I have received some comments on ao3 inquiring about my works and if I will be updating soon.
The answer to that is; I don't know.
To be frank, I am in quite a lot of pain at the moment. It has been this way for a while, and I'm sure that comes across in my author notes. I don't wish to share details, but I have mentioned before I struggle with my mental health. I am struggling more right now than I have in a long while.
I am not going to abandon my works. But for the moment, I need to focus on helping myself. Reading helps me a lot, as does going back to my first form of writing. Poetry heals something in me that story writing cannot, so I am going to direct my energy there for now.
You will still see me around here and on ao3 responding to comments and making my own on works I read. I will still answer asks here but I just cannot produce anything fruitful for my works when I feel this way. I've fallen back into some bad habits and getting myself back on track requires most of my time.
I am sorry, I feel like I am letting those who have invested so much of their time into reading down.
Good morning, besties! I hope you're all well and had a lovely weekend! Right, let's get to catching up with our little family, shall we? There are another two chapters after this one that will bring our story to a close. I do want to write a third installment, but I am unsure whether this will definitely go ahead or not yet. I need a little break! If it doesn't, I will revisit them with one shots or mini stories, at least, so you don't have to say goodbye to everyone just yet :)
Summary: A year has passed since the events that left your newly formed family shattered, the four of you continuing to move ahead with your lives as best you can. The introduction of new equal rights laws for vampires across the United Kingdom marks a significant turning point, offering hope and the promise of greater acceptance. With these changes, you and II feel empowered to finally take the next step towards expanding your family, beginning to plan for the arrival of a child.
However, the journey towards this new chapter is not without its uncertainties. A new friend, with the best of intentions, offers some advice that despite your judgement, lingers in the back of your mind. Regardless of the strength of your bond and the depth of your commitment, you find yourself questioning whether these concerns hold any merit.
Your trust in the resilience of your marriage remains steadfast, and you dismiss the warning as unfounded. Yet, as time unfolds, those doubts prove harder to ignore. It is only when envy emerges unexpectedly - affecting one of the vampires you hold dear - that the true challenge reveals itself, threatening the peace and unity you have worked so hard to build.
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three
Words: 7.216
Warnings: Vampire fic, mentions of blood and gore, plus lots of smut. 18+ content, minors DNI!
Tag list: In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.
Standing by your daughter's cot, you smile down at her sleeping form, one arm extended up at the side of her head. Her daddy often adopts the same position when he falls into rest. It's just one of his inherited traits you've noticed with her, others including a matching frown whenever she's displeased and not meeting anything that doesn't go her way with anything close to civility.
Oh, the decibels of the rage squeals when she does not want to go to bed. They are the tiny, female version of her father's war roars from his days on the battlefield.
With the events of earlier still fresh in your mind, split wide like an open wound, this little slice of serenity, drinking in the beauty of the sleeping baby oblivious to it all, is a tonic that helps soothe the ache. You know, though, understand it well, that this will hurt for a long time to come.
Your father. You own father, and he sought to cause the kind of damage that anyone unlucky enough to become tangled in simply wouldn't have walked away from. It could have been anyone, you, you holding the baby, perish the thought, your husbands. You mum.
He didn't care. He wanted it, actively sought it. If he hadn't become so enraged by witnessing your mum moved on in a new relationship, he very well could have had his heinous plan come to fruition, too. At a hazarded guess, he'd have likely asked to bring his car up the drive, parked it up next to the house, then gone over to the guest house to talk to your mum and boom.
A shiver runs through you, glacial, your insides prickles by the frost of knowing just how close you all came to such mortal peril. Could a vampire even survive a bomb blast?
"No." You shake your head rapidly, swallowing hard. "Don't even think about it. They're all fine."
How can you not, though? Especially when one of them appears behind you, wrapping you in his arms.
"Your mum has just come back again," II speaks quietly, hands stroking your tummy, resting his chin on your shoulder. "She could only manage a few hours of sleep, so she said she'll look after Ivy for the morning while we go to bed. I anticipate you'll likely not be able to sleep too, though, so I'm staying awake."
The strength of his presence is a comfort you aren't about to pass up in insistence he rest right now. "Thank you," you whisper, turning to kiss him, your husband reaching past you to gently stroke one of Ivy's little hands before leading you from her room and down to his.
Unlike you, very unlike your usual tidiness, you let your clothes fall to the floor where you remove them, climbing beneath the duvet, II switching on the bedside lamp on his side before welcoming you against his chest.
"In my many years, taking into account my long list of adversaries, I cannot recall a time where I desired to kill any of them with quite the same ferocity as I would reserve for your father." You mainly expected his comfort, his calming you in your turmoil, but perhaps you truly should have known that out of all of them, it was the Viking warlord who would respond with such intentions. "It is taking much, much restraint not to go down there, break into the cells and throttle him with my bare fucking hands for this."
His love language; it's a mixed bag, really, his strength and security offered usually prevailing. However, when it comes to your emotional well-being or your safety being threatened, it speaks only one dialect; brutality.
Digging your elbow against the pillow just above his shoulder, you rest your head to your hand, your fingers idly tracing the tattoo swirls decorating his chest. "I know, darl. I know." Sighing, your fingertips move to the gritty, dark blonde stubble flecking his jawline.
"I wish you were still king of somewhere, and we were back in time, so your decision could be the final one regarding his fate, you know? Because I'd love to see you hand him that punishment. I fucking hate him so much. I never thought I'd say that about him, even after everything he already did! I was happy to quietly resent him, but hate? Actual hate takes effort he isn't worth, so that only makes me even bloody angrier!"
Your jaw clenches, resting your forehead to his chest with a growl, II stroking your arm, leaning to kiss the tip of your nose when you emerge from beneath your hair. "You can take pleasure in the fact he isn't likely to walk free for a long, long time. What he's done, it's cost him everything. His wife, daughter, freedom, his whole life. You be as angry as you need to be for now, though. There's no need to rush yourself through it, but just remember this. You win, not him."
Not that it should have ever come to that, but he's right. "I mean, what the actual hell was he thinking? A bomb, C bloody four?!" you exclaim, shaking your head. "I just can't quantify it, how he could go to such an extreme!"
"Radicalisation."
Frowning, you crinkle your nose a little. "How do you mean?"
"It's how extremist groups gain in their numbers, isn't it? They prey on people's hatred, brainwash them further with their particular brand of propaganda and then take advantage of it to further their own agenda. I don't believe your dad was acting of his own volition at all, but with the MAVR upping their ante against us undead, it really wouldn't surprise me if they'd redefined their tactics to include acts of domestic terrorism."
God, it didn't even cross your mind that this might not have been an act entirely concocted of his own volition, that he might've had help and cajoling into the facilitation of it. It makes more than perfect sense, though. Logically, it is a very fitting explanation, but you suppose only further evidence gathered by the police will answer that question definitively.
"Wow." You stare at a fixed point across the room, your nails idly trailing over the soft blonde of his chest hairs, absent yet rhythmic. "Wow."
"Sorry, was that not the best time for me to be my usual, blunt self?" he questions, wincing slightly.
"No, no it was. What you said makes perfect sense, it's just so fucking unbelievable that I thought I'd seen the worst of him, and there was another level he could stoop to, apparently!" you cry, closing your eyes tightly, huffing, feeling like your head is about to explode.
He feels it in you, even more so when to remain awake, it means he has to feed on you again to fight the tired, deciding to offer you nothing more than the strong silence of his embrace. The quiet of him, that deadness inside that your daughter seems to find soothing, has exactly the same effect on her mother as well.
You didn't realise you nodded off until you awake with a start, sitting up to see II reading a book. While you might've slept, you feel no fresher for it at all.
"How long was I asleep for?" you ask, reaching for the bottle of water you always keep at the side of the bed and taking a few big gulps.
"Only about twenty minutes." Ahh, that's why, then. Cat naps have never sat particularly well with you. "Do you want me to go and run a bath for you? It might help you relax."
"Maybe later." Taking the book from his grasp, you shift to lie atop him, your tongue circling his nipple until it furls. "You have a particular brand of taking my mind off of something I don't want to think about, and that's what I want. What I need." Running your tongue up his chest, the lick glides up over his throat, ending when your lips meet his. "You. I just want you."
He doesn't need to be asked twice.
In a blink, you're flipped onto your back, the press of his hard body against yours sending the usual familiar blaze burning just beneath your skin. He stares down at you, and you feel your troubles melting away under the hypnotic blue that makes it difficult to think of anything but him.
Sitting up slowly, he reaches beneath your knees, pulling your legs until they rest upon his thighs as he sits back on his heels, his gaze falling to the sight of your splayed sex. He then lets a long trail of spit fall from his lips, chuckling deeply when it hits your clit, a grin tilting his mouth.
"Bullseye."
"Oh, you dirty old vampire," you hum, reaching to run your nails down his arms.
Leaning to you, he teases your lips with the tip of his tongue, kissing you with soft heat. "That's why you love me though, isn't it?"
"That and so much more," you nod, II pushing two fingers against your lips as he sits up once more.
"Suck them." You do, the instant obedience to his command sending a pleasant bolt through his chest. "Mm, good girl. You'll do exactly as I demand from now on, won't you?"
"Mmhm," you hum, flicking your tongue against the underside of his fingers. "Anything you want."
Pulling them from your mouth, he brings them to your folds, evoking a little gasp. "Do you want to know what I want the most?"
Your eyes flutter, rolling back in your head. "Tell me."
"To hold you down and watch you enjoy every last moment of it."
Oh, how you know that you will, feeling his hand move to gently clasp upon your neck, holding you beneath the gentlest of pressure. His other hand continues to stroke your folds, two fingers dipping inside to part the warmth of your walls. You back arches, moaning in soft bliss, tingles suffusing from the press of his fingers, goosepimples rising over your skin.
He leans to you again, steals kisses from your lips hungrily, tongue invading your mouth like its owed presence there, his hand gently flexing in its hold upon your neck. A smile curls his lips, revealing the flash of a very gratified grin, II watching as you pant for him. “Mm, I love to watch it, how quick you get so mindless for my fingers, hear those pretty moans for me.”
How prettily you moan for him, too, your vampire chasing bolts of bliss through your core, fingers rooted deep in the soaking hug of your walls. You clench, and it makes him growl low, fangs popping as his eyes begin to burn red, imagining feeling the same sensation around his cock.
Burrowing them against your sweet spot, with the kind of merciless precision that sends glimmers suffusing beneath your skin, your hips snap upwards, greedy for more. He knows exactly what it is you keen for, but he makes you wait, chuckles at your need, kisses you messily with heat and sin.
He stares at you intently, tickling your cupid’s bow with the tip of his tongue, receding his fangs before biting it gently, letting your lip slide from between his teeth. The vermilion of his eyes is all but drowned by his blown-out pupils, his tongue circling a lick over your furled nipple, adding speed to his fingers as they begin to pound into you with vigour.
“Fuck, ahhh! Oh, right fucking there!” you cry, clasping his forearm, swallowing hard against the squeeze of his hand still clutching at your neck.
His lips press kisses, like a constellation of stars burning beneath your skin. “Like that?”
Deliberately, you feel his fingers slow, moving in a trawling wave, hitting you over and over in a ceaseless, intense press, robbing your voice from you. “Yes!” you eventually grit, a sharp wave of pleasure shimmering through you, smoky, wet kisses descending until finally, finally.
His tongue dips into your slit, circling with featherlight strokes upon your clit, fingers slipping from you and sinking into your thigh as he grips the muscle, dragging licks through your folds firm and slow, until you’re shaking from it. His fingers still hold your neck, the tips pressing in soft massage, showing the hint of a promise over how tight he could grip you, giving instead the suffusing burn of a gentler dominance.
Each lick is slow, deliberate, tongue warming against your slick, coaxing the fervent pleasure to burn slow and hot, kissing your bud softly before he wraps it in a languid suck. He groans, all gritted baritone as he feels you swelling against his tongue, tingles skipping up your spine as the pressure increases, the vacuum of his lips pulling tighter.
The sweet moans of delight arrow right to his cock, hardening further as he imagines sinking into the soft wet of you, content for that moment to continue sucking the honey of your cunt to trickle thick and hot onto his tongue. Releasing his suck upon you, quickly flickered licks bathe your tender nub, your thighs tensing as you gasp, hands moving to sink into his hair and grasp tightly.
His alternation has you panting hard, the hot, rhythmic roll of each lick sending a hail of little stars skittering over your nerves. The ecstasy of it flutters beneath your skin, nails trawling down his arm, II moving his hand up to slip his fingers into your mouth, emerging from your soaking folds to watch you suck them with a hungry, predatory gaze.
His other hand curls around the thick of his shaft, pumping, his clasp wringing precum to drip onto your mound. “Want me yet?”
“Mm,” you hum around his fingers, biting gently. “I always do.”
He shuffles closer, leaning to scatter kisses over the column of your neck, hands stroking blazing paths of heat over your body as you undulate beneath his touch. His hand then clutches your neck again, squeezing, holding you there as he guides the tip of his cock to your clit and swipes a slow circle against it, until you shake, until his trembles of need merge with yours.
The fat head of his cock presses against you, teasing your streaming, aching hole. It makes you mindless, hips shaking, thighs writhing against his hips as you wrap your legs around him, desperate to pull him close, pull him in. The promise of him filling you cuts sharp at your nerves, and he knows it, rubbing the length of himself through your folds, his cock soaked with you, twitching against your bud.
You think he’s going to make you wait even longer still, leaning to you, kissing you with dirty heat. Finally sinking deep into the wet of you, a burst of sound rumbles through his chest, sparks scraped against your aching walls.
“Fuck, oh my god, fuck! Your cock feels so good!" you babble, feeling drunk on the sensations he evokes already.
His grin is all satisfied smirk, looking down upon you so helplessly spread before him, the slow drag of his cock making you whimper. “You needed that, didn’t you?”
“God, yes I did!” you gasp, pulling him to you. Your mouth claims his, the kiss scorching, burning through you both as you feel him fill you fully, slipping back, that gorgeous, thick cock carving into you again hard. Your whine is drowned out by the depth of his groan, fingers flexing around your neck, holding you there at his mercy.
“Mmm, fuck me.” you pant against his mouth, your kisses a forest fire destroying everything in its path. Your purr has little flint strikes of pleasure sparking in his blood, the feel of him becoming uncontained with you quickly having heat smouldering low in your belly.
Usually, he’d give you more of a build, but he knows it, senses exactly how you need him to be, cock arrowing your insides with sharply delivered thrusts as his hand curls at your neck. His eyes burn virtually black as he stares at you unblinkingly, the intensity of his gaze making your heart skip, cock splitting you wide, remaking you around him.
Heat sears through you, held there under the unyielding power of his grasp, pinned beneath his weight as he fucks you with merciless thrusts. Your cunt strains around the girth of him, coating his shaft and drenching him, his thumb moving to begin stroking tight circles of intense ecstasy over your clit.
It punches the breath from your lungs, watching the way his solid muscles tense, almost able to see how the pleasure coils up over him consumes his body like a curling viper. The way he fucks you borders on barbarity, lightning bolts striking through you, II leaning to bite one of your nipples with a carnivorous grunt.
Your slick heat begins fluttering around him, both of you chasing your releases, the violent twitching of his cock spilling deep within you as you cry out until you’re hoarse, clasping him to you. Sweaty, undone and unable to breathe, you’re aware of nothing else but the blaze he evoked as your walls pulse softly around him.
The hard bulk of him coming to rest atop you is steadying in the aftermath, his hand releasing your neck, lips scattering kisses as he holds you to him. You curl into him when he turns onto his side, blanketed in a strong cocoon of tattooed muscles.
He lets you cool down, the bliss ebbing away, pulling your leg up over his hip as he begins to slowly rock his hips back and forth again, filling and emptying you steadily, those warm wells of pleasure pouring in languid trickle down your spine.
Oh, how you have to love the zero recovery time of a vampire.
A hard push has him notched in deep, filling your needy little hole, his head tucked beneath your chin as he kisses your neck. “Gods above, you're so wet. Feel so fucking good.” he groans, hand smoothing up your thigh. The way he fucks himself into the soaking mess of you isn't lost in its tangency as he turs onto his back, driving his hips up from the bed to spear you with long, hard thrusts.
His hands clasp at your bum, keeping you gripped, holding you tightly against him as his cock rakes against every nerve ending, stoking the embers of your desire, kissing you with burning, lazy heat.
You can feel him beginning to shake beneath you, but he doesn’t speed up the trawl of his cock, the pursuit of orgasm undertaken with no greater effort or speed.
He groans low, sucking your tongue as you feel him push deeper, hands moving to run up your back and grasp your shoulders, panting into the fervent kisses you share. He moves his mouth to your neck, sucking a deep bruise onto your pale skin, fangs snapping, biting into you, the rush of desire evoked from feeding on you while he's buried so deep making his cock spasm with a hard kick.
“Mmm, that’s it, my gorgeous vampire,” you purr, those deep groans a little helpless, his muscles twitching. "Let me feel you come in me again."
That deep punch of his cock has you glimmering, moonbeams glowing over your nerves as you squeeze your thighs against his hips, hands clutching his thick biceps, cries torn from your throat.
You’re still cresting as you feel his cock pulsing in you, staring into the crimson storm of his eyes as he fills you with thick ropes of cum, stroking his face and nuzzling him. You whisper words of love, your brain a fuzzy fog of pleasure that throbs gently and ebbs away slowly, II kissing your forehead and carefully untangling himself from you once you've fallen asleep.
While you remain in slumber, he stays at your side for an hour before going for a shower and dressing. Moving downstairs, he smiles, following the noise of the jabbering and your mum's soft tones to the main lounge, finding Ivy lying beneath her baby gym, kicking furiously as she squeezes the toy that emits a series of squeaks.
She beams at him as soon as he comes into her eye line, squealing with excitement to see her daddy.
"My happy little girl," he speaks softly, looking to where your mum rises to her feet. "And her lovely nanny."
"Lovely but tired nanny," she confesses, smiling as he pulls her into a hug.
He drops a kiss atop her head, giving her a little squeeze. "I wasn't about to say it, but you do look shattered. If you want to go home, just say. I can take over with the baby."
"I'm fine," she speaks, patting his shoulder before they both sit down on the floor either side of Ivy, II reaching to let her grasp his finger. "Well, I'm not bloody fine, far from it, but I doubt I'd sleep even if I tried again. I kept poor Oliver awake for half the night, and he's had to go to work exhausted."
"That man adores you," he assures her. "Trust me, after last night I think he more than understands why you can't sleep. Grace only dropped off at just before eight. I hope she stays asleep, between being with Ivy all day and then trying to spend as much time as she can with us at night, coupled now with all this shit with Gary, she needs her rest."
She sighs, running her hand through her dark blonde hair, beginning to gather it all up and twist it into a messy bun she secures with the scrunchie previously around her wrist. "Is that really the man I married, II? God above, I just… I'm blank. Words fail me. When that nice police officer, what's his name, Eric?"
"Aric," he quickly corrects.
"Right, him. When he started mentioning terrorism, it just rocked me to bloody bits. Terrorism, Gary! Of all bloody people!"
He raises his eyebrows, widening his hands expressively. "That's what they call it when those kind of explosives come into play, especially too when the perpetrator has a political or ideological motive for it, which I very much think Gary did. He didn't want his daughter married to a family of vampires, so he sought to remove them. I think that was his plan, not to hurt either of you. I could be wrong, though, because the man is clearly out of his mind."
She nods, beginning to chew the edge of her thumb. "You're right, goodness knows what propaganda he was getting himself further brainwashed by, fuelling his existing persecution of your kind." Shaking her head, she reaches to stroke his face. "Thank goodness you're all fine. I love you all so much, and as the mother-in-law to vampires it's the last flippin' thing on my mind, having to worry about you dying!" she scoffs, eyes widening. "Immortal or not, I don't suppose there's much coming back from a bomb blast."
He hums a dark chuckle. "I wouldn't like to gamble on it, personally. I don't fancy being a head in a jar, like on Futurama."
Tanya snorts with laughter, reaching to smack his arm softly. "Don't even joke!"
"Made you laugh, though, didn't it?"
In truth, she really needed to. "It did, although it doesn't feel appropriate, given what we nearly faced." Mulling her words over for a second, she continues, picking up one of Ivy's soft, fuzzy bricks and handing it to her. "Although nearly is the operative word there. We're all fine, and he's currently languishing in a cell. Where he bloody belongs."
She'll go back and forth in her mood, he realises, because that is exactly how trauma works. Finding out that you ex-husband isn't the person you thought he was, to this kind of degree, definitely counts as a traumatic event. "That he does, sweet girl. But you have the love and strength of your family surrounding you, though. We'll get you through it, just as we did with your divorce."
Her smile is wide, reaching to stroke his arm fondly, her hand lowering to softly rub Ivy's back. "Thank you. If you're okay with little one by yourself, I think I might go and see if I can take a nap?"
II stands, gesturing in the direction of the door. "Don't let me stop you, we're fine. Is IV up yet? I can feel III has gone to rest."
It still feels strange for him, not to have a link there with his youngest sibling since he returned as a human. "Yeah, he's outside working out."
Your mum departs for the guest house, II taking Ivy in the direction of the back door. Scanning around in the boot cupboard, he finds the perfect thing to protect himself, putting up the massive golfing umbrella and stepping out into the daylight, the shade of it completely concealing him as he approaches where IV is doing sit ups on the patio.
"What the fucking hell are you doing outside?" he roars, eyes like saucers.
"Coming to see you, you twat," he sniffs, glancing upwards. "I'm nicely covered, too."
IV scrambles to his feet, pointing wildly at the back door. "Get the bloody hell back in, for fucks sake! What if there's a sudden break in the clouds and you get smacked with a beam of light?"
The vampire shrugs, looking around. "Not much chance of that, is there? It's December, and we live in England. I'm fine."
The pointing persists. "I'm done now, so if you can stop trying to give me a heart attack, I'd appreciate it!"
II sighs, walking back in through the doors and turning a corner before putting the umbrella down again, throwing it back where he found it as IV scowls at him. "Oh, you do love me, then?" he jokes, IV punching him in the back. "Oi, less of the violence when I've got the baby."
"I think the young people refer to it as being triggered," he huffs, shaking his head, II suddenly realising his folly.
"Ahh, fuck. Sorry, IV," he winces, "didn't think for a second there. I just wanted to come and find you, give little miss here some fresh air, too."
"Just let me take her out next time," he offers, "now I've got the tics under control with the microdosing."
Coming to a stop in the kitchen, II takes a seat, watching as Ivy grasps the pendant around his neck and begins playing with it. "Yeah, you haven't held her yet, have you?"
Turning to him, he crinkles his nose a little. "I ain't, no, but I'm all sweaty."
II shrugs. "Just don't drip on her." Handing her over, IV takes her with a smile, realising the gravitas of the moment in how he's had trust extended to him in holding the most precious thing there is to his sibling. Next to you, of course.
He might have only been returned home for two months, but in moments like this, it feels like he's never been away.
"Hello, small person," he chirps, Ivy looking up at him with a big, gummy grin. While she hasn't been held by him up until this point, she's certainly gotten used to his presence as one of her family, the cadence of his voice, the way he pulls the kind of faces that have her giggling brightly. "You poor little mite, looking more and more like your old man every day, eh? You'll be nearly as tall as him soon."
"Go fuck yourself," her father mutters, IV booming with laughter, Ivy joining in with some adorable baby chuckles. "Look, turning my own baby against me now!"
IV gives her a little tickle, evoking more giggles, smiling as he begins to laugh. He feels fortunate to have experienced this, welcoming a tiny human into the family as a human himself. Truly, though, it was more Ivy welcoming his return. Even so, if he'd never died, he'd have likely taken a minimal interest in the prospect of a human entering the family dynamic, cold and indifferent as he was towards them.
How, he wonders while smiling at the jabbering little one in his arms, anyone could be indifferent to something as lovely as her, he'll never know. She reminds him of sunshine personified, except for when she's howling so loudly, the sound could crack the crown moulding of whatever room she happens to be in.
"Right, you, back to your dad while I go shower and change." He kisses the top of her little blonde head, noting the little wisps of strawberry there, smiling. She might be II's double, but there are very noticeable traces of her beautiful mother right there, too.
Speaking of you, once he's shower fresh and dressed, IV creeps into II's bedroom quietly to drop a kiss atop your sleeping head.
"Love you, sugar." he smiles, leaving again just as quietly as he came. To see you still in slumber is a relief to him, knowing that the events of last night have taken a toll emotionally. This, coupled with your permanent exhaustion as a new mother means four sets of watchful eyes are going to do everything in their power to try and make life as easy as possible for you, going forward. Letting you sleep for as long as you need to being just one luxury their love and care will afford you.
Walking back through the house, his attention is grabbed by the call of 'I'm in here' just before he is about to pass the corridor leading to the library, IV swerving and heading down to join his sibling in his most sacred of spaces.
"Bloody hell, did you move these from Norton House, or repurchase?" he asks, his eyes flitting over the many shelves crammed full with books both old and new.
"I took the treasured volumes, but you know those come everywhere with me when we move," II begins, gently rocking Ivy before placing her in her bassinet to the side of the big Chesterfield sofa, one his sibling moves to and takes a seat upon. He joins him, smiling, reaching out to grip his arm. "With everything that's been going on, and my time so devoted to my daughter, I don't think we've had a moment just to sit together and talk, have we?"
"No, no we haven't," he replies, looking a little sheepish, scratching his neck as he looks away from the piercing gaze of his Viking sibling. "I'm sorry, II. You always said that if I struggled in my vampirism, or anything, I could have come to you. When Ves didn't wake up after the bonding, I should have done that, sought your wisdom, and I didn't. Sorry, I don't mean to like, get all serious, but I need you to know that."
It was what tormented him the most in the aftermath of his death, II lying broken on the kitchen floor, you, him and III in a heap of despair while the whole time, he had the same question ring through his head like a siren. Why didn't he come to him?
Opening his arms, he jerks his head back a little. "Fucking come here." IV shuffles nearer, feeling his chest tighten as they embrace. "I love you so bloody much. I meant it, you know, what I said to you all those years ago, up in Scotland, after the priest had been committed to the fucking ocean in a silver box."
IV grips him tighter, his eyes filling with tears as those very words echo back across the ages, replaying in his mind like a taped recording. 'You are strong, you are more than what happened to you. If you ever struggle with that, come to us. To me. We’re your family now, we’ll see you through it, no matter how dark or ugly. We’re here for you now, IV.'
"I know you did, but my head…" He pulls back, wiping his eyes on the heel of his palm. "Fucking so messed up. I'm good with it now, though. Ain't about to go off on any wild tangents. M, wherever she is, can take full credit for that. She's fucking wonderful, proper sorted it all out, that mess I carried and couldn't heal."
"When they can be trusted, witches are incredible creatures," II speaks, eyes looking upon him thoughtfully. "How do you feel about it all now? From the explanation we received upon your arrival home, I take you aren't bothered by it? There's no lingering trauma?"
A shaky hand gesture is made in response to those questions. "I still feel sad about it, for the little kid in me who went through that, but no, No more trauma. I don't blame myself for it any longer either, or think I'm worthless cos' of what I went through."
A wide smile broadens the vampire's mouth, reaching to grasp his wrist. "You've no idea how happy it makes me, hearing those words. If there is ever a time you need an ear, though, for whatever reason, there are two right here for you." His words are acknowledged with a nod, II continuing. "Are you planning on being turned straight away when you can be, then? February 6th? Bob'll shit bricks, with us having to go and dig a grave out there on the grounds. He's very particular about his grass."
"He ain't half!" IV barks on a laugh, eyebrows arching. "I got the sit down mower out the other day, thought it was dry enough to give it a trim down and he shooed me off it! And yeah, yeah I was gonna wait a bit longer, but I don't think I want to. Being human has its advantages in certain places, but like, I'm too used to being undead. I miss it. I think I'll feel really like me again as soon as I'm turned."
II sits back and attempts to imagine it, returning to this earth from the realm of the dead as a human. For him, being undead for the thousand plus years that he has been, it is simply unimaginable for him to recall an existence that wasn't gleamed with his immortality. "I think you will, too," he agrees. "It's the final piece in the puzzle to fall into place."
A warm flush of acceptance presses in around his heart, IV feeling restored for this moment in time with his elder sibling, a vampire he has always looked up to so highly. As a human, he was, after all, a famously fearless, ferocious man, a warrior who not only looked death square in the eye, but usually contemptuously spat in it, too.
They were worlds apart in how their lives shaped them. This time around, IV stands as a human much less broken, the fragile pieces that refused to mend now fully assembled back on a foundation which - while it will never be quite akin to II's - stands under a footing set to never break down beneath him again.
They sit in comfortable conversation for the remainder of the afternoon, the darkness drawing in and bringing with it both your waking after a blissful nine hours of sleep, as well as the presences of III and Ves.
"No, Sproggy Pants. No chewing the necklace," III speaks, trying to take it from Ivy's grasp. "Nope, Ivy! Abort, I'm wearing cologne, it doesn't taste good!" Smell good? God yes, he smells amazing. The taste? Oh, how your baby is about to fuck around and find out there. Bringing it to her mouth again, she gums it, III shaking with laughter before he explodes along with the rest of you at the sour, scrunched up face she pulls.
"You were warned, my little sweet!" you laugh, taking her from him and blowing a raspberry on her tummy.
"Since when have you worn a scent, other than stale sex?" IV snorts, raising an eyebrow.
"Since the wife decided she was feral for me in… what's it called?"
"Dark Cherry," you confirm. Of course, he paid no notice to the name. You just sprayed him in it and then spent a good few minutes huffing his neck like a drug addict. He cares not for the finer details, only the effect it has upon you.
You all move through to the kitchen shortly after, Ivy taking her bedtime feed while you lean back in Ves's embrace, the five of you chatting about the upcoming festive period.
"I've got some tequila blood!"
"Oh, fuck no," IV grumbles at III's declaration. "Not again, you know that stuff hits you harder than anything else!"
"Ahh, shut up! It'll be great, can't bloody wait. I fucking love wasted Christmas!" He then points between Ves and II, shaking with laughter. "You two, absolutely high as balls the first year Grace was with us, lying on the floor in the lounge, arguing over your hallucinations!"
Turning back to Ves, you snort a soft laugh, remembering it well. "I take it you'll be buying magic mushroom blood again this year, yeah?"
He hums, grinning widely. "I already have, darling. I am taking full advantage of the fact your wonderful mother has nominated herself as the sober person, so none of us have to worry about being on baby duty."
Indeed, you hugged your mum very, very tightly when she offered such recently, deciding to give the wine and beer a rest since she's been enjoying herself 'way too much for a woman of my age' as she worded it. Plus, your aunt Mel and uncle Chris will be coming up for the festivities, too, and if there is one thing she cannot do, it's keep up with her sister and brother-in-law. Your uncle has already vouched to begin lining up shots as soon as he's through the door.
Some people, like your mum, realise that age counts against them with the excess of too much boozy fun. Your aunt and uncle? Not so much.
After bringing up Ivy's wind, you take her up to bed just as Ves receives a telephone call, the reason behind which revealed to you upon your return to find them all in the main lounge.
"That was Aric on the phone, just bringing us up to speed with the case against your father," he begins, steepling his fingers together as you take a seat between IV and III. "Your dad's initial co-operation dried out mid-second interview, but after liaising with Argyll and West Dunbartonshire police, the B&B was raided earlier this morning and a mountain of evidence found. He, as II deduced, had links to various anti-vampire organisations. The hard drive of his computer is still being assessed, but what they tentatively assume so far through items they have discovered is that he planned this to be a suicide bombing. His plan, it appears, was to feign car trouble and get as many of us vampires as he could out to help him with it, all in timing with the pre-determined detonation."
At hearing this, your blood runs cold, the once relaxed atmosphere of the house seeming to thicken considerably at the revelation of his awful, hideously cruel plan to eradicate as many of your husbands as he could. His plan coming to fruition doesn't bear thinking about, the only reason why he wasn't being that your dad and his temper can seldom be negotiated with. It was seeing Oliver there with you mum that saved their lives, yet another reason to be thankful for him coming into hers in the way that he did.
"In the words of my favourite aunt, shitting hell," you breathe, leaning into III's space, his arms coming around you as IV rests a supportive hand to your thigh. "I really don't know what else to say."
"Take your time with it, babe," the former speaks quietly, pressing a kiss atop your head. "It's a fucking lot to get your head around."
The room and everyone in it awaits your further thoughts in silence, although you can see their own thoughts on it simply by reading their faces. II looks like he wants to storm the police station and show in brutal detail just why he was known as Magnus the Bloody, Ves simmers with the quiet rage that never fails to set you on edge, III bounces his leg in agitation and IV frowns deeply, his eyes fixed on a point across the space.
"It is a lot, but I don't want it." You look at all of them in turn, your smile fond. "He didn't win. I still have you all, and he's lost everything. I don't want to give that vile man a second of my thoughts. He isn't worth my time."
Ves lifts his chin, smiling at you with proudness. "I think that is the correct attitude to adopt, my darling. Humans such as him are mere wasted breath."
"Even so," II grits, clenching his fists. "I still want to take a hatchet to his skull."
Unsurprising, really. You eyes find his, puckering your lips in a kiss, your Viking winking, his mouth flickering into a half smile. "I think after everything, I'd do little to stop you, if it was a perfect world and you could do it and not be caught. But yeah, what Ves said is right. He's wasted breath."
A few moments of silence pass between you again, only the sound of the fire flickering filling the huge space, III suddenly pointing. "Fucking hell, look!"
Four sets of eyes turn to follow his finger, and your face lights up in an instant. "No! It is not bloody snowing!"
"Hm, the weather forecast did say that the snow storm hitting the south of Wales might indeed make its way further into the mainland," Ves speaks, rising too.
In England, for it to be snowing so heavily in December in this part of the country is a rarity, but there it is, fluttering down in a beautiful cascade of pure white from the inky skies above. Standing, you move to the window, someone racing rapidly to switch off the lights in order to get the best view of the snowfall before the four of them join you at the window.
"It looks even more beautiful out there, covered in white." II speaks, watching the flurry gaining momentum. The snows he has witnessed in the UK do not even touch the frigid wastelands his home country turn into come winter, but at least now he can appreciate them in much more comfortable surroundings than when he was human.
Looking out over the estate, you smile, leaning to rest your head against IV's shoulder, wrapping your arm around him, the other reaching to stroke Ves's back while you all stand silently and appreciate the sight. The loveliest one, though, you have to say, is what the window reflects back. You, your four husbands, with a roaring fireplace and a Christmas tree twinkling away in the background.
If there was ever a sight worth appreciating for all it's simplistic beauty, it's that.
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It's here, guys! The chapter you've all been (not so quietly) waiting for! :D Enjoy!
Summary: A year has passed since the events that left your newly formed family shattered, the four of you continuing to move ahead with your lives as best you can. The introduction of new equal rights laws for vampires across the United Kingdom marks a significant turning point, offering hope and the promise of greater acceptance. With these changes, you and II feel empowered to finally take the next step towards expanding your family, beginning to plan for the arrival of a child.
However, the journey towards this new chapter is not without its uncertainties. A new friend, with the best of intentions, offers some advice that despite your judgement, lingers in the back of your mind. Regardless of the strength of your bond and the depth of your commitment, you find yourself questioning whether these concerns hold any merit.
Your trust in the resilience of your marriage remains steadfast, and you dismiss the warning as unfounded. Yet, as time unfolds, those doubts prove harder to ignore. It is only when envy emerges unexpectedly - affecting one of the vampires you hold dear - that the true challenge reveals itself, threatening the peace and unity you have worked so hard to build.
