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sarahs-library · 8 months

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Forgotten: Part Two

Azriel wakes to find himself with everything he'd never allowed himself to wish for. Now, faced with the reality of all he thought he wanted, he must come to terms with his desires and the unexpected direction his life had taken.

Word count - 3564

A/N - Thank you all so much for reading the first part of my little story and for all the lovely comments and words of encouragement. I'm still learning how to post and interact on here, a few people asked to be added to a taglist which I've tried to create but I'm not sure if it actually works.

Part One ☪ Part Three

Forgotten Universe: Pretty Eyes

Azriel

Azriel was still under Madja’s knurled fingers as they palpated his temples, the soothing chill of her healing magic drifted over tender, swollen skin. Her copper eyes assessed his face closely and he schooled his features into a blank mask. His gaze drifted over the curve of her shoulder to meet Rhys as he lingered by the open doors of the balcony. The bland smile, the loose set of his shoulders, and the hands that hung casually in the pockets of his trousers irked Azriel. After so many years it wasn’t difficult to read this feigned nonchalance, the worry it masked beneath.

“A lingering effect of the head injury, exacerbated by the bloodsbane.” Madja’s fingers continued to probe as Azriel returned his attention to her. Thickness lingered on his tongue; left over from the medication she’d administered on her arrival to reign in his fever. His head felt clearer now, where his shadows had been silent before they sang again, murmuring of the almost imperceptible anxious shift of Rhys’ weight on the floorboards. Elsewhere the House of Wind was quiet and empty, Elain having fled into Rhys’ arms with a demand to be winnowed home without sparing a glance in his direction. Azriel had been left to stew in solitude until his brother had returned with the ancient healer tucked in his arms, greying spindrift hair windswept, her face lined with wrinkles and kind concern.

“Some amnesia isn’t uncommon with an injury like this,” Madja continued finally pulling her hands away from his face. “Though to ascertain its true extent you must tell us what you remember shadow-singer.” She retreated from him into the chair Elain had occupied earlier, righted by Rhys, and slowly lowered herself on creaking joints. Azriel balked a little under the attention as he tried to force himself to recollect. Pain brewed between his eyes. He remembered the visit to Hewn City, the scheming; the gifting of Nesta’s made blade to Eris. He remembered the solstice party, the disaster of his foray with Elain afterward, and his brother’s wrath. The ensuing weeks had been busy, his mornings occupied with training the Valkyries and concocting obstacle courses modeled after the Blood Rite qualifier. The afternoons and evenings spent keeping tabs on Eris and following up on the dead leads from whispers and fables of high-fae women bearing winged babes. Everything after was hazy, difficult to hold, and worsened the pain in his head if he tried to focus for too long.

“Feyre,” he said, and Rhys cocked an eyebrow, his face encouraging him to continue. “We were following leads on the delivery of winged babes.” The darkening of Rhys’ features filled Azriel with a sense of foreboding. “Feyre,” he continued, “is she…Is the babe...” He trailed off, unsure of how to broach the topic. Rhys’ features softened, understanding his brother had misinterpreted the emotion to be driven by his grief and loss and not for the male before him. Shoulders pulled forward in a rare display of vulnerability, scarred fingers clasping his knees for stability, Rhys struggled to recall a recent memory of seeing his brother so open, so vulnerable. He hadn’t seen him this lost since their youth in the war camps.

“Feyre,” Rhy drawled, fixing Azriel with what he hoped was an abating expression. “And the babe, we named him Nyx, they’re both well. Perfect.” Rhys watched his brother process the information, the small twitch of the corner of his mouth the only sign of his surprise. Watched as Azriel came to terms with the missing months in the timeline, Feyre still had half of her pregnancy to go during the solstice. How would he even begin to broach the missing years? “You don’t remember anything about the attack?” Rhys probed, Azriel bristled under the line of questioning.

“No.” His fingers danced over his injured abdomen and trailed the bandages before climbing up to rub over the empty feeling in his chest, worse than any wound he’d ever gotten. It left him feeling cold and empty. The glint of his rings caught his eye. The signet on his little finger embossed with the Night Court symbol, a gift from Rhys centuries ago declaring him part of his found family, rubbed against an unfamiliar band of gold.

Feyre

Feyre locked eyes with Nuala as she crouched over Nyx playing with his toys on the carpet. The shadow-wraith stepped silently over to them and greeted the young heir to the Night Court with a small smile, producing a plate of homemade biscuits warm from the oven and smelling of cinnamon. Nyx fixed her with his cerulean eyes and toothy smile, cheeks chubby from the lingering fat of youth. Reaching out to fist the crumbling treat in one hand he thanked her, proceeding to get more crumbs in the creases of his clothes than he did in his mouth. Feyre’s heart swelled.

“I’ll be back soon,” she reached out to stroke his midnight hair as his arms waved, one brandishing a small wooden figure and the other his half-eaten treat.

“Okay, mama.” His eyes were drawn to her briefly before he returned to his imaginary world, moving his wooden figure into position to conquer the high ground of his drawing table, covered in drying paint and charcoal pencils.

“You’ll behave for Nuala won’t you?” Nyx nodded eagerly in agreement and proceeded to clash the figurine in his hand against a triangle formation of his enemies with a sound of delight. Feyre rose, leaning close to thank the shadow-wraith on her way to the door. After taking an indulgent glance backward she stepped into the breach, winnowing to a familiar path on the outskirts of Velaris.

Well-manicured grass thick with morning dew poked through the paving stones Feyre stepped between on the way up to the front door. The lower level was in darkness, the windows blending into the dark stone and winding vines. The second level blazed, fae light seeping out of the floor-to-ceiling windows though Feyre saw no movement.

The dark wood of the door opened on a wind under her fist, poised to knock, and Feyre took the invitation to enter. The foyer offset the chill of the early morning air and she made a beeline towards the dark staircase. The open door allowed a beam of sunlight into the sitting area, dark with the curtains drawn, illuminating the comfortable leather chairs perched around the large fireplace.

Feyre eyed the portrait hanging above the mantle, a solstice gift to Azriel the year after his mating ceremony, her heart ached. Depicting the moment after the vows had been said and the food exchanged, hands clasped between them bound by thick dark ribbon, Feyre remembered agonizing for days over how to properly encapsulate onto the canvas the shared look of love and adoration. Feyre couldn’t imagine how you had coped over the last few days, in the last months of pregnancy sitting vigil at Azriel’s bedside wondering if he would wake up. Presumably elated to hear he had awake, only to find him in the arms of another woman, one with whom he shared such history.

