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thelov3lybookworm · 3 days

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You Think I Wanted This? (part 6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: Corsets.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: 😏

(shes a lil tiny but we love it, right??)

anyways, enjoy!

Healing was a hard job. Training to b a healer, Y/n could say it with confidence that it was almost as hard as being a rider. Being responsible for saving lives, the pressure, the high expectations, the anxiety to meet those expectations. It was hard.

Y/n would never complain, of course. She could, and would do anything to be one of the best healers.

But the one thing that seemed almost impossible to even her?

Corsets. And getting into them by herself.

Y/n pressed her lips together as she sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the cramping in her arms as she tried to tighten the ties by herself, her chest heaving.

She had decided to wear a corseted gown instead of her normal dresses, and she had never regretted any of her decisions more than she regretted wearing this gown.

She had thought she'd be able to get into the thing herself, but only when she was in the half tied corset did she realise that she could not, in fact, get into it by herself.

As she had stumbled towards the door, struggling to keep herself covered, she found that no maid was around.

Just fantastic.

She had summoned for someone already, huffing and puffing as she held up the strapless corset.

It was a few moments before the door opened, and when the sound of it swinging open reached her ears, Y/n let out a relieved sigh, knowing a maid would be waiting for her when she stepped out from behind the screen.

Finally.

"I'm so glad you're here, my arms hurt from trying to do the ties myself." Y/n mumbled, one hand pressing into her chest through the corset and the other twisted behind her, holding the ties as tightly as she could. "Please help me get dressed-"

She looked up when there was no reply, and her blood chilled as she realised that it was not a maid who now stared at her with horror.

It was Xaden.

Y/n's eyes widened, and she hurried to run back behind the wooden screen.

Shit.

She squeezed her eyes shut, chastising herself for being so impatient as she looked down at herself, finding the top of her breasts peeking out.

Fuck. Fuck.

She heard him clearing his throat, the simple sound making her flush.

"Um. I can leave if you want?"

She shut her eyes again, losing a breath from deep in her lungs. "No. It's okay. I'm just waiting for a maid to come help-"

"I can help."

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

He coughed. "I can help you... if you want. I saw most of the maids near the ballroom, probably preparing for the party tonight."

Y/n sighed. "Okay..."

Fixing herself, she turned and peeked out from the wooden barrier that separated her from her husband, swallowing. She stepped out again, watching as his gaze wavered, trying to stay on her face.

Fuck.

Xaden's pov.

Xaden didn't know what he was expecting to find when he walked in, but based on the suggestive looks the guards shared, it was probably nothing good.

He definitely didn't expect to find the princess in her half tied corset to come stumbling out at him.

Xaden tried to be respectful, he really did. But she just looked so... mesmerising, he couldn't help but stare.

The blush colouring her face and neck, her wide eyes as she slowly stepped back out and walked towards him to let him help her. Her hair that was barely contained in the bun she had at the top of her head made Xaden want to grin at her state.

She stopped in front of him, directly in front of the mirror, and let go of the ties once he had a hold on them.

"Please make it tight."

Xaden nodded wordlessly, letting his fingers work on straightening and relacing the corset in some of the places before he started pulling, trying his best to ignore the breathless gasp that Y/n failed to hide when his fingers brushed across her bare back.

Once he thought that he had pulled tight enough, he glanced up to the mirror, meeting her eyes questioningly.

"Is this okay?"

He kept his gaze on her face. Barely.

"Um, can you go tighter? Please?"

He nodded again, his eyes catching on her body through the mirror before he returned them to his hands and tugged. But he realised that it was probably too tight, because the moment he stopped, she gasped.

He met her gaze, concerned, and she choked out. "Too tight."

A small smile split his lips as he worked to loosen the corset, humming.

"Are you laughing at my misery?"

He shook his head. "Me? Never."

She huffed. "Of course."

Once he had tied the laces tightly, she turned to him, and this time Xaden didn't stop himself from leisurely taking her in, his eyes moving down her body, slowly, taking his time before he met her eyes again.

Seeing the shy look on her face had him turning away, forcing himself to not lose his mind.

I don't like her. I don't.

"You should go to the party. It must have started by now. I'll join you soon."

He nodded without looking at her. "Can we leave at any point?"

"We'll just say hello to my brother, stay there for an hour or two and then we can leave before the... night really starts."

She left him alone in the room as she made her way into the small wardrobe room, where her vanity was, and Xaden finally turned to look at her retreating form.

He had never seen her in a corset before, let alone a strapless dress.

If this was what she looked like at the party...

It was going to be a long night.

YTIWT Taglist: @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @wallacewillow0773638 @sherayuki @throneofsmut

@ddazed-lhs @acourtofbatboydreams

Fourth Wing Taglist: @byyalady @gardenofrunar

Xaden Taglist: @sidrapotter @anniiittttaa @pirana10 @harrystylesfan2686

@artists-ally @riddlesb1tch @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @bubybubsters

@nickishadow139

#xaden x reader #xaden riorson #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #rebecca yarros #fourth wing headcanons #xaden headcanon #fourth wing fanfic

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tonythr · 2 days

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The Watcher's telescope view is a social commentary and here's why

Ok so let's set some things right first. City of Tears is amazing.

(Yes, Pale Court is also an amazing mod)

I've played Hollow Knight many times, and City of Tears is probably the one location I never get tired of. The scenery, the lore, the room layout, the music, the atmosphere - it's all perfect. It's the culmination of Halllownest's beauty, the peak of the game's art style, and the narrative's most essential location. City of Tears is the heart of Hollow Knight.

This game is a story about a Kingdom and its death, a tragedy of a society that was built on dreams of light but ultimately was consumed by the light so much that darkness became its only hope. And City of Tears stands at the center of this story. So it's fitting that the themes of corrupted dreams, society flaws, and dark hopes are what shape the lore and atmosphere of this beautiful, gorgeous location.

Did you ever notice that the tears of this Kingdom are dark despite them originating in a glowing blue lake, and the waters that flood the streets are almost as dark as the void in the Abyss? Do you ever think about how the vibrant blue color of the City is basically a culmination of how the color blue is presented in other locations (Howling Cliffs, Forgotten Crossroads, and later Royal Waterways being more of a remix of it), and how it's tied to the very essence of Hallownest (and how Resting Grounds, the location that contains Blue Lake and also uses a bright blue color, represent the very foundation of Hallownest's history, that being Seer's story about the Moth Tribe's betrayal that started the war between Pale King and the Radiance)? Do you feel like Soul Master basically represents the thunder and the lightning in this never-ending rain? Do you get it????

Anyway yeah, there are many things that can be said about City of Tears, and this is hopefully not the last time I make a post about it. What I want to talk about here is the City's society.

Basically, Monomon said it better than anyone could:

It's a very complicated topic. The narrative basically explores the inner mechanisms of a free mind, how its primary need is finding a purpose, and how its purpose turns out to be a constant need of... something. Anything. As long as there is something to want, a free mind will want it. As long as there is something to yearn for, something to enjoy, something to dream about, our minds are going to move in its direction, never wanting to stop. Because a stasis is worse than death. Because a world without dreams is an empty world.