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two
Words: 5,478
Warnings: Vampire fic, mentions of blood and gore, plus lots of smut. 18+ content, minors DNI!
Tag list: In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.
He does a thorough job of hiding it for a few moments, the fact he's slowly eating himself alive with nerves over this, the sexual reconnection he's been longing for. The way his body tenses at the contact of your hands, no matter how sweetly familiar your touch is, signals that something is amiss with your beautiful love.
"What's wrong?" you ask, IV groaning and shaking his head, resting it down upon your chest. "Matt, come on. Talk to me."
Whenever you use his born name, he knows you mean business, that business in this instance discovering the cause of him winding too tight, loaded like a coiled spring.
He sighs, looking back up at you. "I'm nervous."
Oh. Oh, bless him. "Why, though? It isn't like you haven't had sex with me dozens of times before, is it?"
"Yeah, yeah I know," he replies slowly, biting his lip. "It's just that I was a vampire then, and I know that's the kind of lover you've gotten used to. Now I'm back and, well, I'm human, ain't I? Not gonna be able to give you the kind of pounding you get from the other three." He snorts with bashful laughter, reaching to stroke the sides of your face with his thumbs. "That crack I made about twenty seconds? Nah. Probably more true than I ever meant it to be."
Sitting up a little, you remember being like this the first time you were with him, his nerves getting in the way of enjoying the moment. Last time, though, it was for very different reasons. "Darl, I don't care if it is twenty seconds! I get to enjoy what I thought was impossible; having sex with my gorgeous husband again. You have no idea how much I longed for you when you weren't here." Leaning to him, you capture his lips in a kiss, pulling him closer into your arms. "We can take it slow. It's fine, don't stress."
Your words are a balm to his frayed nerves, IV settling into the kisses, clothes beginning to be removed as the slow, exploratory reconnection continues. A body against yours that's immediately warm feels almost foreign to you now that you're so accustomed to the cool skin of a vampire, but it isn't unwelcome, your heart fluttering as he moves his mouth to plant kisses over your neck.
You squirm, shifting, causing his body to sink lower into the cradle of your thighs, and his hot, hard cock presses right against your centre. You feel yourself growing wet just from that, a swathe of heat fluttering over you as his mouth locks with yours once more. Your kisses gain urgency, his hands gentle in their cup upon your breasts.
"Fucking hell," he pants, head dipping to kiss the rise of each. "These are about two sizes bigger than I remember."
He's gentle with you, remembering your frequent bemoaning of tender boobs from breastfeeding, his kisses softly steeped in heat and drifting back to your neck while your hands move to unfasten his jeans. Pushing against his chest, you turn him, IV happily moving to his back as you strip him, removing his t shirt himself before reaching out to slip a finger between your undies, giving the elastic a little twang.
He winks at you, and your tummy tingles pleasantly. "Get 'em off, sugar."
Rising to your feet, you slip them down your thighs, planning to flick them from your foot and praying to the gods of balance and poise that you don't wobble and end up on the floor in an unceremonious, embarrassed heap. They must be smiling down upon you, the action executed flawlessly, sinking back to your knees to smooth your hands over his torso.
God, he's stunning to your eyes. Completely stunning.
You press a kiss to his chest, hands exploring him, taking in the newer shape of his workout honed-physique. He isn't chiselled by any means, that gorgeous little hint of soft tummy still there, but there's more definition than you remember. Your mouth moves lower, tongue pressing a flat lick over the line of hair leading from his navel, evoking a gritty groan.
His body suddenly quivers violently, at it momentarily pulls you from the softly pulsing realms of hazy heat, your eyes finding his.
"Wasn't a tic." He reaches for your face, cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your lips. "That was you, gorgeous."
Smiling, you pucker a kiss against his thumb, head dipping, lips continuing their downward path. Your hand curls around his cock, and the contact pulls a quiet murmur from him, that sound deepening when you close your mouth around the head and suck softly.
The taste of him bursts across your tongue, and it makes your heart skip a beat, little pearls of precum wetting your tongue as you take him further into the clutching heat of your mouth. His chest begins to rise and fall a little quicker, hands moving to tangle in your hair, your happy hum giving him a thrilling vibration against the heft of his shaft.
Your mouth slips up and down, his shakes becoming more intense, your centre beginning to throb as you remember it, the feeling of him doing this inside of you, that perfect curve of his cock dragging heat through your walls. You're wet for him, your inner thighs becoming glossy with it, aching to feel him fill you.
His stare is molten blue, pupils inking, mouth agape as he groans, bright bursts of pleasure sparking up his spine. "Ahh, fuck yeah, that's too good!" he hisses, hips rising a little, body trembling beneath the continued sweeping of your hands across his skin. Feeling his heart hammering beneath your palm is entirely foreign to you, but there's something staggeringly beautiful in experiencing it. Those caresses trail down to his thighs, his body humming with the pleasure of it, his cock pulsing against your tongue as he hardens further, tickling the back of your throat.
Long, wet sucks have him mindless, mere static replacing any tangible thoughts beyond how incredible it feels, having him yearning, keening for more.
"Please, baby," he gasps, hands tightening in your hair. "Fuck me."
It sets your blood to scorch, hearing him so needy for you, releasing his cock with a soft slurp, climbing astride him. Guiding his cock to your streaming opening, you lower onto him, the gaze you share unmatched in intensity as finally, you're truly joined once more.
Feeling him notching into you, the heat of his solid cock sends glimmers through you, pushes breath from your lungs. You gasp at the full press of him, biting your lip on a sob, your eyes glittering glassily. He shushes the tears that threaten to spill, sitting up, arms clasping around you tightly as he nuzzles you, his ridiculously cute nose brushing yours.
He tells you without words, with every trace of his fingers across your skin, every soft breath against your lips, his eyes two bright pools of paradise, that he is home and never abandoning you again.
Those tender gestures have your heart fluttering, melting into the warmth of his embrace as your mouths meet, the heat between your flickering as your love blooms fully, wraps tightly around you both. Your walls pulse on him, and it draws a shuddered breath from his throat as he rests his forehead to yours, the sound a little helpless, his fingertips raining loving caresses down your cheeks.
"There will never be a time or a place in the eternity I'll soon step back into, where I don't love you endlessly from the root of my soul and back."
You whimper at that stunningly beautiful, unexpected declaration, and he kisses it from your lips, moaning softly as your tongues gently swirl. The pace you set is slow at first, the sensations of impossibly tender love and throbbing desire duelling within, the fat press of his cock nudging against the deepest parts of you with every steady roll of your hips.
You're overcome with it, the absolute ecstasy of having him inside you once more, a bonfire of pleasure sizzling deep, IV running his hands up your back and pulling you down against him. Your kisses resume, all smoke and honey, the syrupy heat of it pulsing thickly in your veins, a helpless cry splintering your throat as he begins to meet each undulation with a sharp upward punt.
You feel drunk on it, happily allowing him to dictate the pace, his cock plunging deeper, the hard bumping of him against your summit sending glimmers skittering up your centre, so bright you feel the fireworks of it erupting in your chest.
He slows then, fingertips trailing your cheeks. "Mmm, I really fucking missed being balls deep in this pretty little pussy."
"Yeah," you breathe, kissing him sensuously. "I missed having you inside it. For way longer than those twenty seconds you anticipated, too."
He chuckles, a sexy, deep rumble. "Don't overestimate me too much, sugar. I'm having to think of Boris Johnson in a bikini to stop myself from blowing my load whenever I get a bit too close!"
Your laugh comes out on a long snort, giggling through every laboured breath. "Well, if it works!"
That little moment of levity abates, both focusing once again on the utter divinity of it. You sit up, hands clasping on his shoulders, impaling yourself down on him so hard, your thighs shake. His hands move to your hips, gripping, little divots sunk into your pale flesh, holding you steady, forcing you to take the powerful brunt of him punching into you vigorously.
It feels more like fucking then, the rhythmic clap of you skin slapping together filling the air, your eyes fixed onto his, silently urging him to lose control with the sultry heat of your gaze. He does, moving like a piston inside you, the bed shaking beneath, IV abruptly ceasing those deliriously hard thrusts and exiting the soaking mess of you, shuffling down the bed until his head is level between your thighs.
A hungry swipe flattens against your folds, and he grunts gutturally, tasting you again for the first time, all that slick nectar his cock has stirred bathing his tongue. Each lick gilds you, the sure press igniting your embers, having you gasping when it flutters over where you need it most.
"Oh… fuck, ohhh!" you cry, his tongue teasing circles over your clit, little lightning strikes flickering into life as you sway back and forth.
His hand moves to slap your bum, a hard spank almost unseating you if it wasn't for the other gripping the round of your bum. "Fuck yeah, gorgeous. Ride my mouth."
Another spank tingles upon your flesh, the sting delightful, the soft little ruts of your hips against his face deepening the press of his tongue on your bud. He knows you need more, his cheeks hollowing as he wraps you in a firm suckle, eyes glittering, his hands slowly, sensuously smoothing up and down your back.
The syrupy warmth of pleasure begins to pool deep, your thighs quivering, his suck intensifying before releasing to slick over you with firm, wet glides, his tongue utterly ruining you. Your brain goes white, chest heaving, and he knows he has you. You feel him smile against your puffy sex, rumbling a soft moan of contentment, each lick coming faster and firmer.
It hits you so suddenly, it's almost painful, the riptide of pleasure that swells and crashes, soaks you to your bones, flushes through your entire body and leaves you panting. In the delirium of it, he tosses you gently onto you back, hands widening your thighs, his cock arrowing into you fully. The burning pleasure of him rooted deep flares through you, IV sinking back and forth as he holds his weight on his forearms, forehead pressed to yours, panting into the kisses you share.
A desperate groan bursts over your tongue, his thrusts becoming staccato, knowing he's close. You encourage it, and the merciless pounding of your body into the bed has you gasping at the thick fill of him bumping into you deep, your walls fluttering around him again as the grind of his body brings you back to boil.
His body shivers as he finds his release, your nails tearing down his back propelling it, the weight of him settling atop yours as you both swim hazily in bliss. Hands stroke lovingly, kisses shared, breath fought to be caught. It's tender, beautiful, IV nuzzling you, enjoying the way your walls pulse in after spasms around him.
"Give me about half an hour, and I wanna do all of that again." he finally speaks, stroking your neck, mouth pressing to yours once again. In fact, his refresh rate is a little quicker, not that you're really timing it, both of you remaining absconded to the bedroom for another half an hour before he quickly jumps in the shower, leaving you to climb in and get fresh while he goes to make a start on a very late dinner.
"Wheeeeey!"
Of course, his siblings heard. "Why are you two milling around in here, eh?"
"Heard you say you were off to cook dinner, so we thought we'd come and congratulate you for finally getting a good seeing to from the missus, didn't we, short arse?"
II gives III the kind of look that could curdle milk over his short arse comment, as ever. "We did," he confirms, grinning at IV. "Welcome back to the world of sex, even if it means a few less nights we get with her now. Wanker."
IV tips his head back, laughing, making his way to the fridge. "Yeah, sorry for being alive again and all that," he jokes, suddenly being halted by a wide eyed III.
"Fucking hell, look at the state of that!" Turning him to face II, his face is a picture of delight, index finger waving up and down the length of his back. "Look at all of them! You look like you've had a map of Great Britain's roads clawed into your back!"
All three are in hysterics at that, II collapsed down against the island, IV shoving his way past III, going to pull the pack of steaks from the fridge he's earmarked for dinner. "Well, she's always been a scratcher, ain't she? It's just I don't heal now, so whatever. I'll wear my war wounds with pride."
III pops his fangs out. "Want a bit of healing? They do kinda look sore, mate."
"Nah," IV replies with a sniff. "I'm good. Quite like the sting, actually."
"And you all call me a deviant," III mutters, fangs receding again.
"You are!" The joint chorus of his siblings has him laughing, grinning proudly, moving to take a seat while IV goes back to the fridge to contemplate what else he's making with the two slabs of thickly sliced sirloin.
"So, fucking hell," he speaks grabbing the butter, carrots and asparagus spears, "Grace's dad got nicked then, eh?"
"Couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke," II sneers with sarcasm. "Thank fuck I was literally holding the baby, or I'd have been down there too for rearranging his fucking skull with my fists."
"And that would have been something Aric could not have easily turned a blind eye to," Ves speaks smoothly, appearing in the kitchen and moving to the kettle. "But suffice to say, Gary is in the best place he can be right now. Locked up away from our wife and mother-in-law." He then points to IV's back, biting back a smirk. "Had a good time, have we?"
"We have," IV replies with a wink, putting butter into a frying pan before moving to wash the vegetables in the sink. He awaits a little further banter, running the tap and throwing the vegetables into the smaller section of the porcelain sink. Suddenly, a deafening noise reverberates through the house, prompting a shocked exclamation from III.
"What the fucking hell was that?" he cries out, his alarm echoed by II and Ves as they exchange glances, the elder vampires on high alert. The source of the disturbance is unclear, and the tension is palpable as each tries to make sense of what they've just heard.
"Car crashing into something?" IV suggests, all of them moving from the kitchen swiftly.
II is quick to reject the idea, shaking his head emphatically. "Your ears didn't pick up on it like ours did, and that noise was no damned car crash," he insists, the certainty in his voice hinting at something far more sinister.
Without another word, he vanishes at speed, leaving the others in a suspenseful silence as they reach the welcome hall. Mere seconds later, he returns, urgency etched across his face as he gestures in the direction of the driveway. His eyes are wide as he delivers the grim news: "That bang? It was a car exploding into flames, and taken half the fucking front wall and gate with it. The smell? I know that smell, too. It wasn't just a car having a problem and the fuel tank catching. It was loaded with fucking C4."
The revelation sends a shockwave through them, II and III taking the stairs at a high speed zoom to locate you and Ivy, Ves calling the police, and IV standing feeling a little useless before running to the laundry, pulling on a sweater and then going out across the property to the guest house at a run to find your mum and Oliver.
Naturally, they're outside already, eyes wide as they look down the long driveway to where a gigantic fireball burns bright orange through the gloom of the cold night. The end of the drive is a good three hundred feet away, and yet the heat of the explosion can be felt even from their vantage point of safety up by the main house.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" she cries after jogging over to him, her hand grasping at his. "Is everyone alright?"
"We're fine, we're all okay," he assures, soothing her concern immediately. "We were inside when it happened, it just fucking blew up. I thought it was a car crashing into something, but II went out to look and came back to tell us he thinks it was C4. He knows the smell of explosives, happened to be in London when there was a terrorist attack close to the hotel he was staying in, back when the IRA were still blowing people to buggery."
"Christ alive!" Oliver gasps, watching as the inferno continues, blue lights becoming visible upon the horizon. "The bloody protestors, I take it? Leaving a car behind with the intention of causing this?"
IV's eyes widen. "I'd say so, mate. Yeah, fucking hell."
Realising that the explosion was no mere unfortunate accident, but a deliberate act of destruction weights in heavily on everyone present, you and the rest of your family coming to congregate outside, Ivy bundled up in her fleecy baby blanket, still happily snoozing in her uncle's arms.
The response of the emergency services whirls in an efficient storm around you, police arriving in droves, the local fire service just as prompt to begin their valiant efforts in containing the blaze, Aric once again on the scene.
"Ya's all okay, everyone accounted for?" he asks concernedly, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah we're okay. A bit shaken, but okay," you confirm on a shaky breath, his dark eyes softening.
"Don't blame you, pet. Right, there's officers on the way with sniffer dogs, and they'll do a full patrol of the grounds and the house. I doubt there's anything nefarious on the property, like, but you can't be too careful." He then nods in II's direction. "If you've got the horses out in the fields, go bring 'em in. Pop 'em in the arena, I want all the buildings to have the dogs sent around first, but they need to be out of the way of the boundaries."
The horses are tucked up in their stables, II and Ves moving rapidly to take them out and put them down in the arena with a few slices from a hay bale to keep them pacified. Honey provides a little levity there, too, eating directly - and with gusto - from the half bale of hay Ves carries over one shoulder while she's lead away from the barn. All while flattening her ears and squealing at Svartr if he dares try and take a bite, Ves advising her to 'bloody behave.'
The cold night air is thick with tension and the acrid tang of smoke, a grim reminder of the dangers that were silently lurking just outside your gates. As the fire crews battle tirelessly to tame the raging flames, the police begin methodically cordoning off the area, blue lights swirling across the house and casting jittery shadows over the old stone exterior. Despite the chaos, you find some comfort in the familiar, steady presence of your family, everyone keeping close, Ivy dozing obliviously amid the upheaval.
The sniffer dogs arrive, two taking a tour of the house, guest house and cottage, deeming everything to be clear and allowing your entrance back inside before they move to search the grounds and perimeters of the property. Settling Ivy down to sleep, while Ves is talking with a couple of other officers, you lead Aric into the study to take a look at the last couple of hours footage recorded by the CCTV down at the front gates.
"Woah, slow it down." His hand covers yours on the mouse, clicking pause, and you wheel yourself back so he can take control of flicking through the recording. When the images slow, a cold pit opens cavernously in your stomach, your hands flying to cover your mouth as you gasp.
"That's my bloody dad's car!"
You didn't even notice it earlier, with the swarm of protestors all milling around the gates, plus the fact that where you've just witnessed it pull up was beneath a cluster of trees about ten feet from the entrance. There it is, though, the unmistakable silver 2015 Mercedes CLK estate.
"He, he planned to bring it up here, and… and…" you stammer, eyes filling with tears. In that moment, Aric acts more like the friend he's become to you all rather than a police officer, pausing the recording and pulling you from your seat into a big hug.
"Shhhh, flower. It didn't happen. You're all safe, you're alright, eh? I know, though, it's fucking terrifying, isn't it? Thinking what could have happened."
The car would have taken out the front of the house easily, had he brought it up the drive as you guess he likely intended. Or what if he'd offered to take you and your mum for a drive in it, or schemed somehow to get your husbands in it, all the while counting down the moment before the timer detonated? And how, how the hell did your dad of all people, get his hands on enough explosives to have made this a reality in the first place?
How, in fact, did your own father become so bitter towards you that hurting (or considerably worse) you and your loved ones ever become viable in his mind? It hits you in ceaseless, freezing waves, that the cordial disposition he initially showed you tonight was solely an act in gaining your trust in order to carry out this wretched, unthinkably cruel plan.
It goes beyond cruel. What he plotted was evil. Inherently evil.
Emerging from the hug of massive, tattooed muscles, you thank him for his kindness, eyes wide as you softly call for your husbands. They're informed of the news, all of them taking it exactly as you expected, eyes reddening in ire, all looking to Aric for an answer over what will happen in light of this.
"Well, taking this very damning evidence into consideration, we can charge him with terrorism. I know that right off the bat for the sheer amount of explosives that sent his car halfway into the valley when it blew, and took out your frontage. That comes with a nice, minimum term of fifteen years at his majesties pleasure, too, like," he explains, shaking his head as he watches over the footage. Although he attempts to conceal it behind his hand, you can just about see the sharp points of his bared fangs. Vampires, after all, do not take too kindly to the prospect of their own kind being threatened by humans. Receding them, he continues. "I'll need a copy of this."
Ves moves forward then, taking a flash drive from the drawer and slotting it into the port, copying the entire file to it. He hands it to Aric, the vampires talking a little more while you find yourself slipping from the room in a daze, the pressure in your skull throbbing like a thousand angry hornets vying for release. Staggering down the corridor, no clue as to where you're actually heading to, you feel as if you're moving through clay, your eyes swimming with tears as you sob, your legs suddenly giving way.
"Okay, sweetheart. I've got you. Come on."
Being lifted into III's arms before you hit the floor, you're transported rapidly into the quiet sanctuary of the nearby orange lounge. Taking deep breaths, you rest your cheek to his, feeling soothed for the sanctity of his loving embrace as he sits down on the sofa.
"I think I've had enough of collapsing from shock out in that fucking hall," you scoff, bewildered, eyes like saucers.
He strokes your hair, his fingertips finding your trickling tears and wiping those away, too. "I caught you this time, at least, but yeah. I get what you mean."
Your lip trembles, shaking your head, your husband pulling you close as you begin to sob. "My own father, Charlie! My own father, and he tried to bloody kill us! Ivy, he could have hurt her, or orphaned her! I could fucking kill him with my bare hands for this!"
While your emotional meltdown begins in bewildered sadness, truly grieving the now permanent loss of your father, you finish in rage and burning contempt for him. There's no coming back from a deed this heinous. Not ever.
Shaking like a leaf with sheer venom flooding every vein, III tightens his arms around you. "We were lucky, very bloody lucky that it was only the wall and the gate that took the brunt. Bricks, mortar and iron can be replaced; people or vampires not so much."
Ves, II and IV enter then, all taking turns to wrap you in their hugs and offer kisses, each of them beyond angered and shocked that your dad's visit descended into an attempt on your lives.
"Aric has gone back out to oversee, then he's returning to the station to bring your dad back up for questioning. He didn't want to distress you further by saying, but apparently he flew into a rage and headbutted a police officer while they were booking him, so had quite the lengthy arrest sheet as it was. Now with these fresh charges he will likely face, too, I do not see him walking free any time soon," Ves explains as you climb from III's lap and stand in his arms, wrapped in the surety of his embrace.
"Good!" you fume against his chest, the bitter anger still swirling. "They can lose the fucking key!"
Nobody expects your feelings to be any different, and Ves feels it in you, the tempestuous storm swirling darkly, your energy spiky, a creature not to be negotiated with. Oh, if someone put your father in front of you right now… It would not be pretty. Truly, if the laws of the land were not quite so rigid, if he could get away with it, Ves would have torn him limb from limb for it. II would have taken him apart with a hatchet. III would have made him his living medical experiment. And IV?
"I wonder if we can talk Aric into making sure something horrible happens to him in lock up," he ponders, cracking his knuckles, jaw tightening.
Ves releases you, leaving you to climb back onto III's lap, II taking your legs to drape across his own as he strokes them lovingly, the elder vampire moving to his youngest offspring's side. "I wouldn't feel comfortable putting him in such a position. Truly, while he is becoming a good friend to us and remains a close ally, he is, after all, bound to the law in which he enforces."
While it is the mark of a good police officer, in this instance you really do wish that perhaps he could be bent in the direction that would allow one of your husbands to slip into a cell with the cameras switched off, and give your scumbag father the kind of treatment he'd live to regret.
Then again, there likely wouldn't be much left of him if they did. You can only ever push a vampire's temper so far.
The night stretches out, long and uncomfortable with the events that have forever changed the course of your life, the fire successfully put out, Aric advising that the remains of the vehicle will be collected come morning light, and the area remains an active crime scene that nobody can pass either in or out of. Evidence has to be collected as well as the car itself on a low loader, bound for the police impound while the case is built against your dad.
This means that you don't even bother going to bed, II and III also remaining awake for the staff arrival, of which you have to oversee from the rear of the property after advising they take taxi's in, at your expense. Of course, the first person to arrive - earlier than usual too after you messaged her in the small hours to keep her informed - is the lady who always begins early and stays late, Mary going out the front to survey the damage from the other side of the police cordon.
"It simply beggars belief!" she cries, watching as the wreck of the car is carefully lifted onto the low loader, shaking her head in wonder. "How could he do this to his own daughter? I, I shudder to think of what could have been, if that car had been any closer to the house when it blew!"
In the hazy, 6am daylight, the damage is much clearer to take in, the wall and gates completely decimated, three trees gone as well as a huge amount of debris blown out from the side of the drive. Your dad definitely meant to do as much damage as possible, the sight making you feel as if you have something cold and spiny swirling around in your stomach.
You feel her hand rest on your shoulder, your heart pinching tight when she pulls you into a hug. "Thank the lord you're all alright." If that didn't give you a little emotional wobble, the way she embraces III upon re-entering the house almost brings you to tears.
"You're a pain in the backside who teases me to my last bloomin' nerve, but I'd have been truly heartbroken if anything had happened to you, III."
III. No mister, no sir. Awww.
You think for a second that he's going to ruin it by saying something wildly inappropriate, but instead he simply stands and hugs her back, kissing atop her head. "See? You love me really! And thanks for that, too. I know I piss you off, but it's our thing, innit? Mary the head of house with her patience of a saint, being mithered to death by her usually naked vampire friend!"
"Naked and loud!" she chuckles, patting his cheek, emerging from his arms with a sigh. "I'll get my morning rounds done and then when Bob pops in for a cuppa, we'll discuss having the wall rebuilt and the gates ordered. None of you are to bother yourself with any of it, I will arrange everything."
True to her pledge, she shoulders it all in the wake of the incident, Bob informing her that the wall has to be rebuilt with only a certain type of stone in a very specific way in keeping with originality, as you suspected, the new gates and a stone mason secured to carry out the work before you've even had your breakfast.
In a world that has spun on its axis a few too many times of late, you remain thankful for the good people you're surrounded by. Without them, life wouldn't be nearly as lovely as it is.
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Hello, besties! I bring you this update from the shade in my garden, where I am still too bloody hot, the temperature a very warm 30 degrees. UK heat hits differently, I can tell you! I hope all my other Brit friends are having a great Bank Holiday so far, too, and that everyone else enjoyed their weekend :)
Summary: A year has passed since the events that left your newly formed family shattered, the four of you continuing to move ahead with your lives as best you can. The introduction of new equal rights laws for vampires across the United Kingdom marks a significant turning point, offering hope and the promise of greater acceptance. With these changes, you and II feel empowered to finally take the next step towards expanding your family, beginning to plan for the arrival of a child.
However, the journey towards this new chapter is not without its uncertainties. A new friend, with the best of intentions, offers some advice that despite your judgement, lingers in the back of your mind. Regardless of the strength of your bond and the depth of your commitment, you find yourself questioning whether these concerns hold any merit.
Your trust in the resilience of your marriage remains steadfast, and you dismiss the warning as unfounded. Yet, as time unfolds, those doubts prove harder to ignore. It is only when envy emerges unexpectedly - affecting one of the vampires you hold dear - that the true challenge reveals itself, threatening the peace and unity you have worked so hard to build.
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One
Words: 6,383
Warnings: Vampire fic, mentions of blood and gore, plus lots of smut. 18+ content, minors DNI!
Tag list: In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.
“Morning.”
IV looks up, a little startled to see the sight greeting him in the kitchen, Ves standing there shirtless in his comfy, deep grey lounge trousers, feeding Ivy her bottle. “Since when have you been on hand for baby duty?”
“Since I sat and speed read every single piece of information on efficient child rearing I could find.” He then smirks. “It was only fair, since my desires kept her mother awake for most of the night.”
Yes, in the week since you and Ves have made up, there has been quite the upswing in physical affirmations, your reconnection to one another seeing you as regular guests to your respective bedrooms. With Ivy settling to sleep for longer now at three months old, too, you aren’t quite as burdened by her regular waking throughout the night, meaning you can spend your hours of darkness enjoying your husbands.
IV is attempting to get back onto vampire time, but it somewhat clashes with his desire to enjoy the daylight while he still can.
“Yeah, you and your drilling a new hole into her kept me awake for a few hours,” he complains. “Bastard.”
Ves tips his head back, laughing quietly. “Sorry.”
“You’re not really though, are you?”
“Hmm. Do you want me to be honest, or polite?” he puts to him, laughing further at his offspring’s raised middle finger. “Now, now. Enough of that.”
Coming over from where he’s turned the coffee machine on, he places a kiss to the baby’s head. “Puke on him, Ivy.”
“So, do you have plans for today?” Ves asks, placing Ivy’s empty bottle down on the side and throwing the clean towel he’s fetched over his shoulder, ready to place her there and get her wind up.
Riffling through the drawer, he locates a spoon, turning back to grab the packet of coffee pods and pop one into the machine. “Yeah, heading into Bath with Grace. I’m taking her for lunch. Well, she's taking us, since I can't drive, but you get what I mean.”
A driving licence; he really should get around to procuring one.
Just then, Mary enters the kitchen, looking relieved to find him up with the baby rather than III. She loves him, but lord, the poor woman needs a break from his endless teasing of her.
“Good morning, sirs.” She then nods in Ves’s direction. “How is she this morning?”
Before he has chance to reply, a massive burp exits her mouth, Ves grinning widely. “More comfortable now.”
“Swear down, that child has the wind of a grown man!” IV laughs, remembering a particularly loud fart she let out a few mornings ago, so loud she spooked herself.
“Aww, well you do look lovely with her, sir. Nice to see you bonding,” she comments, IV attracting her attention and pointing at the coffee machine. “A tea would be appreciated, thank you. Right, now we have Christmas looming upon us once again, Mr. Vessel. Are we doing the same as last year?”
“I’ll have to ask the boss,” he replies, Mary humming knowingly with laughter. “She’s still asleep, but I should think so. Just ask Bob to bring the trees in, and Grace and your best friend will probably see to the decorating.”
His wink at the best friend comment has her rolling her eyes. “That vampire will be the death of me!” The fondness in her voice, no matter how admonishing, shows her affection for him clearly. “Oh, and just to forewarn you, we have some protestors milling around at the gates again. Why they come in daylight when mostly, you’re all asleep, I’ll never know! It’s all down to that damned Daily Mail article!”
How her opinion has changed in the time she’s known you all, seeing with her own eyes that vampires truly are so much more than the horror stories that exist surrounding their kind. “Yes, I read it this morning. An awful piece. What happened to that woman was not because her now ex-husband was a vampire. It was because he was an abusive narcissist. His species matters not.”
Indeed, the story was a harrowing read, a woman laying bare her five-year ordeal trapped in a hellish marriage with an abusive husband. The fact that he was a vampire – a baby one at that given that he’d only just turned one hundred – mattered not. Of course, though, people will use what he is as an excuse to then light their torches against the entirety of vampirekind, their small mindedness not allowing them to see reason.
The actions of one do not speak for the millions of undead walking the earth. Try telling your average bigot that, though.
If only they could peek behind the door to see the harmony that abounds within your household, for example. Three doting vampires who not only cherish you to your bones, but also happily take on their share of caring for a tiny baby, a baby who often feels at her most settled within the embrace of a vampire.
Rather than understand it, though, they make it their business to shout loudly enough for all to hear, to stand and picket the houses they’ve discovered harbour the undead residing within. Even Aric, your local, friendly vampire police officer has found himself subject to it.
Indeed, this is how lacking in intelligence they are, to openly harass a two thousand plus year old Scythian tribesman, who marauded and conquered his way through the Middle East in his human years and now, as a vampire, has the powers to arrest them for trespass or harassment. Often both.
Mary soon potters off to begin her day, Ves taking Ivy into the main lounge for her tummy time activities, showering her with an abundance of toys she grasps and studies.
“No, let’s not eat Mr. Chameleon,” he advises, pulling the small plush away from her mouth. She’s become very curious about chewing things recently, her grasping facilitating this need to put things in her mouth. Her father’s Mjolnir pendant was explored recently, as well as a mouthful of your hair.
Looking up at him, she smiles, giggling, Ves feeling his insides bloom. “Oh, a very genuine smile for me, hm? That’s nice, now you’re getting used to who I am.” Reaching again, he dissuades her pursuit to once again taste the chameleon toy. “No, no, Ivy. I assure you that this is not edible. See look, now you have fluff all over your mouth.”
Cleaning off her little lips with his finger, she continues to squeal and giggle at him, Ves charmed by her beautiful innocence, the purity in how she finds such joy in simply exploring her surroundings and toys offered within it. Lifting herself up, she then sees who he sensed approaching, beaming and gurgling at watching you enter the lounge.
“Is that mummy? Oh, such excited shuffling,” he enthuses, Ivy kicking her legs around as you walk towards her, lowering to lie flat on your stomach next to Ves, kissing her little head.
“Hello, pretty munchkin! Hello!” You then turn your head, offering your husband a lingering kiss. “Thanks for letting me sleep in. I needed it.”
“Well, if you are going to ride me for an hour straight,” he chuckles. “How are your thighs?”
“Well bloody toned!” you laugh. “Are you okay to keep watching her while I go and make a bit of breakfast?”
“Absolutely,” he beams, picking up the small giraffe and offering it to Ivy. “We’re having a wonderful time going through all the animals and where they come from. I read that talking to them helps for their speech to eventually become well developed.”
You think it’s truly beautiful, the way he’s thrown himself into this now things between you are mended, Ves continuing to chat to her. “Ivy, this is a giraffe, native to Africa. Yes, and I shall take you there when you’re old enough to appreciate a safari. You’ll have to do that part with your mother, though, as alas uncle Ves here cannot tangle with the daylight. No, he cannot. Oh, you’re laughing again! Am I really that funny?”
The giggling and gurgling continue. “Ah ba blaph phhrrr!”
He turns to you. “I think that means yes.”
Kissing him, you chuckle, heading out and down to the kitchen, wishing good morning to all the staff you encounter on your way.
“Is that turkey bacon I smell?” you ask, finding IV standing at the air fryer.
“It is, do you want some?”
Moving to him, you wrap your arms around his waist, giving the side of his neck a few kisses. How you will never, ever tire of entering a room to find him standing within it. “Please, darl. I could murder a sandwich!”
“Ahh, you bugger. Mentioning bread and I can’t have none!” he exclaims, giving you a little whack on the bum with the spatula in his hand.
Turning, you frown, taking a loaf from the bread bin. “Who says?”
He pulls up his shirt. “This says. This definition I’m getting for not eating carbs!”
Ohhhh lord. You loved his hint of tummy, never, ever expecting him to change that, but the fact he is indeed getting himself a bit of a six pack? Mmmm. It’s hard to find a man already so attractive even more so, but his little gains in muscle definition definitely aren’t hurting.
“Like what you see, eh?” he winks, speaking into the silence your perving at him quite blatantly has left. “Just let me know when you want to study my gains up close. Ain’t about to stop you.”
“Mm,” you hum, wrapping your arms around him. “I think I will.”
Teasing a little tickle at the side of his neck with your nails, you turn back to the loaf of bread, slicing off two pieces, laughing softly about his mutters regarding you being a cock tease.
It’s about time you reconnected with him intimately, you think, the tics that made you so nervy, the lingering trauma too all subsided for having him back and getting to spend quality time with him. You’re well underway in the rebuilding of your relationship together, and as for what blighted your mind, the root cause of your fear towards him, your mum’s sage advice helped nicely.
“Remember when it happened, and we kept on trying to tell your dad how it was an isolated incident? Well, that’s because it was, babe. None of the factors that caused it exist any longer, do they? He isn’t a young, mentally broken vampire lost without his creator, is he? He never will be again, either, even when he’s turned back. That darkness, M removed it, didn’t she?”
She also went to great lengths to affirm that you had every right to feel unnerved around him, but that if you did want to successfully move forward and be in a relationship, then it was something you had to overcome. All in your own time, too.
Is a month too soon? You find yourself questioning it often. Surely, if comfort and security returns, there should be no standard frame applied to timing? Have you simply gone down too many Internet rabbit holes, reading of people describing their trauma as something that’s lingered dangerously close in the edges of their minds and the recesses of their hearts for years?
Have these people truly sought healthy recovery, though? Or much like IV himself once, considered themselves too far gone for help? Have any of them found themselves in the supremely unique circumstances that apply to your life? Was what they went through worse?
You know you could question yourself to death while searching for a perfect, textbook answer. Or you could realise that textbooks are for classrooms and not necessarily tools for life, go with what your gut tells you, and move forward with your life. Trauma, after all, affects everyone differently; attempting to treat your own using the same methods and standards that somebody else has is unrealistic. It would be like treating a wound with a dressing cut to a different size.
“Bacon!”
