#It could be about being a rejected daughter

[marenkas]

You are not a therapist, but you still say and claim, without any knowledge, that Toph was abused. You are speaking from Toph's point of view, but have you ever stopped to think from Lao and Poppy's point of view, especially Lao's? Have you ever thought about how difficult it is to raise a child, especially a disabled child like Toph? If many parents today find it difficult to cope with their disabled children on a day-to-day basis, imagine what it must have been like in ancient times.

Remember that Avatar: The Last Airbender is set in the 1800s and earlier, a time when many areas jealously maintained their customs and a certain way of thinking. In this case, let's talk about Ancient China.

In Ancient China, the lives of families with children with disabilities were deeply influenced by the cultural beliefs, social practices, and family structures of the time. Confucianism, which valued filial obedience and the perfection of family lineage, influenced perceptions of disabilities. In many cases, a disability was seen as a punishment for offenses committed by ancestors or disobedience to heavenly rules. People with disabilities were often marginalized, especially if their condition prevented them from contributing to the family economy or agricultural work.

They could face discrimination or be relegated to the exclusive care of women within the home. In some cases, the disability was attributed to possession by evil spirits or energy imbalances, which could lead to exorcism practices or religious rituals to “cure” the person. In noble or upper-class families, children with disabilities were often protected within the home and could receive private care. However, they were still excluded from public life and important roles.

Lao loves his daughter. Yes, we know that, but what do we know more about? That he places a lot of importance on his lineage. He is the head of the Beifong Family, a prestigious noble family in the Earth Kingdom. On the few occasions he appeared in the series, it is clear from afar how much pride he feels for his blood, and knowing this, one can easily understand what he felt when he learned of his daughter's blindness.

In Ancient China, appearances played a fundamental role in society, especially in terms of social status, honor, and reputation. This importance attributed to physical appearance was linked to the idea of ​​mianzi (面子), or "face," which represented the honor and dignity of a person and their family. Appearance was also tied to Confucian ideals of social order, respect, and conformity, which meant that physical difference or imperfections could be viewed with disdain or rejection. Physical disabilities, such as blindness, were often seen as a disadvantage that affected both the person and their family in terms of reputation and social status.

Lao Beifong is a character who, despite being very loving, is deeply concerned about his family's status and image. His desire to protect Toph, rather than show off his disability, reflects the social tensions that can arise between paternal love and societal expectations.

1. Concern for appearances:

Lao Beifong, as a noble in society, is under pressure to project a perfect and successful image of his family. Toph's blindness is seen by him as an obstacle to her future and her place in society. This is reflected in his effort to hide her disability, even at the cost of her desires to be free and enjoy a full life. Lao sees his daughter as "different" and, in his mind, hiding his blindness would protect him from social judgement and stigmatisation.

2. The Role of Toph's Blindness:

Despite being blind, Toph demonstrates an extraordinary ability for fighting, dexterity, and perceiving the world through terrakinesis. This, however, is not something her father sees right away, as he remains obsessed with the family's public image and status. Toph's blindness, therefore, becomes a challenge in terms of how her family is perceived, and also an obstacle for Lao to accept that his daughter can be just as capable, or even more capable, than other people, regardless of her disability.

3. The Contrast Between Social Perception and Toph's Reality:

The contrast between what society expects and what Toph really is (a strong and talented girl) reflects Lao's internal struggle between his fatherly love and societal expectations. Throughout the series, Lao comes to understand that Toph's true ability has nothing to do with her blindness, but rather her inner strength and unique skills. However, at first, he is unable to see beyond the social norms and societal expectations that dictate that a person with a disability, especially blindness, should be seen as a burden or incapable.

Lao and Poppy act from a place of love and protection, but they also reflect the tensions of a society that valued appearances and status. Lao, as a father figure, is deeply influenced by the idea that his family’s image defines his place in the world. His first impulse upon seeing Toph’s disability is not to see his daughter’s potential, but to worry about what her blindness would mean for her future within the rigid social structure that dominates her life. In his mind, hiding or controlling Toph’s disability is a way to protect her from a world that does not readily accept what is perceived as “different.” For her part, Poppy, while more understanding, is also caught between the desire to support her daughter and the reality of societal expectations.

In her heart, she seeks the balance between unconditional love and the need to confront the challenges of a society that does not favor vulnerability. Both of them, in their own way, act under a mixture of love, fear and an internal struggle, wanting the best for Toph but unable to completely free themselves from the rules and prejudices that govern their decisions.

It is this conflict between protection and acceptance that leads them to, at times, not fully understand Toph's strength and ability.

Lao and Poppy’s attitude, while motivated by love and concern, is closer to neglect than child abuse, in that their lack of understanding of Toph’s disability limits their ability to fully support her. Rather than recognizing and fostering the unique abilities Toph develops as a result of her blindness, her parents focus on protecting her from a society they perceive as hostile, failing to understand that this ultimately restricts her freedom and potential.

The neglect stems not from a desire to harm her, but from a lack of emotional support and an inability to see beyond the social norms of the time.

By attempting to hide Toph’s disability and control her, Lao and Poppy fail to provide her with the space necessary to develop independently. It is not an act of deliberate cruelty, but rather a deep-rooted misunderstanding, fueled by their fear of social repercussions. This type of neglect, which is presented as a form of overprotection, can be even more damaging, as it denies Toph the opportunity to experience the world on her own terms. The love her parents show her is marked by a pattern of care that, although well-intentioned, does not allow her to grow up with full confidence in her abilities, which is a way of depriving her of her right to autonomy.

The neglect here is not related to the omission of basic care or physical abuse, but to the lack of adequate understanding of Toph's situation and their inability to provide her with the emotional and psychological support necessary for her to feel valued and accepted as she is.

In this context, I am not trying to "justify" the treatment Toph received, but rather to make people understand the motivations and limitations of the parents in a social environment that was not prepared to fully accept the disability.

People will go on about how "Katara's story is a tragedy" because she... ended up marrying the guy she loves, having children and grandchildren which she was always excited about and literally becoming a master waterbender and rising to the top of her field as a healer.

Yes, Katara's story has tragic aspects to it. And there are certainly flaws in how she is written in tlok (Though I will argue that there are actually more issues with how Toph and Zuko are just plopped in there for no reason in later seasons). And her storylines aren't perfect, for example her resolving her trauma around the murder of her mother being more used to prop up Zuko than her own internal turmoil. (Most of TSR is from Zuko's perspective and I hate that actually)

"Katara's story is a tragedy" Why do you have such a hard on for this woman's misery? Let her be happy, man.

You know what gaang girlie's life is an actual onscreen tragedy?

Toph's!

People will fucking downplay Toph's childhood abuse because she wasn't physically hurt, but her childhood was a never ending carousel of abelism, misogyny, neglect and isolation. The way Toph describes her parent's treatment of her as "pressure and pain" is heartbreaking.

Toph's only escape was Earth Rumble and earthbending, but despite her skills, she remained the perfect little lady her parents always wanted her to be. She's never known a different life, and she was only able to be her real self in secret.

And when Toph finally opens up to her parents, when she finally lays her real self bare in front of the people who are supposed to love and care for her?

She is met with what may be, in my opinion, the cruellest rejection in the show.

Despite this, even when Toph runs away, she still cares for her parents' approval. Hell, she's even lured into a trap due to her getting a forged letter from her mom and getting excited because it looked like her mom was finally accepting her.

It's also important to note how determined to be self sufficient and to prove herself Toph is. We can especially see this right after she joins the Gaang, where she refuses to participate in splitting with the rest of the group, insisting on "pulling her own weight". This isn't Toph being a brat, or spoilt, this is her wanting to prove that she can handle herself because people have handled and understimated her her entire life.

Eventually, Toph starts to learn to trust the members of the Gaang and this is a step in the right direction. She's literally making friends for the first time in her life I'm so proud of her.

However, I was genuinely upset when Toph's life changing field trip with Zuko didn't work out. When Toph was trying to connect with Zuko and he blew her off (I'm not blaming him tho they had shit to do), I couldn't help but remember the rejection Toph suffered from Lao.

Post canon, Toph continues to try and prove herself, starting a metalbending school and training new metalbenders.

She also reconciles with her father. Not before Lao disowns he rmultiple times and calls her a rude, ungrateful thing. And while he eventually comes to understand Toph and cherish her, that type of trauma sticks with you.

So it's no wonder really that Toph, someone who went her entire childhood seemingly without even speaking to someone her age, would have trouble forming connections. She has children with two different men, neither of which seem to stick around.

Toph tries to do right by her daughters and gives them the freedom she never got. Sadly, the pendulum swung too far to the other side, since it seems that she started to neglect her daughters, which led to them developing a sleugh of issues of their own.

Toph becomes the cheif of police, which kind of makes sense. Republic City was only slowly emerging as an actual metropolis. Toph took on a role as a protector, and probably as a way to prove herself. But as Republic City grew, Toph probably realised that she became something she hated. A cog in the machine, and started to despise her job.

Searching for a semblance of the freedom and happiness her travels afforded her in her childhood, Toph leaves the city and takes up the life of a hermit in a swamp. She managed to fix her relationship with Suyin to some extent, but still seems reluctant or simply unable to connect with her daughter or grandchildren. Since she apparently hasn't seen Opal, a grown 20 year old woman since she was a little girl.

On the surface old Toph doesn't seem terribly dissimilar to young Toph, still tough and spunky. But she is more jaded, depressed and pessimistic. She comes out to save Suyin from immediate harm and manages to somewhat reconcile with Lin, but then she fucks right back off to the swamp where she seems to literally hide until Wu and Korra straight up force her to come with them.

Toph's story began with her alone and it seems to end with her alone as well. It's a story of a girl who grew up isolated and handled by others, and was woefully unprepared for the real world, which only jaded her further. She lives with the guilt of fucking up her daughters' lives and a belief in the pointlessness of life.

Toph started off longing to experience the world and ended up willingly isolating herself from it.

If that isn't a tragedy, I'm not sure what is.

Mind you, this is not the trauma olympics. I'm not saying that Toph has suffered more than Katara or that Katara's trauma is not as valid as Toph's. Katara and Toph's experiences are completely different, Katara being a victim of genocide and war, Toph being a victim of child abuse. I'm just saying that, objectively, Katara had a happier 'ending' than Toph.

[please-destroy]

A Perfect Mix

Natasha Romanoff x Reader + Family

Word Count: 1.8K

This follows on from the last fic I've posted.

.

Noone saw Natasha’s strengths as a mother like you did.

There was something almost clumsy about the force of her love.

When Yelena was born, Natasha had been overwhelmed with the feeling. When she first looked down at the baby in her arms, Natasha forgot how to breathe. You watched the beginning of an uncontrollable love. 

Yelena had always looked up to Natasha with a wide-eyed awe. Even when she was very little, if Natasha came into the room, Yelena’s gaze would find her, following her every movement excitedly. 

Natasha had never expected to be the favourite parent, not even for a brief moment. Yelena quickly reset her expectations. She wasn’t shy in showing her delight for her Mom. You watched her smile and coo and giggle easily just at the sight of Natasha. 

At first, Natasha had been careful, almost shy in her responses to her daughter’s affection. She held Yelena carefully, like she was the most fragile thing in the world. She couldn’t help but give Yelena her softest smiles. 

You loved seeing this side of her. You knew Natasha’s gentleness better than anyone. It was a trait that she couldn’t help with the people she loved. In the past, you’d felt her try to avoid it. A fear of rejection and vulnerability that you could forgive easily.

Yelena made Natasha brave. She loved Natasha and she expected Natasha to love her too.

Natasha never let her down.

.

The very first time Yelena had walked, she’d wandered unsteadily over to Natasha. You’d swallowed a cheer of excitement, scrambling to find your phone to record the moment.

Yelena’s face had split into a delighted grin, thrilled that her newly acquired skill was helping her get to her Mom faster. 

When she made it, Natasha scooped her into a careful hug and you watched her eyes close. 

It was only when you heard her murmur ‘Well done’ in a choked voice that you realised she was holding back tears. 

Yelena was special. Just by being herself, she made Natasha feel special too.

.

You started to become stubborn in your belief that Yelena was a perfect mix of yourself and Natasha.

.

You explained your theory to Natasha one night as you were both on the verge of sleep. You felt Natasha’s gaze clinging to you through the dark, in that hopeful way that made her seem young. You felt her fingers lazily tracing your pulse point.

‘You’re brave and kind. And so is she.’ You explained simply. 

Natasha hesitated at the compliment; her fingers paused for a moment on your skin but she didn’t vocalise any disagreement. Yelena’s emerging personality was undeniably similar to Natasha’s.

After a moment, Natasha cleared her throat and asked. 

‘What about you?’

You grinned in anticipation, your answer well prepared. 

‘Well.’ You started slowly, reaching to find Natasha’s face in the dark, your thumb brushing her lips to ascertain their exact location. ‘She’s incredibly smart, of course.’

You moved closer to Natasha in the bed. You could feel her smile of agreement beneath your thumb. 

Natasha was trying to be lowkey about her belief that Yelena was the world’s next great genius. But you’d caught her the other day, very preemptively, researching a Stark scholarship programme for high achievers.

‘And I know she’s so smart because she figured out immediately that Natasha Romanoff is the best person in the world.’

You kissed Natasha quickly before she could roll her eyes or argue your point. Instead, you felt her smile harder against your lips, clearly aware of your scheme.

.

Even though she’d had it her whole life, Yelena’s faith in her mother always seemed completely fresh. You loved that it had never wavered. 

You could tell it scared Natasha.

You knew the pressure of that faith weighed heavily on her. Yelena trusted her wholeheartedly because she loved the Mom she’d always known. At first, she couldn’t conceive of the person Natasha had been before that.

It was when Yelena turned four that she first understood what her extended family had been hinting at every time they visited. After an afternoon spent with some of Natasha’s closest friends, ‘Avenger’ was no longer a meaningless word to Yelena. Instead, it became a special term of honour used by those around her. 

The leap of understanding wasn’t hard for her. For Yelena, her Mom was already a superhero.

Now, almost relentlessly, she would crawl onto the sofa next to Natasha and ask for stories. 

Yelena had a way of sneaking up on you. Natasha fell for it every single time. Sometimes she’d find herself cornered unexpectedly and catch your eye from across the room. You’d just grin back knowingly. Yelena would twist pieces of Natasha’s long hair as she asked for yet another story from her past. Natasha’s hand would stay pressed lightly at the small of her back, making sure her enthusiastic climbing never ended badly.

Natasha’s voice always sounded gravelly when she told those stories. For a woman trained in hiding her emotions, her subtlety was often forgotten. Natasha’s eyes would flicker nervously over to you whenever she obviously abridged a more traumatic story. 

At first, she was hesitant to ever mention the alien invasion in New York, sure it would give Yelena nightmares. Eventually, she’d brought it up hesitantly, recounting it more like a fairytale than anything else. 

Yelena, of course, latched onto the idea with more enthusiasm than anything before. She built aliens and spaceships out of cereal boxes. Her favourite game was pretending to be an Avenger saving the world from an other-worldly danger. Even when she asked Natasha to play with her, Yelena always insisted on being the Black Widow. Nothing made you laugh harder than when Natasha was relegated to play the role of ‘Hulk’ in her own story.

.

It wasn’t surprising that Yelena asked for a Black Widow action figure doll for Christmas that year. Nonetheless, you felt a kind of sharp pride when you read through her list for Santa. It was more crayon than words but you immediately recognised the red black widow symbol clumsily drawn in the centre of the page.

Yelena asked you twice to put an urgent stamp on her letter, clearly sceptical of non-reindeer delivery services.

.

You didn’t tell Natasha about Yelena’s request, happy to wait for her reaction on Christmas Day. 

You were grateful for Yelena’s love of your wife’s alter-ego. You loved the way that the ‘Black Widow’ had become something more simple in your family; an easy shorthand for your wife’s bravery. 