But then again, isn't constant yearning another instance of, well, constance? If dreams never end but also never evolve, doesn't that create another kind of stasis?

Like I said, it's very complicated. Let's go back to what I was getting at in the first place. What I actually wanted to say is this:

Theese guys fucking fucked up as a society.

It's classic dystopian shit (or maybe I'm using the wrong word, but you get the point). Rich people are living in luxury while the rest are suffering. They're making gold a fucking religion and are seeing it as the only beauty in the world. The corrupt upper class are using heavy gatekeeping on the lower class.

Literally.

What's interesting is that, at first, we barely see any lower class bugs in the City. There's suspiciously few regular husks in this location, compared to how many rich guys are on the eastern side. But then we get to Soul Sanctum and it all starts to make sense.

There are no red cloaks in those corpse piles. Only the poor were killed for those experiments. It can't be a coincidence. It's straight-up elitism-based genocide (again, I don't know if I'm using the right terms, correct me if there's a better way to say that, but the point is clear).

Also, see how many streets are flooded on the western side in comparison to the eastern side.

Point is, the bugs that ruined the kingdom by always wanting more (what Monomon wrote about) are most likely theese rich ones. It's a very fitting thing for this dystopian narrative: neverending greed that leads to the downfall of a civilization.

There's a note in the Hunter's Journal that describes it in the best way possible:

For every location in the game, there is a place that functions as the center of its essence, its narrative heart, the culmination of its themes. For Queen's Gardens it's the White Lady's cocoon, for Greenpath it's the Lake of Unn, and for City of Tears (or at least its eastern part, the one with the upper class) it's the Watcher's Spire. The tallest building of the great capital. The home of (evidently) the most rich and influential bug of the City's high society. Literally the top of this social hierarchy.

He is also arguably the most mysterious dreamer out of all three. I mean, why does he have only one eye? What type of bug is he? How did he get this much power? Does he really have some kind of connection with the Collector? Is he a motherfucking fluke? Why does he seem to have an obsession with serving the King?

That last question is kinda answered by the cut content though.

That last sentence is kinda confusing. Is it regret? Is it humility? Is it pride in his sacrifice? In any case, here we see that Lurien actually knew that the Pale King was literally a god, and desired to worship him, like any other bug yearns to worship some kind of deity. So while other bugs of Hallownest worshiped PK because he was a monarch, albeit a godlike one (for all they knew he could be just an extraordinary bug, but a bug nonetheless), Lurien worshiped him as an actual god. And the intricacies of worshiping a god are one of the central themes of the game. From the moth tribe's betrayal of Radiance leading to the birth of the Infection to the Godseeker's shenanigans leading to the birth of the Shade Lord - the game makes multiple statements about gods, religious devotion and the semantics of divine power. Just that one idea that a god takes its power from the ones that worship it deserves its own post - heck, it deserves its own book.

So yeah, Lurien's devotion to the King is an important part of the story. He sure is an important character in this narrative. He also got a cool house. Being able to observe the entirety of the Hallownest's capital is badass.

But there's one thing I find odd about all that, and it's the moment we get to actually look through his legendary telescope.

Is it just me, or does this feel kinda... Underwhelming? Almost disappointing? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love this view, it's beautiful, and I would certainly love to be able to see something like this with my own eyes irl, but, looking at this picture, I can't help but wonder...

Did he actually see anything from up there?

In cut dialogue, Lurien talks about how he loves the City's streets, and his hidden lore tablet contains words about his love for bugkind, but... I see neither any streets on this image, nor any bugs (that are not vengeflies). Only spiked rooftops and rainy fog, clouding the view of the actual City.

And sure, the Spire has many windows and even had multiple watchers who were helping Lurien with overseeing the capital...

But his own spot was always this one.

His telescope was sealed in one place, letting him see only a small portion of the City and its life. Almost like his own worldview was stuck in one perspective.

Notice the wording here. It's not "The Seals must remain". It's "Bonds must remain". He's not thinking just about the Seals containing the Infection. He's thinking about the whole Kingdom needing to stay unchanged. His dream is the stasis that the Knight (and also Monomon, Hornet and, in a sense, even Radiance) want to end. The stasis that the Pale King wanted to create in order for his Kingdom (and therefore himself) to be eternal. The stasis that would allow for both Pale King and Lurien's worship of him to remain forever.

But there is always a cost to ascending higher than others, and it's that you can no longer see what's going on below or who's suffering down there. I think Lurien, sitting atop the tallest tower, was actually detached from the struggles of regular bugs. He and his Spire are the culmination of the City's upper class' ignorance towards the ones who were below them on the social hierarchy. A dreamer who dreamt of watching over the very heart of the holy civilization lived so high up he could no longer see his beloved world in its complicated, detailed entirety – and the tears of the stasis created by those like him only blinded him more.

All those flooded streets, those broken buildings, those empty halls, those starving bugs, those sealed doors - even though he watched over them, he couldn't see them.

I'm pretty sure Lurien didn't even know about the Soul Master's experiments, despite the fact that the Soul Sanctum was located right next to his Spire.

Or maybe he knew but chose to turn a blind eye to it (pun intended).

But it's kind of poetic, isn't it? It's the beauty of the tragedy of this game's characters. A Beast who had to surrender everything to the opposing civilization. A Teacher who could no longer teach. A Watcher who couldn't see the truth.

And all that makes me wonder... How much suffering could the Pale King see, standing on that platform at the top of the Abyss, facing away from the pit where his children died?

TL;DR: Lurien's point of view was too high up to actually see what was truly going on down there, both literally and metaphorically. His desire to worship the Pale King made him ignorant of the struggles of regular bugs. Similarly, the extreme elitism of the high society of Hallownest lead to ignorance, discrimination and greed, which ultimately caused the sprawl of the Infection. This side of Lurien's story might also parallel the Pale King's with his ignorance towards the discarded vessels.

TL;DR²: Eat the rich

#hollow knight #hollow knight theory #hollow knight lore #lurien the watcher #city of tears #hallownest #pale king #monomon the teacher #soul master #character analysis #social commentary

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yannaryartside · 2 days

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Sidetrack Love

One of the most used plot devices in romance is to give your main couple (the one you want to get togueter at the end) two respective love interest previous or during the time they get to know each other.

So we assume Sydney and Carmy are the main couple and Marcus and Claire are the respective sidetrack love interests. The goal of using these characters is to:

a. Make the main characters question their goals in love, their insecurities and wounds.

b. Show the audience their attachment styles and dynamics

WHAT THEY WANTED VS WHAT THEY NEEDED

Most of the time, is about the main characters realizing they want each other, despite thinking at the beginning of the story that they wanted or needed something different.

Claire was a popular girl in high school adored by Carmy's family. She is easygoing and accommodating to someone like Carmy who had to beg for love his whole childhood. For Carmy, love was expensive (buried in hurt and toxic dynamics), and Claire gives love like it is free, free of compromise, expectations, or even definitions. It is not like that is healthy either, but surely someone like Carmy would be extremely attracted to that. This ties to my post "The Lie that Carmy believes" because I think he has been fighting this notion that he needs to sacrifice a lot, even himself, to deserve love.