Continuing up the stairs to the second floor Feyre followed the fae lights towards the front of the house. The door to the nursery was ajar and she stopped short of the threshold. Your back was to her, one hand tracing the soft carved wood of the bassinet Azriel had spent every spare moment painstakingly crafting. The scent of fresh paint hung in the air, leftover from a few weeks ago when the pair of you decorated the walls with murals of snow-capped mountains, lush forest greenery, and frolicking animals.

Suspended over the bassinet in a sea of miniature stars hung multicolored globes, each spinning on their invisible axis. The spiraling constellation, you’d called it a galaxy, held all the planets known to your people. Feyre wondered how many you’d seen in your trips across the stars as you reached up into the field of magic closest to you to trace your fingers over a small planet of russet brown cratered with darker swirls.

“Rhys told me what happened.” Feyre watched as you continued to agitate the floating sphere. You didn’t turn. She crept closer into the room, torn between giving you space and reaching out in comfort. She waited with bated breath to see if you would respond before continuing. “It’s the head injury, he doesn’t remember.”

“He had no idea who I was.” The hand that hung in the stars moved to cradle your abdomen. “He would’ve…” You trailed off. The posturing, the aggression, there was no doubt at that moment Azriel viewed you only as a threat, a stranger, someone who had invaded his home. That was not the male who had doted on you only a week before, hands cradling you gently as his lips brushed your soft skin singing low lullabies to your unborn babe.

“Elain was at the River House earlier,” Rhys had dropped her there with a rushed explanation before disappearing again. “She feels awful, she wanted to come and apologise.” Feyre wasn’t sure why she brought up Elain, as soon as the words were out of her mouth she realised she’d made a grave miscalculation.

“I don’t care what Elain wants right now Feyre.” The temperature in the room plummeted as you finally turned to look at her. For a moment the air in the room thinned and Feyre struggled against the pressure of the vacuum that forced her to exhale. As quickly as it came the atmosphere in the room returned to normal and she sucked in a shaky breath through her teeth.

“I know, I know. I didn’t mean it like that.” Feyre tried to keep her voice low and soothing, pinned under your gaze as she edged closer, reaching out to place an open palm on your arm. “Madja’s with him now, she says that all this is to be expected. When Rhys spoke to her earlier she said these things usually resolve themselves with time.” Your thumb traced gentle circles on your swollen belly.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a little short on that right now.” The anger in your tone was undermined by the tears threatening to spill. Realising there wasn’t anything she could say Feyre moved to pull your body against her own. Arms encircling you in a comforting embrace, she rubbed her fingers between your shoulder blades. You moved to hold her back, resting your face in the space where her neck met her shoulder as you let the tears fall. “What am I going to do?” Your voice was thin and watery, in the time Feyre had known you she’d never heard you speak with so little conviction.

“We’re going to figure this out.” She pulled away slightly and clasped your face between her hands, forcing you to meet her gaze. “I promise. You have all of us, you’re not alone in this. We’ll do everything we can for you, both of you.” Nodding you sniffed, pulling away. Feyre let you go as you turned your attention back out to the window, eying the gilded disc of the sun as it rose across the Valaris skyline.

“I’m heading to the House of Wind,” Feyre continued to observe you as you tracked the ascent. “Would you like to come?” You moved closer to the window. On the opposite side of the city you could see the grand mountain range and it’s carved residence. Through the morning mist blanketing the base a large, winged figure rose, angling to land on one of the balconies.

“I don’t think I can look at him right now.” Feyre acquiesced her desire to push you to come with her.

Azriel

After Madja had left Rhys with strict instructions regarding Azriel’s rehabilitation over the next couple of days, he’d supported his brother’s weight while they made slow progress to the bathroom. Azriel’s limbs felt stiff, uncharacteristically uncoordinated and he concentrated on remaining upright and shuffling one foot in front of the other.

Steam rose from the bath the House had prepared, swirling to meet the shadows that seeped down his arm as Azriel braced one hand on the edge of the tub. Using the other he edged the loose cotton trousers down over his thighs until they pooled at his feet. Fingers tugged at the cotton on his abdomen to find purchase, loosening and unwinding until the bandaging fell away to reveal an angry pink scar, jagged and stark against tanned skin.

“Want me to wash your back?” Rhys shot him a cheeky grin, but the mirth in his voice didn’t reach his eyes. Azriel appreciated the effort, this small attempt at normalcy. He shot his brother an obscene gesture before raising one leg to step into the tub, thigh muscles twitching as he shifted into the hot water. Using his arms to brace his weight he started to lower himself in, descending too quickly they struggled to hold him up causing a wave of bathwater to soak the floor. Azriel sunk under the warmth of the water, allowing it to soothe him.

“We’ll be in the dining room, come down when you’re ready.” His shadows had already informed him of Cassian and Nesta’s arrival, he assumed the rest of his family wouldn’t be far behind. Azriel nodded, avoiding Rhys’ gaze, pretending to study the shadows roiling over the water. In the mirror on the opposite wall, Azriel watched Rhys’ reflection as he opened his mouth as if to speak, no sound coming out as he considered, before closing it again and disappearing through the doorway.

Dressing had been an arduous process, though no longer stiff and painful his muscles had a weakness that he wasn’t used to. After struggling into the tight second skin of his fighting leathers he felt more himself. Finding truth-teller laid out in its holster on the dresser he strapped it to his thigh. His shadows, now a fuller cohort with the effects of the bloodbane leaving his system, were a thick tangle of moving darkness, sour and agitated in solidarity with their master.

Despite his interrogation, they hadn’t offered him any useful information, it caused Azriel great frustration when they took the stance of purposeful vagueness or outright ignored him. He sent them ahead down the corridor to scout out the dining room only to be turned around by a shield of impenetrable night. Whatever conversations were going on in that room, Rhys did not want him privy to them. His own family, keeping secrets. It left a bad taste in Azriel’s mouth, a sense of betrayal in his chest that sat next to the empty feeling he was growing accustomed to, a limb he didn’t know he had until it was missing.

Azriel reached the closed door, the thick night dissipating as he progressed, the sound from beyond the door returned but he heard no voices. Just the sound of breathing and the clink of porcelain as someone set a cup on a saucer. Rhys must have informed them of his impending arrival. He pushed the door open and took in his family.

Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, Feyre and Amren all sat at the table which had been used for family dinners before the River House was built. Their faces were carefully blank as he assessed them all. Mor was notably absent, information Azriel tucked away, either her efforts across the continent were still ongoing or some other manner of business had her attention. He hadn’t expected to see Elain, not after her spectacular display of anger, but he couldn’t help the feeling of unease and disappointment it left in his gut.