.

Having Yelena in your lives now made Christmas twice as exciting and intense. You loved it. 

The day began with the simple perfection you cherished. 

Natasha gave you a sleepy smile over a cup of coffee, loose pieces of her tied back hair floating around her head. Her red and white pyjamas were patterned in a Christmas theme. Her fluffy reindeer socks had been a present unwrapped earlier.

Yelena screamed, half wild with holiday excitement, as she unwrapped the Black Widow box. She hugged the plastic casing and turned to you both with shiny eyes and an overwhelming smile.

You smiled back immediately, loving the feeling of sharing her joy. You listened to her excited chatter, holding out the box so you could get a better look.

You didn’t get a chance to see Natasha’s reaction, before you felt a hurried movement to the side of you.

Natasha left the room abruptly and your heart sunk with the dawning realisation that you’d misjudged the moment. You followed her covertly, leaving as soon as Yelena turned to Lila for help getting the doll out of the packaging.

You found Natasha silently shaking in the hallway, her back pressed to the wall. You recognised the emotions that had come to an unexpected head. Natasha would never call this feeling anxiety. Still, her eyes clung to yours, seeking the grounding that you knew how to give her. 

The sinking feeling in your chest crystallised. Natasha looked small, her arms wrapped around herself. 

You realised suddenly, that Natasha didn’t see herself in the stories that Yelena loved. You thought of all the details that Natasha omitted in her careful retellings. 

Black Widow didn’t make her feel brave. Only her family did. 

You moved towards her carefully, hugging her in an expression of unspoken regret and comfort. Natasha fit so familiarly in your arms. As always, you revelled in the nearness of her. Natasha’s warm embrace was home. Her head rested slightly on your shoulder and the comfortable silence between you stretched out. Her breathing steadied in the quiet seconds that followed. You felt calmer too, as if you could feel her slowing heartbeat in your own chest.

Family made you feel brave too.

.

The door from the living room was flung open less than a minute later. Yelena’s unaware delight was almost painfully endearing. 

‘Mama.’ She called out to Natasha. You barely had time to open your embrace before Yelena was confidently sneaking between the pair of you. She lifted the doll above her head so that Natasha could have a better look. 

‘I love her.’ She declared and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread over your face.

You tried to take the pressure away from Natasha as best you could, redirecting Yelena’s focus.

‘Santa must have read your list baby.’ You told her, brushing loose hair away from her eyes. Yelena gave you a secret smile, obviously remembering her earlier worries about the North Pole’s mailing system. 

Your attempt was ineffective. Like a magnet, her attention returned to Natasha.

Sometimes, Yelena didn’t seem quite as unaware as you believed. You weren’t sure what she read in Natasha’s often hesitant gaze. Her arms wrapped around Natasha’s leg confidently and you watched her squeeze tightly. 

‘Don’t worry Mama, I still love you just as much.’ Yelena assured her seriously, cheek pressed against her Mom’s side. 

Natasha met your gaze as her hand moved with instinctive protectiveness to the space between Yelena’s shoulders. There was a lightness in her eyes and you smiled knowingly. 

Yelena’s serious tone was starting to sound a lot like your own. Another part of the perfect mix. 

‘Well, I win because I love you the most.’ Natasha replied playfully, letting any last remnants of sadness evaporate. In one quick movement, that had taken years of confidence for Natasha to do casually, she lifted Yelena up above her head, swinging her exaggeratedly back and forth until she started shrieking with laughter. 

Their matching grins looked like reflections of each other. It was right then, alone together in the hallway, that you realised Natasha’s faith in Yelena was just as absolute.

When she caught her breath, cheeks flushed from excitement. Yelena turned to you eagerly.

‘I need to have a doll of you for my birthday.’ She informed you. 

‘There is no doll of me.’ You commiserated teasingly as you all headed back to the living room together. Natasha’s hand slipped around your waist, just as her other one rested on Yelena’s shoulder.

‘Oh don’t worry.’ Natasha told you, a glint of mischief behind her reassuring smile. ‘We’ll make sure to find one.’

[startheskelaton]

I love your medieval au but how did Sparkplug end up as lady in waiting? (idk if i missed something on your page sorry if i did😬)

So Sparkplug is technically a princess, born from the king and accepted by lady Elita. However for a while she was hidden in order to keep people from asking questions about her linage (being she’s Megatron’s daughter). That fact alone puts a huge target on her back, so for a while she was Elita’s lady in waiting, a job that required her to be with Elita 24/7. Elita was okay with this but really wanted to train Sparkplug to be an army general (mostly because she wanted to toughen up her daughter so no one could ever hurt her). This was rejected by Megatron because he wanted his daughter to say as far away from combat as possible.

Soon enough some diplomatic relations between the seeker house and the kingdom of Iocon were established. And Princess Slipstream demanded that she was given another lady in waiting to attend to her, though Elita was hesitant at first, she had a feeling that dealing with Slipstream could force Sparkplug to grow into her own… aka, learn to take shit from no one like Elita.

Let’s just say Slipstream had an interesting day when she learned of Spark’s linage.

Don’t worry they did eventually become good friends

[bewaryofpity]

MERRY CHRISTMAS, I MISS YOU - N. HISCHIER

[6.7k] when you received a call from your ex on christmas eve, the last thing you wanted to do was to pretend you're still together in front of his parents.

warnings: 18+, exes to lovers, angst but not really, fluff, unprotected p in v (wrap it up !), creampie, oral both f and m receiving, slightly unedited, if i missed anything pls let me know

a/n: i have no idea what this is lol, i did lose the plot at some point so the ending i planned didn’t make it and so didn’t the title, anyhow i think it’s best this way. i hope you all enjoy ! feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

A year had passed, it was December again and Nico had done nothing if not being stuck with the same feeling of missing you. Almost an entire year of no contact, apart from a few congrats texts for your occasional achievements, and yet there he was staring at his phone for the third time tonight, his thumb hovering over your name. 

Nico was no coward, he needed to keep his head on his shoulders for his line of work, but he was certainly trying to find any excuse to keep him from calling you. Almost one year of convincing himself that he moved on, that he was content with how your relationship has ended, just for all that progress to crumble at his feet because he was, actually, a coward. 

But this wasn’t just about him. His parents were in town for Christmas for the first time in years, excited to finally spend the holidays in New Jersey with his son. And they expected you to be there. He hadn’t told them you two broke up, though. He couldn’t. He was never able to break the news to his mom who considered you as her daughter, and he had to pay the price now.

With a heavy sigh, Nico pressed call. He immediately started to regret calling, cringing at the idea of a missed call on your phone if he hung up now, when the ringing stopped.

“Hello?” You said, voice coated with slight confusion. Nico felt a punch to the chest at the sound of your voice, all at once familiar and foreign.

“Hey, it’s me.” Nico’s voice faltered.

“I know.” You promptly utter. Silence fell on the line.

“It’s been a while, I know,” Nico mumbled “but I need a favor.” You hummed as an acknowledgement for him to keep speaking. 

“My parents are in town for Christmas and they expect to see you.”

“I don’t see why they—”

“I never told them.”

Nico was almost sure you hung up for how quiet you became. His heart drumming in his chest was making him more helpless than he already was, unable to come up with something else to say. 

His phone sat heavy on his hand when he heard you take a deep breath. A nervous laugh escaped your mouth, what the hell whispered in between. 

“You’ve had all this time to tell them we broke up, what were you waiting for?” Your voice lacked judgment. 

“I know I messed up,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “But they’re here now, and I—I didn’t know how to tell them. It’s Christmas tomorrow, Y/N. They’re so excited to see you. I just need you to come tonight or tomorrow. Please.”

“Nico—”

“It’s just one dinner. Then you’ll never have to hear from me again. I swear. If not for me, do it for them at least.”

He could almost see your furrowed eyebrows and the silence on the line was suffocating him again. Your calm breathing was making his chest tight, not ready to brace for rejection.

“Okay.”

He took a long exhale, “thank you.” He spoke softly, a small smile painting his lips.

Before he had the chance to speak up, you had already hung up. Nico sat back, his head tipping against the edge of the couch, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling while bringing his arm down with a thud. Your voice still echoed in his ears, each word carving a hollow space in his chest. Your voice was as warm as he remembered, yet so flat.

Y/N: spare key still under the mat? i’m coming after work, not sure about tomorrow.

Nico’s phone vibrated in his hand, your text’s preview giving him some reassurance.

Nico: yes Nico: and thank you

He pushed himself off the couch, his body feeling heavy. It wasn’t long before he had to go and pick up his parents from the airport. He absentmindedly picked up his car keys and walked out to his car.

It was supposed to be simple. A call, a favor, a dinner. But he has been clinging to the idea of you, of what you used to be, that he now felt like facing the consequences of his own actions instead of dragging you back into his life would have been a much better idea. 

Nico didn’t realize the drive, the pick up, and the drive back to his apartment had already happened. Tension began coiling in his chest, the heavy weight he kept feeling for days now coming back.

He didn’t want to see you, actually. Or maybe he did. His mind was bringing him back to the night you both had reluctantly agreed that a break up was needed. It was no secret to you that he didn’t want to break up, he told you then. He wasn’t happy, he felt like dying for the most part. He couldn’t sleep, let alone leave his apartment if not for practice and games. But that was what you wanted and he gave it to you.

“You okay in there, kid?” His dad’s call out echoed from the living room, bringing him back to reality. 

“Yeah, I just needed water.” Nico called back. When he turned around to join them in the living room, he was met with his mom leaning on the kitchen doorway. With eyes wide, he gave her a tight lipped smile, hoping she won’t question his behavior. I’m fine wouldn’t have been enough for her, she could always see right through him, and even if Nico told her the truth it probably wouldn’t have made him feel any better.

Before she could say something, the front door opened and his mom jumped to see you, forgetting about his son, and Nico stayed there with goosebumps forming on his arms, hot and cold shivers running down his spine. 

Upon entering you heard a brief silence. You didn’t even register that his mom was right there that she already jogged to bring you in her arms. You were frozen in your space for a second, unsure of what to do. The last time you’d seen each other was the summer Nico brought you to Switzerland where everything felt so right. Yet here you were. You missed her, that was true; she reached out to you a few times, and despite knowing it was out of the kindness of her heart, you couldn’t help but think of how many excuses Nico threw at her for your not being around. How he lied to his mom for all this time was something you couldn’t comprehend.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, sweetheart!” She cheered, parting slightly from the hug and giving your shoulders a comforting squeeze.

“Hi, Mrs. Hischier.”

“Please, how many times do I have to tell you to just call me Katja.” She waved you off and you smiled. His dad followed, giving you a simple side hug.

As his parents continued fussing over you, Nico finally moved to the living room to watch the scene unfold. You stood in his apartment again and it felt like you never left. You were beautiful and you had those rosy cheeks you would get from the cold wind of Jersey that Nico loved so much. The ache in his chest grew and it was getting hard to resist the tears that kept forming in his eyes since this morning.

When you made eye contact with Nico it was like someone punched you in the chest. His brown eyes were glossy, wide like a deer in headlights. He didn’t shave, not that he did often, but it looked less kept than it usually was.

You reluctantly stepped towards him, gaze focused on his chest and that’s when you saw his left hand twitch in your direction before he brought it back down. It completely left your mind that you couldn’t keep your distance from him now with his parents here. Though the moments you two kissed in front of family were almost nonexistent, Nico was always the kind of guy to keep you close within arm reach, so no physical contact would be odd.

So you did the most natural thing you could do. You gave him a hug. Your skin was burning where he was touching you. It felt like that night again and you wanted to disappear. You felt his heart rapidly thumping in his chest, or maybe it was yours. It didn’t really matter. Nico looked at his mom before he looked down at you. He was getting overwhelmed with the amount of times he almost cried only today and prayed for the day to come to an end sooner.

“Hey.” Your voice was small, audible only to him. He replied with an equally small hey, throat dry. Silence stretched between you and you could feel the tension on your skin. A small part of you couldn’t part ways as you inhaled his scent. The warmth from his chest was seeping through his hoodie and you wished you could just stay there a little longer.

You barely drew back when Katja put a hand on your shoulder and brought you back into her with a side hug. 

“Come, sit. Let me catch you up while we eat. I’ll show you some pictures from this summer, it was a shame you couldn’t come to Switzerland this time.”

You casted a glance at Nico which he avoided. You barely registered Katja’s words as she scrolled through her phone for you and all you could think of was how she deserved to know. She looked so happy sharing these memories with you, as though you still belonged here, and it wasn’t her fault that she believed so. 

“Next time, you have to come. We missed you so much.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You swallowed hard, forcing another smile. Nico shifted in his chair beside you, his hand reaching for his water but his posture was rigid. He didn’t say a word, you could feel the tension radiating off him silently acknowledging the lie hanging in the air. A part of you wanted to say something, to clear the air, because his mom was kind, but it wasn’t for you to deal with. It wasn’t you that lied.

The pizza in front of you looked unpleasant as the ache in your stomach made you more nauseous. 

*

You wanted to go home. Nico’s parents called it a night early blaming it on jet lag and that tomorrow is gonna be a big day, his father said.

You were left alone with Nico in the living room, neither of you were saying anything. You were just staring ahead paying no mind to whatever Christmas movie was left playing softly on the TV.

It was awkward. You put yourself in this situation because you missed Nico, truthfully. When he called you this morning you weren’t really thinking of what was best for you, you just wanted an excuse to come back to him. Selfish as it was. It was rather hypocritical that you craved his presence again after you were the one to propose the break up. But you spent two years together so your whole life consisted of him. He was everywhere, your apartment smelled like him even months after he left, things he left behind that both of you have forgotten about were lingering in a corner in your closet. It took time letting him go from your mind, but you were here and it felt so wrong. The look he gave you when you parted from your hug earlier made you feel so guilty.

“I’ll sleep here, you can take the bed.” Nico said softly, voice above a whisper. You startled anyway, jerking your head in his direction. You had told him earlier that to not raise any suspicion with his parents, you would spend the night here.

“It’s your bed.” You replied with the same tone. He looked at you now, his brown eyes glowing in the dim light emanating from the TV. You couldn’t take the bed, it would smell like him and you could endure it only so much before going crazy. 

“It doesn't matter.”

“What are you gonna tell them when they find you here in the morning?” He didn’t answer, instead he brought his focus back to the TV. Were you going to regret this? Probably. “Just come to bed with me, Nico.”

Avoiding his gaze, you slowly began walking towards his room, your feet moving on their own accord. Everything was left the same. The pit in your stomach grew tighter when you pushed the door to his room open and blindly reached for the lamp on the nightstand. The patter of Nico’s feet grew louder until he reached his bedroom’s doorway.

“There’s still some clothes you left here.” He motioned to the dresser next to him. You hummed in response and as he rummaged through one of the drawers, you stood by the bed like you couldn't move. Idiot. If you weren't staring at him so intensely you would've missed how shaky his hands were when he reached for you to grab at your clothes. You peered up for a second, his gaze focused on the clothes in his hand heavy.

“I’ll–”

“Yeah.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you, your forehead coming to rest on it. He was beautiful. And he made your heart warm like he always knew how to. But he wasn’t the Nico you always knew, you could see it in his eyes. Fear started pooling in your stomach. Was it your doing? You avoided the mirror in front of you completely.

After hastily changing and brushing your teeth, you joined him back into the room. He was already under the covers, on his usual side, front facing the window. You quietly got under the blanket too and laid close to the end of the bed staring at the ceiling. The hum of the heater filled the silence, yet the weight of unspoken words pressed down on your heart.

“Never thought you’d say yes.”

You took your time to respond and kept staring at the white ceiling illuminated by the moonlight coming through the curtains’ gap.

“Why?”

The rustling of the covers filled the silence as Nico shifted slightly. 

“You made it seem like you wanted nothing to do with me anymore.”