With Marcus is more tricky, but it sums up the fact that he is a stand-up guy. He has a few flaws but is probably one of the healthiest men in the show. He is kind and patient. Sydney and Marcus have a good dynamic, their attraction could have been based on a solid friendship. There is a part of me that wanted Sydney to notice Marcus, because she may carry a burden due to a broken heart. I wanted Marcus to heal Sydney the way Claire is set up to heal Carmy.

Funny thing, it looks like they could continue the sidetrack love plot in season 3 if Carmy continues to pursue Claire and tries to figure out if she is good for him, while Sydney may find a partner in Luca, or even come back to Marcus.

My point is that the show is giving both these characters easy routes to love, maybe in the context of letting us know the difficulties a romantic relationship between Carmy and Syd could have.

AN EXCUSE: COOKING VS LOVE

Carmy used his relationship with Claire to run away from the restaurant. Even when he was in the restaurant he denied and avoided responsibilities like crazy. It makes me wonder if his heart is in it anymore, or if cooking just became a coping mechanism to deal with his trauma (season 3 teaser), like cooking is the only thing he thinks he is good for, cooking and love (especially unconditional love) cannot exist in the same space at the same time for him.

Sydney was so focused on the restaurant that never actually suspected Marcus liked her like that. She may have noticed the looks and the flirting but I think she may have assumed it was friendly. Or was she just so consumed by her own worries to even think about love? it is an interesting parallel to Carmy and Claire nonetheless. Can cooking (her dreams) and love exist for her at the same time? What does she believe love is?

Would Carmy make that impossible for her in season 3? Would he be the killjoy of her passion and goodwill? Or would they grow closer?

This was all over the place, but thank you for reading

#sydcarmy #the bear #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #the bear meta #the bear fx #carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x sydney #sydney x carmy #marcus the bear #claire bear

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sgiandubh · 3 days

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Hello, good afternoon! Yesterday I read your post about James Morrison and I was thinking about the other fragments of himself that Sam eventually shows - a few hints here and there that he collects something, etc. Then I remembered the parts we've already seen of his house (the new one and the previous one) and I was wondering where these things are? There doesn't seem to be anything as delicate or sophisticated as these paintings. Could it be, just could it be, that those portions of his houses that he shows us are some kind of staged set?

Dear (returning) Greeting Anon,

I am very glad to see you back, always a pleasure, but just so you know: my James Morrison post is a shameful flop, because I was wrong and had to edit & explain. But you know, it's ultimately fine, because: a) it sparked comments & debate and b) I do hope it somehow helped to show that it could happen to anyone. And when it does, I think it's way worse (and toxic!) to play the ostrich game, than to step forward and openly own it (you'd need balls for it, though). One thing I am very sorry for: all those readers who never peruse the comments and take it as is from the people who share it first just took it for granted. Edits happen and they are sometimes (like yesterday) drastic.

That being said, along with my deepest apologies, onwards to your question. Yes, he showed us one of his James Morrison paintings and, unlike my idiotic speculation, that is a documented fact:

The painting very probably being Bergs, Otto Fiord (1992), from Morrison's Arctic cycle:

... and we even have a very personal, BTS photograph of it - fascinating, eh?

[Source: Apollo Magazine, March 2021: https://www.apollo-magazine.com/james-morrison-scottish-painter-film-review-anthony-baxter-bbc-iplayer/ - gracias a ti, siempre, ❤️]

We all know that his house is rather a big, sprawling affair. I don't think we ever saw anything he was not ready to show us with a very specific and calculated purpose in mind. And that purpose might just be to promote the idea of a rather dull non descript bachelor pad, filled with meh, neutral furniture, naive memorabilia and a haphazard assortment of books on a shelf, that tell us strictly nothing about the real S.

If anything, C's recording cupboard didn't seem to fare better. Same flair & inspiration, or rather lack thereof, that made all those rooms look like storage spaces for luxury nomads. That Mordor ass-kissing fan art and the church sketch seem way too much in your face to be credible, especially when compared with her Queen of the Arctic public, uxorial appearances. But what do I know, Greeting Anon? And perhaps not knowing is exactly what These Two really want. Her bookshelves were way more talkative - but then the idiots across the street immediately screeched it 'was staged' (as if there was an urgent need to stage a corridor!).

Life is always elsewhere and more interesting than on social media. And it is quite alright, Anon. Trust me - this story is not for us and not ours to tell.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

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fatkish · 22 hours

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Hi hi! I really love reading through all of your mha x inner child fanfics, theyve honestly helped a lot lol.

I was wondering if I could request Present Mic with (his) child reader after an unsuccessful suicide attempt? They attempted to go out by hanging but were saved at the last moment, so their throat is in complete pain. Just maybe some comfort and angst in his eccentric, silly ways, not wanting reader to hurt more but still hurting himself lol (but feel free to spin this however you want!).

(TRIGGER WARNING: Please note that the following contains sensitive content: attempts at suicide, self harm, mental abuse directed at oneself. Please be warned and don’t read if you are not in the right mindset to do so. This is a comfort fic aimed at comforting those who have dealt with or felt like this at one point)

Present Mic x Child Reader: Perfect to Me

You had been born Quirkless. The media had a field day with the news of the Voice Hero: Present Mic’s own child being quirkless. It was hard enough to be quirkless, but when everyone knew your father had a strong quirk, it made things even harder. You were always compared to him by your peers and even some of your teachers. You got bullied relentlessly by other kids. No one wanted to be your friend and the teachers would turn a blind eye to it all.

The kids would say things like ‘I bet you’re actually adopted and Present Mic is just too much of a hero to get rid of you’ ‘your dad must be super embarrassed his kid is quirkless and a loser’ ‘if no one knew you were his kid then he’d probably get rid of you’ your dad’s a lame hero so it makes sense he’d keep a quirkless kid’. The other kids always said things about how your dad must be putting up an act and probably just sees you as a charity case.

The teachers were bad too. ‘I can’t even imagine having a quirkless child’ ‘imagine how it must be having a child like that’ ‘the poor man is probably so stressed all the time, worried about his kid’ ‘it must be so disappointing to find out your kid is quirkless’. The teachers would whisper about how it must be such a burden to raise a quirkless child. They spoke rumors about you being his illegitimate child and that he’s probably only kept you to make himself look good.

You never told Mic about anything anybody said. You knew he loved you, you’re his whole world… right? After a few years of torment and bullying from other kids you started to doubt yourself and your father. You started to believe that you were just a burden on Mic and that he’s only putting up a loving act. He’s your dad, so of course he’s supposed to love you, plus he’s a hero, so how much of his love is really true and not just stuff he’s supposed to say. How do you know if your dad actually cares for you or only tells you this because he’s a good person and is just being nice?

Eventually in 5th grade when you were 11, you couldn’t take it anymore. You truly believed that your dad was only trying to make you feel better about being quirkless. You believed that you were a burden and that your dad would be better off without you to look after. One day, you decided to skip school and returned home after your dad left. You had been planning this for some time. You had grabbed an old 10ft phone charger cord and tied one end into a slipknot and tied the other to a wooden beam in the kitchen. You decided to write your dad a note before taking your life. You then stood up on a chair and slipped the cord around your neck before kicking away the chair.