“Finally, the invalid graces us with his presence. Took you long enough,” Cassian sent him an easy grin, arms folded across his stomach as he lounged in his chair. Azriel scowled in response which only made his brother’s smile wider. This had always been Cassian’s modus operadi, an invitation to be provoked into a physical outlet if that’s what was needed, thinly veiled under jibes he rarely meant at heart. For a moment, Azriel considered taking up the unspoken offer, if only to delay what was undoubtedly going to be an uncomfortable conversation.

“Azriel,” it was Feyre who spoke, offering him a small smile, “Why don’t you join us?” Azriel understood that it wasn’t an invitation and slid into the seat next to Amren. His eyes met Nesta’s who sat across from him. They’d reached a tentative understanding, perhaps it could be considered a friendship, in the months he could recall. He remembered her joy at receiving the solstice gift he’d gotten for her, the resulting rare display of physical affection.

Looking at her now, face resolute and stony with blazing anger behind her eyes, barely contained, he had the sense that something had damaged the dynamic between them. He purposely looked away, instead fixing his eyes on Rhys; then Feyre. He waited for someone to speak, break the almost oppressive silence. He half-expected it to be Cassian again, with some throwaway comment or badly timed joke, but it was Rhys who cleared his throat.

“Azriel, thank you for joining us.” Azriel raised an eyebrow at the formality but stayed silent. “There are some matters we need to discuss.”

“Clearly.” He trailed his eyes over his family again, they all seemed uncomfortable to be here, to be around him. As if they knew he was going to react badly to whatever they were going to say. Rhys let his remark go, seeming resolute to power ahead with the conversation.

“What you showed me of your recent memories,” he continued, eyes drifting to Feyre who gave him an encouraging smile. “Lead us to believe that the memory loss is more extensive than we originally feared. Azriel, what you showed me – it was more than five years ago.” Azriel barely seemed to move under the scrutiny of their gazes. He’d lost years of his life. In the grand scheme of his immortality it felt like nothing, but looking at his family and realising that they lived in a future he didn’t remember left him feeling sick.

Azriel tried to find some rational thought to hold onto as he spiralled. He fell back onto the only thing he could rely on, his role as the Night Court’s spymaster. “Was it the work of the Queens? The attack?”

“The debacle on the continent has been resolved, for the most part. It was only supposed to be a routine investigation, nothing too strenuous or time-consuming given your current…” Rhys paused. “Situation. You were gathering information on some remaining rebellious factions, we didn’t anticipate that you would meet that kind of resistance, that they would have the resources. We’re sorry Az, we never meant for any of this to happen.”

“And what exactly is my current situation, Rhysand? What do you have to apologise for?” Azriel’s voice was low and dangerous. Amren snorted at the display, reaching for her wine glass. He expected a scathing remark, but it never came as Rhys shot her a look, and in a rare moment of deference she adhered as he implored her to remain silent.

“The female that was in the house earlier-“

“The thief.” Azriel interrupted.

“No,” Feyre cut in before Rhys could continue. “Her name is Y/N, and she’s your mate Az. The situation,” Feyre seemed to find describing it as such distasteful, but she continued. “Is that she is pregnant, with your child. That’s why we’re sorry, if we knew how dangerous it would be we never would have asked you to go alone.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Three brothers for three sisters, that was what Azriel had always thought about, always dreamed. The cauldron blessing him with undeniable proof that, though not blood-related, he and his brothers were three equal parts in the eyes of fate. He’d wanted that, seeing how happy they were in their relationships filled him with bone-deep envy. Observing from the sidelines as Rhys and Feyre prepared for the new addition to their family with vigour, as Cassian and Nesta had danced around each other in slowly shrinking circles. The other halves of their souls. That should have been him and Elain, never mind the mockery of the bond Vanserra thought they had. Azriel knew it was a mistake, a sick joke that would all work out in the end because there was no other way it could be. Three brothers for three sisters.

He wanted it all. A house on the outskirts of the city, filled with the sweet scent of Elain’s baking and made beautiful by the flowers she cultivated in their gardens. Filled with sunlight and happiness, somewhere to retreat from the darkest corners of his life. He’d dreamed of that life in the secret hours of the dawn, of a future where the issues of Feyre’s pregnancy had been resolved and perhaps their home was filled with the noise of children.

Now he had awoken in a future where he had those things, a mate, an unborn babe on the way, only to find it wasn’t with whom he desired. Elain, whom he had woken in this world for, who had been so tender in his first moments of consciousness, who had kissed him back. Azriel couldn’t imagine choosing to build that life with anyone else.

A/N - Phew! I know, the angst was real. I promise it will get better, but there's definitely a long way to go here! Part three is in the works, not sure when it will be finished but hopefully it won't be too long.

Tag list: @kalulakunundrum @impossibelle @we-were-beautiful @going-through-shit @mulansaucey @sv0430 @naturakaashi @amygdtjhddzvb @airstrip-0 @acourtofsmutandstarlight @myheartfollower @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @valencia-rou @amysangel @furiousbooklover @phoenixgurl030 @imnotsiriusyouare @i-am-infinite

#azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #elain x azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar series #acotar x reader

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ajbullet · 5 months

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My thoughts on episode 1 and 2 of Percy Jackson and the Olympians: (spoilers)

- The ACCURACY of the little Percy casting was unbelievable. They look identical.

- The SARCASM 🫶🏻👌🏻

- I’ve never been able to connect with Sally Jackson as a mother-figure in the books just because of my own rocky relationship with my mom, but the way she’s played really made me believe in her character and her love for Percy. It gives PERCY’s character more grounding and their relationship really drives the show.

- Sally just sitting in the rain with Olivia Rodrigo playing. Mood.

- “You fell in love…with Jesus?”

- The friction and “betrayal” between Percy and Grover was super interesting to see and I’m really glad they touched on that more than in the books

- I’ve been pronouncing Brunner wrong. Dam.

- Sally saying goodbye to Percy, knowing she was probably going to die 😭. Percy screaming for her.

- the Minotaur fight was awesome

- “YOU DROOL WHEN YOU SLEEP” Omg I can’t believe she said it. Leah’s delivery was different than how I imagined it but I loved it. She’s so matter-of-fact

- Again, I’ve always struggled with connecting with Luke’s character just because I felt like he was a little two-dimensional in the first book and then after that, you know, he’s evil and while I understood his motivations, I just didn’t really…care? Idk but his portrayal really helped me understand the depth of his betrayal and just how heartbreaking his story really is. I already love him more than I’ve allowed myself to from the books

- “She’s my little sister” I love their relationship while it lasts. Seeing how close they are really adds to the layers of both of their characters

- I’ve also been pronouncing Thalia wrong. Double dam.