“I don’t regret you, Nico.”

“I never said you did.”

You exhaled sharply. The weight of the duvet became unbearable, and with a swift motion you shoved it off, pooling in your lap; arms followed with a dull thud, slamming onto the bunched-up duvet. The cold air nipped at your exposed burning skin.

“Talk to me.” You breathed. Nico didn't move and you were growing frustrated. “Do you regret it?”

“Being with you? Sometimes. I made many mistakes and you were always there for me and I took that for granted. I pushed you away when you needed me most, and by the time I realized it, it was too late. I know you deserve so much better but deep down, I wish we didn't end that night, we just stay there and talk it out.”

“I think that maybe I would always let you come back” he said softly, almost inaudibly, “not that I waited for you, exactly. But when I called you this morning and you agreed, I had the tiniest hope that things could change. If you came, and at the end of the night told me you still loved me and asked me to be yours again… I'm not sure there’s anything in the world I wouldn't have done for that to really happen.”

Shuffling towards the middle of the bed, your hand reached for him to comb through his hair, his body jumping a little at the unexpected contact. He shifted a little to get closer to you and turned around to face you.

“You’re awful.”

“What?”

“Don’t say things like that,” you said, your voice low and strained. “Not when we’re lying here like this. I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you, Nico, I left because I didn’t recognize us anymore. You were indifferent, coming home upset and angry more often than not all because of your job. I could’ve respected that, I would’ve listened to you if you opened up to me. But you didn’t talk to me anymore and I didn’t know what to do with you, it’s like you were holding a knife to my chest and slowly pushing it deeper until you reached my heart. It got to a point where I dreamed of you asking me questions, talking to me, desiring me like you always did. Then I’d open my eyes and you're someone different.”

“Maybe in another lifetime we will find each other at the right time. Maybe we end up like this in each one, but I like to believe there is at least one where we deserve each other. I just don't think it’s this one.”

Your hand never stopped caressing through his hair. It didn’t take long for a stray tear to fall from your eye just as Nico closed his eyes to avoid his own spilling over the pillow with no avail. You halted your movements to bring your thumb under his eye and wipe at the loose tears. He didn’t say anything else, and neither did you. Nico grabbed at the covers you bunched up earlier to cover you again.

You shifted slightly, the duvet brushing against your arm as your body relaxed fully into the mattress. You felt his warmth beside you — steady and grounding. The minutes dragged on, and eventually both of your breathing slowed, evening out into sleep. 

*

It was early in the morning when Nico woke up. The sunrise barely peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow over his bed. It took him a while to realize that it wasn’t his duvet weighing on his chest, it was you. Your face was mushed and lips pouty, his right arm wrapped around you securely. You looked like an angel.

He didn’t have it in his heart to wake you up. Instead, his gaze lingered on your peaceful expression, focused on the soft rise and fall of your breaths that tickled his skin, a steady rhythm that made his chest ache. His thumb brushed against your shoulder lightly, a barely-there touch because it all felt like a dream and he didn’t want it to end. He sighed softly, tilting his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes again. The weight of your body lulled him back to sleep, the hold on you loosening slightly but never letting go.

Moments later, the morning light shining on your eyes stirred you awake, and you couldn’t help but blink groggily. The warmth surrounding you was so comforting that you couldn’t resist burying your face into it and that’s when your heart began to race. Nico’s face was so close you only needed to make the slightest movement before his lips would graze your forehead; his features relaxed and peaceful in his sleep. The stubble on his jaw caught the morning glow, and the soft strands of his hair brushed against his forehead.

Every instinct screamed at you to move, to untangle yourself from the undeniable comfort of being close to him again, but the minutes passed and the blush on your cheeks deepened with every second you lingered. When it became too much to bear, slowly, carefully, you slid out from under his arm, your movements cautious to avoid waking him. 

Your feet hit the cool floor and the blush now burning like wildfire across your cheeks while you tiptoed to the kitchen, closing the door gently behind you. The conversation with Nico kept replaying in your head, or rather the fact that he was crying, and Nico never cried in front of you unless they were happy tears. 

You relished in his touch. The feeling of his stubble on your hands was something you never thought you’d miss, yet the rough texture was rather comforting. And then this morning when his lips have probably grazed your skin in your sleep at least once, you wished you were conscious to savor it like you actually didn't deserve. 

“Huh?”

“I said good morning and merry Christmas.” Katja smiled brightly at you, Rino mirroring her action while also raising his coffee cup. You looked ridiculous still in your rumpled makeshift pajamas and your face still flushed from the morning’s events. 

“Oh, merry Christmas.” You offered a small smile as you moved to pour yourself some coffee, hyper aware of their presence. Despite the blush painting your cheeks, you started to feel cold. The t-shirt Nico gave you was thin, an old band shirt you left behind, but the pants were scrunched at your feet. He didn’t notice they were actually his yesterday, they were always yours to wear anyway.

“You’re up early,” Katja remarked, setting her coffee cup on the table. “I thought for sure you two would sleep in after staying up so late talking.”

Your hand froze mid-reach, “yeah, just couldn’t sleep much.” You replied, hoping your tone was casual enough.

She gave you a look but said nothing, her warm demeanor unchanging though she definitely knew something was off. Did she actually hear what you said yesterday night? The walls couldn’t be that thin, right? The sound of footsteps from the hallway behind you woke you up a little, and you didn’t need to turn around to know it was Nico.

“Morning,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep. You turned slightly, catching sight of him leaning against the counter next to you. His brown hair was disheveled and his shirt slightly wrinkled, but his expression was almost unreadable. If you didn’t know otherwise, you would’ve mistaken his slightly puffy eyes for sleepiness.

His gaze lingered on the ground for a moment, and then he tilted his head up, noticing the way you had wrapped your free arm around yourself. Before you could protest, Nico walked out of the kitchen. Katja glanced at you confused after he barely acknowledged her or Rino.

“Here,” he said, holding his black hoodie from yesterday out to you. It was your favorite, the one that was so fuzzy inside it felt like a blanket and the one he would leave behind for you when he left for road trips. You blinked, momentarily stunned by the gesture. 

“Oh, I’m fine—”

“You’re shivering.” He interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. His gaze met yours and reluctantly you took the hoodie, your fingers brushing his briefly as you did.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, slipping it over your head. The warmth was immediate, just like the familiar trace of his scent as it filled your senses. What made it impossible to bear was Nico leaning over just slightly to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. Blush be damned.

Nico moved around the kitchen to pour himself some coffee as you caught the faintest hint of a smirk on Katja’s face. As she walked past to place her now empty cup in the sink, she leaned close to you with the same sly smile still playing on her lips.

“We’re not gonna let Nico cook alone later, right?”

*

The day went by fast and dinner was long done. The unavoidable intimacy seemed to dissipate the cold demeanor you had opted for yesterday when you arrived, just as Nico started to look less dejected. Letting him back in your life wouldn’t be that bad, after all, you did drop everything to be here with him. You still loved him, just like he did you, but you couldn’t accept coming back to Nico after all this pain you left him with.

“What happened between you and Nico?”

The question made you falter, almost dropping the already slippery plate in your hands. There was no you and Nico anymore. Whatever happened between you two didn’t matter anymore as now none of it made sense. It was your mistake all along, the break up. Because if it wasn’t for a bad day at work for the both of you, you wouldn’t have fought and none of this would have happened.

“Why?”

“You two seem off.”

You wanted out of the relationship for your own sake, yet you didn’t realize how much you were hurting until yesterday. The no escaping his touch or his gaze made your head dizzy because it took you months before you convinced yourself that you were fine without him, and now that Nico was gentle to you even in the mess he created that he so wanted to disappear from, your newfound façade was long gone.

“Nothing. Our schedules clashed often and we didn't have much time for ourselves.”

Part of it was true if you thought back to last year. With Nico constantly on road trips and his team not playing their best, and your job keeping you away from him, the only time you saw each other was during nighttime. And with both of you exhausted there wasn’t much to say without striking a nerve.

Katja leaned her hip on the counter, leaning slightly to try to read your expression, your eyebrows furrowed as you kept scrubbing the same plate over and over again. 

You didn’t notice Nico lingering by the door until his mom placed a hand on your shoulder. You turned around in his direction as she walked past him with a good night under her breath, just as Nico came to stand in her previous spot.

“How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough to tell you that that plate is clean enough.”

You handed him the last plate with a sigh and as you waited for him to dry it, you couldn’t help but stare at his faint smile. Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached for his cheek, brushing at the small new scar there. His movements hesitated for a moment before turning to face you, your hand dropping slightly at the action. You almost missed the way his gaze dropped to your lips for a split second before looking back into your eyes.

Maybe it was the wine you both drank earlier or maybe it was meant to happen. Nico leaned down, cupping your face to kiss you. It was gentle, a bit hesitant, almost as if he was giving you space to pull away. But you didn’t, not even if your brain told you so.

He pulled away, lips still brushing yours and his eyes closed. You missed his lips on yours, so soft and tender just as you remembered and desperately wished to feel again.

“I’m sor—“

You didn’t let him finish as you put your lips back on his, hands making their way from his chest to wrap around his neck. You were desperate for more, fearing that the moment would end too soon, but Nico squeezed your hip a little to ground you. He wasn’t going anywhere.

His tongue brushed your lips and you let him in. A small moan escaped his mouth and you couldn’t help but feed into it. A faint taste of wine still lingered on his tongue, sweetness clouding your thoughts.

“Please tell me to stop”

“No, don’t stop.”

Both of his hands trailed their way around your body, eager to feel every curve of your body again. He needed to feel you, keep his hands on you to ground himself because he was scared this actually never happened and it was just a sick joke his mind was playing.

As the kiss grew more sloppy and hands roaming with no set purpose, Nico held you impossibly closer to him, his body heat burning against your skin. He held tightly onto your waist, murmuring a small jump against your lips as he hoisted you up the counter, legs instinctively wrapping around his lower back.

The overwhelming feeling of it all almost made you cry. It was tender, yet the way your lips moved set a different pace.

“Take me to bed, Nico.”

He gently pushed away strands of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes before his hand rested on your cheek. “We don’t have to, we can stop now and it’ll all be okay.”

“I need you to make love to me.” And Nico grabbed at your thighs, keeping you tight against his chest as he walked to his bedroom. You didn’t have to tell him twice, he just wanted to give you space in case this was too much.

He laid you gently on the bed and kissed you again, fervor replaced by love. He pecked your lips before pressing another kiss to your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said as one of his hands traveled up your hoodie, leaving a tingling trail where he had touched you, while the other one gave him support by your head.

You brought his lips back on yours, thumbs tracing every curve of his cheeks. Beard tickling your skin, his plush lower lip found its way between yours, and he allowed his mouth to smile against yours for the first time today. You were lost in the feeling of him, and so was him with yours, lips brushing as though this was the lifetime in which you were meant for each other. 

What you once knew as love filled both of your hearts again. This wasn’t fair. His hands on you, his lips on you, you in his bed. It wasn’t fair because you broke his heart, just as you broke your own.

“Take my hoodie off.” You whispered and he obliged. Nico’s nose skimmed along your neck, delighting himself in the way your skin felt along the warmth of his own. And he allowed himself to slide down to trace the skin of your collarbone, then kissing along the ridges of your ribs and allowing himself to drown once more in you.

As his lips reached your hips, he looked up at you smiling so sweetly, a sort of reassurance painting your face. He slid your jeans off before he brought himself up to you, reveling in the feeling of your chest meeting his own with every heaving breath. The soft lace of your bra brushed his chest, catching the curves and edges of his skin.

It had been too long since you’d felt his touch —or anyone’s for that matter— so the touch of his hands against your skin was enough to fuel the pulsing ache between your legs. 

You took his hand in yours, placing a kiss on the center of his palm before slowly guiding his hand down to your center. And Nico never stopped looking at you, not even when the feeling of the damp fabric as he slid a finger over your clothed slit made a groan escape his lips.

He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses on his way back to your thighs, discarding your bra in the process. You whined when he nipped his teeth against the sensitive skin of your thigh, and you whined again at the soft brush of his mustache on the same spot.

Gently pushing your panties aside, Nico stroked two fingers along your now-bare slit, heat rushing to his cheeks at the way your hips involuntarily rolled into him, chest heaving at his touch. 

“Is this okay?” You nodded in response and he didn’t wait much before dipping into your core. With a gentle grip, he pushed your thighs apart, kissing your folds before licking a long stripe over them. 

And Nico was in heaven as you squirmed under his touch, reveling in the feeling of your warm thighs caging his head as soft moans escaped your mouth. The scratch of his beard sent jolts down your spine and when he added a finger inside of you, you couldn’t help the buckle of your hips against his mouth.

Your hand busied through his hair, fingers tugging at his roots gently and the vibrations from his groans against your clit sent you overwhelming waves of pleasure. You sounded like an angel to his ears and Nico had to roll his hips onto the bed sheets to soothe himself just a little bit.

“Please give it to me, baby.” Nico murmured against your core as he added another finger.

And you dared to look down at him, so concentrated in getting a taste of you, gently and slowly because he missed this and his body yearned for a taste of you like a drug.

The feeling of his fingers curling inside of you in the right spots and his tongue applying pressure on your clit were enough for the air to leave your lungs. With a moan, slightly too loud, you came on his fingers and Nico held you against him to catch every single drop of your release.

“You taste so sweet, baby.”

Baby. You opened your eyes to see his cheeks red, your arousal coating his chin and he’s looking at you like you hung the moon through hazy eyes. It didn’t come as a surprise to you when a tear fell from your eyes, and soon you couldn’t stop them from running down your cheeks.

He kissed his way up to you with a sort of urgency to cradle your face in his hands. And the tears didn’t stop when he tried to kiss them away.

“I’m right here, you’re okay.”

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

It was the only thing you could say, really, unsure whether the apology was directed to yourself or him. But it didn’t really matter because he was here now, in your arms, sensitive and tender as ever. 

“Nico”

“Mh?” His face mere inches away from yours, noses and lips brushing.

“Let me take care of you.”

Nico would have told you no, because he didn’t need your mouth to show him you still loved him, your words were more than enough to him. But your hands moved from his shoulders down to his chest, stopping right at his heart and he knew you could feel his heart racing up. 

So he let you guide him on his back as you shifted on top of him, straddling his thighs before kissing your way down. You mouthed at the skin on his neck, focusing on sucking at the pulsing point connecting at his shoulder.

His abs clenched under the touch of your hands and a staggered breath left his lips when your face reached the band of his boxers. You kissed around his hips, delicate fingers tracing up and down his thighs as you teased his tip over his boxers with a kiss, causing it to jump under your touch. You noticed a small damp spot and you smiled, pulling down his boxers agonizingly slow. Eager as he has always been with you, you knew it took every ounce of control for him not to lose himself then.

You brought your hand to the base of his cock, his breath hitching as you pumped him slowly, and squeezing just slightly to milk precum out of his tip. You followed the vein from the base to his tip with your tongue as your thumb pressed over the leaking slit, hips jumping at your touch.

“Please don’t tease me.” He whined under his breath, watching as you brought your thumb to your lips. And how could you say no to that?

You parted your lips to suck at his tip, sinking down until you reached his base and Nico shivered underneath you at the contact with the back of your throat. Your mouth continued to work around him, and he whimpered as you flatten your tongue to take more of him into your mouth. And he was drowning in pleasure as you used one of your hands to wrap around what you couldn’t take in your mouth as the other gripped at his thigh.

You made eye contact with him when his right hand caressed through your hair and you moaned around him, a few strands of his hair sticking to his forehead and chest flushed. You felt his cock twitch inside of you and you knew he was close. He was in such a haze he almost missed that a few more strokes of your tongue would’ve made him come, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to relish in the feeling of your walls for that.

