you want, but there’s room for two,” Steve says, looking between Eddie and random objects around the room. Steve swallows, “Or you know more? I’m pretty sure I’ve had four or five in there at a squeeze before,” with that, he walks away, saying, “You know, saving the planet, Eddie, not wasting water or whatever.”

He’s frozen in deliberations with himself, can feel that shadowy thing lurking closer now, and senses the danger of where his endorphins are taking him, but he’s also curious about Steve’s behaviour now. Was he afraid of the label?

Eddie resolves to take a chance. If what he said was true, this could be their last few minutes or hours together, the final opportunity for information for his book. He quickly shoves the material down and ensures it has not got stuck on the way. And follows the sound of running water.

He eventually finds the lavish bathroom. For a moment, he is confused that he can’t see a shower but can hear one until he realises another part of the room is around the corner. He pokes his head around, and the sight that meets his eyes is not what he expects. Steve's forearms and fists against the wall, his forehead pressed against the tiles, and his body slightly hunched over as it shakes like he’s sobbing. Eddie retreats quickly and thinks about leaving entirely. Was it because of what he’d done? Fuck he’d wanted to get revenge so badly he’d forgotten there was a human inside. What had his anger led him to become? Another bully, another vile person in a despicable place.

Eddie swallows down his emotions and resolves this was enough, he’d gotten something, which wasn’t everything but better than nothing, and maybe if he could fix this with the label, he’d get his career on the up again. He nods at no one and steels himself, “Steve, are you in here?”

“Y-yeah,” Steve replies, and Eddie gives him a few seconds to compose himself before strolling in like he’d seen nothing, putting on a show, looking around the area and whistling.

“Wow, this is truly fancy, huh?” He smiles, and Steve mirrors it as best he can and pushes open the door for him.

“This is the presidential suite.” Steve jokes and that’s the last thing said between them. They shower in silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Steve occasionally hands him a bottle of product. He doesn’t look at him when he does; he just holds it in his eyeline to take. Eddie notices the hair products are specifically for curls.

Steve gets out, towels himself, and sits in the chaise lounge. Eddie goes to grab a towel from the pile, but before he can, Steve hands him one from a rack, and it’s warm to the touch.

As Eddie dries off, he can see Steve examining the aftermath in the mirror. Poking at his face and body, wincing occasionally. Eddie joins him in the reflection.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. I lost it,” Eddie tries.

“I deserved it,” he says back simply before checking over his teeth, which makes Eddie feel terrible. He looks at the floor and goes to leave, “I started it on purpose, Eddie. You tried to walk away.” Steve says as he continues to look in the mirror.

“Yeah, well, I should have just kept walking, shouldn’t I?” Eddie says solemnly.

“I wasn’t gonna let you walk out of there without hitting me.” He says, running a comb through his hair, which he hands to Eddie as he catches up to him.

Eddie plays with the comb between his fingers and leans against the hallway wall, “Do they do this often?” Eddie asks.

“Who? Do what?” Steve asks, a little confused.

“The label about people you spend time with,” Eddie says vaguely, not looking up from the comb teeth he’s running his thumb over.

He hears Steve sigh, “Look, as you’ve probably guessed by now, I’m not as straight as I’m portrayed, ok? They want me to stay that way. That’s what keeps me making money. If I were to come out, it would ruin the whole thing. So no, they don’t normally do this because I don’t normally do this. Buckley usually keeps me in line, not because she wants to, but because I ask her to,” he pauses, “and sometimes I ask her to turn a blind eye, when we’re away, when there are fewer company spies, but usually, that’s for five minutes or so, at some no coverage allowed party, you know?”

“Why don’t you just tell them to fuck off? You’ve got more money than you could possibly know what to do with.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just me, Eddie. It’s Buckley, Denise in PR, Fred in merch, and Gina in finance. Harrington isn’t just me. It’s a machine, and I’m just one cog everyone can see,” Steve says, “also, money can’t buy everything, or so I’ve found. Sometimes you gotta be in with the right people too.”

“Steve, you paid nearly a million to work with me. You’re telling me there is something millions of dollars can’t buy?” Eddie folds his arms and almost laughs.

“Do you, maybe, wanna stay over?” Steve asks, ignoring the question.

Eddie is surprised. Isn’t that what people typically say before sex rather than after? Was this guy insatiable? Did he want another round? No, he’s just made sure the evidence was gone.

“You haven’t gotta, I just thought maybe….I dunno. I guess I just don’t know what’s gonna happen, is all, and punches and fucking aside. I kinda like your company and, uh, though this isn’t your responsibility, I don’t really like waking up on my own. I mean, I could get Buckley to call someone in, but, um, they might ask questions,” Steve gestures to himself.

Eddie looks up at him, but he’s looking down and toeing at the carpet. Eddie huffs out a laugh, “Guess it beats walking past Buckley on my own right now.”

Steve raises his head, and there is a twitch of a smile, “Thanks,” he says as he disappears for a minute or two, leaving Eddie with his thoughts, before returning fully dressed, holding Eddie’s clothes and wallet. He takes the cut-up T-shirt, returns to the lounge area, and starts planning his crime scene as Eddie puts his underwear back on. He starts placing glasses and leaving drops of alcohol in them, spilling a little on the carpet and doesn’t tidy up any items cast on the floor. Partially fills two glasses and carries them through to bedroom further down the hall. He places a drink on each bedside table and hands Eddie a fresh T-shirt from his own clothes.

“You're gonna have to put it all back on, so it doesn’t look…well…gay?” And Steve bursts out laughing at that, and Eddie joins him. The bed is enormous, so there is no need to be close. They take a side each.

The lights go out, and it’s still and quiet again.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” Steve says.

“Goodnight, Steve,” Eddie says as he closes his eyes for sleep to take him.

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Songs that inspired this chapter: Touch Me I’m Sick - Mudhoney, Low - Foo Fighters, Closer - NIN, Last - NIN

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #rockstar!Steve Harrington #rockstar!SteveHarrington #photographer!Eddie Munson #photographer!EddieMunson #steddie au #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #fanfiction #steddie fanfiction #steddie fan fiction #madaboutmunsonITICHBS #madaboutmunson #enemies to lovers #alternate universe

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