Mic had been halfway on his way home from UA because he realized that he forgot some of his students English papers that he graded. He got a call from one of your few nice teachers who informed him that you weren’t at school. He had seen you leave this morning so he knows that you left, were you skipping school? Why? Guess he’ll ask you when he gets home. He pulled into the driveway and parked before exiting and locking his car. He unlocked his front door and entered the house, closing the door behind him before calling out your name.

“(Y/n)? You home? I’m not mad, I left some papers that I had graded on the kitchen table. C’mon, let’s have a talk, I’m sure you have a reason for skipping scho— Oh God NOOOOO!”

As Mic had walked from the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen, he paused when his eyes took in the sight of your body nearly limp and hanging with a cord around your neck. The moment he saw it he ran to you and grabbed a knife to cut the cord. The moment he did, your limp body fell into his arms.

“Oh my god, my sweet baby, no. Please, (y/n) baby, please don’t be dead, please don’t did on me, Daddy’s here now, Daddy’s got you, come back to me baby” Present Mic cried as he cradled your body and dialed the emergency number for an Ambulance. While he stayed with you, he saw the note and grabbed it, when the paramedics arrived they got to work getting oxygen into you and had to stick a tube down your windpipe to get oxygen into your lungs. Mic rode in the Ambulance with them as he called Shota and let him know what was happening. Shota then told Nedzu what happened.

While you were being treated, Mic pulled the note out and read it.

Dear Dad,

I’m sorry that you had to find me like this. I know it’s a burden having to deal with and care for a quirkless child and that dealing with my death is just more of a burden. I’m sorry I’m quirkless, I know that you always say it’s okay but you don’t have to lie anymore. I know you must have been disappointed when I didn’t get a quirk and I’m so sorry. Thank you for taking such good care of me even though it must have been an immense burden. Thank you for being a kind and loving father even if it was just an act. I love you so much and I’m sorry that you had to endure living with me for so long. But that’s all over now so you can rest now. Thank you for everything and thank you for putting up with me. You’re my hero.

-Love,

(Y/n)

Hizashi had tears rolling down his cheeks when Shota got to the hospital and found him sitting in a hallway outside your door. When Shota took the note and read it, he too, shed some tears.

“W-why? Why didn’t they tell me Sho? Why didn’t they say anything? Do they really believe that I don’t love them? What did I do wrong?!?”

“Shh, I know Zash, I know. This isn’t on you, this isn’t your fault”

“My baby is dead?!? Sho! How am I- what am I gonna do, how am I supposed to deal with this?”

As Hizashi cried to Shota, one of the nurses exited your room.

“Excuse me, Mr. Yamada, your child is awake now. We’ve put them on the Suicide watch and a psychoanalytic will be visiting with them later to determine what caused this and what the best course of treatment for them is. You can go in now and see them” the nurse moved aside and motioned towards the door.

Hizashi immediately jumped to his feet and ran inside the room only to stop and stare at you. You had your head down and your hands in your lap as you sat in the hospital bed under the sheets wearing a hospital gown. Tears swelled in his eyes as he realized you were alive. Hearing and seeing the beats on the heart monitor was a relief to him. He ran over to you swallowing you up in his arms as he cried.

“Oh (y/n) my sweet baby, you’re alive, I was so scared don’t you ever do that again you hear me! I love you so much, I’m so happy you’re alive. No matter what anyone says or thinks, you’re perfect to me. Just the way you are. Quirk or no quirk, you will always be my sweet baby. I love you so much”

Hizashi cried as he hugged you and cradled you in his arms. He kept rubbing his forehead into your shoulder. You carefully removed his glasses and put them aside as you kissed his forehead.

“Dad I’m-“

“No no, shhh… it’s okay, explanations can come later. If you don’t want to talk about it right now then we don’t have to, I’m just so grateful that you’re alive. Promise me you’ll talk to me before you ever do this again, please”

“I promise”

“Pinky promise”

You looked at the serious look and your dad’s face as he held his pinky finger out to you. You couldn’t help but smile at his silly antics and linked your pinky with his.

“I promise”

“Okay good.”

After that, Hizashi crawled into the bed with you as you sat on his lap and snuggled into his arms. Shota sat in the chair to the side and smiled at you.

The following week was filled with snuggles and eating junk food while watching movies. When you got home after the suicide watch ended, your dad surprised you by letting you go to UA with him and letting you do your homeschooling there. Nedzu decided that it would be best for you to be in an environment where you would be safe from bullying and what better environment than a school for heroes? You got to stay in the faculty room and did your homework, you got to eat lunch with your dad and he’d show you off to all his coworkers.

Needless to say you still had some doubts but therapy was helping. Your dad loves you and it’s obvious to you now just how much.

#present mic x child reader #present mic x reader #present mic #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x child reader #bnha x child reader #hizashi yamada x child reader #hizashi yamada x reader

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altruistic-meme · 5 months

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sometimes it's nice when you have friends who try and look out for your mental health. and sometimes it's incredibly annoying.

#like yes i HAVE been very low on mental capacity these last few days but have you considered #that when i said 'no im ok' i actually meant that i was. idk. ok?#at some point you no longer need to keep insisting that 'oh you know you dont HAVE to go out we ubderstand if youre too tired'#'we wont he upset if you tell us that you dont have the spoons dont worry :)'#'jsyk theyre only going /for/ you so like if you dont WABT to you dint HAVE to ok? :))))'#ok or you could just fucking say you dont want to go.#ya know. like an adult.#i invited you bc its a fun thing ti do its not like i was going to tgrow a fit if they said no im????#and i HATE HATE H A T E that theyre trying to frame it as a 'oh YOU are overwhelmed and YIU are probably tired so dont worry about it' thing #like please dont use MY mental health as a fucking excuse ok thanks #sorry #i am. more annoyed about this than i thought.#anyway i wanted to go bc i know i need to get out of the fucking house for smth other than work on occasion #and it was a free fucking event #but :)#whatevrr :))#cus now im mad :)))#shh ac

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septimus-heap · 2 years

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Back on my bullshit abt marcia and protagonist syndrome. Marcia has protagonist plot armour combined with the curse of being the protagonists mentor so she's constantly just barely surviving situations

#sep talks #septimus heap #marcia overstrand #going by trope rules marcia should be dead but instead shes just gone through like 50 different near death experiences #marcia's so funny she could be so many things so easily but she just isn't #like villain marcia wouldn't take changing much. Protagonist marcia. Dead mentor/parent figure trope marcia #you could change like 1 thing and it would fit #(protagonist marcia specifically all you'd have to do would be. Make her the protagonist. Like obviously but it's more like #with beetle or the heap brothers or whoever they r all definitely side characters and so is marcia during when the series takes place #but if u just. Shift the series back like 10-20 years? You have to change basically nothing about her life for her to be a good #main character. Which is so funny)#I love her btw if u couldn't tell #EDIT u probably wouldn't even have to shift the series back a few years bc the amount of stuff that happens to marcia in the series itself #is insane. The issue is that most of it is just the side effects of being around septimus #but then again!!!!#magyk could definitely be made marcia-centric. Flyte too if u focus more on the Shadow (tbh idk what happens in flyte)#physik actually is about septimus specifically so that's whatever #queste+syren also #darke and fyre are another 2 that could definitely focus more on marcia if u wanted them ti #fyre especially #I'm rambling and mostly talking nonsense so ignore this idk but abdjdbdhdnbd