His chirp pulls you from your bread buttering daze, offering a slice forward for him to place the three rashers down upon. “Thank you! Expect me to eat like a horse at lunch, too. So flippin’ hungry!”
He laughs softly, placing more bacon into the air fryer basket. “Ves got me a bank card sorted again, so you’re good to put a dent in it.”
Slathering your sandwich with brown sauce, you close it, cutting it into two triangles. “I bet that was a ball ache avoided, since we didn’t need to declare you dead.”
With vampires, unless they are tax paying with an income – of which IV wasn’t - being that they are technically already classed as dead, no death has to be registered when they pass away. It means IV can continue as normal, his old documents still all usable.
“Yeah, but it’s hilarious using things like my passport with a big, red V stamped on it when I’m not one currently. The woman at LAX was so confused when we boarded our flight at 3pm, trying to work out why I wasn’t in a travel coffin.”
Oh, you bet that caused a lot of head scratching. “What did you say?”
He shrugs, scratching his short goatee. “Muttered something about being a special kind of impervious breed, grabbed my boarding pass and fucked off out of there quick, like, save her asking me anything else.”
Hmm, yep. That definitely sounds like something he’d do. If it were III, he’d likely regale her with a steady stream of difficult to follow bullshit, all in aid of his own amusement. II would have glared until she shrank behind the counter again, and Ves, well. Charm offensive one hundred percent.
After breakfast, you have a quick chat with Mary regarding the Christmas trees, confirming that as usual, you and III will decorate them and leave everything else to her. You can scarcely wait for the scent of her beautiful garlands to fill the house again, the fresh notes of pine wafting under your nose, complimenting all of the candles you buy in the same scent for the Christmas period.
Venturing back into the lounge, you spend your morning with your baby and Ves, you and Ivy having some soft play fun while her uncle sits with his nose in a book, very much enjoying his retirement by slowly working through II’s library.
“You’re going to ask me if I’m still happy to look after her while you and IV go for lunch, aren’t you?”
Vampiric perception; there’s truly nothing like it. "Are you?"
Smiling, he holds his hands out, waiting for you to duly pass Ivy over to him. "Absolutely. If I get stuck with anything, I can ask Mary for assistance."
You arch an eyebrow playfully. "You mean if she has a shitty nappy, yeah?"
"I can cope with that," he vouches, clutching Ivy to his chest. "I've read what needs to be done."
Somehow, you feel Mary is going to be called upon regardless of his confident resolve. "I'm going for a shower. I'll come and kiss you both goodbye before I leave."
"Okay, darling. Ivy and I are going to sit here and ruminate on a little Dostoevsky."
Smiling, you leave them to it. Three months old, and she's already having Notes from the Underground read aloud to her. Hypothetically, Ivy could never spend a single day at school when she grows up, but under Ves's tutelage, probably end up becoming better educated than most of her peers.
Getting yourself ready, you choose the simple outfit of a nice pair of black jeans, a grey fitted t shirt and your big, fake fur chinchilla coat to keep warm. Adding jewellery, you grab a bag from the wardrobe, taking a look around at the vast space and smiling to yourself. How on earth did you get so lucky to see so many designer labels staring back at you? However, being the humble girl you are, your collection is still littered with high street pieces, the bag you choose from Zara, for example.
You might be living the boujee life, but not so much that you don't enjoy a bargain when you see it.
"Who's this glamorous creature coming towards me, eh?"
Smiling as you reach the bottom of the stairs, you sink into IV's embrace. "Your wife."
Leaning to you, he presses a kiss to your lips. "I'm so fucking lucky. You look gorgeous."
The rigours of motherhood have left you favouring comfortable clothes, tied up hair and little makeup, so when you have an opportunity to look a little more polished, you take it gladly.
Heading out of the house, you climb into your car, driving down and clicking the small fob on your keys to open the huge, electric iron gates. A few people are still milling around, shouting their nonsense, IV winding down the window to raise his middle finger at them before you pull off down the lane.
"Absolute twats," he scoffs, shaking his head. "Have they got nothing better to do?"
Oh, the luxury of having little else pressing, leaving them with enough free time to stand outside somebody's house. "Apparently not. Arseholes."
You drive on, the familiar roads winding through the countryside, a gentle drizzle pattering against the windscreen and a persistent mist that’s lingered since the morning floating over the valley’s fields.
“Despite the morons at the gate, we’re so fucking lucky, eh?” His hand reaches over, giving your thigh a little squeeze. “I love it here. The house is like, next level beautiful, and the surroundings are so quiet.”
Appreciating that quiet, you smile at him, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. Life may bring with it the occasional bout of unwelcome attention from the small minded, but your day is set to be a nice one away from the baying congregation.
Well, until you inform IV that he’s being dragged Christmas shopping. He’s likely to protest at that.
Strangely, though, after two bowls of very delicious and very warming spaghetti bolognese have been consumed at the Italian restaurant your mum and Oliver highly recommended, he's completely open to the idea of trawling the shops.
It seems you aren't the only one who hasn't finished Christmas shopping. The vampires of the house (plus him) still don't buy for each other, but he's keen to purchase for others…
"Oi, piss off!"
Tightening your arms around his waist, you lean to kiss his cheek. "You don't have to get me anything, you know."
"Yeah, I bloody do!" he exclaims, hands moving to cover yours. "The first Christmas you were with us, I was too busy being a moody twat, and then… yeah. Wasn't there for the other two, was I?"
His absence was felt, too, all of your partaking in the usual family tradition of getting drunk or high, the four of you having a little intoxicated cry while hugging one another on that first Christmas without him.
"Having you back is a big enough present." You kiss his cheek again, giving him a little squeeze. "And you did give me something, that first Christmas."
He laughs quietly, and it's all filthy. "Yeah, yeah I did." More dirty chuckles follow. "I can give you that any time, though. I want to choose something special, like, but I don't think I'll find it here."
You wander around from shop to shop, gathering a large collection of bags IV insists on carrying for you, mostly things for Ivy within. You and II said you wouldn't spoil her on account of her still being so little, but even though she won't remember it, it is her first Christmas.
You take a quick tour of the high street, noticing IV looking across the road a couple of times, at which shop specifically, you're unsure. While you're in one that sells fancy candles obtaining some gifts for Meghan as well as yourself, he leaves you for a few moments, popping back in just as you're paying.
"Um, would you mind going and having a coffee at the Starbucks just up the road for half an hour or so?"
"Yeah, I don't mind that," you reply, puzzled. "Why?"
"I've decided on part of your Christmas present. Well, kinda partly for you and partly for me." Leaning to you, he kisses your lips. "I'll meet you there in a bit."
Leaving no clues for you, he lingers around until you're inside the shop, making sure you're not looking before waiting for a break in the traffic and sprinting back across the road…
You're enjoying your second cup of caramel latte by the time he rejoins you, grinning widely. "You want another one?" he asks, nodding at your cup.
"No, I'm alright." Frowning in curiosity, you eye him carefully. "Where've you been, then? I see no bags, so you haven't made a purchase."
"I have, but it couldn't be put in a bag." Lifting up his sweater, he then peels back the clingfilm dressing covering the left side of his chest, revealing it. "D'ya like it?"
Clasping your hands over your mouth, you can't believe your eyes. There, inked into the skin in beautiful cursive font, is your name. "IV!" you sob, eyes filling with tears. "Oh my god!" His gentle laughter continues as you get up, lowering his sweater and embracing you carefully, his chest obviously very tender. "It's beautiful! I love it, I really do!"
Kissing your cheek, his affection warms you right through, the sunshine of his love beaming so bright it makes the cold winter day feel positively humid. "Good, cos' I did worry you'd call me a twat."
Oh, god no. It's one of the most touching romantic gestures he could have done, inking your name into his flesh, something that will be with him for all eternity. As you will be one day, too, when you both walk this earth as vampires.
His return to undead status will be significantly sooner than your venture into a new existence, though.
After finishing your coffee, you both head back to the car, the late November chill biting at your cheeks making you shiver, glad to climb in and get the heater going. Driving back, you take care along the narrower roads leading to your house, the tarmac sparkling with a hint of frost, the cold snap of winter seeming to be upon you early this year.
With this in mind, you find it surprising that now, with the temperature dropping, there are still committed protestors milling around your frontage. As is IV when he spots the identity of one before you do.
"Fuck!"
Slowing down on the approach to the gates, you turn to see him ducked below the view of the windows, practically cramming himself down into the foot well. "What?"
"Your dad!"
It takes your brain a second to realise why he's hidden himself, stuck between disbelief that he's turned up and indignant that he's out there chatting with the people who are subjecting you to this anguish. Of course, in your father's mind, IV is very much dead.
"Shit! Did he see you?" you hiss, clicking the gate fob as you slow further, IV taking off his belt and crouching in the foot well beneath his coat, completely camouflaged within the gloom.
"Nah, doubt it, but I gotta stay down here in case he looks in!" he hisses, muffled by thick, woven wool.
Indicating, you swing the car left, your dad breaking away from the crowd. "Grace, I need to talk to you!"
Your foot hits the throttle, powering up the driveway, the gate not shutting quick enough to prevent your dad from entering through the gap.
"Shit!" You thump your palm off the steering wheel, watching him become a dot at the end of the drive in the rear view mirror. "Okay, when we pull up, I'll park off to the side so you can slip down the path that leads around the side of the house. He won't even see you get out."
"He's got a fucking nerve, turning up unannounced like that and slipping the gates!" he fumes as you slow to reverse your car around, your dad still a way off from reaching you. "I want to smack him one, but I'll leave that to the others if he starts up."
"Ves, I'm home and my fucking father is storming up the driveway!" you then speak, knowing that he'll hear you from within the house. Indeed, as soon as IV has scarpered around the side, Ves appears at the rear of your car. Oh, his face. His jaw is set so hard, he could probably bite through steel.
"Why the fuck are you on my property, Gary?" he shouts sternly, your dad walking as quickly as he can manage. "You aren't welcome here."
"I want to see Tanya and my daughter, that's why," he explains, out of breath as he finally arrives, leaving a good few feet of distance between himself and the looming vampire. Ahh, he finally learned his lesson, then.
Folding your arms, you station yourself at your husbands side. "And the concept of calling ahead is what, completely lost on you?"
He stands tall, but in a stance that indicates he knows he's on the back foot in this situation, clasping his hands together. "I knew you probably wouldn't want to hear what I had to say, so I didn't bother. Look, I just wanted to come and talk face to face with your mum, and of course see how you are while I'm here. I take it she's still here? She's been ignoring my calls."
Ves snorts, his brow furrowing. "Coming from the man who has thus far refused to speak with her unless it's been through a solicitor, that's rather rich, Gary."
"I know, I know that, Ves," he speaks calmly, "but I'm trying here. Trying to put my family back together."
Just then, the front door opens, II and III stepping out, looking irate.
"What the fuck is that doing on our fucking property?" III growls, II eyeing him with a glare, Ivy held securely against his chest.
Your dad holds his hands up defensively. "I come in peace, III. I understand I'm not everyone's favourite person, I do." He trails off then, his eyes moving to the baby, then back to you, his smile wide. "Is that her, your little girl?"
"No, this is a stunt baby," II sneers sarcastically. "The real one is inside."
"She's lovely, look at her!" he speaks softly, approaching slowly. "May I meet her?"
"One more step and I'll pass her to her uncle and finish what I started by the reservoir," he snarls, his eyes bleeding red. "Nobody has forgotten the cruelty of your mouth in suggesting that Grace abort her to appease you."
"Fair," your dad speaks, backing off again.
"And when exactly where you going to apologise for that, hmm?" you ask, eyes narrowing at him. "Because whatever you might have planned to say, trust me, it'll be too little, too late."
He takes a deep breath, beginning to approach, Ves holding out his hand.
"Absolutely not." His words are colder and more biting than the November chill. "You won't take another step towards my wife."
You dad nods, clearing his throat. "Grace, I am sorry for what I said to you, I really am. I…"
This is as far as he manages to get with his apology speech, the guesthouse doors opening across the small quad lawn, your mum and Oliver walking out.
"Gary?" she calls, shielding her eyes from the glare of the security light her movement from the house has prompted. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
Your dad's face starts to lose its colour as he notices Oliver approach with her, a secure arm wrapping around her waist. He points between them, his mouth dropping open. "What the hell is this, Tanya?" he demands, his demeanour changing in a nanosecond. "And who is he?"
"Oliver, my boyfriend," she speaks, coming to a stop a short way from you and Ves, folding her arms as she eyes him sharply. "What, did you think I'd wait around forever for you to come to your senses? As of last week, we're finally divorced, Gary, and I'm happier than I've been in a long time."
His face twists, an ugly visage of a man becoming churned down to his depths. "I-I came here to apologise, to talk! To get my family back together, and there you are with your new fancy man? You fucking slag!"
Oh, no he didn't. Oh, hell bloody no.
"What did you just call my mum?" you cry, storming towards him. "You got a goddamned nerve!" You hand flies out, and you make contact with a harsh slap around his face, your dad thunderous, grabbing your wrist.
"You will not bloody disrespect me by hitting me, Grace! I'm your father, I command…"
That's as far as he gets before his air is cut off by a large hand wrapping around his neck and hauling him back, the contact at your wrist dropped, Ves growling venomously.
"You command nothing of my wife." He then calls over his shoulder, releasing his grip on your dad. "III, call the police. Tell them we have a trespasser."
"Yeah, do it, III, and I'll have her arrested for assault!"
His own daughter… who simply acted in defence of her mother. Oh, how he hasn't changed from the nasty little man he became all those months before, if that's how quickly he can turn.
"You truly must be a special brand of idiotic, turning up here and antagonising not just one, but three vampires like this," Oliver drawls smoothly. "I think I see quite clearly why your ex-wife moved on as rapidly as she did, and why your daughter wants nothing to do with you."
"Yeah, dad. That still stands," you spit, rubbing your wrist, III moving behind you and wrapping you in the surety of his arms.
He points at you, backing off away from the vampires all glaring at him. "Call the police back and tell them it was a false alarm, or I mean it. I'll do you for assault. You need to learn respect, Grace, and you've had the fucking upper hand over me for too long now!"
Oh, his precious pride. They often say it comes before a fall. "This is the real reason you came, wasn't it? To cause trouble. You had no intentions of conflict resolve, did you? Fucking pathetic arsehole," you scoff, eyeing him with distaste.
He looks you up and down a few times, turning then to your mum. "Proud of her, are you? Over what a mouthy little cunt she's become."
"Oh, if I wasn't holding my daughter," II growls, "I'd really give you something to have me arrested for."
"Yes, I am, actually," your mum speaks, "very bloody proud. She's a wonderful wife and mother, and she'll be a better parent than you turned out to be a thousand times over. Now, unless it wasn't abundantly clear, we've all moved on with our lives, and you aren't included in them. Leave, or the police will turf you out. Either is good for me."
The flickering blue lights at the end of the drive signal their arrival, and you press the fob to open the gates. Two cars soon pull up, with you very glad to see one officer in particular exit the second of them.
"So, we've got a spot of bother with a trespasser, eh?" Aric speaks, approaching. "I'll take it that's you, fella?"
A finger is thrust in your direction, your dad's eyes bordering on maniacal. "I want her arrested! She assaulted me!"
Aric turns to you, looking back at him with a frown. "That doesn't sound very much like a Grace thing to do."
"Oh, know her personally, do you?"
The tall vampire nods. "Aye, I know her quite well, like." He then looks around at everyone else assembled, raising an eyebrow. "Did anybody else happen to see this alleged assault, anyone who we can take a statement from?"
A resounding shaking of heads answers him. "My daughter didn't move a muscle, Aric," your mum speaks, gesturing in the direction of your dad. "Him and his nasty mouth have been coming out with all sorts, however."
"Right, well there we have it. No assault and one man trespassing."
"I can't be arrested for it!"your dad shouts, pointing a finger at Aric, who simply snorts with laughter. "I'll have your badge number and see you in court for this, or worse! Trust me, I could do worse, find out where you live!"
Aric lifts his chin, raising a dark eyebrow. "Oh, yes you can, pal. You've turned up here and acted aggressively, and now you're, what shall we call this? Ahh yeah. Threatening a police officer." One nod and two of the others who arrived in the first car approach him, cuffs pulled out, your dad putting up a struggle before he's taken down to the gravel beneath his feet and handcuffed. "Get him out of here, lads."
The shorter, yet sufficiently stockier of the two nods. "On it, sarge."
"Oh, and get them showers of shite down at the gates cleared off and all, will ya's?"
"Yeah, will do." the taller of the officers replies.
With your dad bundled into the car, ranting and raving as he goes, you turn to Aric. "Sergeant Zarandou now, eh?"
"Aye," he grins, "got meself a little promotion! Now, I might've only just started me night, but until I get another call on the radio, I could murder a cuppa." Walking towards II, he reaches his hands out, being passed Ivy. "And having a little cuddle of the bairn before she's off to bed will do, too." Ivy chirps and gurgles, immediately making a grasp for his long, black ponytail, bringing it to her mouth. "Ahh no, pet. Let's have none of that hair eating."
Laughing softly, you fall into step at his side, everyone following you into the house.
"So, did you twat him one?" Aric asks with a hum of amusement, bouncing Ivy in his arms.
"Is it off the record?" you ask, hearing him snort.
"Of course, it is."
"He called my mum a slag, so I slapped him around the face."
At hearing this, he laughs quietly. "Hm, deserved. I can turn a blind eye to a smack. Anything bigger and it'd have been a no go."
"Ahh, so I have a limit?" you joke, Aric giving you a little nudge with his elbow.
"Just don't push it because we're friends, like."
You don't intend to, of course being much smarter than that. Nobody will ever, ever, get away with being so disgusting to your mum, though. You doubt your dad will learn that, but maybe a few hours in a cell might give him the humbling he needs before he's released. Either way, you know your future will only be brighter for severing the very last tie with him.
If that's how he wishes to behave, everyone is truly better off without him.
Aric doesn't stay for long, having an incident called through he needs to leave quickly to attend, telling you he'll pop around and let you know how things are going regarding your dad's charges. After seeing him out, you get your little one off to sleep, watching her eyes hang heavy before she's dozing peacefully, making those adorable little baby snuffles. You could listen to them forever.
Exiting her room, you're joined by IV coming down from the floor above, opening his arms. "I went straight upstairs when I got in, just in case you invited him in. Guessing you didn't, though."
"No, but we did have him arrested." He gapes slightly, and you move to your bedroom, sitting down on the sofa by the window so you can be comfortable while you explain the incident. All the way through, you witness his face change into a series of expressions that convey his feelings, laughing at the end to hear he was the one who ended up being carted off in the back of a police vehicle, rather than you.
"You're right," he speaks at the end of your explanation. "I think he was only nice to try and get your mum back onside. That kind of switch in his temperament as soon as he saw she'd moved on proves it, that like, his true colours were bubbling under the surface still."
You take a moment to mull it all over, the events of that evening and, somewhat surprisingly, you realise they haven't left you even close to reeling. Simply, you feel calm, settled, unbothered. The damage to your relationship with your father was done long ago, and truly, you made your peace with it then.
All he proved tonight was that he isn't the kind of person you have any desire to keep around. Family or not, toxicity has no place in your life.
"How's the sore chest?" you ask, pointing in the direction of his new tattoo.
He pulls up his sweater, revealing it. "No longer sore. III pricked his finger and gave me some instant healing," he speaks, smiling when you lean to kiss it. "Hm, while you're there."
His words, although only delivered in tease, have you reaching for his sweater, pulling it over his head before you move back to pressing kisses over his chest. "Mm, yeah. While I'm here." You kiss him again, heat sparking, IV wrapping his arms around his waist. Pulling back, you gaze at him, a mixture of love and flaming desire twinkling in your eyes as you jerk your head in the direction of the bed. "I'd much rather be over there, though."
Lifting you in his arms, he carries you over to the bed, your kisses flickering with gentle heat. It's about time, you think, to reconnect with him fully. Also, it's very nearly Christmas. Why not give one another your standard gift a little early?
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Summary: A year has passed since the events that left your newly formed family shattered, the four of you continuing to move ahead with your lives as best you can. The introduction of new equal rights laws for vampires across the United Kingdom marks a significant turning point, offering hope and the promise of greater acceptance. With these changes, you and II feel empowered to finally take the next step towards expanding your family, beginning to plan for the arrival of a child.
However, the journey towards this new chapter is not without its uncertainties. A new friend, with the best of intentions, offers some advice that despite your judgement, lingers in the back of your mind. Regardless of the strength of your bond and the depth of your commitment, you find yourself questioning whether these concerns hold any merit.
Your trust in the resilience of your marriage remains steadfast, and you dismiss the warning as unfounded. Yet, as time unfolds, those doubts prove harder to ignore. It is only when envy emerges unexpectedly - affecting one of the vampires you hold dear - that the true challenge reveals itself, threatening the peace and unity you have worked so hard to build.
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty
Words: 6,951
Warnings: Vampire fic, mentions of blood and gore, plus lots of smut. 18+ content, minors DNI!
Tag list: In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.
"Is Grace drunk?"
To be fair, with everything you've been through recently, you needed it. Needed a night away from the constant demands of motherhood, of being a wife to four, two of which you're solid as ever with, one you are reconnecting to, and the other barely speaking to at all.
"Mm," you hum, holding onto II's hand as you sway a little bit. "Just enough to take you upstairs and give you a really, really good time."
Leaving the baby for even a single night felt impossible to you, but your mum and III talked you into going away for the weekend , II's proposal of a very short break away to London, tied in with a little consultancy work he's doing for a Viking display at the Victoria and Albert museum. You're both tired, and need the chance to remember who you are as a married couple before you became parents, so with your little one being very well taken care of by her adoring uncle and doting nanny, off you went to bask beneath bright lights of the city.
Or rather, have your husband take you to Asian eatery Tattu for dinner, where the food is excellent and the cocktails are notoriously strong. Now, with your appetite for sushi and alcohol nicely sated, there's another that needs to be catered to.
It was III who got you on Tuesday. Now, it only seems fair you let II relieve his two month wait. God, how you want him just as much, too. You've spent all night yearning for him, seeing him sat across from you in an all black suit, his shirt open just enough to reveal a little peak of blonde hairs and plentiful tattoos.
Once in the privacy of your room, your kisses gain feverish heat, abandoning the idea of the bed for that moment and pushing him down to sit in the char, climbing astride his strong thighs. You run your hands down his chest, II shrugging his jacket off, hands then swiftly having your dress undone and bunched at your waist. With your confidence bolstered by alcohol, there is no hesitation there like there was a few days ago with III, your desire outweighing your feelings of body image insecurity.
He pulls your bra from you, mouth moving to lick in flicker upon your nipple, your head tipping back as you grind yourself against his hard cock, his teeth prickling in bite upon the pebbled bud in response to that. He daren't suck, not wanting to end up with a mouthful of breast milk, which despite the fact his diet is strictly blood only, he definitely does not have a kink for.
His breath flutters cool against you, groaning with arousal, his tongue running slowly from between your breasts and back to your mouth. "I missed you like this, my beautiful wife," he murmurs against your lips, hands moving to grip the rounds of your bum and pull you closer. "Can't wait to feel you squeezing on my cock."
Pushing you back, he moves you to your feet, pupils blown with lust through his vermilion stare, gripping those soaking undies and tugging them down. Shuffling the chair forward, he lifts your leg over his shoulder, scattering kisses up your inner thigh, the anticipation making you pant, a soft gasp fluttering over your lips as his mouth meets your folds. A firm lick rolls through the wet of you, his tongue seeking your clit and circling, flickering, evoking your wails, your hands going to his hair, nails flexing against his scalp as you mewl in delight. Each lick has your blood running hot, sends glimmers through you, little shocks of pleasure tingling your entire core as your cries rend the air.
He has you panting hard, each skim of his tongue over your tiny, potent little bundle making your hips rock against his mouth, his arms wound around you, one gripped to your waist, the other squeezing upon the rounded orb of your bum.
Oh, god above. You've missed your Viking.
His lips close in suck, your legs shaking, the heat of it snapping over your bones, the pleasure biting and full-bodied, a bright burn of warmth making the coil within you tighten sharply. Flattening his tongue against you, he lets you get off on the wide drag of it, the tip caressing your dewy opening as your clit throbs against the press, his hand moving to begin undoing his trousers.
“I could spend hours here, but fuck, I need you on my cock.” You’re so aroused, you can barely form thought as he pulls it out, thick and perfect, running it through the slick petals of your sex as you sit back astride him before feeding it into your gaping little hole, filling you with a rumbling growl.
White hot pleasure sizzles up your spine, ascending like a flurry of bubbles, the taste of yourself upon his hungry mouth more erotic than you can comprehend, moaning against his tongue as your rock back and forth upon him. There, both still half dressed and alight with embers for one another, you feel yourself blooming, mouth upon his as you moan, tongues rolling together, kisses all fire and honey.
The sensations of your walls being split so wide around him has bolts of pure bliss skittering through you, your tender little clit grinding against him as his hips buck up against you, pushing you back to devour your breasts with kisses, nibbles and licks.
The way his hands tour you, stroking ever rise and curve of your body, it has you just as mindless as the delicious drag of his cock over every sweet spot within you, scraping sparks through your walls, his groans deep and rich as he paws at you with unrelenting hunger. The heat of it roars like a forest fire, the embers sizzling over your nerves as your mutual moans fill the room, bliss tumbling through you both. It’s fervid and delicious, scorching and unrelenting, everything you know sex with II to be, and has been from that very first time you were with him.
His eyes are a bonfire of crimson glitter as he stares at you, fingers tangling in your hair, kissing you again with urgent need as his cock sends glimmers fizzing through you. It becomes even more uncontained, the power of him beneath you incredible, hands tightening upon your shoulders as he forces you down upon the rigidity of him, making you to take the brunt of every hard snap of his hips, hitting you so deep, you’re sent reeling and mindless atop him as your thighs tremble.
Your cries reach crescendo as the stars surge forth, entire nebula's glittering into decadent light, your walls fluttering around him, dragging his release from him as he groans and comes deep into the spasm of your cunt.
"Mmm, fuck that was so good," you pant, feeling his cock gently twitching within you, II grinning widely.
"I'm not done yet."
Words you're very fond of hearing.
He carries you to the bed, only losing the tangency to remove clothes, lying you down, sinking back into your warmth to the hilt. His hands encircle your wrists, pressing your arms down above your head, staring at you unblinkingly before his lips find yours again. His hips roll against you, spearing deep, the pace slow, but so scintillating and fevered, feeling yourself being remade around him. That sure press of his cock has you sparking, tongue slowly rolling with his, your fingers clenching on nothing as he keeps you pinned there.
You're soaking, your walls a slick heaven of velvet around him, II unable to resist slipping from you and kissing his way down to wrap you in a hungry suck, eating you like a starving man would gorge upon ripe fruit.
"You always taste sweeter after you come," he murmurs, "and I've no idea why that is, but I'm not bloody complaining."
His lips firm a suck around your bundle, and it sends a fiery chill ebbing through you, your back arching from the bed with a soft mewl. With his hands kneading at your thighs, your writhe against his face, II turning away and with a rapid snap of his fangs, sinking a bite into your inner thigh, feeding from his favourite artery with a deliciously deep growl.
While you're in the midst of having an amazing time, somebody else back in Bath is making her displeasure known.
"Oh, small! What is all the fuss about, hmm? What's wrong?" A slightly flustered Oliver asks Ivy, whose decibels have reached ear splitting.
"She's crying for III," he's told, Tanya coming to assist, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "He'll be here soon, baby cakes! Yes! He's just in the shower, because you threw up all in his hair. Yes, you did!"
"Isn't it a funny thing, how she settles for the vampires much faster than humans," he muses, gently bouncing the squealing tot in an effort to pacify her. "They're always the monsters in stories, who children should be scared of. Not that they aren't all great fellas, but it's so cute that this little one here is so drawn to them."
"They have a lovely bond," she smiles, stroking Ivy's hair. "I think it's the deadness in them she likes, too. They have a quietness about them that seems to soothe her."
"Hmm, never thought of that, petal." He leans to kiss her head, and she leans into him, happiness swelling despite her granddaughter's conniptions. "Shall we head back to yours once he's done, order a takeaway or something?"
Wanting a little of her own space, she's recently taken up residence in the guest house on the property, but she's up there at the house so often it sometimes doesn't feel like it.
"Eat here!" the voice of III sounds as he enters the orange lounge, hair still wet, shirtless, dressed in his favourite jeans that no longer have knees. There's also what he likes to call the Grace tear at the back, a space you can slip your hand into and give his bum a good squeeze, loving the fact that just like the rest of the vampires, he always goes commando. "I could murder some Chinese food right now!"
To be fair to III, he'd stroll around completely naked a lot more if he could get away with it.
"Alright, I suppose we could do that," Oliver replies brightly, handing Ivy over to her uncle. As soon as she's in his arms, silence. Well, she gurgles happily, beaming at him while reaching to try and hold the long, platinum chain around his neck, the scythe pendant catching her eye.
"Have you seen this?" he speaks proudly, gesturing to Tanya. "She isn't supposed to be purposefully grasping yet, but she's trying! Can't quite get it yet, but she wants it!"
They're joined by Mary then, poking her head around the door. "I'm off for the night now, sir. See you in the morning, and for the love of god, put a t shirt on! You have company!"
"I know!" he enthuses, pointing downwards. "Showing off my sexy hip creases, see?"
"Wait." She vanishes, heading quickly down to the laundry and grabbing a black one from the pile she was going to iron come the morning, knowing he isn't bothered either way. "Here, give me Ivy and pop it on."
He tuts, taking it from her. "Always censoring me, Mary. Got my nipples out and everything, just for you!"
"I'm going home!" she tells him sternly, handing the baby back. "He's for you to deal with now, ma'am."
Tanya gives her a little salute through her chuckles, Oliver shaking his head. "You live to wind that poor woman up, don't you?"
"She loves it," III chirps, sitting down, holding Ivy to his chest as he strokes her back. With her second nightly bottle already given, he enters the little routine in settling her. Stroking her back until she drifts off usually does it. "Right, food. Let me just go and find IV, see if he wants in on this." He then takes a moment to read the room, cringing slightly. "Sorry, did you two want some alone time?"
"No, no! It's fine!" Oliver insists. Tanya isn't quite as polite, though, but she is discreet.
"I want food and sex!" she mouths, grinning from behind her boyfriend.
III snorts softly, standing up. "Text me what you want and I'll do the ole' Uber Eats."
Once he's certain Ivy is in deep enough slumber to leave her, he puts her down in her cot, not bothering with the baby monitor. Of course, he'll hear her wherever he is in the house. Dashing up a floor, he tries to find his younger sibling, his bedroom vacant, zooming down to the kitchen. No IV. Hmm.
"You seen IV?" he asks, poking his head around the main lounge door, where Ves is sitting enjoying a glass of blood by the fire, an open book in his lap.
"He mentioned something about working out."
"Right."
The atmosphere is so thick between them, it could be cut with a knife. "Are you going to persist in giving me the cold shoulder, III?"
"Pretty much, yeah," he replies, folding his arms. "You upset my wife and made her panic at a time she didn't need to be panicking. I heard your argument out in the orangery a few days ago, too. I'm on her side, so yeah. As much as it was worth it, and we all appreciate you bringing him back, you should have thought about all this before you fucked off to another continent without a word, innit?"
He's gone before Ves has a chance to reply, the vampire growling low in his throat.
While the eldest of the family is wrestling with the consequences of his actions, the younger is out on the patio, forty burpees into the fifty that will finish his workout. III arrives with him, raising an eyebrow.
"What's all this in aid of, eh?" He then sniffs the air, nose crinkling slightly. "You smell like a wrestler's crotch."
IV continues counting out each burpee, lungs heaving with the effort. "And you look like one." He then winks, laughing through his breathlessness. "Walked into that one, didn't you?"
"Shut up, dickhead," he scolds, sitting down on the back step. "So, what's with the fitness? You didn't answer me."
He still doesn't, holding up his finger before finishing out the set. "Because I want to enter vampirism looking a bit better this time around. And I'm bored. You're always busy with the baby, Grace and II are away and Ves is content with his nose in a book. With no local skate park either, I need a hobby away from guitar and wanking."
III shrugs. "Fair comment, but you ain't exactly chubby, mate."
IV slaps his stomach. "I'd settle for this being a bit firmer." Grabbing his water, he takes a big glug, his lungs still burning in protest at all the effort.
"So, you're not down for Chinese food, then, no?"
Hmm. A tempting prospect if ever there was one. "I suppose I can stick to something moderately healthy. No chips or fried rice."
He does, and just under an hour later he and III are sitting eating their share of the takeaway in the lesser used green lounge, one which the latter has slowly been making his own. All kinds of macabre items have been moved into it, as well as an abundance of taxidermy animals. Mary almost died of fright at entering to find his newest acquisition of a huge brown bear posed in attack staring back at her.
"Four months isn't a lot of time, you know," III says, horrifying his sibling by tipping pineapple fritters into a beef curry. Syrup too.
Pausing from lifting a cold beer to his lips, IV frowns. "For what?"
"For you to get all buff!"
"Oh." Placing the bottle down, he picks up his bowl of szechuan chicken, digging the chopsticks in. "Well, I've started already, out in the rainforest. Exercise helped the pain. And the time of me being turned depends, don't it? I could wait a bit longer, until I see results. I know I've been saying I can't wait to be turned back again, but I suppose there's no harm in delaying, enjoying a few human things while I am one."
"Like food and booze?" he questions, grinning. "Never stopped me! Well, boozy blood, innit."
"Yeah, but hopefully I won't be such a miserable cunt this time around as a vampire. I'll have that thing, the love of life." He clicks his fingers, attempting to remember "French thing."
"Joie de vivre?" III offers.
"Yeah, that's the one," he confirms, chewing through a particularly spicy piece of chicken, fanning his mouth. "Jesus wept, that's aggressive!"
"Probably more joie de la mort in our case, being the living dead." Still IV puffs and blows his way through the chicken, III frowning. "Is it really that hot?"
The bowl is thrust forward. "Try it."
A fork is dug in, III having no time for the faffing that is using chopsticks. "Mm, it's alright. Moderate." He then grins, and it's pure devilment. "Gone all soft since you returned mortal."
"Piss off."
He guffaws, nudging him, picking up the remote and turning on the TV. "Your choice, what do you want?"
"Has Netflix got any better since I've been dead?"
"Nah," III replies, heaping another mouthful of his vile concoction into his mouth. "They did all the good stuff already, all the murderer specials and the scandals." He then begins to chuckle. "They even did one about vampires and the whole fucking backlash we're facing from the equal rights bill. Interviewed the PM's wife and everything. People were right up in arms about it!"
IV snorts softly, still negotiating the heat of his dinner, actually considering a glass of milk to help with the burn. Oh, this is not going to be pleasant on exit. Why did he request extra chillies? "I bet Gary was one of 'em. Does he know about Oliver yet?"
III shakes his head, grabbing a spring roll from the bag. "He doesn't. He'll only communicate with Tan through solicitors. He's actually going for the entire B&B, you know! She's been fair and said he can buy her out, that she has no intention of returning to Scotland, but he's being a shit about it."
"Yeah, she told me the solicitor II hired for her is an absolute shark and not backing down even a little bit over it all," he comments. "That was really good of him, to do that for her."
"Tanya is amazing, and she fucking deserves it, y'know? Oh, did he tell you he finally got his revenge on him? Gary fucking put his hands on her, grabbed her arm so hard he left bruises, so II took him forty minutes away from the B&B when he and Ves went to go fetch her, let him have a verbal tirade and then cracked him twice in the jaw!"