A soft stop left his lips just as his hand carefully pulled at your hair to get you off him. And the sight of you, lips parted and wet and subtly swollen, weren’t helping his cause.

He shifted his weight onto his elbow, other hand cradling your face to pull you in for a chaste kiss. 

“Let me be yours.”

“You’ve always been.”

With his head on your shoulder, he gently pushed you down onto your back. Nico lifted himself to his knees, sliding his boxers down his legs and slipping out of them before hovering you again and removing your panties. His forehead came to rest against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he paused in his movements to take it all in. He had you again and he needed to make the most out of his time, fear looming in the back of his mind that you’d still leave tomorrow without a word.

Your hands cupped his jaw and you arched forward to capture his lips on yours. It was slow, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. Eagerly, he pressed into your touch, the soft weight of his chest pressing into yours comforting.

Your legs wrapped around his torso hoping to get some relief from your aching core. And Nico never stopped kissing you as he aligned himself with your entrance, teasing you with his length along your slit and causing you to buck, moans suppressed by his saccharine lips.

As he inched in, deeper into you, Nico savoured your warmth as if you were made just for him —and truthfully you were— movements deliberate and steady just like how he knew you liked.

He didn’t want to seem desperate but you were squeezing him tight, nails digging into his back and your arms wrapped tightly around him refusing to let him go. With the heels of your feet pressing into his lower back, he knew not to be ashamed for your desperation matched his. 

His body curled over yours, nose poking at your jaw so he could bite at your throat as he keeps fucking into you. One hand came to cup the back of your neck bringing you impossibly closer, and the way he was whispering dirty little nothings, lips brushing the shell of your ear, brought you to the edge.

Nico’s set thrusts urged you ever closer to your peak as he rolled his hips into yours, movement heavy inside of you, his fingers dropping to draw circles on your sensitive clit as your labored murmuring for more fanned against his lips. And you were an angel with the way you took him, welcoming him in at the gates of heaven with your honeyed sounds.

You rushed forward, chasing his lips as your release surged through you, tightening around him with a sweet sigh and his tongue swept into your mouth as he drowned your moans. His own release followed right after, emptying inside of you. The sound of his satisfied groan blissful to your ears as he came to rest on top of you.

Heaved breathing, Nico’s head settled on your chest and you made to sweep his hair from his eyes to admire the sweat-sheen glow adorning his warm skin. Your hands worked at his shoulder, kneading the muscles there as you took every opportunity to feel his skin against yours.

Nico shifted on his side and brought you with him, taking a moment to press a kiss to his pec, his neck and his lips once again. 

“Will you let me stay?”

“I don’t think you really need my answer to that.”

Nico slid his hands up your side, bringing your thigh over his hip. His large palm heavy as you shifted impossibly closer, one hand rubbing his scalp. And you kissed him without lust, simply reveling in the feel of his tongue dancing against yours, while he followed your lead wordlessly, squeezing so tenderly at your hip because this time he knows you will be there tomorrow. And any other day after.

[sideblog-usernametaken]

- She and Moxxie may have discussed having kids and already decided not to/to put it off for a while

- She could have a hereditary condition that makes being pregnant more dangerous for her

- She and Moxxie might not be financially stable enough for a kid

- She might want an abortion and knows Moxxie won't or vice versa

- Maybe she's had a miscarriage before

- Maybe she's worried about the very heavy hit to the stomach she took earlier and that might complicate things

- Her side of the family might make a big deal of things no matter what she does and force her to quit

- Maybe she's thinking of how badly her mood swing earlier in the episode could've turned out and is worried she's going to accidentally hurt the people close to her if she keeps the pregnancy

- Maybe after seeing Stolas' daughter reject him she's worried what her kids will think of her and Moxxie

- Maybe she's worried about if Blitzø and Moxxie will be ok without her on missions if she takes time off

- Maybe there's something about Imp pregnancies that we find out about later that makes it so no pregnancy announcement is a good one

Do I think any of these scenarios are likely? Maybe a few. But the point is they're all plausible reasons why she'd be upset here. There's no reason anyone should immediately jump to "What if she cheated?!" Millie and Moxxie are the healthiest couple in the show, if there's going to be drama in their relationship it's not going to be from cheating because neither of them would do that.

Also why would the story jump from a "Here's a scenario where cheating is kinda justified but still has consequences" plotline to a very common "She cheated and now she's pregnant!" plotline. It just doesn't mesh well with the rest of the series.

Y’all, it hasn’t even been a day yet and some people are already theorizing that Millie cheated on Moxxie and that the baby isn’t his

You guys do realize that married couples can experience unplanned pregnancies, right?

Or, that maybe Millie is worried about how having a baby could affect her job?

Shit, maybe she’s worried that she won’t be a good parent if she does decide to keep it because of her own family issues

I could even go as far to say that maybe she’s worried if she does decide to keep the baby, something could go wrong and the baby ends dying during the pregnancy

And I’m just saying all of this without knowing what Moxxie’s point of view is going to be like

[mightydyke]

The thing I want most in the whole world is for Carol Ann Duffy to write a poem about Frankenstein. If she wrote a Frankenstein poem in the style of her "The World's Wife" poems, I think I would die. From the point of view of Elizabeth, or the female Creature if she was created, or a female version of Victor... I think a poem like that would be too perfect. If it existed I would know for certain that some force out there is looking out for me specifically

[todayisafridaynight]

Right??? Thanks so much! I actually first fell in love with Jo's character when RGGJo's voice lines came out haha, so it's super fun to be able to share them.

But I can think of a couple of reasons for the wild personality gap, and for me it starts at their respective roles. Obviously main antagonist and major supporting character are going to draw different levels of attention to themselves, but I think it's chiefly that RGGJo is not just Jo, but he's both Jo and Masato as one character.

RGGJo is much, much closer in age to Ichi, and though they're not "twins" like Ichi and Masato are (RGGJo is a little more than 2 years older), it's thematically there I think. The whole "twin dragonfish," dark and light, two sides of the same coin kind of thing.

And just as Ichi was initially conceptualized as a sort of "greatest hits compilation" of the previous protagonists' most compelling traits, I think there's a strong case for RGGJo being the same for the previous antagonists--specifically Nishiki, Ryuji, and Mine, who are pretty clearly Yokoyama's favorites anyway lol.

I have a feeling casting has something to do with it as well. RGGJo's actor, Hiroki Takahashi, is actually the exact same age as he is, and he's voiced his fair share of fun, flamboyant villains. If I wanted to speculate, he's also voiced his fair share of BL, so that may be why RGGJo's voice lines have a Certain Slant to them; directing his delivery to capitalize on his established appeal (although he has quite a range) makes sense.

Tsutsumi is also only a few years off from Y7Jo, and he was cast for having the dignity and screen presence to "make every word feel like it might have a deeper meaning." Yokoyama (and Takeuchi) wrote the games, he and Nagoshi handled the casting, and Yokoyama generally handles the voice direction for the main story, so a lot of it's specific to his vision.

Within that context I think it's relevant that he wrote Y7Jo while picturing Tsutsumi specifically. RGGJo was more malleable and less "consequential" in terms of the franchise, so, y'know, why not have a little fun with it? I think that's reflected in their designs as well. RGGJo's is larger-than-life while Y7Jo's is relatively subdued.

Overall, I get the sense RGGJo's role is more akin to "son" and "brother," (aniki, if you will), like Masato, whereas Y7Jo's role is more akin to "co-parent" and "father" and I guess "Evil Stepdad" in a Cinderella kind of way. It's not exact across the board, it's not literal across the board, but it's the archetype, right? And I think that does, exactly like you said, have far-reaching consequences for their backgrounds and who they've become as a result.

BTW, you actually are up to speed on Ichi's story, because uh… that's where it stops lol. It was discontinued at roughly the equivalent of the start of Chapter 12 in 7; the rest of the story was written, but not published. It Kills Me.

But I think, despite any concrete backstory, the implication for RGGJo is that (if I assume he joined earlier than Ichi, which would make sense given he's captain), he was at most 18 or 19 when he joined, and he's exactly the same kind of Arakawa fanboy Ichi is. The 15th anniversary book goes on to say he "was purely in love with [Arakawa]'s greatness" and so cannot tolerate the idea of allowing him to live and die in obscurity at the bottom rungs, of Arakawa being in a position not equivalent to his "greatness" in his eyes.

But Ichi thinks that's regardless of what Arakawa himself may want, since RGGJo is apparently not going to stop until he makes him chairman, which the Arakawa Ichi knows wouldn't really care about. I think there's an interesting mix of selflessness and selfishness in his desires that reminds me of Mine.

And that's explicitly as opposed to Y7Jo, whose loyalty remains the same, but whose feelings and motivations are complicated by the existence of Masato; the usage of "purely" before is notable here, as another suitable translation would be "uncomplicatedly," which to me would suggest that degree of admiration is a component of his loyalty in 7 as well.

So I think you're absolutely right the circumstances with Masato are a major aspect of what's going on with Y7Jo. It's inextricable because he's got this immense gratitude towards Arakawa for raising his son and also a need, a primary driving force, to be a part of his son's life at (almost) all costs. The natural result of that is going to be reluctance to do anything that tips the balance.

I think that's one of the things that make him so compelling, he's forced to make a lot of tough, meaningful decisions and there's often (but not always) no right answer. And that's really clear to see with Aoki, as you say.

(Kind of a side note, but somewhat contrary to the above, Masato may actually have existed in RGGO's timeline. There was a comment from Yokoyama or Takeuchi suggesting he's not in RGGO not because he simply "doesn't exist, but specifically because Arakawa may not have opened the right locker or may not have made it to the lockers in time. I guess the other implication would be that Masato would've been Arakawa's biological son in RGGO instead, since RGGJo would've been too young and there was no need for a switcheroo? It was just an off-hand comment, but it's interesting to think about.)

Also, loved your tags haha. It's SO funny you start off like you're going to say something crazy and then it turns out to actually be something I wanted to write about in the previous ask, but that I cut out because I couldn't make it flow. I guess it might just be the case that I'm crazy on the same wavelength?

But yes! I think a lot of the time, impressions of that aspect Jo's backstory sort of begin and end at Evil Stepdad Perpetuates Cycle Of Abuse, perhaps understandably, but there's genuinely so much that's established in both his and Arakawa's backstories that have clearly stayed with them that I'm positive your take on it is at the very least least true to the character, whether or not it's intentional.

Because like, Arakawa and Jo both came from abusive households. And they're both affected by Aoki's "parental abuse" (although Aoki doesn't know it himself, I guess he doesn't need to). But the way Arakawa has always dealt with abuse is defiance; I think the implication of one of the first scenes is that that's how he got his scar. Jo, on the other hand, has always dealt with abuse with avoidance. Running away. Brushing it under the rug, like he says he and Ikumi had done all their lives; I think that statement's fairly clearly linked to abuse and neglect.

And I think that shows both in Arakawa and Jo's respective responses to traditional authority figures and in how they choose to handle things with Aoki. Arakawa defies Aoki's plans in his own way at every turn, and he ends up getting killed for it. Jo, on the other hand, ignores it until there's nothing left to do but sever himself completely, in the same way there was nothing left to do back then but run. IT'S SO. Ugh.

Each Jo's respective role in the overall plot of their stories definitely plays a part in why they turn out different from each other the way they do; it's interesting to see how RGG decided to handle Jo's character to sort of 'adjust him' to fit better as more of a background figure than The Big Bad, and to especially see how his relationships end up is spectacular. Choosing to divide that devotion between his son and his boss in Y7 is something I'm just positively obsessed with: it's clear he joined the yakuza predominantly for Masato's sake, but the concept of Jo gradually coming to genuinely respect Arakawa as an individual opposed to someone that he just happens to have to follow after because his son's involved heightens him as a character for me (I might have to write a side piece on the psyche of Jo- there's just a bunch of aspects to him that I want to explore better and really intrigue me, but I refuse to try and squeeze any of that into this long-as-is answer lmao).

I definitely recognize Ryuji and Mine the easiest in RGGJo (Mine's influence still persists a bit in Y7 to me, if not solely for his devotion and his own version of The Knife Scene existing as The Eye Scene; though Jo's anger wasn't purely due to Arakawa's death in that scene like Mine's was due to Daigo's 'death', it was clear Arakawa's passing was a sore subject). Jo's dedication to Arakawa in RGGO really is totally reminiscent of Mine's devotion to Daigo: both willing to take drastic measures to secure the ones they idolize the spot they feel they deserve and to exterminate any opposition to that dream (if I'm remembering Mine's RGGO story right wherein he partakes in the Okinawa deal as a HUGE ploy just to secure Daigo remains chairman should he wake up, but I don't have to clarify how that didn't go as planned).

As for Nishiki, it's clear Jo borrows his 'position' in the story, just as Ichi obviously takes Kiryu's. To yoink a phrasing from another ask I got, they're 'dark parallels': though they both clearly want the best for Arakawa, they're going about it in different ways (in that sense, Y7Arakawa's line about him seeing the Arakawa Family as his 'sons' makes this situation a little funny: just two kids fighting each other for what's best for their dad lmao). It's a shame the story didn't go on any more after the Millenium fight, but I'm a little happy knowing in that I'm not missing anything (what I will scratch my head over is what RGGOMasato would've been like. I guess it's not exactly certain whether or not he survived The Locker Incident or he was just so considerably normal he wasn't worth bringing up, but regardless I'll have a ponder about it..). It'd be rad if RGG ever decided to release at least the drafts of the rest of the story one day, but I won't hold my breath.

I've peaked over at Takahashi's past roles (I didn't realize he's voiced so many characters I know omg), and I think that's a fair conclusion to come to: he repertoire combines characters with sort of 'harsh' tones to their voices/dialogue, but as you said he does benefit from having voiced some 'lighter' characters! As for Tsutsumi, I think I've made it a little clear on my blog that I've taken time to look at his past projects, and though I haven't seen all of his roles, Jo's an interesting inclusion to his list (but by no means an inappropriate fit. If I were to compare him to one of Tsutsumi's past roles, Nobunaga Oda from Honnouji Hotel is similar in being an intimidating man with a violent reputation but still having a 'soft'/deeper side). It gets more fun when I think of it: Tsutsumi, from what I can gather, is a tad renowned for playing loving fathers (whether they're perfect fathers depends on the character, but they all absolutely adore their kid/family- this might be the only time I've seen him play a father and he isn't doting on his kid, lmao). Yokoyama and Nagoshi are definitely masters at deciding who should play who and how to utilize their talents efficiently, and having prior knowledge to Tsutsumi's roles, I feel as though audience members would have been able to get a hint at Jo's whole character early on (just as RGG had capitalized on Takahashi's reputation) which I personally find to be a fun tidbit, if not just grateful that they chose such an excellent actor to play such an intricate character. Ergo, his ability to give 'deep' performances and have that sort of presence and give his character that type of atmosphere definitely helps enhance the human aspect of Jo's character.

It's a great blend into Jo's otherwise cold demeanor, and going off the idea that RGGJo was a combination of Masato and Jo, the decision to have Jo be a committed father to Masato (as much as he's allowed to be, anyhow) while Masato became the power-hungry villain (even if RGGJo's motivations were ironically centered around Arakawa succeeding moreover himself), it's somewhat of a roundabout way to have them still be connected: though they're not the same character anymore, there's that bond that keeps them stitched together that I find neat.

AND THANK YOU ABOUT MY TAGS I can't sugarcoat it, I'm not a very confident person, so I'm glad you've gleamed there's some validity to what I'm saying. And I'm glad you've expanded on not just Jo, but Arakawa's upbringing as well: though they both come from abusive homes, they do handle it differently, and I feel so blind for not even having wholly noticed it in how they react to Aoki- it's so brilliant I almost want to scream. It's a tragic irony that despite Jo resolving to not 'half-ass' things anymore and to face things head-on, to 'take responsibility', he incidentally falls back into trying to avoid the problem for as long as he can. It's poetic really, and I'm positively going to go insane over the fact.