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softdaemons · 1 year

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thinking about if rin lived and naruto growing up around her and being rins little shadow

#theres so many variables for that kind of au dependant on what goes down with the uchiha along with obito and kakashis fates #i just want more jinchuuriki interaction and solidarity ):#personal #gosh if they had to go out on the run for whatever reason blah blah blah village hostility and dehumanization #minato being tied into the village and his status as hokage meaning nothing and kushina being kept for her bloodline value #but they at least get rin and naruto out and entrust him to her #probably none of these things add up but im trying to craft a sort of au where the hosts and beasts all team up and protect eachother vs #everyone else #theres a few different angles narusasu could come about too and im :((((((

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thevalleyisjolly · 2 years

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Got really caught up thinking how I’d rewrite The Hobbit movie trilogy if I had to keep the three-film structure and all the existing characters, and it’s so fun but I’m going to have no time to actually write this, help.

#the valley is posting #i'm not a tolkien purist and i do understand a lot of the changes the trilogy had to make as a film adaptation #some of the ideas were very good; others had potential but were not always executed well #one of the few things i like about dos is thorin and bard's conflict #that's a fantastic example of two characters both having very valid arguments that are also completely at odds with each other #that's how you do good conflict! have both characters be right given their individual contexts but those contexts clash when they meet!#i think tauriel's storyline could be much stronger if it were tied to the dol goldur storyline instead of/before the erebor plot #have her be in contact with radagast from the start; both of them being very concerned about what's happening in mirkwood #and if you really want her to go to erebor #then in dos; have her follow the orcs who attacked the party back to dol goldur #she arrives just as radagast leaves gandalf there and they discuss what's going on #tauriel puts two and two together and comes to the conclusion that someone at dol goldur is very interested in the dwarves' quest #so she heads towards erebor to discover what the dwarves are up to and why someone at dol goldur is invested in them #so many more ideas; i should probably go write them all down somewhere other than a tag essay

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spade-club · 2 years

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Was it really leading you on if I also let you down? Or do you really just hate the idea of me being happy without you? /not at you

#im getting angery about things from almost two years ago again haha oops #but honestly. you cant just fucking traumatize me and expect me not to be pissed???#just tell me I'm a monster and you hate everything I am.#like. do you know how hard it is to be going through someone sexualizing you constantly no matter how much you ask them to stop #and have your best fucking friend yelling at you because you're such a monster who's going to ruin this poor boy #and have her tell you she tied her self worth to your capacity to like men??#like. cool. okay. fuck you I guess.#its so bullshit #like. I'll admit I didnt treat her great. i let her believe she had a chance with dating me #when ultimately that was probably never going to happen again #but also like. I just like having close friends I flirt with. thats how I do relationships. and I made that clear.#and I even toned it down and we talked about it all the time #so maybe actually I didnt??? idk #point is its still fucked up that she would honestly tell me how much I suck as a hostile way of attacking me for not dating her #and THEN a few months later managed to get mad at me again for.... being triggered by something she said #so anyway uh. when you have someone in your life and you know how mean they can be #dont tell yourself its okay because they arent hostile to you. they could just as easily be hurting you the moment their rose glasses fall #if you dont want to be on their bad side. do you really want to be on their good side?#sad posting #<- not really but its personal and I'm scatterbrain thinking #soz if it doesnt make a lot of sense I'm. strugglebus #I might try to explain better later because those moments have really lodged their way in my brain and it sucks

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spicysourchimken · 8 days

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Interesting reunions

Tim and Danny are twins, Danny was given up for adoption by the Drakes when he was a baby and Tim was never told he has a brother.

After a reveal gone bad, Danny, Jazz, Sam and Tucker became thieves after closing the portal. They mainly target supernatural or cursed items. Their target, a necklace, is being held in a museum with their in being a private event to show off the piece before it's sent back to its owner.

The heist would've gone well if Tim hadn't also been in attendance.

------

'Lmao and here I thought you didn't want to be here'

It was a text from Dick.

Not exactly the strangest thing to happen when Tim was forced to attend an event.

He'd been benched after a mission resulted in a minor concussion. He'd personally been planning on going over his paperwork for Wayne Enterprises, but apparently that wasn't 'rest', instead he was sent off to be bored out of his mind at some art function. He didn't have time to prepare notes or even do any real research. But he still had Dick who had apparently been dragged along as his babysitter (And was fortunately interested in the items on display)

They'd been texting throughout the night. Dick fed him enough information to be mildly interested in topics of conversation, and when that failed the strange history of the main display. An old necklace that supposedly was connected to a string of deaths and all around misfortune.

So no, the text wasn't strange, but what was, was the photo attached. It was a picture of a man, grinning and chatting amicably with a woman whom he could barely make out as the collection's curator. His hair was longer than Tim's, tied neatly back to be clear of his glasses and to give clear view of the man's face.

Tim's face.

There was a clone at the event.

'can u get me another pic?'

Tim was now significantly more interested. Tim could identify the room they were in, housing the main display and it was about two rooms over from where he was currently hiding out. He could get there easily enough.

Dick sent him a thumbs up before replying with another, distinctly more uncomfortable photo of the man. He smiled awkwardly and Tim could finally get a better look at his face. Tim's brows scrunched together. A lichtenburg scar stretched up from beneath his collar and trailed along his jaw and in the light the man's eyes almost looked green.

He ran the photo through his facial recognition software, getting at least a few pings on himself before finally landing on Jonas Spencer, private security currently assigned to shadow one Morgan Deveraux. His history was solid, highschool records, even a spotty criminal history (points where he'd almost been arrested for bar fights) before he'd joined up with his firm.

So. not a clone. Probably.

Tim would still need to check it out. He pushed past a dark haired woman and entered the main show room. Dick, luckily had kept him in conversation but Jonas looked flighty, his eyes always drifting back to his charge.

Then he caught sight of Tim.

He froze. Staring at Tim for a moment before he tapped his ear- and what Tim assumed to be a comm. He made a move for Morgan, leaving Dick in the dust.

The lights flickered. Jonas reached for Megan, his hand wrapping around hers. Tim could've sworn his eyes darted upwards. Then there was a complete blackout. There was a clatter as a vent grate fell to the floor, shouts arose from the attendees.

Then the lights flickered back to life.

Jonas and Morgan had vanished, and so did the necklace as well as three other paintings.

Good news, its not a clone. Bad news, he might have a twin brother who is in a gang of thieves.

Daniel Fenton, or as his ID currently stated 'Jonas Spencer', wouldn't exactly call himself a thief- personally he was more of a collector. Or a curator, whatever the hell you might call a guy who grabs haunted and or cursed objects and dumps them in an alternate dimension.

And it wasn't exactly like he was normally the one stealing things either! That was mostly Sam, he'd done for a bit when they'd first started up (pushing his hands through the glass and taking a necklace with him, or making a painting completely invisible as he whisked it away) but then Sam started calling it 'cheating' and claimed 'his technique was lacking' and promptly took over his position.