IV guffaws at that, picking up his beer. "Bastard had it coming." They're silent for a few minutes, III flicking through the household Prime account, looking for something to watch, IV waving his finger when he lands on Taxi Driver. "That! Put that on! Remember when it first came out, and we went to the cinema to watch it?"
"I do," III replies, "and I had to virtually sit on your lap to stop you from having blood cravings for the girl sitting in front of us." He was only two in his vampire years back in 1976. "Do you think you'll be the same this time around? I'd guess not, since your body will remember what it is to be undead, eh? All the blood craving and feral behaviour is down to us becoming used to what we are, innit, and you had just shy of fifty years being a vampire."
He shrugs. "I dunno, but you might be right. I'll ask Ves." Pausing he finishes his mouthful of food, taking a swig of beer. "Are you still not speaking to him?"
"Kinda." He pauses then, listening intently to the little grizzles he can hear coming from the main bedroom. "Hang on, Sproggy Pants is possibly pre-meltdown." He waits a few seconds, hearing her eventually revert to pissed off snuffles before she's quiet again. "Okay, she's fine. Yeah, I'm just really fucking pissed off at him for fucking off and not telling us. Like both Grace and II have said, we understand that it was delicate and he was trying to protect us, and everything he did was worth it to have you back, but he should have kept us in the loop."
"I agree, and I did tell him that," he replies, "but I also get that like, Ves is really difficult to negotiate with if he thinks he's right. It's cos' he's so old, ain't it?"
"Old and fucking stubborn." He then hears a low growl coming from the other side of the house. "Stop listening in then, if you can't deal with my truth!" he snaps, rolling his eyes. IV still can't quite get used to it, that his ears no longer pick up on every little sound.
The door suddenly flies open, Ves standing there looking angered, pointing at III. "Remember what happened the last time you disrespected me?"
"I do." Leaning back, he kicks his feet together. "Lost my legs, but you can't threaten me with ripping my limbs away when all of this wasn't my fault. For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction, and mine is being annoyed. Pulling rank on me as my creator isn't just unfair, Ves, it's you trying to get out of being the one in the wrong, innit?"
An annoyed grunt permeates the air, Ves vanishing once more. There's truly nothing to say in the face of that. III is right.
The tension lingers in the house from the loggerheads III and Ves find themselves within, four weeks passing by and still the atmosphere a little tense. However, there are moments of levity to be found away from your marriage issues. Most of them revolve around your beautiful daughter.
"Arrrr la la la," she gurgles, grinning hugely at her daddy as he lies in bed, Ivy on his chest. He then delights in watching her brace her forearms, lifting herself up. "Baby, turn around, look at her!"
"Oh wow!" you enthuse, watching the little milestone of progress, each of which you've both come to utterly cherish. "Look at you, buba!"
Ivy gurgles, looking back at her dad and giggling. "What?" he asks, reaching to gently boop her nose with his index finger. "What do you have to tell me now, hm?"
"Barla la la baaap!"
"Barla la la baaap!" he parrots back at her, laughing when her smile widens even more. "What is all this nonsense you babble at me, child?" He then points across the room, where you're pulling on a big, comfortable sweater. "Look, that's mummy. Isn't she bloody lovely?"
Turning, you smile at them both, II waving one of her toys around, watching as her eyes follow the brightly coloured plush dinosaur. "We're going to have to clean up our language in a few months, save her picking up anything she shouldn't and thus having a foul mouthed baby on our hands."
"I'll absolutely lose it is she says the word fuck, or calls somebody a wanker," he grins, looking to you again with a little hum. "What? Why are you giving me the evil eye?"
You point, moving to crawl up the bed and look above him. "You will not teach our baby how to swear."
He's shaking with laughter, snapping his teeth at your pointed finger. "Not even little ones?"
"Magnus!"
He rolls his eyes. "Fine, no swearing. She shan't hear it from me, but her uncle? Different matter entirely."
As soon as you're downstairs and she spots that uncle, she's overcome with excited kicking and babbling, her face lighting up.
"Ba la ba, harrlaa!"
"Sproggy Pants!" he cries, taking her from her father, blowing a massive raspberry on her tummy, her giggles delighting him as always. "All smiles, eh? After you howled the house down for most of the day! How's she doing now?"
"Her temperature has come down, but she's still fussing about being given Calpol. Don't like it, do you, Ivy?" you reply, leaning to kiss her cheek. "Hated mummy trying to syringe it into your mouth, didn't you?"
A baby with a high temperature and a cough is a nightmare to negotiate, with you up most of the day taking care of her, II forgoing rest to help while you both kept her cool and tried in vain to settle her into sleep. With her final feed given, she happily drifts off, and you take her back upstairs into her own bedroom you've had done out to look a little less English Heritage chic and more suitable for an infant, placing her down in her cot.
"Goodnight, my little lamb. Love you." you whisper, your heart melting as ever. Leaving the room, you're confronted by the sight of Ves coming to a rapid stop in front of you, his eyes sad.
"It's been just over a month, Grace," he speaks, "and the tension between us lingers." Pausing, he reaches for your hands, stepping closer. "I'm sorry, my darling. I truly am so sorry for all the upset I put you through. I miss you, miss my wife beside me, miss her smile and her love."
And god, how you miss him, too. This, you note, is the first actual sincere attempt at an apology for his lack of awareness in handling the whole IV situation. It counts for a lot, too, for him not to be adding a 'but', or attempting to explain it away by reminding you of the ultimate goal.
Reaching for him, you pull him down to your level, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I've missed you, too." Deeper kisses follow, and you feel your heart fluttering, wrapped in the surety of his long limbed embrace. In marriage, sometimes you have to meet in the middle with your spouse, realise that some issues you might forever differ on, but ultimately, not let them define your overall relationship going forward.
You'll never be one hundred percent okay with his actions, and he will never truly consider them entirely wrong, but as long as both parties can acknowledge the concern from both sides - which you of course both do - that's the point where you call truce. All grievances have been heard and accepted, both sides aired out, and now you move forward.
Marriage: it isn't always smooth sailing. Especially when you're married to vampires. They are, if nothing else, tricky creatures to negotiate at times. The ease of their emotional steadiness in shades and blindingly fierce love do make up for that, though.
He moves you swiftly to his bedroom, over to the window seat, sitting back with you comfortably placed between his long legs, wrapping you in his love as he kisses your neck.
"This is a beautiful life we have built for ourselves, such love has bloomed forth out of the moments of sheer desperation and darkness we have faced in our three years together," he speaks solemnly, looking out over the grounds of your home. "I own my part in our fracture, darling, but I do not wish for it to sully the wonderful marriage we have. I see that I should have shared my plans, I do. I am not so old and stubborn that I don't."
You turn back to him, arching an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"
Humming a chuckle, he pinches your nose playfully. "Bloody piss taker."
Warm laughter settles at the edges of your words, reaching to stroke his face. "I don't either, so I'm happy to call a truce. I've been so angry with you for so long, it's exhausting, holding onto it. Plus, you did do a wonderful thing for our family in bringing back the one we were all missing. How do you feel about it all, now he's back?"
His arms tighten around you, resting his cheek to the top of your head. "Like the gaping pit of mourning I carried within has been filled. It ripped a part of me away, waking up and not being able to feel him after that month of unconsciousness. It's preferable, to live without the ache, to see him returned and unburdened by the shadows that once followed him."
He reaches beneath your chin then, turning your head to face him. "Anyway, I'd much rather spend this time kissing my beautiful wife than speaking, so if you could indulge your husband here with those pretty lips, he would be thankful."
You hum into the kisses you share, basking in the aura of his love. Very quickly, too, another energy quite literally rises up between you. One you are in no hurry to cease feeling.
"Oh," you murmur against his lips, something very big and very, very hard poking against your spine. "You really did miss me, didn't you?"
"Mmhmm." He kisses you again, fingers trailing in circles at the sides of your neck. "I wouldn't be unwelcoming over you helping me with it, either."
Falling into deeper kisses, you let him lift you up, wrapping yourself around him, transported to his bed. Beneath him, you feel all the anger, the hurt and upset melt under the precision of his touch.
Pausing, you eye him with suspicion. "Just to check, you aren't making good with me simply because you want to get your dick wet, are you?"
"My wife, ever the charmer with her turns of phrase," he scoffs lightly. "No, darling love. I just need to be with you again. Urgently."
His mouth covers yours once more, and you moan against his tongue, your legs widening enough to allow his body to slot between. Feeling him hard against your centre, you gently rut against him, feeling the ridges of his cock stimulate, both of you chasing the desire that's flushing hot like a fever beneath your skin.
Your body shivers beneath his, Ves beginning to undress you with patience, savouring the reveal of your body to his adoring eyes. "Be careful around the boobs area," you warn him, his clever fingers having your bra clasp flicked on the first attempt, pulling it from you.
"Sore?" he asks.
"A little, but it was more over you getting a mouthful of milk."
He snorts on a laugh, pulling a face. "And that is definitely not intended for me!"
"Nope!" you chuckle softly before returning to the moment, kissing him, the patter of your nails down his back making him quiver against you. Sparks gleam in gentle fission, his hand slipping down your side and into the waistband of your soft lounge trousers.
"Mm, no undies," he grunts, biting your lip. "Your husband very much approves."
His fingers slink into the velvet of you, gilding the petals of your sex with the sunshine of his touch, and you gasp against his lips at that first contact. It hits you then, staggeringly, that you haven't been intimate with him for almost six months, counting the time he was locked away in the study as well as the time from his departure and return.
That rhythmic stroking centres over your clit, his perfect touch having you panting against his lips, your little gasps making his cold blood burn hot. Flint strikes flare when his fingers slide down to slip into the molten clutch of you, hooking, raking your sweet spots, his fangs popping out when he feels your slick muscles tighten upon them.
His lips trail to your neck, sumptuous kisses full of longing bestowed, the sharp of his fangs sinking in before he feeds from you sending your brain muddled. Your sex aches for more, the honeyed scent of your arousal calling to him, Ves kissing his way down your skin in a heated path, hands pulling your trousers off.
Settling between your legs, he pitches them over his shoulders, mouth lowering to sink his tongue into the warm wet of you, his groan eerily beautiful at claiming that first taste of your dew. The heat of your pleasure burns deep, your marrow smouldering to ash as he offers the kind of deep, long slicks that have your bud swelling against his tongue, your hands tangling in the soft of his hair as your hips quake against his face.
"Missed me, haven't you, darling?" he whispers, pressing a kiss to your clit, his tongue returning to beat upon it rhythmically.
"Ahh!"
That's all the reply he truly needs, smiling against the soaked velvet of your folds, blowing on your gently in tease before those precise licks return. Your body ripples like a wave, your cry of ecstasy snagging against your throat, coming broken, Ves meeting the rhythm you need perfectly as your body and his mouth fall into sync.
The wet laving of his tongue, the return of his fingers to pleasure you in a firm, upward press that circles while gaining speed has you panting hard, feeling as if you're coming apart. The sound of it is filthily lewd, and you know you're trickling onto the sheets below, a panting, mewling mess of a woman lost in the divinity that crackles like lava beneath your skin.
You feel yourself ascend sharply, and it's almost too much as with a shriek, your legs tense against the sides of his head and your hips grind, riding out the crest of the huge wave against his mouth as he steers you through it. Emerging, he licks his lips, eyeing you with beautiful, reddened eyes that glitter with dark lust, kneeling before you to spear himself into the soaking heat he's been missing for months.
It forces the breath from your lungs, pleasure flaring through you as that long, girthy cock fills and empties you, Ves leaning to offer kisses steeped in burning embers, his big hands holding your thighs spread. He's contained for a brief time before needing to claim you, deep and hard, arrowing into you again and again.
Lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, he sinks in even deeper, and it's like you can feel him in your chest. The air fills with your soft cries, his rumbling groans and the wet slap, slap, slap of his cock fucking you hard. You shiver at it, pulses and sparks flickering up your spine, succumbing to the mind-numbing power of his fuck as he remakes you around him there in the centre of his bed.
He's overcome with it, head turning to place a dry bite into the meat of your leg, the pain sizzling, feeling it in your bones, his hand stroking his way to your neck.
"Can I?"
You nod permissively, and his fingers clench, holding you there beneath his grip, his index finger moving away to push between your lips. "Mmm, yeah. Fuck, you're beautiful, so beautiful with my hand around this pretty neck, darling."
A particularly hard shunt drives him right into a sweet spot, ebullience skittering, your verbalisation all feral growl. "Oh, fuck that feels so good, Ves! Oh god, fuck!"
Of course, he does it again, and again, until your spine is alight, screaming in utter rapture of the burning release that scorches through you like a forest fire. With his own crest pulsing ever closer, he only just about manages to pull from the heaven of your fluttering cunt, moving to straddle your chest.
"Be my good girl, open your mouth."
You do, a steam of cold cum bathing your tongue, Ves groaning gutturally through the spasm of each spurt, your fingers reaching to grab his nipples and twist as you close your mouth around the head of his cock and suck his spend from him further. The way he looks down at you, oh wow. You're not set to leave this bedroom at any point soon.
Turning you, his hands grasp your hips, his knee shunting to spread your thighs further, cock slotting back into the soaking, ruined mess of your cunt. The press of him is heavy, and he's slow to begin with, stirring the heat in your veins thick and syrupy, each ridge of his thick shaft scraping against your walls.
The pleasure of it skitters up your spine one vertebrae at a time, his fingers pattering down on the outside, driving flushes of goose pimples to race over your skin like tiny herds of wild horses.
"Harder, please!" you cry, and he chuckles amusedly, hand landing in a hard smack against your bum.
"If my beauty insists on me wrecking her."
He pitches himself forward, and the change in angle has you gasping, Ves pressing kisses of sugared sin at the back of your neck as he fucks himself into you with pounding, smacking strokes. Your mouth drops open, a silent scream, eyes closing tightly, your whole body throbbing with ecstasy as you're pounded at the speed only vampires can ever attain.
The alchemy between you and him has always been magmatic, but this evening it reaches a different level, Ves not letting you out from under him until he's certain he's sufficiently - and very sweetly - ruined you entirely.
Meanwhile, down in the kitchen, the other two vampires are experimenting with an alchemy of their own. Well, one is. The other merely plays as an observer to the proceedings.
"Okay, one tablespoon of sugar, oh shit no, he's not eating sugar. One tablespoon of honey, gelatin goes in…"
II frowns, leaning on his elbows at the adjacent side of the island. "Why don't you just buy them? All the online CBD stores out there right now, surely it's the same, just without the high?"
"Tried it, didn't work as well," III replies, "hence why I moved fucking mountains to get cannabis oil."
"Or travelled to Cardiff to fetch it from your regular dealer's brother, which is only just over an hour away. Fifteen minutes at our speed."
He receives a snort. "Adding the sugar free juice, ignoring my disparaging, short arse of a sibling…"
II ignores the comment, smiling as he watches III work, thinking it very endearing that he's attempting to make special gummies to IV can microdose successfully, rather than living beneath the foggy shroud of being permanently stoned. Even though his pain and tics are lessening now, it's still a lovely gesture.
Speaking of IV…
"Alright, you smelly fucker," II chimes, seeing him come in from the back entrance to the kitchen, obviously at the end of one of his patio workouts. That's dedication, given that the heavens opened and it began pouring with rain ten minutes ago. "Good workout?"
"Yeah, I just ran the perimeter of the property six times to finish."
II snorts softly. "Oh, just six?"
"It's more exercise than you ever did as a human," he shrugs, grinning, moving to the fridge and waiting for it as he pulls himself a bottle of water out.
"Are you sure you really want to say that to somebody whose exercise consisted of toil and warfare, hm?"
There he goes, right on cue. "You're still way too easy to wind up."
"Innit?" III chimes brightly.
"Oi," the former warlording-for-cardio one spits, pointing between them. "Give it a rest!"
They both laugh, IV finishing the water before filling the bottle again and placing it back in the fridge. "So, where's Grace?" he asks.
"In bed," II replies.
"Ahh, and Ves?"
"In Grace," III speaks absently, concentrating on the mixture before him.
Of course, they hear it all where his own ears fail, the house big enough that your continued sexual wailing doesn't quite reach downstairs. At least not to human ears. IV chuckles, shaking his head. "Ahh, they made up. Finally."
"Yeah," III mutters, "he's giving his apology via ten inches."
IV arches an eyebrow. "That's like, really specific knowledge over the size of our creator's cock."
"I've witnessed him shagging enough times to know he's hung like a fucking fire hose," he mutters, II snorting with laughter at his side.
"I'll still never forget the Italian woman, the one who saw it, screamed and ran the fuck out of the house!" he chirps, laughing loudly at the memory.
"So, when are you gonna make up with him, eh, since Grace currently is?" IV then asks, hoisting himself up on the island, grabbing an apple from the bowl and taking a bite.
"Ahh, soon enough, probably." III then pauses. "He doesn't need to apologise to me with his dick, though, I hasten to add. Number one, I'm a top and number two, I ain't into the idea of fucking my creator. Nah."
His siblings are in soft fits at that, IV raising an eyebrow. "So, your deviance does have a limit? Who'd have thought it?" They share laughter, III finding his shoulder clasped by his younger sibling on his way out. "Appreciate you for your gummy making, by the way. A quality chef I might be, but I always had issues with gelatin."
"Can't have been much of one then, can you?" II teases.
"Shut up, ya prick." IV throws back as he exits, bathroom bound.
He and III smile at each other, both thinking exactly the same thing. It's amazing to have him back.
Did you enjoy what you just read? If so, please help your author out by commenting/reblogging. If you want to be added to the taglist, please do let me know, too!
Morning guys! Here's your brand new chapter to enjoy, now back to once a week updates as we edge closer to the end. I'm planning on 25 or 26 chapters to see the story to its close, before I begin planning over what I will do concerning the third part. Thank you all as always for being such a wonderful audience <3
Summary: A year has passed since the events that left your newly formed family shattered, the four of you continuing to move ahead with your lives as best you can. The introduction of new equal rights laws for vampires across the United Kingdom marks a significant turning point, offering hope and the promise of greater acceptance. With these changes, you and II feel empowered to finally take the next step towards expanding your family, beginning to plan for the arrival of a child.
However, the journey towards this new chapter is not without its uncertainties. A new friend, with the best of intentions, offers some advice that despite your judgement, lingers in the back of your mind. Regardless of the strength of your bond and the depth of your commitment, you find yourself questioning whether these concerns hold any merit.
Your trust in the resilience of your marriage remains steadfast, and you dismiss the warning as unfounded. Yet, as time unfolds, those doubts prove harder to ignore. It is only when envy emerges unexpectedly - affecting one of the vampires you hold dear - that the true challenge reveals itself, threatening the peace and unity you have worked so hard to build.
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen
Words: 5,830
Warnings: Vampire fic, mentions of blood and gore, plus lots of smut. 18+ content, minors DNI!
Tag list: In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.
"No."
God, how you missed that. One simply delivered word to admonish your culinary endeavours.
Standing at the counter, you feel your eyes welling with tears despite your smile. "What am I doing wrong this time?"
You did wonder if it would be awkward, after you ran away from him the day before, after the unfortunate timing of one of his tics made your entire body freeze with terror before fleeing.
"You're about to add milk, and that's a big no-no with scrambled eggs." Walking over, he gives you a little nudge with his elbow, holding out his hand for the whisk. "Thought I taught you better than this?"
"I've seen you add dairy to beaten eggs before?"
He takes the whisk, beginning to beat up the eggs into yellow and clear ribbons within the bowl. "That was for an omelette, an entirely different ball game."
"My grumpy chef returns," you say, smiling, feeling yourself relax a little. Your heart knows you can trust him not to turn on your again, it truly does, but god. Try telling your poor, trauma-addled little nervous system that, though.
"Not so grumpy these days." Moving to the pan, he adds a knob of butter, shooing you further out of his way. "Go sit down, I'll sort this for you."
Doing as you're told, you take a seat at the island, sipping your peach tea. You did intend on coffee, but you wanted to have all toxins clear your system by this morning, so you can be ready to breastfeed and pump some more milk for your little one. "How did you sleep? III said you managed five hours?"
"Yeah," he speaks, scratching the side of his neck. He's all stubbly, and bloody hell, how you like it. "That was good for me, like. I usually only manage two before I wake up in a panic."
You poke your lip out, reaching to stroke his arm. "It must be really weird for you, adjusting to being back, and human as well!"
He nods, pouring the eggs into the pan. "It is, sweet. I keep trying to do vampire things and my body is just like…." He makes a sound like brakes squeaking, and you laugh. "Can't fucking get used to it, but in the time I've got left before I get turned again, I'm gonna enjoy a few human things."
"Such as?"
He points towards a window. "Going out in that for a start." It might be a little chilly, October arriving and bringing with it the usual drop in temperature, but this particular morning offers a lovely show of the sunshine. "Probably gonna dither around like a dickhead before I go out in it, though."
"Didn't you go out during the day while you were in the rainforest?" you ask, IV shaking his head.
"Nah, I kept on Ves time. M put me to sleep with her spells during the daytime." He then points to the pan he's swirling eggs through, turning off the gas beneath. "Sorry, did you want toast with this?"
You wave your hand, rising to your feet. "I'll sort it."
"No, no." Reaching for you, he gently presses your shoulders until you're seated again. "Let me." Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to your head, and you love that he's being respectful in not aiming for your mouth, nothing too intimate just yet. Oh, how the sight of him coupled with your newly reignited lust calls for him to do just that, though. Again, your nervous system somewhat negates that desire.
He's your husband, your love, your world. Oh, how you've longed for him, too. All you want is to feel him tightly holding you to him, your mouth upon his, and so much more. The stumbling block of fear refuses to budge, though.
What if it never moves? What if there's always a slice of fear preventing you from being calm and natural around him, being with him in the way a wife is supposed to with her husband?
"You're doing that hair twirling thing."
Looking up with a soft hum of surprise, you then spot your hand, rooted in your hair, winding a lock around your index finger. "I do that, don't I?"
"When you're thoughtful," he speaks, placing a slice of bread into the toaster, pointing. "Did you bake this?"
"No, that'd be Mary, our head of housekeeping," you reveal. "We have a team of staff for the upkeep a house this massive needs." You eyes then widen a little. "Oh, flippin' hell. How am I going to explain the sudden reappearance of the man in all the pictures?"
His frown is curious, smiling lopsidedly. "You have pictures of me around?"
"Of course," you smile, "I have most of them in the study, one in my bedroom, too."
Oh, how that warms his heart with a pleasant tingle. "So, they knew I was dead, then?"
Actually… no. Luckily, you never broached the subject, and they're all much too polite and professional to have asked who he was. "No, they didn't."
He shrugs, fiddling with the time dial on the front of the toaster. "Just say I've been away. It's true, and as much as anyone who isn't family or close friends needs to know." Pausing, he then studies you again for a few moments. "You didn't say what you were thinking about before."
No, no you didn't. "Nothing," you lie, knowing he'll see right through it. "It'll keep."
"I don't believe you, but okay."
The toast shoots up then, and you almost dive out of your skin, closing your eyes and having a stern internal word with yourself. "Come on, Grace. Here he is, one of the four loves of your life. You know he won't hurt you. Just kiss him, for god's sake."
Plating up your breakfast, he passes it to you, taking a seat opposite. You look at him questioningly. "Not eating anything?"
"Oh yeah." He hums a chuckle. "When I'm not totally ravenous, I tend to forget that I need food now." Getting up, he moves to the fridge, having a mooch through the contents. "Can't believe III had me eating noodles mixed with this utter shit last night."
His hand reveals a jar of Goobers, the American import of peanut butter mixed with grape jelly. You hate it, but III? Of course he loves it slathered over many things it probably shouldn't be.
For himself, he chooses a sausage and mushroom sandwich, using one of the big soda farl rolls in with the rest of the baked goods, those ones not borne of Mary's baking skills, though. She tried, with III under her feet, got the mix wrong and ended up throwing a handful of flour at him. The baby thought it was brilliant, although she isn't laughing as yet, she watched the scene from your arms avidly.
Speaking of Ivy…
"Mind if I drop this little bundle off with you? Oliver is here, we're going into Bath for shopping and lunch," your mum speaks, beaming at IV. "God, I can't get over it. Just seeing you there again."
He smiles, swallowing his food. "I'm sure you will soon enough. Erm, am I missing something? Who's Oliver, and where's your dad?"
Oh. Ves can't have detailed all of that to him, then. Taking the baby from her, you kiss her goodbye, moving to lift your t shirt before pausing. "You don't mind me feeding her in front of you, do you?"
He immediately pulls a face. "Don't be a twat, Grace. 'Course not."
Unclipping your bra, get yourself arranged, Ivy latching on as her fussing ceases. "So, I suppose I need to fill you in on a load of stuff you missed. I'll try for the abridged version. In the wake of your passing, dad absolutely flipped out about me staying with Ves, II and III, kept going on about all of you being dangerous creatures that couldn't be trusted. He wouldn't hear of it, me and mum trying to make him listen to reason, that what happened with us was an isolated incident borne of all of your issues, and your heartbreak that you thought Ves wasn't coming back.
"Anyway, we've been strained ever since, and I was hoping that maybe things might be mended a little when I told him about being pregnant. He suggested I have an abortion and then he might be happy about it. Everything went rapidly downhill from there, including mum deciding she wasn't content being married to a pigheaded bigot any longer either."
His mouth drops open. "I knew there was a reason I didn't like that fella. Fucking hell."
"I know," you sigh, nodding at him. "And don't you go doing that terrible thing you used to of blaming yourself. Wasn't your fault. He'd been rotten with mum for a while, so we were eventually told."
"Nah, not gonna. If he like, can't figure that out for himself then it's on him, ain't it? I was all broken and stuff, without my creator there to reel me in. It was just a tragic circumstance." You're glad he's seeing it for exactly what it is, and once again send a silent thank you out into the universe for M. She truly did fix all his broken parts. "So, Oliver? Boyfriend?"
"Yeah, they've been together a couple of months. He's our riding instructor." IV pulls an inquiring face. "We've got horses. Well, all of us bar III. The most he does is jump on Honey's back and ride her in from the field if she's been out all day. He won't with the other two. Too naughty."
He snorts on a laugh, popping the last bit of his breakfast into his mouth. "Never thought I'd hear the day when he'd get back on a horse again. He did tell you, didn't he, about the cart horse debacle?" You've never heard this, and your face must show that. "In his drinking days as a human, he'd gone pub crawling and realised he was too pissed to walk home, so he pinched somebody's cart horse and rode it back. Alice opened the curtains in the morning to the pissing thing standing there out in the garden, eating the washing pegged out on the line."
Oh, god. Only III. You try and hold your amusement in, save your daughter being jiggled around too much as you laugh, not quite managing it. "That's hilarious!" you cry, imagining it in your mind's eye. "Once I'm done feeding her, we can go out there, if you like? They're all grazing down in the paddock, but they'll probably amble over to say hello."
He looks uncomfortable for a few moments. "Dunno." He nods at Ivy, smile thinning. "II did state kinda strongly like, that he didn't want me anywhere near her. Feels like I'm going against that enough right now."
"Well, he did say until we know it's you in there, and I think it is. Forgive me if I don't let you hold her just yet, though. You know, the tics."
He nods, looking on at her with a smile. "Gotcha. She's bloody lovely, by the way. Still can't believe you named her after me."
Your eyes find his, your heart skipping a beat. "I can."
Once she's fed, you fetch her blanket and wrap her up, as well as the big sling you strategically tie around yourself with IV's help, placing her within it so you can carry her hands free. Opening the back door, you pull your sweater down over your hands, realising it's a little colder than the sunshine deceptively alludes to, turning back to see IV, doing exactly as he said he would.
"Sorry." He takes a deep breath, hovering on the step.
Walking back to him, you hold out your hand. "Come on. It's fine. I get it, though. It must be scary, after what happened when you last saw the sunshine."
It seems you aren't the only one with lingering trauma, your husband swallowing hard as his heart thunders wildly before finally stepping out, taking your hand. "Okay, that's not too bad. Really bloody strange, but not too bad."
Your walk down through the grounds is slow, your hand remaining in his, the other stroking Ivy's back through the soft of the sling. That is, until he lets go until so rapidly, it's like he's releasing a hot stone. Looking over, you see him tic, his arm and shoulder jerking in spasm.
"Well, I had about sixteen hours tic-free," he laments. "Think I might try micro-dosing, you know. I can't spend the next four months scaring the shit out of you every time my soul has a fit, and it fucking hurts too. Being permanently stoned off my head won't be any good either. Mm, yeah I'll do that."
"Seems a good idea," you reply, taking his hand again. "But for you, not me. I'll get over it, eventually. How's your pain today, other than what the tics cause?"
"Fine, I had some painkillers as soon as I woke up," he replies. "Usually takes a couple of doses, but I'm getting used to it more and more. It gets a little bit less as the days pass, too. Nothing like it was back when I first returned."
You know he's probably putting a brave face on it, and you squeeze his hand, IV reciprocating. Walking through the neatly manicured lawns of the estate with him, you can scarcely believe that it isn't some beautiful dream you've found yourself trapped within, suddenly remembering.
"I dreamed about you, after we'd put you into your urn," you speak, your voice wobbling a little. "You came to me to say goodbye."
He releases your hand, stroking the side of your head with his fingertip. "It wasn't me. I was gone, but if it gave you a bit of comfort, that's a good thing. Hopefully having me back for real makes up for the lack of presence in your dreams though, eh?"
"More than you could ever know," you whisper, stopping, reaching to cup his face. "I love you."
He leans to you slowly, his forehead resting to yours. "Love you more."
You feel your heart catching fire, and it's right there in that moment that you want to pull him closer, press your mouth to his. However…
"Mornin', Grace!"
Ahh, your beloved Bob. Maybe not quite so beloved at the moment for what he interrupted. "How's the little nipper, eh? An' oh, who's this young man you're with, eh?"
He looks confused as he ambles over, walking stick striking into the hard ground beneath his feet. "This is IV, another husband you've been yet to meet."
"Oh," he chimes in surprise, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you, lad! Now, is it me ole' brain packin' in on me, or did yer tell me about another chap an' I've plain forgot?"
"She probably didn't," IV says, "I wasn't too popular when I went away, so Grace likely acted as if I didn't exist. Hence why I wasn't mentioned."
It's a partial truth, but a painful one. You realise even more now, that the very second he died, died for a number of reasons, mainly though because of his guilt over what he did to you, you forgave him in that very moment.
"Ahh, right," Bob speaks, puffing on his pipe. "Away on business, was ya?"
IV nods. "Yeah, something like that."
"Anyway, Grace! I was just on me way up to the house to see if you was about. I need to move the horses over into the other paddock, let the one they're in grow back a bit. Mind if we do that on their next turn out?"
You shake your head. "No, that's fine," you smile. "They have grazed it down to practically nothing."
"Arr, and with the bad weather on the way, it'll be a mud pit before long!" he chuckles, waving frantically at the smoke from his pipe when it threatens to come too near to Ivy. "I'll let you be on yer way now. Good to meet you, IV. See you around, lad."
On you walk, IV jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. "He seems a nice bloke."
Wow. He really has changed for the better. Old IV would have ignored him with a palpable measure of ice cold disdain. "He is, him and his wife Barb life in the guest cottage back down the driveway. Really nice people. Not prejudiced like half the wankers out there are to vampires."
"Yeah," he frowns as you reach the paddock rail, "Ves was telling me about how much shit you and II faced with the protestors. Fucking arseholes. If I see 'em milling around, they're getting cracked in the mouth. No fucking messing. I might not be vampire as the moment, like, but fuck me, I can still throw a decent punch."
Maybe that hatred he used to hold so dear lingers within him for certain people. "No fighting. Trust me, keeping II from throwing axes at their heads is tricky enough. We just call the local police and Aric usually pops up and makes them disperse."
"Aric?" he questions.
"Vampire officer who we're becoming friends with. Nice guy, one who you might happen upon in the kitchen drinking tea from time to time."
He nods, reaching out to stroke Svartr's face after he's ambled over, Honey and Sage both following slowly. "Any other new characters I need to know about?"
"You'll meet Meghan soon, she pops by to visit every few weeks. And the staff, who will all be milling around the house going about their jobs by now."
After spending a little time with the horses, delighting as ever in their sweet interest over giving Ivy a good sniff, you walk back up to the house, finding Mary in the kitchen.
"Good morning, ma'am!"
She's so bright with you these days. Still fairly formal, but the head of housekeeping is rapidly becoming like family to you all. "Oh! Oh you're the man from the photographs." she then exclaims, gesturing with her hand towards IV. You give her the same explanation as Bob received, Mary nodding, accepting it with only a mildly puzzled look.
"Well, nice to finally meet you, sir," she tells him, inclining her head.
"Honestly, call me IV. Or Matt. Don't mind which," he replies, stretching, his t shirt riding up. Oh, god. At receiving a quick peek of his dark haired happy trail, your hormones have a party at the sight, remembering all the times you've run your tongue along it in the past.
Mary shakes her head, moving to peek into your sling at the baby. "I will use sir or Mr. IV if it's all the same. I'm a stickler for respect with my employers." Turning her attention back to Ivy, she pulls the kind of wide eyed faces that have her smiling massively, but oh, the biggest reaction is for her uncle III when he arrives shortly after.
"Sproggy Pants!" he calls as you're taking her from the sling, Ivy overjoyed. God, she loves him so much. You may use the term uncle for him, but truly over these past few months, he's been more like another father to her, the amount of time he spends devoting himself to her care. Taking her from you, he greets her with a massive grin, Ivy making happy little gurgles as she's held aloft, her smiles huge.
"Oooo wah, wah," she babbles, held securely to his chest.
"That's the noises of today, eh, buba? Oooo wah, wah?" he asks, Ivy then doing his favourite thing. "Ah, bless you!" he speaks after her sneeze, IV clasping his hand to his chest across the kitchen.
"Why is that so adorable?" he asks, pointing at her. "Too bloody cute." He then nods at III, smiling wide. "Look at you with her, a completely insane deviant, but like, massively child friendly!"
"He's wonderful with her, Mr. IV. Never thought I'd see the day either, but she seems to thrive on his chaos," Mary speaks, wiping down the counters with a liberal spritz of antibacterial spray. "I have all of her laundry in the machine, ma'am, so she has plenty of clean things coming."
You smile, at both her and III and Ivy jabbering back and forth at one another. "Thank you, Mary."
Moving to the lounge, you and IV sit, III placing Ivy in her bassinet and stretching out with his head in your lap, snuggling into you, your tummy kissed a few times as he beams and winks. Yeah, you thought he might be still all sex happy after earlier.
"So, what do you think of the new digs, eh?" he then turns to ask his sibling.
His eyes widen. "Fucking massive!" he exclaims. "And I thought the houses in Japan and Wyoming were big enough! What made him wanna buy this place, somewhere so big?"
"You know Ves," III replies, "he ain't ever shy to splash the cash, and Grace loved it, so yeah." His eyes then widen a little. "Oh! You get the pick of the remaining six bedrooms, which one you want. We've got two down here on the ground floor, then there's all of ours on the first floor, and II and Tanya's on the second."
"I think mum mentioned going out to take up the guest house recently, though," you comment, fingers coming through his hair. "So she has a bit of privacy."
"Yeah," III smirks, "so she can bang Oliver in peace!"
Of course, he receives a slap for that. All three of you then depart, with you clipping the baby monitor onto your trousers, ready if Ivy stirs from her nap. The first two bedrooms are met with a non-committal hum, taking him all the way up to the second floor, IV choosing the first one he's shown up there right away.