- THE BLUE CANDY. PERCY BURNING IT NOT TO TALK TO HIS DAD BUT HIS MOM. That scene broke my heart.

- Leah. As. Annabeth. I’m going to be completely honest, Ive loved Leah from everything I’ve seen about her but I was nervous just because of how precious of a character Annabeth Chase has always been to me and I didn’t know if ANYONE, not specifically Leah, could live up to those expectations but omg I love her. Her bluntness. Her facial expressions. Her voice and delivery. Her sure movements and confidence and self-assuredbess that has come from success after success and training for so long. The way she is so unashamed to admit to using Percy and only watching him to see what he could do for HER. In her short amount of screen time so far, Leah was able to add layers to this character I’ve loved for so long that I didn’t even know where there. I never wanted her to leave the screen. My only complaint is that she didn’t have more lines. She is my Annabeth Chase. She’s not from the books. She’s not from the movies. She’s her own version and she stole the show.

- Luke saying Annabeth has a plan and that Percy will know what to do, only for PERCY TO BE FLOSSING AND PEEING AND PETTING GECKOS and trying so hard not to drive himself crazy with his ADHD and having nothing to do. I genuinely laughed out loud. Might be my favorite part.

- the fight scenes are so well choreographed.

- CLARISSE. She’s too pretty. I can’t hate her. And her ELECTRIC SPEAR. When it broke and she screamed, I got chills.

- The trident.

- Annabeth KNOWING Percy was Poseidon’s before anyone else cause she’s “always 6 steps ahead”

- People already keeping such important info from Percy “for his own good”

- “You are Poseidon’s son” “No, I am Sally Jackson’s son!” Might just be my favorite line. It’s so true. She raised him. She sacrificed everything for him. She loved him and cared for him and taught him that he wasn’t broken, he was singular, a miracle. She died so that he could live.

- Sally Jackson is parenting goals

- The way Percy instantly changed his decision to go to the underworld as soon as Grover told him his mom could be saved. Their relationship is unmatched

- Walker Scobell is already pretty well known, but I have a really good feeling his popularity is going to skyrocket after this show. He is such an amazing, dedicated actor. I know exactly what he is felling 100% of the time.

Overall, I absolutely loved it. In two episodes it’s become a comfort show that I can’t wait to continue watching!!

#annabeth chase #percy and annabeth #percy jackson #percabetn #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo disney+#pjo #pjoverse #annabeth pjo #grover underwood #percabeth #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson and the lightning thief

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ireneaesthetic · 7 days

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Pointing out little moments and details of scenes that need to be remembered.

library scene • episode 1

their expressions softening and smiles growing bigger as soon as their eyes meet. oh the effect of each other’s presence!!!

wille's staring contest and the lip bite while approaching give off so much confidence. he leans in for the kiss like it's all he's been waiting for - everyone is watching and yet he sees and cares about anyone anything but simon.

simon dives into the kiss just as quickly. it starts out as shyyy but you can see the tension easing through his body language.

it’s a second first kiss for them in a way bc it's their first public one: the thrill, the excitement, the butterflies - it's all there. for this huge step to come from wille makes it even more special.

it’s a super tender kiss, with simon’s hand ending up on wille’s chest. background noises fading away to enhance the sound of their lips is so on point: none of that truly matters bc in this moment it's - them.

first they kiss and then greet with a proper hej *giggling*.

lip biting is serious business in this scene. simon's shows a lot of embarrassment tho - he comes out of their own bubble and suddenly becomes very aware of people's chatter.

shoutout to felice and maddie in the background not giving a damn about it ahsjsj.

wille pulling simon by the hand in such a hurry is funny and so him. he literally says 'ok folks you've seen enough, i want him just for myself now'.

ugh i love parallels in this show sooo much. they alone tell the whole story!

same spot but different point in their relationship: so distant in s2 - both physically/emotionally - and couldn't be seen or heard so they were hyper attentive; deeply connected on all levels in s3 instead, the focus is solely on each other, reaching for comfort by holding hands. the coloring tells the same plot too: cold and dull tones first but much warmer ones in s3.

simon side eyeing the hallway but turning to wille is enough to reassure him and ease the discomfort.

hands intertwined with the key chain in such a ‘fuck 'em, this is about us’ way is a genius move.

wille’s whole posture is extremely relaxed - one arm behind his back, the other hand holding simon’s, his legs crossed. it’s a breath of fresh air to finally see him acting this loose and unbothered around people. he's also the one who helps simon feeling much more comfortable here too.

not much to point out, i just needed to gif simon’s bambi eyes and wilhelm being mesmerized by his face.

hela terminen's line delivery is honestly *chef’s kiss*. they care to keep their voices low throughout the scene and then -

i have a thing for height difference so this shot is everything to me. it's peak head over heels boyfriends behavior!

wilhelm is stronger than me bc i would've kissed simon right on the spot if he tilted his head up like that.

shhh they’re cuddling.

the forehead touch with closed eyes and content smiles. this is basically what i've always loved the most about them - the state of pure bliss they're in only when with each other.

simon's eyes on him while wille is still keeping his eyes closed, slowly pulling away, to enjoy the moment a little longer.

simon's attention directed towards wille and the linked hands. it must feel the best kind of weird to experience the freedom of doing couple-things publicly - people's scrutiny no longer being something they have to hide from.

#young royals #young royals analysis #yr s3 #library scene #wilhelm x simon #wilmon

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w8lkers · 6 months

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★ | carl grimes headcanons

“what’s wrong? you’re doing that face again..”

“that’s just my face?”

carl is not a very expressive person. that’s not to say people were unable to read him, he actually becomes easier to read the more time you spend with him. when he’s upset, he looks more spaced out and he avoids eye contact. when he’s angry, it’s an easy spot. if there’s one thing carl was good at, it was giving people the stink eye. he couldn’t help it sometimes. most of the time, you have to coax his emotions out of him - he’s a hard nut to crack. talking about feelings with carl tends to feel more like an interrogation.

“i got you this flower..”

“aww.. thank you, this is my favourite flower.”

“no it’s not. your favourite flowers are daisies.”

carl loves gifting you small things that he finds. one time he gave you an acorn he picked up whilst on a supply run. when you point out the heart carved into it, he gets embarrassed and insists that it was there before he found it. he lied.

he also remembers almost everything you say to him. he’ll forget your eye colour, but he will remember the time you told him a story about your second grade teacher who accidentally broke a chair. carl prefers listening over talking generally, which makes him a very good listener. that doesn’t mean he remembers everything.

“are you a photographer? because i picture us together.”