(He didn't exactly mind, using his powers too often made his skin crawl. He may not have the GIW constantly hunting him, but he'd had enough run ins to make him sweat. He also didn't want to think about his parents.)

So maybe their entire deal wasn't completely altruistic. When you've been on the run since seventeen and had decided that you, your best friends and your older sister are going to become international thieves, sometimes you have to steal things so that you can have an income. And sometimes stealing is fun.

Unluckily their current job wasn't recreational. They'd heard word of a haunted necklace, there was a string of bad luck connected to it. Mirrors shattering, injuries popping up only days after interacting with the piece, lights falling out from the ceiling. There'd also been a case of near death.

Very clearly the latest display piece was cursed meaning they needed to grab it before it was shipped back into it private collection in France. That meant a time crunch, meaning they wouldn't be fully prepared. It was fine- they'd stolen the dagger of Amon Ra when they had half a day to plan, so three should've been fine.

He and Jazz manned the floor, Jazz kept to grifting while Danny worked as support if things went sideways on any front. Jazz, currently wealthy socialite 'Morgan Devereaux', draped an arm around a politician as he guided her through the collection. Jazz shot him a glance telling him to stay back, keep monitoring the main floor with the necklace.

That was fine. He could do that. He approached the curator and complimented the piece, letting her tell him about the struggles she had getting it overseas let alone her conversations with the owner. Ok, so definitely cursed.

Danny felt eyes on his back, and from the corner of his eye he saw someone take a photo. Tall, dark hair and a bright smile.

Sam pointed out that it was a Wayne.

At that point Danny made an attempt to leave, if he was going to get into a fight we wasn't going to do it there. He'd be too close to the necklace for Sam to get in and grab it without attention being drawn to her too. But Grayson cornered him impressively fast. He asked Danny for a photo, claiming that he looked just like his brother. Danny relented.

Then Tucker chimed in that someone had ran his face. Fuck. Dick kept him in conversation but Danny was eyeing their escape roots. Sam warned that another was coming through the left entrance and that she'd already lifted his phone. Danny turned, preparing himself for confrontation.

Then Danny saw him, his doppelganger.

Grayson hadn't been lying. That thought was terrifying.

Danny sent two taps into his earpiece and made his way towards Jazz. They couldn't risk staying any longer. Danny didn't know if they'd been made or not but he wasn't taking chances. He nodded to Sam who went for the jewels as Tucker cut the lights. Jazz and Danny took a painting each.

Sam went for the vents and Danny and Jazz disappeared through the front door.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp

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an-excellent-choice · 3 months

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Headcanon where Gale is the famous professor in the academy for being one of the few professors who actually had a great perilous adventure but none of the students (and some staff too) believe it really happened.

Like they file it away as one of those things where he probably just saw it at the sidelines not really like thick in battle since he has the orb to worry about.

Until finally one day Gale holds a special series of seminars/demonstrations for in the field spellcasting for fights or crisis. He invited all the party members he could in these seminars

Suddenly a former shar worhipper, gith, vampire, devil, is that the blade of frontiers(?), the legendary jaheira and the hero of baldurs gate just are there to help the demo/seminar.

A nighttime demo for Astarion, A lesson on how to cast light spells and be alert for rogues. Not to mention how to maintain concentration when you get shot by an arrow, Gale will say as Astarion shoots an arrow at him. ( at some point an arrow does sink in Gale's shoulder and the whole class freezes but Gale just tuts disapprovingly while Astarion just acts innocently like he doesnt have a longbow in his hand)

Karlach makes a demo on how to distinguish devils and how to kill them. She and Gale also show how to deal with a raging barbarian in a fight as a wizard, Hint human shields i mean tanks companions are important.

Wyll is charming the socks of the audience and shows self-defense tactics when an enemy too close. Oh yes he used to be a warlock but his patron was a devil so he had to cut ties with her

Shadowheart talks about healing spells and being aware of the your companions healths. She especially emphasizes the importance of being able to self heal in emergencies especially for wizards while giving pointed looks at Gale while Gale awkwardly(or guiltily?) shuffles and clears his throat

Laezel talks about the battlefield positions and best placement of wizards in the field to help the strongest soldiers and she also shows which of the body parts they should aim their spells. (I like imagining Laezel having her baby strapped on her while doing her demo or using her baby to show which body parts)

And after a while the students realize with how Gale seamlessly shows or helps in the demos that omg maybe professor Dekarios did help save the baldurs gate

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luminiamore · 1 month

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hiiii i really liked your suguru hoochie fic and i was wondering if you could do one with ony where she’s like a tomboy and she has a smart mouth and fights a lot but when she gets with ony he makes her chill out when she start to act up.

thank youuuuuu🫶🏾

best friend ony x black tomboy reader

warnings: a bit of angst in the beginning? fam issues, reader can throw hands, car sex, angry sex a little, overstimulation, best friends to lovers, a teensy bit of manipulation? if you squint

a/n: hope you enjoyyyyy :33

Second year, first semester. You honestly were starting to get tired of this hell people call college. You were drained, which was weird since you loved what you were there for. Fashion design has been your passion ever since you were a child. It was nothing out of the ordinary for anyone in your family to see you declare that as your major after being admitted to FIT, one of the best fashion schools in New York.

Your parents, comprising a lawyer and the top doctor in the city, fully supported you in pursuing your dreams. They were impressed by your decision to launch your own fashion line, and before you even reached your third year in college, you had already established your own business.

The outcome was much more successful than anticipated, making your first $100k in less than 2 months. However, there are drawbacks to being raised in a traditional Haitian family.

‘Tifi pa mete gwo pantalon konsa.’ Girls don’t wear big pants like that.

‘Buy that skirt. Ou bezwen abiye tankou yon dam.’ You need to dress like a lady.

It was a broken fucking record, and you were tired of hearing it. You would call them out on it, never being one to hold your tongue. Your parents scolded you for that, too, telling you that no one likes a lady who always has someone to say. You swear you would pop a blood vessel if you heard another one of their lectures.

Of course, you never wore the skirts or dresses they would waste their money on for you. Your family’s Christmas gifts would be just that now. You couldn’t help but want to hurl when you saw pastel-colored tops, the shortest skirts you’d ever seen, and dresses that made you shiver in discomfort.

They weren’t ugly. You recognized the beauty in them when other people wore them. But putting them on your body made you visibly uncomfortable. You always felt awkward in them, and you realized that while you loved your parents, you couldn’t change how they viewed things.

So, you moved out. After six months of telling your parents you were leaving. They never believed you. On a warm summer evening, you packed all of your ‘ti gason’ clothes, as they like to call them, and made your way to the high-rise apartment that you paid a deposit on three weeks ago.

You were happy. I mean, you had no reason not to be. Your parents came around to you not being home anymore, your business was doing exceptionally well, and your best friend was taking you out to eat later tonight.

You were happy.

So, why are you leaving room 109 on the verge of tears after being scolded by your Fashion Management professor for missing yet another assignment?