"Can I redecorate?" he asks, looking around the space. "I mean, it's nice, but I loved my dark blue room back at Norton House."
You shake your head, leaning against one of the bed posts. "Afraid not, darl. We're under a microscope with English Heritage, so we have to be in keeping with the history. I was surprised I managed to swing this nice, darker sage green for in here, but this is about the darkest we can dare use without them throwing a fit."
"Nah, I ain't fussed, it's still bloody gorgeous. What about artwork?"
"Yeah, you can go to town there as it isn't a permanent fixing," you speak, III huffing.
"Neither would the the rig I wanted to put in my bloody bedroom! Could have took it out and plastered over the holes at any time, but no!"
He still hasn't forgotten that. Oh, how he misses his cellar at Norton House, or the room very much designed for sexual play at the Japan mansion, too. Just then the sounds of fussing come from the baby monitor, you and III looking at one another and waiting it out. Sometimes she'll have a little whinge and then settle again by herself, but more often than not…
He reaches for the device, pressing the little side button. "Ivy, this is your uncle speaking. I'll be there now!" With a grin, he leaves you to it, and you turn back to IV, watching him taking in all the details of the room before his eyes fall on you.
"God, you're beautiful."
You feel yourself blush immediately, moving to stand before him where he's perched on the end of the bed, resting your hands to his shoulders. "I missed you telling me that. Missed you in all the ways a wife misses her husband, too. I just… I need to get used to you being here again before I act upon any of them. Trust me that I really, really want to, though. Just a peek at your happy trail earlier when you stretched nearly sent me stratospheric!"
He raises an eyebrow, reaching to lift his t shirt. "Oh, this one right here, eh?" You groan, and he laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist. "All in your own time, sugar. Just don't expect the kind of shagging I used to be able to give you. You're stuck with me being a human and probably lasting about twenty seconds. And that's like, me being massively kind on myself!"
"I'd be good with the twenty seconds, just to be like that with you again."
He grins, giving your waist a gentle squeeze as he rests his chin to your tummy, laughter lingering in his words. "Well, here's hoping I can at least make you happy again, poor sexual performances or not." he murmurs, tracing slow circles with his thumbs.
The comfort of his presence fills the room, and you feel a little bit of the awkwardness that's been lingering drift away, taking a chunk of your fear with it to see the sincerity there shining in his eyes. You can feel yourself settling into the new rhythm that's blossoming, not quite what it was before, but promising in its own right.
It's a moment of quiet honestly, allowing space for the chance to let old wounds begin to heal, and maybe someday, rediscover the wildness that once tethered you so fiercely together.
For now, though, there is one thing you feel ready enough to comfortably settle upon. Holding his face in your hands, you lean to him, resting your forehead to his. "Just you being here in front of me makes me happy," you murmur, your lips meeting his in a soft kiss he immediately returns. "I love you so much, Matt."
He hums against your lips, and your mouths explore tentatively, the kiss deepening. A mouth upon yours that's immediately warm feels strange, but the familiarity of his lips has your heart beating in palpitation, love blooming through the fractures.
Sadly, the moment ceases quickly, IV pushing you from him, his head and arms jerking violently. "Fucks sake." Instead of thinking how that makes you feel, though, the slight unease each little unanticipated movement leaves you with, you wrap your arms around him, one hand stroking his back, the other rooting in his hair, pressing your face against the top of his head and offering kisses.
"I love you, and I'll get you through this. It isn't just my traumatic memories that are important here. You're getting used to being alive again, and that must be massive," you speak softly, feeling him reach to stroke the back of your thighs.
He sighs, moving out from your hug to look up at you. "You're bloody wonderful, love."
Leaning to him again, your lips capture his softly. "So are you."
You'll find a way through this with him, you know you will, you want it more than anything else, to mend and be whole with him once again. However, there is another relationship looming in the back of your mind with considerable damage, one that through your own sheer stubbornness you aren't quite ready to begin mending just yet. No matter how much he might persist.
"Darling, can we talk?"
Hearing Ves's voice behind you as you tend to the plants in the orangery later that evening, your back immediately stiffens. Straightening up, you meet his eyes, a wildfire of rage behind your stare. "I'm not ready for us to mend this yet, Ves. I need to be angry with you, despite everything you'll likely tell me. Yes, I know you were stuck between a very big rock and a hard place. Yes, I also know that you bringing IV back to us was ultimately worth it, and yes, I know the personal sacrifices you made were huge. I can't just be okay with it all, though. I can't."
He pulls out a chair at the long table, taking a seat. "You can be angry with me for as long as you like, Grace, but it is imperative to our marriage that we talk this through. I need you to understand that I never wanted to keep you in the dark, but I felt like I had no other choice."
Turning away from him with a snort, you continue to water the plants. "You always had a choice."
"I didn't want to risk breaking your heart, should I have turned up back here without him."
"You broke it anyway, abandoning me with only a note left behind," you reply sharply.
He sighs, rubbing his thumb over the furrow between his brows. "And therein you see the impossibility of my predicament. It was always going to hurt you, but I had to make a choice as to what degree. Hurt you with untruths and secrecy, or hurt you with raising your hopes only for them to possibly be dashed." Silence stretches out between you, Ves continuing. "I couldn't have witnessed it, you effectively mourning him again had my trip not been successful. I realise the secrecy hurt you, I do. Please know I was only trying to protect you."
You swallow your frustration, feeling the words barb against all within you that is soft, the weight of your love for him sinking deep in your in your chest. Instead of an immediate reply, you focus on the rhythmic splash of water over leaves, letting the noise fill the void his explanation leaves. Ves waits, patient but anxious, his hands clasped tightly together atop the table. The truth is, the pain and betrayal linger like stubborn shadows, but beneath it all is his unflinching desire for you to at least try and understand his position, driven by a longing to reconcile the fracture, even if that requires sitting with discomfort a while longer.
Oh, and how he knows he will be. Your heart might be kind, but forgiveness for something of this magnitude will not come easily.
"Grace, do you have anything you wish to say?"
Coming to the final row of plants, you tip the remaining water into their soil, fingers lovingly pruning a few shabby leaves here and there. "I'll find a way through this with you at some point, and I do hear you and acknowledge the impossibility of the situation. I do. I just… I was so worried, Ves! I didn't know where you were, and it brought it all back, the time you were gone before. Gone but still there!"
Turning to him, your tears glimmer, and you steel yourself not to let them fall. No such luck. "What if I'd lost you, too? What if that witch had double crossed you? What if you'd died out there? We wouldn't have known where! Ecuador is a fucking big place, you know! All the secrecy M commanded for you to reach her, we'd have never found you either! Can't you see for that reason alone, we needed to know more?"
He sits back and takes it, your hellfire unleashed, your tirade continuing to burn molten. "Or are you that fucking convinced of your own grandeur that you assumed nothing bad could have befallen you, hm? These are witches, Ves. The most powerful ones on earth! Oh, well, just one remaining now, after you murdered the other! That's another thing that doesn't sit right with me, you murdering an innocent woman for your own gain, just because she so happened to have pissed off her sister enough to warrant it! It doesn't make it right!"
"You forget what I am, Grace, I…"
Oh, you are not finished yet. "No, I bloody haven't, Vessel!" Your hands slam down onto the table, the sound echoing up into the four corners of the orangery. "I know you've killed humans in the past, I understand very well exactly what it is you are. Vampire. Creature of the night, one who ran wild for thousands of years murdering thousands of people. But you sit before me now capable of knowing better!"
"And if I hadn't done it, then IV wouldn't be here, would he?" His words are cool, clipped, viewing you with a look that quite frankly, you want to slap right off his face.
Something in him softens a little bit then, maybe under the weight of your stare, perhaps from what presses down upon him from within. “Prices had to be paid, and trust me, while at the time I was so polarised in my focus to return IV to us all that I would have slain a hundred more if needed, I do feel remorse for having to take L’s life. I do. Just because she knew death was coming for her does not make it right. Again, though, here is yet another place where I find myself stuck.”
Those last words hang heavy, an invisible barrier between you both as you release a trembling breath. The orangery, usually a sanctuary of calm, is now suffused with tension, each leaf bearing witness to your anger and hurt. Your husband studies you, uncertain, his regret almost palpable, yet you sense the stubbornness in him, a refusal to let remorse consume him entirely.
Your voice, quieter now but no less fierce, breaks the silence. "I suppose living with the consequences is all that's left for us, Ves. You'll have to prove it to me, over time, that protecting us doesn't mean shutting me out." Straightening, you fold your arms, your glare still fixed firmly. "I need you to understand that you can be honest, even when the truth might hurt me. Even if IV hadn't come home, I still would have respected you more, been less angry with you now, had you told me it was what you were attempting all along."
You leave the orangery and Ves to his thoughts, the vampire sighing as he rests his head down on the table. The bravest, most forthright opponent he's had in years… and he married her. He can't help but think a woman of lesser fortitude would not be suited to him at all, but the fact you refuse to back down to him serves in juxtapose to both his pride in you, and his frustration because of you.
He loves you for it, but god, how he wishes in this instance that perhaps you weren't quite so tenacious.
It's undeniable that he's hurt you hugely, your comment over losing respect for him growing thickly, an uncomfortable bloom stiffening in his chest. In all of his insistence that you see things from his perspective, he perhaps neglected to realise that with the simple truth, the pain of his silence could have been avoided entirely, and the hurt had his plan failed could have been mended together.
Now, you both share joy that it didn't entirely separately, a fracture he should have anticipated much earlier than he did. One he understands well will take considerably longer than any failure to heal.
Did you enjoy what you just read? If so, please help your author out by commenting/reblogging. If you want to be added to the taglist, please do let me know, too!
Happy Friday, besties! Going forward, we will be moving back to once weekly updates on a Monday as of next week, as we're reaching the end of the story now. I really would love to continue it with a third part in the series, but I'm not sure yet if I will do this, or add a few standalone pieces to show how their lives all develop over time. Either way, I'm not quite done with this series yet. I love them all so much, I can't let them go!
Summary: A year has passed since the events that left your newly formed family shattered, the four of you continuing to move ahead with your lives as best you can. The introduction of new equal rights laws for vampires across the United Kingdom marks a significant turning point, offering hope and the promise of greater acceptance. With these changes, you and II feel empowered to finally take the next step towards expanding your family, beginning to plan for the arrival of a child.
However, the journey towards this new chapter is not without its uncertainties. A new friend, with the best of intentions, offers some advice that despite your judgement, lingers in the back of your mind. Regardless of the strength of your bond and the depth of your commitment, you find yourself questioning whether these concerns hold any merit.
Your trust in the resilience of your marriage remains steadfast, and you dismiss the warning as unfounded. Yet, as time unfolds, those doubts prove harder to ignore. It is only when envy emerges unexpectedly - affecting one of the vampires you hold dear - that the true challenge reveals itself, threatening the peace and unity you have worked so hard to build.
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen
Words: 6,256
Warnings: Vampire fic, mentions of blood and gore, plus lots of smut. 18+ content, minors DNI!
Tag list: In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.
Spinning. Your head is a jumble of thoughts, a maelstrom colliding within your skull, the steady hand of III directing the bottle in your grasp over the glass when in your daze at hearing Ves's long, long story, you nearly feed a measure of rum to the Axminster beneath your feet.
"Grace," Ves gently hums, leaning forward in his seat. "You've gone very pale."
Swallowing hard, you bring the glass to your lips, sipping the contents slowly. "I don't know what the bloody hell to say."
Rising to your feet, you go to walk away, III catching your hand. "I'm okay," you assure him, bending to kiss his lips. "Well, I'm not, but you know what I mean."
"I do, sweetheart."
A hush settles between the remaining, three vampires and one man all avoiding one another's eye contact, the atmosphere weighing heavily. Emotions sit at stark juxtapose for the two who never left, II and III both battling with the overwhelming relief at their younger sibling's return, knowing they should be celebrating this. However, it sits in stark contrast to their feelings regarding the deceit of their creator, not giving them any warning over it, any idea what he was attempting to accomplish.
Ves rises to his feet, being met by an outstretched hand and a firmly shook head.
"No, no," II advises. "No. Let her be, she needs a minute after all of this. I'm surprised the poor woman can still fucking stand up after you sprung this on her." he then continues with. "She's just had a fucking baby, Vessel. Humans are delicate enough emotionally as it is, but truly, you didn't think to warn her?"
Lowering back onto the sofa, he knits his fingers together. "I think any words I might've chosen to preface this revelation with would likely have still shocked her just as rigid, II. There is no buffer to use in announcing the seemingly impossible."
He makes a compelling point. However…
"You still shouldn't have kept your plans from us," III then counters sternly, lifting his chin in defiance. "We had a right to know what you were doing. Keeping it from us was messed up, innit?"
"I had every just cause to protect you all." His expression matches the bold stare he receives, Ves continuing. "What if hadn't achieved what I set out to do in bringing him back? How heartbroken would you have all been, to have your hopes dashed because I couldn't find the witch, or the resurgence had gone wrong, and we'd ended up with some kind of Frankenstein's monster I'd then had to have killed out of mercy? Tell me how comfortable you would have felt, having his memory sullied by the latter."
"That was for us to deal with, the possible fallout. We should have been told," II grits, "rather than having you decide for us like we're fucking children incapable of managing our emotions!" His eyes then find his youngest sibling, looking him up and down. "And how the fuck do we know he isn't, hm?"
With the worst possible timing, IV suddenly jerks violently, his entire body suffering a series of spasms. II thrusts a hand in his direction, eyes wide. "Oh, not Frankenstein's monster, no? He's fucking sitting there looking as if his soul is trying to escape his body, with pupils like bloody pin pricks!"
He and Ves then begin to bicker back and forth, only interrupted by the person they're fighting over.
"II, I ain't a threat to no one," he speaks, wincing. "Trust me, I'm me again. Wouldn't have let Ves bring me home if I wasn't feeling better than I have been. As for the tics, you're probably a bit right there. It's my soul adjusting to being within a body again, so it like, jumps around. The eyes are cos' I'm currently high as fucking balls on codeine. It hurts, all this resurrection stuff."
III leans forward in his seat, eyeing him with fascination. "What does it feel like?"
That morbid curiosity. IV should have expected nothing less. "The tics are just like deep spasms, ones that feel like they're coming right from my depths. The pain? I've likened it to being gored with a meat hook, also think swallowing broken glass and chasing it with acid."
"Blimey," he exclaims quietly. "That's rough."
"Worse than when you dated that dominatrix and she ripped half your back off with a silver tipped cat o' nine tails."
III grins, laughter rumbling at the edges of his words. "You'd have to be beaten with one yourself for a fair comparison, eh?"
IV scoffs, eyebrows rising. "Go and give one to Grace. She'll probably be down."
"No, but I'd bet my last pound she'd reserve that for me," Ves then interjects with. "All the way through my explanation, she barely looked at me. It was you her eyes kept flitting to."
Rising to his feet, IV stretches, stifling a yawn. It's a curious sight for his siblings to behold, to see him human once again, partaking of all the little nuances they've long left behind. "Let me go and talk to her. I need to start somewhere, repairing our relationship." He receives a furrowed brow from II. "Ah, come on. I'm human now and I swear, Grace could take me in a fight. She's fucking tough. Not that I ever intend to hurt that wonderful woman again."
He then receives a sage nod from Ves. "Let him go to her. If she becomes distressed, you'll be at her side in a nanosecond."
IV goes to leave the room, suddenly pausing. "Erm, so where's she likely gone to in this insanely huge gaff, eh?"
III begins to point for him. "Probably outside. Out of here, go left, all the way along until you reach the kitchen. Then turn right at the far end, go past the pantry, the estate office and the staff kitchen and you'll see the orangery dead ahead. Back door is next to it."
"Christ," he remarks, whistling low. "Do we have a ballroom, too?"
"Yeah," his sibling laughs, pointing down at the floor. "This used to be it."
IV isn't altogether sure if he's just being his usual comedic self, or if the massive lounge once did hold host to such, leaving and turning left, his eyes taking in everything as he walks in the direction he was told to.
"Fucking hell," he exclaims at entering the kitchen, wandering around the space, studying all of the appliances. Reaching for the block, he pulls out a knife, examining it, noting the brand name stamped on the very bottom of the blade. "Got the ones I told you to buy." he whispers fondly.
He realises it then, even down to the choice of oven, his influence guided every purchase you made. He might have been gone for two and a half years, but he is everywhere in that kitchen.
He was gone, but never forgotten.
Continuing on, he reaches the orangery, stepping out of the open doorway, his mouth dropping in surprise at the sheer size of the back garden. It's all rolling lawns, pristine hedges and well-manicured rose bushes. The most beautiful sight, though, is the one with her back to him, sitting at the top of the stone steps.
Hearing him approach, you turn, and it kills him to see you stiffen, drawing up slightly, IV leaving a gap between you as he sits down. "I know it'll be actions and not words that prove it, but I can't tell you enough. I'll never raise a hand to you again, never leave you that afraid of me. All the shit that messed with my head, all the trauma that made me so fucking volatile, it's gone. You'll see it in time."
You already have, to be honest. The way he so tenderly hugged your mum earlier, smiling as she pressed loving kisses to his cheek. The IV you knew would have physically recoiled from that.
"Can't take it back," he then continues, "and I ain't expecting you to just be able to sweep it under the carpet, cos' I get it don't work like that. All I ask for is the chance to prove myself."
Staring ahead, you feel your eyes brimming with tears. He's there… he's right there next to you. The impossible has happened, all the hopeless wishes you sent out into the universe in that very spot, wishing could see him again, if only for a few moments, and yet you can't fully allow yourself your true desire.
All you want is to move across the small space, bridge the gap and feel him put his arms around you again, to meld with him, drink it in, his touch, his scent, everything.
You can't move.
"All I want," you begin, your voice shaking, lower lip wobbling. "All I want is to hug you, just feel your arms around me and not let you go. I've bloody longed for it more than you could know, but... but…"
"You feel like you'd be condoning the actions of the bloke who tried to murder you."
Even as a mere mortal, he's still astute as hell. How he summed it up is at least close to how you feel, although you know that you could try and word it a hundred times and still fail. How do you articulate being overjoyed that your husband is no longer dead, wanting for nothing but his closeness, all while acknowledging there's a part of you that's still terrified of him?
"It's that thing, what do they call it?" Clicking your fingers, you wrack your tired brain. "I don't know, but it's wanting to run to you and from you at the same time. It's not being able to truly believe you're here, the shock of walking down those stairs and seeing you there!"
Silence stretches between you, your tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. Tentatively, he slowly reaches into your space, covering your hand with his. It rests there, not moving, IV making no motion to grasp. His comfort is offered, but ultimately, he's leaving it up to you, whether you'll accept it or not.
And if that doesn't make your heart pang even more.
On blind impulse, following the will of your heart rather than the warning bells of your head, you stand, moving to sit astride his thighs, wrapping yourself around him. His arms tighten around you, and your cries come thick and fast, choked little sobs that make his heart ache and your throat hurt.
The moment both fractures and mends you, there upon the steps, his love, his presence, returned to you wholly. Whoever that witch M is, wherever she is, you owe her the entire world.
"I love so you much," you weep, burying your nose against his neck. His skin still smells the same.
His arms tighten, loving hands stroking your back. "I love you, too."
"And I missed you! Oh god, how I bloody missed you! All I've wanted is you, and now you're back and I can't believe it, but I c-can't even let myself be w-with you the way I want, c-can't let myself relax!"
He soothes you as you stumble over your words, hand rubbing a circle between your shoulders. "I missed you too, sugar. As for everything else, all in your own time. Get used to me being back, yeah? Don't pressure yourself to be okay with me right away in every sense, alright?"
God, how you want to cave to him, to feel your trust in him replenish immediately. While his trauma might've been erased for him with M's magic, your memory of the event before he died cannot simply be wiped from your mind, though. If only it could.
For now, hugging him is perhaps the most you can manage, crying your eyes out while you're doing it. You hear him sniffing after a few moments, emerging from against his neck to see his own tears trickling down his cheeks.
He leans to you, pressing a long kiss against your forehead. "You still wear that perfume I love."
"Mm, I do," you hum. "I even bought a bottle of your aftershave, you know. I spray it all over your Osiris hoodie when I'm missing you and just lie there cuddling it, or put it on."
"Oh, so that's where it is, eh?" he chuckles. "Fucking turned my room upside down looking for it back at Norton House when we stopped off on our way back here. The bloody wife's pilfered it."
Finally, you laugh a little, and it feels good. So good. "She has." Looking down at him, your chest tightens, tummy erupting with butterflies. You never forgot how gorgeous he was - is - but god. To be so close to him once again, you feel like every cavernous pit of despair that had opened up within you from his loss is filling itself again, IV draping his arms around your neck, pulling you close once more.
It's a beautiful moment of reconnection, the threads of your blood bond weaving together once more. Regrettably, though, with a muscle spasm that tightens his embrace against the most dangerous place on your body it ever could, your traumatised little brain throws up the warning signal that ruins it entirely.
Gasping, you pull away from him, scrambling off his lap. "Fucking tics!" he fumes, scrunching his eyes closed tightly. "I'm sorry, Grace. I didn't mean to. Couldn't fucking help it!"
His words follow you back towards the house as you run from him, from the moment that fell to pieces before you, eyes filled with tears once more. "I know, I know. I'm sorry! I just can't. I need some space."
Stumbling back inside, you press your palms to your face, breathing hard, trying to steady yourself as the echoes of the moment swirl in your mind. The weight of everything - his presence, your longing, the painful memory that refuses to loosen its grip - feels wholly overwhelming.
You need one thing, but on your way upstairs to seek the comforting refuge of your sweet little baby, you find two more appearing rapidly.
"What did he do?" II asks, his tone hard, unrelenting. "We felt your distress flare like a fucking bonfire."
Shaking your head, you quiver on your breaths, reaching for the comfort of III's embrace when he opens his arms to you. "It wasn't his fault. It was nice, we were beginning to reconnect. He was hugging me, though, and he had a tic and it just… it caught me off guard. Made me think of past events I wish I could erase."
He tuts sadly, tightening his arms around, you, pressing a kiss into your hair. "Not gonna ask you if you're alright. Do you just want to go be with the little'un for a bit, chill out and let us handle all this?"
"I do," you sigh, turning to kiss II's palm when he reaches to cup your cheek affectionately. "I don't know what handling you can do to make me feel better about what's scaring me, but at least he gets it, understands I need time."
"Of course, love." Jerking his head towards the stairs, II then leans in to kiss you. "I'm going to talk with Vessel some more. You go to your mum and Ivy."
"Yeah, and I'll go chat with IV, keep him company," III replies, giving your arms a squeeze. "Gotta be fucking hard as hell for him too, innit, all of this."
You all go in your separate directions, III quickly zooming off to his room to fetch something he thinks might be of help. Lighting the massive spliff as he steps into the garden, he sees IV still sitting atop the steps, moving to seat himself behind him, long legs flanking his.
Taking another big drag, he holds it deep in his lungs, handing it to his sibling. "I guess you probably won't give a shit that it's laced with enough dried blood, it could floor about five vampires. Kinda need it, mate. Guess you can for the actual weed content, too."
Taking it from him, he sighs, leaning back against III. "Cheers. Don't fucking half need it, and nah, the blood don't bother." Taking a drag, the embers crackle, IV inhaling, immediately hit by the rush. "Fucking hell, that's strong weed."
"Enjoy it, because if there's anyone who needs it right now, it's you. I dunno, might mellow your tics, eh?" he shrugs, hands grasping IV's shoulders and squeezing. "I know from horror, you know I do. What you went through, having your soul dragged back into your newly reformed body? Fuck. Can't even imagine what that felt like."
"More painful than words can describe." III's hands tighten, his forehead coming to rest on the back of IV's head at he continues. "Worth it, though, to be back with my family. healed from all my shit." Taking another drag on the spliff, he fights the urge to cough, feeling the weed send soothing waves through his blood. "I'm so fucking sorry, III. So sorry I put you all through that."
"So you fucking should be!" he cries, his sparkle cutting through the tension of the moment, needing to as he feels himself on the verge of tears. "Fucking broke me, broke us, losing you. Haven't cried so much since I returned home after saying goodbye to Clara."
IV reaches, his hand clasping at the back of III's head, fingers moving in soft squeeze. "Love you."
He feels a kiss press to the top of his head. "Love you, too. So fucking glad you're back." He's passed the spliff again then, taking a drag, resting his chin atop IV's read as they share a long stretch of silence. It's just them and the night, two siblings reunited, no matter how different that may be with one of them sitting there in mortal form.
"What was it like, then? You know," III asks.
"Being dead for real, not just vampire dead?" A small hum confirms. "Weird. I like, can't explain it in a way you'd understand unless you'd been there, too. Kinda peaceful, kinda not. You're both aware you're dead and not, and I know that don't make sense, but yeah. Being here is better."
Those words make a lump form in his elder siblings throat. "Having you here is better. I never want to go through something like that again. Look, I know it'll be weird for you, adjusting to being back, but whatever I can do, just ask, yeah?"
"I will," he replies, "just keeping me in weed and making me laugh is enough, though." If III is good for anything, it's the purveying of illicit herbs and comedy. "The biggest things I'm struggling with, nobody can help me with them other than me. Well, the second Ves will eventually, being made vampire again. Sitting here as a human feels strange; I'm too used to being undead. The first, though, that's the gap between me and Grace."
"She just needs time," III advises, "which is what you said yourself, innit?"
"Yeah, I know." How he wishes he could make it better for you all the same, though. "If only there was some way I could take that fear from her, that memory of what I did. Not for my sake. I want it for her, so she feels better, so she heals." He pauses, taking a drag on the spliff III hands him. "I know that can't happen, cos' it don't work like that. Wish I could take her to M, but she's the kind of witch you never find twice."
"She'll get there on her own," III assures him. "She's probably the strongest woman I've ever known, even if she's delicate right now."
"Cos' of the baby, yeah?"
"Yeah," he confirms, "but also because of Ves just fucking off and only leaving a note. Trust me, you aren't the only one who has to rebuild his relationship with her. Except she ain't angry with you. She's livid as fuck with him."
As is another member of the family, currently sitting in the lounge opposite his creator, making his feelings known without reservation.
"You're angry with me," Ves acknowledges, tone even, impervious to the hard stare he's receiving from his eldest offspring. "I expected you to be, but surely, II, you can understand my reasoning?"
His mouth twitches, his eyes unblinking. "I see what you were attempting, yes, but removing us from the equation entirely wasn't the correct way to go about it. Springing this on us wasn't the right choice to make either. Nor was abandoning Grace when she was nine fucking weeks from giving birth."
Ves tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, "And IV's return wasn't worth it, no?"
II barely swallows down the growl threatening to echo through his chest. "Don't you dare attempt emotional manipulation with me. What you did is amazing, it goes beyond belief. You brought him back to us, but protecting our feelings or not, none of us will let up even an ounce of our ire towards you until you acknowledge that we should have been told. Like I've already said, we aren't children, Vessel. We don't need our emotions to be cushioned by you."
He nods, beginning to see things from the other side of the argument, perhaps more than he has simply from hearing IV's doubt over whether secrecy truly was the right thing. If there is ever a reliable sound board in his life, it's II.
"I see my flaws, II. I do, and I apologise for them. Perhaps I was attempting mostly to protect Grace's heart, not wanting to get her hopes up only to risk dashing them. I wrestled with it, I really did. Coming to that conclusion was with all of that in mind, as well as her being so heavily pregnant. If I could have put it off until Ivy had been born, I would have. M gave me a very specific window in which to work within, though."
Tugging at his short beard, II finally slackens, his anger becoming neutralised by the reality of Ves's impossible situation. However, he was the one who put himself in it. But he cannot deny, it was worth it. Still, the juxtapose doesn't entirely sit right within the body of the Viking.
"Okay, I see your point," he begins, "but you still should have told us something more than you did. Grace's stress levels and anger at you for leaving without an actual word instead of a bloody note could have put her into early labour. Thank your fucking stars she went overdue."
"I feel fucking awful that I missed it. That is a regret I will hold forever." Looking up his eyes are sad, a sheepish smile tilting his mouth. "How did it all go? And when can I actually meet the baby properly?"
II laughs softly through his nose. "She was full of piss and vinegar right the way through, as I guessed she would be. As soon as she had Ivy on her chest, though, it melted. She ended up giving birth in the bathtub, and III delivered her."
"What about the midwife? I thought you were having one come out to assist?"
"Unneeded until afterwards to check on them. Besides, the labour progressed so rapidly that we didn't have time to call. We both jumped into the bath with her and got her through it. She was scared, but bloody amazing. I'm so proud of her. As for meeting Ivy, she's due a squealing fit and refusal to go to sleep unless it's against my chest in about an hour from now."
Ves smiles, warm and fond. "You're happier than I think I can ever remember seeing you."
"Mm, that's a fair assumption. I'm still pissed off at you, though."
As he partially expected. "So, I can expect your usual frost to linger, can I?"
"Not as much as I'd prepare for Grace to give you nothing but an arctic chill, if I were you. Probably III, too. That's for you to make your own peace with them, though. Don't expect my intervention."
II at least warms enough to introduce him to the newest member of the family much later, though, the early hours upon the household with you sleeping, and III and IV in the kitchen, stoned and slowly working through the contents of the fridge.
"How do I hold her?" Ves asks, having absolutely no clue, never doing such before.
"She likes lying on chests more than in arms. Support her under her bum and behind her head."
Having the baby placed into his grasp, Ves looks down at her, his smile beaming. "Bloody hell. She's your double, but with Grace's eyes."
"Mm, yeah she is."
"She's so small! Are they all this little?"
"Pretty much," he replies, reaching to stroke Ivy's cheek as she murmurs softly, soon falling asleep. Yes, it's definitely a vampire thing, it seems, something she likes in them helping her settle quickly. "You should have seen her when she was first born. She was tiny."
"Her birthday is August the sixth, isn't it?" Ves then asks, hand gently stroking a circle over her tiny back.
"Mm," II hums in confirmation, his eyebrow arching. "That was the day, wasn't it? When IV came back."
They stare at one another silently, the uncanny significance settling in. There, a temporary truce flourishes, Ves holding a tentative hope he can fully be forgiven by his offspring, touched at the gesture offered in being allowed to hold Ivy.
IV elder makes an appearance again then, except not of his own volition.
"He's absolutely battered," III snickers, IV draped over his shoulder, passed out. "I'm gonna put him to bed. I'll stick him in my room and stay up, in case he wakes up and freaks out or anything."
"Good thinking," Ves speaks, although he sees clearly III was speaking more to II than he was addressing him. "He sometimes awakes a little confused about where he is."
"Best I look after him then, innit? Oh, and weed seems to lessen the tics and ease his pain a bit, just so you know."
His tone towards Ves is flat, bordering on cold despite his stoned cheer, and the elder vampire knows he has considerable work to do there in repairing the damage of his actions. III departs, and Ves enjoys the presence of the tiny, warm little person against his chest for only a short time longer, her resumed squealing sending her back to her father.
"Ahh, she's smelly," II speaks, his nose crinkling. "I'll spare you, go change her upstairs and put her down again."
He does so, coming back to his creator, the tension in the room still not quite dissipated. With that in mind, both vampires head to bed at dawn, the house quiet until Ivy starts fussing for her feed.
Creeping into your bedroom, your mum takes her just as you've finished. "I'll take her downstairs with me, let you get some extra sleep."
Her kind offer is not to be sniffed at, but with your head in as much of a mess as it is, you doubt you'll be able to drift off again for long. That's okay, though, because after getting IV through his first night of sleep back home, a still awake III finds his way to your room.
"He's awake, gone for a bath," he reveals, climbing into bed with you. "He slept for five hours, and apparently that's good for him as he usually wakes up at several points. How did you sleep, babe?"
"Not well," you reply, curling up against him, hand idly stroking his chest. "I think I might need my mind taking off it all for a bit."
It was the last thing he expected to hear from you, but oh god, he isn't complaining at all. Two months with only his right hand for gratification has felt like an eternity for him, but he's much too considerate to ever have rushed you for sex.
Moving astride him, your mouth meets his, kisses of sugared embers swirling slow, his hands stroking your waist, grasping your top and beginning to lift it. It's here that you freeze, reaching for his wrists and halting him.
"No, Charlie. My top stays on."
He frowns, not understanding. "Why? I'm fucking dying to feel your skin against mine."
You gesture to your tummy, biting your lip. "I don't feel good about how I look."
Nodding, he releases his grip upon the black fabric of your long, loose fitting vest. "Alright, but just so you know, I still think you're fucking gorgeous." Taking your hand, he places it on the massive erection tenting the deep grey sweats he still has on. "This should tell you exactly how much."
You smile, leaning to kiss him again. "It does, but I just need a little time to feel confident again."
He hums into your kiss, that noise deepening when your hand moves inside his sweats to grasp his cock, hitching them down to his thighs to free it, III wriggling himself out of them and throwing them onto the floor as he enjoys the feeling of your lips leaving his, sprinkling kisses down his body.
When your mouth joins your hand, he growls with lust, body going rigid for a few moments before he relaxes. Looking up at him as your lips slip over the head of his cock, you watch his eyes slowly bleed red, fangs dropping, III beginning to pant as his hands tangle in your hair, hips shaking. Oh, he's missed you.
Moving your hand in slow conjunction with your tongue, you keep everything very calm and steady, enjoying the feeling of him hardening further against your ministrations, the sounds of a vampire slowly losing his mind to them having the desirable effect of your cunt beginning to puddle your underwear for him.
You continue building him up gradually, hand and mouth moving up and down, his cock all wet and slippery as it bobs in your grasp. His groan fills the air as your mouth slips as close to the base as you can manage, pulsing on him, your lips dragging slowly back up once more.
“How does that feel, my gorgeous husband?” You ask, watching him lying there in absolute bliss, eyes still closed as his insanely long lashes flutter a little, mouth hanging agape.
“Like I'm about ten seconds from unloading right down your throat.” he pants through a shuddered breath, groaning again as you take him all the way back, swirling your tongue over the underside of his shaft and back up. The way he moans for you has your centre throbbing with want, beyond consumed by him. Turning him on so much is a potent aphrodisiac upon your own arousal.
You have him in absolute rapture, out of his mind with pleasure. You speed up, his fingers flexing in your hair, tugging it gently as his hips begin to judder once more.
Paying attention to the sensitive head of his hardness, you explore it with licks and sucks, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his groans growing louder. His body is wracked with trembles, panting hard as you perform absolute magic upon him, hand gently squeezing his balls. You know you have him then, the kick of his cock pressing hard against the roof of your mouth as you feel him start to come, spurting plentifully onto the back of your tongue.
He turns you onto your back in a flash, kicking the duvet back, hands reaching for your undies and pulling them down your legs. The scent of your arousal catches under his nose, and it makes his entire body quake, III settling to lie before you, hands stroking your thighs as he pushes them wide. He thought that perhaps the memory of how you looked while giving birth might stick with him, and while it somewhat has, seeing you returned to how he remembers your womanhood before sends his brain foggy with desire, his thumb swiping through your folds, the contact making your hips judder.
He recedes his fangs, tongue running a slow lick down your thigh, making you keen for his mouth just enough before he gives, settling against you in a long, flat slick that catches every little bit of your splayed pink.
He plays with you gently, each lick circled softly, a finger breaching you. You feel beautiful to him, slick and hot, heavenly upon the inside as your walls pulse upon his finger, adding a second, slowly pushing them back and forth.
"Mmm," he groans, his mouth warming to you, wrapping your clit in a soft suckle. "Fucking missed you like this, wifey."