[musashi]

posts about the alt-right pipeline being compassionate towards young men while radical leftists shun and shame them are not fucking saying "the men are becoming violent because feminists are too mean!" and if that is your takeaway you need to get off tumblr until you've better honed your critical thinking skills.

those posts are talking about how effective the language and approach you take in your activism can be. this is literally cult deprogramming 101. if someone is being taken in by a violent or dangerous group, that violent or dangerous group is usually offering them compassion and solace while working hard to convince them everyone else in the world is their enemy. you are under no obligation to coddle or act compassionate toward these men and their violent ideologies, but if you have the means to try, it is something that you can do to make a tangible difference.

radicalized people are often only one loving friend or family member or external voice away from being de-radicalized. of course that is not always the case, but it very often is. a lot of y'all rightfully understand that you do not carry the burden of being that voice, but a lot of y'all also have a lot of internalized ideas about morals and punitive justice and have simply written off these people as deserving of only the worst and not worth saving.

ten years ago, my grandmother was a fox news watching republican who voted red in every election and very well could have fallen down the qanon rabbit hole if not for me and her daughter challenging her compassionately, walking her through hypotheticals that validated her feelings & proving why they were false, & being patient with her despite our extreme division in political ideology. it was frustrating fucking work! but i decided i wanted to do it, because i could see the horizon and i could see me making a difference!

"misogynists have been saying feminists are too mean for years, get new material" that is not the fucking POINT. the point is that you, feminist, can be the compassionate voice that guides your brother, your father, your cousin, your grandfather away from fucking becoming or staying a nazi. you can show them compassion and companionship. you can be the woman they think of when their alt-right bros try to convince them that women are the enemy. and you can choose to crystallize that image of yourself so wholly in their mind's eye as worth protecting that they may very well choose to reject those harmful ideas.

it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it! don't you 'firebomb a walmart' people all love taking change into your own hands? where the fuck is that energy right now, huh?

[deusfoundry]

part 2 here!

girl dad!zayne who simply smiles when his daughter knocks on the door of his office one night. she lets herself in, a deep crease present on her forehead, fingers wrung together. he can tell the moment she entered that something's bothering her, so he shuts his laptop off in favor of giving his daughter his undivided attention.

"what's wrong?" he asks with an encouraging smile on his lips.

girl dad!zayne who puts on a nice front when she tells him that a boy is coming over tomorrow night for dinner. he almost says "no.", mouth opening to reject the very prospect of boys. "you're too young to be dating." he very nearly says, if not for the quiet "please." that stops him in his tracks.

suddenly, he's taken back to a whole decade ago.

suddenly, his little girl has just turned seven years old.

suddenly, she's pleading with the widest doe eyes he's ever seen for him to get her the slice of carrot cake displayed on the counter of a bakery.

damn it, he thinks. those eyes are the bane of his existence. not once has he been able to resist them. curse you and your genes for passing those godforsaken eyes to your little girl.

so he smiles. he pulls his daughter into a warm, comforting hug.

"of course." he says, trying not to sound like he's forcing the words through gritted teeth. "i'm not mad at all, sweetheart."

"really?"

zayne merely hums, and when she squeals in delight, jumping up to plant a small kiss to his cheek between an onslaught of thank you's and i love you's, he almost forgets that he just agreed to having some boy over in his house.

girl dad!zayne who huffs when you press a kiss against his lips to stop him in the middle of his rant. he's spent the last half hour citing complaints about his daughter. how boys her age are stupid and none of them could even dream of treating her the way she deserves to be treated.

"when did she even get old enough to start talking to boys?" he manages to insert between exasperated claims every five minutes.

"it's part of being a teenage girl, love." you pull yourself away from his lips, lazily moving around to straddle his thighs. "let her be."

"and you're not the least bit concerned?" his breath hitches against his throat when you start to slowly trail kisses around his neck. he doesn't hear your response to his question, mind clouded with the feeling of your lips drawing stars on his skin.

his girls are truly going to be the death of him.

girl dad!zayne who purposely lingers near the front door so he can beat his daughter to opening it. he hears the doorbell ring and the subsequent thundering of her footsteps from upstairs, but he's already opened the door before she can even rush down the stairs.

girl dad!zayne who relishes in watching the way this boy's face falls. he's secretly glad that his career is as remarkable as it has been at this very moment, because he sees exactly when it dawns on the boy who exactly is standing before him.

the father of the girl he likes is the doctor zayne. world-renowned cardiac surgeon doctor zayne.

the boy splutters. he unfolds into a stuttering mess right in front of zayne and he has to resist the urge to slam the door on his face.

if doing so didn't end in him being in the receiving end of your sermons, he never would've opened the door in the first place.

girl dad!zayne who’s overtaken by surprise for a quick second when the boy finally collects himself.

“thank you for letting me join you tonight, sir. it's really an honor.” he says his name. zayne's impassive expression doesn't deter the boy as he holds his hand out.

zayne reluctantly takes it. he's about to settle on just giving him a subtle shake when the boy himself takes initiative, shaking zayne's hand with just the right amount of enthusiasm.

"this is for you and your wife." he hands over the basket that's been sitting beside his feet. zayne eyes it with his arms crossed over chest.

the basket is decorated with a ribbon tied into a neat bow. it comes in his daughter's favorite color, an oddly specific shade of pastel blue that she's been obsessed with since she was five. the inside is parted down the middle, one side filled with fruits and food that you like. the other half is, very obviously, for him.

it's packed to the brim with a whole assortment of sweets. a variety of cake slices from a bakery at the other side of the town he's been meaning to visit. packs of candies he likes. his favorite pastries from the bakery near the hospital.

zayne is ... delighted. but he refuses to let the boy know he's slowly winning him over so he quietly takes the basket in his hands and lets him in.

"dinner will be ready shortly." he says before disappearing into the kitchen.

zayne catches his daughter with a small bouquet of her favorite flowers in her hand.

girl dad!zayne who intends to stay quiet over dinner, but is forced to make small talk when you kick him under the table.

"be nice." you remain silent as you smile at the young boy sitting beside your daughter, but he knows that's what you mean with the threatening glare you send him.

"so," zayne purposely says his name wrong as he clears his throat. "what do you do for fun?"

he sees you shake your head from the corner of his eye.

girl dad!zayne who still isn't entirely convinced that this boy deserves to be with his daughter, the literal light of his life, his little girl, but relents a little as the hours go by.

zayne remembers telling his daughter time and time again to never settle. that he himself would pluck the night skies free of stars if you so much as imply that it's what you want. that she should look for the love you share with him, unconditional and boundless.

and as zayne watches with a keen eye how he treats her, he thinks he's done a good job at instilling those beliefs.

he's attentive to her needs, handing the bowls of food that's way out of her reach. he places a small portion of vegetables on her plate and successfully coaxes her into eating them, something even zayne struggles with. he's quick to cover the edge of the table with his hand when she leans down to pick up the fallen spoon from beneath the table.

girl dad!zayne who ends the night standing behind his daughter on their porch as she waves him goodbye.

"drive home safely." zayne says, uttering his name correctly as a sign of respect.

he doesn't miss the way his daughter's face lights up. and if accepting someone new in their small family lets him see that smile more, zayne thinks it's all worth it.

this has been in my drafts since the i made that girl dad!zayne post a few weeks backdhejhd

divider from @cafekitsune

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[eraenaa]

Bittersweet

Inspired by the song "Too Sweet" by Hozier

Feyd- Rautha x Lady Reader Tag List

Summary: As the Na-Baron's proposed bride, you were simply too sweet for him and his bitter being. You were too innocent and pure to be tainted by the blood-stained hands of the Harkonnen heir.

Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, Mature, 18+, P in V sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex (F receiving), Fingering, Overstimulation, ¿Slight Rejection?, ¿Softer Feyd-Rauth?, Not Proofread

Word Count: 4,607

They say you were of great beauty and good breading, all things needed in a wife. Feyd-Rautha never sought out a love match; all he needed was a wife whose womb was suitable for taking his seed and producing his heirs. He saw meeting you as a dire chore, having to travel to your planet and seek out and court the girl whose task could be reduced to a simple broodmare. Feyd-Rautha grimaced at the bright sun on your home planet, a planet that resembled ancient Earth before it ultimately met its demise. Your father, the duke, stood with his duchess to greet and welcome him. He turned to your mother, a small fake smile on her lips as she was trying hard not to let her distaste show as she saw the man who they planned to marry her daughter too. Sickly pale and hairless, far from the standard of beauty your planet had. 

“Na-Baron, welcome; we hope your journey was well,” your father greeted. The Na-Baron let him continue on with pleasantries as his eyes searched for you, whom he was tasked to court and marry. He wished to know if you were truly as beautiful as all had praised you. He wanted to deduce if you were somewhat worthy of all of this trouble he must go through. “Come, let us escort you inside, my lord. My daughter waits for you there,” He heard the duke say, and the Na-Baron felt annoyance at your self-importance, not even bothering to greet him as he had landed, having him be the one to come to you. He somewhat made up his mind that you were a spoiled child of one of the great houses. Covered in frills and frivolity. That whatever beauty they talked about and praised you for was just a cover to hide the fact that you were a tempestuous, spoiled brat who would certainly be a difficult wife for any lord. 

Feyd-Rautha hid his confusion and annoyance as he was led to a place surrounded by greenery and colors that stung his eyes foe be was used to the bleakness and darkness of his home. “My sweet,” The Na-Baron heard your father call, and that is when he finally noticed you. Your back was turned from him, hair that he had none cascaded down your back and reached your waist that was cinched inside the bodice of your color-filled gown. Feed clenched his jaw and felt his breathing stutter as you finally turned your direction to him. Turning to the call of your father with your bright eyes searching for his frame and pink lips parted, you had a flower in your hand, your fingers rolling the delicate stem. 

“Na-Baron, may I present you, my daughter,” Your father said and urged you to step closer. You licked your lips and curtsied lowly before the heir of house Harkonnen and your possible husband. “Welcome, Na-Baron,” You said lowly. Feyd was never one to be phased, especially not stunned, but that was the precise state you had placed him in. He thought the praises they gave of your beauty and nature was an exaggeration— they talked about you as if you were a propaganda, a savior, a goddess of beauty. And now, the heir of House Harkonnen understood their words and saw they spoke truth in every syllable uttered. 

You grew more nervous with each moment the Na-Baron did not reply to your greeting. You felt rather unnerved with each passing moment he stared you down with his blue eyes, his plump yet pale lips parted as he assessed your frame. You swallowed thickly and turned to your father for some sort of comfort, but he, too, did not know how to take the Na-Baron’s silence. “My lady,” the Na-Baron finally rasped out, your skin glowing with gooseflesh at how his voice sounded— it was a sound you had not heard before, something different and interesting. All together, the Na-Baron was different and interesting. “I shall leave you two to talk and get to know each other better,” Your father said, and you willed your heart to calm as the intense stare of the Na-Baron was undoing your composure. 

“How… how are your travels, my lord?” You asked after a pause of silence, the Na-Baron wanted to roll his eyes as you had the same trite question as your father. However, he still replied. When there was silence after his answer, he watched you fiddle with your fingers and unconsciously bite your lip as you thought of another topic of conversation. “Would you like a tour of the castle, Na-Baron?” You asked, and though Feyd had little to no interest in architecture and was actually quite tired from his travels, he still felt himself nod and walked beside you as you guided him through your home. 

Feed listened to your sweet voice that sounded of harmonious melodies. Telling him of the history of your house and the decor the castle keeps. Noticing how your voice would grow slightly higher when you spoke of something that was of much interest to you. He also noticed how all who passed the two of you would bow in respect and you would offer them your sweet smile with a wave of your hand or a greeting on your lips. It should annoy him that when stood next to you, his imposing and intimidating demeanor seemed to be outshined by your charming and pleasing self. 

You two paused by a mirror, a painting atop of it, which you explained the meaning of in great detail. Feyd-Rautha caught your reflection, the two of you of stark difference. There was quite literally an aura of lightness exuding from you, the sweetness in your voice, the innocence and naivety in your eyes so entirely different against the darkness he exudes, the black that stained and hardened him. Feyd-Rauth could not take his dark eyes from your lips, the way they moved as you spoke, how you would lick them when you paused from speaking, giving them an irresistible sheen and making them look more pink and evermore kissable. 

The Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha never had the urgent desire to kiss anyone before. Yes, he had his darlings and concubines, but ever since he acquired them, he had never once kissed them first. When they started to grow slightly comfortable around him, they would kiss his lips, eager to make him kiss them back, but he never did. He did not find any sort of pleasure in kissing them. But with you… just by the look of your lips, all he wanted to do was grab your flushed cheeks and feel your mouth against his. “My lord?” You called as you had noticed that the Na-Baron was staring far off into the mirror, unresponsive to your previous calls. “Na-Baron?” You asked and gently took hold of his arm to asses if he was truly well. 

Feud felt his whole body tingle as you placed your touch atop his armor-clad arm, a concerned look on your face that he had never been the receiver of. “Are you well, my lord?” You asked with a concerned tilt of your head. “Y-Yes,” He stuttered, what had you done to him? The ferocious and fearsome fighter that he was now far gone as you blessed him with your gentle touch. “I apologize; I may have droned on for too long… I shall escort you to your chambers so you may find rest,” You said with slight embarrassment. Lowering your gaze to the floor and removing your hand from his arm. Feyd did not know how to perceive you… you were demure yet somehow confident. You were genuine, yet not at all of you could be read and deciphered by him. 

The Na-Baron once again followed you as you led him to the guest wing of the keep. His eyes were steadily at your frame, the way your hair swayed and bounced at every step you took. How you left behind a trail of your scent in the corridors, the Na-Baron greedily inhaled it and felt himself turn warm with a further push to his desires. As you had led him to his chambers to let him rest, you curtsied before him once more, the Na-Baron catching the most tempting view of your bosom. His mind and body were screaming at him to pull you into the chambers and have his way with you. To show you new dimensions of pleasures and ruin that he was certain you had never had before. But the Na-Barom did the genteel thing to do and gave a bow before watching you walk away and finally retire to his own chambers to rest. 

When the next morning came, the Na-Baron found you in the gardens once more. You kneeling by a structure that houses water with a statue in the middle of it. He curiously leaned forward to inspect what you were doing. He watched as your fingers pushed floating flowers, and a small smile grazed your face. He stepped closer, announcing his presence in the reflection of the water. He expected you to grow startled; he was waiting for the fear to come to your eyes, but he was taken aback as you turned to him with a pretty smile upon your lips. The Na-Baron swallowed thickly as he felt his heart stutter at your smile. He never thought he had one— a heart, that is. But now it announced itself greatly as it throbbed loudly in his chest when you stood and stepped closer to him. 

“I hope you had a good night’s rest, Na-Baron,” you said in your genuine tone. “I—I did,” Feyd clenched his jaw; he was stuttering again. What had you done to him? How could you have dismantled and discombobulated him with just a smile and your honey voice? “Would you care to join us to break our fast?” You asked and glanced toward the direction of the laid-out feast for the morning. The Na-baron gave a curt nod, and you led him towards the table where your parents were approaching. 

Feyd gave them a nod as they greeted him whilst assisting you into your seat. He was truly doing the most here, being obliging to you and your kin just so the courtship would be a success and he’ll finally gain a wife and a womb. Feyd listened in to the chatter between you and your parents; you were truly quite talkative. If it were anyone else, he would have grown annoyed with the incessant blabbing that he would cut off their tongue. But somehow, with you, he did not mind it. He actually found it endearing, and he wouldn’t mind for his future days to be filled with your voice. Feyd watched as you filled his cup with a dark, steaming substance. “Would you like sugar and cream, Na-Baron?” You asked and Feyd eyed curiously the liquid in his cup. He did not even know what it was, and you were offering him other substances to put on it? He declined and raised the cup to his lips. Surprised at how he quickly grew fond of the bitter, dark liquid. He watched as you added three cubes of sugar and a dollop of cream to your own cup, altering the bitterness the Na-Baron relished in. 