You were at your limit. You weren’t by any means sensitive, always known for being quick on your feet. Usually, when there is a problem, you are the first to fix it. You were smart, having a high 3.9 GPA, and are even on the principal’s honor roll. That didn’t stop you from getting into a few fights here and there.

Now, you were by no means were you the type of bitch always looking for a fight. But the girls at your university were bullies, and unfortunately for them, you don’t take no bullshit. Not from your parents, and certainly not from them.

You should be a MMA fighter with how these women are left twitching after you’re done with them. And you probably should’ve been expelled, but you were one of the school’s head designers. It would look bad on their part if they let you go, which is why you’re still here. Utterly drained, hungry, and twisting your personal locker open.

“Yo!”

You hear a loud shout from behind you. You take a pause from stacking your latest edition of the Vogue magazine, featuring your designs, in the plain navy blue locker. Nah, not me. You really weren’t in the mood today.

“Excuse you, miss. With the big ass pants,” You entirely stop all your movements and take a deep breath in. Not fucking today.

The outfit you wore was cute, you looked adorable. Standing with a basketball jersey shirt you stumbled upon while thrifting a week ago and oversized jeans. Your new blue Balance 550s were free of scratches and fit perfectly with your mid-calf length socks. Your bohemian braids are tucked into a messy updo, and your vintage jewelry completes your look. You were bad, and no amount of bullying from insecure women could ever make you feel different.

You continue ignoring the person. Your best friend of five years, Ony, told you not to get into any more fights. He said you were too bright for that, that they only wanted a reaction out of you. On any other day, you would’ve taken his concerns into consideration. Today was absolutely not one of those days. Today was one of the days where if someone said the wrong thing, you wouldn’t flinch before knocking their head off their shoulders.

To be honest, he should’ve known better; you always had a short temper.

Still, the whiny voice pesters you until they got right within your vicinity. “I know you hear me talking to you,”

Your method of ignoring is futile now; the girl was so close you could smell the cheap Victoria’s Secret perfume she over-sprayed. You were forced to turn to your right and face the culprit, your sharp eyes squinting at the girl.

You notice you’ve never seen her before. She wasn’t drastically shorter than you, maybe an inch or two. Even you knew, though, you could spank her with no problem. She was pretty, but her style was the complete opposite of yours. Her brown skin was well-compensated by the short pleated cream skirt she wore, and the bow-shaped crop top caused you to look twice at her tits.

You would’ve forgotten that she approached you all hostile if she didn’t put her pink glossed lips together to say her following words.

“You fucking with my man?” Didn’t I mention that you have never seen this girl a day in your life? How the fuck were you supposed to know who her man was? You’re stuck in a dilemma, a mind fucking dilemma.

Should you walk away and be the bigger person, or should you indulge in whatever this was and risk listening to what would be your second lecture of the day from Ony? You shiver at the thought alone. You don’t think you can take another earful.

“Y’know what? I don’t even think it was right of me to ask,” Thank you. You internally think you wouldn’t feel bad for fucking up someone’s daughter today.

“Yeah, there’s no way Ony would go for someone like you,”

Silence.

There was an apparent silence among the crowded halls, everyone stopping what they were doing to stare at the two of you. Damn, does no one mind their business?

You weren’t lying earlier. You really didn’t have an issue with people dressing in the opposite way of you. In 2024, you have a fondness for the way humans express themselves through their clothing. What you didn’t like was how girls with the most basic outfits known to man would think they were better than you.

And did this bitch just call Ony her man?

Your anger was rising slowly the more you thought about it, and you were bout ready to strangle this girl.

“Excuse me?”

Your usual sweet tone sounded almost chilly amid the suffocating tension. Everyone around the school knew who you were; being a fashion designer made the public eye fixated on you. Your fights were a natural source of mass attention. That was what all of your 1 million fans on Instagram liked about you, the fact that you never lost.

She had the audacity to keep talking. “Yeah, I mean, look at you. You should dress more like a-”

It’s a shame, really. You really didn’t want to fight today. Your fist went swinging before your mind even processed what was happening. It was a little uncanny how you didn’t let the girl get any punches; it was simply hit after hit. Were you at 7 now? Or maybe it was 10? You couldn’t tell.

This wasn’t because she was weak; it took about two solid punches to the face before she fell down. But you were just so heated. That comment made something snap in the deepest crevices of your bone. There was an intense sobbing from underneath you, and in the corner of your cloudy vision, you saw pecks of blood staining your knuckles.

You didn’t get to finish your assault on the poor girl; in a split second, you felt an arm snatch you up from your stomach. You raise your head from what feels like someone’s shoulder- Why was everything upside down?

You heard a deep mumbling in the midst of the cheers coming from the hallway, something along the lines of “Never fucking listen,”

Ony?

It seems you voiced your thoughts out loud because the 6’3 man responds with a quick, “I don’t wanna hear shit till we get home.”

Your thoughts were jumbled, and you didn’t have a clear head. You were angry. You were an angry black woman, and you had every right to be one. Ony is your best friend, not your father. So, you were stuck trying to figure out just who the fuck was he talking to?

In a hiss, your voice whispers by his diamond stud earring, “Who the fuck- Are you crazy? Fuck ass nigga, put me down!” you start sending harsh slaps on his back, the fabric of his white tee swaying. But he wasn’t budging; not a single hit swayed him.

Your words must have been a source of tension, causing him to finally put you down. The blood rushing from your body into your head makes your vision hazy, and as you look around, you realize you’re in the school parking lot. Alone. Alone with Ony.

He doesn’t let the thought simmer in your brain, not when you’re more concerned about the fact that he has a tatted hand on your throat and just pushed your body to the nearest concrete wall.

“Watch that mouth. You should know better, Y/n.”

His voice is more calm now, though you can hear the underlying irritation. You’re both glaring at each other, your breathing audibly heard amid the empty oversized garage. His grip on your throat is making you feel things, things you shouldn’t be feeling for a best friend.

You were never intimidated by Ony, and he knew it when you continued glaring and uttered, “Get the fuck off of me,” You try grasping at his arm, but he’s quicker than you. Ony doesn’t hesitate to put your arms above your head, the scent of his YSL cologne filling your senses.

Is he- Is he closer than before?

“Nah, you’re not getting out of this one.” He pressed into you harder, and it was getting a little difficult to breathe. His body heat somehow mixed in with yours, creating a heated symphony. You knew it was coming, another scolding. At this point, you were starting to think you’re 9 again.

“What did we talk about yesterday, ma?” His voice goes an octave lower, and you’re almost sure he’s doing this purposefully. You roll your eyes, refusing to let him see the effect he was beginning to have on you. You decide you don’t even want to let him hear your voice.

Ony doesn’t hear a peep out of you, and after 10 seconds, he loses his patience, “You deadass? Don’t make me fuck you up, Y/n.” You feel the hand on your throat squeeze tighter twice as if he’s warning you. Damp are the only words to describe what your panties are experiencing right now.

Still, you keep up your facade. Ony can see right through you, though, you’ve never had someone put you in your place. You’ve never had someone match your energy like he did. It usually never got this bad; Ony never got upset with you after a fight he had to pull you from. A calm talk and a little praise got you to calm your nerves.