The pleasure of it darts hot beneath your skin, the sensation of a part of him within you, the intimacy of it, stroking his face as your hips buck up against his touch. His fingers curl, and it sends lightning flickering up your spine, whimpering as he kisses your bud, his mouth evoking nothing but sublimity.
Another lick gilds you, sends warmth rushing over your skin, especially when you feel his tongue nudge at your little bud, your back arching as you gasp.
“There,” you pant, practically writhing before him. “Oh, right there!”
He seeks it, the tip of his tongue snaking back and forth, smiling as your reaction delights his ears, those sweet moans and cries like celestial music. He can’t get enough of how you feel against his mouth, the taste of you intoxicating as he laves thirstily, sucking, kissing your tender nub, tongue flicking over you, your nails trawling his scalp as he gives you exactly what you've been craving with him since the brief mention of it last night.
The nectar of your cunt floods his tongue, and it makes your heart skip a beat, the intimacy of it, reconnecting with him like this, the noises it draws from him making your walls pulse around his fingers.
“You taste beautiful.” he murmurs, arms winding beneath your thighs, gripping them, treating your aqueous slit to long, firm licks, evoking quivers that shiver you from head to toe. "Fuck, you're getting so wet for me. Gonna fucking love it, seeing how much you'll soak my cock."
He grants no clemency from those hypnotic slicks, tasting your hot, pink folds with swirls and flickers as you gush onto his lips. You twitch against each lick, every carefully administered circling of his hungry tongue, your hands gripping his slender shoulders, hips keening against the utter glory of what his mouth conjures.
He draws cusses from you as you pant, your body spasming so hard as he begins to suck your bud that you’re unsure if your response is of pulling away or shunting closer, crying out as you’re eaten with ruinous gusto. He has you beginning to spark against each well-placed lick, his mouth making you tighten, your walls in full clench, sated by his fingers raking firmly, a smile playing his lips as he watches you tremble.
The heat of his mouth has you literally melting for him, III panting against your dewy folds as he assails your clit with firm slicks, driving out pleasure from the very root of you, skittering through you as your hips purl and flex, the waves of your release washing over you ceaselessly, gaining in heat when he emerges from between your legs, rucking himself straight into the fluttering warmth of you.
"Fuck… fuck." he breathes, mouth covering yours, his hands touring your thighs as they tighten against his narrow waist, burrowing his cock into you deep, deep, deep.
It's a sensual, blooming rush of pleasure, your arms entwining one another, your bodies moving in rise and fall of perfect sync, his mouth placing tender kisses at your neck. Every ridge of his cock scraping against your sensitive walls feels wickedly decadent, pleasure coiling tightly, his body quickening as you wrap your legs around him, nails digging into his back.
“Oh my god, yes, fuck me!” you wail, clutching on around him as he pounds you into the bed, head lowering to nip just beneath your clavicle with a deep, gritty groan. The heat of it burns like a furnace, that pleasure winding ever tighter as you feel yourself escalating, your nails grazing down his back as your spine-melting release rushes like a spring breeze over your nerves. It’s white hot and consuming, feeling his cock twitching as his fangs pop with a slick snap, pulling a feed from your neck as he floods your cunt with cum, leaving you dizzy and panting.
It feels like your entire body is a garden bursting into bloom beneath him, the sweetness of your release still tingling through you as you kiss him, feeling his cock gently twitching within the snug clasp of your sodden walls.
"Oh, you bloody bugger," he chuckles, nuzzling you. "Turning me into a two-minute wonder."
You laugh against his lips, stroking his face. "Yeah, but you're a vampire. You can keep going."
He grins, all pearly whites flashing brightly, cock beginning to slip back and forth again. "Innit? Gonna give you a proper good banging!"
Well, if one thing is consistent in your turned-upside-down life right now, it's the reliability of your deviant husband to help take your mind off it all.
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Summary: A year has passed since the events that left your newly formed family shattered, the four of you continuing to move ahead with your lives as best you can. The introduction of new equal rights laws for vampires across the United Kingdom marks a significant turning point, offering hope and the promise of greater acceptance. With these changes, you and II feel empowered to finally take the next step towards expanding your family, beginning to plan for the arrival of a child.
However, the journey towards this new chapter is not without its uncertainties. A new friend, with the best of intentions, offers some advice that despite your judgement, lingers in the back of your mind. Regardless of the strength of your bond and the depth of your commitment, you find yourself questioning whether these concerns hold any merit.
Your trust in the resilience of your marriage remains steadfast, and you dismiss the warning as unfounded. Yet, as time unfolds, those doubts prove harder to ignore. It is only when envy emerges unexpectedly - affecting one of the vampires you hold dear - that the true challenge reveals itself, threatening the peace and unity you have worked so hard to build.
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen
Words: 6,622
Warnings: Vampire fic, mentions of blood and gore, plus lots of smut. 18+ content, minors DNI!
Tag list: In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.
"Sit down there in that chair, and I must instruct you that no matter what you see or hear, you do not disturb me at any point during the ritual." She begins to gather various magical items from outside of the circle, tinctures and oils within bottles, dried herbs, stones that look to have little in the way of significance, but are likely more vital to the proceedings than Ves realises. "Now, I must forearm you of a number of things before I begin.
"When the dead arrive back within the mortal realm with us, it's often not pretty. We are reanimating the remains to bond with the supplied flesh and fuse the soul within it; this is a harrowing process for the spirit to endure once it has been called back from the other side. Not all souls will depart the spirit world willingly, you must realise. Some are content in their peace. You revealed to me his passing was via suicide, so I would expect this, if I were you.
"They will be frightened, in grievous amounts of pain and confused. Your IV might not immediately recognise you because of this. For everything you are about to put him through, expect resentment or hostility. They often become angered for a time before they settle." Pausing as she meticulously lays out the items before her, her eyes flit to his once more. "Any questions?"
"Will he pick up any characteristics of the dead man whose hand and blood I brought here?"
She shakes her head. "Body and blood are separate to spirit. He will return as he was."
That's a relief. "And will there be anything lingering, anything that will make him dangerous, or different to be around?"
"As I stated," she breathes, "he will return as he was. I am a skilled witch, Vessel. I do not conjure the dead to merely end up with a homicidal, Frankenstein's monster. The IV who returns will be the IV who you lost in every sense. He will experience pain for months, though, also little tics, spasms and the like, while his soul continues its fusing to the new flesh. This will abate after around six months.
"If you are to make him vampire again, you must not do this until that period has passed, or he will carry the tics and pain over into his vampirism. Also, the process could kill him if undertaken before the six months have passed, to the point he not return undead at all. If that happens it could damage his soul so grievously, not even I could bring him back again.
"Now, you mentioned to me about his trauma, the afflictions he carried. You still wish for me to heal his mind of these, yes?" A nod confirms. "I can do that, although it may take a while for him to settle enough to proceed. This shall not be an instant fix. You will both have to stay out here with me until the process is complete. Trust me, though. My methods work better and faster than months, or perhaps even years spent languishing upon a therapists couch. Your feeding needs will be provided for by those who guard me, too, so you do not have to worry over sustenance while you remain out here."
"Will he still remember it, what happened to him?"
Sniffing, she sighs. "Yes, unfortunately. My powers are great, but removing memories themselves I alas have never been able to master." Her fingers flit in the direction of the table, where L's severed head sits prominently. "She could." she adds bitterly. "He will remember, but the memories will no longer affect how he lives. He will be soothed of it, accepting that it happened without blaming himself. Not at total peace, but no longer wounded and melancholic either. He will have balance, the kind I suspect he didn't in his life or living death."
The witch's fountain of truth just keeps on bubbling over, it would seem.
"Now, Vessel. The midnight hour is almost upon us. I must ask you for your silence."
Taking the bag, she empties out the ashes directly onto the floor itself, his hairs following. Placing the hand in the centre, she begins to chant in a language he doesn't understand, taking the blood and dripping it in strategic dots throughout his remains. Picking up a knife, her chanting escalates, slicing her own fingertip deeply, moving in an almost spider-like way to begin marking sigils around the circle, eyes closing, her sight seemingly unneeded to etch them correctly.
If Ves's heart still had a rhythm at all, it would be pounding into his throat, his eyes locked on the scene, hands clenched together tightly.
Grasping the photograph, she extends it to catch light upon a flame, watching it begin to curl. Letting the ashes of it scatter on top of those before her, the image curls and sparks, the embers glowing within the remains like tiny ghosts of what once was. What now will come to be again.
"Body and blood, ashes and bone. I call into the spirit world, I command you, IV, to return to these remains, take up your flesh once more. Come back to the light, IV, return to all you knew. I seek it, I beseech it, I command it. As above, so below."
With a sudden gust of breeze that comes from nowhere, the many candles within the circle and beyond all flicker violently, their flames gaining in height and ferocity. M continues her toil, her chanting returned to the mystery language, herbs scattered, the dried remnants catching the flames of the candles, the air thick with the pungent scent.
She then turns to him, her eyes narrowed, eerily whited out completely, hissing a whisper. "He is here."
Ves gulps, feeling his entire body stiffen, eyes focusing on the sight before the witch, who continues in her complex ritual.
Her voice grows louder, weaving between sharp, guttural syllables and softer, haunting notes that seem to call out in a beckoning melody, a magical song to tether IV to this realm. Shadows stretch and contort along the walls, the circle pulsing with a palpable force that presses against Ves’s chest, urging him to remain still despite the instinctive desire to move closer. He leans forward in his seat, watching M's hands weave and turn over the remains as they begin to ripple, his eyes unblinking as he witnesses it, a form slowly beginning to take shape.
Out of all the wondrous sights he had beheld in his long life, he has never once witnessed something so miraculous, so fascinating, and yet so bone chilling as what is playing out before him. Ashes swirl like tiny tornadoes, solidifying into bones, creeping and growing until the grey is replaced entirely by a yellowish-white skeleton. Tendons and sinew sprout, muscles and organs blooming with an unsettling, wet trickling sound.
As the ritual reaches its crescendo, the floor beneath the newly emerging body begins to shake, and a chill creeps along the edges of the circle, the energy shifting tectonically as there within, he lies returned. Ves struggles with the urge to reach for him, M still chanting, her hands now stroking over his bare, pale flesh, picking up bottles of tincture and dropping the contents into his eyes and mouth. Wetting her hands with the oil, she anoints his flesh, her chanting but a soft whisper, taking the ring and placing it onto his finger.
Her words cease naturally, no fanfare or theatrics, her hands resting to his chest as she leans over his lifeless body. "IV? Do you hear me? Come back to us now. Open your eyes."
A nervous few seconds pass, the air seeming to grow slack from where it had thickened before with jarring, rapid swiftness, IV sits up with a blood curdling scream that sends terror, love and disbelief through Ves, his eyes rounding, feeling like his entire soul has caught fire.
It worked.
The screaming continues, IV’s eyes wide and wild in sheer terrified panic, grasping at himself, hands feeling the body his soul was long parted from before doubling over and projectile vomiting a stream of what looks to be black blood.
Ves’s eyes snap to M, and she holds out her hands in placation. “Leave him, leave him! This is normal.”
IV’s screaming gradually subsides, replaced by ragged breaths, his chest heaving as the horror ebbs into trembling confusion. Ves sits rigidly, fists clenched in his lap, fighting the urge to go to him and offer comfort, every instinct as his creator to protect pushed down in light of M's instruction.
IV’s gaze flickers between them, searching for familiarity in the unfamiliar. M remains steady, her voice barely above a whisper, murmuring soothing reassurances as she wipes the black sheen from his chin, her hands gentle, patient. The circle’s energy fades, leaving only the lingering scent of oil and ash, and for a moment, all is calm.
Until the screaming and chaos erupt once more.
IV tears himself from M's soft clutch, neither knowing up from down as he stands, wobbling, his entire body burning in agony. He staggers, hands thrashing wildly at nothing, the room a witness to the chaos as he crashes against tables, possessions scattering, his body rolling along the walls as he continues to scream in abject terror.
M's eyes are urgent and permissive. "Go to him now! Ground him with your presence."
The vampire is out of his seat in a flash, arms wrapping around IV, his strength ceasing all the rapid motions and fumbling. "IV, it's me, it's me. It's Ves. You're safe, it's okay. It's alright."
At first, his words seem to offer no comfort, either that or the now alive again man wailing in his arms cannot make sense of them, Ves trying again. "It's me, IV. It's Ves. Look at me."
Clutching his face in his hands, he holds his gaze, IV scrunching his shut as he moans and writhes, eventually falling to the floor. His body jerks in violent spasms, and it's a horrific sight to witness, groaning, clawing at his skin.
Panting, he grits his teeth, his insides twisting violently. "No, no! Why are you here now? Why didn't you find me before? We're dead and you didn't come to me!"
His heart, oh. He truly has no idea where he is, Ves sinking to his knees and grasping his shoulders. "IV, you're alive. You here with me, returned. I didn't die my final death. I came back and now so have you, too."
"Grace?" he then screams, "Grace! I'm sorry! Ves, I hurt her, I tried to kill her!" his gasps are ragged, choking down air into lungs that sting with every breath. "I'm a fucking monster!"
"Shhh, she isn't here, we're very far from home. Come now, settle down."
His screams reach crescendo again rapidly, writhing across the floor. "I can't, I can't! I ain't supposed to be here!"
"Yes, you are!" His words are emphatic, hoping they carry the kind of weight to ground the maelstrom of confusion beleaguering his offspring. "You place is here, by my side, as it always was!"
A roar exits his mouth, his forehead lurching forward, smacking into Ves's nose with a sickening crack of bone shattering. "I don't want to be here! I want to be dead! I can't face it all, what I did to Grace, what, wh-what they d-did to m-me!" he stammers, chest heaving, gasping for air that feels thicker than molasses.
Ves's hands grasp tighter, leaning into his line of sight again, knowing likely it could be at the sake of his nose once more. "I am going to get you help with that." He then points to where M sits neatly within the circle, observing it all. "This is M, and I swear to you she is someone you can trust. She is the witch who brought you back. All the pain and shame of your trauma you carry? She can take it away from you, IV. If you let her, she can make it better for you where I failed."
With his breathing beginning to calm, all of the tension suddenly eases from the newly restored being, IV's body slackening. He stares between them a few times before his eyes seem to lose focus, and he slowly shuffles backwards. Pulling a blanket swathing a nearby chair, he covers himself in it, hiding beneath the deep orange threads, backing himself into the corner, slowly rocking back and forth.
M holds her hand out as Ves makes a start to follow. "Leave him be," she instructs softly. "Let him settle. He's soothing himself. This is good, he calmed to your words."
Remaining sat a few feet away, Ves looks on, helplessness closing in around him as he bears witness to the climbing anxiety within IV, but not for one single second does he regret his actions in bringing him back. The energy in the room seems to lighten then, the quiet settling, drifting up into the corners that have overseen the minutiae of resurgence, and all the unhinged chaos that swirled in its aftermath.
Gradually, under the watchful eyes of Ves and M as the night ticks on, IV begins to calm, his rocking ceasing. He remains under the blanket, and his ragged breaths come panted through his nose, eventually emerging.
Looking dead ahead, his eyes fill with tears. "Is it really you, Ves?" he whispers, like the last few moments in time didn't happen at all.
"Yes, IV," he assures him, his voice quivering with emotion. "It's really me." He moves to him then, a still blanket swathed IV meeting him in the middle, Ves pulling him into a hug and letting him cry against the surety of his wide chest.
The silence settles again, only permeated by IV's soft sniffles and sobs, Ves blinking red tinged tears down his cheeks as he soothes him, his hand comfortingly rubbing a circle at his back. Eventually, he slips, lying his head in his creator's lap, blinking hard, his breathing beginning to quieten.
"Ves?" The vampire casts his eyes down, fingers gently stroking the side of his head. "Why do I smell like a leg of lamb?"
A soft ripple of laughter abounds, Ves shaking his head, leaning to press a kiss against IV's forehead. "I think it might be the oils M used."
"Correct," she smiles, looking to IV. "Are you hungry? I can prepare you something simple and include one of my blends to help ease your pain?"
He nods. "Please." His eyes then flit around the shack, noticing the black blood spray, the disarray, the broken items. "I'm sorry. I did all this, didn't I?"
She nods. "You did, but it is to be expected. I will prepare you some oatmeal with dried fruits and nuts."
"Before you do," he begins, sitting up. "Why am I human again? I can feel my heart beating, and I'm warm. Don't feel that deadness I did as a vampire either."
"Because I couldn't bring you back as anything else." She then nods to Ves, rising to her feet. "The rest is for him to rectify at a later date."
"Then it might be important I tell you no almonds in those dried nuts," the speaks. "I'm allergic. Don't want to die all over again when I've only just come back."
"No almonds," M echoes, moving across the space to the kitchen area, although it doesn't really look much like a kitchen at all since there is no water or power supply to the property. Still, she makes do.
IV then turns to Ves, pointing at the rucksacks. "Do I have clothes in there?"
He nods, rising to grab the bag. "You do, yes."
Passing it over, he pulls them out, IV emerging from beneath the blanket to pull on the dark grey jeans and black t shirt within, deciding to remain barefoot. Staying there on the floor, he then jolts suddenly, a rapid twitch of his head and a clenched jaw following.
"The fuck was that, eh?" he asks, looking concerned.
"Tics," Ves replies smoothly. "You'll have them for about six months, according to M."
IV processes that information, his leg suddenly jumping, too. "Right." He then grasps his head suddenly, groaning in pain. "Fucking hell, feel like my head's gonna split open! What the fuck?"
"M!" Ves calls. "Please hurry."
"Fuck!" IV flies to his feet, physically beating himself in the head, his eyes searching for the open space windows, no glass within the panes. He makes for one at a run, intent to hurl himself through it until Ves moves with swift ease and prevents it. "Let me go! Let me fucking get out of here! It hurts too much, being alive!"
M did warn him of this, how volatile IV would be while once again soul and flesh bond. "Shhh, it's okay. It shan't last, I promise. I promise it won't."
"Fucking turn me again, please!" he then begs, gasping, his head feeling like someone is repeatedly sticking a knife through it. "I can't take this pain!"
Ves's arms tighten in their embrace. "I cannot do that yet, IV. Not for six months. I am sorry, but this pain you must endure for now."
Running from the other side of the room, M brings with her a small, green glass bottle. "Drink this. It tastes vile, but it will ease your pain quickly."
Snatching it from her fingers, he tips it into his mouth, immediately retching. "Christ! That's fucking foul!"
"It'll work, though," she reminds him, heading back to the small fireplace and heaping thick spoonfuls of oatmeal into a bowl, covering it with nuts (minus almonds) seeds, dried fruits, fresh honeycomb and edible flowers. She lingers, waiting for him to seat himself again, his chest heaving still as he continues to hold his head. Slowly, he straightens, the burning pain subsiding, his emotions calming.
She hands him the bowl, IV taking it with a small smile. "Thanks." M retreats then, allowing them the space they need to reacquaint.
Picking up one of the flowers, he turns to Ves. "Do you remember when I was telling Grace about edible flowers, and she thought I was winding her up?"
His head tilts, his smile fond. "I do, yes. She wouldn't have it, would she?"
IV snorts. "Nope! Fucking took me actually eating one to show her. First thing I'd eaten as a vampire, and it was a bloody flower, like. All cos' she didn't believe me." He then scoffs softly. "She was too stubborn for her own good, that lovely woman."
"She still is," Ves replies, stretching his legs out. "In her own delightful way, of course."
He laughs, taking a spoonful of the oatmeal and blowing on it. "How is she? How are they all?"
"They're fine," Ves replies, "all furious with me at present, I should think." IV raises his eyebrow slightly, Ves continuing. "I didn't tell them about any of this, and when I left it was shortly before quite an important time for Grace. I do regret that, but it was worth it."
IV pauses, looking around himself. "Where are we, Ves? It's fucking hot as balls here!"
"Ecuador," he replies, a little laughter lingering at the edges of his words. "And yes, you are correct. It's August, so around thirty degrees."
IV nods, his eyes then suddenly widening as he points through the open window space. "Shitting hell, there's a bloody monkey right there!"
Ves turns, smiling at the beautiful creature hanging gracefully from a branch, M coming into view as she turns to placate IV's growing sense of apprehension. "This is Moki, and I have known her for many years. She's here for her treats."
Reaching for her, the monkey ambles into her embrace, M laughing warmly. "Hello, little creature, yes. These are for you." Handing over the fruits in her grasp, Moki takes her leave as quickly as she came, off out into the humid night with a banana in her mouth and a soursop in her grasp.
Ves turns back to his offspring, raising an eyebrow. "You should have seen the big cats we encountered on our way here." Laughing softly at the slightly perturbed look he receives, he then goes on to fill IV in on everything that has happened over the past two and a half years, every event and piece of news he has missed, the information making him sit there and gape throughout most of Ves's long explanation.
"So like, he had to have them stuck right down in his bollocks for it to work?" he exclaims over the part regarding his siblings fertility journey. "And then effectively, bzzzz, electric shock?"
"Yes, but more like an electrical current slowly gaining in frequency."
His eyes widen. "Rather him than me. I bet he was angry as fuck after, eh?"
Ves snorts softly. "Mm, he wasn't particularly happy about it. He was when they discovered it had worked, though."
"So she's due around now, Grace?" he then questions, working it out in his head from when Ves mentioned the point she'd revealed her pregnancy.
"Yes, she was in labour when I called her earlier, so unless she's very unfortunate, I think she will have given birth by now," he replies. "How are you feeling now, after eating?"
"Better," he speaks, his shoulder suddenly jerking. "Could do without them, though. Feel like I've got fucking tourettes. Without the random shouting." He's quiet for a moment, prodding his back tooth with his tongue where a seed has gotten stuck, the feeling entirely alien to him. "So, all that you mentioned about not telling them your plans. You can't just show up with me, Ves. If I go strolling into Norton House again after so long, Grace'll fucking die of fright."
"We do not live in Norton House any longer," he replies, his eyes closing momentarily. Even though he's back, sitting opposite him, the sad ness lingers. "Too many sad memories."
"Well, wherever it is," IV shrugs. "You should tell 'em."
Ves is thoughtful, clasping his hands together, resting his forearms on his thighs as he leans forward. "I think any prefacing words of warning will likely come as much of a shock as seeing you again will. Besides, how all of this came to be is not an explanation suited to a telephone call."
He's probably right, there. Truly, there is no perfect way to reveal that a long dead family member has been resurrected. "Fair enough, Ves. I trust your word. I might not entirely agree with it, like, but fair enough." His body tenses then, head tilting sharply. "Fuck."
Ves looks on, feeling hopeless, wishing there was something he could do to soothe it for him. At least he isn't experiencing pain at present, though. However, as the morning draws out, the tincture given to him eventually begins to wear off, M quick to offer more.
That isn't before the poor man hasn't experienced the kind of agony that made the pain of bursting into flames feel like a case of mild sunburn by comparison.
"Imagine somebody has put a meat hook right in the centre of your body, and they're turning and yanking it," he pants, doubled over on the floor, sweat slicking his pale skin. "Fucking hell." He then looks up at Ves, shaking his head. "You better fucking find me something with opioids in it for the journey home. If I can't have M's magical potions and whatnot, then I'm fucked."
"I have codeine capsules," Ves tells him, clutching his shoulder, helping him to his seat again. "Strong ones."
"Good," IV nods. "I'll bloody need 'em, cos' this ain't pleasant."
Sadly, his pain begins to persist so much that M has no choice but to cast a spell over him shortly before dawn, sending him into a deep sleep.
"It will abate, as the weeks and months pass," she reassures a concerned looking Ves, who crouches at the side of the comfortable looking floor bed IV lies deep in slumber within. "Now, if you wish, you can sleep in the chair and I will swathe you in blankets to conceal you from the sunlight, or dig yourself beneath the soil to the side of the house. We will be well-guarded. Sal has ventured home, but Pablo, my other handler, will be here with Miguel, his son. I insist on armed guards always when I rest, and my hammock is calling me."
She must be drained from her efforts, he realises. "I will take the ground." Looking down at IV one last time, he leans to press a kiss to his head. "Look after him for me."
"He will sleep until sundown, but yes. Be assured I will, Vessel."
With that, he somewhat reluctantly leaves his offspring's side, unsure whether he can truly refer to him as that now he is returned in human form again. If not that, then what? Friend is not enough, with what IV means to him, with all that they have been through.
No. He's still his offspring. Just altered.
Giving a quick nod to the men patrolling the perimeter, they offer to help after he has rapidly dug a pit and laid down, covering him with soil just before the rising sun creeps over the horizon before returning to their posts once more.
In the days that follow, IV has further bouts of hysteria, his pain only managed by M's spells and tinctures, but slowly, under Ves's watchful eye, he returns to himself. Her healing of his trauma is undertaken over this time, IV allowing it to wash over him, the burden of sullied memories pressed so sharp against his heart finally feeling duller for M's conjuring.
To be free of it, the pain that blighted him, made him so sullen and mistrusting of all those bar his family, he feels lighter with every session she works him through, until finally, the dark mark he carried for so long leaves him free of it.
At last.
Six weeks pass before he is ready to depart beneath the bloom of darkness, Sal returned to escort them back through the rainforest.
"Thank you," he speaks, embracing M warmly at the foot of the shack stairs. "Thank you for all you did. I don't suppose I'll ever see you again, like, so yeah. I'm grateful to you for bringing me back."
"You suppose correctly." she speaks, smiling, her eyes studying. "This was always meant to happen, IV. I consulted the tarot a couple of nights ago, and the cards confirmed it. It wasn't your time when you passed. This body, this flesh, you belong within it, at the side of your creator."
"I cannot thank you enough, M," Ves speaks solemnly, nodding with deep admiration for the witch.
Her mouth tilts. "The hoops I forced you to jump through are thanks enough, Vessel." Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the bottle of his blood, handing it over as promised. "Fair is fair, after all."
He accepts it, slipping it into the side pocket of his rucksack. "Appreciated."
Stepping back, she nods elegantly, gesturing into the forest with her hand. "Farewell to you both, and safe travels."
Waiting for ten minutes, until she is sure they have vanished into the thick of the rainforest's dense canopy, she then turns back to the shack, holding her hands aloft. Chanting in words from the language only she and the powers of this earth and beyond understand, a ball of light beams out from her hands, the homestead beginning to buckle and shrink as a mystical breeze whips around her.
Magic dances through the air, the shack reduced to the tiniest of wooden cubes at her feet, M finishing her commands and reaching to pick it up, tucking it into her pocket. Taking a look around, she then closes her eyes, mutters a different incantation, and promptly vanishes.
She is a difficult witch to find. If you locate her once, you probably shan't ever be able to again.
Trekking through the rainforest, Ves finds a simple pleasure in watching IV take it all in, frequently nudged with a soft exclamation of 'look at that!' when Sal alerts him to animals high up in the trees, staring on in wonder. He smiles, the happiness of having him back by his side only marred by whenever he has to witness his bouts of pain.
Luckily, he doesn't experience any until much later that night, Sal having bid them goodbye, travelling at speed through the night to cover as much ground as possible, IV doubled over as he groans.
"How long now, roughly?" he grimaces, Ves taking out the codeine capsules from his bag and removing two from the orange bottle.
He hands them over, frowning in concern. "About another hour before we reach southern California."
They are heading to Ves's house there, the beach side property in Malibu that he usually rents out through Airbnb, now currently vacated for the next month. It will allow a little precious time for them to continue reconnecting, also offering a further period of adjustment for IV to become used to being alive again.
"Let me just get these in me, then." Opening the first capsule with his teeth, he carefully decants the power onto the back of his hand, plugging his nostril and quickly inhaling it through the other. Ves raises an eyebrow. "Gets into the bloodstream faster this way." He then laughs softly, shaking his head. "I suppose living with junkies all those years ago gave me a few more life skills I didn't even know I'd need, eh?"
"Quite." Ves comments, watching him do the same with the second capsule before he's ready to jump onto his back once more and continue their journey.
After stopping at a mall so Ves can buy himself a pre-pay phone just as the store is closing and rapidly set it up, they arrive shortly after 9pm, IV's rumbling stomach dictating that Ves order him some food as soon as they walk through the door. Being greeted by a familiar space offers comfort, IV last visiting the home ten years before.
Feeling grubby after his stay in the rainforest, smelly too since his creator neglected to remember that as a human, he'd need soap and deodorant, he also asks Ves if he can DoorDash those items as well as a few others too, before throwing his clothes into the washing machine and moving to run himself a bath.
"Have we still got clothes here?" he calls from the door. "Can't remember."
"Hold on." Ves then moves to the large cupboard beside the kitchen, where their personal items are stored away, ready for them whenever they come to stay. Within, he finds the box marked IV, pulling it out and taking from the vacuum sealed bag a pair of black sweatpants and a cut off sleeve band t-shirt. He doesn't have a clue who Bring Me the Horizon are, but he knows IV loves them.
When he returns, it's to the sound of clippers, his offspring giving himself a haircut.
"Want me to do where you can't see?"
"Yeah," he replies, handing them over. "Faded back and sides, long on top."
"Can do."
The clippers move in a blur, Ves dusting hair as he works, IV feeling immediately fresher for a little grooming. He could do with a shave, but doesn't have anything in the way of a razor until the DoorDash items arrive.
Once finished, Ves places the clippers down, and they both stand there, studying one another's reflection in the mirror silently for a few moments. The vampire then drapes his arms over his shoulders, smiling, still not quite able to believe that he is back. It still feels like a dream to him, to have his longing at a cease, his offspring there. Both his brother and son, his friend and family.
"I won't ever put you through it again, you know," IV pledges, placing his hands on Ves's forearms, his loose drape tightening in a hug he leans back against.
"Good," he speaks, smiling with a soft laugh. "Cost me enough to bring you back this time."
His joke lands well, but also piques IV's curiosity. "How much was it, then?"
"Never you mind." He then points in the direction of the bathtub. "You're about to flood the floor."
He moves quickly, feeling it strange still when he tries for his usual rapid motion, only to be hampered by his human form's constraints. Turning off the tap, he turns back to his creator. "No, go on. How much?"
Ves straightens, shaking his head. "I told you, never you mind." He then nods, folding his arms. "Suffice to say I would have paid four times the amount if I'd had to. You're more than worth it."
Leaving him to his bath, he departs, IV standing there for a few seconds, feeling the glow of love humming through his being. It's a stark contrast to what he experienced the last time he was on earth, the churning mass of emotions, the trauma, the shame of what he carried within, the hurt, the realisation over his horrendous actions towards you.
They fractured within his insides like shards of heirloom glass, too small, too fragile to piece back together, forever goring at where he was soft. To exist without those burdens feels freeing in a way he never imagined he could experience, the torment of his soul seemingly erased clean.
As far as second chances go, he knows this is his, this gift unbelievably precious, not to be wasted or thrown away. Not that he ever intends to be so reckless again.
Sinking into the water, he immediately feels soothed for the heat, steam rising through the air as he relaxes. He's only disturbed momentarily by Ves, bringing in his requested items from the DoorDash order, relieved beyond measure to be able to have a good scrub with some soap.
"How was your bath?" he's asked half an hour later, the smell of the burger and fries sat in a bag upon the table wafting under his nose.
"Feels good to be clean," he replies. "I'd have been quicker, like, but I had to bust out a wank, too."
Ves tips his head back, laughing richly. "Ahh, so desire has returned, then?"
"Ain't fucking half," he chuckles. "That and being permanently starving hungry." Opening the bag, he virtually tears the box open, lifting out the huge, deluxe tripe cheeseburger and taking a massive bite with a look of pure satisfaction. "Fuck me, that's a damned good burger!"
"I'll take your word for it," Ves replies, sipping his tea. Oh, how he missed proper tea while in the rainforest, M's infusions not quite cutting it for him. "You should have seen some of the pregnancy craving concoctions III has been rustling up for our wife of late," he then hums, the memory bringing him a pleasant tingle within. "As a former chef, you'd despair."
Swallowing his mouthful of food, he takes a big glug of soda. Ahh, full fat Coke. As a vampire, he didn't remember how much he loved it, the bubbles fizzing effervescently upon his tongue. "Yeah? Such as?"
"Pizza with hot dog sausages and Branston pickle. She's also been partial to pickled onions smothered in ketchup."
IV pauses in his chewing, his nose crinkling. "Oh, so we've got two wrong'uns in the house now, eh?"
Ves laughs softly in agreement. "Indeed, we do, IV." Looking on at him, he shakes his head a little, still bowled over to see him right there across from him. "I can barely wait to take you home to them all. They've missed you immeasurably."
He's surprised to hear that. "I would have thought the opposite."
His poor IV. While M's magic healed his trauma, a little of his low self-esteem lingers. "You must move past the notion that you are somehow not worthy of being cherished, IV."
"No, it isn't that," he begins, popping a fry into his mouth. "All the healing M did with me, it finally soothed all of that. I get it now, properly. I think maybe me being healed as a human did it? I dunno, something about me being vampire making it impossible to seal the wound, backwards as that sounds." Chewing, he swallows his mouthful, another sip of Coke following. "I meant because in my last hour of being before I ran into the dawn, I tried to murder the one fucking person who came close to fixing all my broken bits."
Ves leans forward a little, placing his tea down on the coffee table, eyes flitting out to watch the waves crashing along the shoreline through the window. "She has forgiven your transgressions. She's told me often over the last two and a half years how much she's wished for the impossible, you coming back so she could tell you in person. Expect her trust to be something steadily rebuilt, though."
IV nods rapidly, finishing the final bite of his burger. "Absolutely, Ves. I don't like, expect it all to go back to how it was at all. I gotta work hard with her, and I will." His mouth then tilts a little. "Although I know as soon as I see her, other than wanting to just fucking put my arms around her, I'll be fighting the urge to flatten her against something."
Ves snorts softly. "She has that effect, our wife."
"I bet she was fucking gorgeous pregnant, eh?" A nod confirms. "So, is the plan for all of you to have kids with her, then? Really branch out the family like that instead of adding more vampires?"
At hearing the subject that brought him such anguish a few months prior, Ves can't help but notice how the sore spot inside over his lack of fertility doesn't quite sting with the same acerbity any longer. "III doesn't want to, because of Clara," he begins, IV tutting softly, his eyes saddening. "As for me, while my balls provide the very thing needed, it is without any little reproductive cells necessary to conceive. I can give my wife a beautiful pearl necklace, but alas, no beautiful baby."
IV grunts with laughter at the pearl necklace comment. "Ya filthy old vampire."
"Says you," he replies, "the man who once decorated her face so plentifully, you left the poor woman half blind!"
He really falls apart at that, remembering the moment when a load shot onto your face accidentally included a spurt into your right eye. "Oh, she was fucking livid with me. Had to stick my face between her legs and almost break my bloody jaw apologising for it!" They share laughter, IV shuffling back to sit cross legged on the sofa. "Sorry, to hear that, though. That you can't father a kid with her."
Ves shrugs with ease, his head cocking. "It doesn't hurt quite as much. Not now I have you back."
It wasn't just IV who was healed out in the rainforest.
Having his offspring returned to him has acted as a balm to his disappointment, the wound of infertility finally closing over. However, Ves realises in healing himself and bringing IV back to life once more, another is likely to open up. This one, he understands, will be within the rest of his family.
He only hopes with the same amount of conviction it took to return the one they lost, that he can repair it with those who never left.
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After two venues that look perfect but feel wrong, you and Simon find a small stone estate that finally feels like yours, book it on instinct and trust, and drive home with the quiet, settling certainty that the wedding is real now.
41. A Room That Fits
Venue hunting starts with a list, a map, and Simon already regretting agreeing to this.