When the meal ended, you half expected that the Na-Baron would disappear with your father and discuss business; you were surprised that he was once again by your side. “Shall we continue on with the tour?” He asked, watching as you slightly frown. “Are you certain, my lord? I… I was afraid I had bored you yesterday with me droning on about the histories,” You say and feel your stomach fill with butterflies as the lord offers his arm for you to take. “No, I found it quite… educational,” He said and oddly felt his cold blood run warm at the smile that bloomed on your lips. You were quick to oblige his request, and his ears were filled with the soothing melody that was your voice. 

Though your voice and presence were soothing, there was a pestering feeling inside the Na-Baron. With every moment you kept your arm on him, your smile pointed towards him, and your innocent eyes looking up at him, he felt entirely guilty—guilty and torn. Were you truly the one he was meant to marry? You? So pure and innocent, a pretty little flower that would wilt under the dark, harsh sun of Geidi Prime and its heir. He could not take it upon himself to be the one to ruin you— he could not be the bitterness that seeps into your sweetness. 

As he sat across from you during dinner, a glass of bitter liquor in his hands, he had made up his mind. He could not be so cruel to be with you— you had turned his stony being soft for you and you alone. He wanted you, yes. Greatly so. With every moment spent in your presence, all he wanted to do was to take you and make every single inch of you his, but he placed great restraint upon himself as he could not tarnish your innocence. Perhaps in a few years, when the naivety of youth is gone in your eyes, and the sweetness in you has finally been diluted. Just not now.  

Feyd knew he should keep his distance, but he humored himself and escorted you to your chambers. “Good night, my lord,” You said, peering up at him. As always, he was silent. In others, you would find their silence unsettling and off-putting but with the Na-Baron, you found peace in his silence. Serenity, no matter the warnings your mother repeated at how violent and harsh Harkonnens were. There was something about his difference that attracted you greatly, which horrified your mother when you admitted to her that you developed a liking towards the young lord and how you would not be opposed to that if a match was struck between the two of you. 

You watched as his lips parted, and his dark blue eyes would trail between your orbs and your lips. You were hesitant as to where the scene would lead; you did not know if you should disappear into your chambers or stay rooted in your spot and wait for what would transpire between you and the Na-Baron. A long stretch of silence came, and you finally decided to move, a tad embarrassed as you had hoped that he would lean in closer and possibly kiss you… you have had the thought countless of time today. You let out a breath and turned away but ultimately were pulled toward Feyd-Rautha’s direction and finally felt his plush lips against yours. You tasted the bitterness of the brandy he had during dinner along with the cool taste of him… you feel cold hands cradle your cheek and the back of your head to keep you and your lips steady against his.

Feyd was proven correct at just how sweet you were. You were tooth-achingly sweet, inside and out. He pulled you closer and licked your bottom lip, expecting resistance, that your sensibilities would return pulled away. But you only let out a quiet moan and let him snake his tongue in. Feyd Rautha felt himself strain harder against his trousers, his hand that cupped your cheek trailed lower to your neck then down to your bosom. You gasped and pulled away, surprised by the immediate action. Feyd was dismayed himself as he gambled too much. He should not have dared to be so bold and quick to show all of his desires. “My lord, I…” you say in surprise, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. Eyes were flashing with a warning but deeper desire behind it. You breathed heavily as the Na-Baron backed away and stomped off, retiring to your room confused and filled with need. 

The following morning came, and Feyd’s mind was made. He could not succumb to his desires and ruin you further. He was selfish, and his mind was muddled with want when he dared to kiss you and feel you against him. He knew if he spent another moment in your presence, his control would falter, and he would finally take what he had desired the moment he saw you in the gardens. “We respect your decision, my lord, however unfortunate it is,” Your father spoke as the Na-Baron stood in his study. The sun had barely risen, and the Na-Baron was quick to speak with his host and bid goodbye. “The treaties shall still take place, but a marriage is no longer required, my lord.” The Na-Baron stated, giving the agreement as a consolation for your planet. He watched as your father nodded his head. “I shall call on my daughter for the two of you to bid good bye,” Feyd wanted to protest, cowardly as he had hoped to leave your planet without another glance at you because it would make everything all the more harder. 

You frowned as your father broke the news to you and your mother. You turned to the woman who birthed you and saw the relief in her eyes, urging you to say your goodbyes so the Harkonnen heir could finally leave. You chewed on your lip as you could conclude by the abrupt departure and change of mind of the Na-Baron. You entered your father’s study, and he quickly left to give the two of you privacy. 

You stood by the wooden door, head hung low, and could not take it upon yourself to look at the man you had hoped to be your husband. “Goodbye, my lord, I… I hope you enjoyed your stay,” you said lowly, and Feyd clenched his jaw as he heard the hint of melancholy in your voice—melancholy that he was the reason for. “I have. Thank you for your hospitality, my lady,” He said and felt his body being pulled closer to you. A pull that he himself could not hinder. He stood before you and took your chin between his rough fingers, urging you to look up at him. 

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked, guessing your startled state the other night is what had led him to the decision. If not that, it was because you were not as chaste as he may have wanted for a wife— that you were ever so enthusiastic to kiss him and let him hold you. Perhaps he thought you untamed or promiscuous which is the reason for his sudden departure. You licked your lips as he made no reply; you shielded your gaze and backed away, his hold on your chin gone. “My lord, if this is about last night, I—“ Feyd clenched his jaw as his mind made him remember the way your lips danced with each other, the way it felt to hold your soft frame against his. “It is not.” He gritted, and you immediately stopped speaking, sensing aggravation in his tone. 

“Then, may I ask what is the reason?” You asked, wanting closure for the disappointment. You listened in to his strained breathing, your eyes catching the way his fists clenched along with his jaw. “I cannot marry you… I cannot be the one to ruin you,” He whispered the last part, his rasping voice struggling to utter the words. You tilted your head in confusion, “What? I do not understand, my lord,” You said and Feyd took in a harsh breath. “You are too pure— too sweet for me. You are not suited to be in the harshness of Geidi Prime let alone be a leader to it.” He said harshly, guilt coming to him as you stared at him with slight fear and offense. “You are too innocent and… and good for someone like me; this is for the best, my lady.” 

You frowned at his words, “You cannot think me to be so delicate,” You defended yourself. The Na-Baron scoffed and shook his head, “You are delicate. You are like those flowers you are greatly fond of— just one wrong thing, and you’ll wilt. You will not wither away in my hands,” He stated, and you felt your lips twitch at how he compared you to flowers. “Is that it? You think I’m weak and too kind?” You asked and observed the way the Na-Baron nodded. “Then I am the perfect match for you, do you not think?” You said, stepping closer. 

Feyd-Rautha was at a loss for words. “If I am weak… I would need someone strong to protect me… someone who is known to be the most skillful warrior in the universe… someone like you,” You whispered and dared to take hold of his cold hand. The Na-Baron felt his heart announce its existence once more, loudly thrashing inside his chest. Your scent invades his senses and makes his knees weak. His gaze turned from looking into your enchanting eyes and then to your luscious lips. “If I am too kind, then I would need someone fearsome so people would not take advantage of me and my good nature… I would need someone ruthless as they say you are,” You whispered, pressing your bodies closer, making him see that you, too, desired him. You feel his length straining against his trousers and perfectly settle upon your stomach, your cheeks going flush at the look of great wanting in the dark eyes of the Na-Baron. 

“If I am too sweet… then I need someone bitter to balance me… I need someone like you, my lord. I want you.” You whispered, slowly going to the tip of your toes to indicate you wished for the kiss. The Na-Baron got the hint and smashed your lips. Your lips fervently danced against each other, the Na-Baron kissing you as if you were the air he needed in his lungs. “You want me?” He breathed as you both parted for air. “I do, Na-Baron.” You said. Truth in your tone. You feel wetness pool between your legs at the growl that left his throat, his lips meeting yours once more. You guided his hand to cup your bosom, just as he had wished to do so the night before. You moaned against his lips as he kneaded your chest through the soft bodice of your gown. 

You feel him guide you to your father’s desk. Perching you upon the stable wooden table and placing himself between your parted legs. Your breathing heaved as his lips were placed on your neck, the Na-Baron biting your flesh and soothing it with his tongue. You turned your head to the ceiling as you felt him hike up your gown, his cold hands leaving fiery heat with each touch. “Say it again,” Feyd demanded as his hands squeezed the plump flesh of your thighs, the heat from your core radiating and calling for him. “I want you, Feyd… I need you, please,” You pleaded and placed your lips to kiss his neck, soft lips kissing his pale flesh, teasing the ball on his throat. 

Your eyes widened as the Na-Baron pulled away, watching in shock as he went to his knees and placed his strong hold on both of your thighs, urging them to part further so his lips could be met with your cunt. You gasped as you felt him push aside your small clothes and lick your slit with his talented tongue. “So fucking sweet,” he groaned and buried his head in your needing cunt. You bit down hard at your lip as the moans you wanted to spew would surely be heard by those who stood and passed outside. “My lord,” You cried as you felt him sucking upon your pearl and his cold finger teasing your entrance. “Feyd… please!” You pleaded as you wanted to feel more. The Na-Baron hummed and obliged your request, placing a finger in your tight cunt. You hear him spew out fouled words and praises, amazed as he watches your wet cunt squeeze tightly around his fingers. “You take my fingers so well, my sweet… now let us see how you’ll manage when it is my cock.” You whimpered as he abruptly stole his pleasuring fingers away as you were on the verge of climax.  

Your eyes were hooded with lust as you watched the Na-Baron greedily suck your essence from his fingers. You felt the urge to close your parted legs to seek out friction at the way he undid his trousers and set his manhood free. Your lips parted as you saw the whole of him, throbbing and pink… the head of his length releasing sheer grayish beads that indicated how much he wanted you. Feyd growled at how shamelessly you looked upon his length, want, and lust, the only thing evident in your eyes. He smashed your lips once more and positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock gliding between your glistening folds. He pushed his way in, and he heard your sharp intake of breath, and whimpers of pain quickly followed. “This what you wanted…” Feyd gritted. A thin sheen of sweat all over his body at how you clenched tightly around him. “Yes, this is what I want.” You said, trying to prove to him that you were not as delicate as he had made you out to be. 

It took a moment before he was fully sheathed inside you. Both of you already panting. When Feyd slowly moved, he watched as your face contorted in pain, kissing away the tears that fell from your eyes as he took away your innocence. Feyd hissed as you clenched around him, finally feeling pleasure, your mouth spewing out sweet moans and calls of his name. “Look at you… my sweet, little wife, so pleasured by my cock,” The tears of pain turned to pleasure as you feel your peak quickly building up again. Feyd claimed your lips and bit down harshly to draw blood, curious to see if even your blood was as sweet as your being; it was. You moaned against his lips as your peak found you, your wetness doubling along with your sensitivity, but that didn't phase the Na-Baron.  He only continued to pound at you at a pace that would surely leave you unable to walk and sore for days to come. 

“Feyd, please…” You pleaded for something you did not know. All you knew was you were about to come once more, ready to cry out the name of the man who provided you with such blinding pleasure. The Na-Baron could usually last for hours, but with the way you clenched around him and how you sweetly moaned and called for his name, it was a miracle that Feyd had not spilled his seed the moment he pushed the head of his cock inside you. “Will you come again, my sweet? Will you come around my cock again?” Feyd hummed as his thumb circled the pearl in your cunt, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. 

“Yes…yes— oh yes!” You cried as you came, clamping around the Na-Baron’s length so tightly that he, too, joined you in your climax. His dark seed filling you and taking root. You two breathed heavily, Feyd hunching over you, who was perched upon your father’s desk. “Still too sweet and pure for you?” You asked in between breaths, watching as Feyd-Rautha wickedly smirked as his bitterness seeped into you and how his hands had tainted you. Perhaps he did need sweetness in his bitter life.

[narcjsistx]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | sae, kaiser, rin, reo and isagi

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

plot: domestic shit because I love fluff stuff 🌷 the characters chosen seem to me to be the most "visible" with little girls... so yeah. I'm actually not very sure of the result, maybe I'll delete it sooner or later to do it again

— sae itoshi

If there was one thing Sae had understood since becoming a parent, it was that having two children was complicated. On one hand he was now understanding all of his mother's concerns when, as children, Rin was unmanageable

We know however that males, if brothers, are somehow a little more manageable. Females, if sisters, are not. He was the father of two girls

As much as he loved them, he agreed with you when you said it would have been better to wait a few more years. But then he looks at his girls in the face, he regrets even thinking about it a little, because he loves them too much

In his eyes he sees him and Rin when they were kids: Sayami, the eldest, looks awfully like him because of her reddish hair, but in character she is like you. Semika, the youngest, is different from him in appearance but identical in character. Sayami brings out Semika's very hidden, but existing, sociable side. The only trait that makes girls similar are those damned undereyelashes that have marked the Itoshi family for generations

“Love, when are you going to let them go?”

"No."

"Sae, we've already talked about this..."

"I said no"

"Sae."

"I already said no, Y/n.”

"Y'know, they're already 7 years old. Sooner or later it will happen..."

"Not as long as I'm alive"

...a simple child had asked Sayami if she and her sister wanted to go play with him. Sae took their hand and walked out of the park as fast as he could with his treasures

✶ Sae tries hard to talk with her little girls. In a relationship not talking, or in any case having some communication problems, can be understood... with little girls no, because they would take it as a rejection. He ALWAYS goes out of his way to talk to them as much as possible, also because he loves the moments when they come home from school and, together, they chat about what happened during the day

✶ Let's be honest, Sae doesn't have much other knowledge or passions apart soccer, which was probably imposed on him as a child. He has not the slightest intention of making any of his girls leave school: if like him they end up having to change country to follow a sport, Sae will have to be absolutely sure that they are studying at the same time. He doesn't want them to be like him, because he knows how difficult is that life

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: resting with them. Sae is often busy with his career, training and of course with his beautiful wife, but he always tries to make time in the evenings (if he's not out of town for a match) with his daughters. He likes to lie down on the bed or on the sofa, before dinner, with the girls who tell him everything exciting they did that day

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: he hides it well but LOVES when you come to watch him play. If he is normally a prodigy, in front of his daughters he must seem even better. When he scores a goal the first thing he would do is turn towards you, no celebration because it's not his style, but he would wave to his daughters who are cheering for him from the stands. Once the game is over he would ignore the interviewers, as he normally does, and simply come to you to claim his victory kiss

— kaiser micheal

Having children, whether boys or girls, was NOT in Michael's plan. I mean, how can someone who had such a complicated childhood have children? Even if he hides it, he has an enormous fear of being able to make someone of his own blood suffer, voluntarily or not, what he has experienced. He just knows that if something has to happen, it happens. And he doesn't know what fate has in store for his possible heir. He might hate his kid and disown him or her like his parents, if they can be called in that way, did with him

When he found out that he was going to become a father, and with a daughter, he seriously thought for a few moments about simply walking away. Not that he hated you, he couldn't, but it was really strange for him to think that someone of his own blood, his kid, was about to born

Kaiser can't explain how all the worries he had collapsed the moment he held Anneliese, his daughter, in his arms for the first time. Just by seeing and hearing her, he wondered how he could even remotely think that he could hypothetically hurt such a wonderful being

Anneliese quickly became the center of Kaiser's world, along of course with the beautiful mother of his little girl. It can be said that his daughter is a shameless copy of him, both in appearance and character: long, blonde hair, proud and always challenging temperament. One might doubt that she is your daughter but not that she is not Kaiser's. She is liteeerally him

...Sitting on the sofa, Anneliese is watching one of her father's old match. The assist with a teammate ends badly, but the ball returns to Kaiser's possession again and he scores a goal

“Dad, the next time you pass the ball to someone unworthy, I will be even more angry than I am now!”