“um…wouldn’t you be the photographer then?”

bad pickup lines. he found one of those joke books one time and boy did he read it. he even uses some highlighters to pick out and sort through ones that would make you laugh, ones that he thinks would actually work and ones that he found funny. when he first started using them, he was a bit awkward about it. sometimes he’d mess up the lines, or his delivery would be slightly awkward. practice makes perfect though and he gains more confidence eventually.

“do you think we’ll ever have kids..?”

“i think we’re both too tired for that question, carl...”

carl thinks about having a family all the time. he has his fears about pregnancy and childbirth after what he went through with his mom, but he can’t help but daydream about it. when he’s sleepy, he’s a big rambler. it’s the one time of the day where carl is the one who is talking the most and you hold it dear to your heart. sometimes he talks about what he did that day, but sometimes he talks about what’s been on his mind lately and he’ll take advice, or comfort from you. bedtime is usually the only time he’ll open up with ease. something about being relaxed in bed just before going to sleep with you there next to him is a perfect mix. on the odd occasion, carl gets into a mood if he’s sleepy enough, where he just wants to bombard you with affection and compliments. he’s a sweetiepie.

“no one’s even looking, c’mon just a small kiss..”

“carl, daryl is right there! are you crazy?”

carl. pda. Yep. he doesn’t care who is around. he wants to be as close as he can get to you at all times. i don’t mean that he’s trying to make out with you in front of everyone in the world, but he’ll always have an arm around you, or hold your hand and his favourite, around your waist. he likes being near you, it makes him feel safe. he feels safe knowing that you’re safe and close to him. of course with pda comes the occasional tease from michonne and daryl. it always embarrasses him, but not enough to stop him.

“you know, i used to be judith’s favourite.”

“see what happens when you skip out on too many tea parties?”

carl loves LOVES spending time with you and judith. it’s no secret to anyone that carl loves his baby sister. seeing you play pretend with judith makes him feel happy, like everything he’s been through was worth it, because now he gets to see this.

“carl, samantha doesn’t have a boy voice!”

“i’m not doing a girl voice.”

“carl.. do the girl voice please :( ...”

getting carl to join you and judith while you play with dolls together is an almost impossible task. except it’s not, you know he secretly wants to play. it’s a joint effort between you and judith, but you manage to convince him to join in every time.

#carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes headcanons #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes

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dfortrafalgar · 2 months

Text

Special Delivery

(Sanji x Fem!Reader- Offscreen)

Sanji reaches out to Zeff for the first time in years.

I wrote this many, many months ago now, and it was the first fic i posted anonymously on AO3. I got a few requests after it was originally posted to write a second part, which I eventually did!

You can read Part 2 here! Original AO3 link

(I figured I should let my blog breathe a little in between the really heavy and emotional Law fic im writing, and what better way to cool down than some sanji fluff <3)

A sharp squawk awoke Red-Leg Zeff from his daze. With a grumpy expression and a low grunt, he peered towards the direction of the sound.

A messenger coo was seated on the railing of the Baratie's upper deck next to where Zeff stood slouched over with his forearms leaning against the wooden support. It cocked its head to the side as if it was deconstructing Zeff's appearance before reaching into its pouch and procuring a parchment envelope. Zeff found it strange. Messenger coos only usually delivered the newspapers or the latest bounty reports, very rarely were they put in charge of personalized letters. It must have been paid off by whoever wanted this delivered.

The gruff man took the parchment from the beak of the bird and watched as it took back off into the air, leaving a few molted white feathers behind in its wake. He looked at the envelope.

All it said on the front, in very elegant handwriting, was "Captain Zeff." He flipped the paper around, revealing a wax stamp holding the opening down, which he peeled off with a calloused thumb.

Tucked neatly inside the envelope was a white piece of paper, tri-folded over itself. Zeff slipped the paper out, unfolding it to reveal the written contents of the letter. The penmanship was impeccable, and the ink was very sleek. He knew immediately it was from Sanji, not many other pirates had handwriting as good as his. He had completely lost track of how many years it had been since the curly-browed boy left with that ragtag group of pirates to sail to the Grand Line, but Zeff had every single one of his bounty posters. He'd never admit it, but they were tacked up on the wall of his sleeping quarters. Every time Sanji's bounty increased, Zeff felt pride swell in his heart.

"How are you doing, you old geezer. It's been a little too long since we've had any contact, so I thought I'd write to you just to see how you've been. You're no slouch, I'm sure you've been keeping up with the world's events over the past however-many years. Do the Marines even bother to keep sending our bounty posters to the Baratie anymore? Well, regardless, I'm sure you can read right through me. I can't deny it, I miss you, old man. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, and such a huge part of that is thanks to you and the guys back on that old cruiser. Every recipe I try to make, I imagine you screaming in my ear and telling me that it tastes like shit. Some days I really wish I could be back there, but most of the time I'm joyful. Life has been really, really good. A few years ago, I met someone. Last year, we got married, and soon after our lives changed so drastically. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and she's as sweet as an angel. I mean it, too. I know you'd probably think something along the lines of me playing up my affections again just because she's a pretty woman, but I mean it. You'd love her, Zeff. Living as a pirate is the most stressful thing anyone could ever do, but she makes every day worth it. The crew was discussing the possibility of returning to the East Blue a bit ago, and when we do, I'm going to introduce you to her. I've spent the last years talking all about you, how you taught me everything I know about cooking, and I can tell she's just as excited as I am to finally see you. This letter's gone on long enough and I don't want to use up all of Nami's paper.

-- Sanji"

Zeff felt a lump in the back of his throat. Sanji had grown into such a fine young man, eloquent with his words and his feelings. He knew how big of a deal it was for the boy to be so honest and open. But one thing in the letter caught him off guard. What did he mean by, "Soon after our lives changed drastically."?

Zeff peered into the envelope, where another, smaller envelope was tucked inside. He almost didn't see it. Pulling it out, he held the letter and original envelope in between his fingers while he opened the second. Sanji was thorough with his packaging, that's for sure.

Inside, there were three photographs printed on thin, matted paper. The first was of Sanji and you, the wife he wrote about in his letter, taken by someone else holding the camera. Sanji had his arm around you, holding you against him, and you had your face nuzzled into his neck. His other hand held a cigarette away from the two of you, like he was in the middle of telling a story. The two of you were smiling brighter than the sun, Sanji's eyes completely closed with the motion of laughter, and yours creased, your irises looking up towards him.