This was before you got the fame you have now. Ony thinks, no, he knows, that you’re going to be much bigger than you already are. And he doesn’t want you being held back by some petty fights. He always told you if you ever had a problem, go to him first, and he’ll always handle it.

But you wanted to be stubborn. You weren’t used to someone taking care of you, relieving some weight off of your shoulders. Being the first-born daughter issued a connection with hyper-independence. And all Ony wants to do is engrave in your pretty little head that he’s got you. And he always will. He genuinely cannot understand why you make it so difficult for him.

“I’m not in the mood, Ony. Let me go-” He cuts you off, coming closer to your soft lips.

“I don’t care, Y/n. Talk it out right now, or I swear we’re not leaving this parking lot.” He read you like a book; he knew you were trying to run away from him. To dismiss this and to never bring it up again. He was done doing that, and the attitude you’ve been giving him ended today. He’ll fix it for you by whatever means.

You knew Ony meant his words in the least sexual way possible. Yet, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, why does he look so good? The thin gold chain you gave him for his birthday last year makes his brown skin stand out. Through your adrenaline haze, you didn’t even notice what he wearing.

It’s sinful. How the outfit you know he barely put thought into putting on makes you want to pounce.

A white tee that alone made your breath stutter with the way his abs pressed through. You could make out the outline, damn. Black sweats that sit so low, the white Polo Ralph Lauren briefs he had on were teasing you.

It wasn’t your first time having these thoughts, but moments with Ony made you think this way often.

When you guys would smoke together, and Ony would feed you the blunts, his eyes would never leave your lips. When he would come over and cook with you, small brushes behind your hips. You would always brush it aside; that wouldn’t be appropriate for a best friend to think. You were just best friends, right?

You’re questioning everything because of this moment. This isn’t what best friends do. Why is his hand squeezing your throat? Why is he pressing his body flush against you?

Most importantly, why aren’t you stopping him? Why is this making you so fucking wet? You know, if you told Ony you were uncomfortable, he would back off in a second. But you weren’t. The only thing making you uncomfortable is the slickness you can feel drip down the fat of your soft thighs.

Your next words leave him stunned, “Well, I guess we’re not leaving then.”

When your words register in Ony’s brain, he moves quickly. Whispering a stern, “Bet.” With a smile on his handsome face. As if he knows something you don’t. After grabbing you by the throat and letting go of your hands, he swiftly moves to his car, an all-black Scat Pack.

This was honestly your fault. The position you were in, your back arching perfectly, and your slobbering pussy receiving the deepest back shots from Ony’s long dick. You were scrambling in his back seat. You’ve already came twice due to his fingers, and his precision in piercing your squishy spot would make you cum again. You weren’t even sure you could.

You tried running away from the pleasure, pleading for him in your shaky voice to just “G-give me a b-break! I can’t-”

It wouldn’t be a punishment if he did, now would it? His hands would only grip the sides of your hips harder at your words; it would probably leave a dent mark. Ony was letting his dick stir up your insides because he needed to teach you a lesson. It seems this is the only way your mouth wouldn’t retort anything to him.

“Not happening, mama. All you needed was some dick, right?” Heavy pants fill the air, and you start seeing smoke fog up his tinted car windows. Ony was honestly losing himself with how tight your pussy was squeezing him. He doesn’t know why the fuck it took him so long to get you like this. It’s all he ever dreams about.

Making you scream out his name, making you cream all over his dick as he makes you take what he knows nobody could ever give you. Fuck, he swears he’s in love with your fat cunt, with you. “Don’t it feel good when I fuck you like this?”

The more he kept talking, the more you felt like you were losing your mind. You didn’t know if he wanted an answer. But you were already gone, high off the pleasure his fast pace was giving you. You had no control over your lips when they parted and screamed, “S-so good, Ony! Oh-fuck. It f-feels so-”

He went faster at your words, and your mouth was dripping with drool as your face pressed firmly against his leather seats. After the fifth attempt at pushing him away, he tied your hands behind your back with the durag he wore. You had nowhere to run. You were forced to take Ony’s mean pumps inside your folds.

He pulls you up by your hair, never stopping his assault on your battered pussy when he whispers, “I know, ma. I always make you feel good, yeah?”

He slithers a hand to your throat and another down to your twitching clit. Rubbing so fast, your squirt was coming out in small streams. Your sinful sobs made his body shake while he was inside you. God, your pussy was so heavenly. So wet and perfect, he never wanted to pull out.

You squirm under him, “So good! Make me- Ouuuu shit- feels so f-fucking good,” Your body was shivering, you didn’t even realize you were coming. Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as your stomach clenched so hard it hurt. Your pussy mirroring around his aching thrusts, you were fucking up his seats. He didn’t mind; he just wanted to make you forget everything that happened today.

You thought it was over; you thought he would stop or, at the very least, slow the fuck down. But he never let up on your poor pussy, he just kept feeding you his strokes, and he kept rubbing your puffy clit. “So, why don’t you fucking listen? Don’t you love me?”

The anger he felt earlier was coming back, and you could feel it with the way his fat dick was penetrating you so good, so deep. The tears falling down your cheeks came down ten times harder, your clit couldn’t take anymore. Why was he fucking you like this?

“I do! I- I love you- so much, Ony! I’ll listen- I swear! P-please just-”

Ony could feel his heavy balls twitching as he fucked up into you, he was going to cum. He knew you loved him, but hearing you say it. Saying those words in such an intimate position, he doesn’t think he can hold back anymore. He just wanted to dump his seed past your lower lips.

“Yeah? You’ll listen, t’me?” You nodded so quickly before your brain even registered his words. He was pushing you past your limit, your pussy being so overstimulated that your next orgasm was just seconds away from wetting his seats even more.

“Y-yes- Fuckkk! I’m coming.” That was his only warning before your pussy sprayed all over, and your sticky cream coated his dick. Ony groaned deeply in your ear, the hand on your throat giving one final squeeze before he came so deep you swear it was touching your womb.

There was nothing in the air but heavy breathing. Your body, weak and unable to hold itself, fell back against him when Ony let you go. His following words break the silence,

“I love you too, mama.” You feel your heart squeeze, but he doesn’t stop there. “I’m getting you some food before we get home, and allat’ best friend’ shit is dead, by the way. You’re mine now, okay?”

He presses a chaste kiss to your wet cheeks as you lay against him. It was a trip. He fucked you all crazy like that but then spoke to you in the most gentle tone possible afterward. You couldn’t process it. You can’t do anything but nod, your mind still barely processing what he just did to your body, to you.

What were you upset about again?

#onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #onyankopon x black reader smut #aot onyankopon #18+ only #aot smut #aot x black reader #ony x y/n #onyankopon x reader #x black reader #x black reader smut #black y/n #black reader #lumiwrites

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fayes-fics · 1 month

Text

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers.

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer.

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered.

“Are you sure?”

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him.

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict.

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room.

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby.

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you.

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?”

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later.

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse.

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank.

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours. “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome.

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot.

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is.

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body.

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area.

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.” His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise.

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you.

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time.

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly.

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does.

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone.

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage.

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm.

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world.

Which to you both, they are.

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