"I understand, don't worry. I can't make my little girl angry again, can I?"

"Mihya, on the field you have to do what you feel, don't listen to her..."

"How can I not listen to our little girl, Schatz?"

✶ Kaiser loves to take his daughter with him everywhere: whether it's to an interview, to training or to a match, Anneliese is almost certainly with him or next to you. He loves when you and your little girl cheer for him during a match, even more if he knows that if he scores there will be your lips kissing him and the little girl's little arms hugging him. He shows a lot his family and his being a fantastic father (you tell him too, he's a little insecure about this) in front of his teammates. The emperor's family!

✶ Ness is practically the little girl's uncle. He never stopped idolizing Micheal, even more so when he discovered that now there was no longer just one Kaiser but two. Micheal is slightly jealous, he doesn't like that his daughter spends so much time with Ness... he hates seeing his Anneliese so happy with an adult other than him or her mother

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he loves when his daughter plays with his hair, especially with the blue parts. Seeing the cerulean blue on his little girl's pale hands, as she braids it or whatever it is, makes him tender. He once dreamed of Anneliese with the exact same hair as him and he admits he wouldn't mind seeing her that way. Maybe blue tipped hair could be the Kaiser's new trademark

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: whenever you and Anneliese come to a game, the first thing he makes sure to do is that you have a seat in the VIP section. He loves seeing the stadium celebrate for him because his family is there to see him, it's something that feeds his ego. As soon as the match was over he would have you go down onto the field with him, the little girl in his arm and his other arm around your waist as he holds you close to him

— rin itoshi

In his mind Rin, the few times he imagined himself, he always saw himself as the father of a son, and nothing more. Not brothers, as much as he actually liked the idea, just a child and above all a boy. He would have been happy like that

As much as he liked the idea of ​​a possible second child, with his job he wouldn't be able to dedicate the time he knows children deserve. At the same time he doesn't want to leave all the work to you, because parenting is something that is usually done by two. One child would have been enough

He doesn't know how but at a certain point in his life, he found himself with three daughters, all of whom were no more than two years apart. At first it was just a child, your beautiful Ayaka, then suddenly Homura also appeared and finally Rika

The idea of ​​just one boy dematerialized pretty quickly. But he loves his girls so much that, when sometimes he thinks of his original idea, he curses himself: how could he deprive himself of the presence and love of his girls?

All the girls resemble him tremendously, both in character (the one before the incident with Sae) and in appearance, obviously talking about the undereyelashes signed 'Itoshi'. Ayaka, only, is the female version of her father. Homura and Rika have taken something from their mother, but Ayaka could almost resemble Sae too... well, he is her uncle after all, right?

"Dad, Rika doesn't pass the ball when she plays!"

"You can't handle it either, Homura! You can't even pass me games at home!"

"Girls, calm down"

"Learn to score on goal first, before complaining"

...The situation seemed to be calm under Rin's control, but Ayaka broke the calm by scoring a perfect goal into the net of the private home soccer field. New prodigy?

✶ Rin often thinks about what might happen if, in the future, he ever does something that could divide her daughters. He has no preference between them, but he is always terrified that he might do something wrong that could create inequalities that he doesn't want, because in a certain sense, what happened between him and Sae must not happen in another generation of the Itoshi. He bond and love between his daughters must exist forever, not deteriorate as happened with his Nii Chan

✶ He would try to get his daughters to try as many sports as possible. As much as Rin loves soccer, his choice was influenced by the fact that Sae played it... what if he was now a world champion in, idk, volleyball? NO OKAY. He simply likes to make all 3 try new things, looking for something that maybe they could dedicate themselves with passion

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: when his little girls organize themselves to do makeup on him. He's got a pretty mysterious look to maintain, but if Homura has decided that he's going to show up at practice tomorrow wearing orange nail polish, he'll show up that way. Not that he has any problem fighting anyone who has something to say against him, but no one dares. Rin loves to see them concentrate while putting on mascara or a completely disgusting shade of lipstick

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: if he knows that you are there to see him play, he will do everything to score as many goals as possible and, above all, quickly: he wants to keep his girls' expectations high. Once he scored a goal he would raise his hand to the sky, waiting for his girls to do the same thing because it has now become a gesture that only each other understands. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is go up to the stands to be with you, fuck his lukewarm teammates

— reo mikage

Looking after Nagi was like taking a pre parenting course. Nagi essentially has the needs of a child if you ignore the fact that he is 17 years old and 1.90cm tall, so Reo knows quite well what a child needs. Then, he always saw the maids in his house bring their young children to work when possible: Reo loved playing with them or picking them up, or just generally spending time with them. The idea of ​​having children, sooner or later and with a special person, has actually always interested him. He always said to himself, but in reality he hoped, that he would find the person who would love him for simply being Reo and not for his money... and then you came along!

His idea has always been of only one child because he is afraid that, sooner or later, two possible children could fight over the money of the Mikage company. Everything is unpredictable, right? So he doesn't want to risk anything

His original idea was respected. When he held Hikari for the first time he simply understood that he wouldn't be able to create, obviously with you, such a cute and perfect being again

The only similarity that links Hikari to her father is the same hair color, that strong purple. For the rest she is completely her mother, and Reo loves this even more: it's cute to see a mini version of you, but with some of his features, walking around the house. His new sweet treasure!!

"So, this... this, yes, also this... that... this"

"Reo, honey, what are you doing with that newspaper?"

"Nothing dangerous. Don't worry"

"What are you doing though? You make me curious"

"I told you not to worry, honey. Trust me."

...Reo was marking all the objects, approximately 300, in a catalog of toys and children's products. If he has money, why can't he spend it if he knows it will make his daughter happy?

✶ The first person Reo told that he was going to be a father was obviously Nagi. Let's say that at first Seishiro wasn't really believing it, but when he saw that pregnancy test... oh... yes, he definitely believed it. It often happens that Hikari stays with Nagi for days at a time, as the little girl sees him as a giant she can annoy. Reo often tells his daughter not to bother Nagi too much, but it secretly makes him laugh to see Seishiro so awkward with Hikari because he doesn't know how to handle children (himself??)

✶ If there's one thing he would never do, it would be to push Hikari into running the Mikage company once she grows up. Reo hated living his childhood with the knowledge that he already had a predetermined destiny, and he doesn't want Hikari to have the same treatment. She want to become a doctor? It will become one. She want to become a farmer? It will become one. She want to become president of the world? It will become one. He simply wants her to do what she loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: travel the world with his daughter or of course with you too. The money is there, and what better way is there to spend it than learning and traveling? Hikari, at less than 5 years old, had already visited half the world. Reo loves taking her to different places and seeing her reactions so amazed. His favorite will remain forever when they arrived in New York, where Hikari didn't stop smiling for a second

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: it is obvious to say that he would pay to let you have the VIP of the VIP, his girls deserve the best, right?. He would feel amazing among all his teammates knowing that his family is there for him while there is no one for them. At the end of the game he would let the cameras record him hugging you and Hikari, why would he hide all the love he has for you from the cameras?

— isagi yoichi

Isagi was relatively happy as a child: his parents loved him, he played the sport he loved, he didn't do badly at school. Everything was happy for him in his early life. The only thing he often noticed were his classmates with older or younger siblings, who yeah argued with each other, but at the same time loved each other very much. He didn't suffer from loneliness from being the only child, not that, but he was always intrigued by the concept of not being the only child in the family

Since you've been dating seriously, and even before actually, he's always thought that his future family would model what he had: loving parents, one child, two if they had the chance

When Fujiko was born there was this plan in his mind: okay, now we dedicate ourselves to her, we give her everything she needs... then, if we want, we will have another child. Both you and Yoichi were very convinced that a max of 5 years after the birth of the kid you would try again, but Fujiko filled your lives so much that you decided that only she was good for the whole life

Fujiko's appearance bears little resemblance to her father's, maybe just a few facial features. If we talk about character, however, everything changes completely: it's a kind of Isagi 2.0, the same determination coupled with a lot of kindness. We will find out later if she also has bipolar disorder on and off the field like her dad- WHO SAID THAT??

"Fujiko, why aren't there any more pencil in your pencilcase?"

"Mom, I had to give them to some friends. Otherwise they couldn't write what the teacher said"

"This kindness reminds me of someone"

"Who? Who? Who?"

"Think about it: who do you consider to be the kindest person in the world?"

"My dad!"

...doing homework with your daughter, you noticed that some things were missing. Isagi is kind, one of the kindest in the world; when you told him about it he was perplexed, because he too would have done the exact same thing... just like his little girl

✶ Having now become a professional striker, he often does not have the opportunity to spend long periods at home due to champions or special training sessions. When this happens he is happy to leave because soccer is his passion anyway, on the other hand he dies inside every time he hugs his daughter or you for the last time. He loves his family, he would like to always be with you and Fujiko because you give him courage, but he understands that always moving with him from city to city, or even from country to country, is complicated and, above all, tiring

✶ He would like to direct Fujiko towards soccer, but at the same time he knows that he cannot choose something that is actually up to her. He has the belief that Fujiko would probably be good as him, unlocking her own version of the meta vision, but he prefers to see her little girl happy with the things she has chosen and loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he likes when they watch the games Isagi has already played. Television often replays reruns of recent or even old matches, and whenever Isagi is present on the field, Fujiko is the first to ask to watch them together. Yoichi enjoys seeing her so amazed by the actions on the field, commenting on anything that she doesn't understand because she rightfully doesn't know the rules of soccer. The thing that amuses him most is explaining to her who are the people he passes the ball, whether they are his friends or not, but now for Fujiko there is only Bachira with the title of dad's friend

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: the mere fact that you come to see him play is a lot for him, but since you and Fujiko once showed up wearing a jacket that said "biggest fan of number 11" on the back, he understood that he didn't it would matter if he were to be burned alive if he did it for you. Unfortunately the insults would always be there, but he would try to contain himself in front of his little girl. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is come to you and let you onto the field, making you celebrate with him

[ladysharmaa]

New life

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Anthony has an argument with his wife, who is from a lower class, when she makes a mistake while promenading with Anthony

(gif is not mine)

Y/n felt like a fish out of water. She didn't grow up in the privileged life that her husband, Anthony, had. Of course her life wasn't bad either, so many others had it worse than her. Y/n was the daughter of well-known merchants, and despite their busy lives where she had to start working as a child to help her family, she was grateful for everything she had.

And then everything changed. Y/n was used to having to speak louder, wipe her hands on her old skirt after touching someone's dirty money, and do manual labor. Until one day, Viscount Bridgerton saw her, and it was love at first sight. A love that was rejected by both for too long.

Anthony was the one who gave in first. He started going to her parents' stall more often, buying things he didn't even need and that others could do for him just so he could look at Y/n. It was indisputable that there was a connection between them. Anthony insisted that they couldn't ignore how they felt about each other, but the girl was afraid. A daughter of merchants marrying into the upper class? It could only go wrong, and to make matters worse it would ruin the reputation of the Bridgerton family. But Anthony made her feel things she never thought she would feel.

Her parents, upon realizing what was happening, warned her of the dangers, but they just wanted to see their daughter happy. In the end, Y/n ended up confessing her love for Bridgerton when he came to her stall saying it would be the last time if she wanted it. Instead of answering him, Y/n took his hand, taking him to an isolated place, where no one could see them, and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

Now, six months after they got married and were living a very happy life together, Y/n was still trying to learn the rules of society. It was a work in progress, and Anthony's mother and sisters helped Y/n a lot, explaining everything she could and couldn't do. There was so much information that she often just followed her instinct, ending up breaking some rules. Fortunately, she had just been among family and hadn't had to listen to anyone's judgment.

It wasn't easy being thrown into high society, dressed in the best dresses that she tried her best not to get dirty, speaking softly, and letting the maids do everything for her. But she would do anything for Anthony, and now she had a lifestyle that many would kill for. She couldn't complain.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was a sunny day and so, Y/n and Anthony decided to promenade through the park, taking the opportunity to go on a small boat trip. Everything was going well, the woman had fun touching the crystal clear water and watching the fish that fled quickly while Anthony, who was responsible for the physical work, smiled in amusement.

So, they decided to end their afternoon with one last walk through the park to enjoy the last rays of sun, Y/n's hand on Anthony's arm. Y/n was telling him for the thousandth time how excited she was to go play pall mall the next day with the rest of the Bridgerton family. But Anthony never complained and listened attentively and patiently.

But the couple's peace was ruined when a little in front of them, a woman who Y/n quickly recognized as Earl Harrison's wife, was shouting at a maid. She was already old, and was on her knees on the floor trying to clean the woman's expensive dress. People were sending them looks and Y/n felt fury run through her veins when no one intervened, allowing that maid to be basically humiliated in a public square.

She took a step forward, but was pulled back by Anthony, who was holding her hand while sending her a look. "We have nothing to do with this. It's better not to get involved."

Y/n frowned, shaking her head in denial. "No. I'm sorry, Anthony, but I can't do this. But I promise I'll control myself." She then added in a whisper, "If she doesn't irritate me."

"Y/n…"

But Anthony didn't have time to finish his sentence because his wife was already putting on a fake smile, approaching that scene. "Excuse me, what is happening?"

"Lady Bridgerton, look!" the Countess exclaimed while pointing at her maid as if she were an inferior being, noting that she was waiting for Y/n to take her side. "I came to have a picnic on this beautiful day, but this incompetent woman dropped the cake on my dress. It was my favorite!"

"You sound like a child." Y/n said truthfully, not caring about the gasps heard. Anthony sighed behind her.

"Countess Harrinson, I tripped over a stone. My deep apologies, it won't happen again." the maid, still kneeling on the floor, whimpered. The woman rolled her eyes and gave her a small kick, forcing her to move away.

"It won't happen again because you're not coming back with me. I don't accept mistakes, especially like this." The Countess said coldly, while Viscountess Bridgerton became redder and redder with anger.

"But I—"

"You know, Countess Harrinson, she won't be coming back to you because she's going to work for Viscount Bridgerton. We'd be happy to have you,…"

"Mary." the maid said, putting her hands to her face and crying. "My apologies. Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. That's very kind of you."

"How dare you!" the Countess exploded in anger. "You just disrespected Earl Harrinson's wife." Anthony's wife continued to look at her indifferently. The other mumbled in frustration, "I'm going to destroy your family's reputation."

"I'd like to see you try." she narrowed her eyes, not looking away from her until the Countess was already well away from them, the other maids hurrying after her. However, the crowd that formed stayed in the exact same place.

"Y/n, what do you think you're doing?" Anthony hissed. "We shouldn't have intervened."

"You can't really expect me to leave her here on the floor. Just because she's a maid doesn't deserve to be treated like this." Y/n snapped angrily at her husband, helping the poor woman to get up from the floor.

"I'm not saying she deserves it." he growled, he too beginning to get unnerved. "But you can't talk to an Earl's wife like that. This is a hierarchy, Y/n."

"If I see someone being mistreated, you can be sure that I will speak however I want to whoever I want."

"Watch it." Anthony warned with his jaw clenched. He looked around, noticing that they were attracting even more looks and attention. People were already starting to murmur among themselves, and Anthony was sure it wouldn't take long for rumors to spread. "Stop it and we'll talk at home."

"Don't treat me like I'm the insolent one." Y/n hissed, pulling her arm away when Anthony tried to pull her closer to him.

The maid seemed to be increasingly panicked, now being the cause of an argument between the Bridgerton couple, who were well known in society. On the other hand, the woman was quite touched by Y/n's kind gesture. In the midst of such an aggressive society, there were people with pure hearts who were not afraid to defend what they believed in.