The second photo made Zeff's eyes water. A photo of you and Sanji on the deck of the Sunny, exchanging rings. Sanji was wearing a sleek navy blue tuxedo, while you were wearing a gorgeous white ballgown. For pirates, you cleaned up phenomenally. He could just make out tears in Sanji's eyes as the photo displayed you sliding a band onto his finger. A skeleton with poofy hair stood between the two of you, which Zeff found a little odd, but he chuckled at the absurdity of it all.

Zeff flipped to the last photo.

The tears that were welling in his eyes from the previous image finally slid down his cheeks in heavy, salty droplets. His lip quivered.

Sanji sat in a chair, beaming down at a bundle of cloth held gently in his arm. He was crying in this photo as well, and was reaching a finger over the top of the bundle, where a smaller hand was reaching outwards to grab onto it. A small glimpse of blonde hair could be made out from under the cloth securing the baby tightly. On the back of the film, Sanji wrote the birth date and the name of the baby.

Zeff used a sleeve to wipe his blubbering eyes. His lips quivered, but he couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face.

Was he allowed to call himself a grandfather now? He figured it was only appropriate.

#fem reader #reader insert #x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #special delivery

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awogga · 10 months

Text

i wanna say something about crowley’s monologue in this scene (condensed into gifs, thank you @michaelsheens) right before the kiss because god. GOD.

first of all bravo to david tennant for one of the most convincing line deliveries i’ve ever seen, second of all there’s something here. i couldn’t really put my finger on it before but i was thinking about the choices in dialogue and i almost feel like crowley is trying to defend himself even as early on in the conversation as this. he’s about to tell aziraphale (read: try to tell aziraphale) that he’s been hopelessly in love with him for several millennia, and he’s already steeling himself for rejection and explaining why he’s in love with him. so that if and when that rejection comes, hey, at least he demonstrated rationality. he’s not weak and he’s not dependent and he’s not any of the things that he’s so deeply afraid of being. he fell in love with aziraphale because how could he not? it was natural. here’s the timeline. here are his reasons. and it’s so heartbreaking that he feels like he has to do that, and i’m fully convinced that had aziraphale not dropped the news about the metatron moments before, crowley’s approach to the situation would have been wildly different. he would’ve been more self-assured for one thing, but his confession would’ve also come from a more optimistic place. this crowley is scared. this crowley can’t find his words. this crowley knows that everything is coming down around him and he’s desperate not to be alone. he’s trying to reason with aziraphale through the confession, and that’s why it comes out sounding so stilted, because it’s more an expression of fear than love. this isn’t how crowley wanted it to happen but he’s already gotten this far, he can’t back down now. he just needs to convince him that what they have is worth saving—or better yet, embracing and cultivating. he’s trying to be fully transparent, but in his transparency is all of his crushing uncertainty and the confidence of a cornered animal

#i’m going insane #good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen

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hotvintagepoll · 2 months

Text

Propaganda

Jean Arthur (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Easy Living, The Talk of the Town)—Always found the best facial expression and the perfect line delivery, so nailed the transition from silent film to talkies (her voice is CRAZY btw- high and overly sweet but also so gravelly she's like a breakfast parfait), then went on to dominate roles in multiple genres well into her 50s. Such a great personality both onscreen and off, and to our end pulls off 'gorgeous,' 'sexy,' and 'cute' all at once (in a word: hot!)

Juanita Moore (Imitation of Life)— She was the third black actress to be nominated for Best Supporting Actress! She was also friends with James Baldwin (!) and got her other friend Marlon Brando (!!) to finance his play. She also met her husband of fifty years by nearly being hit by his bus which should be in a romcon, tbh. There's also a whole documentary about how she'd been ignored and overlooked due to Hollywood racism, so she deserves more attention!

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Jean Arthur:

i had to submit every movie of hers ive seen so far because 1) shes GORGEOUS. 2) extremely gifted with comic timing and delivery and whats better than a confident beautiful woman that makes you laugh. and 3) seems to effortlessly blend wit emotion and logic in her performances in a way that sometimes is just so... it tells you as much about the other characters shes interacting with as it does her own (see this clip from mr smith)

youtube

Adorable and sultry with a voice that went from urban smartass to sounding, as director Frank Capra described it, more like tinkling bells than a voice has a right to sound

jean arthur wearing bucksin trousers and a little hat in the plainsman was fully my queer awakening. i love that woman so much. she has defined calamity jane for me. also she is adorable and heartbreaking and SMOKING HOT in deeds like everyone needs to experience her, she's everything to me

She's a chameleon, rocking any hair colour and any style, any mood and any genre. And she's got such a fine, captivating smile!

Truly amazing talking voice, like eating pop candy. Played wise cracking gals with hearts of gold. Once got arrested for trespassing because she went to console a dog that was being mistreated. Angel. Star. Baby. Winner!

Juanita Moore:

#jean arthur #juanita moore #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2 #Youtube

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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months

Note

i was wondering if you can do like a secret admirer / friends to lovers thing with tim bradford? like reader or tim are sending each other notes and get them something that they’ve mentioned before but never had time or the resources to get. sorry if that sounds confusing

I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted; if it's not, let me know and I'd be happy to try again! Thanks for the great request and please feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Secret Admirers

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, friends to lovers, obliviousness, brief LA Rams slander

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“How am I supposed to consider you a friend when you say things like that?” you ask.

Tim shakes his head. “You’re just mad because I’m right.”

“There are other things to do besides football,” you argue.

“I thought it was my night to pick.”

“You always pick football.”

“The Rams are playing.”

You sigh dramatically, leaning against Tim’s shoulder. “Fine, turn on the game, let me lose a few more IQ points.”

Tim’s shoulder moves below you, the only sign that he’s laughing at your actions. If you didn’t want to watch football, he wouldn’t make you, because he’s a good friend. No one knows; you only got close to him because of your relentless pursuit of getting to know him. And now you’re inseparable.

“You know you’re my closest friend?” you ask.

“Then you should get out more,” he deadpans.

“You love me.”

“Whatever you need to hear.”

“Tell me I’m your best friend and I’ll tell you the Rams are making it to the Super Bowl.” You lower your voice to add, “For once.”

Tim’s eyes narrow as he moves to look at you. “You have to mean it.”

Nodding, you put on your most serious expression.

“You are my best friend,” Tim says.

You smile brightly, and Tim presses his lips together to hide his smile.

“The Rams are going to the Super Bowl. Guaranteed,” you tell him.

“Well now they are. You’re our luck,” Tim mumbles, leaning back against the couch again.

“Heard that.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You haven’t seen Tim in almost a week. After the game ended, a win for the Rams, he got called into work and has barely been home since. Just long enough to sleep and eat each night before he’s gone again. Los Angeles has been dealing with numerous crime sprees, like a miniature version of the Purge that the Mid-Wilshire Division faces singlehandedly.