You are at the kitchen table with your laptop open, three tabs of venues pulled up, your notebook half-filled with messy notes, and your phone propped up against a mug because, of course, this is also content.
Simon stands at the counter making coffee, watching you with the same expression he usually reserves for bomb defusal briefings.
Suspicious. Focused. Mildly concerned.
"You ready?" you ask, glancing up at him.
"For what."
"For a day of romance and decision-making."
He takes a slow sip of his coffee. "You make that sound like a threat."
"It's not a threat. It's a wedding."
"Same thing."
You grin. "You love me."
"Yeah," he says, like that explains everything. "Doesn't mean I have to love venues."
You stand, grab your bag, and walk over to him, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth.
"You're going to," you say. "Because we're picking one today."
He hums against your lips. "We'll see."
You film the intro in the hallway.
"Okay," you say to your phone, already smiling. "Today is venue hunting day. We have a shortlist. We have snacks. We have opinions. Simon is—"
You turn the camera to him. Making sure he’s out of frame. Sexy arms only.
He looks at it. Then at you.
Then back at it.
"...present," he says.
You laugh and cut the clip.
The first venue is a no before you even get out of the car.
You pull into the gravel drive and immediately see it.
Too big.
Too grand.
Too... not you.
"Absolutely not," you say under your breath.
Simon hasn't even turned the engine off yet.
"What."
You gesture vaguely at the sprawling building in front of you. White columns. Perfect hedges. A fountain that looks like it has opinions.
"I feel like I need to be someone else to get married there."
He studies it for a second. "Looks like you'd get lost."
"Exactly."
"Good parking, though."
You look at him slowly.
He shrugs. "I'm just sayin'."
You laugh, grab your bag, and open the door anyway. "We're still going in."
Inside, it's worse.
Polished marble floors. Chandeliers that feel too big for the space. A coordinator who greets you with a voice that is just a little too rehearsed.
"Welcome, you two! Oh, you're going to love it here."
You already know you won't.
But you smile. You nod. You let her lead you through rooms that feel more like a hotel than a place where you want to stand in front of Simon and promise him your life.
You film little clips anyway. The staircase. The ceremony space. The reception hall.
It all looks perfect on camera.
It all feels wrong in your chest.
Simon stays quiet through most of it, hands in his pockets, eyes moving over exits, windows, the flow of people.
At one point, the coordinator gestures toward the ballroom.
"We can seat up to two hundred guests here—"
"No," you say immediately.
She blinks.
Simon looks at you.
You smile politely. "We're not doing that many."
"Oh," she says quickly. "Well, we can absolutely scale down—"
You nod, but you already know.
Outside, back in the car, you exhale.
"No."
Simon nods once. "No."
You glance at him. "You didn't even try to sell me on the parking."
He smirks faintly. "Wasn't worth it."
The second venue is smaller.
Better.
But still not right.
It's a converted hotel with a garden out back. Pretty. Warm. The kind of place you could make work if you had to.
But you don't want to make it work.
You want it to feel like it fits.
You walk through the ceremony space slowly, trailing your fingers over the back of a wooden chair.
"It's nice," you say.
"Yeah."
You turn in a slow circle.
"It's just..."
"Not it," he finishes.
You look at him.
He shrugs. "You'd know."
That does something to you.
The trust in that. The way he says it like your instinct is the deciding factor, no argument, no ego.
You nod. "Not it."
By the third venue, your energy dips.
You're still filming. Still smiling. Still making notes.
But you can feel it creeping in.
That quiet pressure.
What if we don't find it.
Simon notices before you say anything.
You're standing outside the next place, staring at the entrance like you might talk yourself out of going in.
He steps closer, hand brushing the back of your neck.
"You good."
You nod, a little automatic.
"Hey."
You look at him.
His thumb presses lightly under your chin, lifting your face just enough.
"We don't have to pick today," he says. "Not a deadline."
"I know," you say. "I just... wanted to."
He studies you for a second.
"You will," he says. "Just might not be this one."
You exhale.
Then nod. "Okay."
He presses a quick kiss to your forehead.
"Come on, then."
The third venue surprises you.
It's a little estate on the edge of the city. Not flashy. Not trying too hard.
The building is older. Stone. Ivy creeping up one side like it's been there forever.
Inside, it's warm.
Wood floors. Soft light. A fireplace that isn't just decorative.
You pause just inside the entrance.
Something in your chest shifts.
Simon notices.
"This one?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know yet," you say, but your voice is softer now. "Maybe."
The coordinator here is different.
Less rehearsed. More real.
She walks you through the space without overselling it. Lets you look. Lets you breathe.
The ceremony room is small enough to feel intimate but not cramped. Big windows. Natural light. Enough space for your people without feeling like you're filling a void.
You step into the center of it and turn slowly.
You can see it.
Not perfectly. Not fully.
But enough.
Simon hangs back a little, watching you instead of the room.
You catch his eye.
"What."
He nods toward the space. "Looks like you can see it."
You swallow.
"Yeah."
The reception room is even better.
Wood beams. Long tables instead of round ones. Windows that look out onto a garden instead of a parking lot.
There's a quiet hum to it. A softness that doesn't feel staged.
You drift toward one of the windows.
"It feels like us," you say without thinking.
Simon comes up beside you.
"Yeah," he says. "It does."
The coordinator leaves you alone for a few minutes.
"Take your time," she says. "I'll be just outside."
The door closes behind her.
The room goes quiet.
You stand in the middle of it, looking around, trying to imagine it filled with people. With voices. With laughter.
With him.
You turn slowly.
"Okay," you say. "Picture it."
Simon leans back against the wall, arms crossed. "Go on."
You gesture vaguely.
"Ceremony in there," you say, nodding toward the adjoining room. "Soft light. Not too many people. Just... ours."
He nods.
"Then here," you continue, turning. "Tables. Candles. Music that's not too loud. People actually talking instead of shouting over each other."
"Food that's decent," he adds.
You grin. "Yes. Very important."
You walk toward him.
"And you," you say, softer now. "Standing at the front. Trying not to look like you want to disappear."
He huffs. "I won't disappear."
"No," you say. "You'll just look at me like you already do and everyone's going to notice."
His gaze shifts slightly at that.
You step closer.
"And I'll walk in," you say. "And it'll feel... right."
Silence settles between you.
Heavy in a good way.
Simon reaches out, fingers brushing your waist.
"Then we pick this one," he says simply.
You blink.
"Just like that?"
He shrugs. "You felt it."
You search his face.
"You did too."
He doesn't argue.
"That's enough for me," he says.
You book it that afternoon.
You sit at a small desk with the coordinator, going over dates, deposits, timelines.
Your hand shakes just a little when you sign.
Not from doubt.
From the weight of it.
This is real.
This is happening.
Simon stands behind you, one hand resting lightly on the back of your chair.
Not hovering.
Just there.
When you finish, you look up at him.
He looks down at you.
And there it is again.
That look.
The one that says this is it.
Outside, you finally let yourself breathe.
"Oh my God," you say, laughing a little. "We have a venue."
"Yeah," he says.
"We have a wedding."
"Yeah."
You turn to him fully, eyes bright.
"We're getting married."
His mouth softens.
"Yeah," he says again, quieter this time.
You step into him without thinking, arms wrapping around his middle.
He catches you easily, one hand sliding up your back.
You press your face into his chest.
"This is insane," you murmur.
"Bit," he agrees.
"But it feels right."
"Yeah."
You pull back just enough to look at him.
"You didn't even argue."
He lifts a brow. "About what."
"About anything. You just... trusted me."
His expression shifts, something steadier settling in.
"I trust you with this," he says. "It's your world."
"It's ours," you correct gently.
He holds your gaze for a second.
Then nods. "Ours."
You film the outro in the car.
Hair a little messy now. Makeup slightly worn. Eyes brighter than they were that morning.
"Okay," you say to your phone, smiling. "We found it. We actually found it."
You angle the camera so it catches both of you.
Simon glances at it, then at you.
"Say something," you prompt.
He sighs softly.
"It's good," he says.
You laugh. "That's what we're going with?"
He looks at you, then back at the camera.
"It's perfect," he corrects.
That one you keep.
That night, back in the flat, everything feels a little different.
Not dramatically.
Just... settled.
You're in the kitchen, rinsing out glasses, when Simon comes up behind you.
His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against him.
You lean into it automatically.
"We picked it," you say softly.
"We did."
You tilt your head back against his shoulder.
"Next step," you murmur.
He presses a kiss just under your ear.
"Next step."
You close your eyes for a second.
Let it settle.
The venue. The date. The dress waiting in the wardrobe. The life you are building piece by piece.
Not rushed.
Not forced.
Chosen.
You turn in his arms, hands coming up to rest against his chest.
"Hey," you say.
"What."
"You're really going to marry me there."
He looks at you like that question is ridiculous.
"Yeah," he says. "I am."
And there is no hesitation in it.
None at all.
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A brutal, hilarious day of dress shopping ends the moment you step into the one gown that feels unmistakably you.
40. Say Yes, Carry It Home
Dress shopping starts at eight in the morning with Holly pounding on your door like the police.
"Up," she yells through the wood. "Bride day. Move your ass."
You open the door in slippers, hair in a messy bun, coffee mug in hand. "You are literally glowing with violence."
"Yes," she says, pushing past you with a garment bag over one shoulder and a tote the size of a small nation in the other. "Because today matters."
You squint at the tote. "What's in there."
"Water. Snacks. double-sided tape. bobby pins. emotional support lip gloss. chargers. heels. flats. a tiny fan. and a murder weapon if a consultant puts you in satin mermaid with feathers."
You step aside. "You should have led with murder weapon."
She spins in the middle of your flat and looks you up and down. "That's what you're wearing?"
You look down at your leggings and Simon's old hoodie. "For shopping? Yes."
"For your wedding dress shopping vlog," she corrects.
You groan. "Right. Content."
Holly grins. "Content, baby."
She makes you change into a cute but comfortable outfit before you've even finished your coffee. Soft jeans, little knit top, oversized blazer, hair loosely styled instead of thrown up. She does your makeup at your kitchen counter while you blink sleepily into your phone camera and mumble updates for the vlog.
"Okay," you say to the front camera while Holly drags a brush through your hair with far too much enthusiasm. "Today is officially wedding dress shopping day. I have no idea if I'm buying anything. I'm pretending to be chill. Holly is not pretending at all."
The camera pans to Holly.
"I will cry," Holly says solemnly. "I will also destroy any ugly dress in this city with my bare hands."
You laugh and cut the clip.
By nine thirty, the two of you are in a car with your tripod, a power bank, and a note in your phone labeled dress thoughts that includes words like soft, timeless, a little romantic but not fussy, and must make Simon forget his own name.
You fully intend for the day to be productive, maybe emotional, definitely content-rich.
You do not expect it to become an all-out citywide campaign.
The first shop is beautiful and terrible.
Beautiful because the lighting is perfect, the floors are old wood, and the consultant brings you champagne before you've even sat down.
Terrible because every dress is aggressively bridal in a way that makes you feel like you've been swallowed by a Pinterest board curated by a woman named Cecily.
You vlog anyway.
Little clips of dresses on padded hangers. Holly zooming in on lace and whispering "too grandmother." The consultant fluffing skirts while you smile politely. Your own face in the mirror looking more and more unconvinced.
The first dress is too stiff. The second too sparkly. The third makes you look like a wedding cupcake. The fourth has sleeves that turn Holly physically hostile.
"I hate this one," she says with zero shame while the consultant is still clipping the back.
You step down from the little pedestal and stare at yourself. "I look expensive and miserable."
"Correct."
You film a quick transition clip in the mirror and then change out of it in record speed.
The second shop is worse in a completely different direction.
Everything is sleek and architectural and beautiful in theory, but you put on one crepe column gown and emerge from the dressing room looking like a very wealthy ghost.
Holly makes a face. "It's giving widow at a luxury funeral."
You nearly fall over laughing.
"Maybe I save that one for if Simon annoys me in ten years."
The consultant does not know what to do with either of you.
You leave with good footage and absolutely no dress.
By lunch, you have hit four boutiques.
Your feet hurt. Your hair is somehow still holding. Holly has become both more dangerous and more correct with every passing hour.
You sit on a bench outside a little café with takeaway salads neither of you wanted and your phone propped against a water bottle filming a time-lapse for the vlog.
"I am losing my mind," you tell the camera while Holly unwraps a protein bar. "Everything is either too much, not enough, too trendy, too plain, or trying to make me look like a chandelier."
Holly points at you with her fork. "We are not settling."
"I know."
"You need a dress that looks like you."
"I know."
She softens then, because beneath all the menace and caffeine and bridal bloodlust, she gets it.
"You're going to know when it's right," she says.
You sigh, leaning your head back against the bench. "I hope so."
She reaches over and squeezes your knee. "You will."
Then she brightens all over again and grabs her phone.
"One more place."
You groan. "You're a tyrant."
"Correct," she says. "Now get up."
The last boutique is not even on your original list.
Holly found it through some girl in London who got married last year and "looked stupidly chic in all her photos."
The shop is tucked on a quieter street. Not flashy. Not huge. Cream front. Gold lettering. Soft little display windows with two gowns and a pair of satin heels set like sculptures.
You almost do not go in because by then you are tired and wrung out and emotionally bruised by tulle.
Then the consultant opens the door before you can change your mind and smiles in a way that feels suspiciously kind.
"Come in," she says. "You look like you've had a day."
You and Holly exchange a glance and burst out laughing.
Inside, the boutique is calmer than the others. Not overstyled. Not trying too hard. The dresses feel edited, curated. Like every one of them is there on purpose.
You start filming again almost immediately, because the light is gorgeous and your followers are already invested.
A little montage. The soft rustle of gowns. The champagne flute in your hand. Holly whispering commentary from the sofa while you disappear behind a changing curtain.
The first two dresses are lovely.
Not right. But lovely.
The third is almost dangerous because it comes close. A soft sweetheart neckline, fitted bodice, dramatic skirt. You step out and Holly actually goes quiet for a second.
Then she tilts her head. "I love it. Which means it is very dangerous. But I don't think it's yours."
You look in the mirror and know exactly what she means.
Beautiful. Just not you.
The consultant studies you thoughtfully. Then she says, "I have one more."
Of course she does.
You disappear back into the dressing room with it draped over your arms.
And the second you touch it, your whole body stills.
The fabric is heavier than you expected. Smooth. Rich. It falls in a way that feels expensive before you even get it halfway on. The neckline is perfect, somehow. Elegant without trying. The waist sits exactly where it should. The skirt has volume but not too much. Movement but not chaos. Structure and softness all at once.
By the time the consultant fastens the back, your heart is beating too hard.
You do not speak.
You step out.
Holly looks up from her phone.
And immediately starts crying.
"Oh, you bitch," she says, pressing both hands over her mouth.
The consultant smiles like she has been waiting all day for that exact reaction.
You turn to the mirror.
And there you are.
Not a bride in the abstract. Not a content creator in a nice dress. Not someone trying on aesthetics.
You.
Just... more.
Softer and stronger and somehow exactly the woman who belongs beside Simon Riley without disappearing next to him.
Your eyes sting so fast it pisses you off.
"Oh no," you whisper.
Holly is already on her feet. "That's it. That's the dress. Don't even play with me right now."
You turn sideways. Then back. Then catch your breath all over again when the consultant arranges the skirt just so.
"It's perfect," you say, and your voice comes out thin.
Holly nods furiously, crying with zero dignity. "It is. It is so stupidly perfect."
You do a slow turn in front of the mirror, hands shaking a little.
And because this is your life and apparently nothing can just be sacred without also becoming content, your phone is propped discreetly near the flowers in the corner recording your reaction for the vlog.
You don't care.
The footage catches the exact second your face changes. The exact second you know.
It also catches the moment you ask the question.
"How much is it?"
The consultant says the number gently.
Like she knows it might kill you.
It is insane.
Not just expensive. Not just "special occasion expensive."
Crazy.
The kind of number that would once have sent you into a nervous spiral and a long monologue about priorities and rent and whether fabric can actually cost that much.
Holly watches your face, ready to either talk you into sanity or help you commit a financially questionable act of romance.
You look at yourself one more time.
Then at the consultant.
Then at Holly.
And you say, very calmly, "Okay. I'm getting it."
Holly makes a noise like she is being shot.
The consultant beams.
You look back at the mirror and this time the tears actually spill.
Not because of the price.
Because it is yours.
You pay for it without flinching.
That is the part that gets you, weirdly. Not the swipe itself. The feeling after. The quiet certainty. The fact that you have built a life and a career and a brand strong enough that buying the perfect dress for your wedding does not have to be an act of self-harm or guilt.
It is still insane.
But it is possible.
And that feels like a victory too.
You film the little "I said yes to the dress" clip outside, Holly hugging you and yelling while you laugh into the camera and remind your followers the reveal will be private till the wedding.
Then you haul the massive garment bag and the box and the receipt folder and your dying feet back across the city like a tiny bridal caravan.
Holly nearly drops dead laughing every time the bottom of the bag catches a passerby.
By the time you get to Simon's flat, the dress is taking up the entire hallway and half your body.
You wrestle it inside with the grace of a horse trailer and call out, "Babe?"
Simon comes out of the kitchen with a mug in his hand and stops dead in the doorway.
There is a huge white garment bag in his hall. You behind it. Holly behind you. Shopping bags looped over both arms.
His eyes move slowly over the whole scene.
Then to your face.
Then back to the dress.
"Christ," he says.
Holly bursts out laughing.
You grin helplessly. "Hi."
He sets the mug down on the nearest surface and steps closer, like maybe if he changes angle it will somehow become less enormous.
"That's the dress."
You nod, trying and failing to look casual.
"That's the dress."
He stares at it again.
"You bought the whole bloody shop with it."
"It's a dramatic silhouette," Holly says, still far too pleased with herself.
Simon looks at the garment bag, then at you, and does that thing where his whole expression goes blank because whatever he is actually feeling is too much to let out at once.
"You happy?" he asks, and his voice is very carefully even.
You feel your smile soften.
"Yeah," you say. "I'm really happy."
That changes something in his face right away. The tension eases. The whole absurdity of the giant dress monster in his hallway becomes manageable because you're happy.
"Alright," he says quietly. "Then good."
Holly watches the exchange like she has tickets to something expensive.
"You two are disgusting," she says.
"Thank you," you say sweetly.
She leaves not long after, kissing your cheek and loudly reminding you that she expects first-look tears from him and a proper bridesmaid gift and at least one chaotic dinner before the wedding.
When the door shuts behind her, the flat goes quiet again.
You turn to Simon, who is still eyeing the garment bag like it might lunge.
"You can say it's a lot," you tell him.
"It's a lot."
You laugh. "It's beautiful."
He nods once. "I figured that."
You bend to pick up the folder the boutique sent home with you and a sheet inside slips free.
He catches it before it hits the floor.
His eyes flick down.
Then back up.
Then down again.
You recognize the page immediately.
Receipt.
Oh no.
His eyebrows go up very slowly.
You wince. "Okay."
"That's what a dress costs."
"That dress," you correct. "And technically the veil option was worse."
He looks at you like you have just casually informed him you bought a small car made of lace.
"Jesus Christ."
You take the page from him, laughing because his expression is just too much.
"I know."
"No, you don't," he says. "You said yes to that number like it was groceries."
You shrug, a little shy now that the moment is real in a different way. "I loved it."
He looks at you for a long second. At the receipt in your hand. At the huge garment bag in his hall. At the life you have built without apologizing for the scale of it.
Then something unexpected crosses his face.
Not disapproval.
Pride.
A little bit stunned. A little bit amused. Very much proud.
"You're insane," he says.
You grin. "That feels affectionate."
"It is."
You step into him, one hand sliding up his chest. "I work hard."
He catches your waist, gaze still heavy in that thoughtful way. "Yeah. You do."
The words settle warm and solid between you.
Because that is what it is, really. Not the dress. Not the price.
The fact that he watched you buy it without blinking, because you could. Because your work is real. Because all the late nights and strategy and filming and spreadsheets and branding have made this possible.
He shakes his head once more, still faintly in disbelief.
"Didn't bat an eye," he mutters.
"I absolutely batted several eyes internally."
His mouth twitches.
Then he looks past you at the bag again. "Where's that thing even go."
You glance toward the hall closet and then immediately dismiss it.
"Not there."
"It's not sleeping in our bed," he says.
You lift a brow. "Our bed."
He ignores that because he has trapped himself and knows it.
You laugh so hard you have to grab his arms.
Eventually the dress ends up hanging carefully in the wardrobe, taking over an alarming amount of territory. Simon stands back with his hands on his hips like he has just installed a fragile ghost into the room.
"Don't breathe near it," you say.
He gives you a deadpan look. "Might have to move out."
"You'll survive."
He steps close again, one hand settling low on your waist.
"You'd better look worth it in that thing."
You stare at him. "Worth it."
His mouth curves, small and dangerous. "You know what I mean."
You do.
And because he is looking at you like he is already picturing the day, already seeing you walking toward him in that dress, you go a little soft in the center.
"I think I will," you say quietly.
His thumb rubs once over your side.
"Yeah," he says. "I think you will too."
Then, because he cannot let a sincere moment go unpunctured for too long, he glances back toward the wardrobe and adds, "Still thinkin' the price was criminal, though."
You laugh into his chest and let him pull you in, the giant dress hidden in his room like a future folded into fabric, waiting.
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You and Simon finally circle a late-October date and begin building a wedding that fits both your worlds.
39. Plans and Possibilities
Wedding planning starts with a calendar and an argument.
Not a bad one. Not the kind with raised voices or hurt feelings.
Just the kind that happens when two very different people sit in the middle of a life they already know they want and realize they have to actually pin it to a date.
You are on the floor in the living room, legs crossed beneath you, your laptop open on the coffee table and three different calendars spread around like you are preparing for battle. One is digital. One is paper. One is a stupidly pretty planner Holly bought you with gold script on the front that says Plans and Possibilities.
Simon is on the couch above you, one arm slung over the back, watching with the deeply suspicious expression he gets whenever you become visibly organized.
Your ring catches the lamp light every time you move your hand.
You still have not fully recovered from that.
You tap your pen against the planner. "Okay. Big thing first."
He lifts a brow. "Thought the big thing was the ring."
"You are very funny."
"I know."
You ignore him and drag the paper calendar closer. "The date."
At that, his whole face softens in a way that almost distracts you. Almost.
Because the truth is, Simon would marry you tomorrow if you said yes.
He would marry you barefoot in a registry office on a random Wednesday and call it the best day of his life without even pretending to be cool about it.
You know this because he has looked at you like that ever since the morning he slipped the ring onto your hand. Like the only reason there is not already a legal document connecting you is because you want flowers and dresses and enough time for Holly not to pass out.
You look up at him. "Try not to say 'next week' just because you can."
His mouth twitches. "Wasn't gonna say next week."
You narrow your eyes.
He shrugs. "Was thinkin' sooner than you, though."
You snort. "See. This is why you can't be trusted with timelines."
"I can be trusted fine," he says. "I just don't see the point in draggin' it out if we know."
That lands warm in your chest, annoyingly so.
"I know," you say, softer now. "But I want to do it properly. Not flashy. Just... properly."
He nods once. He gets that.
You drag your attention back to the calendar. "Okay. So. I keep thinking fall. Or winter."
"Not spring?" he asks.
You look at him over the rim of your mug. "Pollen."
He gives you a slow, satisfied look.
"Don't start," you mutter. "That was one time."
"You called me xenophobic over flowers."
"I stand by it."
He huffs a laugh, then leans forward, forearms on his knees. "Fall's better."
"Right?" you say. "Soft light. Candles. Good coats. Mood."
"Mood," he repeats flatly.
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah," he says. "I do."
You turn the calendar so it faces both of you and start circling weekends with your pen. September. October. November.
Then you hit the part that has been buzzing at the back of your head since the proposal.
You tap the page. "We need a date when you will not be deployed."
His face changes instantly. Not shut down. Not angry. Just careful.
"That's not how it works," he says quietly.
You expected that answer. You still hate it.
"Yes, it is."
His brows pull together. "Love."
"No." You sit up straighter, pen still in your hand. "No, Simon. I know your job does not care about anniversaries and birthdays and launch parties. I know that. I know it better now than I did before. But your wedding?"
He watches you. Quiet.
You keep going because once you start you cannot stop.
"I'm not asking the universe to make you safe forever. I'm asking for one day. One. I'm asking for a date where your people know you are unavailable unless the world is literally ending."
He rubs his thumb over his jaw, thinking.
"It doesn't work like a normal office," he says. "I can put leave in. I can mark it. But if somethin goes sideways enough..."
"I know." Your voice softens. "I know. But it still gets marked. It still gets protected."
He looks at the calendar for a long second. You can see the gears turning, all those practical little calculations he always does.
Then he says, "You'd want a bit around it. Not just one day."
"Yes," you say instantly. "Exactly. I want a run of days where I'm not scared you're going to get yanked out of your own wedding because someone somewhere made a very poor decision."
His mouth twitches despite himself.
"That's dramatic."
"That is realistic, and I am marrying a terrifying man with a go bag."
He looks at you, then down at the ring on your hand, then back at the calendar.
"Alright," he says quietly. "I'll speak to Price."
You blink. "Really?"
He nods once. "I can't promise a hundred percent. Nobody gets that. But I can put the leave in. Lock the dates down as hard as possible. More than a day if you want."
A ridiculous amount of relief floods your chest.
"I want more than a day," you say. "I want at least a few. I want to wake up next to you after and not think, well, that was lovely, time for war."
That makes his face soften in a way that feels private.
"Yeah," he says. "Fair."
You crawl up onto the couch beside him without thinking and tuck yourself into his side. He drapes an arm over your shoulders automatically.
"So we can make it work," you murmur.
"We can make it work," he agrees.
You smile into his chest. "It works like that now."
He kisses the top of your head. "Bossy."
"You're marrying me anyway."
"Yeah," he says, and there is so much calm certainty in it that it makes your throat tighten. "I am."
The content conversation happens over takeaway two nights later.
It is Chinese, because neither of you has the energy to cook, and because wedding planning apparently drains you like a tactical operation.
You are both at the kitchen table. Containers open. Chopsticks abandoned. Your laptop shoved between plates and a notebook full of insane little lists.
You are staring at a page titled:
WEDDING CONTENT? DO NOT BE WEIRD
Simon reads the title upside down and immediately sighs.
"Oh, no."
You point your chopsticks at him. "Be nice. This matters."
He leans back in the chair, arms crossed. "Does it."
"Yes." You shut the laptop partway and look at him properly. "Not because I want to turn our entire wedding into a campaign. I don't. I really don't. But this is my life too. People have followed me through all of this. The move. The line. The... hands."
He snorts softly at that.
You continue. "I want to share some of it. Just not in a way that makes you feel like a prop or a zoo exhibit."
His expression eases a little. Good. That is the real point.
"I'm not saying cameras in our faces all day," you say. "No livestream. No vows online. No face reveal if you don't want one. Honestly, not even if you ever did want one. I think the mystery is too funny now."
His mouth twitches.
"But maybe some little bits," you say. "Tiny things. Dress shopping breadcrumbs. Hands. Flowers. Maybe me crying over invitation fonts. Wedding morning details. One picture after. The ring. Our hands. Maybe your hand on my waist and everyone loses their minds."
He is quiet for a beat, taking that in.
Then he says, "I can do that."
You blink. "That easy?"
He shrugs one shoulder. "You've already kept me comfortable this long. Don't see why you'd start makin me miserable now."
That hits you harder than it should.
You smile. "Thank you."
He reaches across the table and steals one of your dumplings.
"That doesn't mean a drone over my head while I'm tryin to marry you."
You grin. "No drone. Promise."
"And MacTavish does not get a camera."
You laugh. "That is probably for the public good, anyway."
He nods, satisfied.
You write it down while he eats.
Share little things. Keep the heart private. No drone. No Soap camera.
He reads it over your shoulder. "I sound like a war crime."
"You sound like a man with boundaries."
"Same thing."
"No."
Basic planning turns out to be not basic at all.
It starts with a venue list.
You want intimate. Warm. Candlelight. Something that feels like the two of you, not some performative cathedral to romance.
He wants simple. Secure. Not filled with three hundred strangers and a wedding planner named Arabella who calls him "sir" too much.
You pull up saved places and flip the laptop toward him. "Okay. Initial impressions only. No military critique until I ask."
He raises a brow. "That's my main critique."
"I know. That's the problem."
The first venue is a beautiful old manor with ivy and fireplaces and terrible parking.
Simon says no immediately.
"You didn't even look."
"No parking."
"You are impossible."
"You're marrying me."
You keep going.
There is a converted greenhouse he calls "a sniper's wet dream." You ban that phrase from the planning process.
There is a city hotel ballroom you dismiss before he can. Too sterile. Too convention center. No soul.
Then there is a stone venue just outside the city with warm wood, old windows, and enough rooms for people to breathe without getting swallowed by the event.
You stop.
Simon notices.
"This one?" he asks.
You nod slowly. "This one."
He studies it longer than the others. "Feels quieter."
"Yes."
"Could work."
"Could work?" you repeat. "That is high praise from you."
He reaches for your calf where it is tucked under you on the couch. "Means I like it."
You smile. "Good. I do too."
That goes on the shortlist.
The guest list is where things get funny.
You make your first draft on paper. Cross things out. Add them back. Circle names. Add plus-ones you forgot.
Simon watches all of this with increasing suspicion.
"You know half these people are your influencer friends, right?"
"Yeah?"
"You like all of them enough to feed them?"
You stare at him. "That is such a nasty way to ask if someone should be invited."
"It's practical."
You point the pen at him. "I am inviting Holly."
"Obviously."
"Layla."
He nods once. "She likes you."
"She terrifies me sometimes."
"Good sign."
You roll your eyes. "I'm inviting Gaz and Price and Soap."
At that, his mouth flattens.
"MacTavish is gonna be a problem."
"He is going to be a delight," you correct.
"He's going to cry."
"Yes."
"He's going to make it about himself."
"Also yes."
Simon sighs, already resigned.
"And your family," he says.
You smile a little. "And mine."
He grows quieter then. Your side, his side, suddenly sounding much more serious than plus-ones and seating charts.
"What about yours?" you ask gently.
He shrugs. "Don't have many."
You nod. You knew that, mostly. Still, it lands with a little ache.
You move closer on the couch, tuck yourself against his side. "Then the ones you do have get the best seats."
He looks down at you for a second. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You kiss his shoulder and write another name on the page.
It occurs to you then that you are literally writing the guest list for your wedding curled against the man you are marrying, while he steals fries from your plate and pretends not to be emotional about it.
This is a ridiculous life.
You love it.
The date conversation comes back around a week later after he speaks to Price.
You are in bed, both of you half awake, your phone in your hand while you scroll through weather averages because apparently this is who you are now.
Simon comes in from the bathroom toweling his hair and tosses the towel over the chair.
"Well?" you ask immediately.
He gives you a look. "Mornin to you too."
"Well?"
He climbs into bed and settles beside you on his back. One arm under his head. Calm. Far too calm.
"I can have leave end of October to the first week of November."
You sit straight up.
"Really?"
He nods once. "Locked as hard as it gets. Price knows. The team knows. If the world catches fire, I can't help that, but barring that, I'm yours."
Something in your chest flips over entirely.
"End of October," you repeat, tasting it. "That's... very fall. Very us."
"Bit cold."
"We have coats."
"You and your bloody coats."
You grin and drop back down onto the pillow next to him.
"Late October wedding," you murmur, already seeing it. "Candles everywhere. Dark flowers. Maybe cream and deep green and gold."
He turns his head to look at you.
"You've thought about this."
"I have thought about this since I was twelve."
He huffs softly. "And I'm just now hearing the full madness."
"Yes," you say. "And you are so lucky."
He reaches over and drags you against him, one arm around your waist. "I know."
You press your nose into his chest and laugh.
Then, because your brain never stops when given permission, you say, "Do you want to know what I'd call our kid if we have a little boy?"
He goes very still.
Not upset. Just... aware.
You realize what you said a split second after it leaves your mouth and tip your head back to look at him.
"Too much?"
His expression softens in a way that almost wrecks you.
"No."
You swallow.
"Okay," you whisper.
He brushes your hair back from your face with one knuckle. "What name?"
And just like that, the future becomes something you can say out loud in little harmless pieces.
Not a declaration. Not a plan you have to lock down this second.
Just a conversation in bed.
You tell him names you like. Solid ones. Warm ones. Ones that sound good shouted across a garden. He gives dry opinions and pretends not to care, then quietly vetoes one because "sounds like a prat."
You laugh until you cry.
He smiles into your hair.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it, with the rain soft at the window and the date finally circled and your body half draped over his, you realize there is nothing performative left in this.
No borrowed life. No "for now." No temporary.
You are planning a wedding with the man who would marry you tomorrow if you asked and still agreed to wait because he knows you want to do this properly.
He is making room for your content without making himself feel consumed by it.
You are making room for his boundaries without making your own life disappear.
It is working.
Not because it is easy.
Because you are building it carefully. Together.
Later, once he falls asleep, you slide out of bed just long enough to prop your phone in the hallway and film one tiny clip for your story.
Nothing huge. Nothing invasive.
Just the edge of your open notebook on the bed. Your hand smoothing over a page that reads October? In your messy writing. Simon's hand appears for one second to pull the notebook closed and tug you gently back out of frame.
You post it with the caption:
planning something beautiful
The comments explode within minutes.
You smile at your phone, then slip back under the duvet beside him.
He makes a sleepy sound and drags you into him without opening his eyes.
And in the dark, with your ring catching the faint light and the date finally living on a real calendar, you decide this is exactly how you want to be seen.
Not all at once.
Just in pieces.
Enough for the world to know you are loved.
The rest stays here. In bed. In whispers. In the life you are building one room, one promise, one careful choice at a time.
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On an ordinary rainy morning in the flat you have quietly made into a shared home, Simon asks you to stay.
NSFW
38. Something Beautiful
A few months later, Simon’s flat did not feel like Simon’s flat anymore.
Not in the way it used to.
It still had his bones. The dark furniture. The practical layout. The books stacked where they made sense to him. The quiet, guarded order of a man who once lived alone because it was easier.
But now there were traces of you in every room.
Your coat hanging beside his by the door. Your candles on the shelves. Your mugs in the kitchen cupboard. Your products lined up in the content corner by the window, where the light hit just right in the late mornings. Your body wash in the shower. Your slippers kicked halfway under the bed because you never put them away properly. Your whole bright, soft, impossible self woven into the place until it had stopped being his and become something else.
The line had launched. The launch party had come and gone. Your whole brand was steadier now, rooted, growing. Your audience was still feral over your mystery boyfriend’s hands and tattooed forearms, but the frenzy had softened into a running obsession everyone accepted they would never fully solve.
And you were still here.
Still in Manchester.
Still in his bed.
Still in his life.
The morning it happened was not special.
That was probably why it was perfect.
Rain tapped softly against the bedroom window. The sky outside was pale and heavy, the kind of grey that made the room feel cocooned. The duvet was warm. One of your legs was tangled over Simon’s, and your phone was in your hand while you half scrolled, half ignored the internet.
You had already been awake for maybe twenty minutes, just existing in that quiet little bubble where neither of you had decided the day had properly started yet.
Simon was on his back beside you, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting across his stomach. He had been quiet for so long you thought he might have drifted back off.
Then you shifted, sat up enough to push your hair out of your face, and reached across him toward the bedside table for your water.
You caught him looking.
Not just glancing.
Looking.