"We'll talk at home then, Lord Bridgerton." Y/n ended up saying after a few long tense moments in which the two exchanged glares. She straightened her dress and started to walk, but stopped and looked over her shoulder at the maid who was hesitant to follow. "Come on, Mary, when we get to the mansion I'll introduce you to the rest of our maids who I'm sure will help you settle in."

The atmosphere was tense throughout the carriage ride. Anthony and Y/n continued to avoid talking, knowing that an argument would immediately begin. Instead, he seemed to be caught up in his thoughts while his wife was busy talking to Mary, who slowly seemed to be starting to relax.

When the carriage finally stopped, although they were angry with each other, the Bridgerton got out first to help Y/n out, as she was quite clumsy and it wouldn't be the first time she almost fell out of the carriage in her long dresses. .

"My office. We need to talk." he said in a low voice into Y/n's ear who nodded.

"Juliet." the Viscountess Bridgerton called one of the maids. "This is Mary. Please show her her duties and introduce her to the rest of the people. Make sure she feels welcome."

"Of course, Lady Bridgerton."

Finally, the couple was alone, but spirits seemed to still be high. Anthony continued to be frustrated with Y/n because she didn't realize that there was a hierarchy in society, and they couldn't do everything they wanted, or it would harm not only them but the entire family. On the other hand, Y/n felt that Anthony was supporting social injustice, and that no human being should be treated badly just because they are from a lower social class.

"If you're waiting for me to apologize, I won't."

"I'm hoping you realize the gravity of what you just did." Anthony snapped, running a hand over his face with a sigh. "No matter how much it costs you, you have to respect this society and its rules!"

"But I don't agree with these rules!"

"I don't care about that!" the man exploded, not seeing how Y/n flinched. They had never argued like this. Obviously, they had already disagreed on some issues, but never to the point of raising their voices. "You were selfish! Everything you do affects you and all of us. You have to stop thinking only about yourself!"

"Selfish?" Y/n muttered, looking at her husband with a frown. Those words seemed to be like a knife in her heart.

"Did it occur to you that Francesca is going to start her season in a few months? Now surely all the suitors will know about this family's reputation. That we don't respect hierarchy. That I married someone who has nothing to do with this lifestyle."

Y/n's eyes filled with tears. Her voice was shaking, but she tried to keep herself in control, "Well, I'm sorry that I let you down. It wasn't my intention, Lord Bridgerton. I'm sorry that you married someone who wasn't supposed to be here, living with all this money and stupid rules of etiquette. But I will always do what I think is right. Because unlike you, I know what it's like to be looked down upon by the upper classes."

Anthony looked at her with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing several times. "Wait, Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. I don't regret marrying you."

"It doesn't matter what you meant. Really, you should have married someone who was already into this lifestyle, who knew what the hell they were doing. I'm trying, I swear." Some tears fell. "But it's difficult. And dealing with these people, who think they are superior to others, I can't do it."

"Y/n…"

"But you're right. I should have thought about your family. Your siblings could be harmed by what I did, and that was the last thing I wanted. My apologies for that, I will make sure I fix this."

"No, no." the Bridgerton man said, looking desperately at the woman. The woman who gave up her life to marry him, and has tried hard every day to adapt. And here he is, who instead of helping her criticizes her for defending what she believes in. "You're not going to do anything because there's nothing to fix."

"You don't need to say that, I already realized I made a mistake."

"But you didn't, I did. I let myself be influenced by everything that is wrong in this society, and that's why I'm disappointed in myself. But you, my beautiful kind wife, just did what was right, and I'm proud of you. You are not selfish, god you are nothing like that. You do so much for this family, I don't know what came over me to say something as barbaric as that."

"Anthony…" Y/n sighed, not knowing what to say. Her husband, in turn, seemed to have relaxed when Y/n finally called him by his name and not his title.

"I love you. I married you because I love who you are and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want our children to be as kind as you, and we can raise them to be good people, who help others. I'm sorry for the way I treated you."

Y/n remained silent but let a small smile appear on her face. Anthony also realized that they were better off with each other and took a step forward.

"I will kneel and beg for your forgiveness."

"What are you waiting for?" she teased.

Although she wasn't expecting it, Anthony actually lowered himself to his knees at her feet, looking at her in amusement but also with sincerity. "My apologies, Lady Bridgerton. I will not repeat my mistakes again. I love you and how fierce you are. Now, will you please forgive me?"

"I don't know, Anthony, maybe I need something more convincing." she said, closing her eyes when she felt her husband lift her dress a little to place small kisses on her legs.

"I'm all yours, Y/N. For the rest of my days."

[lesbiancientforesttroll]

Think about Harrow's AU Bubbles

Thinking about Harrow's AU bubbles, not as fanfic references, but as expressions of her subconscious fears and desires, is so fascinating.

The Harrow Nova one is pretty obvious. Harrow's parents were obsessed with her being a necromancer, were willing to kill for it. It's only natural she'd wonder, "What if I hadn't been?"

And the answer Harrow gives herself is: Your parents and everyone would reject you (except, wildly, for Crux). Also they'd be alive cuz you'd never opened the tomb, and you'd be an unpopular orphan they'd abuse (Just Like Gideon). And you'd still be just as devoted to serving the Ninth with a blade. There's a lot there. But the other really telling bit is her relationship with Gideon. Harrow Nova professes to hate the reverend daughter even as she seeks to (re) create the necro-cav bond with her. But that hatred doesn't seem to be mutual. And the bit about the daughter intervening when Harrow was whipped…

That's Harrow's subconscious saying if their roles had been reversed, "Gideon would have treated me better than I treated her. Gideon would have protected me."

The Ball AU also seems like a reasonable extension of Gideon's childhood query: "What if my other parent is the most important guy in the universe?" Answer: Emperor Dad would throw a big party.

But also… it's a bride-finding ball! That's so very telling. It could have been anything, but Harrow invents another scenario where she's fighting, competing to get to Gideon, to be awarded the role of her sworn partner (first cav, now bride), while outwardly claiming not to want it.

Now The BARI Star AU often gets described as a "coffee shop" one, but it's actually set in a cohort cafeteria. And normally I wouldn't split hairs over that, but I think the cohort setting is actually really significant. The Cohort was Gideon's dream, and also Harrow's rival for Gideon's attention. It's what she kept trying to leave Harrow for.

So now Harrow dreams that she's left Drearburh to join the cohort and will meet Gideon there. Not fight or compete for a role where they're bound to each other, but just meet her there. That feels like yielding. Like compromise. It makes me think Harrow's subconscious has matured past trying to keep Gideon with her always and is instead looking for ways that SHE can be with Gideon. Meet Gideon where she is.

(Also this may be a stretch, but I always find it low-key funny that Harrow imagines Gideon in the cafeteria… I like to think her brain is skimming lists of hypothetical military jobs like... what sees the least action... ah, coffee-adept, she'll be perfectly safe there...)

[penkura]

OP Men Holding Their Firstborn for the First Time

Note: This is in relation to my post of headcanons for these five men and their children. I just started thinking of which ones of them will cry, who will freak out over holding a tiny baby, who may reject the thought at first. And it came to this lol. I think the next one in this series will be names for the kids or babies taking their first steps! The baby fever is strong help. For now, please enjoy these men being soft about their offspring!

Ace almost has a heart attack when you try to pass your daughter to him, he swears he felt his heart jump into his throat when you ask if he wants to hold her, saying no that he's fine for now, but you insist he should. He doesn't do so for several hours, instead watching you with her as he works up the courage to have her in his arms.

What if my powers activate and I burn her? What if she cries and kicks? Oh lord, what I drop her??

"Ace, please. You need to hold her."

The look on your face, like you're begging him to hold her, finally makes Ace agree, sitting on the edge of your hospital bed to take your hours old daughter from you. You remind him to be careful of her head, make sure to support her, and smile when you finally get to see the two loves of your life together at last.

She doesn't fuss or cry or kick, instead staying fast asleep and seeming like she's snuggling into the warmth Ace radiates thanks to his Devil Fruit powers. He's just amazed by her, her tiny little nose and the beautiful, dark eyelashes that brush her chubby little cheeks. She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen after you of course.

Ace fights not to cry but can't help the few tears that sneak out, wiping them away on his sleeve quickly, the one time he wears a shirt and it's the day you give birth to the newest love of his life.

Gosh, he always knew you were amazing. Now you've given him a family of his own, how could he ever repay you?

"Thank you for her...she's so perfect."

Ace can't seem to tear his eyes away from your daughter's little face, and that's okay with you. She's his baby too, he needs to have some time with her.

"What do you think we should name her, Ace?"

Oh. Oh crap, she does need a name huh?

~~

Law doesn't even have a chance to think about it, he's holding your son immediately after birth since he was the one to help you deliver obviously. Once your baby boy is wrapped in a towel Law hands him right to you before checking to make sure you're doing all right. Your vitals are all normal and stable, he's relived that you're both fine, while he watches you talk to your crying newborn.

You tell him that it doesn't count that he held your son right away since he's your and the boy's doctor, eventually getting Law to sit down and actually hold him as his father instead. Your son kept fussing and crying until Law finally got to hold him, the newborn quieting after a few moments but keeping his eyes shut tight and his little hands in fists as he kept whining.

Once he finally opens his eyes to stare up at Law, it's probably the cutest thing you've ever seen in your life apart from Bepo.

Especially once you catch sight of a few tears in Law’s eyes, making you smile softly as you lean back to just watch them. He's quick to rub at his eyes and make them stop, but the few sniffles you hear every bit tell you he's trying to stop himself from looking like a bigger baby than your literal baby he's holding.

He's never actually held a baby so tiny, not since Lammy was born. And to know this is his son, it's crazy to think about while he watches your baby boy start to fall asleep.

He really does wish his parents, sister, and Cora-san were there. They'd all love to meet your son, and you know he's thinking that, but you hope realizes that all the Heart Pirates are going to love your little boy just as much as his family would have.

And that eases the sting a bit, especially when they all do get to meet your son, and not a single one of them is without tears, beyond happy for you and their beloved captain.

~~

Penguin almost begs to hold your daughter once she's born and you're both stable. Law tries to push him away while he takes your daughter's vitals and measurements, asking how on earth you dealt with Penguin being so clingy the last nine months, which just makes you laugh.

"Go sit with your wife, damn it, I'll bring her over in a minute."

"But, captain--"

"Penguin, just come over here for now."

Penguin sits beside your bed and pouts until Law finally brings your daughter over, about to hand her to you before you direct him to your husband. Both ask if you're absolutely sure you want Penguin to hold her first, until you confirm it, and Law hands your daughter to her father, showing him the right away to hold her, before he leaves the three of you alone for a few minutes.

Penguin is absolutely enthralled with her. She's still fussy from being born, stretching out her little arms and legs, making cute little sounds, and he just can't believe she's finally here. He feels like you two waited an eternity for her to be born, now she has been! She's so small, she fits perfectly in his arms and it makes him want to cry so much.

"She's so tiny."

"And she looks just like you, Peng."

~~

Due to you having twins, you hold your son while Sanji holds your daughter, blubbering like the baby girl was because he's just so happy to have these babies with you. It makes you want to laugh hearing him cry, watching him kiss your daughter's forehead to try and calm her down while he dotes on her and you give your son attention.

"You're an angel, a perfect little gift from heaven!"

When you finally swap which baby you're each holding, Sanji still cries, happy to have a son too! He never really thought you'd have twins, or that they'd be fraternal on top of it! Both are so precious to him, you're precious to him, this little family you've now built together.

Your daughter has his hair, but your son looks just like you to Sanji. He kisses your son's forehead before looking at you and your newborn daughter, still unable to believe this is going to be his life from now on. You, and him, and your two tiny blessings.

"I love you so, so much."

He can't wait to call Zeff and let him know the good news.

~~

Zoro has no worries or qualms or tears when holding your son for the first time. Actually, it doesn't hit him for a few hours that he has a child now.

Your son is so quiet most of his first day outside the womb, sleeping and eating, only fussing when he needs something, but you're able to calm him down quickly. The way you're able to do that when this is your first baby impresses Zoro more than anything today.

It's only once you're asleep and he's holding your son again that it really gets to him. There's another person depending on him now, this one being his own flesh and blood, his newborn son that already looks just like him. His hands are so tiny, he's not even able to fully get his little fingers around one of Zoro's fingers.

Chopper made sure you both were left alone for the day, Zoro taking a bed next to yours and laying back with your son on his chest that night. That's when he realized just how small your baby is. His hand covered the newborn's back completely, his tiny hand fisting Zoro's shirt as he slept, small coos and whines coming from him every now and then. Zoro looks at you for a moment, before back to your son with a smile.

Your son may not have been planned, but Zoro's more than accepting of how his life is turning out.

~~

Note 2: I am absolutely willing to elaborate on these men and their children. If anyone wants to see something specific, just send me a message! I'll be posting more of my own thoughts too!

[shewolfofvilnius]

I feel sorry for Orin

repurposed from an old Reddit post of mine

Edit: Wrote an epilogue fic where my Durge, Sofija, seeks redemption for her sister with the Gods

Raised from birth in the Bhaal cult and has never known ANYTHING else. Literally the result of incest between her mom and Sarevok (her father AND grandfather) - and for her entire life is actively manipulated and groomed to worship her "Grandfather" second only to Bhaal (leaving a disgusting implication that Sarevok might eventually try again). Literally every single day of her life spent in a murder cult, never knowing anything else.

Her mother is actively manipulated when Orin is seven to try to kill her daughter, only for Orin to reflexively kill her first, at which point Orin was briefly possessed by Bhaal himself (per some Sarevok dialogue). AT AGE SEVEN. And even from a young age, Orin's true gift is her artistry, a talent that outside the Bhaal cult probably could have been nurtured into something phenominal, but inside the cult is twisted into a sinisterness in the kill that, when she's out of earshot is decried as wasteful.

She eventually rises through the ranks (never have had any choice), having never felt a meaningful moment of compassion or kindness and, desperate to be cared about, sees the power and fear and respect her bloodkin (The Dark Urge) has gained and uses their hubris to take them out.

Ironically, in the timeline where Durge lives, they get a gift Orin couldn't even dream of - a 2nd chance. With their brain scrambled and the tadpole present but being interfered with, the Dark Urge got a chance to be someone new. (Whether they accept or reject that 2nd chance, they at least got a choice this time).

What did Orin get for her troubles? Her (grand)father openly coveted to either take her out, or worse, take her out - when the time was right, her own allies both detested her (Gortash openly revels at the idea of working with the Dark Urge again)

and most brutally, if you manage to confront her with the truth, any of it? About Sarevok, about her mother, etc? She immediately believes you. And for one (1) moment, maybe there's hope for her.

Hope that Bhaal immediately rips away; an Orin confronted with the truth and showing even the slightest hesitation is immediately forcibly transformed into the Slayer by Bhaal himself, with a strong implication that the core of the old Orin is gone forever win, lose, or draw. "No more doubts, no more fears, no more Orin. Become murder.". Seeing what Bhaal's reaction was the moment Orin had one (1) instant of hesitation also confirms that she'd likely have never had the chance to choose differently, either Bhaal would always step in or else she'd eventually meet her end.

Imagine the AU where Orin takes her CLEAR flair and artistic talent to become a truly great artist. Where she gets the same second chance that Durge got - If she'd been able to use her talent for impersonation and desire to great to do something powerful instead of being forced by her family from childhood into the family business of murder.

She literally never had a chance. Even Bane and Myrkul and their respective cults were never so unfathomably cruel, and she never knew anything else.

At least for my own first game, though, my Durge recognized that without her "sister," she'd have never gotten the chance to save the world, never met Shadowheart, never stopped a century worth of Ketheric's torture on Dame Aylin, never set in motion the liberation of the Githyanki...In the right world states, Orin unwittingly saved the world, but it's a world she'll never get to see or know, and probably never could have.

That's tragic as hell.