Your stomach rumbles around lunchtime, and as you reach for your bag, you realize Tim probably hasn’t had a good meal this week. Dialing the number of his favorite restaurant, you place a huge order to be delivered to the station, not even thinking about letting Tim know who it’s from.

Knowing Tim has food he’ll enjoy, you rest a little easier and continue your day with a small smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey,” Tim sighs, letting you inside. “Sorry I’ve been so busy this week.”

“No problem, glad you’re home.”

“You’ll never guess what happened,” he says. “Someone sent a ton of food from my favorite restaurant yesterday afternoon. The timing was perfect; we were all exhausted and starving. And… it’s been so long since someone just did something nice for me like that.”

Tim smiles as he shakes his head gently.

“I wish I knew who it was from so I could thank them properly.”

You consider telling him, but first, you ask, “Think it’s a secret admirer?”

Tim barks out a single laugh. “Yeah, because this is going to become a regular thing.”

That’s all the answer you need. Keeping your mouth closed, you nod and become Tim Bradford’s secret admirer. He deserves everything and more, and it’s up to you to show him.

You’ve always felt something for Tim, and as you start taking note of little things he likes or wants, you avoid confronting what these feelings could really be.

✯✯✯✯✯

“More to come,” you say as you finish writing the letter.

After a few days of giving Tim small gifts and becoming more attuned to his wants and likes, you add handwritten notes to your deliveries to add a personal level. He hasn’t seen your writing enough to determine you are his secret admirer, so you give him the acknowledgment and words of affirmation he craves, often without knowing.

Securing the note to the top of the box, a new Rams jersey, you smile. Being Tim’s secret admirer makes you happy, but more than that, it makes Tim happy, which is the one thing you want in the world.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim opens the box before the letter, his eyes widening at the brand-new, once-worn Rams jersey. Closing it quickly, he reaches for the letter before stopping. Tim feels strange accepting the gifts, especially one that is so expensive. But, if whoever this is wants to do something so kind, the least he can do is accept them. It’s not just about the money, though, Tim realizes. His thoughts often drift to you, and he can’t place why, but he still wonders if accepting something from others will create a rift in his relationship with you.

First, it’s not too expensive. You deserve so much more than you would ever be willing to get for yourself. So, accept it and enjoy it.

Tim shakes his head; whoever wrote this knows him better than he thought. They’re probably close.

Happiness isn’t something you have to earn or prove you are worthy of.

Closing the card and tucking it underneath the jersey, Tim prepares to leave for the day. After stowing the thoughtful gift from his secret admirer in his backseat, he drives to a nearby store to pick up a few things for dinner.

While shopping, Tim sees something you have always wanted but have never been able to afford. After receiving so many kind gifts and hearing the exact words he unknowingly craves, he feels a strong urge to give you something you want and deserve, too.

It's after dark when he leaves the store, so Tim decides to put it on your porch in the morning as a surprise. You’ll know his writing, so he prints a note that you deserve nice things, even when you don’t feel like you do.

Once it’s safely on your porch before sunrise, and Tim is driving to the station, he realizes that he doesn’t like having a secret admirer. Not because he doesn’t like the gifts or the money spent on him, but because he doesn’t want to lose you if the secret admirer wants more.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tears gather in your eyes when you see the gift on your porch. After years of daydreaming about spending that kind of money on something you love and then talking yourself out of it with an argument that you don’t deserve it, you don’t know what to do. The note attached to it silences each of the thoughts racing through your mind.

Being a secret admirer and having one are very different things, and you’re not sure you like this.

✯✯✯✯✯

Each gift Tim receives over the next week deepens his frown, even as he reads the kind notes attached. He wants to know who it is, so he can explain that he’s grateful, but it needs to stop. You’ve stayed at his side through each letter, glad that someone is being kind. Tim’s contention comes from the fact that when he gets something, he wants to call you and share it with you, but that may not be fair to you. Yes, he’s your secret admirer, but he doesn’t want to lose you because of his. It’s probably an irrational fear, but if someone is doing this and expecting to move forward into a real relationship with Tim, he can’t. He won’t.

On Friday, the end of his first week as your secret admirer, he sends you a bouquet, not made of flowers, but of things that constitute your favorite hobby. It’s incredibly thoughtful, and the note comes straight from his heart. He mentions something specific about your past, smiling as he pictures your excited smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you accept the large arrangement, your eyes widen as you reach for the card first. The last line mentions something you’ve only talked about once. The one time you confided about it to someone was to Tim Bradford.

Your jaw drops as you realize that Tim is the only person who could have been doing this over the last week. That means he probably knows that you’re his secret admirer, too. Grabbing your car keys, you drive straight to the station, ready to tell Tim it’s been you and you meant every word you said.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Who dropped it off?” Tim demands.

“Sergeant,” the woman begins.

“Don’t tell me that it was a delivery, they have to give a name. I need to know who is giving me this stuff because I can’t accept it!”

You stop in the hallway, listening to Tim’s raised voice as he refuses to accept a gift.

“I can look into it.”

“Please do,” Tim says, quieter.

Stepping out of the hall and walking toward the bullpen, Tim sees you, and his shoulders drop in relief. He walks to your side and leads you somewhere private to talk.

“You don’t want a secret admirer anymore?” you ask softly, your fingers brushing the edge of the envelope hidden behind your back.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Tim sighs, rubbing his hand on his jaw before answering, “Because I’m in love with someone else.”

Even though you were sure the letter was from him, you drop your eyes and begin second-guessing yourself. Maybe you mentioned it to someone else, or they just found out. Tim notices your change and steps closer.

“What’s going on?” he asks gently.

“Nothing, I just- I should go.”

You rush out, and Tim can’t chase you because he has to work. He calls and texts you throughout the rest of the afternoon, growing grumpier with each ignored message and ring.

When he finally gets off work, he drives straight to you and knocks on your door, determined to get answers.

“I thought it was you,” you admit, opening the door and not letting him speak. “I was getting letters too and I thought they were from you.”

Tim’s anger dissipates nearly immediately with your soft voice and downcast eyes. “They were. The letters were from me.”

“Then-“

“That’s why I can’t let whoever is sending me such thoughtful gifts continue,” Tim interrupts. “Because I have feelings for you.”

You pull Tim inside, leaning against the door as you say, “But it's all been from me.”

Tim’s eyes widen, and his mouth gapes open as you pass him an envelope. He opens it, nearly choking on air as he sees two tickets to the next Rams game.

“Why didn’t you just tell me at the station?” he asks, looking between you and the tickets before moving toward you.

“You said you were in love with someone else,” you answer with a shrug.