His eyes moved over you with that same quiet intensity that always made your stomach go warm. The oversized t-shirt you had slept in, one shoulder fallen loose. The sleep crease still faint on your cheek. The ring light reflected in your phone screen. The way you moved around his bedroom like every object in it already belonged to both of you.
You smiled a little. “What?”
He was quiet for a beat.
Then he said, very calmly, “I keep thinkin’ of you as my wife.”
You froze.
The room did not.
The rain kept tapping. Your phone screen dimmed. Somewhere in the flat below, a door shut.
But for one sharp, impossible second, all of it felt very far away.
You stared at him. “What?”
Simon pushed himself up onto one elbow, looking more awake than he had five seconds ago and somehow still like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“I keep thinkin’ of you as my wife,” he repeated, like you had maybe missed the wording and not the full body detonation of your nervous system.
Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
He watched you through all of it, the slightest tension around his eyes giving away that maybe, actually, he had not said this lightly at all.
Then he reached over to the bedside table drawer.
Your heart stopped.
He pulled out a small box.
Not flashy. Not some ridiculous velvet production. Just a simple dark box that looked like it had been hidden there for a little while. Like maybe he had been carrying this thought around longer than you knew.
You made a sound that was half laugh, half gasp, and clapped a hand over your mouth.
Simon sat fully up now, the duvet pooled around his waist, hair a mess, face still soft with sleep and somehow more serious than you had ever seen him.
“Figured I ought to ask properly,” he said.
Tears burned instantly.
You shook your head in helpless disbelief. “Simon.”
He looked at you steadily and went on, because once he had started he was clearly determined to get through it before either of you combusted.
“You’ve made a home in every room I’ve got,” he said quietly. “In me too, if I’m honest. And I don’t want temporary with you. Don’t want borrowed. Don’t want someday maybe. I want you here. With me. Properly.” His fingers tightened once around the little box. “Stay for all of it.”
That did it.
A tear slipped free before you could stop it. Then another.
You laughed through it, because of course you were crying, because of course he had chosen the one thing that would absolutely ruin you, which was being direct and earnest and impossibly himself.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
His mouth twitched a little, just enough to show he was trying very hard not to look as overwhelmed as he clearly was.
“You’re cryin’,” he observed softly.
“You are proposing to me in bed on a Tuesday morning,” you said, voice wobbling. “What did you expect?”
He huffed the tiniest laugh.
Then he opened the box.
The ring was simple.
Not simple as in thoughtless. Simple as in perfect. A delicate gold band with a center stone that caught the grey morning light in a soft, steady glow. Elegant. Understated. Warm. Something you could wear every day without feeling like you were pretending to be someone else.
You stared at it and immediately knew he had paid attention.
To your style. To your life. To what your hands looked like holding coffee mugs and candles and phones and his.
“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.
He looked relieved for one quick second, then covered it with that same rough steadiness he always wore when he was trying not to give too much away.
“Good.”
You laughed through tears again, wiping at your face with the heel of your hand. “That’s all you’ve got? Good?”
He tilted his head, a little helpless now too. “I had more, then you started cryin’.”
That made you laugh harder, which only made you cry more, and suddenly you were shaking your head and reaching for him and the ring box at the same time.
“Yes,” you blurted out before he could say anything else. “Yes. Obviously yes. Jesus Christ, Simon.”
Something in his whole body changed.
Subtle, but there.
Like a wire pulled too tight finally gave way.
He exhaled a breath so deep it almost sounded like relief and tipped his head down for a second before looking back at you.
“Alright,” he said quietly, and his voice was rough now. “Alright.”
You held your hand out with fingers that shook embarrassingly.
He took it with so much care it almost hurt.
His hands, the hands the whole internet had lost its mind over, were steady as he slid the ring onto your finger.
Perfect fit.
You looked down at it and made the kind of noise that would have embarrassed you under any other circumstances. A little broken, happy sound.
Then you launched yourself at him.
He caught you instantly, of course he did, and the two of you tumbled back against the pillows in a mess of blankets and tears and breathless laughter.
You kissed him everywhere you could reach. His mouth, his jaw, the corner of his eye because he was suspiciously close to looking emotional and you wanted to reward him for it.
“You absolute menace,” you whispered against his lips.
He smiled then. Really smiled.
“Worked, didn’t it?”
You laughed and kissed him again. “I can’t believe you.”
“I can,” he muttered, and wrapped both arms around you.
For a while, you just stayed there.
Your head on his chest. His hand spread over your back. Your left hand held up between you every few seconds because you had to look at the ring again to confirm this was actually happening.
Eventually, you found enough air to murmur, “How long have you had it?”
He was quiet for one second too long.
“Simon.”
“A bit.”
“A bit.”
He shifted slightly under you, looking at the ceiling now. “Since before the launch.”
You shot up enough to stare at him.
“Before the launch party? When Price said not to wait around too long?”
His face gave him away before his words did.
You gasped. “You were already thinking about it then.”
He looked mildly trapped. “Maybe.”
“Oh my God.”
He reached up and dragged you back down into him by the waist. “Stop makin’ a fuss.”
“I am literally engaged,” you said. “I am entitled to fuss.”
“You’ve been entitled to fuss since the day I met you.”
“True,” you said, because he was right.
You stayed in bed far too long after that, talking in half sentences and small laughter and dazed little bursts of disbelief.
At one point he kissed your hand and looked at the ring there like he still could not quite believe he had done it.
At another, you caught him just watching you again.
“What,” you whispered.
He brushed your hair back from your face. “Nothin’.”
“Liar.”
His thumb stroked your cheek. “Just thinkin’ you’re gonna be my wife.”
That made you start crying all over again, which made him groan and kiss your face until you stopped laughing enough to threaten him.
The group chat exploded exactly the way you knew it would.
You took a picture first.
Not of your face. Not of his.
Just your hand in his on the rumpled white duvet, the ring catching the pale light, one of his tattooed fingers curled around yours.
You sent it to Holly with no caption.
She called in under three seconds.
You and Simon both stared at the vibrating phone.
“You answer it,” he said.
“You made this happen.”
“You’re the one with the loud friends.”
You snatched the phone up, hit accept, and barely got out one “hello” before Holly screamed.
Not shrieked. Not yelled.
Screamed.
You had to hold the phone away from your ear while Simon visibly tried not to laugh beside you.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, I knew it, I knew it, I KNEW IT,” Holly shouted. “Tell me everything right now. Is he there? Put him on. No, do not put him on, I will say something foul. Wait, put him on.”
You were laughing so hard by then that you could barely breathe.
When you finally ended the call, after promises and threats and at least six “I’m coming over later” declarations, you opened the 141 group thread.
You posted the same photo.
No caption.
You did not need one.
The first reply was from Gaz.
Gaz:
About time.
Then Johnny.
Johnny:
NO
NO
ABSOLUTELY NOT
I LEAVE YOU TWO ALONE FOR FIVE MINUTES
Another.
Johnny:
HEN I’M HAPPY FOR YE BUT I AM ALSO DEVASTATED
LT YOU COULDN’T EVEN LET ME OBJECT
You laughed so hard you had to wipe your eyes again.
Then Price.
Price:
Congratulations to you both.
Well done, Simon.
You felt Simon go still beside you.
You looked up.
He had that same strange, quiet expression he always got when something landed deeper than he wanted anyone to know.
You nudged his shoulder. “Well done, Simon.”
He rolled his eyes and took your phone from your hand before Johnny could send another twenty-seven voice notes.
Then, because of course you were not done being a menace yourself, you opened your camera.
“What are you doing,” he asked.
“Soft launch engagement post.”
He made a face. “Christ.”
You sat up and angled the phone just right. Your hand with the ring against his bare chest. One of his hands loosely wrapped around your wrist. No faces. No clues.
You typed:
said yes to something beautiful
And posted it.
The response was immediate and exactly as deranged as expected.
The comments flew in.
THE HANDS ARE ENGAGED
I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT
mystery man finally did the thing
not us getting husband’s hands now
You read that one aloud.
“Husband hands,” you repeated, grinning.
Simon gave you a long look. “That sounds stupid.”
“You love it.”
He did not answer.
He just pulled you back down into bed, your newly ringed hand pressed between both your chests, and kissed you until the comments and the screaming and the outside world all blurred into nothing.
Simon’s palm curves around the back of your neck and draws you in for a kiss that is all slow tongue and soft groan.
The ring is cool against his chest where your hand settles.
He notices.
His gaze flicks down to the gold pressed to his skin and back to your face, darker now.
“You’re wearing my name already,” he murmurs against your mouth.
The words send a sharp thrill through you.
You kiss him harder.
He leans back, bringing you with him until you are straddling his hips.
The morning rain hushes against the window, a quiet drum that makes the room feel hushed and private.
Your shirt is the first casualty, peeled over your head and tossed aside.
Simon’s hands skim your waist, thumbs stroking the warm skin just under your ribs like he is reacquainting himself with every inch.
You rock against him, the thin cotton of his joggers doing nothing to hide how hard he is.
He swears under his breath, tilts his head to kiss down your throat.
Teeth graze the spot he knows pulls a gasp from you.
“Need these off,” you manage, tugging at the waistband.
He lifts his hips, helps you shove the fabric down until you feel bare thigh and heated skin under your palms.
You reach for him, fingers curling, stroking, learning the weight of him again.
His breath ghosts over your collarbone, hot and shaky.
“Christ,” he mutters.
You shift, guiding him with one hand as you sink down slowly.
Both of you gasp.
It is a slide of heat and stretch that makes your eyes flutter.
His hands clutch your hips, but he lets you set the pace, lets you take him deep in unhurried rolls that leave you both shivering.
You brace your hands on his chest, the ring flashing in the gray light.
He watches it, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded.
“Look at you,” he says, voice gone rough.
You move faster, hips circling, chasing the pressure building low in your belly.
Every downward slide steals more breath.
The bed creaks softly.
Simon’s fingers dig in, guiding you harder, his own restraint unraveling.
He sits up suddenly, mouth crashing to yours, the new angle driving him deeper.
Pleasure sparks sharp behind your ribs.
You moan into his mouth, hold onto his shoulders, move together until it is all slick heat and broken sounds.
His name leaves your lips on a shudder when you tighten around him.
He groans, pulse jumping under your palm as he follows you over, thrusts stuttering, breath catching against your neck.
After, you collapse against his chest, hearts racing.
His arms wrap around your back, holding you close while the room settles again.
You kiss the underside of his jaw, still trembling.
He slides a hand down your spine, soothing.
“Wife,” he murmurs, low and almost disbelieving.
You smile against his skin.
“Husband,” you whisper back.
He huffs a quiet laugh, tightens his hold, and lets the sound of the rain carry you both into soft, satisfied silence.
💀📱🖤💄💀📱🖤💄💀📱🖤💄💀📱🖤
✨ Want to be added to the taglist? ✨
Drop a “TAG ME” below and I’ll make sure you never miss a chapter! Influencer chaos x Ghost brooding is not something you wanna sleep on 👀🖤
At your candle launch party, Simon watches your world shine at full brightness, and by the end of the night, he realizes with quiet certainty that within the year, you will be his wife.
37. Within the Year
The launch party is everything.
Not just a little event corner in a showroom. Not just a casual shelf drop with a branded backdrop and some polite clapping.
A real party.
A whole room dressed in warm light and cream draping and little gold stands holding your candles like they're tiny glowing trophies. Your line arranged in perfect rows, the labels you fought for catching the light exactly the way you wanted. The scent of wax and cedar and vanilla and soft florals hanging in the air, threaded through laughter and expensive perfume and camera flashes.
Your line.
Your name.
Your work.
Your future.
You stand in front of the mirror at your flat and stare at yourself for a second too long.
Hair done. Makeup warm and glowy. Dress fitted and elegant and just dramatic enough to feel like an occasion. Heels that will absolutely hurt by the end of the night. The little necklace at your throat catching the light.
Your phone buzzes on the counter.
Layla:
Cars are starting to arrive. No pressure but if you don't get here soon I'm opening the champagne without you.
You snort, pick up your clutch, and head for the living room.
Simon is already there, leaning by the door in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled once at the forearms and dark trousers that make him look unfairly broad and entirely too competent for a room full of influencers.
You pause and just look at him.
He notices immediately. "What."
"You clean up stupidly well," you say.
He gives you a slow once-over in return, eyes dragging from your heels to your mouth.
"So do you."
Your stomach flips.
You walk over and smooth imaginary lint off his shirt front. "You look like you're on your way to threaten a boardroom."
"Might," he mutters.
You laugh and tug him down by the collar for a kiss. "Try not to kill any beauty editors tonight."
"No promises."
That is not especially reassuring, but you know him well enough now to hear the dry humor under it.
He takes your coat. Your bag. Checks the lock behind you automatically when you leave. The whole thing is so practiced now it feels like its own little language.
The venue is already glowing by the time you arrive.
Soft amber light. Low music. Waiters weaving through with trays of champagne. Long tables dressed in linens and candles. Your candles. Giant blown-up visuals from the campaign shoot lit along the far wall. One of your hand shots with the mysterious tattooed forearm is mounted near the bar and you actually stop for half a second.
"Oh my God," you breathe.
Layla appears out of nowhere, grabs your shoulders, and kisses your cheek.
"Stop being cute and get in there," she says. "You've got people waiting to tell you you're brilliant."
You laugh, nerves and excitement tangling together. "I hate that sentence."
"Too bad," she says. "It's true."
Simon is at your back the whole time, one hand warm and light at your lower spine as you move into the room.
And suddenly there they are.
Influencer friends from London and Manchester and the States who happen to be in town. Brand people. Editors. A few creators you have admired for years. Holly looking like a champagne ad in heels.
The first half hour blurs.
Hugs. Photos. Air kisses. Compliments. Questions.
Everyone wants to smell everything, photograph everything, congratulate you. They call the line "you in candle form," which makes you laugh because it is true enough to hurt.
Simon does his exact thing.
He stays near but not too near. Distant enough not to turn into your plus-one spectacle, close enough that nobody gets to be rude for long.
He speaks to absolutely no one unless they address him first.
One overconfident man in a cream suit makes the mistake of stepping too close while you're talking to a magazine editor, hand hovering near your bare back like he thinks your launch party is also his flirting opportunity.
He does not even touch you.
Simon still appears beside you like a shadow with a pulse.
The man's hand drops instantly.
You do not hear what Simon says because he says it too low, but whatever it is sends cream suit backing off with a stiff little laugh and a muttered apology.
You bite your lip to keep from smiling.
Possessive. Silent. Perfect.
The editors at least know how to behave.
Holly, passing with a champagne flute, leans into your ear and whispers, "Your man is terrifying and kind of the hottest thing here."
You whisper back, "I know."
She grins and vanishes.
Simon catches that exchange from across the room and narrows his eyes slightly. You just smile into your glass.
He is miserable in exactly the way you expected him to be. Not angry. Just... deeply uninterested in social performance. You can see it in the rigid set of his shoulders every time another smiling stranger says something bright and meaningless.
Which is exactly why you sent the invite.
He had no clue.
That part makes it better.
You are in the middle of talking through the scent notes of the launch set with two creators from London when you hear a familiar voice behind you.
"Hen."
You turn so fast you almost spill your drink.
Soap is standing there in a suit that somehow looks both expensive and like he slept in it on purpose, grin already wide enough to be a problem.
Behind him are Gaz, easy and amused in a dark jacket, and Price, somehow looking both severe and entirely at home in a room full of candles and champagne.
You stare.
Then you squeal. Actually squeal.
Soap opens his arms instantly. "There she is."
You throw yourself into the hug before you can think better of it. He laughs, spins you once, sets you down.
"Oh my God," you say, grabbing his forearms. "You actually came."
"Course I came," he says. "Wouldn't miss watchin' Ghost suffer through a launch party for all the tea in England."
Gaz steps in next, giving you a warm smile and an easy hug. "Good to finally meet you proper."
"You too," you say, and mean it instantly. There is something grounding about him, something calm.
Then Price.
He is a little more formal about it, but not cold. He offers his hand, and when you take it, his grip is firm and his expression is... not warm exactly, but deeply approving.
"Congratulations," he says. "Looks like you've done something special here."
The sincerity of it hits you harder than expected.
"Thank you," you say softly.
By now, Simon has seen them.
He is across the room, going absolutely still.
The expression on his face when he reaches you is somewhere between disbelief and betrayal.
"What the fuck are you lot doing here."
Soap grins like a hyena. "Supportin' your girl, Lieutenant."
"She invited us," Gaz says, far too casually.
Price says nothing. He just watches Simon with that infuriatingly knowing father-commander expression.
You fold your arms, trying for innocence. "I thought you could use people who actually understand your face."
Simon looks at you. Really looks.
And despite himself, despite the annoyance, something in his expression softens.
Because he knows exactly why you did it.
So he would not be alone here.
So he would not have to spend the night pretending to belong nowhere while your entire world gathered around you.
That understanding lands between you warm and private.
Soap claps him on the shoulder. "Relax. We're here to drink free booze and compliment candles."
"You don't even like candles," Simon mutters.
"I like her candles," Soap says with fake dignity. "I'm a number one fan."
"That's me," Holly says as she slides into the group with another drink. "Actually. But you can be assistant regional fan manager."
Soap presses a hand to his chest. "I like her already."
"Back off," Simon says automatically.
Everyone laughs.
Even Price.
The night gets easier after that.
Simon still does not become the life of the party. That would require divine intervention and maybe heavy sedation. But he loosens.
A little.
He stays near Price and Gaz and Soap when he is not trailing the edges of your orbit. Price speaks to him quietly once or twice, eyes flicking your way as you laugh with Layla and pose for another round of photos.
At one point you catch Soap taking a picture of one of the display tables and absolutely zooming in on a campaign still that includes Simon's arm.
You point at him. "No leaking."
He raises both hands. "Research only."
Gaz nearly chokes laughing.
Later, after a round of speeches and one too many glasses of champagne, you find Price standing near one of the side tables with a glass of water, watching the room with the same patience he probably watches active combat zones.
You drift over, your feet aching, your smile softer now from exhaustion.
"You alright?" he asks.
"I think so," you say. "Ask me again when I take these shoes off."
His mouth moves in what might almost be a smile.
"He's proud of you," Price says after a beat.
You look over at Simon automatically.
He is across the room with Soap and Gaz, though mostly Soap is talking and Gaz is trying not to laugh. Simon's attention, as always, is split between whoever is speaking to him and the place where you are.
"I know," you say quietly.
Price nods once, then glances at Simon too.
"He's a hard man to pin down," he says. "Always has been. Don't think he's looking to run from this one."
Your chest tightens.
You look at Price. "That's good to know."
He takes a sip of water, then says, almost mildly, "Tell him not to wait around too long."
You blink. "Wait around for what."
This time he does smile, just a little. "He'll know."
Then someone calls your name from across the room and the moment is gone.
But the words stay with you.
By the time you finally escape, it is late.
The party was a success. The line sold through the first display stock. Your phone is exploding. Holly is drunk and emotional. Soap hugged you goodbye three times and promised to terrorize you in DMs. Gaz told you he was proud of you in that quiet way that actually meant something. Price shook your hand again and said, "Well done."
Simon said almost nothing on the way out.
That is how you know he is thinking too hard.
You are in the passenger seat of his car, barefoot now, heels abandoned in the back seat, when you finally turn to look at him.
"What's going on in that head."
He keeps his eyes on the road. "Nothin'."
"Liar."
A beat.
Then, quietly, "Price talks too much."
Your pulse skips. "What did he say."
His jaw tightens. "Nothin' useful."
You smile a little into the dark. "Mmhm."
He glances at you then, just once, and there is something in that look that makes your whole body go warm.
When you get back to his flat, the door barely shuts before he has your face in his hands.
The kiss is immediate. Hot. Deep. Weeks of feeling things and not saying them. Hours of watching you glow under lights while he kept to the edges. The whole room still humming with what the night meant.
You gasp into his mouth, clutching at his jacket, and he backs you down the hall toward the bedroom like it is instinct.
No teasing. No slow little laugh. No patience.
Just want.
He is gentle where it matters and absolutely ruthless about the rest of it. Mouth on yours, then your throat, your shoulder, his hands dragging the zipper of your dress down while you shove at his jacket and curse softly when it catches at his wrists.
"Easy," he mutters, though he sounds wrecked already.
"You're saying that while trying to eat me alive."
He huffs something that might be a laugh, then kisses you harder.
The bedroom light never goes on.
You end up in the dark, in the heat of his sheets, all desperate kisses and hands and half-finished words. His body over yours, the weight of him grounding after a whole night of eyes and voices and being looked at by everyone.
This is different.
Not frantic because of fear. Not soft because of sadness.
Passionate because tonight confirmed something. You saw it in his world meeting yours. In his men showing up. In Price's eyes. In the way he watched you with your candles and your launch and your bright little life and did not look out of place next to it.
Like maybe this really could work.
Like maybe he already knows it will.
By the time you collapse against him, skin warm, breath slowing, every inch of you feels loose and boneless.
You curl into his chest automatically, one leg tangled with his.
His hand drifts over your back, your shoulder, your hip. Slow. Absent. Thoughtful.
The room is quiet except for both of you breathing.
You are half asleep when you murmur, "Did you hate tonight."
He looks down at you.
"No."
You smile against his skin. "You looked like you hated at least forty percent of it."
He snorts softly. "Maybe the people."
"But not the candles."
"Those were alright."
You hum, pleased. "And my friends."
"Your loud blonde one's dangerous."
You laugh sleepily. "Holly likes you."
"Bad sign."
A pause.
Then, quieter, "Your lot were good. Johnny was a menace. Gaz liked you. Price..." He trails off.
You tip your chin up. "Price what."
His fingers still for a second at your back.
"Price thinks I shouldn't wait around too long."
You blink, sleep slipping a little.
"For what."
His eyes are on your face in the low dark, and there it is again. That look. The one from weeks ago in bed when you talked about houses and children and names.
The wife look.
Your heart gives one slow, heavy beat.
He does not answer directly.
Instead he brushes his thumb along your cheek and says, "Go to sleep, love."
You should push.
You don't.
You are too warm and too happy and too wrecked by the night and him and the quiet certainty humming under your skin.
You settle back against him, your hand flattening over his chest.
"Okay," you murmur.
He keeps touching you slowly after that, like he is memorizing what he already knows. The line of your shoulder. The dip of your waist. The way your breathing changes as sleep starts to pull you under.
And when he is sure you are almost gone, almost dreaming, Simon stares up into the dark and thinks with a clarity that startles even him.
Within the year.
You.
His wife.
He can see it so sharply it feels less like a hope and more like a fact waiting for the right day to catch up.
You in his kitchen permanently. Your mugs in his cupboard forever. Your name on paper in this city. Your shoes by the door. Your hand in his. Maybe one day a child with your eyes running through a house that feels nothing like the temporary spaces you started in.
He presses a kiss into your hair.
You make a tiny sleepy sound and curl closer.
Yeah.
Within the year.
He is keeping you here in Manchester.
With him.
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As you and Simon settle into an easy, shared domestic routine, you two quietly start imagining a future that looks a lot like forever.
36. Being Seen
Morning in Simon’s flat had started to feel less like visiting and more like waking up inside a life the two of you were building by accident.
Or maybe not by accident anymore.
You were curled on your side in bed, still half asleep, one hand under your cheek, when you heard the soft clink of a mug in the kitchen. Then the hiss of the kettle. Then the cupboard door that always stuck a little before finally giving.
Coffee.
You smiled before you even opened your eyes.
By the time you padded out into the kitchen, one of Simon’s shirts hanging off your shoulder and your hair a mess around your face, he was already there at the counter. Barefoot. Grey sweats low on his hips. One hand wrapped around his own mug, the other setting your favorite one beneath the coffee press.
You leaned your hip against the doorway and watched him for a second.
He glanced over. “What?”
“You make coffee like a divorced dad in a commercial.”
His mouth twitched. “Good mornin’ to you too.”
You crossed the room and slid in against his side, arms wrapping around his waist from behind. His free hand came down automatically, resting over yours.
“Morning,” you mumbled into his back.
He turned enough to press a kiss into your hair. “Morning, love.”
Love.
Not something he threw around carelessly. Not something he used every sentence. But it lived in the spaces between the two of you now, soft and habitual, tucked into sleepy kitchens and quiet nights.
He handed you your mug without looking, already knowing how much milk you wanted. You took it and stole a sip before it was cool enough.
“Hot,” you hissed.
“Shocking,” he said dryly.
The kitchen was warm. Grey light slid in through the window, soft against the plant you had bullied him into keeping alive. Your bag was on the hook by the door. His boots were beside it. Your ring light leaned in the corner of the living room where it lived more often than not.
It was domestic. It was ordinary. It was beginning to feel dangerous in how right it was.
You took your coffee to the little content corner he had made you by the window and propped your phone up. The room was still quiet enough for a soft voiceover, and the light was too pretty not to use.
“Good morning,” you said to the front camera, smiling over the rim of your mug. “I am doing one of those very glamorous, very exciting work from home mornings where I answer emails and try not to accidentally light myself on fire making coffee.”
From the kitchen, Simon made a low unimpressed sound.
You grinned and kept going. “And yes, before anyone asks, I am still in Manchester, still working, still in my soft girl era.”
You angled the phone a little and his hand entered frame just long enough to set a second mug on the little side table beside you. Thick fingers. Dark tattoo at the wrist. Veins that had apparently become a public menace.
“Thank you,” you said to him, then to the camera, “See? Service.”
His hand lifted in a silent, rude gesture, then disappeared again.
You laughed, cut the clip, and immediately checked the preview.
“Perfect,” you murmured.
“Disgusting,” Simon corrected from the kitchen.
“Your fans will disagree.”
“They’re not my fans.”
You turned in your chair to look at him over your shoulder. “Tell that to the edits.”
He visibly regretted saying anything.
That had been the funny part of all this. You had given your audience crumbs. A hand sliding a jar across a table. An arm passing coffee in frame. Fingers hooking gently under your chin and dragging you off camera for a kiss while you laughed and the video cut.
The internet had lost its ever-loving mind.
Every other day Holly was sending you new compilations from TikTok and Instagram. Slow-motion rewinds of Simon’s forearm while you were trying to explain wax blends. Audio edits captioned things like the way her mystery man always hands her coffee first. Threads of comments feral over “the hands” and “whoever owns those tattoos is down bad.”
It was absurd.
It was also, secretly, adorable.
Especially because Simon pretended to hate every second of it while absolutely reading every comment you showed him.
You took another clip while he stood at the stove, just his wrist and the line of his arm visible as he scrambled eggs.
“People are gonna lose it over this one,” you said.
He glanced at you. “They need jobs.”
“They have jobs. It’s thirsting after my boyfriend.”
A pause.
He looked back at the pan too quickly.
You smiled into your coffee.
The days had settled into a rhythm neither of you talked about because naming it might have made it too real.
Mornings together.
Him making coffee. You filming little bits. His body moving in and out of the frame of your life like it had always been there.
Then work.
You at Ember and Ash, smelling wax and testing throw strength and debating labels and scent notes with Layla and Amal. Him doing whatever he could tell you and a great deal he could not. Sometimes he was gone for hours and sent clipped texts. Sometimes he came back early and sat in your content corner while you edited, reading one of his books and making the occasional dry comment when you asked if a clip looked stupid.
Evenings were yours.
Takeout containers on the coffee table. You cross-legged on the couch with your laptop open. Simon at the other end with a book or the news on low. His foot under your thigh. Your ankle in his lap. The sort of touching that had stopped being sexy and started being instinctive, which somehow made it more intimate.
A hand on your lower back as you passed him in the kitchen. Fingers hooked loosely through the belt loop on your jeans while you hunted through the fridge. Your head ending up on his shoulder before you even realized you had moved.
You wondered sometimes if this was how it happened for everyone. Not one big leap. Just a thousand little steps until you looked up and realized there were two toothbrushes in the bathroom and two coffee mugs out every morning and the rhythm of your days had woven itself around another person’s.
That afternoon, you went live from the couch while Simon was in the kitchen making a late lunch.
The comments started flying before you had even finished saying hi.
You laughed, tucked one leg under yourself, and answered the easy ones first. New line updates. Favorite scent of the week. Whether the launch date was still on track.
Then, inevitably:
Are you living with the boyfriend now or what
The comment flew past, then again, and again, and suddenly the chat was basically nothing else.
You bit your lip, pretending to consider your answer. Across the room, Simon glanced up from slicing an avocado and immediately looked away like he had no interest in this whatsoever.
You smiled at the camera.
“Yes,” you said simply. “I live with my boyfriend.”
The comments detonated.
You laughed at the flood of caps lock and heart emojis and exclamation points.
“No face reveal,” you said. “No details. No, you’re not getting his name. Yes, he likes his privacy. And yes…” You glanced toward the kitchen. Simon’s shoulders had gone suspiciously still. “…his arms are still nice.”
From off camera came a low, offended sounding grunt.
The chat moved so fast it almost blurred.
WE WON
she said boyfriend
not his arms are still nice pleaseee
Girl, blink twice if he’s making lunch right now
You could not help yourself. You tilted the phone slightly just enough to catch the edge of a tattooed forearm putting a plate down on the counter before you swung it back.
The live became unsalvageable after that.
You were laughing too hard, and the comments were now fully convinced your “mystery boyfriend” was some kind of tattooed domestic cryptid who cooked and handed you beverages with terrifying emotional precision.
After you ended it, you dropped the phone to your chest and stared at the ceiling.
“Oh my God,” you wheezed.
Simon appeared over the back of the couch with a plate in one hand.
“You’re enjoyin’ this too much.”
You looked up at him, grin helpless. “You should’ve seen your arm. It made a dramatic entrance.”
He set your plate down and leaned one forearm on the back of the couch, looking down at you with that same flat expression that did nothing to hide the pleased little glint in his eyes.
“So they know now,” he said.
“That I live with my boyfriend? Yeah.”
His mouth twitched. “Good.”
You raised a brow. “Oh, so now we’re admitting you like being known.”
“Known enough,” he corrected.
You sat up and took the plate from him, brushing your fingers over the inside of his wrist as you did. His pulse jumped once against your skin.
“Mmhm,” you said.
He just shook his head and went back to the kitchen.
The 141 group thread that night was a disaster.
You were sprawled with your back against Simon’s chest, his arm around your waist, while the two of you looked at his phone together.
Johnny had started the chaos the second one of his sisters sent him a screen recording of your live.
Johnny:
SHE SAID BOYFRIEND
BOYFRIEND
LT DID YOU HEAR THAT OR DID YE PASS OUT
Gaz:
Think he heard it mate
The whole internet heard it
Johnny:
This is a landmark occasion
We should get cake
You laughed into Simon’s shoulder. He huffed quietly.
Then another message came in.
Johnny:
Can’t believe she lives with you now and I’m still not there to inspect conditions
I’m flying down. I need to audit your boyfriend skills in person
“Please let him do that,” you said instantly. “I’d pay money.”
Simon typed with one hand.
Ghost:
Don’t bother.
Johnny’s reply was immediate.
Johnny:
That sounds like fear to me
Hen tell him I can be there by Friday
You stole the phone and typed before Simon could stop you.
You:
You’re welcome any time if you behave. Bring snacks.
Simon looked down at you, completely unamused and secretly, deeply pleased.
“He’s not actually stayin’ here,” he muttered.
“You don’t know that,” you said.
Gaz chimed in then, far calmer.
Gaz:
You look happy. Both of you. Good to see.
That one got Simon.
You felt it in the way his chest rose under your back. In the way his hand, where it rested on your stomach, tightened slightly.
Then Price, who almost never entered the thread unless someone had set a vehicle on fire, sent one single message.
Price:
About time you looked settled, Simon.
No teasing. No emoji. No sarcasm.
Just that.
You went still.
Simon did too.
He stared at the screen for a beat too long, then locked the phone and set it face down on the table.
You turned in his arms enough to look at him. “Settled.”
He made a face. “Ignore him.”
“I don’t think I want to.”
His hand slid to the back of your neck, keeping you close.
“You lot read too much into everythin’.”
“You invited me to live here,” you said. “I literally keep my skincare beside your razor. You made me a filming corner. You buy my weird yogurt. I don’t think this counts as reading too much into things.”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t argue.
Because what could he say?
It was later that same night, after the dishes and after a shower and after he had handed you one of his shirts to sleep in without even thinking about it, that the conversation drifted somewhere softer.
You were both in bed, lights off except for the little lamp on the dresser. You had your head on his chest and one leg tucked over his. He was half awake, one hand drifting absently up and down your back.
Your phone was on your stomach, the screen filled with a house listing Holly had sent just to torture you.
“It’s cute,” you said.
“It’s got neighbours three feet away.”
“It’s a terraced house, Simon. That’s how houses work.”
He grunted.
You scrolled through the pictures. Warm kitchen. Tiny garden. Two bedrooms and a weird little attic nook.
“If you could have any house,” you mused sleepily, “what would you want?”
He was quiet for a moment.
“Quiet,” he said finally. “Bit of space. Somewhere safe.”
You smiled a little. “That is the least shocking answer of all time.”
“What about you?”
You thought about it. “Big enough kitchen. Good windows. A room I can make a total office disaster in. Somewhere cozy. Somewhere that doesn’t feel too polished to live in.”
His hand paused, then resumed.
“You’d fill it with mugs.”
“Obviously.”
“And candles.”
“Obviously.”
A little silence.
Then, because it felt weirdly safe to say it there in the dark, you added, “A little garden would be nice. For kids to run around in.”
The second the words were out, your whole body went warm.
You lifted your head slightly. “That sounded more intense than I meant it.”
Simon did not move.
His gaze was on the ceiling.
“No,” he said quietly. “Didn’t.”
You stared at him.
“Kids?” you asked, suddenly shy.
He swallowed once. “Maybe.”
The maybe sat between you, bigger than the room.
You laughed softly, covering your face with one hand. “Oh my God, we are literally talking hypothetical children in your bed.”
His thumb slid along your spine. “You started it.”
“I know.” You peered at him through your fingers. “What names do you like?”
His eyebrows lifted in the dark. “You’re pushin’ it.”
That only made you laugh harder.
“Come on.”
He sighed the way he always did when you wore him down. “Dunno. Haven’t exactly had a list.”
You brightened immediately. “I do.”
“Of course you do.”
You sat up enough to count on your fingers. “I like names that feel solid. Not too trendy. And if I ever have a little girl, I want something soft but not fussy.”
He looked at you then, really looked. Not at your face exactly. At the shape of the life tucked inside the words.
You felt it happen.
Something in him changing. Quietly. Permanently.
It was the way he looked at you when you said, “I always thought I’d want at least one baby with my eyes and a stubborn little mouth.”
His expression softened in a way that made your own heart thump.
Not lust. Not just affection.
A terrifying, steady sort of tenderness.
Wife.
You saw it cross his face before he could hide it.
Your breath caught.
“What” you whispered.
He blinked once, like you had pulled him out of some place he had not meant to go.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
His hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering there. He looked like he was on the edge of saying something bigger than the room could hold.
Instead, he just pulled you back down against him and kissed the top of your head.
“You talk too much,” he murmured.
But his voice had changed.
You felt the ring of something unspoken around it.
Later, much later, when you were almost asleep, you felt him shift.
Carefully. Quietly.
You cracked one eye open.
In the low lamp light, Simon was half propped up on one elbow, looking at you.
Then his gaze flicked to the bedside drawer.
Not for long.
Just enough.
His hand hovered there for one second, then stopped.
He looked back at you, his expression unreadable, and slowly settled down again without touching it.
You did not ask.
But you lay there in the dark, warm in his arms, heart kicking hard against your ribs, and knew two things with perfect certainty.
He had thought about it.
And one day soon, he was going to stop not asking.
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