Tim chuckles, letting you see his smile as he bends to look into your eyes. “Because I didn’t know it was you.”

“I was going to tell you. At the game, if you’d let me go.” You fiddle with your fingers until he slides his hand between yours.

“I have a better idea.”

“What?”

Tim sets the tickets on the table behind him. Turning toward you, he takes your face between his hands and kisses you. His slow, languid movements reinforce everything he has expressed through his actions and written words over the past week.

You gasp when his lips meet yours, clutching his shirt in your grasp as you kiss him, letting your actions speak yet again.

“Will you go out with me?” Tim asks, breathless as he pulls back, his hands dropping to your waist. “Some walking angel gave me a few Rams tickets, and I’d love to take you.”

“Depends,” you answer with a hum. “What are your thoughts on secret admirers?”

Tim squeezes your waist gently. “I love mine.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #fem!reader #requests

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luveline · 1 year

Note

For your kisses before dinner au, can I request a late night moment, not nsfw or anything just what their evenings are like? ty🧡

ty for ur request!! kisses before dinner ♡ pregnant!reader

You and Steve lie shoulder to shoulder in the dark.

"You think they're sleeping?" you whisper.

"I have no clue."

You're both too terrified to move. Any noise at all risks waking up the girls. If you can avoid waking them up, there's a possibility that you and Steve might get some time alone.

You have as many little ones as you do because you love them, everything about them, at all times of day. And sure, they exhaust you, but you wouldn't have had them if you couldn't handle it. If you couldn't manage the bad with the good.

You want to curl into a ball on top of him but the distension of your stomach makes it difficult. Baby bumps are made for homing and protection, they aren't super super fragile, but you've always been cautious and that isn't gonna change anytime soon.

"I miss being able to lie on top of you," you confess.

"You still could. Back to my chest," he offers.

"Not the same."

"If you loved me, you'd use me like a mattress topper."

You fit together well when you're on top. Cheek to cheek, legs between his legs. Sometimes you hook a thigh up over one of his hips. It can't be comfortable for him and he's never complained, not once in all the years you've loved him.

It's super Steve of him. He whines about all the wrong things.

Case in point. "Are you gonna lie on me or am I dragging you?"

"Can you? I'm too heavy."

Steve scoffs. No matter what weight you are, pregnant or not, he insists that you're never 'too' anything. "Would you quit it?"

"I don't want to lie on you like that. I miss being able to-" You shrug, tracing the barely illuminate line of his nose with loving eyes. "To cuddle like we're the same person."

It's corny. Steve knows exactly what you mean.

"We are the same person," he insists. He starts trying to turn your names into one, creating a hodgepodge of poorly strung syllables.

He has the unique ability to make you laugh at just about anything. He can get you giggling in the delivery room if he tries hard enough.

You shift your arm where it's sandwiched so close to his and go searching for his outermost wrist, pulling it to your face for lazy kisses. His palm resting at your lips, you close your eyes and picture the face he's making. He's definitely turned his head to yours, giving you that "you're so crazy" expression he does, like he's startled you'd dote on him.

"Wanna make out?" he asks.

You're about to say yes when footsteps sound.

Steve eases up onto his elbow to kiss you sweetly, too quickly, before he takes the end of the blankets into his hand and pulls them over your heads.

You know exactly who it is from the footsteps alone. Avery pushes open the door, and she sounds almost shy as she whispers, "Are you still awake?"

"We're sleeping," Steve says back. You laugh as quietly as you're able to, tummy trembling under his hand with the motion.

"I want to talk to you."

That's not so funny. Steve moves the blankets back down. "About what, Avey-bear?"

She's hard to make out in the dark, not with the light from the hallway at her back. You can see her hair, it's bed head frizz, and the ruffles of her nightie at her knees.

"About anything."

You snort. All your worry turns to amusement, and affection, and you make space between you and Steve immediately. You move too fast.

"Be careful," Steve says to you softly, prompted by your little breathless sigh. Lately, your back has felt super sore, like somebody's taken to it with a meat tenderiser.

"Come and sit with us," you tell Avery.

She races around to your side and waits for you to pick her up. You would, of course, and you'd hug her to death as soon as she was in your arms, but you'd really hurt yourself somehow and you don't want to make it worse.

"Come round to my side," Steve says.

You smile at her unimpressed expression, "I can't move too much. Baby's kicking my spine."

She gawps at you, tiny white teeth shining like pearls. "She's what?"

It's important to note that you don't know the baby's gender. Avery says 'she' because her dad does. That, and it must make sense to her — Avery has felt the little kicking feet of two sisters before. It's sad, and silly, but for a split second you feel sorry that the only people who'd ever felt her kick were you and Steve. It had been one of the best (and then quickly one of the most agitating) feelings in the world.

Avery, big sister extraordinaire, and biggest, bestest eldest daughter they ever made, climbs up onto the bed by herself and positions her face carefully over the hill of your baby bump. "You have to be nice," she whisper passionately, "you're hurting mom."

You stroke her forehead. "Baby can't help it. She's growing."

"You said 'she,'" Steve coos.

"It's easier." You're not sure at all what the baby is. You have no premonitions. No inkling of one guess or another.

"She," Steve says, "really can't help it Avery, but you're a good girl for trying to protect mom."

"Thank you," you say, cupping her cheek.

"You're welcome," she says.

You're the kind of mom that some little kids can't abide — all you want, all the time, are hugs. You steal them at breakfast and lunch and dinner, in the car, in the garden, in the supermarket. You love to move in behind them and cuddle their unsuspecting shoulders. Lucky for you, they've all grown to return the same affection. Avery, amazingly careful of your stomach, crawls the rest of the way up the bed to the pillows and lays down curled toward you, pulling your arm to her chest for a hug.

Steve moves onto his side and sidles up behind her. He moves his arm over your two bodies, his hand over your shoulder, his eyes glued to your face.

"We've done this before," he murmurs.

You and Steve and Avery and an unnamed baby.

"Do you think your sisters are sleeping?" you ask.

"Mm, Beth is snoring again," she complains.

"Dove isn't this quiet when she's awake," Steve says.

"Guess it's just you with us tonight, beautiful," you say, pulling the covers over Avery's shoulder. Swimming in bed sheets, she beams at you, really smiles, and her face seems like it's nearly too small to hold a happy that big.

"What did you want to talk about?" you ask.

"Everything."

Steve closes his eyes and pushes his face into the back of her head. You wrap your arm over Avery to bracelet his arm with your fingers. If you're clinging too tight, he doesn't complain.

#kisses before dinner universe #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x pregnant!reader #pregnant!reader

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